Ephraim drew out his handkerchief and fumbled with it in his hands, but all the time he scanned the opposite woods. Then the light died out of his eyes again, for save for the waving boughs that swept gently to and fro in the morning breeze, there was nothing to be seen.
‘Now then,’ shouted Plowes; and Lucius muttered: ‘Have you got your handkerchief on?’
‘Yes, sonny,’ answered Ephraim soothingly, as he glanced once more towards the woods. ‘Thar they air, the boys in gray,’ he murmured. ‘Why don’t they come out? Am I dreaming? It’s too late! too late! One of us must go under. I reckon it’ll hev ter be me.’ Then dashing the handkerchief to the ground beside him, he placed his right arm round Luce’s shoulders and roared at the top of his voice: ‘Fire, boys! Fire!’
‘Ready!’ called Plowes, astonished at this mode of address, for he supposed it to be meant for him. ‘Present!‘——
But ere the fatal word could cross the sergeant’s lips, Ephraim swung suddenly round in front of Lucius and clasped him in his arms. The Grizzly’s broad back was turned to the platoon, and his body covered the friend he loved from the deadly volley.
But it never came. For before a trigger of the six rifles could be drawn, a line of flame spurted from the opposite woods, and a frightful roar of musketry swallowed up all other sounds. Lucius felt a sharp agony of pain in his right ankle, and then, with a dead, heavy weight bearing him irresistibly backwards, fell fainting to the ground with the wild rebel yell ringing in his ears.
The battle of Port Republic had begun. For the second time Lucius and Ephraim had stood up to the fire of their own men, and this time they had gone down.
‘Fire, boys! Fire!‘
