 | Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 |  |
XXIII.
BIZARRE.
The terms of the combat between Landon and
Ratcliffe were speedily arranged by myself and
Lieutenant Arden, whom I found to be a perfect
gentleman.
Pistols were chosen; the meeting was to take
place at a spot on the banks of the Shenandoah,
called “Lover's Leap,” near which Landon designed
to bivouac that night, and the hour determined upon
was daylight next morning.
Having perfected these arrangements with Lieutenant
Arden, U.S.A., I made that gentleman a
bow, and, turning him over to his brother, who was
plainly dying to talk to him, returned and reported
to Landon.
“A thousand thanks, colonel,” he said, quietly;
and Ratcliffe, having been supplied with a captured
horse, Landon, who had mounted another, began to
move with his troop toward the Blue Ridge.
The result of the combat had been a few prisoners
and many dead bodies in blue. Landon's loss
the black ruin.
The little body of horsemen slowly took their way
toward the Shenandoah. Winding along through
a secluded glen, studded with mossy rocks, they
passed through a gate in the stone fence, turned to
the left, and, following a shaded road, made their
way through the country between Millwood and
White Post.
Oh, the lovely region as we rode on, that September!
Oh, the trees touched with gold, and the
mountains bathed in azure! It was a land all romance,
you would have said, gentle reader, where
the graces danced, and the loves disported. Nothing
stirred the air but the winds in the forest, the
music of cascades, and the murmur of the Shenandoah
beneath its sycamores.
Nothing else? Hear that muttering from the
direction of Winchester! It is Early's war-dogs
growling, and showing Sheridan their teeth. Loves
and graces? Look at these figures, bearded and
grim, — the figures in gray and blue. Murmuring
waterfalls? You hear the rattle of the sabre!
But the land was beautiful if the red hoof had
stamped upon it. It is beautiful to-day, and will be
beautiful forever; for the blue mountains yonder are
laughing at factions, parties, and intrigues in 1868,
as they echoed, with hoarse laughter, in their firclad
year 1864.
As the sun was sinking toward the forest we saw
the “Blue Ball,” as a peak of the mountain is
called, right before us, and the voice of the river
ascended in a low murmur from its bed hundreds of
feet beneath us.
On a hill rose an old and very stately-looking
mansion. Landon pointed to it and said: —
“This is my house, `Bizarre,' colonel. I am
glad to have you visit it.”
A ride of fifteen minutes brought us in front of
the old mansion, — a building of large size, with something
“aristocratic” about it. Pardon that obsolete,
old-fashioned phrase, reader.
“Bizarre” seemed to have been the residence of
many generations of gentlemen. Half in ruins, as
it was, there was something proud and imposing in
its worn façade. You could see that men and
women had held high revelry here in the old days
when Virginia was Virginia.
At a sign from Landon the men broke ranks and
scattered themselves through the extensive grounds,
with only videttes out. Landon calculated rightly
that few Federals would venture to penetrate these
great woods.
Captain Ratcliffe and Lieutenant Ralph Arden
were ushered into the mansion, where an old negro,
by Landon's order, to provide supper for them.
They were not placed under guard, having both
given their paroles not to attempt to escape; and,
making his guests a low bow, Landon went out of
the apartment.
I was beside him, and we found ourselves in the
great hall of the mansion. It was inexpressibly bare
and desolate. Old portraits mouldered on the walls.
From some huge deer-antlers hung cobwebs. The
spider was lord here, and reigned in joint sovereignty
with the mouse and the moth.
“A deserted old affair this,” said the Partisan,
coolly. “Those tall-backed chairs, colonel, and these
dingy old pictures, are all that remain to me, except
the bare walls.”
“You have been away for years, I suppose?”
“Yes, and feel almost like a stranger.”
He gazed around him with an abstracted look.
An expression of sadness would have visited the
countenance of most men. Landon seemed to have
no room in his heart for so gentle an emotion. Was
this man made of marble? I tried to test him.
“You are the last of your line, captain?” I
said.
“Yes; the last.”
“It is sorrowful.”
“Many things are sorrowful in this world, colonel.”
“You have no brothers or sisters?”
“None.”
“And your parents, — your family?”
“All gone. My mother was the last, and she
died some years since.”
The marble was touched. A faint tinge came to
Landon's cheeks.
“I loved my mother,” he said, in a low voice;
“and they murdered her!”
A quick flash of the eye followed. Turning his
head, in a manner inexpressibly stern and haughty,
he glanced toward the apartment occupied by Ratcliffe.
“That man was her murderer,” he said. “Do
you wonder now that I hate him?”
His brows were knit together; a grim smile came
to his lips.
“Luckily, I have one consolation,” he said, in
his cool voice. “Like Randolph of Roanoke, I am
the last of my house; I am alone in the world, without
father or mother, brother or sister; I am a mere
waif, an estray, — a stranger here in the halls of my
forefathers; but good fortune has not wholly deserted
me. I have the man I hate most in this world
within a few yards of me, — in twelve hours, or less,
for all, our little account.”
Landon's vibrating and metallic voice ceased, and
his glance wandered to a portrait on the wall. It
represented a lady of great beauty and distinction,
with blue eyes, and brown hair piled up upon the
forehead; one white jewelled hand was raised to the
head-dress. In the whole portrait there was something
exquisitely high-bred and delicate.
As he continued to gaze at this picture, the colour
upon Landon's cheeks gradually deepened; his lips
were compressed as though to arrest a sob; in his
fiery eye glittered something like a tear.
“I thought I was strong,” he muttered; “but
that face makes me a child again!”
“Your mother?”
He turned quickly.
“Yes, colonel, my poor mother! She left me
last, and that finished me.”
His head sank. A grim contraction of the brows
betrayed the hidden anguish. All at once he turned
his head and looked at me.
“All this must seem strange to you,” he said,
“and I fear you think me something of a charlatan.”
“Captain!”
“Only charlatans or outcasts change their names;
conceal themselves; have mysteries.”
“Why speak thus bitterly?” I said. “Do you
imagine I ever thought thus of you? Your face is
enough, Captain Landon; it is a loyal face.”
He made me the bow of a nobleman.
“Thanks! I value your good opinion,” he said.
“But I have appeared to you under peculiar circumstances,
colonel. You saw me at Manassas under a
different name; you come higher and hear Miss
Adair address me, as she did yonder, in a manner
not very complimentary. Well, all this must appear
rather `mysterious' to you, as the novel-writers
say, and I have little fondness for mystery.”
“Well, I acknowledge that I have,” I said, smiling.
Landon was silent; he evidently hesitated. His
dark eyes interrogated my face.
“I am heavy-hearted to-night,” he said, suddenly,
in his deep voice. “We have fought together.
You are a comrade, — a gentleman. Would you like
to hear a rather curious story, friend, to while away
an hour this evening?”
I extended my hand and grasped Landon's.
“Your story? That is a mark of friendship you
give me.”
He inclined his head.
“You are right, colonel; but it will be a relief
to me. To-night, thought seems to crush me. You
will listen?”
“Speak, captain! You do me an honour and a
pleasure.”
“Then follow me, colonel. There is a spot near
this house which I have not visited for years, — the
scene of the duel to-morrow, — and it is connected
with the events which I am going briefly to relate.
Let us go thither; it is but a step.”
“You mean the `Lover's Leap'?”
“Yes.”
And, leading the way, Landon left the mansion.
I followed him in silence.
| Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 | |