People came in a thin scurrying from every street which fed into the public square. Children … the young men, thought Bale, where were they? How many regiments had gone from southern Pennsylvania; how many companies out of this county? Here were white-beards, silver-hair, the paunches and knobs of middle age. And young men: there were himself and Elijah, and the one-legged Bart McKosh, and a mutilated gawk named Ernie Dryer. Boys from school—pink noses, cow licks, unformed chins—they carried Ovid and Cicero and Scott under their scrawny arms … Young men of Gettysburg, he cried to himself: where have you gone, and how are you finding it there? You rebels raiding Chambersburg, are you young too?

Close at hand sounded the rapid pat-pat of hoofs; children scooted to safety as a gray horse whirled out of York street. Astride it joggled a man whose dark coat and hat seemed hung in a light veil of dust; the slanting sun caught a dozen glitters from the buckles and buttons and sword which were a part of him. The crowd beside the farm wagon turned to stare with new suspicion as he loped past them. This was no idling soldier, home on furlough: he was too purposeful, too hot and dusty.

He halted in front of the men under the buckeye tree; his big mare sniffed suspiciously toward old Salt. “Major Haller, acting under orders of General Couch.” Stirrup leather crunched as he swung down. “Who’s in charge here?” The major dusted his hat against his baggy knee.

“Kendlehart’s president of the council,” someone muttered.

“You’ve seen Governor Curtin’s proclamation, people. You’re apt to be invaded, any moment. I want to talk to your borough officials, immediately.”

Julius Orcutt stepped down into the road, hammer still clenched in his hand. “Dr. Kendlehart is not present at this moment. Can I be of any assistance? My name is—”

The major shrugged. “I’m informed that you’ve got some sort of militia in this town. Correct?” He twisted his head impatiently. “What’s that infernal noise?”

“Fire bell,” came a chorus. “John Burns is ringing it.”

“I wish to heaven John Burns would stop it,” grunted the officer.

“It’s to call people out. The whole rebel army is in Chambersburg!”

Major Haller said, “The whole rebel fiddlesticks. We’ve heard all about that—it was Jenkins’ cavalry, on a raid. It’s rumored that they kited straight back to Maryland last night. However, that is neither here nor there. I want to talk to your townspeople about this militia company. It is imperative that we Pennsylvanians organize for defense at the earliest possible moment.”