"You're right, sir," said Dick with enthusiasm.
Colonel Winchester said no more, but rose presently and went to the
tent of General Grant, where a conference of officers was to be held.
Dick remained by the fire, where Warner and Pennington soon joined him.
"Our scouts have exchanged some shots with the enemy," said Pennington,
"and they have taken one or two prisoners, bold fellows who say they're
going to lick the spots off us. They say they have a big army at
Donelson, and they're afraid of nothing except that Grant won't come on.
Between ourselves, the Johnny Rebs are getting ready for us."
It was Dick's opinion, too, that the Southern troops were making great
preparations to meet them, but, like the others, he was feeling the
strong hand on the reins. He did not notice here the doubt and
uncertainty that had reigned at Washington before the advance on
Bull Run; in Grant's army were order and precision, and with perfect
confidence in his commander he rolled himself in his blankets that night
and went to sleep.
The order to advance did not come the next morning, and Dick, for a few
moments, thought it might not come at all. The reports from Donelson
were of a formidable nature, and Grant's own army was not provided for a
winter campaign. It had few wagons for food and ammunition, and some of
the regiments from the northwest, cherishing the delusion that winter
in Tennessee was not cold, were not provided with warm clothing and
sufficient blankets.
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