After calling out for a chunk of fire, and relighting his pipe, he dashed at once over into Alabama, in General Floyd’s army, and fought the battles of Calebee and Otassee over again in detail. The artillery from Baldwin county blazed away, and made the little boys aforesaid think they could hear thunder almost, and the rifles from Putnam made their patriotic young spirits long to revenge that gallant corps. And the squire was astonished at the narrow escape his friend had of falling into the hands of Weatherford and his savages, when he was miraculously rescued by Timpoochie Barnard, the Utchee chief.
At this stage of affairs, Floyd (not the general, but the ambassador) rode up, with a mysterious look on his countenance. The dancers left off in the middle of a set, and assembled around the messenger, to hear the news of the parson. The old ladies crowded up, too, and the captain and the squire were eager to hear. But Floyd felt the importance of his situation, and was in no hurry to divest himself of the momentary dignity.
“Well, as I rode on down to Boggy Gut, I saw——”
“Who cares what the devil you saw?” exclaimed the impatient captain; “tell us if the parson is coming, first, and you may take all night to tell the balance, if you like, afterwards.”
“I saw—” continued Floyd pertinaciously.
“Well, my dear, what did you see?” asked Mrs. Peablossom.
“I saw that some one had tooken away some of the rails on the cross way, or they had washed away or somehow—”
“Did anybody ever hear the like?” said the captain.
“And so I got down,” continued Floyd, “and hunted some more and fixed over the boggy place.”
Here Polly laid her hand on his arm and requested, with a beseeching look, to know if the parson was on the way.