Chased by Blood-Hounds.
The moon had gone down, the stars were hidden by thick, heavy clouds,
and it was so dark that it was impossible to distinguish the nearest
objects. Every thing was as silent as death; but this did not affect
the vigilance of Pomp, who led the way with noiseless steps, pausing,
now and then, to listen. They met with no difficulty, however, and,
in a few moments, the plantation was left behind, and they entered
the swamp. It was a chilly, gloomy place, and the darkness was
impenetrable; but Frank relied implicitly on his guide, who seemed
to understand what he was about, and kept as close behind him as
possible.
For an hour they traveled without speaking; at length Pomp stopped on
the bank of a narrow but deep stream.
"Can you swim, young massa?" he inquired, turning to Frank.
"Yes, like a duck," was the reply.
"I's mighty glad to h'ar it," said Pomp, "'cause den you're safe. But
I's been mighty oneasy 'bout it, 'cause, if you can't swim, you're
kotched, shore. Now," he continued, "I must leave you here, 'cause I
don't want to let any one know dat I's been away from de plantation.
You must cross dis creek, and foller dat road," pointing to a narrow,
well-beaten bridle-path on the opposite bank, "an' dat will lead you
straight to de Red Ribber. You must keep a good watch, now, 'cause
you'll h'ar something 'fore long dat'll make you wish you had nebber
been born. I's heered it often, an' I knows what it is. Good-by; an'
de Lor' bress an' protect you;" and, before Frank could speak, Pomp
had disappeared.
Alone! The young hero had never before comprehended the full meaning
of that single word, as he did now. Alone, in an almost unbroken
forest, which was filled with enemies, who were thirsting for his
blood; with no one to whom he could go for advice or assistance. Is it
to be wondered that he felt lonely and discouraged?
He looked back to the scenes through which he had passed: the fight;
his capture; the long, weary march, under a burning sun; his treatment
in the prison, the escape, and the pursuit; the hand-to-hand struggle
in the woods; all came up vividly before him, and he wondered how he
had escaped unhurt; and, then, what had the future in store for him?
The warning of the faithful Pomp was still ringing in his ears, and
a dread of impending evil, which he could not shake off, continually
pressed upon him. For the first time since his escape, Frank was
completely unnerved. Seating himself on the ground, he covered his
face with his hands, and cried like a child.
But this burst of weakness did not continue long, for he did not
forget that he was still in danger. Hastily dashing the tears from his
eyes, he rose to his feet, and prepared to cross the stream. Holding
his rifle and ammunition above his head with one hand, he swam with
the other, reached the opposite bank in safety, and followed the path
into the swamp. A mile further on, he came to another stream, and
was making preparations to cross it, when he was startled by a voice,
which sounded from the opposite bank:
"Who goesh dere?"
Instead of replying to the challenge, Frank sprang behind a tree, and,
looking across the stream, discovered a tall, powerfully-built man,
dressed in "butternut" clothes, holding his rifle in the hollow of his
arm. In an instant Frank's gun was at his shoulder, and his finger was
already pressing the trigger, when the man exclaimed:
"What for you shoot? I be a friend."
Frank, although fearful of treachery, lowered his gun, and the
Dutchman, moving out of the bushes, leaned on his rifle, and inquired:
"Where you go? I guess you been a gun-boat feller; ain't it?"
"Yes," answered Frank, "I once belonged to a gun-boat. But who are
you?"
"Me? Oh, I was a captain in the army. Sherman gets licked at
Wicksburg, an' I gets took brisoner; an' purty quick me an' anoder
feller runs away. Here he is;" and, as the Dutchman spoke, a man
wearing a shabby Confederate uniform appeared.
Frank's mind was made up in an instant. Beyond a doubt this was but
a stratagem to capture him. But he resolved that he would never
surrender, as long as he had sufficient strength to handle his rifle.
"Well, my young friend," exclaimed the man in the rebel uniform, "this
is a nice dress for a Federal officer to be wearing, isn't it?"
"I don't believe that either of you are officers in the Federal army,"
answered Frank. "It's my opinion that you are both rebels. If it is
your intention to attempt to capture me, I may as well tell you that
your expectations will never be realized, for I shall never be taken
alive;" and Frank handled the lock of his gun in a very significant
manner.
"I admire your grit," said the man, "and I acknowledge that you have
strong grounds for suspicion. But we are really escaped prisoners."
"Yah," chimed in the Dutchman, "I shwear dat is so."
"It is no fault of ours," continued the man, "that we are wearing
rebel uniforms; for we were compelled to exchange with our captors,
and were obliged to accept these, or go without any."
"What regiment do you belong to?"
"The One Hundred and Twenty-ninth Illinois Infantry, Company 'K.' I
formerly belonged to the Forty-sixth Maine."
"Do you know any of the boys belonging to Company 'B,' of the
Forty-sixth Maine Regiment?"
"Oh, yes," replied the man, "I know Harry and George Butler, Ben Lake,
and, in fact, all the boys; for I once belonged to that very company.
My home is only twenty miles from Lawrence, the place where the
company was raised."
Frank did not stop to ask any more questions, for he was satisfied
that he had fallen in with friends. How his heart bounded at meeting
one who had lived so near his own home! He hastily crossed the stream,
and, seizing the man's hand, shook it heartily.
"I am overjoyed at meeting with you, sir," he said, in a voice choked
with emotion. "Perhaps I owe you an apology; but you will acknowledge
that it is best to be on the safe side."
"Certainly it is," answered the man. "I should have done exactly as
you did, if I had been in your place. But where are you travelling
to?"
"I want to reach Red River, as soon as possible."
"So do we! But we have lost our reckoning, and don't know which way to
go."
"I do," said Frank. "This path leads directly to it."
They did not linger long to converse--time was too precious for
that--but immediately struck into the path, Frank leading the way.
He soon learned that the names of his newly-found friends were Major
Williams and Captain Schmidt. They had been captured, with two hundred
others, at the battle of Vicksburg, and had escaped while being taken
into Texas. They had accomplished, perhaps, half a dozen miles from
the place where they met, when the breeze bore to their ears a sound
that made Frank turn as pale as death, and tremble as though suddenly
seized with a fit of the ague. They all heard it; but he was the only
one who knew what it was.
"What ish dat, ony how?" coolly inquired the captain.
Before Frank could reply, the fearful sound was repeated, faint and
far off, but still nearer than before.
"Merciful heavens!" ejaculated the major, who now understood their
situation; "is it possible you don't know what that sound is? _It is
the cry of a blood-hound!_"
"Oh, yah!" exclaimed the captain, as though the idea had suddenly come
into his head, "I did think it vas a dorg."
"Push ahead now, boys, for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed the major. "Push
ahead as fast as possible."
The captain evidently did not comprehend the danger of their
situation; but Frank and the major knew that their lives depended
upon the next few moments. Oh, how thankful was Frank that he was not
alone! He now knew the meaning of Pomp's warning; and the dreadful
sound had so unnerved him, that it was with great difficulty he could
keep on his way. But this lasted only for a moment. His fear changed
to indignation, and a desire to execute vengeance on men who could be
guilty of such barbarity. It seemed as though the strength of a dozen
men was suddenly infused into him; so, shouldering his rifle, he ran
along the path with a speed that made it difficult for the Dutchman
to keep pace with him. But, fast as they went, the fearful sound grew
louder and louder; and, finally, they distinctly heard the clatter of
horses' hoofs, and voices cheering on the dogs.
"Hurry on, for mercy's sake," said the major.
"Mine Gott in Himmel!" ejaculated the captain, who was puffing and
blowing like a porpoise; "I can't run no faster. I guess it's petter
we stops and fights 'em, ain't it? I been not a good feller to run!"
"You _must_ run a little further," said Frank. "We will certainly be
captured, if we stop to fight them here."
The captain made no reply, but kept along as close behind the major as
possible. Frank's swiftness of foot was standing him well in hand now,
for he frequently found himself obliged to slacken his pace, in order
to allow his friends to come up with him. But his usual confidence
was gone. He knew he could not stand that rapid pace much longer.
Soon they must stop and fight; and what if the dogs, which would,
undoubtedly, be some distance in advance of the horsemen, should
overpower them? Frank had often read of the ferocity of these
blood-hounds, and the thought of being pulled down and torn to pieces
by them in those dark woods, and the knowledge that his mother and
sister would forever remain ignorant of his fate, was terrible.
Suddenly, an abrupt bend in the path brought them to the banks of
another of those narrow streams with which the country was intersected
like a net-work. What a cheering sight it was to Frank's eyes! He
now saw some chance for escape; and, without hesitating a moment, he
plunged into the water. The others were close at his heels, and a few
bold strokes brought them to the opposite shore.
"Here we are," said the major. "Our chance for escape is rather slim,
but we will make a stand here."
They had scarcely concealed themselves in the bushes, when one of the
hounds appeared on the bank. He was followed by another, and still
another, until eight of the terrible animals were in sight. They
followed the trail of the fugitives down to the edge of the water,
where, finding themselves at fault, they separated, and commenced
beating up and down the bank, now and then looking toward the opposite
shore, and uttering their bays, which sounded in Frank's ears like the
knell of death.
"I pelieve I shoots one of them dorgs, ain't it?" said the captain;
and he thrust his rifle cautiously through the bushes.
"No, no," commanded the major, "save your ammunition. The men will be
here in a minute. Here they come now." And, as he spoke, there was a
loud crashing in the bushes, and four horsemen came in sight.
"Thunder!" exclaimed one of them, who wore the uniform of a colonel,
"I was in hopes we should catch the rascal before he reached this
place. Here, Tige," he continued, addressing a powerful white hound,
"hunt 'em up, hunt 'em up!"
The hound ran down to the edge of the stream, and barked and whined
furiously, but still hesitated to enter; for hounds are always averse
to going into water.
"Hunt 'em up, sir!" shouted the colonel, angrily.
The dog, evidently, feared his master more than the water, for he
plunged in, and commenced swimming toward the place where Frank
and his companions were concealed; and the others, after a little
hesitation, followed him.
"Ready, now, boys," whispered the major. "Captain, you shoot that
white hound. Frank, you take the colonel, and I'll attend to the man
just behind him. Don't waste your lead now."
The three rifles cracked in rapid succession, and the colonel and one
of his men fell heavily from their saddles. The white hound gave one
short howl of pain, and sank out of sight. Every shot had reached its
mark.
The remaining rebels stood aghast at this sudden repulse; and the
smoke of the rifles had scarcely cleared away, when they wheeled their
horses, and disappeared in the woods.
The death of the white hound produced no less consternation among his
canine assistants, for they each gave a short yelp, and turned and
made for the shore.