“Can’t be helped,” says he; “they know we’re here, boys.”

The danger had become great; perhaps there was but one Whitworth over there, but the marksman would at once tell the skirmishers where we were posted; then we should be a target for their whole line, and at three hundred yards their Enfields could riddle our sand-bags and make us lie low.

Rap, rap, rap!  Three sand-bags were hit, and Holt was scratched on the cheek.  The bullets struck the wall behind; one penetrated, the others fell into the ravine—­they were Enfield bullets.

Holt’s face was bleeding.  The men looked gloomy; we had had our fun.

Willis called another council.  His speech was to the effect that we had done more damage than we had received, and should receive; that all we had to do was to stay in the ravine until the storm should pass; the rebels would think that we were gone and would cease wasting their ammunition; then we could have more fun.

Holt said bravely that he was not willing to give it up yet; so said Thompson, and so said Freeman.

My vote was given to remain and wait for developments.  At this moment retreat could not be considered; we could not reach the edge of the woods under sixty yards; somebody would be struck if not killed; it was doubtful that any could escape sound and whole, for the rebels, if they had any sense, were prepared to see us run out, and would throw a hundred shots at us.  If our line could ever again get the upper hand of the rebels, then we could get out easily; if not, we must stay here till night.  We had done all that could be done—­had done well, and we must not risk loss without a purpose; we must protect ourselves; let the rebels waste their powder—­the more they wasted, the better.  The only real danger was that the rebels might advance; but even if they did, they could not get at us without coming to blows with our line—­the ravine protected our line from their charge.  It was our business to stay where we were and to keep a sharp lookout.

So it was ordered by Willis that while the storm was raging we should keep one man on watch, and that the others should stay at the bottom of the ravine.  Holt boldly claimed first watch.

The four of us were sitting in the sand; Holt’s head was below the level of the field; every now and then he raised his eyes to the porthole.  Freeman began, taking off his coat.

“Gittin’ warm?” asked Willis.

“I’m the man to show you a trick,” said Freeman.

He hung the coat on the iron end of the spade, and tied his hat above on a stick; then he went down the ravine about ten yards, faced us, raised his dummy, and marched quickly toward us.  This was the first dummy that the rebels had ever seen march, no doubt; at any rate their whole force was at once busy; the fire rolled from left to right far down the line, yet when Freeman examined his garments he found that neither hat nor coat had been struck.