ook me by a new way which bore north of that we had ridden, and
though the dusk began soon to fall, he never faltered in his guiding.
Presently we left the savannah for the woods of the coast, and,
dropping down hill by a very meagre path, we came in three hours to a
creek of the sea. There by a little fire we found Shalah, and the sloop
riding at anchor below a thick covert of trees.

"Good-bye to you, Andrew," cried Ringan. "You'll be getting news of me
soon, and maybe see me in the flesh on the Tidewater. Remember the word
I told you in the Saltmarket, for I never mention names when I take the
road."

CHAPTER X.

I HEAR AN OLD SONG.

When we sailed at daybreak next morning I had the glow of satisfaction
with my own doings which is a safe precursor of misfortunes. I had
settled my business with the Free Companions, and need look for no more
trouble on that score. But what tickled my vanity was my talk with
Ringan and Lawrence at the Monacan lodge and the momentous trust they
had laid on me. With a young man's vanity, I saw myself the saviour of
Virginia, and hailed as such by the proud folk who now scorned me. My
only merits, as I was to learn in time, are a certain grasp of simple
truths that elude cleverer men, and a desperate obstinacy which is
reluctant to admit defeat. But it is the fashion of youth to glory in
what it lacks, and I flattered myself that I had a natural gift for
finesse and subtlety, and was a born deviser of wars. Again and again I
told myself how I and Lawrence's Virginians--grown under my hand to a
potent army--should roll back the invaders to the hills and beyond,
while the Sioux of the Carolinas guarded one flank and the streams of
the Potomac the other. In those days the star of the great Marlborough
had not risen; but John Churchill, the victor of Blenheim, did not
esteem himself a wiser strategist than the raw lad Andrew Garvald, now
sailing north in the long wash of the Atlantic seas.

The weather grew spiteful, and we were much buffeted about by the
contrary spring winds, so that it was late in the afternoon of the
third day that we turned Cape Henry and came into the Bay of
Chesapeake. Here a perfect hurricane fell upon us, and we sought refuge
in a creek on the shore of Norfolk county. The place was marshy, and it
was hard to find dry land for our night's lodging. Our provisions had
run low, and there seemed little enough for two hungry men who had all
day been striving wit