He thought of his companions dropping dead around him, of his friends mangled by bayonets and cannon shot; he painted the most terrible picture of a battle which his imagination could conjure up, hoping in this manner to be prepared for the worst.
The day was hot, and the sun poured down his scorching rays upon the devoted soldiers as they pursued their weary march.

They were fatigued by continued exertion, and some of the weary ones, when the sun approached the meridian, began to hope the great battle would not take place on that day.

Tom Somers, nearly worn out by the tedious march, and half famished after the scanty breakfast of hard bread he had eaten before daylight, began to feel that he was in no condition to face the storm of bullets which he had been imagining.
No orders came to halt at noon, though the crowded roads several times secured them a welcome rest: but on marched the weary soldiers, till the roar of cannon broke upon their ears; and as they moved farther on, the rattling volleys of musketry were heard, denoting that the battle had already commenced.

These notes of strife were full of inspiration to the loyal and patriotic in the columns.

A new life was breathed into them.
They were enthusiastic in the good cause, and their souls immediately became so big that what had been body before seemed to become spirit now.
They forgot their empty stomachs and their weary limbs.