“Much as I wish to have a friend’s companionship tonight, for I am in one of my dark moods, I beg you, dear Major, to be gone at once. Miss Aylesford must be rescued, or avenged, no matter at what cost. I shall count it one of the few fortunate events of my life, that I arrived here in time to release you from your command, especially if you succeed in recovering this fair girl from the hands of the refugees.”
The Count accompanied Major Gordon to the river side, where, with many a “God-speed” from Pulaski, our hero and his companion embarked again. The little lateen sail was given to the wind, and the boat went dancing up the stream, until it vanished from the eyes of the spectators like the white wing of a gull disappearing in the distant gloom of the seaboard.
For some time there was silence on board the skiff. But at last Uncle Lawrence spoke.
“We’ll be able, I suppose,” said he, “to find a few men at the Forks; and we’d better strike into the woods there, instead of following the track of the varmints from the river. I’ve a notion I know pretty well where to find the rogues. If Arrison was alone, you might have to hunt him here, and there, and everywhere; but when a lady’s in the case, he’s sure to take to some roof; and there’s a clearing, a matter of six miles or so, sou’east of Sweetwater, and right in the heart of the swamp, where a little gal lives, that I’ve heerd was a niece of Arrison’s. I once stopped there for a drink of water; but though it’s the only time I was ever there, seein’ I don’t gin’raly hunt on that side of Sweetwater, I can go to the place as straight as my gun would carry buckshot; it’s a pity,” he added, with a sigh, “that I’ve lost the old piece.”
The fugitives did not, however, continue their route without pausing at the post where the refugees were fired on. They did this in the faint hope that the patriot boat, which Aylesford had seen set forth in pursuit, had overtaken the refugees.
Neither Major Gordon nor Uncle Lawrence knew how much each had secretly nourished this expectation, until it was destroyed by the intelligence they received at the post. But one good result followed the narrative they hurriedly gave in return. The sentry, who proved to be an old acquaintance of Uncle Lawrence, when he learned who the lady was, and into whose hands she had fallen, promised to follow, within half an hour, with four other able woodsmen. “We shan’t be wanted below now, since the Neck’s burnt,” he said, “unless the British advance up the river; which they’ll not try, I reckon, since Pulaski’s come.”
The sun was but an hour high, when every arrangement had been completed, and a party of a dozen determined men, all experienced shots, and all well armed, set out from the Forks, under the guidance of Uncle Lawrence and the leadership of Major Gordon. To hunt down the refugees, if it took days instead of hours; to rescue Kate unharmed, and to avenge her, at any cost:—these were the solemn vows of every member of the party.
While Uncle Lawrence had been marshaling the expedition, Major Gordon had thrown himself on Selim, and galloped to Sweetwater, with the faint hope that Kate might have been released, or made good her escape. Early as it was, he found Mrs. Warren already up. The good lady, as we have seen, had not slept a wink; and, just before the Major’s arrival, she had been summoned to interrogate Pomp, who, to the amazement of all, had suddenly appeared, leading Arab captive.
The lad, of course, suppressed his fright, but said, that not hearing anything of Kate on the road to Mr. Herman’s, but observing the tracks of what he thought her horse, he had followed down the river, by unfrequented paths, till about nightfall, when, passing a small cabin, he had been surprised to hear Arab whinny, from a shed that was apparently used for a cow-stable.
“When I hears dat,” said he, “I goes up to de door, and axes ef dey wouldn’t let me stay all night, telling ‘em I’d lost my way, and was afeerd of de refugees. Dey said I might, ef I’d sleep in de barn; and guv me some cold pork. De minnit I goes in de stable, Arab he knew me, and lays his nose agin me, as ef he’d been a kitten, deed he did. I got in among de salt hay, and begun to snore dre’ful loud; but I wasn’t asleep for all dat. By’m bye, when de moon rose, I gits up, saddles de colt, takes Arab by de halter, and here I is.” And he looked around, not a little proud of his exploit, while Dinah, hugging him in her arms, sobbed over her recovered boy.