"It was a mistake--a mistake," said my father, excitedly; "but I might
have made it if I had been in the hurry and excitement there. Resting
here I had plenty of time to think."
At that moment the firing began to be fiercer, and my father groaned
aloud.
"Oh, it is pitiable!" he said, "obliged to lie by here, and not able to
help. Here, George, go to the front; don't get into danger. Keep well
under cover. I want you to take pity on me, my boy. Do you hear?"
"Yes, father; but I don't understand."
"Can't you see my position? I am helpless, and my friends and
companions are fighting for our lives. I want you to keep running to
and fro so as to let me know what is going on, and--mind this--keep
nothing back."
"Nothing, father?" I said.
"Nothing."
I hesitated a few moments, and then with the reality of the horror
impressed more and more by the shouting, yelling, and rapid firing going
on, I told him about Morgan and the other men, even to finding the
opened keg and loose powder.
"Great heavens!" he muttered as I finished; and I looked at him to hear
what more he would say, but he remained silent.
"Shall I send Morgan to you, father?" I said.