thousand miles to the gulf.

Like all boys of the great valley, Dick always felt the romance and spell
of the Mississippi. It was to him and them one of the greatest facts
in the natural world, the grave of De Soto, the stream on which their
fathers and forefathers had explored and traded and fought since their
beginnings. Now it was fulfilling its titanic role again, and the Union
fleets upon its bosom were splitting the Confederacy asunder.

He, too, fell asleep before long. Warner glanced at his comrades who
slept so well on a hard bench, and his look was rather envious. He
returned his beloved algebra to his pocket, leaned back on the bench also,
and, although he had not believed it possible, slept also inside of five
minutes. Colonel Winchester passing smiled sympathetically, but his
glance lingered longest on Dick.

After days on the water the regiment disembarked, marched more days
across the country, joining other regiments on the way, and reached the
rear guard of the army of Rosecrans, which was already marching southward
in the direction of Chattanooga to meet that of Bragg. They advanced
now over the Cumberland mountains through a country wild and thinly
inhabited. The summer was waning, but it was cool on the mountains and
in the passes, nor was it so dry as the year before, when they fought
that terrible battle at Perryville in Kentucky.

Dick was glad to be again in the high country, the land of firm soil and
of many clear, rushing streams. Heart and lungs expanded, when he looked
upon the long ridges, clothed in deep forest, and breathed the pure air
that blew down from their summits. Yet his dream of peace was over.
As they advanced through the forests and passes they were harassed