THE TAKING OF CHUDLEIGH.
We were forced to ride with some slowness owing to the blown condition
of our horses, and anxiety began to gnaw me to the marrow. We had come
so fast that the time to overtake Chudleigh, if in truth we had not
passed him already, had arrived. In such calculations I was interrupted
by the sight of a loose horse in the road, saddled and bridled, but
riderless. He was in a lather, like ours, and I guessed at once that
this was the horse Chudleigh had taken. In some manner--perhaps he had
seen us, though unseen himself--he had learned that he was pursued
hotly, and, fearing to be overtaken, had abandoned his horse and taken
to the woods and fields. Such at least was my guess.
I esteemed it great good luck when I saw a man standing in the edge
of a cornfield staring at us. He was a common-looking fellow with a
dirty face. Stupid, I thought, but perhaps he has seen what happened
here and can tell me. I hailed him, and he answered in a thick voice,
though not unfriendly. I asked him about the horse, and if he knew who
had abandoned him there. He answered with that degree of excitement a
plowboy would most likely show on such occasions that he was just going
to tell us about it. I bade him haste with his narration.
He said, with thick, excited tongue, that a man had come along the road
urging his horse into a gallop. When they reached the field the horse
broke down and would go no farther. The rider, after belaboring him in
vain, leaped down, and, leaving the horse to care for himself, turned
from the road.
This news excited Whitestone, Adams, and me. It was confirmation of our
suspicions, and proof also that we were pressing Chudleigh hard.
“How long ago was that?” I asked.
“Not five minutes,” replied the plowman.
“Which way did he go?” I asked, my excitement increasing.
“He took the side road yonder,” replied the plowman.
“What road?” exclaimed Whitestone, breaking in.
“The road that leads off to the right--yonder, at the end of the field.”
I was about to set off in a gallop, but it occurred to me as a happy
thought that this fellow, knowing the country so well, would be useful
as a guide. I ordered him to get on the loose horse, now somewhat
rested, and lead the way. He demurred. But it was no time to be
squeamish or overpolite, so I drew my pistol and warned him. Thereupon
he showed himself a man of judgment and mounted, and taking the lead
of us, obedient to my command, also showed himself to be a very fair
horseman.
In a few seconds we entered the diverging road, which was narrow,
scarce more than a path. It led between two fields, and then through
some thin woods.
“You are military folks,” said our guide, turning a look upon me. “Is
the man you are after a deserter?”
“No,” said I, “a spy.”
“If you overtake him and he fights, I don’t have any part in it,” he
said.
“You needn’t risk your skin,” I said. “It is enough for you to guide
us.”
I laughed a bit at his cowardice; but after all I had no right to
laugh. It was no business of his to do our fighting for us.
“Perhaps he has turned into these woods,” said Whitestone.
“No, he has gone on,” said our guide, “I can see his footsteps in the
dust.”
Traces like those of human footsteps were in truth visible in the dust,
but we had no time to stop for examination. We rode on, watching the
country on either side of the road. The heat and animation of the chase
seemed to affect our guide, heavy plowman though he was.
“There go his tracks still!” he cried. “See, by the edge of the road,
by the grass there?”
“We’ll catch him in five minutes!” cried Adams, full of enthusiasm.
Our guide was ten feet in front of me, leaning over and looking about
with much eagerness. A curve in the road two or three hundred yards
ahead became visible. Suddenly I noticed an increase of excitement in
the expression of our guide.
“I see him! I see him!” he cried.
“Where? Where?” I shouted.
“Yonder! yonder! Don’t you see, just turning the curve in the road?
There! He has seen us too, and is drawing a pistol. Gentlemen, remember
your agreement: I’m not to do any of the fighting. I will fall back.”
“All right!” I cried. “You’ve done your share of the business. Drop
back.--Forward, Whitestone! We’ve got our man now!”
In a high state of excitement we whipped our horses forward, paying
no further attention to the plowman, for whom in truth we had use no
longer. Our horses seemed to share our zeal, and recalled their waning
strength and spirits. Forward we went at a fine pace, all three of us
straining our eyes to catch the first glimpse of the fugitive when we
should turn the curve around the hill.
“Two to one I beat you, Whitestone!” I said.
“Then you’ll have to push your horse more,” said the sergeant, whose
mount was neck and neck with mine.
In truth it looked as if he would pass me, but I managed to draw a
supreme effort from my horse and we went ahead a little. However, I
retained the advantage but a few moments. Whitestone crept up again,
and we continued to race neck and neck. Adams, upon whom we had not
counted as a formidable antagonist, overhauled us, though he could not
pass us.
Thus we three, side by side, swept around the curve, and the command to
the fugitive to halt and surrender was ready upon our lips.
The turn of the curve brought us into a wide and bare plain, and we
pulled up astonished. Nowhere was a human being visible, and upon that
naked expanse concealment was impossible.
We stared at each other in amazement, and then in shame. The truth of
the trick struck me like a rifle shot. Why did I wait until he was gone
to remember something familiar in the voice of that plowman, something
known in the expression of that face? I think the truth came to me
first, but before I said anything Whitestone ejaculated:
“Chudleigh!”
“Without doubt,” I replied.
“I told you the third time would not fail,” he said.
“I wish it had failed,” I exclaimed in wrath and fury, “for he has made
fools of us!”
We wheeled our horses about as if they turned on pivots and raced back
after the wily plowman. I swore to myself a mighty oath that I would
cease to be certain about the identity of anybody, even of Whitestone
himself. Whitestone swore out loud about a variety of things, and Adams
was equal to his opportunities.
We were speedily back in the main road. I doubted not that Chudleigh
had hurried on toward the south. In truth he could not afford to do
otherwise, and he would profit as fast as he could by the breathing
space obtained through the trick he had played upon us. I wondered at
the man’s courage and presence of mind, and it was a marvel that we had
not gone much farther on the wrong road before detecting the stratagem.
The road lay across a level country and we saw nothing of Chudleigh.
Nevertheless we did not spare our weary horses. We were sure he was
not very far ahead, and it was no time for mercy to horseflesh. Yet I
thought of the poor brutes. I said to Whitestone I trusted they would
last.
“As long as his, perhaps,” replied Whitestone.
But the truth soon became evident that he was wrong in part. We heard
a great groan, louder than a man can make, and Adams’s horse went down
in a cloud of dust. I pulled up just enough to see that Adams was not
hurt, and to shout to him:
“Follow us as best you can!”
Then on we went. Far ahead of us in the road we saw a black speck.
Whether man, beast, or a stump, I could not say, but we hoped it was
Chudleigh.
“See, it moves!” cried Whitestone.
Then it was not a stump, and the chance that it was Chudleigh
increased. Soon it became apparent that the black object was not only
moving, but moving almost as fast as we. By and by we could make out
the figure of a man lashing a tired horse. That it was Chudleigh no
longer admitted of doubt.
“We’ll catch him yet! His trick shall not avail him!” I cried
exultingly to Whitestone.
The wise sergeant kept silent and saved his breath. I looked back once
and saw a man running after us, though far away. I knew it was Adams
following us on foot, faithful to his duty.
I felt a great shudder running through the horse beneath me, and then
the faithful animal began to reel like a man in liquor. I could have
groaned in disappointment, for I knew these signs betokened exhaustion,
and a promise that the pursuit would be left to Whitestone alone. But
even as my mind formed the thought, Whitestone’s horse fell as Adams’s
had fallen. My own, seeing his last comrade go down, stopped stock
still, and refused to stir another inch under the sharpest goad.
“What shall we do?” I cried to Whitestone.
“Follow on foot!” he replied. “His horse must be almost as far gone as
ours!”
We paused only to snatch our pistols from the holsters, and then on
foot we pierced the trail of dust Chudleigh’s horse had left behind
him. The fine dust crept into eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. I coughed
and spluttered, and just as I was rubbing sight back into my eyes I
heard a joyful cry from Whitestone. I was able to see then through the
dust, and I beheld Chudleigh abandoning his horse and taking to the
woods on foot.
“It’s a foot race now, and not a horse race!” I said to Whitestone.
“Yes, and we must still win!” he replied.
Poor Adams was lost to sight behind us.
About two hundred yards from the road the woods began. I feared that
if Chudleigh reached these he might elude us, and I pushed myself as I
had pushed my horse. Being long-legged and country bred, I am a fair
runner; in fact, it is a muscular talent upon which I used to pride
myself. The sergeant puffed much at my elbow, but managed to keep his
place.
I now perceived with much joy that we could outrun Chudleigh. When he
dashed into the woods we had made a very smart gain upon him, and in
truth were too near for him to elude us by doubling or turning in the
undergrowth. Despite the obstacle of the trees and the bushes we were
yet able to keep him in view, and, better acquainted with this sort
of work than he, we gained upon him even more rapidly than before. We
flattered ourselves that we would soon have him. Though it was a heavy
draught upon my breath, I shouted with all my might to Chudleigh to
stop and yield. For answer he whirled around and fired a pistol at us.
The sergeant grunted, and stopped.
“Go on and take him yourself!” he said hastily to me. “His bullet’s in
my leg! No bones broke, but I can’t run any more! Adams will take care
of me!”
Obedient to his command and my own impulse I continued the chase.
Perhaps if I had been cooler in mind I might not have done so, for
Chudleigh had proved himself a man; he probably had another pistol, and
another bullet in that other pistol; in case that other bullet and I
met, I knew which would have to yield, but I consoled myself with the
reflection that I too had a pistol and some acquaintance with its use.
Chudleigh did not look back again, and perhaps did not know that he
was now pursued by only one man. He continued his flight as zealously
as ever. As I may have observed before, and with truth too, it incites
one’s courage wonderfully to have a man run from him, and seeing
Chudleigh’s back I began to feel quite competent to take him alone. We
wound about among the trees at a great rate. I was gaining, though I
was forced to pump my breath up from great depths. But I was consoled
by the reflection that, however tired I might be, surely he fared no
better. I shouted to him again and again, to stop, but he ran as if he
were born deaf.
Presently I noticed that he was curving back toward the road, and I
wondered at his purpose. A moment later he burst from the trees into
the open ground. I was within fair pistol shot, and, with trees and
bushes no longer obstructing, he was a good target. I doubted not that
I could hit him, and since he would not stop for my voice, I must see
if a bullet would make him more obedient.
I raised my pistol and took the good aim which one can do running
if he has had the practice. But my heart revolted at the shot. If I
could risk so much for Kate Van Auken’s brother, surely I could risk
something for Kate Van Auken’s lover. I do not take praise to myself
for not shooting Chudleigh, as I was thinking that if I did fire the
shot I would have but a poor tale to tell to Mistress Catherine.
I let down the hammer of the pistol and stuffed the weapon into my
pocket. Chudleigh was now running straight toward the road. My wonder
what his purpose might be increased.
Of a sudden he drew a second pistol and fired it at me, but his bullet
sped wide of the mark. He threw the pistol on the ground and tried to
run faster.
I thought that when he reached the road he would follow it to the
south, hoping to shake me off; but, very much to my surprise, he
crossed it, and kept a straight course toward the river. Then I divined
that he being a good swimmer, hoped I was not, and that thus he might
escape me. But I can swim as well as run, and I prepared my mind for
the event. When he reached the river he threw off his coat with a quick
movement and sprang boldly into the stream. But I was ready. I threw my
own coat aside--the only one I had--and leaped into the water after him.
If I was a good swimmer, so was Chudleigh. When I rose from my first
splash he was already far from me, floating partly with the stream, and
following a diagonal course toward the farther shore. I swam after him
with vigorous strokes. Curiously enough, the severe exertion to which
I had been subjecting myself on land did not seem to affect me in the
water. I suppose a new set of muscles came into play, for I felt fresh
and strong. Moreover, I resolved that I would cling to Chudleigh to the
very last; that I would not let him by any chance escape me. I felt
again that the entire fate of the great campaign depended upon me, and
me alone. With such a feeling, one’s sense of importance grows much,
and I think it made my arm stronger also, which was what I needed more
particularly just then.
Chudleigh dived once and remained under water a long time, with the
probable intent of deceiving me in regard to his course. But the trick
worked against him rather than for him; when he came up he was nearer
to me than before. I thought also that his strokes were growing weaker,
and I was confirmed in such belief by the amount of water he splashed
about, as if his efforts were desperate rather than judicious.
I swam, my strokes long and steady, and gained upon him with much
rapidity. We were approaching the shore, when he, looking back,
perceived that I must overtake him before he could reach land.
With an abruptness for which I was unprepared, he swam about and faced
me as much as to say: “Come on; if you take me, you must fight me
first.”
Chudleigh, with only his head above water, was not especially beautiful
to look at. The dirt with which he had disguised himself when he played
false guide to us was washed off partly, and remained partly in streaks
of mud, which made him look as if a hot gridiron had been slapped of a
sudden upon his face. Moreover, Chudleigh was angry, very angry; his
eyes snapped as if he were wondering why I could not let him alone.
I may have looked as ugly as Chudleigh, but I could not see for myself.
I swam a little closer to him, looking him straight in the eye, in
order that I might see what he intended to do the moment he thought it.
“Why do you follow me?” he asked, with much anger in his tone.
“Why do you run from me?” I asked.
“What I do is no business of yours,” he said.
“Oh, yes, it is,” I replied. “You’re Captain Chudleigh of the British
army, an escaped prisoner, and I’ve come to recapture you.”
“I don’t see how you’re going to do it,” he said.
“I do,” I replied, though, to tell the truth, I had not yet thought of
a way to manage the matter, which seemed to present difficulties. In
the meantime I confined myself to treading water. Chudleigh did the
same.
“That was a dirty trick you played on us back there,” I said, “palming
yourself off on us as a guide.”
“I didn’t do it,” he replied in an injured tone. “You’re to blame
yourself. You forced me at the pistol’s muzzle.”
He told the truth, I was forced to confess.
“We’ll let that pass,” I said. “Now, will you surrender?”
“Never!” he replied, in manner most determined.
“Then you will force me to a violent recapture,” I said.
“I fail to see how you are going to do it,” he said with much grimness.
“If you seize me here in the water, I will seize you, and then we will
drown together, which will be very unpleasant for both of us.”
There was much truth in what he said. A blind man or a fool could see
it.
“Let us swim to land and fight it out with our fists,” I proposed,
remembering how I had overcome Albert, and confident that I could
dispose of Chudleigh in similar fashion.
“Oh, no,” he said decidedly, “I am very comfortable where I am.”
“Then you like water better than most British officers,” I said.
“It has its uses,” he replied contentedly.
There was nothing more to do just then but to tread water and think.
“Come, come, captain,” I said after a while, “be reasonable. I’ve
overtaken you. You can’t get away. Surrender like a gentleman, and
let’s go ashore and dry ourselves. This water’s getting cold.”
“I see no reason why I should surrender,” he replied. “Besides, the
water is no colder for you than it is for me.”
There was no answer to this logic. Moreover, what he said sounded like
a challenge. So I set myself to thinking with more concentration than
ever. There was another and longer interval of silence. I hoped that
Whitestone or Adams would appear, but neither did so. After all, I had
little right to expect either. We had left them far behind, and also we
had changed our course. There was nothing to guide them.
I addressed myself once more to Chudleigh’s reason.
“Your errand is at an end,” I said. “Whether I take you now or not, you
can not shake me off. You will never get through to Clinton. Besides,
you are losing all your precious time here in the river.”
But he preserved an obstinacy most strange and vexatious. He did
not even reply to me, but kept on treading water. I perceived that
I must use with him some other means than logic, however sound and
unanswerable the latter might be.
Sometimes it happens to me, as doubtless it does to other people, that
after being long in a puzzle, the answer comes to me so suddenly and so
easily that I wonder why I did not see it first glance.
Without any preliminaries that would seem to warn Chudleigh, I dived
out of sight. When I came up I was in such shallow water that I could
wade. Near me was a huge bowlder protruding a good two feet above
the water. I walked to it, climbed upon it, and taking a comfortable
position above the water, looked at Chudleigh, who seemed to be much
surprised and aggrieved at my sudden countermarch.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I replied, “except that I am tired of treading water. Come
and join me; it’s very pleasant up here.”
He declined my invitation, which I had worded most courteously. I
remained silent for a while; then I said:
“Better come. You can’t tread water forever. If you stay there much
longer you’ll catch the cramp and drown.”
I lolled on the bowlder and awaited the end with calmness and
satisfaction. My signal advantage was apparent.
“I’ll swim to the other shore,” said he presently.
“You can’t,” I replied. “It’s too far; you haven’t strength enough left
for it.”
I could see that he was growing tired. He looked around him at either
shore and up and down the river, but we were the only human beings
within the circle of that horizon.
“What terms of surrender do you propose?” he said at last, with a
certain despair in his tone.
“Unconditional.”
“That is too hard.”
“My advantage warrants the demand.”
He was silent again for a few moments, and was rapidly growing weaker.
I thought I would hasten matters.
“I will not treat you badly,” I said. “All I want to do is to take you
back to our army.”
“Well, I suppose I must accept,” he said, “for I am growing devilish
cold and tired.”
“Pledge your honor,” I said, “that you will make no attempt to escape,
with the understanding that the pledge does not forbid rescue.”
“I give you my word,” he said.
Whereupon he swam to shore, to the great relief of us both.