“Will we never get there?” he finally whispered.
“Slow work it is,” replied the other, in the lowest of voices, “but it has to be done careful.”
“I understood you the river was open once more.”
“Ay. We had word the regiments had been withdrawn, to go north with the main army; but this is only the second night the boats have ventured in, and cautious we’ve always had to be.”
The note of a crow came floating over the water, and at the sound the last speaker raised himself on his elbow and deliberately began counting in a low voice. As he spoke the number “ten,” once again came the discordant “caw, caw,” and instantly the counter opened his mouth and sent forth an admirable imitation of the cry of a screech-owl. Counting once again to ten, he repeated the shriek, then listened.
In a moment the first splash of oars reached them.
“This way,” softly called the man, and put out his hand to prevent a small boat colliding with the larger one.
“Thought I heard a bird just now,” remarked the solitary occupant.
“If you did, ’t was a king bird.”
“I have n’t much to-night,” announced the new arrival, as he handed a small packet into the boat. “It contains a paper from No. 2, giving the decisions of the last council of war, and the line of march they have adopted for next week.”