By this time the girls were all silent, and some were crying; for the day was dawning—the day when these terrible preparations of lint would be used for poor wounded men.
When, about half-past five, the first rays of the September sun poured into the marquee upon the group of women, Grace sprang to her feet, crying aloud in a kind of ecstacy.
‘The day has come—the day is here! Oh, what can we do but pray!’
She threw herself upon her knees and prayed aloud, while all wept and sobbed.
Constance knelt with the rest, but the prayer touched her not. She was only sad, while Grace sorrowed with faith and hope.
Then Faith Ingleby raised her sweet strong voice, and, with her, the girls sang together a hymn which was unknown to Constance. It began:—
Awake, my soul, and with the sun
Thy daily course of duty run.
This act of worship and submission done, they returned to their work. Outside, the camp began gradually to awaken. Before six o’clock the fires were lit, and the men’s breakfast was getting ready; by seven o’clock everything was done—tents struck, arms piled, men accoutred.
Constance went out to look at the strange sight of the rebel army. Her heart beat when she looked upon the novel scene.
Regiments were forming, companies marching into place, flags flying, drums beating, and trumpets calling. And the soldiers!—saw one ever such men before? They were marching, heads erect and flashing eyes; the look of submission gone—for ever. Yes; these men might be shot down, but they could never be reduced to their old condition.