“Certainly I do, and you would have run right into their clutches if I hadn’t been here to warn you. They’ll get supper and sleep there to-night, and we must look elsewhere for grub and lodging. Asa will be in a fearful way about his good clothes, but we can’t help that. We can’t get our uniforms while Mack is prowling around.”
Egan, who was well acquainted in the neighborhood, had no difficulty in finding food and shelter for himself and his companion. Another farm-house opened its hospitable doors to them, and there they passed the night, setting out bright and early the next morning to try one of the trout-streams of which Egan had spoken. Late in the afternoon they secured an interview with Asa, who, after telling them that Corporal Mack had been recalled that morning, growled lustily at them for keeping his clothes so long. In order to silence him and make sure of other disguises in future, in case they should need them, they gave him an extra dollar, and paid his mother the same amount for drying and pressing out their uniforms.
During the next two days the deserters thoroughly enjoyed themselves, living on the fat of the land, and catching as many fish as they could dispose of. On the afternoon of the third day they began to talk of returning to camp. They took supper with Asa that night, and as soon as darkness came to conceal their movements they set out for the works, hoping to creep by the sentries and reach the shelter of their tents without arousing anybody, thus winding up their exploits in the most approved style; but they did not get into the camp as easily as they thought they would. While they were passing through a piece of thick woods on their way to the bridge, they were suddenly surrounded by a multitude of dark forms which seemed to rise out of the ground on all sides of them, and before they could resist or cry out, they were seized by strong hands and hurried away through the darkness.
CHAPTER XIII.
A NIGHT ATTACK.
“Squad, halt! No. 4.”
It was Thursday afternoon, and the relief was going its rounds. When his number was called Bert Gordon stepped forward, and holding his musket at “arms port,” prepared to receive the orders which the sentry whom he was about to relieve had to pass, while the two corporals stood by and listened.
“My instructions are to stop anybody who may attempt to go out of the lines without a pass, and to keep a good lookout for prowlers,” said the sentry.
“For prowlers!” echoed Bert. “What is the meaning of that order?”
“I give it up,” replied the sentry. “I pass the command to you just as it was given to me. If you see anybody prowling about on the other side of the creek, call the corporal.”
The sentry fell into place in the rear of the squad, and the relief passed on, leaving Bert alone on his post.