d. The vast, impenetrable darkness of
the forest overshadowed us, full of threatening suggestion and peopled
with nameless terrors.

Colonel Gage remained with us with such of his men as he could hold
together, and among them I saw Lieutenant Allen. He had been wounded in
the shoulder, and at the suggestion of Captain Orme mounted the tumbrel
and drove the horses, while I walked beside it. What agonies the stricken
man within endured, tossed from side to side as the cart bumped along the
rough road, through ruts and over rocks and stumps of trees, must have
been beyond description, but not once during all that long night did I
hear a groan or complaint from him. Once he asked for water, and as Orme
and I stooped over him I heard him murmur as though to himself, "Who
would have thought it?" and again, "Who would have thought it?" Then he
drank the water mechanically and lay back, and said no more.

The disaster had been too sudden, too unexpected, too complete, for any
of us to fully realize. It seemed impossible that this handful of
terror-stricken fugitives should be all that remained of the proud army
to which we had belonged, and that this army had been defeated by a few
hundred Indians. Few of us had seen above a dozen of the enemy,--we of
Waggoner's company were the only ones who had looked down upon that
yelling mob in the ravine,--and scarce knew by whom we had been
slaughtered. It was incredible that two regiments of the best troops in
England should have been utterly routed by so contemptible a foe. The
reason refused to acknowledge such a thing.

I was plodding along, wearily enough, thinking of all this, when I heard
my name called, and glancing up, saw Allen looking round the corner of
the wagon cover.

"Won't you come up here, Lieutenant Stewart?" he asked. "There is ample
room for two, and 't is no use to tire yourself needlessly."

I accepted gratefully, though somewhat astonished at his courtesy, and in
a moment was on the seat beside him. He fell silent for a time, nor was I
in any mood for talk, for Spiltdorph's fate and young Harry Marsh's
sudden end weighed upon me heavily.

"Lieutenant Stewart," he said at last, "I feel that I did you and the
Virginia troops a grave injustice when I chose to question their courage.
What I saw to-day has opened my eyes to many things. In all the army, the
Virginia troops were the only ones who kept their wits about them and
proved themselves men. I wish to with