Their faces were towards the open space where the table was set, and themselves completely hidden, not only by their position but by the surrounding gloom, they could see clearly all over the room, except immediately underneath them.
Scarcely had they taken their positions when the door swung open, and with a loud clatter of voices and jingling of swords, three Federal officers entered the hut.
CHAPTER VII.
NO. XX. COMPANY D OF THE ‘TRAILING TERRORS.’
‘Ha!’ exclaimed the foremost of the three officers, who wore the uniform of a general, ‘I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but I am quite ready for my breakfast.—Eh! What! Who? The dickens!—Here, sergeant! Orderly-sergeant Cox!’
‘Sir!’ answered the orderly-sergeant, dashing into the hut at the loud, imperative summons.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded General Shields, for it was he. ‘What is the meaning of it, sir?’ he thundered, as Sergeant Cox simply stared at him without attempting to reply.
‘Meaning, sir? Meaning of what, sir?’ stammered the bewildered orderly at last.