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Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander), 1862-1919

"A Story of the Nation's Crisis"


You'll be there, too. Couldn't you get yourself shot late in the
afternoon, lie on the ground, feverish and delirious until far in the
night, when I'd come for you. Then I could pay you back."
Dick laughed. He knew that at the bottom of Warner's jest lay a resolve
to match the score, whenever the chance should come.
"Good-bye, George," he said. "I'll look for you in two weeks."
"Make it only ten days. McClellan will need me by that time."
But it seemed to Dick that McClellan would need him and every other man
at once. Lee was marching. Passing by the capital he had advanced
into Maryland, a Southern state, but one that had never seceded. The
Southerners expected to find many reinforcements here among their
kindred. The regiments in gray, flushed with victory, advanced singing:

"The despot's heel is on thy shore,
Maryland!
His torch is at thy temple door,
Maryland!
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore
And be the battle queen of yore,
Maryland, my Maryland!"

Dick knew that the South expected much of Maryland.


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