It was a mad race in which was no semblance of military formation on either side, but simply one mob of men pursued by another, riding at hot speed down the bank of the stream regardless of the obstacles in their way, and more than one, venturing too near the water’s edge, was pitched out of the saddle as his steed floundered in the mire. Within five minutes I understood that we were behind in the race. Our steeds were stout and honest, but not blooded; urged by blows and voice they were doing their best, while our leaders were outstripping us swiftly, and a few seconds after this fact had impressed itself upon my mind, old Peter, who had been as eager in the chase as either of us, urged his horse to my side as he said: “Dar’s no sense, honey, in blowin’ dese yere horses fur nuffin.” I pushed aside the hand which he would have laid upon my bridle-rein, impatient at the suggestion that I fall out of the race, so great was my desire to catch a glimpse of the lad to whom we owed such a debt, and would have pressed my horse on yet faster but for the fact that just then one of the troopers who had followed General Marion most closely came riding back as he shouted: “The orders are to return to the encampment just vacated by the redcoats. Nothing can be gained by further pursuit, and there is a chance that these fellows in advance may be leading us into a trap.” As a matter of course we brought our horses to a standstill, for young in the service as were we Minute Boys, it was well understood that an order from the officer in command must be obeyed on the instant, but Gabriel grumbled as he slipped out of the saddle to loosen the girth: “It can be no more dangerous for us to go on, than for General Marion. Why should he not fall back and leave those who are of less importance to take the chance of falling into an ambush?” “The orders are to go back to the camp we surprised,” the trooper replied curtly, and then it was I recognized him as one of the bravest defenders of Charleston during the siege. He was an old soldier, and as such had neither sympathy nor patience for lads who would discuss an order which had been given. It is not necessary I make any attempt at picturing the disappointment we felt because of having failed in capturing or shooting down the traitor who had thus brought the enemy on our trail. Having flattered ourselves that with this surprise of the camp it would be a comparatively simple matter to take Seth Hastings prisoner, one can readily understand the feeling of chagrin amounting almost to shame, which was ours after having failed thus signally.