"It isn't for myself that I care, sir," said he; "but I am afraid that the treatment you will receive will be a heap worse nor keel-haulin' on a cold winter's mornin'."
"Don't talk so loud, Jack," whispered Frank, glancing toward the guard, who was walking his beat but a short distance from them. "I've been in just such scrapes as this before, and I'm not going to be strung up. If they give me the least chance for life, I'm going to take advantage of it."
"There comes a boat from the ship, sir," said the mate. "If we could only give them the slip now."
"No, sit still; we are watched too closely; wait until to-night."
In a short time the cutter reached the shore, and an officer, whom they recognized as the gunner, sprang out with a flag of truce in his hand. He walked straight up to Colonel Harrison. After a short conversation with that individual, he handed him a letter, and, accompanied by a rebel officer, approached the place where Frank was sitting.
"Well, old fellow," he said, as he came up, "I'm sorry to see you in this fix. But I've got good news for you. The colonel has given me permission to inform you that you will be well treated as long as you remain a prisoner. You see, we happen to have a prisoner who belongs to this regiment on board the flag-ship, and the captain is going to ask the admiral to exchange him for you. So keep a stiff upper lip. Don't think of trying to escape, and we shall see you on board of the ship again in less than a week. Good-by."
Frank and the mate shook hands with the gunner, who walked back to the place where he had left his men, and set them to work collecting and burying the dead.
After considerable trouble, an agreement was entered into between Captain Wilson and the colonel, and all the prisoners, with the exception of Frank and the mate, were paroled and allowed to return on board the vessel, after which the Wild-cats mounted their horses and commenced marching back into the country. While the fight had been raging, their horses were safely hidden in the woods, out of range of the Ticonderoga's guns; and when they were brought out, Frank, although he had not seen either a dead or wounded rebel, was able to judge pretty accurately of the number that had been disabled in the struggle, by counting the empty saddles. What had been done with the dead and wounded he could not ascertain; but the probability was, that the latter had been carried on in advance of the main body of the regiment, and the former hastily buried on the field. The prisoners were each given a horse, and Frank was a good deal surprised to find that although the mate was closely watched, scarcely any attention was paid to himself; his captors, no doubt, thinking that he would prefer waiting to be exchanged, rather than run the risk of the punishment that had been threatened in case he was detected in any attempt at escape. He was given to understand that it was useless to think of flight, for he would certainly be recaptured, even if he succeeded in getting outside of the pickets, and that he would be shot down without mercy. But Frank, who well knew that the rebels would not willingly lose an opportunity of regaining one of their officers, was not at all intimidated by these threats; and, as he had not bound himself to remain a passive prisoner, he commenced laying his plans for escape, intending to put them into operation at the very first opportunity which offered.
Just before dark the column halted in front of a plantation, and commenced making its camp on each side of the road. While the men were making their preparations for the night, the colonel, who evidently preferred more comfortable quarters than could be found in the open air, repaired to the house, where he was cordially greeted by its inmates.
Frank and the mate lay down on the ground by the side of the road, and were talking over the incidents of the day, when a dashing young lieutenant stepped up, and inquired: