“Seems like it, sergeant.”
Ben turned to Roy with an inquiring look, and he nodded.
“Do what you think best,” he said.
What Ben thought best was to withdraw the great wedge which depressed the muzzle of his gun, the corporal doing the same; and then, after a careful aim-taking, both pieces roared out a salute to the coming infantry, which was marching forward in steady array.
The balls went skipping along after striking the ground a hundred yards or so beyond the enemy’s battery, and, ricochetting, darted right for the solid moving mass of men. The effect was ludicrous, for in an instant they could be seen from the tower to be in a terrible state of confusion, breaking and running in all directions, and, as it were, melting away.
“First time they’ve ever faced cannon-ball,” said Ben, with a smile. “I’ve seen better men than they after more training do the same. They won’t do it next time, though.”
As far as could be seen, few people were hurt; but the shots had their effect, for the men, as they were restored to something like order, were marched back behind a patch of woodland, and the duel between the two pairs of guns was recommenced with a couple of shots from the battery, both of which struck the tower high up.
“Aha!” cried Ben, with another of his grim smiles; “got tired, then.”
“Does not seem like it, Ben,” said Roy.
“Tired of plumping balls into our earthwork, and doing what they ought to have begun with.—Come, corporal, it’s time we did better.”