 | Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 |  |
XXXVI.
WAR IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHENANDOAH IN
1864.
In an instant all Landon's preoccupation had disappeared.
Dreams, presentiments, memories, — all
had vanished, leaving the Partisan's eye fiery, his
lip firm-set, his muscle strong for the coming conflict.
Plunging the spurs into his horse, he darted forward,
leaped a ravine, and gained a knoll from which
the eye embraced the whole landscape.
“Chapeldale!” he said.
Suddenly the noise of hoofs resounded on the
turnpike in our front. A moment afterwards, a
white robe gleamed, a lady on horseback appeared;
she approached at full gallop, and I recognized Miss
Adair.
We spurred to meet her, and she drew rein. I
have never seen acuter distress than that written
upon her face.
“Captain Landon!” she exclaimed; and a sudden
rush of crimson to her cheeks betrayed her deep
emotion at the encounter.
Landon bowed low; I could see his heart throbbing.
“I was coming to look for help from some one.
They have carried off my father.”
And, unnerved, overwhelmed, the young lady burst
into tears. In an instant, however, she had dashed
away the tears, and her hurried words put us in
possession of the main points of a scene, of which I
afterward heard all the details.
Ratcliffe had come on that morning to Chapeldale
with a detachment of cavalry, and, finding Judge
Adair ill in bed, had demanded an interview with
the young lady, who reluctantly made her appearance.
Ratcliffe was pale and gloomy, and, having
closed the door, informed Miss Adair that he had
come to visit her for the last time. He had sworn,
he declared, to attain the object which he had so long
sought, and Miss Adair was perfectly aware of the
subject to which he alluded.
When she demanded an explanation, declaring
herself at a loss to comprehend him, Ratcliffe brutally
announced that his object was to force her into
a union with him. The war was nearly over, he
said; the people of the Valley utterly impoverished;
he was rich from speculation, and he came to offer
the young lady his hand and his fortune. If she
consented, they would live wherever she wished; he
would resign his commission, go to Paris, obey her
slightest caprice. If she refused, — then he had
made up his mind. He would drag her sick father
man off to take his chance of living or dying from
exposure. Miss Adair might have her choice, —
wealth and luxury as his wife; if she refused him,
the destruction of all she held most dear. Crouching
in presence of the burning roofs of Chapeldale, with
her sick father carried off by his troopers before her
eyes, she would then understand the love of a man
like himself. He had sworn in his heart that he
would do this, and would keep his oath.
Such had been Ratcliffe's announcement. Miss
Adair had replied by a bitter and scornful refusal.
Rather than wed him, she would die a thousand
deaths, — submit to all, — and as to her father, God
would watch over him.
Ratcliffe's fury at this reply passed all bounds.
Raging like a wild beast, he had ordered Judge
Adair to be dragged out of his bed and placed on
horseback, the house to be fired, — and these orders
had been promptly obeyed. Miss Adair had, meanwhile,
hastened out of the house to the stable, saddled
their sole remaining horse with her own hands,
and, profiting by the confusion, made her escape
across the fields in the direction of Millwood, where
she hoped to find some of the Partisans, and lead
them back to the relief of her father.
As she ascended the hill near the “Fox-Spring
Woods,” our gray uniforms in the foliage had
the alarm; “if no time was lost we might be able
to rescue her father.”
Landon's sole reply was: —
“I hope to arrive in time.”
And, raising his whistle to his lips, he sounded the
cavalry signal, “Rally on the Chief.”
Before five minutes had elapsed, a sudden tramping
was heard in the forest; the Rangers appeared
coming on at full speed; and, placing himself in
front of them, with drawn sabre, Landon darted at a
headlong gallop in the direction of the burning
house.
| Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 | |