MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
staggering back with an oath, his gun clattering on the porch. There followed a sharp spitting of carbines on either side, the fellows shooting recklessly, the light of discharge revealing retreating figures without, the heavy smoke choking us in the ill-ventilated room. I made myself heard above the uproar.
"Hold your fire, men; they have left the porch."
I peered out through the broken glass, but could perceive nothing except a dead body.
"How many rounds have you?"
"Forty, sir," a voice answered to my right.
"Good enough; keep your carbines loaded, and watch sharp, but don't fire unless you see something to shoot at. Any non-com here?"
"I am a corporal, sir."
"What name?"
"Masterson, Troop D, Third Ohio."
"Crawl around and post two men at each window; send the others to me in the hall. You remain here and take command, while I look after the rest of the house. You understand, Corporal?"
"Yes, sir; you men sing out your names."
The responses came through the darkness, and the Corporal made choice instantly: "I'll keep Pratt, Stevens, Williamson, Craig, Jones, and Watt. You other men go with the Leftenant."
They were still firing in the parlor, the flashes of the guns giving me a glimpse of the room as I peered in through the door, but the smoke was so thick I could distinguish little.
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