Coolness had come with the dark. A good moon and swarms of bright stars
rode in the heavens, turning the skies to misty silver, and softening the
scars of the army, which now lay encamped over a great space. Lee was
talking with Stuart, who evidently had just arrived from a swift ride,
as an orderly near by was holding his horse, covered with foam. The
famous cavalryman was clothed in his gorgeous best. His hat was heavy
with gold braid, and the broad sash about his waist was heavy with gold,
also. Dandy he was, but brilliant cavalryman and great soldier too!
Both friend and foe had said so.

Harry, sitting on the grass, with his back against a tree, watched the
two generals as they talked long and earnestly. Now and then Stuart
nervously switched the tops of his own high riding boots with the little
whip that he carried, but the face of Lee, revealed clearly in the near
twilight, remained grave and impassive.

After a long while Stuart mounted and rode away, and Sherburne, who had
been sitting among the trees on the far side of the fire, came over and
joined Harry and Dalton. He too was very grave.

"Do you know what has happened?" he said in a low tone to the two lads.

"Yes, there was a big battle at Gettysburg, and as we failed to win it
we're now retreating," replied Harry.

"That's true as far as it goes, but it's not all. We've heard--and
the news is correct beyond a doubt--that Grant has taken Vicksburg and
Pemberton's army with it."

"Good God, Sherburne, it can't be so!"