THROUGH THE REBEL LINES We were by no means out of danger, for the whole of the Portsea Island, save the small portion occupied by the town of Portsmouth, was held by the rebels, and the difficulty was to avoid meeting any straggling bands of soldiers before we could cross the narrow creek that separates the island from the mainland. Drawing rein under the shelter of a thicket, we debated as to the best course to pursue, Sergeant Lawson, owing to his long residence in the castle, being well acquainted with the by-paths over the eastern side of the island. Fortunately, none of us sustained serious hurt in the brief encounter with our assailants, although Lawson's face bled freely from a slight flesh wound in the cheek, and my left arm had received a heavy blow, though at the time I was unaware of it. "We lack the countersign," quoth the sergeant. "Had we that knowledge, we could well pass for members of Ridge's troop." "As we have it not, 'tis useless waiting here, for daylight will be on us anon, and the precious time will have been wasted," said Colonel Firestone. "Our horses seem fresh enough for fifty miles, so lead on, sergeant, and we'll follow." After a time the common and marsh land gave place to a narrow lane, running between tall hedges. Here we slackened down to a slow trot, the sound of the horses' hoofs being muffled by the thick dust. Away on our right burned the watch-fires of one of the rebel outposts, while at a greater distance on our left gleamed the lights of the main rebel camp. At a cross-road Sergeant Lawson reined in his steed, and held up his right hand in warning. We could distinguish the steady clatter of hoofs. "How many think ye, sergeant?" "But one, sir." "Then bar his passage at all costs." Concealed behind the tall hedge, we waited in breathless suspense the approach of the solitary rider, Firestone, Sergeant Lawson, and I dismounting and giving the reins to Granville. Waiting till the horseman was almost within arm's length, we then dashed forward. The colonel seized the stranger's bridle arm, whilst Lawson gripped the reins of his steed. "Surrender yourself, or resist at your peril," hissed Firestone. For answer the man struck spurs to his horse, and attempted to draw a pistol; but the colonel's sinewy arms were around his waist, and, with a mighty heave, flung him out of the saddle, while the sergeant assisted to hold him down, his iron fingers clutching at the throat of the fallen man. 'Twas a rebel without doubt, as, worn crosswise over his left shoulder, was an orange scarf. Gamely he tried to free himself, till, realising the helplessness of his position, he ceased his efforts and lay motionless. "Of what regiment are ye?" demanded Firestone, thrusting forward his grim face till it almost touched that of his prisoner. [Illustration: _Colonel Firestone flung his arms about the man's waist, and dragged him out of his saddle._] "Colonel Garth's dragoons," was the reply.