The black man rolled his eyes in piteous appeal to his master:
"For Gawd's sake, Marse John, save me--dese here men won't lemme go. I
been er throwin' corpses inter dem trenches since dark. I'se most dead
frum work, let 'lone bein' scared ter death."
"Sorry, Julius," was the quick answer, "we've all got to work at a time
like this. There's no help for it."
Julius bent again to his horrible task. The thing that appalled him was
the way the dead men kept looking at him out of their eyes wide and
staring in the flickering light of the lanterns.
John stood watching him thoughtfully. He had finished one pile of
bodies, dragging them by the heels one by one, and throwing them into
the trenches. He was just about to begin on the last stack when he saw
that he had left one lying a little further back in the shadows.
Julius looked at it dubiously and scratched his head. He didn't like the
idea of going so far back in the dark, away from the light, but there
was no help for it. The guard stood with his musket scowling:
"Get a move on you--damn you, don't stand there!" he growled.
Julius walled his eyes at his tormentor and ran for the body. It
happened to be the sleeping form of a tired guard who had been up three
nights. The negro grabbed his legs and rushed toward the lights and the
trenches.
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