“Pennington,” said Warner, “will you help me in a request to our Kentucky friend to join us in three cheers for the Sunny South, the edge of which he has the good fortune to inhabit? I haven't seen the real sun for about a month, and I suppose that's why they call it sunny, and I'm informed that this big river, the Cumberland, often freezes over, which I suppose is the reason why they call it Southern. I hear, too, that people often freeze to death in North Georgia, which is further south than this. After this bit of business is over I'm going to forbid winter campaigns in the south.”
“It does get mighty cold,” said Dick. “You see we're not really a southern people. We just lie south of the northern states and in Kentucky, at least, we have a lot of cold weather. Why, I've seen it twenty-three degrees below zero in the southern part of the state, and it certainly can get cold in Tennessee, too.”
“I believe I'd rather have it than this awful rain,” said Pennington. “I don't seem to get used to these cold soakings.”
“Good-bye, Nashville,” said Dick, turning about. “I don't know when we will have to come back, and if we do I don't know what will have happened before then. Good-bye, Nashville. I regret your roofs and your solid walls, and your dry tents and floors.”
“But we're going forth to fight. Don't forget that, Dick. Remember how in Virginia we pined for battle, and the use of our superior numbers. Anyhow Rosecrans is going out to look for the enemy, but all the same, and between you and me, Dick, I wish it was Grant who was leading us. I saw a copy of the New York Times a while back, and some lines in it are haunting me. Here they are:
“Back from the trebly crimsoned field
Terrible woods are thunder-tost:
Full of the wrath that will not yield,
Full of revenge for battles lost:
Hark to their echo as it crost
The capital making faces wan:
End this murderous holocaust;
Abraham Lincoln give us a man.”
“Sounds good,” said Dick, “and, George, you and Frank and I know that what we want is a man. We've lost big battles, because we didn't have a big man, who could see at once and think like lightning, to lead us. But we'll get him sooner or later! We'll get him. Did any other troops ever bear up like ours under defeats and drawn battles? Listen to 'em now!”
Slow and deep and sung by many thousand men rose the rolling chorus:
“The army is gathering from near and from far;
The trumpet is sounding the call for the war;
Old Rosey's our leader, he's gallant and strong;
We'll gird on our armor and be marching along.”
“Now,” cried Warner, “all together.” And the thundering chorus rose: