The battle-summer of 1864 went on with the wearisome siege of Petersburg and the frequent efforts to cut the railways which enabled the Confederates to draw supplies from states which as yet had hardly felt the stress of war.

Late in the year the army became a city of huts, and there was the unexampled spectacle of this great host voting quietly in the election which gave to Lincoln another evidence of the trust reposed in him.  The engineers had little to do in connection with the larger movements of the army, and save for the siege work were at times idle critics of their superiors.  The closing month of 1864 brought weather which made the wooden huts, usually shared by two officers, more comfortable than tents.  The construction of these long streets of sheltering quarters brought out much ingenuity, and Penhallow profited by Josiah’s clever devices and watchful care.  As the army was in winter-quarters, there was time enough for pleasant visiting, and for the engineers more than enough of danger in the trenches or when called on to accompany some general officer as an aide during Grant’s obstinate efforts to cut the railways on which Lee relied.  Francis, not gravely wounded, was at home repairing damages; but now, with snow on the ground and ease of intercourse, Blake was a frequent visitor in the engineer quarters.  When Rivers also turned up, the two young men found the talk unrivalled, for never had the tall clergyman seemed more attractive or as happy.

Of an afternoon late in November Penhallow was toasting himself by the small fire-place and deep in thought.  He had had a long day in the intrenchments and one moment of that feeling of imminent nearness to death which affects men in various ways.  A shell neatly dropped in a trench within a few feet of where he stood, rolled over, spitting red flashes.  The men cried, “Down, down, sir!” and fell flat.  Something like the fascination a snake exercises held him motionless; he never was able to explain his folly.  The fuse went out as he watched it—­the shell was a dead thing and harmless.  The men as they rose eyed him curiously.

“A near thing,” he said, and with unusual care moved along a traverse, his duty over for the day.  He took with him a feeling of mental confusion and of annoyed wonder.

He found Josiah picking a chicken as he sat whistling in front of the tent.  “There’s been a fight, sir, about three o’clock, on our left.  Bill says we beat.”

“Indeed!” It was too common news to interest him.  He felt some singular completeness of exhaustion, and was troubled because of there being no explanation which satisfied him.  Asking for whisky to Josiah’s surprise, he took it and lay down, as the servant said, “There’s letters, sir, on the table.”

“Very well.  Close the tent and say I’m not well; I won’t see any one.”

“Yes, sir.  Nothing serious?”

“No.”  He fell asleep as if drugged.