“In this circle of a mile and a half fifty thousand men pelted each other from two o’clock that Sunday morning until four in the afternoon.  Up to two o’clock we were on the defensive.  We were driven from the broad, smooth road yonder that you see cutting through the trees, northward a mile from here.  Jackson alone made a stand; if it hadn’t been for him we should have been prisoners in Washington now, I reckon.  You see those men at work?  They are picking up lead.  We reckon that it takes a ton of lead to kill a man.”

“A ton of lead?” Olympia repeated.

“Yes.  You wouldn’t believe that thousands of men can stand in front of each other a whole day and pour lead into each other’s faces, and not one in fifty is hit?”

“Ah!” Olympia commented, thinking that, after all, Jack might not have been hit.

“These are the trenches of the dead.  Our dead are not here.  They were all taken and sent to friends.  There are five hundred of your dead here and near the stone bridge yonder.  We lost three hundred killed in the fight.”

“And are there no other marks than this plain board?” Olympia pointed to a rough pine plank, sticking loosely in the ground, with the words painted in lampblack:  “85 Yanks.  By the Hospital Corps, Bee’s Brigade.”

“That’s all.  They were all stripped—­no means of identifying them.  The sun was very hot; the rain next day made the bodies rot, and the men had to just shovel them in—­” “Oh, oh! don’t, pray don’t!” Olympia cried, as her mother tottered against the ambulance.

“I ask your pardon, ladies; I forgot that these are not things for ladies to hear.”  He spoke in sincere contrition.

To relieve him Olympia smiled sadly, saying, “Won’t you take us back, please?”

The ambulance drove on into the Warrenton pike, and, if Olympia had known it, within a stone’s-throw of Jack’s last effort, where the cavalry picket came upon him.  It was noon when they reached the station.  The orderly returned the ambulance to the hospital, brought down the luggage, and the three women made a luncheon of fruit and dry bread, declining the orderly’s invitation to eat at the hospital.  The train came on three hours late.  It was filled with military men, most of them officers; but so soon as the orderly entered the rear coach, ushering in his charges, two or three young men with official insignia on their collars arose with alacrity and begged the ladies to take the vacant places.  At Bristow Station many of the officers got out and a number of civilians entered from the coach ahead and took their places.  Mrs. Sprague, worn out by the fatigue of the journey and the strain upon her mind, quite broke down in the hot, ill-ventilated car.  There was no water to be had, and Olympia turned inquiringly to the person opposite her, asking: 

“Could we possibly get any water—­my mother is very much overcome?”

“Certainly, madam.  There must be plenty of canteens on the train.  I will bring you some in a moment.”