Thus the night moved slowly on, raw, cold and dark. Mists and fogs rose
from the Cumberland as they had risen from the Tennessee. This, too,
was a great river. Dick was glad when the last of his errands was done,
and he could come back to the fire, and rest his back once more against
the log. The fire was only a bed of coals now, but they gave out much
grateful heat.
Dick could see General Grant's tent from where he sat. Officers of high
rank were still entering it or leaving it, and he was quite sure that
they were planning an attack on the morrow.
But the idea of an assault did not greatly move him now. He was too
tired and sleepy to have more than a vague impression of anything.
He saw the coals glowing before him, and then he did not see them.
He had gone sound asleep in an instant.
The next morning was gray and troubled, with heavy clouds, rolling
across the sky. The rising sun was blurred by them, and as the men ate
their breakfasts some of the great guns from the fort began to fire
at the presumptuous besieger. The heavy reports rolled sullenly over
the desolate forests, but the Northern cannon did not yet reply. The
Southern fire was doing no damage. It was merely a threat, a menace
to those who should dare the assault.
Colonel Winchester signalled to Dick and Pennington, and mounting their
horses they rode with him to the crest of the highest adjacent hill.
Presently General Grant came and with him were the generals, McClernand
and Smith.
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