“We can hold out, of course,” I said, “as long as our ammunition lasts; but what about afterwards?”
“Bother afterwards!” he said sharply; “a hundred things may happen before it comes to afterwards.”
“Then, if they determine to hold on, they can force us to surrender.”
“Never,” said the Sergeant; “so no more croaking.”
“But what about provisions?”
“Every man has his rations in a satchel.”
“But water?”
“Every man has his bottle well filled, my lad.”
“But when the water-bottles are empty and the food is done? What about feeding the horses? What about watering them?”
“Yah!” growled the Sergeant savagely. “Call yourself a volunteer? What do you mean by coming here prophesying all sorts of evil? Do you want to starve the horses and see ’em die of thirst? Here, I say, my lad,” he whispered, “don’t let any of the boys hear that. You’ve hit the weak point of the defence a regular staggerer. You’re quite right; but we must hold on, and perhaps after a good peppering they’ll draw off. If they don’t, it means forming up and making a dash, and that’s what the Colonel won’t do if he can help it, on account of the loss.”