Harry stood alone for a while on
the outskirts of the throng. They were all singing again, and the mighty
volume of sound rolled through the wood. It was not only a singular,
it was a majestic scene also to Harry. How like unto little children
young soldiers were! and how varied and perplexing were the problems of
human nature! They were singing with the utmost fervor of Him who had
preached continuously of peace, who was willing to turn one cheek when
the other was smitten, and because of their religious zeal they would
rush the very next day into battle, if need be, with increased fire and
zeal.
He saw a heavily built, powerful man on the outskirts, but some distance
away, singing in a deep rolling voice, but something vaguely familiar in
the figure drew his glance again. He looked long and well and then began
to edge quietly toward the singer, who was clothed in the faded butternut
uniform that so many of the Confederate soldiers wore.
The fervor of the singer did not decrease, but Harry noticed that he too
was moving, moving slowly toward the eastern end of the grove, the same
direction that Harry was pursuing. Now he was sure. He would have
called out, but his voice would not have been heard above the vast volume
of sound.
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