with a groan.  With a curse, I swung my sword—­a cut-and-thrust blade-of-all-work, so to speak—­with some wild idea of slicing off a part of the rebel’s head; but my weapon was hacked where it met him, and so it merely made him reel and drop his musket.  The darkness falling the blacker after the glare of the firing, must have cloaked these doings from the other rebels.  Tom rose, and the two of us fell upon our enemy at once, I hissing out the words, “Call for quarter, you dog!”

“Very well,” he said faintly, quite docile from having had his senses knocked out of him by my blow, and not knowing at all what was going on.

“Come then,” said I, and grasped him by 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!”