Warner, his comrade, knitted to him by
ties of hardship and danger, was missing, dead no doubt in the battle.
For the moment he forgot about the defeat. All his thoughts were for the
brave youth who lay out there somewhere, stretched on the dusty field.
Dick strained his eyes into the darkness, as if by straining he might see
where Warner lay. He saw, indeed, dim fires here and there along a long
line, marking where the Confederates now stood, or rather lay. Then a
bitter pang came. It was ground upon which the Union army had stood in
the morning.
The rifle fire, which had died down, began again in a fitful way.
Far off, skirmishers, not satisfied with the slaughter of the day,
were seeing what harm they could do in the dark. Somewhere the plumed
and unresting Stuart was charging with his horsemen, driving back some
portion of the Union army that the Confederate forces might be on their
flank in the morning.
But Dick, as he lay quietly and felt his strength, mental and physical,
returning, was taking a resolution. Down there in front of them and in
the darkness was the wood upon which they had made five great assaults,
all to fail.
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