“You used to be a good boy, when you was a boy; and I hope you’ve said your prayers,” replied old Hapgood, appalled at the prospect before his young friend.
“Don’t you croak, uncle,” added Somers.
“The rebels’ pickets are up here, not twenty rods distant. Do you calculate to go through them, or over them?”
“Either—just as I can; but I am going through, somehow or other.”
“It can’t be done! Thunderation! you’ll bring down the whole rebel army upon us! You don’t think of going over there with only twenty men!”
“I do, uncle. I’m going over on that hill yonder, and I’m coming back again before night.”
Hapgood tapped his forehead significantly with his finger to indicate that the young lieutenant had lost his senses.
“I was ordered to do it, and I am going to do it, uncle. You can set your mind at rest on that point.”
“It can’t be did!” said the old man positively. “I don’t keer who told you to do it; it can’t be did with less’n twenty thousand men. You will sacrifice yourself and all the rest of us.”
“You may return to the camp, if you wish.”