til his
engineers could reconstruct it.

War plays singular chances. Halleck in St. Louis, secure in his plan of
campaign, had sent an order after Dick left Shiloh, for Buell to turn
to the north, leaving Grant to himself, and occupy a town that he named.
Through some chance the order never reached Buell. Had it done so the
whole course of American history might have been changed. Grant himself,
after the departure of the earlier messengers, changed his mind and
sent messengers to Nelson, who led Buell's vanguard, telling him not to
hurry. This army was to come to Pittsburg Landing or Shiloh partly by
the Tennessee, and Grant stated that the vessels for him would not be
ready until some days later. It was the early stage of the war when
generals behaved with great independence, and Nelson, a rough, stubborn
man, after reading the order marched on faster than ever. It seemed
afterward that the very stars were for Grant, when one order was lost,
and another disobeyed.

But Dick was not to know of these things until later. He delivered in
person his dispatch to General Buell, who remembered him and gave him a
friendly nod, but who was as chary of speech as ever. He wrote a brief
reply to the dispatch and gave it sealed to Dick.

"The letter I hand you," he said, "merely notifies General Grant that I
have received his orders and will hurry forward as much as possible.
If on your return journey you should deem yourself in danger of falling
into the hands of the enemy destroy it at once."

Dick promised to do so, saluted, and retired. He spent only two hours
in General Buell's camp, securing some fresh provisions to carry in his
saddle bags and allowing his horse a little rest. Then he mounted
and took as straight a course as he could for General Grant's camp at
Pittsburg Landing.

The boy felt satisfied with himself. He had done his mission quickly and
exactly, and he would have a pleasant ride back. On his strong, swift
horse, and with a good knowledge of the road, he could go several times
faster than Buell's army. He anticipated a pleasant ride. The forest
seemed to him to be fairly drenched in spring. Little birds flaming
in color darted among the boughs and others more modest in garb poured
forth a full volume of song. Dick, sensitive to sights and sounds,
hummed a tune himself. It was the thundering song of the sea that he had
heard Samuel Jarvis sing in the Kentucky Mountains:

They bore him away when the d