University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

The evening, which had been beautiful before, had
undergone a change. The moon was obscured, and
gigantic shadows, dense and winged, hurried with deeptoned
cries along the heavens, as if in angry pursuit.
Occasionally, in sudden gusts, the winds moaned
heavily among the pines; a cooling freshness impregnated
the atmosphere, and repeated flashes of sharpest
lightning imparted to the prospect a splendour which
illuminated, while increasing the perils of that path
which our adventurers were now pursuing. Large
drops, at moments, fell from the driving clouds, and
every thing promised the coming on of one of those
sudden and severe thunder-storms, so common to the
early summer of the South.

Singleton looked up anxiously at the wild confusion
of sky and forest around him. The woods seemed to
apprehend the danger, and the melancholy sighing of
their branches appeared to indicate an instinct consciousness,
which had its moral likeness to the feeling
in the bosom of the observer. How many of these
mighty pines were to be prostrated under that approaching
tempest! how many beautiful vines, which had
clung to them like affections that only desire an
object to fasten upon, would share in their ruin! How
could Singleton overlook the analogy between the fortune

of his family and friends, and that which his
imagination depicted as the probable fortune of the
forest?

“We shall have it before long, Humphries, for you
see the black horns yonder in the break before us. I
begin to feel the warm breath of the hurricane already,
and we must look out for some smaller woods. I like
not these high pines in a storm like this, so use
your memory, man, and lead on to some less likely to
attract the lightning. Ha!—we must speed—we have
lingered too long. Why did you not hurry me? you
should have known how difficult it was for me to hurry
myself in such a situation.”

This was spoken by Singleton at moments when the
gusts permitted him to be heard, and when the irregular
route suffered his companion to keep beside him.
The lieutenant answered promptly—

“That was the very reason why I did not wish to
hurry you, major. I knew you hadn't seen your
folks for a mighty long spell, and so I couldn't find it
in my heart to break in upon you, though I felt dubious
that the storm would be soon upon us.”

“A bad reason for a soldier. Friends and family are
scarcely desirable at such a time as this, since we can
seldom see them, or only see their suffering. Ha!—
that was sharp!”

“Yes, sir, but at some distance. We are among
the stunted oaks now, which are rather squat, and not
so likely to give as the pines. There aint so much of
'em, you see. Keep a look out, sir, or the branches
will pull you from your horse. The road here is
pretty much overgrown, and the vines crowd thick
upon it.”

“A word in season,” exclaimed Singleton, as he
drew back before an overhanging branch which had
been bent by the wind, and was thrust entirely across
his path. A few moments were spent in rounding the
obstruction, and the storm grew heavier; the winds no
longer laboured among the trees, but rushed along with
a force which flattened their elastic tops, so that it

either swept clear through them, or laid them prostrate
for ever. A stronger hold, a positive straining in their
effort, became necessary now, with both riders, in order
to secure themselves firmly in their saddles; while
their horses, with uplifted ears, and an occasional snort,
in this manner, not less than by a shiver of their whole
frames, betrayed their own apprehensions, and, as it
were, appealed to their masters for protection.

“The dumb beast knows where to look, after all,
major: he knows that man is most able, you see, to
take care of him, though man wants his keeper too.
But the beast don't know that. He's like the good
soldier that minds his own captain, and looks to him
only, though the captain himself has a general from
whom he gets his orders. Now, say what you will,
major, there's reason in the horse—the good horse, I
mean, for some horses that I've straddled in my time
have shown themselves mighty foolish and unreasonable.”

Humphries stroked the neck of his steed fondly,
and coaxed him by an affectionate word, as he uttered
himself thus generally, though perhaps with little philosophy.
He seemed desirous of assuring the steed
that he held him of the better class, and favoured him
accordingly. Singleton assented to the notion of his
companion, who did not, however, see the smile which
accompanied his answer.

“Yes, yes, Humphries, the horse knows his master,
and is the least able or willing of all animals to do
without him. I would we had ours in safety now: I
would these five miles were well over.”

“It's a tough ride; but that's so much the better,
major—the less apt we are to be troubled with the
tories.”

“I should rather plunge through a crowd of them,
now, in a charge against superior cavalry, than take it
in such a night as this, when the wind lifts you, at
every bound, half out of your saddle, and, but for the
lightning, which comes quite too nigh to be at all times
pleasant, your face would make momentary acquaintance

with boughs and branches, vines and thorns,
that give no notice and leave their mark at every brush.
A charge were far less difficult.”

“Almost as safe, sir, that's certain, and not more
unpleasant. But let us hold up, Major, for a while,
and push for the thicket. We shall now have the
worst of the hurricane. See the edge of it yonder—
how black! and now—only hear the roaring!”

“Yes, it comes. I feel it on my cheek. It sends
a breath like fire before it, sultry and thick, as if it
had been sweeping all day over beds of the hottest
sand. Lead the way, Humphries.”

“Here, sir,—follow close and quick. There's a
clump of forest, with nothing but small trees, lying to
the left—now, sir, that flash will show it to you—
there we can be snug till the storm passes over. It
has a long body and it shakes it mightily, but it goes
too fast to stay long in its journey, and a few minutes,
sir—a few minutes is all we want. Mind the vine there,
sir; and there, to your left, is a gully, where an old
tree's roots have come up. Now, major, the sooner
we dismount and squat with our horses the better.”

They had now reached the spot to which Humphries
had pointed—a thick undergrowth of small timber—of
pine, the stunted oak, black-jack, and hickory
—few of sufficient size to feel the force of the tempest,
or prove very conspicuous conductors of the
lightning. Obeying the suggestion and following the
example of his companion, Singleton dismounted, and
the two placed themselves and their horses as much
upon the sheltered side of the clump as possible, yet
sufficiently far to escape any danger from its overthrow.
Here they awaited the coming of the tempest.
The experienced woodman alone could have spoken
for its approach. A moment's pause had intervened,
when the suddenly aroused elements seemed as suddenly
to have sunk into grim repose. A slight sighing
of the wind only, as it wound sluggishly along the distant
wood, had its warning, and the dense blackness
of the imbodied storm was only evident at moments

when the occasional rush of the lightning made visible
its gloomy terrors.

“It's making ready for a charge, major: it's just
like a good captain, sir, that calls in his scouts
and sentries, and orders all things to keep quiet, and
without beat of drum gets all fixed to spring out from
the bush upon them that's coming. It won't be long
now, sir, before we get it; but just now it's still as
the grave. It's waiting for its outriders—them long
streaky white clouds it sent out an hour ago, like so
many scouts. They're a-coming up now, and when
they all get up together—then look out for the squall.
Quiet, now, Mossfoot—quiet now, creature—don't be
frightened—it's not a-going to hurt you, nag—not a bit.”

Humphries patted his favourite while speaking, and
strove to sooth and quiet the impatience which both
horses exhibited. This was in that strange pause of
the storm which is its most remarkable feature in the
South—that singular interregnum of the winds, when,
after giving repeated notice of their most terrific action,
they seem almost to forget their purpose, and
for a few moments appear to slumber in their inactivity.
But the pause was only momentary, and was now
at an end. In another instant, they heard the rush and
the roar, as of a thousand wild steeds of the desert
ploughing the sands; then followed the mournful howling
of the trees—the shrieking of the lashed winds,
as if, under the influence of some fierce demon who
enjoyed his triumph, they plunged through the forest,
wailing at their own destructive progress, yet compelled
unswervingly to hurry forward. They twisted
the pine from its place, snapping it as a reed, while
its heavy fall to the ground which it had so long sheltered,
called up, even amid the roar of the tempest,
a thousand echoes from the forest. The branches of
the wood were prostrated like so much heather, wrested
and swept from the tree which yielded them without
a struggle to the blast; and the crouching horses
and riders below were in an instant covered with a
cloud of fragments. These were the precursors

merely: then came the arrowy flight and form of the
hurricane itself—its actual bulk—its imbodied power,
pressing along through the forest in a gyratory progress,
not fifty yards wide, never distending in width, yet
capriciously winding from right to left and left to right,
in a zigzag direction, as if a playful spirit thus strove
to mix with all the terrors of destruction the sportive
mood of the most idle fancy. In this progress, the whole
wood in its path underwent prostration—the thick,
proud pine, the deep-rooted and unbending oak, the
small cedar and the pliant shrub, torn, dismembered
of their fine proportions; some, only by a timely yielding
to the pressure, passed over with little injury, as if too
much scorned by the assailant for assault. The
larger trees in the neighbourhood of the spot where our
partisans had taken shelter, shared the harsher fortune
generally, for they were in the very track of the tempest.
Too sturdy and massive to yield, they withheld their
homage, and were either snapped off relentlessly and
short, or were torn and twisted up from their very
roots. The poor horses, with eyes staring in the direction
of the storm, with ears erect, and manes flying in
the wind, stood trembling in every joint, too much terrified,
or too conscious of their helplessness, to attempt
to fly. All around the crouching party, the woods
seemed for several seconds absolutely flattened. Huge
trees were prostrated, and their branches were clustering
thickly, and almost forming a prison around them;
leaving it doubtful, as the huge body rolled over their
heads, whether they could ever make their escape
from the enclosure. Rush after rush of the trooping
winds went over them, keeping them immoveable in
their crowded shelter and position—each succeeding
troop wilder and weightier than the last, until at length
a sullen, bellowing murmur, which before they had not
heard, announced the greater weight of the hurricane
to be overthrowing the forests in the distance. The
chief danger had overblown. Gradually the warm,
oppressive breath passed off; the air again grew suddenly
cool, and a gush of heavy drops came falling
from the heavens, as if they too had been just released
from the intolerable pressure which had burdened
earth. Moaning pitifully, the prostrated trees
and shrubs, those which had survived the storm, though
shorn by its embraces, gradually, and seemingly with
painful effort, once more elevated themselves to their
old position. Their sighings, as they did so, were
almost human to the ears of our crouching warriors,
whom their movement in part released. Far and near,
the moaning of the forest around them was strangely,
but not unpleasantly, heightened in its effect upon their
senses, by the distant and decaying roar of the past
and far travelling hurricane, as, ploughing the deep
woods and laying waste all in its progress, it rushed
on to a meeting with the kindred storms that gather
about the gloomy god of Cape Hatteras, and stir and
foam along his waters of the Atlantic.

“Well, I'm glad it's no worse, major,” cried Humphries,
rising and shaking himself from the brush with
which he was covered.

“The danger is now over, though it was mighty
close to our haunches. Look, now, at this pine, split
all to shivers, and the top not five feet from Mossfoot's
quarters. The poor beast would ha' been in a sad
fix a little to the left there.”

Extricating themselves, they helped their steeds
out of the brush, though with some difficulty—soothing
them all the while with words of encouragement. As
Humphries had already remarked in his rude fashion,
the horse, at such moments, feels and acknowledges
his dependence upon man, looks to him for the bridle,
and flies to him for protection. They were almost
passive in the hands of their masters, and under the
unsubsided fear would have followed them, like tame
dogs, in any direction.

The storm, though diminished of its terrors, still
continued; but this did not discourage the troopers.
They were soon mounted, and once more upon their
way. The darkness, in part, had been dissipated by
the hurricane. It had swept on to other regions,

leaving behind it only detached masses of wind and
rain-clouds sluggishly hanging, or fitfully flying along
the sky. These, though still sufficient to defeat the
light of the moon, could not altogether prevent a straggling
ray which peeped out timidly at pauses in the
storm; and which, though it could not illumine, still
contrived to diminish somewhat the gloomy and forbidding
character of the scene. Such gleams in the natural,
are like the assurances of hope in the moral world
—they speak of to-morrow—they promise us that the
clouds must pass away—they cheer, when there is
little left to charm.

The path over which the partisans journeyed had
been little used, and was greatly overgrown. They
could move but slowly, therefore, in the imperfect
light; and, but for the frequent flashes of lightning, it
might have been doubtful, though Humphries knew
the country, whether they could have found their way.
But the same agent which gave them light, had nearly
destroyed them. While Humphries, descending from
his steed, which he led by the bridle, was looking
about for a by-path that he expected to find in the
neighbourhood, a sudden stroke of the lightning, and
the overwhelming blaze which seemed to kindle all
around them, and remained for several seconds stationary,
drove back the now doubly terrified steeds,
and almost blinded their riders. That of Singleton
sunk upon his haunches, while Mossfoot, in her terror,
dragged Humphries, who still grasped firmly his bridle,
to some little distance in the woods. Sudden
blackness succeeded, save in one spot, where a tree
had been smitten by the fluid, and was now blazing
along the oozy gum at its sides. The line of fire was
drawn along the tree, up and down—a bright flame, that
showed them more of the track they were pursuing
than they had seen before. In the first moment
following the cessation of the fiercer blaze made by the
lightning, and when the tree first began to extend a certain
light, Singleton thought he saw through the copse
the outline of a human form, on foot, moving quickly

along the road above him. He called quickly to
Humphries, but the lieutenant was busy with his steed,
and did not seem to hear. Again was the object visible,
and Singleton then cried out—

“Who goes there?—ho!”

No answer; and the fugitive only seemed to increase
his speed, turning aside to the denser woods, as if
he strove to elude observation. The challenge was
repeated.

“What, ho! there—who goes? Speak, or I shoot.”

He detached one of his pistols from the holster as he
spoke, and cocked it to be in readiness. Still no answer,
the person addressed moving more quickly than ever.
With the sight, with an instinct like lightning, the partisan
put spurs to his steed, and drove fearlessly through
the bush in pursuit. The fugitive now took fairly to
his heels, leaping over a fallen tree, fully in sight of his
pursuer. In a moment after, the steed went after
him—Humphries, by this time in saddle, closely following
on the heels of his commander. For a moment
the object was lost to sight, but in the next he
appeared again.

“Stand!” was the cry, and with it the shot. The
ball rushed into the bush, which seemed to shelter
the flying man, and where they had last seen him—they
bounded to the spot, but nothing was to be seen.

“He was here—you saw him, Humphries, did you
not?”

“A bit of him, major—a small chance of him behind
the bush, but too little a mark for them pistols.”

“He is there—there!” and catching another glimpse
of the fugitive, Singleton led the pursuit, again firing
as he flew, and, without pausing to wait the result,
leaping down to the spot where he appeared to them.
The pursuit was equally fruitless with the aim. The
place was bare. They had plunged into a hollow, and
found themselves in a sort of ditch, almost knee deep
in water. They looked about vainly, Humphries leading
the search with unusual earnestness.

“I like not, major, that the fellow should escape.

Why should he stand a shot, rather than refuse to halt,
and answer to a civil question? I'm dubious, major,
there's something wrong in it; and he came from the
direction leading to our camp.”

“Ha! are you sure of that, Humphries?—think you
so?”

“Ay, sir—the pine that was struck marks the by-path
through which I should have carried you in
daylight. It is the shortest, though the worst; and he
could not have been far from it when you started him.
Ah! I have it now. A mile from this is the house of
old Mother Blonay, the dam of that fellow Goggle.
We will ride there, major, if you say so.”

“With what object, Humphries? what has she to
do with it?”

“I suspect the fugitive to be Goggle, the chap I
warned you not to take into the troop. Better we had
hung him up, for he's not one to depend upon. All
his blood's bad: his father—him they call so, at least—
was a horse-thief; and some say, that he has a cross
in his blood. As for that, it's clear to me, that Goggle
is a half-breed Indian, or mestizo, or something. Anybody
that looks on Goggle will say so; and then the
nature of the beast is so like an Indian—why, sir,
he's got no more feeling than a pine stump.”

“And with what motive would you ride to his
mother's?”

“Why, sir, if this skulking chap be Goggle, he's
either been there, or is on his way there; and if so,
be sure he's after mischief. Proctor or Huck at the
garrison will soon have him among them, and he'll get
his pay in English guineas for desertion. Now, sir,
it's easy to see if he's been there, for I s'pose the old
hag don't mind to tell us.”

“Lead on! A mile, you say?”

“A short mile; and if he's not been there yet, he
must be about somewhere, and we may get something
out of the old woman, who passes for a witch about
here, and tells fortunes, and can show you where to
find stolen cattle; and they do say, major, though I

never believed it—they do say,” and the tones of his
voice fell as he spoke—“they do say she can put the
bad mouth upon people; and there's not a few that lay
all their aches and complaints to her door.”

“Indeed!” was the reply of Singleton; “indeed!
that is a sight worth seeing; and so let us ride, Humphries,
and get out of this swamp thicket with all possible
speed.”

“A long leap, major, will be sure to do it. But
better we move slowly. I don't want to lose our
chance at this rascal for something; and who knows
but we may catch him there. He's a great skunk,
now, major, that same Goggle; and though hanging's
much too good for him, yet, them pistols would have
pleased me better had they lodged the ball more
closely.”