Harry and St. Clair were sent that night far toward the front with a small detachment to patrol some hill country. They marched in the moonlight, keeping among the trees, and listening for any sounds that might be hostile.

"It's not likely though that we'll be molested," said St. Clair. "The men on both sides don't yet realize fully that they are here to shoot at one another. This is our place, along a little brook, another tributary of the Mana.s.sas."

They stopped in a grove and disposed the men, twenty in number, along a line of several hundred yards, with instructions not to fire unless they knew positively what they were shooting at. Harry and St. Clair remained near the middle of the line, at the edge of the brook, where they sat down on the bank. The country was open in front of them, and Harry saw a distant light.

"What's that?" he asked.

"The campfire of a Yankee outpost. I told you they were very near."

"And that, I suppose, is one of their bugles."

A faint but musical note was brought to them by the light wind blowing in their faces.

"That's what it is. It may be the signal of some movement, but they can't attempt anything serious without showing themselves. Our sentinels are posted along here for miles."

The sound of the bugle continued faint and far away. It had a certain weird effect in the night and the loneliness. Harry wished to know who they were at that far campfire. His own cousin, d.i.c.k Mason, might be there.

"Although we're arrayed for war," said St. Clair, "the sentinels are often friendly. They even exchange plugs of tobacco and news. The officers have not been able to stop it wholly. Our sentinels tell theirs that we'll be in Washington in a month, and theirs tell ours that they've already engaged rooms in the Richmond hotels for July."

"When two prophets disagree both can't be right," said Harry. "How far away would you say that light is, Arthur?"

"About a mile and a half. Let's scout a little in that direction. There are no commands against it. Enterprise is encouraged."

"Just what I'd like," said Harry, who was eager for action.

Leaving their own men under the command of a reliable sergeant named Carrick, the two youths crossed the brook and advanced over a fairly level stretch of country toward the fire. Small cl.u.s.ters of trees were scattered here and there, and beyond them was a field of young corn. The two paused in one of the little groves about a hundred yards from their own outposts and looked back. They saw only the dark line of the trees, and behind them, wavering lights which they knew were the campfires of their own army. But the lights at the distance were very small, mere pin points.

"They look more like lanterns carried by 'c.o.o.n and 'possum hunters than the campfires of an army," said Harry.

"Yes, you'd hardly think they mark the presence of twenty or thirty thousand men," said St. Clair. "Here we are at the cornfield. The plants are not high, but they throw enough shadow to hide us."

They climbed a rail fence, and advanced down the corn rows. The moon was good and there was a plentiful supply of stars, enabling them to see some distance. To their right on a hill was a white Colonial house, with all its windows dark.

"That house would be in a bad place if a battle comes off here, as seems likely," said St. Clair.

"And those who own it are wise in having gone away," said Harry.

"I'm not so sure that they've gone. People hate to give up their homes even in the face of death. Around here they generally stay and put out the lights at dark."

"Well, here we are at the end of the cornfield, and the light is not more than four or five hundred yards away. I think I can see the shadows of human figures against the flames. Come, let's climb the fence and go down through this skirt of bushes."

The suggestion appealed to the daring and curiosity of both, and in a few minutes they were within two hundred yards of the Northern camp. But they lay very close in the undergrowth. They saw a big fire and Harry judged that four or five hundred men were scattered about. Many were asleep on the gra.s.s, but others sat up talking. The appearance of all was so extraordinary that Harry gazed in astonishment.

It was not the faces or forms of the men, but their dress that was so peculiar. They were arrayed in huge blouses and vast baggy trousers of a blazing red, fastened at the knee and revealing stockings of a brilliant hue below. Little ta.s.selled caps were perched on the sides of their heads. Harry remembering his geography and the descriptions of nations would have taken them for a gathering of Turkish women, if their masculine faces had been hidden.

"What under the moon are those?" he whispered. "They do look curious," replied St. Clair. "They call them Zouaves, and I think they're from New York. It's a copy of a French military costume which, unless I'm mistaken, France uses in Algeria."

"They'd certainly make a magnificent target on the battlefield. A Kentucky or Tennessee rifleman who'd miss such a target would die of shame."

"Maybe. But listen, they're singing! What do you think of that for a military tune?"

Harry heard for the first time in his life an extraordinary, choppy air, a rapid beat that rose and fell abruptly, sending a powerful thrill through his heart as he lay there in the bushes. The words were nothing, almost without meaning, but the tune itself was full of compelling power. It set the feet marching toward triumphant battle.

"In Dixie's land I'll take my stand, Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom, Look away! Look away!

Down South in Dixie!"

Three or four hundred voices took up the famous battle song, as thrilling and martial as the Ma.r.s.eillaise, then fresh and unhackneyed, and they sang it with enthusiasm and fire, officers joining with the men. It was a singular fact that Harry should first hear Northern troops singing the song which was destined to become the great battle tune of the South.

"What is it?" whispered Harry.

"It's called Dixie. They say it was written by a man in New York for a negro minstrel show. I suppose they sing it in antic.i.p.ation, meaning that they will soon be in the heart of Dixie, which is the South, our South."

"I don't think those baggy red legs will ever march far into our South," whispered Harry defiantly.

"It is to be seen. Between you and me, Harry, I'm convinced there is no triumphant progress ahead for either North or South. Ah, another force is coming and it's cavalry! Don't you hear the hoof-beats, Harry?"

Harry heard them distinctly and he and his comrade lay more closely than ever in the bushes, because the hors.e.m.e.n, a numerous body, as the heavy tread indicated, were pa.s.sing very near. The two lads presently saw them riding four abreast toward the campfire, and Harry surmised that they had been scouting in strong force toward the Southern front. They were large men, deep with tan and riding easily. Harry judged their number at two hundred, and the tail of the company would pa.s.s alarmingly near the bushes in which his comrade and he lay.

"Don't you think we'd better creep back?" he whispered to St. Clair. "Some of them taking a short cut may ride right upon us."

"Yes, it's time to make ourselves scarce."

They turned back, going as rapidly as they dared, but that which Harry had feared came to pa.s.s. The rear files of the hors.e.m.e.n, evidently intending to go to the other side of the camp, rode through the low bushes. Four of them pa.s.sed so near the boys that they caught in the moonlight a glimpse of the two stooping figures.

"Who is there? Halt!" sharply cried one of them, an officer. But St. Clair cried also:

"Run, Harry! Run for your life, and keep to the bushes!"

The two dashed at utmost speed down the strip of bushes and they heard the thunder of horses' hoofs in the open on either flank. A half dozen shots were fired and the bullets cut leaves and twigs about them. They heard the Northern men shouting: "Spies! Spies! After them! Seize them!"

Harry in the moment of extreme danger retained his presence of mind: "To the cornfield, Arthur!" he cried to his comrade. "The fence is staked and ridered, and their horses can't jump it. If they stop to pull it down they will give us time to get away!"

"Good plan!" returned St. Clair. "But we'd better bend down as we run. Those bullets make my flesh creep!"

A fresh volley was sent into the bushes, but owing to the wise precaution of bending low, the bullets went over their heads, although Harry felt his hair rising up to meet them. In two or three minutes they were at the fence, and they went over it almost like birds. Harry heard two bullets. .h.i.t the rails as they leaped-they were in view then for a moment-but they merely increased his speed, as he and St. Clair darted side by side through the corn, bending low again.

They heard the hors.e.m.e.n talking and swearing at the barrier, and then they heard the beat of hoofs again.

"They'll divide and send a force around the field each way!" said St. Clair.

"And some of them will dismount and pursue us through it on foot!"

"We can distance anybody on foot. Harry, when I heard those bullets whistling about me I felt as if I could outrun a horse, or a giraffe, or an antelope, or anything on earth! And thunder, Harry, I feel the same way now!"

Bullets fired from the fence made the ploughed land fly not far from them, and they lengthened their stride. Harry afterward said that he did not remember stepping on that cornfield more than twice. Fortunately for them the field, while not very wide, extended far to right and left, and the pursuing hors.e.m.e.n were compelled to make a great circuit.

Before the thudding hoofs came near they were over the fence again, and, still with wonderful powers of flight, were scudding across the country toward their own lines. They came to one of the cl.u.s.ters of trees and dashing into it lay close, their hearts pounding. Looking back they dimly saw the hors.e.m.e.n, riding at random, evidently at a loss.

"That was certainly close," gasped St. Clair. "I'm not going on any more scouts unless I'm ordered to do so."