But when the sergeant, at the order of Marion, led up to him the horse,

richly furnitured, as aforesaid, the confusion and grimace of the lad
were truly diverting. He blushed, he chuckled, he looked around and around

upon his comrades, as if at a loss how to contain himself, or what to do.
At length he made shift to reach out his hand to the bridle,

though deeply blushing, and said, "Dear me now! well la!
what will mammy think, and the children, when they come to see me,

riding up here on this famous horse, and all these fine things!
I know well enough how mammy will have a hearty cry, that's what she will;

for she will think I STOLED him. But if any of the folks up our way
should go to jaw about me, at that rate, I trust as how, general,

you will take my part, and set 'em straight."
Marion smiled, and commended him for a good boy, and told him

to give his compliments to his mother, and also his thanks to her,
for being such a true mother to her children, in bringing them up so honestly.

But the general was told the next day, that Gwinn had said,
"he always hated the tories, because they would not fight for their country;

and, since the general had paid him so well for killing one of them,
he was determined to try if he could not kill more."

And he did kill more too, I'll warrant him, for he was with us
to the end of the war, in many a hard brush. And then he was such a dead shot

with a rifle! Standing, running, or flying, it was all one to Gwinn.
He would make nothing, at a hundred yards, to stop you a buck, at full tilt

through the woods, as hard as he could crack it; and at every clip,
to bring down the squirrels from the tops of the tallest trees of the forest.

Chapter 18.
Mutiny in our camp -- Marion suppresses it -- his address to the officers.

This war, though on our part a war of virtue, was not always so pleasant
as might have been expected. Instances of human weakness often occurred

to disturb our harmony, and fill good men's hearts with sorrow.
For how, without grief, could we behold a man fighting by our side to-day

like a hero, for the rights of bleeding humanity; to-morrow,
like a headstrong child, or a headlong beast, trampling them under foot!

And oh! how sad to see nature's goodliest gifts, of manly size, and strength,
and courage, set off, too, in the proudest ornaments of war,

the fierce cocked hat, the flaming regimentals, and golden shoulder-knots,
all defeated of their power to charm, nay, all turned into pity and contempt,

in consequence of our knowing the owners to be gamblers, swindlers,
and villains!

Such was the truly pitiable case of some, in this our glorious war of liberty.
For want of a good education, I mean the early precepts of virtue,

from a parent's lips, with a few excellent books, to lift the noble kindlings
of the soul, the flame could not ascend to what was heavenly and just;

but with inverted point, struck downward to selfishness and vice.
Men of this character, though enlisted in the war of liberty,

were not her soldiers, felt not her enthusiasm, nor her consolations.
They did not walk the camp, glorying in themselves, as men called

to the honor of humbling the tyrant, and of establishing
the golden reign of equal laws, in their own dear country,

and thence, perhaps over all the earth. Alas! no! strangers to
these divine views and wishes, they look no higher than sordid gain!

and as there was but little of that reward to be had, they were often
gloomy and low spirited. "Their life," they were wont murmuringly to say,

"was wearing away; their country gave them nothing, and they must e'en
try to do something for themselves."

In truth, PLUNDER, PLUNDER, was what they were spelling for. They were
continually darting their greedy eyes upon every piece of merchandise

that came in their way. They had the heart not only to plunder the tories,
and to bring their unoffending children to want; but also to rob and ruin

their own friends the whigs, if they could but do it with impunity.
I am led to these reflections by a most shameful affair,

which happened in our camp about this time, and which threatened consequences
as serious as their source was shameful.

We were encamped near the house of a rich man by the name of Cross. His wife,
in sense and domesticvirtues, was an Abigail; while as to her husband,

his riches, though great, were his least recommendation,
for he possessed all the generosity and honor of the noblest patriot.

His soul delighted in Marion, whom he called the `pillar of our cause'.
Oft as he took leave of us, for battle, his bosom would heave,

his visage swell, and the tear would start into his eye.
And when he saw us return again, loaded with the spoils of victory,

he would rush to meet us, with all a brother's transports on his face.
His flocks and herds, his meat-houses and corn-fields, were all our own;

while his generous looks would tell us that he still wished for more to give.
Indeed, often at the most imminent risk of his life,

he used to send us intelligence, and also furnish us with powder and ball.
But this most amiable of men, was not permitted to see our cause triumphant;

for in the midst of his sighs and tears for his struggling country,
God took him to his own rest. The messenger of death came to him,

in the character of a nervous fever. As the physicians
did not like to visit him on his plantation, he was carried into Georgetown

to be near them.
Marion went to see him the morning he set out; and immediately after

his departure, fixed a guard at his house, that nothing might be disturbed.
One would indeed have supposed it unnecessary to place a guard over such

a house as his. But alas! what will not a base heart-hardening avarice do!
And I blush while I relate, that, the very day after our generous friend

was carried off, pale and hollow-eyed, to Georgetown,
whence he never more returned, two of our officers, one of them a MAJOR,

went to his house to pillage it!
The guard, of course, opposed: but they damned him for

an "impertinent rascal", and swore that if he opened his mouth again,
they would spit him on the spot. Then bursting the door, they went in,

and after forcing the desks, drawers, and trunks, they rifled them
of whatever they wanted.

This most unsoldierly and detestable transaction was communicated to me
by Mrs. Cross herself; whose servant came to me next morning

with her compliments, and requested that I would go down to her,
where she was sitting in her carriage at the road. I waited on her at once;

and greatly to my grief, found her in tears. I entreated to know the cause.
"Oh, sir," replied she, "we are ruined! we are ruined! Poor Mr. Cross is,

I fear, on his deathbed. And then what will become of me
and my poor children, when he is gone, and every thing is taken from us!"

She then reminded me of her husband's love to general Marion and his people,
from whom he withheld nothing, but gladly imparted of all he had,

though often at the risk of his utter destruction from the British and tories.
"And yet, after all," said she, "soon as my poor sick husband's back

is turned, your people can go and break him up!"
"Madam," I replied, "I hope 'tis no offence to ask your pardon;

for I really cannot admit a suspicion so disgraceful to our troop:
and to my certain knowledge, general Marion placed a guard over your house

the moment Mr. Cross left it."
"Yes, sir," said she, "that's very true. And it was like general Marion.

But some of our officers have forced the guard and broken open the house,
and this instant I saw one of them with Mr. Cross's sword by his side."

I never felt more mortified in my life. Then, after entreating her
to be perfectly easy about her house and furniture in future,

I took leave of this excellent lady, and flew to the guard
to see if what I had heard were true.

He told me it was too true; mentioned the names of the officers;
and even went so far as to show me one of them strutting about

with the sword by his side!
It was well for the wretch, that I did not possess the eyes of a basilisk,

for I should certainly have blasted him on the spot. Pausing, however,
one salutary moment, to confirm myself in the love of virtue,

by noting how abominable a villain looks, I hasted to the general
with the hateful tale; which excited in his honest bosom the indignation

which I had expected. Then calling one of his aids, he said,
"Go to major ----, and desire him to send me Mr. Cross's sword immediately."

The aid was presently back, but without the sword. On being asked
by the general, why he had not brought it, he replied; "The major says, sir,

that the sword does not belong to Mr. Cross. He says, moreover,