"What have you here, Mitchell?" asked Captain Blessington,
who was in command of the guard, and who had recognised
the gruff voice of the veteran in the challenge just
given.
"An American burnt log, your honour," muttered the soldier,
"if one was to judge from its stillness; but if it is,
it must have rolled there within the last minute; for
I'll take my affidavy it wasn't here when I passed last
in my beat."
"An American burnt log, indeed! it's some damned rascal
of a spy, rather," remarked Captain Erskine. "Who knows
but it may be our big friend, come to pay us a visit
again? And yet he is not half long enough for him, either.
Can't you try and tickle him with the bayonet, any of
you fellows, and see whether he is made of flesh and
blood?"
Although this observation was made almost without object,
it being totally impossible for any musket, even with
the addition of its bayonet, to reach more than half way
across the ditch, the several sentinels threw themselves
on their chests, and, stretching over the rampart as far
as possible, made the attempt to reach the suspicious
looking object that lay beyond.
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