Old Jacob nodded, and Macdonald begun.
“Well, then, you must know, my jolly old blade—but fill your cup again, and drink perdition to the Englishmen—that a party of us had a brush down by Georgetown, not long ago, with some of the British regulars, who were killing beeves at White’s Bridge. We soon whipped the red-coats, and then chased them toward the town. But their friends there, hearing the firing, came swarming out like bees, and so we went at it again, hip and thigh as the good book says, and for a while it was the toss of a sixpence which should win. We fought a pretty smart bit of the day: but at last the red-coats gave ground again. I had noticed among them an officer whom I took for Major Gainey, a fellow that had the impudence to boast he’d carry Marion a prisoner on his saddle into Georgetown: and so I singled him out, resolving to try his pluck, and comb him down a spell. But no sooner did he see me, coming down on Black Bess, than he clapped spurs to his horse—and a cursedly good one it was—and made straight for the town, like an old woman who sees a mad-dog. Down the road we went, clattering and thundering; but devil a bit for a long while could I gain on the major. I might have cut down half a dozen strapping fellows as I dashed along, but I had made up my mind to have nothing short of the leader himself. Old Black Bess did wonders that day! The trees and fences shot past, as if running a race. The major’s blooded horse went as I never saw a beast go before, but I was close behind, and beginning to gain on him. We were now almost at the entrance of Georgetown. Still I held on, whooping to old Bess like a mad devil, as I was. Just as I reached Richmond fence, I lapped the quarter of the major’s horse, and with a lunge ran my bayonet into his back. The major had turned around, frightened half to death, lifting up his hands beseechingly; and I thought I had him sure, till the cursed bayonet came off, and left me only the gun. I was mad enough at having lost him, yet I could not help laughing as I saw him go down the streets of Georgetown, the bayonet still sticking in him, like a skewer into a trussed fowl. I hauled up, and came off safe; and that’s the last we’ve heard of Major Gainey.”
With narratives like these the night passed; the old butler listening with open mouth and ears. At length, toward midnight, the tread of a horse’s feet was heard, and directly a clear, commanding voice called Macdonald by name.
“The captain, by the Lord!” exclaimed the serjeant, jumping up as if struck by an electric shock. “Here he is at last, alive and sound, which I began to fear for—Huzza! But stop. Now, Jacob Snow, Esq., deliver your mission. Stand up like a man, as I do, and don’t sway about like a pine tree in a hurricane. Captain, this gentleman,” continued the speaker, his voice getting thicker and thicker, “has a message for you from Miss Mowbray, but he’s too cursedly drunk to know it.”
At these words our hero, who was regarding the group with a look of silent rebuke, turned suddenly on the old butler, who was, if truth must be told, the only sober one of the party. A flash of joy lit up Capt. Preston’s face as he extended his hand for the supposed letter. Old Jacob, who had no missive of that character to deliver, but who had come wholly on his own responsibility, hesitated what to say. While the two parties are thus regarding each other, we will explain the incidents which had brought them thus unexpectedly together.
Capt. Preston had found great difficulty in regaining the camp, in consequence of Major Lindsay having left word of the place, where he had sought refuge, with some Tories in the neighborhood. These men, anxious to secure so redoubtable a leader, had immediately stationed patrols at all the usual outlets of the swamp, and thus twice had our hero been driven back into its recesses, once narrowly escaping death. At length, however, in the dead of night, he had succeeded in eluding his enemies, and gained the high-road. His flight, however, had led him into a district full of Tories, and he was forced to travel with great caution, and make a long circuit, in order to return to the camp. Meantime his absence there had occasioned much alarm, especially among his troop; and Macdonald had intended, if he did not appear by the ensuing morning, setting forth to make inquiries respecting him, fearing he was dead.
The old butler had been in the camp two days. He had attended his mistress to Georgetown, and was the only one who suspected the true state of Kate’s heart. He loved that fair creature with the blind devotion a dog shows to its master; and he had long been fully satisfied that her affections were given to Preston. Of our hero he had some such idea as the old romancers had of a Paladin of former days, looking on him as capable of doing any deed, no matter how impossible. To old Jacob it seemed only necessary that Preston should know of Kate’s danger, in order to rescue her. Accordingly, when he found the marriage actually resolved on, and the day fixed, he stole out of Georgetown, and made the best of his way to Marion’s camp.
Here the news of Preston’s absence fell on him like a thunderbolt. But he knew that no one else could assist him; and moreover he held Kate’s secret too sacred to be imparted to others. Meantime, he found amusement in listening to the tales of the soldiers, and he was never happier than when, with mouth wide open, he sat devouring some story of the war. He implicitly believed every thing he heard, and thought with humble vanity what a sensation he would create in the kitchen at Blakeley Hall, when he rehearsed there those tales; for Jacob, in his lowly way, was a sort of Froissart, and, with the unctuous old canon, thought nothing so “honorable and glorious as gallant feats of arms.”
Preston now drew the butler aside, and said,
“Have you the letter here?”