chapeau upon his grey hair, full uniform of dark blue, with gold buttons in a double row down the front, heavy gold epaulets on the shoulders, and broad gold braid following his trousers seams. A sword in engraved scabbard hung at his left side; his left arm was curiously crooked. A splendid horse bore him proudly.
All the other officers were in full uniform, too, and kept behind him.
"That's Scott! That's General Scott! Old Fuss and Feathers himself!" Hannibal whispered. "Now mind your eye. No foolishness, boy."
General Scott turned his horse and rode boldly right up the sand hill, until he sat looking at the plain and the enemy through his spy-glass. The men promptly stood up, at salute.
"Keep down, keep down, men," he gruffly ordered. "You shouldn't expose yourselves this way."
A solid shot whistled by him, and he never stirred. A shell burst in front, and he never stirred. He sat, gazing.
"Sure, sir, you're exposin' yourself, ain't you?" somebody called.
General Scott snapped his glass together, and smiled grimly. Jerry could see his grey eyes, as he glanced at the man. They were of a keen grey, but kindly. There was something fatherly as well as severe about him.
"Oh, as for that," General Scott answered, "generals, nowadays, can be made of anybody, but men, my lad, are hard to get."
He leisurely rode back to his staff; and how the soldiers cheered!
