The Last RebelAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
History
The Last Rebel
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
Prisoners -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
The provoking sun which I could not use as a sign-post seemed bent
upon showing how brilliant it really could be. The last shred of white
and harmless cloud had been driven from the heavens, which were a deep
unbroken blue, with the golden lining showing through like a faint,
yellow haze. The glowing light clothed the earth, and intensified the
red and yellow and brown tints of the leaves, painted by the master
artist, autumn. In such a glorious flush the woods and the mountains
were a dazzle and tangle of color. But through all the glow and blaze
of the sun came the crisp and tonic coolness which marks the waning
autumn and makes it best and most beautiful as it goes. It was good to
be alone with forest and mountain. To breathe and to see were enough.
I cared nothing at the moment for the lost camp and my comrades of
the hunt. Yet I was in no Arcady. Take down the map of Kentucky, and
you will see in the east a vast region, roughened over with the dark
scrawls meaning mountains, through which no railroad comes, and few
roads of any kind either. Add to it other large and similar portions
of the map contiguous in Virginia, West Virginia, and Tennessee, and
you have enough country to make a brave kingdom,--a kingdom, too,
over which no man yet has been able to make himself ruler, not even
any governor of the four States, and they have had some fine and fit
governors. In this kingdom of mountain and wilderness I was lost, and
was not mourning it, for the time.
A light wind stirred the currents of air and began that faint, curious
moaning through the drying leaves which I call the swan-song of autumn.
The brilliant foliage quivered before the light touch of the breeze,
and the reds and the yellows and the browns and the lingering bits of
green shifted and changed like shaken pieces of colored silk.
But one must do more than merely breathe and see, or even listen to the
wind playing on the autumn leaves. This kingdom might be mine by right
of sole tenancy, but after a little I preferred--greatly preferred--to
find some partner of my throne who would feed me and house me and show
me my way back to camp. Not knowing any other mode by which to choose,
I chose the direction which indicated the easiest foot-path, though
that might lead me farthest astray. I put my rifle upon my shoulder
and walked through the yellowing grass and the short red bushes, over
hills and down gullies, which were a trial to muscles and the forgiving
spirit. But I came to nothing which looked familiar, not a tree, not a
bush, not a hill, not a rock.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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