United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
There was a smothered struggle in the darkness above me, then a muffled
explosion that showered me with soot, and sounded to my startled nerves
like the report of a gun. I drew up my legs hastily, and had barely
done so when a heavily whiskered face peered up at me through the open
fireplace. It appeared so close I had no doubt he saw me, but his eyes
were unable to penetrate the darkness.
“Sounded devilishly like a sneeze,” he said suspiciously, as he
straightened up again. “Must have been wind in the chimney.”
“More likely bats,” returned the other. “Well, so long, Somers; see you
in the morning. I'm going to give the fair Edith a whirl.”
The cavalry legs shifted their position; the band resumed its functions,
and in the renewed activity and noise I began again the toilsome climb,
my mind now a bewildered chaos between my plain duty to Lee and my
nearly uncontrollable desire to meet once more the woman who was dancing
in the room below.
The little mountaineer, as active as a cat, and not especially hampered
by lack of room in which to work, was well above me by this time. The
chimney, acting as a tube, brought down to me from time to time the
slight noise of his climbing, varied by an occasional exclamation or
comment, but I could perceive no other evidence of his presence. Above,
all was as black as the grave.
“Holy smoke!” he ejaculated, probably unaware that he was giving
utterance to his thoughts. “That was a sharp rock! Durn if thar's a
inch o' skin left on my knee. Whut is it Scott ses? 'An' broken arms and
disarray marked the fell havoc of the day.' Gee! if Mariar cud only see
me now, maybe she wouldn't be proud--
“'Sweet _Maria_, dear my life must be
Since it is worthy care from thee;
Yet life I hold but idle breath,
When love or honor's weighed with death!'
“Ough! stop thet! who's got hold o' my fut?”
“Hush your racket, you little fool,” I said angrily. “Do you want
the whole Yankee army to trap us here like rats? I cannot get up this
chimney any farther; it is growing too small to permit my body to pass.”
“Is thet so, Cap?” he asked anxiously. “Whut be ye goin' ter dew 'bout
it?”
I made no answer for a moment; I was groping about in the darkness of
our narrow quarters to see if I could determine exactly where we were.
“How high is this house, Jed, do you know?”
“Three stories an' attic.”
“How far up are we?”
“'Bout halfway 'long ther third story, I reckon; must be jist b'low
whar ye are thet I stuck my fut down an openin'. Reckon 't was 'nother
fireplace, like thet one on ther first flure.”
I lowered myself silently, and felt along the stones until I located the
opening, and roughly measured its dimensions.
“I shall have to risk crawling out here, Jed,” I said finally, “for I
shall surely stick fast if I go up another ten feet. Do you suppose you
can squeeze through to the top?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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