They did not even falter.

Without a particle of shelter they came on through the rain of death, their ranks closing up over the slain, their front line always presenting that bristling line of steel.
It seemed to Dick now that the points of the bayonets shone almost in his face, gleaming through the smoke that hung between them and the foe, a gap that continually grew narrower as the Southern line never ceased to come.
"Stand firm, lads; steady for God's sake, steady!" shouted Colonel Winchester, and then Dick heard no single voice, because the roar of the battle broke over them like the sudden rush of a storm.

He was conscious only that the tips of the bayonets had reached them, and behind them he saw the eyes in the brown faces gleaming.
Then he did not even see the brown faces, because there was such a storm of fire and smoke pouring forth bullets like hail, and the tumult of shouts and of the crash of cannon and rifles was so awful that it blended into one general sound like the roaring of the infernal regions.
Dick felt himself borne back.

It seemed to him that their line had cracked like a bow bent too much.

It was not anything that he saw but a sense of the general result, and he was right.