"What next, massa?" Martin, the faithful body-servant, watching his master's glance and anticipating every want, followed from room to room.
"The plate, Martin," with a wave of the hand Jefferson strode out from his beloved Monticello.
With Cæsar's help Martin pulled up the planks of the portico, and the last piece of silver went under the floor as a gleaming helmet hove in sight. Dropping the plank, imprisoning poor Cæsar, Martin faced the intruder.
"Where is your master? Name the spot or I'll fire!"
"Fire away, then," answered the slave. The trooper desisted.
Tarleton and his men took food and drink, but destroyed nothing. The fame of Jefferson's kindness to Burgoyne's captured army had reached even Tarleton, for in that mansion books and music had been free to the imprisoned British officers.
"An' now who be ye, an' whar are ye from?"
An old woman peered from the door of a hut in a gorge of the hills, late in the afternoon.
"We are members of the Virginia Legislature fleeing from Tarleton's raid."
"Ride on, then, ye cowardly knaves! Here my husband and sons have just gone to Charlottesville to fight for ye, an' ye a runnin' awa' wi' all yer might. Clar out; ye get naething here."