Yet in Harry’s heart the fear of the grim and silent Grant was growing.  The Northern general had fought within a few days two battles, each the equal of Waterloo, and Harry felt sure that he was preparing for a third.  The combat of the giants was not over, and with an anxious soul he waited the next dawn.  They remained some days longer in the Wilderness, or the country adjacent to it, and there was much skirmishing and firing of heavy artillery, but the third great pitched battle did not come quite as soon as Harry expected.  Even Grant, appalled by the slaughter, hesitated and began to maneuver again by the flank to get past Lee.  Then the fighting between the skirmishers and heavy detached parties became continuous.

During the days that immediately followed Harry was much with Sherburne.  The brave colonel was one of Stuart’s most trusted officers.  Despite the forests and thickets there was much work for the cavalry to do, while the two armies circled and circled, each seeking to get the advantage of the other.

Sheridan, they heard, was trying to curve about with his horsemen and reach Richmond, and Stuart, with his cavalry, including Sherburne’s, was sent to intercept him, Harry riding by Sherburne’s side.  It was near the close of May, but the air was cool and pleasant, a delight to breathe after the awful Wilderness.

Stuart, despite his small numbers, was in his gayest spirits, and when he overtook the enemy at a little place called Yellow Tavern he attacked with all his customary fire and vigor.  In the height of the charge, Harry saw him sink suddenly from his horse, shot through the body.  He died not long afterward and the greatest and most brilliant horseman of the South passed away to join Jackson and so many who had gone before.  Harry was one of the little group who carried the news to Lee, and he saw how deeply the great leader was affected.  So many of his brave generals had fallen that he was like the head of a family, bereft.

Nevertheless the lion still at bay was great and terrible to strike.  It was barely two weeks after Spottsylvania when Lee took up a strong position at Cold Harbor, and Grant, confident in his numbers and powerful artillery, attacked straightaway at dawn.

Harry was in front during that half-hour, the most terrible ever seen on the American continent, when Northern brigade after brigade charged to certain death.  Lee’s men, behind their earthworks, swept the field with a fire in which nothing could live.  The charging columns fairly melted away before them and when the half-hour was over more than twelve thousand men in blue lay upon the red field.

Grant himself was appalled, and the North, which had begun to anticipate a quick and victorious end of the war, concealed its disappointment as best it could, and prepared for another campaign.

Grant and Lee, facing each other, went into trenches along the lines of Cold Harbor, and the hopes of the young Southern soldiers after the victory there rose anew.  But Harry was not too sanguine, although he kept his thoughts to himself.