"It's grape," said Paul.
"What's grape?" asked Long Jim.
"All kinds of metal, slugs and suchlike, that scatter."
"Like a handful uv buckshot, only bigger an' more uv it."
"That describes it."
"Then it 'pears to me that we'd better back water a lot, an' give all them grape a chance to bust an' fly whar we ain't."
"Words of wisdom, Jim," said Henry, "and we'd better get behind trees, too."
"An' good big ones," said Shif'less Sol. "Ef I've got an oak seven feet through in front o' me they kin go on with thar fireworks."
They retreated hastily and lay down behind the great trunks, none too soon either, as the cannon roared and the grapeshot whistled all about them, cutting off twigs and leaves and ploughing the earth.
"That shorely is dang'rous business—fur us," said Shif'less Sol. "I'm glad they didn't start with it. It's like a swarm o' iron bees flyin' at you, an' ef you ain't holed up some o' 'em is bound to hit you."