He gulped suddenly and began to cry. Pennington, who was no older than he, patted him soothingly on the shoulder.
“I know that you were the bravest of the brave, because I saw you,” he said.
“I don’t know about that, but I do know that I can never get used to killing men and seeing them killed.”
Pennington was surprised that Dick and Warner had not appeared. They would certainly rejoin their own regiment, and he began to feel uneasy. The last shot had been fired, the night was darkening fast and a mournful wind blew over the battlefield. But up and down the lines they were lighting the cooking fires.
Pennington rose to his feet. He saw Colonel Winchester, standing a little distance away, and he was about to ask him for leave to look for his comrades, when he was startled by the appearance of a woman, a woman of thirty-eight or nine, tall, slender, dressed well, and as Pennington plainly saw, very beautiful. But now she was dusty, her face was pale, and her eyes shone with a terrible anxiety. Women were often seen in the camps at the very verge or close of battle, saying good-bye or looking for the lost, but she was unusual.
The soldiers stood aside for her respectfully, and she looked about, until her gaze fell upon the colonel. Then she ran to him, seized him by the arm, and exclaimed:
“Colonel Winchester! Colonel Winchester!”
“Good heavens, Mrs. Mason! You! How did you come?”
“I was at Danville, not so far from here. Of course I knew that the armies were about to meet for battle! And it was only two days ago that I heard the Winchester regiment had come west to join General Buell’s army.”
A stalwart and powerful colored woman emerged from the darkness and put her arm around Mrs. Mason’s waist.
“Don’t you get too much excited, chile,” she said soothingly.
Juliana stood beside her mistress, a very tower of defense, glaring at the soldiers about them as if she would resent their curiosity.
“I thought I would come and try to see Dick,” continued Mrs. Mason. “My relatives sought to persuade me not to do it. They were right, I know, but I wanted to come so badly that I had to do it. We slipped away yesterday, Juliana and I. We stayed at a farmhouse last night, and this morning we rode through the woods. We expected to be in the camp this afternoon, but as we were coming to the edge of the forest we heard the cannon and then the rifles. Through three or four dreadful hours, while we shook there in the woods, we listened to a roar and thunder that I would have thought impossible.”
“The battle was very fierce and terrible,” said Colonel Winchester.
“I don’t think it could have been more so. We saw a part of it, but only a confused and awful sweep of smoke and flame. And now, Colonel Winchester, where is my boy, Dick?”
Colonel Winchester’s face turned deadly pale, and she noticed it at once. Her own turned to the same pallor, but she did not shriek or faint.
“You do not know that he is killed?” she said in a low, distinct tone that was appalling to the other.
“I missed him only a little while ago,” said Colonel Winchester, “and I’ve been looking for him. But I’m sure he is not dead. He can’t be!”
“No, he can’t be! I can’t think it!” she said, and she looked at the colonel appealingly.
“If you please, sir,” said Pennington, “Lieutenant Warner is missing also. I think we’ll find them together. You remember what happened at the Second Manassas.”
“Yes, Frank, I do remember it, and your supposition may be right.”
He asked a lantern from one of the men, and whispered to Pennington to come. But Mrs. Mason and Juliana had been standing at strained attention, and Mrs. Mason inferred at once what was about to be done.
“You mean to look for him on the field,” she said. “We will go with you.”
Colonel Winchester opened his lips to protest, but shut them again in silence.