The Union fifes and drums, now sounding what seemed an unsuspicious and cheerful reveille, were apparently at least a mile away.
It was growing lighter rapidly, and every passing moment was fraught with the weightiest urgency.

She concentrated all her energies for a supreme effort, and lashed her mare forward over the muddy cotton-field.
The beast's hoofs sank in the loose red loam, as if it were quicksand, and her pace was maddeningly slow.

At last Rachel came in sight of a Union camp at the edge of a cedar thicket.

The arms were stacked, the men were cooking breakfast, and a battery of cannon standing near had no horses attached.
Rachel beat the poor mare's flanks furiously, and shouted.
"Turn out! The Rebels are coming! The Rebels are coming!" Her warning came too late.

Too late, also, came that of the pickets, who were firing their guns and rushing back to camp before an awful wave of men that had rolled out of the cedars on the other side of the cotton field.
A hundred boisterous drums were now making the thickets ring with the "long roll." Rachel saw the men in front of her leave their coffee-making, rush to the musket stacks and take their places in line.
In another minute they were ordered forward to the fence in front of them, upon which they rested their muskets.