He caught glimpses of the river
behind which they had fought, and which had served them so well as a
barrier. In fact, he knew that it had saved them. But they had beaten
off the enemy! The pulses in his temples still throbbed from exertion
and excitement, but his heart beat exultantly. The bitterness of Bull
Run was deep and it had lasted long, but here they were the victors.
The speed of the train increased and Dick knew that they were safe from
further attack. They were still running among mountains, clad heavily
in forest, but a meeting with a second Southern force was beyond
probability. The first had made a quick raid on information supplied
by spies in Washington, but it had failed and the way was now clear.
Ample food was served somewhat late to the whole regiment, the last
wounds were bound up, and Dick, having put aside the rifle, fell asleep
at last. His head lay against the window and he slept heavily all
through the night. Warner in the next seat slept in the same way.
But the wise old sergeant just across the aisle remained awake much
longer. He was summing up and he concluded that the seven hundred lads
had done well. They were raw, but they were being whipped into shape.
He smiled a little grimly as the unspoken words, "whipped into shape,"
rose to his lips. The veteran of many an Indian battle foresaw
something vastly greater than anything that had occurred on the plains.
"Whipped into shape!" Why, in the mighty war that was gathering along a
front of two thousand miles no soldier could escape being whipped into
shape, or being whipped out of it.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68