“I can’t stand this much longer,” whined Ben Lethbridge. “I shall drop pretty soon, and die by the roadside.”
“No, you won’t,” added Hapgood. “Stick to it a little while longer; never say die.”
“I can’t stand it.”
“Yes, you can. Only think you can, and you can,” added the veteran.
“What do they think we are made of? We can’t march all day and all night. I wish I was at home.”
“I wish I hadn’t come,” said Fred Pemberton.
“Cheer up! cheer up, boys. Stick to it a little longer,” said the veteran.
It was three o’clock the next morning before they were permitted to halt, when the boys rolled themselves up in their blankets, and dropped upon the ground. It was positive enjoyment to Tom, and he felt happy; for rest was happiness when the body was all worn out. A thought of the cottage and of his mother crossed his mind, and he dropped asleep to dream of the joys of home.
Short and sweet was that blessed time of rest; for at four o’clock, after only one brief hour of repose, the regiment was turned out again, and resumed its weary march to the southward. But that short interval of rest was a fountain of strength to Tom, and without a murmur he took his place by the side of his grumbling companions. Ben and Fred were disgusted with the army, and wanted to go back; but that was impossible.
Again, for weary hours, they toiled upon the march. They passed Fairfax, and encamped near the railroad station, where a full night’s rest was allowed them. By the advice of Hapgood, Tom went to a brook, and washed his aching feet in cold water. The veteran campaigner gave him other useful hints, which were of great service to him. That night he had as good reason to bless the memory of the man who invented sleep as ever Sancho Panza had, and every hour was fully improved.