She was interrupted by a piercing shriek from Grace Wellworth, who, breaking suddenly from her companions, ran like Atalanta up toward the inland of the island. They looked up to ascertain the cause. With wild eyes and blanched faces they recognized the occasion of her terror and flight. Three boats had been silently pushed up on the sands a few yards below them, and were now discharging their crews, consisting of about twelve or more from each boat, or from thirty-five to forty British soldiers in all. One of these men had instantly perceived the flight of Grace, and moved by the mere animal instinct to pursue the flying, as the hound pursues the running hare, had cried out:
“Atalanta! Atalanta! By George, when a girl flies she invites pursuit,” and ran after her.
“For the love of Heaven, let us not follow her example. Let us stand our ground. Let us speak to the commanding officer, and we will save ourselves and her from farther aggression,” said Margaret, looking very firm, and not a shade paler than usual. Clare drew herself up with dignity and remained standing beside her friend.
The pursuer of Grace had now overtaken, caught and lifted the terrified and struggling girl, and laughing gayly the while, was bearing her back to the scene. No more dangerous spirit than that of wild fun and frolic seemed to inspire the merry captor.
“Release me! Release me, I command you, villain!” cried Grace, wild with indignation and fear, and struggling desperately to free herself.
“Ha! ha! ha! the little brown partridge! how fierce and strong, and spiteful it is! How it flutters and flaps, and beats!” exclaimed the soldier, holding his captive tighter.
“Let me go! Let me go, I say, poltroon!” cried the girl, wrestling madly with her captor.
“Kingdom come! what a wild bird it is!” exclaimed the latter, squeezing his prize maliciously.
“Put me down! Put me down, I order you, marauder! coward! brute!” resumed Grace, now maddened with rage and terror.
“George! What! It is not a wild partridge, but a young hawk that I’ve caught! What claws and beak it has! how it bites, and tears, and scratches! I must look out for my face, or, by George! the best-looking soldier in his majesty’s service will be ruined!”