“Captain Bannister, you’re a heap drunker ’n I am, and so I’ll give you until four o’clock to-morrow _afternoon_ to get sober in!” “You are under arrest, sir. Blake! take his musket and look after him,” said the angry officer. When these orders were obeyed, Captain Bannister turned to the prisoner and said: “Colonel Rosenthal, we will take you to Major Monck’s head quarters that are only about three miles from this spot.” Colonel Rosenthal bowed gravely and silently. The guerrilla captain then placed a guard around the prisoners, and marshalled his band, and gave the order to march. The body, consisting of about sixty well-armed men, moved forward upon the same road leading towards W., for some three quarters of a mile, and struck into a path on the right hand side of their way winding into the very innermost recesses of the wilderness. Colonel Rosenthal rode on without exchanging a word with one of his guard. Wing and Hay conversed in whispers whenever they could do so with impunity. “Here’s a go!” muttered Hay. “I wish the colonel had taken Major O’Neale’s advice and turned back with the cavalry.” “So do not I. The gallant colonel had done his duty, and the result is with the Lord,” answered Wing. “Yes, I know. But this Monck doesn’t care for Lord or devil. He is as much worse than the Free Sword as an assassin is worse than a mere duellist. He is the coldest blooded demon alive! You will never see him excited; but he has been known to hang a prisoner before the door of his quarters, and sit down and eat his breakfast while enjoying a full view of the death agonies of the hanging and struggling victim!” “May Heaven protect and deliver our colonel!” exclaimed Wing, clasping his hands in prayer. CHAPTER XVII. THE GUERRILLA’S ENCAMPMENT. Into a forest far they thence him led, Where was their dwelling in a pleasant shade, With mountains round about environed. And mighty woods which did the valley shade, And like a stately theatre it made, Spreading itself into a spacious plain; And in the midst a little river played Amongst the pumy stones and seemed to ‘plain With gentle murmur that his course they did restrain.—SPENSER. The forest was almost impenetrably thick and intensely dark. The closely intermingling boughs overhead shut out every ray of starlight. And the moon had not yet risen. The darkness, the stillness and the silence of this wilderness was very solemn and almost appalling and overpowering. No object could be seen; they moved through thickest night and blackest shadow; nothing could be felt but the dampness of the air and the cold touch of the clustering leaves, and no sound could be heard but the muffled tread of their horses’ hoofs, the hoarse hoot of an owl, or the shrill cry of the whippowil.