“No, and if I had, I should have been still obliged to disregard it, for a matter of more than life and death hangs upon my interview with the Admiral,” replied Catherine, speaking out of the fullness of her heart.
The distance between the Treasury Building and the Capitol was about one mile, and the glare of the conflagration at each end, revealed a line of sentinels, posted at regular intervals the whole length of the avenue.
A ride of ten minutes brought them to the encampment of the enemy on the Capitol Hill, east of the burning edifice. Here, indeed, prevailed much of the noise and disorder consequent upon the relaxation of discipline after a day of severe action. Nearly four thousand men were resting, some leaning upon their muskets, some seated upon the grass, and some flat upon the ground, in the death-like sleep of drunkenness or exhaustion.
A group of officers, with their gorgeous scarlet and gold laced dresses resplendant in the glare, stood watching the progress of the fire. Towards these the Corporal conducted Catherine. One from among them advanced, laughing coarsely, as he exclaimed—“Who have we got here, Corporal?—a woman, by George! and a young and pretty one, too, to judge by the pretty figure. You’re welcome, madam. What, afraid? Well, I suppose you have formed a terrible opinion of me from the newspapers, which delight to represent us all as devils. Never fear me. Satan is not half so black as the saints paint him! You shall be far safer under any government than under Madison’s. Ross says he makes no war upon letters or ladies. Ho, ho, ho! Ross—he’s sentimental, you know! Well! d—— letters, but I make no war upon ladies either, except with Cupid’s weapons—ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! What, afraid still. Come! let’s see your face; never saw a shy woman yet that had not a face worth seeing.”
Abashed at this manner of address, Catherine hung her head, until the Corporal whispered—
“Rear Admiral Cockburn.”
Then she stole a glance at the speaker.
A flashy, overdressed, yet slovenly person, a florid complexion, a clear, mirthful, audacious blue eye—a sensual mouth, and a free, dashing, insolent manner, marked the licensed Pirate of the Chesapeake, and the boon companion of the profligate Prince of Wales.
“What, shy yet! By your leave, my dear!” said the Admiral, chucking his hand under Catherine’s chin, and raising her face. Poor Kate’s face, as well as her hair and her dress, was stained with dust and tears and perspiration, and her features were pale and haggard with sorrow, anxiety and extreme fatigue. The profligate dropped her chin with a start, as if it had burnt him, exclaiming—
“Whisht! Ugh! Brownies and kelpies, and witches on broomsticks! Oh! ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! Ugh! what a face! Here, Corporal, I pass her over to you; you seem to be kindly disposed. There is no accounting for tastes, so—Oh! ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! I make you a present of her. Oh-h! where can I find a dozen pretty girls to get the cross out of my eyes?”