About five o’clock in the afternoon the newspapers from Washington were in our hands.  In one of the papers a certain war correspondent had outlined, or rather amplified, the plan of the campaign.  Basing his prediction, doubtless, upon the fact that he knew something of the nature of the advance begun on the 16th, the public was informed that Heintzelman’s division would swing far to the left until the rear of Beauregard’s right flank was reached; at the same time Miles and Hunter would seize Fairfax Court-House, and threaten the enemy’s centre and left, and would seriously attack when Heintzelman should give the signal.  Thus, rolled up from the right, and engaged everywhere else, the enemy’s defeat was inevitable.

The papers were handed from one to another.  Willis chuckled a little when he saw his own view seconded, although, he was beginning to be afraid that his plans were endangered.

“I told you that headquarters last night would be Fairfax Court-House,” said he; “but the firing we heard awhile ago means that our troops have been delayed.  Beauregard is awake.”

Just at sunset I was sent forward to relieve a vedette.  This was my first experience of the kind.  A sergeant accompanied me.  We readied a spot from which, through the trees, the sentinel could be seen.  He was facing us, instead of his front.  The poor fellow—­Johnson, of our company—­had, been on post for two mortal hours, and was more concerned about the relief in his rear than about the enemy that might not be in his front.  The sergeant halted within a few paces of the vedette, while I received instructions.  I was to ascertain from the sentinel any peculiarity of his post and the general condition, existing in his front, and then, dismiss him to the care of the sergeant.  Johnson, could tell me nothing.  He had seen nothing; had heard nothing.  He retired and I was alone.

The ground was somewhat elevated, but not sufficiently so to enable one to see far in front.  The vedette on either flank was invisible.  Night was falling.  A few faint stars began to shine.  A thousand insects were cheeping; a thousand frogs in disjointed concert welcomed the twilight.  A gentle breeze swayed the branches of the tree above me.  Far away—­to right or left, I know not—­a cow-bell tinkled.  More stars came out.  The wind died away.

I leaned against the tree, and peered into the darkness.

I wanted to be a good soldier.  This day I had heard for the first time the sound of hostile arms.  I thought it would be but natural to be nervous, and I found myself surprised when I decided that I was not nervous.  The cry of the lone screech-owl below me in the swamp sounded but familiar and appropriate.

That we were to attack the enemy I well knew; a battle was certain unless the enemy should retreat.  My thoughts were full of wars and battles.  My present duty made me think, of Indians.  I wondered whether the rebels were well armed; I knew them; I knew they would fight; I had lived among those misguided people.