“Thank you; if we have occasion, I’ll send for him,” said the captain, trying to move on, a manœuvre difficult to execute, for Aunt Polly had stationed herself directly in front of the troop.
“Do; and oh, captain,” checking the general, as he seemed inclined to give way to the soldiers, “if you want a treat for your men, I’ve got a keg of Jamaica spirits in my cellar that’s a leetle ahead of anything you’ve tasted lately—you’re welcome to it.”
“That is very kind of you,” replied Slocum, while his men listened with lively interest; but he had rashly interrupted Aunt Polly.
“Let ’em drink all they want,” she said. “I know you’re too much of a man to cheat me out of a gill, captain. I can trust you—Sim White’ll show you where it is.”
“Forward, men!” exclaimed the commander; “we’re losing time here.”
“Law bless me, don’t run over a body!” cried Aunt Polly; “the Gin’ral and I ain’t Tories, captain.”
But the men pushed on, heedless of her expostulations, and the old maid was forced to give way.
“Don’t forget the rum!” she shrieked after them. “You and I’ll settle for it to-morrow, captain.”
She rode on without farther interruption until she came opposite the island. She dismounted with the bell-necked squash under her arm, took a small bundle carefully off the saddle, loosened the girth a little, and sent the general up the bank with a pat of her hand. A vigorous and prolonged call speedily brought Mary Derwent out of the house, and in a few moments her little canoe had reached the shore where Aunt Polly stood.
“You see, Mary, I’ve come over early,” she said; “I thought you’d have lots to do. Here, ketch this bundle; handle it carefully, it’s something for Janey. I guess I wish I’d taken the saddle across, too, for it might be stolen by some of them rascally Tories.”