General Pope, a strongly built man in early middle years, surrounded by
a brilliant staff, rode into a little glade in the midst of the troops,
and summoned to him the leading officers who had taken part in the
battle.

Dick and his two comrades stood on one side, but they could not keep
from hearing what was said and done. In truth they did not seek to
avoid hearing, nor did many of the young privates who stood near and who
considered themselves quite as good as their officers.

Pope, florid and full-faced, was in a fine humor. He complimented the
officers on their valor, spoke as if they had won a victory--which would
have been a fact had others done their duty--and talked slightingly of
Jackson. The men of the west would show this man his match in the art of
war.

Dick listened to it all with bitterness in his heart. He had no doubt
that Pope was brave, and he could see that he was confident. Yet it took
something more than confidence to defeat an able enemy. What had become
of those gray horsemen in the bush? They had appeared once and they
could appear again. He had believed that Jackson himself was at hand,
and he still believed it. His eyes shifted from Pope to the dark woods,
which, with their thick foliage, turned back the moonlight.

"George," he whispered to Warner, "do you think you can see anything
among those trees?"

"I can make out dimly one or two figures, which no doubt are our scouts.
Ah-h!"

The long "Ah-h!" was drawn by a flash and the report of a rifle. A
second and a third report came, and then the crash of a heavy fire. The
scouts and sentinels came running in, reporting that a great force with
batteries, presumably the whole army of Jackson, was at hand.

A deep murmur ran through the Union army, but there was no confusion.
The long hours of fighting had habituated them to danger. They were
also too tired to become excited, and in addition, they were of as stern
stuff at night as they had been in the morning. They were ready to fight
again.

Formidable columns of troops appeared through the woods, their bayonets
glistening in the moonlight. The heavy rifle fire began once more,
although it was nearly midnight, and then came the deep thunder of
cannon, sending round shot and shells among the Union troops. But the
men in blue, harried beyond endurance, fought back fiercely. They shared
the feelings of Pennington. They felt that they had been persecuted,
that this thing had grown inhuman