It was not until the morning of the third day, when
the winds that blew over the Potomac brought the sounds of battle, that he
was shocked back into a troubled consciousness of his absence from the
army. Then he heard the voices of the guns calling to him from across the
river, and once or twice he struggled up to answer.
"I must go, Big Abel--they are in need of me," he said. "Listen! don't you
hear them calling?"
"Go way f'om yer, Marse Dan, dey's des a-firin' at one anurr," returned Big
Abel, but Dan still tossed impatiently, his strained eyes searching through
the door into the cloudy light of the alley. It was a sombre day, and the
oppressive atmosphere seemed heavy with the smoke of battle.
"If I only knew how it was going," he murmured, in the anguish of
uncertainty. "Hush! isn't that a cheer, Big Abel?"
"I don' heah nuttin' but de crowin' er a rooster on de fence."
"There it is again!" cried Dan, starting up. "I can swear it is our side.
Listen--go to the door--by God, man, that's our yell! Ah, there comes the
rattle of the muskets--don't you hear it?"
"Lawd, Marse Dan, I'se done hyern dat soun' twel I'm plum sick er it,"
responded Big Abel, carefully measuring out a dose of arsenic, which had
taken the place of quinine in a country where medicine was becoming as
scarce as food. "You des swallow dis yer stuff right down en tu'n over en
go fas' asleep agin."
Taking the glass with trembling hands, Dan drained it eagerly.
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