Let it be understood by all my military acquaintances, that I mean no offence in what I have here written.  Nor must it be inferred because I have thus accoutered the major, who must be set down for a military politician, that such is the fashion with all great majors and colonels; for indeed history furnishes no account of their going to war with what is generally accepted as their most vital parts protected with pocket handkerchiefs, not even when fleeing before the enemies’ bullets.  Nor would this history sustain the reputation for truth I have from the beginning resolved it shall maintain with generations yet unborn, were I to leave unrecorded this act of heroism, seeing that it has so many counterparts among those who affect the profession of arms, and are honest enough in their belief that the nation’s battles cannot be fought without them.

And now, having prepared himself for a tilt with assailants, rather than a search for his pig and poultry, he strode forth, his wife following a few steps behind, lantern in hand, and so regulating the shadow as not to obstruct his vision.  Being a woman of great kindness, and much given to religion, his wife would pause every few steps, and enjoin the major to treat his adversary, if any he should chance to meet, with great consideration.  There was no knowing, she said, but that it might all be the work of some mischievous boys.  “That may be, wife; but they are set on by older heads.  There’s Captain Tom Baker, and Sergeant Prentice, of the Invincibles, in it somewhere!  And they’ll never stop molesting me until they have felt the weight of this sword!” returned the major, touching the hilt of his sword, and quickening his pace.

They had not proceeded far, when the rippling of a brook, and a slight rustling of leaves among some bushes by the roadside, caused the major to halt suddenly, half unsheath his sword, and place himself in an attitude of defence.  “I said we should find them, wife; and may the devil take me if I don’t make dead men of them in a trice.”

“Truly, husband, it is only the wind and the brook you hear, and which, at this hour of the night, sounds very like the talking of conspiring men,” interupted the woman, as if to encourage the major, who shrugged his shoulders, and began to show signs of fear in the backward and cautious movement of his steps.  “As I hope to be saved, wife,” returned our hero, in a modified tone of voice, “though it takes more than a trifle to alarm me, who has seen much service in Mexico, I am not mistaken.  A vagabond of some kind lurks in the bushes yonder, for I heard his voice as distinctly as if it had been bawled into my ears.  There! hear you not the sound of his footsteps?  Go you ahead with the light, and leave the rest to me.”

“Pray, husband, do not let your fancies lead you to rash acts.”

“Rash acts?” rejoined the major, “to kill a score of such lurking vagabonds would only be doing good service for the devil, who merits one’s aid now and then.”  In evidence of her faith in the cause of the sounds, the good woman advanced forward, and, followed by the major, with his sword drawn and braced, they proceeded cautiously on over the bridge, though not until our hero had several times stopped to listen, which he declared was enjoined by every rule of the profession, and was a means to avoid surprise while advancing upon an enemy.