My lady of the South. Randall Parrish
sure to betray me to any challenging sentinel. I comprehended something now of the lay of the land, the situation of the two armies, and the direction of the contemplated movement. If I only possessed a horse and a Confederate uniform, I might discover a passage and arrive in time with my message of warning to prevent a grave disaster. Those horses tied to the fence corner! George was there, and probably the negro Joe as well, and they were so close to the house the slightest sound of a struggle would be heard instantly. That would mean four against one, the four armed. The orderly! Ay, there was a possible chance he would come riding down that road from the west alone, unsuspecting danger. And he would surely come, if what the Chaplain said was true. Any moment now we might hear the hoof-beats of his horse echoing through the darkness. It was a black, cloudy night, intensely still, and I would need to get some distance away before any attack on the speeding messenger would be safe. Yet, could I once succeed in waylaying him alone, I felt little (ear as to the results of the encounter. I was young, strong, long inured to fighting, and besides would possess all the advantage of surprise. I reached my decision as a soldier, with no other consideration in mind than the plain duty which this emergency brought. The training and discipline of years all combined to urge me forward in forgetfulness of self.
I crawled back along the fence shadow, grasping, as I passed, a loosened picket for a weapon, and pausing long enough behind the shed to fashion it so as to fit my hand. Then I walked boldly down the road to the westward. The gloom of the night was so dense I had to feel the ruts with my feet, yet I had travelled that way before through the darkness, and remembered some of the peculiarities of the path. Not far beyond the corner which I judged marked the limits of the Denslow plantation, the road dipped sharply over a rocky bank, and descended into the narrow valley of the creek. This appeared to me a spot well fitted for an ambuscade, and I came to a halt, leaning against a stunted tree, listening anxiously. The time had already become most precious. The remaining hours of the night might be ample for my purpose, if I only knew the surrounding country better, and could thus find my course directly to the Federal camp. But the chances were I should have to ride many a useless mile seeking to get free from the enemy's lines before reaching our pickets. Every moment of darkness I could gain would add immeasurably to my chances of success. It seemed as if night had never before been so still; not even the slightest sound of life reached me; no rustle of leaves, and barely the faintest tinkle of distant water. Overhead not so much as a single star was visible, and, as I glanced uneasily behind, no gleam of light shone forth from any window of the great house. I was so thoroughly alone the silence strained my nerves and aroused my imagination. Mine was not by any means a pleasant position, now that I had leisure to reflect upon it—I was upon the very edge of the battlefield, well within the Confederate lines; where their sentries were posted, their pickets placed, I could not even guess, only I might rest assured no open road would be neglected. Yet, if any were near, the orderly certainly would be challenged as he rode toward me, and any such sound of warning must reach me from a long distance amid the stillness.
I must have distinguished the approach of that horse's hoofs fully a mile away—first the faint ring of steel on an exposed stone, and then, a little later, the dull thud of a steady canter. The fellow rode recklessly enough through such gloom, rode as if he were no stranger to the path, yet surely he would be compelled to rein up as he came to cross the water, and with this in mind, I half slid, half crept down to the very edge of the stream, crouching beneath the dense shade of an out-cropping rock, grasping my club firmly, but with heart pounding from excitement. I must act quickly, mercilessly, or there would certainly be firing, the spread of alarm. Not only my own life, but perhaps the fate of an army, depended upon that struggle in the dark.
CHAPTER IV AN UNEXPECTED PREDICAMENT
CHUG! chug! chug! The fellow was evidently astride of a good horse. Once he broke sharply into a canter, under the spur, but mostly the sounds were those of steady, swift trotting, the rider, no doubt, permitting the animal to pick its own way, with scarcely a restraint upon the rein. They came down the opposite bank, stumbling slightly at the abruptness of the descent, slowing to a walk at the edge of the stream, and then I obtained, for the first time, a dim, smudgy outline of both horse and man. There was a splash of hoofs, a slight pause, as the animal gulped down a few hasty swallows of water, a muttered oath from the impatient rider, accented by a dip of spurs, a scramble for footing on the bank.
The horse saw me as I leaped forward, and sprang sideways, the suddenness of movement causing his surprised rider to lean far out in instinctive effort to retain his seat in the saddle. What followed was strain, confusion, struggle. I had him by the jacket collar, dragging him to earth, and we went down together, clinching desperately. His revolvers were in the saddle holsters, and we fought it out with bare hands. It was so swiftly done as to be scarcely describable; I recall blows struck, the fierce wrestling, a smothered oath, a grappling at the throat, the rolling over and over, our limbs twisted together, and then my throttling him until he lay prone and helpless. There was a derringer in his inner jacket pocket. I felt it as I rested on top, and, wrenching it forth, I pressed the round muzzle against his forehead, my voice full of threat at the slightest movement. The fellow now lay breathless, trembling like an aspen from exertion, more frightened than hurt, yet with all the fight whipped out of him.
Using little enough ceremony, I stripped him of jacket and trousers, flinging down in return beside his prostrate body my own fragments of uniform. As I hastily donned the garments thus feloniously appropriated, my fingers chanced to touch the braided insignia of rank on the jacket collar, and I stopped, staring down in surprise at the dark outline still cowering before the levelled derringer.
"Who are you, an orderly?"
"No, a lieutenant of cavalry."
A flash of light came to me; I had waylaid the speeding bridegroom.
"Oh, indeed," I said, the surprise of discovery rendering me careless. "Then I suppose you must be Calvert Dunn?"
He made no reply which I could understand.
"Come, you might as well answer me."
"I am."
"Of Johnston's staff, I believe, but what regiment?"
"The Tenth Georgia. But who are you? What do you mean by this attack? How do you happen to know my name?"
I took ample time to consider my answer, buttoning the tight-fitting jacket to the throat; then said coldly—
"I hardly suppose it will do any harm for you to know, as I propose tying you up safely, and leaving you here out of sight and sound. You will be discovered all right by morning; by that time I shall be well beyond your reach. The truth may give you something to think over, but first answer me a question or two: Have your pickets been withdrawn from the road leading east?"
He remained silent, until I pressed the lips of the derringer against his cheek.
"Yes, damn you; I wouldn't tell, but I believe you know it already. What I want to know is who you are!"
"A question easily answered. I am a Yankee artillery-man, who was left for dead on the field yonder. I have been hiding on the Denslow plantation, waiting for night to afford me opportunity for escape beyond your lines. While secreted there I overheard enough of a conversation to learn your name as well as your purpose. But I was not in hiding here expecting to intercept you, for Colonel Denslow believed that, owing to the sudden movement of the army, you would be unable to escape from your staff duties long enough to keep your engagement. He expected, however, the arrival of an orderly at any moment ordering his immediate return to his regiment. I came here hoping to capture that orderly, and appropriate his horse and clothes, so as to facilitate my escape. I sincerely regret that you, instead, were the victim."
The man was uplifted upon one elbow, endeavoring vainly to distinguish my features in the darkness.
"To hell with your regrets,"