Griffith had a long talk with Governor Morton when he went to see Roy's regiment off. When he came home he was pale and anxious. There was a new trouble on his heart. He did not tell Katherine that Morton had urged him to volunteer his services to the Government as a guide through the passes and defiles of his native State. "Your knowledge of that country would be simply invaluable. It would prevent any such disaster as this again. Panics like this ruin an army. It will take months to recover from such a rout even if nothing worse comes of it. The moral effect is simply fatal. You are a Union man and you know every foot of that country. Our generals don't. They are afraid to risk getting their men into a pocket and losing their whole command. You can help. The main battle-ground is bound to be Virginia; we can accomplish nothing of value until we know and feel secure on that soil--until the State is an open book to us. Let me wire the President that you will. Let--" Griffith held up his hand. "I cannot! I cannot!" he said. "It is my old State; I love it and my people. I have done enough for my country. I have done my share. I have given my property, my friends, my home, and now my three boys--all, all I have given for my conscience and my country's sake. Surely I have done my whole duty, I will not betray my State! I will not!" Over and over the Governor had returned to the attack only to receive the same reply. Day after day he argued with Griffith, and still ill news came from the front. The army of the Potomac seemed paralyzed after its repulse. The real gravity of the situation was, for the first time, borne in upon both the military and the political mind. If the great foreign powers recognized the Confederate government, the Republic was lost. If Washington fell, that recognition was assured--and still "all was quiet on the Potomac." The middle of July the wires had flashed the news of the defeat of the Confederates at Boonville, Missouri, by Lyons' men. Beverly had been there, and had written the full account home. Then he was at Carthage, and was full of fight and enthusiasm. After his account of the battle at Carthage, he had other things to tell. "I didn't get a scratch either place, but the day after the last fight I did get a lot of fun out of it. I suppose you won't be able to see how there could be any fun in the situation. Well, I'll tell you one or two things. One of my men showed the white feather, and we were thinking of court-martialing and making an example of him. I made up my mind to give Hartman (that was the fellow's name, Bill Hartman) a chance to tell me privately his side of the story. Says I, 'Bill, I've asked all your neighbors here in camp if you were a coward at home, and they all say you were not only brave, but you had proved it many a time. Now, I want to save you this court-martial if I can, and I want you to tell me your side of it. How did it happen?'