"Doubtless, sir, Colonel Clarke will feel proud to see you," returned Butler.
"Well, M'Alpine," said Ferguson, "I have my hands full of business; for I certainly have the wildest crew of devil's babies that ever stole cattle, or fired a haystack. I am obliged to coax them into discipline by a somewhat free use of this mother's milk"—(pointing to the bottles)—"to which I now and then add a gentle castigation at the drum-head, and, when that doesn't serve, a dose of powder and lead, administered at ten paces from a few files of grenadiers. I have shot a brace of them, since you left me, only for impertinence to their officers! This waiting for Clarke plays the devil with us. I must be moving, and have some thought of crossing the mountains westward, and burning out the settlements. Faith! I would do it, just to keep my lads in spirits, if I thought Clarke would give me another week. How, now, Thady?—that buck should have been half roasted by this time. We shall never have dinner with your slow work. Look at that, M'Alpine, there is something to make your mouth water—an inch and a half of fat on the very ridge of the back. Give over your prisoners to the camp major—he will take care of them: and, hark you, captain," he added, beckoning his comrade aside, "if you choose, as you seem to think well of this Major Butler, you may bring him in to dinner presently, with my compliments. Now, away—I must to business."
The prisoners were conducted to a separate building, where they were put in charge of an officer, who performed the duties of provost-marshal over some twenty or more Whigs that had been captured in the late excursions of the Tories, and brought into camp for safe keeping. The place of their confinement was narrow and uncomfortable, and Butler was soon made aware that in the exchange of his prison at Musgrove's mill for his present one, he had made an unprofitable venture. His condition with Ferguson, however, was alleviated by the constantly-exciting hope that the events which were immediately in prospect might, by the chances of war, redound to his advantage.
In this situation Butler remained for several days. For although Ferguson found it necessary to keep in almost constant motion, with a view to hover about the supposed direction of Clarke's retreat, and, conformably to this purpose, to advance into South Carolina, and again to fall back towards his present position, yet he had established a guard at Gilbert-town which, during all these operations, remained stationary with the prisoners, apparently waiting some fit opportunity to march them off to Cornwallis's army, that was now making its way northwards. That opportunity did not present itself. The communications between this post and the commander-in-chief were, by a fatal error, neglected; and in a short time from the date of the present events, as will be seen in the sequel, a web was woven which was strong enough to ensnare and bind up the limbs of the giant who had, during the last five months, erected and maintained the Tory Ascendency in Carolina.
CHAPTER LI.
MILDRED TURNS HER STEPS HOMEWARDS.
I have seen a generous and brave boy defied to some enterprise of terror,—such as, peradventure, to clamber in the dark night, alone, up many a winding bout of stair-case to the garret,—and he has undertaken the achievement, although sore afraid of goblins, and gone forth upon his adventure with a lusty step and with a bold tardiness, whistling or singing on his way—his eyes and ears all the time fearfully open to all household sights and sounds, now magnified out of their natural proportions; and when he had reached the furthest term of his travel, I have known him to turn quickly about and come down three steps at a leap, feeling all the way as if some spectre tracked his flight and hung upon his rear. Calling up such a venture to my mind, I am enabled, by comparison with the speed and anxiety of the boy, to show my reader with what emotions Mildred, her mission being done, now turned herself upon her homeward route. The excitement occasioned by her knowledge of the critical circumstances of Butler, and the pain she had suffered in the belief that upon the courageous performance of her duty depended even his life, had nerved her resolution to the perilous and hardy exploit in which we have seen her. But now, when matters had taken such a suddenly auspicious turn, and she was assured of her lover's safety, not even the abrupt joy which poured in upon her heart was sufficient to stifle her sense of uneasiness at her present exposed condition, and she eagerly prepared to betake herself back to the Dove Cote.
The scenes around her had wrought upon her nerves; and, although she was singularly fortunate in the courtesy which she had experienced from all into whose hands she had fallen, yet the rude licentiousness of the camp, and the revolting acts of barbarity which were ever present to her observation, appalled and distressed her. Besides, she now saw the fixed purpose with which Cornwallis was preparing to march forward in his course of invasion, and thought with alarm upon the probable event of soon having the theatre of war transferred to the neighborhood of her native woods.