15 The Taking of Chudleigh

We were forced to ride with some slowness owing to the blown condition of our horses, and anxiety began to gnaw me to the marrow. We had come so fast that the time to overtake Chudleigh, if in truth we had not passed him already, had arrived. In such calculations I was interrupted by the sight of a loose horse in the road, saddled and bridled, but riderless. He was in a lather, like ours, and I guessed at once that this was the horse Chudleigh had taken. In some manner—perhaps he had seen us, though unseen himself—he had learned that he was pursued hotly, and, fearing to be overtaken, had abandoned his horse and taken to the woods and fields. Such at least was my guess.

I esteemed it great good luck when I saw a man standing in the edge of a cornfield staring at us. He was a common-looking fellow with a dirty face. Stupid, I thought, but perhaps he has seen what happened here and can tell me. I hailed him, and he answered in a thick voice, though not unfriendly. I asked him about the horse, and if he knew who had abandoned him there. He answered with that degree of excitement a plowboy would most likely show on such occasions that he was just going to tell us about it. I bade him haste with his narration.

He said, with thick, excited tongue, that a man had come along the road urging his horse into a gallop. When they reached the field the horse broke down and would go no farther. The rider, after belaboring him in vain, leaped down, and, leaving the horse to care for himself, turned from the road.

This news excited Whitestone, Adams, and me. It was confirmation of our suspicions, and proof also that we were pressing Chudleigh hard.

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“Not five minutes,” replied the plowman.

“Which way did he go?” I asked, my excitement increasing.

“He took the side road yonder,” replied the plowman.

“What road?” exclaimed Whitestone, breaking in.

“The road that leads off to the right—yonder, at the end of the field.”

I was about to set off in a gallop, but it occurred to me as a happy thought that this fellow, knowing the country so well, would be useful as a guide. I ordered him to get on the loose horse, now somewhat rested, and lead the way. He demurred. But it was no time to be squeamish or overly polite, so I drew my pistol and warned him. Thereupon he showed himself a man of judgment and mounted, and taking the lead of us, obedient to my command, also showed himself to be a very fair horseman.

In a few seconds we entered the diverging road, which was narrow, scarce more than a path. It led between two fields, and then through some thin woods.

“You are military folks,” said our guide, turning a look upon me. “Is the man you are after a deserter?”

“No,” said I, “a spy.”

“If you overtake him and he fights, I don’t have any part in it,” he said.

“You needn’t risk your skin,” I said. “It is enough for you to guide us.”

I laughed a bit at his cowardice; but after all I had no right to laugh. It was no business of his to do our fighting for us.

“Perhaps he has turned into these woods,” said Whitestone.

“No, he has gone on,” said our guide, “I can see his footsteps in the dust.”

Traces like those of human footsteps were in truth visible in the dust, but we had no time to stop for examination. We rode on, watching the country on either side of the road. The heat and animation of the chase seemed to affect our guide, heavy plowman though he was.

“There go his tracks still!” he cried. “See, by the edge of the road, by the grass there?”

“We’ll catch him in five minutes!” cried Adams, full of enthusiasm.

Our guide was ten feet in front of me, leaning over and looking about with much eagerness. A curve in the road two or three hundred yards ahead became visible. Suddenly I noticed an increase of excitement in the expression of our guide.

“I see him! I see him!” he cried.

“Where? Where?” I shouted.

“Yonder! yonder! Don’t you see, just turning the curve in the road? There! He has seen us too, and is drawing a pistol. Gentlemen, remember your agreement: I’m not to do any of the fighting. I will fall back.”

“All right!” I cried. “You’ve done your share of the business. Drop back.—Forward, Whitestone! We’ve got our man now!”

In a high state of excitement we whipped our horses forward, paying no further attention to the plowman, for whom in truth we had use no longer. Our horses seemed to share our zeal, and recalled their waning strength and spirits. Forward we went at a fine pace, all three of us straining our eyes to catch the first glimpse of the fugitive when we should turn the curve around the hill.

“Two to one I beat you, Whitestone!” I said.

“Then you’ll have to push your horse more,” said the sergeant, whose mount was neck and neck with mine.

In truth it looked as if he would pass me, but I managed to draw a supreme effort from my horse and we went ahead a little. However, I retained the advantage but a few moments. Whitestone crept up again, and we continued to race neck and neck. Adams, upon whom we had not counted as a formidable antagonist, overhauled us, though he could not pass us.

Thus we three, side by side, swept around the curve, and the command to the fugitive to halt and surrender was ready upon our lips.

The turn of the curve brought us into a wide and bare plain, and we pulled up astonished. Nowhere was a human being visible, and upon that naked expanse concealment was impossible.

We stared at each other in amazement, and then in shame. The truth of the trick struck me like a rifle shot. Why did I wait until he was gone to remember something familiar in the voice of that plowman, something known in the expression of that face? I think the truth came to me first, but before I said anything Whitestone ejaculated:

“Chudleigh!”

“Without doubt,” I replied.

“I told you the third time would not fail,” he said.

“I wish it had failed,” I exclaimed in wrath and fury, “for he has made fools of us!”

We wheeled our horses about as if they turned on pivots and raced back after the wily plowman. I swore to myself a mighty oath that I would cease to be certain about the identity of anybody, even of Whitestone himself. Whitestone swore out loud about a variety of things, and Adams was equal to his opportunities.

We were speedily back in the main road. I doubted not that Chudleigh had hurried on toward the south. In truth he could not afford to do otherwise, and he would profit as fast as he could by the breathing space obtained through the trick he had played upon us. I wondered at the man’s courage and presence of mind, and it was a marvel that we had not gone much farther on the wrong road before detecting the stratagem.

The road lay across a level country and we saw nothing of Chudleigh. Nevertheless we did not spare our weary horses. We were sure he was not very far ahead, and it was no time for mercy to horseflesh. Yet I thought of the poor brutes. I said to Whitestone I trusted they would last.

“As long as his, perhaps,” replied Whitestone.

But the truth soon became evident that he was wrong in part. We heard a great groan, louder than a man can make, and Adams’s horse went down in a cloud of dust. I pulled up just enough to see that Adams was not hurt, and to shout to him:

“Follow us as best you can!”

Then on we went. Far ahead of us in the road we saw a black speck. Whether man, beast, or a stump, I could not say, but we hoped it was Chudleigh.

“See, it moves!” cried Whitestone.

Then it was not a stump, and the chance that it was Chudleigh increased. Soon it became apparent that the black object was not only moving, but moving almost as fast as we. By and by we could make out the figure of a man lashing a tired horse. That it was Chudleigh no longer admitted of doubt.

“We’ll catch him yet! His trick shall not avail him!” I cried exultingly to Whitestone.

The wise sergeant kept silent and saved his breath. I looked back once and saw a man running after us, though far away. I knew it was Adams following us on foot, faithful to his duty.

I felt a great shudder running through the horse beneath me, and then the faithful animal began to reel like a man in liquor. I could have groaned in disappointment, for I knew these signs betokened exhaustion, and a promise that the pursuit would be left to Whitestone alone. But even as my mind formed the thought, Whitestone’s horse fell as Adams’s had fallen. My own, seeing his last comrade go down, stopped stock still, and refused to stir another inch under the sharpest goad.

“What shall we do?” I cried to Whitestone.

“Follow on foot!” he replied. “His horse must be almost as far gone as ours!”

We paused only to snatch our pistols from the holsters, and then on foot we pierced the trail of dust Chudleigh’s horse had left behind him. The fine dust crept into eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. I coughed and spluttered, and just as I was rubbing sight back into my eyes I heard a joyful cry from Whitestone. I was able to see then through the dust, and I beheld Chudleigh abandoning his horse and taking to the woods on foot.

“It’s a foot race now, and not a horse race!” I said to Whitestone.

“Yes, and we must still win!” he replied.

Poor Adams was lost to sight behind us.

About two hundred yards from the road the woods began. I feared that if Chudleigh reached these he might elude us, and I pushed myself as I had pushed my horse. Being long-legged and country bred, I am a fair runner; in fact, it is a muscular talent upon which I used to pride myself. The sergeant puffed much at my elbow, but managed to keep his place.

I now perceived with much joy that we could outrun Chudleigh. When he dashed into the woods we had made a very smart gain upon him, and in truth were too near for him to elude us by doubling or turning in the undergrowth. Despite the obstacle of the trees and the bushes we were yet able to keep him in view, and, better acquainted with this sort of work than he, we gained upon him even more rapidly than before. We flattered ourselves that we would soon have him. Though it was a heavy draught upon my breath, I shouted with all my might to Chudleigh to stop and yield. For answer he whirled around and fired a pistol at us. The sergeant grunted, and stopped.

“Go on and take him yourself!” he said hastily to me. “His bullet’s in my leg! No bones broke, but I can’t run any more! Adams will take care of me!”

Obedient to his command and my own impulse I continued the chase. Perhaps if I had been cooler in mind I might not have done so, for Chudleigh had proved himself a man; he probably had another pistol, and another bullet in that other pistol; in case that other bullet and I met, I knew which would have to yield, but I consoled myself with the reflection that I too had a pistol and some acquaintance with its use.

Chudleigh did not look back again, and perhaps did not know that he was now pursued by only one man. He continued his flight as zealously as ever. As I may have observed before, and with truth too, it incites one’s courage wonderfully to have a man run from him, and seeing Chudleigh’s back I began to feel quite competent to take him alone. We wound about among the trees at a great rate. I was gaining, though I was forced to pump my breath up from great depths. But I was consoled by the reflection that, however tired I might be, surely he fared no better. I shouted to him again and again, to stop, but he ran as if he were born deaf.

Presently I noticed that he was curving back toward the road, and I wondered at his purpose. A moment later he burst from the trees into the open ground. I was within fair pistol shot, and, with trees and bushes no longer obstructing, he was a good target. I doubted not that I could hit him, and since he would not stop for my voice, I must see if a bullet would make him more obedient.

I raised my pistol and took the good aim which one can do running if he has had the practice. But my heart revolted at the shot. If I could risk so much for Kate Van Auken’s brother, surely I could risk something for Kate Van Auken’s lover. I do not take praise to myself for not shooting Chudleigh, as I was thinking that if I did fire the shot I would have but a poor tale to tell to Mistress Catherine.

I let down the hammer of the pistol and stuffed the weapon into my pocket. Chudleigh was now running straight toward the road. My wonder what his purpose might be increased.

Of a sudden he drew a second pistol and fired it at me, but his bullet sped wide of the mark. He threw the pistol on the ground and tried to run faster.

I thought that when he reached the road he would follow it to the south, hoping to shake me off; but, very much to my surprise, he crossed it, and kept a straight course toward the river. Then I divined that he being a good swimmer, hoped I was not, and that thus he might escape me. But I can swim as well as run, and I prepared my mind for the event. When he reached the river he threw off his coat with a quick movement and sprang boldly into the stream. But I was ready. I threw my own coat aside—the only one I had—and leaped into the water after him.

If I was a good swimmer, so was Chudleigh. When I rose from my first splash he was already far from me, floating partly with the stream, and following a diagonal course toward the farther shore. I swam after him with vigorous strokes. Curiously enough, the severe exertion to which I had been subjecting myself on land did not seem to affect me in the water. I suppose a new set of muscles came into play, for I felt fresh and strong. Moreover, I resolved that I would cling to Chudleigh to the very last; that I would not let him by any chance escape me. I felt again that the entire fate of the great campaign depended upon me, and me alone. With such a feeling, one’s sense of importance grows much, and I think it made my arm stronger also, which was what I needed more particularly just then.

Chudleigh dived once and remained under water a long time, with the probable intent of deceiving me in regard to his course. But the trick worked against him rather than for him; when he came up he was nearer to me than before. I thought also that his strokes were growing weaker, and I was confirmed in such belief by the amount of water he splashed about, as if his efforts were desperate rather than judicious.

I swam, my strokes long and steady, and gained upon him with much rapidity. We were approaching the shore, when he, looking back, perceived that I must overtake him before he could reach land.

With an abruptness for which I was unprepared, he swam about and faced me as much as to say: “Come on; if you take me, you must fight me first.”

Chudleigh, with only his head above water, was not especially beautiful to look at. The dirt with which he had disguised himself when he played false guide to us was washed off partly, and remained partly in streaks of mud, which made him look as if a hot gridiron had been slapped of a sudden upon his face. Moreover, Chudleigh was angry, very angry; his eyes snapped as if he were wondering why I could not let him alone.

I may have looked as ugly as Chudleigh, but I could not see for myself. I swam a little closer to him, looking him straight in the eye, in order that I might see what he intended to do the moment he thought it.

“Why do you follow me?” he asked, with much anger in his tone.

“Why do you run from me?” I asked.

“What I do is no business of yours,” he said.

“Oh, yes, it is,” I replied. “You’re Captain Chudleigh of the British army, an escaped prissoner, and I’ve come to recapture you.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to do it,” he said.

“I do,” I replied, though, to tell the truth, I had not yet thought of a way to manage the matter, which seemed to present difficulties. In the meantime I confined myself to treading water. Chudleigh did the same.

“That was a dirty trick you played on us back there,” I said, “palming yourself off on us as a guide.”

“I didn’t do it,” he replied in an injured tone. “You’re to blame yourself. You forced me at the pistol’s muzzle.”

He told the truth, I was forced to confess.

“We’ll let that pass,” I said. “Now, will you surrender?”

“Never!” he replied, in manner most determined.

“Then you will force me to a violent recapture,” I said.

“I fail to see how you are going to do it,” he said with much grimness. “If you seize me here in the water, I will seize you, and then we will drown together, which will be very unpleasant for both of us.”

There was much truth in what he said. A blind man or a fool could see it.

“Let us swim to land and fight it out with our fists,” I proposed, remembering how I had overcome Albert, and confident that I could dispose of Chudleigh in similar fashion.

“Oh, no,” he said decidedly, “I am very comfortable where I am.”

“Then you like water better than most British officers,” I said.

“It has its uses,” he replied contentedly.

There was nothing more to do just then but to tread water and think.

“Come, come, captain,” I said after a while, “be reasonable. I’ve overtaken you. You can’t get away. Surrender like a gentleman, and let’s go ashore and dry ourselves. This water’s getting cold.”

“I see no reason why I should surrender,” he replied. “Besides, the water is no colder for you than it is for me.”

There was no answer to this logic. Moreover, what he said sounded like a challenge. So I set myself to thinking with more concentration than ever. There was another and longer interval of silence. I hoped that Whitestone or Adams would appear, but neither did so. After all, I had little right to expect either. We had left them far behind, and also we had changed our course. There was nothing to guide them.

I addressed myself once more to Chudleigh’s reason.

“Your errand is at an end,” I said. “Whether I take you now or not, you can not shake me off. You will never get through to Clinton. Besides, you are losing all your precious time here in the river.”

But he preserved an obstinacy most strange and vexatious. He did not even reply to me, but kept on treading water. I perceived that I must use with him some other means than logic, however sound and unanswerable the latter might be.

Sometimes it happens to me, as doubtless it does to other people, that after being long in a puzzle, the answer comes to me so suddenly and so easily that I wonder why I did not see it first glance.

Without any preliminaries that would seem to warn Chudleigh, I dived out of sight. When I came up I was in such shallow water that I could wade. Near me was a huge bowlder protruding a good two feet above the water. I walked to it, climbed upon it, and taking a comfortable position above the water, looked at Chudleigh, who seemed to be much surprised and aggrieved at my sudden countermarch.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I replied, “except that I am tired of treading water. Come and join me; it’s very pleasant up here.”

He declined my invitation, which I had worded most courteously. I remained silent for a while; then I said:

“Better come. You can’t tread water forever. If you stay there much longer you’ll catch the cramp and drown.”

I lolled on the bowlder and awaited the end with calmness and satisfaction. My signal advantage was apparent.

“I’ll swim to the other shore,” said he presently.

“You can’t,” I replied. “It’s too far; you haven’t strength enough left for it.”

I could see that he was growing tired. He looked around him at either shore and up and down the river, but we were the only human beings within the circle of that horizon.

“What terms of surrender do you propose?” he said at last, with a certain despair in his tone.

“Unconditional.”

“That is too hard.”

“My advantage warrants the demand.”

He was silent again for a few moments, and was rapidly growing weaker. I thought I would hasten matters.

“I will not treat you badly,” I said. “All I want to do is to take you back to our army.”

“Well, I suppose I must accept,” he said, “for I am growing devilish cold and tired.”

“Pledge your honor,” I said, “that you will make no attempt to escape, with the understanding that the pledge does not forbid rescue.”

“I give you my word,” he said.

Whereupon he swam to shore, to the great relief of us both.

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