ong and laugh of those cheery black folk were hushed. Right and left,
everybody's servants were on the gallop for news. The country taverns
were thronged with horsemen, who drank and cursed and brawled at the
bars, each bringing his gloomy story. The army had been surprised. The
troops had fallen into an ambuscade, and had been cut up almost to a
man. All the officers were taken down by the French marksmen and the
savages. The General had been wounded, and carried off the field in his
sash. Four days afterwards the report was that the General was dead, and
scalped by a French Indian.

Ah, what a scream poor Mrs. Mountain gave, when Gumbo brought this
news from across the James River, and little Fanny sprang crying to her
mother's arms! "Lord God Almighty, watch over us, and defend my boy!"
said Mrs. Esmond, sinking down on her knees, and lifting her rigid hands
to Heaven. The gentlemen were not at home when this rumour arrived, but
they came in an hour or two afterwards, each from his hunt for news.
The Scots tutor did not dare to look up and meet the widow's agonising
looks. Harry Warrington was as pale as his mother. It might not be true
about the manner of the General's death--but he was dead. The army had
been surprised by Indians, and had fled, and been killed without seeing
the enemy. An express had arrived from Dunbar's camp. Fugitives were
pouring in there. Should he go and see? He must go and see. He and stout
little Dempster armed themselves and mounted, taking a couple of mounted
servants with them.

They followed the northward track which the expeditionary army had hewed
out for itself, and at every step which brought them nearer to the scene
of action, the disaster of the fearful day seemed to magnify. The day
after the defeat a number of the miserable fugitives from the fatal
battle of the 9th July had reached Dunbar's camp, fifty miles from the
field. Thither poor Harry and his companions rode, stopping stragglers,
asking news, giving money, getting from one and all the same gloomy
tale--a thousand men were slain--two-thirds of the officers were
down--all the General's aides-de-camp were hit. Were hit?--but were they
killed? Those who fell never rose again. The tomahawk did its work upon
them. O brother, brother! All the fond memories of their youth, all the
dear remembrances of their childhood, the love and the laughter, the
tender romantic vows which they had pledged to each other as lads, were
recalle