What in the devil can that fellow be doing? I conjectured in silence, as the mystical representation of his every move, like a phantom depicting anything and everything, was cast along the ground and pier as if superinduced by some supernatural agency. Merely prowling for the choicest bars, I soliloquized. Hark! “Number one, one o’clock and all is well!” The stillness of the night had been broken by the sentries calling off the hour. “Number two, one o’clock and all is well!” “Number three, one o’clock and all is well!” “Number four, one o’clock and all is well!” “All is well!” repeated sentry number one at the guard-house as he continued on his beat. “Third relief, fall in! Get a move on, boys! The officer of the day is apt to be lurking around!” commanded the corporal of the guard, as the men promptly fell into their proper places for posting formation. “Count off!” commanded the non-commissioned officer, each man counting the number of his post. “Port arms! Open chambers! Close chambers! Order arms! Number one!” As number one was being posted, the sergeant of the guard interposed: “Corporal, I want those sentries to turn over not only their special orders but their general orders as well; see that they know them thoroughly: have them tell you what is to be done in case of fire, and be sure that they know where the fire-plugs are located. Butt Plate Willie is officer of the day and is raising hell around here because the sentries don’t know their orders; now, they better get wise to the military or off come their belts.” “Pshaw! Butt Plate Willie don’t know his own orders,” ejaculated the corporal as he gave the command, “Shoulder arms! Right face! Forward march!” The shadow had taken another position and seemed to be in kneeling posture at the rifle-range, setting the wind-gauge of his rifle for the prone figure in the skirmish run. The corporal was marching the old relief back to the guard-house, as sentry number one called out, “Number one, half past one and all is well!” followed in succession by each sentry calling off the hour. Each man of the relief, on falling out, kicked like a mule for being detained overtime on post. It was half past one and surely time for me to make the rounds through my various posts of duty. At this instant the shadow disappeared, followed by the dull sound of dislodged copper. The moon had taken a position behind a dark cloud, which gave me an opportunity to skirt the end of the pier to another secluded spot where I could await its reappearance, when I could positively determine whether this shadow was an apparition, a reality, or merely a transcript in the memory formed by the imagination of phantasy.