The eyes of the three boys followed his pointing finger, and they now saw masses of infantry, men in gray pressing forward at full speed. They saw also batteries of cannon, and Dick almost fancied he could hear the rumble of their wheels.
“Looks as if the sergeant was right,” said Pennington. “Stonewall Jackson is here.”
They increased their speed to a gallop, making directly for Cedar Run, a cold, clear little stream coming out of the hills. It was now about the middle of the morning and the day was burning hot and breathless. Their hearts began to pound with excitement, and their breath was drawn painfully through throats lined with dust.
A long ridge covered with forest rose on one side of them and now they saw the flash of many bayonets and rifle barrels along its lowest slope. Another heavy column of infantry was advancing, and presently they heard the far note of trumpets calling to one another.
“Their whole army is in touch,” said the sergeant. “The trumpets show it. Often on the plains, when we had to divide our little force into detachments, they’d have bugle talk with one another. We must go faster if we can.”
They got another ounce of strength out of their horses, and now they saw Union cavalry in front. In a minute or two they were among the blue horsemen, giving the hasty news of Jackson’s advance. Other scouts and staff officers arrived a little later with like messages, and not long afterward they heard shots behind them telling them that the hostile pickets were in touch.
They watered their horses in Cedar Run, crossed it and rejoined their own regiment under Colonel Arthur Winchester. The colonel was thin, bronzed and strong, and he, too, like the other new men from the West, was eager for battle with the redoubtable Jackson.
“What have you seen, Dick?” he exclaimed. “Is it a mere scouting force of cavalry, or is Jackson really at hand?”
“I think it’s Jackson himself. We saw heavy columns coming up. They were pressing forward, too, as if they meant to brush aside whatever got in their way.”
“Then we’ll show them!” exclaimed Colonel Winchester. “We’ve only seven thousand men here on Cedar Run, but Banks, who is in immediate command, has been stung deeply by his defeats at the hands of Jackson, and he means a fight to the last ditch. So does everybody else.”
Dick, at that moment, the thrill of the gallop gone, was not so sanguine. The great weight of Jackson’s name hung over him like a sinister menace, and the Union troops on Cedar Run were but seven thousand. The famous Confederate leader must have at least three times that number. Were the Union forces, separated into several armies, to be beaten again in detail? Pope himself should be present with at least fifty thousand men.
Their horses had been given to an orderly and Dick threw himself upon the turf to rest a little. All along the creek the Union army, including his own regiment, was forming in line of battle but his colonel had not yet called upon him for any duty. Warner and Pennington were also resting from their long and exciting ride, but the sergeant, who seemed never to know fatigue, was already at work with his men.
“Listen to those skirmishers,” said Dick. “It sounds like the popping of corn at home on winter evenings, when I was a little boy.”
“But a lot more deadly,” said Pennington. “I wouldn’t like to be a skirmisher. I don’t mind firing into the smoke and the crowd, but I’d hate to sit down behind a stump or in the grass and pick out the spot on a man that I meant for my bullet to hit.”
“You won’t have to do any such work, Frank,” said Warner. “Hark to it! The sergeant was right. We’re going to have a battle to-day and a big one. The popping of your corn, Dick, has become an unbroken sound.”
Dick, from the crest of the hillock on which they lay, gazed over the heads of the men in blue. The skirmishers were showing a hideous activity. A continuous line of light ran along the front of both armies, and behind the flash of the Southern firing he saw heavy masses of infantry emerging from the woods. A deep thrill ran through him. Jackson, the famous, the redoubtable, the unbeatable, was at hand with his army. Would he remain unbeaten? Dick said to himself, in unspoken words, over and over again, “No! No! No! No!” He and his comrades had been victors in the west. They must not fail here.