he Southern shore.

Meade and his generals had held a council the night before but nearly all
the officers advised against attack. This night he made up his mind to
move against Lee anyhow, and was ready at dawn, only to find the whole
Southern army gone.

CHAPTER IX

IN SOCIETY

Harry, when the dawn had fully come, was sent farther away toward the
ford to see if the remainder of the troops had passed, and, when he
returned with the welcome news, the rain had ceased to fall. The
army was rapidly drying itself in the brilliant sunshine, and marched
leisurely on. He felt an immense relief. He knew that a great crisis
had been passed, and, if the Northern armies ever reached Richmond,
it would be a long and sanguinary road. Meade might get across and
attack, but his advantage was gone.

The same spirit of relief pervaded the ranks, and the men sang their
battle songs. There had been some fighting at one or two of the fords,
but it did not amount to much, and no enemy hung on their rear. But no
stop was made by the staff until noon, when a fire was made and food was
cooked. Then Harry was notified that he and Dalton were to start that
night with dispatches for Richmond. They were to ride through dangerous
country, until they reached a point on the railroad, wholly within the
Southern lines, when they would take a train for the Confederate capital.

They were glad to go. They felt sure that no great battles would be
fought while they were gone. Neither army seemed to be in a mood for
further fighting just yet, and they longed for a sight of the little city
that was the heart of the Confederacy. They were tired of the rifle and
march, of cannon and battles. They wished to be a while where civilized
life went on, to hear the bells of churches and to see the faces of women.

It seemed to them both that they had lived almost all their lives in war.
Even Jeb Stuart's ball, stopped by the opening guns of a great battle,
was far, far away, and to Harry, it was at least a century since he had
closed his Tacitus in the Pendleton Academy, and put it away in his desk.
That old Roman had written something of battles, but they were no such
struggles as Chancellorsville and Gettysburg had been. The legions,
he admitted in his youthful pride, could fight well, but they never could
have beaten Yank or Reb.

He and Dalton slept through the afternoon and directly after dark,
well equipped and well-armed, they ma