ODTAA: A novel

by John Masefield

While the doors were open, some sweepers from the barracks brought in a cask of water and a basket of army bread for the use of the prisoners for which those with any appetites left were glad and thankful.

The American tried to find out from these sweepers what was happening outside. They would not answer him except by shaking their heads: when the guards noticed the questioning they ordered the prisoners not to speak to the sweepers on pain of being shot. “These Red Runts are plum scared,” the American said. “They wouldn’t bring us food unless they were afraid of being whipped. They’re keeping both sides the fence.”

Hi was cheered by this, as by nothing else. After three minutes in the church, he had felt that he knew and loathed every detail of it. He tried walking up and down the aisles; but the sense, that he was a prisoner, took all the interest out of walking. He tried lying down to sleep, but the sense that he was a prisoner, the knowledge that he had failed, and the excitement of the coming battle, kept him awake. He tried to pray that the Whites would rout the Reds; but the excitement and anxiety were too great, he could not put the prayer into words. Time seemed to stand still, all reality seemed to have ceased; he lay in a horrible nothing, anxious unspeakably. Everybody there in the church was in the same state. When Hi listened, he felt that everybody in the city was in the same state. One of the strange things of that afternoon was the silence in the town about them; it seemed like a town of the dead, save for the pacing of the guards outside the doors, and the occasional passing of patrols. At about half-past three, the distant firing, which had hardly varied in volume for two hours, increased and changed. Plainly some much heavier metal had come into action.

“Two batteries of four guns,” the American said, after listening. “Number three gun in one of ’em is slow in getting off. They’ve only four batteries in their whole army: and one of them’s in pawn, for the Dictator’s new state coach.”

“The firing is nearer than it was,” Hi said.

“There’s more of it,” the American said.

There was more of it for half an hour: then suddenly it increased to a rolling, rattling racket much nearer at hand. This went on with the utmost fury for twenty minutes, during which all the windows in Santa Barbara rattled and trembled. Hi could hear shouting in the noise of the firing: then the shouting ceased and the firing dwindled away to a popping till it almost ceased, too. He looked to the American for an explanation. “That was an attack,” he said. “But I guess they’ve grown tired of it.”

It seemed as though that were the case, that they were tired of it. The light began to move from the floor up the wall as the sun went down the sky. The day of battle and suspense seemed coming to an end. Then suddenly, within a quarter of a mile of them, seemingly somewhere on the sea-front of the city, there came a clattering of horse-hoofs and shouting.

After this, there was silence, while everybody waited in suspense for a quarter of an hour, when a sudden shattering volley from close at hand sent the hearts into the throats. Ricochetting bullets struck the near-by roofs, there were falls of plaster and of tiles and the cries of women, while the space down by the sea-front began to roar with firing: hot and hot, so near at hand that presently the stink of the powder drifted into the church.

The firing went on for nearly an hour, dwindling as the light dwindled, till by the time the church was dark, save for the moonlight, it ceased altogether.