“I believe the major is not far off, and still uninjured.”
I despatched a man for the major, who presently came up, blowing and swearing like a Flanders trooper.
“Hilloa, Bios!” shouted Twing, grasping him by the hand.
“Why, bless me, Twing, I’m glad to see you!” answered Blossom, throwing his arms around the diminutive major. “But where on earth is your pewter?” for during the embrace he had been groping all over Twing’s body for the flask.
“Here, Cudjo! That flask, boy!”
“Faith, Twing, I’m near choked; we’ve been fighting all day—a devil of a fight! I chased a whole squad of the cursed scoundrels on Hercules, and came within a squirrel’s jump of riding right into their nest. We’ve killed dozens; but Haller will tell you all. He’s a good fellow, that Haller; but he’s too rash—rash as blazes! Hilloa, Hercules! glad to see you again, old fellow; you had a sharp brush for it.”
“Remember your promise, Major,” said I, as the major stood patting Hercules upon the shoulder.
“I’ll do better, Captain. I’ll give you a choice between Hercules and a splendid black I have. Faith! it’s hard to part with you, old Herky, but I know the captain will like the black better: he’s the handsomest horse in the whole army; bought him from poor Ridgely, who was killed at Monterey.”
This speech of the major was delivered partly in soliloquy, partly in an apostrophe to Hercules, and partly to myself.
“Very well, Major,” I replied. “I’ll take the black. Mr Clayley, mount the men on their mules: you will take command of the company, and proceed with Colonel Rawley to camp. I shall go myself for the Don.”