I didn't come here to fight the hull damn' rebel army." There was one who raised a doleful cry.

"I wish Bill Smithers had trod on my hand, insteader me treddin' on his'n." The sore joints of the regiment creaked as it painfully floundered into position to repulse.
The youth stared.

Surely, he thought, this impossible thing was not about to happen.

He waited as if he expected the enemy to suddenly stop, apologize, and retire bowing.

It was all a mistake.
But the firing began somewhere on the regimental line and ripped along in both directions.