THE STORY OF A STOLEN HORSE
For a quarter of an hour Andy listened to the shooting in the distance
and worked upon his bonds at the same time. No one had remained to
watch him, and if there was any way by which he could liberate himself
he meant to do it. He had no desire to languish in a Northern prison.
He knew well enough how Union soldiers were treated down South and he
imagined that Confederates up North fared no better.
“I must get away--that’s all there is to it; eh, Firefly?” he muttered
between his set teeth, and Firefly shook his wet mane vigorously as if
to agree with his master.
The soldier who had bound Andy had done his work in a hurry and in a
bungling manner, and soon the young soldier found himself free. But
he was still “in the woods,” physically and mentally, and to get out
was likely to prove a dangerous if not impossible bit of work. He was
nearly in the center of the island and surrounded by a guard that was
more than ever on the alert.
But there was one thing in his favor: the soldiers who had made him
their prisoner were looking away from the island instead of towards the
interior. Consequently, no matter how he turned, he was sure to come
upon the guards from the rear.
His mind was soon made up as to what course to pursue. He would move
to the lower end of the island with Firefly and trust to good luck to
reach the water, where the swift current might carry him and his animal
out of the reach of the enemy’s firearms.
Had it been quiet he would never have proposed to take Firefly
along, much as he would have regretted leaving the beast behind. But
the rattle of the musketry drowned out all ordinary sounds, so the
hoof-strokes through the brush and over the rocks counted for nothing.
In a few minutes he found himself within sight of the rushing and
rolling river. Down near the water’s edge was a fringe of bushes, and
here he saw two soldiers at one point and a single soldier at another.
He had picked up a stout club as he moved along, and with this ready
for use, he made a short detour and came close to the shore of the
island and less than a dozen feet from where the single guard was
standing, his body bent forward and his eyes taking in the doings on
the bluff beyond.
At that moment Firefly, with his nostrils still trickling from his
bath, let out a warlike snort, as though ready to do battle. Instantly
the guard straightened up, to see what had caused the disturbance. But
before he could turn Andy was upon him. There was a quick shove, the
start of an exclamation, and then a heavy splash, as the Union soldier
fell headlong into the stream. As he went down he let fall his gun and
this the young Confederate saved and appropriated.
Having disposed of the guard thus readily, Andy did not lose a
fraction of time. Long before the Union soldier had regained the
surface of the river, the young Confederate was in the saddle and
urging Firefly again into the stream. The brave horse shied at first
and Andy’s heart leaped into his throat. “Go, Firefly, go!” he cried,
and Firefly went with a leap and a splurge which carried him twenty
feet from the shore.
As they descended into the water Andy remembered the other guards he
had seen and instinctively withdrew behind Firefly that they might not
discover him. He heard two shouts.
“What’s up, Markham?”
“Hang me if the horse hasn’t run away!” came in reply.
“But I heard two splashes.”
“So did I, come to think of it. Hello, Graves!”
To this there was no answer, for Graves was floundering in the water,
too bewildered to save himself. He came up with a great splutter.
“Save me!” he gasped, as soon as he could speak. “Save me! I can’t
swim!”
“Can’t you wade ashore?” queried one of his companions.
“No, it’s too deep. Save me, Markham! Don’t let me drown!”
“I will,” was the ready answer, and without hesitation the Union
soldier plunged into the cold water and started after his companion.
In the meantime the third soldier had made an important discovery.
Andy was trying to swim beside Firefly and keep the gun above water
at the same time, and now he exposed his hand and a portion of the
stock of the firearm. Instantly the soldier took aim and fired, and
the bullet struck the gun squarely, knocking the weapon from the young
Confederate’s grasp and nearly paralyzing his hand and arm for the time
being.
There was now nothing left to do but to get out of range with all
possible speed. Andy felt that the guard would reload and would then
either fire at himself or the horse. If Firefly was killed he would
have to swim along alone, thus exposing himself to an open attack.
“On, Firefly, on!” he cried, and the noble beast seemed to understand.
Fortunately, he was used to the water and could swim fully as well as
his master. On they went, the swollen stream sending them first towards
one shore and then the other.
By this time the battle upon Ball’s Bluff was drawing to a close. The
gallant but imprudent Colonel Baker had been shot and killed, and this,
added to the galling fire poured in by the Confederates stationed in
the woods upon three sides of the clearing, threw the Union men into
confusion. With fearful loss they came tearing down the uneven path
leading to the water and shoved off in their flatboats for Harrison
Island. The enemy followed them up, and many a poor soul was sent to
eternity before the island or the opposite shore could be gained.
The turn of the tide of battle took the attention of all of the guards
left on Harrison Island, and from that moment Andy was forgotten by
those left behind. But the Confederates on the bluff saw him and
thinking him a Union man fired at him several times--shots that did no
damage, but which made him feel very uncomfortable.
In a few minutes more the feet of the horse struck upon a sandy and
rocky bar and instinctively Firefly followed the high bottom shoreward.
It led to the northern bank of the Potomac to a spot thickly covered
with hickory trees.
Feeling himself safe for the time being, Andy dropped upon a rock
utterly exhausted. He was chilled to the bone and more than wet, for
his cavalry boots were filled with muddy water. Taking off the boots,
he emptied them, and then wrung out his coat and cape, and dashed the
water from his hat.
“Well, Firefly, what next?” he asked, half-aloud, when a crashing
in the brush behind him caused him to start. He turned quickly,
to find himself face to face with a short, broad-faced, and not
unpleasant-looking negro. The darky wore a suit of cast-off army
clothing of gray, from which every C. S. A. had been carefully stripped.
“Wh--what--how de do, massa,” he stammered, as he came to a sudden halt.
“Are you alone?” queried Andy, quickly.
“Yes, massa.”
“What are you doing here, running away?”
“Oh, no, massa,” was the quick reply; but by the way the negro’s eyes
dropped before Andy’s sharp gaze the youth knew he was lying.
“Are there any soldiers near here?” was the young Confederate’s next
question.
“No, massa; leas’wise, I ain’t seed none.”
“Any house close by?”
At this question the negro hesitated.
“Da is a cabin over yander, massa. But da ain’t nobody dar ’cusin’ an
ole woman most unable ter do anyt’ing.”
“Show me the way and I’ll make it right with you. What is your name?”
“Tom, sah, Tom Crosby.”
“And where do you belong?”
“About ten miles north o’ yere, massa.”
“Well, Tom, take me to the cabin at once. And mind, we are not to be
surprised by any Union soldiers, do you understand?”
“Yes, massa; ain’t no sodgers in dese parts, massa.”
The negro moved back, along a well-defined trail, and Andy followed on
foot, leading Firefly by the bridle. The young Confederate knew only
too well that he was upon the enemy’s soil and upon dangerous ground,
but for this there was no help. Crossing the river was impossible just
now, and he was chilled to the marrow and felt he must have a chance
to warm himself and dry his clothing if he wished to avoid a dangerous
spell of sickness.
A distance of two hundred yards was covered, and they emerged upon
a small clearing, in the center of which stood a log cabin built
of wood with the bark left on, and having at one end a broad stone
chimney. Smoke was curling from the latter, a most welcome sight to the
shivering youth.
Without waiting, the negro led the way inside of the cabin, where a
woman who looked to be at least seventy years of age was huddled before
the open fireplace, smoking a black-looking clay pipe, filled with
“tar-heel” tobacco. She looked in amazement at the intruders.
“Thought you wasn’t comin’ back?” she cried, to the negro.
“Dis gem’man made me come,” was the answer.
“What do you want?”
“My horse and I fell into the river, madam,” answered Andy. “I wish to
warm myself and dry my clothing, that is all. And if you can furnish me
with a bowl of hot coffee or something like that, I’ll pay you for it.”
“Humph!” The old woman took several long puffs at her pipe. “Ain’t got
no coffee in the house.”
“You have tea, then?”
“I reckon I have, but--”
“I’ll take a bowl of tea. Anything so long as it’s warm. Tom?”
“Yes, massa.”
“Will you rub down my horse and see if you can stir up something for
him to eat?”
“Yes, massa.”
“I see there is a shed over to the left. Put him in there.”
“Yes, massa.”
The negro hurried out, and watching him, Andy saw him do as directed.
The old woman had meanwhile bestirred herself and set her kettle to
boiling. She saw that he was a Confederate soldier, but this caused her
no anxiety, for she was too old, and lived too near the border line, to
take a stand in the great controversy.
It was now growing dark, and the distant firing had almost ceased.
Deeming it improbable that any of the Union force would come to that
immediate neighborhood, Andy proceeded to make himself as comfortable
as possible before the fire, which soon blazed up red hot from the
extra chunks of hickory thrown upon it. In an hour he was fairly dry,
and by that time he was served with tea, corn dodgers and some baked
sweet potatoes. The old woman also offered him a drink of whisky,
probably of the “moonshine” variety, but this he declined.
“Tom is a Virginia nigger, isn’t he?” asked Andy, during the process of
the meal.
“I reckon he is--” began the old woman, and suddenly stopped. Andy
waited for her to go on, but she would say no more. The young
Confederate, however, felt that his surmise was correct. Tom was a
runaway slave, bound North.
Andy had taken a position near a window overlooking the shed in which
Firefly had been placed, that he might make sure his horse was not
tampered with, for he did not intend to trust the negro too far. He
saw Tom working away vigorously, with the shed door open. Presently he
turned away for a moment, and when he looked again the shed door was
closed. He thought nothing of this just then, but soon a dim suspicion
that all was not as it should be crossed his mind.
He had just been counting out some money for the old woman. Throwing
the scrip upon the table, he caught up his hat and darted out of the
house. In a minute more he was at the shed door and kicked it open. A
groan of dismay escaped him. There was another door on the opposite
side of the shed. This door stood wide open, and Firefly and the negro
were gone!