me--if we are broken, let
every man fight his way as he best can, or die over a fallen enemy."

A determined cheer followed this short harangue, and I continued:

"But let us first see how they use their piece. It is a small one, and
will not destroy us all at once. Fling yourselves down as they fire.
By lying flat on your faces you may not suffer so badly. Perhaps we can
hold the corral until our friends reach us. At all events we shall
try."

Another cheer rang along the line.

"Great heaven, Captain! it's terrible!" whispered the major.

"What is terrible?" I asked, feeling at the moment a contempt for this
blaspheming coward.

"Oh! this--this business--such a fix to be--"

"Major! remember you are a soldier."

"Yes; and I wish I had resigned, as I intended to do, before this cursed
war commenced."

"Never fear," said I, tempted to smile at the candour of his cowardice;
"you'll drink wine at Hewlett's in a month. Get behind this log--it's
the only point shot-proof in the whole stockade."

"Do you think, Captain, it _will_ stop a shot?"

"Ay--from a siege-gun. Look out, men, and be ready to obey orders!"

The six-pounder had now approached within five hundred yards of the
stockade, and was leisurely being unlimbered in the midst of a group of
the enemy's artillerists.

At this moment the voice of the major arrested my attention.

"Great heaven, Captain! Why do you allow them to come so near?"

"How am I to prevent them?" I asked, with some surprise.

"Why, my rifle will reach farther than that. It might keep them off, I
think."

"Major, you are dreaming!" said I. "They are two hundred yards beyond
range of our rifles. If they would only come within that, we should
soon send them back for you."

"But, Captain, mine will carry twice the distance."

I looked at the major, under the belief that he had taken leave of his
senses.

"It's a _zundnadel_, I assure you, and will kill at eight hundred
yards."

"Is it possible?" cried I, starting; for I now recollected the
curious-looking piece which I had ordered to be cut loose from the
saddle of Hercules. "Why did you not tell me that before? Where is
Major Blossom's rifle?" I shouted, looking around.

"This hyur's the major's _gun_" answered Sergeant Lincoln. "But if it's
a rifle, I never seed sich. It looks more like a two-year old cannon."

It was, as the major had declared, a Prussian needle-gun--then a new
invention, but of wh