But Colonel Winchester raged again and again in vain. There was no
attack. Brigade after brigade in blue came up and sat down before the
Antietam. The cannon exchanged salutes across the little river, but
no harm was done, and the great masses of McClellan faced the whole
peninsula, within which lay Lee with half of his army. The Winchester
regiment was moved far to the north, where its officers hopefully
believed that the first attack would be made. Here they extended
beyond Lee's line, and it would be easy to cross the Antietam and hurl
themselves upon his flank.
Despite the delay, Dick and his comrades, thrilled at the great and
terrible panorama spread before them. The mid-September day had become
as hot as those of August had been. The late afternoon sun was brazen,
and immense clouds of dust drifted about. But they did not hide the view
of the armies, arrayed for battle, and with only a narrow river between.
Dick, through his own glasses saw Confederate officers watching them
also. He tried to imagine that this was Lee and that Longstreet, and
that one of the Hills, and the one who wore a gorgeous uniform must
surely be Stuart.
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