What thoughts passed through his brain in the course of that ride, it is hard to state; but, long ere the journey’s end was reached, his mind was settled as to the course to be pursued. The fortune he would have, and Turner should be the tool through which he should reach it. Riding side by side the now deliberate villain and his tool occasionally spoke together, but Preston was too much engaged in perfecting his plans to ask more than an occasional question; while Turner, cunning, and quick of divination, had a partial clue to what was in the mind of the British partisan.
When the British reached the spot on which the conflict of the preceding night had taken place, they found all traces of the struggle removed. Four or five newly-made mounds testified that the rebels were too brave and generous to let the corpses of their foes remain festering in the sun. Here and there, among the short grass, deep red stains and pools of coagulated blood marked the spot where the men had fallen; a broken plume, a glove, or a torn epaulet—these were the only signs of the slaughter. Horses, men, arms—all had disappeared, and the Britons had the consolation of knowing that when they should meet this brigade of rebels, they would find them armed with tried weapons of Great Britain’s own furnishing. The men looked mournfully around; for soldiers have hearts, and are capable of warm attachments; and here many a comrade, with whom they had spent many happy hours, had bit the dust.
Preston marked the direction which Ernshaw had taken, for his trail was plainly visible; but, as his orders were to retire toward Charleston as soon as he had performed the last sad offices for the fallen, he dared not go in pursuit although his men were eager enough for a fray. Disappointment was plainly visible on more than one face, when the order came for a return, but no murmurs were raised. Slowly the procession emerged from the woods, and crossed Cedar Creek, taking the road which led toward the farm-houses, where Captain Preston was to take up his headquarters.
Mrs. Vale had, long ere this, heard the result of the conflict, for her son had returned at early dawn. It was to stay but for a moment, however, for he knew that now home would be no place for him. A company would be sent to revenge the defeat of Captain Morgan as soon as intelligence would be received by the commander at Charleston; and, as his house lay on the road, it would be dangerous to be near it.
When the troop had arrived opposite the door, Reginald gave the command to halt, and ordered half-a-dozen of his men to dismount, and search the house. Though it was improbable, it still was not impossible that some of the rebels might be found within it. Catherine and her mother were sitting sewing, when the door was rudely flung open, disclosing the red-coated soldiers who stood at the threshold.
With calmness Mrs. Vale arose, and advanced a step toward them, saying, as she did, “What do you want, sirs?”
The men replied by entering the room first; then, one of them said: “To search the house to see if there be any rebels laid away within it.”
“One of you will be sufficient, then; you will find nothing within its walls which it is not right that an honest woman should have.”
“And your son—is he within?”
“He is not; but if he were, it perhaps were as well for you to defer the search, for he is not one who willingly permits liberties to be taken with himself or his house.”