He knew
from his geography and his calculation of time that they must be far
into that part of Virginia which is now West Virginia.
There was no rain now, at least where the train was running, but the sun
had risen on a cold world. Far up on the higher peaks he saw a fine
white mist which he believed to be falling snow. Obviously it was
winter here and putting on the big military coat he drew it tightly
about him. Others in the coach were waking up and some of them, grown
feverish with their wounds, were moving restlessly on their seats,
where they lay protected by the blankets of their fellows.
Dick now and then saw a cabin nestling in the lee of a hill, with the
blue smoke rising from its chimney into the clear, wintry air, and
small and poor as they were they gave him a singular sense of peace and
comfort. His mind felt for a few moments a strong reaction from war and
its terrors, but the impulse and the strong purpose that bore him on
soon came back.
The train rushed through a pass and entered a sheltered valley a mile
or two wide and eight or ten miles long. A large creek ran through it,
and the train stopped at a village on its banks. The whole population
of the village and all the farmers of the valley were there to meet
them. It was a Union valley and by some system of mountain telegraphy,
although there were no telegraph wires, news of the battle at the ford
had preceded the train.
"Come, lads," said Colonel Newcomb to his staff.
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