CHAPTER XI
"AS JOSEPH WAS A-WALKING"
At eleven that night by the Frederick clocks an orderly found anEnglishman, a Prussian, a New Yorker, and a man from somewhere west ofthe Mississippi playing poker. "General Banks would like to speak toCaptain Marchmont for a moment, sir."
The aide laid down his cards, and adjusted his plumage before a longmirror. "Lieber Gott!" said Major Hertz, "I wish our general would gosleep and leafe us play the game."
Captain Marchmont, proceeding to a handsomely furnished apartment,knocked, entered, saluted, and was greeted by a general in a disturbedframe of mind. "Look here, captain, you rode from Williamsport with thatfellow of Kelly's. Did you notice anything out of the usual?"
The aide deliberated. "He had a splendid horse, sir. And the man himselfseemed rather a mettled personage. If that's out of the usual, I noticedthat."
"Oh, of course he's all right!" said the general. "Kelly's letter isperfectly _bona fide_, and so I make no doubt are McNeill's passport andpaper of instructions. I gave the letter back or I'd show you thesignatures. It's only that I got to thinking, awhile ago, after he'dgone." He took a turn across the roses upon the carpet. "A man that'sbeen in politics knows there are so many dodges. Our spies say thatGeneral Jackson is very acute. I got to thinking--" He came back to thered-covered table. "Did you talk of the military situation comingalong?"
"Very little, sir."
"He wasn't inquisitive? Didn't criticise, or draw you on to talk--didn'task about my troops and my movements?"
"He did not, sir."
The general sighed. "It's all right, of course. You see, he seemed anintelligent man, and we got to talking. I wrote my answer to GeneralKelly. He has it now, is to start to Romney with it at dawn. Then Iasked some questions, and we got to talking. It's all straight, ofcourse, but on looking back I find that I said some things. He seemed anintelligent man, and in his general's confidence. Well, I dismissed himat last, and he saluted and went off to get some rest before starting.And then, somehow, I got to thinking. I have never been South, and allthese places are only names to me, but--" He unrolled upon the table amap of large dimensions. "Look here a moment, captain! This is a map thedepartment furnishes us. It's black, you see, for the utterly disloyalsections, shaded for the doubtful, and white where there are Unionists.All Virginia's black except this northwest section, and that's largelyshaded."
"What," asked Marchmont, "is this long black patch in the midst of theshading?"
"That's the valley of the South Branch of the Potomac--see, it's marked!Now, this man's from that locality."
"H--m! Dark as Erebus, apparently, along the South Branch!"
"Just so." General Banks paced again the roses. "Pshaw! It's all right.I never saw a straighter looking fellow. I just thought I would ask youthe nature of his talk along the road--"
"It was hardly of military matters, sir. But if you wish to detainhim--"
"General Kelly must have my letter. I'm not to move, and it's importantthat he should know it."
"Why not question him again?"
The general came back to the big chair beside the table. "I have nodoubt he's as honest as I am." He looked at the clock. "Aftermidnight!--and I've been reviewing troops all day. Do you think it'sworth while, captain?"
"In war very little things are worth while, sir."
"But you were with him all afternoon, and he seemed perfectly allright--"
"Yes, sir, I liked him very well." He pulled at his long yellowmoustache. "There was only one little circumstance.... If you aredoubtful, sir--The papers, of course, might be forged."
The late Governor of Massachusetts rested irresolute. "Except that hewas born in Virginia there isn't a reason for suspecting him. And it'sour policy to conciliate all this shaded corner up here." The clockstruck the half-hour. General Banks looked longingly toward his bedroom."I've been through the mill to-day. It's pretty hard on a man, thisworking over time.--Where's he lodging?"
"McNeill, sir? He said he would find quarters with some connection orother--a Catholic priest--"
"A Catholic--There again!" The general looked perturbed. Rising, he tookfrom a desk two or three pages of blue official paper, covered withwriting. "I got that from Washington to-day, from the Secret ServiceDepartment. Read it."
Captain Marchmont read: "'Distrust without exception the Catholicpriests in Frederick City. There is reason to believe that the Catholicsthroughout Maryland are Secessionists. Distrust all Maryland, in fact.The Jesuits have a house at Frederick City. They are suspected offurnishing information. Keep them under such surveillance as yourjudgment shall indicate.'--Humph!"
General Banks sighed, poured out something from a decanter, and drankit. "I guess, captain, you had better go and bring that man from theSouth Branch back here. Take a few men and do it quietly. He seems agentleman, and there may be absolutely nothing wrong. Tell him I'vesomething to add to General Kelly's letter. Here's a list of the priestsin Frederick. Father Tierney seems the most looked up to, and I gave hima subscription yesterday for his orphan asylum."
Half an hour later Marchmont and two men found themselves before asmall, square stone house, standing apart from its neighbours in asmall, square yard. From without the moonbeams flooded it, from withincame no pinpoint of light. It was past the middle of the night, andalmost all the town lay still and dark. Marchmont lifted the brassknocker and let it fall. The sound, deep and reverberant, should havereached every ear within, however inattentive. He waited, but there cameno answering footfall. He knocked again--no light nor sound; again--onlyinterstellar quiet. He shook the door. "Go around to the back, Roberts,and see if you can get in." Roberts departed. Marchmont picked up somepieces of gravel from the path and threw them against the window panes,to no effect. Roberts came back. "That's an awful heavy door, sir,heavier than this. And the windows are high up."
"Very good," said the captain. "This one looks stronger than it reallyis. Stand back, you two."
He put his shoulder to the door--"Wait a minute, sir! Somebody's lit acandle upstairs."
The candle passed leisurely from window to window, was lost for aminute, and then, through a small fan-light above the door, was observeddescending the stairs. A bolt creaked, then another. The door opened,and Father Tierney, hastily gowned and blinking, stood before theinvaders. He shaded his candle with his hand, and the light struck back,showing a strong and rosy and likable face. "Faith!" he said, "an' Ithought I was after hearin' a noise. Good-evenin', gentlemen--or rathergood-morning, for it must be toward cockcrow. What--"
"It's not so late as that," interrupted Marchmont. "I wish I had yourrecipe for sleeping, father. It would be invaluable when a man didn'twant to be waked up. However, my business is not with you, but--"
"Holy powers!" said Father Tierney, "did ye not know that I live here bymyself? Father Lavalle is at the other end of town, and Father O'Haralives by the Noviciate. Sure, and any one could have told you--"
"Father Lavalle and Father O'Hara," said the aide, "are nothing to thequestion. You have a guest with you--"
Father Tierney looked enlightened. "Oh! Av coorse! There's alwaysbusiness on hand between soldiers. Was it Lieutenant McNeill you'll belooking after?"
Marchmont nodded. "There are some instructions that General Banksneglected to give him. It is late, but the general wishes to get it allstraight before he sleeps. I am sorry to disturb Lieutenant McNeill, forhe must be fatigued. But orders are orders, you know--"
"Av coorse, av coorse!" agreed Father Tierney. "'A man havingauthority,' 'I say unto this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another,Come, and he cometh--'"
"So, father, if you'll be good enough to explain to LieutenantMcNeill--or if you'll tell me which is his room--"
The light of the candle showed a faint trouble in Father Tierney's face."Sure, it's too bad! Do you think, my son, the matter is of importance?'T would be after being just a little left-over of directions?"
"Perhaps," said Marchmont. "But orders are
orders, father, and I mustawaken Lieutenant McNeill. Indeed, it's hard to think that he'sasleep--"
"He isn't aslape."
"Then will you be so good as to tell him--"
"Indeed, and I wish I could do that same thing, my son, but it isn't innature--"
General Banks's aide made a gesture of impatience. "I can't dawdle hereany longer! Either you or I, father." He pushed into the hall. "Where ishis room?"
"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Father Tierney. "It's vexed he'll be when helearns that the general wasn't done with him! There's the room, captaindarlint, but--"
Marchmont's eyes followed the pointing of the candlestick. "There!" heexclaimed. The door was immediately upon the left, not five feet fromthe portal he had lately belaboured. "Then 't was against his windowthat I flung the gravel!"
With an oath he crossed the hall and struck his hand against the panelindicated. No answer. He knocked again with peremptoriness, then triedthe door. It was unlocked, and opened quietly to his touch. All beyondwas silent and dark. "Father Tierney, I'll thank you for that candle!"The priest gave it, and the aide held it up, displaying a chill andvacant chamber, furnished with monastic spareness. There was a narrowcouch that had been slept in. Marchmont crossed the bare floor, bent,and felt the bedclothing. "Quite cold. You've been gone some time, myfriend. H--m! things look rather black for you!"
Father Tierney spoke from the middle of the room. "It's sorry thelieutenant will be! Sure, and he thought he had the general's last word!'Slape until you wake, my son,' says I. 'Judy will give us breakfast ateight.' 'No, no, father,' says he. 'General Kelly is wearying for thisletter from General Banks. If I get it through prompt it will beremembered for me,' he says. ''T will be a point toward promotion,' hesays. 'My horse has had a couple of hours' rest, and he's a Trojanbeside,' he says. 'I'll sleep an hour myself, and then I'll be takingthe road back to Romney. Ashby's over on the other side,' he says, 'andthe sooner I get Ashby off my mind, the better pleased I'll be,' hesays. And thereupon he slept for an hour--"
Marchmont still regarded the bed. "I'll be damned if I know, my friend,whether you're blue or grey! How long has he been gone?"
Father Tierney pondered the question. "By the seven holy candles, myson, I was that deep asleep when you knocked that I don't rightly knowthe time of night! Maybe he has been gone an hour, maybe more--"
"And how did he know the countersign?"
"Faith, and I understood that the general himself gave him the word--"
"H--m!" said Marchmont, and tugged at his moustache. He stood in silencefor a moment, then turned sharply. "Blue or grey, which? I'll be damnedif I don't find out! Your horse may be a Trojan, my friend, but by thistime he's a tired Trojan! Roberts!"
"Yes, sir."
"You two go at once to headquarters' stables. Saddle my horse--not theblack I rode yesterday--the fresh one, Caliph. Get your own horses.Double-quick now! Ten minutes is all I give you."
The men departed. Marchmont stalked out of the chamber and to the openfront door. Father Tierney, repossessed of the candle, followed him."Sure, and the night's amazing chill! By good luck, I've a fine oldbottle or two--one of the brigadiers, that's a good son of the church,having sent me a present. Whist, captain! a little glass to cheer theheart av ye--"
"I'll not stop now, father," said the aide dryly. "Perhaps, upon myreturn to Frederick I may call upon you."
"Do so, do so, my son," said Father Tierney. "And ye're going toovertake the lieutenant with the general's last words?--Faith, and whileI think of it--he let drop that he'd be after not going by the pike. Theold road by the forge, that goes south, and then turns. It's a dirtroad, and easier on his horse, the poor crathur--"
"Thanks. I'll try the pike," said Marchmont, from the doorstep. "Bah!it's turning cold! Had you noticed, father, what exceedingly thin iceyou have around this house?"
"By all the powers, my son!" answered Father Tierney. "The moonlight'sdesaving you! That isn't water--that's firm ground. Look out for theflagstaff at the gate, and presint my respects to the general. Sure, 'twas a fine donation for the orphans he donated!"
It was two o'clock of a moonlight night when Captain Marchmont and histroopers took the road to Williamsport. They passed through the silentcamp, gave the word to the last sentry, and emerged upon the quietcountryside. "Was a courier before them?" "Yes, sir--a man on a greatbay horse. Said he had important dispatches."
The moon-flooded road, hard beneath the hoofs of the horses, stretchedsouth and west, unmarked by any moving creature. Marchmont rode inadvance. His horse was strong and fresh; clear of the pickets, he puthim to the gallop. An hour went by. Nothing but the cold, stillmoonshine, the sound of hoofs upon the metalled road, and now and then,in some wayside house, the stealthy lifting of a sash, as man or womanlooked forth upon the riders. At a tollgate the aide drew rein, leanedfrom his saddle, and struck against the door with a pistol butt. A manopened a window. "Has a courier passed, going to Williamsport?"
"Yes, sir. A man on a great bay horse. Three quarters of an hour ago."
"Was he riding fast?"
"Yes. Riding fast."
Marchmont galloped on, his two troopers behind him. Their steeds weregood, but not so good as was his. He left them some way behind. Thenight grew old. The moon, which had risen late, was high in the heavens.The Englishman traversed a shadowy wood, then went by silvered fields. Acabin door creaked; an old negro put out a cautious head. "Has a courierpassed, going to Williamsport?"
"Yaas, sah. Er big man on er big bay. 'Bout half er hour ergo, sah."
Marchmont galloped on. He looked back over his shoulder--his men were amile in the rear. "And when I come up with you, my friend, what then? Onthe whole I don't think I'll ask you to turn with me. We'll go on toWilliamsport, and there we'll hold the court of inquiry."
He touched his horse with the spur. The miles of road ran past, the air,eager and cold, pressed sharply; there came a feeling of the morning. Hewas now upon a level stretch of road, before him, a mile away, a long,bare hill. He crossed a bridge, hollowly sounding through the night, andneared the hill. His vision was a trained one, exercised by war in manylands. There was a dark object on the road before him; it grew in size,but it grew very slowly; it, too, was moving. "You've a tired horse,though, lieutenant!" said the aide. "Strain as you may, I'll catch youup!" His own horse devoured the ground, steadily galloping by the frostyfields, through the air of earliest dawn. Suddenly, before him, thecourier from Kelly halted. Mounted against a faint light in thesouthwestern sky, he stood upon the hilltop and waited for the horsemanfrom Frederick. The latter took at a gallop the remainder of the levelroad, but at the foot of the hill changed to a trot. Above him, thewaiting horseman grew life-size. He waited, very quietly, Marchmontobserved, sitting, turned in his saddle, against the sky of dawn."Damned if I know if you're truly blue or grey!" thought the aide. "Didyou stop to disarm suspicion, because you saw you'd be overtaken--"
Another minute and the two were in speaking distance; another, and theywere together on the hilltop. "Good-morning!" said McNeill. "What hasteto Williamsport?" He bent forward in the light that was just strongenough to see by. "Why--It is yesterday's comrade! Good-morning, CaptainMarchmont!"
"We must have started," said Marchmont, "somewhere near the same hour. Ihave a communication from General Banks for the commander atWilliamsport."
If the other raised his brows over the aide's acting courier twice intwenty-four hours, the action did not appear in the yet uncertain light.Apparently McNeill took the statement easily, upon its face value. "Inthat case," he said with amicableness, "I shall have the pleasure ofyour company a little longer. We must be about six miles out, I shouldthink."
"About that distance," agreed the other. "And as at this unearthly hourI certainly cannot see the colonel, and as your horse is evidentlyspent, why go the rest of the way at a gallop?"
"It was my idea," said McNeill, "to pass the river early. If I can gainthe big woods before the day is old, so much the better. D
andy is tired,it is true, but he has a certain staying quality. However, we will gomore slowly now."
They put themselves in motion. "Two men are behind us," remarked the manfrom Romney.
"Yes. There they come through the fields. Two troopers who are ridingwith me--Regulars. They'll accommodate their pace to ours."
"Very good," said the other with serenity, and the two rode on,Marchmont's men a little way behind. By now the stars had faded, themoon looked wan, there was a faint rose in the east. Far in a vale tothe left a cock crew, and was answered from across a stream. To thesouth, visible between and above the fringing trees, a ribbon of mistproclaimed the river. The two men rode, not in silence, but still notwith yesterday's freedom of speech. There was, however, no quietude thatthe chill ebb of the hour and the weariness of overwork might notaccount for. They spoke of this and that briefly, but amicably. "Willyou report at headquarters?" asked Marchmont, "before attempting theVirginia shore?"
"I do not yet know. There is no occasion, as I have all instructionsfrom General Banks. I wish to make no unnecessary delay."
"Have you the countersign?"
"Yes."
"Will you cross by the ferry?"
"I hardly think so. Ashby may be watching that and the ford below. Thereis a place farther up the river that I may try."
"That is, after you pass through Williamsport?"
"Yes, a mile or two beyond."
The light increased. Gold clouds barred the east, the cocks crew, andcrows came cawing from the woods to the vast, brown cornfields. The roadnow ran at no great distance from the canal and the river. First camethe canal, mirroring between trodden banks the red east, then thetowpath, a cornfield, a fringe of sycamore, oak, and willow, then thePotomac veiled with mist. They were drawing near to Williamsport. Theday's travel had begun. They met or overtook workers upon the road,sutlers' carts, ordnance wagons, a squad of artillerymen conducting agun, a country doctor in an old buggy, two boys driving calves yokedtogether. The road made a curve to the north, like a sickle. On theinland side it ran beneath a bluff; on the other a rail fence rimmed atwelve-foot embankment dropping to a streamlet and a wide field wherethe corn stood in shocks. Here, at a cross-roads debouching from thenorth into the pike, they encountered a company of infantry.
Marchmont checked his horse. "I'm not sure, but I think I know theofficer. Be so good as to await me a moment, lieutenant."
He rode up to the captain in blue, and the two talked in low voices. Theinfantrymen broke lines a little, leaned on their rifles, and discussedarrangements for breakfast. Among them were a number of tall men, leanand sinewy, with a sweep of line and unconstraint of gesture thatsmacked of hunters' ways and mountain exercise. The two troopers fromFrederick City came up. The place of the cross-roads showed animatedand blue. The sun pushed its golden ball above the hilltops, and all therifle barrels gleamed in the light. Marchmont and the new-met captainapproached the courier from Kelly, sitting his horse in the middle ofthe road. "Lieutenant McNeill," said the aide with quietness, "thereseemed, at Frederick, some irregularity in your papers. Doubtlesseverything can be explained, and your delay in reaching Romney will beslight. It is my duty to conduct you to Williamsport headquarters, andto report the matter to the colonel commanding. I regret theinterruption--not a long continued one, I trust--to our pleasantrelations."
McNeill had made a movement of surprise, and his brows had cometogether. It was but for an instant, then he smiled, and smiled with hiseyes. "If such are your orders, sir, neither you nor I can help thematter. To headquarters, of course--the sooner the better! I can have nopossible objection."
He touched his horse and advanced a little farther into the road. Allthe blue soldiers were about him. A sergeant-major, brought for themoment opposite him, uttered an exclamation. "You know this officer,Miller?" called the captain of infantry.
Miller saluted. "No, sir. But I was in the ferry-boat when he crossedyesterday. We talked a little. 'You've got a Southern voice,' says I,and he says, 'Yes. I was born in the valley of the South Branch.''You'll find company here,' says I, 'for we've got some northwesternVirginians--'"
"By jingo!" cried the captain, "that's true! There's a squad of themhere." He raised his voice. "Men from northwest Virginia, advance!"
A detachment swung forward, lean men and tall, stamped as hunters,eighteenth-century frontiersmen projected to the middle of thenineteenth. "Do any of you men know the South Branch of the Potomac?"
Three voices made themselves heard. "Know it like a book."--"Don't knowit like a book--know it like I know my gun and dawg."--"Don't know anygood of it--they-uns air all rebels down that-a-way!"
"Especially," said a fourth voice, "the McNeills."
The courier from Kelly glanced at him sharply. "And what have you got,my man, against the McNeills?"
"I've got something," stated the mountaineer doggedly. "Something eversince afore the Mexican War. Root and branch, I've got something againstthem. When I heard, over there in Grant, that they was hell-bent for theConfederacy, I just went, hell-bent, for the other side. Root andbranch, I know them, and root and branch they're damned rebels--"
"Do you know," demanded the captain, "this one? This is LieutenantMcNeill."
The man looked, General Kelly's courier facing him squarely. There was asilence upon the road to Williamsport. The mountaineer spat. "He may bea lieutenant, but he ain't a McNeill. Not from the South Branch valley,he ain't."
"He says he is."
"Do you think, my friend," asked the man in question, and he lookedamused, "that you really know all the McNeills, or their party? Thevalley of the South Branch is long and wide, and the families are large.One McNeill has simply escaped your observation."
"There ain't," said the man, with grimness, "a damned one of them thathas escaped my observation, and there ain't one of them that ain't adamned rebel. They're with Ashby now, and those of them that ain't withAshby are with Jackson. And you may be Abraham Lincoln or General Banks,but you ain't a McNeill!"
The ranks opened and there emerged a stout German musician. "HerrCaptain! I was in Winchester before I ran away and joined der Union.Herr Captain, I haf seen this man. I haf seen him in der grey uniform,with der gold sword and der sash. And, lieber Gott, dot horse is known!Dot horse is der horse of Captain Richard Cleave. Dot horse is namedDundee."
"'Dundee--'" exclaimed Marchmont. "That's the circumstance. You startedto say 'Dundee.'"
He gave an abrupt laugh. "On the whole, I like you even better than Idid--but it's a question now for a drumhead and a provost guard. I'msorry--"
The other's hand had been resting upon his horse's neck. Suddenly therewas a motion of his knee, a pressure of this hand, a curious sound,half speech, half cry, addressed to the bay beneath him. Dundee backed,gathered himself together, arose in air, cleared the rail fence,overpassed the embankment and the rivulet beneath, touched the frostedearth of the cornfield, and was away like an arrow toward the mistywhite river. Out of the tumult upon the road rang a shot. Marchmont, thesmoking pistol still in hand, urged his horse to the leap, touched inturn the field below, and at top speed followed the bay. He shouted tothe troopers behind him; their horses made some difficulty, but inanother moment they, too, were in pursuit. Rifles flashed from the road,but the bay had reached a copse that gave a moment's shelter. Horse andrider emerged unhurt from the friendly walls of cedar and locust."Forward, sharpshooters!" cried the infantry captain. A lieutenant andhalf a dozen men made all haste across the fence, down the low bluff,and over the field. As they ran one fired, then another, but the fleeinghorse kept on, the rider close to the neck, in their sight, beyond thewater, the Virginia shore. The bay moved as though he knew not fatigue,but only a friend's dire need. The stock told; many a race had been wonby his forefathers. What his rider's hand and voice conveyed cannot beprecisely known, but that which was effected was an access of love,courage, and understanding of the end desired. He moved with every powerdrawn to the point in hand. Marchmont, only a few leng
ths behind, firedagain. The ball went through Cleave's sleeve, grazing his arm andDundee's shoulder. The two shot on, Marchmont behind, then the twomounted men, then the sharpshooters, running afoot. From the road theremainder of the company watched with immemorial, white-heat interestthe immemorial incident. "He's wounded--the bay's wounded, too! They'llget him at the canal!--Thar's a bridge around the bend, but he don'tknow it!--Climb atop the fence; ye can see better--"
The canal, deep between willowy banks, a moat to be overpassed withoutdrawbridge, lay ahead of the foremost horse and rider. A moment and thetwo burst through the screen of willows, another, and from the high,bare bank they had leaped into the narrow, deep, and sluggish stream."That horse's wounded--he's sinking! No, by God, he ain't! Whar's thecaptain from Frederick! Thar he is--thar he is!" Marchmont vanished intothe belt of willows. The two troopers had swerved; they knew of thebridge beyond the turn. Dundee swam the canal. The bank before him, upto the towpath, was of loose earth and stone, steep and difficult. Heclimbed it like a cat-o'-mountain. As he reached the towpath Marchmontappeared before the willows. His horse, a powerful sorrel, took thewater unhesitatingly, but the opposite bank made trouble. It was but ashort delay; while the soldiers on the road held their breath he was upand away, across the wide field between canal and river. The troopers,too, had thundered across the bridge. The sharpshooters were behindthem, blue moving points between the shocked corn. The field was wide,rough, and furrowed, bordered on its southern side by a line ofsycamores, leafless and tall, a lacework of white branches against thenow brilliant sky. Beyond the sycamores lay the wide river, beyond theriver lay Virginia. Dundee, red of eye and nostril, foam streaked andquivering, raced on, his rider talking to him as to a lover. But the baywas sore tired, and the sorrel gained. Marchmont sent his voice beforehim. "Surrender! You'll never reach the other side!"
"I'll try mighty hard," answered Cleave between his teeth. He caressedhis horse, he made their two hearts one, he talked to him, he crooned anair the stallion knew,--
Then fling ope your gates, and let me go free, For it's up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!
Superbly the bay answered. But the sorrel, too, was a thoroughbred,fresh when he left Frederick. Stride by stride he gained. Cleave crashedinto the belt of sycamores. Before him was the Potomac, cold, wide,mist-veiled. He heard Marchmont break into the wood and turned. Theaide's arm was raised, and a shaft of red sunlight struck the barrel ofhis pistol. Before his finger could move Cleave fired.
The sorrel, pierced through the shoulder, swerved violently, reared, andplunged, all but unseating his rider. Marchmont's ball passed harmlesslybetween the branches of trees. The bay and his master sprang from thelow bank into the flood. So veiled was it by the heavy mist that, sixstrokes from shore, all outlines grew indistinct.
The two troopers reached the shore. "Where is he, sir?--Out there?" Theyemptied their pistols--it was firing into a cloud. The sharpshootersarrived. Skilful and grim, they raised their rifles, scanned the expanseof woolly white before them, and fired at what, now here, now there,they conceived might be a moving object. The mist lay close to theriver, like a pall. They fired and fired again. Other infantrymen,arriving, talked excitedly. "Thar!--No, thar! That's him, downs-tream!Fire!--Darn it! 'T was a piece of drift." Across the river, tall againstthe south, wreathed and linked by lianas of grape, showed, far withdrawnand shadowy, the trees of the Virginia shore. The rifles continued toblaze, but the mist held, and there came no answering scream of horse orcry of man. Marchmont spoke at last, curtly. "That's enough! He's eitherhit and drowned, or he has reached home. I wish we were on the sameside."
One of the troopers uttered an exclamation. "Hear that, sir! He'sacross! Damned if he isn't halloaing to tell us so!"
Faintly, from the southern shore, came a voice. It was raised in a lineof song,--
"As Joseph was a-walking, He heard the angels sing"--