“And yet, Colonel,” said a surly-looking backwoodsman, who sat with one hand thrust into the bosom of a hunting frock, and the other playing with the richly ornamented hilt of a dagger, while a round hat, surmounted by a huge cockade, was perched knowingly over his left ear, covering, or rather shadowing, little more than one fourth of his head—­“I reckon as how this here sort of thing comes within the spy act.  Here’s a commissioned officer of King George, taken not only in our lines, but in our very trenches in the disguise of a private soger.  What say you, Captain Buckhorn?” turning to one somewhat younger and less uncouth, who sat nest him habited in a similar manner.  “Don’t you think it comes within the spy act?”

Captain Buckhorn, however, not choosing to hazard an opinion on the subject, merely shrugged his shoulders, puffed his cigar, and looked at the Colonel as if he expected him to decide the question.

“As I am a true Tennessee man, bred and born, Major Killdeer,” said the Aid-de-Camp Jackson, “I can’t see how that can lie.  To come within the spy act, a man must be in plain clothes, or in the uniform of his enemy.  Now, Liftenant Grantham, I take it, comes in the British uniform, and what signifies a whistle if he wears gold lace or cotton tape, provided it be stuck upon a scarlet coat, and that in the broad face of day, with arms in his hand,—­aye, and a devil of a desperation to make good use of them too”—­he added, with a good naturedly malicious leer of the eye towards the subject of his defence.

“At all events, in my conceit, it’s an attempt to undervally himself,” pursued the tenacious Kentuckian Major.  “Suppose his name warn’t known as it is, he’d have passed for a private soger, and would have been exchanged for one, without our being any the wiser; whereby the United States’ service, I calculate, would have lost an officer in the balance of account.”

“Although there cannot be the slightest difficulty,” observed Colonel Forrester, “in determining on the doubt first started by you, Major Killdeer, I confess, that what you have now suggested involves a question of some delicacy.  In the spirit, although not altogether in the letter, of your suggestion, I agree; so much so, Mr. Grantham,” he added, turning to Gerald, “that in violence to the inclination I should otherwise have felt to send you back to your lines, on parole of honor, I shall be compelled to detain you until the pleasure of my government be known as to the actual rank in which you are to be looked upon.  I should say that, taken in arms as a combatant without rank, we have no right to know you as any thing else; but as I may be in error, I am sure you will see how utterly impossible it is for me to take any such responsibility upon myself, especially after the difficulty you have just heard started.”