University of Virginia Library

V.
CAPTAIN BLOUNT.

The officer who had come so opportunely to our
assistance was Captain Blount, one of the most
daring Partisans of the war.

I had met Captain Blount incidentally in 1863,
and, as we slowly rode back now together toward
Millwood, I looked with interest at a man of whom
I had heard so much.

He appeared to be between twenty-five and thirty;
his figure was graceful; his seat in the saddle perfect;
his countenance full of unassuming courtesy,
and the expression of his eyes soft, pensive, almost
sad. It was difficult to recognize in this mild
and retiring personage, so cordial and gentle, the
hero of a hundred desperate encounters. Of his
skill as a swordsman, I had, however, witnessed a
striking evidence. In the pursuit through Millwood
he had crossed swords with a Federal officer who
was evidently an accomplished sabreur; fought hilt
to hilt with him, in single combat, for nearly ten
minutes; and finally killed his adversary by driving
his sabre, at tierce point, through him from breast

to back. The officer had thown up his arms, reeled
and fallen. Blount continued the pursuit; only his
sabre was bloody.

Returning now, after this hard work, nothing
could be imagined more simple and unassuming than
his bearing. But a spectacle which greeted us near
the village made the mild eye flash. The Federal
troopers had picketed their horses to the fence around
the grounds of the little church, nestling amid its
green trees, laid waste the grounds, broken open the
sacred edifice, and torn to pieces the organ.

Blount looked at the broken door of the church,
the torn-down pews, and the fragments of the organ
scattered over the lawn.

“These are Scythians, indeed!” he muttered,
quoting the words of Napoleon; “there is nothing
to do but to hunt down and kill every mam of
them.”

“A maxim which you religiously carry out,
Blount,” said Landon; “but how did you happen
to arrive in such good time to-night?”

“By accident, my dear Landon. I was going on
a scout along the Opequon, when I heard the firing,
and thought it was you. I am glad I was near;
and, as the affair is over now, I believe I will go
on.”

Having uttered these words in his mild and courteous

voice, Captain Blount offered me his hand,
gave me a cordial invitation to visit him when it was
convenient, and, after exchanging a pressure of the
hand with Landon, moved off with his squadron of
about seventy-five men toward the Opequon.

I was still looking after the retreating shadows,
when one of the Partisans rode up, leading a magnificent
bay.

“Here is the Yankee officer's horse, captain, —
the one you knocked out of the saddle,” he said.

Landon glanced at the animal.

“They must have carried off the captain, but he
has left his horse and his papers,” said the man.

“His papers?” said Landon, quickly.

The man pointed to the saddle-pockets, and drew
forth a bundle of official documents.

Landon rapidly tore them open, and glanced at
them by the light of the moon. His face was lost
in the shadow, and I did not see its expression.

“Then it was not his ghost,” muttered the Partisan;
“and he is not dead, after all!”