“Oh! this—this business—such a fix to be—”
“Major! remember you are a soldier.”
“Yes; and I wish I had resigned, as I intended to do, before this cursed war commenced.”
“Never fear,” said I, tempted to smile at the candour of his cowardice; “you’ll drink wine at Hewlett’s in a month. Get behind this log—it’s the only point shot-proof in the whole stockade.”
“Do you think, Captain, it will stop a shot?”
“Ay—from a siege-gun. Look out, men, and be ready to obey orders!”
The six-pounder had now approached within five hundred yards of the stockade, and was leisurely being unlimbered in the midst of a group of the enemy’s artillerists.
At this moment the voice of the major arrested my attention.
“Great heaven, Captain! Why do you allow them to come so near?”
“How am I to prevent them?” I asked, with some surprise.