"I hope they won't be jarred out of their rest and that they'll sleep on,"
said Harry. "Nobody deserves it more."

He waved a hand to his friends and continued his ride toward the rear.
The column passed slowly on in silence. Now and then gusts of rain
lashed across his face, but he liked the feeling. It was a fillip to his
blood, and his nerves began to recover from the tremendous strain and
excitement of the last four days.

Obeying his orders he rode almost directly back toward the field of
Gettysburg from which the Southern forces were still marching. A
friendly voice from a little wood hailed him, and he recognized it at
once as that of Sherburne, who sat his horse alone among the trees.

"Come here, Harry," he said.

"Glad to find you alive, Sherburne. Where's your troop?"

"What's left of it is on ahead. I'll join the men in a few minutes.
But look back there!"

Harry from the knoll, which was higher than he had thought, gazed upon a
vast and dusky panorama. Once more the field of Gettysburg swam before
him, not now in fire and smoke, but in vapors and misty rain. When he
shut his eyes he saw again the great armies charging on the slopes,
the blazing fire from hundreds of cannon and a hundred thousand rifles.
There, too, went Pickett's brigades, devoted to death but never
flinching. A sob burst from his throat, and he opened his eyes again.