She seemed unconscious
that he was holding it.
"You are going to march in the ranks?" she asked in surprise.
"Yes. I want to see war as it is. These boys are my friends from New
York."
"You will fight with them?"
"No--just see with their eyes--that's all. And then tell you exactly
what happened. I can hide behind a barn or a tree without being
court-martialed."
She looked at him quickly with a new interest, pressed his hand again
and said:
"Good luck!"
"And home again soon!" he cried with a wave of his arms as he hurried to
join his marching men.
The army camped at Centreville, seven miles from Beauregard's lines, and
spent the 19th and 20th of July resting and girding their loins for the
first baptism of fire. The volunteers were eager for the fray. The first
touch of the skirmishers had resulted in fifteen or twenty killed. But
the action had been too far away to make any serious impression.
Between the two armies crept the silvery thread of the little stream of
Bull Run, its clear beautiful waters flashing in the July sun.
Saturday night, the 20th, orders were issued to John's regiment to be in
readiness to advance against the enemy at two o'clock before day on
Sunday morning. A thrill of fierce excitement swept the camp. They were
loaded down with overcoats, haversacks, knapsacks and baggage, baggage,
baggage without end.
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