But they had not marched more than a mile when Mutchison, who had been riding in advance of the whole line, came suddenly galloping back to the rear with every mark of hurry and excitement.
He drew rein beside his superior officer, and handed him a field-glass, saying hastily:
“Colonel, look there!”
“What is it?” inquired Goldsborough, raising the instrument to his eyes.
“There, at our rendezvous: the cloud of dust, the smoke, and hark! there is the sound of musketry! There must be a battle going on there, Colonel!”
“There is!” hurriedly exclaimed Goldsborough. “Mutchison, dash forward. Send half a dozen men back to guard the prisoners, who must remain here while we join battle. Then get the band in order. Form on company front; and march! I will be with you as soon as I have provided for the safety of these!”
Mutchison wheeled his horse and galloped forward, carrying with him a cloud of dust, in which he soon disappeared.
Goldsborough looked around for a place of safety in which to bestow his captive bride and her clerical companion.
Nothing better offered than a grove of trees, in the midst of which sparkled a cool spring, now, however, rather choked with fallen autumn leaves.
He led his party there and requested them to dismount.