All were turned, facing south.
They had heard the distant report of the massed volley of artillery in the south. Distant, but distinct above the general fusillade roaring along the river bottom. One of the scouts Ely had sent out was coming up the hill to headquarters, urging his mount on. He reined in before Grant and saluted.
"At least two divisions, sir," he announced. "Sorry I took so long, but I wanted a good look at them, try to count their flags and such."
"Where's Lieutenant Moore?" Ely asked.
"He got hit. Killed, sir, some of them reb skirmishers are damn good shots."
His horse was bleeding from two wounds, testament to the accuracy of fire he had faced while scouting.
"Continue with your report," Grant said quietly.
"Sir. I counted enough flags for at least two divisions. It's Beauregard. I remember seeing him at Shiloh, sir. It's definitely him."
"Just two divisions?"
"No, sir. They were deployed out into a front of two divisions, behind them about twenty, maybe twenty-five guns. But I could see more men coming up from the road, also moving through fields. I'd reckon at least one more division, maybe two. I caught sight of a Texas flag with those men."
"Robertson perhaps," Grant said softly.
"Could not say, sir. Did you hear those guns fire off?"
"Yes, we did," Ely interjected.
"That was a signal. They're advancing. Like I said, two divisions wide, right flank on the river, coming straight up the road from Buckeystown."
The man fell silent and Ely offered him a canteen, which he gladly took and drained half.
"Good report, soldier," Grant said. 'Take care of your horse and get something to eat."
Grant walked away from the scout, Ely following.
"Ely," he said quietly, "send for Ord and Sheridan now. No hurrying about, no panic, but I want them up here quickly."
Grant turned about and walked to the campfire, knowing all eyes were upon him. Everyone at headquarters had heard the report.
He sat down by the cookfire. He was hungry again, and after losing his first attempt at breakfast he was tempted to try again. This time he'd have to keep it down. Everyone was watching, and if he threw up, all would think it was nervousness and not just the headache. Besides, he'd need food; it was going to be a long day. He sat down, took a piece of hardtack offered by the cook, and chewed on it in silence.