_The Proposal—The Interruption—The Indian
—The Rescue—The Wounded Man—The Mystery._
NEAR the village of Ozark, at the base of a ridge of mountains of that
name, runs a most beautiful stream or river, which bears the name of the
village, and is one of the tributaries of the north fork of the
Gasconade. Its banks are high, and covered with a thick but small growth
of the “scrub” oak, peculiar to that portion of Missouri. The bed of the
river sparkles with brilliant white and yellow pebbles, polished by the
rush of waters for thousands of years. A fine bridge spans the stream
along the main road, that runs through the only opening in the forest
for miles around. After crossing this bridge, and ascending a sharp
hill, the village of Ozark is reached. This consists of about twenty
ordinary-looking dwellings, a court-house, and a rough building,
dignified by the name hotel. Beyond the village, and higher up the
mountain, is a line of rolling hills, which overlook the country for
miles around. On one of these, and near the edge of a grove, were to be
seen a cluster of tents, and, from the number of horses picketed but a
short distance away, it would at once be supposed, from a distance, to
be a cavalry camp, with, perhaps, a section of artillery.
On a sloping point, extending from the side of the bridge to the stream,
and reclining upon the turf, were two persons. The one a young man of
marked appearance, and the other a female of much beauty, although her
dress bespoke her a native of that portion of the country.
“Nettie, when do you expect your sister to return?”
“It is difficult to answer, Charles, but I trust very soon.”
“Have you not heard from her recently?”
“No. There is no way in which she can communicate with me. The mails
have been discontinued, you are aware, from Rolla to Springfield.”
“If you can _visit_ the army, I presume you can both dispatch and
receive letters. Are you not very anxious to learn how she is treated
among the Federals?”
“I am most anxious; still I have no fears.”
“I can not feel as you do upon that subject. I would not awaken useless
fears in your breast, but _I_ have not so much confidence in their
magnanimous natures.”
“Charles, you told me to-day for the first time, that you loved me, and
asked me if I could not address you as _dear_ Charles. You have been
very kind to me, and, on one occasion, you rescued me from the hands of
a villain. I feel grateful—truly so. But, whatever my feelings may be, I
never can wed my country’s enemy. Look yonder. You see that white
cottage. Once it was beautifully adorned with creeping vines, and the
lawn before it bloomed with flowers and shrubbery. But, dearer than all,
within its walls lived my father and my sister. Look at it now! Its
beauty has departed—it is a _wreck_; father and sister have been driven
from it, while I have been detained here by _force_. You profess to love
me. If you do so, _prove it_! We are now more than a mile from the rebel
camp, and you can escape with me to Springfield.”
“I will assist _you_ to escape; indeed, I will accompany you a portion
of the way to Springfield. But _I_ must return to my own people and
fight with them to the last. I _do_ love you, and I _would_ become your
husband, gladly, if I could be satisfied you loved me for myself alone.
But, I can not sacrifice one jot of honor or principle to win even you,
dear Nettie.”
“And you will go with me, now?”
“Yes—stay, what is that? Did you not hear a low, moaning sound?”
“I heard nothing.”
“Well, perhaps I am mistaken. But I fancied I heard such a sound. No
matter. I will go with you now to Springfield.”
“To what purpose, young man?”
The speaker was a powerful person, and had emerged from the bridge just
in time to hear the last sentence of Charles Campbell.
“So, sir,” he continued, “you would desert us, and join the Yankees, and
all for your foolish regard for this vixen!”
“Colonel Price, if you were not an officer I would make you _eat_ your
words. I have served you faithfully, and you have no right to question
my loyalty. I do _not_ intend to desert, neither is this lady a _vixen_
any more than you are a _coward_.”
Price started, bit his lips, and frowned fiercely. At length he asked:
“Why did you propose visiting Springfield with this——lady?”
“I intended to accompany her a portion of the way, and then to return to
my duty.”
“Why does _she_ wish to visit Springfield?”
“Because her father and sister are both in St. Louis, and she wishes to
rejoin them.”
“Did not yonder cottage belong to her father?”
“It did.”
“He was one of the most bitter opposers in this section. And you love
his abolition daughter?”
“I love his _daughter_, sir!”
“Enough. You will return to camp this moment. I will take charge of this
young lady. When I rejoin you, I shall put your loyalty and your
_courage_ to the test. Do you see yonder boat?”
He pointed up the river. A small boat was seen floating down the stream,
in which three men were sitting erect, and the form of a fourth, lying
prostrate.
“How do you propose testing my loyalty, Colonel Price?”
“That boat contains a Yankee officer. He is to be hung up by the neck.
You shall perform the job.”
“Is not that man _wounded_, Colonel Price?”
“Yes, very badly so, I am informed.”
“_Then I will not perform the base thing you propose._”
Price drew a revolver, and pointing it to the head of Campbell,
commanded him to start at once for camp. He had scarcely done so, when a
powerful Indian sprung from concealment, and snatched the weapon from
his hand. At the same time he seized Price, as if he had been a child,
and hurled him into the water below. Without waiting to watch the result
of this sudden immersion upon the chivalrous colonel, he caught the
maiden in his arms, and bounded off in the direction of Springfield. As
he started, he beckoned to the young man and muttered:
“Come—follow—me save her!”
Price floundered about in the water for a moment, and finally succeeded
in reaching the shore just as the boat came up.
“Come—quick—join me in the pursuit!” yelled Price.
The three men leaped upon the bank, and, at the command of Price, all
discharged their pieces after the retreating Indian, but without effect.
Pursuit was then ordered, but Price, observing that Campbell did not
follow, turned and asked:
“Are _you_ not coming, sir?”
“No!” was the prompt reply.
Price felt for his revolver, but finding it gone, he only muttered,
“Curse you,” and then commenced the pursuit. For over a mile it was kept
up. The pursuers gained upon the Indian, who was considerably obstructed
in his flight by the weight of the female. At last Price exclaimed:
“By the eternal, there come the Yankees!”
Sure enough, just appearing in view upon an elevated point a little
beyond, was seen a squadron of cavalry, and a section of flying
artillery rapidly advancing.
“To the hill! Give the signal for our guns—to the bridge—secure the
prisoner in the boat!”
These commands were given by Price, as he commenced a rapid retreat
toward the bridge. Pausing on the hill just before reaching it, he
unfurled a small flag and made a signal. In an instant all was astir in
the rebel camp, and artillery and cavalry soon came dashing down the
hill.
“Where is the prisoner?” yelled Price, as he came to the bridge.
“Perhaps the young man you left here has taken him to camp.”
“But the boat is gone! However, there is no time to be lost, now. They
are upon us! Quick!”
Colonel Price started for the opposite end of the bridge, followed by
his three confederates. The rebel troops were still some distance from
that end of the bridge nearest their camp, which it was evident they
intended reaching, if possible, in order to sweep the narrow passage, if
the Union forces attempted to cross. The Federals, however, were the
first to gain that point. But, had a crossing been effected, as soon as
they reached the opposite side they would have been exposed to the most
galling fire of the enemy, as there was a large space of flat, swampy
ground in front; and then a sharp bluff, upon which the rebel artillery
would, in such a case, be planted. The commander of the Federals,
observing this situation at a glance, ordered a halt, and brought his
section of artillery into position. One piece was placed so as to
enfilade the bridge, and the other upon a little rise of ground, in a
position where it could sweep their lines beyond. The rebels observing
this, threw forward two guns, amid a deadly fire from the Unionists, and
succeeded in taking a position upon the opposite end of the bridge.
Several rounds of grape were hurled back and forth, but as the cover was
good, but little damage was done. The cavalry attempted a crossing, but
the thick growth of oaks prevented. A charge was about to be ordered
across the bridge, when an explosion took place, and it was shattered to
fragments. Taking advantage of this, the rebels made a rapid flight. As
pursuit was useless, the command was given to fall back to Springfield.
The Indian we have spoken of now approached the commander, leading the
trembling woman, and said:
“Me save—you save—white squaw!”
“Do you require my protection?” asked the commander.
Nettie told her story in an artless manner, of which the reader has
gleaned all necessary particulars. She was kindly provided for, and soon
reached Springfield in perfect safety.
Soon after the arrival, a soldier came to the tent of the commanding
officer, presenting a bit of paper.
“Colonel, I picked up this scrap near the bridge, but did not look at it
until this moment. It may be of importance.”
The colonel took the paper and read aloud:
“A suspicion of my fidelity to the Confederate cause has crossed the
mind of my commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel A. M. Price, simply
because I consented to assist Miss Nettie Morton to reach Springfield,
from which point she might be able to rejoin her friends, who formerly
resided in Ozark, but are now in St. Louis. I was condemned, in
consequence, to be the executioner of a _wounded_ Federal officer. At
this cowardly act my whole nature revolted. Chance has favored me, and I
have determined to save him. In what manner I can not here write,
fearing this paper should fall into Confederate hands, and my plans be
thus interrupted. I can not learn who he is. I asked his name, and I
have some reason to believe that Miss Morton may throw some light upon
the subject, as the only words he spoke were ‘Net—murdered—sister—.’ He
bore the rank of captain.
CHARLES CAMPBELL.”
The colonel turned toward Miss Morton, who was seated in his tent, and
asked:
“Do you feel any _especial_ interest in any Union officer now with us?”
Miss Morton hung her head and blushed.
“Do not fear to speak, and frankly, too, Miss Morton. Perhaps the
welfare of one you love—perhaps his safety, may depend upon your candid
confession.”
“I—I—”
“Have you ever _met_ one of our officers?”
“But once. And then I only passed the evening in his society. He was
kind, but he has forgotten me!”
“It is enough, you love him. But the short time he was with you could
scarcely have made an impression so deep that he would mutter your name
in his delirium. And yet, the wounded man was near your residence. And
he exclaimed ‘Net—’. Your name is Nettie, is it not?”
“It is.”
“And what is the name of him you refer to?”
“Captain HARRY HAYWARD!”
The officer was visibly affected. “‘Nettie.’ ‘Net—.’ ‘Nettleton!’
‘_Murdered._’ ‘Sister.’ It is very strange. Harry Hayward’s body was not
found, but he was assassinated. Ah, I begin to fathom the mystery.” He
murmured all this in words not audible to the astonished Miss Morton,
and left the tent slowly, as if oppressed with the weight of a momentous
thought.