There was no response, and I could distinguish clearly his heavy breathing.
“One of you stir up the Sergeant, will you? I want to speak with him.”
A young fellow came forward grinning, and laid one hand heavily on his officer's shoulder.
“Come, Dutchy,” he said with easy familiarity, “get up!”
The Sergeant shot to an upright position like a jack-in-the-box. “Mein Gott,” he asked anxiously, “is it der Yanks vot come already?”
“Hell, no; but the Captain wants you.”
“Der Captain?” He arose ponderously, and came forward with a decidedly halting gait.
“Vos I sent for?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said; “I want you to have the men get their supper at once, as we shall be obliged to ride a good portion of the night.”
“Ride?” and his face took on an expression of genuine horror. “By Chiminy, Captain, it vos impossible. Mem Gott! it could not be done.”