ELSIE DINSMORE Complete Series: 28 Books in One Edition. Martha Finley
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teeth and hands were tightly clenched, in an almost superhuman effort to keep himself quiet; and the man went on without interruption.
"He'd nearly made a finish of me, but I was smart enough to escape them, bloodhounds and all. I got over the border into Texas; had a pretty good time there for awhile—after I recovered from that awful blood-letting; but when secession began, I slipped off and came North. You think I'm all bad; but I had a kind of love for the old flag, and went right into the army. Besides, I thought it might give me a chance to put a bullet through some o' those that had thwarted my plans, and would have had me lynched, if they could."
Harold rose and went away, thinking that verily he had been casting his pearls before swine.
Jackson had, indeed, thrown away his last chance; rejected the last offer of salvation; for, ere morning, life had fled. Starved to death and gone into eternity without God and without hope! his bitterest foe could not have desired for him a more terrible fate.
There was no moon that night, and the evening was cloudy, making a favorable condition of affairs for the prisoners contemplating an escape. As soon as the darkness was dense enough to conceal their movements from the guard, the work of tunneling began.
It was a tedious business, as they had none of the proper tools, and only one or two could work at a time at the digging and cutting away of the stone; but they relieved each other frequently at that, while those on the outside carried away in their coats or whatever came to hand, the earth and fragments of stone dislodged, and spread them over the marshy ground near the creek.
Duncan, returning from one of these trips, spoke in an undertone to Harold Allison, who with a rude file made of a broken knife-blade, was patiently endeavoring to free himself from his shackles.
"Jackson is dead. I half stumbled over a corpse in the dark, when a man close by (the same one that told us this afternoon who the fellow was—I recognized the voice) said, 'He's just breathed his last, poor wretch! died with a curse on his lips.' 'Who is he?' I asked; and he answered, 'Tom Jackson was one of his names.'"
"Gone!" said Harold, "and with all his sins upon his head."
"Yes; it's awful! Here, let me work that for awhile. You're very tired."
The proffered assistance was thankfully accepted, and another half-hour of vigorous effort set Harold's limbs free. He stretched them out, with a low exclamation of gratitude and relief.
At the same instant a whisper came to their ears. "The work's done at last. Jones is out. Parsons close at his heels. Cox behind him. Will you go next?"
"Thanks, no; I will be the last," said Duncan; "and take charge of Allison here, who is too weak to travel far alone."
"Then I'm off," returned the voice. "Don't lose a minute in following me."
"Now, Allison," whispered Harry, "summon all your strength and courage, old fellow."
"Duncan, you are a true and noble friend! God reward you. Let me be last."
"No, in with you, man! not an instant to spare;" and with kindly force he half lifted his friend into the well, and guided him to the mouth of the tunnel.
Allison crept through it as fast as his feeble strength would permit, Duncan close behind him.
They emerged in safety, as the others had done before them; at once scattering in different directions.
These two moved on together, for several minutes, plunging deeper and deeper into the woods, but presently paused to take breath and consider their bearings.
"Oh, the air of liberty is sweet!" exclaimed Duncan, in low, exultant tones; "but we mustn't delay here."
"No; we are far from safe yet," panted Allison, "but—'prayer and provender hinder no man's journey'; Duncan, let us spend one moment in silent prayer for success in reaching the Union lines."
They did so, kneeling on the ground; then rose and pressed forward with confidence. God, whose servants they were and whose help they had asked, would guide them in the right direction.
"What a providence!" exclaimed Duncan, grasping Harold's arm, as they came out upon an opening in the wood. "See!" and he pointed upward, "the clouds have broken away a little, and there shines the North Star: we can steer by that."
"Thank God! and, so far, we have been traveling in the right direction."
"Amen! and we must press on with all speed; for daylight will soon be upon us, and with it, in all probability, our escape will be discovered and pursuit begun."
No more breath could be spared for talk, and they pushed on in silence, now scrambling through a thicket of underbrush, tearing their clothes and not seldom lacerating their flesh also; now leaping over a fallen tree, anon climbing a hill, and again fording or swimming a stream.
At length Harold, sinking down upon a log, said, "I am utterly exhausted! Can go no farther. Go on, and leave me to follow as I can after a little rest."
"Not a step without you, Allison," returned Duncan, determinedly. "Rest a bit, and then try it again with the help of my arm. Courage, old fellow, we must have put at least six or eight miles between us and our late quarters. Ah, ha! yonder are some blackberry bushes, well laden with ripe fruit. Sit or lie still while I gather our breakfast."
Hastily snatching a handful of oak leaves, and forming a rude basket by pinning them together with thorns, he quickly made his way to the bushes, a few yards distant, while Harold stretched himself upon the log and closed his weary eyes.
He thought he had hardly done so when Duncan touched his arm.
"Sorry to wake you, Allison, but time is precious; and, like the beggars, we must eat and run."
The basket was heaped high with large, delicious berries, which greatly refreshed our travelers.
"Now, then, are you equal to another effort?" asked Duncan, as the last one disappeared, and he thrust the leaves into his pocket, adding, "We mustn't leave these to tell tales to our pursuers."
"Yes, I dare not linger here," returned Allison, rising but totteringly.
Duncan threw an arm about him, and again they pressed forward, toiling on for another half-hour; when Allison again gave out, and sinking upon the ground, begged his friend to leave him and secure his own safety.
"Never!" cried Duncan, "never! There would be more, many more, to mourn your loss than mine. Who would shed a tear for me but Aunt Wealthy? Dear old soul, it would be hard for her, I know; but she'd soon follow me."
"Yes, you are her all; but there's a large family of us, and I could easily be spared."
Duncan shook his head. "Was your brother who fell at Ball's Bluff easily spared? But hark! what was that?" He bent his ear to the ground. "The distant bay of hounds! We must push on!" he cried, starting up in haste.
"Bloodhounds on our track? Horrible!" exclaimed Harold, also starting to his feet, weakness and fatigue forgotten for the moment, in the terror inspired by that thought.
Duncan again gave him the support of his arm, and for the next half-hour they pressed on quite rapidly; yet their pursuers were gaining on them, for the bay of the hounds, though still distant, could now be distinctly heard, and Allison's strength again gave away.
"I—can—go no farther, Duncan," he said, pantingly; "let me climb up yon tall oak and conceal myself among the branches, while you hurry on."
"No, no, they would discover you directly, and it would be surrender or die. Ah, see! there's a little log cabin behind those bushes, and who knows but we may find help there. Courage, and hope, my boy;" and almost carrying Harold, Duncan hurried to the door of the hut.
Pushing it open, and seeing an old negro inside, "Cato, Cæsar——"
"Uncle Scip, sah," grinned the negro.
"Well, no matter for the name; will you help us? We're Federal soldiers just escaped from Andersonville, and they're after us with bloodhounds.