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.
"You feel about it as I do," said Sherburne. "We'll never come back into
the North."
"It isn't merely a feeling within me, I know it."
"So do I, but we can still hold Virginia."
"I think so, too. Come, we'd better turn. There goes the field of
Gettysburg. The rain and mist have blotted it out."
The panorama, the most terrible upon which Harry had ever looked,
vanished in the darkness.
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