University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
THE ATTACK.

Instantly all was confusion. I
heard Viola scream, Harley shout, and
voices all around me, many of them
strange to my ears. I knew we were
attacked by numbers, and that our only
chance of escape lay in immediate and
desperate action. Quick as thought I
drew my revolver, and bending over my
horse's neck, I reached forward till I
felt it touch some object, and fired. A
groan and an oath succeeded, the grasp
upon my bridle-rein was released, and I
once more had my steed at my own
command.

I now heard Viola shriek for help in
tones of despair, and at the same moment
a flash of lightning showed me the
position of each party. Viola, in the
grasp of two men, with masks on their
faces, was in the act of being dragged
from her horse; Tom, a little way behind,
was dismounted, and had one of
the assailants by the throat, and I felt
confident, if unmolested by others, he
would not come out second best; Harley,
seated on his horse, had a revolver
pointed at the breast of another mask,
who seemed in the act of striking him
with a long knife; and St. Auburn, a
little in advance of me, was contending
with a couple of the assailants, with
what chance of success I could not tell.
It was a startling, awful picture, which
was only seen for a moment, and was
succeeded by impenetrable darkness, by

reports of pistols, by groans, shrieks,
shouts, and horrid oaths, and by a crash
of thunder that made the earth tremble
under us.

My first care was for Viola—for she,
poor girl! I felt most needed assistance;
and instantly leaping from my horse, I
hastened to the spot where I had seen
her—for now I could see nothing. I
ran against some object, and putting out
my hand, felt it to be a man.

“Who are you?” he cried.

These words, perhaps, were his last;
for I knew by the voice he was none
of our party; and pushing my revolver
against his breast, I fired again. There
was a deep groan, and I heard him fall.
By the dim light of the discharge I
caught a glimpse of Viola, now close to
me, on her feet, struggling in the grasp
of another ruffian, who was doubtless
endeavoring to drag her to one side of
the road and into the bushes. She
called loudly on my name and Harley's
for assistance. I threw the hand which
held the revolver around her slender
form, and as the weapon came in contact
with some other object, I again
pulled the trigger.

There was a yell of pain, and the
next moment I felt her released, and
reclining heavily against my breast. I
thought it likely she had fainted, but
could not tell. Another vivid flash now
lighted for an instant the scene of strife,
and by it I saw Harley still seated on
his horse, pale and bloody, and looking
wildly around him. He was only a
few paces distant; and lifting Viola from
the ground, I ran to him.

“Morton!” I cried, “Morton! are
you safe?”

“God be praised!” he ejaculated—
“it is the voice of Harry. But Viola?”

“Here! here! quick! take her!—
and ride! away! away!” and while
speaking, I lifted her senseless form
upon the horse and into his arms.

“My poor Viola! Heavens! she is
not dead, Harry?”

“No, only fainted,” I said at random,
for in truth I knew not but that the ruffians
had killed her. “Away! away!
escape while you have an opportunity.”

“But you—”

“Away!” I interrupted with a shout
of frenzy: “mind me not! away!”
and I struck the horse a heavy blow
with my weapon.

The animal leaped forward, and was
gone—for I could hear the sound of his
hoofs growing distant in the darkness.
All I have mentioned had been the work
of a few moments; but the storm was
now roaring and howling around us,
and the rain was falling in torrents.
With a silent prayer for the safety of
my friend and Viola, I turned to grope
my way to the assistance of Tom, when
I felt a rough grasp upon my shoulder,
and a sharp pain in my right thigh,
while a hoarse voice sounded in my ear:

“Take that, you villain! and that!”
and I felt myself wounded in the arm,
and the warm blood trickling down my
leg.

I sprang backward, and my heel
striking something in the road, I fell;
and my opponent, still keeping his hold
upon me, was brought down with me.
In the fall I lost my revolver; and as
my adversary did not immediately stab
me again, I conjectured he had also
dropped his knife. This gave me a
gleam of hope; and grasping him by
the throat, I exerted all my remaining
strength to turn him, and get him under.
But I labored in vain; for he was a
powerful man, and being already fairly
upon me, he had by position much the
advantage. I now bethought me of my
own knife; and letting go my grasp
upon him, I endeavored to thrust my
hand under my waistcoat and draw it
forth; but the moment I released his
throat, he elutched mine with both
hands, and bearing down with all his
weight, choked me till my eyes appeared
to be starting from their sockets.
I now felt myself to be in the agonies
of death; and with my strength fast
going from me, I said a mental prayer,
“God have mercy on my soul!” and
gave myself up for lost. At this critical
instant, I thought I saw something
like a flash, and heard something like a
crash of thunder; but my senses were
so confused and wandering, that I was
certain of nothing save that I was in a
dying condition. I think from this

point of time I must have lost consciousness
for a few moments; for the
next thing I remember, my head was
being raised from the wet clay, and I
heard a familiar voice crying:

“Oh! Massa Hal, is ye dead? Oh!
Massa Hal, is ye dead? Oh! oh! oh!
my poor Massa Hal?”

“Is it you, Tom?” I said faintly.

“Oh, bress God! you 'live! Oh,
tank God! my poor killed massa
'libe!” cried the poor fellow, with a
choking sob of grief and joy; and lifting
me from the earth, as if I were a
child, he bore me quickly into the
wood, and sat me carefully down about
a hundred yards from the road, adding,
in a low, excited tone: “Speak 'gin,
Massa Hal—quick—dat dis child know
you libe!”

“Yes, Tom,” I said, “I am still
alive, thank God! But I feel strangely,
and very weak and faint.”

“Oh! my poor massa, mebby you
die 'gin now, in all dis rain,” sobbed
the noble fellow; and almost tearing off
his coat, he threw it around my shoulders,
as the only protection he could
give me against the beating storm, which
was now raging at its height.

For a few minutes I sat and pondered,
while Tom, on his knees by my
side, sobbed aloud his grief, for he was
now under the impression that I would
die, and he knew his inability to do any
thing for me. At first my mind was so
confused and bewildered, that I could
recall nothing distinctly. I knew that
we had been assailed, and that there
had been some kind of a skirmish—but
all the particular incidents of that skirmish
I had forgotten. Gradually, one
by one, they came to me; and I remembered,
with tears of joy, how I had
rescued Viola, and placed her in the
arms of my friend, and how they had
ridden away; and if ever in my life
I uttered a sincere prayer, it was that
they might be permitted to escape unharmed.

“Tom,” I said, at length, and the
poor fellow uttered a cry of joy.

“Dat like you'self, Massa Hal,” he
said: “You no die dis time, I tink,
bress Heaven!”

“No, my worthy fellow, I feel my
strength returning, and I must thank
you for my life;” and I grasped his
honest hand, while he wept anew for
joy. “But tell me, Tom, how did you
come out in the affray? and how happened
it that you so timely rescued me
from an awful fate?”

“I can't tell much trait trute, case I
don't much know how um was,” replied
Tom. “Some rascal grab me,
and I git from my hoss and grab him;
and den I git out my r'olver, and do
just Massa Harley tole me; and bang
it go, and away he go, hollering. Den
I look all around, but see not'ing, case
um so dark. Bym-by um lighten; and
den I tink I seed you, wid Missee Veeler,
and I gwine to go to you; and den I
seed not'ing 'gin, till bym-by um lighten
'gin; and den I tink I seed you on de
ground, and big villain top; den I run
up and feel in dark, and git hold on
him, and put r'olver 'gin he head, and
pull de little ting 'gin, and he let go;
and den I git you up, and you speak,
and I take you here, and dat all I know
'bout um, massa.”

“You saved my life, Tom, and I am
not one to forget it,” I rejoined. “But
now what is to be done? It is not prudent
to return to the scene of strife for
our horses, and so we must try and
reach the village on foot.”

“I tink so, massa—bu-bu-but can
you go 'foot yourseff?”

“I will try, with your assistance,
Tom.”

I did try, but at first found myself
too weak to succeed. I had been
wounded in the arm and thigh; and
though only flesh wounds, the blood
was still flowing freely. I sat down
again, and ripping up the leg of my
trowsers, and the sleeve of my coat,
succeeded, with the aid of Tom, in
putting a bandage round each, which in
a great measure stanched the blood; but
it was at least an hour before I found
myself able to walk, even by leaning
on Tom for support.

The storm meantime had raged with
unabated fury. The wind blew a hurricane,
bending the largest trees like
withes—in some cases uprooting them,

or twisting them from their trunks—
while the rain fell in torrents, the lightning
came like broad sheets of fire, that
left a sulphurous smell and a sense of
burning, and the thunder crashed and
roared with a deafening effect. At last
the storm began to abate, or at least to
pass onward; and leaning on Tom for
support, I set off slowly for the village,
now about three miles distant.

We entered the road some quarter of
a mile beyond the place of skirmish, but
found it in a wretched condition. The
ground was low and level, and the soil a
moist clay, which the late rain had converted
into a substance more resembling
paste than any thing else I can liken it
to; and as the foot went down with
ease, in many places about knee deep,
and came up with much labor, the
reader can form some idea of the length
those three miles appeared to me, in my
weak, wounded, fatigued, and excited
state.

We had progressed about half a mile,
when we heard horses approaching us
from the direction of the village. Not
knowing whether they were friends or
enemies, we turned aside into the wood
till they had passed, and then resumed
our journey. So slowly did we travel,
that it was a good hour-and-a-half, after
first reaching the road, ere we came in
sight of the lights of the village. We
were now startled again by hearing
a body of horsemen behind us. We
drew aside, and they passed us, talking
earnestly, but in tones so low that I
could not overhear what was said.

Half-an-hour later, completely worn
out, I dragged myself up to the door of
a very genteel looking inn of the village
in question. There appeared to be
something unusual going on within; for
the bar-room was crowded, several horses
stood hitched around the door, and I
could see persons standing in groups,
and all talking earnestly.

The moment we entered, all eyes
were turned upon us, and some voice
exclaimed:

“Here they are now;” and then a
genteel-looking young man, in a kind
of military undress, approached me,
and said:

“Do I address Mr. Henry Walton?”

“That is my name, sir,” I replied.

“Quick, some one,” he said, turning
to the others—“hasten and inform the
young gentleman, Mr. Harley, that his
friend has arrived.”

“Harley?” cried I: “then he is
safe?”

“Yes.”

“And Viola?”

“If you mean the young lady who is
with him, she is also safe.”

“Thank God! thank God!” I ejaculated,
sinking upon a chair, for I was
nearly overcome with fatigue, loss of
blood, and emotions of joy.

“They are now with another of
your party, who has just been brought
in, badly wounded,” continued the
young officer, for such he really was.

“Ah! St. Auburn!” I said.

“Yes, I think that is the name.”

“Is he dangerously wounded?” I inquired,
with a degree of interest the
reader will readily understand.

“Mortally, it is thought,” replied my
informant: “in fact, we picked him up
for dead—but he still lives.”

“It was your party, perhaps, then,
that met and passed me on the road?”

“We have been only a short time returned
from the spot where you were
assailed by the robbers,” answered the
other.

I now heard the voice of Harley,
fairly shouting:

“Where is he? where is he?” and
the next moment, as the crowd near me
gave way, he came bounding through,
and throwing his arms around my neck,
sobbed forth, “God be praised! God
be praised! But you are pale and
bloody!” he cried, starting back.—
“Heavens! you are wounded! you are
ill besides! Quick, here, some brandy!
and call the surgeon, somebody!”

“Do not be alarmed, Morton,” I said:
“my wounds are mere scratches. If
these kind friends will stand back a
little, and give me air, I shall do very
well.”

“But how did you get here, Harry?
We could not find you, nor Tom, and
thought the ruffians had dragged you
away, and murdered you. Oh, Heaven!

what were my feelings then! But, God
be praised! you are here now, and I
have you once more;” and again throwing
his arms around my neck, he wept
tears of joy.

But not to prolong my story with unnecessary
detail, I will state in a few
words all that is of any importance to
the reader. Harley had succeeded in
reaching the village with Viola, who on
the way had recovered her senses, to
find herself in the arms of him she
loved. In the affray he had received a
cut across the forehead, which accounts
for his face being bloody at the moment
I beheld it by the lightning; but as the
wound was not serious, he had no
sooner deposited Viola in safety at the
inn, than he told his story, and asked
assistance to go to the rescue of his
friends. A recruiting officer who chanced
to be passing the night at the village,
with a small party of men, gallantly
voluntered his services; and with some
ten or fifteen recruits, repaired to the
scene of the attack, Harley acting as
guide. They carried with them a couple
of torches, which, on reaching the place
of strife, they lighted, and made a careful
search for the dead and wounded—
expecting, as Harley told me, with tears
in his eyes, to find Tom and myself
among the number. But save the body
of St. Auburn, they found very little in-dication
of the sanguinary fight which
had so recently taken place there. The
desperadoes were all gone, and the storm
had obliterated nearly all traces of their
ever having been there. St. Auburn
was discovered lying with his face to the
ground, and was picked up in a senseless
condition, with two deep wounds in
his breast, and several cuts and stabs on
other parts of his person. It was supposed
at the time that he was dead; but
on their way back to the village, he had
exhibited signs of life; and on reaching
the inn he had been laid upon a bed,
and a physician summoned to dress his
wounds. The latter was now with him,
but had given it as his opinion that
the wounds were mortal, and that the
probability was he would not survive
the night. As yet he had not spoken;
but at the moment of my arrival, there
were slight indications of returning consciousness;
and Harley was in hopes
he might, ere the fatal moment, be able
to glean some further important knowledge
concerning Viola.

Such was the substance of what my
friend communicated to me, as I rested
myself for a few minutes in the bar-room,
and drank off some kind of a cordial
which the landlord meantime prepared
for me.

“Do you think we were attacked by
d'Estang's men?” I inquired in a low
tone, when Harley had finished his
story, and I had given him some particulars
of my own Providential escape.

“I do,” he replied, compressing his
lips and frowning.

“Then let us make this country too
hot to hold him, the perjured villain!”
returned I.

“Not now, Harry—not now—you
forget I have Viola to protect. I must
first get her out of a country where she
is not safe an hour, and then—but further
is an after consideration. Come,
let me conduct you to a private apartment,
and have your wounds dressed at
once.”

“No,” returned I, “since drinking
this cordial I feel much revived, and I
am anxious to see St. Auburn ere all is
over.”

“Well, at least you shall change
your wet garments for dry ones,” rejoined
Harley.

I did so, the landlord supplying me
with the necessary articles. Meantime
Harley repaired to the apartment of the
wounded man; but ere I was ready to
do so, he burst into the room where I
was, exclaiming:

“Quick! Harry—hasten! there are
strong signs of returning consciousness,
which the doctor thinks will precede
speedy dissolution, and I would have
you present, in case he makes any further
revelation concerning Viola.”

I hurried on my clothes, and accompanied
my friend to the chamber of the
dying St. Auburn.