He slept heavily, and when he awoke the next day Dalton, who was up before him, informed him that the Northern army was at hand.  Snatching breakfast, he and Dalton, riding close behind the commander-in-chief, advanced a little distance and standing upon a knoll surveyed the thrilling spectacle before them.  Far along the front stretched the Army of the Potomac, horse, foot and guns, come up with its enemy again.  Harry was sure that Meade was there, and with him Hancock and Buford and Warren and all the other valiant leaders whom they had met at Gettysburg.  It was nine days since the close of the great battle, and doubtless the North had poured forward many reinforcements, while the South had none to send.

Harry appreciated the full danger of their situation, with the larger army in front of them, and the deep and swollen torrent of the Potomac behind them.  But he did not believe that Meade would attack.  Lee had lost at Gettysburg, but in losing he had inflicted such losses upon his opponent, that most generals would hesitate to force another battle.  The one who would not have hesitated was consolidating his great triumph at Vicksburg.  Harry often thought afterward what would have happened had Grant faced Lee that day on the wrong side of the Potomac.

His opinion that Meade would not attack came from a feeling that might have been called atmospheric, an atmosphere created by the lack of initiative on the Union side, no clouds of skirmishers, no attacks of cavalry, very little rifle firing of any kind, merely generals and soldiers looking at one another.  Harry saw, too, that his own opinion was that of his superior officer.  Watching the commander-in-chief intently he saw a trace of satisfaction in the blue eyes.  Presently all of them rode back.

Thus that day passed and then another wore on.  Harry and Dalton had little to do.  The whole Army of Northern Virginia was in position, defiant, challenging even, and the Army of the Potomac made no movement forward.  Harry watched the strange spectacle with an excitement that he did not allow to appear on his face.  It was like many of those periods in the great battles in which he had taken a part, when the combat died, though the lull was merely the omen of a struggle, soon to come more frightful than ever.

But here the struggle did not come.  The hours of the afternoon fell peacefully away, and the general and soldiers still looked at one another.

“They’re working on the bridge like mad,” said Dalton, who had been away with a message, “and it will surely be ready in the morning.  Besides, the Potomac is falling fast.  You can already see the muddy lines that it’s leaving on its banks.”

“And Meade’s chance is slipping, slipping away!” said Harry exultingly.  “In three hours it will be sunset.  They can’t attack in the night and to-morrow we’ll be gone.  Meade has delayed like McClellan at Antietam, and, doubtless as McClellan did, he thinks our army much larger than it really is.”