It was like oil on raging water; the men obeyed in a straggling way, getting back into ranks as best they could.
"Ventrebleu!" squeaked Oncle Jazon, "ef I didn't think the ole world had busted into a million pieces!" He was jumping up and down not three feet from Beverley's toes, waving his cap excitedly.
"But wasn't I skeert! Ya, ya, ya! Vive la banniere d'Alice Roussillon! Vive Zhorzh Vasinton!" Hearing Alice's name caused Beverley to look around.

Where was she?
In the distance he saw Father Beret hurrying to the spot where some of the men burnt and wounded by the explosion were being stripped and cared for.

Hamilton still stood like a statue.

He appeared to be the only cool person in the fort.
"Where is Alice ?--Miss Roussillon--where did Miss Roussillon go ?" Beverley exclaimed, staring around like a lost man.

"Where is she ?" "D'know," said Oncle Jazon, resuming his habitual expression of droll dignity, "she shot apast me jes' as thet thing busted loose, an' she went like er hummin' bird, skitch!--jes' thet way--an' I didn't see 'r no more.