United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
The fog yet held the secrets of the valley safely locked within its
brown hand, and I could penetrate none of its mysteries. It was like
gazing down from some headland into a silent, unvexed sea. But directly
across from where I stood, apparently along the summit of another chain
of low hills similar to those we occupied, I could perceive the flames
of numerous camp-fires leaping up into sudden radiance, while against
the brightening sky a great flag lazily flapped its folds to the
freshening breeze. Evidently our opponents were first astir, and the
headquarters of some division of the enemy must be across yonder. As I
gazed, other fires burst forth to left and right, as far as the unaided
eye could carry through the gloom, and I was thus enabled to trace
distinctly those advanced lines opposing us. Experience told me their
position must be a strong one, and their force heavy.
As I turned to mark our own formation, the roll of drums rang out, while
the quickening notes of the reveille sounded down the long lines of
slumbering men. Life returned, as if by magic, to those motionless
forms, and almost in a moment all below me became astir, and I could
clearly distinguish the various branches of the service, as they
stretched away commingled upon either hand. We were evidently stationed
close to the centre of our own position. Our battle-line was not so
extended as the one across the valley; apparently there were fewer
troops along our front than theirs, nor could I perceive to the
southward, now that dawning day somewhat clarified the scene, any
evidence of reserve force; yet what I saw looked extremely well, and
my heart bounded proudly at the sturdy promise of our fighting men. The
cavalry appeared to be principally concentrated at the foot of the hill
upon which I stood, although at the distant wings I was able to perceive
some flying guidons that told me of the presence of numerous troops of
horse. I marked it all with eager, kindling eyes, for it was a sight
to cheer the heart of any soldier--those dark, dense squares where the
infantry were massed, and battery after battery of flying artillery
ranged along the ridge. But it seemed to me the larger, heavier force
had been concentrated upon our left, massed there in deeper lines, as if
that were the point selected from whence the attacking wedge was to be
driven. The intervening ground sloped so gently forward, while the hill
crest was so thickly crowned with trees, it looked an ideal position
from which to advance in line of attack. Upon my right there appeared a
break in the solidity of our line, but even as I noted it, wondering at
the oversight, the dense front of an infantry column debouched from
a ravine and, marching steadily forward, filled the gap. I could
distinctly mark the wearied manner in which the men composing it
flung themselves prostrate on the hard ground the moment they were
halted--doubtless all through the long hours of the black night they had
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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