‘I see,’ said Lucius with a huge yawn. ‘Well then, you lie down, and I’ll take the first watch.’
‘Shucks!’ ejaculated Ephraim. ‘What does it matter? Ye air half over already. Go ter sleep. I’ll git my allowance by-and-by.’
‘But,’ began Lucius drowsily, ‘you always do everything. I—I—don’t see—why’——. He mumbled on for a second or two, nodded heavily, started into semi-wakefulness, nodded again, and rolled over fast asleep.
Ephraim looked down at him with an expression in which tenderness for his friend and self-reproach were blended. ‘Pore Luce,’ he murmured, ‘ye air jest nat’ally tuckered out. I wish I hadn’t been sech a or’nery fool with my notions. I’d give suthin’ ter see ye back agen safe and sound in the old home et Staunton. Pray God I’ll git ye thar yit, though.
He stole to the door, and going outside, planted himself with his back against the logs of the cabin, so that he could command a view of all approaches by the front or sides. For he rightly judged that only skulkers would be likely to enter by the window, and for them he did not care.
‘“Carry me back to old Virginny,”’ he hummed softly to himself, as he glanced up and down; up to where he knew the Federal camp lay concealed behind the bend of the woods; down to where, though he could not see them either, he knew that the Confederates were still standing to arms, expecting a fresh attack on the part of Shields, and wondering why it never came. But Shields was too astute. It was as if he had heard the remark made by Jackson to his chief of staff, when the latter expressed the opinion that Shields would make a more determined attack on the bridge at Port Republic before the day was out. ‘Not he,’ said Stonewall, waving his hand towards the heights. ‘I should tear him to pieces. Look at my artillery.’
Boom! boom! boom! came the sound of the heavy guns at Cross Keys, and Ephraim’s face brightened as he pictured the struggle, in which he made not the slightest doubt Frémont was getting very much the worst of it.
‘Old Stonewall will be hyar ter-morrer,’ he thought, ‘and then thar’ll be big doin’s.’
Boom! boom! The monotony of the sound, fraught with no matter what deadly meaning, began to weary him. He straightened up and walked slowly up and down in front of the cabin. He was fearfully tired, and the desire for sleep threatened to overcome him even as he walked. But he shook it angrily off, pinching himself into wakefulness, until at last the desire fled from him.
The hours wore on to mid-day, mid-day passed to afternoon, afternoon dragged towards evening, and still he kept his self-imposed vigil, pacing up and pacing down, leaning against the wall of the cabin, or occasionally stepping discreetly inside, when a messenger or a patrol hurried by, or when blare of bugle or roll of drum in the Federal camp beyond the trees seemed to indicate a movement in the direction of the bridge.