until he received further instructions, and not to lose his guns.
To be ordered, with him, was to obey. The last streak of twilight
brought them to the top of the pass; his soldier's instinct
and a brief recognizance made earlier in the day told him that this was
his place, and before daybreak next morning the point was as well fortified
as a night's work by weary and supperless men could make it.
A prettier spot could not have been found for the purpose; a small plateau,
something over an acre in extent, where a charcoal-burner's hut
had once stood, lay right at the top of the pass. It was a little higher
on either side than in the middle, where a small brook,
along which the charcoal-burner's track was yet visible,
came down from the wooded mountain above, thus giving a natural crest
to aid the fortification on either side, with open space for the guns,
while the edge of the wood coming down from the mountain afforded shelter
for the camp.

As the battery was unsupported it had to rely on itself for everything,
a condition which most soldiers by this time were accustomed to.
A dozen or so of rifles were in the camp, and with these pickets were armed
and posted. The pass had been seized none too soon; a scout brought in
the information before nightfall that the invading force had crossed
the farther range before that sent to meet it could get there,
and taking the nearest road had avoided the main body opposing it,
and been met only by a rapidly moving detachment, nothing more
than a scouting party, and now were advancing rapidly on the road
on which they were posted, evidently meaning to seize the pass
and cross the mountain at this point. The day was Sunday;
a beautiful Spring Sunday; but it was no Sabbath for the old battery.
All day the men worked, making and strengthening their redoubt
to guard the pass, and by the next morning, with the old battery at the top,