They stood undaunted amid the showers of bullets and shells and cried to the others to stand with them.
Yet the condition of the Union army steadily grew worse.

Dick himself, in all the smoke and shouting and confusion, could see it.

The regiments that formed the core of resistance were being pared down continually.
There was a steady dribble of fugitives to the rear, and those who fought felt themselves going back always, like one who slips on ice.
The sun, far up the heavens, now poured down beams upon the vast cloud of smoke and vapor in which the two armies fought.

The few people left in Dover, red hot for the South, cheered madly as they saw their enemy driven further and further away.
Grant, the man of destiny, ill clad and insignificant in appearance, now came upon the field and saw his beaten army.

But the bulldog in him shut down its teeth and resolved to replace defeat with victory.