“Nothing living, sir,” replied Dick Mason, as he swept his powerful glasses in a half-curve. “There are hills on the right and in the center, covered with thick, green forest, and on the left, where the land lies low, the forest is thick and green too, although I think I catch a flash of water in it.”
“That should be the little river of which our map tells. And you, Warner, what do your eyes tell you?”
“The same tale they tell to Dick, sir. It looks to me like a wilderness2.”
“And so it is. It's a low-lying region of vast forests and thickets3, of slow deep rivers and creeks4, and of lagoons6 and bayous. If Northern troops want to be ambushed8 they couldn't come to a finer place for it. Forrest and five thousand of his wild riders might hide within rifle shot of us in this endless mass of vegetation. And so, my lads, it behooves9 us to be cautious with a very great caution. You will recall how we got cut up by Forrest in the Shiloh time.”
“I do, sir,” said Dick and he shuddered10 as he recalled those terrible moments. “This is Mississippi, isn't it?”
Colonel Winchester took a small map from his pocket, and, unfolding it, examined it with minute care.
“If this is right, and I'm sure it is,” he replied, “we're far down in Mississippi in the sunken regions that border the sluggish11 tributaries12 of the Father of Waters. The vegetation is magnificent, but for a home give me higher ground, Dick.”
“Me too, sir,” said Warner. “The finest state in this union is Vermont. I like to live on firm soil, even if it isn't so fertile, and I like to see the clear, pure water running everywhere, brooks13 and rivers.”
“I'll admit that Vermont is a good state for two months in the year,” said Dick.
“Why not the other ten?”
“Because then it's frozen up, solid and hard, so I've heard.”
The other boys laughed and kept up their chaff15, but Colonel Winchester rode soberly ahead. Behind him trailed the Winchester regiment16, now reorganized and mounted. Fresh troops had come from Kentucky, and fragments of old regiments17 practically destroyed at Perryville and Stone River had been joined to it.
It was a splendid body of men, but of those who had gone to Shiloh only about two hundred remained. The great conflicts of the West, and the minor18 battles had accounted for the others. But it was perhaps one of the reliefs of the Civil War that it gave the lads who fought it little time to think of those who fell. Four years crowded with battles, great and small, sieges and marches absorbed their whole attention.
Now two men, the dreaded19 Forrest and fierce little Joe Wheeler, occupied the minds of Winchester and his officers. It was impossible to keep track of these wild horsemen here in their own section. They had a habit of appearing two or three hundred miles from the place at which they were expected.
But the young lieutenants22 while they watched too for their redoubtable23 foes25 had an eye also for the country. It was a new kind of region for all of them. The feet of their horses sank deep in the soft black soil, and there was often a sound of many splashings as the regiment rode across a wide, muddy brook14.
Dick noted26 with interest the magnolias and the live oaks, and the great stalks of the sunflower. Here in this Southern state, which bathed its feet in the warm waters of the Gulf27, spring was already far along, although snows still lingered in the North.
The vegetation was extravagant28 in its luxuriance and splendor29. The enormous forest was broken by openings like prairies, and in every one of them the grass grew thick and tall, interspersed30 with sunflowers and blossoming wild plants. Through the woods ran vast networks of vines, and birds of brilliant plumage chattered31 in the trees. Twice, deer sprang up before them and raced away in the forest. It was the wilderness almost as De Soto had traversed it nearly four centuries before, and it had a majesty32 which in its wildness was not without its sinister33 note.
They approached a creek5, deeper and wider than usual, flowing in slow, yellow coils, and, as they descended34 into the marsh35 that enclosed its waters, there was a sharp crackling sound, followed quickly by another and then by many others. The reports did not cease, and, although blood was shed freely, no man fell from his horse, nor was any wounded mortally. But the assault was vicious and it was pushed home with the utmost courage and tenacity36, although many of the assailants fell never to rise again. Cries of pain and anger, and imprecations arose from the stricken regiment.
“Slap! Slap!”
“Bang! Bang!”
“Ouch! He's got his bayonet in my cheek!”
“Heavens, that struck me like a minie ball! And it came, whistling and shrieking37, too, just like one!”
“Phew, how they sting! and my neck is bleeding in three places!”
“By thunder, Bill, I hit that fellow, fair and square! He'll never trouble an honest Yankee soldier again!”
The fierce buzzing increased all around them and Colonel Winchester shouted to his trumpeter:
“Blow the charge at once!”
The man, full willing, put the trumpet38 to his lips and blew loud and long. The whole regiment went across the creek at a gallop—the water flying in yellow showers—and did not stop until, emerging from the marsh, they reached the crest39 of a low hill a mile beyond. Here, stung, bleeding and completely defeated by the enemy they stopped for repairs. An occasional angry buzz showed that they were not yet safe from the skirmishers, but their attack seemed a light matter after the full assault of the determined40 foe24.
“I suppose we're all wounded,” said Dick as he wiped a bleeding cheek. “At least as far as I can see they're hurt. The last fellow who got his bayonet in my face turned his weapon around and around and sang merrily at every revolution.”
“We were afraid of being ambushed by Forrest,” said Warner, speaking from a swollen41 countenance42. “Instead we struck something worse; we rode straight into an ambush7 of ten billion high-powered mosquitoes, every one tipped with fire. Have we got enemies like these to fight all the way down here?”
“They sting the rebels, too,” said Pennington.
“Yes, but they like newcomers best, the unacclimated. When we rode down into that swamp I could hear them shouting, to one another: 'That fat fellow is mine, I saw him first! I've marked the rosy-cheeked boy for mine. Keep away the rest of you fellows!' I feel as if I'd been through a battle. No more marshes43 for me.”
Some of the provident44 produced bottles of oil of pennyroyal. Sergeant45 Daniel Whitley, who rode a giant bay horse, was one of the most foreseeing in this respect, and, after the boys had used his soothing46 liniment freely, the fiery47 torment48 left by the mosquito's sting passed away.
The sergeant seemed to have grown bigger and broader than ever. His shoulders were about to swell49 through his faded blue coat, and the hand resting easily on the rein50 had the grip and power of a bear's paw. His rugged51 face had been tanned by the sun of the far south to the color of an Indian's. He was formidable to a foe, and yet no gentler heart beat than that under his old blue uniform. Secretly he regarded the young lieutenants, his superiors in military rank and education, as brave children, and often he cared for them where his knowledge and skill were greater than theirs or even than that of colonels and generals.
“God bless you, Sergeant,” said Dick, “you don't look like an angel, but you are one—that is, of the double-fisted, fighting type.”
The sergeant merely smiled and replaced the bottle carefully in his pocket, knowing that they would have good use for it again.
“Do you know where we're going?” Pennington asked Dick.
“I think we're likely if we live long enough to land in the end before Vicksburg, the great Southern fortress54, but as I gather it we mean to curve and curl and twist about a lot before then. Grant, they say, intends to close in on Vicksburg, while Rosecrans farther north is watching Bragg at Chattanooga. We're a flying column, gathering55 up information, and ready for anything.”
“It's funny,” said Warner thoughtfully, “that we've already got so far south in the western field. We can't be more than two or three hundred miles from the Gulf. Besides, we've already taken New Orleans, the biggest city of the South, and our fleet is coming up the river to meet us. Yet in the East we don't seem to make any progress at all. We lose great battles there and Fredericksburg they say was just a slaughter56 of our men. How do you make it out, Dick?”
“I've thought of several reasons for it. Our generals in the West are better than our generals in the East, or their generals in the East are better than their generals in the West. And then there are the rivers. In the East they mostly run eastward57 between the two armies, and they are no help to us, but a hindrance58 rather. Here in the West the rivers, and they are many and great, mostly run southward, the way we want to go, and they bring our gunboats on their bosoms59. Excuse my poetry, but it's what I mean.”
“You must be right. I think that all the reasons you give apply together. But our command of the water has surely been a tremendous help. And then we've got to remember, Dick, that there was never a navy like ours. It goes everywhere and it does everything. Why, if Admiral Farragut should tell one of those gunboats to steam across the Mississippi bottoms it would turn its saucy60 nose, steer61 right out of the water into the mud, and blow up with all hands aboard before it quit trying.”
“You two fellows talk too much,” said Pennington. “You won't let President Lincoln and Grant and Halleck manage the war, but you want to run it yourselves.”
“I don't want to run anything just now, Frank,” rejoined Dick. “What I'm thinking about most is rest and something to eat. I'd like to get rid, too, of about ten pounds of Mississippi mud that I'm carrying.”
“Well, I can catch a glint of white pillars through those trees. It means the 'big house' of a plantation62, and you'll probably find somewhere back of it the long rows of cabins, inhabited by the dark people, whom we've come to raise to the level of their masters, if not above them. I can see right now the joyous63 welcome we'll receive from the owners of the big house. They'll be standing64 on the great piazza65, waving union flags and shouting to us that they have ready cooling drinks and luxurious66 food for us all.”
“It's hardly a joke to me. Whatever the cause of the war, it's the bitterness of death for these people to be overrun. Besides, I remember the words of that old fellow in the blacksmith shop before we fought the battle of Stone River. He said that even if they were beaten they'd still be there holding the land and running things.”
“That's true,” said Warner. “I've been wondering how this war would end, and now I'm wondering what will happen after it does end. But here we are at the gate. What big grounds! These great planters certainly had space!”
“And what silence!” said Dick. “It's uncanny, George. A place like this must have had a thousand slaves, and I don't see any of them rushing forward to welcome their liberators.”
“Probably contraband67, gone long ago to Ben Butler at New Orleans. I don't believe there's a soul here.”
“Remember that lone1 house in Tennessee where a slip of a girl brought Forrest down on us and had us cut pretty nearly to pieces.”
“I couldn't forget it.”
Nor could Colonel Winchester. The house, large and low, stood in grounds covering an area of several acres, enclosed by a paling fence, now sagging68 in many places. Great stone posts stood on either side of the gateway69, but the gate was opened, and it, too, sagged70.
The grounds had evidently been magnificent, both with flowers and forest trees. Already many of the flowers were blooming in great luxuriance and brilliancy, but the walks and borders were untrimmed. The house was of wood, painted white with green shutters71, and as they drew nearer they appreciated its great size, although it was only two stories in height. A hundred persons could have slept there, and twice as many could have found shade in the wide piazzas72 which stretched the full length of the four sides.
But all the doors and shutters were closed and no smoke rose from any chimney. They caught a glimpse of the cabins for the slaves, on lower ground some distance behind the great house. The whole regiment reined73 up as they approached the carriage entrance, and, although they were eight hundred strong, there was plenty of room without putting a single hoof74 upon a flower.
It was a great place. That leaped to the eye, but it was not marked upon Colonel Winchester's map, nor had he heard of it.
“It's a grand house,” he said to his aides, “and it's a pity that it should go to ruin after the slaves are freed, as they certainly will be.”
“But it was built upon slave labor,” said Warner.
“So it was, and so were many of the most famous buildings in the world. But here, I'm not going to get into an argument about such questions with young men under my command. Besides, I'm fighting to destroy slavery, not to study its history. Sergeant Whitley, you're an experienced trailer: do you see any signs that troops have passed here?”
“None at all, sir. Down near the gate where the drive is out of repair I noticed wheel tracks, but they were several days old. The freshest of them were light, as if made by buggies. I judge, sir, that it was the family, the last to leave.”
“It would seem so, sir.”
Colonel Winchester sighed.
“But we do come as enemies,” said Dick, “and this feeling toward us can't be helped.”
“That's true. No matter what we do we'll never make any friends here in one of the Gulf states, the very core of Southern feeling. Dick, take a squad77 of men and enter the house. Pennington, you and Warner go with him.”
Dick sprang down instantly, chose Sergeant Whitley first and with the others entered the great portico78. The front door was locked but it was easy enough to force it with a gun butt79, and they went in, but not before Dick had noticed over the door in large letters the name, “Bellevue.” So this was Bellevue, one of the great cotton plantations80 of Mississippi. He now vaguely81 remembered that he had once heard his uncle, Colonel Kenton, speak of having stopped a week here. But he could not recall the name of the owner. Strong for the union as he was Dick was glad that the family had gone before the Northern cavalry82 came.
The house was on a splendid scale inside also, but all the rugs and curtains were gone. As they entered the great parlor83 Dick saw a large piece of paper, and he flushed as he read written upon it in tall letters:
TO THE YANKEE RAIDERS:
YOU NEED NOT LOOK FOR THE SILVER.
IT HAS BEEN TAKEN TO VICKSBURG.
But Warner laughed.
“Maybe some of our men at New Orleans have laid us open to such a stab,” he said. Then he added whimsically:
“We'll go to Vicksburg with Grant, Dick, and get that silver yet.”
“The writing's fresh,” said Sergeant Whitley, who also looked at the notification. “The paper hasn't begun to twist and curl yet. It's not been posted up there many hours.”
Colonel Winchester entered at that moment and the notice was handed to him. He, too, flushed a little when he read it, but the next instant he laughed. Dick then called his attention to the apparent fact that it had been put there recently.
“May I speak a word, Colonel,” said Warner, who had been thinking so hard that there was a line the full length of his forehead.
“Yes, George, a dozen if you like. Go ahead. What is it?”
“The sergeant, who has had much experience as a trailer, told us that the tracks made by the buggy wheels were several days old. The slaves probably had been sent southward before that time. Now some one who saw our advance has come back, and, whoever it was, he was thoroughly85 familiar with the house. He couldn't have been a servant. Servants don't leave taunts86 of that kind. It must have been somebody who felt our coming deeply, and if it had been an elderly man he would have waited for action, he wouldn't have used saucy words. So, sir, I think it must have been a boy. Just like Pennington there, for instance.”
“Good, George, go on with your reasonings.”
“As surely, sir, as z plus y equals the total of the two, the one who put up the placard was a son of the owner. He alone would feel deeply enough to take so great a risk. The conditions absolutely demand that the owner has such a son and that he has done it.”
“Very good, George. I think you're right, and this youth in giving way to a natural burst of anger, although he did not mean to do so, has posted up for us a warning. A lad of his spirit would go in search of Forrest, and we cannot forget our experience with that general in Tennessee. Now, boys, we'll make ready for the night, which is not far away.”
The house was built for a Southern climate, although Dick had learned that it could be cold enough in Central Mississippi in midwinter. But it was spring now and they opened all the doors and windows, letting the pleasant air rush through the musty house.
“It may rain,” said Colonel Winchester, “and the officers will sleep inside. The men will spread their blankets on the piazzas, and the horses will be tethered in the grounds. I hate to see the flowers and grass trodden down, but nature will restore them.”
Some of the soldiers gathered wood from heaps nearby and fires were kindled87 in the kitchen, and also on the hearths88 in the slave quarters. Colonel Winchester had been truly called the father of his regiment. He was invariably particular about its health and comfort, and, as he always led it in person in battle, there was no finer body of men in the union service.
Now he meant for his men to have coffee, and warm food after this long and trying ride and soon savory89 odors arose, although the cooking was not begun until after dark, lest the smoke carry a signal to a lurking90 enemy. The cavalrymen cut the thick grass which grew everywhere, and fed it to their horses, eight hundred massive jaws92 munching93 in content. The beasts stirred but little after their long ride and now and then one uttered a satisfied groan94.
The officers drank their coffee and ate their food on the eastern piazza, which overlooked a sharp dip toward a creek three or four hundred yards away. The night had rushed down suddenly after the fashion of the far South, and from the creek they heard faintly the hoarse95 frogs calling. Beyond the grounds a close ring of sentinels watched, because Colonel Winchester had no mind to be surprised again by Forrest or by Fighting Joe Wheeler or anybody else.
The night was thick and dark and moist with clouds. Dick, despite the peace that seemed to hang over everything, was oppressed. The desolate96 house, even more than the sight of the field after the battle was over, brought home to him the meaning of war. It was not alone the death of men but the uprooting97 of a country for their children and their children's children as well. Then his mind traveled back to his uncle, Colonel Kenton, and suddenly he smote98 his knee.
“What is it, Dick,” asked Colonel Winchester, who sat only two or three yards away.
“Now I remember, sir. When I was only seven or eight years old I heard my uncle tell of stopping, as I told you, at a great plantation in Mississippi called Bellevue, but I couldn't recall the name of its owner. I know him now.”
“What is the name, Dick?”
“Woodville, John Woodville. He was a member of the Mississippi Senate, and he was probably the richest man in the State.”
“I think I have heard the name. He is a Confederate colonel now, with Pemberton's army. No doubt we'll have to fight him later on.”
“Meanwhile, we're using his house.”
“Fortune of war. But all war is in a sense unfair, because it's usually a question of the greater force. At any rate, Dick, we won't harm Colonel Woodville's home.”
“Yet in the end, sir, a lot of these great old country places will go, and what will take their place? You and I, coming from a border state, know that the colored race is not made up of Uncle Toms.”
“Well, Dick, we haven't won yet, and until we do we won't bother ourselves about the aftermath of war. I'm glad we found so large a place as this. At the last moment I sent part of the men to the cabins, but at least three or four hundred must lie here on the piazzas. And most of them are already asleep. It's lucky they have roofs. Look how the clouds are gathering!”
As much more room had been made upon the piazzas by the assignment of men to the cabins, Colonel Winchester and some of his officers also rested there. Dick, lying between the two blankets which he always carried in a roll tied to his saddle, was very comfortable now, with his head on his knapsack. The night had turned cooler, and, save when faint and far lightning quivered, it was heavy and dark with clouds. But the young lieutenants, hardened by two years of war and life in the open, felt snug99 and cosy100 on the broad, sheltered piazza. It was not often they found such good quarters, and Dick, like Colonel Winchester, was truly thankful that they had reached Bellevue before the coming storm.
It was evident now that the night was going to be wild. The lightning grew brighter and came nearer, cutting fiercely across the southern sky. The ominous101 rumble102 of thunder, which reminded Dick so much of the mutter of distant battle, came from the horizon on which the lightning was flashing.
Colonel Winchester, Pennington and Warner had gone to sleep, but Dick was wakeful. He had again that feeling of pity for the people who had been compelled to flee from such a house, and who might lose it forever. It seemed to him that all the men, save himself and the sentinels, were asleep, sleeping with the soundness and indifference103 to surroundings shown by men who took their sleep when they could.
The horses stamped and moved uneasily beneath the threat of the advancing storm, but the men slept heavily on.
Dick knew that the sentinels were awake and watchful. They had a wholesome104 dread20 of Forrest and Wheeler, those wild riders of the South. Some of them had been present at that terrible surprise in Tennessee, and they were not likely to be careless when they were sure that Forrest might be near, but he remained uneasy nevertheless, and, although he closed his eyes and sought a soft place for his head on the saddle, sleep did not come.
He was sure that his apprehension105 did not come from any fear of an attack by Forrest or Wheeler. It was deeper-seated. The inherited sense that belonged to his great grandfather, who had lived his life in the wilderness, was warning him. It was not superstition106. It seemed to Dick merely the palpable result of an inheritance that had gone into the blood. His famous great-grandfather, Paul Cotter, and his famous friend, Henry Ware107, had lived so much and so long among dangers that the very air indicated to them when they were at hand.
Dick looked down the long piazza, so long that the men at either end of it were hidden by darkness. The tall trees in the grounds were nodding before the wind, and the lightning flashed incessantly108 in the southwest. The thunder was not loud, but it kept up a continuous muttering and rumbling110. The rain was coming in fitful gusts111, but he knew that it would soon drive hard and for a long time.
Everybody within Dick's area of vision was sound asleep, except himself. Colonel Winchester lay with his head on his arm and his slumber112 was so deep that he was like one dead. Warner had not stirred a particle in the last half-hour. Dick was angry at himself because he could not sleep. Let the storm burst! It might drive on the wide roof of the piazza and the steady beating sound would make his sleep all the sounder and sweeter. He recalled, as millions of American lads have done, the days when he lay in his bed just under the roof and heard hail and sleet113 drive against it, merely to make him feel all the snugger114 in the bed with his covers drawn115 around him.
The fitful gusts of rain ceased, and then it came with a steady pour and roar, driving directly down, thus leaving the men on the outer edges of the piazzas untouched and dry. Still, Dick did not sleep, and at last he arose and walked softly into the house. Here the sense of danger grew stronger. He was reminded again of his early boyhood, when some one blindfolded116 was told to find a given object, and the others called “hot” when he was near or “cold” when he was away. He was feeling hot now. That inherited sense, the magnetic feeling out of the past, was warning him.
Dick felt sure that some one not of their regiment was in the building. He neither saw nor heard the least sign of a presence, but he was absolutely certain that he was not alone within Bellevue. Since the lightning had ceased it was pitchy dark inside. There was a wide hall running through the building, with windows above the exits, but he saw nothing through them save the driving rain and the dim outline of the threshing trees.
He turned into one of the side rooms, and then he paused and pushed himself against the wall. He was sure now that he heard a soft footstep. The darkness was so intense that it could be felt like a mist. He waited but he did not hear it again, and then he began to make his way around the wall, stepping as lightly as he could.
He had gone through most of the rooms at their arrival and he still retained a clear idea of the interior of the house. He knew that there was another door on the far side of the chamber117 in which he stood, and he meant to follow the wall until he reached it. Some one had been in the room with him and Dick believed that he was leaving by the far door.
While he heard no further footsteps he felt a sudden light draught118 on his face and he knew that the door had been opened and shut. He might go to Colonel Winchester and tell him that a lurking spy or somebody of that character was in the house, but what good would it do? A spy at such a time and in such a place could not harm them, and the whole regiment would be disturbed for nothing. He would follow the chase alone.
He found the door and passed into the next room. Its windows opened upon the southern piazza and two or three shutters were thrown back. A faint light entered and Dick saw that no one was there but himself. He could discern the dim figures of the soldiers sleeping on the piazza and beyond a cluster of the small pines grown on lawns.
Dick felt that he had lost the trail for the time, but he did not intend to give it up. Doubtless the intruder was some one who knew the house and who was also aware of his presence inside. He also felt that he would not be fired upon, because the stranger himself would not wish to bring the soldiers down upon him. So, with a hand upon his pistol butt, he opened the side door and followed once more into the darkness.
The ghostly chase went on for a full half-hour, Dick having nothing to serve him save an occasional light footfall. There was one period of more than half an hour when he lost the fugitive119 entirely120. He wandered up to the second floor and then back again. There, in a room that had been the library, he caught a glimpse of the man. But the figure was so shadowy that he could tell nothing about him.
“Halt!” cried Dick, snatching out his pistol. But when he leveled it there was nothing to aim at. The figure had melted away, or rather it had flitted through another door. Dick followed, chagrined121. The stranger seemed to be playing with him. Obviously, it was some one thoroughly acquainted with the house, and that brought to Dick's mind the thought that he himself, instead of the other man, was the stranger there.
He came at last to a passage which led to the kitchen, a great room, because many people were often guests at Bellevue, and here he stopped short, while his heart suddenly beat hard. A distinct odor coming from different points suddenly assailed122 his nostrils123. He had smelled it too often in the last two years to be mistaken. It was smoke, and Bellevue had been set on fire in several places.
He inhaled124 it once or twice and then he saw again the shadowy figure flitting down to the passage and to a small door that, unnoticed by the soldiers, opened on the kitchen garden in the rear of the house.
Dick never acted more promptly125. Instantly he fired his pistol into the ceiling, the report roaring in the confined spaces of the house, and then shouting with all his might: “Fire! Fire! Fire!” as he dashed down the passage he ran through the little door, which the intruder had left open, and pursued him in the darkness and rain into the garden. There was a flash ahead of him and a bullet whistled past his ear, but he merely increased his speed and raced in the direction of the flash. As he ran he heard behind him a tremendous uproar126, the voices and tread of hundreds of soldiers, awakened127 suddenly, and he knew that they would rush through Bellevue in search of the fires.
But it was Dick's impulse to capture the daring intruder who would destroy the house over their heads. Built of wood, it would burn so fast, once the torches were set, that the rain would have little effect upon the leaping flames, unless measures were taken at once, which he knew that the regiment would do, under such a capable man as Colonel Winchester. Meanwhile he was hot in pursuit.
The trail which was not that of footsteps, but of a shadowy figure, ran between tall and close rows of grapevines so high on wooden framework that they hid any one who passed. The suspicion that Dick had held at first was confirmed. This was no stranger, no intruder. He knew every inch of both house and grounds, and, after having set the house on fire, he had selected the only line of retreat, but a safe one, through the thick and lofty vegetation of the garden, which ran down to the edge of the ravine in the rear, where he could slip quietly under the fence, drop through the thick grass into the ravine unseen by the pickets128, and escape at his leisure in the darkness.
Dick was so sure of his theory that he strained every effort to overtake the figure which was flitting before him like a ghost. In his eagerness he had forgotten to shout any alarm about the pickets, but it would have been of no avail, as most of them, under the impulse of alarm, had rushed forward to help extinguish the fires.
He saw the fugitive reach the end of the garden, drop almost flat, and then slip under a broken place in the palings. At an ordinary time he would have stopped there, but all the instincts of the hunter were aroused. It was still raining, and he was already soaked. Wet branches and leaves struck him in the face as he passed, but his energy and eagerness were undimmed.
He, too, dropped at the hole under the broken palings and slid forward face foremost. The wet grass was as slippery as ice, and after he passed through the hole Dick kept going. Moreover, his speed increased. He had not realized that the garden went to the very edge of the ravine, and he was shooting down a steep slope to the depth of thirty feet. He grasped instinctively129 at weeds and grass as he made his downward plunge130 and fetched up easily at the bottom.
He sprang to his feet and saw the shadowy fugitive running down the ravine. In an instant he followed headlong, tripped once or twice on the wet grass, but was up every time like lightning, and once more in swift pursuit. The fugitive turned once, raised his pistol and pulled the trigger again, evidently forgetful that it was empty. When the hammer snapped on the trigger he uttered a low cry of anger and hurled131 the useless weapon into the grass. Then he whirled around and faced Dick, who was coming on, eager and panting.
Dick's own pistol was empty and he did not carry his small sword. He stopped abruptly132 when the other turned, and, in the dim light and rain, he saw that his opponent was a young man or rather youth of about his own size and age. When he saw the lad cast the pistol aside Dick, moved by some chivalrous133 impulse, dropped his own in the grass.
Then the two stared at each other. They were far beyond the line of the pickets, and as they stood in the deep ravine there was no chance that any one would either see or hear them. As Dick gazed intently, the face and figure of his antagonist134 shaped themselves more distinctly in the dim light. He beheld135 before him a tall youth, extremely well built, fair of face, his brown hair slightly long. He wore rain-soaked civilian's garb136.
He saw that the youth was panting like himself, but it was not wholly the result of flight. His face expressed savage137 anger and indignation.
“You dirty Yankee!” he said.
“If by Yankee you mean loyalty139 to the union then I'm one,” he said, “and I'm proud of it. What's more I'm willing to tell who I am. My name is Richard Mason. I'm from Kentucky, and I'm a lieutenant21 in the regiment of Colonel Arthur Winchester, which occupies the building behind us.”
“From Kentucky and consorting140 with Yankees! A lot of you are doing it, and you ought to be on our side! We hate you for it more than we do the real Yankees!”
“It's our right to choose, and we've chosen. And now, since you're talking so much about right and wrong, who may you be, Mr. Firebug?”
“My name is Victor Woodville,” he replied, “and my father is Colonel John Woodville, C.S.A. He is the owner of the house in which your infamous142 Yankee regiment is encamped.”
“And which you have tried to burn?”
“I'd rather see it burn than shelter Yankees. You'd burn it anyway later on. Grant's troops have already begun to use the torch.”
“At any rate you'll go before our colonel. He'll want to ask you a lot of questions.”
“I'm not going before your colonel.”
“Oh, yes, you are.”
“Who's going to take me?”
“I am.”
“Then come on and do it.”
Dick advanced warily143. Both had regained144 their breath and strength now. Dick with two years of active service in the army had the size and muscles of a man. But so had his opponent. Each measured the other, and they were formidable antagonists146, well matched.
Dick had learned boxing at the Pendleton Academy, and, as he approached slowly, looking straight into the eyes of his enemy, he suddenly shot his right straight for Woodville's chin. The Mississippian, as light on his feet as a leopard147, leaped away and countered with his left, a blow so quick and hard that Dick, although he threw his head to one side, caught a part of its force just above his ear. But, guarding himself, he sprang back, while Woodville faced him, laughing lightly.
Dick shook his head a little and the singing departed. Just above his ear he felt a great soreness, but he was cool now. Moreover, he was losing his anger.
“First blow for you,” he said. “I see that you know how to use your fists.”
“I hope to prove it.”
Woodville, stepping lightly on his toes and feinting with his left, caught Dick on his cheek bone with his right. Then he sought to spring away, but Dick, although staggered, swung heavily and struck Woodville on the forehead. The Mississippian went down full length on the slippery grass but jumped to his feet in an instant. Blood was flowing from his forehead, whence it ran down his nose and fell to the earth, drop by drop. Dick himself was bleeding from the cut on his cheek bone.
“First knockdown for you,” said Woodville, “but I mean that the second shall be mine.”
“Go in and try.”
But Woodville drew back a little, and as Dick followed, looking for an opening he was caught again a heavy clip on the side of the head. He saw stars and was not able to return the blow, but he sprang back and protected himself once more with his full guard, while he regained his balance and strength.
“Am I a firebug?” asked Woodville tauntingly149.
Dick considered. This youth interested him. There was no denying that Woodville had great cause for anger, when he found his father's house occupied by a regiment of the enemy. He considered it defilement151. The right or wrong of the war had nothing to do with it. It was to him a matter of emotion.
“I'll take back the epithet152 'firebug,'” he said, “but I must stick to my purpose of carrying you to Colonel Winchester.”
“Always provided you can: Look out for yourself.”
The Mississippian, who was wonderfully agile153, suddenly danced in—on his toes it seemed to Dick—and landed savagely154 on his opponent's left ear. Then he was away so quickly and lightly that Dick's return merely cut the air.
The Kentuckian felt the blood dripping from another point. His ear, moreover, was very sore and began to swell rapidly. One less enduring would have given up, but he had a splendid frame, toughened by incessant109 hardship. And, above all, enclosed within that frame was a lion heart. He shook his head slightly, because a buzzing was going on there, but in a moment or two it stopped.
“Are you satisfied?” asked young Woodville.
“You remember what Paul Jones said: 'I've just begun to fight.'”
“Was it Paul Jones? Well, I suppose it was. Anyhow, if you feel that way about it, so do I. Then come on again, Mr. Richard Mason.”
Dick's blood was up. The half-minute or so of talk had enabled him to regain145 his breath. Although he felt that incessant pain and swelling155 in his left ear, his resolution to win was unshaken. Pride was now added to his other motives156.
He took a step forward, feinted, parried skillfully, and then stepped back. Woodville, always agile as a panther, followed him and swung for the chin, but Dick, swerving157 slightly to one side, landed with great force on Woodville's jaw91. The young Mississippian fell, but, while Dick stood looking at him, he sprang to his feet and faced his foe defiantly158. The blood was running down his cheek and dyeing the whole side of his face. But Dick saw the spirit in his eye and knew that he was far from conquered.
Woodville smiled and threw back his long hair from his face.
“A good one for you. You shook me up,” he admitted, “but I don't see any sign of your ability to carry me to that Yankee colonel, as you boasted you would do.”
“But I'm going to do it.”
The rain increased and washed the blood from both their faces. It was dark within the ravine, but they had been face to face so long that they could read the eyes of each other. Those of Woodville like those of Dick ceased to express great anger. In the mind of each was growing a respect for his antagonist. The will to conquer remained, but not the desire to hate.
“If you're going to do it, then why don't you?” said Woodville.
Dick moved slowly forward, still watching the eyes of the Mississippian. He believed now that Woodville, agile and alert though he might be, had not fully52 recovered his strength. There was terrific steam in that last punch and the head of the man who had received it might well be buzzing yet.
Dick then moved in with confidence, but a lightning blow crashed through his guard, caught him on the chin and sent him to earth. He rose, though still half-stunned, and saw that the confident, taunting150 look had returned to Woodville's face. Fortunate now for Dick that the pure blood of great woods rangers159 flowed in his veins160, and that he had inherited from them too an iron frame. His chin was cut and he had seen a thousand stars. But his eyes cleared and steadily161 he faced his foe.
“Do I go with you to your colonel?” asked Woodville, ironically.
“You do,” replied Dick firmly.
He looked his enemy steadily in the eye again, and he felt a great sense of triumph. After such severe punishment he was stronger than ever and he knew it.
Therefore he must win. He struck heavily, straight for the angle of Woodville's chin. The Mississippian evaded162 the blow and flashed in with his left. But Dick, who was learning to be very wary163, dodged164 it and came back so swiftly that Woodville was caught and beaten to his knees.
But the son of the house of Bellevue was still so agile that he was able to recover his feet and spring away. Dick saw, however, that he was panting heavily. The blow had taken a considerable part of his remaining strength. He also saw that his antagonist was regarding him with a curious eye.
“You fight well, Yank,” said Woodville, “although I ought not to call you Yank, but rather a traitor165, as you're a Kentuckian. Still, I've put my marks on you. You're bleeding a lot and you'd be a sight if it weren't for this cleansing166 rain.”
“I've been putting the map of Kentucky on your own face. You don't look as much like Mississippi as you did. You'll take notice too that you didn't burn the house. If you'll glance up the side of this ravine you'll see just a little dying smoke. Eight hundred soldiers put it out in short order.”
Woodville's face flushed, and his eyes for the first time since the beginning of the encounter shone with an angry gleam. But the wrathful fire quickly died.
“On the whole, I'm not sorry,” he said. “It was an impulse that made me do it. Our army will come and drive you away, and our house will be our own again.”
“That's putting it fairly. What's the use of burning such a fine place as Bellevue? Still, we want you. Our colonel has many questions to ask you.”
“You can't take me.”
Dick judged that the crucial moment had now come. Woodville was breathing much more heavily than he was, and seemed to be near exhaustion167. Dick darted168 boldly in, received a swinging right and left on either jaw that cut his cheeks and made the blood flow. But he sent his right to Woodville's chin and the young Mississippian without a sound dropped to the ground, lying relaxed and flat upon his back, his white face, streaked169 with red, upturned to the rain.
He was so still that Dick was seized with fear lest he had killed him. He liked this boy who had fought him so well and, grasping him by both shoulders, he shook him hard. But when he loosed him Woodville fell back flat and inert170.
Dick heard the waters of a brook trickling171 down the ravine, and, snatching off his cap, he ran to it. He filled the cap and returned just in time to see Woodville leap lightly to his feet and disappear with the speed of a deer among the bushes.
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1
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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3
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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4
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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lagoons
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| n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 )；潟湖；（大湖或江河附近的）小而浅的淡水湖；温泉形成的池塘 | |
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7
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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ambushed
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| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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behooves
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| n.利益，好处( behoof的名词复数 )v.适宜( behoove的第三人称单数 ) | |
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10
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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11
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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12
tributaries
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| n. 支流 | |
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brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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14
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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15
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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16
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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18
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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19
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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20
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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21
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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22
lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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23
redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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24
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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25
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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26
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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27
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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28
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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29
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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30
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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31
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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32
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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33
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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34
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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35
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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36
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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37
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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38
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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39
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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40
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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41
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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42
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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43
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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44
provident
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| adj.为将来做准备的，有先见之明的 | |
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45
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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46
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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47
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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48
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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49
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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50
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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51
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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52
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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53
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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54
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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55
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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56
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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57
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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58
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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59
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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60
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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61
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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62
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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63
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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64
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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65
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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66
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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67
contraband
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| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
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68
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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69
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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70
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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71
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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72
piazzas
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| n.广场，市场( piazza的名词复数 ) | |
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73
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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74
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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75
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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76
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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77
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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78
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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79
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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80
plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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81
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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82
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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83
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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84
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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85
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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86
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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87
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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88
hearths
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| 壁炉前的地板，炉床，壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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89
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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90
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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91
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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92
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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93
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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94
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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95
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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96
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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97
uprooting
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| n.倒根，挖除伐根v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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98
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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99
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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100
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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101
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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102
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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103
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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104
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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105
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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106
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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107
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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108
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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109
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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110
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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111
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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112
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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113
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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114
snugger
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| adj.整洁的( snug的比较级 )；温暖而舒适的；非常舒适的；紧身的 | |
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115
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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116
blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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117
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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118
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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119
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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120
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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121
chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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123
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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124
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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126
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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127
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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128
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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129
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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130
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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131
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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132
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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133
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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134
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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135
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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136
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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137
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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138
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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139
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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140
consorting
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| v.结伴( consort的现在分词 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
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141
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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142
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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143
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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144
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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145
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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146
antagonists
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| 对立[对抗] 者，对手，敌手( antagonist的名词复数 )； 对抗肌； 对抗药 | |
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147
leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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148
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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149
tauntingly
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| 嘲笑地，辱骂地； 嘲骂地 | |
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150
taunting
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| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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151
defilement
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| n.弄脏，污辱，污秽 | |
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152
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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153
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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154
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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155
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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156
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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157
swerving
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的现在分词 ) | |
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158
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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159
rangers
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| 护林者( ranger的名词复数 )； 突击队员 | |
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160
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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161
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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162
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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163
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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164
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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165
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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166
cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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167
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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168
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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169
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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170
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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171
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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