The Partisan: A Tale of the Revolution.
By the Author of "The Yemassee," "Guy Rivers," &c. In Two Volumes.
Vol. II:
Electronic Edition.
Simms, William Gilmore, 1806-1870.
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(title page) The Partisan: A Tale of the Revolution. By the Author of "The Yemassee," "Guy Rivers," &c. In Two Volumes. Vol. II
(spine) The Partisan. A Novel. By the Author of "Guy Rivers," "The Yemassee," &c. &c. In Two Volumes. Vol. II
(caption) The Partisan.
Simms, William Gilmore, 1806-1870.
[1]-276 p.
New York
Published By Harper & Brothers
1835.
Call number PS2848 .P2 1835 (Rare Book Collection, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)
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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. II.
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 3
THE PARTISAN.
CHAPTER I.
"Unfold--unfold--the day is going fast,
And I would know this old time history."
THE clouds were gathering fast--the waters were troubled--and the approaching tumult and disquiet of all things in Carolina, clearly indicated the coming of that strife, so soon to overcast the scene--so long to keep it darkened--so deeply to impurple it with blood. The continentals were approaching rapidly, and the effect was that of magic upon the long prostrated energies of the South. The people were aroused, awakened, stimulated, and emboldened. They gathered in little squads throughout the country. The news was generally abroad that Gates was to command the expected army--Gates, the conqueror at Saratoga, whose very name, at that time, was a host. The successes of Sumter in the up-country, of Marion on the Peedee, of Pickens with a troop of mounted riflemen--a new species of force projected by himself--of Butler, of Horry, James, and others, were generally whispered about among the hitherto desponding whigs. These encouraging prospects were not a little strengthened in the parishes by rumours of small successes nearer at hand. The swamps were now believed to be full of enemies to royal power, only wanting imbodiment and arms; and truly did Tarleton, dilating upon the condition of things at this period in the colony, give a melancholy summary of those influences which were
Page 4
crowding together, as it was fondly thought by the patriots, for the overwhelming of foreign domination.
"Discontents"--according to his narrative--"were disseminated--secret conspiracies entered into upon the frontier--hostilities were already begun in many places, and every thing seemed to menace a revolution as rapid as that which succeeded the surrender of Charlestown." The storm grew more imposing in its terrors, when, promising himself confidently a march of triumph through the country, Gates, in a swelling proclamation, announced his assumption of command over the southern army. It was a promise sadly disappointed in the end--yet the effect was instantaneous; and with the knowledge of his arrival, the entire Black River country was in insurrection. This was the province of Marion, and to his active persuasion and influence the outbreak must chiefly be ascribed. But the influence of events upon other sections was not less immediate, though less overt and important in their development. The fermenting excitement, which, in men's minds, usually precedes the action of powerful, because long suppressed, elements of mischief, had reached its highest point of forbearance. The immediately impelling power was alone wanting, and this is always to be found in that restless love of change, growing with its facilities, which forms so legitimate a portion of our original nature. There is a wholesome stir in strife itself, which, like the thunderstorm in the sluggish atmosphere, imparts a renewed energy, and a better condition of health and exercise, to the attributes and agents of the moral man.
________These old woods about Dorchester are famous. There is not a wagon track--not a defile--not a clearing--not a traverse of these plains, which has not been consecrated by the strife for liberty; the close strife--the desperate struggle; the contest, unrelaxing, unyielding to the last, save only with death or conquest. These old trees have looked down upon blood and battles; the thick array and the solitary combat between
Page 5
single foes, needing no other witnesses. What tales might they not tell us! The sands have drunk deeply of holy and hallowed blood--blood that gave them value and a name, and made for them a place in all human recollection. The grass here has been beaten down, in successive seasons, by heavy feet--by conflicting horsemen--by driving and recoiling artillery. Its deep green has been dyed with a yet deeper and a darker stain--the outpourings of the invader's veins, mingling with the generous streams flowing from bosoms that had but one hope--but one purpose--the unpolluted freedom and security of home; the purity of the threshold, the sweet repose of the domestic hearth from the intrusion of hostile feet--the only objects, for which men may brave the stormy and the brutal strife, and still keep the "whiteness of their souls."
The Carolinian well knows these old-time places; for every acre has its tradition in this neighbourhood. He rides beneath the thick oaks, whose branches have covered regiments, and looks up to them with regardful veneration. Well he remembers the old defile at the entrance just above Dorchester village, where a red clay hill rises abruptly, breaking pleasantly the dead level of country all around it. The rugged limbs and trunk of a huge oak, which hung above its brow, and has been but recently overthrown, was of itself his historian. It was notorious in tradition as the gallows oak; its limbs being employed by both parties, as they severally obtained the ascendency, for the purposes of summary execution. Famous, indeed, was all the partisan warfare in this neighbourhood, from the time of its commencement, with our story, in 1780, to the day, when, hopeless of their object, the troops of the invader withdrew to their crowded vessels, flying from the land they had vainly struggled to subdue. You should hear the old housewives dilate upon these transactions. You should hear them paint the disasters, the depression of the Carolinians! how their chief city was besieged and taken; their little army dispersed or cut
Page 6
to pieces; and how the invader marched over the country, and called it his. Anon, they would show you the little gathering in the swamp--the small scouting squad timidly stealing forth into the plain, and contenting itself with cutting off a foraging party or a baggage wagon, or rescuing a disconsolate group of captives on their way to the city and the prison-ships. Soon, imboldened by success, the little squad is increased by numbers, and aims at larger game. Under some such leader as Colonel Washington, you should see them, anon, well mounted, streaking along the Ashley river road, by the peep of day, well skilled in the management of their steeds, whose high necks beautifully arch under the curb, while, in obedience to their rider's will, they plunge fearlessly through brake and through brier, over the fallen tree, and into the suspicious water. Heedless of all things but the proper achievement of their bold adventure, the warriors go onward, while the broadswords flash in the sunlight, and the trumpet cheers them with a tone of victory. And goodlier still is the sight, when, turning the narrow lane, thick fringed with the scrubby oak and the pleasant myrtle, you behold them come suddenly to the encounter with the hostile invaders. How they hurra, and rush to the charge with a mad emotion that the steed partakes--his ears erect, and his nostrils distended, while his eyeballs start forward, and grow red with the straining effort; then, how the riders bear down all before them, and, with swords shooting out from their cheeks, make nothing of the upraised bayonet and pointed spear, but, striking in, flank and front, carry confusion wherever they go--while the hot sands drink in the life-blood of friend and foe, streaming through a thousand wounds. Hear them tell of these, and of the "Game Cock," Sumter; how, always ready for fight, with a valour which was frequently rashness, he would rush into the hostile ranks, and, with his powerful frame and sweeping sabre, would single out for inveterate strife his own particular enemy. Then, of the subtle "Swamp Fox," Marion, who, slender
Page 7
of form, and having but little confidence in his own physical prowess, was never seen to use his sword in battle; gaining by stratagem and unexpected enterprise those advantages which his usual inferiority of force would never have permitted him to gain otherwise. They will tell you of his conduct and his coolness; of his ability, with small means, to consummate leading objects--the best proof of military talent; and of his wonderful command of his men; how they would do his will, though it led to the most perilous adventure, with as much alacrity as if they were going to a banquet. Of the men themselves, though in rags, almost starving, and exposed to all changes of the weather, how cheerfully, in the fastnesses of the swamp, they would sing their rude song about the capacity of their leader and their devotion to his person, in some such strain as that which follows:--
THE SWAMP FOX.
I.
"We follow where the Swamp Fox guides,
His friends and merry men are we;
And when the troop of Tarleton rides,
We burrow in the cypress tree.
The turfy tussock is our bed,
Our home is in the red-deer's den,
Our roof, the tree-top overhead,
For we are wild and hunted men.
II.
"We fly by day, and shun its light;
But, prompt to strike the sudden blow,
We mount, and start with early night,
And through the forest track our foe.
And soon he hears our chargers leap,
The flashing sabre blinds his eyes,
And ere he drives away his sleep,
And rushes from his camp, he dies.
III.
"Free bridle-bit, good gallant steed,
That will not ask a kind caress,
To swim the Santee at our need,
When on his heels the foemen press--
The true heart and the ready hand,
The spirit, stubborn to be free--
The twisted bore, the smiting brand--
And we are Marion's men, you see.
Page 8
IV.
"Now light the fire, and cook the meal,
The last, perhaps, that we shall taste;
I hear the Swamp Fox round us steal,
And that's a sign we move in haste.
He whistles to the scouts, and hark!
You hear his order calm and low--
Come, wave your torch across the dark,
And let us see the boys that go.
V.
"We may not see their forms again,
God help 'em, should they find the strife!
For they are strong and fearless men,
And make no coward terms for life:
They'll fight as long as Marion bids,
And when he speaks the word to shy,
Then--not till then--they turn their steeds,
Through thickening shade and swamp to fly.
VI.
"Now stir the fire, and lie at ease,
The scouts are gone, and on the brush
I see the colonel bend his knees,
To take his slumbers too--but hush!
He's praying, comrades: 'tis not strange;
The man that's fighting day by day,
May well, when night comes, take a change,
And down upon his knees to pray.
VII.
"Break up that hoecake, boys, and hand
The sly and silent jug that's there;
I love not it should idle stand,
When Marion's men have need of cheer.
'Tis seldom that our luck affords
A stuff like this we just have quaffed,
And dry potatoes on our boards
May always call for such a draught.
VIII.
"Now pile the brush and roll the log:
Hard pillow, but a soldier's head,
That's half the time in brake and bog,
Must never think of softer bed.
The owl is hooting to the night,
The cooter crawling o'er the bank,
And in that pond the plashing light,
Tells where the alligator sank.
IX.
"What--'tis the signal! start so soon,
And through the Santee swamp so deep,
Without the aid of friendly moon,
And we, Heaven help us, half asleep!
Page 9
But courage, comrades, Marion leads,
The Swamp Fox takes us out to-night;
So clear your swords, and coax your steeds,
There's goodly chance, I think, of fight.
X.
"We follow where the Swamp Fox guides,
We leave the swamp and cypress tree,
Our spurs are in our coursers' sides,
And ready for the strife are we--
The tory camp is now in sight,
And there he cowers within his den--
He hears our shout, he dreads the fight,
He fears, and flies from Marion's men."
And gallant men they were--taught by his precept and example, their own peculiar deeds grow famous in our story. Each forester became in time an adroit partisan; learned to practise a thousand stratagems, and most generally with a perfect success. Imbedding himself in the covering leaves and branches of the thick-limbed tree, he would lie in wait till the fall of evening; then, dropping suddenly upon the shoulders of the sentry as he paced beneath, would drive the keen knife into his heart, before he could yet recover from his panic Again, he would burrow in the hollow of the miry ditch, and crawling, Indian fashion, into the trench, wait patiently until the soldier came into the moonlight, when the silver drop at his rifle's muzzle fell with fatal accuracy upon his button, or his breastplate, and the sharp sudden crack which followed almost invariably announced the victim's long sleep of death. And numerous besides were the practices, of which tradition and history alike agree to tell us, adopted in the war of our revolution by the Carolina partisan, to neutralize the superiority of European force and tactics. Often and again have they lain close to the gushing spring, and silent in the bush, like the tiger in his jungle, awaiting until the foragers had squatted around it for the enjoyment of their midday meal; then, rushing forth with a fierce halloo, seize upon the stacked arms, and beat down the surprised but daring soldiers who might rise up to defend them. And this sort of warfare, small though it may
Page 10
appear, was at last triumphant. The successes of the whigs, during the whole period of the revolutionary contest in the South, were almost entirely the result of the rapid, unexpected movement--the sudden stroke made by the little troop, familiar with its ground, knowing its object, and melting away at the approach of a superior enemy, like so many dusky shadows, secure in the thousand swamp recesses which surrounded them. Nor did they rely always on stratagem in the prosecution of their enterprises. There were gleams of chivalry thrown athwart this sombre waste of strife and bloodshed, worthy of the middle ages. Bold and graceful riders, with fine horses, ready in all cases, fierce in onset, and reckless in valour, the southern cavalry had an early renown. The audacity with which they drove through the forest, through broad rivers, such as the Santee, by day and by night, in the face of the enemy, whether in flight or in assault the same, makes their achievements as worthy of romance as those of a Bayard or Bernardo. Thousands of instances are recorded of that individual gallantry--that gallantry, stimulated by courage, warmed by enthusiasm, and refined by courtesy--which gives the only credentials of true chivalry. Such, among the many, was the rescue of the prisoners, by Jasper and Newton; the restoration of the flagstaff to Fort Moultrie, in the hottest fire, by the former; and the manner in which he got his death-wound at Savannah, in carrying off the colours which had been intrusted to him. Such were many of the rash achievements of Sumter and Laurens, and such was the daring of the brave Conyers, who daily challenged his enemy in the face of the hostile army. These were all partisan warriors, and such were their characteristics. Let us now return to the narration of those adventures, which distinguish the life of some, not unworthy to be ranked honourably among them.
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CHAPTER II.
"Now, yield thee up thy charge--delay and die--
I may not spare thee in a quest like this,
But strike even while I speak."
AIDED by his new recruits, Humphries brought his prisoner to camp with little difficulty. The worthy serjeant, it is true, did at first offer resistance; he mouthed and struggled, as the bandages compressed his mouth, and the ligatures restrained his arms; but the timely application of hand and foot, which his captors did not hesitate to employ to compel obedience, not to speak of the threatening aspect of the dagger, which the much roused lieutenant held more than once to his throat, brought him to reason, and counselled that wholesome resignation to circumstances, which, though not always easy and pleasant of adoption, is, at least, on most occasions, well becoming in him who has few alternatives. He was, therefore, soon mounted, along with one of the troopers, on horseback; and in a state of most commendable quietness, he reached, after an hour's quick riding, the encampment at Bacon's bridge. There, well secured with a stout rope, and watched by the guard assigned for the other prisoners, close in the thick and knotty wood, which girdled the swamp, we will at present leave him.
Singleton had well concealed his little squadron in the same shelter. Like a true partisan, he had omitted no precautions. His scouts were out in all directions--men that he could trust--and his sentries watched both sides of the river. The position which he had chosen was one established by General Moultrie in the previous season. It had been vacated when the brave old warrior was called to league his
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troops with those of Lincoln, in defence of the city. The intrenchments and barracks were in good order, but Singleton studiously avoided their use; and, to the thoughtless wayfarer passing by the little fort and the clumsy blockhouse, nothing could possibly have looked more pacific. The partisan, though immediately at hand, preferred a less ostentatious position; and we find Singleton, accordingly, close clustering with his troop in the deep wood that lay behind it. Here, for a brief period at least, his lurking-place was secure, and he only desired it for a few days longer. Known to the enemy, he could not have held it, even for a time so limited, but would have been compelled to rapid flight, or a resort to the deeper shadows and fastnesses of the swamp. At this point the river ceased to be navigable even for the common poleboats of the country; and this was another source of its security. Filled up by crowding trees--the gloomy cypresses striding boldly into its very bosom--it slunk away into shade and silence, winding and broken, after a brief effort at a concentrated course, into numberless little bayous and indentures, muddy creeks, stagnating ponds, miry holes, and a region, throughout, only pregnable by desperation, and only loved by the fierce and filthy reptile, the ominous bird, the subtle fox, and venomous serpent. This region, immediately at hand, promised a safe place of retreat, for a season, to the adventurous partisan; and in its gloomy recesses he well knew that, unless guided by a genuine swamp-sucker, all Europe might vainly seek to find the little force, so easily concealed, which he now commanded.
Humphries soon furnished his commander with all the intelligence he had obtained at Dorchester. He gave a succinct account of the affair of Mother Blonay, and her visit to the village--of the movement of Huck to assail him on the Stonoe--and of the purpose of the tory to proceed onward, by the indirect route already mentioned, to join with Tarleton on the Catawba. The latter particulars had been furnished the lieutenant by
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the two troopers who had joined him. The whole account determined Singleton to hurry his own movement to join with Marion. That part of the narrative of Humphries relating to Mother Blonay, decided the commander to keep Goggle still a prisoner, as one not to be trusted. Giving orders, therefore, for his continued detention, he proceeded to put things in readiness for the movement of the squad, with nightfall, to their old and better shelter on the little island in the Cypress Swamp. This done, Singleton commanded his horse in readiness, and bidding the boy Lance Frampton in attendance, despatched him to prepare his own. To Humphries he now gave charge of the troop--repeated his orders to move with the dusk to their old quarters--and, having informed the lieutenant of the true object of his own adventure, he set forth, only attended by the boy Frampton, taking an upper road leading towards the Santee. That object may as well be told now as ever. Singleton had been for some time awaiting intelligence of Marion's movement to Nelson's ferry. A courier had been looked for daily, since he had left his leader; and as, in these suspicious times, every precaution in the conveyance and receipt of intelligence was necessary, it followed that many difficulties lay in the way of its transmission. Men met on the highways, to fear, to avoid, and frequently to fight with one another. They assumed contrary characters in the presence of the stranger, and the play at cross-purposes, even among friends, was the frequent consequence of a misunderstood position.
There were signs and phrases agreed upon between Marion and his trusted men, mysterious or unmeaning to all besides, which Singleton was not permitted to impart to others. This necessity prompted him forth, if possible, to meet with the expected courier, bearing him his orders--having attached the younger Frampton to his person: he chose him as too young for treason, and, indeed, he wanted no better companion to accompany him on his ramble. Setting forth by noonday,
Page 14
he kept boldly along the common Ashley river or Dorchester road, as, winding in accordance with the course of the stream, it carried him above and completely around the spot chosen for his camp in the Cypress.
They saw but little, for some time, to attract them in this ramble. They traversed the defile of thick oaks, which form so large a part of the scenery of that region; then into the same pine-land track they pushed their way. Cheerless quite, bald of home and habitation, they saw nothing throughout the melancholy waste more imposing than the plodding negro, with his staff in hand, and with white teeth peering through his thick, flagging lips, in a sort of deferential smile, at their approach. Sometimes, touched with the apprehensions of the time, he too would start away as he beheld them, and they might see him, as they looked backward, cautiously watching their progress from behind the pine-tree, or the crumbling fence. Occasionally they came to a dwelling in ruins, or burnt--the cornfield scorched and blackened with the recent fire, the fences overthrown, and the cows, almost wild, having free possession, and staring wildly upon them as they drew nigh.
"And this is war!" said Singleton, musingly. "This is war--the merciless, the devastating war! Oh, my country, when wilt thou be free from invasion--when will thy people come back to these deserted dwellings--when will the corn flourish green along these stricken and blasted fields, without danger from the trampling horse, and the wanton and devouring fire? When--oh, when?"
He spoke almost unconsciously, but was recalled to himself, as, wondering at what he heard, the peering eyes of Lance Frampton, as he rode up beside him, perused keenly the unusually sad expression of his countenance. Singleton noted his gaze, and, without rebuking it, addressed him with a question concerning his father, who had been missing from the troop ever since the affair with Travis.
Page 15
Lance, have you heard nothing of your father since I last asked you about him?"
"Nothing, sir; nothing at all, since we left the Cypress."
"You saw him not, then, at our departure?"
"No, sir; but I heard him laugh long after I missed him from the troop. He couldn't have been far off, sir, when we came out of the swamp; though I didn't see him then, and I didn't want to see him."
"Why not, boy?--your father, too!"
"Why, sir, father is strange sometimes, and then we never talk to him or trouble him, and he don't want people to see him then. We always know how he is when he laughs, and then we go out of his way. We know he is strange then, for he never laughs any other time."
"What do you mean by strange--is he dangerous?"
"Sometimes, sir, he plays dangerous with you. But it's all in play, for he laughs, and doesn't look in earnest; but he hurts people then. He once threw me into the tree when he was so: but it wasn't in earnest--it is his fun, when he is strange."
"And where do you think he is--in the swamp?"
"Yes, sir; he loves to be in the swamp."
"And how long, boy, is it since he became strange?"
"Oh, a very long time, sir; ever since I was a little child. But he has been much stranger since mother's death!"
"No wonder! no wonder! That was enough to make him so--that cruel murder; but we will avenge it, boy--we will avenge it."
"Yes, sir; that's what I want to do, as soon as you'll let me--as soon as I grow tall enough to cut a man over the head."
The boy stopped and blushed--half fearing that he had said too much; but the kindled fire of his eye was unshadowed, and there was a quiver of his lips, and an increasing heave of his breast, that did not escape the keen glance of Singleton. The latter was about to speak, when suddenly the boy stopped him, bent forward
Page 16
upon his horse, and pointing with his finger to an opening from the roadside, called the attention of his commander in that direction.
"I'm sure, sir, it's a man--a white man; his back was to us, sir; he's in there."
At the word, Singleton drove the spur into his steed, and the boy followed him. In a moment, he was at the designated spot, and there, sure enough, even as his companion had said, in the little break of the woods, on the hillock's side, a strange man stood before them.
The person thus surprised now evidently beheld them for the first time. He had been tightening the saddle-girth around his horse, that stood quietly cropping the grass at their approach; and his eyes were turned over his shoulder, surveying the new-comers. He hesitated, and his manner had in it something of precipitation. This was the more evident to Singleton, as, on their appearance, he began to whistle, and obviously assumed a degree of composure which he did not feel. He had been taking his midday repast at the spring, which trickled from the hillside below them; and the remains of his meal, consisting of a bit of dried venison, cold ham and corn hoecake, were still open upon the grass, lying on the buckskin wrapper which contained them. The man was certainly a traveller, and had ridden far; the condition of his horse proved that; though his dress and appearance were those of the plain farmers of the neighbourhood. A coarse blue homespun coatee, with thin, whity-brown pantaloons, loosely made, and a quaker hat, in the riband of which a huge pipe was stuck ostentatiously, formed his habit. But Singleton saw that the pipe had never been smoked, and his inference was not favourable to the traveller, from this circumstance.
Throwing his bridle to Lance Frampton, the partisan alighted, and approached the stranger, who turned to meet him. There was quite a show of good-humour in his countenance, as Singleton drew nigh, and yet the latter saw his trepidation; and the anxious looks
Page 17
which, more than once, he cast upon the stout animal which had borne him, seemed to say how glad he would have been to use him in flight, could he possibly have thought to do so in safety.
"Good-day, my friend, good-day. You have ridden far," said Singleton, "and your horse tells it. May I ask what quarter you come from?"
"Oh yes, to be sure you may, stranger; there's no harm that I can see in the question, only as it happens to want an answer. It's no safe matter, now-a-days, stranger, to tell one's starting and stopping, since, you see, it mayn't altogether please them that hears."
There was a half disposition on the part of the countryman to feel his way, and see how far he could bully the new-comer, in this equivocal sort of speech. But he was mistaken in the man before him, and though he had spoken his evasive reply in a manner meant to be conciliating while it remained unsatisfactory, he was soon compelled to see that his questioner was by no means to be trifled with.
"Safe or not, my friend," said Singleton, gravely, "there are some questions that a man must answer, whether he likes it or no: there is a school proverb that you must remember, about the bird that can sing and will not."
The man turned his tobacco in his jaws, and though evidently annoyed and disquieted, replied--
"Why, yes, stranger, I reckon I know what you mean, though I haint had much schooling; three months one year, and three another, and then three years without any, don't teach a body every kind of larning. But the saying you point to I remember well enough; many's the time I've heard it. 'The bird that wont sing must be made to sing.' "
"I see your memory may be relied upon for other matters," said Singleton; "and now, taking care not to forget the proverb, you will please answer me a few questions."
"Well, stranger, I'm willing enough. I'm all over good-natur, and never fail to git vexed with myself
Page 18
afterward, when the devil drives me to be uncivil to them that treats me well. Ax your question straight off-hand, and Peet Larkin is the boy to answer, far as his larning goes."
"I am glad, Mr. Larkin, for your own sake, that you have this temper. You will please to say, now, where you are from."
"Well, now, stranger, I'm only come from a little above--and as you say, I've had a tough ride of it; but it's a good critter, this here nag of mine, and does one's heart good to go on him. So, you see, when I'm on him, I goes it. I hate mightily to creep, terrapin fashion, in a dogtrot; for you see, stranger, it's a bad gait, and sickens a short man, though the horse that travels stands it best of any."
Singleton had no disposition to interrupt the speaker, though he saw that he meant to be evasive. He watched his features attentively, while he spoke, and when he had done, proceeded in his inquiries.
"From above! but what part? I would know precisely, Mr. Larkin."
"Well, now, stranger, as I haint got no secrets, I 'spose I may as well tell you 'xactly as 'tis. I'm from clear across the Santee; I live 'pon the Santee, or thereabouts."
"Indeed! and is it true, as we hear below, that the wolves have grown troublesome in that quarter?"
"The wolves, stranger? Well, now, that can't be; for, you see, I come from all about, and nobody that I seed along the road, or in any settlement, made complaint. I reckon you aint heard very particular right, now."
"It must be the owls, then--yes, it is the owls; have you seen any of them on your way?"
This question, urged with the utmost gravity by the partisan, completed the fellow's astonishment. Revolving the huge lump of tobacco--for such it seemed--which from the commencement of the dialogue had been going to and fro between his jaws, it was some
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seconds before he could recover sufficiently from his astonishment to reply.
"Owls! God bless me, stranger, but that's a queer question, anyhow. To be sure there's owls all along the Santee; you may hear them in the swamp any time o' night, and an ugly noise they makes all night long, but nobody thinks o' minding them. They troubles nobody, and sometimes, when there's going to be a death in the family, the white owls comes into the bedroom, and they won't drive 'em out, for you see it's no use; the sick body will die after that, whether they drive the owl off or no."
"Yes, yes--true;" said Singleton musingly, while watching the other's countenance with a circumspect regard. He saw that the countryman was not the man he expected, and he had other suspicions as to his real character, the more particularly as he perceived how disquieted the examination and restraint had made him. After a moment's pause, he proceeded to put a more direct inquiry.
"Where do you live upon the Santee?"
"Well, now, stranger, I don't know if you'll know the place when I tell you, seeing it's a little out of the way of the settlement; but I live close upon the left hand fork of the White Oak Branch, a leetle above the road that runs to Williamsburg. I come down that road when I crossed the Santee."
"And where did you cross the Santee?"
"At Vance's; I 'spose you know where that is?"
"I do; but why did you not cross at Nelson's--why go out of your way to Vance's?"
The countryman stammered, hesitated for a moment, and while he replied, his eye sank beneath the penetrating glance of Singleton.
"Why, stranger, to say truth, 'cause I feared to come by Nelson's; I was afeard of the enemy?"
"And whom do you call the enemy?"
"Them that's not a friend to me and my friends; them's my enemies, stranger, and I reckon them's your enemies too."
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"Perhaps so; but I must first know who they are, before I say. Speak."
The mass of tobacco performed a more rapid revolution before the man replied; and he then did so only as he saw the hand of Singleton upon the pistol in his belt.
"Well, stranger, if I must, I must: so, by the enemy I means the rebels; them that aint friendly to the king's government--them's the enemy; and there was plenty to spare of them at the nighest track; the river swamp at Nelson's was chock full of Marion's men, and there was no passing; so I took the road across, down by Wright's Bluff, that lets you into the Vance's ferry track, and--"
"You stopped at Watson's?"*
* At that time one of the chain of military posts which the enemy had established throughout the country.
Singleton put the question affirmatively, and the other looked surprised; the tobacco was about to be revolved from the one jaw to its opposite, as had been the case at almost every interval made between his sentences, when, quick as lightning, and with a grasp of steel, Singleton seized him by the throat. The fellow strove to slip away, but never did finger more tenaciously gripe the throat of an enemy. The partisan was a man of immense strength, and the stranger was short and small. His powers were far inferior. He strove to struggle, and laboured, but in vain, to speak. The fingers were too closely compressed, and still maintaining his hold with more tenacity than ever, the assailant bore him to earth, and with his knee firmly upon his breast, in spite of every effort for release by the man beneath him, he choked him until his tongue hung out upon his cheek, and his jaws were sufficiently distended to enable him to secure the game for which he toiled so desperately. Turning the bearer of despatches, for the prisoner was such, upon his side, the silver bullet which contained them rolled forth upon the grass, and in a moment after was secured by the ready hands of Lance Frampton.
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CHAPTER III.
"Ye blight the sense when ye do wound the heart--
Reason is feeling's best and born ally,
And suffers with her kindred."
"Stir not--move a foot, and you die!"--were the brief words of Singleton, as, with foot upon his breast, he kept the bearer of despatches prostrate upon the earth. The man saw the peremptory look, the ready pistol, and he doubted not that the words were sternly earnest. His struggles ceased with the command, and handing his cocked pistol to the attentive boy Frampton, the partisan proceeded to examine the prize which he had gained. The screw soon yielded up its trust, and the intelligence was important. The courier showed symptoms of disquiet, and the foot of his conqueror was pressed, in consequence, more firmly upon his bosom.
"Shoot him if he stirs," said Singleton to the boy, who looked his readiness to obey the command. The former then perused the cramped document which the billet had contained. Its contents were valuable, and greatly assisted our hero in his own progress. Though from an enemy, it contained desirable intelligence, and taken in connection with the verbal narrative which the courier had given of the presence of Marion's men on the Santee, it at once determined Singleton to make an early movement in that quarter. The despatch was from Lord Rawdon, in command at Camden, to Earl Cornwallis at Charlestown. It claimed the immediate attendance of the commander-in-chief in Camden, to quell discontents, and prepare for the enemy--announcing the approach of Gates with a formidable army of seven thousand men. This was the alleged force of the continentals, an amount greatly exaggerated beyond the truth, but at this time confidently believed and insisted
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upon by both parties in the state. The express contained, in addition to this highly interesting matter, the heads of other subjects not less interesting to the partisan, and scarcely less important to the cause. It described, in brief, numerous risings in every quarter; the defection of the militia en masse, under Lyle, who had carried them over to Sumter; the union of Sumter with the Waxsaw whigs; and the affairs on the Catawba, at Williams's and the Rocky Mount: in all of which the "Game Cock" had handled the enemy severely. The despatch betrayed great anxiety, and its contents were of the most stimulating tendency to Singleton. It now impressed upon him the necessity of that early movement to join with Marion which he had already contemplated.
"You may rise, sir," said the partisan, moving his heel from the breast of the courier, who had lain quietly enough but uncomfortably under it.
"You may rise, but you are my prisoner--no words, but prepare to submit. See to your animal--make no effort to fly, or I shoot you down on the instant."
The man rose tamely enough, but sullenly. After a few moments he found his speech, which was now more agreeable and less broken than when the bullet was revolving to and fro in his jaws.
"Well, now, captain, this is mighty hard, now, I do think. You won't keep me, I reckon, seeing I'm no fighting man, and haint got any weapons. I'm a non-combatant, so I am, and I aint free to be taken prisoner. It's agin the laws, I reckon."
"Indeed! but we'll see. Mount, sir, and no talking."
"Well, it's a tough business, and I do think, after all, that it's only joking with me you are--you're two good loyalists, now, I'm certain."
"You mistake, sir, I'm an American--one of Marion's men, and no traitor. To horse, and no more of this--no trifling."
"God help me, captain, but you're not in airnest, sure? It's no small difficulty, now, this express, and it's a matter to be well paid for; and if so be you are,
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for certain, one of Marion's men, you mought let 'n have a free pass up, for a smart chance of the guineas. Afore God, captain, if you'll only clear the road you shall have one half--"
The pistol was at his head.
"Another word, scoundrel, and I send the bullet through your scull. Mount, quickly--quickly!"
With the back of his hand he smote the tory upon his mouth as he spoke, and the fire of insulted patriotism flashed from his eye, with a threatening brightness that silenced at once, and most effectually, all farther solicitations from the bearer of despatches. Reluctantly, but without farther pause, he got into saddle, taking the place assigned him by his captor, between himself and the boy. In this manner they took their way to the Cypress Swamp, and it was not long before they were, all three, lodged in its safe and deep recesses.
There we find our almost forgotten friends, the gourmand and good-natured Porgy, and the attenuated naturalist, Doctor Oakenburger; the one about to engage in his favourite vocation, and hurrying the evening meal, the other sublimely employed in stuffing with moss the skin of a monstrous "coachwhip," which, to his great delight, the morning before, he had been successful enough to take with a crotch stick, and to kill without bruising. Carefully skinned, and dried in the shade, the rich colours and glossy glaze of the reptile had been well preserved, and now, carefully filled out with the soft and pliant moss, as it lay across the doctor's lap, it wore, to the eye of Singleton, a very life-like appearance. The two came forward to meet and make the acquaintance of the partisan, whom before they had not seen. Porgy was highly delighted, for, like most fat men, he liked company, and preferred always the presence of a number. "There's no eating alone," he would say--"give me enough for a large table, and enough round it: I can then enjoy myself." His reception of Singleton partook of this spirit.
"Major Singleton, I rejoice to see you; just now particularly,
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as our supper, such as it is, is almost at hand. No great variety, sir--nothing much to choose from--but what of that, sir. There's enough, and what there is, is good--the very best. Tom, there--our cook, sir--he will make the very best of it--broils ham the best of any negro in the southern country, and his hoecake, sir, is absolutely perfection. He does turn a griddle with a dexterity that is remarkable. But you shall see--you shall see for yourself. Here, Tom!"
And rolling up his sleeves, he took the subject of his eulogy aside, and a moment after the latter was seen piling his brands and adjusting a rude iron fabric over the coals, while the corpulent Porgy, with the most hearty good-will for the labour, busily sliced off sundry huge collops from the convenient shoulder of bacon that hung suspended from a contiguous tree. The labours of the gourmand were scarcely congenial either with the mood of Singleton or the quiet loveliness of the scene. Evening was fast coming on--all the swamp was in a deep shadow, save where, like a wandering but pure spirit, a rose-like effusion, the last dying but lovely glance from the descending sun rested flickeringly upon the top of one of the tallest pines above them. A space between the trees, opening to the heavens in one little spot alone, showed them a sprinkling of fleecy white clouds, sleeping quietly under the sky, their western edges partaking slightly of the same last parting glance of the sinking orb. A slight breeze stirred fitfully among the branches; and the occasional chirp of the nimble sparrow, as it hopped along on the edge of the island, was the only sound, other than those made by the hissing fire, and the occasional orders of Porgy, which came to the ears of Singleton. He threw himself upon the green bank, under a tree, on the opposite side of which the boy Lance had already placed himself, a little behind him. Suddenly the boy started to his feet. The wild, unearthly laugh of his father, that eldritch scream which chilled to the very bones of the hearer, was heard on the skirts of the island. Looking to the quarter
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whence the sound proceeded, they beheld his huge figure peering from behind a tree--his eyes staring forth vacantly upon them, while his hands were uplifted to a stretching branch above him, which he grasped firmly. He laughed once and again, and Singleton at length rose, beckoned and called to him. But he gave no heed to the call, and when the latter offered to approach him, the maniac moved away rapidly, with another eldritch laugh, as if he was about to fly. At this moment the boy came up in sight of his father, and the wild man seemed to recognise his son."
"He will come now, sir," said Lance to Major Singleton; "he will come now, sir: but we must not seem to push or to watch him."
They fell back, accordingly, took their old places along the bank, and awaited the result of their experiment; and, as the boy had predicted, the maniac in a few moments after was beside them. He came forward with a bounding motion, as if now only accustomed to an inordinate extent of action, corresponding to the sleepless impulse and the fierce fever preying upon his mind. Without a word, but with a perpetually glancing movement of the eye, which seemed to take in all objects around, he squatted down quietly beside his son. He stared for an instant curiously into his eyes, then extending his hand, his fingers wandered unconsciously in the long black hair of the boy. The latter, all the time, with a proper caution, arising from his previous intimacy with his father's habits, took care neither to move nor speak. He sat patiently, unmoved, while the fingers of the maniac played with his hair, lifted curl after curl with affectionate minuteness, and wound particular locks about his finger. Then he stroked down, once or twice, the thick volumes of hair together; and at length, laughing again more wildly than ever, he withdrew his hand entirely, and turning his face from the two, his eyes became fixed with a strange intensity upon the extended form of the tory whom Singleton had taken, and who now lay tied beneath a tree at a little distance. The maniac slowly
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rose and moved towards him--walked all around and examined him in every particular; the prisoner all the while, with no little anxiety, turning his glance in every quarter, following the movement of the observer. The fingers of the maniac were in a motion as restless--now grasping, and now withdrawn from, the handle of the unsheathed knife that was stuck in the folds of a thick red handkerchief, ragged and soiled, which was strapped about his waist. At length, leaving the object of his inspection, he approached Singleton, and, with something more of coherence than usual, and a singularly calm expression, he proposed an inquiry about the person whose presence appeared so much to trouble him.
"He is not a red-coat--not a dragoon?"
"No; a countryman, but a prisoner. He is a bearer of despatches--a non-combatant."
The reply of Singleton, which was immediately made to the maniac, brought forward another party in the person of Doctor Oakenburger, who now--having first, with the utmost tenderness, hung his snake over a limb above him--joined the group.
"A prisoner, and yet a non-combatant, Major Singleton! Sir, oblige me, and explain. Is that possible?--have I not heard imperfectly? I too, sir, am a non-combatant, sir; that was understood, sir, when Master Humphries first spoke to me in this behalf. My engagements, sir, required no risk at my hands, and promised me perfect safety."
"Is he not safe enough?" was the calm inquiry of Singleton, as, with a smile, he pointed to the corded courier, and thus answered the doctor's question. Just at his ears, in the same moment, the maniac, who, unperceived by the doctor, had stolen close behind him, now uttered one of his most appalling screams of laughter; and the non-combatant did not seek to disguise the apprehensions which prompted him to a hasty retreat in the rear of Singleton. The partisan turned to him, and changing his topic somewhat, inquired--
"You are the doctor, sir? Doctor--"
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"Oakenburger, sir; of an old German family of high descent, and without stain of blood. They came over, sir, with the Elector."
In a whisper, Singleton inquired if his skill could reach the case of Frampton; but the suggestion was productive of quite too much alarm in the mind of the adventurer. He seemed nowise desirous of martyrdom in the prosecution of the healing art; and, when he found his tongue, in reply to the demand of Singleton, he gave his opinion in a half-unintelligible jargon, that the case was confirmed and hopeless. The savage, in the mean while, had drawn nigher to his son, one of whose hands he had taken into his own. But he said nothing all the while; and at length, having made all arrangements for the evening repast, the provident Porgy coming forward, announced things in readiness, and bade them fall to. Singleton then spoke to the maniac, and endeavoured to persuade him to the log on which the victuals had been spread, and around which the others had now gathered; but his application was entirely unheeded.
"He won't mind all you can say to him, major; we know him, for he's been several times to eat with us; that's the way with the creature. But put the meat before him, and his understanding comes back in a moment. He knows very well what to do with it. Ah, Providence has wisely ordained, major, that we shall lose the knowledge of what's good for the stomach the last of all. We can forget the loss of fortune, sir, of the fine house, and goodly plate, and pleasant tendance--we may even forget the quality and the faces of our friends; and as for love, that gets out of our clutches, we don't know how; but, major, I wont believe that anybody ever yet lost their knowledge of good living. Once gained, it holds its ground well; it survives all other knowledge. The belly, major, will always insist upon so much brains being preserved in the head, as will maintain unimpaired its own ascendency."
As the gourmand had said, the meat was no sooner
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placed before the maniac, than, seizing it ravenously in his fingers, he tore and devoured it with a fury that showed how long had been his previous abstinence. His appetite was absolutely wolfish; and while he ate, Singleton watched him with mingled emotions of pity and disgust. His garments were in tatters about him, torn by the thick wood in which he had ranged with as little scruple as the wild beasts whom he now resembled. His face had been scratched with briers and the blood had congealed along the seams upon his cheek, unremoved and unregarded. His thick, black hair was matted down upon his forehead, and was deeply stained with the clayey ooze of the swamp through which he had been crawling. His eyes beneath had a fiery restlessness, and glared even around him with a baleful, comet-like light, which was full of evil omen. When he had eaten, without a word he dashed off from the place where he had been seated, plunged into the creek, and the fainter and fainter echoes of his wild laugh declared his rapid progress away into the thick recesses of the neighbouring cypress. Over these darkness now began to consolidate; and at length, impatient of farther delay in a purposed object, Singleton rose from his place, and gave orders to Lance to get his own and the horse of his superior in readiness.
"Shall we ride to-night, sir?" inquired the boy.
"Instantly: I shall put you on a new duty to-night, Lance, and hope that you will perform it well. Speed now with the horses, for the dark gathers."
The bosom of the youth thrilled and throbbed with a new emotion of pleasure, as he heard the promise, and the feeling gave a degree of elasticity to his movement, which enabled him to place the steed before his leader instantaneously.
Singleton sprung the pan of his pistols, renewed the priming, gave several orders touching the prisoner, and some parting directions; then leaping into saddle, bade Lancelot find the track. Porgy waved a blazing torch over the creek, giving them a brief light at
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starting, and the two were soon plunging through the gloomy pathway, if so, by any stretch of courtesy, it may be called, and taking a direction which Singleton thought most likely to give them a meeting with the now approaching troop under the command of Humphries.
CHAPTER IV.
"The game is lost, and needless to pursue,
Through such a waste, in such a night as this."
THE course of Singleton was now towards "The Oaks." He was about to pay a parting visit, and to seek, if possible, to persuade his uncle to set forth with him for the Santee, with whatever force might have been procured by him from among his neighbours. This was, indeed, his only opportunity. He had arrested one courier, it is true; but others must succeed in giving to Cornwallis the important intelligence which, for the present, he had staid. The movement of Cornwallis towards Camden, in compliance with the necessity of the case, and Rawdon's solicitations, would have the effect of breaking up communication throughout the intervening country, and making any effort to pass it dangerous to the partisan. This was a consideration which he necessarily concluded must influence Colonel Walton's conduct; and the opportunity of passing at Nelson's, now filled with Marion's men, was one not to be disregarded. His hopes were, that his uncle would carry with him a decent number of sturdy fellows into the camp of the continentals. Nor was this hope altogether premature. Colonel Walton, although slow in taking up the cause of his country, had, at last, set heartily about it. By his earnestness and his industry, since his determination had been made to resume his arms, he strove to
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appease his conscience, and do away with any reproach that might have been due to his past forbearance. He had made some progress with his recruits, and was night and day indefatigable. He rode through his neighbourhood among all sorts of people, and played his game with skill and coolness. He knew that Proctor watched him, and he was circumspect accordingly. But, though cautious, he did not relax. In the little interval which followed his resolve to come out, and the moment under our view, he had secured some twenty pledges--pledges of stout, honest countrymen,--men who had been chafed by the insolence of their oppression, borne down by wrongs, and impatient for redress. He was now, even while Singleton rode with his attendant towards the river, engaged in close council with a little band at Johnson's house, on Cane Acre, to whom he was successfully urging such considerations as did not fail, in the end, to effect the object he desired. Let us there leave him, for the present, and return to the camp at Bacon's bridge.
With the close of day, Humphries made his preparations for moving to the Cypress in obedience to the command of Singleton. The horses were saddled quickly, the arms prepared, the surplus baggage put upon pack-horses, upon which the prisoners were mounted, and all appearance of a camp broken up in that quarter. These last were placed under the immediate surveillance of Davis, who brought up the rear of the troop. The custody of Hastings placed the rivals in a novel sort of relationship to one another; and the sturdy Goose Creeker did not feel less of his bitterness of spirit because he was compelled to suppress its utterance. His old love for Bella Humphries grew active with the feeling of jealousy, which the presence of the serjeant necessarily provoked. He really loved the girl, and his hate for the dragoon was, in consequence, entirely without qualification. He felt that he was getting angry, as, while arranging the prisoners, his eye continually fell upon Hastings. But he knew and respected the situation of the enemy too
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much to give utterance to his feelings at large; feelings which, at the same time, were sufficiently evident to the eye of the dragoon. He, on the other hand, conscious of his danger, and apprehensive of punishment corresponding to the outrageous character of his last offence, strove to be rather conciliating, and addressed some soothing and gracious speech to his rival, as the latter approached him; but the other was not to be soothed in this fashion. A glance of contempt, mingled with hate, was the only response given to the obsequious remark of Hastings; and in a few minutes after, when he could do so unobserved, Davis came back to where his prisoner stood, and in a low tone thus addressed him--
"Look ye, Sergeant Hastings, there's no love lost atween us, and it's no use for you to make sweet speeches. You're in no fix to help yourself now; but I've got a grudge agin you that must be satisfied, and I'll be on the look-out, though it's agin orders, to work a clear way for you out of this hobble, if so be you'll only promise to give me satisfaction when I've done so. Say the word now that you cross swords with me, if I help you to a clear track, and here's my hand upon it, that you shall have a fair fight and free passage."
"Well--but, Davis, my friend--"
"No friend, if you please. I'm your deadly enemy, and if so be I can, as God shall help me, I'll cut your heart out of your hide, or there's no snakes."
"Well, well--but I've no weapon."
"I'll bring you one--only say the word," was the pertinacious and quick reply. Finding there was no escape, the sergeant readily enough closed with the terms, and Davis then promised to seek him out in the swamp, conduct him to a clear ground, and make the terms of fight equal between them. This done, he turned away from the prisoner with something more of light-heartedness than usual, as he anticipated the pleasure of that strife with his enemy which promised to revenge him for so many wrongs.
The prisoners were now all mounted, Goggle along
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with them, and so disposed as to ride between alternate files of the troopers. In this order they set forth for the recesses of the swamp, and a route was chosen by Humphries which enabled him to keep away from all beaten roads; the necessity still existing, while in the neighbourhood of a superior force, for the utmost caution, as the objects of the partisan required security from observation even before any successes which so small a party might obtain. It was not long before they began to enter the swamp, and to meet with its obstructions. The twilight gradually ceased to glimmer, the trees crowded more closely, and the shades stalking about them incessantly grew incorporated into huge masses, from which the trees themselves were scarce distinguishable. Then came the varieties of the swamp; the black and stagnant puddle, the slimy ooze, the decayed and prostrate tree, and the hanging vine swinging across the path. The night came down shortly after they had penetrated into the morass, and, though a clear starlight evening, it was only now and then that glimpses could be obtained of the pale and melancholy watcher, suddenly peering down into the opening of the trees overhead. A closer order of march was now imposed upon the troop, as, carefully leading the way, Humphries guided them through one little creek, and along the banks of another. The earth between the two parallel waters lay tolerably high, and formed a defile, as it were, through which they continued to move with no other obstructions than such as were presented by the occasional morass formed by indentions of the creek, and the close trees, that suffered them to move only in single file. Once fairly in the swamp, Humphries had a torch lighted and carried by a trooper in front with himself. This serving sufficiently to pick the path, though yielding no assistance to those who came after, they were compelled simply to keep close, and follow the leader. The lieutenant kept unrelaxing watch during all this period, and the utmost order was observed during their progress. His ear was keenly observant of every sound, though deceived
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by none of them. He was skilled in woodcraft, and knew well how to decoy the bird, and to deceive the reptile, by his various imitations. At this time, however, he permitted himself no exercise of his powers in this respect; but, watchful in the highest degree, he gave his orders briefly, in a low tone, and without the employment of unnecessary words. At length the defile narrowed, the undergrowth thickened about the trees in luxuriant vegetation, and so dark was the place that the figure of each individual horse could only be made out by the rider immediately behind it. To the instinct and better vision of the animals themselves the movement was in great part left; the trooper and his prisoner alike only taking care not to fall far behind the steed in advance. This being the case, and heedful of his charge, while Davis was directed closely to watch and bring up the rear, Humphries stationed himself at the mouth of the defile, having first led the way through which they were yet to pass. There, with uplifted torch, he numbered one by one the steeds of all that came through and passed before him; and in this way, with a precaution which he considered the most complete that could be adopted, confidently thought that there could be no risk of losing any of his prisoners. And, indeed, with the ordinary prisoner, the man only skilled to fight bulldog fashion, without ingenuity, and solely relying upon his teeth, the precaution would have been enough. But Goggle was not of this description. He had the gift, along with Indian blood, of Indian subtlety. He had kept his course quietly and patiently with the rest, and there was no gloom, no dulness, no flagging of spirits about him. All was coolness in his mood, and he knew his ground. He had heard the orders of Humphries, readily understood the route, and prepared to avail himself of circumstances as they might occur in his favour. There was a cry which the troops were heard to utter successively, as they advanced through a certain point of the defile, the meaning of which he clearly enough understood. A ragged pine had
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thrust an arm directly over the path, and so low as to endanger the head of a tall man moving along too erectly. The cry of each rider, therefore, as he passed under it, was to his immediate follower--
"Stoop low!--heads down!"
Goggle heard this long before he reached it. He coolly prepared himself, buttoned his jacket closely, and freed his feet from his stirrups as he proceeded. He did this without the slightest precipitation or impatience. In order to accustom his horse to the relaxation of the bit, so that his movement might not undergo any change at the trying moment, he gradually yielded up the bridle, until the animal failed entirely to feel its restraints upon his mouth, then, dropping it altogether as he heard the cry of his predecessor to "stoop," instead of doing so, he threw his arms upward, caught the overhanging branch firmly with both hands, and with the activity of an ape lifted himself fairly out of the saddle, and for a moment swung in air. The horse passed from under him, and with his old habit followed the lead to which he had been accustomed. The succeeding steed approached, Goggle gave the cry, in the most measured language, and as he did so he whirled himself over out of the trooper's way, upon the top of the branch, where he sat with all a squirrel's sense of security. Here he remained in quiet as the troop proceeded. He knew the length of the defile, and could see in the distance the glimmering of the torch by which Humphries enumerated the troopers as they came forth from the avenue; and as the rear of the party with Davis was at hand, he felt secure that all would have passed him some time before his empty saddle would warn the lieutenant of his departure. A moment after, the voice of Davis, as he passed under the tree where the fugitive sat chuckling at his success, apprized him of the proper time to commence his flight. The ground was free, and dropping from his perch, the fugitive crossed the path, and took the water of the creek as soon as possible, following its course towards the river for a brief space, then
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turning aside and shrouding himself, while still keeping his way, in a close-set forest of small saplings. Here he had scarcely entered when the alarm was given. The vigilant Humphries had discovered the absence of the prisoner, as the untrammelled animal came forth from the defile. A confused shouting, a rush as of one or more in search, reached the ears of the fugitive; but he was safe, and laughed at all pursuit. The sound soon died away; and Goggle, who had lain quiet while the confusion lasted, now resumed his flight. Davis and one of the troopers had dashed back when the alarm was given; but in the thick darkness which shrouded the region, there was no prospect of retaking the prisoner so long as he kept silent. This was soon evident to Humphries, and, sore and chagrined, he hurried on the progress of the party, swearing vengeance against the tory, his hostility to whom had now received an added and doubly active stimulant. He reached the camp late at night without farther accident, and without meeting with Singleton, as the latter had proposed. They had taken different routes; and when the commander emerged from the swamp, he took the road back to the bridge, only accompanied by his youthful protegé. He reached the river just as the fugitive Goggle was about to emerge from the swamp. The latter heard at a distance the feet of the horse, and lay snug beside the road as they passed. The unobstructed starlight was now around them, and he was enabled to distinguish their persons. He conjectured what would be the course of Singleton, and he now beheld the opportunity of finding his reward with the British, and of gaining his revenge upon one, at least, of his American enemies. Toil and fatigue were at once forgotten, fear was discarded from his mind; and, now running, now walking, with an Indian pertinacity of spirit, he took the directest course leading to Dorchester.
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CHAPTER V.
"Her words are so much music, caught from heaven
When clouds are parting, and the rosy eve
Comes to her sway."
THE hour was late when Goggle reached the village. The sentries were all set, and Proctor had retired for the night; but, aware of the value of his intelligence, the fugitive did not scruple to disturb him. He told his story at full, and had the satisfaction to find that he told it to a willing ear. Proctor at once proceeded to arm a party, and heading it himself, prepared to surprise the rebel partisan in the quiet dwelling to which Goggle had seen him pursuing his way. The British colonel was the more willing to move in this business now, than he otherwise might have been, as he had been troubled with some doubt whether the suspicious attitude of Colonel Walton had not already called for his attention. He was glad of an opportunity, therefore, of proving his alacrity in the cause, so much of which had been intrusted to him. We leave him, with a little troop of half a score, getting into saddle, and about to move in the direction of "The Oaks." Goggle remained behind, at the suggestion of Proctor, who needed not his assistance farther, and saw that his fatigued condition craved for immediate rest.
Let us now return to Singleton and his attendant. Having reached the neighbourhood of "The Oaks," they took the back track leading to the river, which carried them immediately into the rear of the dwelling-house. There, dismounting, and carefully concealing their horses in the brush, Singleton placed his pistols in his belt, and leaving the boy in charge of the animals, with instructions to watch closely, proceeded to the mansion.
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Lance Frampton, proud of the trust, promised his commander to watch well, and approve himself a worthy sentinel. In a few moments after, the partisan was once more treading the well-known path, covered with those grave guardians of a century, the spreading and moss-bearded oaks, and on his way to the presence of those well beloved beyond all, and dearer to him than the lifeblood at his heart. It was not many minutes before he was at the side of the frail and attenuated form of her, the sister and the playmate of his boyhood; feeble to prostration, sustained by pillows, and scarcely able to turn upon him those lovely eyes, still bright, and brightening to the last, as if there the reluctant soul had concentrated its heavenward fires; and even there, clinging to mortality, evolved some of that divine light which it was so soon to be mingled with for ever.
"Dear, dear Emily!" he exclaimed; "sister, sweet sister!"--and his lips were pressed to hers; and, though he strove hard for their suppression, the tears gathered in his large dark eyes. Hers were the only unclouded ones in the chamber. On one side sat his cousin Kate, while his aunt moved around the couch of the sufferer, duly administering to her wants. They too were in tears, and had evidently, before this, been weeping. It was a scene for tears; in which smiles had been irreverent, and joy an unbecoming and most impious intruder. Yet, though the dying girl wept not herself, and though her eye had in it that glorious effulgence which is so peculiarly the attribute of the victim to the deadly form of disease under which she laboured, yet the brightness of her glance was no rebuke to the tearfulness of theirs. It was a high and holy brightness; a deep expression, full of divine speech, and solemnizing even where it brightened with an aspect not of the earth. The light might have streamed from the altar, a halo from heaven around the brow of its most endowed apostle.
She spoke to him of the commonest affairs of life; yet she knew that death was busy at her heart. Whence
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was this strength of mind--this confidence? Is there, indeed, a moment before the hour of dissolution when the mortal is vouchsafed communion, a close communion and converse with its God. It is, it must be so. The dim confine, the heavy earth, cannot always be around us. The soul must sometimes employ the wings of a divine prescience, and shaking off human care with human feeling, forget for a while the many pains, along with the humble pleasures, of humanity, and be only alive to the immortality of the future. The dark mansions of the coming time, and the huge and high barriers which control it, must then be thrown aside; and faith and the pure spirit, in their whitened vestments, already on, must be suffered to take a momentary survey of the world which is to be their own.
But the spirit had come back to earth, and now grew conscious of its claims.
"Dear, dear Robert!" she replied, as she motioned to be free from those caresses which he bestowed upon her; and which, though studiously light and gentle, were yet too much for a frame spiritualizing so fast: "you are come, Robert, and with no ill news. You have no harshness on your brow, and the vein is not swollen; and by this I know you have not been engaged in any war and violence. Is it not so?"
He did not undeceive her, and suppressed carefully every allusion to his late adventures; spoke of indifferent things, and encouraged in her that idea of the national peace, which, from a hope, had already grown into a thought of her mind.
"Oh, would that I could only hear of it, Robert, ere I leave you! Could I know that you were safe, all safe, before I died--you, dear aunt, and you, sister, my more than sister--and you, Robert, who have been to me father and brother, and all, so long; would I could know this, and I should die happy--even with joy! But death will have its sting, I feel, in this. I shall go to peace--I feel that; while all the strifes, and all the cares, the wounds, and the dangers, will be left for you!"
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Her eyes now filled, as her earthly sorrows were renewed. Her brother strove to console her in the usual commonplace.
"Fear not for us, dear Emily; and let not our afflictions fill your mind. Be calm on that subject; you have pains and sufferings enough of your own, my dear sister, to keep you from desiring any share in ours."
"I have no sufferings now, Robert; I have long ceased to have sufferings of my own. Have I not long survived the hope of life? have I not long laboured to sustain myself against the coming and the fear of death? God be praised! for I think I have succeeded. These were my afflictions once, and they are now over. Yet I have sorrows not my own, and they are, that I must leave you to sorrows--griefs of an unnatural time, and horrors that come with the disease, as it would seem, of nature. For war is her disease--her most pestilent disease. The sharp sword, the torturing scourge, the degrading rope, the pining and the piercing famine--these are the horrible accompaniments of war; and oh, brother, soldier as you are, when I leave you to the dangers of these, I carry with me all my human sorrows. I may die, but my soul must bear along with it those thousand fears which belong to my sympathies with you."
"Ah, too considerate of us, so unworthy such consideration!" was the exclamation of Kate beside her. "Do not, dear Emily, oppress yourself by reflections such as these. You leave us to no difficulties; for though the country still be at war, yet our quarter is free from its ravages; and though under hostile control, it is still quiet, and not now a dangerous one. We are all here at peace."
"Why seek to deceive me, Kate, when but a glance at Robert tells a different story? Look at the pistols in his belt, and say why they are there, if war be not around us--if there be no occasion for strife, and if he is not exposed to its dangers? You cannot persuade me out of my senses, though in this I am quite
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willing that you should. Would that it could be so! I would not believe these truths if I could help it."
"And you need not, Emily, my sister; for though there be war, and though I may be engaged in it, yet the present prospects are, that it will soon be over, and as we all wish it--giving us peace and freedom alike, and securing honourable station for our country among the nations of the earth. This last thought, my Emily, ought to make you better satisfied with the risks our people are compelled to run."
"It does not, brother. I have not that vain ambition, which, for the sake of a name, is content with the bloodshed and the misery of mankind; and I hold the doctrine hateful to one professing the Christian faith. How it may be upheld, this warfare in which life is taken as a worthless thing, and man's blood shed like water, for any pretence, and with any object, by a believer in the Saviour, and the creed which he taught, I can never understand."
"You would not have us submit to wrong and injustice?"
"No; but the means employed for resistance should be justly proportioned to the aggression. But, alas for humanity! the glory and the glare of warfare, under false notions of renown, are too often sufficient, not only to conceal the bloodshed and the horror, but to stimulate to undue vengeance, and to make resistance premature, and turn the desire of justice into a passion for revenge. Then, for the wrong done by one captain, all the captains conspire to do greater wrongs; and the blazing dwelling by midnight, the poor woman and her naked children escaping from the flames to perish of hunger; the gibbeted soldier on the nighest tree; and the wanton murder of the shrieking babe, quieted in its screams upon the bayonet of the yelling soldiers--these are the modes by which, repairing one wrong, war does a thousand greater. Oh, when, calling things by their right names, shall we discover that all the glory of the warrior is the glory of brutality?"
The picture which the enthusiastic girl had given
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of the terrors of war, was too felicitously just, as it had occurred in Carolina, to be denied by her auditors; and as she had herself made the right distinction between war as an absolute necessity, forced upon a people in their defence, and pursued only so far as adequately to obtain the mere object of justice, and war as a means of national or individual notoriety, there was no legitimate answer to her exhortation. A momentary silence ensued, which was due to the exhaustion following her effort at speech. In a little while she again addressed her brother--
"And how long, Robert, do you stay in our neighbourhood?"
"But a few days more, Emily: I linger now somewhat over my time; but my objects are various and important."
"And where then do you go?"
"Either to the Santee or the Peedee; wherever there is a chance of finding Colonel Marion, to whose troop I am attached."
"And not so easy a matter," said Kate Walton, "if reports speak truly of your colonel. He is here, there, and everywhere, and they say cannot often be met with either by friend or foe, except when he himself pleases. What is it Colonel Tarleton calls him?"
"The Swamp Fox: and a good name, for certainly he knows more of the navigation of the thick swamps of the Santee and Peedee, than ever seaman of the broad ocean. In a circuit of five miles he will misguide the whole force of Tarleton for as many days; then, while he looks for him in one quarter, Marion will be cutting up his forages or the tories in another. He is fearless, too, as well as skilful, and in the union of these qualities he is more than a match, with an equal force, for any five of the captains they can send against him."
As the major spoke with that warm enthusiasm of his commander, which distinguished the men generally of Marion, an audible sigh from his sister recalled him to his consideration, and he turned to her with some observation on an unimportant subject. She did
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not seem to heed what he said, but, after a moment's pause, asked, rather abruptly, if he should move first for the Santee.
"I think so," was his reply; "the probability is that I shall there find my orders, if, indeed, I do not find my commanding officers. I wait but to fulfil some important duties, when I shall move direct in that quarter."
"And when, Robert, do you expect to return?" was the farther inquiry, put with considerable earnestness of manner.
"In three or four weeks, Emily; not before, and probably not even then; for I may be ordered to join the continentals, on Gates's arrival, and shall then have a more limited range and exercise than now."
"That will be too late, too late!" murmured the maiden with an expression of deep regret.
"Too late for what, dear Emily?" said the major, quickly, in reply; but when he met her glance, and saw the mournful utterance which it looked, he needed no answer to his question. Never did eye more explicitly speak than then, and he turned his own away to conceal its tears.
"Too late to see me die," she murmured, as he bent his head downward, concealing his face in the folds of her encircling arms.
"Ah, Robert! I leave you, but not lonely I hope--not altogether alone." Her eye rested upon the face of Kate Walton, as she uttered the hope; and though her brother saw not the look, yet the cheeks of the conscious Kate, so silently yet expressively appealed to, were deeply crimsoned on the instant. She turned away from the couch and looked through the window opening upon the waters of the Ashley, which wound at a little distance beyond them, stealing off, like a creation of the fancy, under the close glance of the observer. Her fingers played all the while with the branches of the oak that rose immediately beside the window.
Emily then intimated to her brother her increasing
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debility, the necessity of her own repose and of his departure, with a calmness which was perfect, and painfully appalling to him in consequence.
"But come to me to-morrow, to-morrow night, Robert; come early--I would speak with you; I have much to say to you, and I feel that I have but little time to say it in. Fail me not, unless there be hazard, and then heed not my desire. You must risk nothing, Robert; your life is more valuable to me, strange to say, as my own is leaving me. I know its value, as I am now about to be taught its loss. But go now--and remember, to-morrow."
His grief and his farewell were alike voiceless. He pressed her cold cheek with his lips at parting; then, like one who had left behind him all his consciousness, he descended with his beautiful cousin from that sad but sacred apartment, where life still lingered, neutralizing decay with its latent freshness, but where immortality already seemed to have put on some hues of that eternal morning, whose bloom and whose freshness speak, not only for its lasting existence, but for its holy purity.
CHAPTER VI.
"I cannot list thy pleading, though thou plead'st
In music which I love. Forbear thy suit."
HER father being absent, Kate did the honours of the household, and we need not say how much gratification Major Singleton felt in being accompanied by his sweet cousin to the lower apartments. He had another reason for his satisfaction in this attendance, as it afforded him an opportunity which he had much desired. We have already seen him urging those claims upon her closest regards which she continued
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to evade. He now determined to press them; and, handing her to the sofa with a degree of solemnity in his manner which led her to conclude that his object was any thing but what it really was, she willingly took the seat to which he conducted her. Singleton was no sentimentalist, but a man of sterling character, and deep, true feeling: he was one of those who never trifle; and the prompter at his heart, though taking the name of that capricious mood which is always fair game for the arch jest and playful satire, was yet altogether a more lofty and dignified sentiment. His love was of his life a leading part: it made up his existence, and imbodied in its own the forms of a thousand strong obligations to society and man. It was now prominent to his own view in the form of a sacred duty--a duty to others not less than to himself. Perhaps, too, as he was something of an idealist, and strove to believe in attributes which are not always found profusely in the world, there may have been something of the spiritualizing character of poetry mixed up in his devotions--giving dignity to a purpose which is usually urged with timidity, but which, in the present case, was treated with all the straightforward singleness of aim which belongs to the man of mere business.
"Katharine," he said, after a brief pause, during which his eyes gazed on her with a calm deep earnestness which at length sent the glance of hers downward beneath them--"Kate, my cousin, months have passed since you were taught to know my feeling towards you. Since I have known you, that feeling has been hourly on the increase. I loved, the more I knew; and though changes have come over us both--changes of fortune, of condition, of appearance--yet I have only admired you the more with every change. You have always seemed to me the one--the one only--whom I could truly love and cherish as a wife; and this thought, my cousin, has not been because of your beauty, which, though great, has never called forth, and shall never
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call forth, so long as I think you what I think you now, one single encomium from me."
She would have interrupted him, but he simply placed his finger upon her arm, and proceeded.
"Nay, fear not, and do not interrupt me. I know you too well, and think of you too highly, to endeavour now to fill your ears with praises of that beauty of which neither of us can be utterly unconscious. I shall speak of other qualities which have recommended you to me, not in praise of them now, but only as, in urging my pretensions to your hand, I would prove to you that I have studied your character, and am so far satisfied with the results as to be willing now to adventure all my affections--and they are concentrated very closely now, and will soon be more so--in the offer which I shall make you. I think now that I know your character. I have seen its firmness, its masculine good sense, and its unostentatious delicacy. Such a character will not be apt to misunderstand mine, and in this lies one chief security of domestic bliss. Such, for a long season, has been my thought, and I must now act upon it, or never. I have reasons for desiring it now, which your own reflections may not teach you, and which you must know hereafter. Cousin, dear Kate, forgive me if my speech be less than gentle--if it seem abrupt or harsh; I am not apt at professions; and with you I would rather avoid that show of sentiment which I know makes up, most commonly, the language of the lover. To you I would rather that my words should be of the most simple and least equivocal character. To your good sense, not your weaknesses, the proffer of my hand is now made. Let me hope that your good sense will determine the question, which I would not willingly submit to any other tribunal."
He took her hand, at the conclusion of his remarks, and she suffered it to rest passively in his grasp. She did not immediately answer, but appeared lost in reflections, which were not, however, the less pleasing because they exhibited themselves in doubt and indecision. Her eye, meanwhile, did not fall beneath the
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searching gaze of his: its deep and beautiful blue met his own unshrinkingly; nay, with something of a sympathizing fondness in its expression, which the tenor of her uttered reply did not, however, confirm. The pause of the moment over, she turned to her suitor.
"Robert, you have but this moment come from the chamber of sickness--soon to be the chamber of death. You cannot deceive yourself as to the condition of Emily; she is sinking fast."
"I know it--I feel it," he answered, gloomily.
"How can you know it--how can you feel it, Robert, when you come from the presence of one already linked as it were with heaven, and thus immediately after urge to me so earthly a prayer? How can I, so filled as my thoughts should be, and are, with considerations of gloom and the grave, thus give ear to any less sanctified consideration. Pardon me, dear cousin; but it seems to me almost irreverent that we should discourse of any other themes at this moment than those of sorrow."
"At another time, and with an affliction less severe than this, your rebuke would have been felt. But this to me is no common affliction. It leaves me alone--unaccompanied--desolate in all the wide world of man. You know our history. For years that girl has been all to me: I had her to love; I was her brother--her protector--her all; and upon her I expended a thousand strong feelings and warm affections which, when she goes, must crowd back upon, and overwhelm me. We must have something in life giving us the right to love--something which we can make our own exclusive altar-place, which our loves and cares may hallow to themselves, sacred from all intrusion, all rivalry, all denial from another. While she lived--while there there was hope for her--there was always one to me of whose sympathies, when others were cold or stern, I could be certain. When she leaves me, Kate, I am alone; there is but one to whom I may turn with confidence and trust--but one, and of that one I would be secure in the proffer which I now make to you: it is for you to say, and to say freely, with what hope."
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"Robert, you know well how I esteem you--"
"Utter no professions, Kate--not so coldly, at least--if you really have regard for me."
"You mistake--you do me injustice, cousin--I would not be cold or inconsiderate. I do esteem you--"
"Esteem!"
"Well, well--love you, then, if you like the word better." He pressed her hand. "I do love you, and too well ever to be cold to your claims or unjust to your merits. I have heard you with a degree of regard of which I shall not speak; and I feel, deeply feel, the high compliment which you have paid me, in the offer of your hand. But let me ask of your reason--of your own good sense--if the present be the season for engagements of this nature? I speak not now of the condition of your sister, but of the country. What is the hope of repose, of domestic felicity, at such a period, when the strong arm of power, at its caprice, invades every sanctuary?--when the family mansion of the wealthy planter shares the fate of the loghouse of the squatter?--and when a renewal of injury only meets your application for redress? You will see that this is no season for thoughts such as those belonging to the offer which you make me."
"It is, then, to the time--to the consummation, at this period--of my proposal, and not to the proposal itself, which you object? Do I understand you thus, dear cousin?"
"Not exactly, Robert. I object to all at this season; I object to a consideration of the proposal at this moment, as unseemly and improper, for many reasons; and I beg, therefore, that you would withdraw your application, and not exact from me any answer now."
"And why not answer for the future, Kate? Why not say, conditionally, in answer, that when the prospect comes of peace for our country? I would not, indeed, that we should marry now: I would only be assured that I had in you, whatever may be the chances of war or the vicissitudes of life, one to love me, and
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one whom I could meet with an affection like her own. I would have you even as an ark to me, shrining and preserving my best affections, however the storms raged and the billows rolled around us."
"I will not deny to you, Robert, that were I disposed to make at this moment a pledge of my heart to any, I know not one to whom I would sooner make it than to you. If my character has been your study, I too have been somewhat observant of your own. I have long regarded you as one to whom honour was dear, and manliness habitual--as one delicate and true in feeling, gentle in deportment, and properly sensible of that consideration of the claims of others, without which no man can possibly be a gentleman. These I hold, in addition to your acknowledged bravery and good sense, to be your characteristics; and they are such as all sensible women must esteem, and which in you, as my cousin, and one I have been so long accustomed to esteem, I must love. Is not this enough? Wherefore press me to say that I will not, at this time, make pledges of affection with any man--that I will not bind myself or my affections for the future--that in this season of peril, owing as I do the duty of a child to her parent, I will not, while he may need my attendance, bind myself to other duties, which may be inconsistent with those which I owe to him? Such must be my answer, Robert, to the proffer which you make me."
"Ah, Kate! your pledge would be every thing to me, amid the danger of the war we wage."
"Nothing!" she replied quickly; "nothing more than I would be to you, Robert, even now, were those dangers to come home to you. Were you wounded, believe me, cousin, or brother, or lover, I should watch by your bedside, bathe your head, bring you refreshment; ay, dress your wounds--I pledge it as a true woman--with as little scruple as if you were even now my wedded husband. Nay, shake not your head; you know me not, Robert, if you doubt me in this. I
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may not have the strength, but I have the heart, I am sure, to do all this that I promise."
"And wherefore not say more? Why, if you are willing to perform such duties, will you not give the right to claim them at your hands?"
"Urge me no more, Robert; but now I will not, I cannot. Wait the due season: when the war is over; when Carolina shall be free from hostile footsteps; and when the land is cleansed of its pollution;--come to me then, if you hold this same temper, and then, if there be no change in me, I shall give you my hand, perfectly and all your own, as fully as I give it to you this moment in sisterly regard. There, take it, and leave me, for the hour is growing late."
He carried the extended fingers to his lips, and without farther word was about to hurry from the apartment, when he was arrested in his purpose by the sudden appearance of his aunt bringing a message from his sister, requiring to see him, if he had not already departed. An unlooked-for change had come over her, according to the old lady's representations; she had grown sensibly weaker, and she thought her incoherent and slightly wandering. With palpitating heart and trembling footsteps, followed by the two ladies, he again ascended the stairs leading to the chamber of death; but remembering the reference of Emily to his pistols, and how their presence had disturbed her, he took them from his belt and placed them upon a table which stood fronting the gallery. The next moment, he resumed his seat beside the shadowy person of the maiden.
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CHAPTER VII.
"How the flame flickers in the lamp!--now bright,
With a strange beauty--and now, dim for ever."
AND two opposing and mighty principles were at fearful strife in that chamber. Death was there with power not to be withstood, and there life vainly endeavoured to combat him. Yet there were no shows of terror or of violence--no exhibition of the torturing pain, and of the spirit vainly resisting and striving to escape. All was gentleness, even in the murmurs which occasionally fell from the lips of the dying girl. Her cheek was transparent--her eye wore a sublimated light, as it quivered in its socket, and flickering in changing directions, seemed in search of some expected presence. Her pale lips were parted, and the even tops of the pearly teeth below were just perceptible. The gauze of her drapery was scarcely lifted by the heave of her bosom; and as her hand lay partially upon it, you might even trace out the smallest of her blue veins, like so many fibres, shining through the delicate skin. She was dying--dying without seeming pain; and well might her brother fancy, from the pleasant smile upon her countenance, that the whispering sound which reached his ears on entering the apartment, had fallen from the sister angels already busy around her.
He sat beside her, took her hand, pressed his lips upon her forehead, and for a few seconds remained without attracting her notice. Her eye at length glanced wildly upon him, and the lips, which had fallen apart, were reclosed as she recognised him. At last a faint smile enlivened them--a fond effulgence filled her eye--she laid one of her hands upon that
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with which he had already clasped her own, and murmured something faintly which he could not understand. It was a strong effort which her mind had made to concentrate itself upon a single object, and some minutes elapsed before it was quite successful. At length she spake:--"Oh, Robert, I sent for you. I'm so glad you were not yet gone, for I feel that I am dying. I am not mistaken now. I know it to be death. This darkness--these shades that come across my eyes are its cloud, and it presses momently closer and closer upon them. It is so; and I have been afraid--very much afraid since you left me, that my thoughts were crowding and confused. They were strangely mixed up together--very strangely; and once I felt that they were escaping me; and then I grew terrified. I would not lose my senses--I would have them to the last; for I would speak to you and to Kate, even with my parting breath. It is sweet to die so; I could bear it then: but not to know, not to say farewell, and pray for you in the moment of parting, would be terrible indeed--terrible, terrible!"
Her eyes closed, and her hands were clasped, as she concluded the sentence, while her lips separated, and her voice was heard in whispers, as if in prayer. When they were again opened, there was a wildness in their expression--a misty gleaming, that completely confirmed her fear. The mind was evidently wandering; but the strong will, still pre-eminent, enabled her to bring back the forgetting thoughts, and to bind them to the spot. Her words now were in broken murmurs.
"Not my will, not my will, but thine, Father--yet for him--for Robert, my poor brother--could it only be--for him--for Robert!"
The name recalled her more vividly to him who sat beside her, and her eyes were again fixed upon his face.
"Old mommer--is she here, Robert--where?"
He shook his head negatively, but made no other reply.
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"Be good to her for me; tell her--ah!"
She closed her eyes, and a slight distortion of the lips declared the pang which she felt at that moment, and from which it was several minutes before she was so far recovered as to be able to speak again. When she did, it was with a sweet smile of patient resignation.
"Strange that death cannot take his prey without inflicting pain! I am willing to go with him. I offer no resistance; yet he strikes and rends, the same as if I did. Life struggles still, even when you desire it not; but it does its duty--it holds on to its trust, and I must not complain. But, dear Robert, forget not old mommer. Give her all my things; and there is a new frock which I have made for her myself. Kate wil