Part 15 (1/2)

”Wake up, young ma.s.sa; 'most daylight.”

”You sleep mighty sound, chile,” said the old woman, as Frank rose from the bed. ”I's sorry to be 'bilged to 'sturb you, but you must be gwine now. Here's a little bite for you to eat.” As she spoke, she handed Frank a haversack, such as he had often seen used by the soldiers of the rebel army, filled with corn-bread and cold ham. Frank slung it over his shoulder, and, after pulling his rifle out from under the bed, said:

”Aunty, I thank you for your kindness to”-

”Lor' A'mighty, chile!” interrupted the woman, ”don't say one word 'bout dat, I tol' you. I's sorry we can't do more for you; but you must go away now. May de good Lor' bress you.”

The tears rolled down the old woman's cheeks as she said this, and Frank silently shook her hand, and followed Pomp out into the darkness.

CHAPTER XIV.

Chased by Blood-Hounds.

The moon had gone down, the stars were hidden by thick, heavy clouds, and it was so dark that it was impossible to distinguish the nearest objects. Every thing was as silent as death; but this did not affect the vigilance of Pomp, who led the way with noiseless steps, pausing, now and then, to listen. They met with no difficulty, however, and, in a few moments, the plantation was left behind, and they entered the swamp. It was a chilly, gloomy place, and the darkness was impenetrable; but Frank relied implicitly on his guide, who seemed to understand what he was about, and kept as close behind him as possible.

For an hour they traveled without speaking; at length Pomp stopped on the bank of a narrow but deep stream.

”Can you swim, young ma.s.sa?” he inquired, turning to Frank.

”Yes, like a duck,” was the reply.

”I's mighty glad to h'ar it,” said Pomp, ”'cause den you're safe. But I's been mighty oneasy 'bout it, 'cause, if you can't swim, you're kotched, sh.o.r.e. Now,” he continued, ”I must leave you here, 'cause I don't want to let any one know dat I's been away from de plantation. You must cross dis creek, and foller dat road,” pointing to a narrow, well-beaten bridle-path on the opposite bank, ”an' dat will lead you straight to de Red Ribber. You must keep a good watch, now, 'cause you'll h'ar something 'fore long dat'll make you wish you had nebber been born. I's heered it often, an' I knows what it is. Good-by; an' de Lor' bress an' protect you;” and, before Frank could speak, Pomp had disappeared.

Alone! The young hero had never before comprehended the full meaning of that single word, as he did now. Alone, in an almost unbroken forest, which was filled with enemies, who were thirsting for his blood; with no one to whom he could go for advice or a.s.sistance. Is it to be wondered that he felt lonely and discouraged?

He looked back to the scenes through which he had pa.s.sed: the fight; his capture; the long, weary march, under a burning sun; his treatment in the prison, the escape, and the pursuit; the hand-to-hand struggle in the woods; all came up vividly before him, and he wondered how he had escaped unhurt; and, then, what had the future in store for him? The warning of the faithful Pomp was still ringing in his ears, and a dread of impending evil, which he could not shake off, continually pressed upon him. For the first time since his escape, Frank was completely unnerved. Seating himself on the ground, he covered his face with his hands, and cried like a child.

But this burst of weakness did not continue long, for he did not forget that he was still in danger. Hastily das.h.i.+ng the tears from his eyes, he rose to his feet, and prepared to cross the stream. Holding his rifle and ammunition above his head with one hand, he swam with the other, reached the opposite bank in safety, and followed the path into the swamp. A mile further on, he came to another stream, and was making preparations to cross it, when he was startled by a voice, which sounded from the opposite bank:

”Who goesh dere?”

Instead of replying to the challenge, Frank sprang behind a tree, and, looking across the stream, discovered a tall, powerfully-built man, dressed in ”b.u.t.ternut” clothes, holding his rifle in the hollow of his arm. In an instant Frank's gun was at his shoulder, and his finger was already pressing the trigger, when the man exclaimed:

”What for you shoot? I be a friend.”

Frank, although fearful of treachery, lowered his gun, and the Dutchman, moving out of the bushes, leaned on his rifle, and inquired: ”Where you go? I guess you been a gun-boat feller; ain't it?”

”Yes,” answered Frank, ”I once belonged to a gun-boat. But who are you?”

”Me? Oh, I was a captain in the army. Sherman gets licked at Wicksburg, an' I gets took brisoner; an' purty quick me an' anoder feller runs away. Here he is;” and, as the Dutchman spoke, a man wearing a shabby Confederate uniform appeared.

Frank's mind was made up in an instant. Beyond a doubt this was but a stratagem to capture him. But he resolved that he would never surrender, as long as he had sufficient strength to handle his rifle.

”Well, my young friend,” exclaimed the man in the rebel uniform, ”this is a nice dress for a Federal officer to be wearing, isn't it?”

”I don't believe that either of you are officers in the Federal army,” answered Frank. ”It's my opinion that you are both rebels. If it is your intention to attempt to capture me, I may as well tell you that your expectations will never be realized, for I shall never be taken alive;” and Frank handled the lock of his gun in a very significant manner.

”I admire your grit,” said the man, ”and I acknowledge that you have strong grounds for suspicion. But we are really escaped prisoners.”

”Yah,” chimed in the Dutchman, ”I shwear dat is so.”