"This is delightful," thought Mr. Diggs, his short legs moving rapidly, in order to keep up with the rest of the company. "What an entertaining, amusing, and instructive chapter this will furnish for my book! This is one phase of soldier life. Night so black, so intensely black—hem—that one might write his name in chalk upon it. Dark, wild clouds and howling winds with thick banks of fog almost blocking the way, as six resolute, determined, dare-devil soldiers, of whom the modest writer was one—He, he, he!" chuckled Diggs to himself. "I'll make it capital."
His ruminations were brought to a close by arriving at the tall, dark barn, where Sergeant Swords called a halt and solemnly informed his command that the desired turkeys were inside.
"I say—hem, hem, hem!" began Mr. Diggs.
"Well, don't make so much noise about it!" whispered Corporal Grimm, clutching him by the arm, "or we will have the old rebel and his five hundred niggers on us in no time."
The door of the barn was locked, but this slight obstacle was soon overcome.
"Quick!" whispered Sergeant Swords, and the men glided in.
The loud barking of a dog from the house came to their ears, and the sound of angry voices. Tom Scott closed the large double door just as the nose of a ferocious dog came thump against them.
"Hist!" said the sergeant. "I believe we are discovered."
"What is it, old man?" came in shrill accents from the house.