“Where are you going, master?” asked Ann George, coming up to Mr. Mortimer as he was moving away, having now beheld the end of this strange scene of the bloodless surrender of sixteen hundred men to a very insignificant force; surely one of the strangest sights ever witnessed on the shores of this happy island. Nancy had taken no part in the action of her aunt Jemima; she was not the woman to jeer a fallen foe, so she had remained quietly by the cart till all was over, then had turned to her master. “Where are you going, master?” asked the faithful servant. “Back to my own house; for I suppose it is mine again now,” said he, with a sort of groan as he thought of the manner in which the old home had been desecrated. “I’ll come too,” said Nancy, “the place is bound to be topsy-turvy, sir, and a gentleman can’t do aught to straighten it. I’ll come too.” “Better not, Nancy, there are a lot of drunken vagabonds about still—too drunk to know they’ve capitulated. And some of the officers who were afraid to trust to the white flag and our word are at Trehowel still.” However, Nancy was not to be put off so; she would go. She had been in service for some years at Trehowel and she considered that the kitchen belonged to her, and it went to her heart to think of the damage done. She could have no peace till she could begin to repair it, and to set things once more in order to receive home the bride, as now the strangely postponed wedding would surely take place. Davy Jones went too—I suppose because Nancy did; they seemed great friends now, though previously the young woman had been in the habit of giving him the cold shoulder, I imagine because of his habit of smuggling; but I did not take much interest in the matter as a boy, not understanding the fair sex; indeed, even in after years I doubt if I ever quite succeeded in fathoming their method of reasoning. However, it is quite certain that as Nancy permitted it Davy was quite content to go wherever she did, and he gave her and me also a seat in his cart. I went too, for I thought that if there was anything to be seen I might as well see it; and I had heard that General Tate had gone back there after the surrender—on parole. I had some curiosity to see him again, and I thought it due to myself to witness the end of this affair, of which I had chanced to see the very beginning.