For the first time a little doubt crept into his mind. Were they all too cocksure? It might be a serious business after all. It was only for a moment and his fears vanished. He was glad Ned was not in those grey lines in front. His company had been formed promptly, and he had been elected first lieutenant, but they were still in Southern Missouri under General Sterling Price. He shouldn't like to come on his brother's body dead or wounded after the battle--the young dare-devil fool! Promptly at two o'clock the sharp orders rang from the regimental commander: "Forward march!" The lines swung carelessly into the powdered dust of the road and moved forward into the fading moonlight, talking, laughing, chatting, joking. War was yet a joke and the contagious fire of patriotism had flung its halo even over this night's work. Except here and there a veteran of the Mexican War, not one of these men had ever seen a battle or had the remotest idea what it was like. John was marching with Sherman's brigade of Tyler's division. At six o'clock they reached the stone bridge which crossed Bull Run. On the hills beyond stretched a straggling line of grey figures. It couldn't be an army. Only a few skirmishers thrown out to warn off an attempt to cross the bridge. A white puff of smoke flashed on a hill toward the South, and the deep boom of a Confederate cannon echoed over the valley. Tyler's guns answered in grim chorus. The men gripped their muskets and waited the word of command. John's brigade was deployed along the edge of a piece of woods on the right of the Warrenton turnpike and stood for hours. A rumble of disgust swept the lines: "What t'ell are we waitin' for?" "Why don't we get at 'em?" "And this is war!" And no breakfast either. An hour passed and only an occasional crack of a musket across the shining thread of silver water and the slow sullen echo of the artillery. They seemed to be just practising. The shots all fell short and nobody was hurt. Another hour--it was eight o'clock and still they stood and looked off into space. Nine o'clock passed and the fierce rays of the climbing July sun drove the men to the shelter of the trees. "If this is war," yelled a red-breeched, fierce young Zouave, "I'll take firecrackers and a Fourth of July for mine!" "Keep your shirt on, Sonny," observed a corporal. "We _may_ have some fun yet before night." At ten o'clock something happened. Suddenly a thousand grey clad men leaped from their cover over the hills and swept up stream at double quick. A solid mass of dust-covered figures were swarming below the stone bridge. The regiment's battery dashed into position, its guns were trained and their roar shook the earth. The swarming grey lines below the bridge paid no attention. The shots fell short and Sherman sent for heavier guns.