And so Mr. Scott clinched the bargain.
How the little Sergeant racked his brains that night, as he tossed from side to side, trying to hit upon some plan by which they could get the field-gun away from its triumphant capturers!
It would be no easy matter to drag the heavy cannon so far even if they had a fair field; but when it was held by the enemy—five big boys—Tommy shook his head in doubt, for he had no longer confidence in the courage of his squad.
The more he thought of it, the more he felt convinced that the only thing to do was to decoy the guard in some way; but how? Suddenly he sat up in bed and looked out of the window. It was moonlight, and he could see some distance through the trees into a large field at the end of the garden.
"Yes, that will work," he murmured. "I don't want to do it, but it's the only thing I can think of, and we've got to get that field-gun somehow."
So, having at last made up his mind, he turned over and fell asleep.
"Fire! fire! fire!" clanged the great iron bell, putting all the toy cannons to shame.
"Fire! fire!" shouted the men and boys as they dropped their pipes and their fire-crackers, and started in the direction from which a volume of smoke rose black and dense against the clear sky. There were not many fires in Raleigh, and this looked like a promising one. From all parts of the little town the people swarmed, eager for any excitement that would help to celebrate the holiday.
"Now's our chance," whispered Tommy to the "Reds," as, ensconced behind a hedge, they watched the crowd assemble. "We've got to hustle, for the fire won't last long."