“At times only, I believe, sir,” replied Mr.
Wharton quickly; “he is seldom here—I may say
I never see him.”

“That is strange too,” said the trooper, looking
at the disconcerted host intently, “considering
he is your next neighbour; he must be quite
domestic, sir—and to the ladies it must be somewhat
inconvenient—I doubt not but that muslin
in the window-seat cost twice as much as he would
have asked them for it.”

Mr. Wharton turned in consternation, and saw
some of the recent purchases scattered around the
room.

The two subalterns smiled on each other significantly,
but the captain resumed his breakfast
with an eagerness that created a doubt, whether
he ever expected to enjoy another. The necessity
of a supply from the dominion of Dinah soon,
however, afforded another respite, of which Lawton
availed himself to say—

“I had a wish to break this Mr. Birch of his
unsocial habits, and gave him a call this morning—
had I found him within, I should have placed him
where he would enjoy life in the midst of society,
for a short time at least.”

“And where might that be, sir,” asked Mr.
Wharton, conceiving it necessary to say something.

“The guard-room,” said the trooper drily.

“What is the offence of poor Birch?” asked
Miss Peyton, handing the dragoon a fourth dish
of coffee.

“Poor!” cried the captain; “if he is poor—
John Bull must pay him ill.”

“Yes, indeed,” said one of the subalterns,
“king George owes him a dukedom.”

“And congress a halter,” continued the

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

commanding officer, commencing anew on a fresh supply
of the cakes.

“I am sorry,” said Mr. Wharton, “that any
neighbour of mine should incur the displeasure of
our rulers.”

“If I catch him,” cried the dragoon, while buttering
another cake, “he will dangle from the
limbs of one of his namesakes.”

“He would make a very pretty ornament, suspended
from one of those locusts before his own
door,” added the lieutenant coolly.

“Never mind,” continued the captain emphatically,
“I will have him yet before I'm a major.”

As the language of these officers appeared to
flow from the strength of their feelings, the Whartons
thought it prudent to discontinue the subject.
It was no new intelligence to any of the family,
that Harvey Birch was distrusted, and greatly harrassed
by the American officers. His escapes
from their hands, not less than his imprisonments,
had been the conversation of the country in too
many instances, and under circumstances of too
great mystery, to be easily forgotten. In fact, no
small part of the bitterness, expressed by Captain
Lawton against the pedlar, arose from the unaccountable
disappearance of the latter when intrusted
to the custody of two of his most faithful
dragoons.

A twelvemonth had not yet elapsed, since Birch
had been seen lingering near the head quarters of
the commander-in-chief, and at a time when important
movements were expected hourly to occur.
So soon as the information of this fact was communicated
to the officer, whose duty it was to
guard the avenues to the American camp, he despatched
Captain Lawton in pursuit of the suspected
pedlar.

Acquainted with all the passes of the hills, and

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

indefatigable in the discharge of his duty, the
trooper had, with much trouble and toil, succeeded
in effecting his object. The party had halted
at a farm house for the purposes of refreshment,
and the prisoner been placed in a room by himself,
but under the keeping of the two men before mentioned—
all that was known subsequently is, that a
woman was seen busily engaged in the employments
of the household near the sentinels, and
was particularly attentive to the wants of the captain,
until he was deeply engaged in the employments
of the supper table.

Afterwards neither woman nor pedlar were to
be found. The pack, indeed, was discovered,
open, and nearly empty, and a small door communicating
with a room adjoining to the one in
which the pedlar had been secured, was also open.

Captain Lawton never could forgive the deception;
his antipathies to his enemies were not very
moderate, but this was adding an insult to his penetration
that rankled deeply. He sat in portentous
silence, brooding over this exploit of his prisoner,
yet mechanically pursuing the business before
him, until after sufficient time had past to
make a very comfortable meal, a trumpet suddenly
broke on the ears of the party, sending its
martial tones up the valley in startling, melody.
The trooper rose instantly from the table, exclaiming—

“Quick, gentlemen, to your horses—there
comes Dunwoodie;” and, followed by his officers,
he precipitately left the room.

With the exception of the sentinels left to guard
Captain Wharton, the dragoons mounted, and
marched out to meet their comrades.

None of the watchfulness, necessary in a war,
where similarity of language, appearance and customs,
rendered prudence doubly necessary, was

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

omitted by this cautious leader. On getting sufficiently
near, however, to a body of horse of more
than double his own number, to distinguish countenances,
Lawton plunged his rowels in his charger,
and in a moment was by the side of his commander.

The ground in front of the cottage was again
occupied by the horse; and the same precautions
observed as before, the newly arrived troops hastened
to participate in the cheer prepared for their
comrades.

CHAPTER VI.

“Prepare thy soul, young Azim! thou hast brav'd
The bands of Greece, still mighty though enslav'd;
Hast fac'd her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame,
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame;
All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow,
But a more perilous trial waits thee now—
Woman's bright eyes,” * * * *
* * * * “and, let conquerors boast
Their fields of fame—he who in virtue arms
A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms,
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall,
Is the best, bravest, conqueror of them all.”
Moore.

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

The ladies of the Wharton family had gathered
around a window, deeply interested in the scene
we have related.

Sarah viewed the approach of her countrymen
with a smile of contemptuous indifference for the
persons and appearance of men, whom she thought
arrayed in the unholy cause of rebellion. Miss
Peyton looked on the gallant show with an exulting
pride which arose in the reflection, that the
warriors before her were the chosen troops of her
native colony, while Frances gazed with an intensity
of interest that absorbed all other considerations.

The two parties had not yet joined, before her
quickly glancing eyes distinguished one horseman
in particular from those around him. Even
the steed of this youthful soldier seemed to be
conscious that he sustained the weight of no common
man—his hoofs but lightly touched the earth,
and his airy tread was the curbed motion of a
blooded charger.

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

The dragoon sat gracefully in his saddle, with
a firmness and ease that showed him master of
both himself and horse—his figure united the just
proportions of strength and activity, being tall,
round, and muscular. It was to this officer Lawton
made his report, and side by side they rode
into the field opposite to the cottage.

The heart of the maiden beat with a pulsation
nearly stifling, as he paused for a moment and
took a survey of the building with an eye whose
dark and sparkling glance could be seen in the
distance between them—her colour changed, and
for an instant, as she saw the youth throw himself
from his saddle, Frances was compelled to seek
relief to her trembling limbs in a chair.

The officer gave a few hasty orders to his second
in command, walked rapidly into the lawn, and
approached the cottage.—Fanny rose from her
seat, and vanished from the apartment.—The dragoon
ascended the steps of the piazza, and had
barely time to touch the outer door when it opened
to his admission.

The youth of Frances, when she left the city,
had prevented her sacrificing, in conformity to
the customs of that day, all her native beauties on
the altar of fashion. Her hair, which was of a
golden richness of colour, was left untortured to
fall in the natural ringlets of her infancy, and
shaded a face which was glowing with the united
charms of health, youth, and artlessness—her eyes
spake volumes, but her tongue was silent—her
hands were interlocked before her, and aided by
her taper form, bending forward in an attitude of
expectation, gave a loveliness and interest to her
appearance that for a moment chained her lover
in silence to the spot.

Frances silently led the way into the vacant
parlour opposite to the one in which the family

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

were assembled, and turning to the soldier frankly,
placing both her hands in his own, exclaimed—

“Ah! Dunwoodie! how happy, on many accounts,
I am to see you; I have brought you in here to prepare
you to meet an unexpected friend in the opposite
room.”

“To whatever cause it may be owing,” cried
the youth, pressing her hands to his lips, “I am
happy too in being able to see you alone.—Frances,
the probation you have decreed to my love is
cruel—war and distance may shortly separate us
forever.”

“We must submit to the necessity which governs
us,” said the maid, losing the glow of excitement
in a more melancholy feeling. “But it
is not love speeches I would hear now: I have
other and more important matter for your attention.”

“What can be of more importance than to
make you mine by a tie that may be indissoluble!
Frances, you are cold to me—me—from whose
mind days of service and nights of alarm have never
been able to banish your image.”

“Dear Dunwoodie,” said Frances, softening
nearly to tears, and again extending her hand to
him, as the richness of her colour gradually returned,
“you know my sentiments—this war once
ended, and you may take that hand for ever—but
I never can consent to tie myself to you by any
closer union than already exists, so long as you
are arrayed in arms against my only brother—
even now that brother is awaiting your decision
to restore him to liberty, or conduct him to a
probable death.”

“Your brother!” cried Dunwoodie, starting
and turning pale; “your brother! explain yourself—
what dreadful meaning is concealed in your
words?”

“Has not Captain Lawton told you of the

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

arrest of Henry, as a spy, by himself this very morning?”
continued Frances, in a voice barely audible,
and fixing on her lover a look of the deepest
and most anxious interest.

“He told me of arresting a captain of the 60th
in disguise, but without mentioning where or
whom,” replied the major in a similar tone, and
dropping his head between his hands, he endeavoured
to conceal his feelings from his companion.

“Dunwoodie! Dunwoodie!” exclaimed Frances,
losing all her former confidence in the most
fearful apprehensions, “what means this agitation?”
as the Major slowly raised his face, in
which was pictured the most expressive concern,
she continued, “surely—surely—you will not betray
your friend—my brother—your bother—to
an ignominious death.”

“Frances!” exclaimed the young man in agony,
“what can I do—what can I do?”

“Do!” repeated the maid, gazing at him wildly;
“would Major Dunwoodie yield his friend to
his enemies—the brother of his betrothed wife?”

“Oh! speak not so unkindly to me—dearest
Miss Wharton—my own Frances. I would this
moment die for you—for Henry—but cannot
forget my duty—cannot forfeit my honor—you
yourself would be the first to despise me if I did.”

“Peyton Dunwoodie!” said Frances solemnly,
and with a face of ashy paleness, “you have told
me—you have sworn, that you loved me.”

“I do—I do”—interrupted the soldier with fervor;
but the maid, motioning with her hand for
silence, continued, in a voice that trembled with
her emotions,

“Do you think I can throw myself in the arms
of a man whose hands are stained with the blood
of my only brother?”

“Frances!” exclaimed the major in agony.

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

“you wring my very heart;” then pausing for a
moment to struggle with his feelings, he endeavoured
to force a smile, as he added, “but, after
all, we may be torturing ourselves with unnecessary
fears, and Henry, when I know the circumstances,
may be nothing more than a prisoner of war; in
which case I can liberate him on parole.”

There is no more delusive passion than hope;
and it seems to be the happy privilege of youth to
cull all the pleasures which can be gathered from
its indulgence. It is when we are most worthy of
confidence ourselves, that we are least apt to distrust,
and what we think ought to be, we are fond
to think will.

The half-formed expectations of the young soldier
were communicated to the desponding sister
more by the eye than the voice, and she rose
quickly from her chair with a returning crimson to
her cheeks, as she cried—

“Oh! there can be no just grounds to doubt it:
I knew—I knew—Dunwoodie, you would never
desert us in the hour of our greatest need.” The
violence of her feelings conquered, and the agitated
girl burst into a flood of tears.

The office of consoling those we love is one of the
dearest prerogatives of affection; and Major Dunwoodie,
although but little encouraged by his own
momentary suggestion of relief, could not undeceive
the lovely woman who leaned on his shoulder,
as he wiped the traces of her agitated feelings
from her face, with a trembling, but reviving confidence
in the safety of her brother and the protection
of her lover.

Frances having sufficiently recovered her recollection
to command herself, now eagerly led
the way into the opposite room, to communicate
to her family the pleasing intelligence which she
already conceived as certain.

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

Dunwoodie followed her reluctantly, and with
dreadful forebodings of the result: but a few moments
brought him into the presence of his relatives,
and he summoned all his resolution to meet
the approaching trial with firmness.

The salutations of the young men were cordial
and sincere, and on the part of Henry Wharton
as collected as if nothing had occurred to disturb
his self-possession.

The abhorrence of being, in any manner, auxiliary
to the arrest of his friend, the danger to the
life of Captain Wharton, and the heart-breaking
declarations of Frances had, however, created an
uneasiness in the bosom of Major Dunwoodie,
which all his efforts could not conceal. His reception
by the rest of the family was kind and sincere,
both from old regard, and a remembrance of
former obligations, heightened by the anticipations
they could not fail to read in the expressive eyes
of the blushing maid by his side. After exchanging
greetings with every member of the family,
Major Dunwoodie beckoned to the sentinel, whom
the wary prudence of Captain Lawton had left in
charge of the prisoner, to leave the room. Turning
to Captain Wharton, with an air of fixed resolution,
he inquired mildly—

“Tell me, Henry, the circumstances of this disguise,
in which Captain Lawton reports you to
have been found, and remember—remember—
Captain Wharton—your answers are entirely
voluntary.”

“The disguise was used by me, Major Dunwoodie,”
replied the English officer, gravely, “to
enable me to visit my friends, without incurring
the danger of becoming a prisoner of war.”

“But you did not wear it until you saw the
troop of Lawton approaching?” inquired the Major
quickly.

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

“Oh! no,” interrupted Frances, eagerly, forgetting
all the circumstances in her anxiety for her
brother; “Sarah and myself placed them on him
when the dragoons appeared—it was our awkwardness
that led to his discovery.”

The countenance of Dunwoodie brightened, as,
turning his eyes in fond admiration on the lovely
speaker, he heard her explanation, and he added—

“Probably some articles of your own, which
were at hand, and were used on the spur of the
moment.”

“No,” said Wharton, with dignity, “the clothes
were worn by me from the city—they were procured
for the purpose to which they were applied,
and I intended to use them in disguising me
in my return this very day.”

The appalled Frances shrunk back from between
her brother and lover, where her ardent
feelings had carried her, as the whole truth
glanced over her mind, and sunk into a seat,
gazing wildly on the young men who stood before
her.

“But the picquets—the party at the plains”—
added Dunwoodie, turning pale.

“I passed them too in disguise,” continued
Wharton, proudly; “I made use of this pass for
which I paid; and, as it bears the name of Washington,
I presume is forged.”

Dunwoodie caught the paper from his hand
eagerly, and stood gazing on the signature for
some time in silence, during which the soldier
gradually prevailed over the man; when he turned
to the prisoner, with a searching look, as he
asked—

“Captain Wharton, whence did you procure
this paper?”

“That is a question, I conceive, Major

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

Dunwoodie has no right to ask,” said the other, distantly.

“Your pardon, sir,” returned the American
officer; “my feelings may have led me into an impropriety.”

Mr. Wharton, who had been a deeply interested
auditor to the conversation, now so far conquered
his feelings as to say, “Surely, Major Dunwoodie,
the paper cannot be material—such artifices are
used daily in war.”

“This name is no counterfeit,” said the dragoon,
studying the characters, and speaking in a
low voice; “is treason yet among us undiscovered?—
The confidence of Washington has been
abused, for the fictitious name is in a different
hand from the pass. Captain Wharton, my duty
will not suffer me to grant you a parole: you must
accompany me to the Highlands.”

“I did not expect otherwise, Major Dunwoodie,”
said the prisoner haughtily, moving towards
his father, and speaking to him in a low
tone.

Dunwoodie turned slowly towards the sisters,
when the figure of Frances once more arrested his
gaze; she had risen from her seat, and stood again
with her hands clasped before him in an attitude
of intense interest: feeling himself unable to contend
longer with his feelings, he made a hurried
excuse for a temporary absence, and left the
room. Frances followed him, and, obedient to
the direction of her eye, the soldier re-entered
the apartment in which had been their first interview.

“Major Dunwoodie,” said Frances, in a voice
barely audible, as she beckoned to him to be seated;
her cheek, which had been of a chilling whiteness,
was flushed with a suffusion that crimsoned
her whole countenance; she struggled with

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

herself for a moment, and continued, “I have already
acknowledged to you my esteem—even now, when
you most painfully distress me, I wish not to conceal
it. Believe me, Henry is innocent of every
thing but imprudence. Our country can sustain
no wrong;” again she paused, and almost gasped
for breath; her colour changed rapidly from red
to white, until the blood rushed into her face,
covering her features with the brighest vermilion;
and she added hastily, in an under tone, “I have
promised, Dunwoodie, when peace is restored to
our country, to become your wife—give to my
brother his liberty on parole, and I will this day
go with you to the altar, follow you to the camp—
and, in becoming a soldier's bride, learn to endure
a soldier's privations.”

Dunwoodie seized the hand which the blushing
maid had in her ardour extended towards him, and
pressed it for a moment to his bosom; then rising
from his seat, paced the room in excessive agitation,
as he exclaimed—

“Frances—say no more—I conjure you, unless
you wish to break my heart.”

“You then reject my offered hand?” said the
maid, with an air of offended delicacy, rising
with dignity, though her pale cheek and quivering
lip plainly showed the conflicting passions within.

“Reject it!” cried her lover with enthusiasm;
“have I not sought it with entreaties—with tears?
Has it not been the goal of all my earthly wishes?
But to take it under such conditions would be to
dishonour us both. Yet hope for better things.
Henry must be acquitted—perhaps not tried. No
intercession of mine will be wanting, you must
well know; and believe me, Frances, I am not
without favour with Washington.”

“That very paper, that abuse of his confidence,
to which you alluded, will steel him to my brother's

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

sufferings. If threats or entreaties could move his
stern sense of justice, would André have suffered?”
said the maid despairingly, as she flew from the
room to conceal the violence of her emotions.

Dunwoodie remained for a minute nearly stupified,
with the distress of his mistress and the pain
of his own feelings; and then followed, with a view
to vindicate himself and relieve her apprehensions.
On entering the hall that divided the two parlours,
he was met by a small ragged boy, who looked
one moment at his dress; and placing a piece of
paper in his hands in silence, immediately vanished
through the outer door of the building. The
bewildered state of his mind, and the suddenness
of the occurrence, gave the Major barely time to
observe the messenger to be a country lad, meanly
attired, and that he held in his hand one of
those toys which are to be bought in cities, and
which he now apparently contemplated with the
conscious pleasure of having fairly purchased, by
the performance of the service required. The
soldier turned his eyes to the subject of the
note. It was written on a piece of torn and soiled
paper, and in a hand barely legible; but, after some
little labour, he was able to make out as follows:—

“The rig'lars are at hand, horse and foot.”

Dunwoodie started; and forgetting every thing
in the duties of a soldier, precipitately left the
house. While walking rapidly towards the troops,
he noticed on a distant hill a vidette riding
with speed; several pistols were fired in quick
succession, and the next instant the trumpets
of the corps, rung in his ears with the enlivening
strain of “to arms.” By the time he had
reached the ground occupied by his squadron, the
Major saw that every man was in active motion.
Lawton was already in his saddle, eyeing the opposite
extremity of the valley with the eagerness

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

of expectation, and crying to the musicians, in
tones but little lower than their own—

“Sound away my lads, and let these Englishmen
know the Virginia horse are between them
and the end of their journey.”

The videttes and patroles now came pouring in,
each making in succession his hasty report to the
commanding officer, who gave his orders cooly,
and with a promptitude that made obedience certain.
Once only, as he wheeled his horse to ride
over the ground in front, did Dunwoodie trust himself
with a look at the cottage, and his heart beat
with an unusual rapidity as he saw a female figure
standing, with clasped hands, at a window of the
room in which he had met Frances. The distance
was too great to distinguish her features through
the intervening object; but the soldier could not
doubt that it was his mistress. The paleness of his
cheek and the languor of his eye endured but for
a moment longer. As he rode towards the intended
battle-ground, a flush of ardour began to show
itself on his sun-burnt features; and his dragoons,
who studied the face of their leader, as the best
index to their own fate, saw again the wonted
flashing of the eyes, and cheerful animation,
which they had so often witnessed on the eve of
battle. By the additions of the videttes and parties
that had been out, and which now had all
joined, the whole number of the horse was increased
to near two hundred. There was also a
small body of mounted men, whose ordinary duties
were those of guides, but who, in cases of
emergency, were embodied and did duty as foot
soldiers: these were dismounted, and proceeded,
by the order of Dunwoodie, to level the few
fences which might interfere with the intended
movements of the cavalry. The neglect of husbandry,
which had been occasioned by the war,

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

left this a comparatively easy task. Those long
lines of heavy and durable walls, which now sweep
through every part of the county, forty years ago
were unknown. The slight and tottering fences
of stone were then used more to clear the land
for the purposes of cultivation, than as permanent
barriers in the divisions of estates, and required
the constant attention of the husbandman,
to preserve them against the fury of the tempests
and the frosts of winter. Some few of them had
been built with more care immediately around the
dwelling of Mr. Wharton; but those which had intersected
the vale below were now generally a
pile of ruins, over which the horses of the Virginians
would bound with the fleetness of the wind.
Occasionally a short line yet preserved its erect
appearance, but as none of these crossed the
ground on which Dunwoodie intended to act, there
remained only the slighter fences of rails to be
thrown down. Their duty was hastily, but effectually,
performed; and the guides withdrew to the
post assigned to them for the approaching fight.

Major Dunwoodie had received from his scouts
all the intelligence concerning his foe, which was
necessary to enable him to make his arrangements.
The bottom of the valley was an even plain, that
fell with a slight inclination from the foot of the
hills on either side, to the level of a natural meadow
that wound through the country on the banks
of a small stream, by whose waters it was often
inundated and fertilized. This brook was easily
forded in any part of its course; and the only impediment
it offered to the movements of the horse,
was in a place where it changed its bed from the
western to the eastern side of the valley, and
where its banks were more steep and difficult of
access than common; here the highway crossed it

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

by a rough wooden bridge, as it did again at the
distance of half a mile above the Locusts.

The hills on the eastern side of the valley were
abrupt, and frequently obtruded themselves in
rocky prominencies into its bosom, lessening the
width to half its usual dimensions. One of these
projections was but a short distance in the rear of
the squadron of dragoons, and Dunwoodie directed
Captain Lawton to withdraw, with two troops,
behind its cover. The officer obeyed with a kind
of surly reluctance, that was, however, somewhat
lessened by the anticipations of the effect his sudden
appearance would make on his enemy. Dunwoodie
knew his man, and had selected the Captain
to lead this service, both because he feared
his precipitation in the field, and knew, when
needed, his support would never fail to appear.
It was only in front of the enemy that Captain
Lawton was hasty; at all other times his discernment
and self-possession were consummately preserved;
but he sometimes forgot them in his eagerness
to engage. On the left of the ground on which
Dunwoodie intended to meet his foe, was a close
wood, which skirted that side of the valley for
the distance of a mile. Into this, then, the guides
retired, and took their station near its edge, in
such a manner as would enable them to maintain
a scattering, but effectual fire, on the advancing
column of the enemy.

It cannot be supposed that all these preparations
were made unheeded by the inmates of the
cottage: on the contrary, every feeling which can
agitate the human breast, in witnessing such a
scene, was actively alive. Mr. Wharton alone
saw no hopes to himself in the termination of the
conflict. If the British should prevail, his son
would be liberated; but what would then be his
own fate! He had hitherto preserved his neutral

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

character in the midst of trying circumstances.
The fact of his having a son in the royal, or, as it
was called, the regular army, had very nearly
brought his estates to the hammer. Nothing had
obviated this result, but the powerful interest of
the relation, who held a high political rank in the
state, and his own vigilant prudence. In his heart,
he was a devoted loyalist; and when the blushing
Frances had communicated to him the wishes of
her lover, on their return from the American camp
the preceding spring, the consent he had given,
for her future union with a rebel, was as much extracted
by the increasing necessity which existed
for his obtaining republican support, than by any
considerations for the happiness of his child.
Should his son now be rescued, he would, in the
public mind, be united with him as a plotter against
the freedom of the states; and should he remain a
captive, and undergo the impending trial, the consequences
might be still more dreadful. Much as
he loved his wealth, Mr. Wharton loved his children
better; and he sat gazing on the movements
without, with a listless vacancy in his countenance,
that denoted his imbecility of character.

Far different were the feelings of his son. Captain
Wharton had been left in the keeping of two
dragoons; one of whom marched to and fro the piazza
with a measured tread, and the other had been
directed to continue in the same apartment with his
prisoner. The young man had witnessed all the
movements of Dunwoodie with admiration, for the
ability he had displayed, and some fearful anticipations
of the consequences to his friends. He particularly
disliked the ambush of the detachment under
Lawton, who could be distinctly seen from the
windows of the cottage, cooling his impatience, by
pacing on foot the ground in front of his men.
Henry Wharton threw several hasty and inquiring

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

glances around, to see if no means of liberation
would offer, but invariably found the eyes of his
sentinel fixed on him with the watchfulness of an
Argus. He longed, with the ardour of youth, to
join in the glorious fray, but was compelled to remain
a dissatisfied spectator of a scene in which
he would so cheerfully have been an actor. Miss
Peyton and Sarah continued gazing on the preparations
with varied emotions, in which concern for
the fate of the captain formed the most prominent
feeling, until the moment the shedding of blood
seemed approaching, when, with the timidity of
their sex, they sought the retirement of an inner
room. Not so Frances—she had returned to the
apartment where she had left Dunwoodie, and,
from one of its windows, been a deeply interested
spectator of all his movements. The wheelings
of the troops, the deadly preparations, had all been
unnoticed; the maid saw her lover only, and with
mingled emotions of admiration and dread that
nearly chilled her. At one moment the blood
rushed to her heart, as she saw the young warrior
riding gracefully, and with admirable skill, through
his ranks, evidently giving life and courage to all
whom he addressed; and the next, it curdled with
the thought, that the very gallantry she so much
valued, might soon prove the means of placing
the grave between her and the object of her regard.
Frances gazed until she could gaze no
longer.

In a field on the left of the cottage, and at a
short distance in the rear of the troops, were
a small group, whose occupations seemed to differ
from all around them. They were in number
only three, being two men and a mulatto boy. The
principal personage of this party was a man, whose
leanness made his really tall stature appear excessive—
he wore spectacles—was unarmed, had

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

dismounted, and seemed to be dividing his attention
between a segar, a book, and the incidents of
the field before him. To this party Frances determined
to convey a note, directed to Dunwoodie.
She wrote hastily, with a pencil, “Come to me,
Peyton, if it be but for a moment;” and Cæsar
emerged from the cellar kitchen, taking the precaution
to go by the rear of the building, to avoid
the sentinel on the piazza, who had very cavalierly
ordered all the family to remain housed. The
black delivered the note to the gentleman, with a
request it might be forwarded to Major Dunwoodie.
It was the surgeon of the horse to whom
Cæsar addressed himself; and the teeth of the
African chattered, as he saw displayed upon the
ground, the several instruments which were in
preparation for the anticipated operations. The
doctor himself seemed to view the arrangement
with great satisfaction, as he deliberately raised
his eyes from his book to order the boy to convey
the note to his commanding officer, and then dropping
them on the page continued his occupation.
Cæsar was slowly retiring, as the third personage,
who by his dress might be an inferior assistant of
the surgical department, coolly inquired “if he
would have a leg taken off.” This question seemed
to remind the black of the existence of those
limbs, for he made such use of them as to
reach the piazza at the same instant that Major
Dunwoodie rode up at half speed. The brawny
sentinel squared himself, and poised his sword with
military precision, as he stood on his post while
his officer passed; but no sooner had the door
closed, than, turning to the negro, he said, with
great deliberation—

“Harkee, blacky, if you quit the house again
without my knowledge, I will shave off one of
those ebony ears with this razor.”

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

Thus assailed in another member, Cæsar hastily
retreated into his kitchen, muttering something,
in which the words “Skinner, and rebel rascal,”
formed a principal part of his speech.

“Major Dunwoodie,” said Frances to her lover
as he entered, “I may have done you injustice—
if I have appeared harsh”—

The emotions of the agitated girl prevailed, and
she burst into tears.

“Frances,” cried the soldier with warmth,
“you are never harsh—never unjust—but when
you doubt my love.”

Ah! Dunwoodie,” added the now sobbing
maid, “you are about to risk your life in battle—
remember that there is one heart whose happiness
is built on your safety—brave I know you are—be
prudent”—

“For your sake?” inquired the delighted youth.

“For my sake,” replied Frances, in a voice
barely audible, and dropping on his bosom.

Dunwoodie folded her to his heart, and was
about to speak, as a trumpet sounded in the
southern end of the vale. Imprinting one long
kiss of affection on her unresisting lips, the soldier
tore himself from his mistress, and hastened to the
scene of strife.

Frances threw herself on a sofa, buried her head
under its cushion, and, with her shawl drawn over
her face, to exclude as much of sound as possible,
continued there until the shouts of the combatants,
the rattling of the fire arms, and the thundering
tread of the horses had ceased.

CHAPTER VI.

In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness, and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard favour'd rage:—
I see you stand, like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot;
Follow your spirit. And upon this charge
Cry—
Shakspeare.

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

The rough and unimproved face of the country,
the frequency of covers, together with the
great distance from their own country, and the
facilities afforded them for rapid movements to the
different points of the war, by the undisputed
command of the ocean, had all united to deter the
English officers from employing a heavy force in
cavalry, in their efforts to subdue the revolted
colonies.

Only one regiment of regular horse was sent
from the mother country during the struggle.
But legions and independent corps were formed
in different places, as it best accorded with the
views of the royal commanders, or suited the exigencies
of the times. These were not unfrequently
composed of men raised in the colonies, and at
other times drafts were had from the regiments of
the line, and the soldier was made to lay aside the
musquet and bayonet, and taught to wield the
sabre and carabine. One particular body of the
subsidiary troops were included in this arrangement,
and the Hessian yagers were transformed
into a corps of heavy and inactive horse.

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

Opposed to them were the hardiest spirits of
America. Most of the cavalry regiments of the
continental army were led and officered by gentlemen
from the south. The high and haughty
courage of the commanders had communicated
itself to the privates, who were men selected
with care and attention to the service they were
intended to perform.

While the British were confined to their empty
conquests in the possession of a few of the larger
towns, or marched through countries that were
swept of every thing like military supplies, the
light troops of their enemies had the range of the
whole of the interior before them.

The sufferings of the line of the American army
were great beyond example; but possessing the
power, and feeling themselves engaged in a cause
which justified severity, the horse were well mounted,
well fed, and consequently very effective.
Perhaps the world could not furnish more brave,
enterprising, and resistless corps of light cavalry
than were a few in the continental service at the
time of which we write.

Dunwoodie's men had often tried their prowess
against the enemy, and now sat panting to be led
once more against foes that they seldom charged
in vain. Their wishes were soon to be gratified;
for their commander had scarcely time to regain
his seat in the saddle, before a body of the enemy
came sweeping round the base of the hill, which
intersected the view to the south. A few minutes
enabled the Major to distinguish their character.
In one troop he saw the green coats of the Cowboys,
and in the other the leather helmets and
wooden saddles of the yagers. Their numbers
were about equal to the body under his immediate
orders.

On reaching the open space near to the cottage

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

of Harvey Birch, the enem halted and drew up
his men in line, and was evidently making preparations
for a charge. At this moment a column
of foot appeared in the vale, and pressed forward
to the bank of the brook which we have already
mentioned.

Major Dunwoodie was not less distinguished for
coolness and judgment, than, where occasion offered,
by his dauntless intrepidity. He at once
saw his advantage, and determined to profit by it.
The column he led began slowly to retire from
the field, when the youthful German, who commanded
the enemy's horse, fearful of missing an
easy conquest, gave the word to charge. Few
troops were more hardy than the Cow-boys; they
sprang eagerly forward in the pursuit with a confidence,
created by the retiring foe and the column
in their rear; the Hessians followed more slowly,
but in better order. The trumpets of the Virginians
now sounded long and lively; they were
answered by a strain from the party in ambush
that went to the hearts of their enemies. The
column of Dunwoodie wheeled in perfect order,
opened, and, as the word to charge was given, the
troops of Lawton emerged from the cover, with
their leader in advance, waving his sabre over his
head, and shouting, in a voice that was heard
above the clangor of the martial music.

The charge threatened too much for the refugee
troop. They scattered in every direction, flying
from the field as fast as their horses, the chosen
beasts of Westchester, could carry them. Only
a few were hurt; but such as did meet the arms
of their avenging countrymen never survived the
blow, to tell who struck it. It was upon the poor
vassals of a German tyrant that the shock fell.
Disciplined to the most exact obedience, these illfated
men met the charge bravely, but they were

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

swept before the mettled horses and nervous arms
of their antagonists like chaff before the wind.
Many of them were literally ridden down, and
Dunwoodie soon saw the field without an opposing
foe. The proximity of the infantry prevented
pursuit, and it was behind its column that the few
Hessians who escaped unhurt sought protection.

The more cunning refugees dispersed in small
bands, taking various and devious routes back to
their old station in front of Harlaem. Many was the
sufferer, in his cattle, furniture, and person, that
was created by this route; for the dispersion of a
troop of Cow-boys was only the extension of an evil.

Such a scene could not be expected to be acted
so near them, and the inmates of the cottage take
no interest in the result. In truth, the feelings
it excited pervaded every bosom, from the kitchen
to the parlour. Terror and horror had prevented
the ladies from being spectators, but they did not
feel the less. Frances continued lying in the posture
we have mentioned, offering up fervent and
incoherent petitions for the safety of her countrymen,
although in her inmost heart she had personified
her nation by the graceful image of Major
Dunwoodie. Her aunt and sister were less exclusive
in their devotions, but Sarah began to feel,
as the horrors of war were thus brought home to
her senses, less pleasure in her anticipated triumphs.

The inmates of Mr. Wharton's kitchen were
four—namely, Cæsar and his spouse, their granddaughter,
a jetty damsel of twenty, and the boy
before alluded to. The blacks were the remnants
of a race of negroes which had been entailed on
his estate from Mr. Wharton's maternal ancestors,
who had been descendants from the early Dutch
colonists. Time, depravity, and death, had reduced
them to this small number, and the boy,

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

who was white, had been added by Miss Peyton
to the establishment, as an assistant, to perform
the ordinary services of a footman. Cæsar, after
first using the precaution to place himself under
the cover of an angle of the wall, for a screen
against any roving bullet which might be traversing
the air, became an amused spectator of the
skirmish. The sentinel on the piazza was at the
distance of but a few feet from him, and entered
into the spirit of the chase with all the ardour of a
tried blood-hound—he noticed the approach of the
black, and his judicious position with a smile of
contempt, as he squared himself towards the enemy,
offering his unprotected breast to any dangers
which might come.

After considering the arrangement of Cæsar for
a moment with ineffable disdain, the dragoon said
with great coolness—

“You seem very careful of that beautiful person
of yours, Mr. Blueskin.”

“I guess a bullet hurt a coloured man as quick
as a white,” muttered the black surlily, casting
a glance at his rampart with much self-satisfaction.

“I'm thinking it's all guess with you, snowball—
suppose I make the experiment;” as he
spoke, he deliberately drew a pistol from his belt
and levelled it at the black. Cæsar's teeth chattered
at the appearance of the dragoon, although
he believed nothing serious was intended;
and it was at this moment that the column of
Dunwoodie began to retire, and the royal cavalry
commenced their charge.

“There, Mister Light-horseman,” said Cæsar
eagerly, as he believed the Americans were retiring
in earnest, “why you rebels don't fight—see—
see how King George's men make Major Dunwoodie
run—good gentleman too, but don't like
to fight a rig'lars.”

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

“Damn your regulars,” cried the other fiercely;
“wait a minute, blackey, and you'll see Captain
Jack Lawton come out from behind yonder hill,
and scatter these Cow-boys like wild geese who've
lost their leader.”

Cæsar had supposed the party under Lawton
to have sought the shelter of the hill from similar
motives to what had induced him to place the wall
between himself and the battle ground: but the
fact soon verified the trooper's prophecy, and the
black witnessed with consternation the total route
of the royal horse.

The sentinel had manifested his exultation at
the success of his comrades with loud shouts,
which soon brought his companion, who had been
left in the more immediate charge of Henry Wharton,
to the open window of the parlour.

“See, Tom, see,” cried the delighted trooper,
“how Captain Lawton makes that Hessian's
leather cap fly; and now the major has killed the
officer's horse—zounds, why didn't he kill the
Dutchman, and save the horse?”

A few pistols were discharged at the flying
Cow-boys, and a spent bullet broke a pane of
glass within a few feet of Cæsar—imitating the
posture of the great tempter of our race, the black
sought the protection of the inside of the building,
and immediately ascended to the parlour.

The small lawn in front of the Locusts was hid
from the view of the road by a close line of shrubbery,
and the horses of the dragoons had been left
linked together under its shelter to await the
movements of their masters.

At this moment two Cow-boys, who had been
cut off from a retreat to their own party, rode
furiously through the gate, with an intention of
escaping to the open wood in the rear of the
cottage.

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

The victorious Americans had pressed the retreating
Germans until they had driven them under
the protection of the fire of the infantry; and
feeling themselves in the privacy of the lawn relieved
from any immediate danger, the predatory
warriors yielded to a temptation that few of the
corps were ever known to resist—opportunity and
horse-flesh. With a hardihood and presence of
mind that could only exist from long practice in
similar scenes, they made towards their intended
prizes by an almost spontaneous movement. They
were busily engaged in separating the fastenings
of the horses, when the trooper on the piazza discharged
his pistols, and rushed sword in hand to
the rescue.

The entrance of Cæsar into the parlour had
induced the wary dragoon within to turn his attention
more closely on his prisoner; but this
new interruption drew him again to the window.
He threw his body out of the building, and with
dreadful imprecations endeavoured by his threats
and appearance, to frighten the marauders from
their prey. The moment was enticing. Three
hundred of his comrades were within a mile of
the cottage; unridden horses were running at
large in every direction, and Henry Wharton
seized the unconscious sentinel by his legs, and
threw him headlong into the lawn.—Cæsar vanished
from the room, and drew a bolt of the outer
door.

The fall of the soldier was not great, and recovering
his feet, he turned his fury for a moment
on his prisoner. To scale the window in the face
of his enemy, was, however, impossible, and on
trial he found the main entrance barred.

His comrade now called loudly upon his aid,
and forgetful of every thing else, the discomfited
trooper rushed to his assistance. One horse was

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

instantly liberated, but the other was already fastened
to the saddle of a Cow-boy, and the four retired
behind the building, cutting furiously at each
other with their sabres, and making the air resound
with the violence of their imprecations.
Cæsar threw the outer door open, and pointing to
the horse, who was quietly biting the faded herbage
of the lawn, exclaimed—

“Run—now—run—Massa Harry, run.”

“Yes,” cried the youth as he vaulted into the
saddle, “now, indeed, my honest fellow, is the
time to run.” He beckoned hastily to his father,
who stood at the window in speechless anxiety,
with his hands extended towards his child in the
attitude of benediction, and adding, “God bless
you, Cæsar, salute the girls,” dashed through the
gate with the rapidity of lightning.

The African watched him with anxiety as he
gained the highway, saw him incline to the right,
and riding furiously under the brow of some rocks,
which on that side rose perpendicularly, and disappear
behind a projection, which soon hid him
from view.

The delighted Cæsar closed the door, pushing
bolt after bolt, and turning the key until it would
turn no more, soliloquizing the whole time on the
happy escape of his young master.

“How well he ride—teach him myself—salute
a young lady—I guess a Miss Fanny would'nt let
old coloured man kiss her pretty red cheek.”

When the fortune of the day was decided, and
the time arrived for the burial of the dead, two
Cow-boys and a Virginian were found in the rear
of the Locusts to be included in the number.

Happily for Henry Wharton, the searching eyes
of his captor were examining, through a pocket
glass, the column of infantry that still held its position
on the bank of the stream, as the remnants

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

of the Hessian yagers were seeking its friendly
protection. His horse was of the best blood of
Virginia, and carried him with the swiftness of the
wind along the valley, and the heart of the youth
was already beating tumultuously with the pleasure
of his deliverance, when a well known voice
reached his startled ear, crying aloud—

“Bravely done—Captain—don't spare the
whip, and turn to your left before you cross the
brook.”

Wharton turned his head in surprise, and saw,
sitting on the point of a jutting rock that commanded
a bird's-eye view of the valley, his former
guide, Harvey Birch. His pack much diminished
in size lay at the feet of the pedlar, who waved
his hat to the youth exultingly as the latter flew
by him. The English captain took the advice of
this mysterious being, and finding a wood road,
which led to the highway that intersected the valley,
turned down its direction, was soon opposite
to his friends, and the next minute crossed the
bridge, and stopped his charger before his old acquaintance,
Colonel Wellmere.

“Captain Wharton!” exclaimed the astonished
commander of the English troops, “dressed in
blue and mounted on a rebel dragoon horse! are
you from the clouds in this attire, and in such a
style?”

“Thank God!” cried the youth, recovering
his breath, “I am safe, and escaped from the
hands of my enemies; but five minutes since and
I was a prisoner and threatened with the gallows.”

“The gallows, Captain Wharton! surely those
traitors to their king would never dare to commit
another murder in cold blood; is it not enough
that they took the life of André? wherefore did
they threaten you with a similar fate?”

“Under the pretence of a similar offence,”

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

said the captain, briefly explaining to the group of
listeners the manner of his capture, the grounds
for his personal apprehensions, and the method of
his escape. By the time he had concluded his
narration, the fugitive Germans had collected in
the rear of the column of infantry, and Colonel
Wellmere cried aloud—

“From my soul I congratulate you, my brave
friend—mercy is a quality with which these traitors
are unacquainted, and you are doubly fortunate
in escaping from their hands, and uninjured.
Prepare yourself to grant me your assistance, and
I will soon afford you a noble revenge.”

“I do not think there was danger of personal
outrage to any man, Colonel Wellmere, from a
party where Major Dunwoodie commands,” returned
young Wharton, with a slight glow on his
face; “his character is above the impeachment of
such an offence; neither do I think it altogether
prudent to cross this brook into the open plain,
in the face of those Virginian horse, flushed as
they must be with the success they have just obtained.”

“Do you call the route of those irregulars and
these sluggish Hessians, a deed to boast of?” said
the other with a contemptuous smile; “you speak
of the affair, Captain Wharton, as if your boasted
Mr. Dunwoodie, for major he is none, had discomfited
the body guards of your king.”

“And I must be allowed to say, Colonel Wellmere,
that if the body guards of my king were in
yon field, they would meet a foe that it would be
dangerous to despise. Sir, my boasted Mr. Dunwoodie
is the pride of Washington's army as a cavalry
officer,” cried Henry with warmth.

“Dunwoodie—Dunwoodie,” repeated the colonel
slowly; “surely I have met the gentleman
before.”

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

“I have been told you once saw him, sir, for a
moment, at the town residence of my sisters,” replied
Wharton, with a lurking smile.

“Ah! I do remember me of such a youth,”
said the Colonel with affected irony; “and does
the most potent congress of these rebellious colonies
intrust their soldiers to the leading of such a
warrior?”

“Ask the commander of your Hessian horse,
whether he thinks Major Dunwoodie worthy of
the confidence,” said Henry Wharton keenly,
feeling indignant at the trifling of the other, when
applied to such a man as his friend, and at a moment
so unseasonable.

Colonel Wellmere was far from wanting that
kind of pride which makes a man bear himself
bravely in the presence of his enemies. He had
served in America a long time without ever meeting
with any but new raised levies, or the militia
of the country; these would sometimes fight, and
that fearlessly, but they as often chose to run
away without pulling a trigger. He was too
apt to judge from externals, and thought it impossible
for men, whose gaiters were so clean,
whose tread so regular, and who wheeled with so
much accuracy, to be beaten. In addition to all
these, they were Englishmen, and their success
was certain. Colonel Wellmere had never been
kept much in the field, or these notions, which he
had brought with him from home, and which had
been greatly increased by the vaporings of a garrisoned
town, would have long since vanished—he
listened to the warm reply of Captain Wharton
with a supercilious smile, and then inquired—

“You would not have us retire, sir, before these
boasted horsemen, without doing something that
may deprive them of part of the glory you appear
to think they have gained?”

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

“I would have you advised, Colonel Wellmere,
of the danger you are about to encounter.”

“Danger is but an unseemly word for a soldier,”
continued the British commander with a
sneer.

“And one as little dreaded by the 60th as any
corps who wear the royal livery,” cried Henry
Wharton fiercely; “give but the word to charge,
and then let our actions speak.”

“Now again I know my young friend,” said
Wellmere soothingly; “but if you have any thing
to say before we fight, that can in any manner
help us in our attack, we'll listen. You know
the force of the rebels—are there more of them
in ambush?”

“Yes,” replied the youth, chafing still with the
other's sneers, “in the skirt of this wood on our
right are a small party of foot—their horse are all
before you.”

“Where they will not continue long,” cried
Wellmere, turning to the few officers around him;
“gentlemen, we will cross the stream in column,
and display on the plain beyond, or else we shall
not be able to entice these valiant yankies within
the reach of our muskets. Captain Wharton, I
claim your assistance as an aid-de-camp.”

The youth shook his head in disapprobation of
a movement which his good sense taught him was
rash, but prepared with alacrity to perform his
duty in the impending trial.

During this conversation, which was held at a
small distance in advance of the British column,
and in full view of the Americans, Dunwoodie
had been collecting his scattered troops, securing
his few prisoners, and retiring to the ground where
he had been posted at the first appearance of his
enemy. Satisfied with the success he had

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

already obtained, and believing the English too
wary too give him an opportunity of harrassing
them farther, he was about to withdraw the guides,
and, leaving a strong party on the ground to watch
the movements of the regulars, to fall back a few
miles to a favorable place for taking up his quarters
for the night. Captain Lawton was reluctantly
listening to the reasoning of his commander,
and had brought out his favorite glass, to see if
no opening could be found for an advantageous attack,
when he suddenly exclaimed—

“How's this? a blue coat among those scarlet
gentry,” again applying his glass to his eye, “as
I hope to live to see old Virginia, it is my masquerading
friend of the 60th, the handsome Captain
Wharton escaped from two of the best men
in my troop.”

He had not done speaking when the survivor of
these heroes joined, bringing with him his own
and the horses of the Cow-boys; he reported the
death of his comrade, and the escape of his prisoner.
As the deceased was the immediate sentinel
over the person of young Wharton, and the other
was not to be blamed for defending the horses,
which were more particularly under his care, his
captain heard him with uneasiness, but without
anger.

This intelligence made an entire change in the
views of Major Dunwoodie. He saw at once that
his own reputation was involved in the escape of
his prisoner. The orders to recal the guides was
countermanded, and he now joined his second in
command, watching as eagerly as the impetuous
Lawton for some opening to assail his foe to advantage.

But two hours before and Dunwoodie had felt
the chance, which made Henry Wharton his
captive, as the severest blow he had ever

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

sustained. Now he panted for an opportunity in which,
by risking his own life, he might return his friend
to bondage—all other considerations were lost in
the goadings of his wounded spirit, and he might
have soon emulated Lawton in hardihood, had not
Wellmere and his troops at this moment crossed
the brook into the open plain.

“There,” cried the delighted captain, as he
pointed out the movement with his finger, “there
comes John Bull into the mouse trap, and with his
eyes wide open.”

“Surely,” said Dunwoodie eagerly, “he will
not display his column on that flat; Wharton must
tell him of the ambush. But if he does”—“We
will not leave him a dozen sound skins in his
battalion,” interrupted the other, springing into
his saddle.

The truth was soon apparent; for the English
column, after advancing for a short distance on
the level land, displayed with an accuracy that
would have done them honour on a field day in
their own Hyde Park.

“Prepare to mount—mount;” cried Dunwoodie;
the last word being repeated by Lawton
in a tone that rung in the ears of Cæsar, as he
stood at the open window of the cottage The
black had lost all his confidence in Captain Lawton's
timidity, for he thought he yet saw him
emerging from his cover and waving his sword on
high.

As the British line advanced slowly and in exact
order, the guides opened a galling fire. It began
to annoy that part of the royal troops which
was nearest to them. Wellmere listened to the
advice of the veteran who was next to him in
rank, and ordered two companies to dislodge the
American foot from their hiding place. The
movement created a slight confusion, and

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

Dunwoodie seized the opportunity to charge. No
ground could be more favorable for the manœuvres
of horse, and the attack of the Virginians was
irresistible. It was aimed chiefly at the flank opposite
to the wood, in order to clear the Americans
from the fire of their friends who were concealed—
and it was completely successful. Wellmere
was on the left of his line, and was overthrown
by the impetuous fury of his assailants.
Dunwoodie was in time to save him from the impending
blow of one of his men, and raising him
from the ground, had him placed on a horse and
delivered to the custody of his orderly. The officer
who had suggested the attack upon the guides,
had been intrusted with its execution, but the menace
was sufficient for these irregulars. In fact,
their duty was performed, and they retired along
the skirt of the wood with intent to regain their
horses, which had been left under a guard at the
upper end of the valley.

The left of the British line had been outflanked
by the Americans, who had doubled in their rear,
and had thus made the route in that quarter total.
But the second in command perceiving how
the battle went, promptly wheeled his party, and
threw in a heavy fire on the dragoons as they
passed him to the charge; with this party was
Henry Wharton who had volunteered to assist
in dispersing the guides: a ball had struck his
bridle arm, and compelled him to change hands.
As the dragoons dashed by them, rending the air
with their shouts, and with trumpets sounding a
lively strain, the charger ridden by the youth
became ungovernable—he plunged, reared, and
his rider being unable with his wounded arm to
manage the impatient animal, Henry Wharton
found himself in less than a minute, unwillingly
riding by the side of Captain Lawton. The

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

dragoon comprehended at a glance the ludicrous situation
of this new comrade, but had only time to
cry aloud before they plunged into the English
line—

“The horse knows the righteous cause better
than his rider. Captain Wharton, you are welcome
to the ranks of freedom.”

No time was lost, however, by Lawton, after
the charge was completed, in securing his prisoner
again; and, perceiving him to be hurt, he directed
him to be conveyed to the rear.

The Virginian troopers dealt out their favours
with no gentle hands on that part of the royal
foot who were thus left in a great measure at their
mercy. Dunwoodie noticing the remnant of the
Hessians, who had again ventured on the plain,
led on in pursuit, and easily overtaking their light
and half-fed horses, soon destroyed the remainder
of their detachment.

In the meanwhile, great numbers of the English,
taking advantage of the smoke and confusion
on the battle ground, were enabled to get in the
rear of their countrymen, who still preserved their
order in a line parallel to the wood, but who had
been obliged to hold their fire from the fear of injuring
friends as well as foes. The fugitives were
directed to form a second line within the wood
itself, and under cover of its trees. This was not
yet done, when Captain Lawton, called to a youth,
who commanded the other troop left with that part
of the force which remained on the ground, and
proposed charging the unbroken line of the British.
The proposal was as promptly accepted as it had
been made, and the troops were arrayed for the
purpose. The eagerness of their leader prevented
the preparations necessary to insure success,
and the horse receiving a destructive fire as they
advanced, were thrown into additional confusion.

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

Both Lawton and his more juvenile comrade fell
at this discharge. Fortunately for the credit of
the Virginians, Major Dunwoodie re-entered the
field at this critical instant—he saw his troops in
disorder—at his feet lay weltering in his blood
George Singleton, a youth endeared to him by
numberless virtues, and Lawton was unhorsed and
stretched senseless on the plain. The eye of the
youthful warrior flashed with unwonted fires.
Riding between his squadron and the enemy, in a
voice that reached to the hearts of his dragoons,
he recalled them to their duty. His presence
and words acted like magic. The clamour of
voices ceased; the line was formed promptly and
with exactitude; the charge sounded, and led on
by their commander, the Virginians swept across
the plain with an impetuosity that nothing could
withstand, and the field was instantly cleared of the
enemy; what were not destroyed sought a shelter
in the woods. Dunwoodie slowly withdrew from
the fire of the English who were covered by the
trees, and commenced the painful duty of collecting
his dead and wounded.

The sergeant, charged with conducting Henry
Wharton to where he might procure surgical aid,
set about performing his duty with alacrity, in
order to return as soon as possible to the scene of
strife. They had not reached the middle of the
plain, before the captain noticed a man whose appearance
and occupation forcibly arrested his attention.
His head was bald and bare, but a well-powdered
wig was to be seen half concealed in the
pocket of his breeches. His coat was off, and
his arms naked to the elbow—blood had disfigured
much of his dress, and his hands and even face bore
this mark of his profession—in his mouth was a
segar—in his right hand some instruments of
strange formation, and in his left the remnants of
an apple, with which he occasionally relieved the

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

duty of his before mentioned segar. He was
standing, lost in the contemplation of a Hessian
who lay breathless before him. At a little distance
were three or four of the guides, leaning on
their muskets, and straining their eyes in the direction
of the combatants, and at his elbow stood
a man who, from the implements in his hand and
bloody vestments, was an assistant in his duty.

“There, sir, is the doctor,” said the attendant
of Henry very coolly; “he will patch up your
arm in the twinkling of an eye;” and beckoning to
the guides to approach, he whispered and pointed
to his prisoner; and then galloped furiously towards
his comrades.

Wharton advanced to the side of this strange
figure, and observing himself to be unnoticed, was
about to request his assistance, when the other
broke silence in a soliloquy—

“Now I know this man to have been killed by
Captain Lawton, as well as if I had seen him strike
the blow. How often have I strove to teach him
the manner in which he can disable his adversary
without destroying life. It is cruel thus unnecessarily
to cut off the human race, and furthermore,
such blows as these render professional assistance
unnecessary—it is in a measure treating the lights
of science with disrespect.”

“If, sir, your leisure will admit,” said Henry
Wharton, “I must beg your attention to this slight
hurt of mine.”

“Ah!” cried the other starting, and examining
him from head to foot, “you are from the field
below—is there much business there, sir?”

“Indeed,” answered Henry, accepting the offer
of the surgeon to assist in removing his coat,
“'tis a stirring time, I can assure you.

“Stirring!” repeated the surgeon, busily employed
with his dressings, “you give me great

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

pleasure, sir, for so long as they can stir there
must be life, and while there is life you know,
there is hope—but here my art is of no use—I
did put in the brains of one patient, but I rather
think the man must have been dead before I saw
him—it is a curious case, sir; I will take you to
see it—only across the fence there, where you
may perceive so many bodies together. Ah! the
ball has glanced around the bone without shattering
it—you are fortunate in falling into the hands
of an old practitioner, or you might have lost this
limb.”

“Indeed!” said Henry with a slight uneasiness,
“I did not apprehend the injury to be so serious.”

“Oh! the hurt is not bad, but you have such a
pretty arm for an operation,” replied the surgeon
coolly, “the pleasure of the thing might easily
tempt a novice.”

“The devil!” cried the horror-struck captain,
“can there be any pleasure in mutilating a fellow
creature?”

“Sir,” said the surgeon with great gravity, “a
scientific amputation is a very pretty operation,
and doubtless might tempt a younger man, in the
hurry of business, to overlook all the particulars of
the case.”

Further conversation was interrupted by the
appearance of the dragoons, slowly marching towards
their former halting place, and new appliplications
from the slightly wounded soldiers who
now came riding in, making hasty demands on the
skill of the doctor.

The guides took charge of Wharton, and with a
heavy heart, the young man retraced his steps to
his father's cottage.

The English had lost in the charges about one
third of their foot, but the remainder had been
rallied in the wood, and Dunwoodie, perceiving

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

them to be too strongly posted to assail, had
left a strong party with Captain Lawton, with orders
to watch their motions, and seize every opportunity
to harrass them before they re-embarked.

Intelligence had reached the major of another
party being out by the way of the Hudson, and
his duty required that he should hold himself in
readiness to defeat the intentions of these also.
Captain Lawton received his orders with strong
injunctions to make no efforts on the foe unless
a favourable chance should offer. The injury received
by this officer was in the head, being
stunned by a glancing bullet, and parting with a
laughing declaration from the major, that if he
again forgot himself, they should all think him
more materially hurt, each took his own course.

The British were a light party without baggage,
that had been sent out to destroy certain stores
understood to be collecting for the use of the
American army. They now retired through the
woods to the heights, and keeping the route along
their summits, in places unassailable by cavalry,
commenced their retreat to their boats.

CHAPTER VIII.

“With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide;
And many a childing mother then,
And new born infant died;
But things like these, you know, must be
At every famous victory.”

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

The last sounds of the combat died on the ears
of the anxious listeners in the cottage, and was succeeded
by the stillness of suspense. Frances had
continued by herself, striving to exclude the uproar,
and vainly endeavouring to summon resolution
to meet the dreaded result. The ground
where the charge on the foot had taken place,
was but a short mile from the Locusts, and, in the
intervals of the musketry, the voices of the soldiery
had even reached the ears of its inhabitants.
After witnessing the escape of his son, Mr. Wharton
had joined his sister and eldest daughter in
their retreat, and the three continued fearfully
waiting news from the field. Unable longer to
remain under the painful uncertainty of her
situation, Frances soon added herself to the uneasy
group, and Cæsar was directed to examine
into the state of things without, and report on
whose banners victory had alighted. The father
now briefly related to his astonished children the
circumstance and manner of their brother's escape.
They were yet in the freshness of their surprise
when the door opened, and Captain Wharton, attended
by a couple of the guides, and followed by
the black, stood before them.

“Henry—my son—my son,” cried the agitated

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

parent, stretching out his arms, yet unable to rise
from his seat, “what is it I see—are you again a
captive, and in danger of your life.”

“The better fortune of these rebels has prevailed,”
said the youth, endeavouring to force a
cheerful smile, and taking a hand of each of his
distressed sisters. “I strove nobly for my liberty,
but the perverse spirit of rebellion has even lighted
on their horses. The steed I mounted carried
me, greatly against my will I acknowledge,
into the very centre of Dunwoodie's men.”

“And you were again captured,” continued the
father, casting a fearful glance on the armed attendants
who had entered the room.

“That, sir, you may safely say; this Mr. Lawton,
who sees so far, had me in custody again immediately.”

“Why you didn't hold 'em in, Massa Harry?”
cried Cæsar, advancing eagerly, and disregarding
the anxious looks and pallid cheeks of the female
listeners.

“That,” said Wharton, smiling, “was a thing
easier said than done, Mr. Cæsar, especially as
these gentlemen” (glancing his eyes at the guides)
“had seen proper to deprive me of the use of my
better arm.”

“Wounded!” exclaimed both sisters in a breath,
catching a view of the bandages.

“A mere scratch, but disabling me at a most
critical moment,” continued the brother kindly,
and stretching out the injured limb to manifest
the truth of his declaration. Cæsar threw a look
of bitter animosity on the irregular warriors who
were thought to have had an agency in the deed,
and left the room. A few more words sufficed to
explain all that Captain Wharton knew relative
to the fortune of the day. The result he thought

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

yet doubtful, for when he left the ground, the
Virginians were retiring from the field of battle.”

“They had tree'd the squirrel,” said one of the
sentinels abruptly, “and didn't quit the ground
without leaving a good hound for the chase, when
he comes down.”

“Ay,” added his comrade drily, “I'm thinking
Captain Lawton will count the noses of what are
left before they see their whale-boats.”

Frances had stood supporting herself by the
back of a chair, during this dialogue, catching, in
breathless anxiety, every syllable as it was uttered—
her colour changed rapidly—her limbs shook
under her—until, with desperate resolution, she
inquired—

“Is any officer hurt on—the—on either side?”

“Yes,” answered the man cavalierly, “these
southern youths are so full of mettle, that it's seldom
we fight but one or two gets knocked over—
one of the wounded, who came up before the
troops, told me, that Captain Singleton was killed,
and Major Dunwoodie”—

Frances heard no more, but fell back lifeless
in the chair behind her. The attention of her
friends soon revived her, when the captain, turning
to the man, said, fearfully—

“Surely Major Dunwoodie is unhurt.”

“Never fear him,” added the guide, disregarding
the agitation of the family, “they say a man
who is born to be hung will never be drowned—if
a bullet could kill the major, he would have been
dead long ago. I was going to say, that the major
is in a sad taking because of the captain's being
killed; but had I known how much store the lady
sat by him, I would'nt have been so plain spoken.”

Frances now rose quickly from her seat, with
cheeks glowing with confusion, and leaning on

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

her aunt, was about to retire, when Dunwoodie
himself appeared. The first emotion of the maid,
when she saw him, was unalloyed happiness; in
the next instant she shrunk back appalled from
the unusual expression that reigned in his countenance.
The sternness of battle yet sat on his
brow—his eye was fixed, penetrating and severe.
The smile of affection that used to lighten his
dark features, on meeting his mistress, was supplanted
by the lowering look of care; his whole
soul seemed to be absorbed with one engrossing
emotion, and he proceeded at once to his
object.

“Mr. Wharton,” he earnestly began, “in times
like these, we need not stand on idle ceremony—
one of my officers, I am afraid, is hurt mortally;
and presuming on your hospitality, I have brought
him to your door.”

“I am happy, sir, that you have done so,” said
Mr. Wharton, at once perceiving the importance
to his son, of conciliating the American troops;
“the necessitous are always welcome, and doubly
so, in being the friend of Major Dunwoodie.”

“Sir, I thank you for myself, and in behalf of
him who is unable to render you his thanks,” returned
the other hastily; “If then you please, we
will have him conducted where the surgeon may
see and report upon his case without delay.” To
this there could be no objection, and Frances felt
a chill at her heart, as her lover withdrew without
casting a solitary look on herself.

There is a devotedness in female love that admits
of no rivalry. All the tenderness of the
heart—all the powers of the imagination, are enlisted
in behalf of the tyrant passion, and where
all is given much is looked for in return. Frances
had spent hours of anguish—of torture, on

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

behalf of Dunwoodie, and he now met her without a
smile, and left her without a greeting. The ardor
of feeling in the maid was unabated, but the elasticity
of her hopes was weakened. As the supporters
of the nearly lifeless body of Dunwoodie's
friend, passed her in their way to the apartment
prepared for his reception, she caught a view of
this seeming rival in her interest with her lover.
His pale and ghastly countenance, sunken eye,
and difficult breathing, gave her a glimpse of
death in its most fearful form. Dunwoodie was
by his side and held his hand, giving frequent and
stern injunctions to the men to proceed with care,
and, in short, manifested all the solicitude that the
most tender friendship could, on such an occasion,
inspire. The maid moved lightly before them,
and, with an averted face, held open the door for
their passage to the bed; it was only as the major
touched her garments on entering the room, that
she ventured to raise her mild blue eyes to his
face. But the glance was unreturned, and Frances
unconsciously sighed as she sought the solitude
of her own apartment.

Captain Wharton voluntarily gave a pledge to
his keepers not to attempt again escaping, and then
proceeded to execute those duties on behalf of
his father, which were thought necessary in a host.
On entering the passage for that purpose, he met
the operator, who had so dexterously dressed his
arm, advancing to the room of the wounded officer.

“Ah!” cried the disciple of Esculapius, “I see
you are doing well—but stop—have you a pin?—
No! here, I have one—you must keep the cold
air from your hurt, or some of the youngsters will
be at work at you yet.”

“God forbid,” muttered the captain in an

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

under tone, and attentively adjusting the bandages,
when Dunwoodie appeared at the door, impatiently
crying aloud—

“Hasten—Sitgreaves—hasten, or George Singleton
will die from loss of blood.”

“What! Singleton! God forbid—bless me—is
it George—poor little George,” exclaimed the
surgeon as he quickened his pace with evident
emotion, and hastened to the side of the bed; “he
is alive though, and while there is life there is
hope. This is the first serious case I have had to
day, where the patient was not already dead.
Captain Lawton teaches his men to strike with so
little discretion—poor George—bless me, it is a
musket bullet.”

The youthful sufferer turned his eyes on the man
of science, and with a faint smile endeavoured to
stretch forth his hand. There was an appeal in
the look and action that touched the heart of the
operator, with a force that was irresistible. The
surgeon removed his spectacles to wipe an unusual
moisture from his eyes, and proceeded carefully
to the discharge of his duty—while the previous
arrangements were, however, making, he
gave vent in some measure to his feelings by saying—

“When it is only a bullet I have always some
hopes—there is a chance that it hits nothing vital—
but bless me, Captain Lawton's men cut so
at random—generally sever the jugular, or let out
the brains, and both are so difficult to remedy—
the patient mostly dying before one can get at
them—I never had success but once in replacing
a man's brains, although I tried three this very
day. It is easy to tell where Lawton's troop
charge in a battle, they cut so at random.”

The group around the bed of Captain Singleton
were too much accustomed to the manner of

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

their surgeon, to regard or reply to his soliloquy;
but they quietly awaited the moment when he was
to commence his examination. This now took
place, and Dunwoodie stood looking the operator
in the face with an expression that seemed to
read his soul. The patient shrunk from the application
of the probe, and a smile stole over the
features of the surgeon, as he muttered—

“There has been nothing before it in that
quarter.” He now applied himself in earnest to
his work, took off his spectacles, and threw aside
his wig. All this time Dunwoodie stood in feverish
silence, holding one of the hands of the sufferer
in both his own, watching the countenance
of Doctor Sitgreaves. At length Singleton gave
a slight groan, and the surgeon rose with alacrity,
and said aloud—

“Ah! there is some pleasure in following a
bullet, it may be said to meander through the human
body, injuring nothing vital; but as for Captain
Lawton's men”—

“Speak,” interrupted Dunwoodie in a voice
hardly articulate; “is there hope—can you find the
ball?”

“It's no difficult matter to find that which one
has in his hand, Major Dunwoodie,” replied the
surgeon coolly, and preparing his dressings; “it
took what that literal fellow, Captain Lawton,
calls a circumbendibus, a route never taken by the
swords of his men, notwithstanding the multiplied
pains I have been at to teach him how to cut scientifically.
Now I saw a horse this day with his
head half severed from his body.”

“That,” said Dunwoodie, as the blood rushed
to his cheeks again, and his dark eyes sparkled
with the rays of hope revived, “was some of my
own handy-work; I killed that horse myself.”

You!” exclaimed the surgeon, dropping his

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]

dressings in surprise, “you! but then you knew
it was a horse.”

“I had such suspicions, I own,” said the Major
smiling, holding a beverage to the lips of his
friend.

“Such blows alighting on the human frame are
fatal,” continued the doctor, pursuing his business,
“and set at nought all the benefits which
flow from the lights of science; they are useless
in a battle, for disabling your foe is all that is required.
I have sat, Major Dunwoodie, many a
cold hour, while Captain Lawton has been engaged,
and after all my expectation, not a single
case worth recording has occurred—all scratches
or death wounds; ah! the sabre is a sad weapon
in unskilful hands. Now, Major Dunwoodie,
many are the hours I have thrown away in endeavouring
to impress this on Captain Lawton.”

The impatient major pointed silently to his
friend, and the surgeon quickened his movements
as he continued—

“Ah! poor George—it is a narrow chance—
but”—he was interrupted by a messenger requiring
the presence of the commanding officer in the
field. Dunwoodie pressed the hand of his friend,
and beckoned the doctor to follow him, as he withdrew.

“What think you?” he whispered on reaching
the passage, “will he live?”

“He will;” said the surgeon laconically, turning
on his heel.

“Thank God!” cried the youth, hastening below.

Dunwoodie for a moment joined the family, who
were now collected in the ordinary parlour. His
face was no longer wanting in smiles, and his salutations,
though hasty, were cordial. He took
no notice of the escape and recapture of Henry

[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]

Wharton, but seemed to think the young man had
continued where he had left him before the encounter.
On the ground they had not met. The
English officer withdrew in haughty silence to a
window, leaving the major uninterruptedly to
make his communications.

The excitement produced by the events of the
day in the youthful feelings of the sisters, had been
succeeded by a languor that kept them both silent,
and it was with Miss Peyton that Dunwoodie held
his discourse.

“Is there any hope, my cousin, that your friend
can survive his wound?” said the lady, advancing
towards her kinsman with a smile of benevolent
regard.

“Every thing—my dear madam—every thing,”
answered the soldier cheerfully. “Sitgreaves says
he will live, and he has never yet deceived me.”

“Your pleasure is not much greater than my
own at this intelligence. One so dear to Major
Dunwoodie cannot fail to excite an interest in the
bosom of his friends.”

“Say one so deservedly dear, madam,” returned
the major with warmth; “he is the beneficent
spirit of the corps—equally beloved by us all—so
mild, so equal, so just, so generous, with the
meekness of a lamb and the fondness of a dove—
it is only in the hour of battle that Singleton is a
lion.”

“You speak of him as if he were your mistress,
Major Dunwoodie,” observed the smiling spinster,
glancing her eye at her niece, who sat pale and
listening, in a corner of the room.

“I love him as one,” cried the excited youth;
“but he requires care and nursing—all now depends
on the attention he receives.”

“Trust me, sir,” said Miss Peyton with dignity,
“he will want for nothing under this roof.”

“Pardon me, dear madam,” cried the youth

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

hastily; “you are all that is benevolent, but Singleton
requires a care which many men would feel to
be irksome. It is at moments like these, and in
sufferings like his, that the soldier most finds
the want of female tenderness.” As he spoke,
he turned his eyes on Frances with an expression
that again thrilled to the heart of the maiden—
she rose from her seat with burning cheeks, and
said—

“All the attention that can with propriety be
given to a stranger will be cheerfully bestowed on
your friend.”

“Ah!” cried the major, shaking his head, “that
cold word propriety will kill him; he must be
fostered, cherished, soothed.”

“These are offices for a sister or a wife,” said
the maid, with still increasing colour.

“A sister!” repeated the soldier, the blood
rushing to his own face tumultuously; “a sister!
he has a sister—and one that might be here with
to-morrow's sun.” He paused, mused in silence,
glanced his eye uneasily at Frances, and muttered
in an under tone—“Singleton requires it, and it
must be done.”

The ladies had watched his varying countenance
in some surprise, and Miss Peyton now observed,
that—

“If there were a sister of Captain Singleton
near them, her presence would be gladly requested
both by herself and nieces.”

“It must be, madam; it cannot well be otherwise,”
replied Dunwoodie with a hesitation that
but ill agreed with his former declarations; “she
shall be sent for express this very night.” And
then, as if willing to change the subject, he approached
Captain Wharton, and continued mildly—

“Henry Wharton, to me honour is dearer than

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

life—but in your hands I know it can safely be
confided—remain here unwatched, until we leave
the county, which will not be for some days to
come.”

The distance in the manner of the English officer
vanished, and taking the offered hand of the
other, he replied with warmth—“your generous
confidence, Peyton, will not be abused, even
though the gibbet on which your Washington
hung André be ready for my own execution.”

“Henry—Henry Wharton,” said Dunwoodie
reproachfully, “you little know the man who
leads our armies, or you would have spared him
that reproach; but duty calls me without. I leave
you where I could wish to stay myself, and where
you cannot be wholly unhappy.”

In passing Frances, the maid received another
of those smiling looks of affection she so much
prized, and for a season she forgot the impression
made by his appearance after the battle.

Among the veterans that had been impelled by
the times to abandon the quiet of age for the service
of their country was Colonel Singleton. He
was a native of Georgia, and had been for the earlier
years of his life a soldier by profession. When
the struggle for liberty commenced, he offered his
services to his country, and from respect to his
character they had been accepted. His years and
health had, however, prevented his discharging the
active duties of the field, and he had been kept in
command of different posts of trust, where his country
might receive the benefits of his vigilance and
fidelity without inconvenience to himself. For
the last year he had been entrusted with the passes
into the Highlands, and was now quartered, with
his daughter, but a short day's march above the
valley where Dunwoodie had met his enemy. His
only other child was the wounded officer we have

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

mentioned. Thither then the major prepared to
despatch a messenger with the unhappy news of
the captain's situation, and charged with such an
invitation from the ladies as he did not doubt
would speedily bring the ardent sister to the couch
of her brother.

This duty performed, though with an unwillingness
that only could make his former anxiety more
perplexing, Dunwoodie proceeded to the field
where his troops had again halted. The remnant
of the English were already to be seen, over
the tops of the trees, marching on the heights towards
their boats in compact order, and with
great watchfulness. The detachment of the dragoons
under Lawton were a short distance on
their flank, eagerly awaiting a favourable moment
to strike a blow. In this manner both parties
were soon lost to the view.

A short distance above the Locusts was a small
village where several roads intersected each
other, and from which, consequently, access was
easy to the surrounding country. It was a favourite
halting place of the horse, and frequently held
by the light parties of the American army during
their excursions below. Dunwoodie had been
the first to discover its advantages, and as it was
necessary for him to remain in the county until
further orders from above, it cannot be supposed
he overlooked them now. To this place, the
troops were directed to retire, carrying with
them their wounded; parties were already employed
in the sad duty of interring the dead. In
making these arrangements, a new object of embarrassment
presented itself to our young soldier.
In moving to and fro the field, he was struck with
the appearance of Colonel Wellmere seated by
himself, brooding over his misfortunes uninterrupted
by any but the passing civilities of the

[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]

American officers. His anxiety on behalf of Singleton
had hitherto banished the recollection of
his captive from the mind of Dunwoodie, and he
now approached him with apologies for his neglect.
The Englishman received his courtesies
with coolness, and complained of being injured
by what he affected to think was the accidental
stumbling of his horse. Dunwoodie, who had
seen one of his own men ride him down, and
doubtless with very little ceremony, slightly smiled,
as he offered him surgical assistance. This
could only be procured at the cottage, and thither
they both proceeded.

“Colonel Wellmere,” cried young Wharton in
astonishment, as they entered, “has the fortune
of war been thus cruel to you also; but you are
welcome to the house of my father, although I
could wish the introduction to have taken place
under more happy circumstances.”

Mr. Wharton received this new guest with the
guarded caution that distinguished his manner,
and Dunwoodie left the room to seek the bedside
of his friend. Every thing here looked propitious,
and he acquainted the surgeon that another patient
waited his skill in the room below. The
sound of the word was enough to set the doctor
in motion, and seizing his implements of office,
he went in quest of this new applicant for his notice.
At the door of the parlour he was met by
the ladies who were retiring. Miss Peyton detained
him for a moment to inquire into the welfare
of Captain Singleton, before she suffered him
to proceed. Frances smiled with something of
her natural archness of manner, as she contemplated
the grotesque appearance of the bald-headed
practitioner; but Sarah was too much agitated,
with the surprise of the unexpected interview
with the British Colonel, to notice his attire. It

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

has already been intimated that Colonel Wellmere
was an old acquaintance of the family. Sarah
had been so long absent from the city, that
she had in some measure been banished from the
remembrance of the gentleman, but the recollections
of Sarah were more vivid. There is a period
in the life of every woman, when she may be said
to be predisposed to love—it is at the happy age
when infancy is lost in opening maturity—when the
guileless heart beats with the joyous anticipations
of life which the truth can never realize, and when
the imagination forms images of perfection that
are copied after its own unsullied visions---it was
at this age that Sarah left the city, and she had
brought with her a picture of futurity, faintly impressed,
it is true, but which gained durability
from her solitude, and in which Wellmere had
been placed in the fore-ground. The surprise of
the meeting had in some measure overpowered
her, and after receiving the salutations of the colonel,
she had risen, in compliance with a signal
from her observant aunt, to withdraw.

“Then, sir,” observed Miss Peyton, after listening
to the surgeon's account of his young patient,
“we may be flattered with the expectations that
he will recover.”

“'Tis certain, madam,” returned the doctor,
endeavouring, out of respect to the ladies, to replace
his wig, “'tis certain with care and good
nursing.”

“In those he shall not be wanting,” said the
spinster mildly. “Every thing we have he can
command, and Major Dunwoodie has despatched
an express for his sister.”

“His sister,” echoed the practitioner with a
look of particular meaning; “if the Major has sent
for her, she will come.”

“Her brother's danger would induce her, one
would imagine.”

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

“No doubt, madam,” continued the doctor laconically,
bowing low, and giving room to the ladies
to pass. The words and the manner were
not lost on the younger sister, in whose presence
the name of Dunwoodie was never mentioned unheeded.

“Sir,” cried Dr. Sitgreaves, on entering the parlour,
addressing himself to the only coat of scarlet
in the room, “I am advised you are in want of my
aid. God send 'tis not Captain Lawton with whom
you came in contact, in which case I may be too
late.”

“There must be some mistake, sir,” said Wellmere
haughtily; “it was a surgeon that Major
Dunwoodie was to send me, and not an old woman.”

“'Tis Dr. Sitgreaves,” said Henry Wharton
quickly, though with difficulty suppressing a laugh,
“the multitude of his engagements to-day has
prevented his usual attention to his attire.”

“Your pardon, sir,” added Wellmere, but very
ungraciously, proceeding to lay aside his coat and
exhibit, what he called, a wounded arm.

“If, sir,” said the surgeon drily, “the degrees
of Edinburgh—walking your London hospitals—
amputating some hundreds of limbs—operating on
the human frame in every shape that is warranted
by the lights of science, a clear conscience, and
the commission of the Continental Congress, can
make a surgeon, then am I one.”

“Your pardon, sir,” repeated the colonel stiffly.
“Captain Wharton has accounted for my error.”

“For which I thank Captain Wharton,” said
the surgeon, proceeding coolly to arrange his amputating
instruments with a formality that made
the colonel's blood run cold. “Where are you
hurt, sir? What, is it then this scratch in the

[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]

shoulder? In what manner might you have received
this wound, sir?”

“From the sword of a rebel dragoon,” said
the colonel, with emphasis.

“Never,” exclaimed the surgeon as positively.
“Even the gentle George Singleton would not
have breathed on you so harmlessly.” He took
a piece of sticking plaster from his pocket and applied
it to the part. “There, sir, that will answer
your purpose, and I am certain it is all that is required
of me.”

“What do you take to be my purpose, then,
sir,” said the colonel fiercely.

“To report yourself wounded in your despatches,”
replied the doctor with great steadiness;
“and you may say that an old woman dressed
your hurts, for if one did not, one easily might?”

“Very extraordinary language,” muttered the
Englishman.

Here Captain Wharton interfered, and by explaining
the mistake of Colonel Wellmere to proceed
from his irritated mind and pain of body, he
in part succeeded in mollifying the insulted practitioner,
who consented to look further into the
hurts of the other. They were chiefly bruises from
his fall, to which Sitgreaves made some hasty applications,
and withdrew.

The horse, having taken their required refreshment,
prepared to fall back to their intended
position, and it became incumbent on Dunwoodie
to arrange the disposal of his prisoners. Sitgreaves
he determined to leave in the cottage of
Mr. Wharton in attendance on Captain Singleton.
Henry came to him with a request that Colonel
Wellmere might also be left behind under his
parole, until the troops marched higher into the
country. To this the major cheerfully assented,
and as all the rest of his prisoners were of the vulgar

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

herd, they were speedily collected, and, under the
care of a strong guard, ordered to the interior.
The dragoons soon after marched, and the guides,
separating in small parties, accompanied by patroles
from the horse, spread themselves across
the country in such a manner, as to make a chain
of sentinels from the waters of the Sound to the
Hudson.

Dunwoodie himself had lingered in front of the
cottage, after he paid his parting compliments for
the time, with an unwillingness to return, that he
thought proceeded from solicitude for his wounded
friends. The heart which has not become
callous, soon sickens with the glory that has been
purchased with a waste of human life. Peyton
Dunwoodie, left to himself, and no longer excited
by the visions which youthful ardour had kept
before him throughout the day, began to feel
there were other ties, than those which bound the
soldier within the rigid rules of honor. He did
not waver in his duty, yet he felt how strong was
the temptation. His blood had ceased to flow
with the impulse created by the battle. The
stern expression of his eye gradually gave place
to a look of softness; and his reflections on the
victory, brought with them no satisfaction that
compensated for the sacrifices by which it had
been purchased. While turning his last lingering
gaze on the Locusts, he remembered only that it
contained all that he most valued. The friend of
his youth was a prisoner, under circumstances that
endangered both life and honor. The gentle
companion of his toils, who could throw around
the rude enjoyments of a soldier, the graceful
mildness of peace, lay a bleeding victim to his
success. The image of the maid, who had held
during the day a disputed sovereignty in his

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

bosom, again rose to his view with a loveliness that
banished her rival, glory, from his mind.

The last lagging trooper of the corps had already
disappeared behind the Northern hill, and the major
unwillingly turned his horse in the same direction.
Frances, impelled by a restless inquietude, now
timidly ventured on the piazza of the cottage.
The day had been mild and clear, and the sun
was shining brightly in a cloudless sky. The
tumult, which so lately disturbed the valley, was
succeeded by the stillness of death, and the fair
scene before her looked as if it had never been
marred by the passions of men. One solitary
cloud, the collected smoke of the contest, hung
over the field; and this was gradually dispersing, as
if no vestige of its origin was worthy to hover
above the peaceful graves of its victims. All
the conflicting feelings—all the tumultuous circumstances
of the eventful day, for a moment,
appeared to the maid like the deceptions of a
troubled vision. She turned and caught a glimpse
of the retreating figure, who had been so conspicuous
an actor in the scene, and the illusion
vanished. Frances recognised her lover, and with
the truth, came other recollections that drove her
to her room, with a heart as sad as that which
Dunwoodie himself bore from the valley.

CHAPTER IX.

A moment gaz'd adown the dale,
A moment snuff'd the tainted gale,
A moment listen'd to the cry,
That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh,
Then as the headmost foe appear'd
With one brave bound the copse he clear'd,
And, stretching forward free and far,
Sought the wild heaths of Wam-Var.
Walter Scott.

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

The party under Captain Lawton had watched
the retiring foe to his boats with the most unremitting
vigilance, without finding any fit opening for
a charge. The experienced successor to Colonel
Wellmere in command, knew too well the
power of his enemy to leave the uneven surface
of the heights, until compelled to descend to the
level of the water. Before he attempted this
hazardous movement, he threw his men into a
compact square, with its outer edges bristling with
bayonets. In this position, the impatient trooper
well understood, that brave men could never be
assailed by cavalry with success, and he was reluctantly
obliged to hover near them without seeing
any opportunity of stopping their slow but
steady march to the beach. A small schooner
had been their convoy from the city, and lay
with her guns bearing on the place of embarkation.
Against this combination of force and discipline,
Lawton had sufficient prudence to see
it would be folly to contend, and the English
were suffered to embark without further molestation.
The dragoons lingered on the shore until

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

the last moment, and then reluctantly commenced
their own retreat back to the main body of the corps.

The gathering mists of the evening had begun
to darken the valley, as the detachment of
Lawton made its re-appearance at the southern
extremity. The march of the troops was slow,
and their line extended for the benefit of ease in
their progress. In the front rode the captain,
side by side with his senior subaltern, apparently
engaged together in close conference, while the
rear was brought up by a young cornet, humming
an air, and thinking of the sweets of a straw bed
after the fatigues of a hard day's duty.

“Then it struck you too,” said the captain;
“the instant I placed my eyes on her, I remembered
the face—it is one not easily forgotten—
by my faith, Tom, the girl does no discredit to
the major's taste.”

“She would do honour to the corps,” replied
the lieutenant with great warmth; “those blue
eyes might easily win a man to gentler employments
than this trade of ours. In sober truth, I
can easily imagine that such a maid might tempt
even me to quit the broadsword and saddle for a
darning-needle and pillion.”

“Mutiny, sir, mutiny,” cried the other laughing;
“what you, Tom Mason, dare to rival the
gay, admired, and withal, rich, Major Dunwoodie
in his love! You, a lieutenant of cavalry, with
but one horse, and he none of the best! whose
captain is as tough as a peperage log, and has as
many lives as a cat.”

“Faith,” said the subaltern smiling in his turn,
“the log may yet be split, and Grimalkin lose his
lives, if you often charge as madly as you did this
morning. What think you of many raps from such
a beetle as laid you on your back to day?”

“Ah! don't mention it, my good Tom, the

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

thought makes my head ache,” replied the other,
shrugging up his shoulders; “it is what I call forestalling
night.”

“The night of death.”

“No, sir, the night that follows day. I saw
myriads of stars, things which should hide their
faces in the presence of the lordly sun. I do think
nothing but this thick cap saved me to you a little
longer, maugre the cat's lives.”

“I have much reason to be obliged to the cap,”
said Mason drily, “that or the skull must have
had a comfortable portion of thickness, I admit.”

“Come, come, Tom, you are a licensed joker,
so I'll not feign anger with you,” returned the
captain good humouredly; “but Singleton's lieutenant,
I am fearful, will fare better than yourself
for this day's service.”

“I believe both of us will be spared the pain of
receiving promotion purchased by the death of a
comrade and friend,” observed Mason kindly;
“it was reported that Sitgreaves said he would
live.”

“From my soul I hope so,” exclaimed Lawton
fervently; “for a beardless face, that boy carries
the stoutest heart I have ever met with. It surprises
me, however, that, as we both fell at the same
instant, the men behaved so well.”

“For the compliment, I might thank you,” cried
the lieutenant with a laugh; “but my modesty
forbids—I did my best to stop them, but without
success.”

“Stop them,” roared the captain, “would you
stop men in the middle of a charge?”

“I thought they were going the wrong way,”
answered the subaltern drily.

“Ah!” said the other more mildly, “our fall
drove them to the right about.”

“It was either your fall, or apprehensions of

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

their own,” returned the waggish subaltern gravely,
“until the major rallied us, we were in admirable
disorder.”

“Dunwoodie!” exclaimed the astonished Lawton,
“why the major was on the crupper of the
Dutchman.”

“Ay! but he managed to get off the crupper of
the Dutchman,” continued Mason coolly. “He
came in at half speed with the other two troops,
and riding between us and the enemy, with that
imperative way he has when roused, brought us in
line in the twinkling of an eye. Then it was,”
added the lieutenant, with animation, “that we
sent John Bull to the bushes. Oh! it was a sweet
charge—heads and tails, until we were upon
them.”

“The devil!” cried the captain with vexation,
“what a sight I missed.”

“You slept through it all,” said Mason laconically.

“Yes,” returned the other with a sigh, “it was
all lost to me and poor George Singleton. But,
Tom, what will George's sister say to this fair
haired maiden, in younder white building?”

“Hang herself in her garters,” said the subaltern.
“I owe a proper respect to my superiors,
but two such angels are more than falls to the
share of one man, unless he be a Turk or a Hindoo.”

“Yes, yes,” said the captain quickly, “the
major is ever preaching morality to the youngsters,
but he is a sly fellow in the main. Do you observe
how fond he is of the cross roads above this
valley? Now, if I were to halt the troops twice in
the same place, you would all swear there was a
petticoat in the wind.”

“You are well known to the corps,” returned
the sententious subaltern.

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

“Well, Tom, your slanderous propensity is incurable,
but” stretching forward his body in the
direction he was gazing, as if to aid him in distinguishing
objects through the darkness, “what
animal is moving through the field on our right.”

“'Tis a man,” said Mason, looking intently at
the suspicious object.

“By his hump 'tis a dromedary,” added the
captain, still eyeing it keenly—wheeling his horse
suddenly from the highway, he exclaimed, “Harvey
Birch, take him dead or alive.”

Mason and a few of the leading dragoons only
understood the sudden cry, but it was heard
throughout the line. A dozen of the men, with
the lieutenant at their head, followed the impetuous
Lawton, and their speed threatened the pursued
with a speedy termination to the race.

Birch had prudently kept his position on the
rock, where he had been seen by the passing
glance of Henry Wharton, until evening had begun
to shroud the surrounding objects in darkness.
From his height he had seen all the events of the
day as they had occurred. He had watched, with
a beating heart, the departure of the troops under
Dunwoodie, and with difficulty had curbed his impatience
until the obscurity of night should render
his moving free from danger. He had not, however,
completed a fourth of his way to his own residence,
when his quick ear distinguished the
tread of the approaching horse. Trusting to the
increasing darkness, he, notwithstanding, determined
to persevere. By crouching and moving
quickly along the surface of the ground, he hoped
yet to escape unnoticed. Captain Lawton had
been too much engrossed with the foregoing conversation
to suffer his eyes to indulge in their
usual wandering; and the pedlar, perceiving by
the voices that the enemy he most feared had

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

passed him, yielded to his impatience and stood
erect in order to make greater progress. The
moment his body rose above the shadow of the
ground, it was seen, and the chace commenced.
For a single instant Birch remained helpless,
with his blood curdling in his veins at the imminence
of his danger, and his legs refusing
their natural and so necessary office. But it was
for a moment only. Casting his pack where he
stood, and instinctively tightening the belt he
wore, the pedlar betook himself to flight. He
knew that by bringing himself in a line with his
pursuers and the wood, his form would be lost to
the sight. This he soon effected, and he was
straining every nerve to gain the wood itself,
when several horsemen rode by him but a short
distance on his left, and cut him off from this place
of refuge. The pedlar had thrown himself on the
ground as they came near him, and was in this
manner passed unseen. But delay now became
too dangerous for him to remain in that position.
He accordingly rose, and still keeping in the shadow
of the wood, along the skirts of which he
heard voices crying to each other to be watchful,
he ran with incredible speed in a parallel line,
but an opposite direction to the march of the dragoons.

The confusion of the chace had been heard
by the whole of the men, though none had distinctly
understood the order of the hasty Lawton
but those that followed. The remainder were
lost in doubt as to what was required of them;
and the aforesaid cornet was making eager inquiries
of the trooper near him, when a man,
at a short distance in his rear, crossed the road at
a single bound. At the same instant, the stentorian
voice of Captain Lawton rang through the

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

valley, shouting in a manner that told the truth at
once to his men.

“Harvey Birch, take him, dead or alive.”

Fifty pistols lighted the scene instantly, and the
bullets whistled in every direction around the
head of the devoted pedlar. A feeling of despair
seized his heart as he exclaimed bitterly—

“Hunted like a beast of the forest.” He felt
life and its accompaniments to be a burden, and
was about to yield himself to his enemies. Nature,
however, prevailed; he feared, that if taken,
his life would not be honoured with the forms of a
trial, but that most probably the morning sun would
witness his ignominious execution; for he had
already been condemned to, and only escaped that
fate by stratagem. These considerations, with
the approaching footsteps of his pursuers, roused
him to new exertions; and he again fled before
them. A fragment of a wall, that had withstood
the ravages made by war in the adjoining fences
of wood, fortunately crossed his path. He hardly
had time to throw his exausted limbs over this
barrier before twenty of his enemies reached its
opposite side. Their horses refused to take the
leap in the dark, and amid the confusion of the
rearing chargers and the execrations of their
riders, Birch was enabled to gain a sight of the
base of the hill, on whose summit was a place of
perfect security against the approach of any foe.
The heart of the pedlar now beat high with the
confidence of his revived hopes, when the voice
of Captain Lawton again rung in his ears, shouting
to his men to give him room. The order was
promptly obeyed, and the fearless trooper came
at the wall at the top of his horse's speed, plunged
the rowels in his charger, and flew over the
obstacle like lightning, and in safety. The triumphant
hurrahs of the men, and the thundering

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

tread of the horse, now too plainly assured the
pedlar of the emergency of his danger. He was
nearly exhausted, and his fate no longer seemed
doubtful.

“Stop, or die,” said the trooper in the suppressed
tones of inveterate determination.

Harvey stole a fearful glance over his shoulder,
and saw within a bound of him the man he most
dreaded. By the light of the stars he saw the
uplifted arm and threatening sabre. Fear, exhaustion,
and despair, seized on his heart, and the
intended victim suddenly fell at the feet of the
dragoon. The horse of Lawton struck the prostrate
pedlar, and both steed and rider came together
violently to the earth.

As quick as thought Birch was on his feet again,
and with the sword of the discomfited dragoon in
his hand. Vengeance seems but too natural to
human passions. There are but few who have
not felt the seductive pleasure of making our injuries
recoil on their supposed authors; and yet
there are some who know how much sweeter it is
to return good for evil. All the wrongs of the
pedlar shone on his brain with a dazzling brightness.
For a moment the demon within him prevailed,
and Birch brandished the powerful weapon
in the air, in the next it fell harmless on the reviving
but helpless trooper; and the pedlar vanished
up the side of the friendly rock.

“Help Captain Lawton there,” cried Mason, as
he rode up followed by a dozen of his men, “and
some of you dismount with me and search these
rocks; the villain lies here concealed.”

“Hold,” roared the discomfited captain, raising
himself with difficulty on his feet, “If one of you
dismount he dies; Tom, my good fellow, you will
help me to straddle Roanoke again.”

The astonished subaltern complied in silence,

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

while the wondering dragoons remained as fixed
in their saddles as if they composed part of the
animals they rode.

“You are much hurt I fear,” said Mason with
something of condolence in his manner, as they
re-entered the highway, and biting off the end of
a segar for the want of a better quality of tobacco.

“Something so, I do believe,” replied the captain
catching his breath and speaking with difficulty,
“I wish our bone-setter was at hand, to examine
into the state of my ribs.”

“Sitgreaves is left in attendance on Captain
Singleton, at the house of Mr. Wharton,” said
Mason in reply.

“Then there I halt for the night, Tom,” returned
the other quickly, “these rude times must
abridge ceremony; besides you may remember the
old gentleman professed a great regard for the
corps. Oh! I can never think of passing so good
a friend without calling.”

“And I will lead the troop to the four corners,”
said the lieutenant, “if we all halt there,
we shall breed a famine in the land.”

“A condition I never desire to be placed in,”
added Lawton. “The idea of that graceful spinster's
buck-wheat cakes is highly comfortable in
the perspective.”

“Oh! you won't die if you can think of eating,”
cried Mason with a laugh.

“I should surely die if I could not,” observed
the captain gravely.

“Captain Lawton,” said the orderly of his
troop, riding to the side of his commanding officer,
“we are now passing the house of the pedlar
spy, is it your pleasure that we burn it?”

“No!” roared the captain in a voice that startled
the disappointed sergeant; “are you an

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

incendiary—would you burn the house in cold blood—
let but a spark approach it, and the hand that carries
it will never light another.”

“Zounds!” exclaimed the sleepy cornet in the
rear as he was nodding on his horse, “there is life
in the captain, notwithstanding his tumble.”

Lawton and Mason rode on in silence, the latter
ruminating on the wonderful benefit of being
thrown from a horse, when they arrived opposite
to the gate which was before the residence of
Mr. Wharton. The troop continued its march,
but the captain and his lieutenant dismounted,
and followed by the servant of the former, proceeded
slowly to the door of the cottage.

Colonel Wellmere had already sought a retreat
for his mortified feelings in his own room; Mr.
Wharton and his son were closeted by themselves;
and the ladies were administering the refreshments
of the tea-table to the surgeon of the dragoons,
who had seen one of his patients in his bed, and
the other happily enjoying the comforts of a sweet
sleep. A few natural inquiries from Miss Peyton
had opened the soul of the doctor, who knew every
individual of her extensive family connexion in
Virginia, and who even thought it impossible that
he had not seen the lady herself. The amiable
spinster smiled as she inwardly felt it improbable
that she should ever have met her new acquaintance
before, and not remember his singularities.
It, however, greatly relieved the embarrassment
of their situation, and something like a discourse
was maintained between them; the nieces were
only listeners, nor could the aunt be said to be
much more.

“As I was observing, Miss Peyton, it was nothing
but the noxious vapours of the low lands
that made the plantation of your brother an unfit
residence for man; but quadrupeds were”—

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

“Bless me, what's that,” said Miss Peyton,
turning pale at the report of the pistols fired at
Birch.

“It sounds prodigiously like the concussion on
the atmosphere made by the explosion of fire-arms,”
said the precise surgeon very coolly, and
sipping his tea with great indifference, “I should
imagine it to be the troop of Captain Lawton returning,
did I not know the captain never uses
the pistol, and that he dreadfully abuses the sabre.”

“Merciful providence!” exclaimed the agitated
maiden, “he would not injure one with it certainly.”

“Injure!” repeated the other quickly, “it is
certain death, madam; the most random blows
imaginable—all that I can say to him will have no
effect.”

“But Captain Lawton is the officer we saw this
morning, and is surely your friend,” said Frances
hastily, observing her aunt to be dreadfully alarmed.

“I find no fault with his want of friendship,”
returned the doctor, “the man is well enough if
he would learn to cut scientifically, and give me
some chance with the wounded; all trades, madam,
ought to be allowed to live—but what becomes
of a surgeon, if his patients are dead before
he sees them?”

The doctor continued haranguing on the probability
and improbability of its being the returning
troop, until a loud knock at the front door
gave new alarm to the ladies. Instinctively laying
his hand on a small saw that had been his companion
for the whole day in the vain expectation
of an amputation, the surgeon coolly assuring the
ladies that he would avert any danger, proceeded
in person to answer to the summons.

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

“Captain Lawton!” exclaimed the surgeon, as
he beheld the trooper leaning on the arm of his
subaltern, and with difficulty crossing the threshold.

“Ah! my dear bone-setter, is it you?” returned
the other good-humouredly, “you are here
very fortunately to inspect my carcass, but do lay
aside that rascally saw.”

A few words from Mason explained to the surgeon
the nature and manner of his Captain's hurts,
and Miss Peyton cheerfully accorded the required
accommodations. While the room intended for the
trooper was getting in a state of preparation, and
the doctor was giving certain portentous orders,
the captain was invited to rest himself in parlour.
On the table was a dish of more substantial
food than ordinarily adorned the afternoon's
repast, and it soon caught the attention of the dragoons.
Miss Peyton recollecting that they had
probably made their only meal that day at her own
table, kindly invited them to close it with another.
The offer required no pressing, and in a few minutes
the two were comfortably seated, and engaged
in an employment that was only interrupted
by an occasional wry face from the captain as he
moved his body in evident pain. These interruptions,
however, interfered but little with the principal
business in hand; and the captain had got
happily through with this important duty before the
surgeon returned to announce all things ready for
his accomodation in the room above stairs.

“What, eating!” cried the astonished physician,
“Captain Lawton, do you wish to die?”

“I have no particular wish that way,” said the
trooper rising, and bowing a polite good night to
the ladies, “and, therefore, have been providing
the materials necessary to preserve life within
me.”

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

The surgeon muttered his dissatisfaction as he
followed Mason and his captain from the apartment.

Every house in America had at that day what
was emphatically called its best room, and this
had been allotted by the unseen influence of Sarah
to Colonel Wellmere. The down counterpane,
which a clear frosty night would render extremely
grateful over bruised limbs, decked the
English officer's bed. A massive silver tankard,
richly embossed with the Wharton arms, held the
beverage he was to drink during the night; while
beautiful vessels of china performed the same
office for the two American captains. Sarah was
certainly unconscious of the silent preference she
had been giving to the English officer, and it is
equally certain, that but for his hurts, bed, tankard,
and every thing but the beverage would have
been matters of indifference to Captain Lawton—
half of whose nights were spent in his clothes,
and not a few of them in the saddle. After taking
possession, however, of what was a small but
very comfortable room, Dr. Sitgreaves proceeded
to inquire into the state of his injuries. He had
begun to pass his hand over the body of his patient,
when the latter cried impatiently—

“Sitgreaves, do lay that rascally saw aside, the
sight of it makes my blood cold.”

“Captain Lawton,” rejoined the surgeon, “I
think, for a man who has so often exposed life and
limb, you are unaccountably afraid of what is a
very useful instrument.”

“Heaven keep me from its use,” said the trooper
with a shrug.

“Surely you would not despise the lights of
science, nor refuse surgical aid because this saw
might be necessary?” asked the incorrigible operator.

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