Swearing was common enough among the older men of the South, even among the educated, but Colonel Woodville now surpassed them all.
Dick heard oaths, ripe and rich, entirely new to him, and he heard the old ones in new arrangements and with new inflections.

And yet there was no blasphemy about it.

It seemed a part of time and place, and, what was more, it seemed natural coming from the lips of the old colonel.
They reached the door, the cut in the side of the ravine, and at once a wide portion of the battlefield sprang into the light, while the roar of the guns was redoubled.

Dick would have stepped back now, but Colonel Woodville's hand rested on his shoulder and his support was needed.
"My glasses, Margaret!" said the colonel.

"I must see! I will see! If I am but an old hound, lying here while the pack is in full cry, I will nevertheless see the chase! And even if I am an old hound I could run with the best of them if that infernal Yankee bullet had not taken me in the leg!" Miss Woodville brought him the glasses, a powerful pair, and he glued them instantly to his eyes.