The Partisan: A Tale of the Revolution.
By the Author of "The Yemassee," "Guy Rivers," &c. In Two Volumes.
Vol. I:
Electronic Edition.
Simms, William Gilmore, 1806-1870.
Funding from the University of North Carolina Library supported the electronic publication of this title.
Text transcribed by
Apex Data Services, Inc.
Images scanned by
Brian Dietz
Text encoded by
Apex Data Services, Inc., and Sarah Ficke
First edition, 2006
ca. 492K
University Library, UNC-Chapel Hill
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
2006.
© This work is the property of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It may be used freely by individuals for research, teaching and personal use as long as this statement of availability is included in the text.
Source Description:
(title page) The Partisan: A Tale of the Revolution. By the Author of "The Yemassee," "Guy Rivers," &c. In Two Volumes. Vol. I
(spine) The Partisan. A Novel. By the Author of "Guy Rivers," "The Yemassee," &c. &c. In Two Volumes. Vol. I
(caption) The Partisan.
Simms, William Gilmore, 1806-1870.
[i]-xii, [13]-244 p.
New York
Harper & Brothers
1835.
Call number PS2848 .P2 1835 (Rare Book Collection, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)
This electronic edition is a part of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill digital library, Documenting the American South.
The text has been entered using double-keying and verified against the original.
The text has been encoded using the recommendations for Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines.
Original grammar, punctuation, and spelling have been preserved. Encountered typographical errors have been preserved, and appear in red type.
All footnotes are inserted at the point of reference within paragraphs.
Any hyphens occurring in line breaks have been removed, and the trailing part of a word has been joined to the preceding line.
All quotation marks, em dashes and ampersand have been transcribed as entity references.
All double right and left quotation marks are encoded as " and " respectively.
All single right and left quotation marks are encoded as ' and ' respectively.
All em dashes are encoded as --
Indentation in lines has not been preserved.
Running titles have not been preserved.
Spell-check and verification made against printed text using Author/Editor (SoftQuad) and Microsoft Word spell check programs.
Library of Congress Subject Headings
Languages Used:
- English
LC Subject Headings:
Revision History:
- 2006-,
Celine Noel and Wanda Gunther
revised TEIHeader and created catalog record for the electronic edition.
-
2006-10-18,
Sarah Ficke
finished TEI-conformant encoding and final proofing.
-
2005-01-24,
Sarah Ficke
finished TEI/SGML encoding.
- 2004-04-23,
Apex Data Services, Inc.
finished transcribing the text.
[Cover Image]
[Spine Image]
[Title Page Image]
[Title Page Verso Image]
Page [ii]
SIMMS' WORKS,
RECENTLY PUBLISHED
BY HARPER & BROTHERS.
- THE PARTISAN: a Tale of the Revolution. In 2 vols. 12mo.
- THE YEMASSEE: a Romance of Carolina. In 2 vols. 12mo. Third Edition.
- GUY RIVERS: a Tale of Georgia. In 2 vols 12mo. Third Edition.
- MARTIN FABER, the Story of a Criminal. Second Edition. 12mo.
- ATALANTIS, a Story of the Sea. 8vo.
THE PARTISAN:
A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE YEMASSEE," "GUY RIVERS," &c.
"And Liberty's vitality, like Truth,
Is still undying. As the sacred fire
Nature has shrined in caverns, still it burns,
Though the storm howls without."
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET,
AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE
UNITED STATES.
1835.
Page verso
[Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.]
Page [v]
TO RICHARD YEADON, JR., ESQ.,
OF SOUTH CAROLINA.
DEAR SIR,
MY earliest, and, perhaps, most pleasant rambles in the fields of literature, were taken in your company--permit me to remind you of that period by inscribing the present volumes with your name.
THE AUTHOR.
Barnwell, South Carolina, July 1, 1835.
Page vii
ADVERTISEMENT.
SPENDING a few weeks, some eighteen months ago, with a friend,* in the neighbourhood of the once beautiful, but now utterly decayed, town of Dorchester, South Carolina, I availed myself of the occasion to revisit the old, and, at one time, familiar ruins. * Mr. John W. Sommers, of St. Paul's Parish--a gentleman whose fine conversational powers and elegant hospitality need no eulogy from me for their proper appreciation among all those who know him.
When a boy, I had frequently rambled over the ground, and listened to its chronicles from the lips of one--now no more--who had been conversant with all its history. Many of its little legends were known to me, and the story of more than one of its inhabitants, of whom nothing now remains but the record in the burial-place, had been long since registered in my mind. These,--together with its own sad transition by repeated disasters, from the busy bustle of the crowded thoroughfare, to the silence and the desolation of the tombs--were well adapted to inspire in me a sentiment of veneration; and, with the revival of many old time feelings and associations, I strolled through the solemn ruins--the dismantled church--the frowning fortress, now almost hidden in the accumulating forests--reading and musing as I went, among the mouldering tombstones, and finding food for sweet thoughts and a busy fancy at every step in my ramble. The
Page viii
walls of the fort, built of the shell and mortar, or tapia work, and still in tolerable preservation--the old church, tottering, but still erect, and the grassy hillocks marking the dwelling-places of the dead--are all that now remain in proof of its sometime existence, as the abiding-place of living man.
In this ramble, the restless imagination grew active in the contemplation of objects so well calculated to stimulate its exercise. Memory came warmly and vividly to its aid, and recalled a series of little events, carefully treasured up by the local tradition, which, unconsciously, my mind began to throw together, and to combine in form. Some of these had long before ministered to my own pleasurable emotions--why should they not yield similar pleasure to others? I revolved them over, thoughtfully, with this idea. The Revolutionary history of the colony was full of references to the neighbourhood; and numberless incidents, of a nature purely domestic, were yet so associated with some of the public occurrences of that period, that I could not well resist the desire to link them more closely together. The design grew more familiar and more feasible, the more I contemplated it; and though intervening difficulties, and other labours, have hitherto prevented my prosecution of the purpose, I have still continued to revolve it over as some unavoidable and favourite topic. To these circumstances, and to this desire, "The Partisan" owes its origin.
The work was originally contemplated as one of a series, to be devoted to our War of Independence. With this object, I laid the foundation more broadly and deeply than I should have done had I purposed merely the single work. Several of the persons employed
Page ix
were destined to be the property of the series;--that part of it, at least, which belonged to the locality. Three of these works were to have been devoted to South Carolina, and to comprise three distinct periods of the war of the Revolution in that state. One, and the first of these, is the story now submitted to the reader. I know not that I shall complete, or even continue the series. Much will depend upon the reception of the present narrative. I will not bind myself to the prosecution of an experiment, hazardous in many respects, and the success of which, is, at present, so problematical.
The "Partisan" comprises the leading events from the fall of Charlestown, to the close of 1780; and is proposed as a fair picture of the province--its condition, resources, and prospects--pending the struggle of Gates with Cornwallis, and immediately after the disastrous close of that campaign, in the complete defeat of the southern defending army. In the narrative, the various and very copious histories of the time have been continually before me. I have drawn from one, or from the other, as it seemed most to answer my purpose, or to accord with the truth. The work, indeed, is chiefly historical.
Even where the written history has not been found, tradition, and the local chronicles, preserved as family records, have contributed the rest. The story of Frampton, for example, greatly modified, indeed, in many respects, was one which I had heard in childhood. That of Col. Walton is a familiar one in Carolina domestic history--recorded and unrecorded. The minor events--the little ambuscade and sortie--the plans of fight--of forage--of flight and safety--are all
Page x
familiar features of the partisan warfare; and the title of the work, indeed, will persuade the reader to look rather for a true description of that mode of warfare, than for any consecutive story comprising the fortunes of a single personage. This, he is solicited to keep in mind, as one of my leading objects has been to give a picture, not only of the form and pressure of the time itself, but of the thousand scattered events making up its history. The very title should imply something desultory in the progress and arrangement of the tale; and my aim has been to give a story of events, rather than of persons. The one, of course, could not well have been done without the other; yet it has been my object to make myself as greatly independent as possible of the necessity which would combine them. A sober desire for history--the unwritten, the unconsidered, but veracious history--has been with me, in this labour, a sort of principle. The phases of a time of errors and of wrongs--of fierce courage--tenacious patriotism--yielding, but struggling virtue, not equal to the pressure of circumstances, and falling for a time, Antæus-like, only for a renewal and recovery of its strength--it has been my aim to delineate, with all the rapidity of one, who, with the mystic lantern, runs his uncouth shapes and varying shadows along the gloomy wall, startling the imagination and enkindling curiosity. The medium through which we now look at these events, is, in some respects, that of a glass darkened. The characters rise up before us grimly or indistinctly. We scarcely believe, yet we cannot doubt. The evidence is closed--the testimony now irrefutable--and imagination, however audacious in her own province, only ventures to imbody and model those features of
Page xi
the past, which the sober truth has left indistinct, as not within her notice, or unworthy her regard.
I have entitled the "Partisan" a tale of the Revolution--it was intended to be particularly such. The characters, many of them, are names in the nation, familiar as our thoughts. Gates, Marion, De Kalb, and the rest, are all the property of our country. In the illustrations which I have presumed to give of these personages, I have followed the best authorities. The severity with which I have visited the errors of the former general, is sustained by all the writers--by Otho Williams, by Lee, by Johnson, and the current histories. There can be little doubt, I believe, of the truth, in his case, of my drawing. It may be insisted on, as of questionable propriety, thus to revive these facts, and to dwell upon the faults and foibles of a man conspicuous in our history, and one, who, in a single leading event, contributed so largely to the glory of its pages. But, on this point, I am decided, that a nation gains only, in glory and in greatness, as it is resolute to behold and to pursue the truth. I would paint the disasters of my country, where they arose from the obvious error of her sons, in the strongest possible colours. We should then know--our sons and servants, alike, should then know--how best to avoid them. The rock which has wrecked us once, should become the beacon for our heirs hereafter. It is only by making it so, that the vicissitudes of life--its follies or misfortunes--can be made tributary to its triumphs. For this reason I have dwelt earnestly upon our disasters; and, with a view to the moral, I have somewhat departed from the absolute plan of the story, to dilate upon the dangerous errors of the leading personages in the
Page xii
events drawn upon. The history of the march of Gates's army, I have carefully elaborated with this object; and the reflecting mind will see the parallel position of cause and effect which I have studiously sought to make obvious, wherever it seemed to me necessary for the purposes of instruction. It is in this way, only, that the novel may be made useful, when it ministers to morals, to mankind, and to society.
Page [13]
THE PARTISAN.
CHAPTER I.
"Oh, grievous desolation! look, and see
Their sad condition! 'Tis a piercing sight:
A country overthrown and crushed--the scythe
Gone over it in wrath--and sorrowing Grief
Dumb with her weight of wo."
OUR narrative begins in South Carolina, during the summer of 1780. The arms of the British were at that time triumphant throughout the colony. Their armies overran it. Charlestown, the chief city, had stood a siege, and had fallen, after a protracted and honourable defence. One-half of the military strength of the lower country, then the most populous region, had become prisoners of war by this disaster; and, for the present, were thus incapacitated from giving any assistance to their brethren in arms. Scattered, crushed, and disheartened by repeated failures, the whigs, in numerous instances, hopeless of any better fortune, had given in their adhesion to the enemy, and had received a pledge of British protection. This protection secured them, as it was thought, in their property and persons, and its conditions simply called for their neutrality. Many of the more firm and honourably tenacious, scorning all compromise with invasion, fled for shelter to the swamps and mountains; and, through the former, all Europe could not have traced their footsteps. In the whole state, at this period, the cause of American liberty had no head, and almost as little hope: all was gloomy and
Page 14
unpromising. Marion, afterward styled the "Swamp Fox," and Sumter, the "Game Cock"--epithets aptly descriptive of their several military attributes--had not yet properly risen in arms, though both of them had been engaged already in active and successful service. Their places of retreat were at this time unknown; and, certainly, they were not then looked to, as at an after period, with that anxious reliance which their valour subsequently taught their countrymen to entertain. Nothing, indeed, could be more deplorably prostrate than were the energies of the colony. Here and there, only, did some little partisan squad make a stand, or offer a show of resistance to the incursive British or the marauding and malignant tory--disbanding, if not defeated, most usually after the temporary object had been obtained, and retreating for security into shelter and inaction. There was no sort of concert, save in feeling, among the many who were still not unwilling for the fight: they doubted or they dreaded one another; they knew not whom to trust. The next-door neighbour of the stanch whig was not unfrequently a furious loyalist--as devoted to George the Third as the other could have been to the intrinsic beauty of human liberty. The contest of the Revolution, so far as it had gone, had confirmed and made tenacious this spirit of hostility and opposition, until, in the end, patriot and loyalist had drawn the sword against one another, and rebel and tory were the degrading epithets by which they severally distinguished the individual whose throat they strove to cut. When the metropolis fell into the hands of the British, and their arms extended through the state, the tories alone were active and formidable. They now took satisfaction for their own previous trials; and crime was never so dreadful a monster as when they ministered to its appetites. Mingled in with the regular troops of the British, or forming separate bodies of their own, and officered from among themselves, they penetrated the well-known recesses which gave shelter to the fugitives. If the rebel resisted, they slew him without quarter; if he submitted, they hung
Page 15
him without benefit of clergy: they spoiled his children of their possessions, and not unfrequently slew them also. But few sections of the low and middle country escaped their search. It was only in the bald regions of North Carolina that the fugitives could find repose; only where the most miserable poverty took from crime all temptation, that the beaten and maltreated patriots dared to give themselves a breathing-space from flight. In the same manner the frontier-colony of Georgia had already been overrun and ravaged by the conquerors; and there, as it was less capable of resistance, all show of opposition had been long since at an end. The invader, deceived by these appearances, declared in swelling language to his monarch, that the two colonies were properly subjugated, and would now return to their obedience. He knew not that,
"Freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won."
But, though satisfied of the efficiency of his achievements, and himself convinced of the truth of the assurances which he had made to this effect, the commander of the British forces did not suffer the slightest relaxation of his vigilance. Earl Cornwallis, one of the best of the many leaders sent by the mother-country to the colonies in that eventful contest, had taken charge of the southern marching army soon after the fall of Charlestown. He was too good a soldier to omit, or to sleep in the performance of any of his duties. He proceeded with due diligence to confirm his conquests; and, aptly sustained by the celerity and savage enterprise of the fierce legionary, Colonel Tarleton, the country was soon swept from the seaboard to the mountains. This latter able but cruel commander, who enacted the Claverhouse in South Carolina with no small closeness of resemblance to his prototype, was as indefatigable as unsparing. He plunged headlong into fight, with a courage the most unscrupulous, with little reflection, seeming rather to confide in the boldness and
Page 16
impetuosity of his onset than to any ingenuity of plan, or careful elaborateness of manoeuvre. Add to this that he was sanguinary in the last degree when triumphant, and we shall easily understand the sources of that terror which his very name was found to inspire among the undrilled, and, in half the number of instances, the unarmed militia which opposed him. "Tarleton's quarter" was the familiar and bitterly-derisive phrase by which, when the whigs had opportunities of revenge, his blood-thirsty treatment of the overthrown and captive was remembered and requited.
The entire colony in his possession--all opposition, worthy the name, at an end--the victor, the better to secure his conquest, marched an army throughout the country. His presence, for the time, had the desired effect. His appearance quelled disaffection, overawed all open discontents, and his cavalry, by superior skill and rapidity of movement, readily dispersed the little bands of Carolinians that here and there fell in his way. Nor was this exhibition of his power the only proceeding by which he laboured to secure the fruits of his victory. With an excellent judgment, he established garrisons in various eligible points of the country, in order to its continual presence: these stations were judiciously chosen for independent and co-operative enterprise alike; they were sufficiently nigh for concert--sufficiently scattered for the general control of an extensive territory. Rocky Mount, Ninety Six, Camden, Hanging Rock, Dorchester, and a large number of military posts beside, were thus created, all amply provided with munitions of war, well fortified, and garrisoned by large bodies of troops under experienced officers.
These precautions for a time compelled submission. The most daring among the patriots were silent--the most indulgent of the loyalists were active and enterprising. To crown and secure all, Sir Henry Clinton, who was at this period commander in chief of the southern invading army, proclaimed a general pardon, with some few exceptions, to all the inhabitants, for
Page 17
their late treasonable offences--promising them a full reinstatement of their old immunities, and requiring nothing in return but that they should remain quietly in their homes. This specious and well-timed indulgence had its due effect; and, in the temporary panic produced by Lincoln's defeat, the fall of the metropolis, the appearance of an army so formidable as that of the British, and the establishment of military posts and fortresses all around them, the people generally put on a show of acquiescence to the authority of the invader, which few in reality felt, and which many were secretly but resolutely determined never to submit to.
Thus much is necessary, in a general point of view, to the better comprehension of the narrative which follows. The reader will duly note the situation of the colony of South Carolina; and when we add, that the existing condition of things throughout the Union, was only not so bad, and the promise of future fortune but little more favourable, all has been said necessary to his proper comprehension of the discouraging circumstances under which the partisan warfare of the South began. With this reference, we shall be better able to appreciate that deliberate valour, that unyielding patriotism, which, in a few spirits, defying danger and above the sense of privation, could keep alive the sacred fires of liberty in the thick swamps and dense and gloomy forests of Carolina--asking nothing, yielding nothing, and only leaving the field the better to reenter it for the combat. We now proceed to the commencement of our narrative.
Page 18
CHAPTER II.
"Sweet flow thy waters, Ashley, and pleasant on thy banks
The mossy oak and massy pine stand forth in solemn ranks;
They fringe thee in a fitting guise, since with a gentle play,
Through bending groves and circling dells thou tak'st thy mazy way--
Thine is the summer's loveliness, save when September storms
Arouse thee to the angry mood, that all thy face deforms;
And thine the recollection old, which makes thee proudly shine,
When happy thousands saw thee rove, and Dorchester was thine."
THE scene is very much altered now. Dorchester belongs to Ashley no longer. It is a name--a shadow. The people are gone; the site is distinguished by its ruins only. The owl hoots through the long night from the old church-tower, and the ancient woods and the quiet waters of the river give back, in melancholy echoes, his unnoted cries. The Carolinian looks on the spot with a saddened spirit. The trees crowd upon the ancient thoroughfare; the brown viper hisses from the venerable tomb, and the cattle graze along the clustering bricks that distinguish the old-time chimney-places. It is now one of those prospects that kindle poetry in the most insensible observer. It is one of the visible dwelling-places of Time; and the ruins that still mock, to a certain extent, his destructive progress, have in themselves a painful chronicle of capricious change and various affliction. They speak for the dead that lie beneath them in no stinted number; they record the leading features of a long history, crowded with vicissitudes.
But our purpose now is with the past, and not with the present. We go back to the time when the village of Dorchester was full of life, and crowded with inhabitants; when the coaches of the wealthy planters of the neighbourhood thronged the highway; when the
Page 19
bells from the steeple sweetly called to the Sabbath worship; and when, through the week, the shops were crowded with buyers, and the busy hammer of the mechanic, and the axe of the labourer, sent up their crowding noises, imaging, upon a small scale, many of the more stirring attributes of the great city, and all of its life. Dorchester then had several hundred inhabitants. The plan of the place lies before me now--a regularly laid-out city, of perfect squares, with its market-place, its hotels, and its churches; its busy wharves, and its little craft of sloop and schooner, lying at anchor, or skimming along the clear bosom of the Ashley in all the show of impulse and prosperity. It had its garrison also, and not the smallest portion of its din and bustle arose from the fine body of red-coated and smartly-dressed soldiers then occupying the square fort of tapia-work, which to this day stands upon the hill of Dorchester--just where the Ashley bends in with a broad sweep to the village site--in a singular state of durability and preservation.
This fort commanded the river and village alike. The old bridge of Dorchester, which crossed the river at a little distance above it, was also within its range. The troops at frequent periods paraded in the market-place, and every art was made use of duly to impress upon the people the danger of any resistance to a power so capable to annoy and to punish. This being the case, it was amusing to perceive how docile, how loyal indeed, were those inhabitants, who, but a few weeks before, were in arms against their present rulers, and who now only waited a convenient season to resume the weapons which policy had persuaded them to lay aside.
None of the villagers were more dutiful or devout in their allegiance than Richard Humphries--Old Dick, as his neighbours more familiarly styled him--who kept the "Royal George," then the high tavern of the village. The fat, beefy face of the good-natured Hanoverian hung in yellow before the tavern door, on one of the two main roads leading from the country through
Page 20
the town. The old monarch had, in this exposed situation, undergone repeated trials. At the commencement of the Revolution, the landlord, who really cared not who was king, had been compelled by public opinion to take down the sign, replacing it with another more congenial to the popular feeling. George, in the mean time, was assigned less conspicuous lodgings in an ancient garret. The change of circumstances restored the venerable portrait to its place, and under the eye of the British garrison, there were few more thorough-going loyalists in the village than Richard Humphries. He was a sociable old man, fond of drink, and generally serving his own glass whenever called upon to replenish that of his customer. His house was the common thoroughfare of the travelling and the idle. The soldier, not on duty, found it a pleasant lounge; the tory, confident in the sympathies of the landlord, and solicitous of the good opinion of the ruling powers, made it his regular resort; and even the whig, compelled to keep down his patriotism, not unwisely sauntered about in the same wide hall with the enemy he feared and hated, but whom it was no part of his policy at the present moment to alarm or irritate. Humphries, from these helping circumstances, distanced all competition in the village. The opposition house was maintained by a suspected whig--one Pryor--who was avoided accordingly. Pryor was a sturdy citizen, who asked no favours; and if he did not avow himself in the language of defiance, at the same time scorned to take any steps to conciliate patronage or do away with suspicion. He simply cocked his hat at the old-time customer, now passing to the other house; thrust his hands into the pockets of his breeches, and, with a manful resignation, growled through his teeth as he surveyed the prospect--"He may go and be d--d."
This sort of philosophy was agreeable enough to Humphries, who, though profligate in some respects, was yet sufficiently worldly to have a close eye to the accumulation of his sixpences. His household was
Page 21
well served; for though himself a widower, his daughter Bella, a buxom, lively, coquettish but gentle-natured creature, proved no common housekeeper. She was but a girl, however, and, wanting the restraining presence of a matron, and possessing but little dignity herself, the house had its attractions for many, in the freedoms which the old man either did not or would not see, and which the girl herself was quite too young, too innocent, and perhaps too weak, often to find fault with. Her true protection, however, was in a brother not much older than herself, a fine manly fellow, and--though with the cautious policy of all around him suppressing his predilections for the time--a stanch partisan of American liberty.
It was on a pleasant afternoon in June, that a tall, well-made youth, probably twenty-four or five years of age, rode up to the door of the "George," and throwing his bridle to a servant, entered the hotel. His person had been observed, and his appearance duly remarked upon, by several persons already assembled in the hall which he now approached. The new comer, indeed, was not one to pass unnoticed. His person was symmetry itself, and the ease with which he managed his steed, the unhesitating boldness with which he kept on his way and gazed around him at a period and in a place where all were timid and suspicious, could not fail to fix attention. His face, too, was significant of a character of command, besides being finely intelligent and tolerably handsome; and though he carried no weapons that were visible, there was something exceedingly military in his movement, and the cap which he wore, made of some native fur and slightly resting upon one side of his thickly clustering brown hair, imparted a daring something to his look, which gave confirmation to the idea. Many were the remarks of those in the hall as, boldly dashing down the high-road, he left the church to the right, and moving along the market-place, came at once towards the "George," which stood on the corner of Prince and Bridge streets.
Page 22
"A bold chap with his spurs, that," exclaimed Sergeant Hastings, of the garrison, who was a frequent guest of the tavern, and had found no small degree of favour with the landlord's daughter. "A bold chap, that--do you know him, Humphries?"
This question brought the landlord to the window. He looked intently upon the youth as he approached, but seemed at fault.
"Know him? why yes, I think I do know him, sergeant: that's--yes--that's--bless my soul, I don't know him at all!"
"Well, be sure, now, Humphries," coolly spoke the sergeant. "Such a good-looking fellow ought not to be forgotten. But he 'lights, and we shall soon know better."
A few moments, and the stranger made his appearance. The landlord bustled up to him, and offered assistance, which the youth declined for himself, but gave directions for his horse's tendance.
"Shall be seen to, captain," said the landlord.
"Why do you call me captain?" demanded the youth, sternly.
"Bless me, don't be angry, squire; but didn't you say you was a captain?" apologetically replied Humphries.
"I did not."
"Well, bless me, but I could have sworn you did--now didn't he, gentlemen?--sergeant, didn't you hear--"
"It matters not," the stranger interrupted; "it matters not. You were mistaken, and these gentlemen need not be appealed to. Have my horse cared for if you please. He has come far and fast to-day, and will need a good rubbing. Give him fodder now, but no corn for an hour."
"It shall be done, captain."
"Hark'ee, friend," said the youth angrily, "you will not style me captain again, unless you would have more than you can put up with. I am no captain, no colonel, no commander of any sort, and unless you
Page 23
give me the army, will not wear the title. So, understand me."
"Ask pardon, squire; but it comes so common--ask pardon, sir;" and the landlord shuffled off, as he spoke, to see after his business. As he retired, Sergeant Hastings made up to the new comer, and with all the consequence of one having a portion of authority, and accustomed to a large degree of deference from those around him, proceeded to address the youth on the subject matter of his momentary annoyance.
"And, with your leave, young master, where's the harm in being captain or colonel? I don't see that there's any offence in it."
"None, none in the world, sir, in being captain or colonel, but some, I take it, in being styled such undeservedly. The office is good enough, and I have no objections to it; but I have no humour to be called by any nickname."
"Nickname--why, d--n it, sir--why, what do you mean? Do you pretend that it's a nickname to be called an officer in his majesty's troops, sir? If you do--" and the sergeant concluded with a look.
"Pistols and daggers! most worthy officer in his majesty's troops, do not look so dangerous," replied the youth, very coolly. "I have no sort of intention to offend captain or sergeant. I only beg that, as I am neither one nor the other, nobody will force me into their jackets."
"And why not, young master?" said the sergeant, somewhat pacified, but still, as he liked not the nonchalance of the stranger, seemingly bent to press upon him a more full development of his opinions. "Why not? Is it not honourable, I ask you, to hold his majesty's commission, and would you not, as a loyal subject, be very glad to accept one at his hands?"
There was no little interest manifested by the spectators as this question was put, and they gathered more closely about the beset stranger, but still keeping at a deferential distance from the sergeant. He, too, looked forward to the reply of the youth with some interest.
Page 24
His head was advanced and his arms akimbo, and, stationed in front of the person he examined, in the centre of the hall, his clumsy compact person and round rosy face looked exceedingly imposing in every eye but that of the person for whose especial sight their various terrors had been put on. The youth seemed annoyed by the pertinacity of his assailant, but he made an effort at composure, and after a brief pause replied to the inquiry.
"Honourable enough, doubtless. I know nothing about the employment, and cannot say. As for taking a commission at his majesty's hands, I don't know that I should do any such thing."
The declaration produced a visible emotion in the assembly. One or two of the spectators slid away silently, and the rest seemed variously agitated, while, at the same time, one person whom the stranger had not before seen--a stout, good-looking man, seemingly in humble life, and not over his own age--came forward, and, with nothing ostentatious in his manner, placed himself alongside of the man who had so boldly declared himself. Sergeant Hastings seemed for an instant almost paralyzed by what appeared the audacity of the stranger. At length, detaching his sword partially from the sheath, so that a few inches of the blade became visible, he looked round with a potential aspect upon the company, and then proceeded--
"Hah!--not take a commission from the hands of his majesty--indeed!--and why not, I pray?"
Unmoved by the solemnity of the proceeding, the youth with the utmost quietness replied--
"For the very best reason in the world--I should scarcely know what to do with it."
"Oh, that's it!" said the sergeant. "And so you are not an officer?"
"No. I've been telling you and this drinking fellow, the landlord, all the time, that I am no officer, and yet neither of you seems satisfied. Nothing will do, but you will put me in his majesty's commission, and
Page 25
make me a general and what not, whether I will or no. But where's the man?--Here, landlord!"
"Can I serve, sir?" said a soft voice, followed by the pretty maid of the inn, the fair Bella Humphries, whose person was now visible behind the bar.
"Yes, my dear, you can;" and as the stranger youth spoke, and the maid courtesied, he tapped her gently upon the cheek, and begged that he might be shown his apartment, stating, at the same time, the probability that he would be an inmate for several days of the tavern. The sergeant scowled fiercely at the liberty thus taken, and the youth could not help seeing that the eye of the girl sank under the glance that the former gave her. He said nothing, however, and taking in his hand the little fur valise that he carried, the only furniture, besides saddle and bridle, worn by his horse, he followed the steps of Bella, who soon conducted him to his chamber, and left him to those ablutions which a long ride along a sandy road had rendered particularly necessary.
The sergeant meanwhile was not so well satisfied with what had taken place. He was vexed that he had not terrified the youth--vexed at his composure--vexed that he had tapped Bella Humphries upon her cheek, and doubly vexed that she had submitted with such excellent grace to the aforesaid tapping. The truth is, Sergeant Hastings claimed some exclusive privileges with the maiden. He was her regular gallant--bestowed upon her the greater part of his idle time, and had flattered himself that he stood alone in her estimation; and so, perhaps, he did. His attentions had given him a large degree of influence over her, and what with his big speech, swaggering carriage, and flashy uniform, poor Bella had long since been taught to acknowledge his power over her heart. But the girl was coquettish, and her very position as maid of the inn had contributed to strengthen and confirm the natural predisposition. The kind words and innocent freedoms of the handsome stranger were not disagreeable to her, and she felt not that they interfered with the claims of
Page 26
the sergeant, or would be so disagreeable to him, until she beheld the scowling glance with which he surveyed them.
In the hall below, to which the landlord had now returned, Hastings gave utterance to the spleen which this matter had occasioned.
"That's an impudent fellow--a very impudent fellow. I don't like him."
The landlord looked up timidly, and after a brief pause, in which the sergeant continued to pace the apartment, again ventured upon speech.
"And what do you think--what do you think he is, sergeant?"
"How should I know? I asked you: you know every thing; at least, you pretend to. Why are you out here? Who is he?"
"Bless me, I can't say; I don't know."
"What do you think he is?"
"God knows!"
"He certainly is an impudent--a very suspicious person."
"Do you think so, sergeant?" asked one of the persons present, with an air of profound alarm.
"I do--a very suspicious person--one that should be watched."
"I see nothing suspicious about him," said another, the same individual who had placed himself beside the stranger when the wrath of the sergeant was expected to burst upon him, and when he had actually laid his hand upon his sword. "I see nothing suspicious about the stranger," said the speaker, boldly, "except that he doesn't like to be troubled with foolish questions."
"Foolish questions--foolish questions! Bless me, John Davis, do you know what you're a-saying?" The landlord spoke in great trepidation, and placed himself, as he addressed Davis, between him and the sergeant.
"Yes, I know perfectly what I say, Master Humphries; and I say it's very unmannerly, the way in which the stranger has been pestered with foolish questions.
Page 27
I say it, and I say it again; and I don't care who hears it. I'm ready to stand up to what I say."
"Bless me, the boy's mad! Now, sergeant, don't mind him--he's only foolish, you see."
"Mind him--oh no! Look you, young man, do you see that tree? It won't take much treason to tuck you up there."
"Treason, indeed! I talk no treason, Sergeant Hastings, and I defy you to prove any agin me. I'm not to be frightened this time o' day, I'd have you to know; and though you are a sodger, and wear a red coat, let me tell you there's a tough colt in the woods that your two legs can't straddle. There's no treason in that, for it only concerns one person, and that one person is your own self."
"You d--d rebel, is it so you speak to a sergeant in his majesty's service? Take that"--and with the words, with his sword drawn at the instant, he made a stroke with the flat of it at the head of the sturdy disputant, which, as the latter somewhat anticipated it, he was prepared to elude. This was done adroitly enough, and with a huge club which stood conveniently in the corner, he had prepared himself without fear to guard against a repetition of the assault, when the stranger, about whom the coil had arisen, now made his appearance, and at once interposed between the parties.
Page 28
CHAPTER III.
"It is a written bondage--writ in stripes,
And letter'd in our blood. Like beaten hounds,
We crouch and cry, but clench not--lick the hand
That strikes and scourges."
HASTINGS turned furiously at the interruption; but the stranger, though entirely unarmed, stood firmly, and looked on him with composure.
"That's a bright sword you wear," said he, "but scarcely a good stroke, and any thing but a gallant one, Master Sergeant, which you make with it. How now, is it the fashion with English soldiers to draw upon unarmed men?"
The person addressed turned upon the speaker with a scowl which seemed to promise that he would transfer some portion of his anger to the new-comer. He had no time, however, to do more than look his wrath at the interruption; for among the many persons whom the noise had brought to the scene of action was the fair Bella Humphries herself. She waited not an instant to place herself between the parties, and, as if her own interest in the persons concerned gave her an especial right in the matter, she fearlessly passed under the raised weapon of Hastings, addressing him imploringly, and with an air of intimacy, which was, perhaps, the worst feature in the business--so, at least, the individual appeared to think to whose succour she had come. His brow blackened still more at her approach, and when she interfered to prevent the strife, a muttered curse, half-audible, rose to his lips; and brandishing the club which he had wielded with no little readiness before, he seemed more than ever desirous of renewing the combat, though at all its disadvantages. But the parties around generally
Page 29
interfered to prevent the progress of the strife; and Bella, whose mind seemed perfectly assured of Hastings' invincibility, addressed her prayers only to him, and in behalf of the other.
"Now don't strike, Master Sergeant--don't, I pray! John is only foolish, and don't mean any harm. Strike him not, I beg you!"
"Beg for yourself, Bella Humphries--I don't want any of your begging for me. I'm no chicken, and can hold my own any day against him. So don't come between us--you in particular--you had better keep away."
The countryman spoke ferociously; and his dark eye, long black hair, and swarthy cheek, all combined to give the expression of fierce anger which his words expressed, a lively earnestness not ill-adapted to sustain them. The girl looked on him reproachfully as he spoke, though a close observer might have seen in her features a something of conscious error and injustice. It was evident that the parties had been at one period far more intimate than now; and the young stranger, about whom the coil had begun, saw in an instant the true situation of the twain. A smile passed over his features, but did not rest, as his eye took in at a glance the twofold expression of Bella's face, standing between her lovers, preventing the fight--scowled on furiously by the one, and most affectionately leered at by the other. Her appeal to the sergeant was so complimentary, that even were he not half-ashamed of what he had already done in commencing a contest so unequal, he must have yielded to it and forborne; and some of his moderation, too, might have arisen from his perceiving the hostile jealousy of spirit with which his rival regarded her preference of himself. His vanity was enlisted in the application of the maiden, and with a becoming fondness of expression in his glance, turning to the coquette, he gave her to understand, while thrusting his sword back into the scabbard, that he consented to mercy on the score of her application. Still, as Davis held out a show of fight, and stood
Page 30
snugly ensconced behind his chair, defying and even inviting assault, it was necessary that the sergeant should draw off honourably from the contest. While returning the weapon to the sheath, therefore, he spoke to his enemy in language of indulgent warning, not unmixed with the military threats common at the period--
"Hark you, good fellow--you're but a small man to look out for danger, and there's too little of you, after all, for me to look after. I let you off this time; but you're on ticklish territory, and if you move but one side or the other, you're but a lost man after all. It's not a safe chance to show rebel signs on the king's highway, and you have an ugly squinting at disaffection. My eyes are on you, now, and if I but see you wink, or hear you hint, treason,--ay, treason, rebellion--I see it in your eyes, I tell you,--but wink it or look it again, and you know it's short work, very short work, and a shorter journey, to the tight rope and the branching tree."
The speaker looked round significantly upon the company as he uttered a warning and threat, which, though addressed particularly to the refractory countryman, were yet evidently as much meant for the benefit of the rest. Not that the worthy sergeant had any reason for uttering language which, in all respects, seemed so gratuitous; but this was of a piece with the wantonly injudicious habits of his superiors, from whom, with the readiness of subordination, he made free to borrow, and, with as little discrimination, quite as frequently employed it, not less for the gratification of his vanity than for the exercise of his power. The speech had something of its usual effect,--keeping in silence those whose love of talk might have prompted to occasional remark, though without any serious feeling in the matter; and subduing thoroughly all demonstrations of dislike on the part of the few, who, feeling things more deeply, might be disposed rather to act than to speak, when under such provocation. However the persons around may have felt at the moment, they were generally
Page 31
prudent enough to be silent. Old Humphries alone, with uplifted hands, and somewhat touched with liquor, now seeing all danger over, came forward, and hobbling up to the sergeant, cried out, in reply--
"Why, bless us, sergeant, you talk as if you were among the enemies of his majesty, and not among his good friends and well-wishers. Now, I'm sure I can answer for all here. There's Jones and Baxter, Lyons and Tom Walker there--all true blue--right loyal good fellows, who drink the health of King George--God bless him!--whenever they can get a drink; and as for Jack Davis, bless us, sergeant, there's no better boy in Goose Creek, though he is cross and snappish when his fit's on, and no chicken either, as he says himself. He'll fight for his majesty any day, I know. There's no mistake in him--there's no mistake in any of the boys--I can answer for all that's here, except--" and here the landlord paused in one of the longest speeches he had ever made, and his eye rested doubtfully upon the person of the stranger.
"Except me," said the latter, coming forward, looking Hastings attentively in the face as he spoke, and at the same time placing his hand with some little emphasis upon the shoulders of old Humphries--"except me, Master Humphries, for whom you can say nothing--of whom you know nothing--but about whom you are excessively curious. You only know I am not a captain, nor yet a colonel; and as I have not satisfied your desires on these subjects, of course you cannot answer for my loyalty."
"Bless us, no; that I can't, stranger."
"But I can, Master Humphries, and that's enough for all parties; and I can say, as you have already said for these gentlemen, that my loyalty is quite as good as that of any around me, as we shall all see in season. And now that this quarrel is ended, let me only beg of the worthy sergeant here, that he may not be so quick to draw his weapon upon the man that is unarmed. The action is by no means so creditable to the soldier,
Page 32
and one that he may, most probably, in time, come to be ashamed of."
The perfect coolness and self-possession of the stranger, in this brief interlude, confounded Hastings not less than it did the rest. He knew not in what character to behold him, and, but that he was rather stolid than otherwise, might have exhibited traces of that confusion which his mind certainly felt. But the air of superiority which the other manifested, annoyed him too greatly to give way to doubt or indetermination; and he was about to answer roughly, when a remark which Davis made, of a churlish nature, to the coquettish Bella Humphries, who still lingered beside the sergeant, attracted the latter's attention, and giving a glance to the speaker, he threw his collected spleen in that quarter, while addressing the girl--
"See, now, that's the good you get for saving him from punishment. He doesn't thank you at all for what you've done."
"No, that I don't!" cried the incorrigible Davis: "I owe her as little thanks as I owe you kindness,--and I'll pay off both some day. I can hold my own without her help; and as for her begging, I don't want it--I won't have it--and I despise it."
"What's that?" cried Hastings, with a show of returning choler.
"Nothing, sergeant, nothing; don't mind what he says; he's only foolish, and don't mean any harm. Now take your hand away from the sword, I beg you."
The girl looked so prettily, as she prayed him to be quiet, that the soldier relented. Her deferential solicitude was all-influential, and softened much of the harsh feeling that might have existed in his bosom. Taking her arm into his own, with a consequential strut, and throwing a look of contempt upon his rival as he passed, the conqueror moved away into the adjoining apartment, to which, as his business seems private at present, we shall not presume to follow him.
His departure was the signal for renovated life in several of those persons who, in the previous scene,
Page 33
seemed quiescent enough. They generously came forward to Davis with advice and friendly counsel to keep himself out of harm's way, and submit, most civilly, like a good Christian, to the gratuitous blow and buffet. The most eloquent among them was the landlord.
"Now, bless me," said he, "John, my dear boy, why will you be after striving with the sergeant? You know you can't stand against him, and where's the use? He's quite too tough a colt for you to manage, now, I tell you."
"So you think, Master Humphries--so you think. But I'm not so sure of it, now, by half. I can stand a thump as well as any man--and I haint lived so long in Goose Creek not to know how to give one too. But how you stand it--you, I say, Dick Humphries--I don't altogether see."
"Eh, John--how I stand it? Bless us, what do you mean, boy? He don't trouble me--he don't threaten me--I'm a good subject to his majesty."
The youth laughed irreverently, and the stranger, who had been standing apart, but still within hearing, noted the incident with a considerable show of interest in his countenance.
"And what do you laugh for, John? Don't, boy--I pray you, don't. Let's have a glass together, then say what you mean. Good old Jamaica! Won't you join us, stranger?"
The youth declined, and Davis proceeded--
"My meaning's soon said, Master Humphries. I'm sorry to see--" and here, with a praiseworthy delicacy, he whispered in the old man's ear his objections to the large degree of intimacy existing between the British sergeant and his pretty daughter.
"Oh, go, John! there's no harm, boy. You're only jealous 'cause she turned you off."
"Turned me off, indeed!" responded the other, indignantly and aloud--"turned me off! No, Master Humphries--not so bad neither. But it's no use talking--you'll know all in time, and will wish you had
Page 34
minded what I told you. But go your own gait, you'll grow fatter upon it;" and with this not very nice proverb the disappointed lover turned away.
This scene had not been lost upon the stranger youth, though little regarded by the other personages, who had each made his speech and taken his drink and departure. There was much more spoken that we do not care to record, but which, duly noted by the ears of the one observer to whom we have made especial reference, was held not unworthy in his mind of proper consideration. He had seen a dogged disposition on the part of Davis to break and to quarrel with the British sergeant; and though he clearly saw that much of this disposition arose, as old Humphries had asserted, from a jealous dislike of the intimacy between Bella and the person in question, he yet perceived that many of the phrases made use of by the countryman indicated any thing but respect or good feeling for the British authority. There was a sturdy brusqueness in his air and manner, when the other spoke to him of treason, which said that the crime was, after all, a venial one in his mind; and this disposition, perceptible as it must have been to the sergeant, not less than to the stranger, might doubtless have prompted much of that violence on his part which had been so happily and in time arrested. Nor was there any thing precipitate or uncommon in what the sergeant had done. Such exhibitions were common in the bitter and unscrupulous warfare of the south. The word and the blow, and frequently the blow first, was the habitual mode of silencing, not treason, but all manner of opposition; and this was the injudicious course by which the British, regarding South Carolina as a conquered province, revolted the popular feeling from all sympathy with their authority, and provoked that spirit of determined resistance and hostility which, in a few weeks only after this event, blazed up throughout the whole colony, from one end to the other, and commenced that series of harassing operations, the partisan warfare, which, in spite of frequent defeats, cut off the foraging parties of
Page 35
the British army, destroyed its resources, diminished its exercise, contracted its sphere of operations daily, and, in the end, drove the invader to the seaboard, and from thence to his departing vessels.
Old Humphries followed Davis to the door, and again renewed the conversation. The landlord seemed to have a good feeling for his guest, who had probably been a crony of his own, and a favoured lover of his daughter, before the British army had made its appearance to compel a change of political sentiment in the one, or a British sergeant, in his red coat and round face, to effect as great a revolution in the bosom of the other. His object seemed to be to persuade Davis into a more cautious habit of forbearance, when speaking of the existing powers; and he warned him of the unhesitating nature of the enemy when punishing what they held rebellion, and of the severe kinds of punishment put in exercise on such occasions. But whether it was that the youth really felt sorely, too sorely for calm reflection, the loss of his sweetheart--or whether the assault of the sergeant had opened his eyes to the doubtful tenure by which the American held his security under the rule that now prevailed throughout the land--may not well be said; but there was a reckless audacity in his replies to the friendly suggestions of the landlord, which half-frightened the latter personage out of his wits.
"I'd rather eat acorns, now, Master Humphries, I tell you, and sleep in the swamps in August, than hush my tongue when I feel it's right to speak. They shan't crow over me, though I die for it; and let them look out; for I tell you now, Dick Humphries, flesh and blood can't stand their persecutions. There's no chance for life, let 'lone property. Look how they did Frampton's wife, and she in such a way; and only three days ago they tied up Tom Raysor's little boy Ben, and give him a matter of fifty lashes with hickories thick as my thumb, and all because the boy wouldn't tell where his father was hiding."
"But you see, John, that all came of the hiding.
Page 36
If Frampton and Raysor had not taken to the swamp, the old lady would have been let alone, and the boy wouldn't have been whipt. Aint they in arms now against his majesty?"
"Yes; and if his majesty goes on after this fashion there will be a few more, I can tell you. Now, you yourself, Dick Humphries, I put it to yourself, whether the thing's right, and whether we ought to stand it. Now, I know you of old, and know you're no more a loyalist than--"
"Hush! Bless us, John Davis, how you talk, boy! hush, hush!" and with an air of the greatest trepidation, looking around and perceiving that, though the stranger appeared to be reading very earnestly from the pages of the "Royal (Charlestown) Gazette," he was yet within hearing, the landlord led his companion farther from the door, and the conversation, as it proceeded to its conclusion, was entirely lost to all ears but their own. It was not long before Humphries returned to the hall, and endeavoured to commence a sort of desultory dialogue with the stranger guest, whose presence had produced the previous quarrel. But this personage seemed to desire no such familiarity, for scarcely had the old man begun, when throwing down the sheet he had been reading, and thrusting upon his head the rakish cap which all the while had rested on his knee, he rose from his seat, and moving rapidly to the door of the apartment, followed the steps of Davis, whom he beheld pursuing his way along the main bridge road and towards the river. The path was clear in this quarter; not a solitary being, but themselves, was to be seen--by them at least. In the centre of the bridge--a crazy structure of ill-adjusted timber thrown over a point of the stream where it most narrowed--the pursuing stranger overtook the moodily-wandering countryman. He stopped him in his progress till he could come up with him, by a friendly hail; and freely approaching him, tendered him his open hand in a cordial salutation. The other grasped it with honest pleasure.
Page 37
"Master Davis, for such, I believe, is your name." said the stranger, frankly, "I owe you thanks for so readily, though I must say rashly, taking up my quarrel. I understand that your brush with that soldier-fellow was on my account; and though, like yourself, I need nobody to fight my battles, I must yet thank you for the good spirit which you have shown in this matter."
"No thanks, stranger. I don't know what name to call you--"
"No matter; names are unnecessary, and the fewer known the better in these doubtful times. I care not to utter mine, though it has but little value. Call me what you please." The other looked surprised, but still satisfied, and replied after this fashion--
"Well, squire, as I said, you owe me no thanks at all in this affair, for though I did take up the matter on your hook, it was because I had a little sort of hankering to take it up on my own. I have long had a grudge at that fellow, and I didn't care much on whose score it began, so it had a beginning."
"He has done you wrong?" half affirmatively, half inquiringly, said his companion.
"Reckon he has, squire, and no small wrong neither; but that's neither here nor there, seeing there's little help for it."
"How! no help for it! What may be the nature of this injury, for which a man with your limbs and spirit can find no help?"
The countryman looked at the speaker with a curious expression, in which a desire to confide, and a proper hesitancy in intrusting his secret thoughts to a stranger, were mingled equally. The other beheld the expression, and readily divining the difficulty, proceeded to remove it.
"This man has wronged you, friend Davis: you are his match--more than his match; you have better make and muscle, and manage your club quite as well as he his broadsword:--why should you not have justice if you desire it?"
Page 38
"If I desire it!" cried the other, and his black eye sparkled. "I do desire it, squire; but there's odds against me, or we'd a-been at it afore this."
"What odds?"
"Look there!" and as Davis replied he pointed to the fortress upon the opposite hill, a few hundred yards off, where the cross of Great Britain streamed high among the pine-trees, and from the entrance of which, at that very moment, a small body of regulars were pouring out into the street, and proceeding with martial music to the market-place.
"I see," replied the other--"I see; but why should they prove odds against you in a personal affair with this sergeant? You have justice from them surely."
"Justice!--such justice as a tory captain gives when he wants your horse, and don't want to pay for it." Davis replied truly, in his summing up of British justice at that period.
"But you do not mean to say that the people would not be protected, were complaints properly made to the officers?"
"I do; and what's worse, complaint only goes after new hickories. One man was strapped up only yesterday, because he complained that Corporal Townes kicked his wife and broke his crockery. They gave him a hundred lashes."
"And yet loyalty must have its advantages, more than equal to this usage, else"--and a smile of bitter scorn played upon the lips of the speaker as he finished the sentence--"else there would not be so many to love it so well and submit to it so patiently."
The countryman gazed earnestly at the speaker, whose eyes were full of a most searching expression, which could not be misunderstood.
"Dang it, stranger," he cried, "what do you mean--who are you?"
"A man--one who has not asked for a British protection, nor submitted to their hickories;" and the form of the stranger was elevated duly as he spoke, and his eye was lighted up with scornful fires, as his reference
Page 39
was made sarcastically to the many in the neighbourhood who had done both. The man's face was flushed when he heard this reply; the tears gathered in his eyes, and with a bitter emphasis, though in low tones, as if he felt all the shame of his acknowledgment, he replied--
"God curse me, but I did! I was one of those who took a protection. Here it is--here's the paper. Here's where I sold my country, and put myself down in black and white, to be beaten like a dog with hickories. But it's not too late; and look you, stranger, I believe you're true blue, but if you aint, why it's all the same thing--I care not--you may go tell quick as you please; but I will break the bargain."
"How?--speak!" and the form of the other was advanced and seemed to dilate, as he watched the earnest glow in every feature of his companion.
"How?--by tearing up the paper: see"--and, as he spoke, he tore into small bits the guaranty of British protection, which, in common with most of his neighbours, he had been persuaded to accept from the commandant for his security, and as a condition of that return, which he pledged at the same time, to his duty and his allegiance.
"Your life is in my hands," exclaimed his companion, deliberately. "Your life is in my hands."
"Take it!" cried the countryman, and he threw himself upon his guard, while his fingers clutched fiercely the knife which he carried in his bosom. His small person, slight but active, thrown back, every muscle in action and ready for contest; his broad-brimmed white hat dashed from his brow; his black glossy hair dishevelled and flying in the wind; lips closely compressed, while his deep, dark eye shot forth fires of anger, fiercely enlivening the dusky sallow of his cheek--all gave to him a most imposing expression of animated life and courage in the eye of his companion.
"Take it--take the worthless life!" he cried, in low but emphatic accents. "It is worthless, but you will fight for it."
Page 40
The other regarded him with a look of admiration sobered into calm.
"Your life is in my hands, but it is safe God forbid, Master Davis," said he, with solemnity, "God forbid that I should assail it. I am your friend, your countryman, and I rejoice in what you have done. You have done well and nobly in destroying that evidence of your dishonour; for it is dishonour to barter one's country and its liberties for dastardly security--for one's miserable life. You have done well; but be not rash. Your movement must be in quiet. Nothing rash, nothing precipitate. Every step you now take must be one of caution, for your path is along the steeps of danger. But come with me--you shall know more. First secure those scraps; they may tell tales upon you; a quick hand and close eye may put them together, and then your neck would be fit game for the halter you sergeant warned you of. But what now--what are the troops about?"
The countryman looked, at his companion's question, and beheld the troops forming in the market-place, while the note of the bugle at intervals, and an occasional sullen tap of the drum, gathered the crowd of the village around them.
"It's a proclamation, squire. That's the marketplace, where they read it first. They give us one every two or three days, sometimes about one thing, sometimes another. If the cattle's killed by the whigs, though it may be their own, there's a proclamation;* but we don't mind them much, for they only tell us to be quiet and orderly, and, Heaven knows, we can't be more so. * We have two or three grave proclamations of this sort on record, issued by the British generals in Carolina.
They will next go to the church, where they will again read it. That's nigher, and we can get round in time to hear what it is. Shall we go, squire?" The other expressed his willingness, and leaving the bridge, they proceeded in the direction of the crowd.
Page 41
CHAPTER IV.
"----Keep thy counsel well,
And fear not. We shall mate with them in time,
And spoil them who would strike us. We are free,
And confidently strong--have arms and men--
Good fellows in the wood, that will not fly
When blows are to be borne."
BY a short path the stranger and his companion moved from the bridge to the place of gathering. It was not long before they found themselves in the thick of the crowd, upon the green plot in front of the church, from the portals of which the heavy roll of the drum commanded due attention from the populace. The proclamation which the commander of the garrison at Dorchester now proceeded to read to the multitude, was of no small importance. Its contents were well calculated to astound and terrify the Carolinians who heard it. It was one of the many movements of the British commander, unfortunately for the cause of royalty in that region, which, more than any thing besides, contributed to arouse and irritate that spirit of resistance on the part of the invaded people, which it should have been the studious policy of the invaders to mollify and suppress. The document in question had been just issued by Sir Henry Clinton, declaring all paroles or protections granted hitherto to be null and void, and requiring the holders of them, within twenty days, to resume the character of British subjects--taking up arms in the promotion of his majesty's cause, against their brethren, under pain of being treated as rebels to his government. The motive of Sir Henry for a movement so exceedingly injudicious, may be only conjectured from the concurrent circumstances of the time. The continental army, under De Kalb, was on its way to the South--Gates had been ordered to command
Page 42
it--and this intelligence, though not generally known to the people of Carolina, could not long be withheld from their possession. It was necessary to keep them from any co-operation with their approaching friends; and no more effectual mode, simply considered by itself, could have been suggested to the mind of the Briton than their employment under his own banners. This apart, the invasion of the adjoining states of Virginia and North Carolina had been long since determined upon, and was now to be attempted. Troops were wanted for this purpose, and no policy seemed better than to expend one set of rebels upon another. It was also necessary to secure the conquered province; and the terrors of the hangman were providently held out, in order to impel the conquered to the minor risks of the bayonet and shot. The error was a fatal one. From that hour the declension of British power was precipitately hurried in Carolina: the people lost all confidence in those who had already so grossly deceived them; for the condition of the protection or parole called for no military service from the citizen who took it. He was simply to be neutral in the contest; and however unworthy may have been the spirit consenting even to this condition, it cannot be denied that a foul deception had been practised upon them. The consequences were inevitable; and the determined hostility of the foe was coupled, on the part of the Carolinians, with a wholesale scorn of the want of probity manifested by the enemy they were now not so unwilling to encounter.
From the church-porch the proclamation was again read to the assembled multitude. The crowd was variously composed, and various indeed was the effect which it produced among them. The stranger and his companion, at a little distance, listened closely to the words of the instrument; and a smile of joy, not unmarked by Davis, played over the features of the former as he heard it read. The latter looked his indignation: he could not understand why such a paper should give pleasure to his comrade, and could not
Page 43
forbear, in a whisper, demanding the occasion of his satisfaction.
"It pleases you, squire? I see you smile!"
"It does please me--much, very much," responded the other, quickly, and with emphasis, but in a whisper also.
"What!" with more earnestness, said the countryman--"what! does it please you to listen to such villany as this? I do not understand you."
"Not so loud, comrade; you have a neck, and these fellows a rope: besides, there's one to the left of us whose looks I like not."
The other turned in the direction signified, and saw the propriety of his companion's caution, as he beheld within a few feet the harsh features of the notorious Captain Huck, a furious and bloody tory-leader, well known, and held in odious estimation, throughout the neighbourhood. The stranger went on, still whispering--
"Look pleased, friend Davis, if you can: this is no time to show any but false colours to the enemy. I am pleased, really, as you think, and have my reason for being so, which you shall know in good time. Take breath, and listen."
The paper was finished, and the detachment moved on its way to the "George Tavern," the crowd generally following; and there it was again read. Our two friends kept together, and proceeded with the multitude. The stranger was eminently watchful and observant: he noted well the sentiment of indignation which all faces manifested; there could be no doubt of that expression. The sober farmer, the thoughtless and gay-hearted planter of the neighbourhood, the drudge, the mechanic, the petty chapman--all had in their looks that severe soberness which showed a thought and spirit, active, and more to be respected, as they were kept so well restrained.
"God save the king!" cried the officer, as he concluded the instrument, from the steps of the tavern.
"Ay, God save the king, and God bless him, too!"
Page 44
cried old Humphries, at the entrance. A few only of the crowd gave back the cry, and even with them the prayer was coldly uttered; and there was nothing like that spirit which, when the heart goes with the decree of the ruler, makes the welkin ring with its unregulated rejoicings.
"You are silent: you do not cry with the rest," said one at the elbow of the stranger. He turned to behold the features of the tory-captain, of whom we have already spoken, who now, with a scrutinizing glance, placed himself close beside the person he had addressed. The mean cunning--the low, searching expression of his look--were eminently disgusting to the youth, who replied, while resuming his old position--
"What? God save the king? Did I not say it? It's very natural; for I'm so used to it. I'm quite willing that God should save his majesty--God knows he needs it."
This was said with a very devout countenance, and the expression was so composed and quiet, that the tory could say nothing, though still not satisfied, seemingly, with much that was in the language. It sounded very like a sneer, and yet, strictly speaking, it was perfectly unexceptionable. Baffled in this quarter, the loyalist, who was particularly desirous of establishing his own claims to British favour, now turned with a similar inquiry to Davis; but the countryman was ready, and a nudge in the side from his companion, had any thing been wanting, moved him to a similar answer. Huck was not exactly prepared to meet with so much willingness on the part of two persons whose movements he had suspected, and had been watching; but concluding them now to be well-affected, he did not scruple to propose to them to become members of the troop of horse he was engaged in raising. To the stranger he first addressed himself, complimenting him upon his fine limbs and figure, and insisting upon the excellent appearance he would make, well-mounted and in British uniform. A smile of sovereign contempt overspread the youth's features as he listened to the
Page 45
tory patiently to the end. Calmly, then, he begged permission to decline the proposed honour.
"Why, you are loyal, sir?" he asked, seeming to doubt.
"Who denies it?" fiercely replied the stranger.
"Oh, nobody; I mean not to offend: but, as a loyal subject, you can scarce withhold yourself from service."
"I do not contemplate to do so, sir."
"And why not join my troop? Come, now, you shall have a lieutenancy; for, blast me, but I like your looks, and would be devilish glad to have you. You can't refuse."
"But I do," said the other, calmly--almost contemptuously.
"And wherefore?" Huck inquired, with some show of pique in his countenance and manner--"wherefore? What better service? and, to a soldier of fortune, let me ask you, what better chances than now of making every thing out of these d--d rebels, who have gone into the swamps, leaving large estates for confiscation? What better business?"
"None: I fully agree with you."
"And you will join my troop?"
"No!"
The man looked astonished. The coolness and composure with which the denial was made surprising him not less than the denial itself. With a look of doubt and wonderment, he went on--
"Well, you know best; but, of course, as a good citizen, you will soon be in arms: twenty days, you know, are all that's allowed you."
"I do not need so many: as a good citizen, I shall be in arms in less time."
"In whose troop?--where?"
"Ah, now we come to the point," was the sudden reply; "and you will now see why I have been able to withstand the tempting offers you have made me. I am thinking to form a troop of my own, and should I do so, I certainly should not wish so much success to yours as to fall into your ranks."
Page 46
"Indeed! Well, I'm glad, any how, that his majesty is likely to be so well served with officers. Have you yet applied for a commission to the commandant?"
"No; nor shall I, till my recruits are strong enough to make my appearance respectable."
"That's right! I know that by experience. They never like you half so well as when you bring your men with you: they don't want officers so much as men; and some of the commands, if they can chouse you out of your recruits, will not stop to do so; and then you may whistle for your commission. I suppose your friend, here, is already secured for your squad?"
The tory referred to Davis, who did not leave his companion to reply; but, without scruple, avowed himself as having already been partially secured for the opposition troop.
"Well, good luck to you. But I say, comrade, you have commanded before--of course, you are prepared to lead?"
"I have the heart for it," was the reply; and as the stranger spoke, he extended his arms towards the tory captain, while elevating his figure to its fullest height; "and you can say yourself for the limbs. As for the head, it must be seen if mine's good for any thing."
"I doubt it not; and service comes easy after a brush or two. But wouldn't you like to know the colonel?"
"Who?--Proctor--the colonel in command here?"
"The same."
"In time, I'll trouble you, perhaps, to help me to that knowledge. Not yet; not till I get my recruits."
"You are right in that; and, talking of the recruits, I must see after mine; and, so, a good-evening to you, and success. We shall meet again." The tory moved among the separate groups as he spoke, and the stranger turned to Davis, while he muttered--
"Ay, we shall meet again, Master Huck, or it will be no fault of mine. If we do not, Old Nick takes marvellous care of his own. But, ha! comrade, keep you here a while: there is one that I would speak with."
Page 47
At a little distance apart, at one wing of the tavern, stood a man, attired in the blue homespun common to the country wear, among the humbler classes; and with nothing particular to distinguish him, if we may except a face somewhat more round and rosy than belongs usually to the people dwelling in Dorchester and its neighbourhood. He was like them in one respect--having a sidelong, indirect movement, coupled with a sluggish, lounging, indifferent gait, which is the general feature of this people, unless when roused by insult or provocation. In his hand he carried a whip of common leather, which he smacked occasionally, either for the sharp, shot-like sounds which it sent forth, or when he desired to send to a greater distance that most grumbling of all aristocrats, the hog, as it approached him. The quick eye of the stranger had singled out this personage; and, leaving Davis where he stood, and moving quickly through the straggling groups that still clustered in front of the tavern, he at once approached him confidently as an old acquaintance. The other seemed not to observe his coming, until our first acquaintance, speaking as he advanced, caught his notice. This had no sooner been done, than the other was in motion. Throwing aside his sluggishness of look, he recognised by a glance the stranger youth, and his head was bent forward to listen, as he saw that he was about to speak. The words of our old acquaintance were few, but significant --
"I am here before you--say nothing--lead on, and I will follow."
With a nod, the person addressed looked but once at the speaker; then, without a word, moving from his easy position against the tavern, and throwing aside all show of sluggishness, he led the way for the stranger; and, taking an oblique path, which carried them in a short time into the neighbouring woods, they soon left the village behind them. Davis had been reluctant to separate from the companion to whom he had so readily yielded his confidence. He had his doubts--as who could be without them in that season of general
Page 48
distrust?--but when he remembered the warm, manly frankness of the stranger--his free, bold, generous, and gentle countenance--he did not suffer himself to doubt for a moment more that his secret would be safe in his possession. This, indeed, was the least of his difficulties. The fair coquette of the inn had attracted him strongly, and, with a heavy heart, he turned into the "Royal George;" and, throwing his form at length upon a bench, he solaced himself with an occasional glance at Bella Humphries, whose duties carried her to and fro between the bar and the sitting-room; and with thoughts of that vengeance upon his enemy which his new position with the stranger seemed to promise him.
Meanwhile, following the steps of the individual he had so singled out, the latter kept on his way until the village had been fairly passed; then, plunging down a little by-path, into which the former had gone, he soon overtook him, and they moved on closely together in their common progress. The guide was a stout able-bodied person, of thirty years, or perhaps more--a rough-looking man, one seemingly born and bred entirely in the humble life of the country. He was powerful in physical development, rather stout than high, with a short, thick neck--a head round and large, with eyes small, settled, and piercing--and features even solemn in their general expression of severity. He carried no visible weapons, but he seemed the man to use them; for no one who looked in his face could doubt that he was full of settled purpose, firm in his resolve, and reckless, having once determined, in the prosecution of the most desperate enterprise.
The way they were pursuing grew more and more tangled as they went, gradually sinking in level, until the footing became slightly insecure, and at length terminated in the soft oozy swamp surface common to the margin of most rivers in the low country of the south. They were now close on the banks of the Ashley, which wound its way, perceptible to the two in occasional glimpses, through the close-set foliage by which they were surrounded. A few more strides
Page 49
through the copse and over the miry surface, brought them again to a dry elevation, isolated by small sluices of water, and more closely wrapped in brush and covering. Here their progress was arrested, for they were now perfectly secure from interruption. In all this time, no word had been exchanged between the parties; but the necessity for farther caution being now over, they came to a pause, and the silence was broken as follows by our last-made acquaintance:--
"We are safe here, Major Singleton, and can now speak freely. The sharpest scout in the British garrison could not well come upon us without warning, and if he did, would do so by accident."
"I'm glad of it, for I'm heartily tired, and not a little impatient to talk with you. But let us be at ease."
They threw themselves upon the ground--our elder acquaintance, whom we now know as Major Singleton, with an air of superiority which seemed familiar, choosing the most favourable spot, while the other remained standing until his companion had adjusted himself; and then took his seat respectfully on the ridgy roots of the pine-tree spreading over them.
"And now, Humphries," said Singleton, "what of my sister--is she safe, and how did she bear the journey?"
"Safe, major, and well as could be expected, though very feeble. We had some trouble crossing the Santee, but it did not keep us long, and we got on tolerably well after. The whole party are now safe at 'The Oaks.' "
"Well, you must guide me there to-night, if possible; I know nothing of the place, and but little of the country. Years have passed since I last went over it."
"What! have you never been at 'The Oaks,' major? I was told you had."
"Yes, when a boy; but I have no distinct memory on the subject, except of the noble trees, the thick white moss, and the dreamy quiet of all things around. The place, I know, is beautiful."
"You may well say so, major; a finer don't happen
Page 50
often in the low country, and the look at it from the river is well worth a journey."
"Ah! I have never seen it from that quarter. But you said my uncle was well, and"--here the voice faltered a little--"and my cousin Katharine--They are all well?"
"All well, sir. The old squire is rather down in the mouth, you see, for he's taken a protection, and he can't help seeing the troubles of the country. It's this that makes his trouble; and though he used, of old time, to be a dashing, hearty, lively, talkative gentleman, always pleasant and good-humoured, yet now he says nothing; and if he happens to smile at all, he catches himself up a minute after, and looks mighty sorry for it. Ah, major, these cursed protections--they've made many a good heart sore in this neighbourhood, and the worst is to come yet, or I'm mistaken."
"A sore subject, Humphries, and not very necessary to speak on. But what news--what stirring, and how get on our recruits?"
"Slowly enough, major; but that is to be expected while the country is overrun with the red-coats. The folks are afraid to move, and our poor swamp-boys can't put their noses out yet--not until the enemy turns his back on them for a while, and gives them chance for a little skirmish, without the risk of the rope. But things would change, I'm certain, if the great general you spoke of, with the continentals, would only come south. Our people only want an opportunity."
"And they shall have it. But what intelligence here from the city?"
"None, sir, or little. You heard the proclamation?"
"Yes, with joy--with positive delight. The movement is a grand one for our cause: it must bring out the ground-rats--those who skulked for safety into contracts, measuring honour by acres, and counting their duty to their country by the value of their crops."
"True--I see that, major, but that's the thing I dread. Why should you desire to bring them out?"
"Why, because, though with us in spirit and sentiment,
Page 51
they yet thought to avoid danger, while they believed themselves unable to serve us by their risk. Now, forced into the field--compelled to fight--is it not clear that the argument is all in favour of our side? Will they not rather fight in conformity with their feelings and opinions than against them? particularly when the latter course must place them in arms against their friends and neighbours--not to speak of their countrymen--in many instances to their relatives, and the members of their own families. By forcing into the field those who were quiet before, Sir Henry Clinton has forced hundreds into our ranks, who will be as slow to lay down their weapons as they were to take them up."
"I hope so, major; but I fear that many will rather strike for what seems the strongest, and not ask many questions as to which is the justest side."
"No--this I fear not. The class of people on which I rely are too proud to suffer this imposition, and too spirited not to resist the indignity which it puts upon them. They must be roused by the trick which has been practised, and will shake off their sleep. Let us hope for it, at least."
"I am willing, sir, but fear it. They have quite too much at stake: they have too much plate, too many negroes, and live too comfortably to be willing to stand a chance of losing all by taking up arms against the British, who are squat close alongside of them."
"So should I fear with you, Humphries, and for like reasons, if the protections protected them. I doubt not that they would be willing to keep quiet, and take no part in this struggle, if the conquerors were wise enough to let them alone; but they kick and cuff them on all occasions, and patriots are frequently made by kicking. I care not for the process, so it gives us the commodity. Let them kick on, and may they get extra legs for the purpose!"
"Amen," said Humphries, gravely. Then changing the topic somewhat, he asked him--
"You were with Jack Davis, of Goose Creek, major,
Page 52
when you first came up--I thought you were unknown in these parts?"
"You thought rightly; I am still unknown, but I learned to know something of him you speak of, and circumstances threw us together." Here Singleton related the occurrences at the tavern, as already known to us. Humphries, who was the son of the landlord, gave close attention, and with something more than ordinary interest. He was not at any time a man to show his feelings openly, but there was an increased pressure of his lips together as that portion fell upon his ear which described the interference of his sister, the fair coquette Bella, for the protection of her castoff lover. His breathing was far less free at this point of the narrative; and when Singleton concluded, the listener muttered, partly in soliloquy and partly in reply--
"A poor fool of a girl, that sister of mine, major; loves the fine colours of the jay in spite of his cursed squalling, and has played upon that good fellow, Davis--Prickly Ash, as we sometimes call him in the village--till he's half out of his wits. Her head, too, is half turned with that red coat; but I'll cure her of that, and cure him too, or there's no virtue in twisted bore. But, major, did you do any thing with Davis?"
The answer was affirmative, and Humphries continued--
"That's a gain, sir; for Davis is true, if he says it, and comes of good breed: he'll fight like a bull-dog, and his teeth shall meet in the flesh. Besides, he's a great shot with the rifle, like most of the boys from Goose Creek. His old mother kept him back, or he'd a-joined us long ago, for I've seen how his thoughts run. But it's not too late, and if the word's once out of his mouth, he's to be depended on--he's safe."
"A few more will do. You have several others, have you not, gathering in a safe place!" said Singleton.
"In the swamp--thirteen, true as steel, and ready for fight. They're only some six miles off, and can
Page 53
be brought up in two hours, at notice. See, this river comes from the heart of the Cypress Swamp, where they shelter; and if there be no tory among us to show them the track, I defy all Proctor's garrison to find us out."
"We must be among them to-morrow. But the evening wears, and the breeze freshens up from the river: it is sweet and fresh from the sea--and how different, too, from that of the forests! But come--I must go back, and have my horse in readiness for this ride to 'The Oaks,' where you must attend me."
"Your horse! Where is he?" asked the other, quickly.
"In your father's stable."
"He must not be suffered to stay there; if he is, you will not have him long. We must hide him out, or that black-hearted tory, Huck, will be on his quarters before three days: he's beating about the country now for horses as well as men."
"See to it, then, for I must run no such risk. Let us return at once," said Singleton.
"Yes; but we take different roads: we must not know each other. Can you find the way back alone, major?"
"Yes--I doubt not."
"To the left now--round that water; keep straight up from the river for a hundred yards, and you fall into the track. Your horse shall be ready in an hour, and I will meet you at supper."
They parted--Singleton on his way as directed, and Humphries burying himself still deeper in the copse.
Page 54
CHAPTER V.
"It needs but to be bold--be bold--be bold--
Everywhere bold. 'Tis every virtue told;
Courage and truth, humanity and skill,
The noblest cunning that the mind can will,
And the best charity."
IT was not long before Singleton reached the tavern, which he now found crowded. The villagers of all conditions and politics had there assembled, either to mutter over their doubts or discontents, or to gather counsel for their course in future, from the many, wiser than themselves, in their own predicament. There, also, came the true loyalist, certain to find deference and favour from the many around him, not so happy or so secure as himself in the confidence of the existing powers. The group was motley enough, and the moods at work among them not less so. Some had already determined upon submission,--some of the weak--the time-serving--such as every old community will be found to furnish, where indolent habits, which have become inveterate, forbid all sort of independence. Some fluctuated, and knew not what to do, or even what to think. But there were others, Singleton imagined, as he looked into their grave, sullen features, full of thought and pregnant with determination, who felt nothing so strongly as the sense of injustice, and the rebel-daring which calls for defiance at every hazard. "Vengeance! my men!" he muttered to himself, as, passing full into the apartment, he became at once visible to the group. The old landlord himself was the first person who confronted him after that familiar fashion which had already had its rebuke from the same quarter.
"Ah, captain! (the brow of Singleton darkened)--squire I mean--I ask pardon, squire; but here, where
Page 55
every man is a captain, or a colonel, or something, it comes easy to say so to all, and is not often amiss. No offence, squire--it's use, only, and I mean no harm."
"Enough, enough! good Master Landlord! Least said, soonest mended. Shall we soon have supper?"
The ready publican turned to the inner door of the apartment and put the same question to his daughter, the fair Bella; then, without waiting for her reply, informed the inquirer that many minutes would not elapse before it would be on table.
"Six o'clock's the time of day for supper, squire--six for supper--one for dinner--eight for breakfast--punctual to the stroke, and no waiting. Heh! what's that you say, Master Dickenson?--what's that about Frampton?"
Humphries turned to one of the villagers whose remarks had partially met his ear, and who had just entered the apartment. The person so addressed came forward; a thin-jawed, sallow countryman, whose eyes were big with the intelligence he brought, and who seemed anxious that a well-dressed and goodly-looking stranger like Singleton should have the benefit of his burden.
"Why, gentlemen, the matter with Frampton's strange enough. You all know he's been out several days, close in the swamp. He had a fight, stranger, you see, with one of Huck's dragoons; and he licked the dragoon, for all the world, as if he'd a licked him out of his skin. Now the dragoon's a strong fellow enough; but Frampton's a horse, and if ever he mounts you the game is up, for there's no stopping him when he gets his hand in. So, as I tell you, the dragoon stood a mighty slim chance. He first brought him down with a backhanded wipe, that came over his cheek for all the world like the slap of a water-wheel--"
"Yes, yes, we all heard that; but what was it all about, Dickenson?--we don't know that, yet," cried one of the group which had now formed around the speaker.
"Why, that's soon told. The dragoon went to Frampton's
Page 56
house when he was in the swamp, and made free with what he wanted. Big Barney, his elder son, went off in the mean while to his daddy, and off he came full tilt, with Lance his youngest lad along with him. You know Lance, or Lancelot, a smart chap of sixteen: you've seed him often enough."
"Yes, yes, we know him."
"Well, as I tell you, the old man and his two boys came full tilt to the house, and 'twas a God's mercy they came in time, for the doings of the dragoon was too ridiculous for any decent body to put up with, and the old colt could'nt stand it no how; so, as I tell you, he put it to him in short order. He first gave him a backhanded wipe, which flattened him, I tell you; and when the sodger tried to get up, he put it to him again so that it was easier for him to lie down than to stand up; and lie down he did, without a word, till the other dragoons tuk him up. They came a few minutes after, and the old man and the youngest boy Lance had a narrow chance and a smart run for it. They heard the troops coming down the lane, and they took to the bush. The sodgers tried hard to catch them, but it aint easy to hook a Goose-Creeker when he's on trail for the swamp, and splashing after the hogs along a tussock. So they got safe into the Cypress, and the dragoons had nothing better to do than go back to the house. Well, they made Frampton's old woman stand all sorts of treatment, and that too bad to find names for. They beat her too, and she as heavy as she could go. Well, then, she died night afore last, as might be expected; and now the wonder is, what's become of her body. They laid her out; and the old granny that watched her only went into the kitchen for a little while, and when she came back the body was gone. She looked out of the window, and sure enough she sees a man going over the rail with a bundle all in white on his shoulder. And the man looked, so she swears, for all the world like old Frampton himself. Nobody knows any thing more about it; and what I heard is jist now what I tell you"
Page 57
The man had narrated truly what he had heard; and what, in reality, with little exaggeration, was the truth. The company had listened to one of those stories of brutality, which--in the fierce civil warfare of the South, when neighbours were arrayed against one another, and when, on one side, negroes and Indians formed allies, contributing, by their lighter sense of humanity, additional forms of terror to the sanguinary warfare pursued at that period--were of almost daily occurrence. Huck, the infamous tory captain, of whom we have already obtained a slight glimpse in the progress of our narrative, was himself of a character well fitted, by his habitual cunning and gross want of all the softening influences of humanity, to give countenance, and even example, to crimes of this nature. His dragoons, though few as yet in number, and employed only on marauding excursions calling for small parties, had already become notorious for their outrages of this description. Indeed, they found impunity in this circumstance. In regular warfare, under the controlling presence of crowds, the responsibility of his men, apart from what they owed or yielded to himself, would have bound them certainly in some greater restraints; although, to their shame be it said, the British generals in the South, when mortified by defeat and vexed by unexpected resistance, were themselves not always more tenacious of propriety than the tory Huck. The sanguinary orders of Cornwallis, commanding the cold-blooded execution of hundreds, are on record, in melancholy attestation to this day of the atrocities committed by the one, and the persecutions borne by the other party, during that memorable conflict.
It could easily be seen what was the general feeling during this recital, and yet that feeling was unspoken. Some few shook their heads very gravely, and a few, more daring yet, ventured to say, that "it was very bad, very bad indeed--very shocking!"
"What's very bad, friends? what is it you speak of as so shocking?" was the demand of one just entering. The crowd started back, and Huck himself stood among
Page 58
them. He repeated his inquiry, and with a manner that left it doubtful whether he really desired to know what had been the subject of their remarks, or whether, having heard, he wished to compel some of them to the honest utterance of their sentiments upon it. Singleton, who had listened with a duly-excited spirit to the narrative of the country man, now advanced deliberately towards the new-comer, whom he addressed as in answer to his question--
"Why, sir, it is bad, very bad indeed, the treatment received, as I learn, by one of his majesty's dragoons, at the hands of some impudent rebel a few nights ago. You know, sir, to what I allude. You have heard, doubtless."
The bold, confident manner of the speaker was sufficiently imposing to satisfy all around of his loyalty. Huck seemed completely surprised, and replied freely and with confidence--
"Ay, you mean the affair of that scoundrel, Frampton. Yes, I know all about it; but we're on his trail, and shall soon make him sweat for his audacity, the blasted rebel."
"Do you know that his wife died?" asked one of the countrymen, in a tone subdued to one of simple and inexpressive inquiry.
"No--and don't care very greatly. It's a bad breed, and the misfortune is, there's quite too many of them. But we'll thin them soon, and easily, by God! and the land shall be rid of the reptiles."
"Yes, captain, we think alike," said Singleton, familiarly--"we think alike on that subject. Something must be done, and in time, or there will be no comfortable moving for a loyalist, whether in swamp or highway. They have it in their power to do mischief, if not taken care of in time. It is certainly our policy to prevent our men from being ill-treated by them, and to do this, they must be taken in hand early. Rebellion grows like nut-grass when it once takes root, and runs faster than you can find it. It should be seen to."
"That is my thought already, and accordingly I have a good dog on trail of this lark, Frampton, and hope soon to have him in. He cannot escape Travis, my
Page 59
lieutenant, who is now after him, and who knows the swamp as well as himself. They're both from Goose Creek, and so let dog eat dog."
"You have sent Travis after him, then, captain?" inquired a slow and deliberate voice at Huck's elbow. Singleton turned at the same moment with the person addressed, recognising in the speaker his own lieutenant, the younger Humphries, who had got back to the tavern almost as soon as himself. Humphries, of whose Americanism we can have no sort of question, had yet managed adroitly, and what with his own cunning and his father's established loyalty, he was enabled, not only to pass without suspicion, but actually to impress the tories with a favourable opinion of his good feeling for the British cause. This was one of those artifices which the necessities of the times imposed upon most men, and for which they gave a sufficient moral sanction.
"Ah, Bill, my boy," said Huck, turning as to an old acquaintance, "is that you!--why, where have you been?--haven't seen you for an age, and didn't well know what had become of you--thought you might have gone into the swamps too with the skulking rebels."
"So I have," replied the other calmly--"not with the rebels, though. I see none of them to go with--but I have been skirting the Cypress for some time, gathering what pigs the alligators found no use for. Pigs and poultry are the rebels I look after. You may judge of my success by their bawling."
In confirmation of what Humphries had said, at that moment the collection of tied pigs with which his cart had been piled, and the tethered chickens undergoing transfer to a more fixed dwelling, and tumbled from the mass where they had quietly but confusedly lain for an hour or two before, sent up a most piteous pleading, which, for the time, effectually silenced the speakers within. A moment's pause obtained, Humphries reverted, though indirectly, to the question which he had put to the tory captain touching the pursuit of Frampton
Page 60
by Travis; and, without exciting his suspicion by a positive inquiry, strove to obtain information.
"Travis will find Frampton if he chooses,--he knows the swamp quite as well--and a lean dog for a long chase, you know,--that is, if you have given him men enough."
"I gave him all he wanted: ten, he said, would answer: he could have had more. He'll catch him, or I'm mistaken."
"Yes, if he strikes a good route. The old paths are washed now by the freshet, and he may find it hard to keep track. Now, the best path for him to take, captain, would have been up over Terrapin Bridge by Turkey Town. That will bring him right into the heart of the swamp, where it's most likely Frampton hides."
"Terrapin Bridge--Turkey Town," said the other, seeming to muse. "No, he said nothing of these places: he spoke of--"
"Droze's old field," exclaimed Humphries, somewhat eagerly.
"Yes, that's the name; he goes that route; and I remember he spoke of anothe