With rapid strokes the refugees urged their boat along, as if desirous to gain their destination, whatever it was, before nightfall. For nearly an hour they continued to advance in this way, between shores still overgrown with forest, with here and there a small clearing peeping out on the river. At last, on turning a sudden bend in the stream, they came in sight of a considerable settlement. A small field piece was mounted near the bank; and quite a number of armed men lounged about; while a couple of sentinels marched to and fro behind the cannon. On a flag-staff, in front of one of the houses, floated the stars and stripes of the confederated states.
Kate had noticed, that, as this settlement opened to view, the refugees had kept away, as close as possible to the other side of the river: but scarcely had they rounded the point and came fairly in view of the sentinels, when a hail sounded across the water.
To pass this armed party was almost impossible, for the boat had still a considerable distance to go before it would be in front of the dwellings: and even if it should safely reach and pass that point, it would be within range of their muskets for a long distance below, to say nothing of the field piece. The heart of our heroine beat high with hope. Here, when she least expected it, was succor. For she resolved, the instant the boat came to, to declare herself and claim protection, even if Arrison had his pistol at her heart.
The refugees appeared as disconcerted as she was overjoyed. They looked at each other and at their leader in dismay; but continued pulling lustily, still hugging the opposite shore. They were not allowed to go far, however, unchecked; for the sentinels, finding their summons disregarded, fired at the boat; and the ball of one of them passing close to Arrison, he suddenly ordered a halt.
“This is the devil’s own work,” he said, savagely. “Keep still, Miss, or I’ll put my knife into you,” he added, as Kate seized the opportunity to waive her handkerchief; and he snatched the handkerchief from her. “They are getting ready to fire their field-piece. We shall never be able to pass them. Who’d have thought that the rebel knaves would have rallied so quickly.”
“We’d better turn back,” said one of the men, who seemed the leading person after Arrison. “It’s been slack water for some time, and the tide will begin to run up directly; it’s making up, in fact, already, along shore. Before we could get by, with no wind and a head tide, they’d smash our boat to pieces with their cursed gun.”
“Back let it be then,” said Arrison, after a minute’s angry reflection. “We’ll lose the bounty, lads; but,” he continued, as if by a sudden thought, “we’ll have the prize; and gad! I’ll find a way to make that pay you better than if we had gone on.”
A burst of brutal merriment from the man was the answer to this sally, which, though partly enigmatical to Kate, had yet sufficient meaning to her to terrify her beyond description. For the words seemed to imply that the return of the ruffians would involve her in a more dreadful peril than even that which she had escaped.
The sentinels had remained quiet, watching the boat during this pause, because evidently expecting obedience to their summons. But when the refugees turned her head up the stream, and began vigorously propelling her in that direction, there was a general stir on shore, and several persons, hastily running to the bank, fired their muskets at the retreating boat. The balls came whistling by, and one even struck the gunwale not far from Kate. Simultaneously the field piece was trained after the fugitives, while a man ran to the nearest house as if for fire to discharge it.
“Pull, pull for your lives, my boys,” shouted Arrison, leaning forward and assisting the man who pulled the stroke oar. “If we once get round the point again, we are safe.”