"Oh, no, sir," said the soldier who had dragged him. "That there was a heifer bawling when them devils cut her throat."
He stood scratching his head and gazing blankly down at his dead comrade.
"Jesus," he drawled. "What be I a-goin' for to tell his woman now?"
CHAPTER XVI
LANA HELMER
Our Sunday morning gun had scarce been fired when from up the river came the answering thunder of artillery. Thirteen times did the distant cannon bellow their salute, announcing Clinton's advance, our camp swarmed like an excited hive, mounted officers galloping, foot officers running, troops tumbling out as the drums rattled the "general" in every regimental bivouac.
Colonel Proctor's artillery band marched out toward the landing place as I entered No. 2 Block-House and ran up the ladder, and I heard the ford-guard hurrahing and the garrison troops on the unfinished parapets answering them with cheer after cheer.
At my loud rapping on the flooring, Lois opened the trap for me, her lovely, youthful features flushed with excitement; Lana, behind her, beckoned me; and I sprang up into the loft and paid my duty to them both.
"What a noble earthquake of artillery up the river!" said Lois. "Butler has no cannon, has he?"