"Daisy, there is trouble," she said.
"Yes, -" I answered.
"How do you know? They say - they say, the army is all cut to pieces!"
I could not speak about it. We knew nothing yet; but Mrs.
Sandford went on -
"He says, everybody is killed. All routed and destroyed, the army is. Can it be possible?"
I thought it was very possible: I never had doubted but that the Southerners - as a body - were the best fighters. But I said nothing; while Mrs. Sandford poured out sorrows and fears and speculations in a breath. I could have smiled, but that I could not have smiled. We stood still, looking at each other, nobody remembering breakfast. I was thinking, if the cause was lost, where would Mr. Thorold be then. And I ceased to hear Mrs. Sandford.
"But Daisy!" she said suddenly - "the other army - Beauregard's - they will be here directly to take Washington, if all this is true; and it must be true; or that soldier would not have been out there in the rain. They will be coming here directly, Daisy. And, bless me! how wicked I am! You are standing there, patient and pale, and you have had no breakfast. Come here and let me give you some coffee. Grant said he would be down to dinner perhaps; and how angry he would be."
We drank cups of coffee, but I do not think either of us broke bread.
That was a weary day. All the day long new groups were forming and dispersing in the street, telling and talking over the news; groups of all sorts. Soldiers discoursing to audiences like the one in the morning; knots of officers; twos and threes of business men; debating, inquiring, discussing; all under the dark rain, all with downcast faces and dispirited bearing. Late in the day Major Fairbairn called. He somewhat reassured us. The carnage was not so great; the loss not so tremendous, as we had at first been told; the damage done not so absolutely overwhelming.
"Then you do not think Beauregard will come and take
Washington?" Mrs. Sandford asked.