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Updated: June 17, 2025
It lacked only an hour of midnight when the team, making a wide detour to avoid being heard from the Lawrenceburg, reached our location on the slope of the spur. We all helped with the loading; and when all was ready, Gifford, whose turn it was to go to town, borrowed Barrett's shot-gun and climbed to a seat beside the driver.
The Alan Breck Overture was surpassed, and Gifford Barrett's name was in every mouth; but Phebe, while she watched him, tried in vain to realize that the man now bowing before the footlights was the man she had capsized upon Bannock Hill, that the right arm which had swayed the orchestra, now banging their approval on their racks, was the arm she had broken, once upon a time, and then tugged back into place.
A party of British crossed the south bridge, made their way to Colonel Barrett's house, and burned the cannon carriages stored in his barn. Roger was glad to see Captain Isaac Davis and the minute-men of Acton march up the hill to join them. Captain Davis was thirty years old. He had kissed his young wife and four children good-by.
Jameson, knowing of the needs of Miss Barrett's health, had offered to take her to Italy; but her offer had been refused. Her astonishment may be imagined when, after this short interval of time, she found her invalid friend in Paris as the wife of Robert Browning. The prospect filled her with almost as much dismay as pleasure.
Gifford and I both said No, deferring to Barrett's better judgment. And since this talk was getting us nowhere and was wasting time which was worth ten dollars a minute, we broke it off and went to work.
Why do you wish to go? This was something of a poser, but Barrett's brain worked quickly. 'I wanted to send a telegram, sir. 'Very well. But' with suspicion 'why did you not ask Mr Philpott? Your House-master can give you leave to go to Stapleton. 'I couldn't find him, sir. This was true, for he had not looked. 'Ah. Very well. 'Thank you, sir.
In the town some few gun-carriages, barrels of flour, wooden mess-bowls, and wooden spoons were found and destroyed. At Colonel Barrett's, acknowledges Berniere, "we did not find so much as we expected, but what there was we destroyed."
On the eastern slope, just opposite the center of the battalion park of artillery, Major Felix H. Robertson located his headquarters camp, with Sergeant Major James T. Searcy as his aide. Ranged along the western slope, were the four batteries of four guns each, that composed the battalion, Lumsden's on the right, then Barrett's, Massingale's and Havis' batteries.
On yet another occasion it was Mr Kenyon who drove her to see the strange new sight of the Great Western train coming in; the spectators procured chairs, but the rush of people and the earth-thunder of the engine almost overcame Miss Barrett's nerves, which on a later trial shrank also from the more harmonious thunder of the organ of the Abbey.
Barrett's cigar had gone out, but he seemed not to know it. His eyes were half-closed, and for the moment his strong clean-cut young face looked almost haggard. I let him take his own time. In such confidences it is only the sympathetic ear that is welcome; speech in any sort can scarcely be less than impertinent. "I shall never forget our last summer together," he went on, after a bit.
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