“We are not disposed, sir, to deny you the glory of having achieved your victory single-handed,” said Griffith, glancing his eyes uneasily in the direction of the approaching sounds, expecting to see the Pilot issue from the thicket in which he seemed to be entangled, instead of any detachment of his enemies. “Clear the way, Caesar!” cried a voice at no great distance from them; “break through the accursed vines on my right, Pompey!--press forward, my fine fellows, or we may be too late to smell even the smoke of the fight.” “Hum!” ejaculated the captain, with his philosophic indifference of manner entirely re-established, “this must be a Roman legion just awoke from a trance of some seventeen centuries, and that the voice of a centurion. We will halt, Mister Drill, and view the manner of an ancient march!” While the captain was yet speaking, a violent effort disengaged the advancing party from the thicket of brambles in which they had been entangled, when two blacks, each bending under a load of firearms, preceded Colonel Howard, into the clear space where Borroughcliffe had halted his detachment. Some little time was necessary to enable the veteran to arrange his disordered dress, and to remove the perspiring effects of the unusual toil from his features, before he could observe the addition to the captain's numbers. “We heard you fire,” cried the old soldier, making, at the same time, the most diligent application of his bandana, “and I determined to aid you with a sortie, which, when judiciously timed, has been the means of raising many a siege; though, had Montcalm rested quietly within his walls, the plains of Abr'am might never have drunk his blood.” “Oh! his decision was soldierly, and according to all rules of war,” exclaimed Manual; “and had I followed his example, this day might have produced a different tale!” “Why, who have we here!” cried the colonel, in astonishment; “who is it that pretends to criticise battles and sieges, dressed in such a garb?” “Tis a dux incognitorum, my worthy host,” said Borroughcliffe; “which means, in our English language, a captain of marines in the service of the American Congress.” “What! have you then met the enemy? ay! and by the fame of the immortal Wolfe, you have captured them!” cried the delighted veteran. “I was pressing on with a part of my garrison to your assistance, for I had seen that you were marching in this direction, and even the report of a few muskets was heard.”