University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.

It may be just as well that the knowledge of the
reader should anticipate my own; and that I should
narrate in this place those events of which I knew
nothing till some time after. I will therefore proceed
to state what happened to William Carrington
after leaving me at the hovel where I had
fallen into such miserable captivity. Having,
by a promptness of execution and a degree
of physical energy and power which had always
distinguished him, gained the entrance, he seized
upon the first horse which presented itself to his
hand, and which happened to be mine. It was a
moment, when, perhaps, he could not discriminate,
or if he could, when it might have been fatal for
him to attempt to do so. The blood-hounds
were close in pursuit behind him. He heard their

cries and following footsteps; and in an instant tore
away the bridle from the swinging bough to which
it was fastened, tearing a part of the branch with it.
He did not stop to throw the bridle over the animal's
neck. To a rider of such excellent skill, the
reins were hardly necessary. He leaped instantly
upon his back making his rowels answer all purposes
in giving the direction which he desired him
to take. His foes were only less capable and energetic
than himself; they were no less prompt and
determined. With a greater delay, but at the same
time better preparedness, they mounted in pursuit.
Their safety, perhaps, depended upon arresting his
flight, and preventing him from bringing down upon
them a competent force for their arrest, which certainly
would be the case if they suffered him to convey
the intelligence to such an active magistrate as
Colonel Grafton. Their desire was farther stimulated
by the knowledge which they had of the large
amount of money which William carried with him.
If their motives were sufficent to quicken their
movements to the utmost point within their endeavours,
his were not less so. His life, he must have
known, depended upon his present escape. Nor was
it merely necessary to keep ahead of them; he must
keep out of bullet reach also to be safe. But I will
not do him the injustice to suppose for an instant
that his considerations were purely selfish. I knew
better. I feel assured that my safety was no less
the matter in his thoughts than his own. I feel
sure he would never have been content with his
own escape did he not believe that mine now depended
upon it. These were all considerations to
move him to the fullest exertion; and never did good
steed promise to serve at need his rider better than
did mine in that perilous flight. An animal only inferior
to his own, my horse had the blood of a racer
that was worthy of his rider's noble nature. He
answered the expectations of Carrington without
making necessary the frequent application of the
spur. He left the enemy behind him. He gained
at every jump; and the distance between them at
the first, which was not inconsiderable, for the
movement of William had been so unexpected as
to have taken Webber and the rest by surprise,
was increased in ten minutes nearly double. At
moments they entirely lost sight of him, until very
long stretches of a direct road again made him visible;
but he was already far beyond the reach of
their weapons. These, with but one exception, were
pistols of large size, which in a practised hand
might carry truly a distance of thirty yards. Webber,
however, had a short double-barrelled ducking
gun, which he had caught up the moment his horse
was ready. This was loaded with buck shot, and
would have told at eighty yards in the hands of the
ruffian who bore it. But the object was beyond its
reach, and the hope of the pursuers was now in some
casualty, which seemed not improbable in the desperate
and headlong manner of Carrington's flight.
But the latter had not lost any of his coolness in his
impetuosity. He readily comprehended the nature
of that hope in his enemies which prompted them
to continue the pursuit; and, perhaps less confident
than he might have been, in his own horsemanship,
he determined to baffle them in it. Looking round,
as he did repeatedly, he availed himself of a particular
moment when he saw that he might secure
his bridle and discard the fragment of the bough
which was still attached to it, before they could
materially diminish the space between them; and
drawing up his horse with the most perfect coolness,
he proceeded to unloose the branch and draw the reins
fairly over the head of the animal. The pursuers
beheld this, and it invigorated the pursuit. If the
reader knows anything of the region of country in
which these events took place, he will probably recognise
the scene over which I now conduct him.
The neighbourhood-road leading by Grafton's and
Webber's, was still a distinct trace, though but little
used, a few years ago. It was a narrow track at best
and had been a frontier road for military purposes
before the Chickasaws left that region. The path
was intricate and winding, turning continually to
right and left, in avoiding sundry little creeks and
difficult hills which sprinkled the whole face of the
country. But the spot where William halted to arrange
his bridle was more than usually straight, and
for a space of half a mile, objects might be discerned
in a line nearly direct. Still the spot was an obscure
and gloomy one. The road in one place ran
between two rising grounds, the elevations of which
were greater and more steep than usual. On one
side there was an abrupt precipice, from which the
trees almost entirely overhung the path. This
was called at that period, the “Day Blind” in
a taste kindred with that which named a corresponding
region, only a few miles off, “the Shades of
Death.” For a space of forty yards or more, this
`blind' was sufficiently close and dense, almost to
exclude the day—certainly the sunlight. William
had entered upon this passage, and the pursuers were
urging their steeds with a last and despairing effort,
almost hopeless of overtaking him, and, perhaps,
only continuing the chase under the first impulse of
their start, and from the excitement which rapid
motion always provokes. He now felt his security
and laughed at the pursuit. The path, though dim
and dusky, was yet distinct before him. At the
outlet the sunshine lay, like a protecting spirit, in
waiting to receive him; and the sight so cheered
him, that he half turned about upon his horse, and
while he stayed not his progress, he shook his unemployed
arm in triumph at his enemies. Another
bound brought him out of the dim valley through
which he had ridden; and when he was most sure of
his escape, and when his pursuers began to meditate
their return from the hopeless chase, a sudden shot
was heard from the woods above, and in the same
instant, Webber, who was in the advance, saw the
unhappy youth bound completely out of his saddle,
and fall helplessly, like a stone upon the ground,
while his horse passed from under him, and, under
the impulse of sudden fright, continued on his
course with a more headlong speed than ever. The
event which arrested forever the progress of the fugitive,
at once stopped the pursuit as suddenly.
Webber called one of his companions to his side—
a sallow and small person, with a keen black eye,
and a visage distinguished by dogged resolution, and
practised cunning.

“Barrett,” said the one ruffian to the other—
“we must see who it is that volunteers to be our
striker. He has a ready hand and should be one of
us, if he be not so already. It may be Eberly. It
is high time he should have left Grafton's, where
the wonder is he should have trifled so long.
There's something wrong about that business; but
no matter now. We must see to this. Should the
fellow that tumbled the chap not be one of us, you

must make him one. We have him on our own
terms. Pursue him though he takes you into Georgia.
Away now—sweep clean round the blind and
come on his back—he will keep close when he sees
us two coming out in front; and when you have
got his trail, come back for an instant to get your
instructions. Be off now; we will see to the carrion.”

When Webber and his remaining companion
reached the body it was already stiff. In the warm
morning of youth, in the flush of hope—with a
heart as true and a form as noble, as ever bounded
with love and courage, my friend, my almost brother,
was shot down by a concealed ruffian to whom
he had never offered wrong. What a finish to his
day! What a sudden night, for so fair a morning!