“That’s bad. Then the men inside are penned in without much hope of getting out alive unless we bring relief.”
“That’s the situation in a nutshell.”
“But how is it going to be done?” asked Mr. Chadwick with a trace of irritation in his voice at the calmness of the Scot superintendent. “We cannot leave those men in there to perish.”
“No, eets no to be thoct of.”
“But the troops are not strong enough to cut their way through the rebel ranks?”
“I’m no sayin’ they aren’t, and I’m no sayin’ they are.”
“Upon my word, Jameson, can’t you suggest something except just to stand there and negative suggestions?”
“I’m thinkin’ I’ve done some work to-night, Mr. Chadwick,” was the dignified reply.
“You’re right, you have,” exclaimed Mr. Chadwick contritely; “forgive me, Jameson, but I’m overwrought and nervous. But can’t we try the troops from the outside?”
“Eet would be of no use whatever, Meester Chadwick, and that’s the Laird’s own truth. There’s one way to drive those rascally rebels to the woods, though.”