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Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946

"The Southerner A Romance of the Real Lincoln"

They
halted and sent their couriers flying with the news to Jackson.
Ned looked on the scene with a thrill of exultation and then a sense of
deepening pity. The boys in blue had begun to bivouac for the night,
their camp fires curling through the young green leaves. The men were
seated in groups laughing, talking, joking and playing cards. The horses
were busy cropping the young grass.
"God have mercy on them!" Ned exclaimed.
It was nearly six o'clock before Jackson's men had all slipped silently
into position behind the dense woods on this little slope--in two long
grim battle lines, one behind the other, with columns in support, his
horse artillery with their big guns shotted and ready.
Ned saw a slight stir in the doomed camp of blue. The men were standing
up now and looking curiously toward those dense woods. A startled flock
of quail had swept over their heads flying straight down from the lull
crest. A rabbit came scurrying from the same direction--and then
another. And then another flock of quail swirled past and pitched among
the camp fires, running and darting in terror on the ground.
An officer drew his revolver and potted one for his supper.
The men glanced uneasily toward the woods but could see nothing.
"What'ell ye reckon that means?"
"What ails the poor birds?"
"And the rabbits?"
They were not long in doubt.


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