Warner
and Pennington slept near him and not far away was the brave sergeant.
Even he was overpowered by fatigue and he slept like one dead, never
stirring.
Dick was awakened next morning by the booming of cannon. He had become
so much used to such sounds that he would have slept on had not the
crashes been so irregular. He stood up, rubbed his eyes and then looked
in the direction whence came the cannonade. He saw from the crest of a
hill great numbers of Confederate troops on the other side of the river,
the August sun glittering over thousands of bayonets and rifle barrels,
and along the somber batteries of great guns. The firing, so far as he
could determine, was merely to feel out or annoy the Northern army.
It was a strange sight to Dick, one that is not looked upon often,
two great armies gazing across a river at each other, and, sure to meet,
sooner or later, in mortal combat. It was thrilling, awe-inspiring,
but it made his heart miss a beat or two at the thought of the wounds and
death to come, all the more terrible because those who fought together
were of the same blood, and the same nation.
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