“Jack, this will never do. If you are to have a comrade, let it be a boy.” “Now, I am very passably content as things are.” “Nonsense: at Marlboro’, I mean, you must buy me a suit of boy’s clothes. What are you hearkening to?” “I thought I heard the noise of guns—or is it thunder?” “Dear Jack, don’t say ’tis thunder! I do mortally fear thunder—and mice.” “’Twouldn’t be thunder at this time of year. No, ’tis guns firing.” “Where?—not that I mind guns.” “Ahead of us.” On the far side of the valley we enter’d a wood, thinking by this to shorten our way: for the road here took a long bend to eastward. Now, at first this wood seem’d of no considerable size, but thicken’d and spread as we advanced. ’Twas only, however, after passing the ridge, and when daylight began to fail us, that I became alarm’d. For the wood grew denser, with a tangle of paths criss-crossing amid the undergrowth. And just then came the low mutter of cannon again, shaking the earth. We began to run forward, tripping in the gloom over brambles, and stumbling into holes. For a mile or so this lasted: and then, without warning, I heard a sound behind me, and look’d back, to find Delia sunk upon the ground. “Jack, here’s a to-do!” “What’s amiss?” “Why, I am going to swoon!” The words were scarce out, when there sounded a crackling and snapping of twigs ahead, and two figures came rushing toward us—a man and a woman. The man carried an infant in his arms: and tho’ I call’d on them to stop, the pair ran by us with no more notice than if we had been stones. Only the woman cried, “Dear Lord, save us!” and wrung her hands as she pass’d out of sight. “This is strange conduct,” thought I: but peering down, saw that Delia’s face was white and motionless. She had swoon’d, indeed, from weariness and hunger. So I took her in my arms and stumbled forward, hoping to find the end of the wood soon. For now the rattle of artillery came louder and incessant through the trees, and mingling with it, a multitude of dull shouts and outcries. At first I was minded to run after the man and woman, but on second thought, resolv’d to see the danger before hiding from it. The trees, in a short while, grew sparser, and between the stems I mark’d a ruddy light glowing. And then I came out on an open space upon the hillside, with a dip of earth in front; and beyond, a long ridge of pines standing up black, because of a red glare behind them; and saw that this came not from any setting sun, but was the light of a conflagration. The glare danced and quiver’d in the sky, as I cross’d the hollow. It made even Delia’s white cheek seem rosy. Up amid the pines I clamor’d, and along the ridge to where it broke off in a steep declivity. And lo! in a minute I look’d down as ’twere into the infernal pit.