"Is the raft here?"
"Yes, under yonder bushes. Help Peters carry down the three boxes of ammunition, and then the three of us can see what we can do with the field-piece. I'm afraid it is pretty well stuck in the mud, and we may have to use a log or two to budge her."
"How about hosses on the other side?" asked Bolder. "We can't drag the gun by hand, even if she is light."
"We'll find horses, never fear. Come, get to work, and I'll take a hand myself."
Deck was in hopes that the Confederates would bring forth their ammunition and the field-piece without delay; but such was not the case. They first went to work on the raft, a clumsy affair built of two logs and a dozen rough two-inch hemlock planks. The raft had become wedged in under the brush overgrowing the bank of the inlet, and the trio tugged and strained at a rope to bring her away. Evidently, like many other Southerners, they were not used to work, and the task proceeded with many growls from all hands.
The raft brought over to the inner end of the inlet, the three Confederates took a breathing spell and passed around a bottle which the lieutenant carried. A plug of tobacco also went the round, each whittling off a piece to suit himself, with his jack-knife. Then the three started along a dry gully just above the inlet. A thrashing around in some brush followed.
"Here we are!" cried the lieutenant. "What a pity we didn't have a chance to use that gun and the canister against the Yanks!"
"Never mind, we'll use 'em another time," answered Peters. "Catch hold, Bolder," and he began to handle one of the ammunition cases.
Deck had seen enough, and now he touched Life on the arm, and the two retreated to a distance where it would be safe to talk. "We've spotted the things," he said. "What do you advise as the next move to make?"
"That is for you to say, Major."