"Our men were making cartridges all day long, for three days before the battle. You know, baron, the Tyrol has few resources in itself; we have few powder-mills, and the frontiers are now so watched that it is exceeding difficult to get any into the country, even when we have any money to pay for it, which generally we have not."
"No, and then you waste so much in feux-de-joie and such nonsense, at every rustic wedding and merry-making; every petty success. Why, I can hear your sharpshooters peppering away now!"
"Because yesterday's was not a petty success. Forgive them, baron. Every time we fight you a Berg Isel, you may afford us a feu-de-joie. However, the lads are wasting their powder now, I acknowledge; and, when I go hence, I will stop it."
"Do so; and—just give me that carafe of iced water and the goblet; I'm so thirsty!—Have some wine, Hofer?"
"No, baron, I thank you."
"Tell them, Hofer, for goodness' sake, to husband what little ammunition they possess, for they don't know how important it is."
"Oh yes, they do, baron! They knew, yesterday, when their own was spent; and luckily, the Bavarians' was exhausted too!"
"Ha, ha!"
"Speckbacher has a little boy, who runs into the thick of the fight, picks up bullets, and brings them to his father to use again."
"Ha, ha! Cool!—Where's Speckbacher now?"