“Don’t ask me, sir,” said the man, hoarsely.
“Speak, man.”
“I saw the major run out, sword in hand, followed by a dozen of the scoundrels, and he was shouting for the trumpeter; but before Dick Dobbs could get out, the poor major was cut down, and we were locked in, could hear the lieutenant crying for help, and there was firing going on in his quarters, and then the scoundrels came out, shouting wildly.”
“Killed?”
The sergeant uttered a low groan.
“The wretches! the cowardly, traitorous wretches!” cried Brace. “They had murdered their own officers, and then came up to the barracks.”
“Beg pardon, sir.”
Brace repeated his words.
“What! were the niggers mutinied too?”
“Yes; did you not know?”