University of Virginia Library

XX.
THE TORCH.

The order which I had received to make an inspection
of the Partisan commands was far from disagreeable.

It enabled me to remain longer in the region than
my original orders contemplated; and it thus seemed
probable that I would witness the sequel of Landon's
highly “dramatic” affair with Ratcliffe.

I really longed to be present, or not very far off,
when the denouement of the tragedy took place;
and I hope the reader will not, on that account, regard
me as a very prying personage. He would do
me injustice. I have always had a very profound
respect for the individual — read of in romances —
who made an ample fortune by attending to his own
business. (And here let me exclaim, parenthetically,
Oh, to make his acquaintance, if he be still alive! or
to know, even, some member of his “small and select”
family! Up to the present time, I have failed
to enjoy the pleasure of their acquaintance!)

Not from prying curiosity, then, but from rational
interest in a very curious drama, I had come to feel

that desire to be near when Landon and Ratcliffe
settled their differences. That the settlement would
be bloody, there was little doubt. Between these
two human beings there was evidently a bitter feud.

What was the origin of it? How would it terminate?
What had been the relations between Miss
Adair and Landon, and had not Ratcliffe played a
part in the drama of these two lives? I had a decided
longing to penetrate these mysteries; to ascertain
what tie had bound my cool and resolute friend
Landon to the young girl who had appeared so suddenly
in the Old Chapel graveyard; to know all
about him and Ratcliffe; to see what would be the
denouement of all these loves, hatreds, and vengeances.

So I shook General Early's hand, and bade that
hardy soldier farewell, to go back to the Partisans.

It was a beautiful morning in early September.
The road which I followed was the main one to
Millwood and Ashby's Gap; and, passing the Opequon,
I pushed on, winding amid the hills, whose
slopes were covered with the yellow and golden tints
of the approaching autumn.

Leaving the “pine hills” as they are called, I
advanced steadily, without encountering a single
horseman, and had entered a forest within two or
three miles of Millwood, when all at once I caught
sight, through the tree-trunks, of a red flag, then of

a column of mounted men drawn up at the mouth of
a road debouching into the main highway.

A second glance told me that they were Landon's
men, and I was soon at his side.

He greeted me, as did Arden, with a close pressure
of the hand, and in a few words I explained
what had happened after our parting at the Old
Chapel.

“Good!” he said, “I am glad he got away from
you, colonel.”

“Ratcliffe?”

“Yes.”

I laughed and said, “Is he a particular friend of
yours?”

“Yes; and I think I am going to put my hand
on him this morning, when I promise you he will
not get away so easily.”

Landon's voice was as cool and measured as ever,
but there was an unwonted light in his eyes. It was
the light in the eye of the bloodhound who sees his
prey and longs to spring upon it.

“Ratcliffe is yonder,” he continued, pointing
across the woods to the right. “I have sent Touch-and-go
to capture the vidette, so as to surprise him.”

“What is his force?”

“About eighty.

“Your own?”

“About thirty.”

“Look out!” I said, pointing to a figure in blue,
hastening toward us; “they are coming to reconnoitre
you.”

“It is Touch-and-go. Well?” he said, quickly,
as the scout approached.

“Eighty-five men, captain. I counted them as
they wound over the hill toward Saratoga.”

“Good! and the vidette?”

“He is dead. He was at the gate in the stone
fence. I walked straight up to him, thinking my
blue coat would fool him; but he snapped his carbine
at me.”

“And —”

“I did not wish to shoot him, for fear of alarming
them; so I got hold of his carbine and knocked out
his brains with the butt-end.”

“All right. Come on, colonel; we are losing
time,” said Landon.

And, placing himself at the head of his men,
he went down the road toward Millwood at a thundering
gallop.

Emerging from the woods, the Blue Ridge and
Ashby's Gap were right before us, swimming in
delicate mist. On the right extended a large field,
enclosed by a stone fence, in which there was a gate,
which seemed to lead into a house beyond the hill.

Across the road lay the dead vidette. His horse
was grazing in the high road.

Landon's men swept through the gate, formed column
with drawn sabres, and darted onward.

Suddenly a dense smoke rose beyond the hill, —
dark, threatening, and tinged with the red glare of
flames.

Then we heard on the wind the low and monotonous
crackling of a conflagration.

“They are burning the house!” exclaimed Arden.

“No, it is too far to the left,” said Landon. “It
is the barn and stable; the house will follow, or
would.”

And, turning in his saddle at full gallop, Landon
pointed with his sword to the smoke.

“Do you see?” he said.

A yell answered.

“These people are burning barns and houses,
starving women and children! The fewer the prisoners
we take the better!”

The men replied with a shout; and, as though
driven onward by that shout, the column rushed to
the attack.