Cigars, there!" At that moment the report of a musket was heard without the tent, and simultaneously a bullet whistled through the canvas.

It knocked the foraging-cap from the head of Captain Hennessy, and, striking a decanter, shivered the glass into a thousand pieces! "A nate shot that, I don't care who fired it," said Hennessy, coolly picking up his cap.

"An inch of a miss--good as a mile," added he, thrusting his thumb into the bullet-hole.
By this time every officer present was upon his feet, most of them rushing towards the front of the marquee.

A dozen voices called out together: "Who fired that gun ?" There was no answer, and several plunged into the thicket in pursuit.
The chaparral was dark and silent, and these returned after a fruitless search.
"Some soldier, whose musket has gone off by accident," suggested Colonel Harding.

"The fellow has run away, to avoid being put under arrest." "Come, gentlemen, take your sates again," said Hennessy; "let the poor divil slide--yez may be thankful it wasn't a shell." "You, Captain, have most cause to be grateful for the character of the missile." "By my sowl, I don't know about that!--a shell or a twenty-four would have grazed me all the same; but a big shot would have been mighty inconvanient to the head of my friend Haller, here!" This was true.