As it was, fragments of bark, twigs, and leaves showered about them.

The whistling of the bullets and their chugging as they struck the trees made a continuous sinister note.
The Union men were not silent under this fire.

Their own rifles were replying fast, but Colonel Winchester continually urged them to take aim, and, while death and wounds were inflicted on the Union ranks, the Southern were suffering in the same manner.
Dick turned his eyes toward the right flank, where the fifty picked riflemen, Sergeant Whitley at their head, were crawling through the tall grass.

He knew that they were making toward a little corner of the forest, thrust farther forward than the rest, and presently when the rippling in the grass ceased he was sure that they had reached it.

Then the fifty rifles cracked together and the Southern flank was swept by fifty well-aimed bullets.