Waking and sleeping by turns, officers and men passed
the chilly night as best they could until it was near the time when the
first gray streaks of dawn should come. Then those who were sleeping
were quietly aroused; the ranks were noiselessly formed; the stacks of
arms were broken; the first sergeants passed along the fronts of their
companies to verify the attendance; and then the men were allowed to
sit down, guns in hand, to await the daybreak and be in instant
readiness for an attack if the enemy should attempt an early surprise.
Daylight came, however, on the memorable 20th of September, and no
attack had been made. The first thought, naturally, after apprehension
of an early attack had gone, was to appease hunger and thirst. But there
was little in the haversacks, and nothing in the canteens. Details of
men were sent for water, and never returned. The enemy had possession of
the springs we had used the day before, and our details walked
unconsciously into his hands. There was not a drop of water on the whole
field, and men and officers resigned themselves to the torments of
thirst, a thousand times worse than the gnawings of hunger. But with
daylight we could at least get some idea of our position. In front was a
dense forest, in which nothing was to be seen except our own skirmishers
a few yards in advance. Just behind us was an oblong open field, three
hundred yards wide and thrice as long. On the other side of this field
ran the Rossville road.
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