Cold Harbor. The genius of Lee had never burned more brightly. He had
handled his diminishing forces with all his old skill and resolution,
but Grant had driven on and on. No matter what his losses the North
always filled up his ranks again, and poured forward munitions and
supplies in a vast and unbroken stream. A nation had summoned all its
powers for a supreme effort to win, and Dick felt that the issue of the
war was not now in doubt. The genius of Lee and the bravery of his
devoted army could no longer save the South. The hammer strokes of Grant
would surely crush it.

And then what? He had the deepest sympathy for these people of Virginia.
What would become of them after the war? Defeat for the South meant
nearer approach to destruction than any nation had suffered in
generations. To him, born south of the Ohio River, and so closely united
by blood with these people, victory as well as defeat had its pangs.

Warner and Pennington rose and announced that they would return to the
regiment which was held in reserve in a little valley below, but Dick,
their leave not having run out yet, decided to stay a while longer.

"So long," said Warner. "Let the orchard alone. Leave apples for
others. Remember that they are protected by strict orders against all
wandering and irresponsible officers, but ourselves."

"Yes, be good, Dick," said Pennington, and the two went down the slope,
leaving Dick on the portico. He liked being alone at times. The serious
cast of mind that he had inherited from his famous great grandfather,
Paul Cotter, demanded moments of meditation. It was peaceful too on the
portico, and a youth who had been through Grant's Wilderness campaign,
a month of continuous and terrible fighting, was glad to rest for a while.