as you may be sure, major patrick ferguson was far too good a soldier to leave his camp unguarded on any side, and whilst we were yet a far cannon-shot from the glimmering fires a sentry's challenge halted us.
to the man's "halt! who goes there?" i gave the word "friends," salving my conscience for the needful lie as i might.
"advance, friends, and give the countersign."
i confessed my ignorance of the night-word, saying that we were a paroled prisoner and a bearer of despatches, and asking that we be taken to major ferguson's headquarters. there was some little cautious demurring on the part of the sentry, but finally he passed the word for the guard-captain and we were escorted to the tent of the field commander.
i marked the encampment as i could in passing through it. the little army was three-fourths made up of tory militia; and there was drinking and song-singing and a plentiful lack of discipline around the camp-fires of these auxiliaries. but a different air was abroad in the camp of the regulars; you would see a soldierly alertness on the part of the men, and there was no roistering in that quarter.
major ferguson's tent was on a hillock some distance back from the stream, and thither we were conducted; we, i say, meaning tybee and myself, for uncanoola had disappeared like a whiff of smoke at our challenging on the sentry line.
late as it was, the major was up and hard at work. his tent table, transformed for the time into a mechanic's work-bench, was littered with gun-barrels and tools and screws and odd-shaped pieces of mechanism—the disjointed parts of that breech-loading musket of which the ingenious scotchman was the inventor.
being deep in the creative trance when we came upon him, the major gave us but an absent-minded greeting, listening with the outward ear only when tybee reported his mission, and his capture and parole.
"from my lord, ye say? i hope ye left him well," was all the answer the lieutenant got, the inventor fitting away at his gun-puzzle the while.
tybee made proper rejoinder and stood aside to give me room. i drew a sealed inclosure from my pocket and laid it on the work-bench table.
"i also have the honor to come from my lord cornwallis, bringing despatches"—so far i got in my cut-and-dried speech, and then my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth and i could no more finish the sentence than could a man suddenly nipped in a vise. instead of the carefully doctored original, i had given the major the duplicate despatch taken from tybee.
ah, my dears, that was a moment for swift thought and still swifter action; and 'tis the ireton genius to be slow and sure and no wise "gleg at the uptak'," as a scot would say. yet for this once my good angel gave me a prompting and the wit to use it. in that clock-tick of benumbing despair when the success of the hazardous venture, and much more that i wist not of, hung suspended by a hair over the abyss of failure, i minded me of a boyish trick wherewith i used to fright the timid blacks in the old days at appleby hundred. so whilst the major was reaching for the packet—nay, when he had it in his hand—i started back with a warning cry, giving that imitation of the ominous skir-r-r of a rattlesnake which had more than once got me a cuffing from my father.
in any crisis less tremendous i should have roared a-laughing to see the doughty major and my good friend the lieutenant vie with each other in their skippings to escape the unseen enemy. but it was no laughing moment for me. at a flash my sword was out and i was hacking hither and yon at the imaginary foe. in the hurly-burly i contrived to sprawl all across the work-bench table, and the packet which would have killed my plot—and, belike, the plotter as well—was secured and quickly juggled into hiding.
"damme! see now what you've done; you've spilt my breech-charger all about the place!" rasped the major, when all was over. and then: "who the devil are ye, anyway; and what do ye want wi' me?"
i clicked my heels, saluted, and gave him the express from my lord—the right one, this time. he tore off the wrapping, swore a hearty soldier oath when he read the fore part of the letter and clapped his leg joyfully, like the brave gentleman that he was, when he came to the postscriptum.
"ye're a fine fellow, captain; ye've brought me good news," he said; then he bade an aide call captain de peyster, his second in command, and in the same breath gave tybee and me in charge to an ensign for our billeting for the night.
you will conceive that i was overjoyed at this seemingly safe and easy planting of the petard which was to blow my lord cornwallis's plans into the air; and in anticipation i saw the tide-turning battle and heard the huzzas of the mountaineer victors. but 'tis a good old saw that cautions against hallooing before you are out of the wood. captain de peyster was come, and tybee and i were taking our leave of the major, when there was a sudden commotion among the guards without, and a little man in black, his wig awry and his clothing torn by the rough man-handling of the sentries, burst into the tent.
"seize him! seize him! he is a rebel spy!" he shrieked, pointing at me.
as you would guess, all talk paused at this dramatic interruption, and all eyes were turned upon me. had the little viper been content to rest his charge upon the simple accusation, i know not what might have happened. but when he got his breath he burst out in a tirade of the foulest abuse, cursing me up one side and down the other, and ending in a gibbering fit of rage that left him pallid and foaming at the lips—and gave me my cue.
"'tis the little madman of queensborough," i said, coolly, explaining to the bluff major. "his mania takes the form of a curious hatred for me, though i know not why. two days since, he was put in arrest by my lord's authority for threatening my life and that of his master's daughter. now, it would seem, he has broken jail and followed me hither."
"a lunatic, eh? he looks it, every inch," said the major; and the blackguard lawyer, hearing my counter accusation, was doing his best to give it a savor of likelihood by fighting frantically with the two soldiers who had followed him into the tent.
"out wi' him!" commanded the major. "we've no time to foolish away wi' a bedlamite. take him away and peg him out, and gi' him a dash o' water to cool his head."
pengarvin fought like a fury, and his venomous rage defeated all his attempts to say calmly the words which might have got him a hearing. so he was haled away, spitting and struggling like a trapped wildcat; and when we were rid of him the major bade us good night again.
tybee held his peace like a good fellow till we had rolled us in our blankets before one of the camp-fires. but just as i was dropping asleep he broke out with, "i would you might tell me what piece of rebel villainy this is that i've been a winking accomplice to."
i laughed. "'tis a thing to make major ferguson rejoice, as you saw. and surely, it can be no great villainy to give a man what he's thirsting for. bide your time, lieutenant, and you shall see the outcome."
