He demanded that his own forces should be raised to nearly a quarter of a million men and nearly five hundred cannon before he could move.
The veteran, Scott, full of triumphs and honors, but feeling himself out of place in his old age, went into retirement.

McClellan, now in sole command, still lingered and delayed, while the South, making good use of precious months, gathered all her forces to meet him or whomsoever came against her.
Youth chafed most against the long waiting.

It seemed to Dick and his mathematical Vermont friend that time was fairly wasting away under their feet, and the wise sergeant agreed with them.
The weather had grown so cold now that they built fires for warmth as well as cooking, and the two youths sat with Sergeant Whitley one cold evening in late October before a big blaze.

Both were tanned deeply by wind, sun and rain, and they had grown uncommonly hardy, but the wind that night came out of the northwest, and it had such a sharp edge to it that they were glad to draw their blankets over their backs and shoulders.
Dick was re-reading a letter from his mother, a widow who lived on the outskirts of Pendleton.

It had come that morning, and it was the only one that had reached him since his departure from Kentucky.