Twice he pointed out the watchers to Sherburne who merely shrugged his
shoulders.
"I might send out men and cut off a few of them," he said, "but for what
good? Hundreds more would be left and we'd merely be burdened with
useless prisoners. Here's a creek ahead, Harry, and look how muddy and
foamy it is! It's probably raining harder higher up in the hills than
it is here, and all these creeks and brooks go to swell the Potomac."
The swift water rose beyond their stirrups and there was a vast splashing
as fifteen hundred men rode through the creek. It was a land of many
streams, and a few miles farther on they crossed another, equally swollen
and swift.
They had hoped that the rain, like the sudden violence of a summer shower,
would pass soon, but the skies remained a solid gray and it settled into
a steady solemn pour, cold and threatening, and promising to continue all
day long. They could see that every stream they crossed was far above
its normal mark, and the last hope that they might find the Potomac low
enough for fording disappeared.
The watchers on the hills were still there, despite the rain, but they
did no sharpshooting. Nor did the Southern force do damage to anybody or
anything, as it passed.
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