But ahead they could still see Colonel Craig riding calmly forward, his big horse picking its leisurely way over the endless road of logs; they could see the clipped gray head of Major Lent under its red forage-cap, steady, immovable, as he controlled his nervous mount with practised indifference.
It was broiling hot in the swamp; the Zouaves stood bathed in perspiration as the regiment halted for a few minutes, then they moved forward again toward a hard ridge of grass which glimmered green beyond the tangled thicket's edges.
Here the regiment was formed in line of battle, and ordered to lie down.
Stephen wiped his sweaty hands on his jacket and, lifting his head from the grass, looked cautiously around.

Already there had been fighting here; a section of a dismantled battery stood in the road ahead; dead men lay around it; smoke still hung blue in the woods.
The air reeked.
The Zouaves lay in long scarlet rows on the grass; their officers stood leaning on their naked swords, peering ahead where the Colonel, Major, and a mounted bugler were intently watching something--the two officers using field glasses.

In a few moments both officers dismounted, flung their bridles to an orderly, and came back, walking rather quickly.

Major Lent drawing his bright, heavy sword and tucking up his gold-embroidered sleeves as he came on.
"Now, boys," said Colonel Craig cheerfully, "we are going in.

All you've got to do can be done quickly and thoroughly with the bayonet.