The
dragoons soon after marched; and the guides, separating in small
parties, accompanied by patrols from the horse, spread themselves across
the country, in such a manner as to make a chain of sentinels from the
waters of the Sound to those of the Hudson. [Footnote: The scene of this
tale is between these two waters, which are but a few miles from
each other.]
Dunwoodie had lingered in front of the cottage, after he paid his
parting compliments, with an unwillingness to return, that he thought
proceeded from his solicitude for his wounded friends. The heart which
has not become callous, soon sickens with the glory that has been
purchased with a waste of human life. Peyton Dunwoodie, left to himself,
and no longer excited by the visions which youthful ardor had kept
before him throughout the day, began to feel there were other ties than
those which bound the soldier within the rigid rules of honor. He did
not waver in his duty, yet he felt how strong was the temptation. His
blood had ceased to flow with the impulse created by the battle. The
stern expression of his eye gradually gave place to a look of softness;
and his reflections on the victory brought with them no satisfaction
that compensated for the sacrifices by which it had been purchased.
While turning his last lingering gaze on the Locusts, he remembered only
that it contained all that he most valued.
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