by G. A. Henty
“Den I will hab a sleep, sah. Noting like sleeping when there is a chance.”
“I believe you could sleep three-quarters of your time, Dan. However, you may as well sleep now if you can, for there will be nothing to do till night.”
Vincent went back to the edge of the wood, and sat down where he could command a view of the cottage. The country was for the most part covered with wood, for it was but thinly inhabited except in the neighborhood of the main roads. Few of the farmers had cleared more than half their ground; many only a few acres. The patch, in which the house with its little clump of trees stood nearly in the center, was of some forty or fifty acres in extent, and though now rank with weeds, had evidently been carefully cultivated, for all the stumps had been removed, and the fence round it was of a stronger and neater character than that which most of the cultivators deemed sufficient.
Presently he heard the sound of horses’ feet in the forest behind him, and he made his way back to a road which ran along a hundred yards from the edge of the wood. He reached it before the horsemen came up, and lay down in the underwood a few yards back. In a short time two horsemen came along at a walking pace.
“I call this a fool’s errand altogether,” one of them said in a grumbling tone. “We don’t know that they have headed this way; and if they have, we might search these woods for a month without finding them.”
“That’s so,” the other said; “but Mullens has set his heart on it, and we must try for another day or two. My idea is that when the fellow heard what sort of a chap Mullens was, he took the hack train that night and went up north again.”
Vincent heard no more, but it was enough to show him that a sharp hunt was being kept up for him; and although he had no fear of being caught in the woods, he was well pleased at the thought that he would soon be across the water and beyond the reach of his enemy. He went back again to the edge of the clearing and resumed his watch. It was just getting dusk, and he was about to join Dan when he saw a party of twelve men ride out from the other side of the wood and make toward the house. Filled with a vague alarm that possibly some one might have caught sight of him and his follower on the previous day, and might, on being questioned by the searchers, have given them a clew as to the direction in which they were going, Vincent hurried to the spot where he left Dan. The negro jumped up as he approached.
“Me awake long time, sah. Began to wonder where you had got to.”
“Take your stick and come along, Dan, as fast as you can.”
Without another word Vincent led the way along the edge of the wood to the point where the clump of trees at the back of the house hid it from his view.
“Now, Dan, stoop low and get across to those trees.”
Greatly astonished at what was happening, but having implicit faith in his master, Dan followed without a question.
It was but ten minutes since Vincent had seen the horsemen, but the darkness had closed in rapidly, and he had little fear of his approach being seen. He made his way through the trees, and crept up to the house, and then kept close along it until he reached the front. There stood the horses, with the bridles thrown over their neck. The riders were all inside the house.
“Look here, Dan,” he whispered, “you keep here perfectly quiet until I join you again or you hear a pistol-shot. If you do hear a shot, rush at the horses with your stick and drive them off at full gallop. Drive them right into the woods if you can and then lie quiet there till you hear me whistle for you. If you don’t hear my whistle you will know that something has happened to me, and then you must make your way home as well as you can.”
“Oh, Master Vincent,” Dan began; but Vincent stopped him.
“It’s no use talking, Dan; you must do as I order you. I hope all will be well; but it must be done anyhow.”
“Let me come and load your pistol and fight with you, sah.”
“You can do more good by stampeding the horses, Dan. Perhaps, after all, there will be no trouble.”
So saying, leaving Dan with the tears running down his cheeks, Vincent went to the back of the house and tried the door there. It was fastened. Then he went to the other side; and here, the light streaming through the window, which was open, and the sound of loud voices, showed him the room where the party were. He crept cautiously up and looked in. Mullens was standing facing Lucy Kingston; the rest of the men were standing behind him. The girl was as pale as death, but was quiet and composed.
“Now,” Mullens said, “I ask you for the last time. You have admitted that a man has been here today, and that you gave him food. You say he is not in the house; and as we have searched it pretty thoroughly, we know that’s right enough. You say you don’t know where he is, and that may be true enough in a sense; but I have asked you whether he is coming back again, and you won’t answer me. I just give you three seconds;” and he held out his arm with a pistol in it. “One!” As the word “Two” left his lips, a pistol cracked, and Mullens fell back with a bullet in his forehead.
At the same time Vincent shouted at the top of his voice, “Come on, lads; wipe ’em out altogether. Don’t let one of them escape.” As he spoke he discharged his pistol rapidly into the midst of the men, who were for the moment too taken by surprise to move, and every shot took effect upon them. At the same moment there was a great shouting outside, and the trampling of horses’ feet. One or two of the men hastily returned Vincent’s fire, but the rest made a violent rush to the door. Several fell over the bodies of their comrades, and Vincent had emptied one of his revolvers and fired three shots with the second before the last of those able to escape did so. Five bodies remained on the floor. As they were still seven to one against him, Vincent ran to the corner of the house, prepared to shoot them as they came round; but the ruffians were too scared to think of anything but escape, and they could be heard running and shouting across the fields.
Vincent ran into the house. He had seen Lucy Kingston fall prostrate at the same instant as the ruffian facing her. Strung up to the highest tension, and expecting in another second to be shot, the crack of Vincent’s pistol had brought her down as surely as the bullet of Mullens would have done. Even in the excitement of firing, Vincent felt thankful when he saw her fall, and knew that she was safe from the bullets flying about. When he entered the room he found the old negress lying beside her, and thought at first that she had fallen in the fray. He found that she was not only alive, but unhurt, having, the instant she saw her young mistress fall, thrown herself upon her to protect her from harm.
“Am dey all gone, sah?” she asked, as Vincent somewhat roughly pulled her off the girl’s body.
“They have all gone, Chloe; but I do not know how soon they may be back again. Get your mistress round as soon as you can. I am sure that she has only fainted, for she fell the instant I fired, before another pistol had gone off.”
Leaving the old woman to bring Miss Kingston round, he reloaded his pistols and went to the door. In a few minutes the sound of horses galloping was heard.
“Halt, or I fire!” he shouted.
“Don’t shoot, sah! Don’t shoot! It am me!” and Dan rode up, holding a second horse by the bridle. “I thought I might as well get two ob dem, so I jump on de back ob one and get hold ob anoder bridle while I was waiting to hear your pistol fire. Den de moment I heard dat I set de oders off, and chased dem to de corner where de gate was where dey came in at, and along de road for half a mile; dey so frightened dey not stop for a long time to come. Den I turn into de wood and went through de trees, so as not to meet dem fellows, and lifted two of de bars of the fence, and here I am. You are not hurt, massa?”
“My left arm is broken, I think, Dan; but that is of no consequence. I have shot five of these fellows—their leader among them—and I expect three of the others have got a bullet somewhere or other in them. There was such a crowd round the door that I don’t think one shot missed. It was well I thought of stampeding the horses; that gave them a greater fright than my pistols. No d
oubt they thought that there was a party of our bushwhackers upon them. Now, Dan, you keep watch, and let me know if you see any signs of their returning. I think they are too shaken up to want any more fighting; but as there are seven of them, and they may guess there are only two or three of us, it is possible they may try again.”
“Me don’t tink dey try any more, sah. Anyhow, I look out sharp.” So saying, Dan, fastening up one of the horses, rode the other in a circle round and round the house and little plantation, so that it would not be possible for any one to cross the clearing without being seen. Vincent returned to the house, and found Miss Kingston just recovering consciousness. She sat upon the ground in a confused way.
“What has happened, nurse?”
“Never mind at present, dearie. Juss you keep yourself quiet, and drink a little water.”
The girl mechanically obeyed. The minute she put down the glass her eye fell upon Vincent, who was standing near the door.
“Oh! I remember now!” she said, starting up. “Those men were here and they were going to shoot me. One—two—and then he fired, and it seemed that I fell dead. Am I not wounded?”
“He never fired at all, Miss Kingston; he will never fire again. I shot him as he said ‘two,’ and no doubt the shock of the sudden shot caused you to faint dead away. You fell the same instant that he did.”
“But where are the others?” the girl said with a shudder. “How imprudent of you to come here! I hoped you had seen them coming toward the house.”
“I did see them, Miss Kingston, and that was the reason I came. I was afraid they might try rough measures to learn from you where I was hidden. I arrived at the window just as the scoundrel was pointing his pistol toward you, and then there was no time to give myself up, and I had nothing to do for it but to put a bullet through his head in order to save you. Then I opened fire upon the rest, and my boy drove off their horses. They were seized with a panic and bolted, thinking they were surrounded. Of course I kept up my fire, and there are four of them in the next room besides their captain. And now, if you please, I will get you, in the first place, to bind my arm tightly across my chest, for one of their bullets hit me in the left shoulder, and has, I fancy, broken it.”
The girl gave an exclamation of dismay.
“Do not be alarmed, Miss Kingston; a broken shoulder is not a very serious matter, only I would rather it had not happened just at the present moment; there are more important affairs in hand. The question is, What is to become of you? It is quite impossible that you should stay here after what has happened. Those scoundrels are sure to come back again.”
“What am I to do, Chloe?” the girl asked in perplexity. “I am sure we cannot stay here. We must find our way through the woods to Nashville, and I must try and get something to do there.”
“There is another way, Miss Kingston, if you like to try it,” Vincent said. “Of course it would be toilsome and unpleasant, but I do not think it would be dangerous, for even if we got caught there would be no fear of your receiving any injury from the Federal troops. My proposal is that you and Chloe should go with us. If we get safely through the Federal lines I will escort you to Georgia and place you with your friends there.”
The girl looked doubtful for a moment, and then she shook her head.
“I could not think of that, sir. It would be difficult enough for you to get through the enemy by yourselves It would add terribly to your danger to have us with you.”
“I do not think so,” Vincent replied. “Two men would be sure to be questioned and suspected, but a party like ours would be far less likely to excite suspicion. Every foot we get south we shall find ourselves more and more among people who are friendly to us, and although they might be afraid to give shelter to men, they would not refuse to take women in. I really think, Miss Kingston, that this plan is the best. In the first place it would be a dangerous journey for you through the woods to Nashville and if you fall into the hands of any of those ruffians who have been here you may expect no mercy. At Nashville you will have great difficulty in obtaining employment of any kind and even suppose you went further north your position as a friendless girl would be a most painful one. As to your staying here that is plainly out of the question. I think that there is no time to lose in making a decision. Those fellows may go to the camp at the bridge, give their account of the affair, declare they have been attacked by a party of Confederate sympathizers, and return here with a troop of horse.”
“What do you say, Chloe?” Lucy asked.
“I’se ready to go wid you whereber you like, Miss Lucy; but I do tink dat in times like dis dat a young gal is best wid her own folk. It may be hard work getting across, but as to danger dar can’t be much more danger than dar has been in stopping along here, so it seems to me best to do as dis young officer says.”
“Very well, then, I will, sir. We will go under your protection, and will give you as little trouble as we can. We will be ready in five minutes. Now, Chloe, let us put a few things together. The fewer the better. Just a small bundle which we can carry in our hands.”
In a few minutes they returned to the room, Chloe carrying a large basket, and looking somewhat ruffled.
“Chloe is a little upset,” the girl said, smiling, “because I won’t put my best things on; and the leaving her Sunday gown behind is a sore trouble to her.”
“No wonder, sah,” Chloe said, “why dey say dat thar am no pretty dresses in de ’Federacy, and dat blue gown wid red spots is just as good as new, and it am downright awful to tink dat dose fellows will come back and take it.”
“Never mind, Chloe,” Vincent said, smiling. “No doubt we are short of pretty dresses in the South, but I dare say we shall be able to find you something that will be almost as good. But we must not stand talking. You are sure you have got everything of value, Miss Kingston?”
“I have got my purse,” she said, “and Chloe has got some food. I don’t think there is anything else worth taking in the house.”
“Very well, we will be off,” Vincent said, leading the way to the door.
A minute later Dan rode past, and Vincent called him and told him they were going to start.
“Shall we take de horses, sah?”
“No, Dan. We are going to carry out our original plan of crossing the river in a boat, and I think the horses would be rather in our way than not. But you had better not leave them here. Take them to the farther side of the clearing and get them through the fence into the forest, then strike across as quickly as you can and join us where we were stopping today. Miss Kingston and her servant are going with us. They cannot stay here after what has taken place.”
Dan at once rode off with the two horses, and the others walked across to the edge of the clearing and waited until he rejoined them.
“Now, Miss Kingston, you must be our guide at present.”
“We must cross the road first,” the girl said. “Nearly opposite to where we are there is a little path through the wood leading straight down to the river. The boat lies only a short distance from it.”
The path was a narrow one, and it was very dark under the trees.
“Mind how you go,” Vincent said as the girl stepped lightly on ahead. “You might get a heavy fall if you caught your foot on a root.”
She instantly moderated her pace. “I know the path well, but it was thoughtless of me to walk so fast. I forgot you did not know it, and if you were to stumble you might hurt your arm terribly. How does it feel now?”
“It certainly hurts a bit,” Vincent replied in a cheerful tone; “but now it is strapped tightly to me it cannot move much. Please do not worry about me.”
“Ah!” she said, “I cannot forget how you got it—how you attacked twelve men to save me!”
“Still less can I forget, Miss Kingston, how you, a young girl, confronted death rather than say a word that would place me in their power.”
“That was quite different, Mr. Wingfield. My own honor was pledged not to betray
you, who had trusted me.”
“Well, we will cry quits for the present, Miss Kingston; or, rather, we will be content to remain for the present in each other’s debt.”
A quarter of an hour’s walking brought them to the river.
“Now,” Lucy said, “we must make our way about ten yards through these bushes to the right.”
With some difficulty they passed through the thick screen of bushes, the girl still leading the way.
“Here it is,” she said; “I have my hand upon it.” Vincent was soon beside her, and the negroes quickly joined them.
“There are no oars in the boat,” Vincent said, feeling along the seat.
“Oh! I forgot! They are stowed away behind the bushes on the right; they were taken out, so that if the Yankees found the boat it would be of no use to them.”
Dan made his way through the bushes, and soon found the oars. Then uniting their strength they pushed the boat through the high rushes that screened it from the river.
“It is afloat,” Vincent said. “Now, Dan, take your place in the bow.”
“I will row, Mr. Wingfield. I am a very good hand at it. So please take your seat with Chloe in the stern.”
“Dan can take one oar, anyhow,” Vincent replied; “but I will let you row instead of me. I am afraid I should make a poor hand of it with only one arm.”
The boat pushed quietly out. The river was about a hundred yards wide at this point. They had taken but a few strokes when Vincent said:
“You must row hard, Miss Kingston, or we shall have to swim for it. The water is coming through the seams fast.”
The girl and Dan exerted themselves to the utmost; but, short as was the passage, the boat was full almost to the gunwale before they reached the opposite bank, the heat of the sun having caused the planks to open during the months it had been lying ashore.
“This is a wet beginning,” Lucy Kingston said laugh as she tried to wring the water out of the lower part of her dress. “Here, Chloe; you wring me and I will wring you.”