University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

The graduate of Edinburgh found his patient
rapidly improving in health, and entirely free
from fever. His sister, with a cheek that was, if
possible, paler than on her arrival, watched around
his couch with vigilant care, and the ladies of the
cottage had not, in the midst of their sorrows and
varied emotions, forgotten to discharge the duties
of hospitality. Frances felt herself impelled towards
their disconsolate guest, with an interest
for which she could not account, and with a force
that she could not control. The maid had unconsciously
connected the fates of Dunwoodie and
Isabella in her imagination, and felt, with all the
romantic ardour of a generous mind, that she
was serving her former lover most, by exhibiting
kindness to her he loved best. Isabella received
her attentions with a kind of vacant gratitude, but
neither of them indulged in any allusion to the
latent source of their uneasiness. The observation
of Miss Peyton seldom penetrated beyond things
that were visible, and to her the situation of Henry
Wharton seemed to furnish an awful excuse for
the fading cheeks and tearful eyes of her niece.
If Sarah manifested less of care than her sister,
still the unpractised spinster was not at a loss to
comprehend the reason. Love is a species of
holy feeling with the virtuous of the female sex,

and seems to hallow all that comes within its influence.
Although Miss Peyton mourned with
sincerity over the danger which threatened her
nephew, still she indulged her eldest niece, with
motherly kindness, in the enjoyment that chance
had given her early attachment. War she well
knew was a dreadful enemy to love, and the moments
that were thus granted to his votaries were
not to be thrown away.

Several days now passed without any interruption
to the usual vocations of the inhabitants of the cottage,
or the party at the “four corners.” The former
were supporting their fortitude with the certainty
of Henry's innocence, and a strong reliance
on Dunwoodie's exertions in his behalf, and the latter
waiting with coolness the intelligence that was
hourly expected of a conflict, and their orders to
depart. Captain Lawton, however, waited for
both these events in vain. Letters from his major
announced that the enemy, finding the party
which was to co-operate with them, had been
defeated and was withdrawn, had retired also
behind the works of Fort Washington, where they
continued inactive, but threatening momentarily
to strike a blow in revenge for their disgrace.
The trooper was enjoined to vigilance, and the
letter concluded with a compliment to his honour,
zeal, and undoubted bravery.

“Extremely flattering, Major Dunwoodie,”
muttered the dragoon as he threw down this epistle,
and stalked across the floor of his room to
quiet his impatience. “A proper guard have
you selected for this service—let me see—I have
to watch over the interests of a crazy, irresolute
old man, who does not know whether he belongs to
us or to the enemy. Four women; three of whom
are well enough in themselves, but who are not
immensely flattered by my society, and the fourth

who, good as she is, is on the wrong side of forty—
some two or three blacks—a talkative house-keeper
that does nothing but chatter about gold
and despisables, and signs and omens—and poor
George Singleton—Ah! well a comrade in suffering
has a claim on a man, next to his honour in the
field, and an engagement with his mistress—so
I'll make the best of it.”

As he concluded this soliloquy, the trooper took
a seat and began to whistle to convince himself
how little he cared about the matter, when, by
throwing his booted leg carelessly round, he upset
the canteen that held his present stock of brandy.
The accident was soon repaired, but in replacing
the wooden vessel, he observed a billet lying on
the bench, on which the liquor had been placed.
It was soon opened and he read—“the moon will
not rise till after midnight—a fit time for deeds
of darkness.” There was no mistaking the hand;
it was clearly the same that had given him the
timely warning against assassination, and the
trooper continued, for a long time, musing on the
nature of these two notices, and the motives that
could induce the mysterious pedlar to favour an
implacable enemy in the manner that he latterly
had done. That he was a spy of the enemy Lawton
knew, for the fact of his conveying intelligence
to the English commander-in-chief of a
party of Americans that were exposed to the enemy,
was proved most clearly against him on the
trial for his life. The consequences of his treason
had been avoided, it is true, by a lucky order
from Washington, which withdrew the regiment
a short time before the British appeared to cut it
off, but still the crime was the same; perhaps,
thought the partisan, he wishes to make a friend
of me, against the event of another capture; but,
at all events, he spared my life on one occasion,

and saved it on another. I will endeavour to be
as generous as himself, and pray that my duty
may never interfere with my feelings. Whether
the danger, intimated in the present note, threatened
the cottage or his own party, the captain was
uncertain, but he inclined to the latter opinion,
and determined to beware how he rode abroad
in the dark. To a man in a peaceable country,
and in times of quiet and order, the indifference
with which the partisan regarded the impending
danger, would be inconceivable. His contemplations
on the subject were more for devising
means to entrap his enemies, than to escape their
machinations. But the arrival of the surgeon,
who had been to pay his daily visit to the Locusts,
interrupted his meditations. Sitgreaves brought
an invitation from the mistress of the mansion, to
Captain Lawton, desiring that the cottage might
be honoured with his presence at an early hour
on that evening.

“What!” cried the trooper, “then they have
received a letter also.”

“I think nothing more probable,” said the operator;
“there is a chaplain here from the Royal
Army, who has come out to exchange the British
wounded, and who has an order from Col. Singleton
for their delivery. But a more mad project
than to remove them now was never adopted.”

“A priest, say you—is he a hard drinker—a
real camp-idler—a fellow to breed a famine in a
regiment?—or does he seem a man who is in
earnest in his trade?”

“A very respectable and orderly gentleman,
not at all given to intemperance, judging from the
outward symptoms,” returned the surgeon, “and
a man who really says grace in a very regular and
appropriate manner.”

“And does he stay the night?”

“Certainly, he waits for his cartel; but hasten,
John, we have but little time to waste. I will
just step up and bleed two or three of the Englishmen
who are to move in the morning, in order to
prevent inflammation, and be with you immediately.”

The gala suit of Captain Lawton was easily adjusted
to his huge frame, and his companion being
ready, they once more took their route towards
the cottage. Roanoke had been as much benefited
by a few days rest as his master, and Lawton
ardently wished, as he curbed his gallant
steed, on passing the well-remembered rocks,
that his treacherous enemy stood before him
mounted and armed as himself. But no enemy,
nor any disturbance whatever interfered with
their progress, and they reached the Locusts just
as the sun was throwing his setting rays on the
valley, and tinging the tops of the leafless trees
with the colour of gold. It never required more
than a single look, to acquaint the trooper with
the particulars of every scene that was not uncommonly
veiled, and the first survey that he
took on entering the house, told him more than
the observations of a day had put into the possession
of Dr. Sitgreaves. Miss Peyton accosted
him with a smiling welcome that exceeded
the bounds of ordinary courtesy, and evidently
flowed more from feelings that were connected
with the heart than from manner. Frances glided
about, tearful, and agitated, while Mr. Wharton
stood ready to receive them, decked in a suit of
velvet, that would have been conspicuous in the
gayest drawing-rooms on the continent. Col.
Wellmere was in the uniform of an officer
of the household troops of his prince, and Isabella
Singleton sat in the parlour, clad in the
habiliments of joy, but with a countenance that

belied her appearance, while her brother by her
side, looked with a cheek of flitting colour, and
an eye of intense interest, like any thing but an
invalid. As it was the third day that he had left
his room, Dr. Sitgreaves, who began to stare about
him in stupid wonder, forgot to reprove his patient
for his imprudence. Into this scene, Captain
Lawton moved with all the composure and
gravity of a man whose nerves were not easily
discomposed by novelties. His compliments were
received as graciously as they were offered, and
after exchanging a few words with the different
individuals in the room, he approached to where
the surgeon had withdrawn in a kind of confused
astonishment to rally his senses to the occasion.

“John,” whispered the surgeon, with awakened
curiosity, “what do you think?”

“That your wig and my black head would look
the better for a little of Betty Flannagan's best
flour; but it is too late now, and we must fight
the battle armed as you see—why, Archibald, you
and I look like militiamen flanked by those holiday
Frenchmen who have come among us.”

“Observe,” said Sitgreaves, in increasing wonder,
“here comes the army chaplain in his full
robes as a Doctor Divinitatis—what can it mean?”

“An exchange,” said the trooper; “the wounded
of Cupid are to meet and settle their accounts
with the god, in the way of plighting their faith to
suffer from his archery no more.”

“Oh!” ejaculated the operator, laying his
finger on the side of his nose, and for the first
time comprehending the case.

“Yes—oh!” muttered Lawton, in imitation—
when turning suddenly to his comrade, he said
fiercely, but in an under tone, “Is it not a crying
shame, that a sunshine-hero, and an enemy, should

thus be suffered to steal away one of the fairest
plants that grows in our soil—a flower fit to be
placed in the bosom of any man.”

“You speak the truth, John; and if he be not
more accomodating as a husband, than as a patient,
I fear me that the lady will lead a troubled life.”

“Let her,” said the trooper indignantly; “she
has chosen from her country's enemies, and may
she meet with a foreigner's virtues in her choice.”

Their further conversation was interrupted by
Miss Peyton, who, advancing, acquainted them that
they had been invited to grace the nuptials of her
eldest niece and Col. Wellmere. The gentlemen
bowed in silence at this explanation of what they
already understood, and the good spinster, with
an inherent love of propriety, went on to add,
that the acquaintance was of an old date, and the
attachment by no means a sudden thing. To this
Lawton merely bowed, but the surgeon, who loved
to hold converse with the virgin, replied—

“That the human mind was differently constituted
in different individuals. In some, impressions
are vivid and transitory; in others, more
deep and lasting:—indeed, there are some philosophers
who pretend to trace a connexion between
the physical and mental powers of the animal;
but for my part, madam, I believe that the one is
much influenced by habit and association, and the
other subject to the laws of science.”

Miss Peyton, in her turn, bowed her silent assent
to this remark, and retired with dignity, to
usher the intended bride into the presence of the
company. The hour had arrived when American
custom has decreed, that the vows of wedlock
must be exchanged; and Sarah, blushing with a
variety of emotions, followed her aunt to the withdrawing
room. Wellmere sprang to receive the
hand that she extended towards him with an averted

face, and, for the first time, the English Colonel
appeared conscious of the important part that
he was to act in the approaching ceremonies.
Hitherto his air had been abstracted, and his manner
uneasy; but every thing excepting the certainty
of his bliss, seemed to vanish at the blaze of
loveliness that burst on his sight with the presence
of his mistress. All arose from their seats, and
the reverend gentleman had already opened
the volume in his hand, when the absence of Frances
was noticed: Miss Peyton again withdrew in
search of her niece, whom she found in her own
apartment, and in tears.

“Come, my love, the ceremony waits but for
us,” said the aunt, affectionately entwining her
arm in that of her niece; “endeavour to compose
yourself, that proper honour may be done to the
choice of your sister.”

“Is he—can he be worthy of her?” cried Frances,
in a burst of emotion, and throwing herself
into the arms of the spinster.

“Can he be otherwise?” returned Miss Peyton;
“is he not a gentleman?—a gallant soldier,
though an unfortunate one? and certainly, my
love, one who appears every way qualified to
make any woman happy.”

Frances had given vent to her feelings, and, with
an effort, she collected sufficient resolution to venture
again to join the expecting party below. But
to relieve the embarrassment of this delay, the
clergyman had put sundry questions to the bridegroom;
one of which was by no means answered
to his satisfaction. Wellmere was compelled to
acknowledge that he was unprovided with a ring,
and to perform the marriage ceremony without
one, the divine pronounced to be impossible. His
appeal to Mr. Wharton for the propriety of this
decision, was answered affirmatively, as it would

have been negatively, had the question been put
in a manner to lead to such a result. The owner
of the Locusts had lost the little energy he
possessed, by the blow recently received through
his son, and his assent to the objection of the
clergyman, was as easily obtained, as his consent
to the premature proposals of Wellmere. In
this stage of the dilemma, Miss Peyton and Frances
appeared. The surgeon of dragoons approached
the former, and as he hand ed her to a chair,
observed—

“It appears, Madam, that untoward circumstances
have prevented Colonel Wellmere from providing
all of the decorations that custom, antiquity,
and the canons of the church, have prescribed
as indispensable to enter into the honourable state
of wedlock.”

Miss Peyton glanced her quiet eye at the uneasy
bridegroom, and perceiving him to be adorned
with what she thought sufficient splendour, allowing
for the time and the suddenness of the occasion,
she turned her look on the speaker with a
surprise that demanded an explanation.

The surgeon understood her wishes, and proceeded
at once to gratify them.

“There is,” he observed, “an opinion prevalent,
that the heart lies on the left side of the
body, and that the connexion between the members
of that side and what may be called the seat
of life, is more intimate than that which exists
with their opposites. But this is an error that
grows out of an ignorance of the scientific arrangement
of the human frame. In obedience to
this opinion, the fourth finger of the left hand is
thought to contain a virtue that belongs to no
other of its class, and is encircled, during the solemnization
of wedlock, with a cincture or ring, as
if to chain that affection to the marriage state,

which is best secured by the graces of the female
character.” While speaking, the operator laid his
hand impressively on his heart, and bowed nearly
to the floor as be concluded.

“I know not, sir, that I rightly understand your
meaning,” said Miss Peyton, with dignity, but suffering
a slight vermilion to appear on a cheek that
had long lost that peculiar charm of youth.

“A ring, Madam—a ring is wanting for the
ceremony.”

The instant that the surgeon spoke explicitly,
the awkwardness of their situation was comprehended.
She glanced her eyes at her neices, and
in the younger she read a secret exultation that
somewhat displeased her; but the countenance of
Sarah was suffused with a shame that the considerate
aunt well understood. Not for the world
would she violate any of the observances of female
etiquette. It suggested itself to all the females
of the Wharton family, at the same moment,
that the wedding ring of their late mother
and sister was reposing peacefully amid the rest
of her jewellery, in a secret receptacle that had
been provided at an early day, to secure the valuables
against the predatory inroads of the marauders
who roamed through the county. Into this
hidden vault, the plate and whatever was most
prized made a nightly retreat, and there the ring
in question had long lain, forgotten until at this
moment. But it was the business of the bridegroom,
from time immemorial, to furnish this
indispensable to wedlock, and on no account
would Miss Peyton do any thing that transcended
the usual courtesies of her sex on this solemn occasion;
certainly not until sufficient expiation for
the offence had been made by a due portion of
trouble and disquiet. The spinster, therefore, retained
the secret from a regard to decorum, Sarah

from feeling, and Frances from both, united to dissatisfaction
at the connexion. It was reserved for
Dr. Sitgreaves to break the embarrassment of the
party by again speaking:

“If, Madam, a plain ring that once belonged to
a sister of my own—” The operator paused a
moment, and hem'd once or twice; “if, Madam,
a ring of that description might be admitted to this
honour, I have one that could be easily produced
from my quarters at the “corners,” and I doubt
not it would fit the finger for which it is desired.
There is a strong resemblance between—hem—
between my late sister and Miss Wharton in stature
and anatomical figure, and the proportions are
apt to be observed throughout the whole animal
economy.”

A glance of Miss Peyton's eye recalled Colonel
Wellmere to a sense of his duty, and springing
from his chair, he assured the surgeon, that in no
way could he impose heavier obligations on him,
than by sending for that very ring. The operator
bowed a little haughtily, and withdrew to fulfil
his promise, by despatching a messenger on the
errand. The spinster suffered him to retire;
but unwillingness to admit a stranger into the privacy
of their domestic arrangements, induced her
to follow and tender the services of Cæsar instead
of Sitgreaves' man, who had been offered by Isabella
for this duty—her brother, probably from bodily
weakness, continuing silent throughout the
whole evening. Katy Haynes was accordingly
directed to summon the black to the vacant parlour,
and thither the spinster and surgeon repaired,
to give their several instructions.

The consent to this sudden union of Sarah and
Wellmere, and especially at a time when the life
of a member of the family was in such imminent
jeopardy, was given from a conviction, that the

unsettled state of the country, would probably
prevent another opportunity for the lovers meeting,
and a secret dread on the part of Mr. Wharton,
that the death of his son, might, by hastening
his own, leave his remaining children without a
protector. But notwithstanding that Miss Peyton
had complied with her brother's wish to profit by
the accidental visit of a divine, she had not
thought it necessary to blazon the intended nuptials
of her niece to the neighbourhood, had even
time been allowed: she thought, therefore, that
she was now communicating a profound secret to
Cæsar and her housekeeper.

“Cæsar,” she commenced with a smile, “you
are now to learn, that your young mistress, Miss
Sarah, is to be united to Colonel Wellmere this
evening.”

“No, no—I tink I see em afore,” said Cæsar,
laughing and chuckling with inward delight, as he
shook his head with conscious satisfaction at his
own prescience; “old black man tell when a
young lady talk all alone wid a gem'man in a parlour.”

“Really, Cæsar, I find I have never given you
credit for half the observation that you deserve,”
said the spinster gravely; “but as you already
know on what emergency your services are required,
listen to the directions of this gentleman, and
take care to observe them strictly.”

The black turned in quiet submission to the surgeon,
who commenced as follows:

“Cæsar, your mistress has already acquainted
you with the important event about to be solemnized
within this habitation; but a ring is wanting,
and by riding to the mess-house at the Four Corners,
and delivering this billet to either sergeant
Hollister or Mrs. Elizabeth Flanagan, it will
speedily be placed in your possession. On its receipt

return hither, and fail not to use diligence
in both going and returning, for my patients will
shortly require my presence in the hospital, and
Captain Singleton already suffers from the want
of rest.”

By this time the surgeon had forgotten every
thing but what appertained to his own duties, and
rather unceremoniously left the apartment. Curiosity,
or perhaps an opposite feeling, delicacy,
induced Miss Peyton to glance her eye on the
open billet that Sitgreaves had delivered to the
black, where she read as follows:—it was addressed
to his assistant.

“If the fever has left Kinder, give him nourishment.
Take three ounces more of blood from
Watson. Have a search made that the woman
Flanagan has left none of her jugs of alcohol in
the hospital;—renew the dressings of Johnson,
and dismiss Smith to duty. Send the ring, which
is pendent from the chain of the watch that I left
with you to time the doses, by the bearer.

“Archibald Sitgreaves, M. D.
Surgeon of Dragoons.

Miss Peyton yielded this singular epistle to the
charge of the black, in silent wonder, and withdrew,
leaving Katy and Cæsar to arrange the departure
of the latter.

“Cæsar,” said Katy, with imposing solemnity,
“put the ring when you get it, in your left
pocket, that is nearest your heart; and by no
means indivour to try it on your finger, for it is
unlucky.”—

“Try him on a finger?” interrupted the negro,
stretching forth his bony knuckles; “tink a Miss
Sally's ring go on old Cæsar finger?”

“'Tis not consequential whether it goes on or
not,” said the housekeeper; “but it is an evil
omen to place a marriage ring on the finger of another
after wedlock, and of course it may be dangerous
before.”

“I tell you Katy,” cried Cæsar, a little indignantly,
“I go fetch a ring, and neber tink to put
him on a finger.”

“Go—go then, Cæsar,” said Katy, suddenly
recollecting divers important items in the supper
that required her attention; “and hurry back
again, and stop not for living soul.”

With this injunction Cæsar departed, and was
soon firmly fixed in the saddle. From his youth,
the black, like all of his race, had been a hard rider;
but charged with a message of such importance,
he moved at first with becoming dignity, and
bending under the weight of sixty winters, his African
blood had lost some of its native heat. The
night was dark, and the wind whistled through
the vale with the chilling dreariness of the blasts
of November. By the time Cæsar reached the
grave-yard, that had so lately received the body
of the elder Birch, all the horrors of his situation
began to burst on the mind of the old man, and
he threw around him many a fearful glance, in
momentary expectation of seeing something superhuman.
There was barely light sufficient to
discern a being of earthly mould emerging into
the highway, and apparently from the graves of
the dead. It is in vain that philosophy and reason
contend with our fears and early impressions,
but Cæsar had neither to offer him their frail support.
He was, however, well mounted on a coach-horse
of Mr. Wharton's, and clinging to the back
of the animal with instinctive skill, he abandoned
the rein to the pleasure of the beast. Hillocks,
woods, rocks, fences and houses flew by

him with the rapidity of lightning, and the black
had just began to think where and on what business
it was, that he was riding in this headlong
manner, when he reached the place where the
two roads met, and the “Hotel Flanagan”
stood in all its dilapidated simplicity. The sight
of a cheerful fire through its windows, first gave
Cæsar a pledge that he had reached the habitation
of man, and with it came all his dread of the
bloody Virginians;—his duty must, however, be
done, and dismounting, he fastened the foaming
animal to a fence, and approached the window
with cautious steps, to listen and reconnoitre.

Before a blazing fire sat sergeant Hollister and
Betty Flanagan, enjoying themselves over a liberal
donation from the stores of the washerwoman.

“I tell yee sargeant, dear,” said Betty, removing
the mug from her mouth, “'tis no reasonable
to think it was any thing more than the pidlar
himself; sure now, where was the smell of sulphur,
and the wings, and the tail, and the cloven
foot?—besides sargeant, its no dacent to tell a
lone famale that she had Beelzeboob for a bed-fellow.”

“It matters but little Mrs. Flanagan, provided
you escape his talons and fangs hereafter,” returned
the veteran, following his remark by a heavy
potation.

Cæsar heard enough to convince him, that
danger to himself from this pair was but little to
be apprehended. His teeth already began to
chatter from cold and terror, and the sight of the
comfort within, stimulated him greatly to adventure
to enter. He made his approaches with proper
caution, and knocked with extreme humility
at the door. The appearance of Hollister with a
drawn sword, roughly demanding who was without,
contributed in no degree to the restoration of

his faculties; but fear itself lent him power to explain
his errand.

“Advance,” said the sergeant with military
promptness, and throwing a look of close scrutiny
on the black, as he brought him to the light; “advance,
and deliver your despatches:—but stop,
have you the countersign?”

“I don't tink a know what he be,” said the
black, shaking in his shoes.

“Who ordered you on this duty did you say?”

“A tall massa, with a spectacle,” returned Cæsar;
“he came a doctering a Capt. Singleton.”

“'Twas Doctor Sitgreaves; he never knows the
countersign himself—now, blackey, had it been
Captain Lawton, he would not have sent you here
close to a sentinel without the countersign; for
you might get a pistol bullet through your head,
and that would be cruel to you, for although you
be black, I am none of them who thinks niggurs
haven't no souls.”

“Sure a nagur has as much sowl as a white,”
said Betty; “come hither, ould man, and warm
that shivering carcass of yeers by the blaze of this
fire. I'm sure a Guinea nagur loves heat as much
as a souldier loves his drop.”

Cæsar obeyed in silence, and a mulatto boy,
who was sleeping on a bench in the room, was
bidden to convey the note of the surgeon to the
building where the wounded were quartered.

“Here,” said the washerwoman, tendering to
Cæsar a taste of the article that most delighted
herself, “try a drop, smooty, 'twill warm the
black sowl within your body, and be giving you
spirits as you are going homeward.”

“I tell you, Elizabeth,” said the sergeant, “that
the souls of niggurs are the same as our own, and
how often have I heard the good Mr. Whitfield
say, that there was no distinction of colour in heaven.

Therefore it is reasonable to believe, that
the soul of this here black, is as white as my own,
or even Major Dunwoodie's.”

“Be sure he be,” cried Cæsar, a little tartly,
who had received a wonderful stimulus by tasting
the drop of Mrs. Flanagan.

“Its a good sowl that the major is, any way,”
returned the washerwoman, “and a kind sowl—
aye, and a brave sowl too; and you'll say all that
yeerself, sargeant, I'm thinking.”

“For the matter of that,” returned the veteran,
“there is one above even Washington, to
judge of souls; but this I will say, that Major
Dunwoodie is a gentleman who never says, go,
boys—but always says, come, boys; and if a poor
fellow is in want of a spur or a martingale, and
the leather-wack is gone, there is never wanting
the real silver to make up the loss, and that from
his own pocket too.”

“Why, then, are you here idle, when all that
he holds most dear are in danger,” cried a voice
with startling abruptness; “mount, mount, and
follow your captain—arm and mount, and that
instantly, or you will be too late.”

This unexpected interruption, produced an instantaneous
confusion amongst the tiplers. Cæsar
fled instinctively into the fire-place, where he
maintained his position in defiance of a heat that
would have roasted a white man. Sergeant Hollister
turned promptly on his heel, and seizing his
sabre, the steel was glittering in the fire-light, in
the twinkling of an eye; but perceiving the
intruder to be the pedlar, who stood near the
open door that led to the stoop in the rear, he
began to fall back towards the position of the
black, with a kind of military intuition which
taught him to concentrate his forces. Betty alone
stood her ground by the side of the temporary table.

Replenishing the mug with a large addition
of the article known to the soldiery by the
name of “choke dog,” she held it towards the
pedlar. The eyes of the washerwoman had for
some time been swimming with love and liquor,
and turning them good naturedly on Birch, she
cried—

“Faith, but yee'r welcome, Mister Pidlar, or
Mister Birch, or Mister Beelzeboob, or what's
yee'r name. Yee'r an honest divil, any way, and
I'm hoping that you found the pittlicoats convanient—come
forward, dear, and fale the fire; Sergeant
Hollister won't be hurting you for the fear
of an ill turn you may be doing him hereafter—
will yee, Sargeant, dear.”

“Depart, ungodly man,” cried the veteran,
edging still nearer to Cæsar, but lifting his legs
alternately as they scorched with the heat, “depart
in peace. There is none here for thy service,
and you seek the woman in vain. There is
a tender mercy that will save her from thy talons.”
The sergeant ceased to utter aloud, but the
motion of his lips continued, and a few scattering
words of prayer were alone to be heard.

The brain of the washerwoman was in such a
state of confusion, that she did not clearly comprehend
the meaning of her lover, but a new idea
struck her imagination, and she broke forth—

“If it's me the man seeks, where's the matter,
pray—am I not a widow'd body and my own property?
And you talk of tinderness, Sargeant,
but it's little I see of it, any way—who knows but
Mr. Beelzeboob here is free to spake his mind—
I'm sure it is willing to hear that I am.”

“Woman,” said the pedlar, “be silent; and
you, foolish man, mount—arm and mount, and
flee to the rescue of your officer, if you are worthy
of the cause in which you serve, and would

not disgrace the coat that you wear.” The feelings
of the pedlar communicated to his manner
the power of eloquence, and he vanished from the
sight of the bewildered trio, with a rapidity that
left them uncertain whither he had fled.

Oh hearing the voice of an old friend, Cæsar
emerged from his quarters, with a skin that was
glistening with moisture, and fearlessly advanced
to where Betty stood in a maze of intellectual
confusion.

“I wish a Harvey stop,” said the black; “if he
ride down a road, I should like to go along;—I
don't tink Johnny Birch hurt his own son.”

“Poor ignorant wretch!” exclaimed the veteran,
recovering his voice with a long drawn
breath; “think you that figure was of flesh and
blood?”

“Harvey an't a berry fleshy,” replied the black,
“but he berry clebber man.”

“Pooh! sargeant dear,” exclaimed the washerwoman,
“talk rason for once, and mind what
the knowing one tells yee; call out the boys, and
ride a bit after Captain Jack,—rimimber darling,
that he told you the day, to be in readiness to
mount at a moment's warning.”

“Ay, but not at a summons from the foul fiend.
Let but Captain Lawton, or Lieutenant Mason, or
Cornet Skipwith say the word,” cried the veteran,
“and who is quicker in the saddle than I am?”

“Well sargeant, how often is it that yee've
boasted to myself, that the corps was'nt a bit
afeard to face the divil.”

“No more be we, in battle array, and by day-light;
but it's fool hardy and irreverent to tempt
Satan, and on such a night as this; listen how the
wind whistles through the trees, and hark! there
is the howlings of evil spirits abroad.”

“I see him,” said Cæsar, opening his eyes to a

width that might have embraced more than an
ideal form.

“Where?” interrupted the sergeant, again instinctively
laying his hand on the hilt of his sabre.

“No—no,” said the black, “I see a Johnny
Birch come out of he grave—Johnny walk afore
he bury'd.”

“Ah! then he must have led an evil life indeed,”
said Hollister; “the blessed in spirit lie
quiet until the general muster at the last day, but
wickedness disturbs the soul in this life as well as
in that which is to come.”

“And what is to come of Captain Jack?” cried
Betty angrily; “is it yee'r orders that yee won't
mind, nor a warning given? I'll jist git my cart
and ride down and tell him that you are afeard of
a dead man and Beelzeboob; and it is'nt succour
he may be expicting from you?—I wonder who'll
be the orderly of the troop the morrow then?—his
name won't be Hollister, any way.”

“Nay, Betty, nay,” said the sergeant, laying
his hand on her shoulder, “if there must be riding
to-night, let it be by him whose duty it is to call
out the men and set an example.—The Lord have
mercy, and send us enemies of flesh and blood.”

Another glass confirmed the veteran in a resolution
that was only excited by a dread of his
Captain's displeasure, and he proceeded to summon
the dozen men who had been left under his
command. The boy arriving with the ring,
Cæsar placed it carefully in the pocket of his
waistcoat next his heart, and mounting, shut his
eyes, seized his charger by the mane, and continued
in a state of comparative insensibility, until
the animal stopped at the door of the warm
stable, whence he had started.

The movements of the dragoons being timed
to the order of a march, were much slower, and
were made with a watchfulness that was intended
to guard against surprise from the evil one himself.