Every regiment was carefully and doubly guarded, so that no man
might glide away from our ranks and put the Union forces on their
guard. This I noted particularly, as I was studying plans of escape
that night, that I might put the loyal forces on their guard
against the fearful avalanche ready to be hurled upon them. I
already saw that they would stand no fair chance for victory, taken
completely at unawares. But the orders were imperative to allow no
man to leave the ranks, and to shoot the first who should attempt it
on any pretence. Then of the nature of the ground between the
opposing forces I knew nothing, except that it was said to be
crossed and seamed by swamps, in many places almost impassable by
daylight, much more so at night. If, then, I should attempt to
desert, I must run the gauntlet of our own double guard, risk the
chance of making the three or four miles through woods and swamps in
deep darkness, and the more hazardous chance, on reaching the
Federal lines, of being shot by their pickets. I was therefore
compelled to relinquish the hope of escape that night--a sad
necessity, for if I had succeeded, it might have saved many Union
lives.

About eight o'clock P.M. a council of war was held among the
principal generals, and the plan of battle arranged. In an open
space, with a dim fire in the midst, and a drum on which to write,
you could see grouped around their "little Napoleon," as Beauregard
was sometimes fondly called, ten or twelve generals, the flickering
light playing over their eager faces, while they listened to his
plans and made suggestions as to the conduct of the fight. He soon
warmed with his subject, and throwing off his cloak to give free
play to his arms, he walked about in the group, gesticulating
rapidly, and jerking out his sentences with a strong French accent.