THE RED WITNESS.
Imogene, after her departure from the fort, sped rapidly onward,
heedless of the extended branches and immense brambles that
threatened every moment to drag her from her saddle. Collecting her
confused thoughts, which were exceedingly harassed by her multiplied
troubles, she checked the impetuosity of her steed, and compelling
him to assume a more moderate gait, fell into a revery.
“Can it be possible,” she murmured, “that Colonel Hall could have
had any intimation of impending danger? he seemed to persist so
strongly that I should remain in the fort till daylight!” Immediately
recovering herself, she exclaimed:
“A truce to such thoughts! It is only the wandering of my disordered
imagination, that turns every harmless tree into a robber, and every
neighboring bush into the lurking-place of some concealed assassin.
However, I must confess that when I first entered the forest, an
indescribable feeling of dread seemed to chill my very blood; but I
must scout such ideas, which if I do not, they will entirely unnerve
me, and render me unfit to enter the presence of my father, who
must not receive from me even the slightest suspicion of Edgar’s
misfortune.”
In vain did she endeavor to shake off the gloomy feeling that
possessed her. The moon, which had been concealed during the earlier
part of the evening behind the immense banks of clouds that had
obscured the heavens, now became occasionally visible, and its fitful
beams served only to render the intense darkness of the woods more
apparent, and lend a more spectral appearance to surrounding objects.
Imogene, having relapsed into her former mood, rode slowly along the
well-beaten path, unmindful of the cold, keen wind that swept through
the surging forest, causing the stanch old oaks to gently bend their
hoary tops to the blast.
The deep baying of her father’s hounds awakened her, at length, from
her musings. Congratulating herself upon having reached the terminus
of her journey in safety, she tried to smile at the absurd fears of
her friends, when her steed, with a snort of terror, made a sudden
pause, throwing himself back on his haunches, almost unseating his
mistress.
Imogene peered into the darkness beyond, but in consequence of the
intensity of the gloom, was unable to ascertain the cause of her
horse’s fear, and vainly endeavored to urge her trembling animal
forward, at first, by gentle applications of the whip, and finally
by kind words and caresses, but with like success. It was with the
utmost difficulty that she succeeded in calming his excitement, and
preventing him from dashing headlong into the surrounding woods.
At that moment, the moon, which had been hidden for a short time
by a passing cloud, again burst forth, lighting up the surrounding
darkness, and by the aid of the few faint beams that struggled
through the dense foliage overhead, Imogene perceived a man at a few
yards distant, standing on the side of the road, partly concealed
behind a tree.
Seeing that he was discovered, he stepped into the middle of the
path, as if he desired to speak. He appeared to be advanced in years,
with long, flowing, silvery locks, and with little or no beard. His
frame was still strong and sinewy, though somewhat bent, apparently
both by age and toil. His countenance, however, bore but few traces
of either age or suffering, and had quite a prepossessing look, were
it not for the expression of his eyes, which were cold and repelling,
but with a glance sharp and piercing that seemed to read the inmost
secrets of any object on which it was cast.
These organs were nearly concealed by a pair of black, shaggy brows,
that ill-accorded with the excessive whiteness of their owner’s
hair. The stranger, noticing the anxious and half-affrighted look of
Imogene, broke the silence by saying:
“Young lady, be not afraid; I am but a poor, harmless old man who has
been traveling nearly the entire day over hill and dale, and am only
seeking some fit habitation where I may rest my weary limbs.”
Imogene gazed upon the singular being before her, for some moments
in silence, unable to utter a word, so sudden was the shock of his
unexpected appearance. Recovering herself at length, she replied:
“For what reason, my good sir, are you, at such an hour in a place so
isolated. Do you not fear any danger?”
“I entered these woods to seek shelter from the impending storm which
threatened to take place during the earlier part of the evening,”
he answered. “As for danger, why should I fear? Who would think of
injuring a harmless old man like me? No, no, these freebooters of the
road look for higher game than I, in my poverty, could offer!”
These last words were uttered in such a sarcastic tone that
Imogene, who had been adjusting her horse’s bridle, looked up with
astonishment and bent her penetrating gaze upon the speaker, but
seeing his harmless and abject appearance, her features relaxed and
softened into a look of pity.
Desiring to terminate the conversation, she said:
“My friend, these woods are not a suitable spot for either of us,
and as you remarked that you were seeking for a place of shelter and
safety, I will direct you where your wishes will be gratified. Follow
this path, without deviating either to the right or left, and you
will reach the habitation of my father, where you will find a place
to rest yourself. Lead on, I will follow.”
Up to this moment, the stranger had not moved from the position he
had first assumed; but seeing the intention of Imogene to proceed, he
drew back a step and raised his hand, motioning her to stop. She did
as he requested.
“Before I accept your kind invitation,” continued the old man, “I
would wish to know, good lady, to whose generosity I am indebted;
whether it be friend or foe.”
“That matters not,” replied Imogene; “it is sufficient that you are
homeless and in want. I consider not whether the recipient of my
charity be friend or enemy, neither do I care. You seek assistance,
and that assistance I offer you--what more is necessary? I am not
your enemy, nor do I bear hostile feeling to anybody. Let this answer
suffice.”
The energy with which Imogene uttered these words caused the rich
blood to suffuse her countenance, which lent an additional charm to
her excessive beauty. The stranger sent an admiring look upon the
beautiful young girl, but it passed like a flash as he resumed the
conversation.
“Young lady, pray forgive my hesitancy; but, as you are aware, in
these troublesome times a man is at a loss to know whom to trust,
and I am afraid that should I fall into the hands of some, I might
receive a reception disagreeable to my nature,” at this he turned
an inquisitive look upon his companion, as if he sought to elicit a
reply to his somewhat equivocal answer.
“You doubt, then, the honesty of my hospitable offers,” returned
Imogene, with some animation.
“No, no, young lady; you misconstrue my meaning. I doubt not your
upright intentions; but, as I said before, you know a person can not
be too scrupulous in these matters.”
“In order not to deprive you of the comforts which you seem to need,
I will endeavor to dispel your ungrounded fears by giving you the
requisite information. The house to which I have directed you is the
residence of Thomas Lear, and--”
At the last-mentioned name, the stranger started back with a look of
surprise.
“Then you are Imogene, the daughter of old Lear, the Tory?” he
exclaimed.
These words were uttered in a much different key. A strong, manly
voice had taken the place of the weak, wheezing tone of the old man.
The hot blood mantled the brow of Imogene, as she quickly retorted to
this seemingly insulting language:
“Though Thomas Lear should be a supporter of the king’s cause, his
daughter, at least, should be free from insult. He is my father, and
I wish not to hear his name spoken of in so wanton and disrespectful
a manner. I have directed you to a harbor of safety, where you may
find a place of rest, and provide for your wants. If you wish to
avail yourself of my offer you may do so, but you must use your own
discretion in the matter. I have already tarried too long--I must
depart.”
“A word with you, Miss Lear, for such you have acknowledged yourself
to be, before you go,” replied the stranger; and drawing nearer to
Imogene, he whispered, in a subdued undertone, a few words which
seemed to make her recoil with an expression of horror.
“Away, vile wretch! Is it thus you would repay my kindness? Begone!”
She cast upon him such a look of disgust and contempt that he seemed
to writhe under her stinging rebuff.
“You reject, then, my offer?” he replied.
“I refuse to parley with such a despicable creature. Make way; I must
leave this spot.”
“Not quite so fast, young lady. I wish to allow you a moment to
reconsider your decision,” returned the old man without moving from
his position in the center of the path.
“You have heard my answer.”
“You persist in your refusal?
“I do.”
The stranger gave a low, short whistle, and immediately disappeared
in the brushwood. Before Imogene could recover from her surprise at
this sudden disappearance, her horse’s bridle was seized by an armed
ruffian, while two others confronted her with drawn weapons. Imogene
was immediately alive to the danger that threatened her.
“What means this outrage--this detention?” she exclaimed in an
excited manner.
“It means,” returned one of the party, who appeared to be the leader,
in a gruff voice, “that you’re our prisoner.”
At this juncture one of the men raised his hand as a signal for
all to remain silent. In an instant every one assumed a listening
attitude, intent on catching the slightest sound. At first nothing
could be heard, save the sighing of the wind through the trees, but
the practiced ears of the desperadoes quickly distinguished the
clatter of approaching hoofs.
“What’s that?” exclaimed the man who had given the signal of alarm,
casting an inquiring look at his leader.
“It’s a party o’ those cursed rebels from the fort, and we must go
into the woods until they pass, or they’ll be on our backs in no
time.”
As he said this, he turned toward Imogene, and, drawing a pistol from
his belt, ordered her to dismount.
“Dismount, I tell ye,” cried the ruffian, in a voice husky with rage,
seeing that Imogene utterly disregarded his command, “or by th’
light o’ Heaven, I’ll put this piece o’ lead through yer brain; for
I’ve promised to deliver yer body, dead or alive, and I’ll do so,
should it cost me my life.”
Imogene looked at the villain, and saw by the fierce expression of
his countenance and the malignant fire that sparkled in his eye, that
he was capable of any enormity possible to humanity, and would not
hesitate an instant to put his threat into execution.
There was no one to succor her; she beheld only the other villains,
his accomplices in crime. Oh, how she wished that her noble Edgar was
by her side, were it but for a moment.
“Make haste,” exclaimed the ruffian, impatiently.
“I refuse,” replied Imogene, with vehemence.
In an instant, before she could divine their intention, a large
mantle was suddenly cast over her head to prevent her from making any
outcry, and she was forcibly dragged from her saddle and borne into
the woods. In a moment afterward the man who had held the rein of
Imogene’s steed, uttering a cry of pain, dashed after them.
“What’s all this noise about?” sharply asked the ruffian leader,
casting a savage look upon his comrade.
“The horse! the horse!” was all he could ejaculate, and holding up
his hand which was sadly cut and mangled, “see there,” he cried,
with an oath, “that infernal brute almost wrenched my arm out of its
socket with his teeth,” and holding tightly on the wounded member, he
groaned aloud with the excruciating pain.
“Ye’d better stop that howlin’ o’ yours, afore ye bring th’ whole
rebel pack down upon us,” was the consoling remark. The wounded man,
with a look of pain and hatred, obeyed.
The heavy tramp of horses denoted the rapid advance of the troopers,
and the bushes had hardly closed on the form of the last of the
retreating rascals, when they rode swiftly by the hiding-place of
their foe, looking like so many ghostly images, as the moonbeams
faintly reflected on their clanking sabers, and the garnished
trappings of their steeds.
When the last sound of the retreating horsemen had died away in the
distance, the leader of the party noiselessly emerged from his place
of concealment, and took a short, quick survey of the surroundings.
Upon observing their freedom from all immediate danger, he ordered
his companions to mount with all possible expedition. Carefully
placing the swooning and almost inanimate form of Imogene on the back
of his own horse, he exclaimed:
“Now, then, put yer horses to the test, for we must place many miles
betwixt us and this spot afore daylight; for that bloody red-skin,
War-Cloud, is at th’ fort, and if he gets on our trail, only a
miracle ’ll save us from goin’ under. Should th’ rebel dogs overtake
us, they’ll show us no quarters.”
In obedience to the command of their captain, one of the party rode
some distance in advance, in order to keep a sharp look-out for any
signs of danger; the leader with his helpless burden occupied the
center; while the wounded man, who was engaged in binding up his
lacerated hand, guarded the rear.
In this manner they proceeded for several miles in silence, not a
sound breaking the deep and deathlike stillness of the forest, except
the dull echoes of the horses’ tread.
They had almost reached the verge of the woods through which they
were traveling, and were about to enter upon the highway, in order
to pursue their way more rapidly, trusting to the darkness as a
safeguard against their being observed, and the proximity of the
woods into which they could plunge in case of the approach of any
suspicious party, when the man in front gave a low whistle as a
signal to halt.
Riding back to his companions, he pointed out to them through the
trees, a faint, glimmering light that appeared to issue from a large
house near the roadside, but so nearly hidden in an angle of the
woods, that they almost came upon it unawares. This was no other than
the residence of the old Whig who had been so cruelly murdered during
the visit of Iron Hand’s band the evening previous.
After debating among themselves for several moments the one who
had first given the alarm agreed to go and reconnoiter the place.
Dismounting, he hastened across the road, and disappeared in the
shadows of the trees that nearly surrounded the habitation.
His friends, in their place of concealment, anxious to hear the
result. After an elapse of about half an hour he returned, and
informed his comrades that the house was apparently empty, and
that the inmates had either fled or been taken captives, as he had
minutely examined several of the apartments, and there was not a
single sound to denote the presence of any living being about the
premises.
At this piece of intelligence, the three ruffians concluded that
instead of proceeding further on their journey, as both themselves
and their horses were greatly fatigued by their rapid traveling,
to take up their abode for the remainder of the night in their
newly-discovered place of shelter.
The trio advanced cautiously until they reached the house, where they
dismounted and securely fastened their animals. The horses, together
with the still insensible person of Imogene, were left in charge of
the wounded member of the party, while the other two entered the
building.
All was silence within. At the end of a large hall into which they
had ushered themselves, was a wide stair-case leading to the room
where the light was first discovered. Looking into several smaller
apartments without seeing any suspicious sign, the two worthies
concluded that the place was still unoccupied, and immediately
prepared to proceed to the room above, in order to ascertain the
cause of the light which they had seen.
As they ascended, the stairs creaked and groaned, sending forth at
every step a hollow, dismal sound, whose echoes broke the monotonous
stillness, and lent additional horror to the deep gloom that pervaded
the entire place.
Entering the chamber, a scene of terrible confusion was spread before
their eyes. Broken and disarranged furniture was scattered in every
direction, while on the end of the mantel near one of the windows,
stood a light with the flame just flickering in the socket. This it
was that first attracted the attention of the abducting party.
It was obvious by the great disorder everywhere visible, that the
inmates had decamped in haste, as not a single piece of furniture had
been removed, and that the house had been recently abandoned, either
in consequence of a real or expected attack.
It was also apparent that the place had not been deserted more than
an hour or two. Evidently the last resident entertained little
apprehension of an unwelcome visit, as the light in the apartment was
so placed that its rays could be easily distinguished by the least
observant passing that way.
Could it be that the inmates had heard their approach and had
secreted themselves until they had fairly entrapped their victims?
As this thought suggested itself to the minds of the two ruffians,
a cold perspiration bathed their brows, and they were on the point
of beating a hasty retreat; but being reassured by the prevailing
quietude, they endeavored, with an air of assumed bravado, to rally
their drooping courage.
In a noiseless, but faltering manner, they commenced an examination
of the apartment. One of them gave a sudden bound, accidentally
knocking over a chair in his fright, as he trod on some small, hard
object lying on the floor.
“Curse on ye!” exclaimed his companion, in a tone of mingled alarm
and anger, “ye’ll bring th’ whole neighborhood about our ears.”
Assuring themselves, however, that the noise had not aroused anybody,
they continued their search. As the ruffian who had been startled so
suddenly, stooped down to ascertain the cause of his alarm, the dim
rays of the candle reflected on a richly-mounted dagger.
He picked it up, and was about to place it in his girdle, when his
comrade, the leader of the party, who was watching his movements,
caught sight of the glittering blade.
“What’s that?” he asked, as he rudely grasped the arm of the other.
“Only a knife.”
“By heavens, I’ve seen that knife afore!” he soliloquized, as they
both minutely examined the instrument by the aid of the candle’s
faint and flickering flame.
The handle of the weapon was tastefully ornamented with
mother-of-pearl and several beautiful and sparkling brilliants,
denoting that the owner was of no ordinary rank. They held it closer
to the light in order to inspect what appeared to be spots of rust on
the keen but peculiar-shaped blade.
“Blood! as I’m a livin’ man.”
“And fresh blood at that,” replied the other, as he scrutinized it
more closely.
“See!” was the excited exclamation.
“What?”
“Those letters,” answered the leader, as he pointed to the initials
“I. H.” handsomely engraved on the hilt of the weapon.
“Wal, what of ’em?”
“Don’t yer know?”
After slowly repeating the letters over several times in his
endeavors to unravel the enigma, the other quickly exclaimed:
“I have it--the knife’s our chief’s.”
“Sartinly.”
“Wonder how it came here?”
“Th’ chief hisself or some of th’ league have been around and at
work.”
They then proceeded without delay to look about them for some traces
of a _melée_. The walls were besmeared in several places with clots
of blood, giving unmistakable signs of an encounter, while in the
center of the floor was a small pool of human gore not yet dry,
denoting that the victim, whether dead or wounded, had been but
recently removed.
The expiring flame of the candle threw a sickly glare over the
apartment, wrapping every thing in a ghostly gloom. The ruffians,
though steeled to scenes of blood and murder, could not drive away
the indescribable feeling of awe that crept over them as they stood
there alone.
The bloody weapon of their chieftain, the not-to-be-mistaken marks
of a recent combat, the light, the deserted house with its entire
contents intact--all these, to the minds of the ruffians, were an
unbroken chain of circumstances which to them was an inexplicable
mystery.
Murder and rapine in their direst forms they could look upon
unflinchingly, but to be there alone, with nothing but the dumb and
sanguinary witnesses of the slaughtered victim around them, was more
than their treacherous souls could withstand.
Filled with superstitious fears, they hastened precipitately down the
stairs, casting occasional furtive glances behind them, and ceased
not their hasty retreat until they had reached their horses, which
quickly mounting, they drove their rowels into their flanks and in a
moment were dashing down the road in hurried flight.
Not a word was uttered until they were satisfied that they had placed
themselves beyond the reach of all danger, real or imaginary, when
they checked their steeds, and related to their wondering and almost
bewildered comrade what they had seen.
After a short and silent ride, the party finally reached a small,
but pretty and tasteful, dwelling, surrounded by neat and beautiful
grounds. It presented no appearance of wanton injury and desolation,
and was quite a pleasing contrast to the numerous forsaken and
half-burned houses that everywhere abounded in that part of the
country.
This pleasant retreat was evidently abandoned by its former
occupants, as the three ruffians approached it unhesitatingly,
without using their customary precautions. The place was, no doubt,
one of the many resorts belonging to the band of which these men were
members, and had been spared from the general waste to be reserved
for this purpose.
Having made secure the apartment in which Imogene was placed, so as
to prevent escape, the trio, before a large, crackling wood fire
which they had enkindled on the hearth, prepared to make themselves
as comfortable as circumstances would permit.
After discussing the creature comforts with appetites rendered
extremely sharp by their weary ride, two of the party, while the
other mounted guard for the night, rolled themselves in their
blankets and were soon buried in slumber.