"The rebels seem to have hurried you along fast enough," said Vivian, with a laugh.
"We hope to reverse the case soon," replied Marcel, "and become the pursuers ourselves. Meanwhile I take great comfort in demolishing this pie."
The news of our adventure had been spread very generally about headquarters, as several officers came in while we ate. They were rather a friendly lot, and some of them I liked. Blake, our first British friend, was among them.
"I wonder the rebels had the courage to pursue you," said a very callow youth named Graves.
"Don't the rebels fight well?" asked Marcel.
"Oh, no, not at all," returned Graves, superciliously. "They take to flight at the first glimpse of a British uniform."
"Then why don't you go out and show yourself, Graves?" asked Vivian; "for they say that bands of the rebels do come alarmingly close to Philadelphia."
There was a general laugh, and Graves turned almost as red as his coat.
"There is no doubt," said an older officer, named Catron, "as to our ability to crush these rebels if we could get them into a corner. But they are most cursedly sly."
"However," said I, for I was determined to defend my countrymen despite our situation, "the rebels are the weaker, and it is the business of the weaker party to avoid being pushed into a corner. And according to all the accounts that have come to England, they seem to show much skill in this particular."