Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins.

by John Esten Cooke

  Fifty paces from the bank, a shadowy object on horseback was visible bythe dim light.

  "The vedette," murmured Nighthawk, "but he need not see us."

  And plunging, or rather gliding into the shadow of the trees, he led theway without noise, to a point directly in rear of the vedette.

  A hundred yards farther a fire twinkled; and around this fire were thedusky figures of men and horses. This was evidently the picket.

  Three hundred paces to the left, rose a dark object, sombre andlugubrious against the night, which it exceeded in blackness. Only inthe upper portion of the house, a dim light, like a star, glittered.

  "Some one is yonder," came from Nighthawk in a murmur as before, "let usgo there, colonel."

  And crouching down until his body nearly reached the earth, my companionglided, snake-like, toward the house. I imitated him; we passedunobserved, and almost immediately were behind the house.

  Nighthawk then rose erect, and said in a whisper:--

  "I am going to reconnoitre. Remain here, colonel. If I think you cancome up without danger, I will make you a signal through that window."

  With these words Nighthawk pointed to an open window about ten feet fromthe ground; glided past me through the broken sash of one beside whichwe were standing, and disappeared like a shadow.

  I waited, holding my breath. From the upper portion of the house camethe muffled sound of voices. I was endeavoring to distinguish the wordsuttered, when I saw Nighthawk appear at the upper window, and make me asign.

  That sign indicated that I might ascend with a reasonable amount ofsafety; and passing without noise through the window, I found myself ina bare and deserted apartment, with a single shutterless window oppositeme. On the right was an open door. I passed through it, and found myselfat the foot of a rough stairway, occupying half of a narrow passage.

  Ascending, not without more than one creak, which, I must confess, senta tingle through my nerves, I reached the upper landing, found myselfin front of a closed door, and beside this door encountered the warninghand of Nighthawk.

  "Look!" he said.

  And drawing me toward him, he pointed through a crack in the boardpartition, which separated the passage from the apartment.

  XXIX.

  DARKE'S PAST LIFE.

  Leaning on Nighthawk's shoulder, I placed my eye at the aperture.

  On a broken chair beside the three-legged table sat Darke, booted,spurred, and armed with pistol and sabre. In an old rocking-chair,without arms, the singular woman, who seemed to accompany himeverywhere, sat rocking to and fro, and carelessly tapping with a smallwhip, the handsome gray riding-habit which defined her slender andgraceful figure.

  Facing them, on an old bed frame, sat the unfortunate Swartz--but Iwould scarcely have recognized him, if I had not known that it was he.His frame had fallen away almost to nothing. His clothes hung upon himas upon a wooden pole. His cheeks were pale, sunken; his eyes hollow;his bearing, cowed, abject, and submissive beyond expression. Let mespare the reader one horror, however. Hunger was not torturing theunfortunate man at this moment. Beside him, on the floor, lay a pieceof meat, and an unfinished loaf--thus it was evident that food had beenbrought to him; and as some of that food remained uneaten, he must havesatisfied his hunger.

  From Swartz, my glance passed to Darke. This second survey of the worthyproved to me that he was what is succinctly styled "half-drunk." Butdrink appeared not to have exhilarated him. It seemed even to have madehim more morose. In the eyes and lips of the heavily bearded Herculescould be read a species of gloomy sarcasm--a something resembling bittermelancholy.

  The woman in the gray dress, had never appeared cooler. She rocked toand fro in her chair with an air of perfect _insouciance_.

  The interview had evidently lasted some time before our arrival at thehouse; but, as the reader will perceive, we came soon enough to overheara somewhat singular revelation.

  As I reached my position near the door, Darke was speaking to Swartz:--

  "You ask why you are shut up here to starve," he said, "and as I havesome time on my hands to-night, I am going to tell you. That might becalled 'imprudent.' No! I am talking to a dead man! You see I hold outno false hopes--you will not leave this house alive probably--I will goback, and tell you something which will serve to explain the whole."

  Darke paused a moment, and then gazed with a strange mixture of gloomand tenderness upon the gray woman.

  "Perhaps you, too, madam," he said, speaking in a low tone, "may beignorant of a part of my history. You know the worst--but not all. Youshall know every thing. Listen; and I beg you will not interrupt me.About ten years ago, I chanced to be at Dinwiddie Court-House, a fewmiles only from this spot; and one day a certain Mr. George Conwayvisited the courthouse to receive a considerable sum of money which wasto be paid to him."

  At the words "a certain Mr. George Conway," uttered by the speaker, in ahoarse and hesitating voice, I very nearly uttered an exclamation. Thatname, which General Davenant's recent narrative had surrounded with somany gloomy associations, produced a profound effect on me, as itnow escaped from this man's lips; and had it not been for Nighthawk'swarning pressure on my arm, I should probably have betrayed ourvicinity. Fortunately I suppressed the rising exclamation; it hadattracted no attention; and Darke went on in the same low tone:--

  "I was in the clerk's office of Dinwiddie when the money I refer to waspaid to Mr. Conway. It amounted to about ten thousand dollars, and as Ihad at that time no business in the region more important than hangingaround the tavern, and drinking and playing cards--as, besides this, Iwas at the end of my resources, having lost my last penny on the nightbefore, at the card-table--the idea occurred to me that it would not bea bad plan to ride after Mr. Conway; accost him on the road; representmy necessities to him, and request a small loan out of his abundantmeans, to prevent myself from being deprived of my luxuries--liquorand cards. Is that a roundabout way of saying I intended to act thehighwayman, perhaps the--murderer--on this occasion? By no means, madam!What is highway robbery? Is it not the brutal and wanton robbery of thepoor as well as the rich? Well, I was not going to rob anybody. I wasgoing to request a small loan--and so far from intending violence,or--murder--," he uttered that word always in a hesitating voice--"Iswear, I had no such intention. I was entirely unarmed; upon my wholeperson there was not one deadly weapon--it was only by accident that Ifound, when riding out of the court-house, that I had a small pen-knifein my pocket. This I had picked up, by pure accident from the table ofthe clerk's office, where some one had laid it down. I had carelesslycommenced paring my nails with it--my attention was attracted bysomething else. I finished paring my nails, and without being aware ofwhat I was doing, put the knife in my pocket.

  "Well, you may think, perhaps, all this is irrelevant. You are mistaken.Many things turned on that knife. The devil himself placed it in mygrasp that day!"

  XXX.

  STABBED "NOT MURDERED."

  "Well," Darke continued, "I have told you my design, and now I willinform you how I carried it out.

  "I saw Mr. George Conway receive the money--in notes, bank notes, andgold. That was enough; I knew the road he would take; and going to thestable of the tavern I saddled my horse, and rode out of the place in awestern direction. When I was out of sight, however, I turned eastwardtoward Five Forks, pushed into the woods, and about sunset took my standin a piece of timber, on the side of the road which--he--was coming by."

  There was always a marked hesitation when he came to the name of hisvictim. He went on more rapidly now.

  "Well, he came along about dusk. Some one followed him, but I couldnot make out who. Another man came on from the direction of Petersburg;passed me and _him_; and the other who had followed _him_ out of thecourt-house turned into a by-road and disappeared. Then I saw that thegame was in my own hands; I waited, looking at him as he approached me.I swear I did not intend to harm him. I was half-drunk, but I rememberwhat I intended. He came on. I rode toward him,
demanded the money, herefused. I threw myself on him, as he struck at me with the butt ofhis heavy riding-whip, then we both rolled to the ground, I under! Hisclutch was on my throat, I was choking. 'Help,' he cried, and I camenear crying it, too! All at once my hand fell upon my pocket, I felt theknife, I drew it out, opened it, and stabbed him as he was stranglingme!

  "That was the whole! Do you call it a _murder_? I rose up, as _he_fell back. His breast was all bloody; his eyes turned round; he gaspedsomething, and fell back dead."

  The speaker paused and wiped his brow with his huge, muscular hand. Hisface was a strange spectacle. The most bitter and terrible emotions ofthe human heart were written there as with a pen of fire.

  "Then I looked at him;" he went on, "I said to myself, 'this is amurder,' foolishly, for he was stabbed, not murdered; and my firstthought was to conceal the body. I dragged it to the roadside, hid it insome bushes, and thinking I heard some one coming, leaped on my horse,who had stood by quietly--_his_ had galloped away--and left the cursedspot as fast as I could go. The money was left on him. I swear I did nottouch a penny of it, and would not have touched it, even if I had notbeen interrupted. I had not intended to kill him. It was the result ofthe struggle. I took nothing of _his_ away from that place, but I leftsomething of my own; the knife with which I had struck him!

  "The devil had put the cursed thing into my hand; and now the devil mademe drop it there, within ten feet of the dead body."

  XXXI.

  THE TWO PAPERS.

  Darke had spoken in a low, dull, gloomy voice; and something like ashudder had passed through his frame as he painted, in brief words, thesombre scene. This emotion now seemed even to grow deeper. Was theregood left in this wild animal?

  "That knife," he continued, "was very nearly the means of hanging aninnocent man. It belonged to a gentleman of the neighborhood who hadaccidentally laid it on the table of the clerk's office, a few momentsbefore I, as accidentally, picked it up--and this gentleman had just hadangry words with--_him_--about a trifle. What made things worse was thatthey had long been enemies--and when _he_ was found there, dead inthe bushes, next day, the owner of the knife found near the body wasarrested as the murderer.

  "Well, he went to jail, and the trial was coming on soon. The evidenceagainst him was strong. He was the known enemy of--Mr. Conway. Hehad quarrelled with him on that day, and his knife was found by--thebody--on which the money had not been touched. A robber, you see, wouldhave taken the money; as it was untouched the crime must have beencommitted by a personal enemy. Who was that enemy? The prisoner--whosename was Davenant!

  "Well, the trial was near. I had gone back to the court-house on _thatday_, and was still hanging around the place. What was I to do? I had todetermine whether I would let an innocent man be hanged for my crime,or go to the sheriff and say, 'release the prisoner--I am the murderer.'That was rather more than I was ready for, and I hit on a means whichmight serve. The knife was important evidence--the _most_ important--andI was in the clerk's office one day, hanging round and listening, whenI saw the sheriff put the knife in a drawer, to have it ready nearcourt on the day of trial. Well, that night I broke into thecourt-house--stole the knife--and waited to see what would occur on thetrial.

  "As the day drew near I felt like a real murderer, and had the prisonerall the time before my eyes, hanging on a gallows. I drank harder thanever, but I could not get that picture out of my mind. I saw worsepictures than before. So I determined what to do. I sat down, wrotea full confession of the murder, which I signed; and a friend of minecarried this to the prisoner's wife. I had put on it 'In haste, thiswill save Mr. Davenant's life'--and his wife carried it, at full speed,with her own hands to the court-house, where she arrived just as thejury had retired.

  "The prisoner opened and read it. When he had finished it, he foldedit up and put it in his pocket. As he did so, the jury came in with averdict of 'Not guilty'--and he went out of the court-room accompaniedby a crowd of friends.

  "So he was cleared, you see--without using the document which I hadwritten. That was in his pocket; was of no further use; and as it mightbecome dangerous I entered his house that night, broke open the deskin which he kept his private papers, and took this one out, reading andmaking sure that it was the genuine document, by the light of the moonwhich streamed in at the window.

  "I was still looking at the paper, when a noise behind me attracted myattention, and turning round I saw--Mr. Davenant. He had heard the noiseI made in breaking open the secretary; put on his dressing-gown; andcoming down, pistol in hand, was on me before I knew it. The few minutesthat followed were rather angry, and noisy. Unexpectedly, Mr. Davenantdid not fire on me. After an interchange of compliments, I put the paperin my pocket, passed out through the window, and mounting my horse, rodeaway.

  "After that I went far, and saw many persons. Among the rest you, madam;and our matrimonial life has been chequered!

  "A word to you, now," he added, turning toward Swartz. "I shut you uphere to starve you to death because you were trusted and have betrayedme. Listen, and I will tell you how. You are greedy for gold, and thisgreed has tempted you to an act which will be your destruction. InPennsylvania, one night, just before the battle of Gettysburg, you wereat my house, and stole a paper from madam, who was collecting everything to hide it from the enemy. No matter how I know that; I have madethe discovery, and you deny it--refusing to deliver up that paper, whichyou state you never had, and consequently have not in your possession.In saying that, you lied! You stole that paper, and promise yourselfthat you will sell it for a large sum of money--you have already beenbargaining, and have tried to finish the business.

  "Well, that paper is interesting--to madam at least; and she has kept itwith care from the eyes of the very person you would sell it to! Foldedwith it was another paper which is no less valuable to me. Thus, yousee, that we are interested; and we will probably be informed in a dayfrom this time where to find both the documents--as you will then bestarving, and will reveal every thing!

  "You think me jesting, perhaps--you imagine I will spare you. Undeceiveyourself--your life is a small matter compared with these two papers.

  "One is the certificate of madam's marriage with your very humbleservant; the other the letter which I took from Mr. Davenant's deskthat night, in which I confess myself the--well! the murderer--of GeorgeConway!"

  XXXII.

  A PISTOL-SHOT.

  Darke's deep and gloomy voice ceased to resound, and for a moment thesilence of the apartment was only disturbed by the slight creaking madeby the chair of the woman, as she quietly rocked backward and forward.

  Swartz had risen to his feet while Darke was uttering his final words.With clasped hands, and trembling lips, he was about to throw himselfupon his knees;--when suddenly a shot resounded without, a cry washeard, and then this was succeeded by rapid firing, mingled withhoof-strokes, in the immediate vicinity of the house.

  Darke rose to his feet, and in two strides was at the window.

  "An attack!" he exclaimed. "Can the friends of this carrion be trying tocatch me!"

  And springing toward the door, he tore it open.

  Suddenly, another thought seemed to come to him. Returning at a bound tothe side of Swartz, he seized him by the throat, dragged him through thedoor, and rushed down the steps, still dragging the unfortunate man.

  As he passed me, I drew my revolver and fired on him, but the balldid not strike him. Then I saw the woman dart past like a shadow. WhenNighthawk and myself reached the foot of the stairs, she and Darke werealready in the saddle.

  The collar of Swartz was still in his clutch. He seemed determined tobear him off at the risk of being himself captured; for a second glanceshowed me that a party of Confederate cavalry was rushing headlongtoward the house, led by an officer whom I made out to be Mohun.

  Darke saw that the small force on picket could not contend with theattacking party.

  By the starlight, I could see his face, as he glared over his shou
lderat Mohun, whom he had evidently recognized. An expression of profoundhate was in that glance; a hoarse growl issued from his lips; and Idistinguished the low words addressed to Swartz, whom he was dragging onbeside his horse.

  "So, you are rescued, you think! You have laid this trap for me,jailbird!"

  He drew his pistol as he spoke, and placed it close to the unhappy man'stemple. I had mine in my hand, and, aiming at Darke, fired.

  It was too late. The bullet did not strike him; and the report of hisown weapon followed that of mine like an echo.

  Swartz staggered back, threw up his hands, and uttering a wild cry, fellat full length upon the ground.

  The scene which followed was as brief as this tragedy. Mohun charged,at the head of his men, and drove the picket force before him. In fiveminutes the whole party were dispersed, or captured.

  Darke had escaped with the gray woman, in the darkness.

  The pursuit did not continue far. The Federal lines were near; and Mohunsoon recalled his men.

  Grasping me cordially by the hand, he exclaimed:--

  "Well, Surry! the prisoner! Where is Swartz?"

  I pointed to the spot where his body lay, and went thither with Mohun.

  Swartz lay perfectly dead, in a pool of blood. Darke had blown out hisbrains.

  XXXIII.

  PRESTON HAMPTON.

  An hour afterward the body of the unfortunate man had been buried, andI had returned with Mohun and Nighthawk to the opposite bank of theRowanty.