The little colonel’s command had been put in Franklin’s brigade, which formed a part of Heintzelman’s division; but little did Tom or his fellow-soldiers know of anything but their own regiment.  The “sacred soil” of Virginia seemed to be covered with Federal soldiers, and whichever way he turned, columns of troops might be seen, all obedient to the one grand impulse of the loyal nation—­“On to Richmond.”

The great wagons, gun carriages, and caissons rolling slowly along, the rattling drums, with here and there the inspiring strains of a band, the general officers, with their staffs, were full of interest and excitement to the soldier boy; and though the business before him was stern and terrible, yet it seemed like some great pageant, moving grandly along to celebrate, rather than win, a glorious triumph.

The novelty of the movement, however, soon wore away, and it required only a few hours to convince the inexperienced soldiers in our regiment that it was no idle pageant in which they were engaged.  The short intervals of rest which were occasionally allowed were moments to be appreciated.  All day long they toiled upon their weary way, praying for the night to come, with its coveted hours of repose.  The night did come, but it brought no rest to the weary and footsore soldiers.

Tom was terribly fatigued.  His knapsack, which had been light upon his buoyant frame in the morning, now seemed to weigh two hundred pounds, while his musket had grown proportionally heavy.  Hour after hour, in the darkness of that gloomy night, he trudged on, keeping his place in the ranks with a resolution which neither the long hours nor the weary miles could break down.

“I can’t stand this much longer,” whined Ben Lethbridge.  “I shall drop pretty soon, and die by the roadside.”

“No, you won’t,” added Hapgood.  “Stick to it a little while longer; never say die.”

“I can’t stand it.”

“Yes, you can.  Only think you can, and you can,” added the veteran.

“What do they think we are made of?  We can’t march all day and all night.  I wish I was at home.”

“I wish I hadn’t come,” said Fred Pemberton.

“Cheer up! cheer up, boys.  Stick to it a little longer,” said the veteran.

It was three o’clock the next morning before they were permitted to halt, when the boys rolled themselves up in their blankets, and dropped upon the ground.  It was positive enjoyment to Tom, and he felt happy; for rest was happiness when the body was all worn out.  A thought of the cottage and of his mother crossed his mind, and he dropped asleep to dream of the joys of home.

Short and sweet was that blessed time of rest; for at four o’clock, after only one brief hour of repose, the regiment was turned out again, and resumed its weary march to the southward.  But that short interval of rest was a fountain of strength to Tom, and without a murmur he took his place by the side of his grumbling companions.  Ben and Fred were disgusted with the army, and wanted to go back; but that was impossible.