“Crowfield, you are wrong. This is Colonel Rosenthal, and Major Monck’s orders were strict, that when he should be taken, he should be treated with courtesy, and conducted at once to his head quarters.”
“Oh, yes! that’s the way with the major! He’ll take a prisoner, feast a prisoner, and then hang a prisoner; but all in courtesy! Oh, yes! whatever the major does is always done in courtesy. As for me, I’d rather blast a Yankee and let him go, than bless him and hang him, as our major does. You’ll find worse fellows in the world than I am, if you wouldn’t give me up your sword, Colonel Prisoner,” said the guerrilla, nodding to Colonel Rosenthal.
“Sergeant Crowfield, you are drunk! and I’ll give you until four o’clock to-morrow morning to get sober in!”
“Captain Bannister, you’re a heap drunker ’n I am, and so I’ll give you until four o’clock to-morrow afternoon to get sober in!”
“You are under arrest, sir. Blake! take his musket and look after him,” said the angry officer.
When these orders were obeyed, Captain Bannister turned to the prisoner and said:
“Colonel Rosenthal, we will take you to Major Monck’s head quarters that are only about three miles from this spot.”
Colonel Rosenthal bowed gravely and silently.
The guerrilla captain then placed a guard around the prisoners, and marshalled his band, and gave the order to march.
The body, consisting of about sixty well-armed men, moved forward upon the same road leading towards W., for some three quarters of a mile, and struck into a path on the right hand side of their way winding into the very innermost recesses of the wilderness.