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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
"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!"
"Good!" echoed Johnson. "What more do you see?"
"Mountains and hills where we can defy the world. And yonder is my own camp."
"Yes, your camp, containing seventy thousand true and tried soldiers. Those who have shared your victories with you. Seventy thousand soldiers! ha! ha! ha!"
"Johnson, I do not like your sarcasm. Better the enemy should over-estimate our numbers. It will intimidate them."
"Intimidate! Whom?"
"Why, not only the soldiers of the army, but their generals!"
"Asboth?"
"Yes!"
"Sturgis?"
"Yes!"
"Hunter?"
"Yes!"
"Sigel and Fremont?"
"Yes; even Sigel and Fremont can be intimidated."
"Perhaps--by an earthquake, but not by you, General Price. Asboth is a soldier, and does not know the meaning of the word fear. Sturgis--you have met him once--do you wish to meet him again? Hunter--there is lightning in his eyes; if he does not fight, it will be for want of a foe. Sigel--do you remember Wilson's Creek?"
"But of Fremont--what of him?"
"He will meet you here, if you dare remain; and his soldiers will come with him."
"Well, it may be so. Their army is now at Warsaw. They must be detained for some days yet. They are constructing a bridge at that point across the Osage, and you will have sufficient time to visit their camps, and return before they advance. If it should be advisable to move, you can apprize us in time."
"When shall I start?"
"Now."
"Well, your instructions."
"Johnson, I confess I fear to meet that man Fremont. And yet I hate him with a bitterness which poisons all my joys. Tell him we number seventy-five thousand fighting men, well armed and disciplined. That we are strongly fortified, and for them to advance would be certain death. Tell him it is a mistake that my soldiers are discontented, but will all fight to the last. Will you tell him this?"
"I will."
"That must be your appeal. Shall I go now?"
"Yes! Stay, Johnson; return by to-morrow night and tell me Fremont is dead, and you shall be richly rewarded. Tell me Sigel is also dead, and you shall have command of the second regiment."
"Sigel and Fremont shall die!"
"You swear it?"
The remaining portion of the sentence was inaudible.
"Ugh!"
Startled, Price turned to behold, at the base of the rock upon which he was standing, an Indian, who was, apparently, fast asleep.
"Do you know that red devil?" asked Price, turning to Johnson.
"Let me see."
Johnson bent over the edge of the rock, and for some time remained silent. At last he said:
"'Tis Red-wing, as he is called by the people hereabouts; one of the Osage tribe, I believe. But you will find little good in him, although he might be made serviceable, if you could keep whiskey from him."
"Red-wing," shouted Price.
"Ugh!"
"You red devil, get up and show your colors, or I will send a bullet through your head!" exclaimed Johnson.
There was no reply. Johnson raised his rifle, but the Indian had risen, and fixing a glance of hatred upon Johnson, he said:
"Give Indian whiskey--me fight for you--me kill for you--give Indian whiskey."
Price leaped from the rock, and motioned them to follow. In a few moments he reached camp, closely followed by Johnson and the Indian.
The appearance of the rebel camp was somewhat singular.
Around the camp-fires were crowds of listless men and boys, who watched the approach of their commander with calm indifference. He passed on in silence, occasionally returning the salute of his officers, but did not pause until he reached a tent located upon a high bluff, and almost concealed from view by a thick growth of oaks. Around this tent were others, less grand in appearance, which were occupied by the leaders of his army. Stretching for some distance below, was an open field, over which were scattered rude tents, of a great variety in form and appearance. Bed blankets, worn and various in their colors, were stretched across poles, at either end of which was placed a supporting stake, cut from the surrounding branches. All looked comfortless.
Mingled with these were seen rows of small canvas tents, giving the encampment more of a warlike aspect. The arms were also varied in their patterns. Some of them bore the appearance of the regular United States army rifle, while others were the ordinary hunting rifle or shot gun. Occasionally were to be seen soldiers in uniform, but in most instances the rough blue home-spun was worn.
As the Indian passed through the camp, his eyes wandered carelessly over the scene. When Price reached his tent, an orderly arose to receive him, and the general said:
"Send a corporal and ten men to my tent."
Then turning to Johnson, he added:
"You are known, and will require no escort beyond our lines. I shall question this Indian closely, and perhaps use him. Go!"
"Yes, general," replied Johnson, and turning he departed.
In a few moments Price appeared, pausing directly before the Indian. Their eyes met, and for some time they regarded each other in silence. At length Price asked:
"What is your name?"
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