Jack had often run races on colts, but he had never ridden such a race
as that. The wind blew whistling by him; the leaves of the bushes over
the path cut him, hissing as he dashed along. If he could pass the
picket where the path struck the road near the bridge, he would be
safe. The path was on an incline near the road, and was on a straight
line with the bridge, so he had a straight dash for it. The picket was
just beyond the fork. Jack had often seen them. There were generally
two men on the bridge, and a pole was laid across the railing of the
bridge near the other side. But Jack did not think of that now; he
thought only of the men galloping behind him on his track. He could not
have stopped the horse if he would, but he had no idea of trying it.
He was near the bridge, and his only chance was to dash by the picket.
Down the path he went as straight as an arrow, his splendid horse
leaping under his light weight--down the path like a bullet through
the dusk of the woods. The sleepy picket had heard the firing at the
clearing up on the hill, and had got ready to stop whoever it might be.
They were standing in the road, with their guns ready. They could not
make it out. It was only a single horse coming tearing down toward them.
“Halt, halt!” they called, before Jack was in sight; but it was idle.
Down the path the horse came flying--Jack with his feet in the stirrup
leathers, his hands wrapped in the bridle reins, his body bent forward
on his horse’s neck, and clucking his tongue out. In one bound the
horse was in the road. “Halt!” Bang! bang! went the guns in his very
face. But he was flying. A dozen leaps and he was thundering across the
bridge. Jack was conscious only that a dark form stood in the middle,
throwing up its arms. It was but a second; he saw it shot out into the
water as if struck by a steam-engine. His horse gave one splendid leap,
and the next minute he was tearing up the road toward home, through the
quiet woods, which gave no sound but that of his rushing stride.
Jack had one moment of supreme delight. His mother had got somewhat
anxious about him, and they were all on the front porch when he
galloped up into the yard, his beautiful bay now brought down under
perfect control, but yet full of life and spirit. As they ran to meet
him. Jack sprang from the saddle and presented the horse to his mother.
The next day Jack’s mother called him into her room. She took him by
the hand. “My son,” she said, “I want you to carry the horse back and
return him to the Yankee camp.”
Jack was aghast. “Why, mamma, he’s my horse; that is, he is yours. I
found him and caught him and gave him to you.”
His mother explained to him her reasons. She did not think it was
right for him to keep the horse obtained in such a way. Jack argued
that he had found the horse running wild in their own woods, and did
not know his owner. This made no difference; she told him the horse
had an owner. He argued that the soldiers took horses, had taken all
of theirs, and that their own soldiers--the gentlemen who had come to
tea--had been over and taken a lot from the camp. His mother explained
to him that that was different. They were all soldiers wearing
uniforms, engaged openly in war. What they took was capture; Jack was
not a soldier, and was not treated as one. Jack told her how he had
been shot at and chased. She was firm. She wished the horse returned,
and though Jack wept a little for the joint reason of having to give
up the horse and the mortification of restoring it to the Yankees,
he obeyed. He had some doubt whether he would not be captured; but
his mother said she would write a letter to the commanding officer
over there, explaining why she returned the horse, and this would be
safe-conduct. She had known the colonel before the war, and he had once
stopped at her house after a little battle beyond them. Colonel Wilson
had, in fact, once been a lover of hers.
The idea of going with a safe-conduct was rather soothing to Jack’s
feelings; it sounded like a man. So he went and fed the horse. Then
he went and asked Jake to go with him. Jake was very doubtful. He
was afraid of the Yankees catching him. The glory of Jack’s capture
the night before had, however, given Jack great prestige, and when
Jack told him about the letter his mother was going to write as a
safe-conduct--like a “pass,” he explained--Jake agreed to go, but only
on condition that he might carry the pass. To this Jack consented. It
was late in the afternoon when they started, for the horse had to be
broken to carry double, and he was very lively. Both Jack and Jake went
off again and again. At last, however, they got him steady, and set
out, Jack in the saddle, and Jake behind him clinging on. Jake had the
letter safe in his pocket for their protection. They had a beautiful
ride through the woods, and Jack remembered the glorious race he had
had there the night before. As they approached the bridge, Jack thought
of tying his handkerchief on a stick as a flag of truce; but he was not
sure, as he was not a real soldier, he ought to do so. He therefore
rode slowly on. He pictured to himself the surprise they would have
when he rode up, and they recognized the horse, and learned that he had
captured it.
This feeling almost did away with the mortification of having to return
it. He rode slowly as he neared the bridge, for he did not want them
to think he was a soldier and shoot at him. Jack was surprised when he
got to the bridge to find no men there. He rode across, and not caring
to keep up the main road, turned up the path toward the clearing. He
rode cautiously. His horse suddenly shied, and Jack was startled by
some one springing out of the bushes before him and calling “Halt!” as
he flung up his gun. Jake clutched him, and Jack halted. Several men
surrounded them, and ordered them to get down. They slipped off the
horse, and one of the men took it. They all had guns.
“Why, this is the Colonel’s thoroughbred that was stolen two weeks
ago,” declared one of the men. “Where did you steal this horse?” asked
another of them, roughly.
“We did not steal him,” asserted Jack, hotly. “We found him and caught
him in the woods.”
“You hear that?” The man turned to his comrades. “Come, little Johnnie,
don’t tell lies. We’ve got you, and you were riding a stolen horse, and
there were several others stolen at the same time. You’d better tell
the truth, and make a clean breast of it, if you know what’s good for
you.”
Jack indignantly denied that he had stolen the horse, and told how they
had caught him and were bringing him back. He had a letter from his
mother to Colonel Wilson, he asserted, to prove it.
“Where is the letter?” they asked.
Jack turned to Jake. “Jake’s got it in his pocket.”
“Yes, I got de pass,” declared Jake, feeling in his pocket. He felt
first in one and then another. His countenance fell. “Hi! I done los’
it,” he asserted.
The soldiers laughed. That was a little too thin, they declared.
Come, they must go with them. They proposed to put a stop to this
horse-stealing. It had been going on long enough. A horse was stolen
only last night, and the man had run over one of the pickets on the
bridge, and had knocked him into the river and drowned him. They were
glad to find who it was, etc.
Jack felt very badly. Jake came close up to him and began to whisper.
“Jack, what dey gwine do wid us?” he asked.
“Hang you, you black little horse-stealing imp!” said one of the men,
with a terrific force. “Cut you up into little pieces.”
The others laughed. Men are often not very considerate to children.
They do not realize how helpless children feel in their power. Both
Jack and Jake turned pale.
Jake was ashy. “Jack, I told you not to come,” he cried.
Jack acknowledged the truth of this. He had it on his tongue’s end to
say, “What did you lose the letter for?” but he did not. He felt that
as his father’s son he must be brave. He just walked close to Jake and
touched him. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “We will get away.”
Just then one of the men caught Jake and twisted his arm a little. Jake
gave a little whine of fright. In an instant Jack snatched a gun from a
man near by him, and cocking it, levelled it at the soldier. “Let Jake
go, or I’ll blow your brains out,” he said.
A hand seized him from behind, and the gun was jerked out of his hand.
It went off, but the bullet flew over their heads. There was no more
twisting of Jake’s arm, however. The soldiers, after this, made them
march along between them. They carried them to the clearing where the
old house was, and where some of their comrades were on guard awaiting
them. They marched the boys up to the fire. “We’ve got the little
horse-thieves,” they declared. “They were coming over after another
horse; but I guess we’ll break it up now.”
“Why, they are mighty little fellows to be horse-thieves,” said one.
“They are the worst kind,” declared the other.
“Must be right bad, then, corporal, for you are pretty handy yourself,”
declared a comrade.
“We are not any horse-thieves,” asserted Jack. “We found this horse.”
“Shut up!” ordered one of his captors. They began to talk about
what they would do with them. Several methods of securing them were
proposed, and it was finally determined to lock them up in the loft of
the old cabin till morning, when they would carry them to camp, and the
Colonel would make proper disposition of them.
“Can’t they get away in there?” asked one man.
“No; there is a bolt on the outside of the door,” said another.
“Besides, we are all down here.”
They were accordingly taken and carried into the house and up the
rickety old stairs to the loft, where they were left on the bare floor
with a single blanket. It was quite dark in there, and Jack felt very
low down as he heard the bolt pushed into the staple on the outside.
Jake was crying, and Jack could not help sobbing a little himself. He
had, however, to comfort Jake, so he soon stopped, and applied himself
to this work. The only comfort Jake took was in his assurance that he
would get him out.
“How you gwine do it?” asked Jake.
“Never mind, I’ll do it,” declared Jack, though he had no idea how he
was to make good his word. He had taken good notice of the outside of
the cabin, and now he began to examine the inside. As his eyes became
accustomed to the darkness, he could see better, and as they were
barefooted, they could walk about without any noise. The old roof was
full of holes, and they could see the sky grow white with the rising
moon. There was an old window in one end of the loft. There were holes
in the side, and looking out, Jack could see the men sitting about,
and hear their voices. Jack tried the window; it was nailed down. He
examined it carefully; as he did every other part of the room. He
decided that he could cut the window out in less time than he could cut
a hole through the roof.
He would have tried the bolt, but some of the men were asleep in the
room below, and they could not pass them. If they could get out of the
window, they might climb down the chimney. He had nothing but his old
pocket-knife, and unfortunately a blade of that was broken; but the
other was good. He told Jake his plan, who did not think much of it.
Jack thought it was bedtime, so he knelt down and said his prayers.
When he prayed for his mother he felt very badly, and a few tears
stole out of his eyes. When he was done, Jack began to work. He worked
carefully and quietly at first, making a cut or two, and then listening
to see if any one stirred below. This was slow work, and after a while
he began to cut harder and faster. It showed so very little that he
presently got impatient, and dug his knife deeper into the plank. It
took a good hold, he gave a vigorous pull, and the blade snapped off in
the middle. It made so much noise that one of the men below asked:
“What are those boys doin’ up-stairs there? They ain’t tryin’ to git
away, yo’ s’pose, are they? If so, we better fetch ’em down here.”
Jack flung himself down beside Jake and held his breath. The soldiers
listened, and then one of them said:
“Oh, no, ’tain’t nothin’ but rats. They’re fast asleep, I guess.”
Jack almost gave himself up for lost, for he now had only his broken
blade; but after a while he went at it again, more carefully. He could
see that he was making headway now, and he kept on cutting. Jake went
fast asleep in the blanket, but Jack kept on. After a time he had
nearly cut out one of the planks; he could get a hold on it and feel it
give. At this point his impatience overcame him. He took hold and gave
a wrench. The plank broke with a noise which startled not only Jake
lying in his blanket, but the men below, one or two of whom sprang up.
They began to discuss the noise.
“That war’n’t no rats,” said one. “Them boys is trying to git out. I
heard the window open. Go and see what they are doing,” he said to his
comrade.
Jack held his breath.
“You go yourself,” said he. “I say it’s rats.”
“Rats! You’ve got rats,” said the other. “I’ll go, just to show you
’tain’t rats.”
He got up, and taking a torch, came to the stair. Jack felt his heart
jump up in his mouth. He just had time to stuff his hat into the hole
he had made, to shut out the sky, and to fling himself down beside Jake
and roll up in the blanket, when the bolt was pulled back and the man
entered. He held the torch high above his head and looked around. Jack
felt his hair rise. He could hear his heart thumping, and was sure the
man heard it too. Jake stirred. Jack clutched him and held him. The man
looked at them. The flame flickered and died, the man went out, the
bolt grated in the staple, and the man went down the shaky stair.
“Well, you are right for once,” Jack heard him say. “Must have been
rats; they are both fast asleep on the floor.”
Jack waited till the talk died away, and then he went to work again.
He had learned a lesson by this time, and he worked carefully. At last
he had the hole big enough to creep through. It was right over the
shoulder of the rickety old log chimney, and by making a quick turn
he could catch hold of the “chinking” and climb down by it. He could
see the men outside, but the chimney would be partly between them,
and as they climbed down the shadow would, he believed, conceal them.
He did not know how long he had been working, so he thought it best
not to wait any longer. Therefore, after taking a peep through the
cracks down on the men below, and finding them all asleep, he began
to wake Jake. Having got him awake, he lay down by him and whispered
his plans to him. He would go first to test the chimney, and then Jake
would come. They were not to speak under any circumstances, and if
either slipped, they were to lie perfectly still. The blanket--except
one piece, which he cut off and hung over the hole to hide the sky, in
case the men should come up and look for them--was to be taken along
with them to fling over them if their flight should be discovered. The
soldiers might think it just one of their blankets. After they got to
the woods, they were to make for their tree. If they were pursued, they
were to lie down under bushes and not speak or move. Having arranged
everything, and fastened the piece of blanket so that it hung loosely
over the hole, allowing them to get through, Jack crawled out of the
window and let himself down by his hands. His bare feet touched the
shoulder of the chimney, and letting go, he climbed carefully down.
Jake was already coming out of the window. Jack thought he heard a
noise, and crept around the house through the weeds to see what it was.
It was only a horse, and he was turning back, when he heard a great
racket and scrambling, and with a tremendous thump Jake came tumbling
down from the chimney into the weeds. He had the breath all knocked out
of him, and lay quite still. Jack heard some one say, “What on earth
was that?” and he had only time to throw the blanket over Jake and drop
down into the weeds himself, when he heard the man come striding around
the house. He had his gun in his hand. He passed right by him, between
him and the dark blanket lying in the corner. He stopped and looked all
around. He was not ten feet from him, and was right over the blanket
under which Jake lay. He actually stooped over, as if he was going to
pull the blanket off of Jake, and Jack gave himself up for lost. But
the man passed on, and Jack heard him talking to his comrades about the
curious noise. They decided that it must have been a gun which burst
somewhere. Jack’s heart was in his mouth about Jake. He wondered if he
was killed. He was about to crawl up to him, when the blanket stirred
and Jake’s head peeped out, then went back. “Jake, oh, Jake, are you
dead?” asked Jack, in a whisper.
“I dun know; b’lieve I is,” answered Jake. “Mos’ dead, anyway.”
“No, you ain’t. Is your leg broke?”
“Yes.”
“No, ’tain’t,” encouraged Jack. “Waggle your toe; can you waggle your
toe?”
“Yes; some, little bit,” whispered Jake, kicking under the blanket.
“Waggle your other toe--waggle all your toes,” whispered Jack.
The blanket acted as if some one was having a fit under it.
“Your leg ain’t broke; you are all right,” said Jack. “Come on.”
Jake insisted that his leg was broken, and that he could not walk.
“Crawl,” said Jack, creeping up to him. “Come on, like Injins. It’s
getting day.” He started off through the weeds, and Jake crawled after
him. His ankle was sprained, however, and the briers were thick, and
he made slow progress, so Jack crawled along by him through the weeds,
helping him.
They were about half way across the little clearing when they heard a
noise behind them; lights were moving about in the house, and, looking
back, Jack saw men moving around the house, and a man poked his head
out of the window.
“Here’s where they escaped,” they called. Another man below the window
called out, “Here’s their track, where they went. They cannot have gone
far. We can catch them.” They started toward them. It was the supreme
moment.
“Run, Jake; run for the woods,” cried Jack, springing to his feet and
pulling Jake up. They struck out. Jake was limping, however, and Jack
put his arm under him and supported him along. They heard a cry behind
them of, “There they go! catch them!” But they were almost at the
woods, and a second later they were dashing through the bushes, heading
straight for their crossing at the old tree. After a time they had to
slow up, for Jake’s ankle pained him. Jack carried him on his back;
but he was so heavy he had frequently to rest, and it was broad day
before they got near the river. They kept on, however, and after a time
reached the stream. There Jake declared he could not cross the poles.
Jack urged him, and told him he would help him across. He showed him
how. Jake was unstrung, and could not try it. He sat down and cried.
Jack said he would go home and bring him help. Jake thought this best.
Jack crawled over the pole, and was nearly across, when, looking back,
he saw a number of soldiers on the hill riding through the woods.
“Come on, Jake; here they come,” he called. The soldiers saw him at the
same moment, and some of them started down the hill. A shot or two were
fired toward them; Jake began to cry. Jack was safe, but he turned and
crawled back over the pole toward him. “Come on, Jake; they are coming.
They won’t hit you--you can get over.”
Jake started; Jack waited, and reached out his hand to him. Jake had
gotten over the worst part, when his foot slipped, and with a cry he
went down into the water. Jack caught his hand, but it slipped out of
his grasp. He came up with his arms beating wildly. “Help--help me!”
he cried, and went down again. In went Jack head foremost, and caught
him by the arm. Jake clutched him. They came up. Jack thought he had
him safe. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Don’t----” But before he could
finish the sentence, Jake flung his arm around his neck and choked him,
pulling him down under the water, and getting it into his throat and
nostrils. Jack struggled, and tried to get up, but he could not; Jake
had him fast. He knew he was drowning. He remembered being down on the
bottom of the river and thinking that if he could but get Jake to the
top again he would be safe. He thought that the Yankees might save him.
He tried, but Jake had him tight, choking him. He thought how he had
brought him there; he thought of his mother and father, and that he had
not seen his mother that morning, and had not said his prayers, and
then he did not know anything more.
The next thing he knew, some one said, “He’s all right,” and he heard
confused voices, and was suffering some in his chest and throat, and he
heard his mother’s voice, and opening his eyes he was in a tent. She
was leaning over him, crying and kissing him, and there were several
gentlemen around the bed he was on. He was too weak to think much, but
he felt glad that his mother was there. “I went back after Jake,” he
said, faintly.
“Yes, you did, like a man,” said a gentleman in an officer’s uniform,
bending over him. “We saw you.”
Jack turned from him. “Mother,” he said, feebly, “we carried the horse
back, but----”
“He is just outside the door,” said the same gentleman; “he belongs to
you. His owner has presented him to you.”
“To me and Jake!” said Jack. “Where is Jake?” But they would not let
him talk. They made him go to sleep.