Chapter XXII: The March

Come away! come away!
Hark to the summons!
Come in your war array.
Gentiles and commons!
Leave untended the herd,
The flock without shelter;
Leave the corpse uninterred,
The bride at the altar.—SCOTT.

It was written of an old usurper of the throne of England, that “having gained the kingdom by fraud and by cruelty, he nevertheless governed it in justice and in mercy.”

Something like the same policy prevailed in Colonel Goldsborough’s conduct towards his captive bride.

Having gained her hand by force, he was willing to win her favor by forbearance.

No sooner had the curtain dropped behind the retreating form of Mutchison, than Albert Goldsborough turned towards Elfie, and sank upon one knee at her feet; and though the action was indeed rather melo-dramatic, I do not see, under the circumstances, how he could have done less than thus humble himself.

The insolent abductor was all at once turned into the pleading lover. He earnestly prayed her to pardon him.

“Elfie, my best beloved—my _only_ beloved, you will try to forgive me for this violence!” he murmured, in a low and gentle tone.

“If I do, Albert Goldsborough, I pray that Heaven may never forgive _me_!” she answered, passionately.

“My darling Elfie, Heaven never records our wicked prayers. If it did we should all be doomed!” he said, gently taking her hand.

“Don’t touch me, you wretch, unless you wish to drive me raving mad. I tell you I am on the brink of frenzy now! and frenzy may give me strength to slay you!” she exclaimed, struggling and snatching her hand from his grasp.

“Elfie, listen to me!” he pleaded.

But Elfie drowned his murmuring voice in a torrent of bitter scorn and furious invective, which she poured upon him without stint or measure.

He let her scold until she had exhausted herself, and had to pause for want of breath; then he took advantage of her silence and answered, gently:

“Elfie, to all your cruel reproaches I have but this to say in my defence—I love you; I have loved you ever since I first saw you, and I believe that you love me. In this belief, Elfie, I could not leave you among the Yankees to be perverted by them, to be set against your own old State, your faithful friends, and your one true lover, I could not, my Elfie.”

“You—ou! You—ou!” began Elfie, but she was too much out of breath to proceed, and so Albert resumed:

“I could not give you up to the Yankees, Elfie. I could not, my dear. And so, at the imminent risk not only of my own life, but of the lives of all my command, I crossed the river and brought you away.”

“A great risk you ran, truly, to come with your two hundred armed guerrillas upon a harmless pleasure party of less than forty persons,” passionately and scornfully cried Elfie, who had now recovered her voice.

“Yes, Elfie, it _was_ a great risk—an imminent risk, as I said—for we crossed and landed between two forts whose scouts were out in search of us. And in three hours after our crossing, a squadron of cavalry, armed with their murderous six-shooters, were on our trail. But I would have risked much more than life for you, my Elfie.”

“‘Risk’ again,” sneered Elfie. “I don’t see it. The only risk that was run for my sake that day was run by the only man of our party; for I hold that little Mim was the only male creature that proved himself a man on that occasion.”

“I wonder, now, if that little atom is my rival?” said Albert, musingly.

“Yes, he _is_!” exclaimed Elfie, spitefully catching at the idea; “he just _is_! I love and admire little Mim beyond everything. I love his little finger better than I ever did your whole person. He is a true hero, and I worship the very ground he walks on!”

“Very pleasant words for me to hear, Elfie.”

“I don’t care whether they are or not. They are true. I am dying in love with little Mim. And when I get back to Washington, I mean to ask him to marry me as soon as ever—Oh, my good gracious, I can’t, either!” exclaimed Elfie, suddenly breaking off and bursting into tears of rage at the recollection that she was married already to Goldsborough.

“No, you can’t! Polygamy is not lawful in this land, at least not for ladies,” laughed Albert Goldsborough.

“You will be hanged some day, shortly, and then I shall be a widow,” sobbed Elfie.

“Come, come, my darling girl, why do you keep up this comedy? Do you think that I could be jealous of your little champion? Do you think that I believe for a moment in your professions either of regard for him or detestation for me? No, dear Elfie. I have a confidence in your love and faith that your words and actions cannot shake. Listen, my darling girl—”

“I don’t want to hear a word you have to say, Albert Goldsborough.”

“But, my dear, in common justice you must. Listen, Elfie—for we must march soon, and the time for explanation and defence is short. I have told you that, loving you beyond measure, and believing in your unaltered love for me, I could not leave you among the Yankees. I could not, Elfie. And so, at the imminent risk of my life, and the lives of all my band, I crossed the river, and brought you off from between the very teeth of the enemy.”

“You have bragged of all that before,” sneered Elfie.

“I could not have believed in your persistent opposition to my wishes, Elfie; else, perhaps, I should have spared you and myself this trial.”

“When you made the discovery, why did you not send me back to my friends?” demanded Elfie.

“It was too late even if it had been in other respects possible to do so! Once having run away with you, and above all having retained you for days in my custody, there was no retreat! The departure of Alberta this morning, leaving you alone, the only woman in the guerrilla camp, made your immediate marriage a necessity. And so, Elfie, I have married you, even by force; but I trust to win your forgiveness by forbearance. The deed is done, Elfie, that makes you my wife! But now that it is done, you shall be as sacred to me as my sister. And more so! for I will never touch your lips, or even take your hand again, without your leave! That you will forgive me and love me I am sure—sure as that you are woman! We shall march in an hour, and of course you go with us! I will do everything I possibly can do for your happiness, except to give you up to the Yankees, to be taught to hate and despise your old State and old friends! You are a child of the South and belong to your mother, and must live among her children.”

Elfie still sobbed, but now, as it seemed, with less of rage then of grief.

He was still at her feet.

“Get up!” she said at length, impatiently. “You’ve made a brute of yourself, but you needn’t make a fool of yourself by remaining in that absurd position, Albert Goldsborough! Get up!”

“Not until I have obtained your forgiveness, Elfie. Oh, Elfie, dearest, I loved you so entirely. The thought of you was never for an instant absent from my mind, by day or by night, in the tent or in the field. Elfie, for the sake of the undivided love I bore you, forgive me; for the sake of the forbearance that I have sworn to observe towards you, and that will cost me so much, forgive me!” he pleaded.

“If you will—will keep your word with me, and treat—eat me as your sister, I will forgive—give you for the past!” sobbed Elfie.

“Heaven bless you for that much, my darling! That is one step gained,” he said, rising.

“And oh, if you had only been tru—true to your country in her trial! Oh, if you had only been tru—true to your country!” she wept.

“I _was_ true to my country, Elfie. I _am_ true to my country. I shall _always_ be true to my country. Old Virginia is my country, and I am true as truth to her. I go with her where she goes—to destruction, if she should be cursed with failure, to dominion, if she should be crowned with success,” replied the guerrilla leader, as he turned, lifted the curtain, and left the hut.

“Oh, if he’d been true! Oh, if he’d been true!” Elfie continued to sob.

Soon all was bustle in the guerrilla camp. The men were mustering and mounting, and preparing to move. The guerrillas marched with very little baggage, as everybody knows. And so the band was soon ready.

In about half an hour after leaving the hut, Colonel Goldsborough returned to it, lifted the curtain, and once more presented himself before Elfie.

“My dearest girl, we are about to go down the mountain. The pass is a difficult and dangerous one, as you know—more dangerous still in the descent than in the ascent. And for your safety it is best that you should ride behind me, as you did before. Still, keeping the spirit as well as the letter of my promise to you, Elfie, I must give you your choice of three modes of conveyance. You may ride behind me, or you may ride behind Parson Simmons, or you may ride alone on a sure-footed little mountain pony which is at your service.”

“I will take the mountain pony, if you please,” said Elfie.

“But will you feel quite safe to do so, down these perilous passes?”

“I am a mountain girl, if you will please to remember, and the horse, you say, is a mountain pony.”

“Very well, Elfie, I will have it brought to the door of your hut,” said Colonel Goldsborough, going out.

In five minutes he returned with the pony, and came in for Elfie.

Sulkily enough the girl went out with him.

Goldsborough’s steed, the parson’s cob, and Elfie’s pony stood saddled and bridled before the hut.

The parson was there also, apparently in charge of the three horses, whose bridles he held gathered in his hands. And the unfortunate man seemed to have rather more than he could do to hold them.

“Elfie,” said Albert Goldsborough, laughing, “I promised not even to touch your hand without your leave; and I mean to keep my promise, Therefore I must ask your gracious permission, before lifting you into your seat. Will you grant it?”

“No!” said Elfie, placing her hand upon the pommel, and springing into her saddle as lightly as if she were an elf indeed.

“Mr. Simmons, mount your horse. You are to be the immediate advance guard of this lady, and ride directly in front of her; and please to recollect that your life is the hostage of her safety,” said Colonel Goldsborough, as he threw himself into his saddle.

“Is—is—her pony a safe one?” stammered the persecuted preacher, as he clambered up into his seat.

“Her pony is all right,” laughed Albert. “Go ahead!”

The band, under the immediate charge of Mutchison, was now defiling through the narrow pass leading from the table land down the side of the mountain.

Colonel Goldsborough, with his two captives, took the same direction. He rode on the right side of Elfie, while the preacher rode on the left, until they came to the narrow pass down which the line of mounted men was winding like some huge serpent.

Then Goldsborough ordered the preacher to precede Elfie, while he himself should follow her, thus forming a guard of honor immediately before and behind the captive bride.

In this manner they commenced the descent of the dangerous mountain pass.

Albert Goldsborough, in the spirit of his promise, forbore to force his conversation upon his companion.

Elfie rode on in sulky silence until her tongue was tired of keeping still, when she opened her mouth and spake:

“I thought the ‘Devil’s Dripping Pan,’ or ‘Soup Dish,’ or whatever you call your horrid place up there on the mountain top, was to be the general rendezvous of your bands.”

“We thought so too, Elfie.”

“And that you and Corsoni, with your commands, had met there to wait for the arrival of Monck and his men.”

“Such was our plan.”

“And here Corsoni moves with his command at midnight, and you march with yours at midday!”

“Just so, Elfie!”

“In truth, then, it seems to me that you gentlemen horse-thieves don’t know your own minds any more than honester men.”

“When a spy gets into our camps, Elfie, and discovers all our secrets, he is apt to defeat all our plans. That little devil of a Gill, who got into Corsoni’s camp, not only betrayed _his_ retreat to the enemy, but, as we have lately learned, he discovered and revealed the secret of this rendezvous. This made it necessary for us to choose another place of gathering, to which we are now going, Elfie. I don’t mind telling you these things, my dear, since it is utterly impossible for _you_ to betray us,” said Albert.

And now, as the dangers of the road demanded all their attention, the conversation ceased.

The poor preacher held his very breath for fear as he looked up, on the right, to a precipice that towered a thousand feet above him; and then down on the left to another precipice that descended a thousand feet below him; and, last, along the ledge of path that lay before him, so narrow, with such slender space to move in, that a single swerve must have sent horse and rider down to destruction.

“Look sharp there! or you will be gone in an instant!” roared Albert Goldsborough, throwing the nervous parson into such a panic as nearly precipitated the catastrophe he had intended to prevent.

Elfie laughed. Her nerves were so firm and her pony so sure-footed that she felt quite safe even when perched upon the edge of a precipice where a goat could hardly have found footing.

The persecuted preacher was trembling from head to foot.

“I know,” he complained, “that even if I live to reach the bottom of this mountain, which is very unlikely, I shall be good for nothing all the rest of my life.”

As he said this, the party of three, passing around a projecting rock, came in sight of the rear of the band, who were winding down the narrow pass in single file below them.

“Hayden!” cried Colonel Goldsborough, calling out to one of the rear men, who immediately halted.

“Hayden, dismount and turn your horse loose and come here and take the parson’s bridle and lead his beast, or we shall have an accident.”

The soldier addressed smiled good-humoredly as he murmured something to his comrade about the “inconvenience of having women and parsons encumbering them on their march;” and then he dismounted, knotted up his bridle, so that it should not get entangled under his horse’s feet, and leaving his well-trained steed to walk soberly down the path, he came and took the preacher’s bridle and led his cob carefully along the perilous pass.

In this manner they continued their dangerous journey until they reached the foot of the mountain.

“Thank Heaven it is over!” piously exclaimed the parson, as they found themselves safe at the entrance of a wooded valley.

There was no road; but, guided by a pocket compass, the band took their way westward through the forest, until, after marching for about three miles, they came out upon an open plain, dappled here and there with detached groves of trees and gradually ascending towards a range of wooded hills in the distance before them.