THE MARCH.
Come away! come away!
Hark to the summons!
Come in your war array.
Gentiles and commons!
Leave untended the herd,
The flock without shelter;
Leave the corpse uninterred,
The bride at the altar.—SCOTT.
It was written of an old usurper of the throne of England, that “having
gained the kingdom by fraud and by cruelty, he nevertheless governed it
in justice and in mercy.”
Something like the same policy prevailed in Colonel Goldsborough’s
conduct towards his captive bride.
Having gained her hand by force, he was willing to win her favor by
forbearance.
No sooner had the curtain dropped behind the retreating form of
Mutchison, than Albert Goldsborough turned towards Elfie, and sank upon
one knee at her feet; and though the action was indeed rather
melo-dramatic, I do not see, under the circumstances, how he could have
done less than thus humble himself.
The insolent abductor was all at once turned into the pleading lover. He
earnestly prayed her to pardon him.
“Elfie, my best beloved—my _only_ beloved, you will try to forgive me
for this violence!” he murmured, in a low and gentle tone.
“If I do, Albert Goldsborough, I pray that Heaven may never forgive
_me_!” she answered, passionately.
“My darling Elfie, Heaven never records our wicked prayers. If it did we
should all be doomed!” he said, gently taking her hand.
“Don’t touch me, you wretch, unless you wish to drive me raving mad. I
tell you I am on the brink of frenzy now! and frenzy may give me
strength to slay you!” she exclaimed, struggling and snatching her hand
from his grasp.
“Elfie, listen to me!” he pleaded.
But Elfie drowned his murmuring voice in a torrent of bitter scorn and
furious invective, which she poured upon him without stint or measure.
He let her scold until she had exhausted herself, and had to pause for
want of breath; then he took advantage of her silence and answered,
gently:
“Elfie, to all your cruel reproaches I have but this to say in my
defence—I love you; I have loved you ever since I first saw you, and I
believe that you love me. In this belief, Elfie, I could not leave you
among the Yankees to be perverted by them, to be set against your own
old State, your faithful friends, and your one true lover, I could not,
my Elfie.”
“You—ou! You—ou!” began Elfie, but she was too much out of breath to
proceed, and so Albert resumed:
“I could not give you up to the Yankees, Elfie. I could not, my dear.
And so, at the imminent risk not only of my own life, but of the lives
of all my command, I crossed the river and brought you away.”
“A great risk you ran, truly, to come with your two hundred armed
guerrillas upon a harmless pleasure party of less than forty persons,”
passionately and scornfully cried Elfie, who had now recovered her
voice.
“Yes, Elfie, it _was_ a great risk—an imminent risk, as I said—for we
crossed and landed between two forts whose scouts were out in search of
us. And in three hours after our crossing, a squadron of cavalry, armed
with their murderous six-shooters, were on our trail. But I would have
risked much more than life for you, my Elfie.”
“‘Risk’ again,” sneered Elfie. “I don’t see it. The only risk that was
run for my sake that day was run by the only man of our party; for I
hold that little Mim was the only male creature that proved himself a
man on that occasion.”
“I wonder, now, if that little atom is my rival?” said Albert, musingly.
“Yes, he _is_!” exclaimed Elfie, spitefully catching at the idea; “he
just _is_! I love and admire little Mim beyond everything. I love his
little finger better than I ever did your whole person. He is a true
hero, and I worship the very ground he walks on!”
“Very pleasant words for me to hear, Elfie.”
“I don’t care whether they are or not. They are true. I am dying in love
with little Mim. And when I get back to Washington, I mean to ask him to
marry me as soon as ever—Oh, my good gracious, I can’t, either!”
exclaimed Elfie, suddenly breaking off and bursting into tears of rage
at the recollection that she was married already to Goldsborough.
“No, you can’t! Polygamy is not lawful in this land, at least not for
ladies,” laughed Albert Goldsborough.
“You will be hanged some day, shortly, and then I shall be a widow,”
sobbed Elfie.
“Come, come, my darling girl, why do you keep up this comedy? Do you
think that I could be jealous of your little champion? Do you think that
I believe for a moment in your professions either of regard for him or
detestation for me? No, dear Elfie. I have a confidence in your love and
faith that your words and actions cannot shake. Listen, my darling
girl—”
“I don’t want to hear a word you have to say, Albert Goldsborough.”
“But, my dear, in common justice you must. Listen, Elfie—for we must
march soon, and the time for explanation and defence is short. I have
told you that, loving you beyond measure, and believing in your
unaltered love for me, I could not leave you among the Yankees. I could
not, Elfie. And so, at the imminent risk of my life, and the lives of
all my band, I crossed the river, and brought you off from between the
very teeth of the enemy.”
“You have bragged of all that before,” sneered Elfie.
“I could not have believed in your persistent opposition to my wishes,
Elfie; else, perhaps, I should have spared you and myself this trial.”
“When you made the discovery, why did you not send me back to my
friends?” demanded Elfie.
“It was too late even if it had been in other respects possible to do
so! Once having run away with you, and above all having retained you for
days in my custody, there was no retreat! The departure of Alberta this
morning, leaving you alone, the only woman in the guerrilla camp, made
your immediate marriage a necessity. And so, Elfie, I have married you,
even by force; but I trust to win your forgiveness by forbearance. The
deed is done, Elfie, that makes you my wife! But now that it is done,
you shall be as sacred to me as my sister. And more so! for I will never
touch your lips, or even take your hand again, without your leave! That
you will forgive me and love me I am sure—sure as that you are woman! We
shall march in an hour, and of course you go with us! I will do
everything I possibly can do for your happiness, except to give you up
to the Yankees, to be taught to hate and despise your old State and old
friends! You are a child of the South and belong to your mother, and
must live among her children.”
Elfie still sobbed, but now, as it seemed, with less of rage then of
grief.
He was still at her feet.
“Get up!” she said at length, impatiently. “You’ve made a brute of
yourself, but you needn’t make a fool of yourself by remaining in that
absurd position, Albert Goldsborough! Get up!”
“Not until I have obtained your forgiveness, Elfie. Oh, Elfie, dearest,
I loved you so entirely. The thought of you was never for an instant
absent from my mind, by day or by night, in the tent or in the field.
Elfie, for the sake of the undivided love I bore you, forgive me; for
the sake of the forbearance that I have sworn to observe towards you,
and that will cost me so much, forgive me!” he pleaded.
“If you will—will keep your word with me, and treat—eat me as your
sister, I will forgive—give you for the past!” sobbed Elfie.
“Heaven bless you for that much, my darling! That is one step gained,”
he said, rising.
“And oh, if you had only been tru—true to your country in her trial! Oh,
if you had only been tru—true to your country!” she wept.
“I _was_ true to my country, Elfie. I _am_ true to my country. I shall
_always_ be true to my country. Old Virginia is my country, and I am
true as truth to her. I go with her where she goes—to destruction, if
she should be cursed with failure, to dominion, if she should be crowned
with success,” replied the guerrilla leader, as he turned, lifted the
curtain, and left the hut.
“Oh, if he’d been true! Oh, if he’d been true!” Elfie continued to sob.
Soon all was bustle in the guerrilla camp. The men were mustering and
mounting, and preparing to move. The guerrillas marched with very little
baggage, as everybody knows. And so the band was soon ready.
In about half an hour after leaving the hut, Colonel Goldsborough
returned to it, lifted the curtain, and once more presented himself
before Elfie.
“My dearest girl, we are about to go down the mountain. The pass is a
difficult and dangerous one, as you know—more dangerous still in the
descent than in the ascent. And for your safety it is best that you
should ride behind me, as you did before. Still, keeping the spirit as
well as the letter of my promise to you, Elfie, I must give you your
choice of three modes of conveyance. You may ride behind me, or you may
ride behind Parson Simmons, or you may ride alone on a sure-footed
little mountain pony which is at your service.”
“I will take the mountain pony, if you please,” said Elfie.
“But will you feel quite safe to do so, down these perilous passes?”
“I am a mountain girl, if you will please to remember, and the horse,
you say, is a mountain pony.”
“Very well, Elfie, I will have it brought to the door of your hut,” said
Colonel Goldsborough, going out.
In five minutes he returned with the pony, and came in for Elfie.
Sulkily enough the girl went out with him.
Goldsborough’s steed, the parson’s cob, and Elfie’s pony stood saddled
and bridled before the hut.
The parson was there also, apparently in charge of the three horses,
whose bridles he held gathered in his hands. And the unfortunate man
seemed to have rather more than he could do to hold them.
“Elfie,” said Albert Goldsborough, laughing, “I promised not even to
touch your hand without your leave; and I mean to keep my promise,
Therefore I must ask your gracious permission, before lifting you into
your seat. Will you grant it?”
“No!” said Elfie, placing her hand upon the pommel, and springing into
her saddle as lightly as if she were an elf indeed.
“Mr. Simmons, mount your horse. You are to be the immediate advance
guard of this lady, and ride directly in front of her; and please to
recollect that your life is the hostage of her safety,” said Colonel
Goldsborough, as he threw himself into his saddle.
“Is—is—her pony a safe one?” stammered the persecuted preacher, as he
clambered up into his seat.
“Her pony is all right,” laughed Albert. “Go ahead!”
The band, under the immediate charge of Mutchison, was now defiling
through the narrow pass leading from the table land down the side of the
mountain.
Colonel Goldsborough, with his two captives, took the same direction. He
rode on the right side of Elfie, while the preacher rode on the left,
until they came to the narrow pass down which the line of mounted men
was winding like some huge serpent.
Then Goldsborough ordered the preacher to precede Elfie, while he
himself should follow her, thus forming a guard of honor immediately
before and behind the captive bride.
In this manner they commenced the descent of the dangerous mountain
pass.
Albert Goldsborough, in the spirit of his promise, forbore to force his
conversation upon his companion.
Elfie rode on in sulky silence until her tongue was tired of keeping
still, when she opened her mouth and spake:
“I thought the ‘Devil’s Dripping Pan,’ or ‘Soup Dish,’ or whatever you
call your horrid place up there on the mountain top, was to be the
general rendezvous of your bands.”
“We thought so too, Elfie.”
“And that you and Corsoni, with your commands, had met there to wait for
the arrival of Monck and his men.”
“Such was our plan.”
“And here Corsoni moves with his command at midnight, and you march with
yours at midday!”
“Just so, Elfie!”
“In truth, then, it seems to me that you gentlemen horse-thieves don’t
know your own minds any more than honester men.”
“When a spy gets into our camps, Elfie, and discovers all our secrets,
he is apt to defeat all our plans. That little devil of a Gill, who got
into Corsoni’s camp, not only betrayed _his_ retreat to the enemy, but,
as we have lately learned, he discovered and revealed the secret of this
rendezvous. This made it necessary for us to choose another place of
gathering, to which we are now going, Elfie. I don’t mind telling you
these things, my dear, since it is utterly impossible for _you_ to
betray us,” said Albert.
And now, as the dangers of the road demanded all their attention, the
conversation ceased.
The poor preacher held his very breath for fear as he looked up, on the
right, to a precipice that towered a thousand feet above him; and then
down on the left to another precipice that descended a thousand feet
below him; and, last, along the ledge of path that lay before him, so
narrow, with such slender space to move in, that a single swerve must
have sent horse and rider down to destruction.
“Look sharp there! or you will be gone in an instant!” roared Albert
Goldsborough, throwing the nervous parson into such a panic as nearly
precipitated the catastrophe he had intended to prevent.
Elfie laughed. Her nerves were so firm and her pony so sure-footed that
she felt quite safe even when perched upon the edge of a precipice where
a goat could hardly have found footing.
The persecuted preacher was trembling from head to foot.
“I know,” he complained, “that even if I live to reach the bottom of
this mountain, which is very unlikely, I shall be good for nothing all
the rest of my life.”
As he said this, the party of three, passing around a projecting rock,
came in sight of the rear of the band, who were winding down the narrow
pass in single file below them.
“Hayden!” cried Colonel Goldsborough, calling out to one of the rear
men, who immediately halted.
“Hayden, dismount and turn your horse loose and come here and take the
parson’s bridle and lead his beast, or we shall have an accident.”
The soldier addressed smiled good-humoredly as he murmured something to
his comrade about the “inconvenience of having women and parsons
encumbering them on their march;” and then he dismounted, knotted up his
bridle, so that it should not get entangled under his horse’s feet, and
leaving his well-trained steed to walk soberly down the path, he came
and took the preacher’s bridle and led his cob carefully along the
perilous pass.
In this manner they continued their dangerous journey until they reached
the foot of the mountain.
“Thank Heaven it is over!” piously exclaimed the parson, as they found
themselves safe at the entrance of a wooded valley.
There was no road; but, guided by a pocket compass, the band took their
way westward through the forest, until, after marching for about three
miles, they came out upon an open plain, dappled here and there with
detached groves of trees and gradually ascending towards a range of
wooded hills in the distance before them.