At that instant, the sharp crack of a single rifle was heard, and Somers observed a slight jerk in the brim of the captain’s felt hat.
“Bravo!” exclaimed Captain de Banyan as he took off his hat, and pointed to a hole through which the rifle-ball had sped its way. “I’ll bet a month’s pay that fellow couldn’t do that again without making a hole through my head. But that’s a singular coincidence. That’s precisely the place where the first bullet went through my hat at Solferino. At Magenta—ah! I see him,” added the captain, as he took a musket from the hands of one of his men. “I’ll bet another month’s pay that reb has fired his last shot.”
As he spoke, he raised the gun to his shoulder, and fired up into one of the trees. A crashing of boughs, a rattling of leaves followed; and a heavy body was heard to strike the ground.
“You owe me a month’s pay, Somers,” continued Captain de Banyan, as he handed the musket back to the soldier.
“I think not,” replied the lieutenant, trying to be as cool as his companion. “I never bet.”
“Just so. I forgot that you were an exceedingly proper young man.”
The skirmish-line, which had paused a moment for an observation to be taken, now moved forward again. The rebel skirmishers were discovered, and the order was given to fire at will. The enemy’s sharpshooters were posted in the trees, and they began to pour in a galling fire upon a portion of the line.
“Steady, my men!” said Somers, when the firing commenced. “Gunpowder’s expensive; don’t waste it.”
“Not a single grain of it, Leftenant Somers,” added Sergeant Hapgood.
“There, uncle!—up in that tree!” said Somers, pointing to a grayback, who was loading his rifle, about twenty feet from the ground.