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Campbell MSS. Preston's letter. Stewart's Narrative. Led by Isaac Shelby, James Stewart, and George Matthews. Campbell MSS. Preston's letter. "Am. Archives" Letter of November 4, 1774. It is doubtful if Logan was in this fight; the story about Cornstalk killing one of his men who flinched may or may not be true. Hale, 199, the plunder was afterwards sold at auction for L74 4s. 6d.
It was these men who opposed the further advance of Sir Herbert Stewart's column at Abou Klea. It is unnecessary to describe the desperate assault these gallant warriors made on the somewhat cumbrous and ill-arranged square of the British force, or the ease and tremendous loss with which these fanatics were beaten off, and never allowed to come to close quarters, save at one point.
"Not a bit queerer than boys," spoke up Judy. "Well, see if the present game does not prove them so," said Norton. "What'll you do with Stewart's and a dressmaker, Hatty Delaplaine?" "Don't you see? I'd never wear the same dress twice, and I wouldn't have the same for breakfast or luncheon or dinner; and I would have the most beautiful dresses that ever were seen."
I beat the chandler up the steps, and took stand in front of the merchant, and I called out to them to fall back. To my astonishment they halted. The skirts of the crowd were now come to the foot of the little porch. I faced them with my hand on Mr. Stewart's arm, without a thought of what to do next, and expecting violence. There was a second's hush.
Then as the cool wind blew down from the heights, loosening her tumbled hair, she was compelled to see strands of it curl softly into Stewart's face, before his eyes, across his lips. She was unable to reach it with her free hand, and therefore could not refasten it. And when she shut her eyes she felt those loosened strands playing against his cheeks.
The sergeant could not obey Stewart's order the soldiers at once clustered around it, and having been slightly broken as it was dashed upon the rugged resting place, to their great delight, discovered that it held not rum, but pure sweet water, and in such quantity that all could drink to their satisfaction.
Stewart reached the summit of the ridge and, though only a few rods ahead, he waved to her, sweeping his hand round to what he saw beyond. It was an impressive gesture, and Madeline, never having climbed as high as this, anticipated much. Majesty surmounted the last few steps and, snorting, halted beside Stewart's black. To Madeline the scene was as if the world had changed.
It was then that Florence's face, changing, took on the hard, stern sharpness so typical of a cowboy's. Madeline had caught glimpses of that expression in Alfred's face, and on Stewart's when he was silent, and on Stillwell's always. It was a look of iron and fire unchangeable, unquenchable will.
She told me a great deal about Mr. Stewart's health, which I learned was far less satisfactory than his letters had given reason to suspect. In reply to questions, I told her of my business and my daily life here in Albany. I did not ask her in return about herself. She seemed eager to forestall any possible inquiry on this point, and hastened to inform me as to my old acquaintances in the Valley.
Altogether it was calculated that Sussex had burned three hundred villages and blown up fifty castles, and forty more "strong houses," some of these latter, however, being little more than border peels. Mr. Stewart's accounts were the more moving in that he spoke in a quiet delicate tone, and used little picturesque phrases in his speech. "Twelve years ago," said Mr.
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