gth to Tom, and without a murmur he took his place
by the side of his grumbling companions. Ben and Fred were disgusted with
the army, and wanted to go back; but that was impossible.

Again, for weary hours, they toiled upon the march. They passed Fairfax,
and encamped near the railroad station, where a full night's rest was
allowed them. By the advice of Hapgood, Tom went to a brook, and washed
his aching feet in cold water. The veteran campaigner gave him other
useful hints, which were of great service to him. That night he had as
good reason to bless the memory of the man who invented sleep as ever
Sancho Panza had, and every hour was fully improved.

At six o'clock, the next morning, the regiment marched again. Tom's legs
were stiff, but he felt so much better than on the preceding day, that he
began to think that he could stand any thing. In the early part of the
afternoon his ears were saluted by a new sound--one which enabled him more
fully than before to realize the nature of the mission upon which he had
been sent. It was the roar of cannon. On that day was fought the battle of
Blackburn's Ford; and when the regiment reached its halting-place at
Centreville, the story of the fight was told by enthusiastic lips.
Massachusetts men had stood firm and resolute before the artillery and
musketry of the rebels, and every man who heard the story was proud that
he hailed from the Old Bay State, and panted for the time when he might
show himself worthy of his origin, and true to the traditions of the past.

The regiment lay in camp the two following days, and the men had an
opportunity to recover in some measure from the fatigues of their first
severe march. Visions of glory and victory were beginning to dawn upon
them. They had listened to the cannon of the enemy, and they knew that the
rebels were not many miles distant in front of them. A few days, perhaps a
few hours, would elapse before the terrible conflict would commence. Some
of those manly forms must soon sleep in the soldier's grave; some of those
beating hearts must soon cease to beat forever; but still the brave and
the true longed for the hour that would enable them to "strike home" for
the nation's salvation.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN.

"Tumble out! Tumble out!" shouted the sergeant, who was in the mess with
the soldiers we have introduced. "Reveille! Don't you hear it?"

"But it isn't morning," growled Ben Lethbridge.

"I haven