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 and here is one’—going to Frank and lifting him up with my arm under his head so that he could drink some more water—‘would have died before any of you men could have helped him.’

“‘I believe you,’ said Frank. Just then I looked up, and my husband, as bloody as a butcher, and as muddy as a ditcher, stood before me.

“‘Why, Mary!’ he exclaimed, ‘What are you doing there? Hugging Frank Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?’

“‘I don’t care,’ I cried. ‘Frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier, and a true friend to Congress.’

“‘True, true! every word of it!’ said Caswell. ‘You are right, madam!’ with the lowest possible bow.

“I would not tell my husband what brought me there. I was so happy; and so were all! It was a glorious victory; I came just at the height of the enjoyment. I knew my husband was surprised, but I could see he was not displeased with me. It was night again before our excitement had at all subsided. Many prisoners were brought in, and among them some very obnoxious; but the worst of the tories were not taken prisoners. They were, for the most part, left in the woods and swamps wherever they were overtaken. I begged for some of the poor prisoners, and Caswell readily told me none should be hurt but such as had been guilty of murder and house-burning. In the middle of the night I again mounted my mare and started for home. Caswell and my husband wanted me to stay till next morning and they would send a party with me; but no! I wanted to see my child, and I told them they could send no party who could keep up with me. What a happy ride I had back! and with what joy did I embrace my child as he ran to meet me!”

What fiction could be stranger than such truth! And would not a plain unvarnished narrative of the sayings and doings of the actors in Revolutionary times, unknown by name, save in the neighbourhood where they lived, and now almost forgotten even by their descendants, surpass in thrilling interest any romance ever written!