"We know what army we're going against, don't we?" asked Pennington.
"Why, Pemberton's, of course," replied Dick.
"I'm glad of that. I'd rather fight him than Joe Johnston."
"They've been trying to unite, but we hear they haven't succeeded."
Pemberton, in truth, had been suffering from the most painful doubt.
Having failed to do what Johnston had expected of him, he had got himself
into a more dangerous position than ever. Then, after listening to a
divided council of his generals, he had undertaken a movement which
brought him within striking distance of Grant, while Johnston was yet too
far away to help him.
Dick did not know how much fortune was favoring the daring that morning,
but he and his comrades were sanguine. They felt all the time the
strong hand over them. Like the soldiers, they had acquired the utmost
confidence in Grant. He might make mistakes, but he would not doubt and
hesitate and draw back. Where he led the enemy could not win anything
without having to fight hard for it.
The early summer dawn had deepened, bright and hot, and the sun was now
clear of the trees, turning the green of the forests to gold.
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