“Peace, with all this nonsense of Singleton’s orderly, Mr. Mason,” cried Dunwoodie, impatiently; “let him learn to wait the orders of his superiors.”
“I beg pardon in his name, Major Dunwoodie,” said the subaltern; “but, like myself, he was in error. We both thought it was the order of General Heath, to attack and molest the enemy whenever he ventured out of his nest.”
“Recollect yourself, Lieutenant Mason,” said the major, “or I may have to teach you that your orders pass through me.”
“I know it, Major Dunwoodie—I know it; and I am sorry that your memory is so bad as to forget that I never have yet hesitated to obey them.”
“Forgive me, Mason,” cried Dunwoodie, taking both his hands. “I do know you for a brave and obedient soldier; forget my humor. But this business—had you ever a friend?”
“Nay, nay,” interrupted the lieutenant, “forgive me and my honest zeal. I knew of the orders, and was fearful that censure might fall on my officer. But remain, and let a man breathe a syllable against the corps, and every sword will start from the scabbard of itself; besides, they are still moving up, and it is a long road from Croton to King’s Bridge. Happen what may, I see plainly that we shall be on their heels before they are housed again.”
“Oh! that the courier was returned from headquarters!” exclaimed
Dunwoodie. “This suspense is insupportable.”
“You have your wish,” cried Mason. “Here he is at the moment, and riding like the bearer of good news. God send it may be so; for I can’t say that I particularly like myself to see a brave young fellow dancing upon nothing.”
Dunwoodie heard but very little of this feeling declaration; for, ere half of it was uttered, he had leaped the fence and stood before the messenger.
“What news?” cried the major, the moment that the soldier stopped his horse.