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diff --git a/23548-0.txt b/23548-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7103605 --- /dev/null +++ b/23548-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1297 @@ +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 + + + + + + +THE RAID OF THE GUERILLA + +By Charles Egbert Craddock + +1911 + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“‘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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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 _dee_-tachmint rid into +Tanglefoot Cove like a rat into a trap----” + +“Yes,” interposed Mrs. Brusie, “through mistakin’ it fur Greenbrier +Cove.” + +“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.” + +“Else he’d hev been capshured,” Ethelinda humbly submitted. + +“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’ +_you_ will be capshured now.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Jes’ kase I showed a stranger his path----” + +“An’ two hundred an’ fifty mo’--spry, good-lookin’ youngsters, able to +do the rebs a power o’ damage.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“How in perdition did they find thar way through that thar dark hole?--I +can’t sense that!” the old man suddenly mumbled. + +“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.” + +“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’ _whut_ the man could hev thought o’ +you-uns, dressed out that-a-way.” + +“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.” + +“An’ _what_ 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. + +“You know,” the girl returned, sullenly. + +“_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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +She gazed meditatively into the fire, of set purpose avoiding the eyes +fixed upon her, and sought to justify her course. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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’.” + +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. + +A thrill of masculine logic stirred uneasily in the old man’s disused +brain. “Tell me _one_ 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?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +The blacksmith nodded. “They say that he ‘lowed ez traitors orter +be treated like traitors. But _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.” + +“‘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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _up_ thar amongst the pines an’ +the laurel--an’ he _waited_--an’ _waited!_ 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.” + +“Now--now--neighbor--_that’s_ 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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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’.” + +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. + +“You didn’t see no guide whenst they slipped past you-uns’ house, did +ye?” + +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.” + +“Thar now, what did I tell you!” the miller exclaimed, triumphantly. + +The blacksmith seemed convinced. “Mought hev hed a map,” he speculated. +“Them fellers in the army _do_ hev maps. I fund that out whenst I war in +the service.” + +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. + +Nearer now it was, and once more echoing down the sunset glen. + +“Right wheel, trot--_march_,” he muttered, interpreting the sound of the +horses’ hoofs. “It’s a critter company, fur sure!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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!” + +“Good evenin’, Cap’n,” the old miller sought what influence might +appertain to polite address and the social graces. + +“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!” + +“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 _piepoudre_ court. + +Ackert unwillingly cast his eagle eye down upon the cringing old man, as +if he would rather welcome contradiction than assent. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Cap’n--ef ye’d listen ter what I gotter say,” began the miller. + +“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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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!” + +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 _noli me tangere_ influence about the fierce +guerilla affected even supplication, and the “Squair” resorted to logic +as the more potent weapon of the two. + +“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’.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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 +_cul-de-sac_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +“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?” + +“Naw, sir--naw, Cap’n! Nobody viewed the troop but one gal person an’ +she ‘lowed she never seen no guide.” + +The charger whirled under the touch of the hand on the rein, and +Ackert’s eyes scanned with a searching intentness the group. + +“Where’s this girl--you?” + +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. + +He was quick of perception. + +“_You_ 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!” + +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. + +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. + +He drew up his horse abruptly, and contemplated the grim aperture. + +“So they came into Tanglefoot down the road, and went out of the Cove by +this tunnel?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +She could never understand her motive, her choice of the moment. + +“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 _seen_ no guide”--he made a gesture +of impatience; he had no time for twice-told tales--“kase--kase the +guide war--war--myself.” + +The clear twilight fell full on his amazed, upturned face and the storm +of fury it concentrated. + +“What did you do it fur?” he thundered, “you limb o’ perdition!” + +“Jes’ ter help him some. He--he--he--would hev been capshured.” + +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. + +“You little she-devil!” he cried, and then speech seemed to fail him. + +She had begun to shiver and shed tears and emit little gusts of quaking +sobs. + +“Oh, I be so feared----” she whimpered. + +“But--but--you mustn’t hang--_nobody else_ on s’picion!” + +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. + +“An’ now you are captured yourself,” he said, sternly. “You are +accountable fur your actions.” + +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 +_mustn’t_ s’picion nobody else--ye _mustn’t_ hang nobody else!” + +Once more that indescribable change upon his face. + +“You showed him the way to this pass yourself? Tell the truth!” + +“He war ridin’ his horse-critter--‘tain’t ez fast, nor fine, nor fat ez +yourn.” + +He stroked the glossy mane with a sort of mechanical pride. + +“And so he went plumb through the cave?” + +“An’ all the troop--they kindled pine-knots fur torches.” + +He glanced about him at the convenient growths. + +“And they came out all safe in Greenbrier!” He winced. How the lost +opportunity hurt him! + +“Yessir. In Greenbrier Cove.” + +“Did he pay you in gold?” sneered Ackert. “Or in greenbacks? Or mebbe in +Cornfed money?” + +“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. + +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. + +“That’s jes’ it! Folks in gineral don’t think o’ _them_, ‘cept ter git +out o’ thar way; an’ nobody keers fur _them_, but kase Jesus is Gawd +He makes _somebody_ remember them wunst in a while! An’ they did seem +passable glad.” + +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. + +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. + +“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’----” + +As she hesitated he looked long at her with that untranslated gaze. Then +he fell ponderingly silent. + +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. + +Once more he gazed wonderingly at her. + +“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 _you_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + + + +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 23548-0.txt or 23548-0.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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