“Tumble out! Tumble out!” shouted the sergeant, who was in the mess with the soldiers we have introduced. “Reveille! Don’t you hear it?”  
“But it isn’t morning,” growled Ben Lethbridge.
 
“I haven’t been asleep more than an hour or two,” snarled Fred Pemberton.
 
“Shut up your heads, and turn out!” said the sergeant.
 
It was the morning of the eventful twenty-first of July, and it was only two o’clock when the regiment was roused from its slumbers; but there was no great hardship in this fact, for most of the men had been sleeping the greater portion of the time during the preceding two days. Tom Somers was ready to take his place in the line in a few moments.
 
“Come, fellows, hurry up,” said he to his tardy companions. “The time has come, and, I tell you, there’ll be music before many hours.”
 
“Where are we going, Tom? Have you any idea?” asked Fred.
 
“Going down to Manassas Junction, I suppose. That’s where the rebels are.”
 
“Do you suppose we shall get into a fight?” asked Ben.
 
“I don’t know; I hope so.”
 
“So do I,” returned Ben, faintly; “but I don’t like to be broke of my rest in this way.”
 
Tom, full of excited anticipations in regard to the events of the day, laughed heartily at this reply, and left the tent. The regiment was formed in line, but there were two vacancies in the section to which he belonged. Fred and Ben had answered to their names at roll call. On some pretence they had asked permission to leave the line for a few moments, and that was the last that had been seen of them.
 
“Where do you suppose they are?” said Tom to Hapgood.
 
“I don’t know. I hain’t got much confidence in Ben’s pluck, and I shouldn’t wonder if he had run away.”
 
“But that is desertion.”
 
“That’s just what you may call it; and I’ve seen men shot for it.”
 
The regiment remained in line several hours before the order came to move. At daylight, while the men were still standing in the road, four soldiers, attended by a staff officer, conducted the two missing men of Company K into the presence of the regiment.
 
“These men say they belong to your regiment,” said the officer, saluting the little colonel.
 
Captain Benson immediately claimed them, and Fred and Ben were ordered into the ranks.
 
“Cowards—are you?” said the captain. “You shall take your places in the ranks, and at the right time we will settle this case.”
 
“I enlisted without my father’s consent, and you can’t hold me if I don’t choose to stay,” replied Fred Pemberton.
 
“Next time you must ask your father before you come. It is too late to repent now.”
 
“I’m going home.”
 
“No, you’re not. Sergeant, if either of those men attempt to leave the ranks again, shoot them!” said the captain.
 
Fred and Ben took their places in the ranks amid the laughter and jeers of the company.
 
“Who’s the baby now?” said Bob Dornton.
 
“You have disgraced the company,” added old Hapgood. “I didn’t think you would run away before the battle commenced.”
 
“I shall keep both eyes on you, my boys, and if you skulk again, I’ll obey orders—by the Lord Harry, I will!” said the sergeant, as he glanced at the lock of his musket. “Company K isn’t going to be laughed at for your cowardice.”
 
At six o’clock the order came for the brigade to march. It now consisted of only three regiments, for the time of one, composed of three months’ men, had expired while at Centreville; and though requested and importuned to remain a few days longer, they basely withdrew, even while they were on the very verge of the battlefield. This regiment left, and carried with it the scorn and contempt of the loyal and true men, who were as ready to fight the battles of their country on one day as on another.
 
The men knew they were going to battle now, for the enemy was only a few miles distant. The soldier boy’s heart was full of hope. He knew not what a battle was; he could form no adequate conception of the terrible scene which was soon to open upon his view. He prayed and trusted that he might be able to do his duty with courage and fidelity. To say that he had no doubts and fears would be to say that he was not human.
 
As the brigade toiled slowly along, he tried to picture the scene which was before him, and thus make himself familiar with its terrors before he was actually called to confront them. He endeavored to imagine the sounds of screaming shells and whistling bullets, that the reality, when it came, might not appall him. He thought of his companions dropping dead around him, of his friends mangled by bayonets and cannon shot; he painted the most terrible picture of a battle which his imagination could conjure up, hoping in this manner to be prepared for the worst.
 
The day was hot, and the sun poured down his scorching rays upon the devoted soldiers as they pursued their weary march. They were fatigued by continued exertion, and some of the weary ones, when the sun approached the meridian, began to hope the great battle would not take place on that day. Tom Somers, nearly worn out by the tedious march, and half famished after the scanty breakfast of hard bread he had eaten before daylight, began to feel that he was in no condition to face the storm of bullets which he had been imagining.
 
No orders came to halt at noon, though the crowded roads several times secured them a welcome rest: but on marched the weary soldiers, till the roar of cannon broke upon their ears; and as they moved farther on, the rattling volleys of musketry were heard, denoting that the battle had already commenced. These notes of strife were full of inspiration to the loyal and patriotic in the columns. A new life was breathed into them. They were enthusiastic in the good ............