CHAPTER VI. THE MOURNFUL FOREST
As the night settled down, heavy and dark, and the sounds of firing died away along the great line, Dick again sank to the ground exhausted. Although the battle itself had ceased, it seemed to him that the drums of his ears still reproduced its thunder and roar, or at least the echo of it was left upon the brain.
He lay upon the dry grass, and although the night was again hot and breathless, surcharged with smoke and dust and fire, he felt a chill that went to the bone, and he trembled all over. Then a cold perspiration broke out upon him. It was the collapse after two days of tremendous exertion, excitement and anxiety. He did not move for eight or ten minutes, blind to everything that was going on about him, and then through the darkness he saw Colonel Winchester standing by and looking down at him.
“Are you all right, Dick, my boy?” the colonel asked.
“Yes, sir,” replied Dick, as his pride made him drag himself to his feet. “I'm not wounded at all. I was just clean played out.”
“You're lucky to get off so well,” said the colonel, smiling sadly. “We've lost many thousands and we've lost the battle, too. The killed or wounded in my regiment number more than two-thirds.”
“Have you seen anything of Warner and Pennington, sir? I lost sight of them in that last terrible attack.”
“Pennington is here. He has had a bullet through the fleshy part of his left arm, but he's so healthy it won't take him long to get well. I'm sorry to say that Warner is missing.”
“Missing, sir? You don't say that George has been killed?”
“I don't say it. I'm hoping instead that he's been captured.”