“Harry, you may want to see the enemy.  Clayton, you and Campbell take him forward through the pickets.  But don’t go too far.  We don’t want to lose three perfectly good young officers before the battle begins.  After that it may be your business to get yourselves shot.”

The two rode nearly two miles to the crest of a hill and then, using their strong glasses in the moonlight, they were able to see the lights of a vast camp.

“We hear that it is Warren’s corps,” said Clayton.  “As General Ewell doubtless has told you, the enemy know that we’re in front, but I don’t believe they know our exact location.  I believe we’ll be in battle with those men in the morning.”

Harry thought so too.  In truth, it was inevitable.  Warren would advance and Ewell would stand in his way.  Yet he slept soundly when he went back to camp, although he was awakened long before dawn the next day.  Then he ate breakfast, mounted and sat his horse not far away from Ewell, whom two soldiers had strapped into his saddle, and who was watching with eager eyes for the sunrise.

Harry, listening intently, heard no sound in front of them, save the wind rippling through the dwarfed forests of the Wilderness, and he knew that no battle had yet begun elsewhere.  Sound would come far on that placid May morning, and it was a certainty that Ewell was nearest to contact with the enemy.

But Ewell did not yet move.  All his men had been served with early breakfast, such as it was, and remained in silent masses, partly hidden by the forest and thickets.  The dawn was cold, and Harry felt a little chill, but it soon passed, as the red edge of the sun showed over the eastern border of the Wilderness.  Then the light spread toward the zenith, but the golden glow failed to penetrate the somber thickets.

“It’s going to be a good day,” said Harry to an aide.

“A good day for a battle.”

“We’ll hear from the Yankees soon.  They can’t fail to discover our exact location by sunrise, and they’ll fight.  Be sure of that.”

It was now nearly six o’clock, and General Ewell, growing impatient, rode forward a little.  Harry followed with his staff.  A half-dozen Southern sharpshooters rose suddenly out of the thickets, and one of them dared to lay his hands on the reins of the general’s horse.  But Ewell was not offended.  He looked down at the man and said: 

“What is it, Strother?”

“Riflemen of the enemy are not more than three or four hundred yards away.  If you go much farther, General, they will certainly see you and fire upon you.”

“Thanks, Strother.  So they’ve located us?”

“They’re about to do it.  They’re feeling around.  We’ve seen ’em in the bushes.  We ask you not to go on, General.  We wouldn’t know what to do without you.  There, sir!  They’re firing on our pickets!”