Kitabı oku: «The Courier of the Ozarks», sayfa 7

CHAPTER X
THE GUERRILLA'S BRIDE

"How did you come to be with the soldiers I met?" asked Lawrence of Dan. The two were now in Leavenworth, waiting for a boat to take them down the river.

"It was this way," answered Dan. "When those rascally cavalrymen deserted you and rode back to Platte City, word was sent post-haste here, asking for a company to go to the aid of Captain Leeper, and help chastise the band which had murdered you, and, if possible, to procure your body. I was nearly wild when I heard you had been killed, and nothing could have prevented me from accompanying the company sent to Captain Leeper. I tell you, charges ought to be preferred against those four men who so basely deserted you. They should be court-martialed for cowardice and shot."

"Not so fast, Dan," replied Lawrence. "Those men heard the shots, looked back and saw, as they supposed, the Corporal and myself both killed. They did not know how many guerrillas were in the brush, and they did the best and about the only thing they could do – get to Platte City as soon as possible, and give the alarm."

"They should have known there were but two from the report of the guns," grumbled Dan. "I tell you it was a cowardly trick. Do you think I would have left you, if I had been one of the four?"

"No, Dan," said Lawrence, laying his hand on his shoulder, affectionately. "You would have charged back there if there had been fifty guerrillas, instead of two; but all men are not dear old Dan."

There was a suspicious moisture in Dan's eyes, but he only said: "Pshaw! Any fellow with any grit would have done it."

A boat coming along, they took passage for Lexington, the boat making quite a long stop at Kansas City. They found that all fear that the enemy might be able to capture the towns along the Missouri had subsided. Everywhere the guerrillas had been beaten, and they were fleeing south by the hundreds to hide in the Ozarks or among the mountains of northern Arkansas. Still, numerous small bands remained in hiding. Within a radius of a hundred miles, taking Lexington as a center, then were a score of these bands operating, but there were two of them which were especially daring and troublesome.

One of these bands was led by the notorious Quantrell, and the other by Jerry Alcorn, known as Red Jerry.

Jerry, the year before, had fled from St. Louis, being detected in a plot to assassinate Lawrence Middleton and Guilford Craig. He had joined Price's army, but soon deserted to become leader of a band of guerrillas. Lawrence, with his scouts, had met this band the year before, and given it a crushing defeat. As has also been seen, it was Jerry and his men that chased Lawrence and Dan as they were going in search of Colonel Warner at Lone Jack.

When Lawrence reached Lexington, he received dispatches from General Schofield, saying he would not be able to go to Springfield to take command of the army quite as soon as he had expected, and that Lawrence should report to him at St. Louis; but before he reported he was to see that all the guerrilla bands around Lexington were dispersed.

Lawrence found that a force was being organized in Lexington to try to surprise and capture Red Jerry and his entire band. He determined to accompany it. But when he found the officer who was to command the expedition was a Colonel Jennison, he hesitated. He had but little use for that officer. He commanded one of those regiments known as jay-hawkers. The men composing the regiment were fighters, but in their tactics differed little from the guerrillas. With them it was "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

Lawrence talked it over with Dan, and they were so anxious that Red Jerry be brought to justice for his many crimes that he decided to overcome his repugnance to the Colonel, and go, taking the place of the Major of the regiment, who was sick.

Jerry was reported as hanging around the plantation of a Mr. Floyd Templeton, a very respected old gentleman, but a bitter Southern partisan. Mr. Templeton had two children – a son who was with Price, and a daughter who oversaw the household, the mother being dead.

This daughter, Agnes by name, was at this time about twenty, and was a strikingly beautiful girl. Her lustrous hair, dark as midnight, crowned a well-shaped head, which she carried as proudly as a queen. Her dark eyes, lovely in repose, could with a languishing glance cause the heart of the most prosaic of men to beat more rapidly; but in their depth was a hidden fire which would blaze forth when aroused, and show the tempestuous soul which dwelt within. She was above medium height, and her body was as lithe and supple as a panther's.

In vain had her hand been sought by the beaux for twenty miles around. When the war came, she told them no one need woo her until her beloved Missouri was free of the Yankee foe, and he who did win her must be a soldier, brave and true.

Some months before, Jerry's gang had been attacked and scattered, and Jerry, his horse being killed, fled on foot. In his flight he came to the Templeton house, his pursuers close behind.

He implored Agnes to save him, and this she did by secreting him in a hidden closet behind the huge chimney. To the Federal soldiers in pursuit she swore the guerrilla chieftain had passed by without stopping. A careful search of the house revealing nothing, the soldiers were forced to believe she told the truth.

Jerry was not only grateful to his fair preserver, but fell violently in love with her. The rough guerrilla soldier was not the soldier of the dreams of the proud, aristocratic girl. Concealing her repugnance to his advances, she gently but firmly refused him, telling him her duty was to her aged father. Jerry was so persistent in his advances that she finally told him he must never speak of the subject again, or he would be refused the house.

More than once did Jerry conceive the scheme of carrying her off by force and marrying her against her will; but he became aware that the girl possessed as fierce a spirit as his own, and if need were she would not hesitate to plunge a dagger in his heart.

With the fires of unrequited love burning in his heart, he had to cease his advances; but, like the silly moths that flutter around a candle, he made every excuse to call at the Templeton residence. The girl warned him by saying that by his course he was bringing not only danger on himself, but on her father as well.

Jerry knew this, and the dastardly thought came to him that if the Federals did make way with her father, Agnes, in her loneliness, might come to him. It was a thought worthy of his black nature, but that he madly loved the girl, there was no doubt.

The expedition against Jerry was well planned, but he got wind of it, and scattered his force.

In a running fight that took place, Jerry captured two of Jennison's men. These he calmly proceeded to hang, almost in sight of Templeton's door, for the purpose of bringing down the wrath of Jennison on Templeton's head. Only too well did the damnable plot succeed.

Jennison was beside himself with rage, and after pursuing Jerry until all hopes of catching him had ended, he returned to the Templeton place, and, calling the old man to the door, he denounced him in the most violent terms, calling him a sneaking rebel, who made his house a rendezvous for murderers.

Mr. Templeton drew himself up proudly. "I may be what you call a rebel," he exclaimed, "but I am not a sneaking one. My heart and soul are with the South in her struggle for liberty, and every one knows it. As for the men you call guerrillas, I can no more help their coming here than I can help your coming."

"You lie, you old scoundrel!" shouted Jennison. "You invite them to come, and aid them in their nefarious work. The murderers you have been harboring hanged two of my men yesterday, almost at your very door, and no doubt you looked on and approved."

"I did no such thing," answered Mr. Templeton. "I did not know of the deed until it was done; then I told Alcorn never again to set foot on my premises."

"More lies, you canting old hypocrite. Do you know what I am going to do with you?" shouted Jennison.

"I am in your power; you can do anything you wish," answered Mr. Templeton, with dignity.

"I am going to shoot you, and burn your house," yelled Jennison.

"You will never harbor any more guerrillas."

At these words, Agnes sprang before her father, with a scream. "If you shoot any one, shoot me – not him," she said. "If there has been any harboring, it is I who am to blame. I have harbored those fighting to rid our State of such as you, and I glory in it. Shoot me – not him."

Lawrence and Dan just now rode up and gazed in astonishment at the scene. The girl stood in front of her father, her arms outspread, her bosom heaving with excitement, her eyes blazing, inviting the deadly volley.

Her tragic attitude, her wondrous beauty, awed the men, and they lowered the guns that had been raised to slay the father.

"Drag her away, and shoot!" commanded Jennison, with an oath.

"Hold!" cried Lawrence. "Colonel Jennison, do you realize what you are doing? What does this mean?"

"It means I'm going to shoot this old villain and burn the house. It means I am going to put an end to this harboring of guerrillas, if I have to burn every house in this accursed State," thundered Jennison. "Now drag the girl away."

"The first man that touches that girl dies!" cried Lawrence, drawing his revolver.

"I'm with you," said Dan, drawing his revolver, and taking his place by Lawrence's side.

For a moment Colonel Jennison was too astonished to speak; then his face turned livid with passion. "Young man," he hissed, "do you know what you are doing? By a word I can have you both shot – shot for mutiny – and, by God! I ought to say the word."

"But, Colonel, what you are going to do is an outrage," cried Lawrence, "a damnable outrage – one that will bring black disgrace on our arms. It is an act that General Schofield will never countenance, and in his name I ask you to countermand the order."

"Which I will not do!" exclaimed Jennison, white with rage. "I have been trammelled enough with orders from headquarters. I propose to deal with these red-handed assassins as I please. We, along the border, propose to protect ourselves. Captain Middleton, you and your companion are under arrest for insubordination. Lieutenant Cleveland, take their swords, and with a detail of six men escort them back to Lexington. When I return I will make a formal charge against them."

There was no use in resisting. The majority of Jennison's regiment was composed of men from Kansas who had suffered from the raids of the Border Ruffians before the war, or had been driven from their homes in Missouri, and heartily sympathized with the Colonel in his warfare of retaliation.

Lawrence also knew he had committed a grave offence when, in his indignation, he tried to prevent the execution of Templeton by force. So he quietly submitted to arrest; but as he rode away there came to his ears the shrieks of the girl, then the sharp crack of three or four carbines. Lawrence shuddered and, looking back, he saw great columns of smoke rolling up, and through the blackness red tongues of leaping flame.

After the volley killing her father had been fired, the girl uttered one more shriek, and then stood with dry eyes, gazing as if in a trance; then with a low moan she threw herself on the still body, enfolding it with her arms as if she would shield it from the profane gaze of those around it. She lay as if dead; and so they left her.

Hours afterward, Red Jerry came creeping up from his hiding place, and found her. At first he thought her dead, but at his touch and the sound of his voice she aroused and stood up – but a changed being – changed from a woman into a demon.

She spoke a few words to Jerry, but in so low a tone his few followers who had gathered round could not hear. Jerry gently led her away from the rest; but the men noticed she walked as one seeing not.

They stopped under a tree not far away.

"Jerry," she said, in a tone devoid of the least sign of feeling, "you have often told me you loved me, and wanted me to become your wife. I have as often refused. I am now ready to marry you, if you make me one promise."

Red Jerry's heart gave a great bound. He had won. The peerless Agnes Templeton was to become his wife – he, a guerrilla chieftain.

"Anything you ask," he cried, rapturously, and attempted to take her in his arms.

"Do not touch me," she said, in the same passionless tones. "You must not touch me until you have promised, and not then until the words are spoken which give you a right."

"What is it you want me to promise, Agnes? You know anything in my power will be granted," Jerry replied, his voice showing the depth of his passion.

"That you will let me dress as a man and ride by your side; that you will never order me away, however great the danger; that where you are, I may always be."

"For you to ride at my side would be bliss," said Jerry; "but, oh! Agnes, to lead you into danger – how can I do it?"

"It must be as I say, or I can never be your wife," was her answer.

Jerry promised, and side by side they rode away to the home of a minister. It was near midnight when they reached it, and there, amid the clashing of the elements – for a fearful storm had arisen – the words were spoken that made Agnes Templeton the bride of Jerry Alcorn, the guerrilla.

Sacrificing everything feminine, except her luxuriant hair, which she coiled tightly on top of her head and concealed under a wide sombrero, she rode by the side of her husband throughout his career. No Federal thought the smooth-faced, handsome young man who was always with Jerry was a woman.

The band became known as one of the most cruel and merciless in the State. It revelled in deeds of bloodshed, and of all the band, the young man with the angel face and the heart of a demon, who rode by Red Jerry, was known as the most merciless.

CHAPTER XI
THE STORY OF CARL MEYER

"Of all outrages!" exclaimed Dan.

"That girl! Wasn't she splendid?" answered Lawrence. "She made me think of some great tragic queen. What a scene for the stage! – and we saw it in reality."

"Wasn't thinking of the girl," sputtered Dan. "I was thinking of the outrage of sending us back under arrest."

"He had a right to, Dan. We could be court-martialed and shot."

"What! For interfering with the hellish work of that murderer? He is as bad as a guerrilla," angrily responded Dan.

"For drawing a weapon and interfering with his orders," replied Lawrence. "Good God! I could almost afford to be shot for the pleasure of putting a bullet through the black heart of Jennison. That girl – I wonder what will become of her!"

"Girl again!" growled Dan. "And don't blame Jennison too much. He had great provocation. No doubt that old scoundrel had been shielding Jerry."

But Lawrence did not answer. He knew Dan's aversion to girls, and little was said as they rode on, mile after mile. Both Lawrence and Dan bitterly felt the disgrace of reporting back to Lexington under arrest.

Lawrence knew that the case would have to go to Schofield. If there was any court-martial, Schofield would have to order it, and Lawrence felt that the General would deal leniently with him.

But the case never went to Schofield. On his return from his raid, Colonel Jennison released Lawrence from arrest, saying he did so on account of his youth, and that no doubt he acted as he did from sudden impulse, owing to the distress and beauty of the girl. Neither did he think Lawrence understood the situation. Harsh means had to be used to prevent the guerrillas from murdering Union men.

The fact was, Colonel Jennison did not wish the case to be investigated. He, Lane, and others had been reprimanded so often by the Federal authorities that more than once they had threatened to turn guerrillas and wage warfare on their own account.

Soon after this affair, Lawrence was ordered to report at St. Louis.

"Now I suppose I can leave and join General Blair," said Lawrence, after he had given General Schofield a full report of what had happened.

"I trust you will stay with me a while yet," answered the General. "As I wrote you, I am about to take the field in person. We will have but little rest until Hindman, who is gathering a large force in northern Arkansas, is thoroughly whipped. There will be stirring times for the next two months. Blair is not needing you yet. Grant's army is very quiet – hasn't done much since Corinth fell and Memphis was taken. They are making slow progress along the Mississippi now."

Lawrence agreed to stay in Missouri a while longer. He was granted a two weeks' furlough, and then he was to report at Springfield.

The first use Lawrence made of his furlough was to visit his uncle, and he found that personage greatly elated over the prospects of the South. "I tell you, Lawrence," he exclaimed, "the independence of the South is already as good as secured. Why, just consider: McClellan whipped on the Peninsula, his army barely escaping; Pope completely crushed, his army almost annihilated, the remnant seeking refuge in the fortifications around Washington. Lee's army is sweeping victoriously through Maryland; Harper's Ferry taken with ten thousand prisoners. It will only be a matter of a few days until Washington is taken.

"Bragg is thundering at the very gates of Louisville. The whole of Tennessee and Kentucky will soon be redeemed. Buell's army will be driven across the Ohio. Grant has not gained a foot since the capture of Corinth. He has not, and never will, get past Vicksburg, I tell you, Lawrence, it's all over. The South has won."

"I admit, uncle," replied Lawrence, "that this has been a bad year for us. But the war isn't over. The worst is yet to come. In the end the South will be crushed."

"It cannot be! It cannot be!" cried his uncle, excitedly.

"Uncle, don't let us discuss the war," said Lawrence. "How long since you heard from Edward? I am anxious to hear all the news."

"He was well the last time I heard from him," said Mr. Middleton, "but I do not hear very often. It is harder to get letters through than it was; but, thank God! those we do get don't come through the hands of that traitor, Guilford Craig. You have heard no news of him, have you?"

"No; but it is curious his body was never found. There is little doubt but that he fell at Pea Ridge, and that at the hands of his step-brother."

"Served him right," growled Mr. Middleton.

"And Randolph Hamilton – what of him?" asked Lawrence.

"Randolph is also well, Edward writes."

"I am glad to hear that," answered Lawrence. "Randolph is a noble fellow. Lola Laselle did a fine thing when she saved him. How is Mrs. Hamilton now?"

"Mrs. Hamilton and Dorothy have gone to Europe," answered Mr. Middleton. "Mr. Hamilton thought it best to take her away from the excitement of the war."

"So Dorothy is gone," said Lawrence, "Well, she won't have to hold aside her skirts for fear of contamination, if I happen to pass her on the sidewalk."

"I thought you and Dorothy were great friends – kind of childish sweethearts," replied his uncle.

"That was before I turned Yankee," laughed Lawrence.

"Ah, my boy, Dorothy is not the only one who has been disappointed in you," sighed his uncle.

While Lawrence and Mr. Middleton were talking, a newsboy came running down the street, yelling: "Extra! Extra! Terrible battle in Maryland. McClellan whips Lee. Fifty thousand men killed."

Mr. Middleton rushed out and purchased a paper. It told of the great battle at Antietam. He turned pale as he read, and his hands trembled so he could scarcely hold the paper. Lawrence heard him murmur, "Thank God! Edward was not in it."

Lawrence had no thought of exulting over the news in his uncle's presence; instead, he told him that the first reports of a battle were always exaggerated; but at the same time his heart was singing for joy. Afterward, when the news came that Lee had succeeded in getting his army safely across the Potomac, Mr. Middleton's hopes revived. It was a drawn battle, after all.

There was one in St. Louis that Lawrence could not fail to visit, and that was Lola Laselle, the girl who had taken his part on the steamboat, when a forlorn, dirty, homeless boy, and who had chosen him for her knight-errant when he went into the army.

Of all the young people Lawrence had associated with before the war, Lola was one of the few who had remained faithful to the old flag, and by so doing had been mercilessly cut by her young companions. But one day Lola hid Randolph Hamilton to keep him from being arrested as a spy, and this somewhat restored her to favor, especially with the Randolph family.

No sooner did Lola see Lawrence than she ran toward him with outstretched hands, crying, "Lawrence, Lawrence, is this indeed you? How glad I am to see you! And how you have grown! Why, you are a man!"

"And I am afraid I have lost my little girl," said Lawrence, as he took her hand, and gallantly raised it to his lips. "You have grown to almost a young lady."

"I don't know whether I like it or not," said Lola. "I sometimes think I had rather remain a little girl."

"I believe I am of your opinion," replied Lawrence, looking at her admiringly.

"Why, am I growing homely?" pouted Lola.

"That's not it. If you were still a little girl, I – I might have been permitted to kiss your cheek, instead of just your hand. Remember – "

"Stop! You mean thing!" commanded Lola, blushing furiously.

Lawrence gazed on her with admiration. She was certainly budding into a most beautiful girl.

"Lola, you are splendid!" he cried, "I wouldn't have you a little girl again. You are far ahead of any girl I know."

"How about Dorothy Hamilton?" she asked, mockingly.

"Dorothy Hamilton be hanged! How did you and she part?"

"Good friends. She and I correspond. After I saved Randolph, she could not do enough for me."

"Then she has some heart. I am glad to hear it," answered Lawrence, bitterly. "When I saved her from being crushed beneath the horse's feet, she rewarded me by calling me a miserable Yankee."

"Maybe she will be good to you some time," said Lola. "Remember how she used to cut me."

"I reckon I do," said Lawrence, "and it used to make me tearing mad. Lola, of all the girls I used to associate with, you are the only one who does not pass me with looks of contempt; but your friendship and sympathy are worth all I have lost – yes, a thousand times more."

"Don't magnify my importance; but I shall always be your friend, Lawrence," she said, simply.

They then fell to talking of other things, and Lawrence had to tell her of all his experiences. When he told her of his capture by the guerrillas, and how he had been ordered to be put to death, she shuddered and turned so pale he thought she was going to faint.

"Stop! Stop!" she gasped. "It was awful – awful! I cannot bear it."

"Wait and let me tell you how I escaped death," said Lawrence.

When he had finished, her eyes, though bedewed with tears, were shining with joy and pride.

"Lawrence," she cried, "I am prouder of you than ever. You were shown mercy, because you were merciful; and I would have my knight-errant as merciful as he is brave."

"How can he be otherwise, when she whose colors he wears is so kind and merciful?" gallantly replied Lawrence, and, taking her little hand in his, he raised it and pressed his lips against her trembling fingers.

"A true knight can always kiss the hand of the lady he serves," said Lawrence. He then bade her good-bye, with the promise of coming again before he went to the front.

Is it strange that, as he went on his way, his thoughts were all of the beautiful girl he had just left? But, all unbidden, there arose before him a mental vision of the face of another girl – a girl whose queenly head was crowned with a wealth of golden hair, but whose eyes flashed with scorn at the sight of him – whose very soul loathed the uniform he wore; and he sighed, he hardly knew why.

Suddenly the thoughts of all girls were driven from his mind, for in the crowd before him he saw a well-known face – the face of Carl Meyer. Carl was a German boy, about a year older than Lawrence. It was he who had induced Lawrence to join the Home Guards, and thus paved the way to his acquaintance with Frank Blair. They had not met since the battle of Wilson Creek, when Carl went back with a broken arm.

In a moment the two clasped hands, their eyes telling what their lips refused to utter. At length Lawrence found voice. "My! how you have grown!" he exclaimed; "and this," – he touched the strap of a second lieutenant on his shoulder – "Oh, Carl, I am so glad."

"And you," replied Carl, the joy gleaming in his honest eyes; "I see it's Captain now."

"Come with me, Carl. I must hear all that has happened to you since the last time we met."

In the privacy of Lawrence's room, Carl told his story – a story that Lawrence listened to breathless attention.

"The wound which I received at Wilson Creek was a bad one," said Carl, "and at first it was thought I would have to lose my arm; but I have it yet, and a pretty good arm it is. After I had recovered, which was early in January of this year, I was with the army which operated against New Madrid and Island Number 10. Lawrence, you should have been with me. It was glorious. The river fight – the mighty siege-guns – the great mortars which hurled shells weighing hundreds of pounds. It was as if all the thunders of heaven had gathered in one place to smite the earth.

"Then think of digging a canal twelve miles long, six miles of it through heavy timber. Great trees were sawed off beneath the water, to make a road for the transports."

"How could you do it? How could you do it?" broke in Lawrence.

"By standing on rafts or in boats and using saws with very long handles. It was a giant's task, but at last it was completed. Not only this, but, amid snow and chilling rains, bayous were waded, swamps considered impassable struggled through; and at last New Madrid and Island Number 10 fell.

"The fruits of these victories were glorious: nearly two hundred cannon, great and small; seven thousand prisoners, as many small arms, great stores of the munitions of war, and several transports sunk. All of this with a loss of only fifty."

"It was glorious, Carl," cried Lawrence. "No wonder you feel proud of being one of an army that dared so much, and accomplished so much."

"Wait until you hear the rest," replied Carl. "After Island Number 10 fell, most of the army was sent to reinforce Halleck before Corinth; but my command was left. We soon had possession of the Mississippi nearly to Memphis; but rumors came of the Confederates building an immense fleet of gunboats and ironclad rams.

"Our gunboats moved down and attacked, but were repulsed and driven back. Colonel Charles Ellet had been given authority to build some rams. He hastily constructed some out of old river steamboats, converting them into engines of destruction. With these wooden rams, without cannon, and without an armed crew, Colonel Ellet proposed to attack and destroy the whole fleet.

"Eleven sharpshooters had been chosen and placed on the Monarch. I was fortunate enough to be one of the eleven. We were the only armed men aboard the ram. The Monarch was commanded by Colonel Alfred Ellet, a brother of Charles. Charles was aboard the ram, Queen of the West.

"It was dusk when we came to our fleet of gunboats anchored across the Mississippi. Below them, a little above Memphis, lay the Rebel fleet, anchored in a line across the river. There the two fleets lay like two great beasts ready to spring on each other.

"Colonel Ellet anchored and waited for the morning. Hardly was it light when there came the boom of a great gun. It was a beautiful morning, and as the thunder of the gun reverberated over the water, thousands of the people of Memphis rushed to the bluffs to witness the battle and, with waving flags and shouts of encouragement, cheer their men on to victory.

"On, in imposing line, comes the Rebel fleet, the smokestacks of their vessels belching forth great clouds of smoke, and their guns thundering as they come. Now the guns of our fleet answer their thunder, and the bluffs on which the people are gathered shake and tremble with the concussion. A black wall of smoke settles down and hides our fleet from view; only through the blackness can be seen the flashes of the great guns.

"Hardly had the battle opened when Colonel Ellet signalled for his fleet of rams to get under way. The Queen of the West and the Monarch got off first, and straight for the wall of blackness, lit by the fitful flashes, we steered. We entered that wall, and everything was blotted from view – only around and about us was the roar of the great guns, the bursting of shells.

"Suddenly, as if emerging from the mouth of a tunnel, we burst from the cloud of smoke, and before us at full speed was coming the Rebel fleet, nearly a dozen gunboats and ironclads, against two wooden, unarmed rams.

"Colonel Ellet never swerved; ahead at full speed he drove the Queen of the West for the General Lovell. We could see the tall figure of Colonel Ellet standing on the hurricane-deck of the Queen. With his hat he signalled his brother to steer for the General Price, and on the two rams rushed, the Queen slightly ahead.

"The General Lovell drew out from their line and steered straight for the Queen. Like two great monsters, the boats rushed at each other. We forgot to cheer; we heeded not the thunder of battle; we could only look at these two vessels rushing to what seemed certain destruction.

"Even the excited cheering of the crowd on the bluffs grew silent. With tense nerves and white faces, they watched the two vessels. Coming as they were, it meant the destruction of both. Would not one swerve to avoid the coming blow? Still standing on the deck of his vessel, his eye fixed on his prey, Ellet drove the Queen forward – not a hair's breadth would he swerve.