We could hear the sentinel ramming down another cartridge, hear him "return rammer," and cock his rifle.

Again the gun cracked, and again there was no sound of anybody being hit.

Again we could hear the sentry churning down another cartridge.

The drums began beating the long roll in the camps, and officers could be heard turning the men out.

The thing was becoming exciting, and one of us sang out to the guard: "S-a-y! What the are you shooting at, any how ?" "I'm a shootin' at that -- -- -- -- Yank thar by the Dead Line, and by -- - if you'uns don't take him in I'll blow the whole head offn him." "What Yank?
Where's any Yank ?" "Why, thar--right thar--a-standin' agin the Ded Line." "Why, you Rebel fool, that's a chunk of wood.