Phil slept several hours, but he awoke after midnight, and did not go to sleep again. He, Arenberg, and Breakstone were under the immediate command of Middleton, who allowed them much latitude, and they used it for purposes of scouting. They crept through gullies and ravines and along the edges of the ridges, the darkness and the stone projections giving them shelter. They passed beyond the outermost American pickets, and then stopped, crouching among some bushes. All three had heard at the same time low voices of command, the clank of heavy wheels, and the rasping of hoofs over stones. The three also divined the cause, but Breakstone alone spoke of it in a whisper: "They are dragging artillery up the side of the mountain in order that they may rake us to-morrow. That Santa Anna calls himself the Napoleon of Mexico, and he’s got some of the quality of the real Napoleon." By raising up a little they could see the men and horses with the guns, and they crept back to their own camp with the news. The American force was too small to attempt any checking movement in the darkness, and that night Santa Anna dragged five whole batteries up the mountainside. It was about 4 o’clock in the morning when the three returned from their scout, and they sat down in one of the ravines about a small fire of smoldering coals. Some of the Kentuckians were with them, including Grayson, and now and then a brisk word of the coming day was said. In those cold dark hours, when vitality was at its lowest, they were not as confident as they had been. The numbers of the Mexicans weighed upon them, and Phil had not liked the sight of all those cannon taken up the side of the mountain. Their talk ceased entirely after awhile, and they sat motionless with their blankets wrapped around their bodies, because the blasts were very chill now in the Pass of Angostura. The moaning of the wind through the gorges was a familiar sound, but to-night it got upon one’s nerves. Those last few hours were five times their rightful length, but all things come to an end, and Phil saw in the east the first narrow band of silver that betokened the dawn. Day, like night, in that southern region came fast. The sun shot above the mountain rim, its splendor came again in a flood, and up rose the two armies. There was no delay now. On the left the heavy brigades of Ampudia opened fire at once with cannon, muskets, and rifles. They pressed forward, and at that point the American front, also, blazed with fire. "It’s here, Phil," cried Breakstone. "This is the battle at last!" Cool as he usually was, he had lost his calm now, and his eyes glowed with excitement. The rosy face of Arenberg was also flushed a deeper hue than usual. "They come!" he exclaimed.