Dick saw the war finished in a month. Lee could not have more than twenty or twenty-five thousand men with him, and Jackson was three or four days’ march away. He clutched the order in his hand and ran toward Colonel Winchester.
“Here, take it, sir! Take it!” he exclaimed.
“Take what?”
“Look! Look! See what it is!”
Colonel Winchester took one glance at it, and then he, too, became excited. He hurried with it to General McClellan, and that day the commander-in-chief telegraphed to the anxious President at Washington:
“I have all the plans of the rebels, and will catch them in my own trap, if my men are equal to the emergency.”
The shrewd Lincoln took notice of the qualifying clause, “if my men are equal to the emergency,” and sighed a little. Already this general, so bold in design and so great in preparation was making excuses for possible failure in action-if he failed his men and not he would be to blame.
CHAPTER VIII. THE DUEL IN THE PASS
Dick carried the news to Pennington who danced with delight.
“We’ve got ’em! we’ve got ’em!” he cried over and over again.
“So we have,” said Dick, “we’ll be marching in a half hour and then the trap will shut down so tight on Robert Lee that he’ll never raise the lid again.”
It was nearly noon, and they expected every moment the order to start, but it did not come. Dick began to be tormented by an astonished impatience, and he saw that Colonel Winchester suffered in the same way. The army showed no signs of moving. Was it possible that McClellan would not advance at once on Lee, whom the scouts had now located definitely? The hot afternoon hours grew long as they passed one by one, and many a brave man ate his heart out with anger at the delay. Dick saw Sergeant Whitley walking up and down, and he was eager to hear his opinion.
“What is it, sergeant?” he asked. “Why do we sit here, twiddling our thumbs when there is an army waiting to be taken by us?”
“You’re a commissioned officer, sir, and I’m only a private.”
“Never mind about that. You’re a veteran of many years and many fights, and I know but little. Why do we sit still in the dust and fail to take the great prize that’s offered to us?”
“The men of an army, sir, do the fighting, but its generals are its brains. It is for the brains to judge, to see and to command. The generals cannot win without the men, and the men cannot win without the generals. Now, in this case, sir, you can see-”
He stopped and shrugged his shoulders, as if it were not for him to say any more.
“I see,” said Dick bitterly. “You needn’t say it, sergeant, but I’ll say it for you. General McClellan has been overcome by caution again, and he sees two Johnnies where but one stands.”
Sergeant Whitley shrugged his shoulders again, but said nothing. Dick was about to turn away, when he saw a tall, thin figure approaching.
“Mr. Warner,” said Sergeant Whitley.
“So it is,” exclaimed Dick. “It’s really good old George come to help us!”
He rushed forward and shook hands with Warner who although thin and pale was as cool and apparently almost as strong as ever.
“Here I am, Dick,” he said, “and the great battle hasn’t been fought. I knew they couldn’t fight it without me. The hospital at Washington dismissed me in disgrace because I got well so fast. ‘What’s the use,’ said one of the doctors, ‘in getting up and running away to the army to get killed? You could die much more comfortably here in bed.’ ‘Not at all,’ I replied. ‘I don’t get killed when I’m with the army. I merely get nearly killed. Then I lie unconscious on the field, in the rain, until some good friend comes along, takes me away on his back and puts me in a warm bed. It’s a lot safer than staying in your hospital all the time.'”
“Oh, shut up, George! Come and see the boys. They’ll be glad to know you’re back-what’s left of ’em.”