The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 1, July, 1862Various
History
The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 1, July, 1862
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals
The native proposed we should separate--one go up, another down the
stream, and the third, with the dog, follow the road; to which he
thought Moye had finally returned. Those who should explore the run
would easily detect the horse's tracks where he had left it, and then
taking a straight course to the road, we could all meet some five miles
further on, at a place indicated.
I gave in my adhesion to Sandy's plan, but the Colonel overruled it on
the ground of the waste of time to be incurred in thus recovering the
overseer's trail.
'Why not,' he said, 'strike at once for the end of his route? Why follow
the slow steps he took in order to throw us off the track? He has not
come back to this road. Six miles below there is another one leading
also to the railway. He has taken that. We might as well send Sandy and
the dog back at once, and go on by ourselves.'
'But if bound for the Station, why should he wade through the creek
here, sis miles out of his way? Why not go straight on by the road?' I
asked.
'Because he knew the dog would track him, and he hoped by taking to the
run to make me think he had crossed the country instead of striking for
the railroad.'
I felt sure the Colonel was wrong, but knowing him to be tenacious of
his own opinions, I made no further objection.
Directing Sandy to call on Madam P---- and acquaint her with our
progress, he then dismissed the negro-hunter, and we once more turned
our horses up the road.
The next twenty miles, like our previous route, lay through an unbroken
forest, but as we left the water-courses, we saw nothing but the gloomy
pines, which there--the region being remote from the means of
transportation--were seldom tapped, and presented few of the openings
that invite the weary traveler to the dwelling of the hospitable
planter.
After a time the sky, which had been bright and cloudless all the
morning, grew overcast and gave out tokens of a coming storm. A black
cloud gathered in the west, and random flashes darted from it far off in
the distance; then gradually it neared us; low mutterings sounded in the
air, and the tops of the tall pines a few miles away, were lit up now
and then with a fitful blaze, all the brighter for the deeper gloom that
succeeded. Then a terrific flash and peal broke directly over us, and a
great tree, struck by a red-hot bolt, fell with a deafening crash,
half-way across our path. Peal after peal followed, and then the
rain--not filtered into drops as it falls from our colder sky, but in
broad, blinding sheets, poured full and heavy on our shelterless heads.
'Ah! there it comes!' shouted the Colonel. 'God have mercy upon us!'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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