University of Virginia Library

XL.
ACROSS A GRAVE.

When I opened my eyes I was lying, bruised and
bleeding, beneath a tall oak, near and directly eastward
from the Old Chapel.

The sun was near its setting. The great orb
glared, like a huge bloodshot eye, from beneath a
low-hung and murky cloud; and this glare — crimson
and threatening — lit up a strange and tragic
spectacle.

Within ten paces of me, under a lofty tree, a grave
had just been dug. Beside the grave, with his arms
tightly bound behind him by means of his red sash,
stood Landon — and opposite him, Ratcliffe. Twenty
yards from them I saw Judge Adair, closely
guarded, and holding clasped in his arms the form
of his daughter, who had fainted. Over the slope,
dotted with moss-clad rocks, were scattered the Federal
cavalrymen, who had dismounted and tethered
their horses to the boughs.

The situation of affairs could not be mistaken.
The Night-Hawks had all been killed or dispersed;
Landon and myself taken prisoner. He was bound

like a malefactor; and it was probable that, in retaliation
for the bloody scene of the morning, we would
be put to death without mercy. Landon's fate
seemed certain. That grave newly dug seemed to
indicate that Ratcliffe had fully determined then and
there to put an end to his mortal enemy.

I afterwards discovered that Landon had fought to
the last, killing nearly a dozen of his assailants; but,
his horse being shot, he had fallen and been captured,
when his men dispersed and escaped. The
Partisan was then bound and brought to the Old
Chapel, whither Judge Adair, his daughter, and
myself were also conducted.

My first glance, upon opening my eyes, was at
Landon. It is impossible to describe the cool courage
expressed in the face of the Partisan. In his
resolute eye and lip there was no emotion whatever.
The stern nerve of the man seemed to defy the attempt
to crush him, and he looked that death which
was approaching, in the face without the quiver of a
muscle. I have seen brave men in my time. I
think this one was the bravest of all.

From Landon my glance passed to Ratcliffe. His
face, habitually ruddy, had the sickly hue of a
corpse; but in the snake-like eyes there was an expression
of malignant triumph which was revolting.

As I awoke to the consciousness of the scene passing

before me, Ratcliffe had just advanced to the
grave opposite Landon, and addressed him: —

“Are you ready?” he said, in a hoarse voice.

“I am,” returned Landon, coolly.

“You know your fate?”

“To be shot, doubtless.”

“And you are not afraid?”

“I am not.”

The reply seemed to arouse Ratcliffe's rage to the
utmost.

“Ah! you brave me!” he said.

“I reply to you,” returned Landon.

“Ah! well, we will see who has the last word
here! Your little game is played, — is it? Your
claws are pulled! You are in my power now, and
I have not yet decided whether I will shoot you or
hang you!”

Landon turned livid.

“Hang me!”

“Yes.”

“You dare not!”

Ratcliffe laughed savagely.

“What is to prevent me? I am in command
here. I have orders from head-quarters to hang
every guerilla I capture. Do you think any questions
will be asked when I return and report that I
caught and hung you?”

Landon's countenance had recovered its iron calmness.

In face of this threat, so terrible to a soldier,
he seemed as unmoved as before it had been uttered.

“True,” he said, with his eyes fixed coolly upon
Ratcliffe. “I had forgotten that your generals had
become house-burners and hangmen. It is true that
I might have understood it; they have always been
jail-birds.”

“Take care, sir!”

“And their subordinates are no better.”

Ratcliffe laid his hand on his pistol, his eyes
glaring.

“You suit each other,” continued Landon, in a
sarcastic voice; “master and man! — workman and
tool! You cannot beat us; you burn houses and
starve women. That is called patriotism with you;
in other countries it is called cowardice!”

Ratcliffe bounded with fury.

“Beware!” he exclaimed, hoarsely, and turning
white with passion.

“Beware of what?” said Landon, without moving
a muscle; “why not speak my mind, since that
is the only satisfaction that remains to me? You
were always a cur, Ratcliffe, from the first moment
that I knew you. Do you remember at Lexington
when I insulted you, and you did not resent it?
How at West Point, when your vulgarity had disgusted
me, I told you if you spoke to me again I

would cane you? You sneaked away in silence, —
courage was not your weakness, — and you are no
better now, when you come with your ruffians to
burn the houses of Virginia over the heads of women
and children and sick people; when you break your
parole, sneak off to avoid meeting me in honourable
combat, and wreak your vengeance on a young lady
who despises you as I despise you! Pshaw! my
dear Captain Ratcliffe, you are not worth contempt.
Do you think I am cowed; that I am afraid
of you? Undeceive yourself. It is you who are
afraid of me, Ratcliffe; and the proof is that you
bind me;” — a menacing flash of the eye accompanied
the words — “that you refuse the proposition
I have made you to place a sword in my hands, face
me, and fight me. No; that is not your game.
A gentleman would do that; you belong to the
canaille, and you tie your adversary's arms, instead
of leaving them free.

“Well, so be it! — act your character. Come,
make haste to detail your squad; give your orders.
You cannot frighten me! There is one thing you
cannot do, — frighten the man who stands before you,
bound in your power. And you feel at this moment
— I see it in your eyes, Ratcliffe — that, in
life or death, St. Leger Landon is your master!”

Landon's countenance and attitude as he spoke
were full of a superb defiance. In his flaming eye

burned a stubborn and haughty courage, which
nothing seemed able to affect.

Only once had the dazzling glance passed from
the face of Ratcliffe to the fainting form of Miss
Adair, and that glance recalling, as it did, the presence
of the young lady, seemed to drive Ratcliffe to
a wild fury. Words failed him. Convulsed with
passion, he drew his pistol, cocked it, and growled,
hoarsely: —

“Have you finished?”

“Yes,” said Landon, coldly.

Ratcliffe raised his pistol.

“Good!” said Landon; “that is the nearest approach
to the honourable duel I offered you. You
use the pistol — at ten paces — only your adversary
is bound, and cannot return your cowardly fire!”

Ratcliffe let the weapon fall.

“Fool that I am,” he exclaimed, “not to understand
the drift of your bravado, — to avoid the
rope!” And, turning suddenly to one of his men: —

“Bring a rope halter!” he shouted.

Suddenly a young officer bounded into the area
and advanced straight to Ratcliffe. It was young
Lieutenant Arden, — Harry's brother, — covered
with sweat and blood, his lips half opened and showing
the clenched teeth, his eyes burning in his white
face.

“Stop!” he said, in a voice which I scarcely
recognized. “I protest in the name of every officer
of the Federal army against this wanton and cowardly
murder!”