"The campfire of a Yankee outpost. I told you they were very near.""And that, I suppose, is one of their bugles."A faint but musical note was brought to them by the light wind blowing in their faces.
"That's what it is. It may be the signal of some movement, but they can't attempt anything serious without showing themselves. Our sentinels are posted along here for miles."The sound of the bugle continued faint and far away. It had a certain weird effect in the night and the loneliness. Harry wished to know who they were at that far campfire. His own cousin, Dick Mason, might be there.
"Although we're arrayed for war," said St. Clair, "the sentinels are often friendly. They even exchange plugs of tobacco and news. The officers have not been able to stop it wholly. Our sentinels tell theirs that we'll be in Washington in a month, and theirs tell ours that they've already engaged rooms in the Richmond hotels for July.""When two prophets disagree both can't be right," said Harry. "How far away would you say that light is, Arthur?""About a mile and a half. Let's scout a little in that direction.
There are no commands against it. Enterprise is encouraged.""Just what I'd like," said Harry, who was eager for action.
Leaving their own men under the command of a reliable sergeant named Carrick, the two youths crossed the brook and advanced over a fairly level stretch of country toward the fire. Small clusters of trees were scattered here and there, and beyond them was a field of young corn.
The two paused in one of the little groves about a hundred yards from their own outposts and looked back. They saw only the dark line of the trees, and behind them, wavering lights which they knew were the campfires of their own army. But the lights at the distance were very small, mere pin points.
"They look more like lanterns carried by 'coon and 'possum hunters than the campfires of an army," said Harry.
"Yes, you'd hardly think they mark the presence of twenty or thirty thousand men," said St. Clair. "Here we are at the cornfield. The plants are not high, but they throw enough shadow to hide us."They climbed a rail fence, and advanced down the corn rows. The moon was good and there was a plentiful supply of stars, enabling them to see some distance. To their right on a hill was a white Colonial house, with all its windows dark.
"That house would be in a bad place if a battle comes off here, as seems likely," said St. Clair.
"And those who own it are wise in having gone away," said Harry.
"I'm not so sure that they've gone. People hate to give up their homes even in the face of death. Around here they generally stay and put out the lights at dark.""Well, here we are at the end of the cornfield, and the light is not more than four or five hundred yards away. I think I can see the shadows of human figures against the flames. Come, let's climb the fence and go down through this skirt of bushes."The suggestion appealed to the daring and curiosity of both, and in a few minutes they were within two hundred yards of the Northern camp.
But they lay very close in the undergrowth. They saw a big fire and Harry judged that four or five hundred men were scattered about.
Many were asleep on the grass, but others sat up talking. The appearance of all was so extraordinary that Harry gazed in astonishment.
It was not the faces or forms of the men, but their dress that was so peculiar. They were arrayed in huge blouses and vast baggy trousers of a blazing red, fastened at the knee and revealing stockings of a brilliant hue below. Little tasselled caps were perched on the sides of their heads. Harry remembering his geography and the descriptions of nations would have taken them for a gathering of Turkish women, if their masculine faces had been hidden.
"What under the moon are those?" he whispered. "They do look curious,"replied St. Clair. "They call them Zouaves, and I think they're from New York. It's a copy of a French military costume which, unless I'm mistaken, France uses in Algeria.""They'd certainly make a magnificent target on the battlefield. AKentucky or Tennessee rifleman who'd miss such a target would die of shame.""Maybe. But listen, they're singing! What do you think of that for a military tune?"Harry heard for the first time in his life an extraordinary, choppy air, a rapid beat that rose and fell abruptly, sending a powerful thrill through his heart as he lay there in the bushes. The words were nothing, almost without meaning, but the tune itself was full of compelling power. It set the feet marching toward triumphant battle.
"In Dixie's land I'll take my stand, Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom, Look away! Look away!
Down South in Dixie!"
