"'Twas partly chance," he said. "A redcoat troop had me in durance at
Jennifer House, and while they affected to hold me at parole, I never
gave consent to that, and so was kept a prisoner. They shut me in the
wine-bin with a guard, and when the fellow was well soaked and silly, I
bound and gagged him and broke jail. I took the river for it, meaning to
outlie until the hue and cry was over; and just at dusk Uncanoola
dropped upon me and told me of your need. From that to helping him cut
you out of your raffle with the Cherokees was but a hand's turn in the
day's work."
"A lucky turn for me," I said; and then at second thought I would deny
the saying, though not for him to hear. But this was dangerous ground
again, and I clawed off from it like a desperate mariner tempest-driven
on a lee shore; asking him how he had learned the broadsword play, and
where he got the antique claymore.
He laughed heartily, and more like my care-free Dick, this time.
"Thereby hangs a tale. I told you how I was out with the Minute Men in
'76 at Moore's Creek, where we fought the Scotchmen. It was our first
pitched battle, and I opine it smelled somewhat of severity on both
sides--no quarter was asked, and the Tory MacDonalds fought like fiends
for King George, small cause as they had to love the House of Hanover."
"How was that?" I would ask, being as little familiar with the low
country settlements as any native-born Carolinian could be.
"They were expatriates for the Pretender's sake, many of them.
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