The other two looked at Warner and saw his left eyelid droop slightly.
A faint twinkle appeared in either eye and then they laughed.

"I reckon that Dick shoots high in the air," said the sergeant.

Dick, after a pleasant hour with his friends, went back to Colonel
Newcomb's quarters, where he spent the entire evening writing despatches
at dictation. He was hopeful that all this writing portended something,
but more days passed, and despite the impatience of both army and public,
there was no movement. Stories of confused and uncertain fighting still
came out of the west, but between Washington and Bull Run there was
perfect peace.

The summer passed. Autumn came and deepened. The air was crisp and
sparkling. The leaves, turned into glowing reds and yellows and browns,
began to fall from the trees. The advancing autumn contained the
promise of winter soon to come. The leaves fell faster and sharp winds
blew, bringing with them chill rains. Little Mac, or the Young Napoleon,
as many of his friends loved to call him, continued his preparations,
and despite all the urgings of President and Congress, would not move.
His fatal defect now showed in all its destructiveness. To him the
enemy always appeared threefold his natural size.

Reliable scouts brought back the news that the Southern troops at
Manassas, a full two months after their victory there, numbered only
forty thousand. The Northern commander issued statements that the
enemy was before him with one hundred and fifty thousand soldiers. He
demanded that his own forces should be raised to nearly a quarter of
a million men and nearly five hundred cannon before he could move.