“It is a painful thought,” said Harold, “and one that you should dismiss from contemplation.  The chances are thousands to one that you will never meet in battle.”

“I trust the first bullet that will be fired may reach my heart, rather than that we should.  But who can tell?  I have a strange, gloomy feeling upon me; I would say a presentiment, if I were superstitious.”

“It is a natural feeling upon the eve of battle.  Think no more of it.  Look how prettily the moon is creeping from under the edge of yonder cloud.  We shall have a bright day for the fight, I think.”

“Yes, that’s a comfort.  One fights all the better in the warm sunlight, as if to show the bright heavens what bloodthirsty devils we can be upon occasion.  Hark!”

It was the roll of the drum, startling the stillness of the night; and presently, the brief, stern orders of the sergeants could be heard calling the men into the ranks.  There is a strange mingled feeling of awe and excitement in this marshalling of men at night for a dangerous expedition.  The orders are given instinctively in a more subdued and sterner tone, as if in unison with the solemnity of the hour.  The tramp of marching feet strikes with a more distinct and hollow sound upon the ear.  The dark masses seem to move more compactly, as if each soldier drew nearer to his comrade for companionship.  The very horses, although alert and eager, seem to forego their prancing, and move with sober tread.  And when the word “forward!” rings along the dark column, and the long and silent ranks bend and move on as with an electric impulse, there is a thrill in every vein, and each heart contracts for an instant, as if the black portals of a terrible destiny were open in the van.

A half hour of silent hurry and activity passed away, and at last the whole army was in motion.  It was now three o’clock; the moon shone down upon the serried ranks, gleaming from bayonet and cannon, and stretching long black shadows athwart the road.  From time to time along the column could be heard the ringing voice of some commander, as he galloped to the van, cheering his men with some well-timed allusion, or dispelling the surrounding gloom with a cheerful promise of victory.  Where the wood road branched from the Warrentown turnpike, Gen. McDowell, standing in his open carriage, looked down upon the passing columns, and raised his hat, when the excited soldiers cheered as they hurried on.  Here Hunter’s column turned to the right, while the main body moved straight on to the centre.  Then all became more silent than before, and the light jest passing from comrade to comrade was less frequent, for each one felt that every step onward brought him nearer to the foe.

The eastern sky soon paled into a greyish light, and ruddy streaks pushed out from the horizon.  The air breathed fresher and purer than in the darkness, and the bright sun, with an advance guard of thin, rosy clouds, shot upward from the horizon in a blaze of splendor.  It was the Sabbath morn.