Part 25 (1/2)
Al became alert and, therefore, cautious.
”I've understood Glasgow is a pretty strong position,” said he, carelessly. ”You'll have to have a large force to take it.”
The Corporal laughed. ”Oh, we've got plenty,” he rattled on. ”There's our whole brigade,--Clark's,--an' five hundred men from Jackman's brigade, of Shelby; an' then old General Joe himself is goin' up this side the river, so I've heard, to bang the town in front with artillery while we bust in the back door.”
”Well, I'll bet there are enough of our fellows there to hold it, anyhow,” declared Al, stoutly.
”No, there ain't; there ain't above a thousand Yanks there,” answered the corporal, with conviction. ”An' we'll have four thousand. Besides that, they don't know we're comin', an' we'll gobble 'em before they wake up.”
”That does seem like pretty big odds,” admitted Al. ”Still, I think they'll hold you.”
”No, they won't,” repeated the corporal, as he stepped through the doorway, key in hand. ”Well, I got to be goin'. Bye-bye, Yanks. Sleep tight.”
The key turned in the lock and he was gone, leaving the boys to themselves.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE DEFENCE OF GLASGOW
As soon as their kindly but indiscreet jailer was out of hearing, Al exclaimed in a whisper, that the sentry might not overhear,
”Wallace, we must get out of here somehow and up to Glasgow to warn our garrison. It may not do any good; I'm afraid the Johnnies will be too many, but our boys mustn't be surprised if we can help it.”
”No, indeed,” agreed Wallace, fervently. ”But how are we to get away?”
”We'll see,” returned Al. ”Hold me up while I look at this window. Be mighty quiet, so the sentry won't hear us.”
Wallace bent his back, and Al stepped on it and felt the iron bars of the high window overlooking the river. Every one was firm and solid.
”We can't get through there,” he whispered, after descending to the floor again. ”It would take two weeks' work to loosen one of those bars.”
Total darkness had fallen by this time, for in the middle of October night comes much earlier than in the months of July and August, during which the boys had been campaigning in Dakota and Montana. They started around the room in opposite directions, feeling of the boarded windows.
When they came together again, Wallace said,
”There's one over here may do. The planks are spiked fast to the window sill, but the sill seems to be rotten or loose.”
He crept again to the window referred to, followed by Al. They found that by working the planks back and forth they could move the portion of the casing to which they were fastened. In a few moments they had an opening large enough at the bottom for them to crawl through.
”This is mighty lucky, but let's wait a while,” cautioned Wallace.
”There are too many people moving around, and the sentry is wide awake yet.”
They waited one hour, and then two. The sounds of voices and footsteps gradually died away outside. For a long time their guard walked back and forth on the ground before the door, then they heard him fling himself down with a grunt.
”It'll be an hour and a half at least before he's relieved,” whispered Al. ”He'll doze or sleep.”
They waited fifteen or twenty minutes longer, then cautiously pulled out the bottom of the planks and propped them with a small piece of board they had found on the floor, so that they would not spring back. Then one at a time they crept through the narrow opening. Once outside, they tip-toed toward the river.
”I can't swim,” whispered Wallace. ”My arm hurts like fury since it was tied back this afternoon.”