"Stir up that man, there," I said; "he must keep his rifle in hand and ready."
"If you please, sir," said the bare-waisted soldier, "he won't be stirred up."
"Won't be stirred up?" I said, with natural impatience; "why won't he?"
"Because he can't be," said the soldier.
"Can't be?" I said, not understanding such obstinacy. "What do you mean?"
"He can't be stirred up," replied the soldier; "because he's dead, sir."
I examined the man, and found that it was true. We had marched long and hard in the stifling heat before we lay down in the orchard, and the man, overpowered by it, had died so gently that his death was not known to us. We let him lie there, the dead man in the ranks with the quick.
"Doesn't the concussion of cannon and muskets cause rain sometimes?" asked Marcel.
"I have heard so," I replied. "Why?"
"Because, if it does," said Marcel, "I hope the battle will be brought on at once, and that it will be a most ferocious contention. Then it may cause a shower heavy enough to cool us off."