“Don’t ask me, neighbors—don’t say a word!” cried Aunt Polly, dismounting from General Washington, and turning from one eager inquirer to another, “for I don’t know much more than you do; but this is sartin, them Tory Butlers know what they’re about; they’re outside the fort, and drawn up in battle array; I never could ’a’ got through the sogers if it hadn’t been for Captain Walter Butler; he knew me at the first sight, and made some of his men ride by Gineral Washington till we got this side his army.”
“How many are there—did you see any Indians?”
“I couldn’t begin to calkerate; yes, I did see a lot of Injuns skulking in the swamp; but, seeing the Tories with me, they didn’t shute.”
“But our side, our side—where did you meet them?”
“About half-way, marching right straight on—Sim White and all—every man of ’em ready to die for his country. Mr. White couldn’t do more than slip out of the ranks, to tell me how he come to be there, instead of waiting on me hum from Miss Derwent’s to-night, when Captain Durkee called arter him.”
“Then you saw my son?” whispered Mrs. Durkee, drawing close to the old maid; “how did he look? Du tell me!”
“Brave as a lion, Miss Durkee; except Sim White there wasn’t a man to match him in the hull company. ‘Fellow citizens, do your duty,’ says I, stopping Gineral Washington as they come in sight.”
“‘We will—God help us, and we will! Tell our women folks at Forty Fort to keep a good heart; every man here’ll die in his tracks afore the enemy reaches them.’”
Aunt Polly drew the back of her hand across her eyes as she said this; her words were answered by a simultaneous sob; even the children began to look wistfully at each other through their tears.
“By-and-by,” said Aunt Polly, “you’ll hear ’em beginning. Lord ’a’ massy on us! that’s a shot.”