and he smoked in an undisturbed
private council of war.

At last, as he rose, Newton said, "You knew John Reynolds well,
Penhallow. A moment before he fell, his aide had begged him to fall
back to a less dangerous position."

"He was my friend--a soldier of the best."

"The Pennsylvanians are in force to-day--you and I and--"

"Oh, colonels don't count," laughed Penhallow; "but there are Meade,
Hancock, Gregg, Humphreys, Hays, Gibbon, Geary, Crawford--"

Hancock said, "We Pennsylvanians hold the lowest and weakest point of our
line--all Pennsylvanians on their own soil."

"Yes, but they will not attack here," said Newton.

"Oh, do you think so?" said Hancock. "Wait a little."

The headquarters' ambulance drove up with further supplies. The chickens
were of mature age, but every one was hungry. Cigars and pipes were
lighted, and Newton chaffed Gibbon as the arrogant young brigadier in
command for the time of Hancock's Corps. The talk soon fell again upon
the probabilities of the day. Penhallow listened. Meade grave and silent
sat on a cracker-box and ate in an absent way, or scribbled orders, and
at last directed that the picked body of men, the provost's guards,
should join their regimental commands. About a quarter to noon the
generals one by one rode away.

Having no especial duty, Penhallow walked to where on the Crest the
eighteen guns were drawn up. The sky was clear as yet, a windless, hot
day. Gibbon joined him.

"What next?" said Gibbon, as Penhallow clambered up and stood a tall
figure on the limber of one of Cushing's guns, his field glass searching
the valley and the enemy's position. "Isn't it like a big chess-board?"

"Yes--their skirmishers look like grey posts, and our own blue. They seem
uneasy."

"Aren't they just like pawns in the game!" remarked Captain Haskell of
the Staff.

Penhallow, intent, hardly heard them, but said presently, "There are
guidons moving fast to their right."

"Oh, artillery taking position. We shall hear from them," returned
Gibbon. "Hancock thinks that being beaten on both flanks, Lee will attack
our centre, and this is the lowest point."

"Well," said Haskell, "it would be madness--can Lee remember Malvern
Hill?"

"I wonder what Grant is doing?" remarked Gibbon. At that time, seated
under an oak, watched at a distance by John Penhallow and a group of
officers, he was dictating to unlucky Pemberton the terms of Vicksburg's
surrender.

Penhallow got down f