“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.”