Books: The Red Acorn
J >>
John McElroy >> The Red Acorn
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 | 12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19
"But why call his death inglorious? If a man braves death why is
any one time or place worse than another?"
"Because for a man of his temperament he is dying the cruelest death
possible. He had expected, if called upon to yield his life, to
purchase with it some great good for his country. But to perish
uselessly as he is doing, as if bitten by a snake, is terrible.
Here we are. I will tell you before we go in that he has a bullet
wound through the body, just grazing an artery and it is only
a question of a short time, and the slightest shock, when a fatal
hemorrhage will ensue. Be very quiet and careful."
He untied a rope stretched across the entrance to a little wing of
the building to keep unnecessary footsteps at a distance.
"How is he this morning?" he asked of a gray-haired nurse seated
in front of a door curtained with a blanket.
"Quiet and cheeful as ever," answered the nurse, rising and pulling
the blanket aside that they might enter.
The face upon which Rachel's eyes fell when she entered the room
impressed her as an unusual combination of refinement and strength.
Beyond this she noted little as to the details of the patient's
countenance, except that he had hazel eyes, and a clear complexion
asserting itself under the deep sun-burning.
When they entered he was languidly fanning himself with a fan which
had been ingeniously constructed for him by some inmate, out of a
twig of willow bent into a hoop, and covered by pasting paper over
it. He gave a faint smile of welcome to the Doctor, but his face
lighted up with pleasure when he saw Rachel.
"Good morning, Sanderson," said Dr. Denslow, in a repressed voice.
"How do you feel?"
"As usual," whispered Sanderson.
"This is Miss Rachel Bond, who is assigned to our hospital as
nurse."
A slight movement of Sanderson's head acknowledged Rachel's bow.
"I am so glad to see you," he whispered, taking hold of her hand.
"Sit down there, please."
Rachel took the indicated seat at the head of the cot.
"Doctor," inquired Sanderson, "is it true that McClellan has had
to fall back from before Richmond?"
"I have tried hard to keep the news from you," answered Dr. Denslow,
reluctantly. "I feat it is too true. Let us hope it is only a
temporary reverse, and that it will soon be more than overcome."
"Not in time for me," said Sanderson, in deep dejection. "I have
lived several days merely because I wanted to see Richmond taken
before I died. I can wait no longer."
The Doctor essayed some confused words of encouragement, but stopped
abruptly, and feigning important business in another part of the
hospital, hurried out, bidding Rachel await his return.
When he was gone Sanderson lifted Rachel's hand to his lips, and
said with deep feeling:
"I am so glad you have come. You remind me of her."
The ebbing life welled up for the last time into such ardent
virility that Rachel's first maidenly instinct was to withdraw her
hand from his earnest pressure and kiss.
"No, do not take your hand away," he said eagerly. "There need be
no shame, for I shall be clay almost before you flush has had time
to fade. I infringe on no other's rights, for I see in you only
another whom you much resemble."
Rachel suffered her hand to remain within his grasp.
"I would that she knew as you do, that I died thinking of her, next
to my country. You will write and tell her so. The Doctor will
give you her address, and you can tell her, as only a woman can
tell another what the woman-heart hungers for, of my last moments.
It is so much better that you should do it than Dr. Denslow, even,
grand as he is in every way. You will tell her that there was not
a thought of repining--that I felt that giving my life was only
partial payment to those who gave theirs to purchase for me every
good thing that I have enjoyed. I had twenty-five years of as happy
a life as ever a man lived, and she came as its crowning joy. I
look forward almost eagerly to what that Power, which has made every
succeeding year of my life happier than the previous one, has in
store for me in the awakening beyond. Ah, see there! It has come.
There goes my life."
She looked in the direction of his gaze, and saw a pool of blood
slowly spreading out from under the bed, banking itself against
the dust into miniature gulfs and seas. The hand that held hers
relaxed, and looking around she saw his eyes closed as if in peaceful
sleep.
Dr. Denslow entered while she still gazed on the dead face, and
said:
"I am so sorry I left you alone. I did not expect this for some
hours."
"How petty and selfish all my life has been," said Rachel, dejectedly,
as they left the room.
"Not a particle more than his was, probably," said Dr. Denslow,
"until his opportunity came. It is opportunity that makes the
hero, as well as the less reputable personage, and I haev no doubt
that when yours comes, you will redeem yourself from all blame of
selfishness and pettiness."
Chapter XVI. The Ambuscade.
This heavy-headed revel, east and west,
Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations;
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish frase
Soul our addition: and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though performed at hight,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.--Hamlet.
The day spent with Aunt Debby had been of the greatest benefit to
Harry Glen. Since his parting with Rachel Bond, there had been
going on in his spirit a fermentation like that with which good wine
discharges itself of its grossness and impurities, and becomes clear
and fine. In this process had vanished the absorbing selfishness
of a much-indulged only son, and teh supercilious egotism which
came as an almost necessary result of his college curriculum. This
spiritual ripening received its perfecting color and bloom from
the serene exaltation of Aunt Debby's soul. So filled was she with
lofty devotion to the cause, so complete her faith in its holiness,
and so unquestioning her belief that it was every one's simple duty
to brave all dangers for it, and die if need be without a murmur,
that contact with her would have inspired with pure patriotic ardor
a nature much less ready for such leavening than Harry's.
As Dr. Denslow had surmised, his faults were mainly superficial,
and underneath them was a firm gristle of manhood, which would
speedily harden into bone. With the experience he had been having,
days would mature this as rapidly as ordinary years. He was himself
hardly aware of the transformation, but only felt, as his physical
exhaustion disappeared, a new eagerness to participate in the great
work of the war. He was gratified to know a little later that
this was no transient feeling. In the course of the evening Jim
Fortner came back in, with Kent Edwards and Abe Bolton. After they
had all satisfied their hunger, Fortner informed Harry and Aunt
Debby that the enemy had fallen back to London, from which point
he was sending out wagons into the surrounding country, to gather
up food, forage, arms, clothing, ammunition, etc., with the double
object of depriving the Union men of them, and adding the same to
the Rebel resources. A long train had also been sent out to the
Goose Creek Salt Works--twenty-five miles northeast of London--to
bring away a lot of salt stored there, of which the Rebels had even
more need than of food.
Fortner proposed to go out in the morning, and endeavor to capture
some of these wagons. It seemed altogether probably that a few might
be caught in such a position that their guards could be killed or
driven off.
All readily agreed to this plan, Aunt Debby leading off by volunteering
to ride ahead on her mare, as a scout.
Harry suddenly remembered that he was weaponless. "What shall I
do for a gun?" he asked, anxiously.
"I declar, I done forgot all 'bout gittin' ye a gun," said Fortner
with real concern. "My mind was disturbed by other things," he
added with a suspicion of a grin at Edwards and Bolton; but they
were leaning back in their chairs fast asleep. Apple jack, fatigue
and a hearty supper together made a narcotic too potent to resist.
Fortner rose, spread a few blankets on the floor, added a sack of
bran for a pillow, and with some difficulty induced the two sleepers
to lie down and take their slumbers in a more natural position.
"I'll find ye a gun," said Aunt Debby, as this operation was finished,
and walking to a farther corner of the room, she came back bearing
in her hand a rifle very similar to the one Fortner carried.
"Thar," she said, setting the delicately-curved brazen heel down
upon the hearth, and holding the muzzle at arm's length while she
gazed at the gun with the admiration one can not help feeling for
a magnificent weapon, "is ez true a rifle ez ever a man put to
his shoulder. Ef I didn't b'lave ye ter be ez true ez steel ye
shouldn't tech hit, fur hit b'longed ter the truest man in this
livin' world."
"Hit wuz her husband's," explained Fortner, as her lips met firmly,
as if choking down bitter memories.
"I'm givin' hit ter ye ter use ez he'd a-used hit ef he war a-livin',"
she said, steadying her tones with a perceptible effort. "I'm glad
thet my hands can put inter yours the means ter avenge him."
Harry tried in vain to make an appropriate response.
"I'll clean hit up for ye," she said to Harry, as she saw Fortner
beginning to furbish up his own rifle for the next day's duties.
That she was no stranger to the work was shown by the skill with which
she addressed herself to it. Nothing that a Kentucky mountaineer
does has more of the aspect of a labor of love, than his caring
for a find rifle, and any of them would have been put to shame by
the deftness of Aunt Debby's supple hands. Removing the leathern
hood which protected the lock, she carefully rubbed off the hammer
and nipple with a wisp of soft fine tow, and picked out the tube
with a needle. Wrapping another bit of tow around the end of a
wiping-stick, she moistened it slightly in her mouth, and carefully
swabbed out of the inside of the barrel every suspicion of dust and
dirt. Each of the winding rifles was made clean and free along its
whole course. Then the tow swab was lightly touched with sweet,
unsalted goose-fat, that it might spread a rust-preventing film
over the interior surface. She burnished the silver and brass
ornaments, and rubbed the polished stock until it shone. When not a
suspicion of soil or dirt remained any where, the delicate double
triggers were examined and set so that they would yield at the
stroke of a hair, a tuft of lightly-oiled tow was placed over the
nipple and another closed the muzzle.
"Thar," said Aunt Deby, setting the gun back against the logs, "is
a rifle that'll allers do hits duty, ef the man a-holt of hit does
his. Let's see how the ammunition is."
The powder horn was found to be well filled with powder, and the
box with caps, but there were only a few bullets.
"I'll run ye some," she said, taking from a shelf a small iron
ladle, a few bars of lead, and a pair of bullet molds. "Fur more'n
a hunderd years the women uv our fam'ly hev run all the bullets
our menfolks shot. They b'lieved hit made 'em lucky. Granfather
Fortner killed an Injun chief acrost the Maumee River at the battle
of Fallen Timbers with a bullet thet Granmother hed run fur him
an' markt with a little cross. Afore the battle begun Franfather
tuck the bullet outen his pouch an' put hit inter his mouth, until
he could git a chance ter use hit on big game. He brot the chief's
scalp hum ter Granmother."
"I believe the bullets you cast for me will do good service," said
Harry, with sincerity in his tones.
"I'm sartin of hit," she returned, confidently. "I hev adopted ye
in my heart ez a son, an' I feel towards ye ez ef ye were raylly
uv my own kin. I know ye'll be a credit to yerself an' me."
While the lead was melting upon the bed of coals she drew out on
the hearth, she sat in her low chair with her hands clasped about
her knees, and her great gray eyes fixed upon the depths of a
mass of glowing embers in the fireplace, as if she saw there vivid
pictures of the past or revelations of the future.
"How wonderfully bright an' glowin' hit is in thar," she said
musingly; "hit's purer an' brighter then ennything else on arth.
'Purified ez by fire,' the Book says. My God, Thou has sent Thy
fires upon me ez a sweepin' flood. Hev they purified me ez Thou
wisht? How hit shines an' glows away in thar! Hit seems so deep
sometimes thet I kin skeercely see the end. A million times purer
an' brighter is the light thet shines from the Throne uv God.
THEY'RE lookin' at thet now, while I still tarry heah. Husband an'
son, when will I go to ye? When will I finish the work the Lord
hez fur me ter do? When will the day uv my freedom come? May-be
to-morrer--may-be to-morrer."
She began singing softly:
"An' when a shadder falls acrost the winder
Of my room,
When I am workin' my app'inted task,
I lift my head to watch the door an' ask
If he is come;
An' the angel answers sweetly
In my home:
'Only a few more shadders
An' He will come.'"
"Aunt Debby, honey," said Fortner, rousing himself from a nap in
his chair, "thet thar lead's burnin'. Better run yer bullets."
She started as if waked from a trance, pressed her slender thin
hands to her eyes for an instant, and then taking the molds up in
herleft hand she raised the ladle with her right, filled them from
it, knocked the molded balls out by a tap on the floor, and repeated
the process with such dexterous quickness that she had made fifty
bullets before harry realized that she was fairly at work.
"Ye men hed better lay down an' git some sleep," she said, as she
replaced the molds and ladle on the shelf. "Ye'll need all yer
strength to-morrer. I'll neck these bullets, an' git together some
vittles fur the trip, an' then I'll lay down a while. We orter
start airly--soon arter daybreak."
They did start early the next morning, with Aunt Debby riding upon
the roads that wound around the mountain sides, while Fortner led
the men through the shorter by-paths.
Noon had passed some hours, and yet they had come across no signs
of wagons. Aunt Debby was riding along a road cut out of the rocks
about mid-way up the mountain. To her right the descent was almost
perpendicular for a hundred feet or more to where a creek ran at
the bottom of a cliff. To her left the hill rose up steeply to
a great height. Fortner and the others saw Aunt Debby galloping
back, waving the red handkerchief which was her signal of the
approach of a wagon. After her galloped a Rebel Sergeant, with
revolver drawn shouting to her to stop or he would fire. Abe
Bolton stepped forward impulsively to shoot the Rebel, missed his
footing, and slid down the hill, landing in the orad with such
force as to jar into unintelligibiliy a bitter imprecation he had
constructed for the emergency. He struck in front of the Sergeant,
who instantly fired at Aunt Debby's mare, sending a bullet through
the faithful animal, which sank to her knees, and threw her rider
to the ground. Without waiting to rise, and he was not certain that
he could, Abe fired his musket, but missed both man and horse. He
scrambled to his feet, and ran furiously at the Rebel with raised
gun. The Sergeant fired wildly at him, when Bolton struck the
animal a violent blow across the head. It recoiled, slipped, and
in another instant had fallen over the side of the road, and crushed
his rider on the rocks below. Five of the wagon-guard who were
riding ahead of the wagon galloped forward at the sound of the
shots. Fortner, Edwards and Harry Glen fired into these, and three
saddles were emptied. The remaining two men whirled their horses
around, fired wildly into the air, and dashed back upon the
plunging team, with which the driver was vainly struggling. The
ground quivered as the frightened animals struck together; they
were crushed back upon their haunches, and beat one another cruelly
with their mighty hoofs. Wagon, horses and men reeled on the brink
an agonizing instant; the white-faced driver dropped the lines and
sprang to the secure ground; the riders strained with the energy
of deadly fear to tear themselves loose from their steeds, but in
vain. Then the frantic mess crashed down the jagged rocks, tearing
up the stunted cedars as if they were weeds, and fell with a sounding
splash on the limestone bed of the shallow creek.
Fortner, Glen and Edwards came down as quickly as possible, the
latter spraining his ankle badly by making a venturesome leap to
reach the road first. They found a man that Fortner had shot at
stone dead, with a bullet through his temple. The other two had been
struck in the body. Their horses stood near, looking wonderingly
at their prostrate masters.
Bolton was rubbing his bruises and abrasions, and vituperating
everything, from the conduct of the war to the steepness of Kentucky
mountains. Aunt Debby had partially recovered from the stunning of
her fall, and limped slowly up, with her long riding-skirt raised
by one hand. Her lips were compressed, an her great gray eyes
blazed with excitement.
They all went to the side of the road, and looked down at the
crushed and bleeding mass in the creek.
"My God! that's awful," said Henry, with a rising sickness about
his heart, as the excitement began subsiding.
"Plenty good enuf fur scoundrels who rob poor men of all they hev,"
said Fortner fiercely, as he re-loaded his rifle. "Hit's not bad
enuf fur thieves an' robbers."
"Hit's God's judgement on the wicked an' the opporessor," said Aunt
Debby, with solemn pitilessness.
"Hadn't we better try to get down there, and help those men out?"
suggested Harry. "Perhaps they are not dead yet."
"Aunt Debby, thet thar hoss thet's rain' his head an' whinnyin',"
said Fortner, with sudden interest, "is Joel Sprigg's roan geldin',
sho's yore bo'n, honey." He pointed to where a shapely head was
raised, and almost human agony looked out of great liquid eyes.
"Thet wuz the finest hoss in Laurel County, an' they've stole 'im
from Joel. Hit'll 'bout break his heart, fur he set a powerful
sight o'store on thet there beast. Pore critter! hit makes me sick
ter see 'im suffer thet-a-way! I've a mind ter put 'im outen his
misery, but I'm afeered I can't shoot 'im, so long ez he looks at me
with them big pitiful eyes o' his'n. They go right ter my heart."
"You'd better shoot him," urged Aunt Debby. "Hit's a si ter let
an innocent critter suffer thet-a-way."
Fortner raised his rifle, and sent a bullet through the mangled
brute's brain.
Aunt Debby's eyes became fixed on a point where, a mile away down
the mountain, a bend in the road was visible through an opening in
the trees.
"Look out," she said, as the echoes of the shot died away, "thar
comes a hull lot on 'em."
They looked and saw plainly a large squad of cavalry, with a wagon
behind.
"We must get outen heah, an' thet quick," said Fortner decisively.
He caught one of the horses and shortened a stirrup to make the
sadle answer for a side-saddle. "Heah, Aunt Debby, let me help
ye up, honey. Now Bolton and Edwards, I'll help ye on these ere
other critters. Now skeet out ez fast ez the hosse's legs will
tote ye. Don't spar 'em a mite. Them fellers'll gin ye to the
devil's own chase ez soon ez they get heah, an' see what's bin
done. Glen and me'll go acrost the mounting, an' head 'em off on
t'other side. Don't come back ef ye heah shootin', but keep straight
on, fur we kin take keer o' this crowd without enny help. glen,
you sasshay up the mounting thar ez fast ez the Lord'll let ye.
I'll be arter ye right spry."
All sped away as directed. Fortner had been loading his gun while
speaking. He now rammed the bullet home, and withdrawing his rammer
walked over to the cliff beside which the teamster was cowering.
"O, Mister Fortner, don't kill me--please don't!" whined the
luckless man, getting awkwardly upon his knees and raising his
hands imploringly. "I swar ter God I'll never raise a hand agin
a Union man agin ef ye'll only spar my life."
"Kill ye, Pete Hoskins!" said Fortner with unfathomable contempt.
"What consete ye hev ter think yer wuth the powder an' lead. I
hain't no bullets ter waste on carr'on."
He struck the abject fellow a couple of stinging blows on the face
with the ramrod, replaced it in the thimbles, and sprang up the
rocks just as the head of the cavalry appeared around the bend of
the road a few rods away.
Overtaking Harry shortly, he heard about the same time the Rebels
on the road below strike into a trot.
"They know hit all now," he said, "an' hev started in chase. Let's
jog on lively, an' get ter whar we kin head 'em off."
Night had fallen in the meantime, but the full moon had risen
immediately, making it almost as light as day.
After half an hour's fast walking, the two Unionists had cut across
the long horseshoe around which the Rebels were traveling, and had
come down much ahead of them on the other side of the mountain,
and just where the road led up the steep ascent of another mountain.
There was a loneliness about the spot that was terrible. Over it
hung the "thought and deadly feel of solitude." The only break
for miles in the primeval forest was that made for the narrow road.
House or cabin there was none in all the gloomy reaches of rocks
and gnarled trees. It was too inhospitable a region to tempt even
the wildest squatter.
The flood of moonlight made the desolation more oppresive than
ever, by making palpable and suggestive the inky abysses under the
trees and in the thickets.
Fortner looked up the road to his right and listened intently.
A waterfall mumbled somewhere in the neighborhood. The pines and
hemlocks near the summit sighed drearily. A gray fox, which had
probably just supped off a pheasant, sat on a log and barked out
his gluttonous satisfaction. A wildcat, as yet superless, screamed
its envy from a cliff a half a mile away.
"I can't heah anything of Aunt Debby an' the others," said Fortner,
at length; "so I reckon they're clean over the mounting, an' bout
safe by this time. Them beasts are purty good travelers, I imagine,
an' they hain't let no grass grow in under the'r hufs."
"But the Rebels are coming, hand over hand," said Harry, who had
been watching to the left and listening. "I hear them quite plainly.
Yes, there they are," he continued, as two or three galloped around
a turn in the road, followed at a little interval by others.
The metallic clang of the rapid hoof-beats on the rocks rang through
the somber aisles of the forest. Noisy fox and aniphonal wildcat
stopped to listen to this invasion of sound.
"Quick! let's get in cover," said Fortner.
"Ye make fur thet rock up thar," said Fortner to Harry, pointing
to a spot several hundred yards above them, "and stay thar tell I
come. Keep close in the shadder, so's they won't see ye."
"It seems to me that I ought to stay with you,' said Harry,
indecisively.
"No; go. Ye can't do no good heah. One's better nor two. I'll
be up thar soon. Go, quick."
There was no time for debate, and Harry did as bidden.
Fortner stepped into the inky shadow of a large rock, against
which he leaned. The great broad face of the rock, gray from its
covering of minute ash-colored lichens, was toward the pursuers,
and shone white as marble in the flood of moonlight. The darkness
seemed banked up around him, but within his arm's length it was
as light as day. The long rifle barrel reached from the darkness
into the light, past the corner of the rock against which it
rested. The bright rays made the little "bead" near the muzzle
gleam like a diamond, and lighted up the slit as fine as a hair
in the hind-sight. Three little clicks, as if of twigs breaking
under a rabbit's foot, told that the triggers had been set and the
hammer raised.
The horsemen, much scattered by the pursuit, clattered onward. In
ones and twos, with wide intervals between, they reached along a
half-mile of the road. Two--the best mounted--rode together at the
head. Two hundred yards below the great white rock, which shone
as innocent and kindly as a fleecy Summer cloud, a broad rivulet
wound its way toward the neighboring creek. The blown horses
scented the grateful water, and checked down to drink of it. The
right-hand rider loosened his bridle that his steed might gratify
himself. The other tightened his rein and struck with his spurs.
His horse "gathered," and leaped across the stream. As the armed
hoofs struck sparks from the smooth stones on the opposite side,
the rider of the drinking horse saw burst out of the white rock
above them a gray cloud, with a central tongue of flame, and his
comrade fell to the ground.
His immediate reply with both barrels of his shotgun showed that
he did not mistake this for any natural phenomenon. The sound of
the shots brought the rest up at a gallop, and a rapid fire was
opened on the end of the rock.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 | 12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19