"Scratch a hole for them, lads, under the bushes," said Habershaw; "put a sod blanket over them before morning. That's the fortune of war, as Peppercorn calls it. How are the wounded men getting along?" "Oh bravely, captain," replied Shad Green, or, according to his nickname, Red Mug: "this here physic is a main thing for a scratch." "Bravely!" echoed Screech Owl, or Tom Dubbs, the same who had been reported by the dragoon as "kicked by the blacksmith;" "we are plastering up sores here with the jolly bottle:-- "Sing heave and ho, and trombelow, The Jolly Bottle is a feather, I trow." "What's a cracked crown, so as it holds a man's brains?" continued the drunken carouser, whilst a laugh deformed his stupid physiognomy. "How are we off for provisions, quarter-master?" inquired the captain of one of the gang. "Eaten out of skin, from nose to tail," replied Black Jack. "Then the squad must forage to-night," continued Habershaw. "We must take a buck, my sweet ones; there are plenty along the river. Get your rifles and prepare lights, and, to keep out of the way of our horses, don't stop short of a mile. Be about it, lads. Black Jack, this is your business." "True, Captain," replied the person addressed: "I shall have all things ready directly." It was near midnight when Black Jack, having prepared some faggots of pitch-pine, and selected three or four of the best marksmen, left the bivouac to look for deer. Habershaw himself, though lazy and inordinately impressed with a sense of his own dignity, and now confused with liquor, could not resist the attraction of this sport. He accordingly, not long after the others had departed, took a rifle, and, attended by his bull-dog, whom he never parted from on any occasion, slowly followed in the direction chosen by the hunters. Those in advance had scarcely walked along the margin of the river a mile before they lighted their faggots, and began to beat the neighboring thickets; and their search was not protracted many minutes when the light of their torches was thrown full upon the eyes of a buck. A shot from one of the marksmen told with unerring precision in the forehead of the animal.