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One of Many
Excerpt from One of Many
It was quite as daring a thing which Lieu tenant Cushing now proposed to do.
He had already on a reconnaissance found that the rebel confidence was so great that when grazing the very face of the forts he had received no challenge, and therefore on this night he took twenty men, entered the Cape Fear River, and pulled directly up to Smithville, the rebel head-quarters, landing before the hotel, perhaps twenty-five yards from the fort, and hiding his men on the shore. Obtaining from a negro at a salt work on the bank the requisite information, with two of his Oflicers he crept at midnight, when not a sound disturbed the air, up the principal street to the commanding general's residence, a large house, with verandas, Op posite the barracks, where, about fifteen yards off, lay twelve hundred men without a dream of danger. There had been a gay gathering, apparently, in the house that evening, and delaying till after the guests had gone and the occupants might be sup posed to sleep, Lieutenant Cushing noise lessly tried the unbolted door, entered the hall, glanced into a mess-room, and then as cended the stairs. But at the moment of softly opening the door of a sleeping-room he heard a crash and the whispered call of his officer below, and quickly springing to answer it, he found that his other companion, whom he had left on the veranda, had, in a sublime confidence that the place was al ready taken, gone strutting up and down, awaking the Confederate adjutant-general, who, throwing up a window, found himself suddenly looking into the muzzle of a navy revolver, upon which the sash had been dropped with a clang, and the adjutant, es caping through a back-door, had made for the brush. In an instant the lieutenant was in the room, had struck a wax match, had floored the remaining occupant, the chief engineer of the forces there, and with his pistol at the head of the man, still half dazed with blow out his brains if he spoke, had made him put on some clothes, had learned from him that the commanding general had gone that day to Wilmington, had possessed himself Of the adjutant-general's papers and plans, and was in his boat again and in the middle of the stream before the outraged rebels had gained their senses, or had begun to swarm out and fill the air with cries and calls; and while thesignal-lights were flashing to the forts below, and the long rol-l calling to arms, he was pulling quietly aboard his ship, and carrying the chief engineer of the enemy, snatched from the very teeth of that enemy.
About the Publisher
Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com
This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.
It was quite as daring a thing which Lieu tenant Cushing now proposed to do.
He had already on a reconnaissance found that the rebel confidence was so great that when grazing the very face of the forts he had received no challenge, and therefore on this night he took twenty men, entered the Cape Fear River, and pulled directly up to Smithville, the rebel head-quarters, landing before the hotel, perhaps twenty-five yards from the fort, and hiding his men on the shore. Obtaining from a negro at a salt work on the bank the requisite information, with two of his Oflicers he crept at midnight, when not a sound disturbed the air, up the principal street to the commanding general's residence, a large house, with verandas, Op posite the barracks, where, about fifteen yards off, lay twelve hundred men without a dream of danger. There had been a gay gathering, apparently, in the house that evening, and delaying till after the guests had gone and the occupants might be sup posed to sleep, Lieutenant Cushing noise lessly tried the unbolted door, entered the hall, glanced into a mess-room, and then as cended the stairs. But at the moment of softly opening the door of a sleeping-room he heard a crash and the whispered call of his officer below, and quickly springing to answer it, he found that his other companion, whom he had left on the veranda, had, in a sublime confidence that the place was al ready taken, gone strutting up and down, awaking the Confederate adjutant-general, who, throwing up a window, found himself suddenly looking into the muzzle of a navy revolver, upon which the sash had been dropped with a clang, and the adjutant, es caping through a back-door, had made for the brush. In an instant the lieutenant was in the room, had struck a wax match, had floored the remaining occupant, the chief engineer of the forces there, and with his pistol at the head of the man, still half dazed with blow out his brains if he spoke, had made him put on some clothes, had learned from him that the commanding general had gone that day to Wilmington, had possessed himself Of the adjutant-general's papers and plans, and was in his boat again and in the middle of the stream before the outraged rebels had gained their senses, or had begun to swarm out and fill the air with cries and calls; and while thesignal-lights were flashing to the forts below, and the long rol-l calling to arms, he was pulling quietly aboard his ship, and carrying the chief engineer of the enemy, snatched from the very teeth of that enemy.
About the Publisher
Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com
This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.
22 pages, Paperback
Published July 23, 2017
About the author
Harriet Prescott Spofford
101 books12 followersHarriet Elizabeth Prescott Spofford (April 3, 1835 – August 14, 1921) was a notable American writer remembered for her novels, poems and detective stories.
Born in Calais, Maine, in 1835 Spofford moved with her parents to Newburyport, Massachusetts, which was ever after her home, though she spent many of her winters in Boston and Washington, D.C. She attended the Putnam Free School in Newburyport, and Pinkerton Academy in Derry, New Hampshire from 1853 to 1855. At Newburyport her prize essay on Hamlet drew the attention of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, who soon became her friend, and gave her counsel and encouragement.
Spofford began writing after her parents became sick, sometimes working fifteen hours a day. She contributed story papers for small pay to Boston. In 1859, she sent a story about Parisian life entitled "In a Cellar" to Atlantic Monthly. The magazine's editor, James Russell Lowell, at first believed the story to be a translation and withheld it from publication. Reassured that it was original, he published it and it established her reputation. She became a welcome contributor to the chief periodicals of the United States, both of prose and poetry.
Spofford's fiction had very little in common with what was regarded as representative of the New England mind. Her gothic romances were set apart by luxuriant descriptions, and an unconventional handling of female stereotypes of the day. Her writing was ideal, intense in feeling. In her descriptions and fancies, she reveled in sensuous delights and every variety of splendor.[citation needed]
In 1865, she married Richard S. Spofford, a Boston lawyer. They lived on Deer Island overlooking the Merrimack River at Amesbury, where she died on August 14, 1921.
When Higginson asked Emily Dickinson whether she had read Spofford's work "Circumstance", Dickinson replied, "I read Miss Prescott's 'Circumstance,' but it followed me in the dark, so I avoided her."
Born in Calais, Maine, in 1835 Spofford moved with her parents to Newburyport, Massachusetts, which was ever after her home, though she spent many of her winters in Boston and Washington, D.C. She attended the Putnam Free School in Newburyport, and Pinkerton Academy in Derry, New Hampshire from 1853 to 1855. At Newburyport her prize essay on Hamlet drew the attention of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, who soon became her friend, and gave her counsel and encouragement.
Spofford began writing after her parents became sick, sometimes working fifteen hours a day. She contributed story papers for small pay to Boston. In 1859, she sent a story about Parisian life entitled "In a Cellar" to Atlantic Monthly. The magazine's editor, James Russell Lowell, at first believed the story to be a translation and withheld it from publication. Reassured that it was original, he published it and it established her reputation. She became a welcome contributor to the chief periodicals of the United States, both of prose and poetry.
Spofford's fiction had very little in common with what was regarded as representative of the New England mind. Her gothic romances were set apart by luxuriant descriptions, and an unconventional handling of female stereotypes of the day. Her writing was ideal, intense in feeling. In her descriptions and fancies, she reveled in sensuous delights and every variety of splendor.[citation needed]
In 1865, she married Richard S. Spofford, a Boston lawyer. They lived on Deer Island overlooking the Merrimack River at Amesbury, where she died on August 14, 1921.
When Higginson asked Emily Dickinson whether she had read Spofford's work "Circumstance", Dickinson replied, "I read Miss Prescott's 'Circumstance,' but it followed me in the dark, so I avoided her."
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