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My forehead seemed to be encircled with a band of steel. My mouth was so parched that my tongue rattled against my palate as I tried to speak to Forrest. My fingers were so cramped with the grip on the steering wheel, a grip which had never once been relaxed during our five hours' run, that I could not relinquish my hold.
Taking it for granted this disposition would clear the camp, I held Colonel Dickey's Fourth Illinois Cavalry ready for the charge. The enemy's cavalry came down boldly at a charge, led by General Forrest in person, breaking through our line of skirmishers; when the regiment of infantry, without cause, broke, threw away their muskets, and fled.
He had never really talked of him to any one save Colonel Haviland and Titherington, the English aviator; but now this girl, who had never seen Forrest, seemed to have known him for life. Carl made vivid by his earnestness the golden hours of work together in California; the confidences in New York restaurants; his long passion for their Brazilian trip.
Forrest could have expressed the rallying, startling, almost thrilling recognition of an instrument of death, better than this actual criminal, whose last winkful of daylight was blackened by the guillotine. It reminded one of Damon, in the pitch of the tragedy: "I stand upon the scaffold I am standing on my throne."
He withdrew in the direction of Athens which place had been regarrisoned, and attacked it on the afternoon of the 1st of October, but without success. On the morning of the 2d he renewed his attack, but was handsomely repulsed. Another column under Forrest appeared before Columbia on the morning of the 1st, but did not make an attack. On the morning of the 3d he moved towards Mount Pleasant.
The sight of Fanny Forrest, standing at the north end of the gallery and holding aloft her white palm in the exact gesture of the Indian and frontiersman signalling "stop," was enough to make him bring the powerful team back on their haunches directly in front of the steps, and, before a word could be said in explanation, there, flushing feebly, was Randall McLean, striving to lift himself from his nest of robes and pillows, and salute the lady of his heart.
"I live to boast that I've been ridden over by old Forrest himself," said Pennington. "How do you know it was Forrest?" "Because his horse was eight feet high and his sword was ten feet long. He slashed at me with it a hundred times. I counted the strokes." Then Pennington stopped and laughed hysterically, Dick seized him by the arm and shook him roughly. "Stop it, Frank! Stop it!" he cried.
Forrest was looking over the colts," he explained to his employer, "and I rode across to give her a glance at The Fawn here. She'll be riding her in less than a week. What horse is she on to-day?" "The Fop," Dick replied, as if expecting the comment that was prompt as the disapproving shake of Mr. Hennessy's head. "I can never become converted to women riding stallions," muttered the veterinary.
"A red cow and calf for Joel, a white one for milk, and Dell can pick his own," said Straw, murmuring a memorandum. "Now, that little passel of cripples, and odds and ends," again nodding to Forrest, "that I'm sawing off on you, I'll bring them up with the cows. Yes, I'm coming back and stay all night." Joel lost all doubts on the moment.
Weary of their long confinement, and bent, as the sailor always seems to be on first putting into port, on a "good spree," a considerable number of her men fairly succumbed to the hospitality of the worthy islanders, a result that was not a little aggravated by the exertions of the deserter, Forrest.
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