As Harry rode over the scene of battle that night he shuddered. The
fields, the forests and the swamps were filled with the dead and the
wounded. Save Shiloh, no other such sanguinary battle had yet been
fought on American soil. Nearly ten thousand of the Southern youths had
fallen, killed or wounded. The North, standing on the defensive, had not
lost so many, but the ghastly roll ran into many thousands.

That night, as had happened often in the valley, the hostile sentinels
were within hearing of each other, but they fired no shots. Meanwhile,
Lee and Jackson, after the victory, which was called Gaines' Mill,
planned to strike anew.

Harry awoke in the morning to find that most of the Northern army was
gone. The brigades had crossed the river in the night, breaking down the
bridges behind them. He saw the officers watching great columns of
dust moving away, and he knew that they marked the line of the Northern
march. But the Southern scouts and skirmishers found many stragglers in
the woods, most of them asleep or overpowered by weariness. Thus they
found the brilliant General Reynolds, destined to a glorious death
afterward at Gettysburg, sound asleep in the bushes, having been lost
from his command in the darkness and confusion. The Southern army rested
through the morning, but in the afternoon was on the march again. Harry
found that both St. Clair and Langdon had escaped without harm this
time, but Happy Tom had lost some of his happiness.

"This man Lee is worse than Jackson," he lamented. "We've just fought
the biggest battle that ever was, and now we're marching hot-foot after
another."

Happy Tom was right. Lee and Jackson had resolved to give McClellan no
rest. They were following him closely and Stuart with the cavalry hung
in a cloud on his flanks. They pressed him hard the next day at White
Oak Swamp, Jackson again making the circular movement and falling on his
flank, while Longstreet attacked in front. There was a terrible battle
in thick forest and among deep ravines, but the darkness again saved the
Northern army, which escaped, leaving cannon and men in the hands of the
enemy.

Harry lay that night in a daze rather than sleep. He was feverish and
exhausted, yet he gathered some strength from the stupor in which he
lay. All that day they marched along the edge of a vast swamp, and they
heard continually the roar of a great battle on the horizon, which they
were not able to reach. It was Glenda