“Go on,” said Christie, and he made haste to tell the little story that was so full of intense interest to his listener.

“I never saw the Captain so worked up as he was by the sight of them wretched women.  He fed and warmed ’em, comforted their poor scared souls, give what clothes we could find, buried the dead baby with his own hands, and nussed the other little creeters as if they were his own.  It warn’t safe to keep ’em more ’n a day, so when night come the Captain got ’em off down the river as quiet as he could.  Me and another man helped him, for he wouldn’t trust no one but himself to boss the job.  A boat was ready,—­blest if I know how he got it,—­and about midnight we led them women down to it.  The boy was a strong lad, and any of ’em could help row, for the current would take ’em along rapid.  This way, ma’am; be we goin’ too fast for you?”

“Not fast enough.  Finish quick.”

“We got down the bank all right, the Captain standing in the little path that led to the river to keep guard, while Bates held the boat stiddy and I put the women in.  Things was goin’ lovely when the poor gal who’d lost her baby must needs jump out and run up to thank the Captain agin for all he’d done for her.  Some of them sly rascals was watchin’ the river:  they see her, heard Bates call out, ’Come back, wench; come back!’ and they fired.  She did come back like a shot, and we give that boat a push that sent it into the middle of the stream.  Then we run along below the bank, and come out further down to draw off the rebs.  Some followed us and we give it to ’em handsome.  But some warn’t deceived, and we heard ’em firin’ away at the Captain; so we got back to him as fast as we could, but it warn’t soon enough.—­Take my arm, Mis’ Sterlin’:  it’s kinder rough here.”

“And you found him?”—­

“Lyin’ right acrost the path with two dead men in front of him; for he’d kep ’em off like a lion till the firin’ brought up a lot of our fellers and the rebs skedaddled.  I thought he was dead, for by the starlight I see he was bleedin’ awful,—­hold on, my dear, hold on to me,—­he warn’t, thank God, and looked up at me and sez, sez he, ’Are they safe?’ ‘They be, Captain,’ sez I.  ‘Then it’s all right,’ sez he, smilin’ in that bright way of his, and then dropped off as quiet as a lamb.  We got him back to camp double quick, and when the surgeon see them three wounds he shook his head, and I mistrusted that it warn’t no joke.  So when the Captain come to I asked him what I could do or git for him, and he answered in a whisper, ‘My wife.’”

For an instant Christie did “hold on” to Mr. Wilkins’s arm, for those two words seemed to take all her strength away.  Then the thought that David was waiting for her strung her nerves and gave her courage to bear any thing.

“Is he here?” she asked of her guide a moment later, as he stopped before a large, half-ruined house, through whose windows dim lights and figures were seen moving to and fro.