way.  Scarcely, however, had they marched a mile, when the sound of voices and loud laughter apprised them that another party was near, which, as well as they could observe in the increasing gloom, was still larger than the former.  They were now obliged to make a considerable circuit, and advance still deeper into the forest—­their anxiety hourly increasing, lest the enemy should reach the Fort before themselves.  In this dilemma it was resolved that the party should separate—­the corporal determining to proceed alone by the river bank, while the others, by a detour of some miles, should endeavour to learn the force of the Yankees, and, as far as they could, their mode of attack.  From that instant the corporal knew no more; for, after two hours’ weary exertion, he reached the Fort, which, had it been but another mile distant, his strength had not held out for him to attain.

However gladly poor O’Flaherty might have hailed such information under other circumstances, now it came like a thunderbolt upon him.  Six of his small force were away, perhaps ere this made prisoners by the enemy; the Yankees, as well as he could judge, were a numerous party; and he himself totally without a single adviser—­for Malone had dined, and was, therefore, by this time in that pleasing state of indifference, in which he could only recognise an enemy, in the man that did not send round the decanter.

In the half indulged hope that his state might permit some faint exercise of the reasoning faculty, O’Flaherty walked towards the small den they had designated as the mess-room, in search of his brother officer.

As he entered the apartment, little disposed as he felt to mirth at such a moment, the tableau before him was too ridiculous not to laugh at.  At one side of the fire-place sat Malone, his face florid with drinking, and his eyeballs projecting.  Upon his head was a small Indian skull cap, with two peacock feathers, and a piece of scarlet cloth which hung down behind.  In one hand he held a smoking goblet of rum punch, and in the other a long, Indian Chibook pipe.  Opposite to him, but squatted upon the floor, reposed a red Indian, that lived in the Fort as a guide, equally drunk, but preserving, even in his liquor, an impassive, grave aspect, strangely contrasting with the high excitement of Malone’s face.  The red man wore Malone’s uniform coat, which he had put on back foremost—­his head-dress having, in all probability been exchanged for it, as an amicable courtesy between the parties.  There they sat, looking fixedly at each other; neither spoke, nor even smiled—­the rum bottle, which at brief intervals passed from one to the other, maintained a friendly intercourse that each was content with.

To the hearty fit of laughing of O’Flaherty, Malone replied by a look of drunken defiance, and then nodded to his red friend, who returned the courtesy.  As poor Tom left the room, he saw that nothing was to be hoped for in this quarter, and determined to beat the garrison to arms without any further delay.  Scarcely had he closed the door behind him, when a sudden thought flashed through his brain.  He hesitated, walked forward a few paces, stopped again, and calling out to the corporal, said—­