"Come then," said I, and grasped him by an arm, while Tom held him at
the other side; and so the three of us ran after De Lancey and his
men--for the captain had followed in vain attempt to rally them--into
the woods and down the hill. Tom's horse was shot, and mine had fled.
Our prisoner accompanied us with the unquestioning obedience of one
whose wits are for the time upon a vacation. Getting into the current
of retreat, which consisted of mounted men, men on foot, riderless
horses, and the wrathful captain whose enterprise was now quite
hopeless through the enemy's being well warned against a second
attempt, we at last reached the main road.
Here, out of a chaotic huddle, order was formed, and to the men left
horseless, mounts were given behind other men. Captain De Lancey
assigned a beast to myself and my prisoner. The big rebel clambered up
behind me, with the absent-minded acquiescence he had displayed ever
since my stroke had put his wits asleep. As we started dejectedly
Southward, full of bruises, aches, and weariness, there was some
question whether the rebels would pursue us.
"Not if their officer has an ounce of sense," said Captain De Lancey,
"being without horses, as he is. He's scarce like to play the fool by
coming down, as I did in charging up! Well, we've left some wounded to
his care. Who is their commander? Ask your prisoner, Lieutenant
Russell."
I turned on my saddle and put the query, but my man vouchsafed merely
a stupid, "Hey?"
"Shake him back to his senses," said De Lancey, stopping his horse, as
I did mine, and Tom his.
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