The man observed the action and looked at him with
blue eyes that twinkled out of a face almost black with the sun.
"Don't take it so hard, my boy," he said. "This battle's lost, but
there are others that won't be. Most of the men were raw, but they
did some mighty good fightin', while the regulars an' the cavalry are
coverin' the retreat. Beauregard's army is not goin' to sweep us off
the face of the earth."
His words brought cheer to Dick, but it lasted only a moment. He was
to see many dark days, but this perhaps was the darkest of his life.
His heart beat painfully and his face was a brown mask of mingled dust,
sweat, and burned gunpowder. The thunder of the Southern cannon behind
them filled him with humiliation. Every bone in him ached after such
fierce exertion, and his eyes were dim with the flare of cannon and
rifles and the rolling clouds of dust. He was scarcely conscious that
the thick and powerful sergeant had moved up by his side and had put a
helping hand under his arm.
"Here we are at the ford!" cried Whitley. "Into it, my lad! Ah,
how good the water feels!"
Dick, despite those warning guns behind him, would have remained a while
in Bull Run, luxuriating in the stream, but the crowd of his comrades
was pressing hard upon him, and he only had time to thrust his face into
the water and to pour it over his neck, arms, and shoulders. But he was
refreshed greatly. Some of the heat went out of his body, and his eyes
and head ached less.
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