“Andrew Jackson, if I catch ye fightin’ once more, I’ll be afther givin’ ye lave to lave the school.”

I parted from Andy at noon with real regret.  He was the first boy with whom I had ever had any intimacy.  And I admired him:  chiefly, I fear, for his fluent use of profanity and his fighting qualities.  He was a merry lad, with a wondrous quick temper but a good heart.  And he seemed sorry to say good-by.  He filled my pockets with June apples—­unripe, by the way—­and told me to remember him when I got till Charlestown.

I remembered him much longer than that, and usually with a shock of surprise.

CHAPTER III

CHARLESTOWN

Down and down we went, crossing great rivers by ford and ferry, until the hills flattened themselves and the country became a long stretch of level, broken by the forests only; and I saw many things I had not thought were on the earth.  Once in a while I caught glimpses of great red houses, with stately pillars, among the trees.  They put me in mind of the palaces in Bunyan, their windows all golden in the morning sun; and as we jogged ahead, I pondered on the delights within them.  I saw gangs of negroes plodding to work along the road, an overseer riding behind them with his gun on his back; and there were whole cotton fields in these domains blazing in primrose flower,—­a new plant here, so my father said.  He was willing to talk on such subjects.  But on others, and especially our errand to Charlestown, he would say nothing.  And I knew better than to press him.

One day, as we were crossing a dike between rice swamps spread with delicate green, I saw the white tops of wagons flashing in the sun at the far end of it.  We caught up with them, the wagoners cracking their whips and swearing at the straining horses.  And lo! in front of the wagons was an army,—­at least my boyish mind magnified it to such.  Men clad in homespun, perspiring and spattered with mud, were straggling along the road by fours, laughing and joking together.  The officers rode, and many of these had blue coats and buff waistcoats,—­some the worse for wear.  My father was pushing the white mare into the ditch to ride by, when one hailed him.

“Hullo, my man,” said he, “are you a friend to Congress?”

“I’m off to Charlestown to leave the lad,” said my father, “and then to fight the Cherokees.”

“Good,” said the other.  And then, “Where are you from?”

“Upper Yadkin,” answered my father.  “And you?”

The officer, who was a young man, looked surprised.  But then he laughed pleasantly.

“We’re North Carolina troops, going to join Lee in Charlestown,” said he.  “The British are sending a fleet and regiments against it.”

“Oh, aye,” said my father, and would have passed on.  But he was made to go before the Colonel, who plied him with many questions.  Then he gave us a paper and dismissed us.