There was no such thing as missing the mark, for they were on the flank of the Confederate line, which the united efforts of the officers could hardly preserve.

The men in the covert fired when they were ready; and as they carefully observed the injunction of Tom not to waste their lead, every shot told upon the rebels.
The Confederate officers glanced nervously at the clump of bushes, which glowed with flashes of fire as the sergeant's little command poured in their volleys; but they were too closely pressed by the Federals in front to attempt to dislodge them.

The rebel privates were not long in ascertaining what was so clear to their officers--that they were flanked, and were being shot down like sheep, from a quarter where they could not defend themselves.

They had been slowly and doggedly retiring before the advancing Federals, disputing every inch of ground; but when they realized that the bolts of death were dropping among them from another direction, they could no longer endure that awful suspense which takes possession of the minds of men when they are suspended, as it were, between life and death.
Tom saw them waver, and he knew what it meant.

The rebel line was just abreast of him, and he had seen at least a score of men fall before the deadly fire of his party.
"Give it to them, boys! They shake!" shouted Tom, as he delivered his fire again.