Harold had perceived the watchfire an hour earlier than his pursuers,
having obtained thus much the advantage of them by the fleetness of his
steed. He moved well off to the right, riding slowly and cautiously,
until another faint glimmer in that direction gave him to understand
that he was about equi-distant between two pickets of the enemy. He
dismounted at the edge of the forest, and securing his steed to the
branch of a tree, crept forward a few paces beyond the shelter of the
wood, and looked about earnestly in the darkness. Nothing could be seen
but the long, straggling line of the forest losing itself in the gloom,
and the black outlines, of the hills before him; but his quick ear
detected the sound of coming hoof and the ringing of steel scabbards. A
patrol was approaching, and fearful that his horse, conscious of the
neighborhood of his kind, might betray his presence with a sign of
recognition, he hurried back, and standing beside the animal, caressed
his glossy neck and won his attention with the low murmurs of his voice.
The good steed remained silent, only pricking up his ears and peering
through the branches as the patrol went clattering by. Harold waited
till the trampling of hoofs died away in the distance, and judging, from
their riding on without a challenge or a pause, that there was no sentry
within hail, he mounted and rode boldly out into the open country. The
stars were mostly obscured by heavy clouds, but here and there was a
patch of clear blue sky, and his eye, practised with many a surveying
night-tramp, discovered at last a twinkling guide by which to shape his
path in a northerly direction. It was a wild, rough country over which
he passed. With slow and careful steps, his sagacious steed moved on,
obedient to the rein, at one time topping the crest of a rugged hill,
and then winding at a snail's pace down the steep declivity, or
following the tortuous course of the streamlet through deep ravines,
whose jagged and bush-clad sides frowned down upon them on either side,
deepening the gloom of night.
So all through the long hours of darkness, Harold toiled on his lonely
way, startled at times by the shriek of the night bird, and listening
intently to catch the sign of danger. At last the dawn, welcome although
it enhanced the chances of detection, blushed faintly through the
clouded eastern sky, and Harold, through the mists of morning, could see
a fair and rolling landscape stretched before him. The sky was overcast,
and presently the heavy drops began to fall. Consulting the little
friendly compass which Oriana had given him, he pushed on briskly,
turning always to the right or left, as the smoke, circling from some
early housewife's kitchen, betrayed the dangerous neighborhood of a
human habitation.
Crossing a rivulet, he dismounted, and filled a small leathern bottle
that he carried with him, his good steed and himself meanwhile
satisfying their thirst from the cool wave. His appetite, freshened by
exercise, caused him to remember a package which Oriana's forethought
had provided for him on the preceding afternoon. He drew it from, his
pocket, and while his steed clipped the tender herbage from the
streamlet's bank, he made an excellent breakfast of the corn bread and
bacon, and other substantial edibles, which his kind friend had
bountifully supplied. Man and horse thus refreshed, he remounted, and
rode forward at a gallant pace, the strong animal he bestrode seeming as
yet to show no signs of fatigue.
The rain was now falling in torrents, a propitious circumstance, since
it lessened the probabilities of his encountering the neighboring
inhabitants, most of whom must have sought shelter from the pelting
storm. He occasionally came up with a trudging negro, sometimes a group
of three or four, who answered timidly whenever he accosted them, and
glanced at him askance, but yet gave the information he requested. Once,
indeed, he could discern a troop of cavalry plashing along at same
distance through the muddy road, but he screened himself in a cornfield,
and was unobserved. His watch had been injured in the battle, and he had
no means, except conjecture, of judging of the hour; but by the flagging
pace of his horse, and his own fatigue, he knew that he must have been
many hours in the saddle. Surely the Potomac must be at hand! Yet there
was no sign of it, and over interminable hill and dale, through
corn-fields, and over patches of woodland and meadow, the weary steed
was urged on, slipping and sliding in the saturated soil. What was that
sound which caused his horse to prick up his ears and quicken his pace
with the instinct of danger? He heard it himself distinctly. It was the
baying of a bloodhound.
"They are on my track!" muttered Harold; "and unless the river is at
hand, I am lost. Forward, sir! forward, good fellow!" he shouted
cheerily to his horse, and the noble animal, snorting and tossing his
silken mane, answered with an effort, and broke into a gallop.
Down one hill into a little valley they pushed on, and up the ascent of
another. They reached the crest, and then, thank Heaven! there was the
broad river, winding through the valley. Dull and leaden hued as it
looked, reflecting the clouded sky, he had never hailed it so joyfully
when sparkling with sunbeams as he did at the close of that weary day.
Yet the danger was not past; up and down the stream he gazed, and far to
the right he could distinguish a group of tents peering from among the
foliage of a grove, and marking the site of a Confederate battery. But
just in front of him was a cheering sight; an armed schooner swung
lazily at anchor in the channel, and the wet bunting that drooped
listlessly over her stern, revealed the stars and stripes.
The full tones of the bloodhound's voice aroused him to the necessity of
action; he turned in the saddle and glanced over the route he had come.
On the crest of the hill beyond that on which he stood, the forms of
three horsemen were outlined against the greyish sky. They distinguished
him at the same moment, for he could hear their shouts of exultation,
borne to him on the humid air.
It was yet a full mile to the river bank, and his horse was almost
broken down with fatigue. Dashing his armed heels against the throbbing
flanks of the jaded animal, he rushed down the hill in a straight line
for the water. The sun was already below the horizon, and darkness was
coming on apace. As he pushed on, the shouts of his pursuers rang louder
upon his ear at every rod; it was evident that they were fresh mounted,
while his own steed was laboring, with a last effort, over the rugged
ground, stumbling among stones, and groaning at intervals with the
severity of exertion. He could hear the trampling behind him, he could
catch the words of triumph that seemed to be shouted almost in his very
ear. A bullet whizzed by him, and then another, and with each report
there came a derisive cheer. But it was now quite dark, and that, with
the rapid motion, rendered him comparatively fearless of being struck.
He spurred on, straining his eyes to see what was before him, for it
seemed that the ground in front became suddenly and curiously lost in
the mist and gloom. Just then, simultaneously with the report of a
pistol, he felt his good steed quiver beneath him; a bullet had reached
his flank, and the poor animal fell upon his knees and rolled over in
the agony of death.
It was well that he had fallen; Harold, thrown forward a few feet,
touched the earth upon the edge of the rocky bank that descended
precipitously a hundred feet or more to the river--a few steps further,
and horse and rider would have plunged over the verge of the bluff.
Harold, though bruised by his fall, was not considerably hurt; without
hesitation, he commenced the hazardous descent, difficult by day, but
perilous and uncertain in the darkness. Clinging to each projecting rock
and feeling cautiously for a foothold among the slippery ledges, he had
accomplished half the distance and could already hear the light plashing
of the wave upon the boulders below. He heard a voice above, shouting:
"Look out for the bluff there, we must be near it!"
The warning came too late. There was a cry of terror--the blended voice
of man and horse, startling the night and causing Harold to crouch with
instinctive horror close to the dripping rock. There was a rush of wind
and the bounding by of a dark whirling body, which rolled over and over,
tearing over the sharp angles of the cliff, and scattering the loose
fragments of stone over him as he clung motionless to his support. Then
there was a dull thump below, and a little afterward a terrible moan,
and then all was still.
Harold continued his descent and reached the base of the bluff in
safety. Through the darkness he could see a dark mass lying like a
shadow among the pointed stones, with the waves of the river rippling
about it. He approached it. There lay the steed gasping in the last
agony, and the rider beneath him, crushed, mangled and dead. He stooped
down by the side of the corpse; it was bent double beneath the quivering
body of the dying horse, in such a manner as must have snapped the spine
in twain. Harold lifted the head, but let it fall again with a shudder,
for his fingers had slipped into the crevice of the cleft skull and were
all smeared with the oozing brain. Yet, despite the obscurity and the
disfigurement, despite the bursting eyeballs and the clenched jaws
through which the blood was trickling, he recognized the features of
Seth Rawbon.
No time for contemplation or for revery. There was a scrambling
overhead, with now and then a snarl and an angry growl. And further up,
he heard the sound of voices, labored and suppressed, as of men who were
speaking while toiling at some unwonted exercise. Harold threw off his
coat and boots, and waded out into the river. The dark hull of the
schooner could be seen looming above the gloomy surface of the water,
and he dashed toward it through the deepening wave. There was a splash
behind him and soon he could hear the puffing and short breathing of a
swimming dog. He was then up to his arm-pits in the water, and a few
yards further would bring him off his footing. He determined to wait the
onset there, while he could yet stand firm upon the shelving bottom. He
had not long to wait. The bloodhound made directly for him; he could see
his eyes snapping and glaring like red coals above the black water.
Harold braced himself as well as he could upon the yielding sand, and
held his poignard, Oriana's welcome gift, with a steady grasp. The dog
came so close that his fetid breath played upon Harold's cheek; then he
aimed a swift blow at his neck, but the brute dodged it like a fish.
Harold lost his balance and fell forward into the water, but in falling,
he launched out his left hand and caught the tough loose skin above the
animal's shoulder. He held it with the grasp of a drowning man, and over
and over they rolled in the water, like two sea monsters at their sport.
With all his strength, Harold drew the fierce brute toward him,
circling his neck tightly with his left arm, and pressed the sharp blade
against his throat. The hot blood gushed out over his hand, but he drove
the weapon deeper, slitting the sinewy flesh to the right and left, till
the dog ceased to struggle. Then Harold flung the huge carcass from him,
and struck out, breathless as he was, for the schooner. It was time, for
already his pursuers were upon the bank, aiming their pistol shots at
the black spot which they could just distinguish cleaving through the
water. But a few vigorous strokes carried him beyond their vision and
they ceased firing. Soon he heard the sound of muffled oars and a dark
shape seemed to rise from the water in front of him. The watch on board
the schooner, alarmed by the firing, had sent a boat's crew to
reconnoitre. Harold divined that it was so, and hailing the approaching
boat, was taken in, and ten minutes afterward, stood, exhausted but
safe, upon the schooner's deck.