When the rescuing party set forth the following day, Arabella and her aunt, with much perplexity and disapproval of frontier methods, watched through an embrasure on the southern bastion the boats pulling down the river. The men of the escort were evidently in the highest spirits; great hilarity prevailed amongst those warned for duty as they ran to and fro on the parade and in and out of the barracks, making their preparations for the expedition. They were loud of voice, calling directions, suggestions, admonitions, hither and thither, in clear, resonant tones; swift of movement, hardly a step taken that was not at a double-quick. They were notably clean and dapper of aspect, in their cocked hats, red coats, long leggings, drawn high over the trousers, and white cross-belts, glittering from the effects of pipe-clay, their hair in stiff plaited queues, decorously powdered.
“And not one of them knows whether he will have so much as his own scalp to bring home with him, by the time this fashionable, aboriginal Drum is over,” remarked Mrs. Annandale. “I always thought that men are constitutionally knaves, my dear, but I begin to fear, I greatly fear, they are instead constitutionally fools.”
They were obviously regarded with envy by their stay-at-home comrades, and there was a sort of sullen plaint in the very glance of the eye of the silent sentinels at their various posts as the details of the preparations passed within the range of their vision. The quarter-master-sergeant and the cooks were enjoying great prominence, and were the centre of much of the fluster and bustle. The chief of this department, however, the quarter-master, himself, who conferred from time to time with Captain Howard, seemed to harbor the only despondent sentiments entertained pending the packing. It was necessary to jog his memory more than once touching supplies that were more luxuries than necessities, which had been required by the commandant, and especially was this the case in regard to the contents of the great budgets made up for the presents to Tamotlee Town, which Captain Howard intended to convey with the party. The quarter-master gave an irritated shake of his big round head and his big red face, as if this demonstration were officially necessary to the pained and reluctant relinquishment of his charge, as he stood in the precincts of his store-room, a great log building illumined from a skylight that the walls might be utilized by shelves from top to bottom, and with many barrels and boxes and sacks of various commodities ranged along the floor, narrow aisles permitting a passage. More than once, the sergeant and his assistant, both handsomely be-floured and be-sugared in their haste, fostering awkward handling, were fain to say—“An’ the terbaccy, sor?”
“Oh, Gad!—as if they didn’t have tobacco of their own and to spare—” he cried out. Then in a weakened voice—“How many pounds does the list call for, Peters?”
“Then the brandied sweetmeats, sor?” The sergeant made toward a series of jars, brought expressly for the delectation of the officers and by no means intended for the rank and file.
“Hell!” The quarter-master squeaked out the exclamation as if it had laid hold on him and half choked out his voice. “They ain’t on the list? Lord! the commandant is clean crazed! The Injuns have got no palates. They can’t taste.”
The sergeant cocked up a beguiling eye at his chief and smacked his lips.
“Them brandied cher’s, sor, is sthrong enough, an’ swate enough to make ’em grow a palate a-purpose,” he said.
“And how do you know?” demanded the quarter-master, suddenly intent.
“Faix, sor, yez remember that one of the jars was bruken in onpackin’, an’ only half full. An’ though Peters said glass wuz pizin, an’ wouldn’t tech ’em—sure, sor, I thought a man cudn’t die in a sweeter way!” And once more he smacked his lips.