Through the trees he watched the black figures of the gunners as they worked swiftly and intently.
Their labor seemed a complicated thing.

He wondered how they could remember its formula in the midst of confusion.
The guns squatted in a row like savage chiefs.

They argued with abrupt violence.

It was a grim pow-wow.

Their busy servants ran hither and thither.
A small procession of wounded men were going drearily toward the rear.
It was a flow of blood from the torn body of the brigade.
To the right and to the left were the dark lines of other troops.