He leveled it at the
fort and touched the trigger. Simultaneously with his movement an
embrasure opened and a cannon flashed, its roar flanked on either
side by a crackling of British muskets. Some bullets struck the
fence and flung splinters into Oncle Jazon's face. A cannon ball
knocked a ridge pole from the roof of a house hard by, and sent it
whirling through the air.
"Ventrebleu!--et apres? What the devil next? Better knock a
feller's eyes out!" the old man cried. "I ain't a doin' nothin' to
ye!"
He capered around rubbing his leathery face after the manner of a
scalded monkey. Beverley was struck in the breast by a flattened
and spent ball that glanced from a fence-picket. The shock caused
him to stagger and drop his gun; but he quickly picked it up and
turned to his companion.
"Are you hurt, Oncle Jazon?" he inquired. "Are you hurt?"
"Not a bit--jes' skeert mos' into a duck fit. Thought a cannon
ball had knocked my whole dang face down my throat! Nothin' but a
handful o' splinters in my poorty count'nance, makin' my head feel
like a porc'-pine. But I sort o' thought I heard somepin' give
you a diff."
"Something did hit me," said Beverley, laying a hand on his
breast, "but I don't think it was a bullet. They seem to be
getting our range at last. Tell the men to keep well under cover.
They must not expose themselves until we are ready to charge.
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