"Are they comin' this way?" the captain demanded, screaming until his face was crimson, and Bill Jepson suddenly dropped out of sight through the companion-way.
"They've gone!" the man replied, and we could now hear his words more distinctly because he was coming nearer each instant.
"Gone where?" Captain Hanaford cried impatiently. "Can't you tell us what has happened?"
"The British have cleared out bag an' baggage—went durin' the storm!"
"What?" Darius screamed, and we looked at each other incredulously, for surely it could not be possible that the enemy had evacuated the city so soon.
"Come on board an' tell us what you know!" Captain Hanaford cried. "It is of the greatest importance for us to learn exactly the situation of affairs."
The stranger did not accept the invitation to come on board; but he halted within easy speaking distance and thus told the story, which seemed incredible:
"Last night the people livin' near the encampment were warned, on pain of death, to remain within doors from sunset till sunrise. Those who were curious enough to look out of the windows saw that the camp fires had been increased, an' supposed reinforcements were comin' in; but this mornin' neither hide nor hair is to be seen of the red-coats, an' a planter comin' in from nearabout Long Old Fields, reports that the soldiers are marchin' in the direction of Nottingham. An' that ain't all, for the troops that stayed at Bladensburg after the battle, are on the way to Upper Marlboro, 'cordin to the report of an old darkey who came into town not half an hour ago."
Having thus unfolded his budget of news, the man hurried on to spread the glad tidings, leaving us who were aboard the pungy in a state of mingled bewilderment and joy.
"I can't understand it," Darius said after a brief pause, during which we had looked at each other questioningly. "I'm goin' to take the chances of findin' out for myself."