Cut to the quick by their great failure, Fremont, Shields, Ord, Banks, McDowell and all the rest, pushed forward on either side of the Massanuttons, those on the west intending to cross at the gap, join their brethren, and make another concerted attempt at Jackson’s destruction.
But Harry ceased to think of armies and battles as he rode on in the dark. He was growing sleepy again and he dozed in his saddle. Half consciously he thought of his father and wondered where he was. He had received only one letter from him after Shiloh, but he believed that he was still with the Confederate army in the west, taking an active part. Much as he loved his father it was the first time that he had been in his thoughts in the last two weeks. How could any one think of anything but the affair of the moment at such a time, when the seconds were ticked off by cannon-shots!
In this vague and pleasant dream he also remembered Dick Mason, his cousin, who was now somewhere there in the west fighting on the other side. He thought of Dick with affection and he liked him none the less because he wore the blue. Then, curiously enough, the last thing that he remembered was his Tacitus, lying in his locked desk in the Pendleton Academy. He would get out that old fellow again some day and finish him. Then he fell sound asleep in his saddle, and the horse went steadily on, safely carrying his sleeping master.
He did not awake until midnight, when Dalton’s hand on his shoulder caused him to open his eyes.
“I’ve been asleep, too, Harry,” said Dalton, “but I woke up first. We’re going into camp here for the rest of the night.”
“I’m glad to stop,” said Harry, “but I wonder what the dawn will bring.”
“I wonder,” said Dalton.