Chapter XXIV: The Fate of the Free Sword

“No more, there is no more,” he said,
“To lift the sword for now!
For thee my fields were won,
And thou hast perished.”—
They might have chained him as before
That stony form he stood,
For the power was stricken from his arm,
As from his lips the blood.—HEMANS.

Riding recklessly over the dead and dying, Albert Goldsborough rushed onward, until at the entrance of an old turnpike road he was arrested by a sight that might have stopped an army in its flight.

In the dust, on the ground, knelt Vittorio Corsoni, the terrible Free Sword, supporting in his arms the pale form of his beloved wife, and gazing down on her still face in unutterable anguish and despair. Beside him lay his hat and plume and his sword, cast off as though useless to him evermore.

“Dead!” exclaimed Albert Goldsborough, in horror and amazement.

The Free Sword did not reply or look up; he did not even seem to see or hear the man who addressed him.

The sound of approaching horses’ feet startled Colonel Goldsborough from his trance of amazement.

“Corsoni! It is no use to sit there and be captured! Up and fly! _all is lost!_” he exclaimed, putting spurs to his horse and speeding away.

“Yes, _all is lost_!” murmured the Free Sword, without removing his eyes from the dead face over which he bent.

Another horseman came thundering up in a cloud of dust. It was Mutchison.

“Fly! fly, Colonel Corsoni! Rosenthal is within a hundred yards of you! And all is over!” shouted the giant, as he rushed past without drawing rein.

“Yes, all is over,” muttered the Free Sword, dropping his face down to the cold face beneath him.

“Up and away! We are dead beat!” shouted another equestrian whirlwind that rushed past him.

“Dead beat!” echoed the Free Sword, mechanically.

Abershaw was the next who came. He hurriedly dashed up, threw himself from his saddle, and led his horse up to his chief, hastily exclaiming:

“Colonel Corsoni! For heaven’s sake, fly! There is not a moment to be lost! Rosenthal is a few yards behind! Here! I have brought you a fresh horse! Mount and away! Save yourself!”

The Free Sword lifted his despairing eyes to the face of his faithful follower and pointed in silence to the still form in his arms.

“Madam Corsoni fainted! No wonder, poor lady! Well, I will stay and take care of her. It does not matter so much if I am captured; I shall be treated as a prisoner of war. But you, Colonel! oh, you know the doom that awaits you if you are taken! Mount my horse! Fly and save yourself!”

“Save myself! From what? The worst has happened that could possibly befall me. Oh, Abershaw, look here! and tell me if my life is worth the saving now!” cried Corsoni, in a heart-broken voice, as he pointed to the dead face of his wife.

“Dead! killed! Oh, Heaven, how did that happen?” exclaimed Abershaw, overwhelmed by the sight.

“A Minie ball. She saw the murderous rifle aimed, and threw herself before me, and received in her heart the shot that was intended for my bosom!” said Corsoni, in a voice of such deep despair that his follower groaned aloud.

But time pressed, pressed fearfully; a life hung on every minute! And Abershaw could not leave his chief to indulge in sorrow.

“My Colonel—my brave Free Sword!” he exclaimed, “rouse yourself! A soldier should not yield to grief any more than to fear.”

Corsoni sadly shook his head.

“Come, come, my chief, look up. Think of all your glorious achievements in the cause of the young Confederacy—”

“It was for her—for her, and she is gone,” moaned Corsoni.

“Then up and avenge her! Think of all that you have already done, of all that you may still do for the cause. Think what a career opens before you. When the Confederacy triumphs—”

Corsoni impatiently waved his hand and shook his head.

“The Confederacy,” said the Free Sword, bitterly. “What do you suppose I really cared for the Confederacy? I am a foreigner. What are your civil wars to me? It was for _her_ I drew my sword. She bade me draw it in the cause of the Confederacy, and I did it, as, if she had bid me draw it in the cause of the Union, or of the Lord, or of the Devil, I would have done it. It was for her! for her! and now she is gone!—oh, my pale love! This was not what I took you from your convent for,” he added, gazing with infinite sorrow on the still face.

Then he turned to his follower, saying:

“But go and save yourself, Abershaw. You have yet something to live for.”

“No; I shall stay with you and—her,” firmly replied the man.

Even as Abershaw spoke their pursuers dashed up.

“Ah, here you are, you demon. Yield!” thundered the foremost soldier, dismounting.

“I yield,” gently replied the Free Sword.

Colonel Rosenthal rode up, attended by his staff, among whom was Wing—Wing, his adjutant, with the first lieutenant’s straps upon his shoulders.

“You are a prisoner, Colonel Corsoni. Deliver up your sword,” said Justin, gravely, as he dismounted.—“My God!”

This last exclamation was struck from his lips by the sight of Alberta’s dead body in the arms of her heart-broken husband.

And the most inveterate pursuers of the Free Sword were now gathered around him with looks of pity in their warworn faces.

Colonel Rosenthal lifted his hand, and silently waved these men away.

And all retired except Adjutant Wing.

“I am very sorry for this, Corsoni, very, very sorry,” said Justin compassionately.

The Free Sword looked up. His youthful face seemed suddenly to have grown old and haggard with unutterable woe. Then he gently laid down the form of his wife, and struggled to his feet, and put his hand to his side for the sword that was no longer there. He looked about to find and deliver it to his captor. As he did so, the blood suddenly gushed in torrents from an unsuspected wound in his breast, and his face became livid.

“You are hurt, Corsoni,” said Justin, in a pitiful voice.

“Am I? I didn’t know,” answered the Free Sword, as he reeled and fell beside the body of his wife—DEAD.