“Yis, barrin’ a better way. ’Tis the city we’re after, an’ what wid? Wid an’ army o’ less than eight thousand, to-day, outside a walled city o’ two hundred thousand an’ dayfinded by twinty thousand, snug beyant ditches an’ stone. A job that, me lads, to open the gates. Thim dons know we’re up to somethin’. Did yez mark quite a movement o’ troops down below this mornin’? Says I to meself: ‘Gin’ral Santy Annie is startin’ out to envelop our lift, or else he’s rayinforcin’ the mill so as to get his cannon matayrial finished up.’ Faith, there’s a storm brewin’, but I’ve been in the service too long to daypind on camp gossip. I’ve my own ways o’ findin’ out.”
So the sergeant arose and strolled off.
“Same here,” Hannibal declared. He darted away for his brigade camp.
“I’ll get the correct news meself at the hospital when I ask the doctor to take wan more look at my leg,” Corporal Finerty, asserted, starting out with a great pretense at hobbling.
“Well, I’ll bide a wee jist where I am,” spoke Scotty MacPheel, smoking his pipe. “I’ve gotten a dream, this nicht past, an’ I ken mysel’ there’ll be gey hot wark soon. When it coomes, I’ll no be the last up yon hill.”
All seemed very peaceful in town and camp and upon Chapultepec rock. The flags floated languidly above roofs and tents and battlements. But danger brooded in the air. The armistice had been broken; everything indicated that. The engineers were reconnoitring, as they always did before a battle. The Mexican forces appeared somehow more alert. Now Jerry himself got up and started out. Pompey followed him.
“Where you gwine?”
“Oh, just taking a walk.”
“You gwine to find Lieutenant Grant, huh? You gwine to pester him. Lookee hyar, white boy. Don’t you say nuffin’ ’bout me. If he or Marse Smith find out I been tellin’ ahmy secrets, I get coht-martialed. Understan’? Mebbe I get hanged up, like dem desarters gwine to be.”
“Are they to be hung?”