He and his
comrades had thrown themselves upon the ground, and they felt as if they
could never move again. Their bones did not ache. They merely felt dead
within them.
Dick was roused after a long time. The camp cooks were bringing food
and coffee. He saw a figure lying at his feet as still as death, and he
shoved it with his foot.
"Get up, Frank," he said. "You're not dead."
"No, I'm not, but I'm as good as dead. You just let me finish dying in
peace."
Dick shoved him again and Pennington sat up. When he saw the food and
coffee he suddenly remembered to be hungry. Warner was already eating
and drinking. Off to the left they still heard cannon and rifles,
although the sound was sinking. Occasionally flashes from the mouths of
the great guns illumined the darkness.
Dick did not know what time it was. He had no idea how long he had
been lying upon the ground panting, the air surcharged with menace and
suspense. The vast clouds of dust, impregnated with burned gunpowder
still floated about, and it scorched his mouth and throat as he breathed
it.
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