The Border Spy; or, The Beautiful Captive of the Rebel Camp: A Story of the WarHazelton, Harry
History
The Border Spy; or, The Beautiful Captive of the Rebel Camp: A Story of the War
Hazelton, Harry
Dime novels; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
The form of Fall-leaf was taken from the ground, and cast with violence
into a cavern, or "sink-hole," about twenty feet in depth, large enough
at its bottom to contain the bodies of a dozen men, but, unlike the
majority of such old water-escapes to caverns in the bowels of the
earth, the mouth of this hole was so small that it was quite difficult
for the passage of a single form. As soon as this was done, the party
proceeded to fill the entrance with rock and rubbish.
"It is done. He will trouble us no more!" said Rains.
"He is buried alive!"
"Yes, but no matter. Let us return to camp!"
The rescuer of Fall-leaf, after his escape, pushed rapidly forward to
the river bank. Here he paused for a moment and listened. No sound was
heard. He placed his ear to the ground.
"They are no longer in pursuit, but are returning to camp," he muttered,
after a pause. Then he drew a small whistle from his pocket, and sounded
a shrill note. There was no reply, and he repeated the call. Still there
was no answer.
"Has he been seized by those ruffians? If so, I must return to his
rescue. But, stay. I heard the report of a rifle, and then a sharp cry.
He may have met some of the soldiers, and suffered at their hands. At
all events, it will be useless now for me to go again to camp, as the
guard will be doubly vigilant. I will return to the cabin, and if
Fall-leaf does not appear by nightfall, I will then go in search of him.
Perhaps Johnson will accompany me."
He plunged into the river, and soon reached the other side. Onward he
went, up the mountain, not pausing for a moment, showing himself
perfectly familiar with the locality. At length he emerged into an open
space, near the summit of the ridge he had been traversing, at the
opposite side of which appeared a rude log cabin. He sprang forward with
a smile as his eyes fell upon the dwelling, but as he came nearer the
smile faded, and a look of wonder, or painful anxiety, became fixed upon
his face. At length he paused and exclaimed:
"What means all this? How I tremble! What forebodings flash across my
brain! If harm has come to them, I shall go mad, mad! Oh! my father--my
dear sister, why are you not upon the threshold to welcome my return? No
answer! All is silent there--and all is desolation, too. The creeping
vines are torn away--the flowers choked with weeds--the beauty of the
place departed--_she_ is _not_ there, else it would not be so! And I am
doomed to--I must be satisfied first. Alibamo! Sister! _Alibamo!_" His
voice rang out with startling clearness.
"Who calls! William! Brother!"
"Johnson--my best friend--oh! _you_ are yet living!" cried William, as
he sprang into the arms of Johnson, who had appeared in the cabin door.
"Yes, friend, you are living; but where is my fa---- oh! I fear to
ask--I am a coward, Johnson!"
"You observe a change here, I suppose?" asked Johnson.
"Yes! But tell me _why_ this change? I can bear it now!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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