Captain Ransome sat motionless and silent on horseback.  A few yards away his men were standing at their guns.  Somewhere—­everywhere within a few miles—­were a hundred thousand men, friends and enemies.  Yet he was alone.  The mist had isolated him as completely as if he had been in the heart of a desert.  His world was a few square yards of wet and trampled earth about the feet of his horse.  His comrades in that ghostly domain were invisible and inaudible.  These were conditions favorable to thought, and he was thinking.  Of the nature of his thoughts his clear-cut handsome features yielded no attesting sign.  His face was as inscrutable as that of the sphinx.  Why should it have made a record which there was none to observe?  At the sound of a footstep he merely turned his eyes in the direction whence it came; one of his sergeants, looking a giant in stature in the false perspective of the fog, approached, and when clearly defined and reduced to his true dimensions by propinquity, saluted and stood at attention.

“Well, Morris,” said the officer, returning his subordinate’s salute.

“Lieutenant Price directed me to tell you, sir, that most of the infantry has been withdrawn.  We have not sufficient support.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I am to say that some of our men have been out over the works a hundred yards and report that our front is not picketed.”

“Yes.”

“They were so far forward that they heard the enemy.”

“Yes.”

“They heard the rattle of the wheels of artillery and the commands of officers.”

“Yes.”

“The enemy is moving toward our works.”

Captain Ransome, who had been facing to the rear of his line—­toward the point where the brigade commander and his cavalcade had been swallowed up by the fog—­reined his horse about and faced the other way.  Then he sat motionless as before.

“Who are the men who made that statement?” he inquired, without looking at the sergeant; his eyes were directed straight into the fog over the head of his horse.

“Corporal Hassman and Gunner Manning.”

Captain Ransome was a moment silent.  A slight pallor came into his face, a slight compression affected the lines of his lips, but it would have required a closer observer than Sergeant Morris to note the change.  There was none in the voice.

“Sergeant, present my compliments to Lieutenant Price and direct him to open fire with all the guns.  Grape.”

The sergeant saluted and vanished in the fog.

IV.

TO INTRODUCE GENERAL MASTERSON

Searching for his division commander, General Cameron and his escort had followed the line of battle for nearly a mile to the right of Ransome’s battery, and there learned that the division commander had gone in search of the corps commander.  It seemed that everybody was looking for his immediate superior—­an ominous circumstance.  It meant that nobody was quite at ease.  So General Cameron rode on for another half-mile, where by good luck he met General Masterson, the division commander, returning.