_The Pursuit—The Perilous Situation—Important Information._
IT was two o’clock in the morning, nearly two hours after Miss Hayward
had been seized, and borne from the camp by Walker and his confederates.
The guard relief had commenced his rounds. The first post visited was
that in front of the door where Walker had been confined. A glance
revealed the prisoner’s escape. The chain which had secured the door was
lying upon the steps, and the door itself was slightly ajar. Walker and
both the sentinels had disappeared. The “long roll” was at once beaten,
and the camp aroused. Scarce had the lines been formed when it was
announced that Miss Hayward also had disappeared. The grief of her
friends, and the rage of the soldiers knew no bounds, and many was the
oath of a terrible retribution uttered against the fiend who had spread
such desolation and sorrow in her path.
It was but a few moments before squads of cavalry were dashing in every
direction in pursuit. There was but little doubt as to how the escape
had been effected. The disappearance of the guard convinced all that
they were in league with Walker, but in what manner they had gained
possession of Miss Hayward was a mystery. No one had detected any thing
unusual in her manner the evening before, and she had retired at her
usual hour.
It was thought, however, that the parties would not have taken any main
road, as the pickets would have given the alarm. They could not have had
more than two hours the start, as every thing was all right when the
twelve o’clock relief went on post, and at two o’clock the escape was
discovered. If Walker had to walk through the fields in order to avoid
the pickets, it would take at least two hours to clear them. It was most
likely that, once outside the lines, friends and horses would be
procured. Still, the distance would not be so great but that our
horsemen hoped to overtake them, and so they set off with a good will in
various directions.
“Are _you_ not going to accompany us?” asked Lieutenant Wells, of
Nettleton, who was seated upon the ground, looking gloomy and sullen.
“Not by a darn sight!” answered Nettleton, doggedly.
“And why not?” asked Wells.
“You go ’long, and let me alone!” he answered, sharply.
There was no time for words, and the squadron departed.
The night passed, during which Nettleton was bitter in his self-reproach
for not watching closer, and would not hold conversation with any
person. As the first dawn of day became visible, Nettleton was seen
crawling upon his hands and knees, in front of the former prison of
Walker, and through the garden, toward the west. His movements were
watched with considerable interest, as all had begun to respect him for
his sagacity, in his peculiar way. At length he returned to his tent,
and, without speaking, carefully examined his double-barrel shot gun—a
beautiful piece which he had picked up upon the Wilson creek
battle-ground, and had been permitted to retain. This he loaded; then,
taking a large artillery ammunition-bag, he went directly to the tent of
Adjutant Hinton. Removing the lid of a minnié-ball ammunition-box, he
filled this pouch with cartridges. His next move was to place some
provision in his haversack; then he started.
“Where are you going, William?” asked Mrs. Hinton.
“Them _boots_!” he replied, pointing in the direction he had just taken
in his hands-and-knees examination.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, _them boots as had two hearts on the soles_ went _that_ way, and
I’m going to follow if I go to thunder!” He waited to hear no more, or
to speak more, but bounded off to the westward.
He had been gone perhaps an hour, when Fall-leaf, the Indian scout
already referred to, entered the camp. He was soon made aware of the
state of things. Fall-leaf was deeply attached to Captain Hayward, and,
more especially so to his fair sister, Mamie. The scout had been but a
short time in camp, when he had given to the General all the information
he possessed with regard to the enemy. This done, he followed on the
trail fast as possible.
For several hours Nettleton kept on his course, now striking the main
road for the purpose of searching for fresh tracks, then taking to the
woods again, to avoid observation. Several times he came upon the
well-known footprints, and a bitter exclamation would escape him. He
kept his course, more from the judgment he had formed as to the
direction Walker had taken, than from the numerous impressions of his
boots. He was ascending a sharp and ragged hill, so heavily covered with
the thorn-bush and small scrub-oak peculiar to that country, that his
progress was rendered very difficult. Suddenly a figure darted in front
of him and concealed itself among the thick undergrowth. Nettleton
brought his gun to the shoulder, and called out:
“None of that skulking, darn ye! Come out and fight fair!”
“Ugh!” responded the voice, and Fall-leaf bounded to his side.
“Oh! it’s you, is it, Mr. Ingen? Well, I’m darn glad you’ve come, for
you can hunt these snarly woods better than me! Any news?”
“You kill ’em—eh?”
“I shall kill ’em, if I only get a bead on the critter!”
“You _did_ kill ’em?”
“Kill who?”
“Dead soldier—there!” Fall-leaf indicated that he meant further on.
“Come on, Ingen,” said Nettleton. He reached the summit of the hill
which overlooked the valley below, and, led by Fall-leaf, began its
descent. They soon reached the stream, and the Indian pointed to the
dead body. Nettleton gazed upon it a moment, and then said:
“Darn me if it ain’t the very feller what run away last night. Walker
has been here, sure!”
He commenced his search at once. He found footprints in the sand, and
among them that of a lady, judging from its small size. The Indian had
also been taking observations. Returning from a clump of bushes, he said
to Nettleton:
“See—canoe—two—White Bird—so!”
Here Fall-leaf indicated by action, that two men had drawn a boat from
concealment in the thicket, had entered it, as indicated by tracks in
the sand, and had proceeded down-stream.
“Well, they’ve got rid of one scoundrel, any way. It will only be man to
man, and I feel myself to be a match for any dozen such skunks as that
Walker. They can’t have much the start!”
Both Fall-leaf and Nettleton walked rapidly forward along the bank of
the stream. At length—and it was almost a simultaneous movement on the
part of each—they stopped, and bending forward, held their ears close to
the ground.
“By thunder!” cried Nettleton, “that’s _her_ voice!”
“White Bird caged—_she_ no sing!” replied Fall-leaf.
“Ain’t you a darn fool? Don’t you know that White Bird, as you call her,
has got a right to expect some of her friends will be after her, and so
she sings that they may hear her voice, echoing up and down among these
hills, and know where to find her?”
“Ugh! good—white hunter no fool!”
Again the voice was heard, and this time so clearly as to leave no doubt
upon the mind of our hero, as to who the singer was. Like a deer he
bounded off in the direction indicated. The music died away and all was
still. But the two men paused not.
Upon a sudden they emerged into an open field of about four acres, near
the center of which were two large stacks of hay. The river at this
point took a bend, and the two pursuers struck directly across the open
space. Just as they reached the stacks, Fall-leaf darted close in to the
base of one of them, taking the attitude of a listener, and making a
significant sign to Nettleton.
“What is it?” asked Nettleton.
“Hark! Soldiers! Horses! Whoa! Hark!”
Nettleton listened attentively, and then said:
“There is a party of soldiers coming. It _may_ be our men who have been
in search of Miss—— of the White Bird; but, it is well enough to keep
close. It may be the rebels merely moving camp. And if this is so, Mamie
must be with them. The sounds are coming nearer—crawl under the hay,
red-skin—way under, out of sight.”
This was effected with some difficulty, when a party of rebel
guerrillas, numbering about sixty, rode into the field, and proceeded to
form their camp directly in the vicinity of the hay-stacks, under which
the two men were concealed.
“Well, I guess we’ve got into the right shop!” said Nettleton to
Fall-leaf. “We are cooped up here close enough for a while, but, Miss
Mamie must be with this crowd, and when dark comes, we can scout around
and see what we can do. Lay quiet, Ingen!”
“White hunter knows! Make good Ingen!”
The day dragged slowly away. Toward night a party of the rebels came for
forage for their horses, but the hay was tumbled from the top of the
stack, and our friends were not discovered. The guerrillas’
conversation, however, was listened to with the greatest interest by
Nettleton.
“So Colonel Brown, or Walker, as he is called, came within one of being
done for in the camp of the Yanks at Springfield?”
“Yes, so he says.”
“What the devil does he want with the gal?”
“Oh, some love affair, of course.”
“The gal was happy, for she was singing like a nightingale.”
“Oh yes! No doubt she was dazzled by the prospect of being a colonel’s
wife.”
“Who is she?”
“Don’t know.”
“My eyes! but she _is_ a beauty!”
“So much the better for him.”
“Where was he going with her?”
“Oh, below—taking her to her brother, I believe.”
“Where is that?”
“Down in the _old mill_!”
This was all the conversation heard by the adventurers. But, the rebel
troops did not move again until late in the next day, and our friends
were compelled to remain quiet. They had learned sufficient to convince
them that Miss Hayward was _not_ with this band of rebels, but was being
borne still further from them. They cursed the chance which had thus
entrapped them, and prevented their overtaking the captive at once.
Still, they resolved to keep up the pursuit, and they had learned that
at _some mill_ the lady was to be conveyed, and that her brother was
there. Patiently they waited until they could emerge, and finish their
journey.