As I understood this game, this Base-Ball, when the ball flew hum- dinging over the left-handed go-git-its' head, it was his solemn duty to go fetch. Therefore, had I a problem! I stood there high on the dirty rampart of Fort Texas, wondering, as my fellow Crawdads hollared and bellered for me to go-git-it. The Metal Man was locomoting the bases, heading for Homestead, where Sarah was waiting with a double-V-spot in the Bank of Texas script.

Just then, my brother came along the ramparts, humming. He was hopping along, pacing out hypothetical telegraph wires from the big acid boxes of the Bomb-Proof to the bastion. I knew what that meant. Drilling. Now that we'd just finished building this cat box, we'd drill in it. We'd be drilled to be ready, should occasion arise, to throw our first and last bolts from our electric firelocks to daunt a Lunar charge. My stomach gave a little jerk. - Did that mean that, after Brown's little flagpole chat, the officers concluded that our cannons couldn't keep them pesky Lunars from trespassing over our walls?

Kelly was chipper as a New Orleans gentleman strolling from his wife's dinner to his tart's bower. Not at all disturbed was he by all the super-ceremonious praying and devoted singing the entire Army of the Sea of Tranquility (minus a dozen hussars, scouting our hum- dingered over the river base-ball). It made the rest of us nervous, seeing as they were doing it like they were more than eager to meet their Maker (unlike myself, a semi-unrepentant sinner).

I was about to ask my brother's permission to go ask for the ball, since it was an all-important army concern, that being Spirit. Without it we Calhounian Crawdads would have to prematurely accept that the Henry Clay Chickenhawk homesteaders outnumbered our own, one to nothing, a clear popular sovereignty victory for the Free- Staters of Company A.

But just then, nearby, the nervous sentries nudged each other and one of them called, "Sir! Lieutenant?"

Kelly turned his head. "I didn't see your salute," he said.

The sentry's face got red and he just saluted, and saluted vigorously, saying nothing, knowing Kelly's reputation for anger. As he saluted, his Volta's Pile on his back sloshed.

The other sentry said, "We're concerned, sir - "

- (And as he saluted he knocked his tall cylindrical hat, that fashionable military item, called a shako - he knocked his shako all cock-eyed crooked. It was on that basis, as I immediately recognized, that my rather dandy brother would frown on the sentry's concern) -

" - that, beggin' yer pardon, sir - " (being a foreign-born potato lover, he rolled his R's like a purring tomcat) "some of us fear that the Good Lord may just a wee bit favor the trajectory of their bless'd round-shot over our'n - "

" - Out of common courtesy to their devotions, sir - " the other chimed in, reddening.

Crooked Shako nodded, smiling hopefully. He added, "We was wonderin', sir, if'n we might not - "

Before he could finished, Kelly spat, "Yes, you might not...Pagan!" and went back to his hopping and humming. He nodded to me.

"Shoot, look at you," I called, annoyed at his bullying ways, which I so often had suffered, "all prettied-up and polished like you were on your way to see Hugo's Hernani."

"So," said he, suddenly wide-nostrilled like a rutting stallion. "Is this the proper comportment due toward your superior?"

"Superior?" I laughed. "Just because you were fool enough to trade six good horses for eleven cents of gold braid? I call that a superior kind of stupidity - hey, now, look, King George, I mean Napoleon - just cool down there, Caesar, I just got to go get our base-ball - " I was stepping backward as he advanced, his fists doubled and eyes afire. But he was so mad that he started to cough, giving me a moment to escape. "Be right back - so long!" I ran down the slope before he could calm down his anger enough to catch his breath and clobber me.

(Frankly, I'd rather eat dirt than crow. he could hit me as much as he liked, seeing as he was an officer, but I'd never call my big brother Superior.)

"Hey, Lunars!" I called as I ran, waving my arms. I leapt far as I could across the ditch, missed a dead cactus, bounced off a big mesquite log, and was out again. I ran to the river.

Over the Cold Sea, yonder 200 yards, the soldiers looked up at me and pointed their carbines. A gorgeously uniformed officer with a shiny brass chestplate and Roman brush-top helmet now spurred his horse out of the shadow of Plato's Crater, down the slope to his dismounted men. They formed a line behind my base-ball. One of them saluted and gestured how the ball flew out of our fort, over the short span of sea, and landed on their side, pow! - right at his feet.

Evidently there was a misunderstanding -

"Helloa there!" I shouted. "Beunos lunas, and howdy-do-to-you, there, buddies! Say, smart-lookin' uniforms! Do they tear as easy as ours? Now, regarding that thing there - say, it ain't lit. No, sir! It's just our General Washington - ah, I should say, our base-ball." I explained to the row of carbines and hostile faces.

I appealed to the officer, a handsome grey-haired fellow with six or seven medals and giant gold buttons, whose daughter I would no doubt like to meet:"A base-ball, sir, y'know, like a bowling ball, yeah, a toy."

("Jack!" screamed Kelly, yards and yards behind me.)

The officer looked at me without comprehending. It wasn't a friendly I'd-like-you-to-meet-my-daughter look, neither.

"It's just a toy, for a game!" I called, smiling. "For-a-favor, toss the ball back, won't you?"

("Jack Borginnis! Are you desertin'?" screamed Kelly. "Jack, come back!")

I ignored Kelly. I thought I'd let him sweat a little. The Lunar officer lifted a brass speaking trumpet from his saddle. He held it to his mouth:"Dees doy jees jours, no?"

Those funny Lunar folks, as you know, pronounce about every second or third word with a "D" or a "J" or "EE" sound, on account of so many of them having noses like Cortes, but nostrils like Montamoona. The "D" or the "J" depended upon whether or not those fluted nostrils where inhaling or exhaling, and the "EE" sounds when one of the two nostrils is closed, - is how Doctor Judah Paine explained to us, anyway. The Lunar officer put the little end of the trumpet in his ear and pointed the bell of it at me, to listen good:

"Right!" I smiled, glad that everything was turning out.

"Yessiree, it's ours all right. Do me a favor," I began to ask, but was interrupted by my brother.

("Jack, come back! I'm sorry! What will mama say - if I have to shoot you down?)

The trumpet rose again. "So joo make da game een jour fort, no? Joo maybe deenk all deese jees game, no?"

I didn't say anything, feeling somewhat chastened. The officer smiled at me over his trumpet, then his trunk put it up to his mouth again:

"Ay! Balloony! Joo an' jour balloon an' fort games have eensulted mee country, mee Republeec of dee Moon," said the trumpet. I couldn't reply to that, neither. My brother was saying something, but I didn't hear.

"Ah, Yankee Doodle!" said the trumpet in a different tone. "I know dery well dat joo ees just a peon of Preseedent Dolk. Eh? Maybee I geeve back jour toy eef joo pray weeth mee dat dee Holy Deerjin forgeeve joo jour trespassees..."

And then I was amazed to see the officer kneel! He put his beautiful white pantaloons right in the dirt. He took off his pretty Roman helmet, and lowered his proud face, and prayed - and all the Horse Guards behind him did the same.

Once I figured out that he wasn't asking me to feed gin to deer, that he was talking about the Holy Virgin - which took a while seeing as I hadn't met a virgin nor a church in a long, long, time, having spent my Sundays whoring in Baltimore ( - For it was the only way I could educate myself; reading anything but the almanac and bible was a worser sin than whoring in my county, but it charmed, rallied, and enriched the tarts and hussies when I read Napoleon and His Marshalls to them), - I thought his offer over. It was most troublesome.

It wouldn't be neighborly to refuse, and I did want that base-ball back. But, after a moment's furious soul-spinning thought, I sadly found I could not do it, for three reasons. First, if Protestants could pray with Catholics - and technically I was the former - then it didn't seem at all moral to kill one another, claiming the Awful Deity Himself was wearing our shako. (Even more confusing was that there were lots of Catholics in my own army. This was more troublesome than killing savages - ) Second, I was a little bit afraid to pray because of the real bad sin I'd done, back at Camp Greenhorn, letting a fellow drown - more or less helping him to drown - more or less holding his head under water...even if the Awful Deity himself would forgive me, I didn't want him to, I didn't deserve it, I didn't want to believe in an Awful Deity who'd let me off the hook, which brought up the third point:Lately my awe of the Deity had become a bit lax and even doubtful...so I just stood there like a fool, with a fool's tears in my eyes, watching my enemy pray.

(Jack get your arse back in the fort or we'll shoot you down!" screamed Kelly.)

"Give me your worst Volta-bolt" I thought.

The officer opened his eyes, crossed himself, and stood up - his men did the same. All of them stared at me. The officer grinned a great big grin that gave me a sinking feeling. He stared at me for a while, then set his great Roman cavalry helmet over his head. He lifted the speaking-trumpet:

"D'on mee honor, I will ask eet of dee Jeneral heemself eef eet please heem to permeet myself personally to geeve back dis toy!"

"Much obliged, I'm sure," I croaked weakly at the departing Lunars, hoping for the best. The officer whirled his brown steed and galloped toward Fort Paredes, holding our base-ball in his hand and singing out some terrible-sounding words, his horsemen following him in a churning line. I edged back to Fort Slow-Polk. I began to run; mesquite scratched my legs. Going across the ditch, I slipped and fell in a ways, scratching my leg painfully. When I finally climbed up the slope to the bastion, I saw Kelly with his sword out, pointing my way, and the two sentries aiming their muskets at me. "Honest or just bluffing?" I wondered, eyeing my brother.

"Relax, Kelly - the Major gave us our liberty," I told him, trudging up quickly with backward glanced a-plenty.

"No frat-ter-ni-za-shun with the N. M. E.!" he chimed, looking at me with relief disguised as anger. Was he relieved more that I returned or that he didn't have to shoot me down? He rubbed his hand over his eyes.

Trotting along the bastion, I called to the waiting Crawdads and `Hawks - "We're gettin' our base-ball back - I think - I'll watch and tell you - "

Kelly grabbed my neck and yanked me back. "Just what were doing? What did you tell that feller, Jack? You think all this is just a game, boy?"

"We traded recipes," I told him, squirming. Now, I was dawdling, to be honest. I wanted to stay on top the wall and see what them pesky Lunars were going to do. Far away, I was the sun glint on a brass trumpet, and heard that officer call out:

"Heere-eet-coooooooomes!"

"Well, ain't that nice?" I thought, as Kelly dropped me. "Here it comes!" I shouted, stepping down into the fort, bug just getting a mouthful of Gun Platform Number 2 sand because Kelly tripped me. "Get in the fort, and stay put!" he ordered me.

" - Do they dare? - " said Lieutenant Griswolde, peering with a spyglass. "Sir!" he called, "They're loading!"

"Cease your drill! - Quiet all around! - Sentries take cover!" shouted Captain Lowd, drawing his sword and pointing his commands. "Gun Commanders, prepare your electrics!"

"Sergeant, place the fuse! Corporal, fix the cap!"

The Bad Luck Charm swung on Sergeant Weigart's neck as he bent over the thick copper coils of the massive rod, and pulled back the spring-loaded copper brush of the "fuse".

("You don't got to be our lightning rod," I mumbled, reaching over and yanking the cord of the charm - it broke off. I threw it on the ground. Weigart looked at me, relieved and thankful. I disobeyed orders and stayed on the platform to spy through the embrasure. I watched with the other gunners, crouched at the four big cannon's embrasure. Behind me, I heard the bugler playing, "Fall In.")

"HERE IT COMES!" shouted the gunners all around.

A puff of smoke drifted from the fortified line of guns across the sea. Another and another and another puff lifted up lazily. The dark points rose up and arced over us as the noise of the firing reached us, a dull hammer-on-anvil clanking. Suddenly with a rush of air the first shot crashed fifty yards short of the fort; the second one thumped and kicked up sand low on the outside slope of our wall, burying itself. I flinched, but saw another little black dot slowly falling down over the sea.

As the dot grew frightfully larger and closer, Sarah yelled, "It's a Lunar hum-dinger!"

- And then there was a horrible rush of air and roaring blast cut off by a thump!

I stood up again and saw the twelve pound shot spinning in the sand, gently rolling. It rolled gently down the slope and came to a stop in the yard against a peg of on of the tents.

And Weigart lay sprawled and bloody, his head torn from his shoulders.

An iron rain fell fast on Fort Texas.

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