CHAPTER XXIX
WE DRIVE THEM
IT WAS silent enough within—not a movement, not a sound. I could perceive dimly the motionless figures clustered about the windows in breathless expectancy, but all was ready, and not even a whispered order was being exchanged. Outside there was scarcely any more noise audible—the occasional pawing of a horse, a distant thud of feet where some infantrymen were being hurried into position, and now and then an indistinct voice. The caution shown, the force displayed about the church, surprised me. Surely no such effort would be made merely because of a vague suspicion that a man and girl might be hidden within. The leaders all knew that I was not likely to surrender without a fight, and that I was armed, yet this could hardly account for such preparation.
Could it be they really had a faint glimmer of the truth? that they realized the possibility of a Confederate raiding party in the neighborhood? They had shot Harwood's picket, and knew him to be a southern cavalryman from the uniform he wore.
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