a strong French accent.
All listened attentively, and the dim light just revealing their
countenances showed their different emotions of confidence or
distrust in his plans. General Sidney Johnson stood apart from the
rest, with his tall straight form standing out like a specter
against the dim sky, and the illusion was fully sustained by the
light-gray military cloak which he folded around him. His face was
pale, but wore a determined expression, and at times he drew nearer
the center of the ring and said a few words, which were listened to
with great attention. It may be he had some foreboding of the fate
he was to meet on the morrow, for he did not seem to take much part
in the discussion. General Breckenridge lay stretched out on a
blanket near the fire, and occasionally sat upright and added a few
words of counsel. General Bragg spoke frequently and with
earnestness. General Polk sat on a camp-stool at the outside of the
circle, and held his head between his hands, seeming buried in
thought. Others reclined or sat in various positions. What a grand
study for a Rembrandt was this, to see these men, who held the lives
of many thousands in their power, planning how best to invoke the
angel Azrael to hurl his darts with the breaking of morning light.

For two hours the council lasted, and as it broke up, and the
generals were ready to return to their respective commands, I heard
General Beauregard say,--raising his hand and pointing in the
direction of the Federal camps, whose drums we could plainly
hear,--"Gentlemen, we sleep in the enemy's camp to-morrow night."

The Confederate generals had minute information of General Grant's
position and numbers. This knowledge was obtained through spies and
informers, some of whom had lived in that part of the country and
knew every foot of the ground.

Yet that was a dreary night to prepare for the dreadful battle of
to-morrow. The men were already weary, hungry, and cold. No fires
were allowed, except in holes in the ground, over which the soldiers
bent with their blankets round their shoulders, striving to catch
and concentrate the little heat that struggled up through the bleak
April air. Many a poor fellow wrote his last sentence in his
note-book that night by the dim light of these smothered fires, and
sat and talked in undertones of home, wife, and mother, sister or
sweetheart. Promises were made to take care of each other, if
wounded, or send word home, if slain; ke