Along the low ridge, a mile or so west of the town, Longstreet had been
posted and he had dug trenches and gunpits. The crest of this ridge,
called Marye's Hill, was bare, and here, in addition to the pits and
trenches, Longstreet threw up breastworks. Down the slopes were ravines
and much timber, making the whole position one of great strength.
Harry gazed at it as he carried one of his messages from general to
general, and he was enough of a soldier to know that an enemy who
attacked here was undertaking a mighty task.

But Burnside did not move, and the somber blanket of winter thickened.
More snows fell and the icy rains came again. Then the mercury slid
down until it reached zero. Thick ice formed over everything and some
of the shallower brooks froze solidly in their beds. The Southern lads
were not nearly so well equipped against the winter as their foes.
Not many had heavy overcoats, and blankets and shoes were thin and worn.

The forest was now their refuge. The river was lined thickly with it,
running for a long distance, and thousands of axes began to bite into
the timber. Hardy youths, skilled in such work, they rapidly built log
huts or shelters for themselves, and within these or outside under the
trees innumerable fires blazed along the Rappahannock, the crackling
flames sending a defiance to other such flames beyond the frozen river.

Harry had a letter from Dr. Russell, which had come by the way of the
mountains and Richmond. He had already heard of the terrible day of
Perryville in Kentucky, and the doctor had been able to confirm his
earlier news that his father, Colonel Kenton, had passed through it
safely. But the hostile armies in the west had gone down into Tennessee,
and there were reports that they would soon move toward each other for