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 the middle of the field. Am I
right, good woman?"

"Yes."

"And nobody lives in it? It has no door to it?"

"There ha'n't been anybody in it these seven years."

"I know the place very well," said the sergeant, very thoughtfully;
"there is woods just on this side of it."

"That's true," replied the dame; "but what is it you are thinking
about, Mr. Robinson?"

"How long before this rain began was it that they quitted this house?"

"Not above fifteen minutes."

"Mistress Ramsay, bring me the rifle and pistol both--and the
powder-horn and bullets."

"As you say, Mr. Horse-Shoe," answered the dame, as she turned round
to leave the room; "but I am sure I can't suspicion what you mean to
do."

In a few moments the woman returned with the weapons, and gave them to
the sergeant.

"Where is Andy?" asked Horse-Shoe.

The hostess went to the door and called her son, and, almost
immediately afterwards, a sturdy boy of about twelve or fourteen years
of age entered the apartment, his clothes dripping with rain. He
modestly and shyly seated himself on a chair near the door, with his
soaked hat flapping down over a face full of freckles and not less
rife with the expression of an open, dauntless hardihood of character.

"How would you like a scrummage, Andy, with them Scotchmen that stole
your mother's chickens this morning?" asked Horse-Shoe.

"I'm agreed," replied the boy, "if you will tell me what to
do." . . . . . .

Horse-Shoe now loaded the fire-arms, and having slung the pouch across
his body, he put the pistol into the hands of the boy; then
shouldering his rifle, he and his young ally left the room. Even on
this occasion, serious as it might be deemed, the sergeant did not
depart without giving some manifestation of that lightheartedness
which no difficulties ever seemed to have the power to conquer. He
thrust his head back into the room, after he had crossed the
threshold, and said with an encouraging laugh, "Andy and me will teach
them, Mistress Ramsay, Pat's point of war--we will _surround_ the
ragamuffins."

"Now, Andy, my lad," said Horse-Shoe, after he had mounted Captain
Peter, "you must get up behind me. . . . ." . . . . By the time that
his instructions were fully impressed upon the boy, our adventurous
forlorn hope, as it may fitly be called, had arrived at the place
which Horse-Shoe Robinson had designated for the commencement of
active operations. They had a clear view of the old field, and it
afforded them a strong assurance that the enemy was exactly where they
wished him to be, when they discovered smoke arising from the chimney
of the hovel. Andrew was soon posted behind a tree, and Robinson only
tarried a moment to make the boy repeat the signals agreed on, in
order to ascertain that he had them correctly in his memory. Being
satisfied from this experiment that the intelligence of his young
companion might be depended upon, he galloped across the intervening
space, and, in a few seconds, abruptly reined up his steed, in the
very doorway of the hut. The party within was gathered around a fire
at the further end, and, in the corner near the door, were four
muskets thrown together against the wall. To spring from his saddle
and thrust himself one pace inside of the door, was a movement which
the sergeant executed in an instant, shouting at the same time--

"Halt! File off right and left to both sides of the house, and wait
orders. I demand the surrender of all here," he said, as he planted
himself between the party and their weapons. "I will shoot down the
first man who budges a foot."

"Leap to your arms," cried the young officer who commanded the little
party inside of the house. "Why do you stand?"

"I don't want to do you or your men any harm, young man," said
Robinson, as he brought his rifle to a level, "but, by my father's
son, I will not leave one of you to be put upon a muster-roll if you
raise a hand at this moment."

Both parties now stood, for a brief space, eyeing each other in
fearful suspense, during which there was an expression of doubt and
irresolution visible on the countenances of the soldiers, as they
surveyed the broad proportions, and met the stern glance of the
sergeant, whilst the delay, also, began to raise an apprehension in
the mind of Robinson that his stratagem would be discovered.

"Shall I let loose upon them, Captain?" said Andrew Ramsay, now
appearing, most unexpectedly to Robinson, at the door of the hut.
"Come on, boys!" he shouted, as he turned his face towards the field.

"Keep them outside of the door--stand fast," cried the doughty
sergeant, with admirable promptitude, in the new and sudden posture of
his affairs caused by this opportune appearance of the boy. "Sir, you
see that it's not worth while fighting five to one; and I should be
sorry to be the death of any of your brave fellows; so, take my
advice, and surrender to the Continental Congress and this scrap of
its army which I command."

During this appeal the sergeant was ably seconded by the lad outside,
who was calling out first on one name, and then on another, as if in
the presence of a troop. The device succeeded, and the officer within,
believing the forbearance of Robinson to be real, at length said:--

"Lower your rifle, sir. In the presence of a superior force, taken by
surprise, and without arms, it is my duty to save bloodshed. With the
promise of fair usage, and the rights of prisoners of war, I surrender
this little foraging party under my command."

"I'll make the terms agreeable," replied the sergeant. "Never doubt
me, sir. Right hand file, advance, and receive the arms of the
prisoners!"

"I'm here, captain," said Andrew, in a conceited tone, as if it were a
mere occasion of merriment; and the lad quickly entered the house and
secured the weapons, retreating with them some paces from the door.

"Now, sir," said Horse-Shoe to the Ensign, "your sword, and whatever
else you mought have about you of the ammunitions of war!"

The officer delivered his sword and a pair of pocket pistols.

As Horse-Shoe received these tokens of victory, he asked, with a
lambent smile, and what he intended to be an elegant and condescending
composure, "Your name, sir, if I mought take the freedom?"

"Ensign St. Jermyn, of his Majesty's seventy-first regiment of light
infantry."

"Ensign, your sarvant," added Horse-Shoe, still preserving this
unusual exhibition of politeness. "You have defended your post like an
old sodger, although you ha'n't much beard on your chin; but, seeing
you have given up, you shall be treated like a man who has done his
duty. You will walk out now, and form yourselves in line at the door.
I'll engage my men shall do you no harm; they are of a marciful
breed."

When the little squad of prisoners submitted to this command, and came
to the door, they were stricken with equal astonishment and
mortification to find, in place of the detachment of cavalry which
they expected to see, nothing but a man, a boy, and a horse. Their
first emotions were express

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