made no comment. He was, in fact, quite puzzled. [Pg 46] Just as he was about to speak, an exclamation from one of the soldiers caused him to look round. Then he struck his hand on his thigh with a muttered curse. “By heavens! there he comes again. Now let us see if he fools me a second time.” It was indeed true. The same weird figure that has already been described, was galloping up, on a black horse, flames and smoke proceeding from his mouth, while a stream of sparks came from the muzzle of his horse. He was coming from the extreme right of the picket-line, galloping recklessly past the videttes, while shouts, cries, and shots, followed his course as he came. Burgoyne turned to Sir Francis Clark, his favorite aid-de-camp. “Sir Francis,” he said, in the sharp, quick tones of a superior giving orders, “take the escort with you, and follow that fellow, till you catch or kill him. He is a rebel spy, and doubtless wants to draw some of us into an ambush. If he leads you to the rebel lines, come back and report. I shall know how to deal with him. If not, follow him, till your horses drop, and shoot down his animal, if you can. Away, sir.” The aid-de-camp bowed low, and drew aside. The demoniac stranger was still coming fearlessly on, in a direction that would bring him near to their front, and Clark, gathering the twenty dragoons that composed the escort, rode out to intercept him. On came the demon in silence, the red sparks streaming from horse and rider, as if about to charge the whole party. Then, as he came within sixty feet, he uttered a loud, taunting peal of laughter, and wheeled off toward the line of videttes. “Gallop, march!” shouted the aid-de-camp, firing his pistol, and dashing after. A volley of carbine bullets whistled round the wild rider, but away he went, fast leaving his pursuers, the same loud, taunting laugh coming back on the wind. [Pg 47] [Pg 47]
Prev.
Back
Top