For some moments the woods presented a singular spectacle. Horsemen flying in wild confusion; riderless animals darting madly toward the rear; the groans of wounded men tottering in the saddle as they rushed by--all this made up a wild scene of excitement, and confusion worse confounded. General Davenant, his son, and myself had been ordered to the rear, under escort; and the old cavalier had turned his horse’s head in that direction, boiling with rage at his capture, when the repulse ensued, and the Federal cavalry streamed by us toward the rear. All at once a loud voice was heard shouting in the half darkness:-- “Halt! halt! you cursed cowards! Halt! and form column!” The speaker rushed toward us as he spoke, mounted upon a huge black horse, and I heard the noise made by his sabre, as with the flat of it, he struck blows upon the brawny shoulders of the fugitives. At his summons, and the blows of his sabre, the men halted, and again fell into column. Under the shadowy boughs of the woods, and in the gathering darkness, the long line of horsemen resembled phantoms rather than men. Near them glimmered some bivouac fires; and the flickering light illumined their persons, gleamed on their scabbards, and lit up the rough bearded faces. “Cowardly scoundrels!” exclaimed their leader, in fierce accents, “where are the prisoners that ran into us?” “Here, colonel. One is a general!” said a man. “Let me see them!” General Davenant struck the spur violently into his horse, and rode close to the Federal officer, in whom I had recognized Colonel Darke. “Here I am, wretch!--look at me!” exclaimed General Davenant, foaming with rage. “Accursed be the day when I begat a murderer and a renegade!” XXXVI. THE CURSE. Darke’s hand unconsciously drew the rein, and man and horse both seemed to stagger back before the furious old soldier. “General--Davenant!” muttered Darke, turning pale. “Yes, General Davenant!--a gentleman, an honest man; not a traitor and a murderer!” “Good God!” muttered Darke, “it is my father, truly--and my little brother! The proud face, the eyes, the mouth--and yet they told me you were killed.” “Ah! ‘Killed!’ Killing is a favorite topic with you!” exclaimed General Davenant, furiously; “well, kill _me_, now!--Strike your dastardly sword, or _your knife_ if you have one, straight into my breast! Murder me, I say, as you murdered George Conway!--I have a purse in my pocket, and you can rob me when I am dead. Strike! strike!--but not with the sword! That is the weapon of a gentleman. Draw your knife, and stab me in the back--the knife is the weapon of the assassin!” And crossing his arms upon his breast, the fiery old cavalier confronted his son, with eyes full of bitter wrath and disdain--eyes which I shall never forget; for their fire burnt them into my memory.