It was Horatius Cocles five times over, ready to defend the bridge with life.

Over the marsh rose the weird cry of an owl, and some water birds called in lonely fashion.
Henry judged that the fugitives were now three quarters of a mile away, out of the sound of rifle shot.

He had urged Carpenter to marshal them on as far as he could.

But the silence endured yet a while longer.

In the dull gray light of the somber day and the waning afternoon the marsh was increasingly dreary and mournful.