PURSUIT--DEATH.
The fugitives, meanwhile, pursued their way with the speed of men
conscious that life and death hung upon their progress. There needed no
exhortations from his companion to Ralph Colleton. More than life, with
him, depended upon his speed. The shame of such a death as that to which
he had been destined was for ever before his eyes, and with a heart
nerved to its utmost by a reference to the awful alternative of flight,
he grew reckless in the audacity with which he drove his horse forward
in defiance of all obstacle and over every impediment. Nor were the
present apprehensions of Munro much less than those of his companion. To
be overtaken, as the participant of the flight of one whose life was
forfeit, would necessarily invite such an examination of himself as must
result in the development of his true character, and such a discovery
must only terminate in his conviction and sentence to the same doom. His
previously-uttered presentiment grew more than ever strong with the
growing consciousness of his danger; and with an animation, the fruit of
an anxiety little short of absolute fear, he stimulated the progress of
Colleton, while himself driving the rowel ruthlessly into the smoking
sides of the animal he bestrode.
"On, sir--on, Mr. Colleton--this is no moment for graceful attitude.
Bend forward--free rein--rashing spur. We ride for life--for life. They
must not take us alive--remember _that_. Let them shoot--strike, if they
please--but they must put no hands on us as living men. If we must die,
why--any death but a dog's. Are you prepared for such a finish to your
ride?"
"I am--but I trust it has not come to that. How much have we yet to the
river?"
"Two miles at the least, and a tough road. They gain upon us--do you not
hear them--we are slow--very slow. These horses--on, Syphax, dull
devil--on--on!"
And at every incoherent and unconnected syllable, the landlord struck
his spurs into his animal, and incited the youth to do the same.
"There is an old mill upon the branch to our left, where for a few hours
we might lie in secret, but daylight would find us out. Shall we try a
birth there, or push on for the river?" inquired Munro.
"Push on, by all means--let us stop nowhere--we shall be safe if we make
the nation," was the reply.
"Ay, safe enough but that's the rub. If we could stretch a mile or two
between us, so as to cross before they heave in sight, I could take you
to a place where the whole United States would never find us out--but
they gain on us--I hear them every moment more and more near. The sounds
are very clear to-night--a sign of rain, perhaps to-morrow. On, sir!
Push! The pursuers must hear us, as we hear them."
"But I hear them not--I hear no sounds but our own--" replied the youth.
"Ah, that's because you have not the ears of an outlaw. There's a
necessity for using our ears, one of the first that we acquire, and I
can hear sounds farther, I believe, than any man I ever met, unless it
be Guy Rivers. He has the ears of the devil, when his blood's up. Then
he hears further than I can, though I'm not much behind him even then.
Hark! they are now winding the hill not more than half a mile off, and
we hear nothing of them now until they get round--the hill throws the
echo to the rear, as it is more abrupt on that side than on this. At
this time, if they heard us before, they can not hear us. We could now
make the old mill with some hope of their losing our track, as we strike
into a blind path to do so. What say you, Master Colleton--shall we turn
aside or go forward?"
"Forward, I say. If we are to suffer, I would suffer on the high road,
in full motion, and not be caught in a crevice like a lurking thief.
Better be shot down--far better--I think with you--than risk recapture."
"Well, it's the right spirit you have, and we may beat them yet! We
cease again to hear them. They are driving through the close grove where
the trees hang so much over. God--it is but a few moments since we went
through it ourselves--they gain on us--but the river is not far--speed
on--bend forward, and use the spur--a few minutes more close pushing,
and the river is in sight. Kill the beasts--no matter--but make the
river."
"How do we cross?" inquired the youth, hurriedly, though with a
confidence something increased by the manner of his companion.
"Drive in--drive in--there are two fords, each within twenty yards of
the other, and the river is not high. You take the path and ford to the
right, as you come in sight of the water, and I'll keep the left. Your
horse swims well--so don't mind the risk; and if there's any difficulty,
leave him, and take to the water yourself. The side I give you is the
easiest; though it don't matter which side I take. I've gone through
worse chances than this, and, if we hold on for a few moments, we are
safe. The next turn, and we are on the banks."
"The river--the river," exclaimed the youth, involuntarily, as the broad
and quiet stream wound before his eyes, glittering like a polished
mirror in the moonlight.
"Ay, there it is--now to the right--to the right! Look not behind you.
Let them shoot--let them shoot! but lose not an instant to look. Plunge
forward and drive in. They are close upon us, and the flat is on the
other side. They can't pursue, unless they do as we, and they have no
such reason for so desperate a course. It is swimming and full of snags!
They will stop--they will not follow. In--in--not a moment is to be
lost--" and speaking, as they pursued their several ways, he to the
left, and Ralph Colleton to the right ford, the obedient steeds plunged
forward under the application of the rowel, and were fairly in the bosom
of the stream, as the pursuing party rode headlong up the bank.
Struggling onward, in the very centre of the stream, with the steed,
which, to do him all manner of justice, swam nobly, Ralph Colleton could
not resist the temptation to look round upon his pursuers. Writhing his
body in the saddle, therefore, a single glance was sufficient and, in
the full glare of the moonlight unimpeded by any interposing foliage,
the prospect before his eyes was imposing and terrible enough. The
pursuers were four in number--the jailer, two of the Georgia guard, and
another person unknown to him.
As Munro had predicted, they did not venture to plunge in as the
fugitives had done--they had no such fearful motive for the risk; and
the few moments which they consumed in deliberation as to what they
should do, contributed not a little to the successful experiment of the
swimmers.
But the youth at length caught a fearful signal of preparation; his ear
noted the sharp click of the lock, as the rifle was referred to in the
final resort; and his ready sense conceived but of one, and the only
mode of evading the danger so immediately at hand. Too conspicuous in
his present situation to hope for escape, short of a miracle, so long as
he remained upon the back of the swimming horse, he relaxed his hold,
carefully drew his feet from the stirrups, resigned his seat, and only a
second before the discharge of the rifle, was deeply buried in the bosom
of the Chestatee.
The steed received the bullet in his head, plunged forward madly, to the
no small danger of Ralph, who had now got a little before him, but in a
few moments lay supine upon the stream, and was borne down by its
current. The youth, practised in such exercises, pressed forward under
the surface for a sufficient time to enable him to avoid the present
glance of the enemy, and at length, in safety, rounding a jutting point
of the shore, which effectually concealed him from their eyes, he gained
the dry land, at the very moment in which Munro, with more success, was
clambering, still mounted, up the steep sides of a neighboring and
slippery bank.
Familiar with such scenes, the landlord had duly estimated the doubtful
chances of his life in swimming the river directly in sight of the
pursuers. He had, therefore, taken the precaution to oblique
considerably to the left from the direct course, and did not, in
consequence, appear in sight, owing to the sinuous windings of the
stream, until he had actually gained the shore.
The youth beheld him at this moment, and shouted aloud his own situation
and safety. In a voice indicative of restored confidence in himself, no
less than in his fate, the landlord, by a similar shout, recognised him,
and was bending forward to the spot where he stood, when the sharp and
joint report of three rifles from the opposite banks, attested the
discovery of his person; and, in the same instant, the rider tottered
forward in his saddle, his grasp was relaxed upon the rein, and, without
a word, he toppled from his seat, and was borne for a few paces by his
horse, dragged forward by one of his feet, which had not been released
from the stirrup.
He fell, at length, and the youth came up with him. He heard the groans
of the wounded man, and, though exposing himself to the same chance, he
could not determine upon flight. He might possibly have saved himself by
taking the now freed animal which the, landlord had ridden, and at once
burying himself in the nation. But the noble weakness of pity determined
him otherwise; and, without scruple or fear, he resolutely advanced to
the spot whore Munro lay, though full in the sight of the pursuers, and
prepared to render him what assistance he could. One of the troopers, in
the meantime, had swum the river; and, freeing the flat from its chains,
had directed it across the stream for the passage of his companions. It
was not long before they had surrounded the fugitives, and Ralph
Colleton was again a prisoner, and once more made conscious of the
dreadful doom from which he had, at one moment, almost conceived himself
to have escaped.
Munro had been shockingly wounded. One ball had pierced his thigh,
inflicting a severe, though probably not a fatal wound. Another, and
this had been enough, had penetrated directly behind the eyes, keeping
its course so truly across, as to tear and turn the bloody orbs
completely out upon the cheek beneath. The first words of the dying man
were--
"Is the moon gone down--lights--bring lights!"
"No, Munro; the moon is still shining without a cloud, and as brightly
as if it were day" was the reply of Ralph.
"Who speaks--speak again, that I may know how to believe him."
"It is I, Munro--I, Ralph Colleton."
"Then it is true--and I am a dead man. It is all over, and he came not
to me for nothing. Yet, can I have no lights--no lights?--Ah!" and the
half-reluctant reason grew more terribly conscious of his situation, as
he thrust his fingers into the bleeding sockets from which the fine and
delicate conductor of light had been so suddenly driven. He howled aloud
for several moments in his agony--in the first agony which came with
that consciousness--but, recovering, at length, he spoke with something
of calm and coherence.
"Well, Mr. Colleton, what I said was true. I knew it would be so. I had
warning enough to prepare, and I did try, but it's come over soon and
nothing is done. I have my wages, and the text spoke nothing but the
truth. I can not stand this pain long--it is too much--and--"
The pause in his speech, from extreme agony, was filled up by a shriek
that rung fearfully amid the silence of such a scene, but it lasted not
long. The mind of the landlord was not enfeebled by his weakness, even
at such a moment. He recovered and proceeded:--
"Yes, Mr. Colleton, I am a dead man. I have my wages--but my death is
your life! Let me tell the story--and save you, and save Lucy--and
thus--(oh, could I believe it for an instant)--save myself! But, no
matter--we must talk of other things. Is that Brooks--is that Brooks
beside me?"
"No, it is I--Colleton."
"I know--I know," impatiently--"who else?"
"Mr. Brooks, the jailer, is here--Ensign Martin and Brincle, of the
Georgia guard," was the reply of the jailer.
"Enough, then, for your safety, Mr. Colleton. They can prove it all, and
then remember Lucy--poor Lucy! You will be in time--save her from Guy
Rivers--Guy Rivers--the wretch--not Guy Rivers--no--there's a
secret--there's a secret for you, my men, shall bring you a handsome
reward. Stoop--stoop, you three--where are you?--stoop, and hear what I
have to say! It is my dying word!-and I swear it by all things, all
powers, all terrors, that can make an oath solemn with a wretch whose
life is a long crime! Stoop--hear me--heed all--lose not a word--not a
word--not a word! Where are you?"
"We are here, beside you--we hear all that you say. Go on!"
"Guy Rivers is not his name--he is not Guy Rivers--hear now--Guy Rivers
is the outlaw for whom the governor's proclamation gives a high
reward--a thousand dollars--the man who murdered Judge Jessup. Edward
Creighton, of Gwinnett courthouse--he is the murderer of Jessup--he is
the murderer of Forrester, for whose death the life of Mr. Colleton here
is forfeit! I saw him kill them both!--I saw more than that, but that is
enough to save the innocent man and punish the guilty! Take down all
that I have said. I, too, am guilty! would make amends, but it is almost
too late--the night is very dark, and the earth swings about like a
cradle. Ah!--have you taken down on paper what I said? I will tell you
nothing more till all is written--write it down--on-paper--every
word--write that before I say any more!"
They complied with his requisition. One of the troopers, on a sheet of
paper furnished by the jailer, and placed upon the saddle of his horse,
standing by in the pale light of the moon, recorded word after word,
with scrupulous exactness, of the dying man's confession. He proceeded
duly to the narration of every particular of all past occurrences, as we
ourselves have already detailed them to the reader, together with many
more, unnecessary to our narrative, of which we had heretofore no
cognizance. When this was done, the landlord required it to be read,
commenting, during its perusal, and dwelling, with more circumstantial
minuteness, upon many of its parts.
"That will do--that will do! Now swear me, Brooks!--you are in the
commission--lift my hand and swear me, so that nothing be wanting to the
truth! What if there is no bible?" he exclaimed, suddenly, as some one
of the individuals present suggested a difficulty on this subject.
"What!--because there is no bible, shall there be no truth? I
swear--though I have had no communion with God--I swear to the truth--by
him! Write down my oath--he is present--they say he is always present! I
believe it now--I only wish I had always believed it! I swear by him--he
will not falsify the truth!--write down my oath, while I lift my hand to
him! Would it were a prayer--but I can not pray--I am more used to oaths
than prayers, and I can not pray! Is it written--is it written? Look,
Mr. Colleton, look--you know the law. If you are satisfied, I am. Will
it do?"
Colleton replied quickly in the affirmative, and the dying man went
on:--
"Remember Lucy--the poor Lucy! You will take care of her. Say no harsh
words in her ears--but, why should I ask this of you, whom--Ah!--it goes
round--round--round--swimming--swimming. Very dark--very dark night, and
the trees dance--Lucy--"
The voice sunk into a faint whisper whose sounds were unsyllabled--an
occasional murmur escaped them once after, in which the name of his
niece was again heard; exhibiting, at the last, the affection, however
latent, which he entertained in reality for the orphan trust of his
brother. In a few moments, and the form stiffened before them in all the
rigid sullenness of death.