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With these words Nighthawk pointed to an open window about ten feet from the ground; glided past me through the broken sash of one beside which we were standing, and disappeared like a shadow. I waited, holding my breath. From the upper portion of the house came the muffled sound of voices.
If you write a book, and put me in it, send me a copy in Canada!" A moment afterward I was wending my way through the shrubbery, thinking of the curious personage I had left. At the gate Nighthawk awaited me, and I scarcely recognized him. He had resumed his red beard, and green glasses.
Nighthawk, waving his arm and smiling; "not a cow, a hog, a mule, or a mouthful of food has been left me. They have destroyed the very furniture of my modest dwelling, and I am cast, a mere pauper, on the cold charities of the world!" Mr. Nighthawk had ceased smiling, and looked grave; while it was I who burst into laughter.
"I am glad to see you again, colonel," he said benignantly; "I heard that you were in the city and called at your lodgings, but found you absent." "You wished to see me particularly, then, Nighthawk." "Yes, and to-night, colonel." "Ah!" "I know you are a friend of General Mohun's." "A very sincere friend."
Nighthawk appeared to think it a great joke on Chirpy Cricket, because Chirpy had thought he played the fiddle. He laughed in a most disagreeable fashion. And he kept repeating that people who didn't know a wind instrument when they heard it couldn't know much about music. As for Chirpy, he didn't know just what to say. But at last he managed to stammer that he hoped he hadn't offended Mr.
He was sitting on an old broken chair, beside a table with three legs, and his hand was buried in his hair, as if he was trying to tear it out. "When I called to him, he started, and his groans stopped. He turned his head. No sooner had he recognized me than he cried out with joy; and for some moments he could say nothing but 'Save me! save me! Nighthawk! They are starving me to death!
The worthy smiled. "You know I am the 'man before the battle, general?" "Yes, go on, Nighthawk." "I have just left General Hooker's head-quarters." "Where are they?" "Beyond Centreville." "You saw him?" "I conversed with him." "Ah!" "An hour, general, as the Rev. Mr. Ward, from Massachusett, of the 'Grand Union Sanitary Commission'." And Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
Alibi appeared with the cavalryman. He proved to belong to Mohun's command. I entrusted the note to him, cautioning him that it was important, and must reach Mohun promptly then I looked at my watch. It was four o'clock. Already the sun was declining toward the wooded horizon; I looked toward it, and then at Nighthawk, who nodded.
The "skirl" of the nighthawk ceases; but away through the woods, down at the creek, the whippoorwill begins her oft-repeated trinity of notes. A hoot owl calls from a near-by tree. The pungent smoke of the wood-fire is sweeter than incense. Venus hangs like a silver lamp in the northwest.
The horse came on at a headlong gallop, but suddenly a cavalier came up with him, seized the bridle, and threw him violently on his haunches. The new-comer was Nighthawk. Leaping to the ground, he seized the body of Mohun in his arms, extricated his foot from the stirrup, and remounted his own horse, with the form of his master still clasped to his breast.
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