It had already been ravaged much by march and battle and siege, but its heavier fate was yet to come.
But Dick did not think much of what might happen as he rode with his comrades across the broken country and saw, rising before them, the dim blue line of the mountains that walled in the eastern side of the valley.
The day was not so warm as usual, and among the higher hills a breeze was blowing, bringing currents of fresh, cool air that made the lungs expand and the pulses leap.

The three youths felt almost as if they had been re-created, and Pennington became vocal.
"Woe is the day!" he said.

"I lament what I have lost!" "If what you have lost was worth keeping I lament with you," said Dick.
"O, woe is the day!" "O, woe is the day for me, too!" said Warner, "but why do we utter cries of woe, Frank ?" "Because of the narrow, little, muddy little, ugly little, mean little trench we've left behind us! O, woe is me that I've left such a trench, where one could sit in mud to the knees and touch the mud wall on either side of him, for this open, insecure world, where there is nothing but fresh air to breathe, nothing but water to drink, nothing but food to eat, and no world but blue skies, hills, valleys, forests, fields, rivers, creeks and brooks!" "O, woe is me!" the three chanted together.

"We sigh for our narrow trench, and its muddy bottom and muddy sides and foul air and lack of space, and for the shells bursting over our heads, and for the hostile riflemen ready to put a bullet through us at the first peep! Now, do we sigh for all those blessings we've left behind us ?" "Never a sigh!" said Dick.
"Not a tear from me," said Pennington.
"The top of the earth for me," said Warner.
Their high spirits spread to the whole column.

So thoroughly inured were they to war that their losses of the night before were forgotten, and they lifted up their voices and sang.