"Right, sir," said Dickenson stiffly, and he went off to look up Sergeant James. "Hang him!" growled the young officer. "It doesn't seem to be my work. Making a confounded powder-monkey of a fellow!" He glanced up, and saw that the men were busy on high with the field-glass, but making no sign. Then he noted that the ambulance, with its escort, was coming on fast; and soon, after a little inquiry, he came upon the sergeant, busy with the men, every one with his rifle slung, linking wagons together with tent-cloth poles and wood boxes and barrels so that the conflagration might be sure to spread when once it was started, to which end the men worked with a will; but they did not hesitate to cram their wallets and pockets with eatables in any form they came across. "Make a pretty good bonfire when it's started, sir," said the sergeant. "Humph! Yes," said Dickenson. "But what are those two barrels?" "Paraffin, sir, for the beggars' lamps." "Well," said Dickenson grimly, "wouldn't it help the fire if you opened them, knocked in their heads, and bucketed out the spirit to fling it over the wagon-tilts?" The men who heard his words gave a cheer, and without orders seized the casks, rolled them right to the end where the fire was to be started, drove in the heads with an axe, and for the next quarter of an hour two of the corporals were busy ladling out the spirit and flinging it all over three of the wagons and everything else inflammable that was near. "Now pack the paraffin-casks full of that dry grass and hay," cried Dickenson, who had been superintending. "It will soak up the rest, and you can start the fire with them." The men cheered again, and in a very short time the two barrels stood under the tail-boards of two wagons, only awaiting the flashing-off of a box of matches to start a fire that no efforts could check. "Here is the ambulance party," cried Dickenson. "Come with me now, sergeant. Let your corporals finish what there is to do." "I don't see that there's any more to do, sir," said the sergeant, wiping his wet face. "Want me, sir?" "Yes; I've something to say. You will go down and see the wounded off. Oh dear! oh dear! I've been thinking of what we were doing, and not of poor Mr Lennox. You've heard nothing, I suppose?" "Neither heard nor seen, sir," replied the sergeant. "Seems to me that, in his plucky way, he must have dashed at the enemy, got mixed, and they somehow swept him off." "If they did," said Dickenson, "he'll be too sharp for them, and get away." "That he will, sir." "I was afraid the poor fellow was killed." "Not he, sir," cried the sergeant. "He'd take a deal of killing. Besides, we should have found him and brought him in. He'll turn up somewhere." "Ha! You make me feel better, James," said Dickenson. "It took all the spirit out of me. Now then, I've some bad news for you." "Let's have it, sir. I've had so much that it runs away now like water off a duck's back."