“Yes, siree, boy. The First Division has the right of line, starting at the beach. That’s ours. Patterson’s Third Division Mohawks have the center. They’re the Voluntarios. Twigg’s Regulars of the Second Division have the left, reaching to the beach on the other side of the city. We’ve got the Mexicanos cooped up. They can’t sneak out.” It was a great sight――those bursting shells and those bounding solid shot, some of which ricochetted to the dunes and rolled hither thither. Now and then shell fragments flew past, and an occasional long-range shell burst behind. The soldiers appeared to enjoy the view. They seemed to know what was coming; they all had been under fire before, and every few moments a shot or shell might be seen sailing above the smoke. “Look out, boys! There’s a bomb――a thirteen-inch, from the castle!” “Here comes a solid shot. Lie low.” “There’s an eight-inch, again.” Suddenly a lull occurred in the shouts and jokes. The men stiffened as they lay poking their heads up. A brilliant group of officers were riding along the shallow trench or road at the inside base of the sand hill parapets. The foremost was a very large man, broad shouldered and erect and towering high upon his horse. He had a square, stern, wrinkled face, smooth shaven except for grey side-whiskers of regulation trim; wore a plumed chapeau upon his grey hair, full uniform of dark blue, with gold buttons in a double row down the front, heavy gold epaulets on the shoulders, and broad gold braid following his trousers seams. A sword in engraved scabbard hung at his left side; his left arm was curiously crooked. A splendid horse bore him proudly. All the other officers were in full uniform, too, and kept behind him. “That’s Scott! That’s General Scott! Old Fuss and Feathers himself!” Hannibal whispered. “Now mind your eye. No foolishness, boy.” General Scott turned his horse and rode boldly right up the sand hill, until he sat looking at the plain and the enemy through his spy-glass. The men promptly stood up, at salute. “Keep down, keep down, men,” he gruffly ordered. “You shouldn’t expose yourselves this way.” A solid shot whistled by him, and he never stirred. A shell burst in front, and he never stirred. He sat, gazing. “Sure, sir, you’re exposin’ yourself, ain’t you?” somebody called. General Scott snapped his glass together, and smiled grimly. Jerry could see his grey eyes, as he glanced at the man. They were of a keen grey, but kindly. There was something fatherly as well as severe about him. “Oh, as for that,” General Scott answered, “generals, nowadays, can be made of anybody, but men, my lad, are hard to get.” He leisurely rode back to his staff; and how the soldiers cheered! V IN THE NAVAL BATTERY “Listen!” Hannibal cried. He had sharp ears. The beat of drums and the shrill of fifes could be faintly heard, sounding from the rear.