his head suddenly toward the sky, and cried:

"Ten thousand fresh troops and I'd be in Washington to-morrow night!"

The troops were not to be had, and Stonewall Jackson ordered his men to
bivouac for the night and sent out his details to bury the dead and care
for the wounded of both armies.

Monday morning dawned black and lowering and before the sun rose the
rain poured in steady torrents. Through every hour of this desolate
sickening day the weary, terror-stricken stragglers trailed through the
streets of Washington--their gorgeous plumes soaked and drooping, the
Scotch bonnets dripping the rain straight down their necks and across
their dirty foreheads, the Garibaldi shirts, the blue and grey, the
black and yellow and gold and blazing Zouave uniforms rain-soaked and
mud-smeared.

Betty Winter bought out a peddler's cake and lemonade stand on the main
line of this ghastly procession and through every bitter hour from
sunrise until dark stood there cheering and serving the men without
money and without price, while the tears slowly rolled down her flushed
cheeks.

CHAPTER IX

VICTORY IN DEFEAT

The President had risen at daylight on the fateful Sunday morning. He
was sorry this first action must be fought on Sunday. It seemed a bad
omen. The preachers from his home town of Springfield, Illinois, had
issued a manifesto against his election without regard to their party
affiliations on account of his supposed hostility to religion. It had
hurt and stung his pride more than any single incident in the campaign.
His nature was profoundly religious. He was not a church member because
his religion had the unique quality of a personal faith which refused
from sheer honesty to square itself with the dogmas of any sect. The
preachers had not treated him fairly, but he cherished no ill will. He
knew their sterling worth to the Republic and he meant to use them in
the tremendous task before him. He had hoped the battle would not be
joined until Monday. But he knew at dawn that a clash was inevitable.

At half past ten o'clock, though keenly anxious for the first news from
the front, he was ready to accompany Mrs. Lincoln to church. The breeze
was from the South--a hot, lazy, midsummer heavy air.

The Commander-in-Chief bent his giant figure over a war map, spread on
his desk, fixed the position of each army by colored pins, studied them
a moment and quietly walked with his wife to the Presbyterian Church to