Copperhead Gore: Benjamin Wood's Fort Lafayette and Civil War America

CHAPTER V

[ 108 ] CHAPTER V. There was no remedy but to cross the woodland and corn¤elds that for about a league intervened between their position and the highway . They commenced the tedious tramp, Arthur and Harold exerting themselves to the utmost to protect Oriana from the brambles, and to guide her footsteps along the uneven ground and among the decayed branches and other obstacles that beset their path. Their rude companions, too, with the exception of Rawbon, who walked moodily apart, seemed solicitous to assist her with their rough attentions . To add to the disagreeable nature of their situation, the rain began to fall in torrents before they had accomplished one half of the distance. They were then in the midst of a tract of wooded land that was almost impassable for a lady in the darkness, on account of the yielding nature of the soil, and the numerous ruts and hollows that were soon transformed into miniature pools and streams. Oriana strove to treat the adventure as a theme for laughter , and for a while chatted gaily with her companions; but it was evident that she was fast becoming weary, and that her thin-shod feet were wounded by constant contact with the twigs and sharp stones that it was impossible to avoid in the darkness. Her dress was torn, and heavy with mud and moisture, and the two young men were pained to perceive that, in spite of her efforts and their watchful care, she stumbled frequently with exhaustion, and leaned heavily on their arms as she labored through the miry soil. One of the party opportunely remembered a charcoal-burner’s Fort Lafayette by Benjamin Wood [ 109 ] hut in the vicinity, that would at least afford a rude shelter from the driving storm. Several of the men hastened in search of it, and soon a halloo not far distant indicated that the cabin, such as it was, had been discovered. As they approached, they were surprised to observe rays of light streaming through the cracks and crevices, as if a¤re were blazing within. It was an uninviting structure, hastily constructed of unhewn logs, and upon ordinary occasions Oriana would have hesitated to pass the threshold; but wet and weary as she was, she was glad to obtain the shelter of even so poor a hovel. “There’s a runaway in thar, I reckon,” said one of the party. He threw open the door, and several of the men entered. A ¤re of logs was burning on the earthen ¶oor, and beside it was stretched a negro’s form, wrapped in a tattered blanket. He started up as his unwelcome visitors entered, and looked frightened and bewildered, as if suddenly awakened from a sound sleep. However, he had no sooner laid eyes upon Seth Rawbon than, with a yell of fear, he sprang with a powerful leap through the doorway, leaving his blanket in the hands of those who sought to grasp him. “That’s my nigger Jim!” cried Rawbon, discharging his revolver at the dusky form as it ran like a deer into the shadow of the woods. At every shot, the negro jumped and screamed, but, from his accelerated speed, was apparently untouched. “After him, boys!” shouted Rawbon. “Five dollars apiece and a gallon of whisky if you bring the varmint in.” With a whoop, the whole party went off in chase and were soon lost to view in the darkness. Harold and Arthur led Oriana into the hut, and, spreading their coats upon the damp ¶oor, made a rude couch for her beside the ¤re. The poor girl was evidently prostrated with fatigue and excitement, yet, with a faint laugh and a jest as she glanced around upon the questionable accommodations, she thanked them for their kindness , and seated herself beside the blazing fagots. “This is a strange ¤nale to our pleasure excursion,” she said, as Copperhead Gore [ 110 ] the grateful warmth somewhat revived her spirits. “You must acknowledge me a prophetess, gentlemen,” she added, with a smile, “for you see that we sailed indeed into the shadows of misfortune.” “Should your health not suffer from this exposure,” replied Arthur, “our adventure will prove no misfortune, but only a theme for mirth hereafter, when we recall to mind our present piteous plight.” “Oh, I am strong, Mr. Wayne,” she answered cheerfully, perceiving the expression of solicitude in the countenances of her companions , “and...