“Yes, if Pope and McClellan hurry.”
But Dick learned that night that Pope was not discouraged. He had an army full of fighting power, and eager to meet its enemy. He began the next day to move up the river in order that he might face Lee’s whole force as it attempted to cross at the upper fords. Their spirits increased as they learned that Early, through fear of being cut off, was going back to join the main Southern army.
The ground had now dried up after the great storm, but the refreshed earth took on a greener tinge, and the air was full of sparkle and life. Dick had not seen such elasticity among the troops in a long time. As they marched they spoke confidently of victory. One regiment took up a song which had appeared in print just after the fall of Sumter:
“Men of the North and West,
Wake in your might.
Prepare as the rebels have done
For the fight.
You cannot shrink from the test;
Rise! Men of the North and West.”
Another regiment took up the song, and soon many thousands were singing it; those who did not know the words following the others. Dick felt his heart beat and his courage mount high, as he sang with Warner and Pennington the last verse:
“Not with words; they laugh them to scorn,
And tears they despise.
But with swords in your hands
And death in your eyes!
Strike home! Leave to God all the rest;
Strike! Men of the North and West!”
The song sung by so many men rolled off across the fields, and the woods and the hills gave back the echo.
“We will strike home!” exclaimed Dick, putting great emphasis on the “will.” “Our time for victory is at hand.”
“The other side may think they’re striking home; too,” said Warner, speaking according to the directness of his dry mathematical mind. “Then I suppose it will be a case of victory for the one that strikes the harder for home.”
“That’s a fine old mind of yours. Don’t you ever feel any enthusiasm?”
“I do, when the figures warrant it. But I must reckon everything with care before I permit myself to feel joy.”
“I’m glad I’m not like you, Mr. Arithmetic, Mr. Algebra, Mr. Geometry and Mr. Trigonometry.”
“You mustn’t make fun of such serious matters, Dick. It would be a noble thing to be the greatest professor of mathematics in the world.”
“Of course, George, but we wouldn’t need him at this minute. But here we are back at those cottages in which I saw the Southern officers sheltering themselves. Well, they’re ours again and I take it as a good omen.”
“Yes, here we rest, as the French general said, but I don’t know that I care about resting much more. I’ve had about all I want of it.”
Nevertheless they spent the day quietly at the Sulphur Springs, and lay down in peace that night. But the storm cloud, the blackest storm cloud of the whole war so far, was gathering.
Lee, knowing the danger of the junction between Pope and McClellan had resolved to hazard all on a single stroke. He would divide his army. Jackson, so well called “the striking arm,” would pass far around through the maze of hills and mountains and fall like a thunderbolt upon Pope’s flank. At the sound of his guns Lee himself would attack in front.
As Dick and his young comrades lay down to sleep this march, the greatest of Stonewall Jackson’s famous turning movements, had begun already. Jackson was on his horse, Little Sorrel, his old slouch hat drawn down over his eyes, his head bent forward a little, and the great brain thinking, always thinking. His face was turned to the North.
Just a little behind Jackson rode one of his most trusted aides, Harry Kenton, a mere youth in years, but already a veteran in service. Not far away was the gallant young Sherburne at the head of his troop of cavalry, and in the first brigade was the regiment of the Invincibles led by Colonel Leonidas Talbot and Lieutenant Colonel Hector St. Hilaire. Never had the two colonels seemed more prim and precise, and not even in youth had the fire of battle ever burned more brightly in their bosoms.