Next day on the Rappahannock we found Shalah, who had gone on to warn
the two men I proposed to enlist. One of them, Donaldson, was a big,
slow-spoken, middle-aged farmer, the same who had been with Bacon in
the fight at Occaneechee Island. He just cried to his wife to expect
him back when she saw him, slung on his back an old musket, cast a long
leg over his little horse, and was ready to follow. The other, the
Frenchman Bertrand, was a quiet, slim gentleman, who was some kin to
the murdered D'Aubignys. I had long had my eye on him, for he was very
wise in woodcraft, and had learned campaigning under old Turenne. He
kissed his two children again and again, and his wife clung to his
arms. There were tears in the honest fellow's eyes as he left, and I
thought all the more of him, for he is the bravest man who has most to
risk. I mind that Ringan consoled the lady in the French tongue, which
I did not comprehend, and would not be hindered from getting out his
saddle-bags and comforting the children with candied plums. He had near
as grave a face as Bertrand when we rode off, and was always looking
back to the homestead. He spoke long to the Frenchman in his own
speech, and the sad face of the latter began to lighten.
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