y 'coon and 'possum hunters than
the campfires of an army," said Harry.

"Yes, you'd hardly think they mark the presence of twenty or thirty
thousand men," said St. Clair. "Here we are at the cornfield. The
plants are not high, but they throw enough shadow to hide us."

They climbed a rail fence, and advanced down the corn rows. The moon
was good and there was a plentiful supply of stars, enabling them to see
some distance. To their right on a hill was a white Colonial house,
with all its windows dark.

"That house would be in a bad place if a battle comes off here, as seems
likely," said St. Clair.

"And those who own it are wise in having gone away," said Harry.

"I'm not so sure that they've gone. People hate to give up their homes
even in the face of death. Around here they generally stay and put out
the lights at dark."

"Well, here we are at the end of the cornfield, and the light is not
more than four or five hundred yards away. I think I can see the
shadows of human figures against the flames. Come, let's climb the
fence and go down through this skirt of bushes."

The suggestion appealed to the daring and curiosity of both, and in a
few minutes they were within two hundred yards of the Northern camp.
But they lay very close in the undergrowth. They saw a big fire and
Harry judged that four or five hundred men were scattered about.
Many were asleep on the grass, but others sat up talking. The
appearance of all was so extraordinary that Harry gazed in astonishment.

It was not the faces or forms of the men, but their dress that was so
peculiar. They were arrayed in huge blouses and vast baggy trousers
of a blazing red, fastened at the knee and revealing stockings of a
brilliant hue below. Little tasselled caps were perched on the sides of
their heads. Harry remembering his geography and the descriptions of
nations would have taken them for a gathering of Turkish women, if their
masculine faces had been hidden.

"What under the moon are those?" he whispered. "They do look curious,"
replied St. Clair. "They call them Zouaves, and I think they're from
New York. It's a copy of a French military costume which, unless I'm
mistaken, France uses in Algeria."

"They'd certainly make a magnificent target on the battlefield. A
Kentucky or Tennessee rifleman who'd miss such a target would die of
shame."

"Maybe. But listen, they're singing! What do you think of that for a
military tune?"

Ha