Dick drank long, and then as he raised his face from the stream he saw opposite him a tall, lean youth, evidently from the far South, Louisiana perhaps, a lad with a tanned face and a wide mouth stretched in a friendly grin.
“Tastes good, doesn’t it, Yank?” he said.
“Yes, it does, Reb,” replied Dick. “I felt that I was drying up and just crumbling away like old dead wood. As soon as the gallon that I’ve drunk has percolated thoroughly through my system I intend to hoist aboard another gallon.”
“I don’t know what percolate means, but I reckon it has something to do with travelin’ about through your system. I think I need a couple of gallons myself. Say, will you give a fair answer to a fair question?”
“Yes, go ahead.”
“Don’t you Yanks feel powerful bad over the thrashing we’ve given you?”
“Not so bad. Besides I wouldn’t call it a thrashing. It’s just a temporary advantage. And you wait. We’ll take it away from you.”
“I don’t know about that, but I can’t argue with you now. I’m due for my second gallon.”
“So am I.”
Each bent down and drank again a long, life-giving draught from the rushing stream. For a distance of a hundred yards or more heads black, brown and sometimes yellow were bent over the brook. Far off, both to east and west, the cannon thundered in the darkness, but with the drinkers it was a peaceful interlude of a quarter of an hour. Such moments often occurred in this war when the men on both sides were blood brethren.
Colonel Winchester stood up, and the grizzled Confederate colonel stood up on the other side of the stream, facing him. Their hands rose in a simultaneous salute of respect.
“Sir,” said Colonel Winchester, “I’m happy to have met you in this manner.”
“Sir,” said the Southern colonel ornately, “we are happy to have drunk from the same stream with such brave foes, and now, sir, I propose as we retire that neither regiment shall fire a shot within the next five minutes.”
“Agreed,” said Colonel Winchester, and then as the colonels gave the signals the two regiments withdrew beyond their respective thickets. The truce of the water was over, but these foes did not meet again that night.
The regiment had left a great proportion of its numbers dead upon the field. Half the others were wounded more or less, but the slightly wounded marched on with the unhurt. Many of them were now barely conscious. They were either asleep upon their feet or in a daze. Nevertheless they soon rejoined the main command.
Dick, having his pride as an officer, sought to keep himself active and alert. He passed among the lads of his own age, and encouraged them. He told them how the older men were already speaking of the wonders they had done, and presently he saw Thomas himself riding along with the young general, Garfield, who had been with him throughout the afternoon. All the Winchester men saw their commander, and, worn as they were, they stopped and gave a mighty cheer. Thomas was moved. Under the cloudy moon Dick saw him show emotion for the first time. He took off his hat.
“Gentlemen, comrades,” he said, “we have lost the battle of Chickamauga, but if all our regiments fight as you fought to-day the war is won.”
Another cheer, enthusiastic and spontaneous, burst from the regiment, and Thomas rode on. Dick had never heard him make another speech so long.
When they reached the little town of Chattanooga within its mountains they began to realize the full grandeur of their exploit. The remainder of the army of Rosecrans was almost a mob, and brave as he undoubtedly was he was soon removed to another field, leaving Thomas in supreme command until Grant should come.
Dick had no rest until the next night, when tents were set for the battered remains of the Winchester regiment. He, Warner, Pennington and three others were assigned to one of the larger tents. He had been without sleep for two days and two nights, and the tremendous tension that had kept him up so long was relaxing fast. He felt that he must sleep or die. Yet they talked together a little before they stretched themselves upon their blankets.