“Tarleton was in a great rage, I warrant you,” said one big, raw-boned militiaman.  “He rode up to Major Lockwood’s house with his dragoons, and says he:  ‘Burn me this arch rebel’s nest!’ And the next minute the Yagers were running in and out, setting fire to the curtains and lighting bundles of hay in every room.  And I saw the Major’s lady stand there on her doorstep and demand the reason for such barbarity—­ the house already afire behind her.  Mrs. Hunt and the servants came out with the children in their arms.  And, ‘By God, madam,’ says Tarleton, ’when shots are fired at my men from houses by the inhabitants of any town in America, I’ll burn the town and hang the men if I can get ’em.’  Some Hussars came up, driving before them the Major’s fine herd of imported cattle—­ and a troop of his brood mares—­ the same he has so often had to hide in the Rock Hills.  ’Stand clear, madam!’ bawls Tarleton.  ’I’ll suffer nothing to be removed from that house!’ At this the Major’s lady gives one long look after her children, which Betsy Hunt and the blacks are carrying through the orchard; then she calmly enters the burning house and comes out again with a big silver platter and a load of linen from the dining-room in her arms.  And at that a trooper draws his sabre and strikes her with the flat o’ the blade—­ God, what a blow!—­ so that the lady falls to her knees and the heavy silver platter rolls out on the grass and the fine linen is in the mud.  I saw her blacks lift her and get her off through the orchard.  I sneaked out of the brook willows, took a long shot at the beast who struck her, and then pulled foot.”

There was a shacked silence among the officers who had gathered to listen.  Until this moment our white enemies had offered no violence to ladies.  So this brutality toward the Major’s lady astounded us.

Somebody said in a low voice: 

“They’ve fired the church, now.”

Major Lockwood’s house was also burning furiously, as also were his barns and stables, his sheds, and the new, unfinished barracks.  We could see it all very plainly from the hilltop where we had gathered.

“Alsop Hunt was taken,” said a militiaman.  “They robbed him of his watch and purse, damning him for a rebel broad-brim.  He’s off to the Provost, I fear.”

“They took Mr. Reed, too,” said another.  “They had a dozen neighbours under guard when I left.”

Sheldon, looking like death, sat his saddle a little apart.  No one spoke to him.  For even a deeper disgrace had now befallen the dragoons in the loss of their standard left behind in Lockwood’s house.

“What a pitiful mess!” whispered Boyd.  “Is there nothing to be done but sit here and see the red beasts yonder sack the town?”

Before I could answer, I caught the sound of distant firing on the Lewisboro road.  Colonel Thomas reared stiffly in his saddle, and: 

“Those are my own men!” he said loudly, “or I lie like a Tory!”