XXVI. — THE HOUSE NEAR MONK’S NECK, AND ITS OWNER.
Such was the critical condition of affairs when I again set out to make my regular tour of inspection of the cavalry.
Crossing Hatcher’s Run at Burgess’s Mill, I turned to the left, and soon found myself riding on between the lofty walls of pine, through which the roads of Dinwiddie wind like a serpent.
When near Monk’s Neck, I determined to stop and feed my horse. I always carried, strapped behind my saddle, a small bag containing about a feed of corn for that purpose; and as I generally selected some wayside house where I could, myself, rest while my horse was feeding, I now looked about me to discover such.
My search was speedily rewarded. Three hundred yards from the road, in a clump of stunted trees, I saw a small house, which I soon reached. The surroundings of the establishment were poor and mean beyond expression. Through the open door I could see that the interior was even more poverty-stricken than the outside.
As I dismounted, a man came to this door. Are you fond of natural history, reader; and have you ever amused yourself by instituting comparisons between certain human beings and certain animals—beasts, birds, or fishes? I have seen men who resembled horses, owls, hawks, sheep,—and geese. This one resembled the bird called the penguin. Read the description of the penguins: “Their feet are placed more posteriorly than in any other birds, and only afford them support by resting on the tarsus, which is enlarged, like the sole of the foot of a quadruped. The wings are very small, and are furnished with rudiments of feathers only, resembling scales. Their bodies are covered with oblong feathers, harsh to the touch, and closely applied over each other. * * * * * Their motions are slow and awkward, and from the form of their wings, they can not fly.”
The individual before me recalled the penguin—except that he was excessively lean instead of fat. The feet accorded with the above description; the arms were short, and hung like wings; the coat of the worthy was a ragged “cut-away,” which ended in a point behind, like the tail of a bird; and the movements of the individual were “slow and awkward” to a degree which forbade the supposition that, under any circumstances, he could be induced to fly. Add a long, crane-like neck, two bleared eyes, a mouth stretching from ear to ear, and a nose like the bill of a duck. You will then have before you the gentleman who bore, as I soon discovered, the classic name of Mr. Alibi.
When the worthy, who had flapped his arms, by way of greeting, and shown me into his mansion, informed me that such was his name, I knew that the house at which I now found myself was the place of meeting agreed upon between Nighthawk and Swartz, at their interview in Richmond. Here, also, the man and woman, rescued by Swartz on the Nottoway, had been left, on his way to Petersburg, as the spy had informed us in the Wilderness.
“Well, general,” croaked Mr. Alibi, with a smile, and in a nasal voice, “wha—a—t’s the news?”
“I am only a lieutenant-colonel, Mr. Alibi.”
“Well, colonel, any thing stirring?”
“Nothing, I think. Any news with you, Mr. Alibi? I have heard of you from a friend of yours.”
“Eh! And who mout that be, colonel?”
“Mr. Nighthawk. Have you seen him lately?”
“Na—a—a—w,” said Mr. Alibi, with a prolonged drawl through his nose, and flapping his arms in an uncouth fashion, “I ain’t seen him for a long spell now.”
“Nor Swartz, either?”
Mr. Alibi looked keenly at me.
“Na—a—a—w, nor him nuther, leftenant-colonel.”
“Leave out the ‘leftenant,’ my dear Mr. Alibi; and call me ‘colonel’—it is shorter,” I said, laughing, as I looked at the queer figure. “And so you have not seen Swartz lately? He made an appointment to meet Nighthawk here.”
“Made an app’intment, did he, leftenant—least ways, colonel?”
“Yes.”
“With Mr. Nighthawk?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I reckon they are both dead, or they’d ‘a’ kept their app’intment.”
“Nighthawk dead!”
“He must be, sartain.”
“You are mistaken, friend Alibi,” said a voice behind him.
And Nighthawk, in person, entered the house.