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 people in the hut seemed to be sleeping on calmly, and, leaving
them to their rest, we ran as fast as we could in the direction from
which the shot had come. Though we had heard the report distinctly,
owing to the rarefied mountain air, I judged that the gun had been
fired at least a mile away. There were many echoes, and it was somewhat
difficult for us to distinguish the true sound from the false, but we
agreed upon a general northeast course.
When we had gone half a mile the gun was fired again, the report
echoing as gallantly in the still night as if it had been a little
cannon instead of an ordinary rifle.
"Up the valley there!" cried Crothers. "Follow that, and it will be
sure to take us right."
I disagreed with him, however. The report seemed to me to have been
farther to the left, and I insisted upon my opinion.
"All right," said Crothers; "you go that way, and I will go up the
gully; one or the other of us will be likely to strike it right."
He ran up the gully, and, obedient to his suggestion, I bent away to
the left. But I found myself in a very slippery country, the mountains
breaking there into successive little ridges like the waves of the
sea, though the general direction was upward. Luckily there was a good
growth of bushes, and more than once I kept myself from falling by
grasping at the outstretched boughs. When I had nearly reached the spot
from which I thought the shot had come, I saw a man standing near a
tree. The next instant he saw me and sprang behind the tree. I caught
but a glimpse of the slender figure and gray hair, but it was enough
for me. I had found the colonel again, and I did not mean for him to
try a second shot at me which might be better aimed than the first.
I sprang behind some rocks, where I was adequately sheltered so long
as he remained in his present position. I feared that he would try to
get a shot at me, thinking I was trying to do him harm, and I shifted
my position a little, moving farther on behind the wall of rock. I had
no intention of firing at him, for several reasons; and I recognized
that it was a very difficult task for me to take an armed man against
whom I had no intention of using arms. But I believed that if I could
slip upon him unawares I could overpower him with superior force and
strength, and disarm him.
Ledges of rock were plentiful there, the mountain being broken into an
infinite succession of ridges and ravines. Once I slipped on the sleet
and crashed into a thicket which stopped me. But the ice knocked off
the boughs fell with a rattle like hail, and I was in a tremor lest the
colonel should fire at me from some point of vantage before I could
regain my feet. But the shot did not come, and, righting myself, I went
on, wishing that my shoes were shod with sharp nails and plenty of them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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