“What's happened, Dick, while I was asleep?” asked Pennington.
“Nothing. The two armies are ready, and I think to-day will decide it.”
“I hope so. Two days are enough for any battle.”
Pennington's tone was jocular, but his words were not. His face was grave as he regarded the opposing forest. He had the feeling of youth that others might be killed, but not he. Nevertheless he was already mourning many a good comrade who would be lost before the night came again.
“There are the wasps!” said Warner, bending a listening ear. “You can always hear them as they begin to sting. I wonder if skirmishers ever sleep?”
The shots were on the right, but they came from points far away. In front of them the forest and hills were silent.
“It's just as General Thomas thought,” said Dick. “The main volume of their attack will be on our right and center. They know that Thomas stands here and that he's a mighty rock, hard to move. They expect to shatter all the rest of the line, and then whirl and annihilate us.”
“Let 'em come!” exclaimed Warner, with heightening color. “Who's afraid?”
The dawn was spreading. The heavy mists that hung over the Chickamauga floated away. All the east was silver, and the darkness rolled back like a blanket. The west became silver in its turn, and the sun burned red fire in the east. The wind still blew fresh and cool off the mountains. The faint sound of trumpets came from far points on the Southern line. The crackling fire of the skirmishers increased.
“It's a wait for us,” said Colonel Winchester, standing amid his youthful staff. “I can see them advancing in great columns against our right and center. Now their artillery opens!”