He could afford to lose two men where the Confederacy lost one.
Harry, like many others, felt that this would be the great Northern
general's plan. To-morrow's battle might end in Southern success,
but Grant would be there to fight the following day with undiminished
resolution. He was as sure of this as he was sure that the day would
come.
The night itself was somber and sinister, the heavens dusky and a raw
chill in the air. Heavy vapors rose from the marshes, and clouds of
smoke from the afternoon's battle floated about over the thickets,
poisoning the air as if with gas, and making the men cough as they
breathed it. It made Harry's heart beat harder than usual, and his head
felt as if it were swollen. Everything seemed clothed in a black mist
with a slightly reddish tint.
A small fire had been built in a sheltered place for the commander-in-
chief and his staff, and the cooks were preparing the supper, which was
of the simplest kind. While they ate the food and drank their coffee,
the darkness increased, with the faint lights of other fires showing here
and there through it. Around the muddy places frogs croaked in defiance
of armies, and, from distant points, came the crackling fire of
skirmishers prowling in the dusk.
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