an arm, while Tom held him at
the other side; and so the three of us ran after De Lancey and his
men--for the captain had followed in vain attempt to rally them--into
the woods and down the hill. Tom's horse was shot, and mine had fled.

Our prisoner accompanied us with the unquestioning obedience of one
whose wits are for the time upon a vacation. Getting into the current
of retreat, which consisted of mounted men, men on foot, riderless
horses, and the wrathful captain whose enterprise was now quite
hopeless through the enemy's being well warned against a second
attempt, we at last reached the main road.

Here, out of a chaotic huddle, order was formed, and to the men left
horseless, mounts were given behind other men. Captain De Lancey
assigned a beast to myself and my prisoner. The big rebel clambered up
behind me, with the absent-minded acquiescence he had displayed ever
since my stroke had put his wits asleep. As we started dejectedly
Southward, full of bruises, aches, and weariness, there was some
question whether the rebels would pursue us.

"Not if their officer has an ounce of sense," said Captain De Lancey,
"being without horses, as he is. He's scarce like to play the fool by
coming down, as I did in charging up! Well, we've left some wounded to
his care. Who is their commander? Ask your prisoner, Lieutenant
Russell."

I turned on my saddle and put the query, but my man vouchsafed merely
a stupid, "Hey?"

"Shake him back to his senses," said De Lancey, stopping his horse, as
I did mine, and Tom his.

But shaking did not suffice.

"This infernal darkness helps to cloud his wits," suggested the
captain. "Flash a light before his eyes. Here, Tippet, your lantern,
please."

I continued shaking the prisoner, while the lantern was brought.
Suddenly the man gave a start, looked around into the black night, and
inquired in a husky, small voice:

"Who are you? Where are we?"

"We are your captors," said I, "and upon the Hudson River road, bound
for Kingsbridge. And now, sir, who are you?"

But the rays of the lantern, falling that instant upon his face,
answered my question for me.

"Cornelius!" I cried.

"What, sir? Why--'tis Mr. Russell!"

"Ay, and here is Tom Faringfield," said I.

"Well, bless my soul!" exclaimed the pedagogue, grasping the hand that
Tom held to him out of the darkness.

"Mr. Cornelius, since that is your name," put in De Lancey, to whom
time was precious. "Will you please t