As they arrived on the crest a quick exclamation escaped them; for there, beyond, mile on mile, lay the armed host of which their regiments were tiny portions.

“Lord!” said Stephen in a low, surprised voice, “did you fellows know that the whole army was near here?”

“Not I,” said Berkley, gazing spellbound out across the rolling panorama of river, swamp, woods, and fields.  “I don’t believe it occurs very often, either—­the chance to see an entire army all at once, encamped right at your feet.  What a lot of people and animals!”

They sat down, cross-legged, enjoying their pie, eyes wandering wonderingly over the magic landscape.  Here and there a marquee marked some general’s headquarters, but except for these there were no tents save shelter tents in sight, and not so many of these, because many divisions had bivouacked, and others were in cantonments where the white cupola of some house glimmered, or the thin spire of a church pierced green trees.

Here and there they noted and pointed out to each other roads over which cavalry moved or long waggon trains crept.  Down along the swamps that edged the river they could see soldiers building corduroy, repairing bridges, digging ditches, and, in one spot, erecting a fort.

“Oh, hell,” said Casson, whose regiment, dismounted, had served muddy apprenticeship along the York River, “if they’re going to begin that kind of thing again I’d rather be at home laying gas pipes on Broadway!”

“What kind of thing?” demanded Stephen.

“That road making, swamp digging—­all that fixing up forts for big guns that nobody has a chance to fire because the Johnnies get out just when everything’s ready to blow ’em into the Union again.  A—­h!” he added in disgust, “didn’t we have a dose of that at Yorktown and Williamsburg?  Why doesn’t Little Mac start us hell-bent for Richmond and let us catch ’em on the jump?”

For a while, their mouths full of pie, the soldiers, with the exception of Berkley, criticised their commander-in-chief, freely—­their corps commanders, and every officer down to their particular corporals.  That lasted for ten minutes.  Then one and all began comparing these same maligned officers most favourably with other officers of other corps; and they ended, as usual, by endorsing their commander-in-chief with enthusiasm, and by praising every officer under whom they served.

Then they boasted of their individual regiments—­all except Berkley—­extolling their discipline, their marching, their foraging efficiency, their martyr-like endurance.

“What’s your Colonel like, anyway?” inquired Casson, turning to Berkley.

“He’s a good officer,” said the latter indifferently.

“Do you like him?”

“He has—­merit.”

“Jerusalem!” laughed Wye, “if that isn’t a kick in the seat of his pants!”

Berkley reddened.  “You’re mistaken, Arthur.”