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diff --git a/old/23548-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/23548-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..80670f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/23548-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,1473 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Raid of the Guerilla, by Charles Egbert Craddock + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Raid Of The Guerilla, by +Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Raid Of The Guerilla + 1911 + +Author: Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +Release Date: November 19, 2007 [EBook #23548] +Last Updated: December 19, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAID OF THE GUERILLA *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE RAID OF THE GUERILLA + </h1> + <h2> + By Charles Egbert Craddock <br /> <br /> 1911 + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + Judgment day was coming to Tanglefoot Cove—somewhat in advance of + the expectation of the rest of the world. Immediate doom impended. A + certain noted guerilla, commanding a reckless troop, had declared a stern + intention of raiding this secluded nook among the Great Smoky Mountains, + and its denizens could but tremble at the menace. + </p> + <p> + Few and feeble folk were they. The volunteering spirit rife in the early + days of the Civil War had wrought the first depletion in the number. Then + came, as time wore on, the rigors of the conscription, with an extension + of the limits of age from the very young to the verge of the venerable, + thus robbing, as was said, both the cradle and the grave. Now only the + ancient weaklings and the frail callow remained of the male population + among the women and girls, who seemed mere supernumeraries in the scheme + of creation, rated by the fitness to bear arms. + </p> + <p> + So feeble a community of non-combatants might hardly compass a warlike + affront calculated to warrant reprisal, but the predominant Union spirit + of East Tennessee was all a-pulse in the Cove, and the deed was no trifle. + </p> + <p> + “‘T war Ethelindy’s deed,” her grandfather mumbled, his quivering lips + close to the knob of his stick, on which his palsied, veinous hands + trembled as he sat in his armchair on the broad hearth of the main room in + his little log cabin. + </p> + <p> + Ethelinda Brusie glanced quickly, furtively, at his pondering, wrinkled + old face under the broad brim of his white wool hat, which he still wore, + though indoors and with the night well advanced. Then she fixed her + anxious, excited blue eyes once more on the flare of the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Lawd! ye jes’ now f ‘und that out, dad?” exclaimed her widowed mother, + busied in her evening task of carding wool on one side of the deep + chimney, built of clay and sticks, and seeming always the imminent prey of + destruction. But there it had stood for a hundred years, dispensing light + and warmth and cheer, itself more inflammable than the great hickory logs + that had summer still among their fibres and dripped sap odorously as they + sluggishly burned. + </p> + <p> + Ethelinda cast a like agitated glance on the speaker, then her gaze + reverted to the fire. She had the air of being perched up, as if to escape + the clutching waves of calamity, as she sat on a high, inverted splint + basket, her feet not touching the puncheons of the rude floor, one hand + drawing close about her the red woollen skirt of her dress. She seemed + shrunken even from her normal small size, and she listened to the + reproachful recital of her political activity with a shrinking dismay on + her soft, roseate face. + </p> + <p> + “Nuthin’ would do Ethelindy,” her granny lifted an accusatory voice, still + knitting briskly, though she looked rebukingly over her spectacles at the + cowering girl, “when that thar Union <i>dee</i>-tachmint rid into + Tanglefoot Cove like a rat into a trap——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” interposed Mrs. Brusie, “through mistakin’ it fur Greenbrier Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “Nuthin’ would do Ethelindy but she mus’ up an’ offer to show the officer + the way out by that thar cave what tunnels through the spur of the + mounting down todes the bluffs, what sca’cely one o’ the boys left in the + Cove would know now.” + </p> + <p> + “Else he’d hev been capshured,” Ethelinda humbly submitted. + </p> + <p> + “Yes”—the ruffles of her grandmother’s cap were terrible to view as + they wagged at her with the nodding vehemence of her prelection—“an’ + <i>you</i> will be capshured now.” + </p> + <p> + The girl visibly winced, and one of the three small boys lying about the + hearth, sharing the warm flags with half a dozen dogs, whimpered aloud in + sympathetic fright. The others preserved a breathless, anxious silence. + </p> + <p> + “You-uns mus’ be powerful keerful ter say nuthin’ ‘bout Ethelindy’s hand + in that escape of the Fed’ral cavalry”—the old grandfather roused + himself to a politic monition. “Mebbe the raiders won’t find it out—an’ + the folks in the Cove dun’no’ who done it, nuther.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, bes’ be keerful, sure,” the gran-dame rejoined. “Fur they puts + wimmin folks in jail out yander in the flat woods;” still glibly knitting, + she jerked her head toward the western world outside the limits of the + great ranges. “Whenst I war a gal I war acquainted with a woman what + pizened her husband, an’ they kep’ her in jail a consider’ble time—a + senseless thing ter do ter jail her, ter my mind, fur he war a shif’less + no-’count fool, an’ nobody but her would hev put up with him ez long ez + she did. The jedge an’ jury thunk the same, fur they ‘lowed ez she war + crazy—an’ so she war, ter hev ever married him! They turned her + loose, but she never got another husband—I never knowed a man-person + but what was skittish ‘bout any unhealthy meddlin’ with his vittles.” + </p> + <p> + She paused to count the stitches on her needles, the big shadow of her + cap-ruffles bobbing on the daubed and chinked log walls in antic mimicry, + while down Ethelinda’s pink cheeks the slow tears coursed at the prospect + of such immurement. + </p> + <p> + “Jes’ kase I showed a stranger his path——” + </p> + <p> + “An’ two hundred an’ fifty mo’—spry, good-lookin’ youngsters, able + to do the rebs a power o’ damage.” + </p> + <p> + “I war ‘feared they’d git capshured. That man, the leader, he stopped me + down on the bank o’ the creek whar I war a-huntin’ of the cow, an’ he axed + ‘bout the roads out’n the Cove, an’ I tole him thar war no way out + ‘ceptin’ by the road he had jes’ come, an’ a path through a sorter cave or + tunnel what the creek had washed out in the spur o’ the mounting, ez could + be travelled whenst the channel war dry or toler’ble low, an’ he axed me + ter show him that underground way.” + </p> + <p> + “An’ ye war full willin,” said Mrs. Brusie, in irritation, “though ye + knowed that thar guerilla, Ackert, hed been movin’ heaven an’ earth ter + overhaul Tolhurst’s command before they could reach the main body. An’ + hyar they war cotched like a rat in a trap.” + </p> + <p> + “I was sure that the Cornfeds, ez hed seen them lope down inter the Cove, + would be waitin’ ter capshur them when they kem up the road agin—I + jes’ showed him how ter crope out through the cave,” Ethelinda sobbed. + </p> + <p> + “How in perdition did they find thar way through that thar dark hole?—I + can’t sense that!” the old man suddenly mumbled. + </p> + <p> + “They had lanterns an’ some pine-knots, grandad, what they lighted, an’ + the leader sent a squad ter ‘reconnoitre,’ ez he called it. An’ whilst he + waited he stood an’ talked ter me about the roads in Greenbrier an’ the + lay o’ the land over thar. He war full per-lite an’ genteel.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be bound ye looked like a ‘crazy Jane,’” cried the grandmother, with + sudden exasperation. “Yer white sun-bonnet plumb off an’ a-hangin’ down on + yer shoulders, an’ yer yaller hair all a-blowsin’ at loose eends, stiddier + bein’ plaited up stiff an’ tight an’ personable, an’ yer face burned pink + in the sun, stiddier like yer skin ginerally looks, fine an’ white ez a + pan o’ fraish milk, an’ the flabby, slinksy skirt o’ that yaller calico + dress ‘thout no starch in it, a-flappin’ an’ whirlin’ in the wind—shucks! + I dun’no’ <i>whut</i> the man could hev thought o’ you-uns, dressed out + that-a-way.” + </p> + <p> + “He war toler’ble well pleased with me now, sure!” retorted Ethelinda, + stung to a blunt self-assertion. “He keered mo’ about a good-lookin’ road + than a good-lookin’ gal then. Whenst the squad kem back an’ reported the + passage full safe for man an’ beastis the leader tuk a purse o’ money + out’n his pocket an’ held it out to me—though he said it couldn’t + express his thanks.’ But I held my hands behind me an’ wouldn’t take it. + Then he called up another man an’ made him open a bag, an’ he snatched up + my empty milk-piggin’ an’ poured it nigh full o’ green coffee in the bean—it + be skeerce ez gold an’ nigh ez precious.” + </p> + <p> + “An’ <i>what</i> did you do with it, Ethelindy?” her mother asked, + significantly—not for information, but for the renewal of discussion + and to justify the repetition of rebukes. These had not been few. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” the girl returned, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> do,” the glib grandmother interposed. “Ye jes’ gin we-uns a + sniff an’ a sup, an’ then ye tuk the kittle that leaks an’ shook the rest + of the coffee beans from out yer milk-piggin inter it, an’ sot out an’ + marched yer-self through the laurel—I wonder nuthin’ didn’t ketch + ye! howsomever naught is never in danger—an’ went ter that horspital + camp o’ the rebels on Big Injun Mounting—smallpox horspital it is—an’ + gin that precious coffee away to the enemies o’ yer kentry.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody comes nor goes ter that place—hell itself ain’t so avoided,” + said Mrs. Brusie, her forehead corrugated with sudden recurrence of + anxiety. “Nobody else in this world would have resked it, ‘ceptin’ that + headin’ contrairy gal, Ethelindy Brusie.” + </p> + <p> + “I never resked nuthin,” protested Ethelinda. “I stopped at the head of a + bluff far off, an’ hollered down ter ‘em in the clearin’ an’ held up the + kittle. An’ two or three rebs war out of thar tents in the clearin’—thar + be a good sight o’ new graves up thar!—an’ them men war hollerin’ + an’ wavin’ me away, till they seen what I war doin’; jes’ settin’ down the + kittle an’ startin’ off.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed meditatively into the fire, of set purpose avoiding the eyes + fixed upon her, and sought to justify her course. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed ez we-uns hed got used ter doin’ ‘thout coffee, an’ don’t feel + the need of it now. We-uns air well an’ stout, an’ live in our good home + an’ beside our own h’a’th-stone; an’ they air sick, an’ pore, an’ cast + out, an’ I reckon they ain’t ever been remembered before in gifts. An’ I + ‘lowed the coffee, bein’ unexpected an’ a sorter extry, mought put some + fraish heart an’ hope in ‘em—leastwise show ‘em ez God don’t ‘low + ‘em ter be plumb furgot.” + </p> + <p> + She still gazed meditatively at the fire as if it held a scroll of her + recollections, which she gradually interpreted anew. “I looked back wunst, + an’ one o’ them rebs had sot down on a log an’ war sobbin’ ez ef his heart + would bust. An’ another of ‘em war signin, at me agin an’ agin, like he + was drawin’ a cross in the air—one pass down an’ then one across—an’ + the other reb war jes’ laffin’ fur joy, and wunst in a while he yelled + out: ‘Blessin’s on ye! Blessin’s! Blessin’s!’ I dun’no’ how fur I hearn + that sayin’. The rocks round the creek war repeatin’ it, whenst I crossed + the f oot-bredge. I dun’no what the feller meant—mought hev been + crazy.” + </p> + <p> + A tricksy gust stirred at the door as if a mischievous hand twitched the + latch-string, but it hung within. There was a pause. The listening + children on the hearth sighed and shifted their posture; one of the hounds + snored sonorously in the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Nuthin’ crazy thar ‘ceptin’ you-uns!—one fool gal—that’s + all!” said her grandmother, with her knitting-needles and her spectacles + glittering in the firelight. “That is a pest camp. Ye mought hev cotch the + smallpox. I be lookm’ fur ye ter break out with it any day. When the war + is over an’ the men come back to the Cove, none of ‘em will so much as + look at ye, with yer skin all pock-marked—fair an’ fine as it is + now, like a pan of fraish milk.” + </p> + <p> + “But, granny, it won’t be sp’ilt! The camp war too fur off—an’ thar + warn’t a breath o’ wind. I never went a-nigh ‘em.” + </p> + <p> + “I dun’no’ how fur smallpox kin travel—an’ it jes’ mulls and mulls + in ye afore it breaks out—don’t it, S’briny?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t ax me,” said Mrs. Brusie, with a worried air. “I ain’t no yerb + doctor, nor nurse tender, nuther. Ethelindy is beyond my understandin’.” + </p> + <p> + She was beyond her own understanding, as she sat weeping slowly, silently. + The aspect of those forlorn graves, that recorded the final ebbing of hope + and life at the pest camp, had struck her recollection with a most + poignant appeal. Strangers, wretches, dying alone, desolate outcasts, the + terror of their kind, the epitome of repulsion—they were naught to + her! Yet they represented humanity in its helplessness, its suffering, its + isolated woe, and its great and final mystery; she felt vaguely grieved + for their sake, and she gave the clay that covered them, still crude red + clods with not yet a blade of grass, the fellowship of her tears. + </p> + <p> + A thrill of masculine logic stirred uneasily in the old man’s disused + brain. “Tell me <i>one</i> thing, Ethelindy,” he said, lifting his bleared + eyes as he clasped his tremulous hands more firmly on the head of his + stick—“tell me this—which side air you-uns on, ennyhow, + Ethelindy?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m fur the Union,” said Ethelinda, still weeping, and now and then + wiping her sapphire eyes with the back of her hand, hard and tanned, but + small in proportion to her size. “I’m fur the Union—fust an’ last + an’ all the time.” + </p> + <p> + The old man wagged his head solemnly with a blight of forecast on his + wrinkled, aged face. “That thar sayin’ is goin’ ter be mighty hard ter + live up to whilst Jerome Ackert’s critter company is a-raidin’ of + Tanglefoot Cove.” + </p> + <p> + The presence of the “critter company” was indeed calculated to inspire a + most obsequious awe. It was an expression of arbitrary power which one + might ardently wish directed elsewhere. From the moment that the echoes of + the Cove caught the first elusive strain of the trumpet, infinitely sweet + and clear and compelling, yet somehow ethereal, unreal, as if blown down + from the daylight moon, a filmy lunar semblance in the bland blue sky, the + denizens of Tanglefoot began to tremulously confer together, and to + skitter like frightened rabbits from house to house. Tanglefoot Cove is + some four miles long, and its average breadth is little more than a mile. + On all sides the great Smoky Mountains rise about the cuplike hollow, and + their dense gigantic growths of hickory and poplar, maple and gum, were + aglow, red and golden, with the largesse of the generous October. The + underbrush or the jungles of laurel that covered the steeps rendered + outlet through the forests impracticable, and indeed the only road was + invisible save for a vague line among the dense pines of a precipitous + slope, where on approach it would materialize under one’s feet as a wheel + track on either side of a line of frosted weeds, which the infrequent + passing of wagon-beds had bent and stunted, yet had not sufficed to break. + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith’s shop, the centre of the primitive civilization, had soon + an expectant group in its widely flaring doors, for the smith had had + enough of the war, and had come back to wistfully, hopelessly haunt his + anvil like some uneasy ghost visiting familiar scenes in which he no more + bears a part;—a minié-ball had shattered his stanch hammer-arm, and + his duties were now merely advisory to a clumsy apprentice. This was a + half-witted fellow, a giant in strength, but not to be trusted with + firearms. In these days of makeweights his utility had been discovered, + and now with the smith’s hammer in his hand he joined the group, his + bulging eyes all a-stare and his loose lips hanging apart. The old justice + of the peace, whose office was a sinecure, since the war had run the law + out of the Cove, came with a punctilious step, though with a sense of + futility and abated dignity, and at every successive note of the distant + trumpet these wights experienced a tense bracing of the nerves to await + helplessly the inevitable and, alas! the inexorable. + </p> + <p> + “They say that he is a tumble, tumble man,” the blacksmith averred, ever + and anon rubbing the stump of his amputated hammer-arm, in which, though + bundled in its jeans’ sleeve, he had the illusion of the sensation of its + hand and fingers. He suddenly shaded his brow with his broad palm to eye + that significant line which marked the road among the pines on the eastern + slope, beyond the Indian corn that stood tall and rank of growth in the + rich bottom-lands. + </p> + <p> + Ethelinda’s heart sank. All unprescient of the day’s impending event, she + had come to the forge with the sley of her loom to be mended, and she now + stood holding the long shaft in her mechanical clasp, while she listened + spell-bound to the agitated talk of the group. The boughs of a great + yellow hickory waved above her head; near by was the trough, and here a + horse, brought to be shod, was utilizing the interval by a draught; he had + ceased to draw in the clear, cold spring water, but still stood with his + muzzle close to the surface, his lips dripping, gazing with un-imagined + thoughts at the reflection of his big equine eyes, the blue sky inverted, + the dappling yellow leaves, more golden even than the sunshine, and the + glimmering flight of birds, with a stellular light upon their wings. + </p> + <p> + “A turrible man?—w-w-well,” stuttered the idiot, who had of late + assumed all the port of coherence; he snatched and held a part in the + colloquy, so did the dignity of labor annul the realization of his + infirmity, “then I’d be obleeged ter him ef—ef—ef he’d stay + out’n Tanglefoot Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “So would I.” The miller laughed uneasily. But for the corrugations of + time, one might not have known if it were flour or age that had so + whitened his long beard, which hung quivering down over the breast of his + jeans coat, of an indeterminate hue under its frosting from the hopper. + “He hev tuk up a tumble spite at Tanglefoot Cove.” + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith nodded. “They say that he ‘lowed ez traitors orter be + treated like traitors. But <i>I</i> be a-goin’ ter tell him that the + Confederacy hev got one arm off’n me more’n its entitled to, an’ I’m + willin’ ter call it quits at that.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tain’t goin’ ter do him no good ter raid the Cove,” an ancient farmer + averred; “an’ it’s agin’ the rebel rule, ennyhows, ter devastate the + kentry they live off’n—it’s like sawin’ off the bough ye air sittin’ + on.” His eyes dwelt with a fearful affection on the laden fields; his old + stoop-shouldered back had bent yet more under the toil that had brought + his crop to this perfection, with the aid of the children whose labor was + scarcely worth the strenuosity requisite to control their callow wiles. + </p> + <p> + “Shucks! He’s a guerilla—he is!” retorted the blacksmith. + “Accountable ter nobody! Hyar ter-day an’ thar ter-morrer. Rides light. + Two leetle Parrott guns is the most weight he carries.” + </p> + <p> + The idiot’s eyes began to widen with slow and baffled speculation. “Whut—w-whut + ails him ter take arter Tangle-foot? W-w—” his great loose lips + trembled with unformed words as he gazed his eager inquiry from one to + another. Under normal circumstances it would have remained contemptuously + unanswered, but in these days in Tanglefoot Cove a man, though a + simpleton, was yet a man, and inherently commanded respect. + </p> + <p> + “A bird o’ the air mus’ hev carried the matter that Tolhurst’s troops hed + rid inter Tanglefoot Cove by mistake fur Greenbrier, whar they war ter + cross ter jine the Fed’rals nigh the Cohuttas. An’ that guerilla, Ackert, + hed been ridin’ a hundred mile at a hand-gallop ter overhaul him, an’ + knowin’ thar warn’t but one outlet to Tanglefoot Cove, he expected ter + capshur the Feds as they kem out agin. So he sot himself ter ambush + Tolhurst, an’ waited fur him <i>up</i> thar amongst the pines an’ the + laurel—an’ he <i>waited</i>—an’ <i>waited!</i> But Tolhurst + never came! So whenst the guerilla war sure he hed escaped by ways + unknownst he set out ter race him down ter the Cohutty Mountings. But + Tolhurst had j’ined the main body o’ the Federal Army, an’ now Ackert is + showing a clean pair o’ heels comin’ back. But he be goin’ ter take time + ter raid the Cove—his hurry will wait fur that! Somebody in + Tanglefoot—the Lord only knows who—showed Tolhurst that + underground way out ter Greenbrier Cove, through a sorter cave or tunnel + in the mountings.” + </p> + <p> + “Now—now—neighbor—<i>that’s</i> guesswork,” remonstrated + the miller, in behalf of Tanglefoot Cove repudiating the responsibility. + Perhaps the semi-mercantile occupation of measuring toll sharpens the + faculties beyond natural endowments, and he began to perceive a certain + connection between cause and effect inimical to personal interest. + </p> + <p> + “Waal, that is the way they went, sartain sure,” protested the blacksmith. + “I tracked ‘em, the ground bein’ moist, kase I wanted ter view the marks + o’ their horses’ hoofs. They hev got some powerful triflin’ blacksmiths in + the army—farriers, they call ‘em. I los’ the trail amongst the rocks + an’ ledges down todes the cave—though it’s more like one o’ them + tunnels we-uns used ter go through in the railroads in the army, but this + one was never made with hands; jes’ hollowed out by Sinking Creek. So I + got Jube thar ter crope through, an’ view ef thar war any hoof marks on + t’other side whar the cave opens out in Greenbrier Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “An’ a body would think fur sure ez the armies o’ hell had been spewed + out’n that black hole,” said a lean man whom the glance of the blacksmith + had indicated as Jube, and who spoke in the intervals of a racking cough + that seemed as if it might dislocate his bones in its violence. “Hoof + marks hyar—hoof-marks thar—as if they didn’t rightly know + which way ter go in the marshy ground ‘bout Sinking Creek. But at last + they ‘peared ter git tergether, an’ off they tracked ter the west——” + A paroxysm of coughs intervened, and the attention of the group failed to + follow the words that they interspersed. + </p> + <p> + “They tuk a short cut through the Cove—they warn’t in it a haffen + hour,” stipulated the prudent miller. “They came an’ went like a flash. + Nobody seen ‘em ‘cept the Brusies, kase they went by thar house—an’ + ef they hed hed a guide, old Randal Brusie would hev named it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ackert ‘lows he’ll hang the guide ef he ketches him,” said the + blacksmith, in a tone of awe. “Leastwise that’s the word that’s ‘goin’.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Ethelinda! The clutch of cold horror about her heart seemed to stop + its pulsations for a moment. She saw the still mountains whirl about the + horizon as if in some weird bewitchment. Her nerveless hands loosened + their clasp upon the sley and it fell to the ground, clattering on the + protruding roots of the trees. The sound attracted the miller’s attention. + He fixed his eyes warily upon her, a sudden thought looking out from their + network of wrinkles. + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t see no guide whenst they slipped past you-uns’ house, did ye?” + </p> + <p> + Poor, unwilling casuist! She had an instinct for the truth in its purest + sense, the innate impulse toward the verities unspoiled by the taint of + sophistication. Perhaps in the restricted conditions of her life she had + never before had adequate temptation to a subterfuge. Even now, + consciously reddening, her eyes drooping before the combined gaze of her + little world, she had an inward protest of the literal exactness of her + phrase. “Naw sir—I never seen thar guide.” + </p> + <p> + “Thar now, what did I tell you!” the miller exclaimed, triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith seemed convinced. “Mought hev hed a map,” he speculated. + “Them fellers in the army <i>do</i> hev maps. I fund that out whenst I war + in the service.” + </p> + <p> + The group listened respectfully. The blacksmith’s practical knowledge of + the art of war had given him the prestige of a military authority. + Doubtless some of the acquiescent wights entertained a vague wonder how + the army contrived to fare onward bereft of his advice. And, indeed, + despite his maimed estate, his heart was the stoutest that thrilled to the + iteration of the trumpet. + </p> + <p> + Nearer now it was, and once more echoing down the sunset glen. + </p> + <p> + “Right wheel, trot—<i>march</i>,” he muttered, interpreting the + sound of the horses’ hoofs. “It’s a critter company, fur sure!” + </p> + <p> + There was no splendor of pageant in the raid of the guerilla into the + Cove. The pines closing above the cleft in the woods masked the entrance + of the “critter company.” Once a gleam of scarlet from the guidon flashed + on the sight. And again a detached horseman was visible in a barren + interval, reining in his steed on the almost vertical slant, looking the + centaur in literal presentation. The dull thud of hoofs made itself felt + as a continuous undertone to the clatter of stirrup and sabre, and now and + again rose the stirring mandate of the trumpet, with that majestic, sweet + sweep of sound which so thrills the senses. They were coming indubitably, + the troop of the dreaded guerilla—indeed, they were already here. + For while the sun still glinted on carbine and sabre among the scarlet and + golden tints of the deciduous growths and the sombre green of the pines on + the loftier slopes, the vanguard in column of fours were among the gray + shadows at the mountains’ base and speeding into the Cove at a + hand-gallop, for the roads were fairly good when once the level was + reached. Though so military a presentment, for they were all veterans in + the service, despite the youth of many, they were not in uniform. Some + wore the brown jeans of the region, girt with sword-belt and canteen, with + great spurs and cavalry boots, and broad-brimmed hats, which now and again + flaunted cords or feathers. Others had attained the Confederate gray, + occasionally accented with a glimmer of gold where a shoulder-strap or a + chevron graced the garb. And yet there was a certain homogeneity in their + aspect, All rode after the manner of the section, with the “long stirrup” + at the extreme length of the limb, and the immovable pose in the saddle, + the man being absolutely stationary, while the horse bounded at agile + speed. There was the similarity of facial expression, in infinite + dissimilarity of feature, which marks a common sentiment, origin, and + habitat. Then, too, they shared something recklessly haphazard, gay, + defiantly dangerous, that, elusive as it might be to describe, was as + definitely perceived as the guidon, riding apart at the left, the long + lance of his pennant planted on his stirrup, bearing himself with a + certain stately pride of port, distinctly official. + </p> + <p> + The whole effect was concentrated in the face of the leader, obviously the + inspiration of the organization, the vital spark by which it lived; a + fierce face, intent, commanding. It was burned to a brick-red, and had an + aquiline nose and a keen gray-green eagle-like eye; on either side auburn + hair, thick and slightly curling, hung, after the fashion of the time, to + his coat collar. And this collar and his shoulders were decorated with + gold lace and the insignia of rank; the uniform was of fine Confederate + gray, which seemed to contradict the general impression that he was but a + free-lance or a bushwhacker and operated on his own responsibility. The + impression increased the terror his name excited throughout the + countryside with his high-handed and eccentric methods of warfare, and + perhaps he would not have resented it if he were cognizant of its general + acceptance. + </p> + <p> + It was a look calculated to inspire awe which he flung upon the cowering + figures before the door of the forge as he suddenly perceived them; and + detaching himself from the advancing troop, he spurred his horse toward + them. He came up like a whirlwind. + </p> + <p> + That impetuous gallop could scarcely have carried his charger over the + building itself, yet there is nothing so overwhelming to the nerves as the + approaching rush of a speedy horse, and the group flattened themselves + against the wall; but he drew rein before he reached the door, and + whirling in the saddle, with one hand on the horse’s back, he demanded: + </p> + <p> + “Where is he? Bring him out!” as if all the world knew the object of his + search and the righteous reason of his enmity. “Bring him out! I’ll have a + drumhead court martial—and he’ll swing before sunset!” + </p> + <p> + “Good evenin’, Cap’n,” the old miller sought what influence might + appertain to polite address and the social graces. + </p> + <p> + “Evenin’ be damned!” cried Ackert, angrily. “If you folks in the coves + want the immunity of non-combatants, by Gawd! you gotter preserve the + neutrality of non-combatants!” + </p> + <p> + “Yessir—that’s reason—that’s jestice,” said the old squire, + hastily, whose capacities of ratiocination had been cultivated by the + exercise of the judicial functions of his modest <i>piepoudre</i> court. + </p> + <p> + Ackert unwillingly cast his eagle eye down upon the cringing old man, as + if he would rather welcome contradiction than assent. + </p> + <p> + “It’s accordin’ to the articles o’ war and the law of nations,” he + averred. “People take advantage of age and disability”—he glanced at + the blacksmith, whose left hand mechanically grasped the stump of his + right arm—“as if that could protect ‘em in acts o’ treason an’ + treachery;” then with a blast of impatience, “Where’s the man?” + </p> + <p> + To remonstrate with a whirlwind, to explain to a flash of lightning, to + soothe and propitiate the fury of a conflagration—the task before + the primitive and inexpert Cove-dwellers seemed to partake of this nature. + </p> + <p> + “Cap’n—ef ye’d listen ter what I gotter say,” began the miller. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll listen arterward!” exclaimed Ackert, in his clarion voice. He had + never heard of Jedburgh justice, but he had all the sentiment of that + famous tribunal who hanged the prisoners first and tried them afterward. + </p> + <p> + “Cap’n,” remonstrated the blacksmith, breaking in with hot haste, hurried + by the commander’s gusts of impatience, forgetful that he had no need to + be precipitate, since he could not produce the recusant if he would. + “Cap’n—Cap’n—bear with us—we-uns don’t know!” + </p> + <p> + Ackert stared in snorting amaze, a flush of anger dyeing his red cheeks a + yet deeper red. Of all the subterfuges that he had expected, he had never + divined this. He shifted front face in his saddle, placed his gauntleted + right hand on his right side, and held his head erect, looking over the + wide, rich expanse of the Cove, the corn in the field, and the fodder in + the shock set amid the barbaric splendors of the wooded autumn mountains + glowing in the sunset above. He seemed scenting his vengeance with some + keen sense as he looked, his thin nostrils dilating as sensitively as the + nostrils of his high-couraged charger now throwing up his head to sniff + the air, now bending it down as he pawed the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen, you have got a mighty pretty piece o’ country here, and + good crops, too—which is a credit to you, seeing that the + conscription has in and about drafted all the able-bodied mountaineers + that wouldn’t volunteer—damn ‘em! But I swear by the right hand of + Jehovah, I’ll burn every cabin in the Cove an’ every blade o’ forage in + the fields if you don’t produce the man who guided Tol-hurst’s cavalry + out’n the trap I’d chased ‘em into, or give me a true and satisfactory + account of him.” He raised his gauntleted right hand and shook it in the + air. “So help me God!” + </p> + <p> + There was all the solemnity of intention vibrating in this fierce + asseveration, and it brought the aged non-combatants forward in eager + protestation. The old justice made as if to catch at the bridle rein, then + desisted. A certain <i>noli me tangere</i> influence about the fierce + guerilla affected even supplication, and the “Squair” resorted to logic as + the more potent weapon of the two. + </p> + <p> + “Cap’n, Cap’n,” he urged, with a tremulous, aged jaw, “be pleased to + consider my words. I’m a magistrate sir, or I was before the war run the + law clean out o’ the kentry. We dun’no’ the guide—we never seen the + troops.” Then, in reply to an impatient snort of negation: “If ye’ll cast + yer eye on the lay of the land, ye’ll view how it happened. Thar’s the + road “—he waved his hand toward that vague indentation in the + foliage that marked the descent into the vale—“an’ down this e-end + o’ the Cove thar’s nex’ ter nobody livin’.” + </p> + <p> + The spirited equestrian figure was stand-ing as still as a statue; only + the movement of the full pupils of his eyes, the dilation of the nostrils, + showed how nearly the matter touched his tense nerves. + </p> + <p> + “Some folks in the upper e-end of the Cove ‘lowed afterward they hearn a + hawn; some folks spoke of a shakin’ of the ground like the trompin’ of + horses—but them troops mus’ hev passed from the foot o’ the mounting + acrost the aidge of the Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “Scant haffen mile,” put in the blacksmith, “down to a sort of cave, or + tunnel, that runs under the mounting—yander—that lets ‘em out + into Greenbrier Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “Gawd!” exclaimed the guerilla, striking his breast with his clenched, + gauntleted hand as his eyes followed with the vivacity of actual sight the + course of the march of the squadron of horse to the point of their + triumphant vanishment. Despite the vehemence of the phrase the intonation + was a very bleat of desperation. For it was a rich and rare opportunity + thus wrested from him by an untoward fate. In all the chaotic chances of + the Civil War he could hardly hope for its repetition. It was part of a + crack body of regulars—Tolhurst’s squadron—that he had + contrived to drive into this trap, this <i>cul-de-sac</i>, surrounded by + the infinite fastnesses of the Great Smoky Mountains. It had been a + running fight, for Tolhurst had orders, as Ackert had found means of + knowing, to join the main body without delay, and his chief aim was to + shake off this persistent pursuit with which a far inferior force had + harassed his march. But for his fortuitous discovery of the underground + exit from the basin of Tanglefoot Cove, Ackert, ambushed without, would + have encountered and defeated the regulars in detail as they clambered in + detachments up the unaccustomed steeps of the mountain road, the woods + elsewhere being almost impassable jungles of laurel. + </p> + <p> + Success would have meant more to Ackert than the value of the service to + the cause, than the tumultuous afflatus of victory, than the spirit of + strife to the born soldier. There had been kindled in his heart a great + and fiery ambition; he was one of the examples of an untaught military + genius of which the Civil War elicited a few notable and amazing + instances. There had been naught in his career heretofore to suggest this + unaccountable gift, to foster its development. He was the son of a small + farmer, only moderately well-to-do; he had the very limited education + which a restricted and remote rural region afforded its youth; he had + entered the Confederate army as a private soldier, with no sense of + special fitness, no expectation of personal advancement, only carried on + the wave of popular enthusiasm. But from the beginning his quality had + been felt; he had risen from grade to grade, and now with a detached body + of horse and flying artillery his exploits were beginning to attract the + attention of corps commanders on both sides, to the gratulation of friends + and the growing respect of foes. He seemed endowed with the wings of the + wind; to-day he was tearing up railroad tracks in the lowlands to impede + the reinforcements of an army; to-morrow the force sent with the express + intention of placing a period to those mischievous activities heard of his + feats in burning bridges and cutting trestles in remote sections of the + mountains. The probabilities could keep no terms with him, and he baffled + prophecy. He had a quick invention—a talent for expedients. He + appeared suddenly when least expected and where his presence seemed + impossible. He had a gift of military intuition. He seemed to know the + enemy’s plans before they were matured; and ere a move was made to put + them into execution he was on the ground with troublous obstacles to + forestall the event in its very inception. He maintained a discipline to + many commanders impossible. His troops had a unity of spirit that might + well animate an individual. They endured long fasts, made wonderful forced + marches on occasion—all day in the saddle and nodding to the pommel + all night; it was even said they fought to such exhaustion that when + dismounted the front rank, lying in line of battle prone upon the ground, + would fall asleep between volleys, and that the second rank, kneeling to + fire above them, had orders to stir them with their carbines to insure + regularity of the musketry. He had the humbler yet even more necessary + equipment for military success. He could forage his troops in barren + opportunities; they somehow kept clothed and armed at the minimum of + expense. Did he lack ammunition—he made shift to capture a supply + for his little Par-rott guns that barked like fierce dogs at the + rear-guard of an enemy or protected his own retreat when it jumped with + his plans to compass a speedy withdrawal himself. His horses were well + groomed, well fed, fine travellers, and many showed the brand U.S., for he + could mount his troop when need required from the corrals of an + unsuspecting encampment. He was the ideal guerilla, of infinite service to + his faction in small, significant operations of disproportioned + importance. + </p> + <p> + What wonder that his name was rife in rumors which flew about the country; + that soon it was not only “the grapevine telegraph” that vibrated with the + sound, but he was mentioned in official despatches; nay, on one signal + occasion the importance of his dashing exploit was recognized by the + commander of the Army Corps in a general order published to specially + commend it. Naturally his spirit rose to meet these expanding liberties of + achievement. He looked for further promotion—for eminence. In a + vague glimmer, growing ever stronger and clearer, he could see himself in + the astral splendor of the official stars of a major-general—for in + the far day of the anticipated success of the Confederacy he looked to be + an officer of the line. + </p> + <p> + And now suddenly this light was dimmed; his laurels were wilting. What + prestige would the capture of Tolhurst have conferred! Never had a golden + opportunity like this been lost—by what uncovenanted chance had + Tolhurst escaped! + </p> + <p> + “He must have had a guide! Right here in the Cove!” Ackert exclaimed. + “Nobody outside would know a hole in the ground, a cave, a water-gap, a + tunnel like that! Where’s the man?” + </p> + <p> + “Naw, sir—naw, Cap’n! Nobody viewed the troop but one gal person an’ + she ‘lowed she never seen no guide.” + </p> + <p> + The charger whirled under the touch of the hand on the rein, and Ackert’s + eyes scanned with a searching intentness the group. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s this girl—you?” + </p> + <p> + As the old squire with most unwelcome officiousness seized Ethelinda’s arm + and hurried her forward, her heart sank within her. For one moment the + guerilla’s fiery, piercing eyes dwelt upon her as she stood looking on, + her delicately white face grown deathly pallid, her golden hair + frivolously blowsed in the wind, which tossed the full skirts of her + lilac-hued calico gown till she seemed poised on the very wings of flight. + Her sapphire eyes, bluer than ever azure skies could seem, sought to gaze + upward, but ever and anon their long-lashed lids fluttered and fell. + </p> + <p> + He was quick of perception. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> have no call to be afraid,” he remarked—a sort of gruff + upbraiding, as if her evident trepidation impugned his justice in + reprisal. “Come, you can guide me. Show me just where they came in, and + just where they got out—damn ‘em!” + </p> + <p> + She could scarcely control her terror when she saw that he intended her to + ride with him to the spot, yet she feared even more to draw back, to + refuse. He held out one great spurred boot. Her little low-cut shoe looked + tiny upon it as she stepped up. He swung her to the saddle behind him, and + the great warhorse sprang forward so suddenly, with such long, swift + strides, that she swayed precariously for a moment and was glad to catch + the guerilla’s belt—to seize, too, with an agitated clutch, his + right gauntlet that he held backward against his side. His fingers + promptly closed with a reassuring grasp on hers, and thus skimming the red + sunset-tide they left behind them the staring group about the blacksmith + shop, which the cavalrymen had now approached, watering their horses at + the trough and lifting the saddles to rest the animals from the + constriction of the pressure of the girths. + </p> + <p> + Soon the guerilla and the girl disappeared in the distance; the fences + flew by; the shocks of corn seemed all a-trooping down the fields; the + evening star in the red haze above the purple western mountains had spread + its invisible pinions, and was a-wing above their heads. Presently the + heavy shadows of the looming wooded range, darkening now, showing only + blurred effects of red and brown and orange, fell upon them, and the + guerilla checked the pace, for the horse was among boulders and rough + ledges that betokened the dry bed of a stream. Great crags had begun to + line the way, first only on one marge of the channel; then; the clifty + banks appeared on the other side, and at length a deep> black-arched + opening yawned beneath the mountains, glooming with sepulchral shadows; in + the silence one might hear drops trickling vaguely and the sudden hooting + of an owl from within. + </p> + <p> + He drew up his horse abruptly, and contemplated the grim aperture. + </p> + <p> + “So they came into Tanglefoot down the road, and went out of the Cove by + this tunnel?” + </p> + <p> + “Yessir!” she piped. What had befallen her voice? what appalled eerie + squeak was this! She cleared her throat timorously. “They couldn’t hev + done it later in the fall season. Tanglefoot Creek gits ter runnin’ with + the fust rains.” + </p> + <p> + “An’ Tolhurst knew that too! He must have had a guide—a guide that + knows the Cove like I know the palm of my hand! Well, I’ll catch him yet, + sometime. I’ll hang him! I’ll hang him—if I have to grow a tree + a-pur-pose.” + </p> + <p> + What strange influence had betided the landscape? Around and around + circled the great stationary mountains anchored in the foundations of the + earth. It was a long moment before they were still again—perhaps, + indeed, it was the necessity of guarding her balance on the fiery steed, a + new cause of apprehension, that paradoxically steadied Ethelinda’s nerves. + Ackert had dismounted, throwing the reins over his arm. He had caught + sight of the hoof marks along the moist sandy spaces of the channel, mute + witness in point of number, and a guaranty of the truth of her story. A + sudden glitter arrested his eyes. He stooped and picked up a broken + belt-buckle with the significant initials U.S. yet showing upon it. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll hang that guide yet,” he muttered, his eyes dark with angry + conviction, his face lowering with fury. “I’ll hang him—I won’t + expect to prove it p’int blank. Jes’ let me git a mite o’ suspicion, an’ + I’ll guarantee the slipknot!” + </p> + <p> + She could never understand her motive, her choice of the moment. + </p> + <p> + “Cap’n Ackert,” she trembled forth. There was so much significance in her + tone that, standing at her side, he looked up in sudden expectation. “I + tole ye the truth whenst I say I <i>seen</i> no guide”—he made a + gesture of impatience; he had no time for twice-told tales—“kase—kase + the guide war—war—myself.” + </p> + <p> + The clear twilight fell full on his amazed, upturned face and the storm of + fury it concentrated. + </p> + <p> + “What did you do it fur?” he thundered, “you limb o’ perdition!” + </p> + <p> + “Jes’ ter help him some. He—he—he—would hev been + capshured.” + </p> + <p> + He would indeed! The guerilla was very terrible to look upon as his brow + corrugated, and his upturned eyes, with the light of the sky within them, + flashed ominously. + </p> + <p> + “You little she-devil!” he cried, and then speech seemed to fail him. + </p> + <p> + She had begun to shiver and shed tears and emit little gusts of quaking + sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I be so feared——” she whimpered. + </p> + <p> + “But—but—you mustn’t hang—<i>nobody else</i> on + s’picion!” + </p> + <p> + There was a vague change in the expression of his face. He still stood + beside the saddle, with the reins over his arm, while the horse threw his + head almost to the ground and again tossed it aloft in his impatient + weariness of the delay. + </p> + <p> + “An’ now you are captured yourself,” he said, sternly. “You are + accountable fur your actions.” + </p> + <p> + She burst into a paroxysm of sobs. “I never went ter tell! I meant ter + keep the secret! The folks in the Cove dun’no’ nuthin’. But—oh, ye + <i>mustn’t</i> s’picion nobody else—ye <i>mustn’t</i> hang nobody + else!” + </p> + <p> + Once more that indescribable change upon his face. + </p> + <p> + “You showed him the way to this pass yourself? Tell the truth!” + </p> + <p> + “He war ridin’ his horse-critter—‘tain’t ez fast, nor fine, nor fat + ez yourn.” + </p> + <p> + He stroked the glossy mane with a sort of mechanical pride. + </p> + <p> + “And so he went plumb through the cave?” + </p> + <p> + “An’ all the troop—they kindled pine-knots fur torches.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced about him at the convenient growths. + </p> + <p> + “And they came out all safe in Greenbrier!” He winced. How the lost + opportunity hurt him! + </p> + <p> + “Yessir. In Greenbrier Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he pay you in gold?” sneered Ackert. “Or in greenbacks? Or mebbe in + Cornfed money?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t hev his gold.” She drew herself up proudly, though the tears + were still coursing down her cheeks. “So he gin me a present—a whole + passel o’ coffee in my milk-piggin.” Then to complete a candid confession + she detailed the disposition she had made of this rare and precious luxury + at the rebel smallpox camp. + </p> + <p> + His eyes seemed to dilate as they gazed up at her. “Jesus Gawd!” he + exclaimed, with uncouth profanity. But the phrase was unfamiliar to her, + and she caught at it with a meaning all her own. + </p> + <p> + “That’s jes’ it! Folks in gineral don’t think o’ <i>them</i>, ‘cept ter + git out o’ thar way; an’ nobody keers fur <i>them</i>, but kase Jesus is + Gawd He makes <i>somebody</i> remember them wunst in a while! An’ they did + seem passable glad.” + </p> + <p> + A vague sweet fragrance was on the vesperal air; some subtle distillation + of asters or jewel-weed or “mountain-snow,” and the leafage of crimson + sumac and purple sweet-gum and yellow hickory and the late ripening + frost-grapes—all in the culmination of autumnal perfection; more + than one star gleamed whitely palpitant in a sky that was yet blue and + roseate with a reminiscence of sunset; a restful sentiment, a brief truce + stilled the guerilla’s tempestuous pulse as he continued to stand beside + his horse’s head while the girl waited, seated on the saddle blanket. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he spoke to an unexpected intent. “Ye took a power o’ risk in + goin’ nigh that Confederate pest-camp—an’ yit ye’re fur the Union + an’ saved a squadron from capture!” he upbraided the inconsistency in a + soft incidental drawl. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I be fur the Union,” she trembled forth the dread avowal. “But + somehows I can’t keep from holpin’ any I kin. They war rebs—an’ it + war Yankee coffee—an’ I dun’no’—I jes’ dun’no’——” + </p> + <p> + As she hesitated he looked long at her with that untranslated gaze. Then + he fell ponderingly silent. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the revelation of the sanctities of a sweet humanity for a holy + sake, blessing and blessed, had illumined his path, had lifted his eyes, + had wrought a change in his moral atmosphere spiritually suffusive, + potent, revivifying, complete. “She is as good as the saints in the Bible—an’ + plumb beautiful besides,” he muttered beneath his fierce mustachios. + </p> + <p> + Once more he gazed wonderingly at her. + </p> + <p> + “I expect to do some courtin’ in this kentry when the war is over,” the + guerilla said, soberly, reaching down to readjust the reins. “I haven’t + got time now. Will <i>you</i> be waiting fur me here in Tanglefoot Cove—if + I promise not to hang you fur your misdeeds right off now?” He glanced up + with a sudden arch jocularity. + </p> + <p> + She burst out laughing gleefuly in the tumult of her joyous reassurance, + as she laid her tremulous fingers in his big gauntlet when he insisted + that they should shake hands as on a solemn compact. Forthwith he mounted + again, and the great charger galloped back, carrying double, in the red + afterglow of the sunset, to the waiting group before the flaring doors of + the forge. + </p> + <p> + The fine flower of romance had blossomed incongruously in that eager heart + in those fierce moments of the bitterness of defeat. Life suddenly had a + new meaning, a fair and fragrant promise, and often and again he looked + over his shoulder at the receding scene when the trumpets sang “to horse,” + and in the light of the moon the guerilla rode out of Tanglefoot Cove. + </p> + <p> + But Ethelinda saw him never again. All the storms of fate overwhelmed the + Confederacy with many a rootless hope and many a plan and pride. In lieu + of the materialization of the stalwart ambition of distinction that had + come to dominate his life, responsive to the discovery of his peculiar and + inherent gifts, his destiny was chronicled in scarce a line of the printed + details of a day freighted with the monstrous disaster of a great battle; + in common with others of the “missing” his bones were picked by the + vultures till shoved into a trench, where a monument rises to-day to + commemorate an event and not a commander. Nevertheless, for many years the + flare of the first red leaves in the cleft among the pines on the eastern + slope of Tanglefoot Cove brought to Ethelinda’s mind the gay flutter of + the guidon, and in certain sonorous blasts of the mountain wind she could + hear martial echoes of the trumpets of the guerilla. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Raid Of The Guerilla, by +Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAID OF THE GUERILLA *** + +***** This file should be named 23548-h.htm or 23548-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/5/4/23548/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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