The retreat continued across the rolling hills. Dick saw everywhere
arms and supplies thrown away by the fringe of a beaten army, the men
in the rear who saw and who spread the reports of panic and terror.
But the regiments were forming again into a cohesive force, and behind
them the regulars and cavalry in firm array still challenged pursuit.
Heavy firing was heard again under the horizon and word came that the
Southern cavalry had captured guns and wagons, but the main division
maintained its slow retreat toward Washington.
Now the cool shadows were coming. The sun, which had shown as red as
blood over the field that day, was sinking behind the hills. Its fiery
rays ceased to burn the faces of the men. A soft healing breeze stirred
the leaves and grass. The river of Bull Run and the field of Manassas
were gone from sight, and the echo of the last cannon shot died solemnly
on the Southern horizon. An hour later the brigade stopped in the wood,
and the exhausted men threw themselves upon the ground. They were so
tired that their bodies were in pain as if pricked with needles.
The chagrin and disgrace of defeat were forgotten for the time in the
overpowering desire for rest.
Dick had enlisted as a common soldier. There was no burden of
maintaining order upon him, and he threw himself upon the ground by the
side of his new friend, Sergeant Whitley. His breath came at first
in gasps, but presently he felt better and sat up.
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