Jackson's men had come into a region quite different from the valley. There they marched and fought over firm ground, and crossed rivers with hard rocky banks. Now they were in a land of many deep rivers that flowed in a slow yellow flood with vast swamps between. Most of it was heavy with forest and bushes, and the heat was great. At night vast quantities of mosquitoes and flies and other insects fed bounteously upon them.
The Invincibles lifted up their voices and wept.
“Can't you persuade Old Jack to take us back to the valley, Harry?” said Happy Tom. “If I'm to die I'd rather be shot by an honest Yankee soldier than be stung to death by these clouds of bloodsuckers. Oh, for our happy valley, where we shot at our enemy and he shot at us, both standing on firm ground!”
“You won't be thinking much about mosquitoes and rivers soon,” said Harry. “Listen to that, will you! You know the sound, don't you?”
“Know it! Well, I ought to know it. It's the booming of cannon, but it doesn't frighten these mosquitoes and flies a particle. A cannon ball whistling by my head would scare me half to death, but it wouldn't disturb them a bit. They'd look with an evil eye at that cannon ball as it flew by and say to it in threatening tones: 'What are you doing here? Let this fellow alone. He belongs to us.'”
“Which way is McClellan coming, Harry?” asked St. Clair.
“Off there to the east, where you hear the guns.”
“How many men has he?”
“Anywhere from a hundred thousand to a hundred and thirty thousand. There are various reports.”
Langdon, who had been listening, whistled.