"There's a good time coming, and near, boys! there's a good time coming, and near!" sings out Tucket, holding his head high as he strides along, for he has caught a sight of fires beyond, and the company are now emerging upon a tract of sandy barrens, thinly covered with pines.
A road runs through the island. The advance of the column has already taken possession of it. Skirmishers have been thrown forward into the woods, and pickets are posted on the flanks.
The troops prepare to bivouac for the night. Fires are kindled, and soon the generous flames blaze up, illumining picturesque groups of men, and casting a wild glare far into the depths of the great, black, silent woods. The trees seem to stand out like startled giants, gazing at the unusual scene; and all above and around the frightened shadows lurk, in ghostly boughs, behind dark trunks, among the deep grasses, and in hollows of the black morass. And the darkness of the night overhangs the army like a vast tent, sombrely flickering.
A dry fence of cypress and pine rails is, without hesitation, appropriated to feed the fires of the bivouac; and the chilled, soaked soldiers gather around them to get warm and dry.
"My brave fellows," says Captain Edney, passing among them, "do the best you can for yourselves for the night. Try to keep warm, and get what rest and sleep you can. You will need all your strength to-morrow."
"To-morrow," observes Winch, with a swaggering, braggart air, "we're going to give the rebels the almightiest thrashing they've had yet! To wade in their blood as deep as I've waded to-night in this mud and water, that's what'll just suit me!"
"The less blood the better, boys," says Captain Edney. "But we must be prepared to shed our own to the last drop, if need be, for we're bound to sweep this island of every traitor to his country, before we leave it. Make up your minds to that, boys!"
There is that in his tone which promises something besides child's play on the morrow. He is calm, serious, spirited, resolute; and the hearts of his men are fired by his words.
The troops are full of jest and merriment as they kick off their shoes, and empty the water out of them, squeeze their dripping trousers, and, lying on the ground, toast their steaming legs by the fires.
"I say, le's have a gallus old time to-night, to pay for our ducking," suggests Jack Winch. "I don't want to sleep."