“I was;” and Somers detailed the particulars of the event. “Major de Banyan was shot at the same time,” he added, turning to Turkin, who, he hoped, would endeavor to improve his prospects by telling what had become of his friend.
“I shot him,” said Gragg; “and if I’m to be hung fur that, I cal’late it won’t be safe to fight the Yanks much longer.”
“Was he killed?” asked the lieutenant.
“I reckon he wan’t; we got him over the creek; there he gin out, and we left him, and stivered back arter his hoss. That’s when we took this Yank; but Turkin shot his hoss instid of him.”
“Was the major dead when you left him?”
“Not jest then; but I cal’late he didn’t stand it long.”
Somers’s worst fears in regard to his friend seemed to be confirmed. To the questions of the officer he gave true answers, until the history of the guerillas’ movements up to the time of their arrival at the mansion of the planter had been elicited.
“I was made the cat’s paw of these men, who wished to procure a supper, and to rob the house without exposing themselves to detection. Their purpose was to get the family out of the house,” continued Somers. “You did not find your friends from Savannah at the next house—did you, Colonel Roman?”
“I did not expect to find them there. Was that your scheme?”
“You bet it wan’t, kun’l,” exclaimed Turkin, as though he feared Somers would obtain more credit than he deserved. “That’s some of my thinkin’, kun’l. The Yank ain’t so good on tricks as I be. I told him what to write on that keerd. The Yank is great at writin’, but I’m some for plannin’.”