of something more than the hurrying tread and mingling voices of
soldiers rapidly embarking. Had his men been opposed? If so, they should
not be without a leader--and with that thought he sprang forward. He was
too late. Already they had fought their way through the band of
villagers, who, maddened by the desolation of their homes, had gathered
together such weapons as they could, and led on by one gallant and
experienced soldier, whom their burning houses had lighted to their aid,
were seeking to cut off the retreat of some amongst their invaders, and
thus to revenge those whom they had been unable to protect. Captain
Percy's men had, as we have said, fought their way through this
band--not without loss. He now stood alone--one against many--with only
his good sword to aid, for his pistols he had given to Mr. Sinclair. To
retreat unobserved was impossible, for his own cry of "Forward--forward,
my men!" uttered as he rushed to the scene of the just decided contest,
had betrayed him--to fight against such odds with the faintest hope of
success was equally impossible, and to yield was an alternative which
there seemed to be no intention of offering him. In an instant twenty
swords flashed before his eyes--twenty muskets were pointed at his
breast. That instant had been his last had not Major Scott, the leader
of whom we have spoken, sprang forward and placed himself before him.
Himself a brave and generous soldier, he could not tamely witness such
butchery; and pale with the terror for another which he had never felt
for himself, he exclaimed, "Yield yourself, sir, quickly--a moment's
delay, and I cannot protect you."

Captain Percy's sword was in the hand of his noble foe, who, linking his
arm in his, turned to face his own band, shouting as he did so,
"Back--back on your lives--he is my prisoner, and who touches him makes
me his enemy."

The day had passed with all its exciting incidents. The glow of sunset
had faded into twilight's soberer hues, and these had deepened into the
darkness of night. With the darkness silence had settled upon the
streets of Havre de Grace. They who had trodden, for hours, with burning
hearts around the sites of their desecrated homes, retired to the house
of some charitable and more fortunate neighbor, to seek such rest as
misery may hope. They went with sullen as well as sad brows, and as they
passed one house in the village they muttered "curses not loud, but
deep." This was the house i