“There’s enough time in the day for fighting,” said Pennington, “without borrowing of the night. Hear that big gun over there on our right! Why do they want to be firing cannon balls at such a time?”
They trudged gloomily on, following other regiments ghostly in the moonlight, and followed by others as ghostly. But the sinister omens, the flash of rifle firing and the far boom of a cannon, were always on their flanks. The impression of Jackson’s skill and power which Dick had gained so quickly was deepening already. He did not have the slightest doubt now that the Southern leader was pressing forward through the woods to cut them off. As the sergeant had said truly, he came up to his advertisements and more. Dick shivered and it was a shiver of apprehension for the army, and not for himself.
In accordance with human nature he and the boy officers who were his good comrades talked together, but their sentences were short and broken.
“Marching toward a court house,” said Pennington. “What’ll we do when we get there? Lawyers won’t help us.”
“Not so much marching toward a court house as marching away from Jackson,” said the Vermonter.
“We’ll march back again,” said Dick hopefully.
“But when?” said Pennington. “Look through the trees there on our right. Aren’t those rebel troops?”
Dick’s startled gaze beheld a long line of horsemen in gray on their flank and only a few hundred yards away.
CHAPTER II. AT THE CAPITAL
The Southern cavalry was seen almost at the same time by many men in the regiments, and nervous and hasty, as was natural at such a time, they opened a scattering fire. The horsemen did not return the fire, but seemed to melt away in the darkness.
But the shrewdest of the officers, among whom was Colonel Winchester, took alarm at this sudden appearance and disappearance. Dick would have divined from their manner, even without their talk, that they believed Jackson was at hand. Action followed quickly. The army stopped and began to seek a strong position in the wood. Cannon were drawn up, their mouths turned to the side on which the horsemen had appeared, and the worn regiments assumed the attitude of defense. Dick’s heart throbbed with pride when he saw that they were as ready as ever to fight, although they had suffered great losses and the bitterest of disappointments.
“What I said I’ve got to say over again,” said Pennington ruefully: “the night’s no time for fighting. It’s heathenish in Stonewall Jackson to follow us, and annoy us in such a way.”
“Such a way! Such a way!” said Dick impatiently. “We’ve got to learn to fight as he does. Good God, Frank, think of all the sacrifices we are making to save our Union, the great republic! Think how the hateful old monarchies will sneer and rejoice if we fall, and here in the East our generals just throw our men away! They divide and scatter our armies in such a manner that we simply ask to be beaten.”
“Sh! sh!” said Warner, as he listened to the violent outbreak, so unusual on the part of the reserved and self-contained lad. “Here come two generals.”
“Two too many,” muttered Dick. A moment or two later he was ashamed of himself, not because of what he had said, but because he had said it. Then Warner seized him by the arm and pointed.
“A new general, bigger than all the rest, has come,” he said, “and although I’ve never seen him before I know with mathematical certainty that it’s General John Pope, commander-in-chief of the Army of Virginia.”
Both Dick and Pennington knew instinctively that Warner was right. General Pope, a strongly built man in early middle years, surrounded by a brilliant staff, rode into a little glade in the midst of the troops, and summoned to him the leading officers who had taken part in the battle.
Dick and his two comrades stood on one side, but they could not keep from hearing what was said and done. In truth they did not seek to avoid hearing, nor did many of the young privates who stood near and who considered themselves quite as good as their officers.