Kate haughtily waved him away, as he approached to assist her, and leaping from the saddle, gathered up the skirts of her riding-dress and walked to the boat, whither his look had directed her.
But even in that perilous moment, when she knew not but that the crisis, which she had feared all day, was close at hand, she could not part from Arab without a pang. As she took her seat in the boat, her eyes still followed her horse; and she was comforted to see that a lad, who appeared all at once, was hoisted into her saddle, as if to ride the animal to a place of safety.
Directly that Arab had disappeared, after turning his head sadly, and as if reproachfully, towards her, the refugees entered the boat, the men assumed the oars, and Arrison taking the rudder, in a moment more they pushed off.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE VOLUNTEERS
“Why have they dared to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom;
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war.” —Shakespeare.
“Front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword’s length set him.” —Shakespeare.
We must now return to Major Gordon and his companion, whom we left, long ago, proceeding to the Forks.
The Forks, as its name imported, was situated at the head of navigation, at the junction of two small branches of the river, on whose shores the events we have been narrating occurred. It was a settlement comprising about twenty-five houses, whose inhabitants were exclusively engaged in the trade, which the unloading of prizes at this point had created. Springing up in an incredibly short time, its prosperity was as evanescent as things of rapid growth often are; and long since every vestige of it has departed, except a solitary domicile, and a few grand old buttonwoods.
At the time of which we write, however, the Forks was in the full career of success. The western shore of the narrow but deep river in front, was lined for a considerable distance with vessels, which either had discharged valuable cargoes, or were about to do so. Many a fat merchantman, which had been originally laden with goods for the markets of Jamaica, was there contributing unwillingly to the wealth of the American patriots; and many a proud West Indiaman, which had been freighted at Kingston with sugar, rum, or molasses for London, was now unloading at the Forks for the benefit of Philadelphia. The place, in fact, was the head-quarters for the spoils, ravaged by American privateers from his Majesty’s mercantile marine.
As such it presented a scene of comparative liveliness. Teamsters were there, swearing at their horses, drinking in the tavern, or wrangling about their load; brokers were there, in behalf of the merchants of the capital, bartering for desirable goods; and sailors, watermen, laborers, and occasionally a small farmer or two were there also; while a few soldiers, constituting the small command of Major Gordon, lounged about and completed the diversity of the scene.