The Ninth bore no conspicuous part, hovering on the extreme right flank, engaged in continuous skirmishing, and scouting along miles of front.
The morning of the third day found the armies fronting each other, defiant yet equally afraid to join battle, both commanders seeking for some point of strategy which would yield advantage--we of the North fearful of advancing against intrenchments, and those of the South not daring to come forth into the open.

For the moment it was a truce between us--the truce of two exhausted bull-dogs, lying face to face with gleaming teeth, ready to spring at the first opening.
We of the Ninth were at the edge of an opening in the woods, with low hills on either hand, our pickets within easy musket-shot of the gray-clad videttes beyond the fringe of trees.

Knowing our own success we could not comprehend this inaction, or the desperate fighting which held back the troops to the east, and we were impatient to go in.

I was lying on my back in the shelter of a slight hollow, wondering at the surrounding stillness, wishing for anything to occur which would give action, when the major rode up, accompanied by another officer in an artillery uniform.

I was on my feet in an instant saluting.
"Lieutenant Galesworth, this is Captain Kent, an aide on General Sheridan's staff.