He rode with Maj. Schofield, his Chief of Staff, to the place where they halted about midnight in sight of the rebel campfires and slept with him in the brief bivouac under the same blanket. To Schofield he seemed unusually depressed. The only words he said, beyond necessary orders, were almost as if talking to himself:
"I would give my life for a victory."
Again, in response to Schofield's discreet criticism of the wisdom of dividing his forces and giving Sigel an independent command, he said briefly:
"It is Sigel's plan."
Sige's theoretical knowledge of war and his experience were then felt to be so overshadowing to everybody else's as to estop criticism.
The men of Lyon's little army lay down on their grassy bivouac with feelings of tensest expectation. With the exception of the few of the Regulars who had been in the Mexican and Indian wars, not one of them had ever heard a gun fired in anger. They had been talking battle for three months. Now it was upon them, but none of them could realize how sharp would be the combat, nor how exceedingly well they were going to acquit themselves.
At the first streak of dawn Lyon was up—all activity and anticipation—to open the battle. He had wisely selected the two men who were to strike the first blows.