"General Jackson was right about my men," he said. "It's hard to keep
them from galloping into the battle, and my feelings are with them.
Yet we'll have all the fighting we want. Look at the great masses of
the Union army!"

The fog had lifted again and the Northern columns were still advancing,
marching boldly against the intrenched foe, although nearly every one of
their generals save Burnside himself knew that it was a hopeless task.
In all the mighty events of the war that Harry witnessed few were as
impressive to him as this solemn and steady march of the Union army,
heads erect and bands playing, into the jaws of death.

He stayed only a few moments with Stuart, returning direct to Jackson.
On his way he passed Sherburne, who, with his troop, was on Stuart's
extreme left flank. Harry leaned over, shook hands with him, nothing
more, and rode on. With the lifting of the fog the Southern guns were
again sending shot and sell into the blue masses. Then, from the other
side of the river, the great Union batteries left on Stafford Heights
began to hurl showers of steel toward the hostile ridges a little more
than a mile and a half away. It was long range for those days, but the
Union gunners, always excellent, rained shot and shell upon the Southern
position.

Harry, used now to such a fire, went calmly on until he rejoined Jackson,
who accepted with a nod his report that Stuart had not changed his lines
anywhere. The general signed to him and the rest of the staff as they
rode toward the center of the Southern line. Harry did not know their
errand, but he surmised that they were to meet General Lee for the final
conference. The general said no word, but rode steadily on. Union
skirmishers, under cover of the fog and bushes, had crept far in advance