Part 12 (2/2)
”Tennessee regiment, sir,” replied d.i.c.k, afraid to mention any number, since this officer might be a Tennesseean himself, and would want further identification. But the man was not to be put off-d.i.c.k judged from his uniform that he was a colonel-and demanded sharply his regiment's number and his business.
The lad mumbled something under his breath, hopeful that he would pa.s.s on, but the officer stepped forward, looked at him closely and then suddenly turned back the collar of his army jacket, disclosing a bit of the under side yet blue.
”Thunderation, a Yankee spy!” he exclaimed.
d.i.c.k always believed that his life was due to a sudden and violent impulse, or rather a convulsive jerk, because he had no time to think. He threw off the officer's hand, dashed his fist into his face, and, without waiting to see the effect, ran headlong among the bushes down the side of the ravine. He heard a shouting behind him, the reports of several shots, the rapid tread of feet, and he knew that the man-hunt was on.
He had all the instincts of the hunted to seek cover, and the night was his friend. But few lights glimmered in that portion of Vicksburg, and in many parts of the ravine the bushes were thick. He darted down the slope at great speed, then turned and ran along its side, still keeping well under cover. Where the shadows were darkest and the bushes thickest he paused panting.
He heard his pursuers calling to one another, and he also heard the excited voices of people in the ravine. The civilians had been aroused by the shots so close by and he thought the confusion would help him. He stood in the deep shadow, his breath gradually growing easier, and then he started down the ravine, coming to a little path that led along the side of the slope. He noticed a dark opening, and as the voices of pursuers were now coming nearer, he popped into it, trusting to blind luck.
d.i.c.k had thought it was a mere wash-out or deep recess, but at the third step his foot struck upon a carpet and he saw ahead a dim light. He paused, amazed, and then he remembered that he had heard about the civilians digging caves for shelter from the sh.e.l.ls and bombs. Evidently some forethoughtful man had prepared his cave early.
Uncertain what to do he did nothing, pressing his back against the earth and listening. No sound came, and the dim light still flickering ahead rea.s.sured him.
The opening through which he had come was large, and admitted plenty of fresh air. As he stood four or five feet from the entrance he saw several soldiers hurrying along the path, and he knew they were hunting for him. He realized then his fortune in finding this improvised cave-house. After the soldiers pa.s.sed he walked gently toward the light. Apparently the regular occupants were gone away for the time, and he might find a hiding place there until it was safe to go out.
The pa.s.sage was narrow, but the carpet was still under his feet, and further in, the sides and roof of the earthen walls had been covered with planks. The light grew brighter and he was quite sure that a room of some size was just ahead. His curiosity became so great that it smothered all apprehension, and he stepped boldly into the room, where the lamp burned on a table.
He would have stepped back as quickly, but a pair of great burning eyes caught his and held them. A bed was standing against the board wall of the cave, and in this bed lay an old man with a huge bald head, immense white eyebrows and eyes of extraordinary intensity.
Once more did Colonel Charles Woodville and Richard Mason stare into the eyes of each other, and for a long time neither spoke.
”I managed to escape from Jackson with my little family,” said the colonel at length, ”and I thought that in this, so to say, sylvan retreat I might drop all undesirable acquaintances that I made there.”
The whole scene was grotesque and wild to d.i.c.k. It was like a pa.s.sage out of the Arabian Nights, and an extraordinary spirit of recklessness seized him.
”I appreciate your words, sir,” he said, ”and I can understand your feelings. I have felt myself that it was never wise to go where one might not be welcome, and yet chance plays us such tricks that neither your wish nor mine is granted.”
The old man then raised his head a little higher on the pillow. A spark leaped from the burning eyes.
”A lad of spirit,” he said. ”I would not withhold praise where praise is due. I recall meeting some one who resembled you very much. Perhaps a brother of yours, eh?”
”No, he was not my brother.”
”Well, it does not matter and we will not pursue the subject. How does it happen that you have come into this hillside castle of mine?”
Young Mason saw a flicker of amus.e.m.e.nt in the eyes of the old man. He was aware that in his muddy uniform he made no imposing figure, but his spirit was as high as ever, and the touch of recklessness was still there.
”I saw some men coming down the path,” he replied; ”men with whom I do not care to a.s.sociate, and I turned aside to avoid them. I beheld the open door and stepped within, but I did not know the chamber was occupied, and it was far from my purpose to intrude upon you or any one. I trust, sir, that you will believe me.”
The lad took off his cap and bowed. His face was now revealed more clearly, and it was a fine one, splendidly molded, intellectual, and with n.o.ble blue eyes. After all, despite the mud and stains, he made a graceful figure as he stood there, so obviously confident of himself, but respectful.
The spark leaped again from the eyes of Colonel Woodville, and, remembering something, there was a slight warmth about the heart which lately had been so cold and bitter.
”I do not blame you,” he said. ”A lad, one in his formative years, cannot be too careful about his a.s.sociates. Doubtless you were justified in taking advantage of the open door. But now that you are here may I ask you what you purpose next to do?”
”I admit, sir, that the question is natural,” replied d.i.c.k, suiting his tone and manner to those of the old man. ”I have scarcely had time yet to form a purpose, but, since the danger of contamination of which we spoke still exists, it occurs to me that perhaps I might stay here a while. Is there some nook or a cover in which I might rest? I hope I do not trespa.s.s too much upon your hospitality.”
Colonel Woodville pondered. His great white eyebrows were drawn together and, for a moment or two, he gazed down the beak of his nose.
”I confess,” he said, ”that the appeal to hospitality moves me. I am stirred somewhat, too, by pleasant recollections of the lad who looked like you. But wait, my daughter is coming. We will confer with her. Margaret is a most capable woman.”
d.i.c.k heard a light step in the pa.s.sage and he wheeled quickly. Miss Woodville was before him, a plain, elderly figure in a plain black dress, with a basket on her arm. The basket contained a fowl and some eggs which she had just bought at a great price. When she saw d.i.c.k her hand flew to her throat, but when the pulse ceased to beat so hard it came away and she looked at him fixedly. Then a slow smile like the dawn spread over the severe, worn face.
”Come in, Margaret, and put down your basket,” said the colonel in a genial tone. ”Meanwhile bid welcome to our unexpected guest, a young man of spirit and quality with whom I was holding converse before you came. He does not wish to go out to-night, because there are many violent men abroad, and he would avoid them.”
Then he turned to d.i.c.k, and asked in a tone, sharp and commanding: ”I have your word, young sir, that your unexpected visit to our city was not of a secret nature; that is, it was not of a lawless character?”
”An accident, sir, an accident pure and simple. I answer you on my honor. I have seen nothing and I shall not seek to see anything which I should not see.”
”Margaret,” continued the colonel, and now his tone became deferential as behooved a gentleman speaking to a lady, ”shall we ask him to share our simple quarters to-night?”
The lad slowly turned his gaze to the face of the woman. He felt with all the power of intuition that his fate rested on her decision. But she was a woman. And she was, too, a true daughter of her father. A kindred spark leaped up in her own soul, and she met d.i.c.k's gaze. She noted his fearless poise, and she saw the gallant spirit in his eye. Then she turned to her father.
”I think you wish him to stay, sir,” she said, ”and the wish seems right to me. Our narrow quarters limit our hospitality in quality, but not in intent. We can offer him nothing but the little alcove behind the blanket.”
She inclined her head toward the blanket, which d.i.c.k had not noticed before. It hung near the bed and, wis.h.i.+ng to cause this household little trouble, he said: ”Then I a.s.sume that you will shelter me for the night, and, if I may, I will go at once to my room.”
Colonel Woodville lowered his head upon the pillow and laughed softly.
”A lad of spirit. A lad of spirit, I repeat,” he said. ”No, Margaret, you and I could not have turned him from our earthen roof.”
d.i.c.k bowed to Miss Woodville, and that little ghost of a tender smile flitted about her thin lips. Then he lifted the blanket, stepped into the dark, and let the curtain fall behind him.
He stood for a s.p.a.ce until his eyes, used to the dusk, could see dimly. It was a tiny room evidently used as a place of storage for clothing and bedding, but there was s.p.a.ce enough for him to lie down, if he bent his knees a little.
The strain upon both muscle and nerve had been very great, and now came collapse. Removing his shoes and outer clothing he dropped upon a roll of bedding and closed his eyes. But he was grateful, deeply and lastingly grateful. The bread that he had cast upon the waters was returning to him fourfold.
He heard low voices beyond the blanket, and he did not doubt that they were those of Colonel Woodville and his daughter. The woman in plain black, with the basket on her arm, had seemed a pathetic figure to him. He could not blame them for feeling such intense bitterness. What were the causes of the war to people who had been driven from a luxurious home to a hole in the side of a ravine?
He slept, and when he woke it seemed to be only a moment later, but he knew from the slender edge of light appearing where the blanket just failed to touch the floor that morning had come. He moved gently lest he disturb his host in the larger room without, and then he heard the distant thunder, which he knew was the booming of Grant's great guns. And so the night had not stopped them! All through the hours that he slept the cannon had rained steel and death on Vicksburg. Then came a great explosion telling him that a sh.e.l.l had burst somewhere near. It was followed by the voice of Colonel Woodville raised in high, indignant tones: ”Can't they let a gentleman sleep? Must they wake him with one of their infernal sh.e.l.ls?”
He heard a slight rustling sound and he knew that it was the great bald head moving impatiently on the pillows. Inferring that it was early, he would have gone back to sleep himself, but slumber would not come. He remained a while, thoughtful, for his future lay very heavy upon him, and then he heard the sound of several voices beyond the blanket.
He listened closely, trying to number and distinguish them. There were three and two belonged to Colonel Woodville and his daughter. The third repelled and puzzled him. It seemed to have in it a faint quality of the fox. It was not loud, and yet that light, snarling, sinister note was evident.
The sensitive, attuned mind can be easily affected by a voice, and the menace of the unknown beyond the blanket deepened. d.i.c.k felt a curious p.r.i.c.kling at the roots of his hair. He listened intently, but he could not understand anything that was spoken, and then he drew himself forward with great caution.
They must be talking about something of importance, because the voices were earnest, and sometimes all three spoke at once. He reached a slow hand toward the blanket. The danger would be great, but he must see.
He drew back the blanket slightly, a quarter of an inch, maybe, and looked within the room. Then he saw the owner of the sinister voice, and he felt that he might have known from the first.
Slade, standing before Colonel Woodville's bed, his hat in his hand, was talking eagerly.
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