Chapter I. In Flight

The Guns of Shiloh

by Joseph A. Altsheler

Dick Mason, caught in the press of a beaten army, fell back
slowly with his comrades toward a ford of Bull Run. The first great
battle of the Civil War had been fought and lost. Lost, after it
had been won! Young as he was Dick knew that fortune had been with
the North until the very closing hour. He did not yet know how it
had been done. He did not know how the Northern charges had broken
in vain on the ranks of Stonewall Jackson's men. He did not know
how the fresh Southern troops from the Valley of Virginia had hurled
themselves so fiercely on the Union flank. But he did know that his
army had been defeated and was retreating on the capital.

Cannon still thundered to right and left, and now and then
showers of bursting shell sprayed over the heads of the tired and
gloomy soldiers. Dick, thoughtful and scholarly, was in the depths
of a bitterness and despair reached by few of those around him. The
Union, the Republic, had appealed to him as the most glorious of
experiments. He could not bear to see it broken up for any cause
whatever. It had been founded with too much blood and suffering and
labor to be dissolved in a day on a Virginia battlefield.

But the army that had almost grasped victory was retreating,
and the camp followers, the spectators who had come out to see an
easy triumph, and some of the raw recruits were running. A youth
near Dick cried that the rebels fifty thousand strong with a hundred
guns were hot upon their heels. A short, powerful man, with a voice
like the roar of thunder, bade him hush or he would feel a rifle
barrel across his back. Dick had noticed this man, a sergeant named
Whitley, who had shown singular courage and coolness throughout the
battle, and he crowded closer to him for companionship. The man
observed the action and looked at him with blue eyes that twinkled
out of a face almost black with the sun.

"Don't take it so hard, my boy," he said. "This battle's
lost, but there are others that won't be. Most of the men were raw,
but they did some mighty good fightin', while the regulars an' the
cavalry are coverin' the retreat. Beauregard's army is not goin' to
sweep us off the face of the earth."

His words brought cheer to Dick, but it lasted only a moment.
He was to see many dark days, but this perhaps was the darkest of
his life. His heart beat painfully and his face was a brown mask of
mingled dust, sweat, and burned gunpowder. The thunder of the
Southern cannon behind them filled him with humiliation. Every bone
in him ached after such fierce exertion, and his eyes were dim with
the flare of cannon and rifles and the rolling clouds of dust. He
was scarcely conscious that the thick and powerful sergeant had
moved up by his side and had put a helping hand under his arm.

"Here we are at the ford!" cried Whitley. "Into it, my lad!
Ah, how good the water feels!"

Dick, despite those warning guns behind him, would have
remained a while in Bull Run, luxuriating in the stream, but the
crowd of his comrades was pressing hard upon him, and he only had
time to thrust his face into the water and to pour it over his neck,
arms, and shoulders. But he was refreshed greatly. Some of the
heat went out of his body, and his eyes and head ached less.

The retreat continued across the rolling hills. Dick saw
everywhere arms and supplies thrown away by the fringe of a beaten
army, the men in the rear who saw and who spread the reports of
panic and terror. But the regiments were forming again into a
cohesive force, and behind them the regulars and cavalry in firm
array still challenged pursuit. Heavy firing was heard again under
the horizon and word came that the Southern cavalry had captured
guns and wagons, but the main division maintained its slow retreat
toward Washington.

Now the cool shadows were coming. The sun, which had shown as
red as blood over the field that day, was sinking behind the hills.
Its fiery rays ceased to burn the faces of the men. A soft healing
breeze stirred the leaves and grass. The river of Bull Run and the
field of Manassas were gone from sight, and the echo of the last
cannon shot died solemnly on the Southern horizon. An hour later
the brigade stopped in the wood, and the exhausted men threw
themselves upon the ground. They were so tired that their bodies
were in pain as if pricked with needles. The chagrin and disgrace of
defeat were forgotten for the time in the overpowering desire for
rest.

Dick had enlisted as a common soldier. There was no burden of
maintaining order upon him, and he threw himself upon the ground by
the side of his new friend, Sergeant Whitley. His breath came at
first in gasps, but presently he felt better and sat up.

It was now full night, thrice blessed to them all, with the
heat and dust gone and no enemy near. The young recruits had
recovered their courage. The terrible scenes of the battle were hid
from their eyes, and the cannon no longer menaced on the horizon.
The sweet, soothing wind blew gently over the hills among which they
lay, and the leaves rustled peacefully.

Fires were lighted, wagons with supplies arrived, and the men
began to cook food, while the surgeons moved here and there, binding
up the wounds of the hurt. The pleasant odors of coffee and frying
meat arose. Sergeant Whitley stood up and by the moonlight and the
fires scanned the country about them with discerning eye. Dick
looked at him with renewed interest. He was a man of middle years,
but with all the strength and elasticity of youth. Despite his
thick coat of tan he was naturally fair, and Dick noticed that his
hands were the largest that he had ever seen on any human being.
They seemed to the boy to have in them the power to strangle a bear.
But the man was singularly mild and gentle in his manner.

"We're about half way to Washington, I judge," he said, "an' I
expect a lot of our camp followers and grass-green men are all the
way there by now, tellin' Abe Lincoln an' everybody else that a
hundred thousand rebels fell hard upon us on the plain of
Manassas."

He laughed deep down in his throat and Dick again drew courage
and cheerfulness from one who had such a great store of both.

"How did it happen? Our defeat, I mean," asked Dick. "I
thought almost to the very last moment that we had the victory
won."

"Their reserves came an' ours didn't. But the boys did well.
Lots worse than this will happen to us, an' we'll live to overcome
it. I've been through a heap of hardships in my life, Dick, but I
always remember that somebody else has been through worse. Let's go
down the hill. The boys have found a branch an' are washin' up."

By "branch" he meant a brook, and Dick went with him gladly.
They found a fine, clear stream, several feet broad and a foot deep,
flowing swiftly between the slopes, and probably emptying miles
further on into Bull Run. Already it was lined by hundreds of
soldiers, mostly boys, who were bathing freely in its cool waters.
Dick and the sergeant joined them and with the sparkle of the
current fresh life and vigor flowed into their veins.

An officer took command, and when they had bathed their faces,
necks, and arms abundantly they were allowed to take off their shoes
and socks and put their bruised and aching feet in the stream.

"It seems to me, sergeant, that this is pretty near to
Heaven," said Dick as he sat on the bank and let the water swish
around his ankles.

"It's mighty good. There's no denyin' it, but we'll move
still a step nearer to Heaven, when we get our share of that beef
an' coffee, which I now smell most appetizin'. Hard work gives a
fellow a ragin' appetite, an' I reckon fightin' is the hardest of
all work. When I was a lumberman in Wisconsin I thought nothin'
could beat that, but I admit now that a big battle is more
exhaustin'."

"You've worked in the timber then?"

"From the time I was twelve years old 'til three or four years
ago. If I do say it myself, there wasn't a man in all Wisconsin, or
Michigan either, who could swing an axe harder or longer than I
could. I guess you've noticed these hands of mine."

He held them up, and they impressed Dick more than ever. They
were great masses of bone and muscle fit for a giant.

"Paws, the boys used to call 'em," resumed Whitley with a
pleased laugh. "I inherited big hands. Father had em an' mother had
'em, too. So mine were wonders when I was a boy, an' when you add
to that years an' years with the axe, an' with liftin' an' rollin'
big logs I've got what I reckon is the strongest pair of hands in
the United States. I can pull a horseshoe apart any time. Mighty
useful they are, too, as I'm likely to show you often."

The chance came very soon. A frightened horse, probably with
the memory of the battle still lodged somewhere in his animal brain,
broke his tether and came charging among the troops. Whitley made
one leap, seized him by the bit in his mighty grasp and hurled him
back on his haunches, where he held him until fear was gone from
him.

"It was partly strength and partly sleight of hand, a trick
that I learned in the cavalry," he said to Dick as they put on their
shoes. "I got tired of lumberin' an' I wandered out west, where I
served three years on horseback in the regular army, fightin' the
Indians. Good fighters they are, too. Mighty hard to put your hand
on 'em. Now they're there an' now they ain't. Now you see 'em
before you, an' then they're behind you aimin' a tomahawk at your
head. They taught us a big lot that I guess we can use in this war.
Come on, Dick, I guess them banquet halls are spread, an' I know
we're ready."

Not much order was preserved in the beaten brigade, which had
become separated from the rest of the retreating army, but the
spirits of all were rising and that, so Sergeant Whitley told Dick,
was better just now than technical discipline. The Northern army
had gone to Bull Run with ample supplies, and now they lacked for
nothing. They ate long and well, and drank great quantities of
coffee. Then they put out the fires and resumed the march toward
Washington.

They stopped again an hour or two after midnight and slept
until morning. Dick lay on the bare ground under the boughs of a
great oak tree. It was a quarter of an hour before sleep came,
because his nervous system had received a tremendous wrench that
day. He closed his eyes and the battle passed again before them.
He remembered, too, a lightning glimpse of a face, that of his
cousin, Harry Kenton, seen but an instant and then gone. He tried
to decide whether it was fancy or reality, and, while he was trying,
he fell asleep and slept as one dead.

Dick was awakened early in the morning by Sergeant Whitley,
who was now watching over him like an elder brother. The sun
already rode high and there was a great stir and movement, as the
brigade was forming for its continued retreat on the capital. The
boy's body was at first stiff and sore, but the elasticity of youth
returned fast, and after a brief breakfast he was fully restored.

Another hot day had dawned, but Dick reflected grimly that
however hot it might be it could not be as hot as the day before had
been. Scouts in the night had brought back reports that the
Southern troops were on the northern side of Bull Run, but not in
great force, and a second battle was no longer feared. The flight
could be continued without interruption over the hot Virginia
fields.

Much of Dick's depression returned as they advanced under the
blazing sun, but Whitley, who seemed insensible to either fatigue or
gloom, soon cheered him up again.

"They talk about the Southerners comin' on an' takin'
Washington," he said, "but don't you believe it. They haven't got
the forces, an' while they won the victory I guess they're about as
tired as we are. Our boys talk about a hundred thousand rebels
jumpin' on 'em, an' some felt as if they was a million, but they
weren't any more than we was, maybe not as many, an' when they are
all stove up themselves how can they attack Washington in its
fortifications! Don't be so troubled, boy. The Union ain't smashed
up yet. Just recollect whenever it's dark that light's bound to
come later on. What do you say to that, Long Legs?"

He spoke to a very tall and very thin youth who marched about
a half dozen feet away from them. The boy, who seemed to be about
eighteen years of age, turned to them a face which was pale despite
the Virginia sun. But it was the pallor of indoor life, not of
fear, as the countenance was good and strong, long, narrow, the chin
pointed, the nose large and bridged like that of an old Roman, the
eyes full blue and slightly nearsighted. But there was a faint
twinkle in those same nearsighted eyes as he replied in precise
tones:

"According to all the experience of centuries and all the
mathematical formulae that can be deduced therefrom night is bound
to be followed by day. We have been whipped by the rebels, but it
follows with arithmetical certainty that if we keep on fighting long
enough we will whip them in time. Let x equal time and y equal
opportunity. Then when x and y come together we shall have x plus y
which will equal success. Does my logic seem cogent to you, Mr. Big
Shoulders and Big Hands?"

Whitley stared at him in amazement and admiration.

"I haven't heard so many big words in a long time," he said,
"an' then, too, you bring 'em out so nice an' smooth, marchin' in
place as regular as a drilled troop."

"I've been drilled too," said the tall boy, smiling. "My name
is George Warner, and I come from Vermont. I began teaching a
district school when I was sixteen years old, and I would be
teaching now, if it were not for the war. My specialty is
mathematics. X equals the war, y equals me and x plus y equals me
in the war."

"Your name is Warner and you are from Vermont," said Dick
eagerly. "Why, there was a Warner who struck hard for independence
at Bennington in the Revolution."

"That's my family," replied the youth proudly. "Seth Warner
delivered a mighty blow that helped to form this Union, and although
I don't know much except to teach school I'm going to put in a
little one to help save it. X equalled the occasion, y equalled my
willingness to meet it, and x plus y have brought me here."

Dick told who he and Whitley were, and he felt at once that he
and this long and mathematical Vermont lad were going to be friends.
Whitley also continued to look upon Warner with much favor.

"I respect anybody who can talk in mathematics as you do," he
said. "Now with me I never know what x equals an' I never know what
y equals, so if I was to get x an' y together they might land me
about ten thousand miles from where I wanted to be. But a fellow
can bend too much over books. That's what's the matter with them
eyes of yours, which I notice always have to take two looks where I
take only one."

"You are undoubtedly right," replied Warner. "My relatives
told me that I needed some fresh air, and I am taking it, although
the process is attended with certain risks from bullets, swords,
bayonets, cannon balls, and shells. Still, I have made a very close
mathematical calculation. At home there is the chance of disease as
well as here. At home you may fall from a cliff, you may be drowned
in a creek or river while bathing, a tree may fall on you, a horse
may throw you and break your neck, or you may be caught in a winter
storm and freeze to death. But even if none of these things happens
to you, you will die some day anyhow. Now, my figures show me that
the chance of death here in the war is only twenty-five per cent
greater than it was at home, but physical activity and an open air
continuously increase my life chances thirty-five per cent. So, I
make a net life gain of ten per cent."

Whitley put his hand upon Warner's shoulder.

"Boy," he said, "you're wonderful. I can cheer up the lads by
talkin' of the good things to come, but you can prove by arithmetic,
algebra an' every other kind of mathematics that they're bound to
come. You're goin' to be worth a lot wherever you are."

"Thanks for your enconiums. In any event we are gaining
valuable experience. Back there on the field of Bull Run I was able
to demonstrate by my own hearing and imagination that a hundred
thousand rebels could fire a million bullets a minute; that every
one of those million bullets filled with a mortal spite against me
was seeking my own particular person."

Whitley gazed at him again with admiration.

"You've certainly got a wonderful fine big bag of words," he
said, "an' whenever you need any you just reach in an' take out a
few a foot long or so. But I reckon a lot of others felt the way
you did, though they won't admit it now. Look, we're nearly to
Washington now. See the dome of the Capitol over the trees there,
an' I can catch glimpses of roofs too."

Dick and George also saw the capital, and cheered by the
sight, they marched at a swifter gait. Soon they turned into the
main road, where the bulk of the army had already passed and saw
swarms of stragglers ahead of them. Journalists and public men met
them, and Dick now learned how the truth about Bull Run had come to
the capital. The news of defeat had been the more bitter, because
already they had been rejoicing there over success. As late as five
o'clock in the afternoon the telegraph had informed Washington of
victory. Then, after a long wait, had come the bitter despatch
telling of defeat, and flying fugitives arriving in the night had
exaggerated it tenfold.

The division to which Dick, Warner, and Whitley belonged
marched over the Long Bridge and camped near the capital where they
would remain until sent on further service. Dick now saw that the
capital was in no danger. Troops were pouring into it by every
train from the north and west. All they needed was leadership and
discipline. Bull Run had stung, but it did not daunt them and they
asked to be led again against the enemy. They heard that Lincoln
had received the news of the defeat with great calmness, and that he
had spent most of a night in his office listening to the personal
narratives of public men who had gone forth to see the battle, and
who at its conclusion had left with great speed.

"Lots of people have laughed at Abe Lincoln an' have called
him only a rail-splitter," said Whitley, "but I heard him two or
three times, when he was campaignin' in Illinois, an' I tell you
he's a man."

"He was born in my state," said Dick, "and I mean to be proud
of him. He'll have support, too. Look how the country is standing
by him!"

More than once in the succeeding days Dick Mason's heart
thrilled at the mighty response that came to the defeat of Bull Run.
The stream of recruits pouring into the capital never ceased. He
now saw men, and many boys, too, like himself, from every state
north of the Ohio River and from some south of it. Dan Whitley met
old logging friends from Wisconsin whom he had not seen in years,
and George Warner saw two pupils of his as old as himself.

Dick had inherited a sensitive temperament, one that responded
quickly and truthfully to the events occurring about him, and he
foresaw the beginning of a mighty struggle. Here in the capital,
resolution was hardening into a fight to the finish, and he knew
from his relatives when he left Kentucky that the South was equally
determined. There was an apparent pause in hostilities, but he felt
that the two sections were merely gathering their forces for a
mightier conflict.

His comrades and he had little to do, and they had frequent
leaves of absence. On one of them they saw a man of imposing
appearance pass down Pennsylvania Avenue. He would have caught the
attention of anybody, owing to his great height and splendid head
crowned with snow-white hair. He was old, but he walked as if he
were one who had achieved greatly, and was conscious of it.

"It's Old Fuss and Feathers his very self," said Whitley.

"General Scott. It can be no other," said Dick, who had
divined at once the man's identity. His eyes followed the
retreating figure with the greatest interest. This was the young
hero of the War of 1812 and the great commander who had carried the
brilliant campaign into the capital of Mexico. He had been the
first commander-in-chief of the Northern army, and, foreseeing the
great scale of the coming war, had prepared a wide and cautious
plan. But the public had sneered at him and had demanded instant
action, the defeat at Bull Run being the result.

Dick felt pity for the man who was forced to bear a blame not
his own, and who was too old for another chance. But he knew that
the present cloud would soon pass away, and that he would be
remembered as the man of Chippewa and Chapultepec.

"McClellan is already here to take his place," said Whitley.
"He's the young fellow who has been winning successes in the western
part of Virginia, an' they say he has genius."

Only a day or two later they saw McClellan walking down the
same avenue with the President. Dick had never beheld a more
striking contrast. The President was elderly, of great height, his
head surmounted by a high silk hat which made him look yet taller,
while his face was long, melancholy, and wrinkled deeply. His
collar had wilted with the heat and the tails of his long black coat
flapped about his legs.

The general was clothed in a brilliant uniform. He was short
and stocky and his head scarcely passed the President's shoulder.
He was redolent of youth and self confidence. It showed in his
quick, eager gestures and his emphatic manner. He attracted the two
boys, but the sergeant shook his head somewhat solemnly.

"They say Scott was too old," he said, "and now they've gone
to the other end of it. McClellan's too young to handle the great
armies that are going into the field. I'm afraid he won't be a
match for them old veterans like Johnston and Lee."

"Napoleon became famous all over the world when he was only
twenty-six," said Warner.

"That's so," retorted Whitley, "but I never heard of any other
Napoleon. The breed began and quit with him."

But the soldiers crowding the capital had full confidence in
"Little Mac," as they had already begun to call him. Those off duty
followed and cheered him and the President, until they entered the
White House and disappeared within its doors. Dick and his friends
were in the crowd that followed, although they did not join in the
cheers, not because they lacked faith, but because all three were
thoughtful. Dick had soon discovered that Whitley, despite his lack
of education, was an exceedingly observant man, with a clear and
reasoning mind.

"It was a pair worth seeing," said the sergeant, as they
turned away, "but I looked a lot more at Old Abe than I did at
"Little Mac." Did you ever think, boys, what it is to have a big
war on your hands, with all sorts of men tellin' you all sorts of
things an' tryin' to pull you in all sorts of directions?"

"I had not thought of it before, but I will think of it now,"
said Warner. "In any event, we are quite sure that the President
has a great task before him. We hear that the South will soon have
a quarter of a million troops in the field. Her position on the
defensive is perhaps worth as many more men to her. Hence let x
equal her troops, let y equal her defensive, and we have x plus y,
which is equal to half a million men, the number we must have before
we can meet the South on equal terms."

"An' to conquer her completely we'll need nigh on to a
million." said the sergeant.

Shrewd and penetrating as was Sergeant Whitley he did not
dream that before the giant struggle was over the South would have
tripled her defensive quarter of a million and the North would
almost have tripled her invading million.

A few days later their regiment marched out of the capital and
joined the forces on the hills around Arlington, where they lay for
many days, impatient but inactive. There was much movement in the
west, and they heard of small battles in which victory and defeat
were about equal. The boys had shown so much zeal and ability in
learning soldierly duties that they were made orderlies by their
colonel, John Newcomb, a taciturn Pennsylvanian, a rich miner who
had raised a regiment partly at his own expense, and who showed a
great zeal for the Union. He, too, was learning how to be a soldier
and he was not above asking advice now and then of a certain
Sergeant Whitley who had the judgment to give it in the manner
befitting one of his lowly rank.

The summer days passed slowly on. The heat was intense. The
Virginia hills and plains fairly shimmered under the burning rays of
the sun. But still they delayed. Congress had shown the greatest
courage, meeting on the very day that the news of Bull Run had come,
and resolving to fight the war to a successful end, no matter what
happened. But while McClellan was drilling and preparing, the public
again began to call for action. "On to Richmond!" was the cry, but
despite it the army did not yet move.

European newspapers came in, and almost without exception they
sneered at the Northern troops, and predicted the early dissolution
of the Union. Monarchy and privileged classes everywhere rejoiced
at the disaster threatening the great republic, and now that it was
safe to do so, did not hesitate to show their delight. Sensitive
and proud of his country, Dick was cut to the quick, but Warner was
more phlegmatic.

"Let 'em bark," he said. "They bark because they dislike us,
and they dislike us because they fear us. We threatened Privilege
when our Revolution succeeded and the Republic was established. The
fact of our existence was the threat and the threat has increased
with our years and growth. Europe is for the South, but the reason
for it is one of the simplest problems in mathematics. Ten per cent
of it is admiration for the Southern victory at Bull Run, and ninety
per cent of it is hatred--at least by their ruling classes--of
republican institutions, and a wish to see them fall here."

"I suspect you're right," said Dick, "and we'll have to try
all the harder to keep them from being a failure. Look, there goes
our balloon!"

Every day, usually late in the afternoon, a captive balloon
rose from the Northern camp, and officers with powerful glasses
inspected the Southern position, watching for an advance or a new
movement of any kind.

"I'm going up in it some day," said Dick, confidently.
"Colonel Newcomb has promised me that he will take me with him when
his turn for the ascension comes."

The chance was a week in coming, a tremendously long time it
seemed to Dick, but it came at last. He climbed into the basket
with Colonel Newcomb, two generals, and the aeronauts and sat very
quiet in a corner. He felt an extraordinary thrill when the ropes
were allowed to slide and the balloon was slowly going almost
straight upward. The sensation was somewhat similar to that which
shook him when he went into battle at Bull Run, but pride came to
his rescue and he soon forgot the physical tremor to watch the world
that now rolled beneath them, a world that they seemed to have left,
although the ropes always held.

Dick's gaze instinctively turned southward, where he knew the
Confederate army lay. A vast and beautiful panorama spread in a
semi-circle before him. The green of summer, the green that had been
stained so fearfully at Bull Run, was gone. The grass was now brown
from the great heats and the promise of autumn soon to come,
but--from the height at least--it was a soft and mellow brown, and
the dust was gone.

The hills rolled far away southward, and under the horizon's
rim. Narrow ribbons of silver here and there were the numerous
brooks and creeks that cut the country. Groves, still heavy and
dark with foliage, hung on the hills, or filled some valley, like
green in a bowl. Now and then, among clumps of trees, colonial
houses with their pillared porticoes appeared.

It was a rare and beautiful scene, appealing with great force
to Dick. There was nothing to tell of war save the Northern forces
just beneath them, and he would not look down. But he did look
back, and saw the broad band of the Potomac, and beyond it the white
dome of the Capitol and the roof of Washington. But his gaze turned
again to the South, where his absorbing interest lay, and once more
he viewed the quiet country, rolling away until it touched the
horizon rim. The afternoon was growing late, and great terraces of
red and gold were heaping above one another in the sky until they
reached the zenith.

"Try the glasses for a moment, Dick," said Colonel Newcomb, as
he passed them to the boy.

Dick swept them across the South in a great semicircle, and
now new objects rose upon the surface of the earth. He saw
distinctly the long chain of the Blue Ridge rising on the west, then
blurring in the distance into a solid black rampart. In the south
he saw a long curving line of rising blue plumes. It did not need
Colonel Newcomb to tell him that these were the campfires of the
army that they had met on the field of Bull Run, and that the
Southern troops were now cooking their suppers.

No doubt his cousin Harry was there and perhaps others whom he
knew. The fires seemed to Dick a defiance to the Union. Well, in
view of their victory, the defiance was justified, and those fires
might come nearer yet. Dick, catching the tone of older men who
shared his views, had not believed at first that the rebellion would
last long, but his opinion was changing fast, and the talk of wise
Sergeant Whitley was helping much in that change.

While he yet looked through the glasses he saw a plume of
white smoke coming swiftly towards the Southern fires. Then he
remembered the two lines of railroad that met on the battlefield,
giving it its other name, Manassas Junction, and he knew that the
smoke came from an engine pulling cars loaded with supplies for
their foes.

He whispered of the train as he handed the glasses back to
Colonel Newcomb, and then the colonel and the generals alike made a
long examination.

"Beauregard will certainly have an abundance of supplies,"
said one of the generals. "I hear that arms and provisions are
coming by every train from the South, and meanwhile we are making no
advance."

"We can't advance yet," said the other general emphatically.
"McClellan is right in making elaborate preparations and long drills
before moving upon the enemy. It was inexperience, and not want of
courage, that beat us at Bull Run."

"The Southerners had the same inexperience."

"But they had the defensive. I hear that Tom Jackson saved
them, and that they have given him the name Stonewall, because he
stood so firm. I was at West Point with him. An odd, awkward
fellow, but one of the hardest students I have ever known. The boys
laughed at him when he first came, but they soon stopped. He had a
funny way of studying, standing up with his book on a shelf, instead
of sitting down at a desk. Said his brain moved better that way.
I've heard that he walked part of the way from Virginia to reach
West Point. I hear now, too, that he is very religious, and always
intends to pray before going into battle."

"That's a bad sign--for us," said the other general. "It's
easy enough to sneer at praying men, but just you remember Cromwell.
I'm a little shaky on my history, but I've an impression that when
Cromwell, the Ironsides, old Praise-God-Barebones, and the rest
knelt, said a few words to their God, sang a little and advanced
with their pikes, they went wherever they intended to go and that
Prince Rupert and all the Cavaliers could not stop them."

"It is so," said the other gravely. "A man who believes
thoroughly in his God, who is not afraid to die, who, in fact,
rather favors dying on the field, is an awful foe to meet in
battle."

"We may have some of the same on our side," said Colonel
Newcomb. "We have at least a great Puritan population from which to
draw."

One of the generals gave the signal and the balloon was slowly
pulled down. Dick, grateful for his experience, thanked Colonel
Newcomb and rejoined his comrades.