University of Virginia Library

III.
LANDON.

Erect, in the centre of the wild and picturesque
group, stood a man, leaning one heavily gauntleted
hand on the pommel of his saddle, the other on the
hilt of a light sabre.

He was apparently about twenty-five or six; and his
plain gray coat, buttoned from top to bottom, defined
a figure, straight, supple, and vigourous. Around
his waist he wore a red sash; his boots reached
above the knee; over his forehead drooped a brown
hat, with the black cavalry feather. The face, which
the moonlight clearly revealed, was a striking one.
In the penetrating eyes, and the lips, half covered
with a shaggy moustache, could be read something
cool, resolute, and “thorough-bred.” Never was
will written plainer on human countenance. This
man evidently belonged to that class who think, decide,
and act for themselves, preserving through all an
invincible coolness. In the face, for the rest, there
was something hard and impassive. One glance at
him convinced me that he had passed through some
terrible ordeal, and had come out, steel.

I was sure that I had seen him somewhere; but
was completely at a loss to determine where or when.

I approached with my companion.

“Who is that?” he said, in the brief tone of
command.

He glanced at me keenly. Then all at once, before
my friend of the Mount-Carmel road could reply,
the Partisan added coolly: —

“I am glad to see you, Colonel Surry!”

With which words he advanced a step, made me
the bow of a nobleman, and, drawing off his yellow
gauntlet, offered me his hand.

“Ah! you know me, captain!” I said, taking
the hand, which was white and slender, but had the
grip of a vice.

“Perfectly, colonel; I have had the pleasure of
seeing you in the army.”

Suddenly I remembered.

“And I have seen you, captain. It was near Manassas
last October, when the cavalry followed Meade
after Bristoe. We came to a barricade near Yates'
ford; the leading squadron wavered before the volleys
of the sharpshooters; you took the front,
charged over the felled trees, and drove the enemy.
General Stuart paid you a magnificent compliment
on that occasion, and never was one better deserved,
— Captain St. Leger!”

The partisan gave me one of his penetrating
glances.

“My name is Landon, colonel,” he said, with perfect
calmness.

I looked at him with undisguised astonishment.

“And yet I could swear it was you that made
that charge! Is it possible that two human beings
can resemble each other so strangely?”

For a moment he made no reply. He was
evidently hesitating.

“You were not that officer?” I said.

“Well, yes, colonel, the officer in question was
myself, and at that time I was called St. Leger. I
have since resumed my real name, or rather the full
name of which the former was a portion.”

“Your real name?”

“St. Leger Landon, at your service,” returned
the Partisan, coolly, and making me a bow.

Before I could reply, our colloquy was brought
suddenly to an end.

“All right, captain!” said a low voice, behind
the Partisan.

And a boy of about sixteen, mild, fair-haired, and
gentle in appearance, advanced noiselessly into the
area.

“Touch-and-go!” said the partisan, “well, how
many?”

“Seventy or eighty, captain.”

“That is three horses apiece for the command!
Lieutenant Arden.”

A young man of about twenty-two rose quickly
from among the prostrate figures, and approached,
saluting. There was something gay and gallant in
his sparkling eyes and smiling lips, but what chiefly
impressed me was the singular sweetness and
modesty of his bearing and expression.

Landon introduced me to the young lieutenant;
gave him some rapid orders, and then turned to me.

“I am going to attack the picket at the river,
colonel, — will you look on?”

“I will do better, captain, — take a hand, — if I
am allowed to rank as a Night-Hawk, and keep the
fresh horse I capture.”

“You shall keep half a dozen if you choose, colonel.”

And Landon vaulted into the saddle with an ease
which showed the perfect horseman, the thorough
cavalier, who would stop at nothing.

“Attention!”

Before the sound of his voice had died away, every
man was in the saddle.

“Unfurl the flag!”

The order was obeyed.

Then, as silently as though they had been a party
of phantoms, the little band began to move beneath
the shadowy foliage toward the picket.