Tracked by Bloodhounds
But a new alarm rose in the direction of the forest, which now lay beneath us like a sea slightly silvered on its thousand billows by the sinking moon. The trampling of cavalry was distinctly heard in pursuit, and torches were seen rushing through the trees. The pursuit had turned into the very path by which we came, and the baying of a bloodhound up the ridge was guiding the cavalry to our inevitable capture if we remained. I was resolved not to be taken while I could fight or fly, and pointing out to my fellow fugitives the horsemen, as they scoured the foot of the hills, I plunged down into a ravine, where I could expect to find only some torrent too deep for us to pass. But it was at least protracted fate.
I had given Naomi into the hands of her lover, and while they slowly descended the precipice, returned to its edge to ascertain whether the enemy were still upon our steps. The rock toward the summit was splintered into a number of little pinnacles, grasping one of which, I clung, listening and gazing with indescribable nervousness. The sounds of pursuit had perished, or were so mingled with the common sounds of nature as to be unheard, and I was congratulating myself upon our total safety, and about to return to the spot where I had left my companions, when the torch-light shot up from the dell, immediately below me. I gave a hurried glance along the ravine, but Naomi was not there. A detachment of archers was climbing over the huge rocks that filled up its depth, and flashing torches through every hollow where a human being could lie.
To rescue my unfortunate charge was my first resolve, and I began to let myself down the abrupt side of the hollow before the torches disappeared. They at last seemed to be completely gone, but as I hung within a few feet of the path, a growl and a dash at my throat nearly overthrew my steadiness. I knew that a precipice of immense depth lay underneath, and in the utter darkness I could have no certainty that my next step might not carry me over it.
Victims of the Cross
My sole expedient was to grasp the rock with one hand and defend myself to the last with the other. The bloodhound had tracked me, and he flew again at my throat; but I was now prepared; I caught him in the bound and whirled him down the ravine. His howl, as he fell from crag to crag, betrayed me at once. A hundred torches rushed upward. I climbed the pinnacle, sprang from its top into a pine thicket, and winding over a long extent of broken ground, gradually lost torches and outcries together.
After a pause, to consider in what quarter final escape was most probable, a glimmering light through the thicket at a considerable distance toward the city determined me. My pursuers must be far behind; the loss of the bloodhound diminished still more their chance of reaching my track through a remarkably wild and broken district; and come what would, whether that light was kindled by friends or enemies, I should see them before they could discover me. I struggled on until I reached the base of a ridge, on whose farther side the light gleamed. To ascend it was beyond my powers, but by gliding along the base I found a crevice, which, enlarged whether by nature or the human hand, led through the hill. My way in darkness was brief; I had not gone a third of the distance when the light shone strongly through the cavern. At its mouth I stood overwhelmed—I had strayed into the memorable valley of the Crosses!
Thousands of men, besmeared with blood, dust, and clay, half naked, brandishing weapons still dripping with gore; whirling torches; shouting out roars of triumph; howling in desperate lamentation; kneeling and weeping over the dead with the most violent affliction; wrapping themselves in robes and armor; tearing away their raiment, and flinging sword and spear into the flames; throwing hundreds of corpses into one promiscuous burning, round which they danced with furious exultation; carrying away on litters of lances and branches, corpses that they seemed to hallow as more than mortal; every strange variety of human passion, wound up to its wildest height, was pictured before me, and all was thrown into the most living distinctness by the blaze of an immense central heap of timber.
The Last of the Conflict