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Read Ebook: A History of Wood-Engraving by Woodberry George Edward
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Ebook has 201 lines and 5368 words, and 5 pages
THE BORDER SPY;
OR,
THE BEAUTIFUL CAPTIVE OF THE REBEL CAMP.
A STORY OF THE WAR.
BY LIEUT. COL. HAZELTINE, FORMERLY CAPT. COMPANY A, FREMONT'S BODY GUARD.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1863, by SINCLAIR TOUSEY, Publisher's Agent, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.
THE BORDER SPY;
OR THE
BEAUTIFUL CAPTIVE OF THE REBEL CAMP.
It was a wild spot. The towering rocks reached to the height of several hundred feet above the valley below, where rolled the rapid waters of the Osage. Upon one of these jutting turrets, stood the speaker. His large form rose above the mountain oaks, standing as he was upon its most elevated point. But a close observer could not fail to notice that he was ill at ease. His eyes were restless, and as they wandered from mountain crag to the valley below, and thence to the far-reaching prairie in the distance, his frame trembled, and his fingers convulsively clutched his long iron-gray locks, as they were streaming in the morning wind.
There was nothing remarkable in his dress, except that at such a time and place he should have worn an elegant sword, which could be seen beneath a large, dark cloak, thrown carelessly over his shoulders. In other respects he was without uniform, or any mark indicating the military chieftain.
After gazing for some time upon the surrounding country, he again spoke:
"Yes, by heavens, it is a land worth fighting for, and I will--"
The speaker paused, and turning, beheld the approach of the person who had interrupted his soliloquy. A frown covered his face as he asked:
"What do you want, Johnson?"
The answer came, rough and fiercely.
"Want? revenge!"
"On whom?" asked the first speaker, as he grasped the hilt of his sword.
"Not on you, General Price; so don't fear."
"Fear!" echoed Price, "I fear no man--nothing."
"Then why do you clutch your sword as I approach?"
"Because I believe you are treacherous," replied Price.
"But are you faithful to me and my cause?"
"My country's cause is mine," replied Price. "Again I ask you, are you faithful to me?"
"Yes!"
"What assurance have I that you will be faithful?"
Johnson bowed his head, and did not reply.
"Answer me," said Price, sternly and suspiciously.
"I have not deceived you!"
"You have! You have lied to me!"
"Johnson!" yelled Price, as his sword flashed in the morning light, "no man shall address me thus, and live!"
"Curse him!" muttered Price. "But for policy's sake I must restrain myself. He shall act the spy this once--it is necessary--or I would dash him from this rock into the depths below." "Johnson," he added, speaking aloud, "you must not speak thus. It is true I have as yet been unable to fulfil my promises; but consider. We are here facing a powerful army--an army of fanatics--of devotees--who will fight to the death, while many of my soldiers are discontented, and if they fight at all, I fear will do it unsuccessfully. I have no confidence in many of my men. Why is this, Johnson?"
"I can answer, but for one."
"Then answer for yourself!"
"I will, I have no confidence in you."
"You will serve me, nevertheless?"
"Yes--I am forced to do so!"
"How forced--by whom forced?"
"Not by you, General Price, but by myself."
"Don't you see much to fight for? Look around you. Gaze upon the face of this beautiful country. Our enemies come to rob us of it. Shall we, like dogs, submit? No! by the Eternal, I will not!" cried Price, his powerful frame quivering with emotion.
"I see but little beauty here. Where is it?"
"All around--on every side!"
"I see but one bright spot, and that is--"
Johnson gazed into the valley below. His look was earnest. As he gazed, the tear-drops started to his eyes, and he bent his head upon his hands, while his breast heaved convulsively. He was deeply moved.
"Johnson, why are you weeping?" asked Price, as he regarded him with a look of surprise.
"Am I weeping?" returned Johnson, raising his head.
"Yes; some sad recollection of the past oppresses you!"
"No, only its beauty!"
"Its beauty? I cannot see it! Where is it?"
"Shall I describe what I see?"
"I will. I am standing here, upon a lofty mountain turret. Below is the Osage. Gaze upon it. Is it not majestical? Yonder it rolls, along the mountain's base, now leaping, rushing onward, like a giant army charging a deadly foe, lashing its banks as if it longed to break from its restraint, and charge the world. And there it strikes the mountain's side, and for a moment falters. It will turn aside defeated! Will it? No! It is no coward, and the mountain yields--the mountain falls--the Osage breaks the barrier, and rushes on. And now, all conscious of its victory, it pauses for awhile, or gliding gently onward murmurs its own song of glory. And listen to the strain. How it rises on the air, and is borne from crag to crag, along the lofty summits to tell that grand array of its own defeat. Look at that mountain column formed in battle line. It appears impregnable. But its ranks are broken, and its power defied. That gap is where the charge was made--that gap tells the story--its line was broken, and defeat followed. The river was victorious!"
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