mm. 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 STEPHEN E. WHICHER 
 MEMORIAL BOOK COLLECTION 
 
 Gift of 
 MRS. ELIZABETH T. WHICHER 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2848.K2 1854 
 
 Katharine Walton: or. The rebel of Dorch 
 
 3 1924 022 164 572 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022164572 
 
TURKEY AND RUSSIA. 
 
 The latest and best Works published. 
 
 A YEAK WITH THE TUllKS: 
 
 Or, Sketches oi' TnxvEt in the European and Asiatic Dominions of the 
 Sultan. By Warington "W. Smyth, M. A. 'With a colored Ethnological Map 
 of the Empire. 12mo,, cloth 75 cents. Second Edition now ready. 
 
 " WallacQia, the Danube, and other places now so prominent, are made 
 familiar by the plain, easy style of our author, -whilfe a flood of lUit is shed 
 upon the Turks as a people, their system of government, the powiy of their 
 rulers, and the whole internal arrangement of the Ottoman Empire." — Phila. 
 National Argus. 
 
 " We advise all those who wish for clear information with regard to the 
 condition of the Empire, and the various races that make up the population, 
 to get this book and read it." — Boston Commonwealth. 
 
 "This is a plain and simple history of a region invested just now with 
 peculiar interest. The geography of the country is minutely set down, the 
 character, habits, idiosyncrasies of its inhabitants thoroughly portrayed, its 
 resources, wealth and wants pointedly referred to, its government, laws and 
 provisions clearly defined." — Buffalo Express. 
 
 " Mr. Smyth traveled in Turkey in the fall of last year, and his descriptions 
 of the country are therefore more recent than can be obtained elsewhere." — 
 Troy Daily Femes. 
 
 " Mr. Smyth is just the right sort of man for a pleasant and useful travel- 
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 experienced during twelve months of travel through the wide-spread domin- 
 ions of Sultan Mahmoud." — Boston Traveller. . 
 
 ALSO, THE THIRD EDITION OF 
 
 THE RUSSIAN SHORES OF THE BLACK SEA: 
 
 "With a Voyage down the Volga, and a Tour thkough the Codntet of the 
 Don Cossaoks. By Laurence Oliphant, Author of a " Journey to NepauL" 
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 Seven hundred copies of this work are advertised by one EngUsh Circulat- 
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 " His book is full of exceedingly valuable information, and is written in aa 
 attractive style." — Cincinnati Christian Herald. 
 
 " Mr. Oliphant is a fluent, easy, companionable writer, who tells us s great 
 deal we want to know, without a particle either of pedantry or bombast. 
 This neat little book, with its maps and illustrations, will prove a most accept- 
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 taining." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 " Mr. Oliphant is an acute observer, a shrewd and intelligent man, a clear, 
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 interested readers." — Boston Atlas. 
 
 " This book reminds us more of Stephen's delightful Incidents of Travel than 
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 and valuable book." — Boston Traveller. 
 
THE WAR IN THE EAST. 
 
 THE 
 
 EUSSO-TUKKISH CAMPAIGNS 
 
 OF 
 
 1828 AND 1829; 
 
 WITH AttEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF AFFAIRS IN THE EAST. 
 BY COLONEL CHESNEY, R. A., D. C. L., F. R. S. 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE EXPEDITION FOR THE SURVEY OF THE RIVERS EUPHRATES AND TIGRIS. 
 
 Witli an Appendix, containing the Diplomatic Correspondence and the 
 
 Secret Correspondence between the Eussian and English 
 
 Governments. 1 vol., 12mo., Cloth ; Maps. $1. 
 
 Among the many works at present appearing on the Russian and 
 Turkish affairs, this volume demands special attention, from the high 
 reputation of its author. Colonel Chesney, of the Royal Artillery, pro- 
 ceeded to the seat of the last war, in 1828, with military stores — intend- 
 ing to give his assistance to the Turks, in their resistance to the Russian 
 invasion. He arrived too late for active service, but he had opportunity 
 of collecting materials on the spot for a narrative of the campaigns, 
 and he became well acquainted with the countries which are again the 
 theatre of warlike operations. The account of the war of 1828-1829 is 
 a valuable record of the events of that period, and has fresh interest 
 from the light it throws on passing events. * * * The narrative of 
 the Campaigns of 1828 and 1829 is a valuable contribution to military 
 history. It is an important and well-timed publication. — Literary 
 Gazette. 
 
 Colonel Chesney has peculiar claims on our notice. Few men 
 possess more extensive knowledge, personal and other, of the geography 
 and statistics of the East. * * * His work is written throughout in a fine, 
 manly spirit. We cordially recommend it to our readers as the best his- 
 torical companion they can possess during the campaigns which are 
 about to open. — Athenceum. 
 
 Colonel Chesney here supplies us with full information respecting 
 this important period of European History, and with an accurate 
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 at the present moment the theatre of war. — Examiner. 
 
 A condensed detail of facts, and the results of personal observation, 
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 commercial value — occupy an interesting portion of the work, which 
 we heartily recommend to the attention of our readers. — Lovd. CriUc. 
 
r 
 
 '»'. 
 
 ■ 'Sfn 1 *i 
 
KATHAEINE WALTON 
 
 OR 
 
 THE REBEL OF DORCHESTER' 
 
 By W. GILMOEE SIMMS, Esq. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the TEMASSEE," ** THE PARTISAN," " KELLICHAMPE," THB 
 SCOUT," "woodcraft," "guy rivers," ETC. 
 
 " Every minute now 
 Should be the father- of some stratagem," 
 
 KING HENKY IV. 
 
 NEW AND REVISED EDITION 
 
 EEDEIELD 
 
 110 AND 112 NASSAU S T K E E T, NEW YORK. 
 1854. 
 
?'7 
 
 7^^-7ff^(^- 
 
 ^ 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, 
 
 By J. S. REDFlEt.D, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Southern 
 District of New York. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY C. C. SAVAGE. 
 13 Clmtnbers Street, N. Y. 
 
TO THE 
 
 fiON. EDWARD FROST., 
 
 OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 
 
 My Dear Frost: 
 
 Escaped from official responsibilities — from the cares of 
 one of the most exacting, if not the most harassing of all profes- 
 sions — and settled down comfortably to the grateful employ- 
 ments of agricultural life — I assume you to be in the full pos- 
 session of that calm of mood and temper, favorable equally to 
 happiness and thought, in which all the human faculties rise to 
 their most perfect excellence ; — 
 
 ** Content to breathe your native air, 
 In your own g^und," 
 
 and pleased to contemplate, at easy distance, the prolonged strug- 
 gles of that world, from the oppressive and exhausting excite- 
 ments of which you are measurably free. Beneath your eye 
 the cotton fields bloom and blow ; and over the sunny plains, 
 whitened with noble harvests, you gaze at the spires of the dis- 
 tant city, pleasantly reminded of its bustling swarms, in a situ- 
 ation which finds you unvexed by its complaints. Here, in the 
 enjoyment of freedom, ease, a grateful prospect, and that repose 
 which constitutes the vital blessing of security, you find books 
 a genial substitute for society, and in foregoing the struggles 
 with the present, feel yourself more than compensated by the 
 consoling possessions of the past. In such a scene and situa- 
 
 1 
 
Z INTRODUCTION. 
 
 tion, I do not scruple to challenge your regards, for that art, in 
 fiction, which, while you were upon the bench, among the big- 
 wigged gentry, would have been very much out of place, occu- 
 pying any share of your consideration, and certainly not to be 
 held for a moment of any authority in the formation of your 
 solemn judgments. Now, you may luxuriate in the treasures 
 of romance, without epdangering the dignity of law — now, you 
 may feed upon song and story without rendering suspicious the 
 ultimate decrees of justice. No one now, of all the Burleighs 
 of society, will chide you with rewarding the muse too extrava- 
 gantly ; or throw up hand and eyes, in holy horror, to find you 
 poring over the pages of Scott and Cooper, instead of the better- 
 authorized, and more musty volumes of Bracton and Fleta, Lit- 
 tleton and Sir Edward Coke — to enumerate no other of those 
 grave monsters of great profundity — I will not say dullness lest 
 I rufiie your lingering veneration — whom " even to name," by 
 one who has utterly renounced their authority, " would be un- 
 lawful." You may now, 'm brief, recover all your natural tastes, 
 without disturbing the peace of society, or vexing the sensibili- 
 ties of convention — recover all the tastes which the legal pro- 
 fession expects you to surrender, and with an eye newly open- 
 ing to art, and a soul growing daUy more and more sensible to 
 the truth in fiction, acquii-e a better sense of the sweet in hu- 
 manity, and the beguiling and blessing which always compen- 
 sate (no matter what the cost) in the higher regions of the ideal. 
 Nay, even though you put down the books of Scott and Cooper 
 to take up mine, it wiU somewhat reconcile you to the rebuke 
 of taste, when you reflect that I summon to my aid the muse 
 of local History — the traditions of our own home — the chroni- 
 cles of our own section— the deeds of oui- native heroes — the 
 recollections of our own noble ancestry. 
 
 " Katharine Walton," the romance which I now venture to 
 inscribe with your name, constitutes a sequel to " The Partisan," 
 and is the third of a trilogy, designed especially to illustrate an 
 important period, in our parish country, during the progress of 
 the Revolution. You are quite as familiar with the scene occu- 
 pied by the action in these stories as myself, and quite as well 
 taught in the general characteristics of the actors. Of my hand- 
 
" INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 ling of these sutjects, it becomes me to say nothing. But while 
 I forbear all remark upon the plan and conduct of these ro- 
 mances, I may be permitted to say^hat they were, when origi- 
 nally published, so many new developments and discoveries to 
 our people. They opened the way to historical studies among 
 us — they suggested clews to the historian — they struck and 
 laid bare to other workers, the veins of tradition which every- 
 where enriched our territory — they showed to succeeding labor- 
 ers — far abler than myself — what treasures of materiel, lay 
 waiting for the shaping hands of future genius. When I first 
 began these fictions, no one dreamed of the abundance of our 
 possessions of this sort — that a scene or story, picture or statue, 
 had been wrought out of the crude masses which lay buried in 
 our soil. My friends denounced my waste of time upon scenes, 
 and situations, and events, in which they beheld nothing latent 
 — nothing which could possibly (as they thought) reward the 
 laborer. Now, South Carolina is regarded as a very storehouse 
 for romance. She has furnished more materials for the use of 
 art and fiction, than half the states ia the Union. Regarding 
 myself as nearly at the end of my labors and career, I may be 
 permitted to suggest this comparison, with a natural feeling of 
 pride and satisfaction. 
 
 A few words more. While " The Partisan," and " Melli- 
 champe," occupied ground in the interior, scenes at the head of 
 the Ashley, and along the Santee and Wateree, " Katharine 
 Walton" brings us to the city ; and a large proportion of the 
 work, and much of its interest, wUl be found to consist in the 
 delineation of the social world of Charleston, during the Revo- 
 lutionary period. These delineations are so many careful stud- 
 ies, pursued through a series of many years, and under the guid- 
 ance of the most various and the best authorities. The matter, 
 in fact, is mostly historical, even when merely social. The por- 
 traits are mostly of real persons. Thq descriptions of life, man- 
 ners, customs, movements, the social aspects in general, have 
 all been draWn from sources as unquestionable as abundant. 
 The social reunions, in many instances, as described in the story, 
 were real occurrences. The anecdotes, the very repartees, 
 though never before in print, are gathered from tradition and 
 
4 INTRODtJCTION. 
 
 authority. I have, in a great part of the story, contented my- 
 self with simply framing the fact ; preferring to render my ' 
 materials imique, rather than to put them upon record as bold 
 and casual reminiscences. 
 
 The trilogy contemplated when I began " The Partisan," is 
 now complete with " Katharine Walton," though it will be found 
 that certain of the dramatis persona of this series, have a pro- 
 longed existence, in another romance, yet to follow, -which opens 
 at the moment when the war of the Revolution closes ; and is 
 designed to show the effects of that conflict upon the condition 
 of the country, the fortunes of its people, and the general morale 
 of society. But of this, nothing need be spoken now. Enough 
 for the present, and for the volume in your hands. I do not 
 ask, my dear Frost, that this book shall take the place with you, 
 or with any of your ancient brethi-en, of the fathers in the law ; 
 but shall be quite satisfied, if when the Bigwigs are fairly shelved, 
 or under the table — out of sight and mind — you closet your- 
 self for an hour with my heroine of the Ashley ; a woman drawn, 
 I honestly think, after our best models of good manners, good 
 taste, good intellect, and noble, generous sensibilities ; frank, 
 buoyant, and refined ; yet superior to mere convention. 
 
 "A spirit, yet a "woman too ! 
 Her household motions light and free. 
 And steps of virgin liberty ! — 
 A creature not too bright nor good 
 For human nature's daily food ; 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.'' 
 
 Yielding you now to the lady, while the south wind sweeps in 
 
 from the sea, bringing you perfumes of orange from the groves 
 
 of Hayti and the Cuban, I leave you, my dear Frost, to the 
 
 most genial embraces of the summer. 
 
 Very faithfully, your friend, &c. 
 
 W. GiLMORE SiMMS. 
 Woodland, April, 1854. 
 
KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OLD SOLDIERS. 
 
 Our story opens early in September, in the eventful year of 
 American revolutionary history, one thousand seven hundred 
 and eighty. Our scene is one destined to afford abundant 
 materials for the purposes of the future romancer. It lies chiefly 
 upon the banks of the Ashley, in South Carolina, a region which, 
 at this period, was almost entirely covered by the arms of the 
 foreign enemy. In previous narratives, as well as in the his- 
 tories, will be found the details of his gradual conquests, and no 
 one need be told of the events following the fall of Charleston, 
 and terminating in the defeat of General Gates at Camden, by 
 which, for a season, the hopes of patriotism, as weU as the efforts 
 of valor which aimed at the recovery of the country from hostile 
 domination, were humbled, if not wholly overthrown. The 
 southern liberating army was temporarily dispersed, rallying 
 slowly to their standards in the wildernesses of North Carolina ; 
 few in number, miserably clad, and almost totally wanting in 
 the means and appliances of war. The victory of the British 
 over Gates was considered complete. It was distinguished by 
 their usual sacrifices. Many of their prisoners were executed 
 upon the spot, mostly upon the smallest pretexts and the most 
 questionable testimony. These sacrifices were due somewhat 
 
6 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 to the requisitions of the loyalists, to the excited passions of the 
 conq^uerors, and, in some degree, to their own scorn of the vic- 
 tims. But one of those decreed for sacrifice had made his es- 
 cape, rescued, in the moment of destined execution, hy a most 
 daring and unexpected onslaught of a small body of partisans, 
 led by a favorite leader. Colonel Eichard Waltpn, a gentleman 
 of great personal worth, of considerable wealth, and exercising 
 much social influence, had, under particular circumstances, and 
 when the state was believed to be utterly lost to the confederacy, 
 taken what was entitled "British protection." This was a 
 parole, insuring him safety and shelter beneath the protection 
 of the conqueror, so long as he preserved his neutrality. It 
 was some reproach to Colonel Walton that he had taken this 
 protection; but, in the particular circumstances of the case, 
 there was much to extenuate his offence. With his justification, 
 however, just at this moment, we have nothing to do. It is 
 enough that the violation of the compact between the citizen 
 and the conqueror was due to the British commander. In the 
 emergency of invasion, at the approach of the continental arms, 
 the securities of those who had taken protection were withdrawn 
 by proclamation, unless they presented themselves in the British 
 ranks and took up arms under the banner of the invader. Com- 
 pelled to draw the sword, Colonel Walton did so on the side of 
 the country. He fell into the hands of Comwallis at the fatal 
 battle of Camden ; and, steadily refusing the overtures of the 
 British general to purge himself of the alleged treason by taking 
 a commission in the service of the conqueror, he was ordered to 
 execution at Dorchester, in the neighborhood of his estates, and 
 as an example of terror to the surrounding country. He was 
 rescued at the foot of the gallows, from the degrading death 
 which had been decreed him. By a well-planned and desperate 
 enterprise, led by Major Singleton, a kinsman, he was plucked 
 from the clutches of the executioner ; and the successful effort 
 was still farther distinguished by the almost total annihUation 
 of the strong guard of the British, which had left the garrison at 
 Dorchester to escort the victim to tlie fatal tree. 
 
 The beautiful hamlet of Dorchester was partially laid in ashes 
 during the short but sanguinary conflict ; and, before reinforce- 
 
OLD SOLDIERS. 7 
 
 ments could amvc from the fortified post at the place, the parti- 
 sans had melted away, like so many shadows, into the swamps 
 of the neighboring cypress, carrying with them, in safety, their 
 enfranchised captive. The occurrence had been one rather to 
 exasperate the invader than to disturb his securities. It was 
 not less an indignity than a hurt ; and, taking place, as it did, 
 within twenty miles of the garrison of Charleston, it denoted a 
 degree of audacity, on the part of the rebels, which particularly 
 called for the active vengeance of the invader, as an insult and 
 a disgrace to his arms. ^ 
 
 But if the mortification of Major Proctor, by whom the post 
 at Dorchester was held, was great, still greater was the fury of 
 Colonel Balfour, the commandant of Charleston. The intelli- 
 gence reached him, by express, at midnight of the day of the 
 affair, and roused him from the grateful slumbers of a life which, 
 had hitherto been fortunate in the acquisition of every desired 
 indulgence, and from dreams holding forth the most delicious 
 promise of that oiium cum dignitate which was in the contempla- 
 tion of all his toOs. To be aroused to such intelligence as had 
 been brought him, was to deny him both leisure and respect — 
 nay, to involve him in possible forfeiture of the possession of 
 place and power, which, he well knew, were of doubtful tenure 
 only, and easily determined by a run of such disasters as that 
 which he was now required to contemplate. Yet Balfour, in 
 reality, had nothing with wJiich to reproach himself in the affair 
 at Dorchester. No blame, whether of omission or performance, 
 could be charged upon him, making him liable to reproach for 
 this misfortune. He had no reason to suppose that, with Eaw- 
 don in command at Camden, and Oomwallis, but recently the 
 victor over Gates, with the great body of the British army cov- 
 ering every conspicuous point in the country, that any small 
 party of rebels should prove so daring as to dart between and 
 snatch the prey from the very grasp of the executioner. Marion 
 had, however, done this upon the Santee, and here now was his 
 lieutenant repeating the audacious enterprise upon the Ashley. 
 Though really not to blame, Balfour yet very well knew how 
 severe were the judgments which, in Great Britain, were usually 
 visited upon the misfortunes or failures of British captains ia 
 
8 KATHARINE ■WALTON. 
 
 America. He had no reason to doubt that in his case, as com- 
 monly in that of others, his superiors would be apt to cast upon 
 the subordinate the responsibilities of every mischance. It is 
 true that he'might offer good defence. He conld show that, in 
 order to strengthen his army against Gates, Cornwallis had 
 stripped the city of nearly all its disposable force, leaving him 
 nothing but invalids, and a command of cavalry not much more 
 than sufficient to scour the neighborhood, bring in supplies, and 
 furnish escorts. Dorchester had been shorn of its garrison for 
 the same reason by the same officer. The reproach, if any, lay 
 at the door of Cornwallis. Yet who would impute blame to the 
 successful general, who offers his plea while yet his trumpets 
 are sounding in every ear with the triumphal notes of a great 
 victory t Success is an argument that effectually stops the 
 mouth of censm-e. To fasten the reproach upon another, by 
 whom no plea of good fortune could be offered, was the policy 
 of Balfour ; and his eye was already turned upon the victim. 
 But this, hereafter. For the present, his task was to repair, if 
 possible, the misfortune; to recover the freed rebel; to put 
 Dorchester in a better state to overawe the surrounding country, 
 and make himself sure in his position by timely reports of the 
 affair to his superiors ; by which, showing them where the fault 
 might be imputable to themselves, while studiously imputing it 
 to another, he should induce them to such an adoption of his 
 views as should silence all representations which might be hurt- 
 ful to his own security. 
 
 All these meditations passed rapidly through the brain of 
 Balfour, as he made his midnight toilet. When he came forth, 
 his plans were all complete. As we are destined to see much 
 more of this personage in the progress of our narrative, it will 
 not be unwise, in this place, to dwell somewhat more particu- 
 larly upon the mental and moral nature of the man. At the period 
 of which we write, he was in the vigor of his years. He had 
 kej}t well, to borrow the idiom of another people, and was alto- 
 gether a very fine specimen of physical manhood. "With an 
 erect person, fully six feet in height, broad-chested, and athletic ; 
 with cheeks unwrinkled, a skin clear and florid ; eyes large, 
 blue, and tolerably expressive ; and features generally well- 
 
OLD SOLDIERS. 9 
 
 chiseled, he was altogether a person to impose at a glance, and 
 almost persuade, without further examination, to the conviction 
 of generous impulses, if not a commanding intellect, as the nat- 
 ural concomitants of so much that is prepossessing in the ex- 
 terior. But Balfour was a man of neither mind nor heart. In 
 ordinary affairs, he was sufficiently shrewd and searching. It 
 was not easy, certainly to delude him, where his selfish interests 
 were at all at issue. In the mere details of business, he was 
 methodical and usually correct ; but he neither led nor planned 
 an enterprise ; and, while able in civil matters to carry out the 
 designs of others, it is not seen that he ever counselled or con- 
 ceived an improvement. His passions were more active than 
 his mind, yet they never impelled him to courageous perform- 
 ance. He was a carpet knight, making a famous figure always 
 on parade, and, in the splendid tiniform of his regiment, really 
 a magnificent person — in the language of a lady who knew 
 him well, " as splendid as scarlet, gold lace, and feathers, could 
 make a man." But he never distinguished himself in action. 
 Indeed, the record is wanting which would show that he had 
 ever been in action. That he should, have risen to his high 
 station, as second in command of the British army in South Car- 
 olina — for such was his rank — might reasonably provoke our 
 surprise, but that the record which fails to tell us of his achieve- 
 ments in battle, is somewhat more copious in other matters. 
 His method of rising into power was among the reproaches 
 urged against him. His obsequious devotedness to the humors 
 and pleasures — we may safely say vices — of Sir William 
 Howe, first gained him position, and finally led to his present 
 appointment. In the capacity of commandant at Charleston, 
 his arrogance became insufferable. His vanity seems to have 
 been in due degree with the servility which he had been forced 
 to show in the acquisition of his objects. He could enact the 
 opposite phases in the character of his countryman. Sir Pertinax 
 MacSycophant, without an effort at transition — hoo without 
 shame or sense of degradation, and command without decency 
 or sense of self-respect. In counsel, he was at once ignorant 
 and self-opinionated. In the exercise of his government, he ab- 
 sorbed all the powers of the state. " By tho subversion," says 
 
 1* 
 
10 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 Ramsay, " of every trace of tlie popular government, without 
 any proper civil establishment in its place, he, with a few co- 
 adjutors, assumed and exercised legislative, judicial and executive 
 powers over citizens in the same manner as over the common 
 soldiery." He was prompt to anger, obdurate in punishment, 
 frivolous in his exactions, and bloated with the false consequences 
 of a position which he had reached through meanness and ex- 
 ercised without dignity. Feared and hated by his inferiors, 
 despised by his equals, and loved by few, if any, he was yet 
 one of that fortunate class of persons whom an inordinate but 
 accommodating self-esteem happily assures and satisfies in every 
 situation. Gratifying his favorite passions at every step in his 
 progress, he probably found no reason to regret the loss of affec- 
 tions that he had never learned to value and never cared to win. 
 Utterly selfish, his mind had nevertheless never risen to the ap- 
 preciation of those better treasures of life and of the heart which 
 the noble nature learns to prize beyond all others, as by a nat- 
 ural instinct. His sympathies were those only of the sensual 
 temperament. His desires were those of the voluptuary. He 
 was an unmarried man,' and his habits were those of any other 
 gay Lothario of the army. The warm tints upon his cheek 
 were significant of something more than vulgar health ; and the 
 liquid softness of his eye was indicative of habits such as were 
 admitted not to be among the worst traits of that passionate 
 Roman whose world was lost probably quite as much by wine as 
 love. Balfour was not the person to forfeit his world through 
 either of these passions, though he too freely and. frequently 
 indulged in both. He possessed yet others which Mark Antony 
 does not seem to have shared, or not in large degree ; and his 
 avarice and lust of power were the rods, like those of Aaron, 
 which kept all others in subjection. But we have lingered 
 sufficiently long upon his portrait. Enough has been said and 
 shown to furnish all the clews to his character. Let us now see 
 to his performances. 
 
 In a short period after receiving his advices from Dorchester 
 Balfour was prepared for business. His secretary was soon in 
 attendance, and his aids were despatched in various quarters in 
 search of the officers whom he had summoned to his morning 
 
OLD SOLDIEBS. 11 
 
 conference. He' occupied, as " Headquarters," that noble old 
 mansion, still remaining in the lower part of King street, 
 Charleston, known as number eleven. At that period it be- 
 longed to the estate of Miles Brewton. Subsequently, it became 
 the property of Colonel William AUston, in whose family it still 
 remains. But with Balfour as its tenant, the proprietorship 
 might fairly be assumed to be wholly in himself; determinable 
 only in the event, now scarcely anticipated by the invader, of 
 the state ever being recovered by the arms of the Americans. 
 With his secretary seated at the table, his pen rapidly coursing 
 over the sheets under the diction of his superior, Balfour trod 
 the apartment — the southeast chamber in the second story— 
 in evident impatience. At times, he hurried to the front win- 
 dows, which were all open, and looked forth, as any unusual 
 sounds assailed his ears. Returning, he uttered sentence after 
 sentence of instruction, and paused only to approach the side- 
 board and renew his draught of old Madeira, a bottle of which 
 had been freshly opened before the secretary came. At length, 
 to the relief of his impatience, the sound of a carriage was heard 
 rolling to the door, and the soldier in attendance looked in to 
 announce 
 
 " Colonel Cruden." 
 
 " Show him in," was the reply ; and, the nest moment, the 
 person thus named made his appearance, and was welcomed in 
 proper terms by the commandant, who, turning to the secretary, 
 hastily examined what he had written, as hastily attached his 
 seal and signature, and, in lower tones than was his wont, gave 
 him instructions in what manner to dispose of the papers. 
 
 " Leave us now," said Balfour, " but be not far ; I may need 
 you shortly. No more sleep to-night ; remember that. Xou 
 may help yourself to some of the wine ; it may assist you in 
 sustaining your vigil." 
 
 The young man did not scruple to employ the privilege 
 awarded him. He drank the wine, and, with a bow, retired. 
 
 " Let us drink, also, Cruden," was the speech of Balfour, the 
 moment the youth had gone. " This early rising renders some 
 stimulus necessary, particularly when the matter is as annoying 
 as troublesome. Come, this Madeira is from the cellar of old 
 
12 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 Laurens, some time president of Congress. He had a trtier 
 taste for Madeira than politics. There is no better to be found 
 in all the city. Come." 
 
 " But what is this business which calls us up at this unsea- 
 sonable hour?" 
 
 " Something in your way, I fancy. But first let me congrat- 
 ulate you on your appointment. As agent for sequestrated es- 
 tates, you should soon be a millionaire." 
 
 " There certainly ought to be good pickings where rebellion 
 has been so fruitful," said the other. 
 
 " Surely ; and in possession of the fine mansion of that prema- 
 ture rebel, Cotesworth Pinckney — decidedly the finest house in 
 Carolina — you are already in the enjoyment of a pleasant fore- 
 taste of what must follow. The house, of course, will remain 
 your own." 
 
 " I suppose so, if the state is not reconquered." 
 
 " And have you any fears of this, after the defeat of that sen- 
 timental hero. Gates, at Camden 1 That aiFair seems to settle 
 the question. These people are efiectually crushed and cowed, 
 and Congress can never raise another army. The militia of the 
 Middle states and the south are by no means numerous, and they 
 want everything as well as arms. The New-Englanders no 
 longer take the field, now that the war has left their own bor- 
 ders ; and, come what may, it is very clear that the Carolinas, 
 Georgia, and Florida, must still remain the colonies of Great 
 Britain. In that event, a peace which even yields indepen- 
 dence to the more northern provinces, will give nothing to these : 
 and my faith in the uti-posidetis principle makes me quite easy 
 with regard to my possessions." 
 
 And he looked round upon the pleasant apartment which he 
 occupied with the air of a man perfectly satisfied with the archi- 
 tectural proportions of his building. 
 
 " I am glad to hear you in this pleasant vein. From your 
 impatient summons, I had thought the devil was to pay." 
 
 " And so he is," said the commandant, suddenly becoming 
 grave ; " the devil to pay, indeed ; and I am sorry to tell you 
 that your kinsman. Proctor, is in danger of sharp censure, if not 
 a loss of his commission." 
 
OLD SOLDIEES. - 13 
 
 "Ha!" 
 
 " He has nearly suffered the surprise of his post ; suffered this 
 malignant Walton to be snatched from his clutches on the way 
 to execution, half of his men to he cut to pieces, and Dorchester 
 burnt to ashes." 
 
 " You confound me !" 
 
 " It is too true. There is his own despatch, which, of course, 
 makes the best of it." 
 
 He pointed to the table where lay a couple of letters with 
 the seals both broken ; and Cruden was about to place his hand 
 on one of them, when his grasp was prevented, rather precipi- 
 tately, by that of Balfour. 
 
 " Stay ; that is not the despatch. Here it is," giving the one 
 letter, and carefully thrusting the other into his pocket. But 
 Cruden had already seen the superscription, which bore the Dor- 
 chester stamp also. He made no comment, however, on the cir- 
 cumstance, and forbore all inquiry, while lie proceeded to read 
 the despatch of Major Proctor, to whom the post at Dorchester 
 and the contiguous country had been coniided. 
 
 " This is certainly a most unfortunate affair ; but I do not see 
 how Proctor is to blame. He seems to have done everything in 
 his power." 
 
 " That is to be seen. I hope so, for your sake no less than 
 his. But it is a matter of too serious a kind not to demand keen 
 and searching inquiry." 
 
 " Proctor had no more than seventy men at the post. Com- 
 wallis stripped him of all that could be spared ; and more, it 
 seems, than it was safe to spare." 
 
 " My dear friend, you are just in the receipt of a handsome 
 appointment from Oornwallis. How can you suppose, that he 
 should err in a military calculation of this sort ? How suppose 
 that the king of Great Britain can be persuaded of his eiTor at 
 the very moment which brings him advices of so great a victory ? 
 It is impossible ! Come, let us replenish ;" and he again filled 
 the glasses. Cniden drank, but deliberately; and while the 
 goblet was yet unfinished, paused to say — 
 
 " I see, Balfour, my kinsman is tq be sacrificed." 
 
 " Nay, not so ; we shall give him every opportunity of saving 
 
14 - KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 himself. On my honor, he shall not he pressed to the wall. 
 But you see for yourself that the affair is an unlucky one — a 
 most unlucky one — just at this juncture." 
 
 " And Proctor such a good fellow — really a nohle fellow." 
 
 " Admitted ; and yet, hetween us, Cruden, he has been par- 
 ticularly unfortunate, I fear, in allowmg his affections to he en- 
 snared hy the daughter of this very rebel, Walton ; who is not 
 without attractions, considering her vast estates. She is more 
 than good-looking, I hear — indeed, Kitty Harvey tells me that 
 she was quite a beauty a year ago. Moll is not willing to go so 
 far, but says she was very good-looking. Now, these charms, 
 in addition to some two or three hundred slaves, and a most ba- 
 ronial landed estate, have proved too much for your nephew ; 
 and the fear is that he has shown himself q^uite too indidgent — 
 indeed, a little wilfully careless and remiss ; and to this remiss- 
 ness the rebel owes his escape." 
 
 " This is a very shocking suspicion, Balfour ; and not to be 
 reported or repeated without the best of testimony. John Proc- 
 tor is one of the most honorable men Uving. There does not 
 seem to have been any remissness. These partisans of Single- 
 ton were surely unexpected ; and when Proctor sends out half 
 of his disposable force to escort the rebel to execution, one would 
 think he had furnished quite as large a guard as was requisite." 
 
 " So, under ordinary circumstances, it would seem ; and yet 
 where would this party of rebels, though led by a notoriously 
 daring fellow, find the audacity to attack such a guard within 
 sight of the fortress, in midday, unless secretly conscious that 
 the chances favored him in an extraordinary manner? Mind 
 you, now, I say nothing of my own head. I give you only the 
 conjectures, the mere whisperings of others, and beg you to be- 
 lieve that I keep my judgment in reserve for more conclusive 
 evidence." 
 
 "I don't doubt that Proctor will acquit himself before any 
 court. But have you any farther advices — no letters 1" 
 
 " None that relate to this affair," was the, rather hesitating 
 reply. 
 
 " And what is it, Balfoui-, for which you want me now 1" 
 
 " A cast of your office, tnon ami. I wish to afford you an op- 
 
OLD SOLDIERS. 15 
 
 portunity of exercising yourself in your new vocation. You 
 must accompany me to Dorchester this very day. Here is a 
 memorandum of particulars. Take your secretary with you. 
 The estates of this rebel Walton are to he sequestered. You 
 shall take them in charge and administer them. Lands, negroes, 
 house, furniture, man-servant and maid-servant, ox and ass, and 
 such an equipage as you will scarcely find any where in the 
 colonies. I am told that the Madeira in Walton's garrets is the 
 oldest in the country. Eememher, there must he a fair division 
 of that spoil. I have not insisted upon your merits to Cornwal- 
 lis to he denied my reward. Besides, the stud of this rehel is 
 said to be a magnificent one. I know that Tarleton itched to 
 find a plea for laying hands upon his blooded horses. We must 
 share them also, Cruden. I am by no means satisfied with my 
 stock, and must recruit and supply myself. There are two or 
 three hundred negroes, an immense stock of plate, and a crop 
 of rice just about to be harvested. You will be secure of most 
 of this treasure, anyhow, even should you find an heir for it in 
 your nephew." 
 
 This last sentence was said with a smile, which Cruden did 
 not greatly relish. There was much in whaf Balfour had spoken 
 to disquiet him as well as give him pleasure. Cruden, like the 
 greater number of his fellow-soldiers, was anxious to spoil the 
 Egyptians. His avarice was almost as blind and devouring as 
 that of Balfour, and his love of show not less ; but he had affections 
 and sympathies, such as are grateful to humanity. He was 
 proud of his nephew, whose generous and brave qualities had 
 done honor to their connection ; and he was not willing to see 
 hun sacrificed without an efibrt. This he clearly perceived was 
 Balfour's present object. Why, he did not care to know. It 
 was enough that he resolved to do what was in his power to 
 defeat his purpose. 
 
 We need not follow the farther conference of these good com- 
 panions. It was of a kind to interest themselves only. With 
 the first glimpses of the gray dawning, Cruden took his departure 
 to hasten his preparations for the contemplated journey ; while 
 Balfour, having given all his orders, threw himself upon a sofa, and 
 soon slept as soundly as if he had only just retired for the night. 
 
16 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SOCIAL STABBING. 
 
 The blare of trumpets beneath his •windows, announcing the 
 readness of his cavalry to march, found Balfour at the conclusion 
 of a late breakfast. He was soon in the saddle, and accompa- 
 nied by his friend Cruden, followed by some inferior officers. 
 This party rode on slowly, while the major in command of the 
 brigade proceeded on the march, drawing up only as they 
 reached the great gate of' the city. The stranger who at this 
 day, shall find himself gazing upon the southern front of the 
 stately pile called the "Citadel," in Charleston — a building of 
 the state, devoted to the purposes of military education — will 
 stand at no great distance from what was then the main entrance 
 to the city. Along this line ran the fortifications, extending from 
 the river Cooper to the Ashley, and traversing very nearly what 
 is now the boundary line between the corporate hmits of Charles- 
 ton and its very extensive suburb. At that early period, the 
 fortifications of the place were at some distance from the set- 
 tlement. The surface occupied by the city scarcely reached 
 beyond a fourth of the present dimensions, and in the north and 
 west, was distinguished only by some scattered and inferior 
 llabitations. "Up the path" was the phrase used by which to 
 distinguish the region which had been assigned to the defences 
 and beyond. 
 
 Without, the region lay partially in woods, broken only by an 
 occasional farmstead and worm fence, which, when the British 
 took possession of the "Neck" for the purpose of the leaguer, 
 soon disappeared, either wholly or in part, beneath the fire and 
 the axe. The gate of the city stood a little to the east of 
 
SOCIAL STABBING. 17 
 
 King street — not quite midway, perhaps, between that and 
 Meeting street. It was covered within by a strong horn-worh of 
 masonry, originally built by the besieged, and afterward im- 
 proved by the enemy. It was a work of considerable strength in 
 that day, fraised, picketed, and intended as a citadel. The Brit- 
 ish, after the fall of the city, greatly strengthened and increased 
 these fortifications ; though even in their hands, the lines remain- 
 ed what are called field-works only. 
 
 Beyond them, at the moment when we request the reader's 
 attention, were stUl perceptible the traces of the several foot- 
 holds, taken by the enemy when the leaguer was in progress. 
 You could see the debris of the redoubts, under the cover of 
 which they had made their approaches; the several parallels — 
 though thrown down ia part, and the earth removed, with the 
 view to strengthening the fortifications — still showing themselves 
 upon the surface, and occasionally arresting the eye by an un- 
 broken redoubt, or the mound which told where the mortar-bat- 
 tery had been erected. Farms and fences had been destroyed : 
 trees had been cut down for pickets and abbatis ; and even that 
 noble avenue, leading from the city, called the " Broadway," which 
 old Archdale tells us was " so delightful a road and walk of a 
 greath breadth, so pleasantly green, that I believe no prince in 
 Europe, by all their art, can make so pleasant a sight for the 
 whole year," even this had been shorn of many of its noblest 
 patriarchs, of oak and cedar, for the commonest purposes of fuel 
 or defence. It was still an avenue, however, to^mpel the 
 admiration of the European. All was not lost.cf^i^its ample 
 foliage, its green umbrage, its tall pines, fresh ap&^dant ce- 
 dars, and ancient gnarled oaks : and, as the splen^By ti^ormed 
 cavalry of the British, two hundred in nnmb^p filed™ awaj^ 
 beneath its pleasant thickets, the spectacle was one of a bekuty 
 most unique, and might well persuade the spectator into a partial 
 forgetfulness of the fearful trade which these gallant troopers 
 carried on. On each hand, from this nearly central point, might 
 glimpses be had of the two rivers, scarce a mile asunder; beneath 
 which, on the most gradual slope of plane, the city of Charles- 
 ton rises, the Ashley on the west, the Cooper on the east, both 
 navigable for a small distance — streams of ample breadth, if not 
 
18 KATHARINE WALTON, 
 
 of deptli ; and in fact rather arms of tlie sea than arteries of the 
 « land. 
 
 The British detachment, about to leave the garrison, its objects 
 not known, nor its destination, was necessarily a subject of con- 
 siderable interest to all parties. Whig and loyalist equally 
 regarded its movements •with curiosity and excitement. The 
 recent defeat of the Americans at Camden ; the sudden and 
 startling event, so near at hand, in the rescue at Dorchester, and 
 the partial conflagration of that hamlet, were all now known 
 among the citizens. The question with the one party was that 
 of the dethroned sovereign of England on the ominous appearance 
 of Gloster, "What bloody scene hath Roscius now to act?" — 
 while the other looked forward to new progresses, ending in the 
 acquisition of fresh spoils from new confiscations, and the punish- 
 ment of enemies whom they had learned to hate in due degree 
 with the appreciation of their virtuous patriotism, which persever- 
 ed, under all privations, in a manly resistance to the invader. 
 Groups • of these, of both parties, separated naturally by their 
 mutual antipathies, had assembled in the open space contiguous 
 to the citadel, and were now anxiously contemplating the spec- 
 tacle. Among these, scattered at plays that had an earnest 
 signification, were dozens of sturdy urchins, already divided into 
 parties according to the influence of their parental and other as- 
 sociations. These, known as the " Bay Boys" and the " Green 
 Boys," were playing at soldiers, well armed with cornstalks, and 
 hammering away at each other, in charging and retreating 
 squadrons. JkThe "Bay Boys" were all loyalists, the "Gre'en 
 ■Boys'j£^®^^'g^> o' patriots: and in their respective designa- 
 tionj3,.jwe have no inadequate suggestion of the influences which 
 %operated to divide the factions of their elders in the city. The 
 " Bay^Boys" represented the commercial influence, which, being 
 chiefly in the hands of foreigners, acknowledged a more natural 
 sympathy with Britain than the " Green Boys," or those of the 
 suburban population, most of whom were the agricultural aris- 
 tocracy of the low country, and with whom the revolutionary 
 movement in Carolina had its origin. 
 
 The appearance of Balfour and his suite dispersed these parties, 
 who retired upon opposite sides, leaving a free passage for the 
 
SOCIAL STABBING. 19 
 
 horses, wliich were diiven forward with, but small regard for the 
 safety of the crowds that covered the highway. The men turn- 
 ed away with as much promptitude as the hoys ; neither Whig 
 nor loyahst having much assurance of consideration from a ruler 
 so arrogant and capricious as Balfour, and so reckless of the 
 comfort of inferiors. A few women might be seen, as if in wait- 
 ing, mostly in gig or chair — then the most commonly used 
 vehicle — though one or more might be seen in carriages, and a 
 few on horseback, followed by negro servanfs. Those were all 
 prepared to leave the city, on brief visits, as was customary, to 
 the neighboring farms and plantations along one or other of the 
 two rivers. They were destined to disappointment, Balfour 
 sternly denying the usual permit to depart from the city, at a 
 moment when there was reason to suppose that stray bodies of 
 Marion's parties were lurking in the neighborhood. The pre- 
 caution was a proper one ; but there was no grace or delicacy in 
 the manner of Balfour's denial. . 
 
 "Get home, madam," was the rude reply to one lady, who 
 addressed him from the window of her carriage; "and be grate- 
 ful for the security wliich the arms of his majesty afford you 
 within the walls of the city. We will see after your estates." 
 . "My concern is, sir, that you will prove yourself only too 
 provident," answered the high-spirited woman, as she bade her 
 coachman wheel about to return. 
 
 " There is no breaking down the spirit of this people," mut- 
 tered Balfour to Oruden as they rode forward. " That woman 
 always gives me the last word, and it is never an unspiced one." 
 
 " They who lose the soup may well be permitted to enjoy the 
 pepper," said Cruden. " It ruffles you, which it should not." 
 
 " They shall bend or break before I am done with them," 
 answered the other. To the major commanding in his absence, 
 he gave strict injunctions that no one should be allowed to leave 
 the city under any pretence. 
 
 "Unless General Williamson, I suppose?" was the inquiry, in 
 return. 
 
 "Has he desired to go forth to-day?" 
 
 "To-morrow, sir." 
 
 "Well, let him be an exception;" and he rode off; "though" 
 
20 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 — continuing, as if speaking to himself — "were he wise, he 
 should hug the city walls as his only security. His neck would 
 run a sorry chance were he to fall into the hands of his ancient 
 comrades." 
 
 " I do not see that his desertion of the enemy has done us 
 much service," was the remark of Oruden. 
 
 " You mistake : his correspondence has been most efficient. 
 He has brought over numbers in Ninety-Six and along the Con- 
 gares. But these are matters that we can not pubhsh." 
 
 At the " Quarter's House," between five and sis mUes, the 
 party came to a halt. This was a famous place in that day for 
 parties from the city. The long low building, stUl occupying 
 the spot, might be almost esteemed a facsimile of the one which 
 covered it then. It received its name, as it was the officers' 
 quarters for the old field range contiguous, which is still known 
 as "Izard's Camp." It was now a region devoted to festivity 
 rather than war. Hither the British officers, of an afternoon, 
 drove out their favorite damsels. Here they gamed and drank 
 with their comrades; and occasionally a grand hop shook the 
 rude log foundations of the fabric, while the rafters gleamed with 
 the blaze of cressets, fiaming up from open oil vessels of tin. 
 Though not yet midday, Balfour halted here to procure refresh- 
 ments; and Mother Gradock, by whom the place was kept, was 
 required to use her best sMll — which was far from mean in this 
 department of art — in compounding for her sensual customer a 
 royal noggin of mUk punch ; old Jamaica rum being the potent 
 element which the milk was vainly expected to subdue. A 
 lounge of half an hour in the ample piazza, and the party resum- 
 ed their route, following after the march of the brigade at a 
 smart canter. A ride of four hours brought them to Dorchester, 
 where, apprised of their approach, the garrison was drawn out to 
 receive them. 
 
 The .spectacle that met the eyes of Balfour, in the smoking 
 ruins of the village, was well calculated to impress him with a 
 serious sense of the necessity of a thorough investigation into the 
 affair. He shook his head with great gravity as he said to Oruden 
 
 " It will be well if your kinsman can acquit himself of the 
 responsibility of this afiair. Proctor is a good officer; is quick, 
 
SOCIAL STABBING. 21 
 
 sensible, and brave; but I fear, Cruden, I very much fear, that 
 he has been somewhat remiss in this business. And then the 
 awkward relations which are said to have existed between this 
 rebel's daughter and himself " 
 
 "Stay," said Cruden; "he approaches." 
 
 The next moment, Major Proctor joined the party, and offered 
 the proper welcome. He was a young man, not more than 
 twenty-eight or thirty in appearance; and more than ordinarily 
 youthful to have arrived at the rank which he held in the ser- 
 vice. But he had been fortunate in his opportunities for dis- 
 tinction ; and, both in the conquest of New York and of Charles- 
 ton, had won the special applause of his superiors for equal 
 bravery and intelligence. His person was cast in a very noble 
 mould. He was tall, erect, and graceful, with a countenance 
 finely expressive; lofty brow, large and animated eyes; and 
 features which,, but for a stem compression of the hps, might 
 have a'ppeared effeminately handsome. At this time, his face 
 was marked by an appropriate gravity. He conducted his visi- 
 ters through the village, pointing out the scene of every impor- 
 tant transaction with dignity and calmness. But his words were 
 as few as possible; and every reference to the subject, naturally 
 so painful, was influenced chiefly by considerations of duty to his 
 superior. 
 
 When his examination of the field was ended, they made their 
 way toward the fortress, at the entrance of which they found 
 an officer in waiting, to whom Balfour spoke rather eagerly, and 
 in accents much less stately than those which he employed in 
 dealing with subordinates. Captain Vaughan — for such was the 
 name and title of this officer — met the eye of Proctor at this 
 moment, and did not fail to observe the dark scowl which over- 
 shadowed it. A sudden gleam of intelligence, which did not 
 seem without its triumph, lighted up his own eyes as he beheld 
 it; and his Hp curled witt a smile barely perceptible to a single 
 one of the party. Balfour just then called the young officer for- 
 ward, and they passed through the portals of the fortress together. 
 Proctor motioned his kinsman Cruden forward also, but the lat- 
 ter, twitching him by the sleeve, held him back as he eagerly 
 asked the question in a whisper — 
 
22 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " For God's sake, John, what is all this ? How are you to blame ?" 
 
 "Only for having an enemy, uncle, I suppose." 
 
 "An enemy? I thought so. But who?" 
 
 Proator simply waved his hand forward in the direction of 
 Vaughan, whose retiring form was stUl to be seen following close 
 behind Balfour. 
 
 "You will soon see." 
 
 "Vaughan! But how can he hurt you? Why should he be 
 your enemy?" 
 
 "I am in his way somewhat; and — but not now, uncle. Let 
 us go forward." 
 
 They were soon all assembled in Proctor's quarters, where 
 dinner was in progress. Balfour had already renewed his draughts, 
 enjoying with a relish, the old Jamaica, of which a portly square 
 bottle stood before him. His beverage now was taken without 
 the milk ; but was qualified with a rather small, allowance of 
 cool water. The conversation was only casual. It was tacitly 
 understood that, for the present, the subject most in the mind of 
 all parties was to be left for future discussion. Proctor did the 
 honors with ease and grace, yet with a gravity of aspect that 
 lacked Httle of severity. Captains Vaughan and Dickson were 
 of the company — oiEcers both belonging to the station — and 
 Oruden contrived to examine, at intervals, the features of the 
 former, of whom he knew but little, with the scrutiny of one who 
 had an intejest in fathoming the character of him he surveyed. 
 But Vaughan's face was one of those inscrutable ones — a dark 
 fountain, which shows its surface only, and notliiug of its depths. 
 He was not unaware of Cruden's' watch — that circumspect old 
 soldier, with all his shrewdness and experience, being no sort of 
 match for the person, seemingly a mere boy, small of features, 
 slight of figure, and with a chin that appeared quite too smooth 
 to demand the reaping of a razor — whom he sought to fathom. 
 Yet those girlish features, that pale face, and thin, elfeminato, and 
 closed lips, were the unrevealing representatives of an intense 
 ambition, coupled with a cool, deliberate, almost icy temper, 
 which seldom betrayed impatience, and never any of its secrets. 
 His eyes smiled only, not his hps, as he noted the fiutivc scnitiny 
 which Cruden maintained.. 
 
SOCIAL STABBING. ' 23 
 
 At leBgth, dinner was announced, and discussed. Balfour was 
 at home at table. He was a person to do the honors for the 
 hon vivant ; and here, perhaps, lay some of the secret of his in- 
 fluence with Sir William Howe. Fish from the Ashley, which 
 glided beneath the walls of the fortress, and venison from the 
 forests which spread away on every hand within bowshot, formed 
 the chief dishes of the feast; and the Jamaica proved an ex- 
 cellent appetizer and provocative. Wines were not wanting ; 
 and the commandant 6f Charleston very soon showed symptoms 
 which acknowledged their influence. Before the cloth had been 
 removed, his forbearance was forgotten; and, rather abruptly, 
 the affair of Walton's rescue was brought upon the table. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Proctor, this affair is decidedly unfortunate. 
 Here you have seventy-six men in garrison, good men, not iu- 
 cluding invalids, and you send out a detachment of thirty only to 
 escort this rebel Walton to the gallows. I must say, you might 
 almost have expected what followed." 
 
 "Eeally, Colonel Balfour, I see not that. I send out half of 
 my force, or nearly so, to superintend the execution of a single 
 man. One would suppose such a force sufficient for such a 
 purpose. Was I to abandon the garrison entirely % Had I done 
 so, what might have been the consequences? Instead of the 
 mere rescue of the prisoner, the post might have been surprised 
 and captured with all its stores, and the garrison cut to pieces." 
 
 " Scarcely, if the reported force of the rebels be ^rue. They 
 do not seem to have had more than twenty men in all." 
 
 "You will permit me to ask, sir, how you arrived at this con- 
 clusion? I am not conscious of having made any definite report 
 of the number of the rebels in this assault." 
 
 "No, Major Proctor; and this, I an sorry to observe, is a most 
 unaccountable omission in your report. You had the evidence 
 of a worthy loyalist, named Blonay, who distinctly told you that 
 they numbered only twenty men." 
 
 " The deficiencies of my report. Colonel Balfour, seem to have 
 been particularly supplied by other hands," was the ironical re- 
 mark of Proctor, his eye glancing fiercely at Vaughan as he spoke ; 
 "but your informant is scarcely correct himself, sir,- and has 
 been too glad to assume, as a certainty, a report which was only 
 
'Zi KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 conjectural. Blonay stated distinctly that there were twenty 
 men and more. These were his very words. He did not say 
 how many. His whole account was wretchedly confused, since 
 liis mind seems to have been distracted between the difficulty of 
 rescuing his mother from the feet of the horse, by which she 
 was really trampled to death, and the desire of taking revenge 
 upon a single enemy, upon whom alone his eyes seem to have 
 been fixed during the affair. This Blonay, sir, instead of being 
 a worthy loyalist, is a miserable wretch, half Indian, and of no 
 worth at all. He has an Indian passion for revenge, which, on 
 this occasion, left him singularly incapable of a correct observa- 
 tion on any subject which did not involve the accomplishment 
 of his passion. But, allowing that the rebels made theur assault 
 with but twenty men, it must be remembered that they effected 
 a surprise^ — " 
 
 "Ah! that was the reproach. Major Proctor; there was the 
 error, in allowing that surprise." 
 
 " But, Balfour," said Cruden, " this seems to be quite unrea- 
 sonable. A detachment of thirty men from the post, leaving but 
 forty in charge of it, seems to be quite large enough." 
 
 " That depends wholly on circumstances, Cruden," was the 
 reply of Balfour, filling his glass. 
 
 "Exactly, sir," resumed Proctor; "and these circumstances 
 were such as to call for a guard for the prisoner no stronger 
 than that which I assigned it. But a few days had elapsed 
 since Earl Comwalhs totally defeated the rebel army at Cam- 
 den. Were we to look for an effort of the rebels, in his rear, 
 of this description 1 Did we not know that Marion, with his 
 brigade, had joined himself to the force of Gates ; and had we 
 not every reason to suppose that he had shared its fate ? The 
 whole country was in our possession. Lord Rawdon held Cam- 
 den ; Colonel Stuart was at Ninety-Six ; Orangeburg, Motte's, 
 Watson's, Monk's Corner, Quimby — all posts garrisoned by 
 ourselves ; and our scouts brought no tidings of any considera- 
 ble force of rebels embodied in any quarter." 
 
 " But the inconsideralle," answered Balfour. 
 
 " They were surely provided against in a force of thirty men, 
 led by a competent officer, who sealed his devotion with his life." 
 
SOCIAL STABBING. 25 
 
 " Why did you not take command of the escort yourself ?" 
 queried Balfour. 
 
 For a moment, an expression of strong disgust spread over 
 the face of Proctor. But he replied, calmly — 
 
 " It might he a sufficient answer to say, that such was not my 
 duty. The command of the post at Dorchester involved no oh- 
 ligation to assume the duties of a subordinate. But I will ex- 
 press myself more frankly. I could not have assumed this duty 
 without violating some of the most precious feelings of humani- 
 ty. I had enjoyed the hospitality of Colonel Walton ; had 
 shared his intimacy ; and cherished a real esteem for the noble 
 virtues of that gentleman, which his subsequent unhappy rebel- 
 lion can not obliterate from my mind. I could not have taken 
 part in the terrible event of that day, I preferred, sir, as my 
 du^ty allowed it, to withdraw from so painful a spectacle." 
 
 "Ah! that was the error — the great error. The soldier, sir, 
 has obligations to Ms king superior to those of mere sentiment. 
 I am sorry, Major Proctor — very sorry — not less for your sake, 
 than because of the deep sympathy which I have with my friend, 
 Cruden." 
 
 " But, Balfour," said Cruden, " it strikes me that John's course 
 has been quite justifiable. With his force, he could not have 
 detached from the garrison more than he did, as an escort for 
 the rebel's execution. And, under the circumstances oF the 
 country, with Cornwallis so completely triumphant over Gates, 
 and with our troops everywhere overawing every conspicuous 
 point, there could be no reason to anticipate such a surprise as 
 this. Now" — ■ 
 
 " My dear Craden, all this sounds very well ; and were these 
 things to be considered by themselves I have no doubt the de- 
 fence would be properly urged. But I am afraid that an evil 
 construction may be placed upon the deep sympathy which our 
 young friend seems to have felt for the family of this rebel. He 
 seems to have been a frequent visiter at Walton's plantation," 
 
 " Only, sir, when Colonel Walton was understood to be a friend 
 of my king and government." 
 
 " That he never was." 
 
 " He was admitted in our roll of friends among the people of 
 
 2 
 
26 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 the country ; and I have Lord Oomwallis's especial instructions 
 to treat him with great courtesy and favor, in the hope of win- 
 ning him over to active participation in our cause." 
 
 " Very true, sir ; that was our object ; but how long is it since 
 this hope was abandoned ?, Oould you have entertained it, my 
 dear major, for a moment after your fruitless attempt to capture 
 Singleton, the lieutenant of Marion, harbored by this very rebel 
 — nay, rescued by Walton from your grasp, at the head of an 
 armed force, which put you at defiance 1 Nay, I am not sure 
 that the curious fact, that Walton suffered you to escape, though 
 clearly in his clutches, will not make against you. Even since 
 these events, it is understood that you have more than once vis- 
 ited the daughter of this rebel, alone, without any attendants, 
 returning late in the evening to your post." 
 
 Proctor smiled grimly, as he replied — 
 
 " It will be something new, I fancy, to the officers of his maj- 
 esty in Charleston and elsewhere, if it be construed into a trea- 
 sonable affair when they visit a rebel damsel. But really. Colonel 
 Balfour, this conversation assumes so much the appearance of a 
 criminal investigation, that I see no other course before me than 
 to regard it as a sort of court of unjuiry. Perhaps, sir, I had 
 better tender my sword, as under arrest. At all events, sir, per- 
 mit me to demand a court of inquiry for the full examination of 
 this affair." 
 
 He unbuckled his sword as he spoke, and laid it upon the table. 
 
 " What are you about, John ? What need of this ?" demand- 
 ed Cruden. " I am sure that Balfour means nothing of the kind." 
 
 " Perhaps it is just as well, Cruden," answered Balfour, " that 
 our young friend should so determine. I like to see young men 
 fearless of investigation. Better he should invite the court than 
 have it forced upon him ; and you will see, from what I have 
 said, that there is much of a suspicious nature in this affair which 
 it is proper for him to clear up. But remember, my friends, 
 what I have said has been said in a friendly spirit. I have ^oo 
 much regard for both of you to suffer you to be taken by sur- 
 prise. You now see what points are to be explained, and what 
 doubts discussed and settled." 
 
 This was all said very coolly ; we shall not say civilly. 
 
SOCIAL STABBING. 27 
 
 " I am deeply indebted to your courtesy, Colonel Balfour," 
 answered Proctor, " and will be glad if you will still further ia- 
 crease my acknowledgments, by suffering me to know the sources 
 of that information which, I perceive, has followed my footsteps 
 as a shadow." 
 
 " Nay, now, my young friend, you must really excuse me. I 
 should be happy to oblige you ; but the nature of the affair, and 
 the caution which is due to my situation, will not suffer me to 
 comply with your desires. Excuse me. Let us have a glass 
 all round." 
 
 " Stay," said Cruden ; " am I to understand that John is de- 
 prived of his command at this post 1" 
 
 " Most certainly," interposed Proctor, himself. " Until purged 
 of these suspicions, I can certainly hold no station of trust in the 
 service of his majesty." 
 
 " Your nephew has a right notion of these matters, Cruden," 
 remarked Balfour ; " but it will not be long. He will soon 
 purge himself of these suspicions, and be in a situation to resume 
 all his trvists." 
 
 "And to whom," said Cruden, "will you coniide the post, 
 mcanwhUe 1" 
 
 "Who? — ay!" looking round. "I had thought of request- 
 ing our young friend, Vaughan, here, to administer its duties, 
 and to take charge of the precincts of Dorchester." 
 
 Vaughan bowed his head quietly and respectfully, and in a 
 few calmly-expressed words, declared his sense of the compli- ' 
 ment. The keen eye of Proctor was fastened upon him with a 
 stern and scornful glance, and, a moment after he left the apart- 
 ment, followed by his uncle. 
 
 " This is a most abominable affair, John," was his remark ; 
 " a most abominable affair !" ^ 
 
 " Do you think so, sir ? There would be nothing abominable 
 about it, were there not a villain in the business." 
 
 "And that villain— " 
 
 " Is Vaughan ! the servile tool of Balfour ; the miserable 
 sycophant, v/ho fancies that ambition may be served by false- 
 hood. But I shall crush him yet. His triumph is for the mo- 
 ment only." 
 
28 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 NATIVE PRINCESS. 
 
 The sun was still an hour higli when Balfour gave instructions 
 to prepare his horses and a small escort, proposing a visit to the 
 plantation called " The Oaks," the domain of the famous rebel, 
 Colonel Walton. 
 
 " You will, of course accompany me, Cruden. Your duties 
 begin in this quarter. It is just as well that we should have 
 this estate within our clutches as soon as possible, and before 
 the alarm is taken. We will quarter ourselves upon the young 
 lady to-night, and see how the land lies. Should she prove as 
 beautiful as they describe, we shall make her a ward of the king, 
 and dispose of her accordingly." 
 
 " In that event, you had best take her to the city." 
 
 " I shall most surely do so." 
 
 " I shall certainly be better pleased to take charge of the 
 plantation in her absence. Our authority might otherwise, con- 
 flict. With the dawn, we must proceed to gather up the negroes, 
 and for this purpose I shall need your assistance. You will have 
 a sufficient detachment with you V 
 
 " Twenty men will do. There are some three hundred slaves, 
 I understand of all classes ; and the fewer soldiers we employ 
 in bringing these into the fold, the less heavy will be the asses 
 ment on the estate." 
 
 This was said with a grin, the meaning of which was perfectly 
 understood by his associate. 
 
 " Does my nephew accompany us, Balfour 1" 
 
 " If he chooses." 
 
 " I may need his assistance in the matter." 
 
 " You have brought your secretary V 
 
NATIVE PRINCESS. 29 
 
 "Yes; but John is a ready fellow at accounts — as quick 
 with the pen as with the sword ; — besides, he knows something 
 of the estate already, and may give some useful hints in respect 
 to plate, horses, and other property, which these rebel women 
 are apt to conceal." 
 
 " The plate generally finds its way into the cellar, or under 
 some great oak-tree in the woods; but I have long been in 
 possession of a divining rod, which conducts me directly to the 
 place of safe-keeping. We have only to string up one of the 
 old family negroes, and, with a tight knot under the left ear, and 
 a little uneasiness in breathing, he soon disgorges all his secrets. 
 But, in truth, these women seldom hide very deeply. It is usu- 
 ally at the very last hour that they consent to .piit away the 
 plate, and then it is rather hurried out of sight than hidden. I 
 have sometimes detected the hoard by the ears of a silver milk- 
 pot, or the mouth of a coffee-urn, or the handle of a vase, stick- 
 ing up unnaturally beside an old chimney in the basement. But 
 see your nephew, and let us ride." 
 
 Cruden proceeded to Proctor's room ; but, on the expression 
 of his wish, was met by a firm and prompt refusal. 
 
 " How can you ask me. Colonel Cruden, to take part in this 
 business? It is your duty, as the -proper officer of the crown, 
 and that is your apology. I should have none." 
 
 " I am afraid, John, you are quite too deeply interested in 
 this beauty." 
 
 " Stop, sir ; let us have nothing of this. Enough, that Miss 
 Walton can never be to me more than she is. She is one 
 always to command my respect, and I beg that she will yours. 
 For my sake, sir, administer this unpleasant duty, upon which 
 you go, with all possible tenderness and forbearance." 
 
 " I will, John, for your sake. To be sure I wUl." 
 
 And they separated — Balfour clamoring without, impatiently, 
 for his companion, who soon after joined him. An easy ride of 
 an hour brought them to the noble avenue, " The Oaks," which 
 conducted, for half a mile, to the entrance of Colonel Walton's 
 dwelling — a stately, sombre wood — the great, venerable trees 
 arching and uniting completely over the space between, while 
 their bearded mosses drooped to the very ground itself. The 
 
30 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 mansion was in a style of massive grandeur to correspond witli 
 so noble an entrance. Tlie approacli of the Britisli party was 
 known to the inmates, even before it had entered upon the ave- 
 nue. These inmates consisted, now, only of Colonel Walton's 
 maiden sister. Miss Barbara — a lady of that certain age which 
 is considered the most uncertain in the calendar — when, in fact, 
 the spinster ceases to compute, even as she ceases to grow — 
 and Katharine, the only daughter of the fugitive rebel himself. 
 Katharine was still a belle and a beauty, and youthful accord- 
 ingly. She might have been nineteen ; and, but for the majestic 
 and admirable form, the lofty grace of her carriage, the calm and 
 assured expression of her features, the ease and dignity of her 
 bearing — the fresh sweetness of her face, and the free, luxuri- 
 ant flow of her long, ungathered locks, simply parted from her 
 forehead, and left at freedom upon her neck and shoulders — 
 would have occasioned a doubt whether she was quite sixteen. 
 An obsequious negro, who rejoiced in the name of Bacchus, 
 without making any siich exhibition of feature or conduct as 
 would induce the suspicion that he was a worshipper at the 
 serine of that jolly divinity, received the British officers at the 
 entrance, and ushered them into the great hall of the mansion. 
 Their escort, having had previous instructions, was divided into 
 two bodies, one occupying the front avenue, the other that which 
 led to the river, in the rear of the building. But two persons 
 entered the house with Balfour and Cruden — Captain Dickson, 
 of the garrison, and one who knew the Walton famUy, and the 
 secretary of Colonel Cruden., 
 
 It was not long before the ladies made their appearance. 
 Though by no means disposed to waive any proper reserves of 
 the sex, they were yet prepared to recognise the policy which 
 counselled them to give no undue or unnecessary provocations 
 to those to whose power they could offer no adequate resist- 
 ance. Mrs. Barbara Walton — the old maid in those days being 
 always a mistress, through a courtesy that could no longer re- 
 gard her as a miss — led the w;iy into the hall, dressed in her 
 stateliest manner, with a great hoop surrounding her as a sort of 
 chevaux de frize — a purely unnecessary defence in the present 
 instance — and her head surmounted by one of those towers of 
 
NATIVE PRINCESS. 31 
 
 silk, gauzes, ribands, and pasteboard, which were so fashionable 
 in that day, and which reminded one of nothing more aptly than 
 of the rude engravings of the Tower of Babel in old copies of 
 the Bible, done in the very infancy of art. Poor Mrs. Barbara 
 was a tame, good-natured creature, nowise decided in her char- 
 acter, upon whom a foolish fashion could do no mischief, but who 
 was always playing the very mischief with the fashions. They 
 never were more military in character than in her hands— ^ 
 leading to conquest only by the absolute repulsion of all assail- 
 ants. Whether, at forty-five, this good creature fancied that it 
 was necessary to put her defences in the best possible array 
 against such a notorious gallant as Balfour, we may not say ; 
 but certainly she never looked more formidable on any previous 
 occasion. Her very smiles were trenches and pitfalls for the 
 invader — and every motion of her person, however gracefully 
 intended, seemed like a "warning to quit" — with a significant 
 hint of " steel traps and spring guns" in waiting for trespassers. 
 
 Doubtless, the venerable maiden might have largely com- 
 pelled the consideration of the British officers, but for the bright 
 creature that appeared immediately behind her ; and who, with- 
 out any appearance of timidity or doubt, quietly advanced and 
 welcomed the strangers, as if performing the most familiar office 
 in the world. Balfour absolutely recoiled as he beheld her. So 
 bright a vision had not often flashed across his eyes. 
 
 " By Jove," he muttered at the first opportunity, to Cmden, 
 " she M a beauty ! What a figure ! — what a face ! No wonder 
 your kinsman neglected his duties for his love." 
 
 " It is yet to be seen that he has done so," was the grave 
 aside of Cruden. ' 
 
 " Having seen her," whispered Balfour, " I can believe it 
 without further testimony." 
 
 We need not follow these asides. Katharine did the honors 
 of the reception with an ease and dignity, which, wMe making 
 the visiters at home, made it sufficiently evident that she felt 
 quite as much what was due to her condition as to their claims. 
 She wore the appearance of one who was conscious of all the 
 cares, the responsibilities, and the dangers of her situation ; yet 
 without yielding'to any of the fears or weaknesses which might 
 
32- KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 lie supposed, in one of her sex, to flow from their recognition 
 Her scliooHng had already been one of manj trials and terrors. 
 Her guests knew something of the training through which she 
 had gone, and this rendered her bearing stUl more admirable in 
 their sight. But her beauty, her virtue, her dignity, and char- 
 acter did not suffice, after the first impressive effect produced by 
 her appearance, to disarm her chief visiter of any of his pur- 
 poses. The usual preliminaries of conversation — such common- 
 places of remark as belong to the ordinary encounters of persons 
 in good society — having been interchanged as usual, and Bal- 
 four seized the opportunity of a pause, when his fair hostess, 
 indeed, appeared to expect something from him in the way of a 
 revelation, to break ground in regard to the ungracious business 
 on which he came. 
 
 " It would greatly relieve me. Miss Walton," said he, with a 
 manner at once seemingly frank as seemingly difficult, " if I 
 could persuade myself that you, in some degree, anticipate the 
 painful affair which brings me to your dwelling." 
 
 " That it is painful, sir, I must feel ; and, without being able 
 to conjecture what will be the form of your business, I can 
 easily conceive it to be such as can be agreeable to none of the 
 parties. To me, at least, sir, and to mine, I can very well con- 
 jecture that you bring penalty and privation at least." 
 
 '' Nay, nay ! These, I trust, are not the words which shordd 
 be used in this business. In carrying out the orders of my 
 superior, and in prosecuting the service which is due to my 
 sovereign, I shall certainly be compelled to proceed in a man- 
 ner materially to change your present mode of life ; but that 
 this will involve penalty and privation is very far from probable. 
 The conduct of your father — his present attitude in utter defi- 
 ance to the arms and authority of his majesty, and in total 
 rejection of all the gracious overtures made to him, as well by 
 Earl Cor^alHs as by Sir Henry Clinton, leaves it impossible 
 that we snbuld extend to him any indulgence. As a rebel in 
 arms — " 
 
 "Stay, sir! — you speak of my father. It is not necessary 
 that you should say anything to his daughter's ear, save what 
 is absolutely necessary that she should know. If I conceive 
 
NATIVE PRINCESS. 33 
 
 rightly your object in this visit, it is to visit upon my father's 
 property the penalty of my father's offence." 
 
 " 'Pon my soul," whispered Oruden, " the girl speaks like a 
 very Portia. She comes to the point manfully." 
 
 " You relieve me. Miss Walton ; and, in some measure, you 
 are correct," answered Balfour, interrupting her speech. " It 
 could not be supposed that his majesty should suffer Colonel 
 Walton to remain in possession of his property, while actually 
 waging war against the British standard. Colonel Cruden, here, 
 is commissioned by Lord Comwallis to sequestrate his estates — 
 their future disposal to depend wholly upon the final issues of 
 the war." 
 
 Here Cruden interposed, by reciting the general terms of the 
 British regulation in regard to the confiscated or sec[uestrated 
 estates of- the rebels — enumerating all the heads of the enact- 
 ment, and proceeding to details which left no doubt unsatisfied, 
 no ambiguity which could lead to doubt, of the universal liabil- 
 ity of the estate of the offender. Lands, houses, slaves ; furni- 
 ture and horses ; plate and jewelry — " Of course. Miss Walton, 
 the personal ornaments of a lady would be respected, and" — 
 
 Katharine Walton smiled quietly. This smile had its expla- 
 nation, when the commissioner commenced his operations next 
 day — but, though he was very far from conjecturing its signifi- 
 cation, it yet struck him as something mysterious. Balfour, 
 also, was impressed with the smile of Katharine, which seemed 
 quite unnatural under the circumstances. 
 
 " You smile, Miss Walton." 
 
 " Only, perhaps, because one who anticipates the worst needs 
 no such details as Colonel Cruden has bestowed on me. You 
 are the masters here, I know. Tor myself, you see I wear no 
 jewels. I had some toys, such as rings, brooches, chains, and 
 watches, but I thought it unseemly that I should wear such 
 ornaments, when the soldiers of my people wanted ^ead and 
 blankets, and they all found their way, long since, to tne money- 
 chest of Marion." 
 
 " The devil ! " muttered Cruden, in tones almost audible, 
 though meant as an aside to Balfour. " It is to be hoped that 
 the family plate has not taken the same direction." 
 
 9# "• 
 
34 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " We shall see at supper, perhaps," was the whisper of Bal- 
 four. 
 
 Katharine Walton was seen again to smile. She had possi- 
 bly heard the apprehensions of Cruden. At least, she might 
 reasonably have conjectured them. She resumed — 
 
 " And now, Colonel Balfour, that I am in possession of your 
 determination, you will permit me to retire for awhile, in order 
 that I may properly perform the duties of a hostess. For this 
 night, at all events, I may reasonably be expected to act in this 
 capacity, let to-morrow bring forth what it may." 
 
 "Stay — a moment, Miss Walton — I am not sure that you 
 conceive all that we would say — all, in fact, that is appointed 
 us to execute." 
 
 "Well, sir?" 
 
 " Lord Cornwallis has left it to my discretion to decide whether, 
 as a ward of the crown, you should be left exposed to a danger- 
 ous propinquity with rebellion — whether, in short, it would not 
 be advisable that one so lovely, and so worthy of his guardian- 
 ship, should not be placed in safety within the walls of the city." 
 
 " Ha ! that, indeed, is something that I had not anticipated. 
 And this, sir, is left to your individual discretion V 
 
 " It is, indeed, Miss Walton," replied the commandant, tmn- 
 ing his eyes very tenderly upon hers, and throwing into his 
 glance as much softness as could well consist with the leer of a 
 "satyr. 
 
 "Well, sir, I suppose that even this claim can challenge 
 nothing but submission. As I have said already, you are the 
 master here." 
 
 She retired with these words. 
 
 " 'Pon my soul, Cruden, the girl is a princess. With what a 
 grace she yields ! She seems nowise stubborn ; and so beauti- 
 ful ! It ought not to be very difficult to thaw the heart of such 
 a woman. That she has not been won before, is because they 
 have never suffered her to come to the city." 
 
 " But, by , should the plate have followed the jewels, 
 
 Balfour?" 
 
 "The question is a serious one. We shall see at supper. 
 Your kinsman might have said something of this matter, if he 
 
NATIVE PRINCESS. 35 
 
 pleased. He must have seen, in his frequent visits, whether any 
 display of plate was made." 
 
 " He did not visit frequently," said Oruden. 
 
 "Ah! but he did; too frequently for his good; — but here 
 comes that gentlemanly negro ; Bacchus, they call him. Such 
 a name seems particularly suited to a butler. I think, Cruden, 
 you had better send him to me. I like the fellow's manners. 
 He has evidently been trained by a gentleman. Well, my 
 man 1" 
 
 " My lady begs to tell you, gentlemen, that supper waits." 
 
 " Very well — show the way. Did you hear that, Cruden 1 — 
 my lady ! How these Provincials do ape nobility !" 
 
36 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER fV. 
 
 THE RANGEK. 
 
 The business of the feast had scarcely been begun, when it 
 was interrupted by a heavy tread without, as of more than one 
 iron-shod person ; and, the door being thrown open by Bacchus, 
 a dull-faced lieutenant, having charge of the escort of Balfour, 
 showed himself at the entrance, and begged a hearing. 
 
 "What's the matter, Fergusson? Can't it keep till after 
 supper V was the somewhat impatient speech of Balfour. 
 
 He was answered by a strange voice ; and a little bustle fol- 
 lowed, in which a person, totally unexpected, made his appear- 
 ance upon the scene. The stranger's entrance caused the com- 
 mandant's eyes to roll in some astonishment, and occasioned no 
 small surprise ia all the assembly. He was a tall young man, 
 of goodly person, perhaps twenty-eight or thirty years of age, 
 but habited in a costume not often seen in the lower country. 
 He wore one of those hunting-shirts, of plain blue homespun, 
 fringed with green, such as denoted the mountain ranger. A 
 green scarf was wrapped about his waist, with a belt or baldric 
 of black, from which depended a very genteel cut-and-thrust. 
 On his shoidder was an epaulette of green fringe also ; and he 
 carried in his hand, plucked from his brows as he entered the 
 apartment, a cap of fur, in which shone a large gay button ; 
 behind which may have been worn a plume, though it carried 
 none at present. The costume betrayed a captain of loyalist 
 riflemen, from the interior, and was instantly recognised as such 
 by the British officer. But the stranger left them in no long 
 eurpriee. Advancing to the table, witli tho ease of a man who 
 
THE BANGEE. 37 
 
 had been familiar with good society- in his own region all his 
 life, yet with a brusqueness of manner which showed an equal 
 freedom from the restraints of city life, he bowed respectfully to 
 the ladies, and then addressed himself directly to Balfom-. 
 
 " Colonel Balibur, I reckon 1" 
 
 " You are right, sir ; I am Colonel Balfour." 
 
 " "Well, colonel, I 'm right glad I met you here. It may save 
 me a journey to the city, and I 'm too much in a hurry to get 
 back to lose any time if I can help it. I 'm Captain Furness, 
 of the True Blue Rifles, of whom, I reckon, you 've heard be- 
 fore. I've ridden . mighty hard to get to you, and hope to get 
 the business done as soon as may be, that I come after. Here 's 
 a letter from Colonel Tarleton. I reckon you hain't heard the 
 news of the mischief that 's happened above?" 
 
 "What mischief?" 
 
 "You've heard, I reckon, that Lord Comwallis gave Saratoga 
 Gates all blazes at Eugely's Mills?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ; we know all that." 
 
 " Well, but I reckon you don't know that just when Comwal- 
 lis was putting it to Gates in one quarter, hard-iiding Tom was 
 giving' us ginger in another?" 
 
 " And who is hard-riding Tom ?" 
 
 "Why, Tom Sumter, to be sure — the game-cock, as they 
 sometimes call him ; and, sure enough, he 's got cause enough to 
 crow for a season now." 
 
 " And what has he been doing above ?" 
 
 " Well, he and Tom Taylor broke into Colonel Carey's quar- 
 ters, at Camden Ferry, and broke him up, root and branch, 
 kilUng and capturing all hands." 
 
 "Ha! indeed! Carey??' 
 
 " Yes. And that isn't all. No sooner had he done that than 
 he sets an ambush for all the supphes that you sent up for the 
 army ; breaks out from the thicket upon the convoy, kills and 
 captures the escort to a man, and snaps up the whole detach- 
 ment, bag and baggage, stores, arms, spuits, making off with a 
 matter of three hundred prisoners." 
 
 " The devil ! Forty wagons, as I live ! And why are you 
 here?" 
 
3& KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 "Me? Read the letter, Colonel. Lord Cornwallis has sent. 
 Tarleton after Sumter, and both have gone off at dead speed ; 
 but Tarleton has sent me do-vm to you Tvith my lord's letter and 
 his own, and they want fresh supplies sent after them as fast as 
 the thing can be done. I 'm wanting some sixty -five rifles, and 
 as many butcher-knives, for my own troop, and a few pistols for 
 the mounted men. Colonel Tarleton told me you would furnish 
 all." 
 
 Balfour leaned his chin upon both hands, and looked vacantly 
 around him, deeply immersed in thought. At the pause in the 
 dialogue which followed, Katharine Walton asked the stranger 
 if he would not join the party at the supper-table. He fastened 
 a keen, quick, searching glance upon her features ; their eyes 
 met; but the intelligence which flashed out from his met no 
 answering voice in hers. He answered her civilities gracefully, 
 and, frankly accepting them, proceeded to place himself at the 
 table — a seat having been furnished him, at the upper end, and 
 very near to her own. Balfour scowled upon the stranger as he 
 beheld this arrangement ; but the latter did not perceive the 
 frown upon the brow of his superior. He had soon finished a 
 cup of the warm beverage put before him ; and, as if apologizing 
 for so soon calling for a fresh supply, he observed, while passing 
 up his cup — 
 
 " I 've ridden mighty far to-day, miss, and I 'm as tMrsty as 
 an Indian. Besides, if you could make the next cup a shade 
 stronger, I think I should like it better. We rangers are used 
 to the smallest possible quantity of water, in the matter of our 
 drinks." 
 
 " The impudent backwoodsman !" was the muttered remark 
 of Balfour to Oruden, only inaudible to the rest of the company. 
 The scowl which covered his brow as he spoke, and the evident 
 disgust with which he turned away his eyes, did not escape 
 those of the Ranger ; and a merry twinkle lighted upon his own 
 as he looked in the direction of the fair hostess, and handed up 
 his cup. Had Balfour watched him a little more closely, it is 
 possible that he might have remarked something in his manner 
 of performing this trifling oflSce which would have sjfforded new 
 cause t)f provocation. The hand of the Ranger lingered near 
 
THE P.ANGEE. 89 
 
 the cup Until a ring, wMch had previously heen loosened upon 
 his little finger, was dropped adroitly beside -the saucer, and 
 beyond all eyes but hers for ■whom it was intended. Katharine 
 instantly covered the tiny but sparkling messenger beneath her 
 hands. She knew it well. A sudden flush warmed her cheek ; 
 and, trusting herself with a single glance only at the stranger, 
 he saw that he was recognised. 
 
40 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LESSONS IN MANNERS. 
 
 The evening repast, in the good old times, was not one of 
 your empty shows, such as it appears at present. It consisted 
 of goodly solids of several descriptions. Meats shared the place 
 with delicacies ; and tea or coffee was the adjunct to such grave 
 personages as Sir Loin, Baron Beef, and Viscount Venison. 
 Balfour and Cruden were hoth strongly prepossessed in favor of 
 all titled dignitaries, and they remained ia goodly communion 
 with such as these for a longer period than would seem reason- 
 able now to yield to a supper-table. Captain Dickson naturally 
 followed the example of his superiors ; and our loyalist leader, 
 Fumess, if he did not declare the same tastes and sympathies 
 in general, attested, on this occasion, the sharpness of an appetite 
 which had been mortified by unbroken denial throughout the 
 day. But the moment at length came which offered a reason- 
 able pretext to the ladies for leaving the table. The guests no 
 longer appealed to the fair hostess for replenished cups ; and, 
 giving the signal to her excellent, but frigid and stately aunt, 
 Mrs. Barbara, Katharine Walton rose, and the gentlemen made 
 a like movement. She approached Colonel Balfour as she did 
 so, and laid the keys of the house before him. 
 
 " These, sir, I may as well place at once in your keeping. It 
 wiU satisfy you that I recognise you as the future master here. 
 I submit to your authority. The servant, Bacchus, will obey 
 your orders, and furnish what you may reqiure. The wines and 
 liquors are in that sideboard, of which you have the keys. Good- 
 night, sir; good-night, gentlemen." 
 
 The ease, grace, and dignity, with which this communication 
 
LESSONS IN MANNERS. 41 
 
 was made surprised Balfour into something like silence. He 
 could barely make an awkward bow and a brief acknowledgment 
 as she left the apartment, closely followed by her aunt. The 
 gentlemen were left to themselves : while Bacchus, at a modest 
 distance, stood in respectful attendance. 
 
 "By my life," said Cruden, "the girl carries herself like a 
 queen. She knows how to behave, certainly. She knows what 
 is expected of her." 
 
 "She is a queen," replied Balfour, with quite a burst of 
 enthusiasm. " I only wish that she were mine. It would make 
 me feel like a prince, indeed. I should get myself crowned 
 King of Dorchester, and my ships should have the exclusive 
 privilege of Ashley river. ' The Oaks' should be my winter 
 retreat from the cares of royalty, and my summer palace should 
 be at the junction of the two rivers in Charleston. I should 
 have a principality — small, it is true; but snug, compact, and 
 with larger revenues, and a territory no less ample than many 
 of the German princes." 
 
 "Beware!" said Cruden half seriously. "You may be brought 
 up for lese-majeste." 
 
 "Pshaw! we are only speaking a vain jest, and in the pres- 
 ence of friends," was the»reply of Balfour, glancing obliquely at 
 Captain Furness. The latter was amusing himself, meanwhile, 
 by Jbalancing his teaspoon upon the rim of his cup. A slight 
 smile played upon his mouth as he listened to the conversation, 
 in which he did not seem to desire to partake. Following the 
 eye of Balfour, which watched the loyalist curiously, the glance 
 of Cruden was arrested rather by the occupation than the looks 
 of that person. His mode of amusing himself with the spoon 
 was suggestive of an entirely new train of thought to the com- 
 missioner of sequestrated estates. 
 
 "By the way, Balfour, this looks veiy suspicious. Do you 
 observe V 
 
 " What looks suspicious 1" 
 
 "Do you remember the subject of which we spoke before 
 supper 1 — the plate of this rebel Walton 1 It was understood 
 to be a singularly-extensive collection — rich, various, and highly 
 valuable. You remark none of it here — nothing but a beg- 
 
42 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 garly collection of old spoons. The coffee-pot is tin or pewter ; 
 the tea-service, milk-pot, and all, of common ware. I am afraid 
 the plate has followed the jewels of the young lady, and found 
 its way into the swamps of Marion." 
 
 A scowl gathered upon the brow of Balfour, as he glanced 
 rapidly over the table. The next moment, without answering 
 Oniden, he turned to Bacchus, who stood in waiting with a face 
 the most inexpressive, and said — 
 
 " Take the keys, Cupid, and get out some of the best wines. 
 You have some old Jamaica, have you not ?" 
 
 The reply was affirmative. , 
 
 " See that a bottle of it is in readiness. Let the sugar-bowl 
 remain, and keep a kettle of water on the fire. This done, you 
 may leave the room, but remain within call." 
 
 He was promptly obeyed. The conversation flagged mean- 
 while. Oruden felt himself rebuked, and remained modestly 
 silent, but not the less moody on the subject which had occasion- 
 ed his remark. Balfour referred to it soon after the disappear- 
 ance of Bacchus. 
 
 " It is as you say, Cruden ; there is certainly no display before 
 us of the precious metals. I had really not observed the ab- 
 sence of them before. In truth, everything was so neatly ar- 
 ranged and so appropriate, that I could fancy no deficiencies. 
 Besides, my eyes were satisfied to look only in one direction. 
 The girl absorbed all my admiration. That she has not her- 
 self gone into the camp of Marion, is my consolation. I shall 
 compound with you cheerfully. You shall have the plate, all 
 that you may find, and the damsel comes to me." 
 
 The cheeks of the loyalist captain, had they caught the 
 glance, at that moment, of the commandant of Charlfiston, would 
 have betrayed a peculiar interest in the subject of which he 
 spoke. They reddened even to his forehead, and the spoon slid 
 from his fingers into the cup. But he said nothing, and the suf- 
 fusion passed from his face unnoticed. 
 
 " I am afraid than you would get the best of the bargain. 
 But it may be that the plate is still in the establishment. It 
 would scarcely be brought out on ordinary occasions." 
 
 " Ordinary occasions ! Our visit an ordinary occasion!" ex- 
 
LESSONS IN MANNEES. 43 
 
 claimed Balfour. " Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
 my good fellow. These Carolinians never allow such occasions 
 to escape them of making a display. The ostentation of the 
 race would spread every available vessel of silver at the entrance 
 of stranger guests of our rank. Nothing would be wanting to 
 make them glorious in our eyes, and prompt us to proper grati- 
 tude in theirs. They would certainly crowd sideboard and sup- 
 per-table with all the plate in the establishment." 
 
 " Ay, uie7-e we guests, Balfour ; but that were no policy, if we 
 came as enemies. Would they tempt cupidity by ostentatious 
 exhibitions of silver ? Scarcely ! They would be more apt to 
 hide away." 
 
 " As if they knew not that we are as good at seek as they at 
 hide ! No, no, my dear fellow ; I am afraid that your first con- 
 jecture is the right one. If the woman gives her jewels, it is 
 probable that the plate went before. But we shall see in sea- 
 son. Meanwhile, I am for some of the rebel's old Madeira. 
 Come, Captain Furness, let us drink confusion to the enemy." 
 
 "Agreed, sir," was the ready answer. "I am always willing 
 for that. I am willing to spoil the Egyptians in any way. But 
 to see how you do things here below, makes one's mouth water. 
 "We have mighty little chance in our parts, for doing ourselves 
 much good when we pop into an enemy's cupboard. There's 
 monstrous small supply of silver plate and good liquor in our 
 country." The cleaning out of a rebel's closet in 'Ninety-Six' 
 won't give more than a teaspoon round to the officers of a squad 
 like mine ; and the profits hardly enough to reconcile one to 
 taking the pap-spoon out of a baby's jaws, even to run into 
 Spanish dollars. But here, in these rich parts, you have such glori- 
 ous pickings, that I should like greatly to be put on service here." 
 
 "Pickings !" exclaimed Balfour, lifting his eyes, and survey- 
 ing the loyalist from head to foot, as he held the untasted goblet 
 suspended before his lips — "pickings ! Why, sir, you speak as 
 if the officers honored with the commission of his majesty, could 
 possibly stoop to the miserable practice of sharing selfishly the 
 confiscated possessions of these rebels." 
 
 " To be sure, colonel ; that's what I suppose. Isn't it so, then?" 
 demanded the loyalist, not a whit abashed. 
 
44 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 "My good sir, be a little wiser; do not speak so rashly. Let 
 me enlighten yon." 
 
 " Pray do ; I'U thank you, colonel." 
 
 " To distress the enemy, to deprive them of the means to be 
 mischievous, alone causes the sequestration of their goods and 
 chattels. These goods and chattels must be taken care of. It 
 may be that these rebels wUl make proper submission hereafter, 
 •will make amends for past errors by future service ; and, in such 
 cases, will be admitted to his majesty's favor and receive their 
 possessions at his hands again, subject only to such drawbacks as 
 flow necessarily from the expense of taking care of the property, 
 commissions on farming it, and unavoidable waste. These com- 
 mission are generally derived from mere movables, silver and 
 gold, plate and jewels, which, as they might be lost, are at once 
 appropriated, and the estate credited with the appropriation 
 against the cost and trouble of taking care of it. That the 
 officers in his majesty's commission should employ this plate, is 
 simply that his majesty's service maybe sufficiently honored and 
 may command due respect. Selfish motives have no share in 
 the transaction. We have no 'pickings,' sir — none! Appro- 
 priations, indeed, are made ; but, as you see, solely for the equal 
 benefit of the property itself, the service in which we are engaged, 
 and the honor of his majesty. Do you comprehend me, my 
 young friend 1" 
 
 " Perfectly, su- ; perfectly. I see. Nothing can be clearer." 
 
 " Do not use that vulgar phrase again, I pray you, in the 
 hearing of any of his majesty's representatives. ' Pickings' 
 may do among our loyahst natives. We do not deny them the 
 small privileges of which you have spoken. You have emptied 
 in your experience, I understand, some good wives' cupboards 
 in Ninety-Six. You have grown wealthier ui tea and pap-spoons. 
 It is right enough. The laborer is worthy of his hire. These 
 are the gifts with which his majesty permits his loyal servants 
 to reward themselves. But, even in your case, my young friend, 
 the less you say about the matter the better. Remember, 
 always, that what is appropriated is in the name, and, conse- 
 quently, for the uses of his majesty. But no more ' pickings,' 
 if you love me." 
 
LESSONS IN MANNEBS. 45 
 
 An air of delicate horror always accompanied the use of the 
 .offensive phrase. The loyalist captain professed many regrets 
 at the errors of his ignorance. 
 
 " I see, I see ; ' appropriations' is the word, not ' pickings' 
 There is a good deal in the distinction, which did not occur to 
 me before. In fact, I only use the phrase which is common to 
 us in the up country. Our people know no better ; and I am 
 half inclined to think that, were I to insist upon ' appropriations,' 
 instead of ' pickings,' they would still be mulish enough to swear 
 that they meant the same thing." 
 
 Balfour turned an inquisitive glance upon the speaker ; but 
 there was nothing in his face to render his remark equivocal. It 
 seemed really to flow from an innocent inexperience, which 
 never dreamed of the covert sneer in his answer. He tossed off 
 his wme as he finished, and once more resumed his seat at the 
 table. So did Oruden. Not so, Balfour. With his arms be- 
 hind him, after a fashion which Napoleon, in subsequent periods, 
 has made famous, if not graceful, our commandant proceeded to 
 pace the apartment, carrying on an occasional conversation with 
 Cruden, and, at intervals, subjecting Pumess to a sort of inquis- 
 itorial process. 
 
 " What did you see, Captain Furness, in your route from the 
 Congarees ? Did you meet any of our people ? or did you hear 
 anything of Marion's ]" 
 
 " Not much, colonel ; but I had a mighty narrow escape from 
 a smart squad, well-mounted, under Major Singleton. .From 
 what I could hear, they were the same fallows that have been 
 kicking up a dust in these parts." 
 
 " Ha ! did yoti meet them ]" demanded Cruden. " How 
 many were there V 
 
 "I reckon there may have been thirty or thirty-five — per- 
 haps forty all told." , 
 
 " You hear ?" said Cruden. 
 
 " Yes, yes !" rather impatiently was the reply of Balfour. 
 " But how knew you that they were Singleton'sLmen ?" 
 
 " Well it so happened that I got a glimpse oTthem down the 
 road, while I was covered by the brush. I pushed into the 
 woods, out of sight, as they went by, and found myself suddenly 
 
46 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 upon a man, a poor devil enough, who was looking for a hiding- 
 place as well as myself. He knew all about them ; knew what 
 they had been after, and heard what they had done. His 
 name was Oammer ; he was a Dutchman, out of the Forks of 
 Edisto." 
 
 " "What route did they pursue 1" 
 
 " Up the road, pushing for the east, I reckon." 
 
 " And you want rifles and sabres, ehl" 
 
 " And a few pistols, colonel." 
 
 " Do you suppose that you have much work before you, after 
 this annihilation of Gates at Camden V 
 
 " Well, 1 reckon there was no annihOation, exactly. The 
 lads run too fast for that. They are gathering again, so they 
 report, pretty thick in North Carolina, and are showing them- 
 selves stronger than ever in our up-country. The fact is, colo- 
 nel, though Lord Cornwallis has given Gates a most famous 
 drubbing, it isn't quite sufficient to cool the rebels. The first 
 scare, after you took the city, is rather wearing off; and the 
 more they get used to the sound of musket bullets, the less they 
 seem to care about them. The truth is, your British soldiers 
 don't know much about the use of the gun, as a shooting 
 iron. They haven't got the sure sight of our native woods- 
 men. They are great at the push of the bayonet, and drive 
 everything before them : but at long shot, the rebels only laugh 
 at them." 
 
 " Laugh, do they ?" 
 
 " That they do, colonel, and our people know it ; and though 
 they run fast enough from the bayonet, yet it's but reasonable 
 they should do so, as they have nothing but the rifle to push 
 against it. If they had muskets with bayonets, I do think they'd 
 soon get conceited enough to stand a little longer, and try at the 
 charge too, if they saw a clever opportunity.'' 
 
 " That's your opinion, is it 1" 
 
 " Not mine only, but his lordship, himself, says so. I heard 
 him, with my ow|»pars, though it made Colonel Tarleton laugh." 
 
 " And well he might laugh ! Stand the bayonet against Brit- 
 ish soldiers. I wonder that his lordship should flatter the scoun- 
 drels with any such absurd opinion." 
 
LESSONS IN MANNERS. 47 
 
 " Well now, colonel, with due regard to your better judgment, 
 I don't see that there's anything so very ahsurd in it. Our people 
 come of the same breed with the English, and if they had a 
 British training, I reckon they'd show themselves quite as much 
 men as the best. Now, I'm a native born American myself, and 
 I think I'm just as little likely to be scared by a bayonet as any 
 man I know. I'm not used to the weapon, I allow ; but give 
 me time and practice, so as to get my hand in, and I warrant 
 you, I'd not be the first to say ' Back out, boys, a hard time's 
 coming.' People fight more or less bravely, as they fight with 
 their eyes open, knowing all the facts, on ground that they're 
 accustomed to, and having a weapon that's familiar to the hand. 
 The rifle is pretty much the weapon for our people. It belongs, 
 I may say, to a well-wooded country. But take it away from 
 them altogether, and train them every day with musket and bay- 
 onet, with the feel of their neighbor's elbow all the while, and 
 see what you can make of them in six months or so." 
 
 " My good friend, Fumess, it is quite to your honor that you 
 think well of the capacities of your countrymen. It will be of 
 service to you, when you come to confront our king's enemies in 
 battle; but you are still a very young man — " 
 
 " Thirty-two, if I'm a day, colonel." 
 
 " Young in experience, my friend, if not in years. When you 
 see and hear more of the world, you will learn that the bayonet 
 is the decreed and appointed weapon for a British soldier over 
 all nations. He may be said to be born to it. It was certainly 
 made for him. No people have stood him with it, and take my 
 word for it no people wUl." 
 
 " Unless, as I was saying, a people of the same breed — a 
 tough, steady people, such as ours — that can stand hard knocks, 
 and never skulk 'em when they know they're coming. I've 
 seen our people fight, and they fight well, once they begin — " 
 
 "As at Camden." 
 
 " There they did'nt fight at all ; but there was reason — " 
 
 " Let us take a glass of wine together. Captain Fumess. I 
 feel sure that you will fight well when the time comes. Mean- 
 while, let us drink. Come, Cruden, you seem drowsing. Up 
 with you, man. Our rebel, Walton, had a proper relish for 
 
48 KATHAEI^E WALTON. 
 
 Madeira. This is as old as any in the country. What would 
 they say to such a bottle in England ?" 
 
 " What ! can't they get it there 1" demanded the loyalist cap- 
 tain, with an air of unaffected wonderment. 
 
 "No, indeed, Furness. You have the climate for it. You 
 see, you have yet to live and learn. Our royal master, George 
 the Third, has no such glass of wine in his cellar. Come, fill, 
 Cruden, shall I drink without you 1" 
 
 " I'm with you ! Give us a sentiment." 
 
 " Well ! Here's to my Altamira, the lovely Katharine Wal- 
 ton ; may she soon take up arms with her sovereign ! Hey ! 
 You don't drink my toast. Captain Furness 1" 
 
 " I finished my glass before you gave it, colonel." 
 
 " Fill again ! and pledge me ! You have no objections to my 
 sentiment?" 
 
 " None at all ! It don't interfere with a single wish of mine. 
 I don't know much about the young lady ; but I certainly wish, 
 in her case, as in that of all other unmarried young women, that 
 she may soon find her proper sovereign." 
 
 " I see you take me. Ha ! ha ! You are keen, sir, keen. I 
 certainly entertain that ambition. If I can't be master over 
 Dorchester and the Ashley, at all events, I shall aim to acquire 
 the sovereignty over her. Cruden, my boy, you may have the 
 ancient lady — the aunt. She is a gem, believe me — from the 
 antique ! Nay, don't look- so wretched and disgusted. She is 
 an heiress ui her own right, has lands and negroes, my friend, 
 enough to make you happy for life." 
 
 " No more of that, Nesbitt. The matter is quite too serious 
 for jest." 
 
 " Pshaw ! drink ! and forget your troubles. Your head is now 
 runniag on that plate. What if it is gone, there are the lands, 
 the negroes, and a crop just harvesting — some nine hundred 
 barrels of rice, they tell me !" 
 
 A sly expression passed over the features of the loyalist cap- 
 tain, as Balfour enumerated the goods and chattels still liable to 
 the grasp of the sequestrator ; but he said nothing. Balfour now 
 approached him, and putting on an air of determined business, 
 remarked abruptly — 
 
LESSONS IN MANNERS. 49 
 
 " So, Captain Furness, you desire to go witli me to Charleston 
 for arms ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, colonel ; and that's a matter I wish to speak 
 ahout. I wish the arms, but do not wish to go to Charleston 
 for them, as I hear you've got the small-pox and yellow fever 
 in that place." 
 
 " Pshaw ! They never trouble genteel people,js?ho live de- 
 cently and drink old Madeira." 
 
 " But a poor captain of loyalists don't often get a chance, colo- 
 nel, of feeding on old Madeira." 
 
 " Feeding on it ! By Jove, I like the phrase ! It is appro- 
 priate to good living. One might fatten on such stuff as this 
 without any other diet, and defy fever and the ague. Afraid 
 of small-pox ? Why, Captain Furness, a good soldier is afraid 
 of nothing." 
 
 " Nothing, colonel, that he can fight against, to be sure ; but 
 dealing with an enemy whom you can't cudgel, is to stand a 
 mighty bad chance of ever getting the victory. We folks of 
 the back country have a monstrous great dread of small-pox. 
 That was the reason they could get so few of the people to go 
 down to Charleston when you came against it. They could 
 have mustered three thousand more men, if it hadn't been for 
 that." 
 
 " It's well they didn't. But there's no need of your going to 
 the city if you don't wish it. You can stay here with Oruden, 
 or in Dorchester, till I send on the wagons." 
 
 " That'll do me, exactly ; and now, colonel, if you have no 
 objections, I'll find my way to a sleeping place. I've had 
 a hard ride of it to-day — more than forty-five miles-^and I feel 
 it in all my bones." 
 
 " We can spare you. Ho, there ! — Jupiter ! — Cupid !" 
 
 " Bacchus, I think they call him," said the loyalist. 
 
 " Ay ! How should I forget when the Madeira is before us. 
 Come, sir, captam, let us take the night-cap ; one, at least. I 
 mean to see these bottles under the table before I leave it." 
 
 Furness declined j and, at that moment Bacchus made his 
 appearance. 
 
 " Find a chamber for this gentleman," said the commandant ; 
 
 3 
 
50 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 and, bidding tie British officers good night, Fumess left the 
 apartment under the guidance of the negro. When they had 
 emerged into the passage-way, the loyalist captain, to the great 
 surprise of the former, put his hand familiarly upon his shoulder, 
 and in subdued tones, said — 
 
 " Bacchus, do you not know me 1" 
 
 The fellow started and exclaimed — 
 
 " Mass Robert, is it you ? — and you not afear'd ]" 
 
 " Hush, Bacchus ; not a word, but in a whisper. Where am 
 I to sleep 1" 
 
 " In the blue room, sir." 
 
 " Very good : let us go thither. After that, return to these 
 gentlemen, and keep an eye on them." 
 
 "But you're. going to see young missis?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I must do it cautiously." 
 
 " And you a'n't afear'd to come here ! Perhaps you got your 
 people with you, and will make a smash among these red-coats 1" 
 
 " Na But we must say as little as possible. Go forward, 
 and I will tell you further what is to be done." 
 
 The negro conducted the supposed loyalist — passing through 
 the passage almost to its extremity, and thence ascending 
 a flight of steps to the upper story. Here another passage, cor- 
 responding in part with that below, opened upon them, which, 
 in turn, opened upon another avenue conducting to wings of the 
 building. In one of these was the chamber assigned to Fumess. 
 To this they were proceeding, when a door of one of the apart- 
 ments of the inain btdlding was seen to open. The loyalist 
 paused, and, in a whisper, said — 
 
 " Go, Bacchus, to my chamber with the light. Cover it when 
 you get there, so that it will not be seen by the soldiers from 
 withotit. Meanwhile, I will speak to your mistress." 
 
 The negro disappeared, and Katharine Walton in the next 
 moment, joined the stranger. 
 
 " Oh, Robert, how can you so venture ? Why put your head 
 into the very jaws of the lion ?" 
 
 " Let us follow this passage, Kate. We shall be more secure. 
 Balfour and his companions sleep in the chamber below, I sup- 
 pose i" 
 
LESSONS IN MANNERS, 51 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Come, then, and I will try to satisfy all your doubts, and 
 quiet all your fears." 
 
 And the speaker folded his arms tenderly ahout the waist of 
 the maiden, as he led her forward through a passage that seemed 
 equally familiar to both the parties. 
 
62 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LOVE PASSAGES. 
 
 "And now, Robert," said Katharine Walton, "tell me the 
 reason of this rashness. Why will you so peril yourself, and at 
 a moment when the memory of that dark and terrible scene in 
 which you lescued my father from a base and cruel death still 
 fills ray eyes and heart ? What do you expect here 1 What 
 would you do ? — which prompts you to incur this danger 1" 
 
 " Ah, Kate," replied her companion, fondly clasping her to 
 his bosom, " were it not a sufficient answer to boast that my 
 coming provokes such a sweet and tender interest in you ? The 
 gentle concern which warms the bosom of the beloved one is 
 surely motive enough to stimulate the adventure of a soldier ; 
 and I find a consolation from all toils and perils, I assure you, 
 in a moment of meeting and satisfaction so precious as this. If 
 you wiU censure my rashness, at least give credit to my fondness. 
 
 " Do I not, Robert ? And is not this further proof of your 
 attachment, added to so many, which I never can forget, as dear 
 to me as any hope or treasure that I own 1 But there is some 
 other motive, I am sure, for your presence now. I know that 
 you are not the person, at a season when your services are so 
 necessary to the country, to bestow any time even upon your 
 best affections, which might better be employed elsewhere. 
 Surely, there is a cause which brings you into the snares of our 
 enemies, of a nature to justify this rashness." 
 
 "There is — there is, dear Kate; and you are only right in 
 supposing that, precious as it is to me to enjoy your presence, 
 and clasp you in fond embrace, even this pleasure could not 
 have beguiled me now from the duties of the camp." 
 
LOVE PASSAGES. 63 
 
 " But how have yon deceived these people V 
 
 " How did I deceive you, Kate 1 You did not see through 
 my disguise ; you who know me so well, any more than Balfour 
 and Cruden, to whom I am so utterly unknown," 
 
 " True — true ; and yet, that I did not detect you, may he 
 owing to the fact that I scarcely noted your entrance or appear- 
 ance. I took for granted that you were one of the enemy, and 
 gave you scarce a look. When I knew you, I wondered that 
 I had been deceived for a moment. Had I not been absorbed 
 by my own anxieties, and prepossessed against your appearance, 
 I should have seen through your disguise without an effort." 
 
 " Yet Bacchus knew me as httle as yourself." 
 
 " For the same reasons, doubtless. But what is the history of 
 this disguise, Robert? And is there a real Captain Furness V 
 
 " There is. We surprised him yesterday on his way to the 
 city, and soon after I had separated from your father. His let- 
 ters and papers suggested the deception ; and I did not Scruple 
 to employ the contents of his saddle-bags in making my appear- 
 ance correspond with his. We are not unlike in size, and there 
 is something of a likeness in the face between us. A ruse de 
 guerre of considerable importance depends upon my successful 
 prosecution of the imposture. We shall procure a supply of 
 arms and ammunition, which is greatly wanted ia camp ; and 
 possibly effect some other objects, which I need not detail to 
 you." 
 
 " But the peril, Eobert." 
 
 " You have become strangely timid and apprehensive, Kate, 
 all on a sudden. Once you would have welcomed any peril, for 
 yourself as well as me, which promised glorious results in war or 
 stratagem. Now — " 
 
 " Alas ! Robert, the last few days have served to show me 
 that I am but a woman. The danger from which you saved 
 my father brought out all my weakness. I believe that I have 
 great and unusual strength for one of my sex ; but I feel a 
 shrinking at the heart, now, that satisfies me ho-^v idly before 
 -were all my sense and appreciation of the great perils to which 
 our people are exposed. Robert, dear Robert, if you love me, 
 forego this adventure. You surely do not mean to visit the city ?" 
 
54 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Not if I can help it. The small-pox furnishes a good ex- 
 cuse, which Balfour is prepared to acknowledge. But heed not 
 me. At all events, entertain no apprehension. I am not so un- 
 prepared for danger as you think. I have a pretty little squad 
 in the Cypress, and can summon them to my side in an hour. 
 True, they are not equal to any open effort against such a force 
 as is now at Dorchester. But let Balfour disappear, and your 
 father but get the recruits that he expects, and we shall warm 
 the old tabby walls for them with a vengeance." 
 
 " Whither has my father gone 1" 
 
 " To the southward — along the Edisto. He may probably 
 range as far as the Savannah. He has ten of my followers 
 with him, which straitens me somewhat. But for this, I had 
 been tempted to have dashed in among these rascals here, and 
 taken off the commandant of Charleston, with his mercenaiy 
 commissioner of sequestration. If you only had heard their dis- 
 cussion upon the division of your plate and jewels ! the blasts !" 
 
 " You must have laughed, surely 1" 
 
 "Knowing, as I did, to what market the plate and jewels 
 went, it was certainly hard to keep from laughing outright." 
 
 " Alas ! Robert, this remmds me that the evil so long antici- 
 pated, has come at last. You hear that I am to be dispossessed. 
 ' The Oaks' must know a new proprietor, and the servants — 
 that is the worst thought — they will be scattered; they will be 
 dragged off to the city, and made to work at the fortifications, 
 and finally shipped to the West Indies." 
 
 " I can laugh at them there too, Kate ;" and her companion 
 could not entirely suppress a chuckle. 
 
 " How V 
 ' " Never mind ; better that you should know nothing. You 
 will know all in the morning." 
 
 " Can it be that you have got the negroes off, Robert 1" 
 
 " Ah ! you will suffer me to have no secrets. They will all 
 be off before daylight. Many of them are already snug in the 
 Cypress, and a few days will find them safe beyond the Santee. 
 The house servants alone are left, and such of the others as our 
 British customers will be scarcely persuaded to take. Our ven- 
 erable ' Daddy Bram' is here still, with his wool whiter than the 
 
LOVE PASSAGES. 65 
 
 moss ; and Scipio, who was an old man, according to his own 
 showing, in the Old French "War ; and Dinah, who is the Mrs. 
 Methusaleh of all the Ashley, and a dozen others of the same 
 class. Balfour's face will be quite a study as he makes the dis- 
 covery. But this is not all. We have taken off the entire stud 
 — every horse, plough, draught, or saddle, that was of any ser- 
 vice, leaving you the carriage horses only, and a few broken- 
 down hackneys." 
 
 " This must have been done last night 1" 
 
 " Partly ; but some of it this very day, and while Balfour was 
 dawdling and drinking at Dorchester." 
 
 " Were you then here last nigM, Kobert i" 
 
 " Ay, Kate, and with an eye upon you as well as your inter- 
 ests. You had a visiter from Dorchester, Kate." 
 
 " Yes ; Major Proctor, he came in the afternoon — 
 
 " And is disgraced for coming ! Your charms have been too 
 much for him. It is already over Dorchester that he has been 
 superseded in his command f6r neglect of duty, and is to be 
 court-martialed for the affair of your father's rescue." 
 
 " Ah ! I am truly sorry for him ! He was an amiable and 
 courteous gentleman, though an enemy." 
 
 " What ! would you make me jealous ? Am I to be told that 
 he is a fine-looking fellow also — nay, positively handsome?" 
 
 " And what is it to me 1" 
 
 " No woman, Kate, thinks ill of a man for loving her — no 
 sensible woman, at least ; and pity is so near akin to love, that 
 the very disgraces that threaten this gentleman make me a little 
 dubious about his visits." 
 
 " He will probably pay no more." 
 
 " What ! do you mean to say, Kate, that you have given him 
 reason to despair 1" 
 
 "No, Robert,. not so" — with a blush which remained imseen 
 — " but this disgrace of his removes him from Dorchester, and 
 carries him to Charleston — " 
 
 " Whither you go also ?" 
 
 "Not if I can help it." 
 
 " Why, what do you propose to do 1" 
 
 " To fly with you to the Santee, if I can not remain here." 
 
56 KATHARINE WALTON". 
 
 " Impossible, Kate ! Who is to receive you on the Santee ? 
 "Was it not thence that my poor sister hurried to find refuge 
 with you in the last moments of her precious life ? Our planta- 
 tion was harried, and onr dwellings burnt by the tones, before 
 I sent her hither. Besides, how would you escape hence — how 
 travel, if you did succeed in making your escape — and in what 
 security would you live in a region over which the ploughshare 
 of war will probably pass and repass for many weary months 1" 
 
 " And do you counsel me to go to the city — to place myself 
 in the custody of these mercenaries V 
 
 " You are in their custody now. You can do no better. The 
 city is, at all events,, secure from assault. Were the French to 
 help us with an efficient fleet, and could our army be rallied 
 imder an efficient general, we might do something against it ; 
 but of this there is little present prosp6ct. The same degree of 
 security could attend you nowhere else in the South at present. 
 Our war must be a Fabian war.^ — irregular, predatory, and ec- 
 centric in regard to the region in which it will prevail. No, 
 Kate, however much I would rejoice to bear you away with me, 
 even as the knight of olden time carried off his mistress from the 
 very castle of her tyrant sire, I love you too much to make such 
 an attempt now, when I know not whither I could bear you to 
 place you in even partial security." 
 
 ■' The mountains of North Carolina V 
 
 " But how get there 1 We cannot hope that you should travel 
 as we are constrained to do ; for days without food ; riding 
 sometimes day and night to elude the enemy, or to find friends : 
 with neither rest, nor food, nor certainty of any kind, and with 
 the constant prospect of doing battle with an enemy as reckless 
 and more faithless than the savage. You must submit, Kate, 
 with the best possible grace, to the necessity which we can not 
 conquer." 
 
 A deep sigh answered him. 
 
 " You sigh, Kate ; but what the need ] Apart from the se- 
 curity which the city affords, and which was always doubtful 
 here, you will find yourself in the enjoyment of society, of lux- 
 uries, gay scenes, and glorious spectacles ; the ball, the rout, the 
 revel, the parade — " 
 
LOVE PASSAGES. 57 
 
 "Robert Singleton!" was the reproachful exclamation. It 
 was a moody moment with our hero, such as will sometimes 
 deform the surface of the noblest character, as a rough gust wiU 
 deface the gentle beauties of the most transparent water. 
 
 "You will achieve new conquests, Kate. Your old suitor. 
 Proctor, will be again at your feet ; you will be honored with 
 the special attentions of that inimitable j)etit maitre, the gallant 
 Harry Barry;* ' Ma J Campbell' and ' Fool Campbell,'t who, in 
 spite of their nicknames, are such favorites with the tory ladies, 
 tttII attach themselves to your train ; and you wUl almost for- 
 get, in the brilliancy of your court, the simple forester, whose 
 suit will then, perhaps, appear almost presumptuous in your 
 sight." 
 
 " I have not deserved this, Robert Singleton." 
 
 " You have not, dearest Kate ; and I am but a perverse devil 
 thus to disquiet you with suspicions that have really no place 
 within my own bosom. Forgive something to a peevishness that 
 springs from anxiety, and represents toil, vexation, disappoint- 
 ment, and unremitting labors, rather than the thought that 
 always esteems you, and the heart that is never so blessed as 
 when it gives you all its love. It is seldom that I do you 
 injustice ; never, dearest cousin, believe me- when I think of 
 you alone, and separate from all other human considerations. 
 It is then, indeed, that I love to think of you ; and in thinking 
 of you thus, Kate, it is easy to forget that the world has any 
 other beings of worth or interest." 
 
 " No more, Robert — no more." 
 
 But, as she munnured these words, her head rested happily 
 upon his bosom. With all around her apprehension and trouble, 
 and all before her doubt, if not dismay, the moment was one of 
 unmixed happiness. But she started suddenly from his fond 
 embrace, and, in quick accents, resumed — 
 
 " I know not why it is, Robert, but my soul has been shrink- 
 ing, as if within itself, under the most oppressive presentiments 
 of evil. They haunt me at every turning. I can not shake off 
 the feeling, that something crushing and dreadful is about to 
 
 * A small wit in the British garrison. 
 t Nicknames of well-known British officers in Charleston. 
 
 3* 
 
58 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 happen to me; and, since the decree of this commandant of 
 Charleston, I associate all my fears with my visit to that city. 
 This it is that makes me anxious to escape — to fly anywhere 
 for refuge — even to the swamps of the Cypress; even to the 
 mountains of North Carolina, making the journey, if you please, 
 on horseback, and incurring all risks, all privations, rather than 
 going to what seems my fate, in Charleston. Tell me, Robert, 
 is it not possible ]" • 
 
 " Do not think of it, Kate. It is not possible. I see the 
 troubles, the dangers, the impossibilities of such an enterprise, 
 as they can not occur to you. Dismiss these fears. This pre- 
 sentiment is the natural consequence of what you have under- 
 gone, the reaction from that intense and terrible excitement 
 which you suffered in the affair at Dorchester. It will pass 
 away in a few days, and you wiU again become the cahn, the 
 firm, the almost stoical spirit — certainly in endurance — which 
 you have shown yourself already. In Charleston, your worst 
 annoyance will be from the courtesies and gallantries of those 
 you will despise. You will be dependent upon them for civili- 
 ties, and will need to exercise all your forbearance. Balfour 
 will be the master of your fortunes ; but he wUl not presume to 
 offend you. You will need to conciliate him, where you can — 
 where it calls for no ungenial concessions. We have many 
 friends in that city; and my venerable aunt, who is your kins- 
 woman also, will support you by her steady sympathies and 
 courageous patriotism. You will help to cheer some of our 
 comrades who are in captivity. You will find full employment 
 for your sympathies, and, in their exercise, gain solace. Fear 
 nothing — be hopeful — our dark days will soon pass over." 
 
 " Be it so. And yet, Robert " 
 
 " Stay ! Hear you not a movement below ?" 
 
 " The British officers retiring, perhaps. They sleep in cham- 
 bers below, and will not come up stairs at all. Bacchus has his 
 instructions." 
 
 " You were saying - 
 
 ' The case of my father, Robert " 
 
 " Hush ! My life ! these feet are upon the stairs ! What 
 can it mean ?" 
 
LOVE PASSAGES. 69 
 
 "Heavens! there is no retreat to my^ chamber ! The light 
 ascends ! Surely, surely, Bacchus can not have mistaken me ! 
 O, Robert, what is to be done ? You can not cross to your 
 chamber without being heard, nor I to mine without being 
 seen !" 
 
 " Be calm, Kate. Let us retire as closely as possible into this 
 recess. Have no fears. At the worst, see, ,1 am armed with a 
 deadly weapon that makes no noise !" 
 
 He grasped the hilt of a dagger, which he carried in his 
 bosom : and they retired into a -dark recess, or rather a minor 
 avenue, leading between two small apartments into the balcony 
 ^n the rear. Meanwhile the heavy steps of men — certainly 
 those of Balfour and Cruden — were heard distinctly upon the 
 stairs : while the voice of Bacchus, in tones somewhat elevated, 
 was heard guiding them as he went forward with the light. 
 
 " Steps rather steep, gentlemen : have to be careful. This 
 way, sir." 
 
 " Why do you speak so loud. Hector % Do you wish to waken 
 up the house ? Would you disturb the young lady — the queen 
 
 of Dorchester — my — my 1 say, Oruden, come along, old 
 
 fellow, and take care of your steps !" 
 
 Katharine trembled like a leaf. Robert Singleton — for such 
 was his true name — put her behiad him in the passage as far 
 as possible, and placed himself in readiness for any issue. At 
 the worst, there were but two of the enemy within the house ; 
 and our hero felt himself — occupying a certain vantage ground, 
 as he did — more than a match for both. Let us leave the par- 
 ties thus, while we retrace our steps, and return to the two 
 whom we left fairly embgrked on their carousals. Captain 
 Dickson, it should not be forgotten) had gone back to Dorches- 
 ter as soon as he had finished his supper. 
 
60 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CHOICE SPIRITS. 
 
 To US, even now in the midst of a wonderftj temperance 
 reform, -with Father Matthew in the land to second the great 
 moral progress, and to make its claims at once impressive and 
 religious, for the contemplation of succeeding time as for the 
 benefit of our own, it will be difficult to conceive the excesses 
 which prevailed in the use of ardent and vinous beverages in 
 the days of which we write. They had harder heads, probably, 
 in those days than in ours : they could drink with more au- 
 dacity, and under fewer penalties, physical and moral, in their 
 debauches. Certainly, they were then far less obnoxious to the 
 censure of society for the licentious orgies in which it was the 
 delight of all parties to indulge ; and, indeed, society seldom 
 interfered, unless, perhaps, to encourage the shocking practice, 
 and to go.a4 the young beginner to those brut^ excesses from 
 which the natural tastes might have revolted. " He was a milk- 
 sop," in proverbial language, "who could not carry his bottle 
 under his belt." " Milk for babes, but meat for men," the lan- 
 guage of the apostle, was the ironical and scornful phrase which 
 the veteran toper employed when encountering a more abstemi- 
 ous companion than himself. Precept and example thus com- 
 bined, it was scarcely possible for the youth to withstand the 
 pernicious training ; and the terrible results have ensued to our 
 period, and still measurably hold their ground, in practices 
 which it will need the continued labors of a generation of re- 
 formers wholly to obliterate. To drink deep, as they did in 
 Flanders, was quite a maxim with the soldiers of the Eevolution 
 on both sides ; and too many of the American generals, taught 
 
CHOICE SPIRITS. 61 
 
 in the same school, were much more able to encounter their 
 British adversaries over a bottle than in the trial and the storm 
 of war. Scotch drinking was always as famous as Dutch or 
 English. Indeed, it is, and has ever been, quite absurd to speak 
 of the indulgence of the Irish as distinguishing them above their 
 sister nations in a comparison of the relative degrees of excess 
 which marked their several habits. The Scotch have always 
 drank Tnore than the Irish ; but they drank habitually, and were 
 thus less liable to betray their excesses. 
 
 Balfour was a fair sample of his countrymen in this practice. 
 He had one of those indomit£|,ble heads which preserve their 
 balance in spite of their potations. A night of intoxication 
 would scarcely show any of its effects in the morning, and cer- 
 tainly never operated to emban-ass him in the execution of his 
 daily business. His appearance usually would seldom warrant 
 you in suspecting him of any extreme trespasses over his wine. 
 He would be called, in the indulgent phrase, as well of that day 
 as our own, a generous or free liver — one who relished his Ma- 
 deira, and never suffered it to worst his tastes or his capacities. 
 Such men usually pay the penalty in the end ; but we need not 
 look so far forward in the present instance. Enough for us that, 
 with the departure of the ladies and the supposed loyalist, and 
 Captain Dickson, the worthy commandant of Charleston deter- 
 mined to make a night of it. In this he was measurably sec- 
 onded by his companion. Cruden, however, had a cooler head 
 and a more temperate habit. Besides, he had a master passion, 
 which sufficed to keep him watchful of his appetites, and to 
 guard against the moment of excess. Still he drank. What 
 officer of the army, in those days, did not drink, who had served 
 three campaigns in America, after having had the training of 
 one or more upon the continent of Europe ? 
 
 " The wine improves, Cruden," said Balfour. " I say, Mercury, 
 how much of this wine have you in the cellar ?" 
 
 " We don't keep wine in the cellar, master," replied the lite- 
 ral Bacchus, who showed himself at the entrance when summon- 
 ed ; " we keep it in the garret." 
 
 "Well, well, no matter where. Have you got much of this 
 wine in the garret ?" 
 
62 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " A smart chance of it, I reckon, sir." 
 
 " What an answer ! But this is always the case with a negro. 
 A smart chance of it — as if one could understand anything from 
 such an answer. Have you got a thousand bottles i" 
 
 "Don't tliink, sir." 
 
 " Five hundred ?" 
 
 " Can't say, general." 
 
 "Pive, then?" 
 
 " Oh, more than five — more than fifty, sir." 
 
 " Enough for to-night, then, at all events. Gfo and bring us a 
 few more bottles. This begins to thicken. I say, Oruden, I 
 can respect even a rebel who keeps good liquors. Such a person 
 must always possess one or more of the essentials of a gentle- 
 man. He may not be perfectly well bred, it is true, for that 
 depends as much on good society as upon good wines ; but he 
 shows that, under other cu-cumstanceSf something might have 
 been made of him. But why do you not drink 1 You neither 
 drink nor talk. Finish that glass now, and tell me if you do not 
 agree with me' that the man deserves respect whose wines are 
 unimpeachable." 
 
 " I can readily acknowledge the virtues which I inherit." 
 
 " Good — very good. It is a phrase to be remembered so 
 long as the work of seijuestration goes on with such happy results. 
 But good fortune does not seem to agree with you. You are 
 moody, Cruden." 
 
 " It is the effect of the Madeira. Wine always makes me so. 
 I like it, perhaps, as well as anybody ; but it sours me for a 
 season. . I become morose, harsh, ungenial " 
 
 " What an effect ! It is monstrous. It is only because you 
 stop short where you should begm. 'Drink deep,' was the coun- 
 sel of the little poet of Twickenham. That's the only secret. 
 Do you read poetry, Oruden ? I could swear no !" 
 
 " No, indeed, it appears to me great nonsense." 
 
 " It comes to me — the taste for it, I riiean — always with my 
 liquor. I never think of it at other periods. I would keep a 
 poet myself, if I could find a proper one. Poor Andr^ did some 
 rhyming for me once, but it went like a broken-winded hackney. 
 Harry Barry has a sort of knack at versemaking ; but it is 
 
CHOICE SPIRITS. 63 
 
 monstrous insipid, and only fit for Lis friend M'Maton. ' Me 
 and my friend M'Mahon !' 'Me and my friend Barry!' Are 
 you not sick of the eternal speech of these two great-eared 
 boobies, when they prattle of each other ?" 
 
 •' I never listen to them." 
 
 " You are right ; but as I talk a great deal myself over my 
 wine, I can't do less than listen to the brutes when I am sober." 
 
 " I say, Balfour, have you given any orders about the search 
 of this place to-morrow ? We should take It early." 
 
 " Oh, you are too impatient. Your avarice gets the better of 
 you. Sufficient for the day is the plunder thereof. No cares to- 
 night. Ha ! Jupiter, you are there." 
 
 This was said to Bacchus, as he arranged half a dozen dusty 
 bottles upon the sideboard. 
 
 " Draw one of those corks ; put the bottle here ; remove these 
 skins, and prepare to answer." 
 
 He was obeyed. 
 
 " Now stand there, that we may have a good view of you. 
 Your name is Brutus, you say?" 
 
 " Bacchus, master." 
 
 " Bacchus ! Bacchus ! Strange that I should always forget. 
 Bacchus, you have a very beautiful young mistress." 
 
 The negro was silent. 
 
 " Do you not think so, fellow 1" 
 
 " She always good to me, master." 
 
 " And that, you think, means the same thing. Well, we'U 
 not dispute the matter. Now, Bacchus, do you think that your 
 young mistress cares a copper for any of the yoimg officers at 
 Dorchester 1 Speak up, hke a man." 
 
 " I don't know, general." 
 
 " You general me, you rascal ! But you sha'n't out-general 
 me. I tell you, you do know. Answer, sirrah — didn't they 
 come here constantly after your young mistress 1 Wasn't that 
 handsome fellow, Proctor, always here ?" 
 
 " Balfour, Balfour," interposed Cruden, " do not forget, I beg 
 you, that Proctor is my kinsman." 
 
 " Pshaw ! Why wUl you be throwing your nephew constantly 
 in my teeth ? Isn't ours a common cause 1 Don't we stand or 
 
64 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 fall together 1 And if your Idnsman is in our way, sha'n't we 
 thrust him out of it ? "What's he to either of us when the ac- 
 counts are to be made up 1" 
 
 " My sister's child, Balfour." 
 
 " Pish, were he your own now ! Don't interrupt the negro. 
 I say, Neptune, wouldn't you like to see your young mistress ' 
 well married 1" 
 
 " If she have no objection, master." 
 
 "A judicious answer ! Well, she can have no objection, surely, 
 to being married to a governor. Eh V 
 
 " I reckon, master." 
 
 " She sh-all have a governor for her husband, Jupiter ; she 
 shall — and you shall be his body servant. I mean to be gover- 
 nor here, Pluto, as soon as we've driven all these rebels out; 
 and she shall be my wife. Do you hear, fellow V 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You're a sensible fellow, Bacchus, and know that a gover- 
 nor's something more than a major of foot, or dragoons either. 
 He makes majors of foot and dragoons — ay and unmakes them 
 too, when they're troublesome. I say, Cruden, this affair looks 
 squally for Proctor ; it does ; and yet I'm sorry for the fellow, 
 I am. I like him as much on his account as your own. Come, 
 we'll drink his health. You won't refuse that ?" 
 
 Cruden filled his glass moodily and drank. Balfour proceeded — 
 
 "You think, Cruden, that I am talking with too much levity? 
 Don't deny it. I see it your face. You look as surly as Sir 
 William, with the last touches from the tail of the gout — just 
 beginning to be unmiserable. But, you shall see. I will conduct 
 the rest of the good fellow's examination with due sobriety." 
 
 " If you have any more questions to ask, let him answer about 
 the plate." 
 
 " Ay, to be sure ; I meant to come to that. I see what troub- 
 les you. Ho, Pluto, your master was a gentleman; I know, 
 froni your manners. 1 can always tell a gentleman by his ser- 
 vants. They reflect his manners ; they imitate them. That is 
 to say, your master was a gentleman before he became a rebel. 
 You are no longer his servant, andyow continue a gentleman still. 
 Your master was rich, eh 1" 
 
CHOICE SPIRITS. 65 
 
 " I expect, sir," 
 
 " He had lands and negroes, and, I feel certain, kept good 
 wines. Nov, Plutus, among the qualities of a gentleman who' 
 is rich, he must be in possession of a famous service of plate ; he 
 must have urns of silver, punch-bowls, plates, vases, teapots, 
 cream-pots, milk-pots, and a thousand things necessary to the 
 table and the sideboard, made out of the bright metal, eh 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I expect so." 
 
 " And, Juno, your master had them all, hadn't he 1" 
 
 " yes, sir." 
 
 " "Where are they, Bacchus 1" put in Oruden. 
 
 " I don't know, master." 
 
 " "What 1 Well ! Go on. Colonel Oruden, go on ; if you are 
 not satisfied with my — ah! — with my mode of — of — making 
 this little domestic inquisition, why, you are at perfect liberty to 
 — to do it better, if you can." 
 
 Oruden sullenly apologized, as he perceived that there was no 
 propriety in doing otherwise. 
 
 " Go on, Balfour ; I didn't mean to take the game out of your 
 hands. No one could do it better." 
 
 " I flatter myself you're right, Oolonel Oruden. I do think 
 that I can — ah — examine this gentleman of a negro as — as — 
 successfully as any gowned inquisitor of — of — Westminster^ 
 But you've put m,e out. I must have something stronger than 
 Madeira to restore my memory. I say, Brutus — Bacchus — 
 have you the water heated 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir — general." 
 
 " And did your master — that was — did he have the decency, 
 feUow, to keep in his cellar any good old Scotch whiskey V 
 
 " I don't think, master ; but there is some particular fine old 
 Jamaica." 
 
 " There is 1 It will do. Jamaica is only an apology for old 
 Scotch whiskey ; but it is such an apology, Oruden — I say, Oru- 
 den, it is such an apology as any gentleman may accept. I must 
 have some of it." 
 
 The bottle was already on the sideboard which contained the 
 then favorite liquor of the South — Madeira being excepted al- 
 ways — and Bacchus was soon engaged in placing the spirits, the 
 
66 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 sugars, and tte boiling water under the hands of Balfour, -who 
 insisted upon uniting the adverse elements himself. 
 
 " How gloriously it fumes ! There, Oruden ; drink of that, 
 old fellow, and bless the hand that made it. Bacchus, you shall 
 have a draught yourself — you shall, you handsome old rascal — 
 the better to be able — you hear — to answer my questions. 
 There is mnch of this Jamaica ?" 
 
 " Smart chance, general." 
 
 " Drink, fellow, and forget your old master in your new. 
 
 The negro showed some reluctance ; and the commandant of 
 Charleston, rising from his chair, seized the fellow by his wool 
 with one hand, while he forced the huge goblet, with its smo- 
 king potation, into his mouth. Few negroes reject such a bever- 
 age, or any beverage containing spirits ; and Bacchus, though a 
 tolerably temperate fellow, swallowed the draught without much 
 reluctance or suffering. 
 
 " And now for this plate, Csesar 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You say there was plate 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Where was it kept V 
 
 " In little room up stairs, sir." 
 
 " Have you the key to that room V 
 
 " It's on the bunch, master." 
 
 " Show it me." 
 
 The negro pointed it out. Balfour grasped it firmly, and shook 
 it free from the rest. 
 
 " And now, fellow, where's the key to your wine vaults — 
 your cellar?" 
 
 " Garret, Bacchus 1" interposed Oruden. 
 
 " I thank you. Colonel Cruden. But had you — I say, Oru- 
 den, in a moment more I should have used the word myself. 
 Garret, fellow ?" 
 
 " I left it in the door, master, last time I went up, thinking 
 maybe you might want more of the Madeira." 
 
 "You did? You sensible fellow! Who shall say that a 
 negro lacks forethought ? Ah, Bacchus ! you are the man for 
 me. Come, Cruden, let us go," 
 
CHOICE SPIRITS. 67 
 
 " Whither ? What do you mean V 
 
 " To explore the wine-vaults — to look into the cellar — to see 
 after the plate ! Now or never. I must see the extent of our 
 possessions, old boy, before I sleep to-night." 
 
 The curiosity of Craden — his cupidity, rather — prevailed 
 over his sense of propriety. He was quite as ready for the ex- 
 ploration of the plate-room as was Balfour for the wine-cellar ; 
 and the two started, without further delay, under the guidance 
 of Bacchus, bearing the candle. It was only when they emerged 
 from the dining-room into the great passage-way below stairs, 
 that our lovers above were first apprized of the danger in which 
 they stood of discovery. The voice of Bacchus first told them 
 of the probable intrusion of the British officers into a portion of 
 the dwelling not assigned to them, and in which their presence, 
 at that hour of the night, was totally unexpected. 
 
 The alarm of Katharine Walton may be imagined. Her 
 fears, with regard to the safety of her companion, were naturally 
 mixed up with the apprehensive sense of female delicacy, which 
 must suffer from any detection under such circumstances. Single- 
 ton shared in this apprehension, with regard to her, more than 
 any with regard to himself. He felt few fears of his personal 
 safety, for he was conscious that he possessed, in the last resort, 
 a means for escape, in the conviction that he could, himself, 
 easily deal with the two enemies, encountering him, as they 
 would, unexpectedly. To feel that his pistols were ready to 
 his grasp in his belt, that the dagger was in his gripe and free 
 for use, was to reassure himself, and to enable him, with com- 
 posed nerves, to quiet those of his fair companion. 
 
 Meanwhile, the two Britons, both somewhat unsteady, though 
 not equally so, made their way up the stairs. The anxiety of 
 Bacchus to give due warning to those above, prompted him 
 more frequently than seemed necessary to Balfour, to insist, in 
 loud tones, upon the necessity of the greatest caution in ascend- 
 ing a flight of steps which, he repeated, were more than ordi- 
 narily steep. 
 
 " Hold on to the banister, general," he cried, on seeing the 
 commandant make a sweeping lurch against the wall ; " these 
 steps are mighty high and steep." 
 
68 KATHABINE WALTON. 
 
 " Shut up, fellow, and go ahead ! Throw your light more behind 
 you, that we may see the steepness. There, that will do. This 
 is a large house, Oruden, eh? The proprieter contemplated a nu- 
 merous progeny when he built. Solid, too : feel these banisters." 
 
 "All mahogany," was the answer. 
 
 "And carved. Old style, and magnificent. These provin- 
 cials were ambitious of showing well, eh ? An old house, eh ? 
 I say, Pluto, is this house haunted?" 
 
 "Haunted, master?" 
 
 " Yes, fellow. Don't you understand ? Have you any ghosts 
 about?" 
 
 "Why, yes, sir. The old lady walks, they say." 
 
 " What old lady ?" 
 
 " The lady of the old landgrave." _ 
 
 " Landgrave ?" exclaimed Oruden, inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes," answered Balfour. "You know that they had their 
 nobles in this province : there were the landgravinoes, which 
 is German for lord or baron, and their cassicoes, which is In- 
 dian for another sort of nobUity; and their palatinbs, which is 
 a step higher than both, I'm thinking — a pretty little estab- 
 lishment for a court in the woods. It was a nice sort of fancy 
 of Lord Shaftesbury, after whom they christened this river and 
 its sister — Ashley and Oooper — and if the old fox hadn't had 
 his hands full of other conceits, we might have had him here 
 setting up as a sort of Prince Macklevelly, the Italian, jOn his 
 own account." 
 
 All this was spoken as Balfour hung upon the banister, mid- 
 way up the steps, steadying himself for a renewed effort, and 
 balancing to and fro, with his eyes stretched upward to the 
 dim heights of the lofty ceiling. 
 
 " Yes," said he, continuing the subject, " an old house, and a 
 great one — not ill-planned for a palace ; the family an old one, 
 and of the nobility." 
 
 "An Indian nobility," said Oruden, somewhat contemptuously. 
 
 "Well, and why not? NobUity is nobility, whether savage 
 or Saxon ; and I '11 marry into it when I can. Take my ad- 
 vice, and do the same. Is it not arranged between us that we 
 are to divide the fair ladies of this establishment ? I am to 
 
CHOICE SPIRITS. 69 
 
 have the young one, Cruden, old fello-w— being more suited, 
 you know, by reason of my youth and good-fellowship, to her 
 tender years. The stately and magnificent aunt, Mistress Bar- 
 bara, who has a right to the quarterings of her great grandsire, 
 and is an heiress in her own right, they tell me — she is the very 
 fellow for you, Cruden. You will make a famous couple. She 
 will preside like a princess in your Pinckney chateau ; and the 
 royal ships, as they enter the harbor, will be always sure to 
 give you a salute. Yes, I yield to you the aunt ; I do, Cruden, 
 old fellow, without gradgiiig ; and I will content myself mod- 
 estly with the young creature." 
 
 This was spoken at fits and starts, the tongue of our worthy 
 conimandant, by this time, having thickened considerably, to 
 say nothing of frequent spasmodic impediments of speech, known 
 as hiccoughs to the vulgar. 
 
 "You are disposed of in a somewhat summary manner, Kate," 
 whispered Singleton to his companion, both of whom had heard 
 every syllable that was spoken. 
 
 " The brute !" was the muttered reply. 
 
 "What would Aunt Barbara say to all this 1" 
 
 " If she be awake," said Katharine, " she hears it all. It will 
 greatly provoke her." 
 
 " I can fancy her indignation ! How she tosses her head !" 
 
 " Hush, Robert ; they advance." 
 
 " If we are to divide all our spoils, Balfour," was the slow 
 reply of Cruden, " upon the principle you lay down, my share 
 would be a sorry one." 
 
 "What! you won't take the antique ] Ha! ha! Yon go for 
 tenderer spoils, do you ? but I warn you, no squinting toward 
 my BeUamira. She is mine ! Look elsewhere, if the old lady 
 don't suit you; but look not to the young one. Divide the 
 spoils equally, to be sure ! ' Pickings' was the word of our 
 backwoods captain — the unsophisticated heathen ! 'Pickings !' 
 The rascal might as well have called it stealings at once. But 
 here we are, landed at last. Hello, Brutus, whose portraits are 
 these ? Lift your light, rascal. Ha ! that's a pretty woman — 
 devilish like our virgin queen. Who's that, Plutus? Your 
 young mistress ?" 
 
70 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " No, sir ; that 's her great grandmother, the landgravine." 
 
 " God bless her nobility ! It 's from her that my queen of 
 Sheba inherits her beauty. I shall have no objection to marry 
 into a famUy where beauty, wealth, and title, are hereditary. I 
 shall love her with aU my heart and all my strength. And this, 
 Scipio V 
 
 " That's master, the colonel, sir — Colonel "Walton." 
 
 " The rebel ! Fling it down from the wall, fellow ! I 'U have 
 no rebel portraits staring me in the face — me, the representa- 
 tive here of his most sacred majesty, George the Third, king 
 of England, Scotland, Ireland, defender of the Faith, and father 
 of a hopeful family. I say, down with the rebel-rascal, fellow ; 
 down with it ! We '11 have a bonfire of all the tribe, this very 
 night. They shall none escape me. I have burnt every effigy 
 of the runagates I could lay hands on ; and, by the blessed 
 saints ! I will serve this with the same dressing. Do you hear, 
 Beelzebub ? Down with it !" 
 
 Katharine Walton, in her place of hiding, her soul dilating 
 with indignation, was about to dart forward to interpose, totally 
 forgetful of her situation, when the arm of Singleton firmly 
 wrapped her waist. In a whisper, he said — 
 
 " Do not move, Kate, dearest ; they will hardly do what this 
 drunken wretch requires. But even should they, you must not 
 peril yourself for the portrait, however precious it may be to 
 your sympathies. Subdue yourself, dear heart. We must sjib- 
 mit for a season." 
 
 " 0, were I but a man !" said the high-souled damsel, almost 
 audibly. 
 
 " Hush, Kate ! Believe me, I prefer you infinitely as you 
 are." 
 
 " 0, how can you jest, Robert, at such a moment i" 
 
 " Jest ! I never was more serious in my life." 
 
 " But your tone ?" 
 
 " Says nothing for my heart, Kate. It is better to smile, if 
 we can ; and play with words, at the moment when, though we 
 feel daggers, we dare not use them." 
 
 Meanwhile, the negro made no movement to obey the orders 
 of Balfour. He simply heard, and looked in stupid wondei-ment. 
 
CHOICE SPIBITS 71 
 
 " Do you not hear me, fellow 1 Must I tear down the staring 
 effigy myself? 
 
 He advanced as he spoke, and his hands were already up- 
 lifted to the picture, when Cruden interposed — 
 
 " Leave it for to-night, Balfour. You will alarm the house- 
 hold. Besides, you wiU give great offence to the young lady. 
 I don't love rebels any more than you, and will help to give 
 themselves as well as their effigies to the fire ; hut let it be done 
 quietly, and after you've sent the girl to town. You wouldn't 
 wish to hurt her feelings ?" 
 
 " Hurt her feelings ? No ! how could you imagine such a 
 vain thing ? Of course, we '11 leave the rebel for another sea- 
 son. But he shall bum in the end, as sure as I 'm Nesbitt Bal- 
 four." 
 
 "Eobert," whispered Katharine, in trembling accents, "that 
 portrait must be saved from these wretches. It must be saved, 
 Eobert, at every hazard." 
 
 " It shall be, Kate, if I survive this night." 
 
 " You promise mej — that is enough." 
 
72 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 GHOSTLY PASSAGES. 
 
 The lovers Tvere suddenly hushed, in their whispered conver- 
 sation, hy the nearer approach of the British officers. Cruden 
 had, at length, persuaded his companion to forget the rehel 
 portraits for awhile, and to address himself earnestly to the 
 more important object of their search. Under the guidance of 
 the reluctant Bacchus, they drew nigh to the plate chamber, or 
 the closet, in which, according to the negro, the silver of the 
 household was usually kept. This apartment was placed at the 
 extremity of the passage, closing it up apparently in this quar- 
 ter, but with a narrow avenue leading beside it, and out upon a 
 balcony in the rear of the building. It was in this narrow 
 passage that Katharine and her lover had taken shelter. The 
 outlet to the balcony was closed by a small door ; and against 
 this they leaned, in the depth of shadow. With the dim candle- 
 light which guided the enemy, they might reasonably hope, in 
 this retreat, to escape his notice — unless, indeed, the hght were 
 brought to bear distinctly upon their place of hiding. Here they 
 waited, in deep silence and suspense, the approach of the British 
 officers. 
 
 Bacchus might have saved the commandant and the commis- 
 sary the trouble of their present search. He well knew that 
 the silver of the household had all disappeared. It is true that 
 he knew not positively what route it had taken ; but his con- 
 jectures were correct upon the subject. He was prudently silent, 
 however — rather preferring to seem ignorant of a matter in 
 which a too great knowledge might have ended in subjecting 
 Lim to some of the responsibility of the abstraction. They 
 
GHOSTLY PASSAGES. 73 
 
 readied the door, and Balfour fumbled witli the keys to the 
 great impatience of his companion, who more than once felt 
 tempted to offer his assistance ; but forbore, from sufficient ex- 
 perience of the tenacious vanity of the commandant. At length 
 the opening was effected, and the two darted in — Bacchus 
 lingering at the entrance, prepared to make a hasty retreat 
 should the discoveries of his superiors result in any threatening 
 explosion. For a time their hopes were encouraged. They be- 
 held several" rows of broad shelves, almost covered with old 
 boxes, some of which were fastened down. It required some 
 time to examine these j but, at length, the unpleasant conviction 
 was forced upon them that they had wasted their labor upon a 
 beggarly account of empty boxes. 
 
 " Bacchus," said Oruden, " is there no other closet V 
 " Bacchus, you beast, where's the plate, I say t" 
 " 'Tain't here, general," humbly responded the trembling 
 negro. 
 
 " Well, that's information for which we are grateful ; but, you 
 bloody villain, if you don't find it — if a spoon's missing, a cup, 
 a tankard, a pot, a — a — I'll have you hung up by the ears, 
 you villain, with your head downward, like Saint Absalom ! Do 
 you hear, Plutijs ? Do you know what hanging means, eh ? Do 
 
 you know how it feels 1 Do you know " 
 
 " Ask him, Balfour, if there are not other closets." 
 " Poh ! poll ! Oruden ; am I the man, at this time of day, to 
 be taught how to put the question to a son of Ishmael ? What 
 do we want with closets 1 What have we got by looking into 
 closets ? It's the plate we want ; the precious metals, the cream 
 of Potosi — the silver, the ingots, the Spanish bars, you sooty, 
 black, Ethiopan, Beelzebub ; and if they're not forthcoming — 
 ay, to-night, this very hour — you shall have despatches for your 
 namesake and grandfather, you nefarious Pluto — head down- 
 ward, you son of soot and vinegar! Do you hear? Head 
 downwai'd shall you swim the Styx, old Charon, with a fifty- 
 pound shot about your neck, by way of ballast for a long voyage. 
 The plate, old villain, if you wisli to be happy on dry land, and 
 keep your honest iSthiopan complexion !" 
 
 Bacchus declared himself fuUy sensible of the dangerous dis- 
 4 
 
74 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 tinction with -wliicli lie was threatened ; but declared himself, in 
 good set terms, and with the most earnest protestations, totally 
 ignorant of the whereabouts of the missing treasure. 
 
 " I'm a poor nigger, master ; they never gave the silver to me 
 to keep. The colonel or young missis always kept the keys." 
 
 " Tell us nothing, fellow," said Cruden. " We know perfectly 
 well that you are the trusted servant of your rebel master ; we 
 know that you have helped to hide the plate away. Show us 
 where you have hidden it, and you will be rewarded ; refuse, or 
 pretend not to know, and as certaiuly as the commandant swears 
 it, you will be hung up to the nearest tree." 
 
 "Head downward!" muttered Balfour. 
 
 " If you will b'lieve a poor black man when he swears, mas- 
 ter, I swear to you I never had any hand in hiding it." 
 
 " Swear, will you, old Pluto 1 And by what god wUl your 
 reverence pretend to swear, eh 1" was the demand of Balfour. 
 
 " I swear by the blessed Lord, master !" 
 
 " Poh ! poh ! that won't do, you old rapscallion. Would you 
 be taking the name of the Lord in vain ? Would you have me 
 encourage you. in violating the Ten Commandments 1 Besides, 
 you irreverent Ichabod, such an oath will not bind such a sable 
 sinner as you are. No, no ; you shall swear by the Bull Apis, 
 you Egyptian ; you shall swear by the Horned Jupiter, by the 
 Grand Turk, and by Mahomet and Pharaoh. Do you hear? 
 Will you swear by Jupiter Ammon?" 
 
 " I never heard of such a person, master." 
 
 " You never did ! Is , it possible 1 , You see, Cruden, how 
 lamentably ignorant this rebelhous rascal is. I shall have to 
 take this Ethiopan into my own keeping, and educate him in the 
 right knowledge. I will teach you, Busu-is, and make you wise 
 — that is, if I do not hang you. But hang you shall, by all the 
 gods of Egypt — and that is an oath I never break — unless you 
 show where you have hid this treasure." 
 
 " I never hid it, master : I swear by all them people you 
 mention !" 
 
 " People ! They are gods, fellow, gods ! But he swears, 
 Cruden ; he swears." 
 
 " Yes," said the other ; " and as he does not seem to know 
 
GHOSTLY PASSAGES. 75 
 
 about the hiding, let him conduct us to the other closets and 
 close rooms. There are other rooms, Bacchus," continued Cru- 
 den, who ventured, upon the somewhat drowsy state of Balfour, 
 to take a leading part in the examination. 
 
 " Some rooms down stairs, colonel," said the negro, eagerly. 
 
 " Down stairs ? But are there no others above stairs 1 "What 
 is this opening here, for example ? Whither does this avenue 
 lead 1" and, as he inquired, he approached the mouth of the pas- 
 sage, at the extremity of which Katharine Walton and her lover 
 were concealed. 
 
 " Here, Bacchus, bring your light here ! This place must lead 
 somewhere — to some chamber or closet. Let us see. Your 
 light ! Ten to one this conducts us to the hiding-place of the 
 treasure." 
 
 The hand of Katharine clasped convulsively the arm of Sin- 
 gleton, as she heard these suggestions. Her companion felt all 
 the awkwardness of their situation ; but he apprehended little of 
 its dangers. He felt that he was quite a match for Cruden, 
 even against the half-drunken Balfour ; and he had no doubt 
 that Bacchus would not wait for his orders or those of his mistress 
 to join in a death-grapple with the enemy. He gently pressed 
 the hand of the maiden, with the design to reassure her ; then 
 quietly felt the handle of his dirk. His breathing was painfully 
 suppressed, however, as he waited for the movement or the reply 
 of Bacchus. That faithful fellow was sufficiently prompt in the 
 endeaver at evasion. 
 
 " That's only the passage into the open balcony, master ; that 
 just leads out into the open air;" and speaking thus, he reso- 
 lutely bore the light in the opposite direction. 
 
 " Never you mind ; bring the light here, fellow ; let us see" 
 — the very apparent reluctance of Bacchus stimulating the curi- 
 osity of Cruden. 
 
 " The open air !" said Balfour. " To be sure, I want a httle 
 fresh air. The balcony, too ! That should give us a view of 
 the prospect. The scene by starlight must be a fine one. We'll 
 but look out for a moment, Cruden ; and then give up the search 
 for the night. I'm sleepy, and, after another touch of the 
 tankard, will doff boots and buff, and to bed. This ignoramus 
 
76 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 knows nothing. We'll find the plate in the cellar, or under some 
 of the trees, with a little digging. Don't be uneasy ; I carry a 
 divining rod, which is pretty sure to conduct me to all hiding- 
 places. It only needs that the rod should be put in pickle for 
 awhile. Ha, fellow, do you know what is meant by a rod in 
 pickle V 
 
 " Don't let us forget the balcony, Balfour. Do you not wish 
 to look out upon the night 1" 
 
 " Ay, tnie ; to be sure." 
 
 " Here, fellow, Bacchus, your light here." 
 
 " Yes, sir," was the answer ; and the heart of Katharine "Wal- 
 ton bounded to her mouth as she heard the subdued reply, and 
 listened to the movement of feet in the direction of the passage. 
 But Bacchus had no intention of complying with a requisitiou 
 which he felt so dangerous to the safety of those whom he loved 
 and honored. The negro, forced to the final necessity, still had 
 his refuge in a native cunning. It was at the moment when he 
 turned, ^as if to obey the imperative commands of Oruden, that 
 Balfour wheeled about to approach him ; and Bacchus timed his 
 own movements so well, that his evolutions brought him into 
 sudden contact with the person of the commandant. The light 
 fell from his hand, and was instantly extinguished, while a cry 
 of terror from the offender furnished a new provocation to the 
 curiosity of the British officers. 
 
 " Lord ha' mercy upon me ! what is that 1" 
 
 '' What's what, you bloody Ishmaelite 1" exclaimed Balfour, 
 in sudden fury. "You've ruined my coat with your accursed 
 candlegrease !" 
 
 " Lord ha' mercy ! Lord ha' mercy !" cried the negro, in well- 
 affected terror. 
 
 " What scares you, fool ?" demanded Oruden. 
 
 " You no see, master 1 The old lady ! She walks ! I see 
 her jest as I was turning with the candle." 
 
 "What, the old landgrave's housekeeper?" demanded Bal- 
 four. 
 
 " Pshaw !" cried Oruden ; " don't encourage this blockhead in 
 his nonsense. Away, fool, and relight your candle ; and may 
 the devil take you as you go !" 
 
GHOSTLY PASSAGES. 77 
 
 The commissioner of confiscated estates was now tliorougMy 
 roused. His disappointment, in the search after the missing 
 plate, and the fear that it would prove wholly beyond his reach, 
 had vexed him beyond endurance. He was really glad of an 
 occasion to vent his fury upon the negro, since the temper of 
 Balfour was such as to render it necessary that he should exhibit 
 the utmost forbearance in regard to his conduct, which Oruden 
 was nevertheless greatly disposed to censure a thousand times a 
 day. It was with a heavy buffet that he sent Bacchus off to 
 procure a light, following his departure with a volley of oaths, 
 which proved that, if slow to provocation, his wrath, when arous- 
 ed, was sufficiently unmeasured. Even Balfour found it proper 
 to rebuke the violence which did not scruple at the quality of his 
 curses. 
 
 " Don't swear, Oruden, don't ; its a pernicious immoral prac- 
 tice ; and here, in the dark, at midnight — for I heard the clock 
 strike , below just before old Charon dropped the candle — and 
 with the possibihty — I say possibility, Oruden — that we are 
 surrounded by spirits of the dead, ghosts of past generations, 
 venerable shades of nobility — for you must not forget that the 
 ancestors of this rebel colonel were landgraves and landgra- 
 vinoes — his grandmother, as you hear, being the first landgrave 
 in the famUy — you saw her portrait on the wall, with an evident 
 beard upon her chin, no doubt intended by the painter to denote 
 the dignity and authority of her rank, as Michael Angelo painted 
 Moses with a pair of horns ; and there is a propriety in it, do 
 you see ; for ghosts — By the way, Oruden, you believe in 
 ghosts, don't you 1" 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " Tou don't ? Then I'm sorry for his majesty's service that 
 it has such an unbelieving infidel in it. A man without faith is 
 no better than a Turk. It's a sign that he has no reverence. 
 And that's the true reason why these Americans became rebels. 
 The moment they ceased to believe in ghosts and other sacred 
 things, they wanted to set up for themselves. Don't you foUow 
 their example. But where are you going ?" "" 
 
 Oruden was striding to and fro impatiently. 
 
 " Nowhere." 
 
78 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Don't attempt to walk in this solid darkness," counselled the 
 moraKzing Balfonr, who gradually, and With some effort, holding 
 on to the wall the while, let himself down upon the floor, his 
 solid bulk, in spite of all his caution, giving it a heavy shake as 
 he descended. " Don't walk, Oruden ; you may happen upon 
 a pitfall ; you may get to the stairway and slip. Ah ! did you 
 hear nothing, Cniden 1" 
 
 'Nothing!" somewhat abruptly. 
 
 " I surely heard a whisper and a rustling, as if of some an- 
 cient silken garment. Come near to me, Cniden, if you would 
 hear. I wish that fellow Bacchus would make haste with his 
 light. I surely heard a footstep ! Listen, Cruden." 
 
 " I hear nothing ! It's your fancy, Balfour;" and the other 
 continued to stride away as he spoke, not seeming to heed the 
 repeated rec[uests of Balfour to approach him, in order properly 
 to listen. ^ 
 
 Balfour's senses, in all probability had not deceived him. The 
 moment that Bacchus had disappeared. Singleton whispered to 
 his trembling companion — 
 
 " Now is our time, Kate, if we would escape. Bacchus has 
 flung down his light only to give us the opportunity. Let us 
 use it." 
 
 "But they are at the entrance?" 
 
 " I think not. Near it, I grant you ; but on the side, and 
 with room enough for us to pass. Follow me." 
 
 It was lucky that the necessities of the service had long since 
 forced upon Singleton the use of moccasins. There were few 
 boots in the camp of Marion. The soft buckskin enabled our 
 partisan to tread lightly through the passage ; the heavy tread 
 of Oruden contributing greatly to hush all inferior sounds. Sin- 
 gleton grasped firmly, but gently, the wrist of his companion. 
 But she no longer trembled ; her soul was now fully nerved to 
 the task. Balfour had, however, in reality, settled down in part, 
 at the entrance of the passage. He was seeking this position of 
 humility and repose at the very moment when the two began 
 their movement. For the instant, it compelled them to pause ; 
 but when assured that he -w'as fairly couched, they passed lightly 
 beside him ; and, had not his superstitious fancies been awakened 
 
GHOSTLY PASSAGES. 79 
 
 by the story of the ghostly landgravine, his suspicions might 
 have been more keenly awakened liy the supposed rustlings of 
 the ancient silk. To steer wide of Oruden was an easy task for 
 our fugitives, as his footsteps announced his whereabouts with 
 peculiar emphasis. The great passage was traversed with safety, 
 and the maiden paused at the door of her chamber. Fortunately, 
 it had been left ajar when she joined Singleton,, though this had 
 been done without regard to any anticipations of the interrup- 
 tions they had undergone. . To push it open and enter occasioned 
 no noise. Singleton detained her only for an instant, as he 
 whispered — 
 
 " Be not alarmed, Kate, at anything that may take place to- 
 night — at any uproar or commotion." 
 
 "What mean ;fou? What But go ! I hear Bacchus. 
 
 You have not a moment to lose." 
 
 He pressed her hand, and stole off to the stairway. The 
 steps yielded and creaked as he descended ; but the heavy boots 
 of Oruden still served as a sufficient diversion of the sound from 
 the senses of the British officers. Our partisan passed on that 
 side of the hall below which lay in shadow, being careful not to 
 place himself within the range of the light carried by Bacchus, 
 who crossed him in the passage. He had something to say to 
 the negro, but deferred it prudently, nothing doubting that he 
 would find his way to his chamber when all had become quiet 
 in the house. 
 
 Let us once more ascend with the light, and see the condition 
 of the enemy. Balfour was philosophizing. His drink had ren- 
 dered him somewhat superstitious. 
 
 " I say, Oruden," said he, " if I have not felt the rustling of a 
 
 ghost's petticoat to-night, may I be !" 
 
 " I see no necessity why even a female ghost should appear 
 in petticoats." 
 
 " It would be a very improper thing to appear vrithout them," 
 was the decent reply. " But," contmued our philosopher, " I 
 certainly heard her footsteps." 
 
 " Really, Balfour, if I could conceive of ghosts at all, I should 
 certainly have no reason to suppose that they needed to make 
 any noise in walldng. A ghost, with so much materiality about 
 
80 KATHARINE WALTOH". 
 
 it as to make her footsteps heard, is one with whom any strong 
 man might safely grapple." 
 
 " Oruden, Cniden, y«u are no better than a pagan. You 
 have no faith in sacred things. I certainly heard a rustling as 
 of silks, and the tread of a person as if in slippers — a dainty, 
 light, female footstep, such as might reasonably be set down by 
 an ancient lady of noble family. I am sure it was a ghost. I 
 feel all over as if a cold wind had been blowing upon me. I 
 must have a noggin ; T must drink ! I must sleep. Confound 
 the plate, I say ! I'd sooner lose it all than feel so cursed un- 
 comfortable." 
 
 " I am afraid it is lost, Balfour," responded the other, in tones 
 of more lugubrious solemnity than those, which his companion 
 had used in the discussion of the supernatural. 
 
 " No matter," was the reply of Balfour ; " we'll talk the mat- 
 ter over in the daylight. I don't despair. There is the cellar 
 yet, and the vaults. Vaults are famous places, as I told you, 
 for hiding treasure. But the mention of vaiilts brings back that 
 ghost again. Where are you, Cruden 1 Why do you walk off 
 to such a distance 1 Beware ! You'll tumble down the steps 
 headlong, and I shall then have yon haimting me far ever 
 after." 
 
 " No fear. But here the negro comes with the light. Per- 
 haps it is just as well that we should go to bed at once, and 
 leave the search till the morning. It is not likely that we shaU 
 make much progress imder present circumstances." 
 
 " Some of that liquor first, Cruden. My night-cap is neces- 
 sary to my sleep. I thought I had taken o[uite enough already ; 
 but this cold wind has chilled me to the bones, and sobered me 
 entirely. The ghost must have had something to do with it — 
 one spirit acting upon another." 
 
 " The light now appeared, and Bacchus emerged from the 
 stairhead ; and with an evident grin upon his features as he be- 
 held Oruden erect in the centre of the passage, as if doubtful 
 where to turn, bewildered utterly in the dark ; and Balfour at 
 the extremity of it, his huge frame in a sitting posture, in which 
 dignity did not seem to have been greatly consulted. 
 
 " Ha, Beelzebub," cried the commandant, the moment he be- 
 
GHOSTLY PASSAGES. 81 
 
 held the visage of the negro, " you are here at last ! This is a 
 hanging matter, you scoundrel, to leave us here in the dark to 
 be tormented by the ghosts of your old grandmother. I have 
 hung many a better fellow than yourself for half the offence ; 
 and, were you a white man, you should never see another day- 
 light. Look to it, rascal, and toe the mark hereafter, or even 
 your complexion shall not save you from the gallows." 
 
 " I will look to it, general, jest as you tell me." 
 
 " See that jon do. Here, Cruden, give me an arm ; my limbs 
 seem quite stiff and numbed. That infernal wind ! It was 
 surely generated in a sepulchre !" 
 
 Cruden did as he was desired, and the bulky proportions of 
 the commandant were raised to an erect position on the floor. 
 He stood motionless for a moment, having thrown off the arm 
 that helped him iip, as if to steady himself for further progress ; 
 but the ghost, *r rather his superstitious fancies, had really done 
 much to sober him. His hesitation was due less to any real ne- 
 cessity than to his own doubts of the certainty of his progress. 
 While thus he stood, Cruden in the advance, and Bacchus be- 
 tween the two, aiming to divide the light with strict impartiality, 
 for their mutual benefit, the eyes of Balfour rested upon the por- 
 traits, against the wall. That of the ancient landgravine first 
 compelled his attention. 
 
 " Hark you, Beelzebub ; that, you say, is the venerable lady 
 who still keeps house here at midnight 1 She is the proprietor 
 of the ghost by which I have been haunted. It was her gar- 
 ment that rustled beside me, and her footsteps that I heard ; and 
 it was she that blew upon me with her ghostly breath, giving 
 me cold and rheumatics. She shall burn as a witch to-morrow, 
 with her rebel grandson. Do you hear, fellow ] Let the fag- 
 ots be collected after breakfast 'to-morrow. We shall have a 
 bonfire that shall be a due warning to witch and rebel ; and to 
 all, you sooty rascal, that believe in them." 
 
 " Come, Balfour, let us retire." 
 
 Cruden was now at the head of the stairway. 
 
 " Let us drink, first. Advance the light, Beelzebub ; and see 
 
 that you bear it steadily. Drop it again, and I smite your head 
 
 off where you stand, ghost or no ghost. It's not so sure, yet, 
 
 4# 
 
82 KATHARINlJ WALTON. 
 
 that you shall escape from hanging. If there be but a single 
 spot of grease on my regimentals to-morrow, Beelzebub — say 
 your prayers suddenly. I shall give you very little time." 
 
 The party at length found themselves safely below. Scarcely 
 had they disappeared, when Mistress Barbara Walton put her 
 head out of her chamber door. She had overheard the progress 
 from beginning to end. She had drank in, with particular sense 
 of indignation, that portion of the dialogue which, as the two 
 officers first ascended the stairs, had related to herself, and the 
 cavalier disposition which it was proposed to make of her : and 
 she felt that she was in some measure retorting upon the parties 
 themselves when she could vent her anger on the very spot 
 which had witnessed their insolence. 
 
 " The brutes !" she replied ; " the foreign brutes ! But I de- 
 spise them from the bottom of my heart. I would not bestow 
 my hand upon their king himself, the miserable Hanover turnip, 
 let alone his hirelings. The drunken wretches ! Oh !" she ex- 
 claimed, looking up at the picture of the venerable landgravine 
 threatened with the flames — " oh ! how I wish that her blessed 
 spirit could have breathed upon them, the blasphemous wretch- 
 es—breathed cramps upon their bones, the abominable heathens ! 
 To speak of me as they have done ! Of me — the only sister 
 of Richard Walton ! Oh, if he were here — if I could only tell 
 him how I have been treated !" 
 
 The British officers suffered little from this burst of indig- 
 nation. Balfour was soon comforted in the enjoyment of his 
 night-cap ; and Oruden was not unwilling to console himself, 
 under his disappointments, by sharing freely of the beverao-e. 
 In a little while both of them were asleep — the former in full 
 possession of such a sleep as could only follow from the use of 
 guch a night-cap. 
 
KING THE ALARM-BELL. 83 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 RING THE ALARM-BELL. 
 
 It was not very long after the house had become qtiiet, that 
 the faithful Bacchus might have been seen entering the chamber 
 of Singleton, or, as we shall continue to call him for a time, the 
 captain of loyalists. He remained some time in counsel with 
 the latter ; and, at |ength, the two emerged together from the 
 room. But they came forth in utter darkness, invisible to each 
 other, and only secure in their movements by their equal famil- 
 iarity with the several localities of the house. We may men- 
 tion that Furness had not sought his couch when he separated 
 from Katharine Walton. He was now armed to the teeth, with 
 sword and pistol ; his hunting-horn suspended from his neck, 
 and his whole appearance that of one ready for flight or action. 
 Bacchus soon left his side, and our partisan awaited him in the 
 great passage of the hall. But a little time had elapsed when 
 the negro rejoined him. They then left the house together, and 
 disappeared among the shade-trees which surrounded it on every 
 side. 
 
 An hour might have elapsed after their departure, when the 
 silence of midnight was broken by the single blast of a horn, 
 apparently sounded at some distance. This was echoed by 
 another that seemed to issue from the front avenue of the 
 dwelling. Both avenues, front and rear, had been occupied, in 
 part, by the detachment which had accompanied the command- 
 ant from Dorchester, and which was justly supposed fully equal 
 to his protection and objects. But the force which, concen- 
 trated, would have been adequate to these purposes, was not 
 sufficient to cover the vast extent of woods which encompassed 
 
8-1 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 the dwelling ; and his men, when scattcrcfl, were really lost 
 amidst the spacious forest-area of i\'hich "The Oaks" constituted 
 the centre. Distributed at certain points, as guards and senti- 
 nels, however well disposed, there were still loijg stretches of 
 space and thicket which the detachment failed to cover ; through 
 the avenues of which a siihtle scout, familiar with the region, 
 might easily pick his way, unseen and unsuspected, under cover 
 of the night. The Scotch officer on duty for the night, a Cap- 
 tain M'Dowell, was circumspect and vigilant j but he was ig- 
 norant of the neighborhood, and, without any inferiority of 
 intelligence or neglect of duty, had failed to dispose his little 
 force to the best advantage. But he was wakeful ; and the 
 sound of the midnight and mysterious horn had aroused him to 
 every exercise of vigilance. Another signal followed from an- 
 other quarter, which, after a brief pause, was echoed from a 
 fourth ; and our worthy captain of the guard began to fancy 
 that his little force was entirely surrounded. He at once pro- 
 ceeded to array and bring his separate squads together ; keep- 
 ing them as much as possible in hand, and in preparation for 
 all events. We need not follow him in his operations, satisfied 
 that, awakened to a sense of possible danger, he is the man to 
 make the best disposition of his resources. 
 
 It was in the moment when Balfour's sleep was of the pro- 
 foundest character, that Cruden, followed by his white servant, 
 both armed, but very imperfectly dressed, bolted headlong into 
 the chamber of the sleeping commandant. He heard nothing of 
 the intrusion. He was in a world very far away from that in 
 which he was required to play his part — a world in which his 
 dreams of delight were singularly mixed with those of doubt ; 
 in which visions of boundless treasures were opened to his sight 
 but denied his grasp — a pale, spectral form of an ancient lady 
 rejoicing in a beard, always passing between him and the object 
 of his desires. There were other visions to charm his eyes, in 
 which the treasure took the shape of a beautiful young woman ; 
 while the obstacle that opposed his approach was that of a fierce 
 rebel, breathing rage and defiance, whom his fancy readily con- 
 ceived to be no other than the insurgent father of Katharine 
 Walton. With a brain thus filled with confused and conflicting 
 
KING THE ALARM-BELL. 85 
 
 objects, and not altogether free from the effects of that torpify- 
 iiig nostrum upon which ho had retired, the events in progress, 
 in his actual world, however startling, made little or no impres- 
 sion upon Ms senses. The noise that filled his ears was associ- 
 ated happily with the incidents in his dreaming experience, and 
 this failed entirely to arouse him to external consciousness. 
 
 " He sleeps like an ox,'' cried Cruden, as he held the candle 
 above the sleeper, and shook him roughly by the shoulder. 
 
 " Ha ! ho ! there ! What would you be after ? Will you 
 deny me? Defy me? Do you think that I will give it up — 
 
 that I fear your sword, you infernal rebel, or your Eh ! 
 
 what !" — opening his eyes. 
 
 The rough ministry of the commissioner of confiscated estates 
 at length promised to be effectual. The incoherent speech of 
 the dreamer began to exhibit signs of a returning faculty of 
 thought. 
 
 "What ! Cruden ! you ! What the devil's the matter?" 
 
 " Do you not hearj The devil seems to be the matter in- 
 deed!" 
 
 " Hear ! What should I hear 1" 
 
 " What ! do you not hear ? There 's uproar enough to rouse 
 all the seven sleepers, I should think." 
 
 " And so there is ! What is it 1" 
 
 " Rouse up, and get yourself dressed. There is a surprise, or 
 something like it." 
 
 With the aid of Cruden and his servant, the commandant was 
 soon upon his feet, rather submitting to be put into clothes and 
 armor than greatly succoring himself. His faculties were still 
 bewildered, but brightening with the rise and fall of the noises 
 from without. These were such as might naturally be occasioned 
 by the surprise of a post, at midnight, by an enemy — the rush 
 and shout of men on horseback, the blast of bugles, and oc- 
 casionally the sharp percussion of the pistol-shot suddenly rising 
 above the general confusion. 
 
 It was not long before Balfour was ready. With sword and 
 pistol in hand, accompanied by Cruden similarly equipped, he now- 
 made his way out of the chamber to the front entrance of the 
 house, in which quarter the greatest uproar seemed to prevail. 
 
86 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 When there, and standing in the open air under the light of the 
 stars, they could more distinctly trace the progress of the noise. 
 It seemed to spread now equally away to the river, on the route 
 below, and in the rear of the mansion, making in a westerly 
 direction. They had not well hegun making their observations, 
 uncertain in which direction to turn their steps, when they sud- 
 denly beheld a lithe and active figure darting from the thicket 
 in the rear, and making toward them. The stranger was at once 
 challenged by Oruden, and proved to be our loyalist captain, 
 Furness. He, too, carried sword and pistol ready in his grasp ; 
 and his voice and manner were those of one eager and excited 
 by the fray. He seemed nowise surprised by their appearance, 
 however much they may have been at his. 
 
 " Rather more scared than hurt, I reckon, colonel," was his 
 frank and ready salutation. " How long have you been out 1" 
 
 " Only this moment," was the answer of Balfour. " But 
 what's the matter?" 
 
 " There 's no telling exactly. Everything seems to have 
 become wild without a reason. I was roused from as sweet a 
 sleep as I ever tasted, by the ringing of a horn in my very ears 
 — so it seemed to me. And then there was another horn an- 
 swering to that ; then, after a little while, there was a shout and 
 a halloo, and the rush of one horse, and then another, and then 
 a score of pistol-shots. With that, I put out to see what was 
 the matter, and what was to be done, and followed in the direc- 
 tion of the noise ; but I could find out nothing, got bewildered 
 in the woods, and, in beating about for an opening, I heard a 
 rush not far off. Now, says I, the enemy is upon me ; and I 
 braced myself up for a hard fight as well as I could. I heard 
 the bush break suddenly just before me, and I called out. No 
 answer ; but, as the bush moved, I cracked away at it with a 
 pistol-shot, and soon heard a scamper. It proved to be an old 
 cow, who was evidently more alarmed than anybody else. She 
 moved off mighty brisk after that ; but it 's ten to one she car- 
 ries the mark of my bullet, I was so nigh to her that I could 
 not well have missed." 
 
 " And this is all you know, Captain Furness 1" 
 
 " Pretty much all ! I have only seen two or three of the 
 
RING THE ALARM-BELL. 87 
 
 troopers, and tliey seemed so mucli disposed^to send tieir bul- 
 lets at me, that I have tried to steer clear of them. They are 
 gone out mostly somewhere to the west ; but they know the 
 country better than I do, for I've quite lost my reckoning where 
 I am." 
 
 At this moment, the clatter of a horseman, at a hard gallop, 
 awakened the curiosity of all parties anew. He emerged from 
 the rear avenue to the dwelling, and soon alighted before Bal- 
 four. He was a sergeant, and a pretty old one, despatched by 
 the captain of the guard to satisfy the doubts and inquiries of 
 his superior. But his information was very meagre. It amounted 
 only to this — that there had been an alarm ; that the post had 
 been apparently threatened on every side at different times ; 
 that bugles had been sounded, seemingly as signals, but that 
 they had seen no human enemy, and had, found nothing living 
 within their circuit but themselves and a drove of milch cattle. 
 Still, some of the men had reported the sound of horses' feet, as 
 of a considerable party of mounted men ; and, as they insisted 
 vipon the report, the captain had deemed it advisable to push 
 the search in the direction which the enemy had been described 
 as having pui'sued. This was all that he could say. He eyed 
 our loyalist captain rather closely during the recital, and at 
 length said — 
 
 "Was it you, sir, I met off here in the south, beating about 
 the bushes ?" 
 
 "I reckon it was, sergeant; and, if I hadn't been quick 
 enough, your pistol-shot wouldn't have left me much chance of 
 answering you now. 'Twas the narrowest escape I ever had." 
 
 " And why didn't you answer 1" 
 
 " Tor the best of reasons. You asked me for the word, and 
 I knew nothing about it. But I'll take good care never to vol- 
 unteer again when there's a surpi-ise, without getting proper in- 
 formation beforehand." 
 
 The sergeant looked for a moment steadily at the captain of 
 loyalists. He. was a shrewd, keen, almost white-headed soldier, 
 and the gaze of his light blue eye was fixed -and penetrating, as 
 if he referred to this scrutiny as a last test for resolving his 
 doubts ; but the appearance of Furness was singularly composed 
 
OO KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 and nonchalant. He did not appear to regard himself as an ob- 
 ject of watch, or doubt, or inquiry at all. The soldier seemed 
 at length satisfied ; and, touching his cap reverently, said to 
 Balfour — 
 
 " It's all right, colonel ?" 
 
 " Yes, sergeant, that will do. Remount, and hurry back to 
 Captain M'Dowell. Tell him to discontinue this chase. He 
 may only find himself in some cursed ambush. Let him return, 
 and resume his station. We shall hear his full report in the 
 daylight." 
 
 The sergeant bowed, and cantered off in a moment. 
 
 " It seems you had a narrow escape. Captain Fumess," said 
 Balfour, with more of respectful consideration in his manner than 
 had usually marked his deportment when addressing the loyal- 
 ist. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, colonel ; a much narrower escape than a man 
 bargains for at the hands of his friends." 
 
 " But it was all a mistake, captain." 
 
 " True ; but it's a mighty small consolation, with a bullet 
 through one's brains or body, to be told that the shot was meant 
 for a very different person." 
 
 "Never mind, captain — a miss, as your own people say, is as 
 good as a mile. It is something gained for you that we have 
 had such excellent proof of your vigilance and courage in his 
 majesty's cause. Future favors will heal past hurts." 
 
 He was yet speaking — all the parties standing grouped, at 
 the southern or chief entrance of the building, and partly within 
 the hall — usually called, in the south, the passage, generally as, 
 in large dwelling-houses, running through the centre of the build- 
 ing — when the door in the rear was heard to creak upon its 
 hinges. Oruden, who at this moment was within the passage, 
 though near the southern entrance and the rest of the group, 
 turned instantly, and beheld a female figure which had just en- 
 tered, lie could distinguish no features, since the only light 
 within the apartment was afforded by an unsnuffed candle, which 
 had been set down by his servant on the floor when hurrying 
 from Balfour's chamber — the light used by the party without, 
 being a common lantern. At first, a vague remembrance of 
 
RING THE ALARII-BELL. 89 
 
 Balfoiu-'s ghost of the Lanctgravine passed through Cruden's 
 brain ; but he was of an inteUect too stolid to suifer him long to 
 remain under the delusion of his fancies. He at once conjec- 
 tured that this female must be Katharine Walton or her aunt ; 
 and, in either case, he associated her appearance, at this hour 
 and under these circumstances, with the yet unaccounted for 
 alarms of the night. His cupidity promptly suggested that the 
 plate, which had been the object of his search already, was even 
 now in course of hiding or removal ; and, with this conjecture, 
 his decision was as eager, and his performance as impetuous as 
 that of the young lover hurrying his virgin favorite to the altar. 
 With a bound, scarcely consistent with the dignity of his official 
 station and the massive dimensions of his person, he darted 
 across the passage, and grappled the stranger by the wrist. 
 
 " Ho ! there ! the light — bring the light. Balfour, I fancy I 
 have captured your ghost." 
 
 Our commissioner of confiscated estates did not perceive that, 
 just behind his captive, and about to enter the door after her 
 was the sooty face of Bacchus. The darkness favored the es- 
 cape of the negro, who, crouching quietly without, waited his 
 opportunity to enter the hall imseen. 
 
 " What means this violence. Colonel Cruden V was the calm 
 inquiry made by Katharine Walton, in the itiost serene and gen- 
 tle accents. Meanwhile, Balfour and our captain of loyalists 
 had hastened to the group at the summons of the excited Cruden. 
 It was with a difficult effort that Singleton could suppress his 
 emotions, and subdue the feeling that prompted him to seize the 
 commissioner by the throat and ptmish him for the brutal grasp 
 which he had set upon the woman of his heart ; but the peril of 
 his situation compelled his forbearance, however iiliwimng, and 
 stifled the passion working in his soul, however violent. But his 
 hand more than once wrought as if working with his dagger ; 
 and, with clenched teeth, he found himself compelled repeatedly 
 to turn away from the scene and pace the hall in an excitement 
 which was scarcely to be repressed. Katharine Walton repeat- 
 ed her demand of her assailant, in accents, however, so firm and 
 calm, as only to increase his indignation. 
 
 " What means this violence, madam, indeed 1 What means 
 
90 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 this uproar, this alaitn, madam, at this unseasonable hour of the 
 night ? Why are you here, let me ask you, and habited as if 
 for a journey? Look! it is clear she has been abroad — her 
 bonnet and clothes are wet with the dew. Answer, Miss Wal- 
 ton — what has canied you out at this hour? Where have you 
 been? What have you been doing? Speak — you do not 
 answer." * 
 
 " And if you were to subject my neck, sir, to a grasp as vice- 
 like as that which you hold upon my wrist, you should receive 
 no answer from my hps, unless at my perfect pleasure," was the 
 reply of the maiden. 
 
 " Ha ! do you defy me 1" 
 
 " I scorn you, sir ! Release me, sir, if you would not subject 
 yourself to the scorn of all those who hear of this indignity." 
 
 Singleton could no longer avoid interposition ; but he main- 
 tained the character which he had assumed. Coming forward, 
 he said — 
 
 " That's right, colonel ; I don't see why a woman shouldn't 
 be made to speak out, in war-times, just the same as a man. 
 I've seen the thing. tried before. There was a woman up in our 
 parts that hid her husband away, and Major Tatem burnt a hole 
 in her tongue to make her speak. If you want help now,_ colo- 
 nel, just you say the word, and I reckon that both of us together 
 can bring this young woman to her senses.'' 
 
 Oruden turned fiercely upon the speaker, as he rather flung 
 the maiden from his grasp than released her. The offer of help 
 in such a performance as that in which he was engaged, was a 
 sufficient reflection — though apparently very innocently made 
 — upon the brutality of the action. 
 
 " Your as"sistance will be asked when it is desired, sir," was 
 the angry answer. 
 
 " O yes, I reckon ; but, you see, I've been a sort of volunteer 
 once already to-night, and I'm always ready to help his majes- 
 ty's officers in time of trouble." 
 
 " Miss Walton," said Balfour, with a sort of severe courtesy, 
 " you are aware that the circumstances in which you appear to- 
 night are exceedingly suspicious." 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; I am seen in fuU dress in my father's dwel- 
 
RING THE ALAEM-BELL. 91 
 
 ' ling at midniglit. Heretofore, sir, I have been accustomed, to 
 act my pleasure in this house. I am painfully reminded that I 
 have other and less indulgent masters. It must not surprise you 
 that I am slow to recognise or understand my new responsibili- 
 ties." 
 
 " We are certainly in authority here. Miss "Walton ; but with- 
 out any desire of subjecting you to any painful or personal re- 
 straint or coercion." 
 
 " The bonds of your colleague, sir, are an excellent commentary 
 upon your forbearance. I confess they afford me no grateful 
 ideas of the liberty which I am to enjoy in future. But, as I 
 have said, you are the masters here. Am I permitted to retire 1" 
 
 " Certainly, Miss Walton ; but you will not think me unrea- 
 sonable, if, in the morning, I shall ask you for an explanation of 
 present appearances. This " 
 
 He was interrupted by an exclamation from Cruden's ser- 
 vant, at the southern entrance. All parties turned at the inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 " There seems to be a great fire, colonel," said the servant. 
 " Look away yonder in the south." 
 
 Balfour and Oruden hastily joined him, and a smile of intelli- 
 gence was interchanged between the maiden and her lover. In 
 the meantime, Bacchus seized the opportunity quietly to make 
 his way into the hall. * The party at the entrance was soon 
 overwhelmed with conflicting speculations as to the conflagra- 
 tion which now spread out magnificently before their eyes. 
 
 " The woods are on fire,'' said Oruden. 
 
 " No," was the reply of Balfour ; " it is a house rather. Miss 
 Walton, pray oblige me — can you explain the nature of this 
 fire ?" 
 
 Katharine smiled playfully. 
 
 " I will give you no answer to any questions. Colonel Balfour, 
 to-night — if only to satisfy myself that the coercion under which 
 I labor does not extend to my thoughts or speech. I presume 
 that, with another day, there will be no mastery about any of 
 the events of this night." 
 
 With these words, she disappeared. The oath of vexation 
 •was only half uttered on the lips of Balfour, when his eye caught 
 
92 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 sight of Bacchus, stretching forward curiously in the rear of the 
 loyahst. 
 
 " Ha ! fellow, ]s it you 1 You, at least, shall answer. Look, 
 siiTah — what does that fire mean?" 
 
 " I reckon it's the rice-stacks, master, that's a burning." 
 
 ■' Tlie rice-stacks !" exclaimed Cruden, in horror. " The rice- 
 stacks ! the whole crop of rice — a thousand barrels or more! 
 "What malignity ! And could this young woman have been guilty 
 of such a crime 1 Has she, in mere hatred to his majesty's cause, 
 ■wantonly set fire to a most valuable property of her own?" 
 
 " Impossible!" replied Balfour. " There has been an enemy 
 about us : this was his object. The alarm was a real one. But 
 we must see if anything can be saved. Captain Furness, you 
 have already given proof of your zeal to-night in his majesty's 
 cause. May I beg your further assistance ? "We will sound our 
 bugles, and call in our squad. Meanwhile, let us hasten to the 
 spot. The stacks are generally separate ; while one or more 
 burn we may save the rest V 
 
 The idea was an absurd one, and proved sufficiently fruitless. 
 The stacks were all on fire, and in great part consumed before 
 the parties reached the spot. The hands that did the mischief 
 left little to be done ; and Oruden groaned in the agony of his 
 spirit, at a loss of profits which almost made him forgetful of the 
 mis.sing plate. But day dawns while he surveys the spectacle ; and 
 the red flames, growing pale in the thickening light, play now 
 only in fitful tongues and jets among the smouldering ashes of 
 the ripened grain, gathered vainly from the sheaves of a boun- 
 teous harvest. 
 
 " We must have a thorough examination into this diabolical 
 business," said Balfour, as ho led the returning party to the 
 dwelling. 
 
ALL SORTS OP SUEPEISES. 93 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ALL SORTS OF SURPRISES. 
 
 With the return to tlie dwelling, Bfilfour and Oruden resumed 
 the search into the secrets of the household, which, as we have 
 seen, was begun with doubtful results during the previous night. 
 The stores of wine proved satisfactory to the former ; but the 
 Flemish account, in most respects, which the exploration yielded, 
 greatly increased the ill-humor of the latter. The plate was 
 nowhere visible ; and certain reports, made by the captain on 
 duty, in respect to the affairs of the plantation, tended greatly 
 to increase the gravity of both these persons. But we need not 
 anticipate the gradual development of the various causes of 
 grievance. Enough to remark, in this place, that, when descend- 
 ing the stairs from the attic, where he had been to examuie into 
 the condition of the Madeira, and passing through the great pas- 
 sage which was the scene of the most strildng part of their 
 labors the previous night, the eye of Balfour was arrested by 
 the pictures upon the wall, or rather by the vacant panels which 
 appeared among them. To his consternation, the pprtraits of 
 both the rebel colonel and of the ghostly landgravine, which he 
 had equally devoted to the flames, had disappeared from their 
 places. 
 
 "The devil!" he exclaimed to Oruden, pointing to the defi- 
 ciency; "we must have been overheard last night." 
 
 " How should it have been otherwise 1" was the surly answer. 
 " These chambers are occupied by the women, and you spoke 
 as if you meant that they should hear everything. With a 
 knowledge of your purpose they have defeated it, they have 
 contrived to secrete the pictures." 
 
94 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " But I will contrive to find them !" was the angrily-expressed 
 resolution of Balfour. " They shall not baffle me. They can 
 not have carried them far, and they shall bum stOl. Prayers 
 shall not save them." 
 
 " Let me counsel you first to send off the women to the city. 
 Make no stir till you have got rid of them." 
 
 " You are right ; but I shall take leave to examine them first, 
 touching the events of last night." 
 
 " Say nothing of your own purposes while doing so," said Cru- 
 den. " We have probably already taught them quite too much. 
 You might have burnt the portraits of the old woman and the 
 rebel, without a word, but for that unnecessary threat last night." 
 
 " And would I have seen the portraits, or had any occasion 
 to speak of them, but for your confounded impatience to look 
 after the silver 1 In all probability, the occasion and the warning 
 have been seized for carrying that away as well as the pictures " 
 
 " I am afraid it was gone long before. But that idea of burn- 
 ing the pictures might have taught these malignants what to do 
 with the rice. But it is too late now for retort and recrimination; 
 and here comes the captain of loyalists." 
 
 Fumess came to the foot of the stairs and met them. 
 
 " The young lady tells me that breakfast is waiting for you, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 "The young lady?" exclaimed Balfour, eying the partisan 
 keenly. " So, you have been talking with her, eh 1" 
 
 " Why yes," replied the other, with a manner of rare simpli- 
 city. " I somehow began to feel as if I could eat a bit after the 
 run, and hurry, and confusion of the night ; go I pushed into the 
 dining-room, looking out for the commissary. I met the young 
 woman there, and had a little talk with her ; and breakfast was 
 just then beginning to make its appearance." 
 
 " What had she to say about this affair of last night ?" demanded 
 Cruden. 
 
 " Mighty little : she seems rather shy to speak. But she don't 
 look as if there had been any alarm. She's as cool as a cucum- 
 ber if not so green." 
 
 " You are a wit. Captain Furness,'' grimly remarked Craden, 
 as the three walked together into the breakfast-room. 
 
ALL SORTS OP SURPRISES. 95 
 
 Here they found the excellent aunt and her niece, evidently 
 waiting for their uninvited guests. In the rigid and contracted 
 features of the former, so diiferent from their amiable expression 
 of the previous evening, might be traced the counter influences 
 produced upon her mind by what she had heard, during their 
 midnight conference, of the irreverent allusions to herself by the 
 commandant of Charleston. But the face of Katharine was as 
 placid as if she had enjoyed the most peaceful and unbroken 
 slumbers — as if there had been nothing to effect her repose, her 
 peace of mind, or to annoy her with apprehensions either of the 
 present or the future. Indeed, there was a buoyant something 
 in her countenance and manner which declared for a feeling of 
 exhilaration, if not of triumph prevailing in her bosom. The 
 breakfast-table exhibited the most ample cheer, and all was 
 grace and neatness in the display. The ladies took their seats, 
 after a brief salutation, and the guests immediately followed their 
 example. 
 
 It was the purpose of Balfour to forbear all subjects of annoy- 
 ance until after the repast ; but he was not permitted to be thus 
 forbearing. He had scarcely commenced eating, before the 
 captain of the guard requested to see him at the entrance. Ex- 
 cusing himself, with some impatience, he went out ; and returned, 
 after a brief interval, with quite an inflamed countenance. 
 
 "Miss Walton," said he, " are you aware that all the negroes 
 of your father have disappeared from the plantation 1" 
 
 " I have heard so, sir," quietly replied the lady. 
 
 " Heard so. Miss Walton ? And who could have presumed to 
 carry them off without your permission 1" 
 
 " No one, I fancy, sir, unless my father himself." 
 
 " Your father himself ! What ! do you know that he ordered 
 their departure V 
 
 " I presumed so, sir. They would hardly have gone unless 
 he had done so." , 
 
 " And whither have they gone 1" 
 
 " Ah, now, sir, you demand much more than I can answer." 
 
 " And when did they leave the place V 
 
 " Nor can I answer that, exactly. I have reason to thjnk 
 some horurs before your arrival." 
 
96 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " You knew of our coming, then 1" 
 
 " Xot a syllable. My father may have done so ; and I myself 
 thought it not improbable." 
 
 " It was in anticipation of our visit, then, I am to understand, 
 that you have conveyed away — your father, I mean — all the 
 moveable valuables of your plantation and household ; your 
 negroes, horses; your plate, silver, and " 
 
 The maiden answered with a smile : — 
 
 " Nay, sir, but your questions seem to lead to odd suspicions 
 of the purpose of your visit. How should we suppose that the 
 presence of his majesty's officers should be hurtful to such pos- 
 sessions 1" 
 
 " No evasion, Miss Walton, if you please," was the interruption 
 of Cruden. 
 
 " It is not my habit, sir, to indulge in evasions of any sort. 
 I rather comment on an inquiry than refuse to answer it. I note 
 it as singular only, that his majesty's officers, high in rank and 
 renowned in service, should suppose that their simple approach 
 should naturally cause the riches of a dwelling to take wings 
 and fly. In regard to ours, such as they are — our plate, money, 
 and jewels — it gives me pleasure to inform you that they disap- 
 peared long before your presence was expected. My father, 
 some time ago, adopted a very new and unusual sort of alchemy. 
 He turned his gold and silver into baser metals — into iron and 
 steel, out of which lances, and bayonets, and broadswords, have 
 been manufactured ; and these have been circulating among his 
 majesty's officers and soldiers quite as freely, if less gratefully, 
 than if they had been gold and silver." 
 
 " Well," exclaimed the loyalist captain, with a rare abrupt- 
 ness, " if the young woman doesn't talk the most downright re- 
 bellion, I don't know what it is she means to say." 
 
 Balfbur looked toward him with a ghastly smile, which had 
 in it something of rebuke, however ; and the risible muscles of 
 the fair Katharine could scarcely be subdued as she listened to 
 the downright language of her lover ; and watched the counte- 
 nance, expressive of the most admirable simplicity and astonish- 
 mejjt, with which he accompanied his words. Balfour resumed : — 
 
 " My dear Miss Walton, you are a wit. His majesty's officers 
 
ALL SORTS OP SURPIJISBS. 97 
 
 are indebted to you. But the business is quite too serious with 
 us for jest, however amusing it may seem to you. We have too 
 much at stake for fun " 
 
 "And I have nothing at stake, sir, I suppose !" she abruptly 
 replied, the moisture gathering in her eyes ; " a homestead over- 
 run with a foreign soldiery ; a family torn asunder, its privacy 
 invaded, its slaves scattered in flight, and the head of the house 
 in exile, and threatened with butchery. Oh, sir, I certainly have 
 more reason for merriment than can be the case with youl" 
 
 '' I did not mean that, my dear young lady. I did not mean 
 to give you pain. But you must see that I am here as the agent 
 of my sovereign, and sworn that nothing shall divert me from 
 my duties. I am compelled, however unwillingly, to ask you 
 those questions, as I must report on all the facts to my superiors. 
 I beg that you will not hold me accountable for the simple per- 
 formance of a duty which I dare not avoid." 
 
 " Proceed, sir, with your questions." 
 
 " I'll thank you, ma'am, for another cup of that coffee," said 
 the captain of loyalists, pushing the cup over to the stately aunt. 
 
 " Miss Walton, do you know by whose orders the rice-stacks 
 were consumed last night, and who was the agent in the work?" 
 
 " I have reason to believe that my father ordered their de- 
 struction. Of the particular hand by which the torch was ap- 
 plied, I can tell you nothing." 
 
 " But you know V 
 
 " No, sir, I do not." 
 
 " There were certain pictures removed from the walls of the 
 gallery above stairs, during the night ?" 
 
 " Which you had sentenced to the flames, sir 1" 
 
 " You overheard us, Miss Walton." 
 
 " I did, and resolved that you should burn me as soon. I had 
 them removed, sir. For this, I only am responsible." 
 
 " You had ? Pray, Miss Walton, who was your agent in this 
 business 1" 
 
 " I answer you, sir, the more willingly, s^s I rejoice to believe 
 that he is now entirely beyond your reach. Sir — Ooloner Bal- 
 four — to spare you the necessity for further inquiries, let me as- 
 sure you that the only person having any right to dispose of 
 
 5 
 
98 KATHARINE WALTON- 
 
 Colonel Walton's property as has been done, Was the very 
 person who did exercise this right. It Tvas by, his act that 
 our plate has disappeared, our negroes and horses withdrawn 
 from the estate, the rice fired in the stack, and the pictures re- 
 moved." 
 
 " You do not mean " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I do mean that Colonel Walton himself had the 
 rice fired last night ; and it was by his direction, though at my 
 entreaty, that the portraits were removed." 
 
 " But he did this through the hands of others. Miss Walton, 
 you were abroad last night, in the very hour of confusion and 
 alarm. I demand of you, as you hope for indulgence at the 
 hands of his majesty, to declare what agent of your father did 
 you see in the execution of these acts." 
 
 "No agent, sir. I saw my father himself! To him the por- 
 traits were delivered, and under his eye were the torches applied 
 to the rice-stacks." 
 
 Balfour and Cruden both bounded from their seats, the former 
 nearly drawing the cloth, cups, and breakfast, from the table. 
 For a moment he regarded the features of Katharine Walton 
 with a glance of equal rage and astonishment. She, too, had 
 risen ; and her eyes met those of the commandmant with a calm 
 smile, seasoned with something of triumph and exultation. The 
 loyalist captain, meanwhile, continued his somewhat protracted 
 occupation of draining his coffee-cup. "One stupid moment, 
 motionless, stood" the British officer. In the next, Balfour cried 
 aloud — 
 
 " Two hundred guineas for him who takes the rebel alive !" 
 
 With this cry, he rushed to the door of the house, where a 
 sergeant was in waiting. Katharine almost crouched as she 
 heard these words. She pressed her hand spasmodically to her 
 heart, and an expression of keen agony passed over her face. 
 It was but an instant, however. Cruden had followed Balfour 
 to the door, and a single glance of intelligence between the 
 maiden and her lover served to reassure her. In the next in- 
 stant, our partisan had joined Balfour in the courtyard. 
 
 " Colonel," said he, " if you're going to send out in pursuit of 
 the rebel, I 'm your man as a volunteer. I 'd like to have the 
 
ALL SORTS OF SURPRISES. 99 
 
 fingering of a couple of hundred of the real stuff as well as anj- 
 thing I know." 
 
 " Captain Fumess, you will do honor to his majesty's service. 
 I accept your offer." 
 
 In less than twenty minutes, the whole force of the British 
 at the " Oaks" was in keen pursuit ; the supposed captain of 
 loyalists taking the lead, intrusted with a quasi command, and 
 pursuing the chase with an eagerness which charmed all parties 
 ec[ually with his energy and zeal. 
 
100 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 STRANGE RELATIONSHIPS. 
 
 The purpose of Singleton^ in taking part in the pursuit of 
 Colonel "Walton, may lie readily conjectured. With his equal 
 knowledge of his uncle's objects, and of the country through 
 which he rode, it was easy, particularly as the region was little 
 known by any of the pursuers, to shape and direct the chase 
 unprofitably. It was maintained during the day, under many 
 encouraging auguries, hut was wholly without results ; and the 
 party returned to the " Oaks" about midnight in a condition of 
 utter exhaustion. 
 
 The captain of loyalists had sufficiently proved his zeal, and 
 Balfour was pleased to bestow upon him the highest commenda- 
 tions. They had long conferences together in regard to the 
 interests of the common cause, particularly with reference to the 
 state of feeling in the back country, and by what processes the 
 spirit of liberty was to be subdued, and that of a blind devotion 
 to his majesty's cause was to be inculcated and encouraged. 
 
 On all these matters Singleton was able to speak with equal 
 coniidence and knowledge. It was fortunate that a previous 
 and very intimate acquaintance with these then remote regions 
 had supplied our partisan with an abundance of facts, as well in 
 regard to persons as to places. He showed very clearly that he 
 knew his subjects thoroughly, and his report was comparatively 
 a correct one ; only so much varied, here and there, as more 
 and more to impress the commandant with the importance of his 
 own influence, and the necessity of giving it the fullest counte- 
 nance. The particular purpose on which he came was in a fair 
 
STEANGE RELATIONSHIPS. 101 
 
 way to be satisfied. Balfour promised him all the necessary 
 supplies, perfectly delighted with his zeal, his shows of intelli- 
 gence, however rudely displayed ; for Singleton, with the as- 
 sumption of the hardy character of the backwoodsman, was 
 specially mindful of all those peculiarities of the character he 
 had adopted which were likely to arrest the attention of the 
 Briton. His letters to General Williamson, from certain well- 
 known leaders among the mountain-loyalists, were all freely 
 placed under Balfour's examina,tion, and the latter was at length 
 pleased to say that Williamson would meet with our partisan at 
 the "Quarter" or the Eight-Mile House — contiguous places of 
 resort on the road from Charleston — without the latter being 
 required to expose himself to the dangers of the small-pox in 
 that city ; for which the supposed loyalist continued to express 
 the most shuddering horror and aversion. These matters were 
 all adjusted before the departure of the commandant for the 
 capital — an event which followed the next day. 
 
 Katharine Walton, ia the meantime, had already taken her 
 departure, with the excellent Miss Barbara ; travelling under an 
 escort of a few dragoons, in the family carnage, drawn by the 
 only horses of any value which had been left by Colonel Wal- 
 ton, or Singleton, upon the estate. It was during the pursuit 
 of her father by her lover that she had been sent away to the 
 city; and though her absence, on his return, had dashed his 
 spirits with a certain degree of melancholy, yet he felt that it 
 was really for the best ; since, to have seen her under constraint, 
 and subject to various annoyances, at the hands of their common 
 enemy, without power to interfere, was only matter of perpetual 
 mortification to himself. But when, again, he reflected upon the 
 sudden, undisguised, and passionate admiration which Balfour 
 had shown for her, a momentary chill seized upon his heart; 
 but, to dispel this, it was only necessary to recall the high qual- 
 ities, the superior tone, the known courage and devotion of his 
 cousin, and his thorough conviction of her faith to himself, under 
 all privations, to restore his equanimity and make him confident 
 of the future. He saw Balfour depai-t the next day without 
 apprehension. Cruden remained iipon the plantation, having 
 with him a small guard. He was jomed by his nephew, Major 
 
102 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 Proctor, whose assistance he needed in making a necessary in- 
 ventory of all the effects upon the estate. 
 
 SiKgleton was, at first, rather shy of the acquaintance of one 
 whom he knew to he a rival, though an unsuccessful one ; and 
 he was not entirely assured that the other had not enjoyed such 
 a sufficient view of him on a previous and memorable occasion, 
 when they were actually in conflict, as to recognise him through 
 aU his present disguises. But this douht disappeared after they 
 had been together for a little while ; and, once relieved from 
 this apprehension, our partisan freely opened himself to the 
 advances of the other. Proctor was of a manly, frank, ingenu- 
 ous nature, not unlike that of Singleton, though with less buoy- 
 ancy of temper, and less ductility of mood. Though grave, and 
 even gloomy at moments, as was natural to one in his present 
 position of partial disgrace, the necessities of his nature led him 
 to seek the society of a person who, like Singleton, won quickly 
 upon the confidence. The young men rode or rambled to- 
 gether, and, in the space of forty-eight hours, they had unfolded 
 to their mutual study quite enough of individual character, and 
 much of each individual career, to feel the tacit force of an al- 
 liance which found its source in a readily-understood sympathy. 
 
 Youth is the season for generous confidences. It is then only 
 that the heart seeks for its kindred, as if in a first and most 
 necessary occupation. It was easy with our partisan to develop 
 his proper nature, his moods, tastes, and impulses, without 
 endangering his secret, or betraying any more of his history 
 than might properly comport with his situation. And this was 
 quite satisfactory to Proctor. It was enough for him that he 
 found a generous and sympathizing spirit, who cordd appreciate 
 his own and feel indignant at his humiliations ; and he failed to 
 discover that the revelations of Singleton were not of a sort to 
 involve many details, or exhibit anything, indeed, of his outer 
 and real life. He himself was less cautious. The volume of 
 indignation, long swelling in his bosom, and restrained by con- 
 stant contact with those only of whom he had just need to be 
 suspicious, now poured itself forth freely in expression, to the 
 great relief of his heart, when he found himself in the company 
 of one whom he perceived to be genial as a man, and whose 
 
STEANGE RELATIONSHIPS, 103 
 
 affinities, of a political sort, if they inclined him to the British 
 cause, were yet but seldom productive of any social affinities 
 between the parties. The provincials had been quite too long 
 a subject of mock to the hirelings and agents of the crown, to 
 respect them for anything but the power which they represented ; 
 and Proctor, who had long seen the error of the social policy of 
 his countrymen, had always been among the few who had sought 
 quite as much to conciliate as conquer. StiU, the conversation 
 of the two seemed studiously to forbear the subjects which were 
 most interesting to both. They hovered about their favorite 
 topics, and flew from them as eagerly as the lapwing from the 
 nest which the enemy appears to seek. 
 
 It was at the close of the second day of their communion that 
 the game was fairly started. The two dined with Oruden, and 
 during the repast, the latter frequently dwelt upon Proctor's 
 situation ; the evident disposition of Balfour to destroy him, in 
 spite of the ties of interest which had attached the uncle to 
 himself ; and the commissioner of confiscated estates finally lost 
 himself in the bewildering conjectures by which he endeavored 
 to account for the antipathy of the commandant. Singleton, of 
 course, was a silent listener to all the conversation. It was one 
 in which he did not feel himself justified in offering any opin- 
 ions ; but when Cruden had retired to his siesta — the afternoon 
 being warm and oppressive — the two young men still lingered 
 over their wine, and the conversation, freed from the restraining 
 presence of one who could command their deference, but not 
 their sympathies, at once assumed a character of greater free- 
 dom than before. Their hearts warmed to each other over the 
 generous Madeira which had ripened for twenty years in the 
 attic of " The Oaks," and all that was phlegmatic in the nature 
 of Proctor melted before its influence and the genial tone of our 
 partisan. 
 
 " You have heard my excellent uncle," he said, as he filled 
 his beaker and passed the decanter to his companion. " He sees 
 and avows his conviction that Balfour is preparing to destroy 
 me, not through any demerits of mine, but in consequence of 
 some secret cause of hostility ; yet he says not a word of his 
 readiness to take peril upon himself on my behalf, and is pre- 
 
104 KATHARINE WALTON'. 
 
 pared, I perceive, to yield me to my fate — to suffer me to be 
 disgraced for ever, rather than hreak ■with tlie selfish scoundrel 
 Tvhose alKance he finds profitable. One might almost doubt, 
 fi'om what he daily sees, if there be not something in the ties of 
 kindred which makes most of the parties confound them with 
 bonds, which the heart feels to be oppressive, because they are 
 natural and proper. I have found it so always." 
 
 " Your indignation probably makes you unjust. Colonel Cru- 
 den evidently feels your situation seriously. The whole of his 
 conversation to-day was devoted to it." 
 
 " Ay : but with how many reproaches intermingled, how 
 many doubts as to the cause of offence which I have given, how 
 many covert suspicions ; all of which are meant to prepare the 
 way to my abandonment. I see through his policy. I know 
 him better than you. He would, no doubt, save me and help 
 me, if he could do so without breaking with Balfour, or endan- 
 gering his own interests ; but he wOl take no risks of this or any 
 sort. His whole counsel goes to persuade me to make my sub- 
 mission to Balfour — to follow his own example, and surrender 
 my pride, my personal independence, and all that is precious to 
 a noble nature, to a selfish necessity, whose highest impulses 
 sound in pounds, shillings, and pence. This I can not and wiU 
 not do, Fumess. Let me perish first !" 
 
 " But how have you lost the favor of Balfour 1" 
 
 " I never had it. I rose to my present rank in the army 
 ■without his help. No one receives his succor without doing 
 base service for it. I have withheld this service, and I presimie 
 this is one of the causes of his antipathy." 
 
 " Scarcely : or he would not have suffered you to hold po- 
 sition so long." 
 
 " There you mistake. As long as Oomwallis was in Charles- 
 ton, or Clinton, I was secure. From the one I received the 
 appointments and promotion which the other confirmed. Be- 
 sides, Balfour needed some pretext before he could remove me, 
 and time was necessary to mature this pretext. I am the victim 
 of a conspiracy." 
 
 Proctor then proceeded to give a brief history of his career 
 and command in Dorchester, and of that rescue of Colonel Wal- 
 
STEAN6E RELATIONSHIPS. 105 
 
 ton at the place of execution, of wliicli Singleton knew much 
 more than himself. 
 
 " But this Captain Vaughan, of whom you have spoken," said 
 Singleton, " what has prompted him to become the agent of 
 Balfour in this business 1" 
 
 "Jfizjor Vaughan !" retorted the other, bitterly. "He rises 
 to my rank in the moment of my downfall. I am not sure that 
 he is simply the agent of Balfour. I have reason to think that 
 he has motives of hostility entirely his own. It might be a 
 sufficient reason to suppose that to succeed to my place would 
 be motive qvxite enough for a spirit at once base and ambitious. 
 But, in the case of Vaughan, such a conjecture would not be 
 entirely satisfactory. Vaughan really possesses character. He 
 has courage, but without magnanimity. His pride, which is 
 unrelieved by generosity, would perhaps discourage a baseness 
 which had its root only in his desires to rise. Though am- 
 bitious enough, his ambition does not assume the character of a 
 passion, and is anything but ardent and impetuous. Hate, per- 
 
 " Why should he hate you?" 
 
 " That is the question that I have vainly sought to answer. 
 Yet I have the assurance that he does hate me with the most in- 
 tense bitterness, and there is that in his deportment, during our 
 whole intercourse, which tends to confirm this representation." 
 
 " From whom does your knowledge come on this subject ?" 
 
 " Even that I cannot answer you. There is a mystery about 
 it ; but if you will go with me to my room, I will show you the 
 sources of my information. Fill your glass — we have seen the 
 bottom of the decanter, and I must drink no more. But if you — " 
 
 Singleton disclaimed any desire for a protracted sitting, and 
 the two adjourned to Proctof's apartment. Here he produced 
 from his trunk a packet of letters. From these he detached a 
 couple of notes, delicately folded, and of small form, such as 
 ladies chiefly delight to frame. These, according to their dates, 
 he placed before the partisan. 
 
 " The first was received," he said, " a day before Vaughan 
 was appointed to a post under me at Dorchester. Eead it." 
 
 The note was brief, and ran thus : — 
 
 5* 
 
106 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 "Major Proctor will beware. In the person of Captain 
 Vaughan he will find an enemy — a man who hates him, and 
 who will seek or make occasion to do him evil. „ i "Prifimtj 
 
 " Charleston, May 10." 
 
 " Three weeks ago," said Proctor, " this followed it.'' 
 He himself read the second epistle, and then handed it to 
 Singleton. Its contents were these : — 
 
 " Major Proctor has been heedless of himself. He has had 
 the warning of one who knew his danger. He has not regarded 
 it. The serpent has crept to his bosom. He is prepared to 
 sting — perhaps his life, most certainly his honor. Let him still 
 be vigilant, and something may yet be done for his security. 
 But the enemy has obtained foothold ; he has spread his snares ; 
 he is busy in them still. Captain Vaughan is in secret corre- 
 spondence with Colonel Balfoiir ; and Major Proctor is beloved 
 by neither. Shall the warnings of a true friend and a, devoted 
 faith be uttered in his ears in vain ?" 
 
 " These are in a female hand," said Singleton. 
 
 " Yes ; but that does not prove them to be written by a fe- 
 male." 
 
 " Not commonly, I grant you ; but in this instance I have no 
 question that these notes were penned by a woman. The char- 
 acters are natural, and such as men can not easily imitate. They 
 betray a deep and loyal interest. It is evident that the heart 
 speaks here in the letters, even if not in the language. That 
 they are slightly disguised, is in proof only of what I say ; since 
 the disguise is still a feminine one. Have you no suspicion V 
 
 " None." 
 
 " What says Colonel Cruden V 
 
 "Would I show them to him? No — no! He could not 
 comprehend the feeling which would make me, though I know 
 nothing of the writer, shrink and blush to hear them ridiculed." 
 
 Singleton mused in silence for a while. Proctor continued : 
 
 " I have no sort of clew to the writer. I can form no conjec- 
 tures. I know no handwriting which this resembles. I have 
 racked my brfiifl with fruitless guesses." 
 
STRANGE RELATIONSHIPS. 107 
 
 " Have you no female aeoLuaintance in tLe city by whom they 
 might have been written V 
 
 " None," answered the major, somowhat hastily. " I formed 
 few intimates in Charleston. The rebel ladies would have 
 nothing to say to us, and the others did not seem to me particu- 
 larly attractive." 
 
 " But you were in society 1" 
 
 " But little : a few parties at private houses, 3, public ball of 
 Cornwallis's, and some others, in which I walked the rooms 
 rather as a spectator than as a guest. I am quite too earnest a 
 man to feel much at home in mixed assemblages," 
 
 Singleton mused before he rejoined — 
 
 " You have, I should say, made more impression than you 
 think for. These notes, I am confident, were written by a 
 female. She is evidently warmly interested in your safety and 
 success. She is apparently familiar with the affairs of Balfour, 
 even those which are most secret ; and that she has not conjec- 
 tured idly, is proved by the correct result of her suggestions. 
 You have verified the truth of her warnings. She is evidently, 
 as she styles herself, a friend. The friendship of women means 
 always something more tham friendship. Her sympathies be- 
 long to the impulses, rather than the thoughts ; to the policy or 
 necessities, rather than the tastes of the individual : though 
 these are necessarily a part of the influences which govern the 
 policy. In plain terms, Proctor, you have made a conquest 
 without knowing it." 
 ■" Scarcely. I can think of no one." 
 
 " That only proves that the lady has been less successful 
 than yourself, and that your vanity has not been actively at 
 work while you lounged through the fair assemblies of the city. 
 But this aside. In the facts 1 have enumerated, are- probably 
 to be found all the clews to your mysterious informant. She is 
 a woman ; she has some mode of reaching the secrets of Balfour, 
 and of fathoming the secret hostility which she evidently indi- 
 cates as personal on the part of Vaughan. With these clews, 
 can you make no progress V 
 
 " None. I have invariably gone upon the presumption that 
 the writer was of the masculine gender. I am not sure that I 
 
108 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 should be nigher to a discovery were I to adopt your notion of 
 the other. And yet, the secrets of Balfour are much more 
 likely to be fathomed by a woman than a man. His character, 
 among the sex, you know ; and there are some in Charleston 
 who have considerable power over him. But, woman or man, 
 the writer of these billets has spoken the words of sober truth. 
 I have experienced the importance of her warnings, and may 
 realize the fruits which she predicts and fears. The hate of 
 this man, Vaughan, has been long apparent to me. How he 
 works is the problem which I have yet to fathom. There is 
 one thing, however, which is certain, that I now feel for him as 
 fervent a hate as he can possibly entertain for me. There are 
 some passages already between us of an open character, of 
 which I can take notice ; and, though our acquaintance is so 
 recent, I know no one upon whom I can more properly rely 
 than yourself to bring about an issue between us." 
 
 " A personal one ?" 
 
 " Surely ! The feeling that separates us once understood, I 
 am for an open rupture and the last extreme. I can not consent 
 daily to meel the man who hates, and who labors to destroy me, 
 wearing a pacific aspect, and forbearing the expression of that 
 hostility which is all the time working in my soul. Colonel 
 Oruden will leave ' The Oaks' in three days. I will linger be- 
 hind him ; and, if you will bear my message to Major Vaughan, 
 I shall consider it one of those acts of friendship to be remem- 
 bered always.'' 
 
 " He will scarce accept your challenge now. His duties will 
 justify him in denying you." 
 
 " Perhaps ; but for a season only. At all events, I shall have 
 relieved my breast of that which oppresses it. I shall have 
 declared my scorn and hate of my enemy. I shall have flung 
 in his teeth my gauntlet of defiance, and declared the only terms 
 which can in future exist between us. You will bear my mes- 
 sage, Fumess V 
 
 " My dear Proctor, I am but a provincial captain of loyalists, 
 one whom your regular soldiery are but too apt to despise. Will 
 it not somewhat hurt your cause to employ me as your friend in 
 
STRANGE EELATIONSHIPS. 109 
 
 Buch a matter ? Were it not better to seek some friend among 
 your own countrymen in the garrison 1" 
 
 "Do not desert — do not deny me!" exclaimed the young 
 man, warmly and mournfully. " I have no friend in the gar- 
 rison. It is filled with the tools of Balfour, or the tools of others ; 
 and scarcely one of them would venture, in the fear of the com- 
 mandant's future hostility, to bear my message to his creature. 
 I am alone ! You see, my own kinsman prepares to abandon 
 my cause at the first decent opportunity. Do not you abandon 
 me.' I have been won to you as I have been won to few men 
 whom I have ever met. I have opened to you the full secrets 
 of my heart. Say to me, Furness, that you will do me this ser- 
 vice. Let me not think that I can not, on the whole broad face 
 of God's earth, summon one generous spirit to my succor in this 
 hour of my extremity." » 
 
 " I will be your friend. Proctor ; I will stand by you in the 
 struggle, and see you through this difficulty," was the warm 
 efiusion of Singleton as he grasped the hand of his companion. 
 " I take for granted that Vaughan cannot fight you while in 
 command at Dorchester ; but I concur with you that the more 
 manly course is to let him understand at once the terms between 
 you, and obtain from him a pledge to give you notice whenever 
 he shall be at liberty to afford you redress. I will ride over to 
 Dorchester to-morrow." 
 
 " Here's my hand, Furness ; I have no spoken thanks. But 
 you have lessened wondrously the sense of isolation here at my 
 heart. I shall love you for this warmth and willingness for 
 ever ;" and he wrung the hand which he grasped with a passion 
 almost convulsive. 
 
 He might well do so. He little knew the extent of the con- 
 cession which had been made him ; how many old and not quite 
 dead and buried jealousies had to be overcome ; nor in what 
 various involvements the pliancy of the unsuspected American 
 partisan might subject the counterfeit loyalist. Had he known ! 
 But he had no suspicions, and he now gave way to a buoyancy 
 of mood that seemed to make him forgetful of all enemies. 
 
 " We must have a bumper together, my friend ! What say 
 you 1 Come ! To the hall, once more ; and then, if you please. 
 
110 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 for a canter. There are some lively drives in this neighborhood 
 among these glorious old oaks, which I fear I shall seldom take 
 again with the feelings and the hopes which possessed me once. 
 You saw Miss Walton yesterday 1" 
 
 The question was put abruptly. The blood suddenly flushed 
 the face of the partisan ; but he answered promptly and in- 
 nocently — 
 
 " Oh yes ; I saw her." 
 
 "A most noble creature! Ah, Fumess, that is a woman 
 whom a man might love and feel his dignity ennobled rather 
 than depressed ; and it should be properly the nature of the 
 marriage tie always to produce such effects. But come ! She 
 is not for us, I fear, my dear fellow." 
 
 Singleton did not venture to answer; but he could not quite 
 suppress the smile which wotild gleam out in his eyes and quiver 
 on his lips, faintly, like an evening sunbeam on the leaves. It 
 escaped the observation of his companion, who, putting his arm 
 affectionately through that of his newly-found friend, hurried 
 him back to the dining-room. They did not resume their seats at 
 the table ; but filled their glasses at the sideboard, and were just 
 about to drink, when the trampling of a horse's feet was heard 
 suddenly at the entrance. The door was opened a moment 
 after, and who should appear before them but the identical Mar 
 jor Vaughan who had so greatly formed the subject of their 
 recent dehberations. 
 
THE BLADES CROSS. HI 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE BLADES CROSS. 
 
 The parties did not readily distinguish each other. The 
 window blinds had been drawn, to shut out the fierce glare of 
 the evening sun, and the room was in that partial darkness 
 which rendered objects doubtful except by a near approach. It 
 was was only when Vaughan had advanced into the centre of 
 the room, and within a few steps of the spot where Proctor 
 stood, his glass still raised in his hand, but drained of its con- 
 tents, that the latter perceived his enemy. To fling the goblet 
 down upon the sideboard, and rapidly to confront the visiter, 
 was with Proctor the work of an instant. His movements were 
 quite too quick to suffer Singleton to interpose ; and, not having 
 yet discovered who the stranger was, he did not in the shghtest 
 degree anticipate the movements or suspect the feehngs of his 
 companion. Nor was he aware, until this moment, that the Ma- 
 deira which Proctor had drunk was rather more than his brain 
 could well endure. 
 
 In those days, every man claiming the respect of his neigh- 
 bors for even an ordinary amount of manhood, was supposed to 
 be equal to almost any excess in drinking. Our young friends 
 had, perhaps, really indulged to no excess beyond the more 
 moderate practice of present times. Singleton, in fact, was as 
 clear-headed and as cool at this moment as at any period of his 
 life. He had dninfc but little ; and though Proctor might have 
 gone somewhat beyond him, the quantity taken by both would 
 probably not have annoyed any veteran. But Proctor was one 
 of those persons who suddenly fall a victim ; who will be per- 
 fectly sober, apparently, at one moment, and in the very next 
 
112 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 will show themselves unmanageable. T^ot tnowing this, and 
 not suspecting the character of the new-comer, Singleton heheld 
 the sudden movement of his companion without the slightest ap- 
 prehension of the consequences. He was not left long in doubt 
 upon either subject. In the twinkling of an eye, Proctor had 
 confronted his enemy. Their persons were almost in contact — 
 Vaughan drawing himself up quietly, but not recoiling, as Proc- 
 tor approached him. The salutation of the latter, as well as his 
 action, was of a sort to wajn him of the open hostility which was 
 henceforth to exist between them. 
 
 " You are come, sir ! Oh ! you are welcome ! You come at 
 the right moment ! We have just been talking of you." 
 
 " I am honored, sir," was the cold response. 
 
 "Never a truer word from a false tongue i'' was the savage 
 reply. 
 
 " False !" exclaimed Vaughan ; " false, sir !" 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir ; false — false ! I have said it. Captain Vaughan 
 — pardon me, Major Vaughan. It were scarcely fair to deny 
 you the price of your treachery. Judas did receive his thirty 
 pieces of silver ; and you have your promotion and the post of 
 Dorchester. Major Vaughan, you are a scoundrel !" 
 
 Vaughan grew black in the face, and clapped his hand upon 
 his sword. By this time. Singleton interposed. 
 
 " You are drunk," said Vaughan, very coolly, releasing the 
 weapon from his grasp. 
 
 "Drunk!" was the furious response of Proctor; and the ut- 
 most efforts of Singleton could scarcely keep him, though totally 
 unarmed, from taking his enemy by the throat. 
 
 " Drunk ! By heavens, you shall answer 'for this among your 
 other offences !" 
 
 " I am ready to do so at the proper season," said the other ; 
 " but it will be for me to determine when that season shall be. 
 At present, I am on a duty which forbids that I prefer my per- 
 sonal affair to that of my sovereign. I would see Colonel Cru- 
 den." 
 
 " How many scoundrels shelter themselves from danger by 
 that plea of duty ! You come to see Colonel Cruden ! You 
 shall see him, must dutiful subject of a most generous sovereign; 
 
THE BLADES CROSS. 113 
 
 but you shall first see me. You know me, Major Vaughan ; you 
 know that I am not one to be put off in the just pursuit of my 
 redress. Do you deny, sir, that you have wronged me — that 
 you have defamed me to our superiors — that you have secretly 
 lied away my fame ? Speak ! Do you deny these things 1 And 
 if you deny not, are you prepared to atone 1" 
 
 " I have no answer for you, sir. You are not in a condition 
 to merit or to understand an answer." 
 
 Singleton interposed. 
 
 " That may be true, Major Vaughan. My friend Major Proc- 
 tor has suffered his indignation to get the better of his caution ; 
 but I believe that I am calm, sir; and, as he has confided to 
 me, as his friend, the cause of his complaint against you, let me 
 entreat you to a moment's private conference with me. Proctor, 
 leave us for a little while. Go to your chamber. I will see to 
 this business. Leave it in my hands." 
 
 Casting a wolfish glance at his enemy, Proctor, after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, prepared to obey the suggestion of his friend; 
 and had already half crossed the apartment in the direction of 
 his chamber, when the reply of Vaughan to Singleton recalled 
 him. 
 
 " And pray, sir, who are you ?" was the inquiry of the British 
 officer, in tones of the coolest insolence. 
 
 Singleton felt the sudden flush upon his face ; but he had his 
 faculties under rare command. 
 
 " I am One, sir, quite too obscure to hope that my name has 
 ever reached the ears of Major Vaughan ; but in the absence of 
 other distinctions, permit me to say that my claims to his at- 
 tention are founded upon an honorable, though obscure position, 
 and a tolerable appreciation of what belongs to a gentleman. I 
 am known, sir, as Captain Furness, of the loyalists." 
 
 " It is certainly something new that a British officer should 
 seek.his friend in a provincial. It would seem to argue some- 
 thing in his own position which denied him a proper agent among 
 his own rank and order. But you will excuse me, Captain Fur- 
 ness, of the loyalists, if I refuse to listen to you in your present 
 capacity. I need not inform a gentleman of so much experience 
 as yourself that, charged as I am with the duties of the post of 
 
114 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 Dorchester, I cannot so far forget myself as to suffer my per- 
 sonal affairs to take the place of those of my sovereign. What 
 I may do or undertake hereafter, how far I may be persuaded 
 to listen to the demands of Major Proctor, made in a different 
 manner and under other circumstances, must he left to my own 
 decision. For the present, sir, I must decline your civihties as 
 well as his. Suffer me to leave you, if you please." 
 
 The whole manner of Vaughan was insupportably offensive, 
 to say nothing of his language, whi^jh indirectly reflected upon 
 the provincial character in a way to render Singleton almost as 
 angry as Proctor. He inwardly resolved that the insolent Brit- 
 on should answer to himself hereafter ; but with a strong will he 
 restrained any ebullition of feeling, and put upon his temper a 
 curb as severe as that with which Vaughan evidently subdued 
 his own. He felt that, dealing with one who was clearly quite 
 as dextrous as cool, nothing but the exercise of all his phlegm 
 could possibly prevent the enemy from increasing the advantage 
 which the wild passions of Proctor had already afforded him. 
 His reply, accordingly, was carefully measured to contain just 
 as much bitterness and sting as was consistent with the utmost 
 deliberateness and calm of mood. 
 
 " Were you as solicitous, Major Vaughan, to forbear offence 
 as you evidently are to avoid responsibility, I might give you 
 credit for a degree of Christian charity which one scarcely con- 
 cedes to a British soldier." 
 
 " Sir !" 
 
 " Suffer me to proceed. In affairs of honor, if I sufficiently 
 understand the rules which regulate them, it is a new ground of 
 objection which urges a provincial birthplace as an argument 
 against the employment of a friend. The truly brave man, 
 anxious to do justice and accord the desired redress, makes as 
 few objections as possible to the mere auxiliaries in the combat. 
 What you have said sneeringly in regard to our poor provincials, 
 was either said by way of excusing yourself from the combat on 
 the score of something disparaging in the relation between my 
 principal and myself, or " 
 
 " By no means," replied the other, quickly. " I am certainly 
 willing to admit that a principal may employ whom he pleaseSi 
 
THE BLADES CROSS, 115 
 
 SO that he be one to whom the social -world makes no ob- 
 jection." 
 
 " On one point you have relieved me," replied Singleton quiet- 
 ly ; " but there is another. I was about to say that your lan- 
 guage, in reference, to the employment of a provincial as his friend 
 by my principal, was either meant to evade the conflict " 
 
 " Which I deny." 
 
 " Or was designed as a gratuitous sarcasm upon the class of 
 people to whom I have the honor to belong." 
 
 Vaughan was evidently annoyed. Singleton's cool, deliberate 
 mode of speaking was itself an annoyance ; and the horns of the 
 dilemma, one of which he had evaded without anticipating the 
 other, left him without an alternative. Proctor, meanwhile, had 
 hung about the parties, occasionally muttering some savage com- 
 mentary upon the dialogue ; but, with a returning consciousness 
 of propriety, without seeking to take any part in it. When, 
 however, the conversation had reached the point to which Sin- 
 gleton had brought it, he could not forbear the remark — 
 
 " Something of a dilemma, I should think — the horns equally 
 sharp, and the space between quite too narrow for the escape of 
 a very great man. A poor devil might squeeze through, and 
 nobody note the manner of his escape ; but for your swollen dig- 
 nitaries, your people who read Plutarch, and, ambitious like the 
 son of Ammon, refuse the contest unless kings are to be com- 
 petitors, escape from such horns is next to impossible, unless by 
 a sudden shrinking of the mushroom dignities. Purness, why 
 were you born a buckskin?" 
 
 The fierce dark eyes of Vaughan, now singularly contracted 
 by the closing of the brows above, were turned slowly and vin- 
 dictively upon the speaker, the change in whose proceedings, 
 tone, and manner, had been singularly great in the space of a 
 few minutes. It would seem as if Proctor, now conscious of hav- 
 ing blundered by his previous loss of temper, had by a resolute 
 effort, subdued his passion into scorn, and substituted sarcasm for 
 violence. At all events, the change was no less surprising to 
 Singleton than to Vaughan, whose eyes now glanced from one 
 to the other of the parties, with something of the expression of 
 the wild boar about to be brought to bay. But he never lost 
 
116 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 his composure. Indeed, he felt that it was his only security. Yet 
 his annoyance was not the less at the predicament to which Sin- 
 gleton had reduced him by his brief but sufficient examination 
 of his language. It would have been the shortest way to have 
 boldly defied his new assailant, to have continued to deal in the 
 language of scorn and sarcasm, and shelter himself under the 
 habitual estimate which the British made of the native loyalists ; 
 but there were several reasons why he should not venture on 
 this course. To deal in the language of violence and defiance, 
 while pleading duty against the dangerous issues which it in- 
 volved, was too manifest an inconsistency ; and, at this juncture, 
 tutored by frequent and severe experience, to say nothing of the 
 necessities of the British cause, the positive instructions of the 
 royal commanders everywhere were to conciliate, by all possible 
 means, the sympathies and affections of such of the natives as 
 had shown, or were likely to show, their loyalty. Vaughan felt 
 the difficulties of his situation, which his pride of stomach neces- 
 sarily increased. He found it easier to evade than to answer 
 the supposed loyahst. 
 
 " I see, sir, that your object is to force a quarrel upon me, at 
 the very moment when I tell you that the service of his majesty 
 denies that I shall answer your demands." 
 
 " Did I not tell you what an unprincipled knave it was V said 
 Proctor. 
 
 " You are scarcely ingenuous. Major Vaughan," was the reply 
 of Singleton ; " and I forbear now what I should say, and what 
 I will take occasion to say hereafter, in regard to the respon- 
 sibilities which you plead. My own account with you must be 
 left to future adjustment ; but, in this affair of my friend, you 
 can, at all events, leave us to hope that you will seek an early 
 period to give him the interview which you now deny. We ac- 
 cept your plea of present duty. We ai-e willing to acknowledge 
 its force ; and all that we now ask is that you give us your 
 pledge to answer to his requisition at the earliest possible mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " I will not be bullied, sir, into any promises," was the brutal 
 yet deliberate reply. 
 
 " Bullied, sir !" exclaimed Singleton. 
 
THE BLADES CROSS. 117 
 
 " Ay, sir ; I say bullied ! I am here set upon by two of you, 
 when I have no friend present, and at a moment which finds me 
 unprepared ; and will not be forced into pledges which it may 
 be a large concession of my dignity and character to keep here- 
 after. Were I to consent to such a requisition as your principal 
 makes, I should be only affording him an opportunity of bol- 
 stering up,, at my expense, a reputation which is scarcely such, 
 at this moment, as to deserve my attention. It will be " 
 
 " Do you hear the scoundrel !" was the furious interposition of 
 Proctor. " There is but one way, Fumess, with a knave like 
 this! Coward !" he cried, springing upon the other as he spoke, 
 " if your sword will not protect your plumage, the subject of my 
 reputation is out of place upon your lips !" 
 
 With these words, with a single movement, he tore the epaulet 
 from the shoulders of his enemy. In an instant the weapon of 
 Vaughan flashed in the air, and, almost in the same moment. 
 Proctor tore down his own sword, which, with that of Singleton, 
 was hanging upon the wall. The blades crossed with the rapid- 
 ity of lightning, and, before our partisan could interfere, that of 
 Vaughan had drawn blood from the arm of his opponent. Goaded 
 as he had been, the commander of the post at Dorchester was 
 still much the cooler of the combatants. His coolness was con- 
 stitutional, and gave him a decided advantage over his more im- 
 petuous assailant. 
 
 But they were not permitted to finish as they had begun. In 
 another moment, Colonel Cruden rushed into the apartment, stUI 
 enveloped in his dressing-gown, but with his drawn sword in his 
 hand. In the same instant, having possessed himself of his own 
 weapon, Singleton beat down those of the combatants, and 
 passed between them with the action and attitude of a master. 
 
 " How now !" cried Cruden, "would you butcher an officer of 
 his majesty in my very presence ? Two of you upon a single 
 man !" 
 
 "You see !" said Vaughan, with bitter emphasis. 
 
 "You have lied!" was the instant, but quietly stern whisper 
 of Singleton ih his ,ears. The other started slightly, and liis 
 lips were closely <<5ompressed together. 
 
 "You show jrourself too soon, my uncle," cried Proctor; "we 
 
118 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 were engaged in the prettiest passa-tempo. I was teaching onr 
 young friend here, the new major in command at Dorchester, a 
 new stoccala, which is paxticnlarly important, by way of finish 
 to his other accomplishments. You will admit that one so ex- 
 pert in stabhing with tongue and pen ought not to be wanting in 
 the nobler weapon whose use may at least atone for the abuse 
 of his other instruments." 
 
 " I will admit nothing ! You are a rash young man, head- 
 strong, and bent on your own ruin. I would have saved you in 
 spite of yourself. But this conduct is too outrageous. This 
 assault upon my guest, and a royal oflScer in the prosecution of 
 his duties, cannot be passed over. I abandon you to your fate !" 
 
 " Said I not, Fumess ? The very words ! I saw it all. 
 Nevertheless, my uncle, you owe me thanks for so soon afford- 
 ing you an opportunity of satisfying your desire, and accom- 
 plishing your purpose." 
 
 " What purpose 1" 
 
 " That of abandoning me to my fate." 
 
 " Go to ! You are mad. Captain Fumess, why do I see yon 
 in this quarrel ?" 
 
 " You do not see me in this quarrel. Colonel Cruden, except 
 as a mediator. My sword was only drawn to beat down their 
 opposing weapons ; though Major Vaughan, it seems, counselled 
 perhaps only by his apprehensions, would make it appear that I 
 was drawn against him." 
 
 Vaughan contented himself with giving Singleton a single look, 
 in which malignity contended on equal terms with scorn and in- 
 difference. But the latter feelings were rather expressed than 
 felt. The young men knew each other as enemies. 
 
 " Let me hear no more of this matter, gentlemen. As for you, 
 John" — to Proctor — "this last outrage compels me to tell you 
 that I will countenance you in none of your excesses. Do not 
 look for my support or protection. That you should have broken 
 through all restraints of reason, at the very moment when your 
 friends were most anxiously revolving in what mode to save you 
 from former en-ors, is most shameful and astonishing. I give 
 you up. There is no saving one who is bent on destroying him- 
 self." 
 
THE BLADES CROSS. 119 
 
 "Nay, imcle, do not sacrifice yourself in my behalf. I well 
 know how ready you have been to do so on all previous oc- 
 casions. Make no further sacrifice, I pray you. And pray 
 entreat my friends not to suffer their anxieties to make them 
 pale on my account. I would not have them lose an hour of 
 sleep, however much I suffer. See to it, uncle : will yon 1 I 
 am more concerned in respect to yourself than any of the rest." 
 
 " Come with me, Major Vaughan. These young men have 
 been drinking. Let that be their excuse." 
 
 The two left the room together. 
 
 " Friends ! Oh, friends ! — excellent friends ! Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 The excited mood of Proctor spoke out in the bitterest mock- 
 ery. Singleton remembered what he had said before on the 
 subject of his uncle's selfishness, and his own isolation. He 
 understood all the secret anguish that was preying on a gene- 
 rous nature in a false position, and denied all just sympathies. 
 He felt too warmly for the sufferer not to forgive the rashness 
 to which his secret sufferings had goaded him. 
 
 " Proctor, you bleed." 
 
 "Do I? Where?" 
 
 " In your arm." 
 
 " Is it possible I was hit ?. I never felt it." 
 
 " You would scarcely have felt it had the sword gone through 
 your heart." 
 
 " I almost wish it had, Pumess ! The wound is there, never- 
 theless." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! that will heal. Let me see to the arm. Expe- 
 rience and necessity have made me something of a surgeon." 
 
 With tenderness, and not a little sMll, Singleton dressed the 
 wound, which was sUght, though it bled quite freely. This done, 
 he said — 
 
 " Proctor, this man is more than a match for you." 
 
 "What ! at the small-sword?" 
 
 "No; in point of temper. He is cool-headed and cold- 
 hearted. His nerves are not easily shaken, and he has his 
 blood under excellent command. He will always foil you — 
 he will finally conquer in the struggle — unless you put yourself 
 under a more severe training than any to which you have ever 
 
120 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 subjected yourself. You will have to learn the lesson to subdue 
 yourself to your necessities. Till a man does this, he can do 
 nothing. I can readUy conjecture that the subtlety of this man 
 has, in some way, enmeshed you. I have no doubt that you 
 are in his snares ; and I foresee that, like a spider, confident in 
 the strength of his web, he wiU lie perdu until you exhaust 
 yourself in vain struggles, and when fairly exhausted and at his 
 mercy, he wUl then administer the coup de grace." 
 
 " What ! are you my friend, yet paint me such a humiliating 
 picture !" 
 
 " It is because I am your friend, and deeply sympathize with 
 you, that I have drawn this picture. It is necessary to make 
 you shudder at what you may reasonably apprehend, or you 
 win never learn the most important of all lessons in such a con- 
 flict — not to shrink or startle because you suffer ; not to speak 
 out in passion because you feel ; and never to show your wea- 
 pon until you are fully prepared to strike. The subtlest scheme 
 of villany may be foUed, if we only bide our time, keep our 
 temper, and. use the best wits that God has given us. For vil- 
 lany has always some weak place in its weh. Find out that, 
 and there will be httle difficulty in breaking through it. Do 
 you believe me 1 — do you understand me?" 
 
 " Ah, Furhess ! I would I had such a friend as you in the 
 city. It is there that the struggle must be renewed." 
 
 " I have a friend there, to whom I wiU commend you ; a rare 
 person, and an old one. But of this hereafter. It is not too 
 late for our proposed canter. Let us ride, if for an hour only, 
 and get ourselves cool." 
 
SCODTING AND SENTIMENT. 121 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 SCOBTING AND SENTIMENT. 
 
 The two friends rode together for an hour or paore, until the 
 night came down and counselled their return. They pursued 
 the great road below, leading down the Ashley, and unfolding, 
 at every mile in their progress, the noble avenues of oak con- 
 ducting to those numerous stately abodes along the river, which 
 rendered* it, in that day, one of the most remarkable spots for 
 wealth and civilization which was known in the whole country. 
 Some of these places were still held by their owners, who had 
 temporized with the invader, or, being females or orphans, had 
 escaped his exactions. Others, like " the Oaks," were in the 
 hands of the sequestrator, and managed by his agents. The 
 mood of Proctor did not suffer him to pay much regard to the 
 prospect, though, under auspices more grateful to his feelings, 
 he had felt it a thousand times before. He had ridden along 
 this very road in company with Katharine Walton, at a period 
 when his heart fondly entertained a hope that he might find 
 some answering sympathy in hers. He had been painfully dis- 
 abused of this hope, in the conviction that she was now betrothed 
 irrevocably to another ; but his mind, which was in that state 
 when it seems to find a melancholy pleasure in brooding upon 
 its disappointments, now reverted to this among the rest. 
 
 " I am a fated person, Furness. You have heard of men 
 whom the world seems solicitous to thwart ; whom Fortune goes 
 out of her way to disappoint and afflict ; who fall for ever just 
 when they appear to rise, and who drink bitter from the cup in 
 which they fancy that nothing but sweets have been allowed to 
 mingle 1 I belong to that peculiar family !" 
 
 6 
 
122 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Pardon me, Proctor, but I have little faith in this doctrine 
 of predestination. That Fortune distributes her favors un- 
 equally, I can understand and believe. This is inevitable, from 
 the condition of the race, from its very necessities, which make 
 it important to the safety and progress of all that all should not 
 be equally favored ; and from those obvious discrepancies and 
 faults in training and education, which move men to persevere 
 in a conflict with their own advantages. But that Fortune takes 
 a malicious pleasure in seeking out her victims, and defeating 
 per^'ersely the best plans of wisdom and endeavor, I am not 
 ready to believe. In your case, I really see no occasion for 
 such a notion. Here, while still a very young man, you have 
 attained a very high rank in the British army — an institution 
 notoriously hostile to sudden rise, or promotion, unless by favor." 
 
 " And to what has it conducted me V said the other, abraptly 
 breaking in. " To comparative discredit ; to temporary over- 
 throw ; and possibly, future shame. Certainly to an obscuration 
 of hope and fortune." 
 
 " Let us hope not — let us try that such shall not be the case. 
 This despondency of mood is really the worst feature in your 
 affairs." 
 
 " Ah, you know not all ! I hope to struggle through this 
 affair of Dorchester. On that subject you have warned me to 
 an effort which I had otherwise been scarcely prepai-ed to make; 
 and you have shown me clews which I shall pursue quite as 
 much from curiosity as from any other feeling. If this affair 
 were all ! I asked you if you had seen Miss Walton ? You 
 will not be surprised to hear me say that I loved her from the 
 first moment when I beheld her. I do not know that it will 
 occasion any surprise when I tell you that I loved in vain." 
 
 It did not ; but of this Singleton said nothing. 
 
 " Pride, ambition, fortune, love, all baffled 1 Do you doubt 
 that Fate has chosen me out as one of those victims upon whom 
 she is pleased to exercise her experiments in malice 1 Yet all 
 shone and seemed so promising at first." 
 
 " But you are still at the beginning of the chapter, my dear 
 fellow. Your life has scarce begun. The way is a long one 
 yet before you. It will be strange, indeed, if it -should long 
 
SCOUTING AND SENTIMENT. 123 
 
 continue clouded. You will recover position. You will detect 
 and expose this Vaughan, and be restored to that rank in the 
 army which you so eminently deserve. I say nothing of your 
 affaire de camr. The subject is, at all times, a delicate one. 
 But is it so certain that your prospects with Miss Walton are 
 entirely hopeless ?" 
 
 The curiosity which Singleton expressed in his latter question 
 is not without its apology. It would seem to be natural enough 
 to a lover, whatever might be his own certainties on the score 
 of his affections. 
 
 " On that subject say no more. She is betrothed to another. 
 More than that, she truly loves him. It is not a passion of the 
 day when the young heart, needing an object about which to 
 expand, rather seeks than' selects a favorite. She has made her 
 choice deliberately, bringing her mind to co-operate with her 
 heart, and her attachment is inflexible. This I know. She is 
 a remarkable woman. Not a woman in the ordinary sense of 
 the term. Not one of the class who readily reconcile themselves 
 to events, who can accommodate their affections to their con- 
 dition, and expend just so much of them upon their object as to 
 maintain external appearances. Her heart goes thoroughly 
 with her decision, and her will only follows her affections. But 
 I tire you. You cannot feel greatly interested in one whom you 
 so little know." 
 
 " But I am interested in the character you describe. More 
 than that, I am interested in you. FoUoy your bent, and sup- 
 pose me a willing listener." 
 
 " Nay, on this subject I will say no more. It is one which 
 has its annoyances. My admiration of Miss Walton only makes 
 me feel how greatly I have been a loser, and gives such an 
 edge to my despondencies as to make me resigned to almost any 
 fate. But you spoke of the army, and of my restoration to rank. 
 On this point let me undeceive you. I have no longer any 
 military ambition. The recovery of position is only important 
 to me as a recovery of reputation. The stain taken from my 
 name, and I sheathe my sword for ever. I am sick of war and 
 bloodshed — particularly sick of this war, which I am ashamed 
 of, and the favorable result of which I deem hopeless." 
 
124 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Ha ! how ? Do you mean to the royal arms 1" 
 
 " You are surprised. But such is even my thought. Great 
 Britain is destined to lose her colonies. She is already almost 
 exhausted in the contest. Her resources are consumed. Her 
 debt is enormous. Her expenses are hourly increasing. She 
 can get no more subsidies of men from Germany, and her Irish 
 recruits desert her almost as soon as they reach America. Her 
 ministers would have abandoned the cause before this, but for 
 the encouragement held out by the native loyalists." 
 
 " And they have taken up arms for the crown, only because 
 they believed the cause of the colonies hopeless against the 
 overwhelming power of the mother-country. Could they hold 
 with you in our interior, the British cause would find no advo- 
 cates." 
 
 " They will hold with me as soon as the foreign supplies 
 cease. Already they begin to perceive that they themselves 
 form the best fighting materials of our armies." 
 
 " Fighting with halters about their necks." 
 
 " Precisely ; but the moment they discover fully our weak- 
 ness, they wUl make terms with the Revolutionary party, which 
 will only be too ready to receive them into its ranks. I foresee 
 all that is to happen, and the British ministry sees it also. 
 Nothing but pride of stomach keeps them even now from those 
 concessions which will prove inevitable in another campaign. 
 They must have seen the hopelessness of the cause the moment 
 that they found no party sufficiently strong, in any of the colo- 
 nies, to control the progress of the movement. No people can 
 be conquered by another, three thousand miles removed from 
 the seat of action, so long as they themselves resolutely will to 
 continue the conflict. The vast tract of sea which spreads be- 
 tween this country and Europe, is itself .sufficient security. To 
 transport troops, arms, and provisions, across this tract is, in 
 each instance, ecLuivalent to the loss of a battle. There is no 
 struggle which could prove more exhausting in the end." 
 
 " You hold forth but poor encouragement to our loyalist 
 brethren," said Singleton, with a smile scarcely suppressed. 
 
 " Hear me, Fumess ; I would say or do nothing which could 
 injure the service in which I have hitherto drawn the sword. 
 
SCOUTING AND SENTIMENT. 125 
 
 My own loyalty, I trust, will always be unimpeaclialDle ; but, 
 my friend, the regard wbich I feel for you prompts me to wish, 
 for your own sake, that you had drawn the sword with your 
 people rather than against them. The American loyalists must 
 and will be abandoned to their fate. They will be the greatest 
 losers in the contest. They will forfeit their homes, and their 
 memories will be stained with reproach to the most distant peri- 
 ods. It is, perhaps, fortunate for them, as tending to lessen this 
 reproach ip. the minds of all just persons, that the greater num- 
 ber of them, particularly in these southern colonies, are native 
 Britons. It was natural that they should side with their natural 
 sovereign. But, for the natives of the soil, there can be no such 
 excuse. Abandoned by Great Britain, they will be doomed to 
 an exile which will lack the consolations of those who can plead 
 for their course, all the affinities of birth, and all the obhgations 
 of subjects born within the shadow of the throne. I would to 
 God, for your sake, that you had been a foreigner, or had never 
 drawn weapon against your people !" 
 
 How Singleton longed to grasp the hand of the speaker, and 
 unfold to him the truth. But his secret was too precious to 
 hazard, even in the hands of friendship ; and quite too much 
 depended on his present concealment to suffer him to give way 
 to the honest impulse which would have relieved him of all dis- 
 credit in the eyes of his companion. 
 
 " You have placed the subject under new lights before my 
 feyes," was his answer. " It is something to be thought upon. 
 That the British .power has been weakened, that its capacity for 
 conquest is greatly lessened, I have already seen ; but I had 
 no thought that such opinions were generally prevalent in your 
 army." 
 
 " Nor do I say that they are. You will scarcely get Balfour 
 to think as I do, even when the orders reach him for the evacu- 
 ation of Charleston ; and as for my excellent uncle, so long as 
 his charge of confiscated estates increases, he will fancy that the 
 game is just what it should be. But, to my mind, the event is 
 inevitable. These colonies of OaroUna and Georgia may be 
 cut off from the confederacy ; but even this estrangement must 
 be temporary only. They, too, will be abandoned after a brief 
 
126- KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 experiment, and the independence of America will he finally 
 and fully acknowledged. The war must have ceased long ago, 
 and after a single campaign only, had it not been begun pre- 
 maturely by the Americans. The colonies were not quite ready 
 for the struggle. In a single decade more, the fruits would have 
 been quite ripe ;. and it would only have required a single sha- 
 king of the tree. Then they would not have needed a French 
 alliance. The native population would have been so greatly in 
 the ascendant, that the foreign settlers would not have dreamed 
 of any opposition to the movement." 
 
 " Our loyalists, according to your notions, have shown them- 
 selves unwise ; but their fidelity, you will admit, is a redeeming 
 something, which ought to secure them honorable conditions and 
 against reproach." 
 
 " I aii not so sure of that. The true loyalty is to the soU, or 
 rather to the race. I am persuaded that one is never more safe 
 in his principles than when he takes side with his kindred. 
 There is a virtue in the race which strengthens and secures our 
 own ; and he is never more in danger of proving in the wrong 
 than when he resolutely opposes himself to the sentiments of his 
 people. At all events, one may reasonably distrust the virtue 
 in his principle when he finds himself called upon to sustain it 
 by actually drawing the sword against his kindred. But the 
 subject is one to distress you, Furness, and I have no wish to do 
 so. I have simply been prompted to speak thus plainly by the 
 interest I take in your fortunes. Were I you, I should seek 
 from Balfour an opportunity to exchange the service, and get a 
 transfer to some of the British regiments in the West Indies." 
 
 " I shall live and die on my native soil," said the other, 
 quickly. " If our cause fails I will perish with it." 
 
 " It will fail, Fiurness." 
 
 "Never! never!" was the emphatic reply. 
 
 "Let us change the subject," said the other. "Did you re- 
 mark these pine woods as we passed them half an hour ago 1 
 What a grateful and delicate tint they wore in the evening sun .' 
 Can you conceive of anything more sombre than their gloomy 
 shadows, nou-, in the dusky folds of evening I They stand up 
 like so many melancholy spectres of glorious hopes which have 
 
SCOUTING AND SENTIMENT. 127 
 
 perished — gloomy memorials of joys and triumphs which the 
 heart had dreamed hi vain. Do you know that I could now, 
 with a relish, penetrate these grim avenues, and lay myself 
 down in the deepest part of the thicket, to muse, throughout the 
 night, and night after night, with a sort of painful satisfaction !" 
 
 " I have mused and brooded under such shadows a thousand 
 times, night and day, without a gloomy feeling — nay, with 
 something of a joy that found its pleasure in due degree with 
 the growth of its most melancholy emotions." 
 
 " The heart gives its character to the scene always. The 
 genius of place is born always in the soul of the occupant. Mine 
 is not a joyous spirit now, and I woiftd embrace these shadows, 
 if a thousand times more gloomy, as if they had been my kin- 
 dred. But what is this that stirs ? Ha ! who goes there V 
 
 At the challenge, a shadow dashed across the road ; and 
 Proctor, clapping spurs to his horse, with the old mihtary feel- 
 ing of suspicious watch and command, forced the animal forward 
 in the direction of the fugitive ; but he soon recoiled — with a 
 sudden consciousness that he was totally unarmed — as he be- 
 held, standing close by the road-side, and partly sheltered by a 
 huge pine, the figure of a man with a musket already presented, 
 and the eye of the stranger deliberately coursing along the bar- 
 rel. At that moment. Singleton cried out — 
 
 " Hold up, my good fellow. Would you shoot us without 
 giving the time of day?" 
 
 The stranger threw up his musket and brought the butt 
 heavily upon the ground. 
 
 " There 's no time of day," said he, with a chuckle, " when 
 you are about to ride over a body." 
 
 The speaker came out from the shadow of the tree as he 
 answered, with an air of unaffected confidence. He was dressed 
 in the common blue homespun of the country ; but his garments 
 were of that mixed military and Indian character which denoted 
 the forester or ranger of the period. 
 
 " Who are you?' demanded Proctor. 
 
 " My name's Futtrell, if that's what you want to know, and 
 I'm from the Cypress. Have you seen, gentlemen, either on 
 you, a stray sorrel nag, with a blaze in his face, and his left 
 
128 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 foreleg wtite up to his knees ? He 's a right smart nag, and a 
 little wild, that got off from the lot now two days ago ; and was 
 tracked down as far as Bacon's bridge, an thar we lost him." 
 
 This inquiry seemed to anticipate all questions ; and, by this 
 time, Proctor, remembering that he was no longei* in command, 
 felt no disposition to ask anything further. Having answered 
 the question of the stranger in the negative,-he was disposed to 
 ride on ; but by this time Mr. Futtrell was curiously examining 
 the horse of Singleton. 
 
 "That's a mighty fine beast of yourn, stranger," he said, 
 stroking the animal's neck and forelegs. 
 
 "You wouldn't like to ibuy him?" said Singleton, good-hu- 
 moredly. 
 
 " That I should, stronger," replied the other, " if buying a 
 horse meant taking hun with a promise to pay when the skies 
 should rain golden guineas." 
 
 " We are in danger of no such shower for some time to come, 
 or from any quarter," said Proctor. " Let us ride, Fumess." 
 
 And, as he spoke, the steed of the speaker went slowly 
 ahead. At this moment, the stranger seized his opportunity to 
 thrust a scrap of paper into the hands of Singleton, who stooped 
 down to him and whispered a single sentence ; then rode away 
 to join his companion, who had perceived none of these move- 
 ments. 
 
 " Dang it !" muttered Futtrell, looking after the two, " our 
 colonel's just as full of stratagems as an egg's full of meat. 
 Proctor was always reckoned a real keen fellow for an English- 
 man, yet the colonel goes into him as if he had a key for all the 
 doors in his heart. Well, wo sliall Itnow all about it, I reckon, 
 before, the night's over." 
 
 With these words, the stranger disappeared within the 
 shadows of the wood, which, from this point, spread away, in 
 unbroken depth and density, to the west — a continuous wall of 
 thicket almost encircling the plantation of Colonel Walton, and 
 fonning a portion only of his extensive domain. The spot 
 where our companions encountered Euttrell was scarcely half a 
 mile from the mansion-house. The two former, meanwhile, 
 made their way to " The Oaks" without furtlier interruption.. 
 
SCOUTING AND SENTIMENT. 129 
 
 When they reached the entrance of the dwelling, it was found 
 that the servant of Major Proctor was not present, as was his 
 custom, to receive his master's horse. A negro came forward 
 and took that of Singleton. 
 
 Proctor was impatient, and began to clamor loudly for his 
 fellow ; but the cry of " John — John ! what ho ! there — John !" 
 had scarcely been sounded a second time, when the person sum- 
 moned — a short, squat, sturdy Englishman, with a red face — 
 made his appearance, in a run, out of breath, and seemingly 
 somewhat agitated by his exhaustion or his apprehensions. 
 Proctor did not perceive his discomposure, but contented him- 
 self with administering a sharp rebuke for his absence and neg- 
 lect. Singleton's eye was drawn to the fellow, and something 
 in his appearance rendered our partisan distrustful for a moment ; 
 but nothing was said, and he soon entered the dwelling with his 
 companion. 
 
 _ Cniden was in waiting to receive them, and his manner was 
 much more conciliatory and gracious than when they separated in 
 the afternoon. He was governed by a policy, in this deportment, 
 which will have its explanation hereafter. We need not bestow 
 our attention upon the conversation which occupied the parties 
 during the evening, as it was of that casual nature designed 
 sxmTply pour passer le temps, which need not employ ours. When 
 Oruden retired, the young men were free to resume their con- 
 ference, which, though it had regard to the subjects most inter; 
 esting to them, and in some degree of interest to us, yet conducted 
 to nothing more definite than we have already understood. They 
 separated at a tolerably early hour, and Singleton retired to his 
 chamber — but not to sleep. It will occasion no surprise when 
 we find our partisan, at midnight, emerging stealthily from his 
 apartment, and from the dwelling, and making his way secretly 
 to the wood where he had encountered Futtrell. What he saw, 
 v^hom he found, or what was done there, by himself or others, 
 must be reserved for another chapter. We must not anticipate. 
 It is sufficiently clear, however, that Singleton has not committed 
 himself to the association with his enemies, without having friends 
 at need, and within easy summons of his bugle. 
 
 6* 
 
130 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY 
 
 CAMP-FIRES. 
 
 When General Greene was despatched to the south, after the 
 defeat of Gates at Camden, to take charge of the southern army," 
 he found himself m a region of the world so utterly different from 
 everything in his previous experience, that he was fain to ac- 
 knowledge himself hewildered by what he saw, if not at a loss 
 as to what he should undertake. According to his letters, he 
 was in a country in which a general was " never at any moment 
 quite secure from a capital misfortune." The difficulty was cer- 
 tainly a bewildering one, particularly where the generalship was 
 of that inflexible sort which could not readUy accommodate its 
 strategy to novel circumstances and conditions. This was the 
 peculiar deficiency of Gates, who, for example, because he had 
 achieved the capture of Burgoyne, in a hiUy and rather densely- 
 settled country, without the aid of cavalry, hurried to the con- 
 clusion that he was equally independent of such an arm in a 
 perfectly level and sparsely-settled region, where, in tyuth, cav- 
 alry should have been his most necessary dependence. Greene 
 was not so stubborn ; but his genius was still too much lacking 
 in flexibility. His embarrassment, in the scene of his new opera- 
 tions, arose from the immense forests, the impervious swamps by 
 which they were relieved and intersected, and the wonderful 
 security in which a lurking enemy might harbor, within sight of 
 the very smokes of the camp, without being suspected of any 
 such near neighborhood. This, wliich was particularly true of 
 the region of country watered by the Pedee, the Congaree, the 
 Santee, and other leading arteries of the interior, was, in a meas- 
 ure, true, also of the tracts lying along the Cooper and Ashley ; 
 
CAMP-FIEES. 131 
 
 tliough portions of the lands whicli were watered by these streams 
 had been, for a considerable space of time, under a high state of 
 cultivation. 
 
 To those familiar with the country, even now, it will occasion 
 no surprise to be told that the Carolina partisans were wont to 
 penetrate with confidence between the several posts of the Brit- 
 ish throughout the colony, and to lie in wait for favorable oppor- 
 tunities of surprise and ambush, within the immediate vicinity of 
 Charleston. A close thicket, a deep swamp skirting road or 
 river, afforded, to a people familiar with these haiints, ample har- 
 borage even within five miles of the enemy's garrison ; and the 
 moment of danger found them quickly mounted on the fleetest 
 steeds, and darting away in search of other places of refuge. 
 "We have seen with what audacity Colonel Walton ventured 
 upon his own domain, though guarded by his foes, and under 
 the very eye of the strong post of Dorchester. It will be easy 
 to conceive that Singleton's troopers could find a secure place 
 of hiding, indulging in a rational confidence, for days in this very 
 neighborhood. Such was the case ; and to one of these retreats 
 we propose to conduct the reader, anticipating the approach of 
 the commander of the party lyiiig thus perdu. 
 
 About a mile west of the Ashley, and a few miles only below the 
 British post at Dorchester, the explorer may even now penetrate 
 to a little bay, or small bottom of drowned land, the growth of 
 which, slightly interspersed with cypress and tupelo, is chiefly 
 composed of that dwarf laurel called the iay, from which the 
 spot, in the parlance of the country, derives its name. The im- 
 mediate basin, or circuit of drowned land, retains to this moment 
 its growth and verdure ; but we look now in vain for the dense 
 forest of oak, hickory, pine, ash, and other forest-trees, by which 
 it was encircled, and under the shadows of which the partisans 
 found their refuge in the days of the Revolution. These formed 
 a venerable sanctuary for our foresters, and here, with an admi- 
 rable cordon of videttes and sentries they made themselves se- 
 cure against surprise, so long as they chose to keep their posi- 
 tion. We need not describe the place more particularly. Most 
 of our readers possess a sufficient general idea of the shadows 
 and securities of such a spot ; of its wild beauties, and the sweet 
 
1S2 KATHARINE WAL.TOK. 
 
 solemnity of its solitude. Let them take into view tLe near 
 neighlDorlioad of streams and rivers, girdled by dense swamp 
 fastnesses, almost impenetrable, except by obscure and narrow 
 avenues, known only to the natives of the country, and they 
 will readily conceive the degree of security attainable by the 
 partisan warrior, who is alert in his movements, and exercises 
 an ordinary share of prudence and'circuinspection. 
 
 The spot which we now approach was quite familiar to the 
 party by whom it is occupied. Most of them were born in the 
 neighborhood, and accustomed from boyhood to traverse its 
 shadowy passages. This will account for the confidence which 
 they felt in making it their place of harborage, almost within 
 cannon shot of the fortress of the enemy. The squad which 
 Singleton had here placed in waiting was a small one, consisting 
 of twelve or fifteen persons only. At the hour when he left 
 " The Oaks" on foot, to visit them in their place of hiding, they 
 were in expectation of his coming. Futtrell had returned, and 
 apprized them of his whispered promise to that effect. A group 
 of gigantic oaks surrounded their bivouac, their great branches 
 glossily and always green, and draped with wide, waving stream- 
 ers of venerable moss. The fires of the party were made up in 
 a hollow formed by the gradual sloping of the earth from three 
 'several sides. This depression was chosen for the purpose, as 
 enabling them the better to conceal the flame which, otherwise, 
 gleaming through some broken places in the woods, might have 
 conducted the hostile eye to the place of refuge. In tliis hollow, 
 in sundry groups, were most of the party. Some sat or stood 
 engaged in various occupations. Some lay at length with their 
 feet to the fire, and their eyes, half shut, looking up at the green 
 branches, or the starlighted skies overhead. One might be seen 
 mending his bridle, close by the fire ; another was drawing the 
 bullet from his rifle, cleansing or burnishing it ; and others were 
 grouped, with heads together, in quiet discourse among them- 
 selves. Saddles lay close beneath the trees ; cloaks, and coats, 
 and bridles, depended from their branches ; and several blan- 
 kets hung down from similar supports, the use of which was ob- 
 viously to assist in concealing the gleam of firelight from the 
 eyes of the stranger in the distance. 
 
CAMP-FIEES. 133 
 
 One object in this enumeration should not bo suffered to es- 
 cape our attention. This was a great pUe of canes, or reeds, of 
 which the river swamps and lowlands throughout the country 
 furnished an abundance, and which two of the younger persons 
 of the party were busy in trimming of their blades and plumes, 
 fashioning them into arrows of a yard long, and seasoning in the 
 warm ashes of the fire. Feathers of the eagle, the crane, the 
 hawk, and common turkey, a goodly variety, indeed, were crowd- 
 ed into a basket between the lads thus employed. With these 
 they fitted the shafts, when ready in other respects ; and bits of 
 wire, and nails of wrought iron, rounded and sharpened with a 
 file, were, with considerable dexterity, fitted into the heads of 
 the shafts. The employment afforded a commentary on the 
 emergencies of our war of independence, though it is still a ques- 
 tion, whether the implements of the Indian warrior did not possess 
 some advantages over those of civilization, which tended to lessen 
 greatly the disparity between the several weapons. Of this 
 matter something will be learned hereafter. Sheaves of arrows 
 already prepared for use, and mde bows, made of white oak and 
 ash, might be seen placed away in safety beneath the trees, 
 among other of the munitions of the encampment ; all of which 
 betokened a rude but ready regard to the exigencies of warfare. 
 
 At a little distance from these parties and their tools, and on 
 the opposite side of the fire, was a group of four persons, of whom 
 nothing has yet been said. These were busy in preparations of 
 another sort. The carcass of a fine buck lay between them, and 
 two of the party were already preparing to cut him up. One of 
 these persons with arms bare to the elbows, flourished a mon- 
 strous cout.eau de cliasse, with the twofold au" of a hero and a 
 butcher. This was a portly person of the most formidable di- 
 mensions, with an abdominal development that might well be- 
 come an alderman. He had evidently a taste for the work before 
 him. How he measured the brisket ! how he felt for the fat ! 
 with what an air of satisfaction he heaved up the huge haunches 
 of the beast! and how his little gray eyes twinkled through the 
 voluminous and rosy masses of his own great cheeks ! 
 
 " I give it up !" he exclaimed to his companions. " There is 
 no wound except that of the an-ow, and it has fairly passed 
 
134 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 through the body, and was broken by the fall. I give it up ! 
 I will believe anything wonderful that you may tell me. You 
 may all lie to me in safety. I have no more doubts on any sub- 
 ject. Everything's possible, probable, true hereafter, that hap- 
 peiA. But that you, such a miserable sapling of a fellow as you, 
 Lance, should have sent this reed through such a beast — clean 
 through — is enough to stagger any ordinary belief!" 
 
 The person addressed, a tall, slender lad, apparently not more 
 than eighteen or nineteen, laughed good-naturedly, as, without 
 other reply, he thrust forth his long, naked arm, and displayed, 
 fold upon fold, the snaky ridges of his powerful muscles. 
 
 " Ay, I see you have the bone and sinew, and I suppose I 
 must believe that you shot the deer, seeing that Bamett gives it 
 up ; but I suppose you were at butting distance. You had no 
 occasion to draw bow at all. You used the arrow as a spear, and 
 thrust it through the poor beast's vitals with the naked hand." 
 
 " Shot it, I swow, at full fifty-five yards distance ! I stepped 
 it ofi^ myself," was the reply of the person called Bamett. 
 
 " I give up ! I will believe in any weapon that brings us such 
 meat. Henceforth, boys, take your bows and arrows always. 
 The Indian was a sensibler fellow than we gave him credit for. 
 I never could have beUeved it till now; and when Singleton 
 took it into his head to supply such weapons to our men> for the 
 want of better, I thought him gone clean mad." 
 
 " Yet you heard his argument for it V said Lance. 
 
 " No. I happen to hear nothing when I am hungry. I 
 shouldn't hear you now, but for my astonishment, which got the 
 better of my appetite for a few moments. I will hear nothing 
 fiu-ther. Use your knife. Lance ; lay on, boy, and let's have a 
 steak as soon as possible." 
 
 " Sha'n't we wait for the colonel 1" said Lance. 
 
 " I wait for no colonels. I consider them when I consider the 
 core (corps). What a glorious creature! — fat an inch thick, 
 and meat tender as a dove's bosom ! Ah, I come back to the 
 Cypress a new man ! Here I am at home. The Santee did 
 well enough ; but there's a sweetness, a softness, a plumpness, 
 a beauty about bu-d and beast along the Ashley, that you find 
 in the same animals nowhere else. God bless my mother !" 
 
CAMP-FIRES. 135 
 
 " For what, in particular, lieutenant ?" 
 
 " That she chose it for my birthplace. I shouldn't have been 
 half the man I am bom anywhere else ; shouldn't have had 
 such discriminating tastes, such a fine appetite, such a sense of 
 the beautiful in nature." % 
 
 And thus, talking and slashing, the corpulent speaker main- 
 tained the most unflagging industry, until the deer was fairly 
 quartered, a portion transferred, in the shape of steaks, to the 
 reeking coals, and the rest spread out upon a rude scaffolding to 
 undergo the usual hunter-process of being cured, by smoking, 
 for future use. The skin, meanwhile, was subjected to the care- 
 ful cleansing and stretching of the successful hunter. 
 
 And then the whole party grouped themselves about the fire, 
 each busy with his steak and hoe-cake. There was the redoubt- 
 able Lieutenant Porgy,,and the youthful ensign. Lance Frampton, 
 already known as the taker of the prey, and little Joey Bamett, 
 and others, known briefly as Tom, Dick, and Harry ; and others 
 still, with their noms de guerre, such as Hard-Eiding Dick, and 
 Dusky Sam, and Clip-the-Oan, and Black Fox, and Gray Squir- 
 rel : a merry crew, cool, careless, good-humored, looking, for all 
 the world, like a gipsy encampment. Their costume, weapons, 
 occupation ; the wild and not ungraceful ease with which they 
 threw their huge frames about the fire ; the fire, with its great, 
 drowsy smokes slowly ascending, and with the capricious jets of 
 wind sweeping it to and fro amidst the circle ; and the silent 
 dogs, three in number, grouped at the feet of their masters, their 
 great, bright eyes wistfully turned upward in momentary expec- 
 tation of the fragment ; all contributed to a picture as unique as 
 any one might have seen once in merry old England, or, to 
 this day, among the Zincali of Iberia. 
 
 " Ah, this is life !" said Lieutenant Porgy, as he supplied him- 
 self anew with a smoking morsel from the hissing coals. " I can 
 live in almost any situation in which man can live at all, and do 
 not object to the feminine luxuries of city life, in lieu of a better; 
 but there is no meat like this, fresh from the coals, the owner 
 of which hugged it to his living heart three bours ago. One 
 feels free in the open air ; and, at midnight, under the trees, a 
 venison steak is something more than meat. It is food for 
 
136 KATHAEINB WALTON. 
 
 thought. It provokes philosophy. My fancies rise. I could 
 spread my wings for flight. I could sing — I feel like it now — 
 and, so far as the will is concerned, I could make such music as 
 would bring the very dead to life." 
 
 And the deep, sonorous voice of the speaker began to rise, 
 and he would have launched out into some such music as the 
 buffalo might be supposed to send forth, happening upon a fresh 
 green flat of prairie, but that Lance Frampton interposed, in 
 evident apprehension of the consequences. 
 
 "Don't, lieutenant; remember we're not more than a mile 
 from the river road," 
 
 "Teach your grandmother to suck eggs ! Am I a fool ] Do 
 I look like the person to give the alarm to the enemy I Shut 
 up, lad, and be not presumptuous because you have shot a deer 
 after the Indian fashion. Do you suppose that, even were we 
 in safer q^uarters, I should attempt to sing with such a dry 
 throat 1 I say, Hard-Eiding Dick, is there any of that Jamaica 
 in the jug V 
 
 "It is a mere drop on a full stomach." 
 
 " Bring it forth. I like the savor of the jug." 
 
 And the jug was produced, and more than one calabash was 
 seen elevated in the firehght ; and the drop sufficed, in not un- 
 equal division, to improve the humor of the whole party. 
 
 " The supper without the song is more endurable," was the 
 philosophy of Porgy, " than the song without the supper. With 
 the one before the other, the two go happily together. Now it 
 is the strangest thing in the world that, with such a desperate 
 desire to be musical, I should not be able to turn a tune. But 
 I can act a tune, my lads, as well as any of you ; and, as we ai'e 
 not permitted to give breath to our desires and delights, let us 
 play round as if we were singing. You shall observe me, and 
 take up the chorus, each. Do you understand me 1" 
 
 " Can't say I do," said Futtrell. "Let's hear." 
 
 "You were always a dull dog, Futtrell, though you are a 
 singer. Now, look you, a good singer or a good talker, an orator 
 or a musician of any kind, if he knows his business, articulates 
 nothing, either in song or speech, that he does not look, even 
 while he speaks or sings. Eloquence, in oratory or in music, 
 
I CAMP-FIRES. 137 
 
 implies something more than ordinary speech. It implies passion, 
 or such sentiments and feelings as stir up the passions. Now 
 every fool knows that, if we feel the passion, so as to speak or 
 sing it, we must look it too. Do you understand me now V 
 
 " I think I do," was the slowly uttered response of "Futtrell, 
 looking dubiously. 
 
 'Wery well. I take it that all the rest do, then, since you 
 are aFout the dullest dog among us," was the compUmentary 
 rejoinder. " Now, then, I am going to sing. I will sing an 
 original composition. I shall first hegin hy exp-essing anxiety, 
 uneasiness, distress ; these are incipient signs of hunger, a pain- 
 ful craving of the bowels, amounting to an absolute gnawing of 
 the clamorous inhabitants within. This is the first part, continu- 
 ed till it almost become,s despair ; the music then changes. I 
 have seen the boys bringing in the deer. He lies beneath my 
 knife. I am prepared to slaughter him. I feel that he is secure. 
 I see that he will soon be broiling in choice bits upon the fire. 
 I am no longer uneasy or apprehensive. The feeling of despair 
 has passed. All is now hope, and exultation, and anticipation ; 
 and this is the sentiment which I shall express in the second 
 part of the music. The third follows the feast. Nature is paci- 
 fied ; the young wolf-cubs within have retired to their kennels. 
 They sleep without a dream, and a philosophical composure 
 possesses the brain. I meditate themes of happiness. I specu- 
 late upon the immortality of the soul. I enter into an analysis of 
 the several philosophies of poets, prophets, and others, in relation 
 to the employments and enjoyments of the future ; and my song 
 subsides into a pleasant murmuring, a dreamy sort of ripple, such 
 as is made by a mountain brooklet, when, after wearisome tumb- 
 lings from crag to crag, it sinks at last into a quiet and barely 
 lapsing watercourse, through a grove, the borders of which are 
 crowded with flowers of the sweetest odor. Such, boys, shall 
 be my song. You will note my action, and follow it, by way of 
 chorus, as well as you can." 
 
 All professed to be at least willing to understand him, and 
 our philosopher proceeded. Porgy was an actor. His social 
 talent lay in the very sort of amusement which he now proposed 
 to them. He has himself described the manner of his perform- 
 
138 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 ance in the declared design. We shall not attempt to follow 
 him ; but may say that scarcely one of those wildly-clad fores- 
 ters but became interested'in his dumb show, which at length, 
 became so animated that he leaped to his feet, in order the better 
 to effect his action, and was only arrested in his perfonnance by 
 striding with his enormous bulk, set heavily down, upon the ribs 
 of one of the unlucky dogs who lay by the fire. The yell that 
 followed was as full of danger as the uttered song had been, and 
 quite discomfited the performer. His indignation at the mis- 
 placed position of the dog might have resulted in the wilful ap- 
 plication of his feet to the offending animal, but that, just then, 
 the hootings of an owl were faintly heard rising in the distance, 
 and answered by another voice more near. 
 
 " It is Moore," said Lance Prampton. " It is fj;om above. 
 We shall have the colonel here directly." 
 
 " Let him come," was the response of Porgy ; but he is too 
 late for the music. That confounded dog !" 
 
WOODCRAFT. 139 
 
 OHAPTEE XV. 
 
 WOODCRAFT. 
 
 The object of the signal was rightly conjectured. It brought 
 Singleton. Successive hoots of the owl — who was one of the 
 scouts of the party — indicated the several points of watch by 
 which, the route from " The Oaks" to the place of refuge had been 
 guarded ; and our partisan had no reason to complain, among 
 his people, of any neglect of duty. He was received with the 
 frank welcome of those who regarded him with equal deference 
 and affection, as a friend and comrade no less than a superior. 
 Lance Frampton seized his extended hand with the fondness of 
 a younger brother ; and even the corpulent Porgy, in his saluta- 
 tion of welcome, expressed the warmth of a feeling of which he 
 was nowise lavish on common occasions. Supper had been re- 
 served for their superior : and the venison steak, cast upon the 
 coals as he approached, now strenuously seconded, by its rich 
 odors, the invitation of his followers to eat. But Singleton declined. 
 
 " "Were it possible, I should certainly fall to, my good fellow ; 
 for, of a truth, the smokes of that steak are much more grateful 
 to my nostrils than the well-dressed dishes of the fashionable 
 kitchen. My tastes have become so much accommodated to the 
 wild flavor of the woods, in almost everything, that, out of the 
 woods, I seem to have no great appetite for anything. I eat 
 and drink as a matter of course, and with too little relish to 
 remark on anything. Had I not already eaten supper, I should 
 need no exhortation beyond that of the venison itself. Besides, 
 I have no time. I must hurry back to the settlement as soon 
 as possible." 
 
 " You must certainly taste of Ihe meat, colonel," was the re- 
 
140 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 sponse of Porgy, " if only because of the manner in which it was 
 killed — with bow and arrow." 
 
 " Indeed ! Who was the hunter 1" 
 
 " Lance ! You know I laughed when you spoke ofbows and 
 arrows for our men. I confess I thought it monstrous foolish to 
 adopt such weapons. But I am beginning to respect the weap- 
 on. What put you in the notion of it, colonel V 
 
 "We had neither shot nor powder, if you recollect. What 
 was to be done 1 The Indians slew their meat, and fought fatal 
 battles, with these weapons before the coming of the white 
 people. The French and Spanish narrative describes them as 
 fighting fiercely, and frequently cutting off the whites with no 
 other weapons. Of the effect of the arrow in good hands, his- 
 tory gave us numerous and wonderful examples. The English, 
 in the time of Henry the Seventh, slew with the clothyard shaft 
 at Jvur hundred yards." 
 
 " Impossible !" 
 
 "True, no doubt. In the time of Henry the Eighth, it was 
 considered an efficient weapon at two hundred' and fifty yards. 
 Fighting with the French and Spaniards, the Indians could 
 drive an arrow through a coat of escaupil-^— stuffed cotton — so 
 as to penetrate fatally the breast which it covered ; and some 
 of their shafts were even found efficient when aimed against a 
 coat-of-mail. With such evidence of the power of the weapon, 
 its use never should have been abandoned. Certainly, where 
 we had neither shot nor powder, nor muskets, it was the proper 
 weapon for our hands. There would then have been no reason 
 for one half of our people to wait in the woods, during an action, 
 until their comrades should be shot down, before they could find 
 the means of doing mischief by possessing themselves of the 
 weapons of the fallen men. Bows and arrows, well handled, 
 would have been no bad substitutes for muskets. In the hands 
 of our people, accustomed to take sure aim, they would have 
 been much more efficient than the musket in the hands of the 
 raw, unpractised Englishman; while spears, made of poles, 
 well sharpened and seasoned in the fire, would have been, 
 like the pikes of the Swiss, quite equal to the bayonet at 
 any time. These are weapons with which we might always 
 
WOODCRAFT. 141 
 
 defend a country of such great natural advantages for war as 
 ours." 
 
 " There 's reason in it, surely." 
 
 " But the arguments in behalf of the bow and arrow are not 
 exhausted. In the first place, you can never get out of ammu- 
 nition. The woods everywhere abound in shafts ; and, in a 
 single night, a squad of sharp-shooters may prepare weapons for 
 a week's campaign and daily fighting.- Wet and storm never 
 damage your ammunition. A shaft once dehvered is not lost. 
 It may be recovered and shot a dozen times ; and it is less 
 burdensome, as a load, to carry a bow and sixty arrows than a 
 gun with as many bullets. The arrow is sped silently to its 
 mark. It makes no report. It flies unseen, hke the pestilence 
 by night. It tells not whence it comes. Its flash serves not as 
 a guide to any answering weapon. Against cavalry it is singu- 
 larly efiicient. The wound from an arrow, which still sticks in 
 the side of the horse, will absolutely madden him, and he will 
 be totally unmanageable, rushing, in all probabiUty, on his own 
 columns, deranging their order, and sending dismay among the 
 infantry. In regard to the repeated use of the same arrow, I 
 may remind you of the fact that the French in Florida, under 
 Laudonnier-e, were compelled, in some of their bloodiest fights 
 with the red men, to stop fighting, at every possible chance, in 
 order to gather up and break the arrows which had been de- 
 livered. I need not say what an advantage such a necessity 
 would afibrd to an assailing party." 
 
 " I begin to respect the weapon," said Porgy ; " I shall prac- 
 tise at it myself. I already feel like a Parthian." 
 
 " The greatest secret," continued Singleton, " in the use of 
 the bow, seems to consist in drawing the arrow to its head. This 
 was the secret of the English, and must have been of all very 
 remarkable bowmen. To do this, the arrow must be drawn to 
 the right ear. It is then delivered with its greatest force, and 
 this requires equally sleight and strength. The feebler nations 
 of the East, the Italians, and the gentle, timid races of the island 
 of Cuba, and of Peru, seem to, have drawn the weapon, as the 
 ladies do, only to the breast. This mode of shooting diminishes 
 the force one half. But you must practise constantly, boys, all 
 
142 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 of you, when you have nothing more pressing on hands, so as to 
 make sure of the butts at a hundred yards. That will answer 
 for us. If this war is to last two years longer, as I suppose it 
 wUl, we shall have no other ammunition to rely upon. We 
 must take our bows from the savages, and our pikes from the 
 Swiss." 
 
 There was some little more conversation, which, like that re- 
 ported, forms no part of the absolute business of our narrative. 
 But Singleton was not the person to waste much time. It was 
 important, he thought, to raise the estimate of the bow and ar- 
 row among his followers, deeming it highly probable, not only 
 that the weapon might be made very efficient even in modem 
 warfare, but that it might be the only one left to them for future 
 use. The partisans of Carolina, during the struggle for the 
 recovery of the state, very seldom went into action with more 
 than three rounds to the man. 
 
 " And now. Lance," said Singleton, " a few words with you." 
 
 He led him aside from the rest. 
 
 " Do you bring me any letters 1" 
 
 " None, sir ; the colonel had no time for writing, and no con- 
 veniences." 
 
 -' Where did you leave him 1" 
 
 " On the Edisto." 
 
 " West side V 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Had the negroes all come in 1" 
 
 "All, sir, but one — a young fellow named Aaron, whom he 
 ' thinks must have fallen into the hands of the enemy, or run off 
 to them. He has sent them off for the Santee, under the charge 
 of Lieutenant Davis, with an escort of ten men.'' 
 
 " How does he recruit 1" 
 
 " Well, sir, he got nineteen men along the Edisto, and fifteen 
 brought their own rifles. His force is now forty-five, not count- 
 ing our people, who will soon join us. He had a brush with a 
 party of tories, under Lem Waters ; killed three, and took seven. 
 He thinks of making a push for the Savannah, where there is 
 one Major Fulton, with a party. He will then come back to 
 the Edisto, and perhaps scout about the Ashley in hopes of 
 
WOODCEAPT. 143 
 
 picking up a train of wagons. He is mightily in want of powder 
 and ball, and begs that you will send him all you have to spare." 
 
 " He must look to the bow and arrow, I am afraid, at least for 
 a season. Still, I am in hopes to do something for him, if my 
 present scheme turns out well. But everything is doubtful yet. 
 Did you get any tidings along the route V 
 
 "Nothing much, sir. The country's moving everywhere; 
 now on one side, now on the other ; and I hear something every- 
 where of small parties, gathering up cattle and provisions." 
 
 The examination was stiU further pursued ; but enough has 
 been said to show the whereabouts and the performances of 
 Colonel Walton, which were the chief objects of Singleton. The 
 two soon rejoined the rest ; and, after some general instnictions 
 and suggestions. Singleton led Lieutenant Porgy aside to com- 
 municate his more private wishes. 
 
 " At twelve to-morrow," said he, " I expect to be in the 
 neighborhood of the Eight-Mile and Quarter-House. At one or 
 other of these places, God wilhng, I hope to be at that hour. 
 I wish you to cross the river with your party, and shelter your- 
 self in the swamp-forest along the banks. Send your scouts out 
 with instructions to keep watch upon both the Quarter and 
 Eight-Mile House. A couple of chosen men, quick and keen- 
 sighted, must be within hearing, but close, in the thicket of 
 Izard's camp. Should they hear a triple blast of my horn, with 
 a pause of one, and then another blast, let them make, with all 
 speed, to the point from which I sound. Let them carry their 
 rifles as well as broadswords, and see that their pieces are fit for 
 service. But on no account let them disturb any persons along 
 the route." 
 
 " Suppose a convoy for Dorchester, under a small guard ?" 
 
 " Let it pass without disturbance, and let them not show them- 
 selves, on any pretext, or with any temptation in their sight, 
 unless they hear my signal." 
 
 " We are grievously in want of everything. A single full 
 powder-horn, and half a dozen or a dozen bullets, to each man, 
 is all that we can muster. Salt is wanted, and " 
 
 " I know all your wants, and hope shortly to supply them ; 
 but I have objects in view of stUl more importance, and they 
 
144 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 must not be perilled even to supply our deficiencies. Let these 
 instructions be closely followed, lieutenant, if you please. I 
 shall probably find an opportunity of seeing and speaking with 
 you, in the evening, on my return route to Dorchester." 
 
 " Do you venture there again 1" 
 
 " There, or to ' The Oaks !'" 
 
 " Is there anything more, Colonel Singleton, in the way of 
 instructions V 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Then let me have a word, colonel ; and you will excuse me 
 if I speak qpite as much as a friend as a subordinate." 
 
 "My dear Porgy " 
 
 "Ah, colonel " 
 
 " Let me say, once for all, that I regard you as a comrade 
 always, and this implies as indulgent a friendship as comports 
 with duty." 
 
 " Do I not know it ? I thank you ! I thank you from the 
 bottom of my heart! — and I have a heart. Singleton — by 
 Apollo, I have a heart, though the rascally dimensions of my 
 stomach may sometimes interfere with it. And now to the 
 matter. I am concerned about you. I am." 
 
 " How 1" 
 
 " As a soldier, and a brave one, of course you know that you 
 are liable to be killed at any moment. A wilful bullet, a sweep- 
 ing sword-stroke, or the angry push of a rusty bayonet, in bad 
 hands, may disturb as readily the functions of the bowels in a 
 colonel as in a lieutenant. For either of these mischances, the 
 professional soldier is supposed, at all times, to be prepared ; 
 and I believe that we both go to our duties without giving much 
 heed to the contingencies that belong to them." 
 
 " I am sure that you do, lieutenant." 
 
 " Call me Porgy, colonel, if you please, while we speak of 
 matters aside from business. If I am proud of anything, it is of 
 the affections of those whom I esteem." 
 
 " Go on, Porgy." 
 
 " Now, my dear colonel, that you should die by bullet, broad- 
 sword, or bayonet, is nothing particularly objectionable, consid- 
 ering our vocation. It may be something of an inconvenience to 
 
WOODCRAFT. 145 
 
 you, physically ; but it is nothing that your friends should have 
 reason to be ashamed of. But to die by the halter, Colonel 
 Singleton — to wear a knotted handkerchief of hemp — to carry 
 the knot beneath the left ear — throwing the head awkwardly 
 on the opposite side, instead of covering with it the Adam's 
 apple — to be made the fniit of the tree against the nature of the 
 tree — to be hitched into cross-grained timbers, against the grain 
 — to die the death of a dog, after Uving the life of a man — this, 
 sir, would be a subject of great humiliation to all your friends, 
 and must, I take it, be a subject of painful consideration to your- 
 self." 
 
 " Very decidedly, Porgy," was the reply of the other, with a 
 good-natured laugh. 
 
 ''Why will you incur the dangers of such a fatal This is 
 what your friends have a right to ask. Why put yourself, 
 bound, as it were, hand and foot, in the keeping of these red- 
 coated Philistines, who would truss you up at any moment to a 
 swinging limb with as little remorse as the male alligator exhibits 
 when he swallows a hecatomb of his own kidney. Why linger 
 at Dorchester, or at ' The Oaks,' with this danger perpetually 
 staring you in the face ? There are few men at ' The Oaks,' 
 and the place is badly guarded. The force at Dorchester itself 
 is not so great but that, with Col. Walton's squadron, we might 
 attenipt it. Say the word, and, in forty-eight hours, we can 
 harry both houses ; and if swinging must be done by somebody, 
 for the benefit of ' The Oaks' hereafter, why, in God's name, let 
 it be a British or a Hessian carcass instead of one's own. I 
 might be persuaded, in the case of one of these bloody heathens, 
 to think the spectacle a comely one. But in your case, colonel, 
 as I am living man, it would take away my appetite for ever." 
 
 " Nay, Porgy, you overrate the danger." 
 
 " Do I ! Not a bit. I tell you these people are getting des- 
 perate. Their cruelties are beginning only ; and for this reason, 
 that they find the state unconquered. So long as there is a 
 single squad like ours between the Pedee and the Savannah, so 
 long is there a hope for us and a hate for them. Hear to me, 
 colonel, and beware ! There is deadly peril in the risks which 
 you daily take." 
 
 7 
 
146 KATHAEINB WALTON. 
 
 " I know that there is risk, Porgy ; but there are great gains 
 depending upon these risks, and they must he undertaken by 
 somebody. Our spies undertake such risks daUy.'' 
 
 " A spy is a spy, colonel, and nothing but a spy. He was 
 born to a spy's life and a spy's destiny.' He knows his nature 
 and the end of his creation, and he goes to his end as to a matter 
 of obligation. He includes the price of the halter, and the in- 
 convenience of strangulation, in the amount which he charges 
 for the duty to be done. But we who get no pay at all, and 
 fight for the fun and the freedom of the thing only — there's no 
 obUgation upon us to assume the duty of another, at the risk of 
 making a bad picture, and feeling uncomfortable in our last mo- 
 ments. No law of duty can exact of me that I shall not only 
 die, but die of rope, making an unhandsome corse, with my head 
 awfully twisted from the centre of gravity, where only it could 
 lie at ease ! My dear colonel, think of this ! Say the word ! 
 and fight, scout, or only scrimmage, we'll share all risks with 
 you, whether the word be ' Oaks' or ' Dorchester !' " 
 
 " The peril will he soon over, Porgy. Three days wUl end 
 it, in all probability ; and, in that time, the same prudence which 
 has kept me safe so long will probably prevail to secure me to 
 the end. Have no fears — and do not forget that you can al- 
 ways strike in at the last moment. Your scouts see all that goes 
 on, and, in a moment of danger, you know the signal." 
 
 " Be it so ! we're ready ! Still I could wish it otherwise. 
 But, by the way, talking of wh-at we see, there's something that 
 Bostwick has to tell you. He was stationed between ' The 
 Oaks' and ' Dorchester' during the afternoon, and came in soon 
 after dark. Here, Bostwick !" — and as the fellow came out of 
 the front to the place where the two had been conversing, Porgy 
 continued : — 
 
 " The colonel wants to hear of you what took place between 
 the commandant of the post of Dorchester, Major Vaughan, and 
 the chunky red faced fellow, whom you did not know " 
 
 Bostwick told his story, which was briefly this. He had seen 
 Vaughan ride toward " The Oaks," and saw him returning to 
 Dorchester just before dark. When within a mile of " The 
 Oaks," Vaughan drew up and dismounted, leading his horse 
 
WOODCRAFT. 147 
 
 aside from the road and close to the thicket in which Bostwick 
 lay concealed. Here he was soon joined by a " chunky red- 
 faced fellow," as Porgy had described him, and a conversation 
 of several minutes took place between the two, a portion of 
 which only was intelhgible to the scout. The names of Proctor 
 and Fumess, however, were several times mentioned by both 
 parties ; and Vaughan was evidently much interested in the 
 subject. And length, the stranger, whom he called "John," 
 gave him two letters, or folded papers, which Vaughan opened 
 and read eagerly. Bostwick heard him say, distinctly — 
 
 " These, John, are very important. I now see whence he 
 gets his knowledge. Find me more of these papers, John. 
 He must have others. These do not tell all, yet he knows all ! 
 Find the rest, and be on the watch when he receives a new one." 
 
 " You will give them back to me," said John, " now that you 
 have read them." 
 
 " Yes, when I have copied them. You shall have them to-mor- 
 row. You say that he showed these papers to Captain Fumess?" 
 
 " Not sure, your honor ; but he had them on the bedside when 
 they talked together. I saw them through the keyhole." 
 
 " With that," continued Bostwick, " the major took a piece of 
 gold money from his pocket and dropped it beside him where 
 he stood. The other Sitooped and picked it up, and offered it to 
 the major, who said, ' Keep it for your honesty, John.' They 
 had something more to say, but I couldn't make it out, though 
 I listened hard, thinking it might consam you, colonel. After 
 that, the major mounted and put off, and I tracked the other 
 back to ' The Oaks.' He got in jist when you returned from 
 riding with Major Proctor." 
 
 " Thank you, Bostwick — it does, in some measure, concern 
 me. You are a good fellow, and though I have no gold pieces 
 to drop for your benefit, yet you shall also be remembered for 
 your honesty." 
 
 The business despatched which brought him to the encamp- 
 ment of his followers, the farewell of Singleton was no such 
 formal leave-taking as distinguishes the military martinet. It 
 was the affectionate farewell of comrades, who felt that they 
 were parting with a friend rather than a superior. 
 
148 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HOW TO PLAY WITH KNAVES. 
 
 Our partisan returned, without being discovered, to the man- 
 sion-house at " The Oaks,'' and reached his room in silence. 
 He was soon asleep, for with a mind at ease, and habits of phys- 
 ical activity, sleep is never slow to bring us the needful succor. 
 In the morning, he was up betimes, and soon made his way to 
 the chamber of Proctor, who still slept — the unsatisfactory, 
 uneasy sleep of anxiety and apprehension. Singleton had al- 
 ready thought of what he should do and say, in regard to the 
 revelation which he felt that it was necessary to make to his new 
 companion. There was some difficulty in accounting for the 
 information he had acquired, touching the faithlessness of Proc- 
 tor's servant, John ; but our partisan had discussed the matter 
 calmly in his own mind, and had come to the conclusion that 
 Proctor should hear of the important fact, without being suffered 
 to ask for an authority. This reservation, in the case of a man 
 of character and good sense, like Singleton, was not a matter of 
 difficulty. 
 
 The treacherous servant, knowing his master's habits of late 
 rising, was absent. Singleton ascertained this fact before pro- 
 ceeding to Proctor's chamber. He thought it not improbable 
 that John had gone to a meeting with Vaughan, with the view 
 to the seasonable recovery of the letters ; and, possibly to 
 receive instructions for the future. It was important to avail 
 himself of his absence, the better to effect his exposure. The 
 British major was somewhat surprised to find Singleton in his 
 chamber. 
 
now TO PLAY WITH KNAVES. 149 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, Fumess 1 I'm devilish gkd to see 
 you"; but why so early ?" 
 
 " I shall leave you directly after breakfast, and had something 
 to say to you in private, which I regard as of moment to your- 
 self, particularly at this juncture." 
 
 " Ah ! but whither do you go V 
 
 "Below, to meet with General Williamson, at the Quarter 
 House." 
 
 "And what's this business 1" 
 
 " I have made a little discovery, Proctor, but can not now in- 
 form you in what manner I have made it, nor who are my au- 
 thorities. On this point, you must ask me no questions, for I shall 
 certainly answer none. In fact, a little secret of my own is in- 
 volved in the matter, and this must make you content with what 
 I shall be willing to disclose. But you will lose nothing. All 
 that is important to you shall be told, and it must satisfy you 
 when I assure you solemnly that it comes from the most un- 
 questionable sources. You may safely believe it all." 
 
 " Be it so ! On your own conditions, then. I have the utmost 
 faith in your assurance." 
 
 "1 thank you; — and, first, can you let me see again those 
 two letters of your anonymous correspondent ?" 
 
 " Certainly ;" and Proctor leaped out of bed, threw on his robe 
 de chamlre, and proceeded to search his escritoir. The letters 
 were not forthcoming. His trunks were next overhauled, his 
 dressing-case, the pockets of his coat — they were nowhere to be 
 found. 
 
 "I am satisfied," said Singleton ; " I feel sure that you look 
 in vain." 
 
 " I must have taken them with me, and left them below 
 stairs." 
 
 " No ! They are in the hands of Vaughan, your enemy !" 
 
 " How ! What mean you ]" demanded the other. 
 
 Singleton then related what he had heard of the inter^new 
 between Vaughan and the fellow John, as Bostwick reported it, 
 suppressing, of course, all the clews to his source of information ; 
 but otherwise withholding nothing. Proctor was in a rage of 
 indignation. 
 
150 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Fool that I was ! and I saw nothbg ; I suspected nothing ; 
 and tins execrable scoundrel has been a spy upon my footsteps, 
 Heaven knows how long ! But I shall have the satisfaction, 
 before I send him adrift, of reading him such a lesson with the 
 horsewhip as shall be a perpetual endorsement to his back and 
 character." ' 
 
 " You will do no such thing, Proctor," said Singleton, coolly, 
 while^ going to the door and looking out upon the passage. It 
 was clear, and he returned. 
 
 " Dress yourself at once. Proctor, and come with me to my cham- 
 ber. It is more secure from eaves-droppers than this apartment. 
 And first, let me entreat that you will bridle your anger ; and, above 
 all, suffer not this fellow to see or to suspect it. Let me exhort 
 you to begin, from this moment, the labor of self-restraipt. Your 
 success in extricating yourself from the difficulty in which you 
 stand, will be found in the adoption of that marble-like coldness 
 of character which really confers so much strength upon your 
 enemy. You must be cool, at least, and silent too. Come, hasten 
 your dressing, for I have much to say, and shall have little time 
 to say it in before breakfast." 
 
 Proctor already deferred to the prompt, energetic, and clear- 
 headed character of Singleton. He stared at him a moment, 
 and then proceeded to obey him. His toilet was as quickly 
 made as possible, and they were soon in Singleton's chamber. 
 The latter then renewed the subject, and continued his counsels 
 in the following fashion : — 
 
 "You have lived long enough, my dear Proctor, in ova south- 
 em coimtry, to know something of the rattlesnake. If you have 
 ever had occasion to walk into our woods of a summer night, 
 and to have suddenly heard the rattle sounded near you, yon 
 can very well conceive the terror which such a sound will in- 
 spire in the bosom of any man. It is a present and a pressing 
 danger, but you know not from what quarter to expect the blow. 
 The ringing seems to go on all around you. You fancy your- 
 self in a very nest of snakes ; and you are fixed, frozen, expect- 
 ing your death every moment, yet dread to attempt your escape 
 — dread to lift a foot lost you provoke the bite which is mortal. 
 It is the very inability to face the enemy, to see where he lies 
 
HOW TO PLAY WITH KNAVES, 151 
 
 in ambush, that is the chief occasion of your terror. Could you 
 see him — could you look on him where he lies — though coiled 
 almost at your feet, head thrown back, jaws wide, fangs pro- 
 truded, and eyes blazing, as it were, with a coppery lustre — 
 you would have no apprehensions — he would, in fact, be harm- 
 less, and you could survey him at your leisure, and knock him 
 quietly on the head as soon as you had satisfied your curiosity. 
 Now, I regard it as particularly fortunate that you have discov- 
 ered, in this instance, where your chief danger lies. You see 
 your enemy. You know where he is. You know through what 
 agency he works, and nothing is more easy than to keep your 
 eye upon him, follow him in all his windings, and crush him with 
 your heel at the most favorable moment. Your man John is 
 the pilot to your rattlesnake. You are probably aware that the 
 rattlesnake has his pilot, as the shark his, and the lion his V 
 
 " Is it so ?" 
 
 " Even so ; and so far from showing yourself angry with this 
 good fellow John, whose benevolence is such that he would serve 
 two masters — so far from dismissing him with the horsewhip — 
 your policy is not even to let him know what you have discov- 
 ered. He will probably bring back these letters quietly, and 
 you .will find them, after your return from breakfast, in the prop- 
 er place in your escritoir ; and you wiU show yourself quite as 
 unsuspicious as before." 
 
 " And keep the fellow still in my service ?" 
 
 " To be sure, for the best of reasons ! Through him you may 
 be able to ascertain the game of his employer. By him you 
 will probably trace out the windings of his master-snake. You 
 will simply take care to put no important secrets in his way." 
 
 " But he has false keys, no doubt, to every trunk and escritoir 
 that I have ?" 
 
 " Most probably, and you will suffer him to heep them ; only 
 find some other hiding-place for your important matters to which 
 you are secure that he carries no key, simply because of his ig- 
 norance of the hiding-place. Ordinary letters you wiU put away 
 in the old places as before. Nay, as your enemy Vaughan 
 seems to know this hand-writing — wmch you do not — you may 
 amuse yourself by putting other choice specimens in his way. 
 
152 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 Imitate the hand occasionally — write yourself a few billets-clotix 
 now and then — and you may suggest little schemes for inter- 
 views between yourself and the unknown fair one, upon which 
 your excellent fellow John will maintain a certain watch ; and 
 you can maintain your watch on him. It is now certain, from 
 what Vaughan has said, that the handwriting is known to him, 
 and that it is a woman's !" 
 
 " But the wearisome toil of such a watch — the annoying feel- 
 ing that you have such a rascal about you." 
 
 " Very annoying, doubtless, and troublesome ; but it is one 
 of those necessities which occur in almost every life — where a 
 man has to endure much, and struggle much, and exert all his 
 manhood to secure safety or redress, or vengeance." 
 
 " Ha! that is the word ! vengeance ! and I will have it !" 
 
 " It is an advantage to keep John, that you do know him. 
 Dismiss him, and you warn Vaughan and himself that he is sus- 
 pected — possibly discovered. This makes your enemy cautious. 
 He still may employ John to your dis-service, though you em- 
 ploy him not. Should you get another servant are you better 
 sure of his fidelity ? Is it not just as likely that he will be bought 
 and bribed also? Will you doubt himi — can you confide in 
 him ? Neither, exactly — both, certainly to some extent ! Why 
 not confide in John to the same extent ? In other words, con- 
 fide in neither. Seem not to suspect him, but leave nothing at 
 Lis mercy. This is simply a proper, manly vigilance where you 
 are sun-ounded by enemies, and where their strategems and 
 your incaution have already given them an advantage in the 
 campaign." 
 
 " Ah ! Fumess, had I your assistance V 
 
 " You do not need it. Exert your own faculties and subdue 
 your passion until you are certain of your prey. If you be not 
 cool, patient, watchful, you are lost in the struggle. Are you a 
 man? Here is one of the most admirable of all opportunities to 
 assert and prove your manhood. Any blockhead, with the or- 
 dinary gentlemanly endowment of courage, can fight through 
 the enemy's ranks, or perish with honor. But it is the noblest 
 manhood, that in which courage is twinned with thought, to fight 
 only at your pleasure, and make your intellect the shield in the 
 
HOW TO PLAY WITH KNAVKS. 153 
 
 Struggle. Do not fear that I shall desert you, Proctor, when 
 you need a friend." 
 
 " I thank you. You are right. I feel that I can do what 
 you cou.nsel, and I will do it. Let me have your further coun- 
 sels. 
 
 We need not pursue those suggestions of Singleton, by which 
 he advised the details in general terms, of that policy with which 
 he sought to impress his companion. Proctor was by no means 
 a feeble man — in fact, he was rather a' strong one, capable of 
 thought and possessed of latent energies which needed nothing 
 but the spur of a will which had not yet been forced into suffi- 
 cient activity. The superior will of Singleton finally stimulated 
 bis own. He acknowledged its superiority and tacitly defen-ed 
 to it. The other was copious in his suggestions, and they were 
 those of a vigilant mind, sharpened by practice, and naturally 
 well endowed with foresight and circumspection. He took a 
 comprehensive view of all the difficulties in the way of the Brit- 
 ish officer, and succeeded in pointing out to him where, and in 
 what manner, he would most probably find the clews which 
 would successfully lead him out from among his enemies. We 
 need only give his closing counsels, as they somewhat concern 
 us at present. 
 
 " Do not think of leaving ' The Oaks' just now. Proctor. Ee- 
 main here, keeping the, excellent John with you until your uncle 
 departs. Busy yourself as his secretary. He needs your ser- 
 vices. The young man he has with him can give him little help, 
 and he knows it. He is disposed to conciliate you, and I would 
 not show myself hostile or suspicious. It may serve you some- 
 what, as well as Oruden, to remain here as long as you can. 
 Your policy is to gain time, and to be as near your enemy aa 
 possible, affording him all his present opportunities, as long as 
 this can be done with propriety. For this, you have a reasona- 
 ble excuse, so long as Oruden remains. While here, you may 
 also serve this young lady, the daughter of Walton, in whom 
 you appear to have an interest. Her affairs may well need the 
 assistance of such a friend as yourself." 
 
 The call to breakfast brought John to the presence of his 
 
 master. Proctor played his part successftdly, and the fellow 
 
 7» 
 
154 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 had no suspicions, though somewhat surprised to find the former 
 up and dressed, and in the chamber of the loyalist, Fumess. 
 We may add that, when Proctor looked into his escritoir, an 
 hour after Singh;ton's departure, he found the missing letters in 
 the place where he kept them usually. Our partisan left " The 
 Oaks" soon after breakfast, his farewells being exchanged with 
 Oruden and his nephew at the table. A silent but emphatic 
 squeeze of the hand, on the part of Proctor, spoke more impres- 
 sively than words the Varmth of that young man's feelings. 
 
SUEPMSE, 155 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SURPRISE. 
 
 Riding slowly, and looking about him with a curious interest 
 as he rode, Singleton did not reach his place of destination till 
 nearly one o'clock. He was not unconscious, as he proceeded, 
 of occasional intimations in the forest that his friends were already 
 at the designated points of watch. At intervals, the hootings of 
 the owl, or a sharp whistle, familiar to Marion's men, apprized 
 him where to look for them in the moment of emergency. He 
 himself was not without hiS weapons, though the small-sword at 
 his side alone was visible. An excellent pair of pistols was con- 
 cealed within the ample folds of his hunting-shirt, and a beauti- 
 fully polished horn was slung about his neck. With a fleet and 
 powerful steed of the best Virginia blood, well-trained, and ac- 
 customed to obey cheerfiiUy the simplest word of his rider. Sin- 
 gleton felt as perfectly confident of his own security as it is pos- 
 sible for one to feel under any circumstances. He rode forward 
 with coolness, accordingly, to the place of meeting, with a person, 
 for whom, at that period, the patriots of South Carolina felt noth- 
 ing but loathing and contempt. 
 
 General Williamson, the person thus regarded, was a Scotch- 
 man, who had probably entered the colonies some twelve or 
 fifteen years before, and had acquired considerable social and 
 political influence in the upper country — the region which he 
 occupied being originally settled in great part by Europeans 
 direct from the Old World, or immediately from Pennsylvania 
 and New York. In the first dawning of the Revolutionary 
 straggle, WUliamson took sides with the movement, or patriotic 
 party. It is probable that he was influenced in this direction, 
 
166 KATHARINE -WALTOfr, 
 
 ratter in consequence of certain local rivalries in the interior, 
 and because of the judicious persuasions, or flatteries, of the 
 leading men of the lower country — Drayton, Laurens, and 
 others— than because of any real activity of his sympathies 
 with the cause of (jolonial independence. He was an illiterate, 
 hut shrewd person ; and, as a colonel first, and finally a general 
 of militia, he behaved well, and operated successfully in sundry 
 conflicts with the Indians of the frontier and the loyalists of his 
 own precincts. The fall of Charleston, which temporarily pros- 
 trated the strength of the state, threw him into the arms of the 
 enemy. He took what is commonly known as a " British pro- 
 tection," by which he professed to observe a neutrality during 
 the progress of the war. In the condition of affairs — the utter 
 overthrow of the army of the south, the belief that its resources 
 were exhausted, and the growing opinion that Congress would 
 be compelled,, through similar exhaustion of resource, to yield to 
 the British, at least the two colonies of Georgia and South Caro- 
 lina, both of which were covered by the invading array — this 
 measure, on the part of Williamson, was perhaps not so censur- 
 able. The same act had been performed by many others in 
 conspicuous positions, who could offer no such apology as Wil- 
 liamson. He was a foreigner ; originally a subject of the British 
 crown ; sprung from a people remarkable always for their loy- 
 alty, amd whose affinities were naturally due to the cause of 
 Britain. But Williamson's error was not limited to the taking 
 of " protection." He took up his abode within the walls of 
 Charleston, and it became the policy of the British to employ 
 his influence against the cause for which he had so recently 
 been in arms. In this new relation, it is doubtful if he exercised 
 much influence with the borderers whom he deserted. It was 
 enough that such were understood to be his new objects, by ' 
 which he had secured, in especial degree, the favor of the Brit- 
 ish commandant at Charleston. The affair of Arnold, in the 
 north, furnished a name to WilUamson in the south ; and when 
 spoken of subsequently to the detection of Arnold's treason, he 
 was distinguished as the " Arnold of Carolina." This summary 
 will sufficiently serve as introductoiy to what follows. It was 
 to confer with this person, thus odiously distinguished, that we 
 
SURPRISE. 157 
 
 find Colonel Singleton, of Marion's brigade, in the assumed 
 character and costume of Captain Fumess, of the loyalist rifles, 
 on his way to the public hotel, some eight miles from Charleston, 
 
 Williamson had been, somewhat impatiently, awaiting his 
 arrival in one %{ the chambers of the hotel, whence he looked 
 forth upon the surrounding woods with the air of a man to whom 
 all about him was utterly distasteful. A British dragoon sat 
 upon a fallen tree, some thirty yards from the dwelhng, his 
 horse being fastened to a swinging limb, and ready saddled and 
 bitted, awaiting ia the shade. 
 
 There was something in what he saw to darken the brows of 
 the general, who, wheeling away from the window, threw him- 
 self upon a seat in the apartment, and, though there was no fire 
 on the hearth, drawing near to it 'and thrusting his heels against 
 the mantel. He was a stout, well-built personage, on the wintry 
 side of forty, perhaps, with large but wrinkled forehead, and 
 features rather prominent than impressive. His head was 
 thrown back, his eyes resting cloudily upon the ceiling, and his 
 position at such an angle as simply preserved -his equlibrium. 
 His meditations were not of an agreeable character. His dark- 
 ened brows, and occasional fragments of soliloquy, showed them 
 to be gloomy and vexatious. He had many causes for discon- 
 tent, if not apprehension. He had sacrificed good name, po- 
 sition, and property, and had found nothing compensative in the 
 surrender. His former comrades were stiU in the field, still 
 fighting, still apparently resolute in the cause which he had 
 abandoned ; the British strength was not increasing, their foot- 
 hold less sure than before, and their treatment of himself, though 
 civil and respectful, was anything but cordial — was wholly 
 wanting in warmth ; and there was no appearance of a dispo- 
 sition to confer upon him any such command as had been given 
 to Arnold. Whether an appointment equal to that which he 
 had enjoyed in the state establishment, would have reconciled 
 him to his present relations, it is difficult to determine. No such 
 profier had been made him, nor have we any evidence that he 
 was anxious for such an appointment. He was not a man of 
 enterprise ; but he could not deceive himself as to the fact that 
 the British authorities had shown themselves disappointed in the 
 
158 KATHAEINB WALTON. 
 
 amount of strength which his acquisition had brought to their 
 cause. His desertion of the whigs had been followed by no 
 such numbers of his former associates as, perhaps, his own 
 assurances had led his present allies to expect. His labors were 
 now chiefly reduced to a maintenance of a small correspondence 
 with persons of the interior, whom he still hoped to influence, 
 and to such a conciliation of the humors of Balfour — whose 
 weaknesses the shrewd Scotchman had soon discovered — as 
 would continue him in the moderate degree of favor which he 
 enjoyed. This statement will serve to indicate the nature of 
 that surly and dissatisfied mood under which we find him labor- 
 ing. 
 
 He was thus found by Singleton — as Captain Fumess, of the 
 loyalists — whose presence was announced by a little negro, 
 habited only in a coarse cotton shirt reaching to his heels. Of 
 the slight regard which Williamson was disposed to pay to his 
 visiter, or to his objects, or to those of his British employers, we 
 may form a reasonable idea from the fact that he never changed 
 his position in the seat which he occupied ; but stUl, even on the 
 entrance of the supposed loyalist, maintained his heels against 
 the mantel, with the chair ia which he sat properly balanced 
 upon its hind legs. His head was simply turned upon his 
 shoulders enough to suffer his eyes to take in the form of his 
 visiter. 
 
 Singleton saw through the character of the man at a glance. 
 He smiled slightly as their eyes encountered, and drew a rather 
 favorable inference from the treatment thus bestowed upon a 
 seeming loyalist. The auspice looked favorable to the interests 
 of the patriotic party. He approached, but did not seek, by 
 any unnecessary familiarity, to break down those barriers upon 
 which the dignity of his superior seemed disposed to insist. At 
 once putting on the simple forester, Singleton addressed him — 
 "You're the general — General Williamson — I reckon?" 
 " You are right, sir. I am General Williamson. You, I sup- 
 pose, are Captain Furness, of the loyalist rifles ]" 
 " The same, genferal, and your humble servant." 
 " Take a seat, captain," was the response of Williamson, 
 never once changing his position. 
 
SURPRISE. 159 
 
 " Thank you, sir, and I will," said the other, coolly, drawing 
 his chair within convenient speaking distance. 
 
 " You brought letters to me, Captain Furness, from Colonels 
 Fletchall, Pearis, and Major Stoveall. You are in want of arms, 
 I see. On this subject, I am authorized, by Colonel Balfour, to 
 tell you that a train of wagons will set forth to-morrow from the 
 city. One of these wagons is specially designed for your com- 
 mand, containing all your requisitions. It is that which is num- 
 bered eleven. The train will be imder a small escort, com- 
 manded by Lieutenant Meadows, whom you are requested to 
 assist in his progress. The route will be by Nelson's Ferry to 
 Camden ; and when you have reached Camden, your wagon 
 will be detached and siu'rendered to your own keeping. You 
 will order your command to rendezvous at that point. But here 
 is a letter of instructions from Colonel Balfour, which contains 
 more particular directions." 
 
 Singleton took the letter, which he read deliberately, and put 
 away carefully in his bosom. A pause ensued. Williamson 
 lowered his legs, finally, and said — 
 
 " There is nothing further, Captain Furness. You have all 
 that you require." 
 
 " There were some letters, general, that I brought for you," 
 was the suggestion of Singleton. 
 
 There was a marked hesitancy and dissatisfaction in the reply 
 of his companion. 
 
 " Yes, sir : my friends seem to think that I ought to write 
 despatches by you to certain persons, over whom. I am supposed 
 to exercise some influence. I do not know that such is the case ; 
 and, even if it were, I am not satisfied that I shall be doing a 
 friendly act to the persons referred to by encouraging them, at 
 this stage of the war, to engage in new and perilous enterprises, 
 and form new relations directly opposite to those in which they 
 are acting now." 
 
 " But, general, the cause of his majesty is getting quite des- 
 perate among us. We sha'n't be able to hold our ground at all, 
 unless we can get out on our side such men as Waters, Cald- 
 well, Roebuck, Thomas, MUler, and a few others." 
 
 " That is the very reason, Captain Furness, that I am unwil- 
 
160 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 ling to advise men, whom I so much esteem, to engage in an 
 enterprise which may rain them' for ever." 
 
 " How, general ? I don't see — I don't understand." 
 "Very likely. Captain Fumess," said the other, quite impa- 
 tiently. " Yon see, sir, though as much prepared as ever to 
 promote the success of his majesty's arms and to peril myself, I 
 do not see that it would be altogether proper for me, dealing 
 with friends, to give them such counsel as would involve them 
 in useless dangers, or encourage them in enterprises, the fruits 
 of which may not be profitable to the cause I espouse, and 
 fatal to themselves. In the first place, I doubt greatly if my 
 recommendation would have any effect upon the persons you 
 mention. It is true, they were my friends and followers when 
 I served the whig cause ; but I see no reason to think that, in 
 changing sides, I continued to keep their respect and syrnpathy. 
 In the next place, I am not satisfied that the ofiicers of the 
 crown, or the British government itself, are taking the proper 
 course for pushing their conquests or securing the ground that 
 they have won. They hold forth no encouragement to the peo- 
 ple of the soil. They do not treat well the native champions 
 who rise up for their cause. The provincials are not properly 
 esteemed. They never get promotion ; they are never intrusted 
 with commands of dignity, or with any power by which they 
 could make themselves felt.. The war languishes. No troops, 
 or very few, now arrive from Great Britain ; and, these, chiefly 
 Irish, are better disposed to fight for the rebels than fight 
 against them. In fact, sir, I see nothing to encourage our 
 friends in risking themselves, at this late day, in the struggle. 
 Those who are already committed, who have periled- fame and 
 fortune on the cause, who can not return to the ranks they have 
 abandoned, they must take their chances, I suppose ; but even 
 these see no proper motive which should urge them to persuade 
 persons whom they esteem into the field. I have already done 
 all that I could. When I first left the ranks of the whigs, I 
 wrote to these very persons, giving them the reasons which 
 governed me in my conduct, and urging these reasons upon 
 them as worthy of the first consideration. To these letters I 
 have received no answer. What should prompt me to write 
 
SURPRISE. 161 
 
 them again 1 Of what possihle avail these arguments, repeated 
 now when their prospects are really improving and their strength 
 is greater 1 A proper pride, Captain ITurness, revolts at the 
 humiUation of such a performance." 
 
 " I could have wished, General Williamson," replied Single- 
 ton, his tone and manner changing, " that you could have found 
 a better reason than your pride for your refusal to do what is 
 required." 
 
 " Why, who are you, sir 1" demanded Williamson, drawing 
 back his chair, and confronting the speaker for the first time. 
 
 A smile of Singleton alone answered this question, while he 
 proceeded — 
 
 " I am better pleased, sir, to believe in another reason than 
 that you have given for this forbearance. The decline cff Eng- 
 lish power in the back country, and its weakness and bad man- 
 agement below, are certainly sufficient reasons to keep the patri- 
 ots steadfast in t/ieir faith. But, sir, permit me to ask if you 
 have suffered Colonel Balfour to suspect that you are likely to 
 use this language to me, or to refuse these letters 1" 
 
 An air of alarm instantly overspread the countenance of Wil- 
 liamson. 
 
 Again I ask, who are you V was his reply to this ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " I am not exactly what I seem. General Williamson ; but my 
 purpose here is not to inspire you with any apprehension." 
 
 " Are you not the son of my venerable friend, Ephraim Fur- 
 ness, of Ninety-Six 1" 
 
 " I am not, sir ; I wUl mystify you no longer. For certain pur- 
 poses, I have borrowed the character of Captain il^mess, who 
 is in my hands a prisoner. I am, sir. Colonel Singleton, of 
 Marion's brigade." 
 
 Williamson sprang in horror to his feet. 
 
 "Ha! sir! of Marion's brigade ! What is your purpose with 
 me ? — what do you design? Do you know, sir, that you are in 
 my power 1 that I have only to summon yonder dragoon, and 
 your life, as a spy and a traitor, is in my hands 1" 
 
 " Coolly, General Williamson ; do not deceive yourself. It is 
 1/oM who are in my hands, your dragoon to the contrary not- 
 
162 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 withstanding ! A single -word from you, sir, above your breath, 
 and I blow out your brains without a scruple." 
 
 He drew forth his pistols as he spoke. Williamson, mean- 
 while, was about to cross the room to possess himself of his small- 
 sword that lay upon the table. Singleton threw himself in the 
 way, as he proceeded thus : — 
 
 " 1 have not come here unadvisedly, General Williamson, or 
 without taking all necessary precautions, not only for my safe- 
 ty, but for yours. I have only to sound this bugle, and the house 
 is surrounded by the best men of Marion. You know their qual- 
 ity, and you have heard of me ! I came here, expecting to find 
 you in the very mood in which you show yourself — discontented 
 — humbled to the dust by your own thoughts — conscious and 
 repenting of ei-ror — dissatisfied with the British — dissatisfied 
 with your new alliance, and anxious to escape all further con- 
 nection with it, as equally satisfied that it is fatal to your future 
 hopes and dishonorable to your name. But I came also pre- 
 pared, if disappointed in these calculations, to make you my 
 prisoner, and subject you, as a traitor to the American cause, to 
 a summary trial, and a felon's death." 
 
 A blank consternation overspread the visage of Williamson. 
 He was under the eye of a master — an eye that looked into his 
 own with all the eager watch of the hawk or the eagle, and 
 with all the stem confidence in his own strength which fills the 
 soul of the tiger or the lion. The big sweat stood out in great 
 drops upon the brow of the victim ; he attempted to speak, but 
 his voice failed him ; and still he wavered, with an inclining to 
 the window, as if he stUl thought of summoning the dragoon to 
 his assistance. But the native vigor of his intellect, and his 
 manhood, soon came to his relief. He folded his arms across 
 his breast, and his form once more became steady and erect. 
 
 " You have your pistols. Colonel Singleton ! Use them — you 
 shall use them — you shall have my life, if that is what you 
 desire ; but I will never yield myself alive to the power of your 
 people." 
 
 " You must not be suffered to mistake me. General William- 
 son. If I have been compelled to utter myself in the words of 
 threatening, it was an alternative, wliich you have the power to 
 
SURPRISE. , 163 
 
 avoid. We do not wish your death. We wish your services. 
 We know, as well as yourself, that the power of the British is 
 declining — that the days of their authority are numbered. We 
 know the apology which can be made for your desertion of the 
 American cause " 
 
 " As God is my judge, Colonel Singleton, I never deserted it 
 until it had deserted me ! My officers recommended the protec- 
 tion — our troops were scattered — we had no army left. Beau- 
 fort was cut to pieces — our cavalry dispersed — Congress would, 
 or could, do nothing for us — and, in despair of any success or 
 safety, not knowing where to turn, I signed the accursed instru- 
 ment which was artfully put before us at this juncture, and which 
 offered us a position of neutrality, when it was no longer possible 
 to offer defence." 
 
 " You could have fled, general, as hundreds of us did, to 
 North Carolina and Virginia, to be in readiness for better times." 
 
 " So I might, sir ; but so also might your kinsman, Colonel 
 Walton." 
 
 Singleton was silenced for a moment by the retort ; but he 
 used it for the purposes of reply. 
 
 " Colonel Walton is now atoning, sword in hand, for his tem- 
 porary weakness and error. He was too much governed. Gen- 
 eral Williamson, by considerations such as, no doubt, weighed 
 upon you. He had great wealth, and a favorite daughter." 
 
 " Ah ! there it is ! That, sir, is the melancholy truth. Fam- 
 ily and lands were the thoughts that made me feeble, as it made 
 others." 
 
 There was an appearance of real mental agony in the speaker, 
 in the utterance of these words, which moved the commiseration 
 of Singleton. He proceeded more tenderly : — 
 
 " Undoubtedly, you had your apology, General Williamson, 
 for much of this error ; but not fo7- all ! Still, atonement for 
 all is within your power ; and I have not come hither unadvised 
 of your situation, or of the capacity which you still possess to 
 do service to the country. It is clear that, soon or late, the 
 British must be expelled from the state. Unless you make 
 terms with its future masters, your good name, which you would 
 entail to your children, and your vast landed estates, are equal- 
 
164 * KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 ly the forfeit. I know that these reflections are pressing upon 
 you. I Imow that you yourself, or one whom I assume to he 
 you — you alone can determine if I am right — have already 
 initiated the steps for your return to the hosom of your old 
 friendships and associations. Sir, I was in the tent of General 
 Greene when Mrs. William Thompson and her daughter reached 
 his presence from the city." 
 
 " Ah !" 
 
 " I saw a certain paper taken from the bosom of the uncon- 
 scious child by the mother. It had been put into her bosom by 
 an officer in Charleston, as she was about to leave the city — " 
 
 " Enough, sir, enough ! And General Greene ?" 
 
 " Look at this paper, General Williamson." 
 
 Unscrewing the hilt of his sword. Singleton drew forth a small, 
 neatly-folded billet, without signature or address, which contained 
 certain brief propositions. 
 
 " Read this paper, general. There is nothing explicit in it, 
 nothing to involve any party. But it comes from General Mar- 
 ion, with the approbation of General Greene ; it is designed for 
 yov, ! and you are entreated to recognise me as fully authorized 
 to explain their views and to receive and report your own. 
 You will be pleased to learn from me that your situation, your 
 feelings, and your desires, are perfectly understood; and that 
 they pledge themselves to use all their influence and power in 
 procuring your honorable restoration to the confidence of the 
 country, upon your taking certain steps, which I am prepared 
 to explain, for putting yourself right once more in relation to 
 the cause for which we are contending. It is with you to de- 
 cide." 
 
 " Declare your objects, your wishes. Colonel Singleton. Say 
 the word, and I throw myself at once among the squadrons of 
 Greene, and offer my sword once more, in any capacity, in the 
 service of my country." 
 
 This was said eagerty, and with quite as much earnestness of 
 manner and feeling as was called forth by the tenns of the dec- 
 laration. 
 
 " I am afraid, General Williamson, that you could do us but 
 little service by such a proceeding. You would only endanger 
 
SURPRISE. 165 
 
 yourself without serving our cause. To deal with you candidly, 
 you have a penance to perform. You must approve yourself a 
 friend by absolute and valuable services before you can be rec- 
 ognised as such. There is no injustice in this. You will re- 
 member your own answei^, on your Cherokee expedition, in 
 1776, when Eobert Cunningham came into your camp and of- 
 fered his services. You objected that, however, willing your- 
 self to confide in his assurances, the prejudices of your people 
 could not be overcome with regard to him. His case then, is 
 yours now. To show yourself among our troops would be to 
 peril your life only. I could not answer for it." 
 
 " In the name of God, then, what am I to do ? How can I 
 serve you !" 
 
 "Where you are — in the camp — in the city of the enemy," 
 answered Singleton, impressively resting his hand upon the 
 wrist of his companion, " you may do us a service of the last 
 importance, the results of which will be eminently great — the 
 merits of which will wholly acquit you of all past weaknesses. 
 Hear me, sir. We know that we have friends in Charleston, 
 who are impatient of the miserable, the brutal, and degrading 
 yoke of Nesbitt Balfour ! We know that many are desperately 
 inclined to rise in arms, and to seek, at all hazards, to rescue the 
 city from the enemy. It needs but little help or encouragement 
 from without ; and that, help General Greene is not disposed to 
 withhold, whenever he can be satisfied of a reasonable prospect 
 of success. The British garrison in Charleston is known to be 
 weak and dispirited. Their cavalry is small. They have no 
 enterprise. Supplies from Britain do not often arrive in season, 
 and the commandant has already more than once meditated re- 
 cruiting bodies of the blacks as troops for supplying their defi- 
 ciencies, and meeting the emergencies which increase daily. 
 Let them once be compelled to put that design into execution, 
 and they not only stimulate all the patriots into renewed activ- 
 ity — arm many who have been hitherto inert — but drive from 
 their ranks every loyahst who is a slaveholder. This is their 
 peril — this shows their feebleness. Of this feebleness we pro- 
 pose to take advantage on the first specious showing of good for- 
 tune. For this purpose we desire, within the city, a friend who 
 
166 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 will promptly and truthfully convey intelligence — Tvill ascertain 
 our friends — inform us in regard to our resources — show where 
 the defences are weakest, and keep us well advised of the plans, 
 the strength, and the movements of the enemy. It is for you 
 to determine whether you will act in this capacity — one nowise 
 inconsistent with your present feelings and former principles, and 
 one, I may add, hy no means inconsistent with a sound policy, 
 which must see that the days of British rule are numbered on 
 this continent." 
 
 What need to pursue, through its details, the protracted con- 
 ference between the parties ? Let it suffice that the terms vouch- 
 safed by Greene, through Singleton, were acceded to by Wil- 
 liamson. In some degree, he had been already prepared for 
 this yetransfer of his allegiance to his former faith. We must 
 do him the justice, however, to add that he would greatly have 
 preferred to have done his part, as heretofore, in the field of 
 battle. But this was clearly impossible ; and his own shrewd 
 sense soon persuaded him of the truth and force of Singleton's 
 reasoning. They separated with an understanding that they 
 were to meet again at designated periods, and a cipher was 
 agreed upon between them. It was quite dark when Sin- 
 gleton, after a smart canter, found himself once more at " The 
 Oaks." We forego the details of a brief interview with his 
 scouting party, on the route, as not necessary to onr progi-ess, 
 and designed only to instruct his followers in respect to theirs. 
 
THE EBTEL. 167 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THK REVEL. 
 
 In the brief and hurried meeting which had taken place be- 
 tween Singleton and his men, on his return from the interview 
 with Williamson, he had given them such instructions as caused 
 their general movement. Their camps, on both sides of the 
 Ashley, were broken up that very night ; and, lighted by a 
 friendly moon — having so arranged as to give a wide berth to 
 " The Oaks," as well as Dorchester — they were scouring away 
 by midnight, through well-known forest-paths, in the direction of 
 " The Cypress," at the head of the Ashley, where lay another 
 party of the band. 
 
 There was famous frolicking that night in the secure recesses 
 of the swamp. Here they might laugh and sport without appre- 
 hension. Here they might send up the wild song of the hunter 
 or the warrior, nor dread that the echoes would reach unfriendly 
 ears. Well might our fearless partisans give loose to their live- 
 lier impulses, and recompense themselves for the restraints of the 
 past in a cheerful hilarity and play. There was a day of respite 
 accorded to their toils, and their fires were gayly lighted, and 
 their venison steaks smoked and steamed upon the burning 
 coals, and their horns were converted into drinldng cups ; and 
 the dance enlivened their revels, imder the great oaks and cy- 
 presses, towering over the islet hammocks of the deep morass. 
 
 " Shall all be toil and strife, and care and anxiety, my com- 
 rades 1" was the cry of Porgy, as they surrounded the fire when 
 supper was concluded and listened to the oracular givings-forth 
 of that native epicurean. " We, who ride by midnight and 
 fight by day, who scont and scour the woods at all hours and 
 
168 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 seasons, for whom there is no pay and as little promotion, 
 shall we not laugh and dance, and shout and sing, when occa- 
 sion offers, and leave the devil, as in duty hound, to pay the pi- 
 per ? Hear our arrangements for the night. Give ear, boys, 
 and hearken to the duties assigned you. Half a dozen of you 
 must take the dogs and gather up a few coons and 'possums. 
 We must take care of the morrow, in spite of the apostle. Who 
 volunteers for the coon hunt 1" 
 
 " If the lieutenant will go himself, I'm one to volunteer," said 
 Ben Mosely. 
 
 " Out upon thee, you young varmint ! Do you mean me ? 
 With such a person as mine — a figure made for state occasions 
 and great ceremonials only ? Do you mean me ?" 
 
 " To he sure I do," was the reply. 
 
 " Why, this is flat treason ! It's a design against my life, as 
 well as my dignity. I hunt coons 1 1 splash and plunge among 
 these hammocks, bestraddle fallen cypresses, rope myself with 
 vines, burrow in bogs, and bruise nose and shin against snags 
 and branches ! Come closer, my son, that I may knock thee 
 upon the head with this lightwood knot." 
 
 " Thank you for nothing, lieutenant — I'm well enough at this 
 distance," said Ben, coolly. _ .ga^-v*. 
 
 "No — no, my children; the employment should always suit 
 the party. You are young and slight. You will pass through 
 avenues where I should stick, and leap bayous through which I 
 should have to flounder : my better plan is presiding at your 
 feasts, and giving dignity to your frolics. Call up your dogs, 
 Ben — you, Stokes, Higgins, Joe, MUler, Charley, Droze, and 
 Ike Waring — and put out without more delay. I know that 
 you can get us more coons than any others of the squad ; and I 
 know-that you like the sport. Be about it. We shall console 
 ourselves during your absence, as well as we can, with dance 
 and song, with a few games of old sledge, and with an occasional 
 draught from the jug of Jamaica, in honor of your achieve- 
 ments." 
 
 Some playful remonstrances from the party thus chosen were 
 urged against the arrangement, and no doubt one or more of 
 them would have preferred infinitely to remain behind; but 
 
THE EETEL. 169 
 
 they -were all young, and the supper and the rest of an hour, 
 which they had enjoyed, had put them in the humor which makes 
 men readily submissive to a superior, particularly when the labor 
 takes something of the aspect of a frolic. 
 
 " But you will let us have a sup of the Jamaica, Uncle Porgy, 
 before we set out ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes. You are good children ; and perhaps your only 
 deficiency is in the matter of spirit. Yon shall embrace the jug." 
 
 " A sup all round," was the cry from some one in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 " "What impudent fellow is that, yelping out from Ihe darltness 
 made by his own face ? Let him come forward and get his 
 deserts." 
 
 " If that's what you mean, uncle," said the speaker, coming 
 forward, "I shall have the jug to myself." 
 
 "What! you, Pritchard! — the handle only, you dog! Why 
 should you have a right to any 1" 
 
 " The best right in the world. And now let me ask. Lieu- 
 tenant Porgy, where this old Jamaica, for it is old Jamaica, 
 came from 1" 
 
 " Truly, I should like to have that question answered myself. 
 It is wid Jamaica, I avouch — very old Jamaica. We had 
 not a drop when we went down to 'The Oaks,' and the gallon 
 jug that Singleton sent out to us was soon emptied, dose it out 
 as cautiously as we could. Where, then, did this come from ?" 
 
 " It's a devil's gift, I reckon," said another, " since no one can 
 tell anything about it.'' 
 
 "A devil's gift! — as if the devil gave good things at any 
 time ! But if a devil's gift, my children, for which of our many 
 virtues has he bestowed this upon us 1" 
 
 "And I say," cried Pritchard, "that it is an angel's gift, if I 
 know anything about it. And I ought to know, since it was I 
 who brought it here." 
 
 " Excellent young man !" cried Porgy. 
 
 " Say excellent young woman, too," was the response of 
 Pritchard, " since, I reckon, you owe that jug to Miss Walton." 
 
 " The deuce we do ! And here have I been loitering and 
 hanging over the jug, and arguing about its origin and all that 
 
 8 
 
170 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 sort of nonsense, witliout knowing hj instinct whose licaltli was 
 to be first honored. Give me tlie cnp here, one of you. Let 
 me unseal. Kate "Walton, boys, is a noble creature, whom we 
 must treat with becoming reverence. I knew her when she was 
 a chUd, and even then she was a calm, prim, thoughtful, but 
 fond and generous little creature. God bless her ! Boys, here's 
 man's blessing upon woman's love !" 
 
 " Three times three !" was the cry, as the cup went round. 
 
 " We are mere blackguards now, boys. Nobody that sees us 
 in these rags, begrimed with smoke, could ever suppose that we 
 had been gentlemen ; but, losing place and property, boys, we 
 need not, and we do not, lose the sense of what we have known, 
 or the sentiment which still makes us honor the beautiful and 
 the good." 
 
 " Hem ! After supper, lieutenant, I perceive that you are al- 
 ways sentimental," was the remark of Pritchard. 
 
 "And properly so. The beast is then pacified. There is 
 then no conflict between the animal and the god. Thought is 
 then supreme, and summons all the nobler agencies to her com- 
 munion. But have ye drunk, ye hunters 1 Then put out. You 
 have scarce two hours to daylight ; and if you hripe to take coon 
 or 'possum, you must be stirring. Call up your dogs." 
 
 "Hee-up ! Hee-up ! Snap ! — Tcazcr ! — Bull !" 
 
 The dogs were instantly stining, shaking themselves free 
 from sleep, their eyes turned up to the hunters, and their long 
 noses thrust out, while they stretched themselves at the sum- 
 mons of the horn. 
 
 " Here, dogs ! Hee-up ! hee-up ! hee-up ! Away, boys ! 
 Hee-up! hee-up, Snap ! Teazer, there ! Bull!" 
 
 And, with the cheering signals, the himters gathered up their 
 torches, some taking an axe, and others a bundle of lightwood 
 (resinous pine), beneath the arm. Waving their lights across 
 the darkness, they were soon away, the glimmer of the torches 
 showing more and more faintly at every moment through tlio 
 thick woods of the swamp. The dogs well knew the duties 
 required of them, and they trotted ofi' in silence, slow coursing 
 with their noses to the earth. 
 
 This intcrraption lasted but a moment ; and while some of 
 
THE REVEL. 171 
 
 tlie party remaining in tlie camp were stretcliod about the fire, 
 drowsing or talking, others drew forth from sainted wallets their 
 well-thumbed packs of cards. A crazy violin began to moan in 
 spasms from the end of a fallen tree on the edge of the ham- 
 mock, against the decaying but erect branches of which the 
 musician leaned, while his legs crossed the trunk ; and other 
 preparations were made for still other modes of passing the rest 
 of the night, but few being disposed to give any heed to sleep. 
 For that matter, there was little need of sleep to the greater 
 number. They had slept, the scouts excepted, through the 
 greater part of the day preceding, while in the woods near " The 
 Oaks," and while waiting on the movements of Singleton dur- 
 ing his conference with Williamson near Izard's camp. They 
 were mostly bright, therefore, for the contemplated revels, of 
 whatever sort. A wild dance, rather more Indian than civilized, 
 exercised the fiddle of the younger man of the group, which end- 
 ed finally in a glorious struggle to draw each other into the fire, 
 around which they circled in the most bewildering mazes. — 
 Such figures Taglioni never dreamed of — Little heeding these 
 rioters, Porgy had his circle busy in a rubber of whist ; while 
 yet another group was deeply buried in the mysteries of " seven- 
 up," " old sledge," or, to speak more to the card, " all-fours." — 
 "We need not follow the progress of the gamesters, who, in the 
 army, are usually inveterate. Enough that much Continental 
 money, at its most exaggerated value, changed hands in the 
 course of an hour's play ; fortune having proved adverse to the 
 philosopher, Porgy, leaving him minus fifteen hundred dollars 
 — a sum Avhich, according to the then state of the currency, 
 would not have sufficed to buy for the winner a stout pair of 
 negro shoes. 
 
 "Curse and quit!" cried the corpulent lieutenant. "There's 
 no luck for a fat man after supper. And now tell us. Pritchard, 
 how you got possession of that jug of Jamaica. We will try its 
 flavor again while you tell your story. One better appreciates 
 the taste of his liquor a full hour after supper, than just when 
 he has finished eating — the palate then has no prejudices." 
 
 The party replenished their horns, after the Scandinavian 
 fashion, and Pritchard replied — 
 
172 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " You must know that when the colonel and Miss Walton 
 came out to meet her father that night when we gave Balfour's 
 regulars such a scare and tramp, they went forward beyond the 
 rice-stacks, leaving me, Tom Leonard, and somebody else — BiU 
 Mitchell, I think it was, though I can't say" — 
 
 "No matter who — go ahead." 
 
 "Well, three of us were left in the little wood of scrubby 
 oaks between the stacks and the dwelling, as. a sort of watch. 
 Who should come along, a little after the colonel and the lady 
 had passed, but Cesar, the negro ! Him we captured, and he 
 made terms with us immediately, giving up his prog ; and his 
 hands were full — this jug of Jamaica, a small cheese, and a bag 
 of smoked tongue." 
 
 " Smoked tongue and cheese ! And you mean to say, Ser- 
 geant Pritchard, that you have suffered these most important 
 medicines to be lost 1 Smoked tongues and cheese ! What 
 have you done with them 1 I have seen none of them.'' 
 
 " I knew better than that, lieutenant. We hadn't well got 
 possession of the negro and the provisions, before the cursed 
 bugle sounded. The negro dodged ; Tom Leonard took the 
 back track to give the alarm ; and where Bill Mitchell went — 
 if 'twas he — there's no telling ; but the jug, the bag, and the 
 cheese lay at my feet. Was I to lose them — to leave theml" 
 
 "It would have been cowardice — nay, treason — had you 
 done so. Sergeant Pritchard." 
 
 " I knew that, lieutenant ; and, gathering up the good things, 
 I pushed out for the great bay lying west of the mansion, and 
 had just time to hide myself and the jug" — 
 
 " The tongue and cheese? The tongue, the" — 
 
 " Oh, I hid them, too ; and there they lay safely^ in the hol- 
 low of a cypress, while I made my way, after the red coats had 
 passed, back to the camp. We took the circuit by the bay, 
 when we pushed for the cypress, and I then picked them up and 
 brought them off. I have them all here in safety." 
 
 " It is well that you have ! Yet did you trifle terribly with 
 the safety of these valuable stores. Two daj-s and nights hidden 
 in a cypress hole, and not a word said about them !" 
 
 " I knew that we had plenty of venison." 
 
THE EEVEL. 173 
 
 » 
 
 " Bnt they miglit have heen found by the enemy, Sergeant 
 Pritchard. They might have gladdened the hearts of the Philis- 
 tines !" 
 
 " I hid them too well for that." 
 
 " They might have been eaten up by the wood-rats !" 
 
 " I thrust them up the hoUow, and put a crotch-stick up to 
 sustain them." 
 
 " It is well that you took these precautions. Had they been 
 lost, Pritchard, I would have brought you to the halberds. 
 Good things, so necessary to om- commissariat and medicine- 
 chest, are not to be periled idly ; and when they are the gift of 
 beauty, the trust becomes more sacred still. You may thank 
 your stars, Pritchard, that the flavor of this Jamaica is so excel- 
 lent" — smacking his lips after the draught — " I feel that I must 
 forgive you." 
 
 " I should like a little sugar with mine," said one of the young 
 fellows stretching out his horn. 
 
 " Sugar !"- exclaimed Porgy. " What sacrilege ! Young man, 
 where did you receive your education ? Would you spoil a 
 cordial of such purity as this with any wretched sacchaiine in- 
 fusion ? Sugar, sir, for bad rum, not for good ! Take it as it 
 is ; drink it, however unworthy of it, but do not defile it. For 
 such an oflFence against proper taste as this, were justice done, a 
 fellow should have a baker's dozen on his bare back." 
 
 The youth was glad to receive the potion assigned him, and 
 to swallow it, at a gulp, unsweetened. 
 
 "And now, boys" — they had now ceased dancing and play- 
 ing, and had gathered around our epicurean — " and now, boys, 
 it lacks a good hour to the morning," said Porgy, taking out a 
 huge silver watch, almost as large and round as a Dutch tur- 
 nip, and holding it up to the fire hght. " There are no eyes 
 present quite ripe for sleep. I am for a story or a song. Wliere's 
 our poet? — where's Dennison? He has not had a sup of the 
 creature. He must drink, and give us something. I know that, 
 for the last three days, he has been hammering at his verses. 
 Where is he 1 Bring him forward !" 
 
 The poet of the camp uncoiled from the ragged camlet under 
 which he had been musing rather than drowsing — a slender. 
 
174 KATHAEINB WALTON. 
 
 youtli of twenty-five, with long and massive hair, black and 
 disordered, that rolled down upon his shoulders ; and a merry 
 dark eye that seemed to indicate the exuberance of animal life 
 rather than thought or contemplation. He drank, though 
 withput seeming to desirfe the beverage, and was then assailed 
 by Porgy for his song or story. 
 
 " You've been scribbing, I know, in your eternal book. Let's 
 see what you've done." 
 
 The poet knew too well the party with "s\'hom he had to deal, 
 and he indulged in no unnecessary affectation. He had become 
 quite too well accustomed to the requisitions of the camp not to 
 * understand that, in moments hke the present, each member had 
 to make his contribution to the common stock of enjoyment. 
 The hour had properly come for his. The animal excitement 
 of the company had pretty well worked off, and the moods of 
 nearly all — the physical man being somewhat exhausted — 
 were prepared for more intellectual enjoyment. He professed 
 his readiness, and the partisans flocked in to get proper places 
 near the fire. They crowded close about the poet, some seated, 
 others kneeling, and others in the background, who wished to 
 see as well as hear, stretching themselves over the beads and 
 shoulders of those more fortunate in having found places within 
 the circle. Meanwhile, new lightwood brands were thrown upon 
 the fire, and the flames blazed up gloriously, in singular con- 
 trast with the gloomy, but grotesque shadows of the surround- 
 ing forest. And thus, with an audience admirably disposed to 
 be appreciative, nowise eager to be critical, and by no means 
 persuaded that fault-finding is one of the most essential proofs 
 of judgment, the poet of the partisans spun his yarn, in a rude, 
 wild measure, well adapted to his audience and the times. 
 
 He gave them a mournful and exciting ballad, recounting one 
 of the frequent events of the war, within their own experience 
 — the murder of one of their most j-outhful comrades, whUe on 
 his way to see his mistress, a beautiful girl of Black Mingo, who 
 went by the name of the " Beauty of Britton's Kock." Her 
 name was Britton, and that of her lover Calvert. As the ballad 
 of our poet would occupy too much space to appear in these 
 pages, we shall give the story in prose. Calvert left the camp, 
 
THE BEVEL. 175 
 
 witli Marion's permission. It was remembered, afterward, that 
 Marion, on granting leave to the young ensign, who was harely 
 of age, said to him with a grave smile, " Be on the look-out, 
 Harry, for it is one danger to the youth who goes frequently to 
 see his mistress, that he teaches the way to others." Calvert, 
 perhaps, forgot the advice. He fell into an ambush prepared 
 for him by one Martin, who was also the lover of the damsel, 
 and who had discovered the route usually pursued by Calvert. 
 Martin was the leader of a small band of tories. He brought 
 them together with great secrecy, and succeeded in capturing 
 his rival, whom he finally slew in cold blood. Then, riding to 
 the house of Mrs. Britton, he rudely thrust his trophies before 
 the damsel — the sword, cap, and pistols of her lover, which 
 were all well known to her. The scarf which she had wrought 
 for him with her own hands, still moist with his blood, was also 
 spread before her ; and, overawed by the threats of the desper- 
 ado, the mother of the girl not only consented that he should 
 have her, but proceeded to insist upon her daughter's immediate 
 acceptance of the hand whicli had been so freshly stained with 
 the blood of her betrothed. 
 
 Mary Britton seemed to consent ; but, watching her oppor- 
 tunity, she contrived to steal away from sight, to select and 
 saddle one of the best horses in the stable, and to ride away to 
 the camp of Marion, but a few miles off, without awakening the 
 apprehensions of the tories. The partisans were soon and sud- 
 denly brought down upon Martin's gang, who were surprised 
 and made captive to a man — Martin himself having but a few 
 moments for prayer, and suffering death upon the spot where 
 Calvert's body had been found. 
 
 Such was the ballad of our forest poet, which was of a sort to 
 satisfy the critical requisitions of most of his companions — Lieu- 
 tenant Porgy alone, perhaps, excepted. Not that he refused 
 to receive pleasure from the narrative. He was not imwUling 
 to admit that his sensibilities were touched quite as keenly as 
 any of the rest ; but his tastes kept pace with his sensibilities ; 
 and, while his comrades were breathing sentiments of indigna- 
 tion against the tories, he contented himself with showing that 
 (he poet was not perfect 
 
176 KATHABINE WALTON. 
 
 " I was one, the Lord be praised," exclaimed Pritchard, " at 
 the stringing up of that vile beast, Martin. He died like a 
 coward, though he lived like a tiger." 
 
 " Pretty much the case always. I've seldom known a man 
 who hadn't heart, who had courage. I suppose, Dennison, 
 you're as near the truth in that story as you could be. You 
 have all the facts, and yet you are not truthful." 
 
 " How so, lieutenant ]" inquired the poet with an air of pique. 
 
 " You lack simplicity. You have too many big words, and 
 big figures. Now, the essence of the ballad is simplicity. This 
 is particularly necessary in a performance where the utmost 
 fullness and particularity of detail are insisted upon. Here, you 
 do not generalize. You compass the end aimed at by elaborate 
 touches. The effect is reached in a dramatic way ; and you are 
 called upon to detail the particular look, the attitudes, and, as 
 closely as possible, the very words of the speaker." 
 
 " "Would you have had me introduce all the oaths of the out- 
 law ?" demanded Dennison. 
 
 " No ; but some of them are essential — enough to show him 
 truthfully, and no more. What I mean to require throughout 
 the ballad is that sort of detail which you have given us where 
 you make the old lady take Mary Britton to the kitchen, to 
 argue with her in favor of marrying Martin. When you make 
 the poor girl say, ' You too against me, mother %' you reach the 
 perfection of ballad writing. Had the whole story been written 
 in this style, Dennison, I should have asked a copy at your 
 hands, and should have preserved it in my wallet through the 
 campaign." 
 
 " Along with his smoked venison and mouldy cheese," sotto 
 voce, said the disappointed Dennison to one of his companions, 
 as he turned away. A capacious yawn of Lieutenant Porgy 
 was the fit finish of a criticism, of which we have given but a 
 small specimen ; and the party, following his example, dispersed 
 to their several covers, seeking that sleep for which the poem 
 and the critique had somewhat prepared them, just as the faint- 
 est streaks of morning were beginning to show themselves 
 through the tops of the cypresses. With daylight the coon- 
 hunters camo in, biinging with them sundry trophies of their 
 
THE REVEL. 177 
 
 success ; and were soon after followed by another party who 
 had just left Colonel Walton. Among these was Walter Griffin, 
 a person of no small importance in the eyes of young Lance 
 Frampton. The reason of this interest we shall see hereafter. 
 Lance had been on the qid vive for some time, and met Griffin 
 on his return, on the outskirts of the camp. 
 
 " And how is all, sir ?" was the rather hesitating question. 
 " All well. Lance, and Ellen sends you these." 
 He took from his bosom, as he spoke, a pair of coarse cotton 
 stockings, knitted recently, and handed them to the young man 
 with a good-natured smile. The latter received them with a 
 blush, and hurriedly thrust them into his own bosom. It was a 
 curious gift from a maiden to her lover, but not less precious as 
 a gift because of its homeliness. Let us leave the cypress 
 camp to its repose for the next three hours. At noon, its in- 
 mates were all in motion, scouring fleetly across the country in 
 a northerly direction. 
 
 I 8* 
 
178 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SKRIMMAGB. 
 
 On the same day which witnessed the departure of our squad 
 of partisans from the swamps of the Ashley Cypress, Singleton, 
 otherwise Fumess, took a friendly leave of his new acquaintance, 
 Major Proctor, of the British army. We have seen with how 
 much sympathy these young men came together ; and we may 
 add that not a single selfish feeling was at work, in either 
 bosom, to impair the friendship thus quickly established. Our 
 quondam loyalist repeated his injunctions to his friend, to be 
 wary and patient in his encounters with his subtle enemy, 
 Vaughan, whose equal coolness and lack of principle were sub- 
 jects of sufficient apprehension to his mind. But we have no 
 need to renew his counsels and exhortations. It is enough, 
 that the friends separated with real feelings of sympathy and 
 interest, and that the advice of Singleton, well-meant and sen- 
 sible, was such as Proctor promised to observe and follow. 
 Then they parted with a warm shake of the hand ; Proctor re- 
 turning to " The Oaks," and Singleton, as loyalist captain of 
 rifles, pushing over to Dorchester, where he was to join the 
 train of wagons under the escort of Lieutenant Meadows, who 
 brought him letters both from Balfour and Williamson. Those 
 from the latter were of a character to keep up the ruse -which 
 had been agreed upon between himself and our partisan. They 
 were written to the old acquaintance of Williamson in the inte- 
 rior, and were ostensibly designed to bring them over to the 
 king's allegiance. We may add that they had been submitted 
 to Balfour's inspection, as a matter of policy. Williamson had 
 no real notion that his letters would ever reach their destination, 
 
5KRIMMAGE. 179 
 
 or, if they did so, that they could ever possibly lielp the British 
 cause. 
 
 We shall not endeavor to detail the hourly progress of the 
 detachment and train under the charge of Lieutenant Meadows, 
 pursuing the well-known military route to Camden via Nelson's 
 Ferry. They moved slowly ; the events occurring were few 
 and of little interest. Except at well-known places of rest, and 
 in some few places where the labors of a plantation were still 
 imperfectly carried on with a few slaves, the country seemed 
 almost wholly abandoned. Singleton was rather pleased than 
 otherwise to find in Lieutenant Meadows a very sublime speci- 
 men of the supercilious John Bull ; a person of more decided 
 horns than head, mulish, arrogant, cold, inflexible ; one who had 
 religiously imbibed, as with his mother's milk, all the usual 
 scornful prejudices of his tribe towarfl the provincials', and who, 
 accordingly^ encouraged no sort of intimacy with the supposed 
 captain of loyalists. This relieved our partisan from all that 
 embarrassment which he might have felt, with regard to his 
 future operations, had the lieutenant been a good fellow, and 
 had he shown himself disposed to fall into friendly intercourse. 
 But let us hurry to the event. 
 
 It was toward the close of the second day after the departure 
 of the cavalcade from Dorchester, that Meadows had the first 
 intimation of probable danger from an enemy. His warning, 
 however, oirly came with the blow, and c^uite too late to allow 
 him either to evade the danger or properly to guard against it. 
 Singleton had galloped off to the front, and was pursuing his 
 way entirely alone, some two hundred yards in advance of the 
 party. He had reason to anticipate that the moment drew nigh 
 for the encounter with his followers, and he preferred to with- 
 draw from close proximity with one who was not only indisposed 
 to show himself companionable, but who might, by possibility, 
 discover in the struggle much more of the truth than it was de- 
 sirable for our partisan — still as Purness — that he should know. 
 The whole train, with its escort, nearly equally distributed in 
 front and roar, had entered a long, close, circuitous defile in a 
 thickly-set forest, when Singleton was apprised, by a well-known 
 whistle, that the moment was at hand for the attack. He was. 
 
180 KATHARINE WALTON. i 
 
 accordingly, not a whit startled at the ■vi'ild yell and the sharp 
 shots with which the onset was begun. 
 
 " Marion's men ! Marion's men ! Hurrah !" was the slogan 
 which startled suddenly the great echoes of the wood, and 
 caused an instant sensation, only short of utter confusion, in the 
 ranks of the British detachment. 
 
 But Meadows, with all his faults of taste and temper, was 
 something of a soldier, and never lost his composure fbr a mo- 
 ment. He hurried forward, with the first signal of alarm, arid 
 shouted to his men with a cheerful courage, while he sought to 
 bring them to a closer order and to confront the enemy, who 
 were yet scarcely to be seen. Singleton, meanwhile, wheeled 
 about, as if suffering greatly from surprise, yet drawing his 
 sword, nevertheless, and waving it above his head with the air of 
 a person in very desperate circumstances. He was then distinctly 
 seen to rush boldly upon the assailing Americans, who had now 
 completely interposed themselves between him and the British. 
 
 It will not need that we should follow his particular move- 
 ments. It will be q[uite as easy to conjecture them. Let us 
 give our attention wholly to the affair with the detachment, 
 which was short and sharp as it was sudden. They were as- 
 sailed equally in front and rear. At first, as he beheld the cav- 
 alry of the partisans, and heard their bugles sounding on every 
 hand. Meadows conceived himself to be dealing wholly with that 
 description of force. He, accordingly, commanded his wagons 
 to wheel about and throw themselves across the road at both 
 extremities, thus seeking to close all the avenues which would 
 facilitate. the charge. But he reckoned without his host. His 
 operation was only in part successful ; since, before the move- 
 ment could be fully made, the troopers were already cutting 
 down his wagoners. But this was not all. The rangers of 
 Singleton began to show themselves, darkly green, or in their 
 blue uniforms, among the trees which occupied the iatervals, 
 and every sharp crack of the rifle brought down its chosen 
 victim. Meadows himself was already slightly wounded in his 
 bridle-arm, and, wheeling about his steed in the direction of the 
 shot, he found himself confronted by a group just making their 
 way out of cover, and darting boldly upon him. 
 
SKRIMMAGE. 181 
 
 He clapped spurs to his steed and met the leader of the assail- 
 ants, who, on foot, had reached the open road-space, and was 
 entirely withdrawn from the shelter of the thicket. This per- 
 son was no other than our epicurean friend, Lieutenant Porgy, 
 who, with an audacity quite inconsistent with his extreme 
 obesity, advanced with sword uplifted to the encounter with the 
 British lieutenant. A single clash of swords, and the better- 
 tempered steel of the Englishman cut sheer through the inferior 
 metal of the American, sending one half of the shattered blade 
 into the air and descending upon the cheek of Porgy, inflicting 
 a slight gash, and taking off the tip of his ear. Another blow 
 might have been fatal. Meadows had recovered from the first 
 movement, and his blade was already whirled aloft for the re- 
 newal of the stroke, when Porgy, drawing a pistol from his belt, 
 shot the horse of his enemy through the head. The animal fell 
 suddenly upon his knees, and then rolled over perfectly dead. 
 The sword of Meadows struck harmlessly upon the earth, he 
 himself being pinioned to the ground by one of his leg, upon 
 which the dead animal lay. In this predicament, vainly en- 
 deavoring to wield and to use his sword, he threatened Porgy 
 at his approach. The latter, still grasping his own broken 
 weapon, which was reduced to the hilt and some eight inches 
 only of the blade, totally undeterred by the demonstration 
 of the Briton, rushed incontinently upon him, and, in a to- 
 tally vmexpected form of attack, threw his gigantic bulk over 
 the body of the prostrate Meadows, whom he completely cov- 
 ered. The other struggled fiercely beneath, and, getting his 
 sword-arm free, made several desperate efforts to use his weapon; 
 but Porgy so completely bestraddled him that he succeeded 
 only in inflicting some feeble strokes upon the broad shoulders 
 of the epicure, who requited them with a severe blow upon the 
 niouth with the iron hilt of his broken sword. 
 
 " It's no use, my fine fellow ; your faith may remove moun- 
 tains, but your surrender only shall remove me. You are cap- 
 tive to my bow and spear. Halloo ' 'nough !' now, if you wish 
 for mercy." 
 
 And, stretching himself out on every hand, with arms extend- 
 ed and legs somewhat raised on the body of the dead horse. 
 
182 
 
 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 Porgy looked down into tlie very eyes of his prisoner ; liia 
 great beard, meanwhile, well sprinkled with gray, lying in mas- 
 ses upon the mouth and filling the nostrils of the Englishman, 
 who was thus in no small danger of suffocation. 
 
 " Will nobody relieve me from this elephant V gasped the 
 half-strangled Meadows. 
 
 " Elephant !" roared Porgy. " By the powers, but you shall 
 feel my grinders !" 
 
 His good humor was changed to gall by the offensive expres- 
 sion, and he had already raised the fragment of his broken 
 sword, meaning to pummell the foe into submission, when his 
 arm was arrested by Singleton, now appearing in his appropriate 
 character and costume. Jleadows was extricated from horse 
 and elephant at the same moment, and by the same friendly 
 agency, and rose from the ground sore with bruises, and pant- 
 ing with heat and loss of breath. 
 
 " It is well for him, Colonel Singleton, that you made your 
 appearance. I had otherwise beaten him to a mummy. Would 
 you believe it ? — he called me an elephant ! Me ! Me an ele- 
 phant !" 
 
 " He had need to do so, lieutenant ; and this was rather a 
 comphment than otherwise to your mode of warfare. He felt 
 yours to' be a power comparable only to the mighty animal to 
 which he had reference. It was the natural expression of his 
 feehngs, I am sure, and not by way of offence." 
 
 " I forgive him," was the response of Porgy, as he listened 
 to this explanation. 
 
 " Colonel Singleton, I believe, sir?" said Meadows, tendering 
 his sword. " The fortune of the day is yours, sir. Here is my 
 sword. I am Lieutenant Meadows, late in command of tliis de- 
 tachment." 
 
 Singleton restored the weapon graciousljs and addressed a 
 few courteous sentences to his prisoner ; but, by this time, Por- 
 gy discovered that his ear had lost a thin but important slice 
 from its pulpy extremity. His annoyance was extreme, and 
 his anger rose as he discovered the iiill nature of his loss. 
 
 "Sir — Lieutenant Meadows," said he — "you shall give me 
 personal satisfaction for this outrage the moment you are ex- 
 
SKBIMMAGB. 183 
 
 cbanged. You have done me an irreparable injury ! You tave 
 marked me for life, sir — given me the brand of a horse-thief — 
 taken off one of my ears ! One of my ears !" 
 
 " Not so, my dear lieutenant," said Singleton. " Only the 
 smallest possible tip from the extremity. Once healed it will 
 never be seen. There is no sort of deformity. You were rath- 
 er y^ZZ in that quarter, and could spare something of the devel- 
 opment." 
 , " Were I sure of that !" 
 
 " It is so, believe me. The thing will iiever be observed." 
 
 " To have one's' ears or nose slit, sir" — to the Briton — "is, 
 I have always been taught, the greatest indignity that could be 
 inflicted upon a gentleman." 
 
 " I am sorry, sir," said Meadows — " very sorry. But it was 
 the fortune of war. Believe me, I had no idea of making such 
 a wound." 
 
 " I can understand that, sir. You were intent only in taking 
 off my head. I am satisfied that you did not succeed in that 
 object, since, next to losing my ear, I should have been partic- 
 ularly uncomfortable at the loss of my head. But, if my ear 
 had been maimed, sir, I should have had my revenge. And 
 even now, should there really be a perceptible deficiency, there 
 shall be more last blows between us." 
 
 The British lieutenant bowed, politely, as if to declare his 
 readiness to afford any necessary satisfaction, but said nothing 
 in reply. Singleton suffered the conversation to go no farther ; 
 but, dra-ndng Porgy aside, rebuked him for the rude manner of 
 his address to a man whose visage he himself had marked for 
 life. 
 
 " You have laid his mouth open, broken his teeth, and injured 
 his face for ever ; and he a young fellow, too, probably unmar- 
 ried, to whom unbroken features are of the last importance." 
 
 " But my dear colonel, think of my ear ; fancy it smitten in 
 two, as I did, and you will allow for all my violence. The 
 mark of the pillory ought to suffice to make any white man des- 
 perat,e." 
 
 It is probable that Meadows, when he became aware of the 
 true state of his mouth, and felt his own disfigurements, was 
 
184 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 even more unforgiving than Porgy. But we must not, in tMs 
 episode, lose sight of the field of battle. When our epicurean 
 had secured the person of the British lieutenant, the affair was 
 nearly over. The surprise had been complete. The conflict 
 was as short as it was sharp. The ambush was so well laid as 
 to render resistance almost unavailing ; yet had it been desper- 
 ately made, and the victory was not won by our partisans with- 
 out the loss of several gallant fellows. The followers of Mead- 
 ows, taking the example of their leader, fought quite as long 
 and as stubbornly as himself, without having the fortune to suc- 
 cumb to such a remarkable antagonist. A brave sergeant, with 
 a small squad, made a fierce effort to cut through the partisan 
 horse, but was slain, with all his party, in the attempt. This 
 was the most serious part of the British loss. The detachment 
 was so completely hemmed in on every side, that recklessness 
 and desperation only could have found a justification for fight- 
 ing at all. A prudent soldier would have been prepared to 
 yield on the first discovery of his situation, and thus avoided 
 any unnecessary effusion of blood. But Meadows was brave with- 
 out being circumspect. His own account of the affair, as con- 
 tained in a letter to Balfour, will answer in the place of any 
 farther details of our own. 
 
 " To his Excellency, Nesbitt Balfour, Esq. 
 
 " Sir : It is with feelings of inexpressible mortification, that 
 I have to inform you of the complete overthrow and capture of 
 the detachment under my command, by an overwhelming force 
 of the rebels under Colonel Singleton, of Marion's Brigade. 
 We were met on the route to Nelson's Ferry, toward sunset of 
 the second day after leaving Dorchester, and attacked in a close 
 defile near Eavenel's plantation. We suffered no surprise, our 
 advance feeling their way with all possible caution, and firmly 
 led by Sergeant Oamperdown, who, I am sorry to mention, fell 
 finally, mortally wounded, in a desperate effort to cut his way 
 through the ranks of the enemy. Several of my brave follow- 
 ers perished in the same desperate attempt. All of them fought 
 steadily and bravely, but without success, against the formida- 
 ble numbers by which we were surrounded. Many of the reb- 
 
SKRIMMAGE. 185 
 
 els were slain in the engagement, being seen to drop in the con- 
 flict ; but I have no means of ascertaining their precise loss, 
 since they have studiously concealed their dead, having borne 
 them away for burial to the thickets. Our loss, I regret to say, 
 has been out of all proportion to our force ; the desperate valor 
 of our men provoking the enemy to the most unsparing severi- 
 ty. Eleven of them were slain outright, and as many more, are 
 likely to perish from their wounds. Three of the teamsters 
 were cut down by the rebels while calling for quarters. I my- 
 self am wounded, though not seriously, in my right shoulder 
 and face ; and I am suffering severely from bruises, in conse- 
 quence of my horse, which was killed, falling upon me. I great- 
 ly fear that Captain Purness, of the loyalists, is also among the 
 slain. I have seen nothing of him since the action, and the 
 enemy can give no account of him. He behaved very well in 
 the affair, and with a bravery not unworthy his majesty's regu- 
 lar service. He was exposed to particular peril, as, with great 
 imprudftnce, he persisted in riding in advance of the party, leav- 
 ing a considerable interval between himself and the command. 
 He was thus cut off from all assistance. When last seen, he 
 was contending unequally with nC less than half a dozen of the 
 rebel troopers, who finally forced him out of the field and into 
 the forest, where he was either slain or succeeded in making his 
 escape. It is my hope that he has done so. He is certainly 
 not among the prisoners. Colonel Singleton was not at the 
 head of the assailing party. He came up and took command 
 just as the affair was over. He treats us with a courtesy and 
 attention quite unusual with the rebels, and holds out to me the 
 prospect of an early exchange. He has already hurried off the 
 captured wagons, by the shortest route, to the Santee ; though 
 I perceive that one of them has been sent off in the opposite di- 
 rection. I trust that your excellency will believe that I have 
 been guilty of no remissness or neglect of duty. My conscience 
 acquits me, though unfortunate, of any culpable disregard to the 
 safety of my charge. I have the honor to be your excellency's 
 most obedient,. humble servant, 
 
 " Ch. Meadows." 
 
186 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 This letter was written tlie day after the action. Of the rage 
 and chagrin of Balfour, on receiving it, we shall learn hereafter. 
 The reader will note that portion of its contents which describes 
 the game — unsuspected hy the Briton — which was played hy 
 the rebel colonel. When apparently forced from the tield, he 
 simply retired to a thicket, where he changed his costume, re- 
 appearing, shortly after, on the field in his own proper charac- 
 ter. The alteration in his dress, speech, and general manner, 
 was so thorough, as effectually to deceive the British lieutenant, 
 who showed himself as respectful to the partisan colonel as he 
 had been cavalier before to the same person in the character of 
 a simple captain of loyalists. 
 
 The affair ended. Singleton proceeded to secure his captives, 
 send off the captured wagons, and attend to the wants of his 
 wounded and the burial of his dead. While engaged in this 
 melancholy duty, he was suddenly called awayby Lance Framp- 
 ton, who conducted him into the adjoining thicket. The youth 
 could scarcely speak from emotion, as he communicated the in- 
 telligence of the mortal hurts of Walter Grifiin. The dying 
 man was quite sensible as Singleton drew nigh. He lay be- 
 neath an oak, upon a heap of moss, which had been raked up 
 hurriedly to soften that bed of earth, to the coldness and hard- 
 ness of which he should be so soon utterly insensible. His 
 friends were aroimd him, satisfied, as well as himself, that as- 
 sistance would be vain. As Singleton and Lance Frampton 
 drew nigh, the youth went silently and took his place at the 
 head of the sufferer. Griffin had done good service in the brig- 
 ade. He was a great favorite with his superiors. Rescued by 
 Singleton from the hands of a blood-thirsty tory, named Gas- 
 kens, who had made himself, his wife, and daughter, prisoners, 
 and who was actually preparing to hang him on the spot. Grif- 
 fin acknowledged a debt of gratitude to the partisan, which ren- 
 dered his fidelity a passion. His words, on the approach of 
 Singleton, declared his sorrows, not at his own fate, but that his 
 services were about to end. 
 
 " I've fought my last fight, colonel ; I've done all I could. 
 If you say I have done my ivty, 1 shall die satisfied." 
 
 " That I can safely say, Griffm. You have done more than 
 
SKRIMMAGE. 187 
 
 yonr duty. You have served faithfully, like a true man ; and 
 your country shall hear of your services. Can we do nothing 
 for you, Griffin^" 
 
 "I have it here, colonel — and here !" — his hands pointing to 
 his side and breast. " Here is a shot, and here a bayonet stab ; 
 both deep enough. I feel that all's over ; and all that I want 
 is that you should send word to my poor wife and daughter. 
 There's my watch, colonel — I've given it to Lance to carry to 
 them — and two guineas in money. It's all I have — not much 
 — but will help to buy corn for them some day in a bad season. 
 Will you send Lance, colonel, and a letter, if you please V 
 
 " It shall be done, Griffin ; and I will add a little to the mon- 
 ey, for the sake of your family. You've served long and well, 
 like the rest of us, with little pay. The money-chest of the 
 British that has just fallen into our h^nds makes us richer than 
 usual. Your two guineas shall be made ten. Your comrades 
 will see that your wife and child shall never suffer." 
 
 The poor fellow was much affected. He took the hand of 
 Singleton and carried it feebly to his heart. 
 
 " I'm sorry to leave you, colonel, now, while every man is 
 wanted. You wUl have years of fighting, and I sha'n't be there 
 to help you. Yes ! I will be there ! Oh ! colonel, if the spirits 
 of the dead may look on earthly things, after the earth has cov- 
 ered the body, I'll go with you over the old tracks. I'll be 
 nigh you when j-ou are drawing trigger on the enemy ; and if 
 I can whisper to you where the danger lies, or shout to you 
 when the bugle sounds the charge, you shall still hear the voice 
 of Wat Grifiin rising with the rest, " Marion's men, boys ! Hur- 
 rah ! Marion for ever !" 
 
 In a few hours after he was silent. He was buried in the 
 spot where he died, beneath that great old mossy oak of the for- 
 est — buried at midnight, by the light of blazing torches ; and 
 well did his comrades understand the meaning of that wild sob 
 from Lance Frampton, as the first heavy clod was thrown into 
 the shallow grave upon the uncoffined corse, wrapped only in 
 Ins garments as he wore them in the fight. 
 
 The night was nearly consumed in this mournful occupation. 
 British and Americans shared a common grave. The partisans 
 
188 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 had lost several of their best men, though by no means the 
 large number which Meadows had assumed in his letter to Bal- 
 four. In silence, the survivors turned away from the cemetery 
 which they had thus newly established in the virgin forest, and 
 retired, each to his rude couch among the trees, to meditate 
 rather than to sleep. Two of the partisans, however, were 
 drawn aside by Singleton for farther conference that night. 
 These were Lieutenant Porgy and the young ensign. Lance 
 Prampton. To these he assigned a double duty. With a small 
 detachment, Porgy was to take chargp of a wagon with stores, 
 designed for Colonel Walton, whom he was to seek out between 
 the Edisto and the Savarmah. In order to effect his progress 
 with safety, he was specially counselled to give a wide berth to 
 Dorchester — to make a considerable circuit above, descending 
 only when on the Edisto. Singleton was rightly apprehensive 
 that thfi report of Meadows' disaster would set all the cavalry 
 of Dorchester and Charleston in motion. The wagon was to be 
 secured in the swamps of Edisto until Walton could be found ; 
 and, with the duty of delivering it into his keeping fairly exe- 
 cuted, Porgy, with Frampton, was to seek out the dwelling of 
 Griffin's wife and daughter, who dwelt in the neighborhood of 
 the Edisto, conveying a letter from his colonel, and the little 
 treasure of which the poor fellow died possessed — Singleton 
 having added the eight guineas which he had promised to the 
 dying man ; a gift, by the way, which he coiild not have made 
 but for the timely acc[uisition of the hundred and fifty found in 
 the British money-chest. 
 
 The duty thus assigned to Porgy and Frampton was one of 
 interest to both parties ; though the corpulent lieutenant sighed 
 at the prospect of hard riding over ground so recently compass- 
 ed which lay before him. At first he would have shirked the 
 responsibility ; but a secret suggestion of his own thought rap- 
 idly caused a change in his opinions. To Lance Frampton, 
 who stood in a very tender relation to Ellen Griffin, the daugh- 
 ter of the deceased, the task was one equally painful and grate- 
 ful. To Porgy, the interest which he felt was due to consider- 
 ations the development of which must be left to future chapters. 
 
LOYALIST BEAUTIES IN CHARLESTON. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 LOYALIST BEAUTIES IN CHARLESTON. 
 
 Singleton was compelled to forego tlie small but valuable 
 successes which he had been pursuing, by a summons from Mar- 
 ion. The latter had, by this time, provoked the peculiar hos- 
 tility of the British general. Oornwallis sent Tarleton in pur- 
 suit of him with a formidable force ; and the " swamp-fox" was 
 temporarily reduced to the necessity either of skulking closely 
 through his swamps, or of taking refuge in North Carolina. "We 
 shall not follow his fortunes, and shall content ourselves with 
 referring to them simply, in order to account for Singleton's ab- 
 sence from that field, along the Santee and the Ashley, in which 
 we have hitherto seen him engaged, and where his presence was 
 looked for and confidentlyexpected by more than one anxious 
 person. He had made certain engagements with Williamson — 
 subject always to the vicissitudes of the service — which requir- 
 ed him to give that gentleman another meeting as soon as 
 . possible. 
 
 In the hope of this meeting, we find Williamson very fre- 
 quently at the Quarter House, or at the tavern immediately 
 above it, known as the Eight-Mile House. Sometimes he went 
 alone on this pilgrimage, at others he was accompanied by com- 
 panions whom he could not avoid, from among the oflScers of the 
 British garrison. Most commonly, these visits were ostensibly 
 for pleasure. Pic-nics and other parties were formed in the 
 city, which brought out to these favored places a goodly caval- 
 cade, male and female, who rejoiced in rural breakfasts and 
 dinners, and gave a loose to their merriment in the wildest 
 rustic dances. The damsels belonging to loyaUst families read- 
 
190 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 ily joined in these frolics. It was a point of honor with the 
 " rebel ladies" to avoid them ; a resolution which the British 
 officers vainly endeavored to comhat. Balfour himself frequent- 
 ly strove to engage Katharine Walton as one of a party es- 
 pecially devised in her honor, but without success. 
 
 It is time, by the way, that we should recall that young maid- 
 en to the reader's recollection. She was received into the fam- 
 ily of the venerable Mrs. Dick Singleton, the aunt of her lover. 
 This old lady was a woman of Eoman character, worthy to be 
 a mother of the Gracchi. She wa,s sprung of the best Virginia 
 stock, and had lost her husband in the Indian wars which rav- 
 aged the frontier during the last great struggle of the British 
 with the French colonies. She was firmly devoted to the Rev- 
 olutionary movement — a calm, frank, firm woman, who, without 
 severity of tone or aspect, was never seen to smile. She had 
 survived some agonies, the endurance of which sufficiently serv- 
 ed to extinguish all tendencies to mirth. Her dwelling in Chtirch 
 street, in the neighborhood of Tradd, was a favorite point of 
 re-union among the patriots of both sexes. Hither, in the dark 
 days which found their husbands, their brothers, their sons ui 
 exile, in the camp, or in the prison-ship, came the Eutledges, 
 the Laurens', the Izards, and most of the well-known and fa- 
 mous families of the Low Ooiintry of Carolina, to consult as to 
 the future, to review their condition, consider their resources, 
 and, if no piore, " to weep their sad bosoms empty." Katha- 
 rine Walton was not an unworthy associate of these. She was 
 already known to the most of them personallj'^, and by anecdotes 
 which commended her love of country to their own ; and they 
 crowded about her with a becoming welcome ^vhen she came. 
 
 These were not her only visiters. She was an heiress and a 
 beauty, and consequently a hdle. Balfour himself, though past 
 the period of life when a sighing lover is recognisable, was 
 pleased to forget his years and station in the assumption of tliis 
 character.' He was followed, at a respectful distance, by others, 
 whom it better suited. There were the Campbells, the one 
 known as " mad," the other as " fool," or " crazy" Campbell ; 
 there was Lachlin OTergus, a captain of the guards, u fierce, 
 young, red-headed Scotchman : there was the ^-allant Major 
 
THE LOYALIST BEAUTIES IN CHAELESTON. 191 
 
 Bany, le hel esprit of the Britisli garrison, a wit and rliymester; 
 and liis inseparable, or shadow, Oapt. M'Mahon, a gentleman 
 wlio, with the greatest amount of self-esteem in the world, 
 might have been willing to yield up his own individuality, could 
 he have got in place of it that of his friend. And Barry was 
 almost as appreciative as M'Mahon. They were the moral Si- 
 amese'of the garrison, who perpetually quoted each other, and 
 bowed, as if through self-respect, invariably when they did so. 
 There were others who, like these, with them and after them, 
 bowed and sighed at the new altars of beauty which, perforce, 
 were set up when Katharine "Walton reached the city; and the 
 house of Mrs. Singleton, from having hitherto been only the sad 
 resort of the unhappy, who mourned over the distresses of the 
 country, was now crowded, on all possible occasions, by the tri- 
 umphant, whose iron heels were pressed upon its bosom. Nor 
 could the venerable widow object to this intrusion, or discourage 
 it by a forbidding voice or aspect. She had been long since 
 taught to know that the " rebel ladies" were only tolerated by 
 the conquerors, who would rejoice in any pretext by which they 
 would seem justified in driving forth a class whose principles 
 were offensive, and whose possessions were worthy of confis- 
 cation. She resigned herself with a good grace to annoyan- 
 ces which were unavoidable, and was consoled for her meek- 
 ness as she discovered that Katharine Walton was as little 
 disposed to endure her visiters as herself. She esteemed the 
 tribe at its true value. 
 
 It was seldom that the "loyalist ladies" showed themselves 
 in the chcles of Mrs. Singleton. They were held to have lost 
 caste by the position which they bad taken, and, perhaps, felt 
 some misgivings themselves that the forfeiture was a just one. — 
 It was seldom that they desired to intrude themselves ; or, ra- 
 ther, it was seldom that this desire was displayed. They held 
 a rival set, and endeavored to console themselves fov their 
 exclusion from circles which were enchanted by a prescriptive 
 j)restigc of superiority, by the gayety and splendor of their fes- 
 tivities. They formed the materiel and personnel of the great 
 parties given by General Leslie, by the Colonels Oruden and 
 Balfour, and by other leading officers of the British army, when 
 
192 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 desirous of conciliating favor, or relieving the tedium of garrison 
 life. 
 
 As a ward of Colonel Cruden, and measurably in the power 
 of Colonel Balfour, it was not possible for Katharine Walton 
 wholly to escape the knowledge of, and even some degree of 
 intimacy with, some of the ladies of the British party. A few 
 of them found their way, accordingly, to Mrs. Singleton's. 
 Some of these were persons whose political sympathies were 
 not active, and were due wholly to the direction'taken by their 
 parents. Others were of the British party because it was the 
 most brilliant ; and others, again, because of warmer individual 
 feelings, who had found objects of love and worship where pa- 
 triotism — the more stately virtue — could discover nothing but 
 hostility and evil. 
 
 Of these persons we may name a few of whom the local tra- 
 dition still entertains the most lively recollections. Conspicuous 
 among these damsels, known as "loyalist" belles of Charleston, 
 during its occupation by the British army, were "the Herveys ;" 
 three sisters, all of a rich, exuberant, voluptuous beauty, and 
 one of them, at least, the most beautiful of the three, of a wild 
 and passionate temper. " Moll 5^arvey," as she was familiarly 
 known, was a splendid woman, of dark, Cleopatra-like eyes and 
 carriage, and of tresses long, massive, and glossily black as the 
 raven's when his wing is spread for flight in the evening sun- 
 light. A more exquisite figure never floated through the mazes 
 of the dance, making the eye drunk with delirium to pursue her 
 motion. She was of subtle intellect also, keen and quick at 
 repartee, with a free, spontaneous fancy, and a spirit as bold and 
 reckless as ever led wilful fancy wandering. She had been, for 
 a long time, the favorite of Balfour. He had sighed to her, 
 and followed her with addresses that only seemed to forbear the 
 last avowal. But this, though still forborne, was still anticipated 
 hourly by all parties, the lady herself among them. That Bal- 
 four still refrained was a matter of common surprise, and to be 
 accounted for in two ways only. Though of the best family 
 connections, she had no fortmie. This might be a sufficient rea- 
 son why he should'forbear to unite himself irrevocably with her, 
 or with any woman ; for the commstadant of Charleston waB 
 
THE LOYALIST BEAUTIES IN CHARLESTON. 193 
 
 notorious for his equal greediness of gain and his ostentatious 
 expenditure. There was yet another reason. Moll Harvey had 
 made herself somewhat too conspicuous by her flirtations with 
 no less a person than Prince William, then in the navy ; better 
 known to us in recent periods as William IV., king of Great 
 Britain.* She might have been only vain and frivolous, Ijut the 
 mouths of public censure whispered of errors of still graver char- 
 acter. She certainly gave much occasion to suspicion. That 
 the prince was madly fond of her is beyond question. It was 
 even said that he had proposed to her a seo'et marriage, but 
 that the proud, vain spirit of the girl would listen to nothing 
 short of the public ceremonial. Such was the on dit among 
 those most friendly and most inclined to defend her conduct. 
 This may have been wild and daring rather than loose or licen- 
 tious ; but a woman is always in danger who prides herself in 
 going beyond her sex. Enough, that public conjecture, seeking 
 to account for Balfour's rekictance to propose for her hand, 
 while evidently passionately fond of her person, was divided 
 between his known avarice, and his doubts of the propriety of 
 her conduct in the flirtation with his prince. Such were his 
 relations with Moll Harvey at the period when he first saw 
 Katharine Walton, and was struck with the twofold attractions 
 of her beauty and her fortune. 
 
 There were three other young ladies, belonging to the British 
 party, with whom Katharine Walton shortly found herself 
 brought occasionally into contact. One of these was Miss Mary 
 Roupell, who divided the sway over the hearts of the garrison 
 very equally with her competitors. She was the daughter of 
 George Eoupell, a firm and consistent royalist, a man of worth 
 and character, who, before the Revolution, had been one of the 
 king's council (colony), and held the lucrative office of post- 
 master. Mary Eoupell was a proud' beauty, as haughty as she 
 was lovely, and particularly successful in the ball-room. It was 
 never her fortune, on such occasions, to remain unnoticed, a 
 meek, neglected flower against the wall. 
 
 Paulina Phelps was another of these loyalist beauties. She 
 was a lady of handsome fortune, and of one of the most respec- 
 * Traditionftl. 
 9 
 
194 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 table families. With many admirers, she was particularly dis- 
 tinguished by the conquest of one of the most dashing gallants 
 of the garrison. This was Major Campbell-.— Major Archibald 
 Campbell, or, as he was better known, " Mad Archy,'' or " Mad 
 Campbell" — a fellow of equal daring and eccentricity ; his dash- 
 ing and frequent adventures of a startling nature securing for 
 him his very appropriate nickname. We shall have occasion 
 to record some of these adventures in the course of our narrative, 
 by which we shall justify its propriety. 
 
 There was still another damsel, ranked among the loyaUst 
 ladies of Charleston, whom we should not properly style a belle, 
 since she was not acknowledged to possess this distinction. Yet 
 her beauty and grace were worthy of it. Ella Monckton was a 
 blonde and a beauty ; but the eager impulse of her nature, 
 which might have carried her forward to conquests — at least 
 secured her some of the social triumphs in which her compan- 
 ions delighted — had been checkec^ by the circumstances of her 
 condition. Her family was reduced ; her mother lived upon a 
 pittance, after having been accustomed to prosperity, and her 
 brother, a youth a year younger than his, sister, obtained his 
 support in the employment of Balfour, as his secretary. Ella 
 was just twenty years old, with features which looked greatly 
 younger, an almost infantine face, but in which, in the deep 
 lustrous depths of her dark blue and dewy eyes, might be read 
 the presence of the ripest and loveliest thoughts of womanhood 
 and intellect. She was quiet and retiring — sensitively so — shy 
 to shrinldng ; yet she united to this seemily enfeebling charac- 
 teristic a close, earnest faculty of observation, a just, discrimi- 
 nating judgment, high resolves, deliberate thought, and a warm, 
 deeply-feeling, and loving nature. She was one of those, one 
 of the very few among the rival faction, who commended them- 
 selves, in any degree, to the sympathies of Katharine Walton. 
 Yet, properly speaking, Ella Monckton had no active sympa- 
 thies with the British party. Her father had been a supporter 
 and servant of the crown, and she rather adopted his tendenoies 
 tacitly than by any exercise of will. That her brother should 
 find his employment with Balfour, should be another reason for 
 her loyalty. There were yet other reasons still, which we must 
 
THE LOYALKT BEAUTIES IN CHARLESTON. 195 
 
 leave to future occasions to discover. Shy and sensitive as was 
 the spirit of Ella Monckton, she was singularly decisive in the 
 adoption of her moods. These were rarely changeable or capri- 
 cious. They grew out of her sympathies and affections ; and 
 she was one of those who carry an earnest and intense nature 
 under an exterior that promised nothing of the sort. Her heart, 
 already deeply interested in the business most grateful and most 
 important of all to the woman — her affections involved beyond 
 recall — she was as resolute in all matters where these were 
 concerned, as if life and death were on the issue. And, with 
 such a heart as hers, the issue could be in the end no other than 
 life and death. But these hints will suiEce for the present, 
 furnishing clews to other chapters. 
 
196 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 It was late at night. The close of the day in Charleston 
 had been distinguished by the return of Balfour from Porches- 
 ter. Waiting on his moods, rather than rendering him any 
 required services, his secretary, Alfred Monckton, lingered until 
 abruptly dismissed. He hurried away, as soon as his permission 
 was obtained, to the ancient family abode, one of the remotest, 
 to the west, at the foot of Broad street. The dwelling, though 
 worn, wanting paint, and greatly out of repair, attested, in some 
 degree, the former importance of his family. It was a great 
 wooden fabric, such as belonged particularly to the region and 
 period, capable of accommodating half a dozen such families as 
 that by which it was now occupied. The Widow Monckton, 
 with her two children, felt all her loneliness. She had waited 
 for Alfred till a late hour, until exhaustion compelled her to re- 
 tire ; foregoing .one of her most grateful exercises, that of wel- 
 coming her son to her arms, and bestowing upon him her nightly 
 blessing. He was her hope, as he was her chief support. She 
 well knew how irksome were his labors, -'nder the eye of such 
 a man as Balfour. And still she knew not half. But her 
 knowledge was sufficient to render her gratitude to her boy as 
 active as her love ; and once more repeating the wish, for the 
 third time, " How I wish that Alfred would come !" she left her 
 good-night and blessing for Aim with Ella, his sister, who de- 
 clared her purpose to sit up for him. 
 
 This, indeed, was her constant habit. It was in compliance 
 equally with her inclination and duty. A tender and confiding 
 sympathy swayed both their hearts, and the youth loved the 
 
BROTHEE AND SISTER. 197 
 
 sister none the less because love between them was a duty. 
 She was his elder by a single year ; and, shy^and shrinking as 
 was her temperament, it was yet calculated for the control of 
 his. Yet he was quick and passionate in his moods, and it was 
 only with the most determined yeference to the condition of his 
 aged mother, her dependence upon his patient industry and his 
 submission, that he was able to endure a situation which, but 
 too frequently, was made to wound his pride and outrage his 
 sensibilities. Balfour was an adept in making all about him feel 
 their obligations and dependence. 
 
 Alfred Monckton was of slight fram« and delicate appearance. 
 In this refepect, he resembled his sister ; but, otherwise, there 
 was physically but little similarity between them. While she 
 was a blonde, of a complexion as delicate as that of the rose- 
 leaf, the crimson blood betraying itself through her cheeks at 
 every pulsation, he was dark and swarthy, with keen, quivering 
 black eyes, and hair of the blackest hue and the richest gloss. 
 A slight mustache, little deeper than a pencil line, darkened 
 upon his lip ; but nowhere was his cheek or chin rendered man- 
 ly by a beard. This description must suffice. So much, per- 
 haps, is necessary in connection with the character which we 
 propose to draw. 
 
 His sister received Mm with a kiss and an embrace 
 
 " You have been drinking wine, Alfred 1" 
 
 " Yes, Ella. And I sometimes think that the liquor will 
 choke me, as I drink at the board of Balfour." 
 
 " And why, pray 1" 
 
 " He Ji^ me drink, Ella ; he does not ask. "He co7nmands ; 
 and you can. scarcely! understand how such a command should 
 be offensive, when you know that I relish old Madeira as well 
 as any one. But so it is. It is as if he would compensate me, 
 in this manner, for the scorn, the contempt, the frequently 
 haughty and almost brutal insolence of his tone and manner. 
 How I hate him !" 
 
 " Bear with him, my brother, for our mother's sake." 
 
 « Do I not bear, EUa ? Ah ! you know not half." 
 
 « Nor would I know, Alfred, unless I could relieve you. But 
 — he has, then, returned V 
 
198 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 I 
 
 "Yes; late this evening. He comes back in great good 
 humor. He talks nothing now but of the famous beauty, K.ath-~ 
 arine Walton. She is his new passion ; and Moll Harvey is in 
 great danger of losing her ascendency. Miss "Walton is wealthy 
 as well as handsome. I have not seen her ; but she is already 
 in the city." 
 
 " In the city, Alfred 1" was the inquiry, in tones singularly 
 subdued and slow, as if they required some effort on the part of 
 the speaker to bring them forth. 
 
 "Yes. It appears that she arrived yesterday or the day 
 before. But I heard nothing of it till he came. He has al- 
 ready been to see her. She lodges with her kinswoman, Mrs. 
 Dick Singleton, where you may have an opportunity of meeting, 
 her." 
 
 " I do not care to meet her, Alfred," was the hastUy-uttered 
 answer ; and the sounds were so sad, that the youth, placing a 
 hand on each of her cheeks, and looking steadily into her large 
 blue eyes, inquired, curiously and tenderly — 
 
 " And why, Ellen, my sister — why have you no curiosity to 
 see the beauty whom the whole city will run to see !" 
 
 " That alone should be a sufficient reason." 
 
 " Ah ! but there is yet another, my sister. Your voice is very 
 sad to-night. Ella, my dear Ella, beware of your littlie heart. 
 I am not a sufficient counsellor for it, I know ; but I can see 
 when it suffers, and I can give you warning to beware. You do 
 not tell me enough, EUa. You do not confide sufficiently to 
 your brother — yet I see ! — I see and fear !" 
 
 "What do you fear, Alfred?" 
 
 " I fear that you are destined to suffer even more than you 
 have done. I have other news to tell you, which, if I mistake 
 not your feelings, will make you still more unhappy." 
 
 "Do not — do not keep me in suspense, Alfred." 
 
 " I will not. You will know it sooner or later-, and it is best 
 always, to hear ill news at first, from friendly lips. Major 
 Proctor is disgraced, and that subtle, snake-like fellow, Vaughan, 
 is now in command of the post at Dorchester !" 
 
 The maiden clasped her hands together in speechless suffering. 
 
 " Ah, Ella ! I was afraid of this. I have seen, for a long 
 
BROTHER AND SISTER. 199 
 
 time, how much you thought of Majoj Proctor ; yet you told me 
 nothing." 
 
 " And what was I to tell you ? That I loved hopelessly ; 
 that my heart was yielded to one who had no heart to give ; 
 that I had been guilty of the unmaidenly weakness of loving 
 where I could have no hope of return ; that, with the fondness 
 of the woman, I lacked her delicacy, and suffered the world to 
 see that passion which I should never have suffered myself to 
 feel until my own heart had been solicited ! Oh ! Alfred, was 
 this the confession that my brother would have had me make 'I 
 You have it now ! I have shown you all ! Would it have 
 availed me anything that I had told you this before?" 
 
 This was passionately spoken, and the girl covered her eyes 
 with her hands as she made the confession ; while an audible sob, 
 at the conclusion, denoted the convulsive force of that emotion 
 which she struggled vainly to suppress. 
 
 " Ah, my poor, sweet sister ! It is what I feared. I have 
 rot studied your heart in vain. And, wh^t is worse, I can bring 
 you no consolation. I can not even give you counsel. Proctor, 
 it is said, is devoted to Miss Walton. It is through his passion 
 for her that he is disgraced. He is said to have helped her 
 father in his escape at Dorchester, and is to be court-martialed 
 for the offence. The charge is a very serious one. It amounts 
 to something more than neglect of duty. It is a charge of trea- 
 son, and may peril his life 5 at all events, it perils his reputation 
 as a man of honor and an ofiicer." 
 
 " And this is all the doing of that venomous creature, Vaughan ! 
 I know it, Alfred. This bold, bad man, has been at work, for a 
 long while, spinning his artful web about the generous and 
 unsuspecting nature of Proctor. Can nothing be done to save 
 him?" 
 
 " I do not see how we can do anything." 
 
 " Do not speak so coldly, Alfred. Something must be done. 
 You know not how much may be done by a resolute and devo- 
 ted spirit, however feeble, where it honors — where it loves! 
 The mouse may relieve the lion, Alfred." 
 
 '1 You speak from your heart, Ella, not from your thought." 
 
 " And theheart has a facnltyof strength, Alfred, superior to 
 
200 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 any thcraght. You may do something, my brother. You will 
 do something. If we are only in possession of the counsels of 
 the enemy, we may contrive to baffle them. You will see — 
 you will hear. You will know where Balfour and Vaughan 
 plant their snares ; and we shall be able to give warning, in 
 due season, to the noble gentleman whom they would destroy." 
 
 " Ella, my sister," replied the other gravely, " you forget that 
 I am, in a measure, the confidant of Balfour. It will not do for 
 me to betray his secrets. I have hitherto withheld nothing from 
 you. I have spoken to you as my other self; but, remember, 
 these are not my secrets which I confide to you. They must 
 be sacred. It is impossible that I should communicate to you 
 the counsels of my employer, with the apprehension that you 
 will use your knowledge to defeat them.'' 
 
 The warm, conscious blood rushed into the face of the maiden. 
 She hesitated ; she felt a keen sting of self-reproach as she lis- 
 tened ; but, the next moment, she replied with an argument that 
 has frequently found its justification in morality. 
 
 " But we are not to keep the counsels of the wicked. We 
 are not to keep faith with those who aim to do evil. It is but 
 right and just that we should seek to warn the innocent against 
 the snare spread for them by the guilty." 
 
 Alfred Moncton was not equal to the moral argument. He 
 waived it accordingly. 
 
 " But you forget, my sister, that the innocence of Major Proc- 
 tor rests only on our assumption. Everybody believes him 
 guilty. Of the facts we know nothing, except that they show 
 against him. He has suffered a rebel to escape from justice 
 even at the place of execution. He is reputed to be a devoted 
 lover of this rebel's daughter. He was a frequent visiter at her 
 residence, to the neglect of his duties in the garrison. The con- 
 sequences are serious. All the loyalist families cry out against 
 him ; and the general impression of his guilt seems to be borne 
 out by the facts and appearances." 
 
 " I will not believe it, Alfred." 
 
 " There, again, your heart speaks, Ella ! Ah, my poor sister, 
 I would that you had never seen this man !" 
 
 She exclaimed hastily, and in husky accents — 
 
BROTHER AND SISTER. 201 
 
 "' Perhaps I too wish that I had never seen him. But it is 
 too late for that, Alfred. I can not control my heart ; and to 
 you, I am not ashamed to confess that I love him fondly and 
 entirely. You must help me to serve him, Alfred — help me to 
 save hfm." 
 
 " And yet if he loves another !" 
 
 " Be it even so, Alfred, and still we must save him if we can. 
 It is not love that for ever demands its recompense. It is love 
 only when prepared for every sacrifice. I must seek to serve 
 in this instance, though the service may seem wholly to be with- 
 out profit to myself; and you must assist me, though, perhaps, 
 at some peril to yourself. But there will be no peril to you 
 really, as I shall manage the affair ; and where the heart is sat- 
 isfied in the service, it must needs be profitable. The love need 
 not be the less warm and devoted, because felt for a being who 
 is wholly ignorant of its existence. Let Proctor be happy with 
 this rebel lady if he may. It is enough that he knows me not 
 — that he loves me not! Why should he not love another? 
 Why not be happy with her ? The world speaks well of his 
 choice. May they be happy !" 
 
 " It is not so certain that he loves hopefully, Ella. On the 
 contrary, much is said against it." 
 ^ " Ah, believe it not ! She is sensible, they say ; she wUl 
 scarcely have listened to Proctor with indifference." 
 
 " You will call upon her, Ella V 
 
 " No ; that is impossible." 
 
 " How will you avoid it 1 She is the ward now of Colonel 
 Cruden ; and both Balfour and himself will expect all the loy- 
 alist ladies to do honor to one whom they have so much desire 
 to win over to the cause. Besides, she lives with Mrs. Dick 
 Singleton, and mother's intimacy with her — " 
 
 " Is not exactly what it has been. They still visit ; but there 
 is a spice of bitterness now in the eternal discussion of their 
 politics ; and they have tacitly foregone their intimacies. An 
 occasional call is all that either makes. Still, mother will have 
 to go ; but there is no obligation upon me to do likewise." 
 
 " And have you really no curiosity to see this beauty !" 
 
 "No — yes! The very greatest. I would see, search, and 
 
202 • KATHARINE WALTON'. 
 
 study every charpi, and seek to discover in -syhat the peculiar 
 fascination lies -whicli has won that cold, proud heart. But I 
 fear — I tremble, Alfred, lest I should learn to hate the object 
 that he loves." 
 
 " My poor Ella ! what shall I do for you 1" 
 
 " Do for Mm, Alfred. You can do nothing for me. I must 
 do for riiyself. If I have been weak, I will show that I can be 
 strong. I wUl not succumb to my feebleness. I will overcome 
 it. You will do much for me, if you will assist me in saving 
 Major Proctor from his enemies." 
 
 " And wherefore should I peril myself for one who has done 
 you such a wrong 1" 
 
 " There will be no peril to you, dear Alfred ; and for the 
 wrong, be has done me none. It is I, only, who have wronged 
 myself." 
 
 " Ay, but there is peril — nay, little less than my sacrifice, 
 Ella, which may follow from my helping you in behalfof Proc- 
 tor. And I see not why I should risk anything in behalf of a 
 man who will neither know nor care anything about the sacrifice 
 we make. He has no claim upon me, Ella." 
 ~ "Ah, brother, would you fail me 1" 
 
 " What is this man to you or me ? Nothing ! And — " 
 
 " Oh, Alfred ! — Proctor nothing to jne, when he compels these 
 tears — when, to mention his name only, makes my heart tremble 
 with a mixed feeling of fear and joy ! Oh, my brother, yon are 
 greatly changed, I fear !" 
 
 She threw herself upon the youth's bosom as she spoke these 
 words of melancholy reproach ; and his eyes filled with- sympa- 
 thetic drops as he heard her sobbing upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Alas ! Ella!" he exclaimed. " You speak as if I had any 
 power to serve or to save. You deceive yourself, but must not 
 deceive me. I know, my own feebleness. I can do nothing for 
 you. I see not how we can serve Proctor." 
 
 " Oh, I will show you how !" she answered eagerly. "A just 
 and good man need have no fear of open enmity. It is the arts 
 that are practised in secret that find him accessible to harm. 
 You shall show me how these spiders work, and where they set 
 their snares, and leave the rest to me." 
 
BROTHEB AND SISTBB. 203 
 
 " Yes ; but, Ella, you are not to betray any of my secrete. 
 That would be dishonoring, as well as endaiigering me, Ella ; 
 and I much doubt if it would be of any service to the person 
 you seek to serve. But I wiU help you where I can with pro- 
 priety. If I can show you in what way you may avert the 
 danger from him without — " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! That is all that I ask, dear Alfred ! That is all !" 
 The poor fellow little suspected to what extent the fond and 
 erring heart of his sister had already committed both. He little 
 knew that her secret agency — which might very naturally con- 
 duct to his — was already something more than suspected by the 
 wily Vaughan. 
 
204 • KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 LOVE PLAYS THE SPY. 
 
 It was probably a week after tUs conversation, when, one 
 night, Alfred Monckton returned home to Ms mother's dwelling 
 at an early hour of the evening, and with a roll of papers beneath 
 his arm. He was all bustle and weariness. 
 
 " Come with me, Ella, into the library," he exclaimed to his 
 sister. " I have more work for you than ever." 
 
 Seated in the library, at the ample table which was usually 
 assigned to his nightly toils as the secretary of the commandant 
 — where, in fact, his labors as an amanuensis usually employed 
 him, and, occasionally his sister, until midnight — he proceeded 
 to unfold an enormous budget of rough notes and letters, to be 
 copied and arranged. In these labors, EUa Monckton shared 
 with a generous impulse which sought to lessen the burden of 
 her brother's duties. She now lent herself readily to his assist- 
 ance, and proceeded to ascertain the extent of the performance 
 which he required. 
 
 " These are all to be copied and got in readiness by the morn- 
 ing, Ella, and I am so wearied." 
 
 " Let me have them, Alfred ; show me what I am to do, 
 while you throw yourself upon the sofa and rest yourself." 
 
 " There, that's a good creature. Copy me that, and that, and 
 that. You see all's numbered ; letter them thus. A, B, C, and 
 so on, just as you find them on the scraps ; only copy them on 
 these sheets. Here's the paper ; and the sooner you set to work 
 the better. I will come to your help as soon as I have fairly 
 rested. If I could sleep ten minutes only." 
 
LOVE PL.A.TS IHB SPY. 205 
 
 " You shall. Give me the papers, and let me go to work." 
 
 And she began to gather up, and to imfold, and arrange the 
 several manuscripts. 
 
 " Stay ! Not these, Ella. And, by the way, you are not to 
 see these, though they would interest you much. They concern 
 Proctor." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Yes ; they are notes for his trial. There is to be a court of 
 inquiry, and these are memoranda of the charges to be made 
 agaiast him, with notes of the evidence upon which they rest." 
 
 "And why am I not to see these, Alfred?" 
 
 " Because I am positively forbidden to suffer them to be seen, 
 Ella. Balfour seems a little suspicious, I think. He was most 
 particular in his injunctions. The fact is, Ella, the allegations 
 are very serious and the proofs are strong. If the witnesses be 
 of the proper sort, they will convict and cashier Proctor. The 
 worst is, that tliey will take him by surprise ; for, as it is to be 
 a court of inquiry only, no specifications will be submitted, and 
 he will scarcely anticipate these charges if he be innocent of 
 them. There, I can't show them to you, so don't ask me." 
 
 " But, Alfred, wiU you really suffer me to do nothing — will 
 you do nothing yourself — for the safety of a person against 
 whom there is such a conspiracy?" 
 
 " What can I do ? What should I do ? I have no right to 
 anything which shall involve a breach of trust. You would be 
 the last person, Ella, to expect it." 
 
 The poor girl sighed deeply and looked wistfully upon the 
 mass of papers which he detached from the others, folded up, 
 and put away in his escritoir. But she forbore all further en- 
 treaty, and, with a good grace and a cheerM manner, proceeded 
 to the work assigned her. 
 
 "And news for you too, Ella," said the young man, now look- 
 ing up from the sofa upon which he had just flung himself. 
 " Proctor is in town. He came down yesterday, and was this 
 morning to see Balfour. But he refused to be seen — was too 
 busy. Such was his answer ; though I knew he was only busy 
 with his tailor, whom he frequently consults — perhaps quite as 
 frequently as any other person. Proctor waited in my apart- 
 
206 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 ment. I am truly sony for him. He is a fine manly-looking 
 fellow, and wore so sad, yet so noble a countenance." 
 
 Another sigh from Ella — but she said nothing in reply ; and, 
 in a few moments, Alfred was asleep, fairly overcome by the 
 toils of the day and the preceding night. She, meanwhile, 
 urged her pen with a rapid industry, which seemed resolute, by 
 devotion to the task immediately before her, to forget the ex- 
 citing and sorrowful thoughts which were struggling in her mind. 
 When her brother awoke, her task was nearly ended. But his 
 remained to be performed ; and, with assiduity that never shrunk 
 from labor, she continued to assist in his. It was nearly mid- 
 night when they ceased. 
 
 " We have done enough, Ella, for the night, and your eyes 
 look heavy with sleep. Yon are a dear girl, my sister, and I 
 love you as brother never loved sister before. Do you not 
 believe me? There, one kiss, and you must to bed. To- 
 morrow night shall be a hohday for you. I mustn't receive 
 assist£[nce in that business of Proctor's, and that's for to-morrow. 
 Good night, Ella ; good night !" 
 
 They separated, and took their way to their respective cham- 
 bers. When Ella Monckton reached hers, she threw herself 
 into a chair, and clasped her hands in her lap with the air of 
 one strugghng with a great necessity and against a strenuous 
 desire. 
 
 " I must see those papers !" she muttered, in low accents, to 
 herself. " They may be of the last importance in his case. I 
 can not suffer him to be crushed by these base and cruel enemies. 
 Shall I have the means to save him irom a great injustice — 
 from a wrong which may destroy him — yet forbear to use them? 
 There is no morahty in this ! If I read these papers without 
 Alfred's privity, in what is he to blame ? He betrays no confi- 
 dence ; he violates no tnist ; he surrenders no secret. I can not 
 sleep with this conviction. I must see these papers !" 
 
 Where was the heaviness that weighed down these eyelids 
 when her brother looked tenderly into her face at parting ? He 
 was mistaken when he ascribed their expression to the need for 
 sleep. They were now intensely bright, and glittering with the 
 earnestness of an excited will which has already settled upon 
 
LOVE PLAYS THE SPY. 207 
 
 its object. Her meditations were long continued, aild, occasion- 
 ally, broke out into soliloquy. Her mind was in conflict, though 
 her will was resolute and. fixed. But, with such a wUl, and 
 goaded by the passionate sympathies of a woman's heart in be- 
 half of the being whom it most loves, we can hardly doubt as to 
 her final conclusion. 
 
 She arose, and left her chamber with the lightest footstep in 
 the world ; traversed the passage which divided her brother's 
 chamber from her own, and listened at the entrance. All was 
 still within, and his light was extinguished. She returned to 
 her chamber with a tread as cautious as before ; possessed her- 
 self of the hghted candle, and rapidly descended once more to 
 the library. The escritoir was locked, but the key, she well 
 knew, occupied the corner of a shelf in the library. Here she 
 sought and found it. She paused when about to apply in to the 
 lock, but recovered her resolution with the reflection, which she 
 was scarcely conscious that she spoke aloud — 
 
 "It tfan't hurt Alfred; he violates no trust; — and I may 
 save the innocent man from the snares of the guDty." 
 
 The moral philosophy of this speech was not quite satis- 
 factory to the speaker herself. A moment after, and when 
 the escritoir was laid open before her, and before her hands 
 were yet spread forth to seize the papers, she clasped her 
 palms together suddenly, exclaiming — 
 
 " Oh ! Proctor, could you but know how much is the sacri- 
 fice I make for you !" 
 
 She sat down, covered her eyes with her hands, and the 
 bright drops stole down between her fingers. 
 
 She did not long remain in this attitude. The night was 
 going rapidly. She knew not the extent of the labor before 
 her, but she felt that what was to be done should be done 
 quickly. She unfolded the papers, which were numerous, con- 
 .sisting of letters, memoranda, a,nd affidavits, and read with a 
 nervous eagerness. Her heart beat more loudly as she proceed- 
 ed. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes filled again with tears, as she 
 possessed herself of the contents. The object of the papers 
 was to show that the attachment of Proctor to the beautiful 
 daughter of the reljel Walton had led to the escape of the lat- 
 
208 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 ter ; that the former had frequently neglected his duties ; had 
 been a frequent visiter at " The Oaks," and had studiously for- 
 borne to see those signs of treason and conspiracy which he had 
 been particularly set to watch. 
 
 It does not need that we should detail all the facts, as set 
 forth in these documents against him. The nature of the 
 charges we may conjecture from what is already known. 
 The important matter in the papers was the sort of evidence, 
 and the names of the persons, relied on to establish the accusa- 
 tion. The quick intelligence of Ella Monckton enabled her, al- 
 most at a glance, to see how much of this testimony it was im- 
 portant for Proctor to know, and to conceive how small a por- 
 tion of it was possibly open to his conjecture. She shuddered 
 as she reviewed the plausible array of circumstances by which 
 he was enmeshed ; and, while her heart shrank from those par- 
 ticulars which showed the extremity of his passion for Katha- 
 rine Walton, her mind equally revolted at the depth, breadth, 
 and atrocity of the art, by which he was to be convicted as a 
 criminal. 
 
 With a quick and vigilant thought, she determined to afford 
 the victim an opportunity to encounter the enemy, who was ev- 
 idently resolved upon surprising him by an ambush. She re- 
 solved to make a catalogue raisonnee of the charges, the specifi- 
 cations, and the evidence under them. Love lent her new 
 strength for the task ; and she who- had sat up till midnight 
 copying for her brother now occupied the rest of the night in 
 abridging the documents which threatened the safety of the 
 one whom she so unprofitably loved. 
 
 The gray dawn was already peeping through the shutters of 
 her chamber window, when she was preparing to retire. She 
 had completed her task. Excluding all unimportant matter — 
 all unnecessary preliminaries — she had made out a complete re- 
 port of the case as it was to be prosecuted before the court of 
 inquiry.' She had copied so much of the testimony as was 
 needful to cover the points made ; dismissing all surplusage, and 
 confining herself to the absolute evidence alone ; and completed 
 the narrative by a full list of all the witnesses who were relied 
 on to establish the charges against the victim. With this evi- 
 
LOVE PLAYS THE SPY. 209 
 
 deuce in his possession, and with ample time allowed him, it was 
 in Proctor's power, if really innocent, to meet his enemies on 
 their own ground ; to encounter their witnesses with others, and 
 rebut their allegations with all the proofs necessary to explain 
 what was equivocal in the history of his unfortunate command 
 at Dorchester. To cover the papers which she had copied 
 out, in a brief note, and under a disguised hand to Proctor, 
 was the completion of her task ; and this done, and the pack- 
 et sealed, poor Ella, doubtful of the propriety of what she had 
 done, yet the slave of a necessity that found its authority in 
 her best affections, retired to her pillow, with eyes too full of 
 tears to suffer them to be quickly sealed by sleep. 
 
 The very next day. Proctor was in possession of the pack- 
 age from his unknown but friendly correspondent, and saw, 
 with mingled feelings of consternation and relief, how large 
 a body of evidence had been conjured up against him, and 
 with how much subtlety and art. Yet, with the game of his 
 enemies revealed to him, he also felt how comparatively easy 
 it would be to defeat their machinations. But let us not 
 anticipate. 
 
 It was with some surprise, the next evening, that Alfred 
 Monckton heard his sister propose to her mother to accompa- 
 ny her on a visit to Katharine "Walton. He looked up, at 
 the moment, and caught her eyes, but said nothing. But, an 
 hour after, when Mrs. Monckton had retired, Ella herself vol- 
 unteered an explanation of the motives which had occasioned 
 the change in her resolutions. 
 
 " If Colonel Balfour has set his heart upon this lady's be- 
 ing received into society, Alfred, it is particularly incumbent 
 upon us to do what we can to please him. This will be the 
 policy of most persons of the loyalist party in the city, and my 
 refusal, or forbearance, to adopt the same policy would only 
 subject me to suspicions. That my mother should go to see 
 her, and not I, would certainly be suspicious." 
 
 She paused, and her brother met her glance with an equivo- 
 cal smile. Her cheeks flushed, and then, with sudden energy 
 of manner, she continued — 
 
 " And, the truth is, Alfred, I must see her. I shall never 
 
210 
 
 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 sleep until I do. I will nerve myself for the encounter with 
 my best strength, and endure the meeting with all the courage 
 and philosophy I can master. The enemy is never more for- 
 midable than when at a distance ; and — and — I am not with- 
 out hope that, when I see Miss Walton near, I shall find in her 
 such c[ualifications of her beauty as will serve to excuse a lover 
 for becoming cold in his devotions, particularly if — if — he has 
 no longer reason to indulge in hope." 
 
 " Never hope it, Ella. Opinion seems to be too universally 
 agreed on this subject. But I am glad that you have thus de- 
 termined. The sooner we can reconcile ourselves to a painful 
 subject, which we are nevertheless compelled to encounter, the 
 better for our happiness. You will have to meet her, soon or 
 late, for several balls in her honor are in preparation. Colonel 
 Cruden has already resolved on making the Pinckney House a 
 sort of Palace of Pleasure, and as their ward of the crown, 
 Miss Walton is to be the queen thereof. He wOl be followed, 
 as a matter of course, by the fashionable widow, Mrs. Cornelia 
 Rivington, and she by' a dozen others, all emulous, on a small 
 scale, of working after her patterns. But I must to my task. 
 These papers will keep me more than half the night. How I 
 wish, Ella, that I could let you see them, but I dare not. Ah ! 
 if poor Proctor only had these papers !" 
 
 And the young man proceeded to his solitary labors. His 
 sister dared not look vg) and meet his glance, while he spoke so 
 innocently of the secrets in his possession. She blushed at the 
 consciousness of the theft of them, which she had committed; 
 her conscience not quite satisfied that, even with the most virtu- 
 ous motive in the world, she was quite right in doing wrong. 
 
FASHIONABLE SOCIETY IN GAEEISON. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 FASHIONABLE SOCIETY IN GAEEISON. 
 
 It was eleven in the morning, hy the massive mahogany clock 
 that stood in the great entrance to the spacious dwelling at 
 the foot of Broad street, which was occupied by the fashionable 
 Mrs. Eivington. This lady was the widow of a wealthy plant- 
 er, one of the king's former counsellors for the province, and, 
 for a goodly term of years, the holder of an office of dignity 
 and profit under that best tenure, durante bene placilo, in a mon- 
 archy. The worthy widow, as in duty bound, shared in the un- 
 selfish devotion to the crown by which her lord and master was 
 distinguished. She was naturally true to an old school in which, 
 not only had all her lessons, but all her fortunes, been acquired. 
 She was now, accordingly, a fiery loyalist, and the leader of ton 
 with all that class in the good city of Charleston who professed 
 similar ways of thinking. She cut most others with little hesi- 
 tation. She turned her back, with a most sovereign sense of 
 supremacy, upon the Gadsdens and the Eutledges — upon aU 
 those, in other words, whom she could not subject to her au- 
 thority. Resistance to her sway was fatal to the ofi'ender. A 
 doubt of her supremacy was a mortal injury to be avenged at 
 every hazard. She aimed at such a tyranny in society — though 
 just as little prepared to avow her policy — as the king of Great 
 Britain was desirous to assert in government ; and, for the brief 
 period of time in which the British troops were in sole command 
 of the city, she exercised it successfully. She was an impor- 
 tant acquisition to the garrison. She had wealth, and the tem- 
 per to employ it — was witty if not wise, and her suppers were 
 unexceptionable. Fair, but not fat, nor much beyond the toler- 
 
212 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 ated border line in widowhood, of forty, Mrs. Cornelia Rivington 
 had as many admirers, of a certain sort, as any of the more le- 
 gitimate belles within the limits of the garrison. Stout, red-faced 
 majors of foot, who had impaired their lives in the free use of 
 curry and Jamaica, who enjoyed the good things of this life 
 without much regard to the cost, when the expense was borne 
 by another — or to the evils, when the suffering only followed 
 the feast and did not interfere with it — these were generally 
 the most devoted admirers of the wealthy widow. They would 
 have been pleased — a score of them — to persuade her out of 
 her widowhood, at her earliest convenience; but, with all her 
 infirmities of wealth and vanity — both of which prompt, quite 
 commonly, to put one's self into the keeping of another — she 
 had, up to the present moment, proved inaccessible to the plead- 
 ings and persuasions upon the perilous subject of a second mat- 
 rimony. Her life, as a widow, was more cheering and grateful, 
 sub rosa, than she had found it when a devoted wife, subject to 
 a rule at home, which had acquired its best lessons from an ar- 
 bitrary official exercise of authority abroad. In brief, Mrs. Eiv- 
 ington's present mode of life was an ample revenge for her suf- 
 ferings in wifedom. She had no notion of going back to the 
 old experiences, and, perhaps, was by no means satisfied with 
 the special candidates among the garrison who had sought, with 
 bended bodies and fair smirking visages, for the privilege of 
 keeping the soft hand, the touch of which, in the ordinary civ- 
 ilities of society, they professed to find so wondrously provoca- 
 tive of the desire for eternal retention. The widow smiled 
 graciously enough upon her blase admirers ; but her smiles 
 led to no substantial results, and afforded but little encour- 
 agement. As Major Kirkwood sullenly exclaimed among his 
 messmates, at Tylman's Olub-House, on the Bay, near Tradd 
 street— 
 
 <' She's one of the few women I have ever met, who, with so 
 much wealth, and not more than forty-five, had fairly cut her 
 ■eye-tooth. She's not to be taken in by gammon. The fact is, 
 boys, professions are of as little value in her eyes as in ours ; 
 and the^hole game with her is one of a calcrJation too strict 
 to suffer such nonsense as the affections to be taken into the 
 
FASHIONABLE SOCIETY IN GARRISON. 213 
 
 account at all. What do you think she said to me, when I suf- 
 fered myself to say some foolish, flattering nonsense in her ears 1" 
 
 " You proposed to her, Osborne !" cried one of his companions 
 with a shout. 
 
 " Devil a bit ! unless she construed a very common speech of 
 the mess into a meaning which none of us think to give it." 
 
 " But which 1/ou as certainly meant, major." 
 
 " Out with it, Osborne, and confess, you proposed. Your 
 gills tell the story." 
 
 They were certainly red enough. 
 
 " Not so, I tell you, unless you find an avowal in a common- 
 place." 
 
 " What was it 1 The words — the words !" 
 
 The demand was unanimous, and, with an increasing redness 
 of face and throat, the hardy major of sepoys admitted that he 
 had suffered himself to say to the widow that he should be the 
 happiest man in the world to take her widowhood under the 
 shadow of the Kirkwood name. 
 
 "What," he added, "has been said by all of us, a thousand 
 times, to a thousand different women, and without attaching any 
 real meaning to the speech." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! That won't do, major. The speech is inno- 
 cent enough, I grant you, at a frolic in the midst of supper, or 
 while whirling through the ball-room. But time and place alter 
 the thing very materially. Now, did you not say these innocent 
 words in a morning call, and did you not entreat the meeting 
 beforehand 1 The widow Eivington is not the woman to mis- 
 take a soldier's gallantry for a formal proposition. No, no ! 
 The whole truth, old boy. Confess ! confess !" 
 
 "You push me quite too hard. Major Stock— quite too hard. 
 I wonder where your accounts would stand, if you were scored 
 in the same manner against the wall. But I frankly admit that 
 it was in the course of a morning cAU that Mrs. Eivington con- 
 strued my complimentary commonplace into a proposal." 
 
 "You die hard, Kirkwood," replied Stock. "But I have a 
 reason for putting you to the torture, since, to anticipate detec- 
 tion, I am disposed to go to the confessional myself The truth 
 is, boys, I got an inkling of what Kirkwood intended. I had 
 
214 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 not -watched his play at the trout for nothing. It was at Vaux- 
 hall that I overheard him arrange to see her at her house the 
 next day. The hour and all was appointed, and a glance at 
 the widow's eyes, at the moment, showed me that Kirk was a 
 candidate for the ' back door out.' Half an hour after, I walked 
 ■With her ladyship myself. I, too, had set my heart upon this 
 same comely fish" — 
 
 '* What, you, major 1" was the query from several voices. 
 " You've been on the sly, then 1" 
 
 " I confess it, boys, in the bitterness of my heart, and with a 
 sore conscience ; happy, however, that I am able to lay my hand 
 on another's shoulder and say, as the blind man said to the ass, 
 ' there's a pair of us, brother !' " 
 
 "Well, what next?" demanded Kirkwood himself, somewhat 
 impatiently. 
 
 " I'll make the story short for your accommodation. You ar- 
 ranged to call upon the widow at twelve. I entreated the priv- 
 ilege of seeing her just one hour later." 
 " The devil you did !" 
 
 " Yes, i'faith ; and I will venture a trifle that our answers 
 were both in the same language." 
 
 " Yes, perhaps, if the questions were alike," growled Kirk- 
 wood. 
 
 " Oh, mine was a regimental commonplace, pretty much as 
 yours. In plain terms, I did as you did, offered myself, 
 hand heart, and fortune — pour passer le temps — only, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " And her answer ?" quoth Kirkwood. 
 " What was yours V demanded Stock. 
 " I'd as lief tell it as not. It was a sly answer, such as she 
 would have made beUeving me to be in earnest." 
 " Or not believing it. But let's have it." 
 " ' Major Kirkwood,' said she, ' I've seen too many people 
 fresh from the blarney-stone, to allow me not to understand you. 
 It will be your fault if you do not understand me. Of course, 
 major, you mean nothing of what you say. If I could think 
 that you did, I should think as little of your understanding as I 
 should then believe you thought of mine. But, hereafter, even 
 
FASHIONABLE SOCIETY IN GAERISON. 215 
 
 in jest, do not let me hear you speak such nonsense. We are 
 both too old to suffer from any innocent credulity.' " 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! Hurrah for the widow. 
 Rivington for ever ! And your answer, Stock V 
 
 " The same in substance, though not in words, but just as full 
 of deviltry." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! What a widow ! She'd kill off the regi- 
 ment in short order." 
 
 • " Well for us that precious few cut their eye-teeth so preco- 
 ciously," responded the good-humored Stock. " But you look 
 sulky, Kirkwood. Don't harbor maUce, my boy. The widow's 
 suppers are as admirable as ever, and she smiles as sweetly as 
 if she had never flung the blarney-stone in the face of either." 
 
 " Did she tell you of my visit ?" growled Ku-kwood, in pain- 
 ful inquiry. 
 
 " Not a syllable. I conjectured her answer to you from that 
 which she made tO me. Believing myself to be the handsomer, 
 the younger, and the better man, and knowing her to be a woman 
 of admirable taste, I naturally felt sure that you could not stand 
 where I had fallen." 
 
 " Out upon you for a vain puppy !" cried Kirkwood^ as the 
 merriment of his comrades rang in his ears. 
 
 The laugh was against him, and he felt that any further show 
 of soreness would only exaggerate his annoyances. With an 
 effort, he succeeded in recovering his strength and composure of 
 face, and the two baffled candidates, a few moments later, were 
 agreed to call upon the heedless widow, availing themselves of 
 a new privilege which she had just accorded to the fashionable 
 world, by which an ante-meridian visitation would escape mis- 
 construction. 
 
 Mrs. Kivington had just adopted a round of " mornings." Her 
 rooms were thrown open at eleven, to remain open till one. Here 
 she held levees for conversation wholly. The device was new 
 — perhaps designed to legitimate such visits as those which 
 Kirkwood and Stock had paid her. At all events, she made 
 the visits unexceptionable, and found seciuity in numbers. In 
 a crowd she could escape the dangers of a tete-a-tete with blase 
 majors of foot, each fresh from kissing the stone of blarney. 
 
216 KATHAEINB WALTON. 
 
 The old mahogany clock that stood, " like a tower," in the 
 great passage of the stately mansion of Mrs. Eivington, at the 
 foot of Broad street, was, as we have said before, on the stroke 
 of eleven, when the doors were thrown wide for the reception 
 of company. And very soon they came. Mr,9. Eivington was 
 not the person to be neglected by the Charleston fashionables 
 at that period, when the objection to the equivocal in place and 
 birth was not so tenaciously urged as in modem times. The 
 indulgent requisitions of that day insisted rather upon externals 
 than the substance. In brief, wit and mirth, and good clothing, 
 and manners selons les regies, satisfied the utmost demands of 
 the nice and scrupulous, _ and nobody needed to boast of his 
 grandmother to find his proper status on the floor. There were 
 bores in those days as in ours, and strange to Say, some of the 
 most unexceptionable in point of quality and family belonged to 
 this description. But worlds and cities are oddly made up ; and 
 he who would be tolerant in building up humanity must not 
 show himself hostile to any sort of blocks. Mrs. Eivington 
 knew just as well as anybody else of what miscellaneous stuff 
 society is made. She was indulgent in proportion to her expe- 
 rience. 
 
 " La, you there V she said to Penfield, who wrote gent, after 
 his name, and had once "been a lawyer in hope to be attorney- 
 general of the province. He had turned up his aristocratic nose 
 at some of the oi poloi of the saloon. 
 
 " La, you there, counsellor, and be merciful to yourself if not 
 to me. Were we to admit the quality only, we should die of 
 atrophy, or commit suicide, or some other less-dignified sin ; and 
 were we not to suffer the canaille, our gentry would lack the 
 only provocation that makes them endurable. You, for exam- 
 ple, have scarcely had a word to say since your entrance, till 
 you saw that long line of Smiths make their appearance, and 
 since that moment your words and features have both been pos- 
 itively sublime. Shall I make the Smiths known to you? 
 They are really very clever people — good company enough for 
 the summer." 
 
 " I thank you. But how is the name spelled ? With an i 
 ovrjV 
 
FASHIONABLE SOCIETY IN GARRISON. 217 
 
 " What difiference does that make 1" inquired Mrs. Itivington. 
 
 " All the difference in the world, madam. The Smythes ard 
 not the Smiths are to be known in society. It is the former 
 only which you will find among the noble families of England. 
 Indeed, the Smiths have all snub noses, which, as my venerable 
 grandmother always assured me, is a sign of low birth and doubt- 
 ful origin. Excuse me ; but as they are crossing here, I'd rath- 
 er find my way to the opposite end of the room. These steel 
 mirrors of yours exhibit the outline admirably. They are just 
 at the proper hang. Ah, my dear Mrs. Rivington, could we 
 only choose properly our guests !" 
 
 And, with a sigh, Penfield, gent., crossed the apartment, while 
 the Smiths, five in number, male and female, with a warm im- 
 pulse, that betrayed freshness and exuberance, not the less grate- 
 ful because vulgar, came forward almost at a bound, to acknowl- 
 edge the presence of their hostess. 
 
 "You came but a moment too late, girls," said the widow. 
 " I should otherwise have brought to your acquaintance the 
 famous counsellor, Penfield, a man of talents, and connected with 
 the oldest families of the country." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! no such thing, my dear Mrs. Rivington," cried 
 Mrs. Jeremiah Smith, the mother of the flock. " You never 
 made a greater mistake in your life. Old Penfield, the grand- 
 father of this young fellow, was a good man enough, and quite 
 honest, I believe. He was a first-]?ate silversmith ; and all of 
 ourfilate — no great deal, I allow — bears his stamp and brand. 
 My father used to say, in his praise, that you could rely upon 
 his putting into his spoons all the old silver that you gave him. 
 As for this youngster" — so she called a person of thirty -five — 
 " ho was spoiled by Sir Egerton Leigh, who, finding that he 
 wrote a good hand, took him as his secretary, and afterward 
 made something of a lawyer of him. And that's the true his- 
 tory. But I'll have a talk with him, and set him right in his 
 genealogy." 
 
 " Do so, my dear Mrs. Smith, and you will be doing him a 
 service. I really believe, if Mr. Penfield could learn the facts 
 from a proper authority, it would be the making of him." 
 
 "Would he like it, think you, Mrs. Eivingtonl" whispered 
 
 10 
 
218 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 the old lady, now, for the first time, havhig some douhts on the 
 subject. 
 
 " Oh, surely, my dear madam ; he is the most grateful being 
 in the world to any person who will prove, unquestionably, the 
 antiquity of his family." 
 
 And the mischievous widow turned away to the reception of 
 other guests^ hut not losing sight of the Smiths, whom she saw 
 in a drove, following in the wake of the mother as she waddled 
 across the room, in full chase of Penfield, the gentleman. 
 
 The rooms were, by this time, filled with various groups of 
 both sexes, civil and military. The British officers Ipomed out 
 conspicuously in their scarlet, whUe, here and there, might he 
 seen a loyalist captain or colonel, in the more modest green or 
 blue of his own command. These persons were not prominent 
 nor particularly popular, and it might be seen that they were 
 not often sought out by the officers of the regular service. The 
 ladies seemed inclined to give them the cold shoulder also, 
 though this might be owing entirely to the fact that none of 
 them had particularly distinguished himself by his services in 
 the ranks of his rriajesty. 
 
 General Williamson, who made his appearance at this time, 
 was rather more in favor. But he was a general, and something 
 stUl was expected at his hands. It was the policy of the Brit- 
 ish officers to encourage this opinion, and to treat him accord- 
 ingly. But even his star was on the wane. He felt it so, and 
 rated the courtesies he received at their true value. He was 
 not the person to figure in a saloon, and his appearance now 
 was quite as much to prevent his absence being remarked, as to 
 compel remark by his presence. Besides, Mrs. Eivington's re- 
 unions were of a sort to provide the on dit of the garrison, and 
 note equally opinions and events. Williamson was too deeply 
 involved in politics to find the scene an attractive one, and he 
 lingered but a little while after showing himself to the hostess. 
 
 It was while he conversed with her, however, that the saloon 
 was thrown into quite a buzz of excitement by the entree of the 
 famous belles, par excellence, the Hai-veys — the graces, as they 
 were gallantly styled by the gallant Harry Barry. They were 
 certainly beautiful gbls ; but the beauty, beyond comparison, 
 
FASHIONABLE SOCIETY IN GARRISON. 219 
 
 of the three was Mary, the younger, lovingly and not irreve- 
 rently called Moll Harvey. Beside her, all the other stars 
 grew pale. Mary Konpell rapidly made her way to other 
 groups in an opposite direction ; the lively Phelps, more dig- 
 nifiedly, followed this example ; and other smaller lustres, fear- 
 ing, in like manner, that their lesser fires would be entirely 
 extinguished, left an open path for the advancing beauties to 
 the presence of the hostess. 
 
 It will be enough if we confine our description of the beauty, 
 on this occasion, to the one being whose possession of it was 
 thus conclusively recognised by the spontaneous fears of every 
 rival. Moll Harvey was of' middle size and most symmetrical 
 figure. Ease and grace were natural to her as life itself; but 
 her motion was not that simply of grace and ease. There was 
 a free, joyous impulse in her movements, an exquisite elasticity, 
 which displayed itself in a thousand caprices of . gesture, and 
 seemed to carry her forward buoyantly as a thilig possessing 
 the infinite support and treasure of the air. As song to ordinary 
 speech, such was the relation which her action bore to the com 
 mon movements of her sex. A fairy property in her nature 
 seemed to bring with her the spring and all its flowers where 
 . she came ; and the loveliness which appeared to ray out from 
 her person, as she walked or danced, compelled the involuntary 
 homage of the eye, making the thought forgetful of all search or 
 inquiry except through that single medium. 
 
 It was the day for buckram figures and starched pyramidal 
 structures upon the head, reminding you of the towering temples 
 of the goddess Cybele. But Moll Harvey had quite too excel- 
 lent a native taste to sacrifice her genuine beauties to these 
 monstrous excesses of fashion. A wood-nymph could not have 
 attired herself much more loosely. She would have served 
 admirably as the model for Moore's Norah Creina. A free, 
 flowing skirt, the cincture by no means too closely drawn, suf- 
 ficing to show that her figure needed no making. A silken 
 cymar encircled, but did not enclose the bust, which, it must be 
 conifessed, was much more freely displayed than altogether suits 
 the taste of the present times — so white, so' full and exquisitely 
 rounded. 
 
220 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 Symmetry was the exquisite characteristic in the beauty of 
 Moll Harvey. The white pillar of the neck, the skin softer and 
 purer than ivory, delicately warmed by health and a generous 
 blood, rose from the bust with a graceful motion that carried its 
 expression also, and seemed endowed with utterance of its own. 
 Nor was the head wanting to, nor the face unworthy of, the rest 
 of our fair picture. A perfect oval, the brows rising up nobly 
 and showing a goodly mass above the eyes ; the eyes arched 
 fairly, with brows of jetty black, not thick and weighty, yet 
 impressive ; the lashes long, the orbs full, but not obtrusive, 
 lightening now, and now drooping, as with a weight of tender- 
 ness, changing with the rapidity of light in correspondence with 
 emotions which were for ever quickening in her wUd, warm 
 heart ; the nose and mouth both Grecian, of the most perfect 
 cut and finish ; and the chin sweetly rounded, to perfect the 
 whole. When, over the white, full shoulders, you have thrown 
 the happily disordered tresses, and when, upon the forehead, 
 you mark the nice dexterity which has grouped the frequent 
 locks in the most sweet and playful relationship, ready, like the 
 silken streamers of the com, to hold converse with every pas- 
 sing zephyr, you see the outline of look, face, form, feature, but 
 lack still that inspiring presence, the life, the soul, which, like the 
 aroma to the flower, proves the possession of a secret something 
 to which these are but as the chalices that contain the essential 
 spirit. See the life that Ughtens up the features into love, and 
 gives a motion as of the first flights of a wanton bird, and you 
 forget the external form in the real beauty of soul, and fancy, 
 and feminine impulse, that animates it from within. Ah ! too 
 sadly left untutored, that wild and froward heart, that passion- 
 ate impulse, that delirious glow of feeling, which now but too 
 frequently usurp the sway and overwhelm the affections — never 
 so happy as when subdued and patient — with fierce passions, 
 that appeal ever to the last sad tyranny of self. 
 
 The beauties of Moll Harvey naturally provoked reflections 
 in respect to her future fortunes. The crowd which gathered 
 about her, and the few that retreated from her side, were all 
 equally familiar with her career. They had censures, free 
 enough, in regard to her intimacy with Prince William, then a 
 
FASHIONABLE SOCIETY IN GARRISON. 221 
 
 lieutenant in the British navy. They knew how devoted had 
 been the attentions of Balfour, and how undisguised was his 
 homage ; yet they well knew that he had kept himself from any 
 absolute committals ; and, knowing the humble character of her 
 fortunes, and the selfish character of his ambition — his equal 
 greed of wealth and power — they never doubted that the flir- 
 tation between the parties would never assume a more serious 
 aspept, or, if it did, an aspect quite too serious to be grateful to 
 the fame and future of the fairer and the weaker party. As the 
 beauty swept by with her train, the whole subject was very 
 freely discussed by all that class "who but hve by others' pain." 
 Our excellent Mrs. Smith, still followed by the clan of Smith, 
 was the first to open the survey. 
 
 " Her nose is out of joint now, I reckon. This Miss Walton 
 is not only as handsome as she — every bit — but she's a fortune 
 besides, and everybody knows how much that makes in the 
 scale in showing where beauty lies. After all, the commandant 
 knows — no one better — that it isn't what beauty shows, but 
 what it can do — what it can buy or what it can bring — that it 
 is most valued and valuable. Yes, you may put it down as 
 certain, that Moll's nose is for ever out of joint in that quarter." 
 
 Grood Mrs. Smith had not seen — perhaps had not cared to 
 see — that, while she was making this most consolatory speech, 
 the subject of it was passing directly behind her, and must have 
 heard . every syllable. The eye of Moll Harvey flashed, her 
 lips curled with pride, and her brow darkened, and she inly 
 resolved, from that moment, that she would allow no longer the 
 trifling of her lover. She would no longer permit his enjoyment 
 of the prestige belonging to such a conquest as herself, without 
 paying the proper price for it. He should submit to wear those 
 bonds which the world assumed him to possess the power to 
 place on her hands at any moment. She disdained to listen to 
 the farther conversation among the Smiths and their compan- 
 ions, but swept out of hearing as rapidly as was consistent with 
 her pride and dignity. Her absence caused no cessation of the 
 fire. 
 
 " As for Miss Walton comparing with our Moll in beauty, 
 that's all a mistake," said Miss Calvert, a spinster who had 
 
222 KATHAEINB WALTON. 
 
 become an antique without arriving at the condition of a gem. 
 " I 've seen this Walton. She 's quite too large for beauty — 
 her features are all big ; it is true they are somewhat expres- 
 sive ; but no more to compare with Harvey's than mine with 
 Juno's." 
 
 "You've certainly gone to sufficient extremes for a compar- 
 ison, my dear Miss Oalvert," put in Major Barry, who at this 
 moment joined the group, followed by his eternal shadow, 
 Captain M'Mahon. Barry bowed and smiled the compliment, 
 which his words did not convey. Miss Calvert's ears were thus 
 taught to deceive her. She smiled in turn, and immediately 
 responded to the dextrous little wit — the wit, ;par excellence, of 
 the British garrison. 
 
 " Now, don't you agree with me, Harry Barry ]" 
 
 " There is, perhaps, but a single respect in which we should 
 not agree, Miss Calvert." 
 
 " And, pray, what is the exception %" demanded the lady, with 
 some little pique of manner. 
 
 " Nay, nay," he answered slyly, " that confession must be 
 reserved for a less public occasion. You were speaking of Miss 
 Walton's beauty, and that of our Harvey. You are quite right 
 about the former. She is large, but perhaps not too large for 
 her particular style. She is evidently a fine woman — a mag- 
 nificent woman, indeed — and, if to be styled a beauty, we may 
 style her an angel of a beauty ; but Moll Harvey is a love of a 
 beauty, and is so much the more to my liking." 
 
 " I knew we should agree," said Miss Calvert, triumphantly, 
 and flattered, she knew not well why. 
 
 "Ah!" put in Captain M'Mahon, "Miss Walton is certainly 
 a fine woman, a real lady, and a beauty too. My friend Barry 
 and myself called upon her yesterday, and, after a close discus- 
 sion, we fuUy concurred ia respect to her points." 
 
 •' Egad, M'Mahon," cried Major Stock, " you speak of the 
 lady as if you had trotted her out and scrutinized her with the 
 eye of a jockey." 
 
 "What! does M'Mahon's pun escape you?" cried Kirkwood. 
 " Do you forget that points is his word for counters. His image 
 was taken from the whist table, not from the stables. He was 
 
FASHIONABLE SOCIETY IN GARBISON. 223 
 
 tWnking of the lady's cash wlien lie discussed her charms. His 
 idea of beauty — like that of most of us poor soldiers of fortune 
 — must be built upon positive resources, such as tell just as 
 seriously in a private bureau as in an army chest." 
 
 " I' faith, my friend M'Mahon is no more prepared to deny 
 the soft impeachment than myself. The fact is, a mere beauty, 
 however beautiful, is quite beyond the means of any of us. For 
 myself, I confess to a preference for Moll Harvey, per se ; the 
 beauty of the Walton is quite too stately, too commanding for 
 me. It half awes and overpowers me. Still, the argumentum 
 ad crumenam tells wonderfully in her behalf." 
 
 " Ah, my friend Major Barry always discriminates the point 
 most admirably. You must let me repeat his impromptu, 
 made this morning as we left the hairdresser's on this very 
 subject." 
 
 " Nay, now, M'Mahon, my dear fellow, honor bright !" and 
 the deft and tidy little major affected to be horror-stricken at the 
 threatened exposure, while his little eyes twinkled with his an- 
 ticipated triumph. 
 
 " Oh, but I must repeat, Barry." 
 
 "To be sure; repeat by all means. — Come, Barry, this 
 affectation, of modesty won't dp. You have not a single article 
 in all your wardrobe that sits so badly upon you." 
 
 " What ! you out upon me also. Stock ?" 
 
 " I would save you from yourself, iny boy, and from your 
 own vanities, which will surely be your death the moment they 
 assume the show of modesty. We have recognised you, by 
 common consent, the wit and poet of the garrison. You have 
 flung a thousand shafts of satire at the poor rebels and the rebel 
 ladies : and we have applauded to the echo. Shall we be 
 denied our proper aliment now ? No ! no ! Ah, my dear Mrs. 
 Eivington, you are here in season. Barry has been doing a 
 smart thing, as usual." 
 
 " In verse, of course. Are we to hear it ]" 
 
 "Are we to be demed7 — particularly when we are told that 
 it relates to the rival beauties, the Harvey and the Walton ?" 
 
 " How can you compare them, major ?" 
 
 " I do not. I contrast them only. It is Barry's comparison 
 
224 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 that you are called to hear. His friend M'Mahon answers for 
 it, and he is sufficient authority. We must have it." 
 
 " Certainly we must ! Captain M'Mahon reads verses like 
 an angel, I know ; and, as Ms friend wrote them, he will he sure 
 to read them, with the best affect." 
 
 " There's no resisting that, M'Mahon. Gome, clear your 
 throat and begin. You are as long in getting ready as was the 
 inspired beast that waited for the blows of Balaam." 
 
 "What beast was that, Major Stock?"' was M'Mahon's inno- 
 cent inquiry. 
 
 " Oh, one whose voice was that of an angel, so that the com- 
 parison need not give you any shock. Come, the ladies wait 
 Positively, Mrs. Rivington, I never saw so much anxiety in any 
 countenance as in yours. How any gentleman should tantalize 
 a lady's curiosity to such a degree is astonishing !" 
 
 " If my friend. Major Barrj-, will only consent," said M'Mahon. 
 
 " I won't stay to listen, M'Mahon," cried Barry, trotting out 
 of the circle, but immediately passing to its rear, where his short 
 person might remain unsuspected ; his ears, meanwhile, drink- 
 ing in the precious streams of his own inspiration. 
 
 Thus permitted, as it were, M'Mahon, the centre of a group 
 which had so greatly increased, placed himself in a stiff, school- 
 boy attitude, and, thrice hemming, extended his hand and arm, 
 in a preparatory gesture, as if about to drag the pleiades from 
 their place of shining. The painful parturition of his lips follow- 
 ed, and the mouse-like monster of an epigram came forth, head 
 and tail complete ; and this its substance. 
 
 M'Mahon recites — 
 
 "When bounteous Fate decreed our Harvey's birth, 
 We felt that heaven might yet be found on earth; 
 But when the Walton to our eyes was given, 
 We knew that man might yet be raised to heaven. 
 Indulgent Fates, one blessing more bestow — 
 Give me with Harvey long to dwell below ; 
 And when, and last, ye summon me above, 
 "Then let the Walton be my heavenly love !" 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! Harry Barry for ever, and his friend M'Ma» 
 hon !" cried Major Stock, and the circle echoed the applause. 
 
FASHIONABLE SOCIETY IN GARRISON. 225 
 
 " And Le did it. my friend Barry," said M'Mahon, with the 
 sweetest simplicity of manner — "he did it in the twinkhng of 
 an eye, just as we left the hairdresser's. I was determined that 
 it shouldn't be lost, and went back and wrote it down." 
 
 " You deserve the gratitude of posterity, Captain M'Mahon, 
 and our thanks in particular," said the fair hostess, in the 
 sweetest accents, and with a smile that did not wholly conceal 
 the sarcasm in her thought. 
 
 " What," continued M'Mahon in his narrative, " could have 
 put the idea into my friend Barry's head, at such a moment, I 
 can not conjecture. It was as much Hke inspiration as anytliing 
 I ever heard of." 
 
 " What put it into his head ? Why the oil, the powder, the 
 pomatum, and that picture of the Venus Aphrodite, rising in 
 saffron from a sea of verdigris, which hangs up in the shop. 
 Here's inspiration enough for a wit and poet at any time." 
 
 " Ah !" interposed Barry, now slyly pressing through the 
 group, " I am always sure of a wet blanket at your hands, 
 Stock." 
 
 " What ! you there ! And you have heard every syllable ! 
 WeU, all I have to say, Barry, is this, that your modesty can 
 stand anything in the way of applause, and take it all for 
 gospel." 
 
 What further might have been said on this fruitful subject, 
 must be left to conjecture ; for, just at this moment, a smartly- 
 dressed officer, of thirty, in the costume of a major, with a wild, 
 dashing air, and long disheveled locks over a florid face, and a 
 dark blue flashing eye, penetrated the circle with a cry of — 
 
 " Break off ! break off ! No more of your fiin now ; put on 
 yoxir gravest faces and rehearse for tragedy. Here's the com- 
 mandant coming, all storm and thunder. There's the devil to 
 pay, and no pitch hot." 
 
 " Why what's the matter now, mad Archy V demanded 
 Stock. 
 
 The new-comer was famous, after a fashion, in the circle. He 
 was distinguished from a score of Campbells in the city, by the 
 grateful nom de guerre of mad, or crazy Campbell. To the 
 former epithet he submitted, rather pleased than otherwise at 
 
 10* 
 
226 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 the imputation. The latter was commonly used in regard to him 
 when he had left the circle. 
 
 " Matter enough ! Meadows and his train have been cut off 
 by Marion's men. Half of the escort cut to pieces, and the 
 rest prisoners. The wagons all captured, with all the stores. 
 Meadows himself is badly wounded, maimed, and disfigured for 
 life — mouth and nose beaten into one by the butt of a rifle." 
 
 "Shocking!" was' the cry among the ladies. " Poor, poor 
 Charley ! what a fright he must be !" 
 
 " He seems to have felt it so ; for so great was his fiiry that, 
 even after the rebel who struck him was down — a monstrous 
 fellow of twenty stone and upward — Charley's fury never suf- 
 fered him to stop hewing at the fellow till he had smitten off 
 both of his ears close to the skull, giving him the puritan brand 
 for life." • 
 
 Campbell's narration, received through third hands, is as we 
 see, something imperfect. We are already in possession of the 
 facts. 
 
 " And Balfour V 
 
 " He is even now coming in this du-ection,.and in an awful 
 fury. I pity all who vex him at this moment. It will need all 
 the smiles of the fair Harvey" — bowing in the direction of' the 
 beauty, who had, by this time, joined the group — " and even 
 these may not suffice, unless seconded by those of the fair Wal- 
 ton." 
 
 At this open reference to her rival's power, the imperious 
 beauty bit her lips with vexation. Her eyes flashed with fires 
 of scorn she did not seek to suppress, and she turned away from 
 the circle as Balfour entered the apartment. But we need not 
 linger for the tragedy. The farce is sufficient for our purpose. 
 
REBEL LADIES OP CHARLESTON. 227 
 
 OHAPTEE XXIV. ^ 
 
 REBEL LADIES OF CHABLBSTON. 
 
 We pass from scenes of frivolity to those of graver cares and 
 objects. Tliis is the true order of human events, and the transi- 
 tion is more natural from gay to grave than the reverse, as they 
 have it at the theatre, and as the moral poet orders it. It is an 
 extreme change from the lively and thoughtless mornings of Mrs. 
 llivington, to the gloomy evenings at Mrs. Singleton's — from 
 the fashionable and frivolous seeker after motley, in talk and 
 habit, to the serious questioner in the sad affairs of life and its 
 necessities. The two ladies, it may be said, are both politi- 
 cians ; but of very different schools. Mrs. Rivirigton, the wido-w 
 of a royal official, finds it pleasant to respect his memory by 
 adhering to his faith, the more especially as his party is in the 
 ascendant, and as she rejoices in the tributes of a brilliant circle 
 in which loyalty commands all the voices. Her preferences will 
 provoke no surprise among the great body of the people, since 
 they represent a triumphant party and cause, and are them- 
 selves very agreeable social triumphs. Politics, in her circles, 
 are not so much ' discussed as accepted ; measures rarely com- 
 mand a single reflection, though our lady statesmen are as 
 earnest in their declarations of fidelity to the reigning sovereign 
 as ever were Madame Eoland and her amiable associates, in 
 respect to the abstract deities to which they offered their una- 
 vailing incense. At Mrs. Rivington's, you will hear as much 
 said against rebellion as a provincial loyalism, ever solicitous to 
 please, will always be found to say ; but the politics of her 
 circle were not calculated to afford much assistance to the coun- 
 cils of Balfour. Nevertheless, he greatly encouraged them. 
 
228 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 They had their uses in influencing, through the medium of 
 society, the moods of all those douhtful, capricious, and unprin- 
 cipled, of whom, perhaps, the greater number of mankind are 
 composed. The youthful of both sexes were always sure to 
 find principles at Mrs. B-ivington's suited to their own desires, if 
 not to the necessities of the race and family. 
 
 The politics at Mrs. Singleton's were of a different sort. , Bal- 
 four more than suspected that the old lady was engaged in la- 
 bors that were forbidden ; but he had been able to fasten upon 
 her no specific cause of offence. Yet was she busy, with a rest- 
 less interest, in the cause of liberty, that made her nights sleep- 
 less, and filled her aged head with vexing thoughts and subtlest 
 combinations. Her house was a point of reunion with all those 
 who, like herself, long for the overthrow of the existmg regi'me / 
 who yearn for the return of exiles, well-beloved sons of the 
 soil, dear to their affections, precious to their hopes, the kinsmen 
 of their blood. Hither came, almost nightly, those favoring the 
 cause of the patriots, who, by reason of age, of sex, of feeble- 
 ness, were suffered to remain within the city of the conqueror. 
 "What could these superannuated old men achieve or attempt, 
 who might be seen at dusk, or after it, to enter the doors of the 
 old-fashioned dwelling in Church street 1 How should British 
 lords and generals, captains and men-at-arms, apprehend any- 
 thing from those ancient and well-bred ladies, or those fair and 
 witty young ones, who showed themselves openly in this much- 
 frequented domicil ? * 
 
 Yet among these were many rare women, such as would have 
 given strength to the Girondins, and armed them more ably for 
 the work of their own and their country's safety. Mrs. Gener- 
 al Gadsden, whose stately prjde defied the sneer of the withng 
 Barry ; the fierce, proud spirits of Mrs. Savage and Mrs. Par- 
 sons, whom the same wit described as tragedy queens, so noble 
 was their spirit, and so well prepared for the extremest perils of 
 humanity. The names of Edwards, Horry, and Ferguson, high- 
 ly and equally endowed with grace and courage ; of Pinckney 
 and the Elliotts, names immemorially allied with dignity and 
 patriotism ; these were all to be found regular attendants at the 
 " evenings" of Mrs. Singleton. And these evenings were not 
 
REBEL LADIES OP CHARLESTON. 229 
 
 given to pleasure; as were the mornings of the dashing widow 
 Rivington. Grave studies occupied her guests ; work was to he 
 done under counsel of studious and far-seeing heads. Their 
 words went forth from the city with significance to the remote 
 interior, and were frequently followed hy large results. They 
 gathered and reported the signs of the times ; they conveyed 
 intelligence, sometimes money, and sometimes ammunition — 
 shot and powder — to their brethren in arms. They devised 
 schemes by which to relieve the city from its thraldom. In 
 brief, the dwelhng of which Katharine "Walton had become an 
 inmate, was the place of frequent assemblage for a very active 
 and sleepless circle of conspirators. 
 
 Several of these were present with Mrs. Singleton and Kath- 
 arine Walton, on the evening of the day distinguished by the 
 opening of the fashionable " mornings" of Mrs. Rivington. From 
 without, silence and darkness seemed to brood over the habita- 
 tion ; but there was an inner room, well lighted, around the cen- 
 tre table of which might be seen a group of heads which would 
 have been held remarkable in any council or assembly. That 
 of the venerable Mrs. Singleton was itself a study. Her thin, 
 attenuated visage was elevated by a noble forehead, which the 
 few stray gray hairs about her temples, and the sombre widow's 
 cap which she wore, rather tended to ennoble than disparage. 
 Her keen, gray eye and closely-compressed lips denoted vigi- 
 lance, courage, and circumspection. It had all the fires of youth, 
 burning, seemingly, with as much vigor as ever — the heart of 
 the volcano still active, though in the bosom pf the iceberg. 
 
 Katharine sat beside her, a steady obserye^-, and mostly a si- 
 lent one, of the group and the subjects which it discussed. Old 
 Tom Singleton, the wit and humorist, as well as patriot, stood 
 up in the circle, hat in hand, preparing to depart. We shall 
 speak of him more fully hereafter. Behind him stood a boy, 
 sharp-featured and intelligent, of whom the parties spoke some- 
 times as George, and sometimes as Spidell, the lad being after- 
 wards well known by the people of Charleston, by- the two 
 names combined, as a worthy and respected citizen. He car- 
 ried on his arm a basket, which the ladies had been filling with 
 tapes, laces, linens, and other small articles of dress, designed 
 
230 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 for a peddling expedition. At the bottom of the basket, how- 
 ever, might have been found one or more packets, cleverly done 
 up, and looking very innocently upon the outside, which a very 
 quick-sighted royalist might have found to contain any quantity 
 of treasonable matter. 
 
 The youth of the lad, and the seeming openness of his oper- 
 ations, however, were calculated to disarm suspicion. George 
 Spidell, in fact, was under the active superintendence of- Joshua 
 Lockwood, one of the conspirators of the circle, employed 
 constantly as a sort of supercargo in a large feriagua, which 
 was busily engaged in plying between the city and all the land- 
 ings and inlets along shore to the Santee river. Stopping 
 at certain well-known points, George was sent ashore with his 
 basket in search of customers ; But it was always understood 
 that his visit was first to be paid to certain well-known dwel- 
 lings. Here it was that the secret package at the bottom of his 
 ba.sket was invariably sought out and selected ; and in this man- 
 ner, Marion, and Hony, and Maham, and others of the partisan 
 captains, contrived to receive weekly information of- the condi- 
 tion of affairs in the city. Lockwood, the principal in these ex- 
 peditions, and little George, his subordinate, suffered some nar- 
 row escapes in these innocent expeditions. But these must not 
 beguile us into further digression. 
 
 " Let us be off, Lockwood," said old Tom Singleton ; " we 
 shall have little time to spare. The. tide will serve at daylight, 
 and George must have some sleep before he starts." 
 
 " He needs it, ^nd deserves it," said the hostess, kindly, look- 
 ing at the boy. " But have you eaten heartily, my son V 
 
 The boy glanced at the plate, still remaining on a side-table, 
 which exhibited very few fragments, but enough perhaps for a 
 sufficient answer to the question. 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am, yes," he answered ; " and I have this, 
 too," he added, showing a huge triangular mass of cake, which 
 he had deposited within his basket. The party smiled. 
 
 " George is seldom off his food," said Lockwood, " pursuing 
 such a pleasant life." 
 
 " And he has learned one of the best lessons," said old Tom 
 Singleton ; " that of making provisions for the morrow : the 
 
EEBEL LADIES OP CHARLESTON. 231 
 
 one great virtue which distinguishes the wise man from the fool. 
 Let us practise a little upon this lesson ourselves. It is under- 
 stood that nothing more remains to communicate to our friends. 
 You were speaking, Doctor " 
 
 Singleton paused, his glance fixing upon one of the gentlemen 
 of the circle who had hitherto been silent. All eyes were turn- 
 ed upon this person with an expression of deference and esteem. 
 This was the celebrated David Ramsay, one of the first histo- 
 rians of the country, and a physician of high distinction. He 
 was then in the prime of manhood, and in the full vigor of his 
 intellect. In person he was about five feet ten, healthy and 
 somewhat athletic, but not stout. His countenance was by no 
 means a handsome one, but it was not an unpleasing one. A 
 blemish in one of his eyes, from small-pox, gave a slight obUqui- 
 ty to his gaze ; but the entire character of the face was impres- 
 sive and somewhat prepossessing. An earnest reflection and 
 cool, intrepid judgment, were clearly shown in the speaking 
 countenance and the eager and almost impetuous manner. His 
 utterance was vehement and rapid, but always clear and intelli- 
 gible. Thus addressed by Singleton, his answer was prompt. 
 
 " We were speaking of Williamson. What you hear is no 
 doubt true. His situation is precisely as is described; and, 
 doubtless, he never really intended to betray his country or 
 himself. He was only too weak to be honest at a moment of 
 great external pressure. He has shrewdness enough to see that 
 his future situation is unpromising, and foresight enough to dis- 
 cover that Britain has exhausted her own resources, and must 
 now really rely on ours, if she hopes to continue the war. But 
 the partisan warfare has put an end to this hope with all persons 
 of sagacity. The partisans must increase in number daily, and 
 their frequent small successes will more than avail in keeping 
 up the popular courage against the occasional large victories of 
 the British regulars. Now I take for gi-anted, from all I know 
 of the man, that this prospect has been fully presented to his 
 eyes. It wUl become more and more evident with every day. 
 But is this a reason that we should trust' him with ourselves or 
 with our secrets, particularly as he has not yet so far committed 
 himself to us as to give us any proper hold upon him 1 I sup- 
 
232 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 pose that Colonel Singleton is in possession of a certain amount 
 of proof — that Williamson has, in fact, given pledges of return- 
 ing fidelity; but of the character of this proof and these pledg- 
 es we know nothing ; and they may be such as an adroit person 
 might readily explain away. I am of opinion that we should, 
 at present, make no use of this information. We should watch 
 him, and when he can clearly serve us in any important matter, 
 it will then be time enough to let him understand that we are in 
 the same vessel with himself; but, with my consent, not a 
 syllable before." 
 
 " You are right, doctor. Once a traitor, always a traitor. He 
 may be useful — would be useful, if he could be true ; if treach- 
 erous, he might sink our vessel in the moment when the gale 
 was most prosperous, and when we are most richly freighted. 
 Let E-obert Singleton manage the matter with him wholly ; he 
 has coolness and sagacity enough for any purpose ; and there 
 seems to be no reason that we should mix in this business ; at 
 all events, not for the present. I confess that, to have any com- 
 munion with Williamson at all, suggests to me the idea of that 
 unhappy conference — the first on record — which our excellent, 
 but too accessible grandmother had in Eden with the great sire 
 of all the snakes !" 
 
 A laugh rewarded this speech, the sentiment of which was 
 generally echoed by the company. The speaker was a lovely 
 and spirited woman, the fairest among the Carolina rebels, the 
 witty, wealthy, and accomplished widow of MUes Brewton, Esq. 
 The father of this lady, Edward Weyman, was among the first 
 of the Carolina patriots to declare himself under "Liberty Tree" 
 in 1766. She inherited his patriotism ; and Mary Weyman 
 was, by training and education, well fitted to become the wife of 
 Brewton, who was as strenuous in support of the revolutionary 
 argument as ever was his father-in-law. By marriage with this 
 gentleman, she became strengthened in her attachment to the 
 cause. Her associations rendered it the prevailing sentiment of 
 the household. Her husband was brother to the celebrated Re- 
 becca Motte, and uncle of Mrs. Thomas Pinckney ; and their 
 decided sentiments in behalf of the mouvement party in Ameri- 
 ca, even if her own had been inactive, would have suflSccd to 
 
REBEL LADIES OP CHARLESTON. 233 
 
 determine hers. But there needed nothing beyond her early 
 ti-aining to bring about this result. She was not only a wai-m 
 patriot, but a thoughtful and a witty one. While observing the 
 utmost grace and dehcacy in her deportment in the society of 
 British and loyalists, not withholding herself from them — po- 
 lite and even sociable with both — she was yet capable of ntter- 
 mg the most sharp and biting sarcasms with the most happy 
 dexterity. Her mind was fresh, sparkhng, and original ; her 
 manners equally graceful and lively ; and she brought to the 
 business of conspiracy a shrewdness and depth of opinion which 
 appeared somewhat anomalous, though never unbecoming or out 
 of place, in union with her pleasant wit and surpassing beauty. 
 
 " Why, Brewton," said old Tom Singleton, playfully, " you 
 speak with singular feeling of yom- venerable grandmother's 
 associates ; as if, indeed, you had some personal cause of com- 
 plaint." 
 
 " And have I not 1 Is it not suflScient reason for complaint 
 that her weaknesses should have left us perpetually subject to 
 the sarcasms of your pestiferous sex ; in which, though you al- 
 ways play the snake, you stiU chuckle at your capacity to take 
 advantage of the woman 1" 
 
 " Well, the worst reason for yom- discontent still remains un- 
 spoken," said the other. 
 
 "Ah, what is that 1" 
 
 "Verily, that your complaints avail you nothing, nor your 
 resolves either ; since you only murmur against a fate." 
 
 " Which means that, doomed to a connection with your sex, 
 we are never secure against the snake finding its way into our 
 garden. I suppose t/tat is our fate ; but, at all events, there is 
 no reason that we should not bruise his head with the hoe when- 
 ever we discover him. In the case before us, knowing the rep- 
 tUe, it is agreed we shall keep him at a distance. It will be no 
 bad policy, whenever we do admit him, that we should first be 
 cai'eful to see that his teeth are drawn." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Singleton, " if you do that, you deprive 
 him of all power of usefulness. But we need not discuss the 
 matter fm-ther. It will be time enough to do so when we shall 
 be perfectly satisfied that he has cast his skin. In the mean- 
 
234 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 time, it is agreed that we leave him in the hands of Boh Single- 
 ton." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said the fair widow ; " we may safely do so. He 
 has quite enough of the family art to keep a menkgerie, yet 
 never fear the fangs or claws of its beasts." 
 
 The allusion was to a private collection of beasts, birds, and 
 reptiles, which old Tom Singleton kept for his own amusement. 
 
 "Ah!" said the latter, who found something grateful in the 
 allusion — " ah, Brewton, by the way, you are yet to make the 
 acquaintance of my juveniles. I have added to my collection. 
 I have a Eawdon and a Balfour ; a young Bruin from Bun- 
 combe, one of the most surly of dignitaries, brown and bigotedj 
 and a surprising dexterous monkey from Yucatan, who is a per- 
 fect model of an appropriator. In a week, I shall have them 
 both in costume, and you must come and make their acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 " Present me to his lordship, at least. The bear, by all odds, 
 is preferable to the ape." 
 
 "Look you, Singleton," said Lockwood, bluntly, "yon will 
 peril your neck always upon your tongue. I pray you, Mrs. 
 Brewton, say not a word further, or you will keep Singleton 
 here all night. We have much to do before midnight, and old 
 Tom belongs to that class of lawyers who prefer to lose a case 
 rather than a witticism. He is so far like your own sex, that 
 a last word with him at parting is essential to his rest for the 
 night." 
 
 " Good ! very good !" responded Singleton. " We may now 
 claim, between us, to have a power like that of Falstaff, and are 
 not only witty ourselves, but the cause of wit in other persons. 
 Ah, Josh, make your bow to Brewton. She has been to you 
 what the angel was to that excellent beast which Balaam knew 
 better how to beat than ride." 
 
 " Away with you !" cried the widow. " You are as inveterate 
 as an ague, and cause shaking sides wherever you come. Hence 
 contagion ! Begone, before we have another fit." 
 
 The party were preparing to leave — old Singleton, at least, 
 with Lockwood and Master George Spidell, who, by this time, 
 had begun to munch upon the angles of his three-cornered cake ; 
 
REBEL LADIES OF CHAELEST,ON. 235 
 
 but, at this very moment, the trotting of horses was audible from 
 the street. 
 
 "Hark!" said Mrs. Singleton, "they approach." 
 
 The sounds ceased at the entrance, and the company rose in 
 preparation, if not in apprehension. Frequent experience had 
 made them instinctively conscious of danger. 
 
 " You can not go forth now," said Mrs. Singleton, " and must 
 steal to your hiding-places. We are to have visiters. You, 
 cousin Tom, and Mr. Lockwood, had better take the back-door 
 into the garden, while you, doctor and Master George, will please 
 step up stairs. Take the basket with you, George." 
 
 A heavy rap at the knocker, and the parties thus addressed 
 hurried instantly out of sight, according to the given directions. 
 In another moment, the doors were opened, and the British colo- 
 nels, Balfour and Cruden, were announced. 
 
236 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 SHAFTS AT RANDOM. 
 
 Katharine Walton -would have left the room when these 
 persons were announced, but Mrs. Singleton arrested her. Pol- 
 icy was in conflict with good taste at present. 
 
 " You must remain, Kate ; it is a necessary ordeal. Have 
 patience. We must submit with a good grace where resistance 
 is without profit. Let us conciliate those whom we can not defy." 
 
 She was prevented, by the entrance of their guests, from fur- 
 ther remarks of this nature. The ladies aU had resumed their 
 seats before the appearance of their visiters. Some were busy 
 in needlework ; one appeared to have been reading, her finger 
 resting between the leaves of a volume that she held in her 
 hand. The fair widow Brewton, alone seemed to be unem- 
 ployed, as, perhaps, her more natural role lay rather at the 
 tongue's, than the fingers' end. She occupied a venerable 
 arm-chair, which might have dated from the time of Queen 
 Elizabeth. In this she reclined rather than sat, the capacious 
 seat giving full scope to her form, which was seen to the very 
 best advantage. Thus reclined, with her head leaning over the 
 side of the chair, rather than against its back, an arch smile 
 playing on her features, and a world of mischief, concentrated 
 and bright, looking forth from the half-shut eye, she encountered 
 the first glance of the British dignitaries. 
 
 Balfour's hurried look around him took in the whole assembly. 
 Mrs. Singleton rose at the entrance of the two — "arcades ambo" — 
 and welcomed them to seats with a stately grace and a cold dig- 
 nity that made itself felt, yet left nothing which could be com- 
 plained of. Salutations were soon exchanged between the par- 
 
SHAFTS AT RANDOM. 237 
 
 ties. Balfotir was qtdte ambitious of the character of the easy, 
 -well-bred gentleman. He aimed at that pleasant exhibition of 
 }f,aut ton which never forgets to show its consciousness of supe- 
 riority. 
 
 " Mrs. Singleton, I am glad to see you looking so well. When 
 I last had the pleasure of calling, you were complaining. Yoxi 
 must give me credit for magnanimity, my dear madam, since 
 we might well be out of humor with one who has a kinsman 
 who proves so troublesome to us. I take for granted that you 
 are aware of the recent performances of Mr. Eobert Singleton. 
 I could wish, for your sake, madam, if not his own, that this 
 young man had not so deeply involved himself. I am afraid 
 that he has passed that limit when it would have been the pleas- 
 ure, no less than poHcy, of his majesty to hold out to him the 
 hopes of mercy." 
 
 " You are very good, Colonel Balfour ; but I doubt if Robert 
 Singleton will easily be persuaded that this boon is so necessary 
 to his happiness." ^ 
 
 " Ah, my dear madam, do I find you still incorrigible ?" 
 
 " At my age, sir, change of principle and feeling is not easy. 
 You will give me credit, sir, for. the frankness which has never, 
 from the begmning, attempted any disguise of sentiment." 
 
 " I regret to make the concession, madam. I sincerely wish 
 that it were otherwise. It is, perhaps, fortunate for all parties, 
 however, that the cause of his majesty renders necessary no 
 coercion in the case of your sex. We are content that time 
 shall do its work. Events that are inevitable will perhaps rec- 
 oncile you to a condition against which you erringly oppose 
 yourself at present." ' 
 
 Mrs. Singleton bowed with a dignified gravity, but was silent. 
 Balfour now passed round the table and approached Katharine 
 Walton. 
 
 " And how is our fair captive V 
 
 " Even as a captive should be, sir. I sigh for the green pas- 
 tures. I have lost my voice. I sing no longer." 
 
 " We shall recall it ! We shall hear you again in song. You 
 will surely soon become reconciled to a captivity that brings you 
 security under loving guardianship." 
 
238 KATHAEINB WALTON. 
 
 '' Never ! never ! I am not conscious of any better security 
 here than at Dorchester, nor do I need any more loving guar- 
 dianship than that which I have always enjoyed." 
 
 "Ah, I see that you are in the hands of erring counsellors. 
 I am afraid, Mrs. Heyward, that something of tliis wilfulness is 
 due to your ministry. iWhy is it that one so capable of devo- 
 tion to a cause should yet be possessed of so little loyalty to her 
 proper sovereign 1" 
 
 " Meaning George the Third, Colonel Balfour 1" replied the 
 lady addressed, a very noble-looking lady, majestic in person, 
 and of singularly fine features. 
 
 "Surely!" 
 
 " He is no sovereign of mine, sir !" 
 
 " My dear madam, wUl you never take warning from the 
 past?" 
 
 " Would Colonel Balfour remind me of the assault upon my 
 dwelling by a ruthless mob, when a dear sister lay dying in my 
 arms 1 Would he force upon me the recollection of that dread- 
 ful brutality, which would have torn a woman to pieces because 
 she refused to show pleasure in the misfortunes of her country 1 
 Really, sir, if this is the process by which my loyalty is to be 
 taught, I fear that you will find me the dullest of your pupils." 
 
 Balfour's insolence, as usual, had made him blunder. The 
 indignant feeling expressed by the lady was too natural and 
 proper not to find the fullest justification in every mind. Mrs. 
 Heyward's dwelling was assaUed and battered by a mob, be- 
 cause she refused to illuminate in honor of the successes of the 
 British. 
 
 The commandant of Charleston turned away to some of the 
 other ladies. He was somewhat abashed, but not silenced. 
 After certain speeches meant to be gallant, addressed to Mrs. 
 Savage and Mrs. Charles Elliott, he approached the fair widow 
 Brewton. He was rather afraid of the lady, whose readiness of 
 retort, sufficiently experienced by all of the British officers, was 
 of a sort which enabled her to shape every answer to a dart, and 
 to find, in the most cautiously-uttered address, the sufficient 
 provocation to a witticism. 
 
 " Have I found thee, mine enemy 1" he said. 
 
SHAFTS AT BANDOM. 239 
 
 " Knowing me as such," she replied, " you have sought me 
 out last. Shall I refer this to your gallantry or your caution ? 
 — to the sense of my -weakness or your own?" 
 
 " To mine own, of course," he answered, bowing. 
 
 " The admission is an appeal to my magnanimity," said the 
 widow ; " and yet the foe who acknowledges his feebleness and 
 entreats for mercy has no longer the right to entertain a hostile 
 feeling. He must surrender at discretion, in order to obtain the 
 boon which he sohcits." 
 
 " Why, so I do ! You have always found me at your feet." 
 
 " Yes ; but with the spirit of one who was weaving snares for 
 them all the while." 
 
 " Is the sex so easily enmeshed?" he answered, with a sneer. 
 
 " Good faith and innocence, which look upward always, are 
 too frequently unconscious of the subtle enemy of whose exist- 
 ence they have no suspicion; since no feeling in their own 
 bosom suggests its image, and they are too lofty in their souls 
 to look d&wn for objects of study and' contemplation. But, 
 when I spoke of the snares of the evil one, I said nothing of his 
 success. We are told that the faithful and the true, the inno- 
 cent and the good, shall always triumph in the end ; we are 
 eq^ually assured that evil shall not always exist, and its triumphs 
 shall be temporary. It is the special curse of sin that it must 
 labor in the service of the devil, and without profit ; must weave 
 its snares with the toil and industry of the spider, day after day, 
 only to be mortified constantly with the ease and freedom with 
 which, at the proper moment, the supposed victim breaks 
 through all the meshes woven about its feet. I assure you, 
 colonel, when I behold you, and others in your livery, busily 
 working, day and night, in this futile labor against the free- 
 donl of our people, I think of those long-legged gentry who 
 congregate in the remote comers of the wall ; and I look 
 every moment for the approach of Molly irith the house- 
 broom." 
 
 " Still keen, sharp, piercing, and cutting as ever.'' 
 
 " How should it be otherwise, since, at every turning, we find 
 the hone ; the curious necessity of which seems to be to sharpen 
 the instrument which shaU finally separate it in twain." 
 
240 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Nay, your metaphor halts. The stone may suffer abrasion 
 and diminution from wear ; but to be cut in twain by the knife 
 it sharpens " He paused. 
 
 " I suppose I must not complain that a soldier in the service 
 of such a prince as Greorge of Hanover does not readily recall 
 the lessons of history. My metaphor lacks nothing. My allu- 
 sion was to the case of the Roman augur, Accius Nsevius. Your 
 Livy will tell you all the rest." 
 
 " You gain nothing, Balfoui'," said Cruden, sulkily, " in a con- 
 flict with Mrs. Brewton." 
 
 " 0, yes ! I trust that both of you gain in proportion to your 
 need. I shall suppose that to be far greater than I even regard 
 it now, if, indeed, you do not profit in one respect. He who 
 carries a weapon that he knows not well how to use, or encoun- 
 ters voluntarily with an enemy whom he can not overcome, is in 
 a bad way, indeed, if he does not acc[uire some lessons of humil- 
 ity at least from such experience." 
 
 " Wisely said, that, Gruden. But, of a truth, we must, in 
 some way, overcome an enemy so formidable as Mrs. Brewton. 
 We must do this by love, by service, by devotion, such as the 
 cavaliers of the Middle Ages paid to their chosen mistresses. 
 We must woo and win, if we can, where we can not overthrow. 
 How shall we do this, Mrs. Brewton ? You are surely not in- 
 sensible to the reputation you would enjoy, and the good that 
 you would do, in making us worthy of your afiections rather 
 than your hostilities V 
 
 Alas, sir ! If it be not sin to venture any opinion as to God's 
 hidden providence, I should say -that he must find it easier to 
 make a thousand new generations than to mend an old one. 
 You must be bom again, before anything can be done with you; 
 and the fear is that, even then, the second childhood will find 
 you quite as prone to perversion as the first." 
 
 " Mrs. Brewton, you are incorrigible !" 
 
 " I am as God made me, sir ; and if it be a proof that I am 
 incorrigible, that I refuse to submit to any but proper authority, 
 I bless God that he has endowed me with this quality !" 
 
 " You got my invitation V asked Cruden, abruptly. 
 
 " Yes, I did ; this morning."' 
 
SHAFTS AT RANDOM. 241 
 
 " Well, yon are not too much of a patriot to come. Your 
 stoicism and satire will hardly revolt at good fellowship ?" 
 
 " Surely not. But I should accept your invitation from quite 
 another motive." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! And pray what is that 1" 
 
 " Patriotism is a gloomy virtue just now, and satire, in her 
 circles, lacks all provocation. I shall go to yours in search of 
 it. Of all medicines, I find the most perfect in being able to 
 laugh at the follies of mine enemy." 
 
 " Well," said Oruden, doggedly, " I don't care on what foot- 
 ing you put it, so you come. I should rather you should laugh 
 at us than be denied the pleasure of seeing you laugh at all." 
 
 " You improve decidedly in voice, as the fox said to the crow, 
 whose cheese he envied. I shall surely look in upon you ; but 
 I warn you to do your handsomest. In entering the house you 
 occupy, I shall be reminded of many a pleasant and joyous 
 party in the circle of Cotesworth Pinckney ; and though I can 
 scarcely look to the British officers in Charleston to supply all 
 of the essentials which made that circle a pride and a delight, 
 yet, in mere externals, I take for granted, as you have all the 
 means, you will not suffer yourself to be outdone." 
 
 " We shall certainly do our best to find favor with one whom 
 we so anxiously desire to win," was the answer, with a bow. 
 
 In regard to this appointed Jete, Oruden had already been 
 speaking, though in under tones, with Katharine Walton. Bal- 
 four now made it the subject of remark to her. 
 
 " We shall have the pleasure of seeing you there. Miss Wal- 
 ton. You must not suffer yourself to adopt this ungenial humor 
 of your associates. Nay, I would prefer that you should even 
 put on the mocking spirit of my witty foe, Mrs. Brewton, and 
 make your appearance, though it be only to find cause for sar- 
 casm." 
 
 " Colonel Oruden requires my attendance, and I submit to his 
 wishes," replied the maiden, calmly. 
 
 "Nay, I could wish that you recognised rather the requi- 
 sitions of society than of authority, in this matter." 
 
 " It need not be a subject of discussion, sir, whether I obey 
 my own will in this respect, or that of another. If not indis- 
 
 11 
 
242 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 posed, I shall cert<ainly be present. I have no wish to increase 
 the animosities which exist between our friends respectively.'' 
 
 " A proper feeling, and one that might, with more profit, be 
 entertained by all." 
 
 An interval ensued in the conversation, which we have only 
 detailed in portions. On a sudden, the eye of Balfour caught 
 sight of a pair of large gloves upon the table. He stretched 
 out his hajids and gathered them up. 
 
 " Are these yours, Oruden ]" he asked. 
 
 " No. Mine are here." 
 
 He turned, them over, and muttered — 
 
 " They are not mine, yet are they a man's." 
 
 Mrs. Singleton quietly interposed — 
 
 " They are probably Tom Singleton's. He was with us a 
 while ago." 
 
 Balfour smiled skeptically. He had, iji the meantime, while 
 turning the gloves over, discovered the initials " D. R.," printed 
 legibly within them. He said nothing, but threw them back 
 upon the table. At this moment, a strange sound was heard 
 from an inner passage conducting to the stairway. It was 
 strange because of its suddenness, but of no doubtful character. 
 Every ear at once distinguished it as issuing from a human 
 proboscis — a most decided snore, such as might be expected 
 naturally to issue from the nostrils of a lusty urchin after a sup- 
 per in excess, and from sleeping in an awkward position. Bal- 
 four and Oruden smiled, and looked knowingly in the faces of 
 the ladies. But Mrs. Singleton remained entirely unmoved, and 
 the rest looked quite unconscious. The snore was repeated 
 with renewed emphasis. 
 
 " Not a bad imitation of Tarleton's bugles," was the remark 
 of Balfour. 
 
 " It reminds me very much of one of Knyphausen's," re- 
 sponded Oruden ; " that of the little Hessian who had lost his 
 nose by a sabre-cut. You remember him 1 When he blew, it 
 was evidently the play of two distinct instniments, the one, 
 however, clearly inferior to the other." 
 
 " Yet it would maintain the rivalry, and continued to do so to 
 the last. The nostrils — all that remained of them — never 
 
SHAFTS AT RANDOM. 243 
 
 would give way to the bugle j and 'Drick' — so they called him 
 — short for Frederick, probably — went on blowing a double 
 bugle, doing the service of two men, until a shot through his 
 lungs cut off effectually the supply of wind necessary for both 
 instruments." 
 
 The music from the interior audibly increased. 
 
 " That instrument might be trained to good service, like that 
 of 'Drick,'" continued Balfour, who was apt to pursue his own 
 jests to the death. " It has all the compass and volume, and 
 the blasts are quite as well prolonged, without subsiding into 
 that squeak or snivel, which rendered 'Drick's' music rather 
 unpleasant at the close. Pray, Mrs. Singleton, where were you 
 so fortunate as to find your bugler 1" 
 
 The old lady replied with most admirable gravity. 
 
 " Really, Colonel Balfour, but for the sex of poor Sally, she 
 should be at your service in that capacity. Kate, my dear, go 
 and wake up the girl, she is asleep on the stairs." 
 
 Katharine rose, and Balfour also. 
 
 " Suffer me, Miss Walton, to save you this trouble," said the 
 oflScious commandant, somewhat eagerly, advancing, as he spoke, 
 toward the door leading to the passage. 
 
 But it was not the policy of Mrs. Singleton that he should 
 find Master Spidell in her dwelling. Kate Walton hesitated. 
 The old lady spoke, coolly, deliberately, yet with a manner that 
 was conclusive. 
 
 " Thank you. Colonel Balfour ; but I prefer that you should 
 see Sally out of deshabille. I can't answer for the stupid crea- 
 ture's toilet at this hour. That she has so far forgotten herself 
 as to bestow her music on us from such near neighborhood, 
 makes me doubt how far her trespasses may he carried. Do you 
 see to her, Kate ; we wUl dispense with the commandant's assist- 
 ance, even in a duty so arduous as that of routing up a drowsy 
 negro." 
 
 The last phrase forced Balfour once more into his seat. He 
 felt how greatly his dignity would suffer at being caught in the 
 proposed office. Had he any suspicions, they would have been 
 quite hushed in the consideration of his own a?nour propre, and 
 in the coolness and admirable composure maintained by Mrs. 
 
244 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 Singleton. Her allusion to the possible abandon of Sally, in the 
 matter of costume and toilet, wliich made the younger ladies 
 cast down their eyes, was also suggestive, to the coarse nature 
 of the commandant, of a sort of humor which is properly con- 
 fined to the barracks. We will not undertake to repeat the 
 sorry ec[uivoqueB in which he indulged, under a mistake, natural 
 enough to such a person, that he was all the whUe very mischiev- 
 ously witty. 
 
 Kate Walton, meanwhile, had penetrated the passage and 
 wakened up the sleeping boy. He had been doubled up upon 
 the stairs, and a few more convulsions of the nostrils might have 
 sent him rolling downward. Fortunately his shoes were off, 
 and, roused cautiously, he was enabled to retrace his steps to 
 the upper room, where Bamsay was impatiently — but without 
 daring to move — awaiting the departure of the hostile guests. 
 
 This event was not long delayed after the occurrence de- 
 scribed. Having exhausted his stock of flippancies, and suc- 
 ceeded in whispering some soft flatteries into the ears of Katha- 
 rine, Balfour turned to Mrs. Brewton, reserving his "last words" 
 for her. He said something to this efiect, spoke of his testamen- 
 tary addresses ; and the retort, quick as lightning, sent him off 
 inajifiy. 
 
 "Ah, Colonel Balfour, were they indeed your 'last Vjords,' 
 you know not how gladly we should all forgive your offences — 
 nay, with what gratitude we should accept the atoning sacrifice, 
 as more than compensative for all the evils done in your very 
 short life !" 
 
 " Confound her tongue !" exclaimed the enraged commandant 
 to his companion, as they left the house together. " It is all 
 Tartar ! What a viper she has at the end of it ! But I shall 
 have my revenge. She is at mischief, and shall pay for it. 
 These people are all conspiring; those gloves were Dr. 
 Ramsay's ; and you hgard the old woman admit that Tom Sin-, 
 gleton had but lately left them. The hag said the gloves were 
 Ms, not dreaming that I had seen Ramsay's initials in them. I 
 have no doubt that both are in the house at this moment. They 
 will emerge probably very soon after they hear us ride away. 
 Now let us see if we can not detect them. By occupying the 
 
SHAFTS AT RANDOM. 245 
 
 opposite corners, we can readily see all who pass, and, ten to 
 one, wo find Ramsay, Singleton, and otters whom we do not 
 suspect, who have heen at this secret meeting, I only want a 
 pretext for putting them all in limbo. There is more confisca- 
 tion to be done, Oruden." 
 
 " All's gTist that comes to my mill," was the response of Cru- 
 den, with a hoarse chuckle, as he mounted his horse. 
 
 A groom, in the undress costume of a soldier, stood in waiting, 
 his own steed beside him, as he brought up that of Balfour. To 
 him the latter gave his instructions, and the party divided in op- 
 posite directions, moving off at a moderate canter. 
 
 The sound of their departing footsteps brought the male con- 
 spirators from their several places of hiding. Tom Singleton 
 and Lockwood looked in from the garden impatiently, summon- 
 ing Ramsay and the boy, George, from the interior. Mean- 
 while, the unlucky gloves were once more brought upon the 
 tapis. Mrs. Brewton had remarked the pecuUar smile upon 
 Balfour's visage as he turned them over and heard them ascribed 
 to Singleton, and her curiosity was awakened. The moment he 
 had gone, she darted from her seat, and hastily snatching up the 
 gloves, discovered the two capital letters conspicuously printed 
 v/ithin the wrist. 
 
 " Now, out upon the man," she cried, indignantly, " who must 
 set his sign-manual upon all his possessions, however insignifi- 
 cant, as if he for ever dreaded, robbery ! — who must brand ox, 
 and ass, and everything that is his, with his proper arms and 
 initials ! Oh, doctor" — turning to him as he entered, and hold- 
 ing up the gloves, big with his initials, before his eyes — "for a 
 wise man you do a great many foolish things ! Look at that ! 
 See the tell-tales you carry with you wherever you go !" 
 
 " Ah, Brewton, this was certainly a childish folly. But wis- 
 dom affords few impunities, since, in due proportion with our 
 knowledge, is the conviction we feel of the vast possessions that 
 we can never acquire. I shall take care of this hereafter. In 
 the meantime, has any mischief been done V 
 
 " Balfour has read the initials." 
 
 " He knows, then, that I have been here. But this is noth- 
 ing." 
 
246 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Muct to him ; regarding you, as be must, with suspicion." 
 
 " Besides, it was unlucky," said Mrs. Singleton, " that, sup- 
 posing them the gloves of Cousin Tom, I admitted that he had 
 just left us also. To know that you both were here, and with 
 us, all of whom are looked upon with evil eyes, is to set his sus- 
 picions at work. We must move more cautiously." 
 
 " Eight !" said Singleton and Lockwood, in a breath. "And, 
 to do this, the sooner we move off together the better, the tide 
 will soon serve for George." 
 
 "He has given us proof to-night," said the widow, " that he 
 will never want a wind." 
 
 A laugh followed this, and poor George hung his head, in- 
 wardly swearing vengeance against his own unlucky nose, that 
 Lad so greatly exposed and almost betrayed him. He seized 
 bis basket and moved toward the door. Ramsay was moving 
 in the same direction, when Tom Singleton interposed. 
 
 " I^ook you, doctor, you certainly don't mean to take Church 
 street % That won't do ! If Balfour has the slightest reason 
 to suppose that we have been here to-night, and have been so 
 much hurried as to leave our gloves, he wUl naturally suppose 
 us here still, and will set a watch for us. We must take the 
 back track, scramble over the fences, and find our way out upon 
 the Bay." 
 
 " That is awkward," said Eamsay, hesitatingly. 
 
 " So it is, doctor; but advisable, nevertheless." 
 
 Some preliminaries were discussed, and the plan was settled 
 upon. Hurried partings were interchanged, and, stealing down 
 through the garden, the four, including the boy George, pre- 
 pared to climb the fence, which was a high, ragged breastwork 
 of half-decayed pine plank. Tom Singleton went over first, 
 followed by the boy George ; but the worthy doctor hung in 
 mid-air for a season, his skirts having caught upon a huge spike 
 in the fence, which had not been perceived, and which narrowly 
 grazed the more susceptible flesh. Singleton and Lockwood 
 both were employed in his extrication, which was only effected 
 by increasing the rent in the changeable silk breeches of the 
 worthy doctor. The scene provoked Singleton, whose risibles 
 were readily brought into play, into insuppressible merriment. 
 
SHAFTS AT RANDOM. 247 
 
 " I do not see what there is so ludicrous in the matter," said 
 Ramsay, almost sternly. 
 
 "Indeed, but there is," was the answer; "when we reflect 
 upon the predicament of the future historian of America, skewered 
 upon a rusty nail in an old wall, and as incapable of helping 
 himself as was Absalom caught by the hair." 
 
 Ramsay's intention of writing a history of the whole country 
 was already known to his friends. Singleton continued — 
 
 " It would make a glorious picture for the book, doctor, to 
 have you drawn on the fence-top, with Lockwood and myself 
 tugging at your skirts." 
 
 " This is no time for nonsense. Singleton : let us go on," was 
 the doctor's somewhat surly reply. 
 
 The party, in silence, then pursued a somewhat circuitous 
 route, which, under Singleton's guidance, familiar equally with 
 the highways and byways of the town, promised to be a safe 
 one. Crossing several fences, in which toil the historian suf- 
 fered no fiirther mishaps of habiliment, they at length found 
 themselves in a well-known enclosure, near the corner of Tradd 
 street and the Bay. The region, at that period, presented an 
 aspect very different from its appearance now. The Bay was 
 then, instead of a well-paved avenue, a mere quagmire in wet 
 weather. The sea penetrated it in numerous little indentations, 
 which left the passage exceedingly narrow when the tide was 
 high ; and the chief obstruction to its constant invasion was the 
 various bastions and batteries which looked out upon the harbor; 
 though, even in the rear of these, the water occasionally formed 
 in pools that might be called lakelets. 
 
 Before reaching this limit, our fugitives held a hurried con- 
 sultation under a group of guardian fig-trees that occupied the 
 lot, now covered by stately buildings of brick, which still inter- 
 posed between them and the thoroughfare. Finally, it was 
 agreed that Lockwood and George should go forth first, making 
 their way upward to the place of concealment for their boat, 
 which lay not far distant from the Governor's bridge ; whOe 
 Singleton and Ramsay, after a certain interval, were to pursue 
 their homeward course, singly, and with all possible circum- 
 spection. These arrangements brought them late into the night. 
 
248 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 The morning star saw Lockwood and George passing over 
 Deadman's Ground and into the shadowy gorges of the Wando 
 river ; while Ramsay, safe in his own chamber, was curiously 
 inspecting the serious hurts which his changeable silk small- 
 clothes had suffered from his unwonted exercises. The whole 
 party escaped the surveillance of Balfour, who, after the delay 
 of an hour, impatiently consumed in watching, rode back to the 
 house of Mrs. Singleton only to find it all in darkness. He 
 naturally concluded that the prey had escaped before his visit. 
 Let us change the scene. 
 
THE rebel's menageeib. 249 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE rebel's menagerie. 
 
 We have seen Major Proctor in possession of all the materi- 
 rials which the hatred of Vaughan, his cunning, and that of Bal- 
 four, were preparing to adduce against him for his destruction. 
 Thus warned, he was measurably armed. He had no reason to 
 doubt the testimony thus put into his hands ; though still igno- 
 rant of his secret friend, and totally without clews which might 
 lead to her discovery. He was now, however, better prepared 
 than before, to believe in the conjecture of Fumess, that his cor- 
 respondent was really a woman. In the haste with which Ella 
 Monckton had abridged, or copied the documents which she had 
 sent him, she had somewhat forgotten her former caution. She 
 had commenced her work in the stiff, feigned hand which she 
 had formerly employed in communicating with him ; but, as she 
 proceeded and grew more and more absorbed in her labors, her 
 artifices were neglected, and the greater portion of the manu- 
 script was evidently not only in a female hand, but in a natural 
 one ; written hurriedly, and exhibiting a singular contrast be- 
 tween the style of penmanship with which she had begun and 
 that with which she finished. Still, the hand was totally un- 
 known to him, and he brooded over it with an interest great- 
 ly increased in the writer, moved equally by curiosity and grat- 
 itude. He could only content himself with the reflection that, 
 with the natural handwriting in his possession, his prospects, 
 hereafter, of discovering the fair unknown were something bet- 
 ter than before ; and, if the truth were told, he now began to 
 feel quite as much interest in this new object as was consistent 
 
 11* 
 
250 KATHARINE WALTON, 
 
 witli the paramount necessity of using her information, with all 
 despatch, for the purposes of his defence. 
 
 Here his difficulties began. It was now that he needed a 
 friend, like Fumess, present in the city, who would counsel with 
 and assist him. Fumess had promised to bring him to the 
 knowledge of such a friend, and had furnished him with a note 
 to one of the citizens of Charleston, premising, at the same 
 time, that the person to whom it was addressed, though once an 
 intimate with the father and family of the loyalist, was yet him- 
 self a warm supporter of the mouvement party, and had been 
 active in the labors of the p,atriots. Proctor had put this note 
 of introduction into his trunk, and had not looked at the super- 
 scription, except in the first moment when he received it. That 
 moment was one in which his mind was busy with other mat- 
 ters. It was, indeed, the very moment of parting with his new 
 friend, and the feelings natural to the occasion made him obliv- 
 ious, even while he read, of the name which he beheld written 
 on the envelope. He now took the letter from his tmnk, and 
 was quite surprised as he examined it. 
 
 " To Thomas Singleton, Esq., Charleston. 
 " By friendly favor of Major Proctor," &o., &c. 
 
 Old Tom Singleton, one of the rankest of the rebels of the 
 city ; a man bitterly uncompromising in his hostility to the Brit- 
 ish cause ; a wit, a humorist, full of perpetual sneer and sar- 
 casm at the expense of the invaders — how should Captain 
 Pumess, of the loyahsts, be in communion with such a person ] 
 A little reflection answered the question. The best friends, the 
 nearest kindred in the colony, had been divided by this unnatu- 
 ral war. This was no reason for the disruption of all the ties 
 of friendship and society. Besides, Fumess had expressly an- 
 nounced Singleton as of the other party, but had still spoken of 
 him as a friend of his family — as an honest man, and one of 
 those shrewd, acute, penetrating persons whose counsels would 
 be particularly useful in his emergency. That emergency was 
 pressing upon Proctor now. The British interests no longer 
 commanded his sympathy. Its leaders had wronged and were 
 pursuing him with hatred and injustice. Why should he ecru- 
 
THE rebel's menagerie, 251 
 
 pie to seek and accept tlie services of a friend who would serve 
 his individual cause, without seeking to know, or feeling disq[uiet 
 at, his political sympathies ? 
 
 Proctor soon satisfied himself of the propriety — nay, neces- 
 sity — of visiting the satirical graybeard, Tom Singleton, in his 
 domicil in Tradd street. But he resolved, also, that he must 
 move cautiously. He remembered the counsel of Fumess, whose 
 shrewdness he could not but acknowledge. He must do noth- 
 ing rashly. — There was no need, for example, that his servant- 
 man, John, the traitor, still in his employment, should be able 
 to report to Vaughan, or Balfour, that he followed him to the 
 dwelling of a well-known rebel. He sent John, accordingly, 
 out of the way, with a missive, quite innocent in its character, 
 to a remote quarter of the city. There was as little need that 
 any curious eyes should notice where he himself went. He 
 chose, therefore, the night as the time for his purposed visit ; 
 and between eight and nine of the evening, traversing the un- 
 lighted streets, he soon found himself in front of the little old- 
 fashioned brick building, of two stories, with tall, pointed roof, 
 which old Singleton occupied. The door was promptly opened 
 at his knock, and Singleton himself received him at the entrance 
 of his parlor, opening directly on the street. 
 
 The old man seemed disappointed when, holding the candle 
 to the face of his visiter, he discovered who he was. He had 
 evidently expected a very different person. — He had seen Proc- 
 tor before, but failed to recognise him. The British officer at 
 once relieved his curiosity. 
 
 " Major Proctor, Mr. Singleton, late of the post at Dorchester." 
 
 " Ah ! and to what. Major Proctor, am I indebted for the 
 honor of this visit ? I am not aware that it is just now in my 
 power to be of any service to his majesty's cause in this prov- 
 ince. These arms are no longer able to carry sword or musket ; 
 my wits are of little use even to myself, since Lord North has 
 become the monopolist of all the wisdom in the united kingdom 
 and its dependencies ; and, for the matter of money, sir, why 
 ■ you will scarce believe me, but I now find it impossible to grat- 
 ify my usual appetite for whiting and cavalli. To go to the 
 fish market now-a-days, is only to provoke the most gnawing 
 
252 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 and painful sensations. In brief, sir, forced subsidies Tvonld 
 scarcely disquiet me, since it would give me as much pleasure if 
 our noble commandant of Charleston could find out my ways 
 and means, as to find them out myself." 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr. Singleton, but I am here with no official ob- 
 ject. At all events, the commandant of Charleston would be as ht- 
 tle likely to employ me upon any service as to employ yourself." 
 
 "Ah, mdeed!" 
 
 " Let me put this letter into your hands, sir, which will ex- 
 plain the true object of my visit, and probably furnish a sanc- 
 tion for this intrusion." 
 
 " Be seated, sir, Major Proctor," said Singleton, as he took 
 the letter. Taking a seat himself without preliminary, and put- 
 ting on his great gold spectacles, the old man, the light in one 
 hand, the letter in the other, proceeded to master the contents 
 of the paper. The name of " Purness," dubitatingly uttered, 
 arose to his lips ; but he soon discovered what, even had Proc- 
 tor read the billet, he wovdd not be likely to have seen, the two 
 Greek letters which Eobert Singleton usually incorporated with 
 the flourish below his name. The letter was read with the 
 greatest deliberation, then folded, then quietly passed into the 
 flame of the candle, and the burning scroll deposited in the 
 chimney-place. Fixing his deep gray eye upon the features of 
 his visiter, old Singleton extended his hand. 
 
 " Major Proctor, I am glad to see you, and will be glad to 
 serve you ; though wj young friend, Furness, entirely overrates 
 my capacity to do so. But I consider it quite a compliment to 
 my heart, if not to my head, that he has written and referred 
 you to me. I need not tell you, sir, that I am quite of another 
 way of thinking from himself. He has chosen to take up arms 
 against his people, and I naturally feel some bitterness on the 
 subject. But I knew and loved his father, sir ; he entertained 
 me in his mountain region with a warm hospitality, and when I 
 lay for a month dangerously sick in his dwelling, his excellent 
 wife nursed me with as much affection as if I had been her own 
 brother. The young Fumess, too, was a smart and proper boy, 
 and promised to be a strong and thoughtful man. I love him 
 for his parents' sake, and would be happy if he had suffered me 
 
•THE rebel's menagerie. 253 
 
 to love him for Ms own. But he is wrong, sir ; he has heen 
 dreadfully erring. You have your excuse in serving your sov- 
 ereign in this war ; hut what is the excuse for him who pleads 
 duty in justification, while he cuts the throat of his kinsman and 
 his neighbor V 
 
 All this calmly, sadly spoken, sufficed admirably to impress 
 the British officer with the entire truthfulness of the whole nar- 
 rative. Proctor said something by way of excuse for the young 
 loyalist, but the other interrupted him. 
 
 " There is an argument, Major Proctor, for every error, and 
 poor Humanity wiU never want a he to justify any of her fail- 
 ings to herself. But your matter is private. We are here up- 
 on the street. Come with me into my den, where we can speak 
 in safety." 
 
 He led the way into an inner room, plainly furnished, and 
 thence, by a back door, down into an apartment iti the cellar — 
 a low-ceiled vault, which had been fitted up with some care for 
 comfort, if not display. The room was plastered and carpeted. 
 There was no fireplace, and the wall against which it should 
 have stood was covered with books. These were not seen, how- 
 ever, until a second candle had been lighted ; and then Proctor 
 discovered enough to confirm the report, which he had heard 
 before, of the eccentricity of old Tom Singleton. There were 
 a pair of huge Angola cats lying with heads together beneath 
 the table ; a cage of wire, suspended from the wall, contained 
 an immense rattlesnake, whose eyes reflected the glare of the 
 candles with the brightness of a pair of diamond lustres in the 
 bosom of an Indian princess. On the floor, directly beneath 
 the cage, was a large tub, in which an occasional plash was 
 heard, as of a fish struggling for sea-room ; and all about the 
 room might be seen frames of stuffed and cages of living birds. 
 In a remote corner, covered with shelves, Proctor heard the fre- 
 quent rattling of sheets of paper, and was occasionally startled 
 at the whizzing of some small object close to his face, which he 
 at one time fancied to be the sportive assaults of some enormous 
 beetle, but which might have been a missile. He' was soon in- 
 formed of the source of his annoyance by the sharp accents of 
 his host, addressed to an object which he did not see. 
 
254 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " To your sleep, Lord George, before I trounce you !" and 
 there was a rustle again among tlie paper, as if the object ad- 
 dressed was i^reparing to obey. " You are in my den. Major 
 Proctor, you will please remember — I should rather call it my 
 menagerie — so you will please be startled at nothing." 
 
 " Do I hear the rattle of a snake V said Proctor, with a 
 shudder. 
 
 " Yes ; I have a most glorious monstnr in that cage, with but 
 seven rattles ; he is fully as large as any I have seen with twice 
 the number. He is harmless. I have drawn his fangs. That 
 fish which you hear plashing in the tub is the torpedo. I para- 
 lyzed one of your dragoons the other day by a touch, which will 
 make him careful never to grapple with fish again until he sees 
 it fried and on table. The little monster which annoyed you 
 by his dexterity of aim — your nose being between him and the 
 light, he evidently strove to see how nearly he could come to 
 the one without extinguishing the other — is a monkey, of which 
 I have large expectations. I call him Lord George, after your 
 famous nobleman, Germaine, who behaved so well upon the 
 plains of Minden, and so bravely in the walls of Parliament 
 house. You shall see Lord George." 
 
 The monkey was summoned from his perch, and, at the word, 
 he leaped from the shelf where he harbored directly upon the 
 table. The cats were awakened by the movement, and raised 
 themselves quickly to their feet ; hair bristling all the while, 
 backs rising in anger, and tongues hissing and snapping at the 
 annoyer, who had now approached the edge of the table and 
 was looking down wickedly upon the apprehensive pair. To 
 Proctor's sui-prise, and, we may add, indignation, the monkey 
 was habited as a British general officer. 
 
 " Head up, Lord George," cried old Singleton. 
 
 The beast took an attitude of great dignity, head up, nose in 
 air, and light hand upon his breast. 
 
 " Your sword, Lord George." 
 
 Off he sprang to a dark comer of the room, whence he re- 
 turned instantly with the implement, which he waved aloft in 
 the most threatening manner, marching across the table with an 
 immense strut, and audaciously confronting the visiter. Proctor 
 
THE rebel's menagerie. 255 
 
 was half tempted to seize and -wring the neck of the mocking 
 little monster, whose antics and costume he beheld with a feel- 
 ing of vexation, which he found it difficult to suppress. 
 
 " Do you not incur some peril, Mr. Singleton, in this carica- 
 ture of the uniform of his majesty's service 1" 
 
 " My dear sir, did you happen to see the corps of hlack dra- 
 goons sent off to Monk's Corner some weeks ago, in his majesty's 
 uniform, and commanded by Captain Quash — the very picture' 
 of the Jack of spades done in scarlet ? If you ever saw that 
 troop, uniformed by Balfour himself, you will be satisfied that 
 none of his majesty's officers have a right to quarrel with the 
 costume of my Lord George here, or, if you please" — in lower 
 terms — "Colonel Balfour." 
 
 Proctor was silent. He felt the sarcasm. Old Singleton 
 addressed the monkey — 
 
 "Hence to bed; and no more noise, do you hear, or" — and 
 he pointed threateningly to the tub where swam the torpedo. 
 
 The monkey shuddered, bowed gracefully to both the gentle- 
 men, and disappeared in silence. 
 
 " I make one of my beasts the terror of the other. I threaten 
 the cat with the monkey, the monkey with the fish, the snake 
 with the eagle — " 
 
 " Have you an eagle ?" 
 
 " A pair of them ; but they are wretched things in a cage, 
 like our poor people in this struggle. I shall set them free the 
 very next victory which follows to 9ar arms." 
 
 Proctor slightly smiled. Singleton saw the smile, but did not 
 appear to notice it. He proceeded — 
 
 " I am strangely fond of beasts, otherwise outlawed, and I 
 moralise upon them with a taste like that of Jacques in the for- 
 est. Thus, what a lesson against pomp and vanity are the 
 egregious pretensions of my Lord George, the monkey ! How 
 my snake, venomous, but fangless, illustrates envy, malice, and 
 all uncharitableness ! My cats, snarling even when in clover, 
 are fashionable married people, whose spite and bad humor are 
 but natural consequences of a life of indolence. My spiritless 
 eagles teach me the blessings of freedom; but, mark you, to 
 those only who, from the first, have been endowed with the 
 
256 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 faculty of living in the eye of the sun, and bathing in the upper 
 air. And my fish — Ibiit enough. I am an egotist when I 
 moralize upon my beasts. I must apologize for not thinking of 
 your affairs ; but, in truth, you needed an introduction to my 
 associates. It is one satisfaction that I feel in bringing you to 
 know them, that not one of them will betray your secrets. You 
 /; a vc secrets, it appears from the letter of — ah — Furness; and 
 I am to assist you with my counsels. Major Proctor, I am a 
 whig, and you a Briton. Command my coimsels in anything 
 not inconsistent with our respective politics, and I am yours." 
 
 Proctor took the extended hand, and thanked him with a 
 warmth proper to the frankness with which the old man made 
 his offer of service. 
 
 " My loyalty shall not seek to obtain any advantage over 
 your patriotism, Mr. Singleton. My affair, though it brings me 
 into collision with my superiors, is yet wholly personal." 
 
 With this introduction. Proctor proceeded to unfold the whole 
 history, as already in our possession, of his conflict with 
 Vaughan and Balfour, his exercise of command at Dorchester, 
 his relations with Colonel Walton and daughter, ai^d those sub- 
 sequently which had made Fumess interested in his affairs. 
 Nor were the anonymous commimications of his fair correspond- 
 ent forgotten. His statement concluded with the exhibition of 
 the whole body of documentary testimony which was preparing 
 to be brought against him. This old Singleton examined curi- 
 ously. • 
 
 " The hand is unknown to me ; but Furness is right. It is a 
 woman's hand. His conjecture as to her interest in you is right 
 also. These last papers might enable you to find out who she 
 is, if that were an object. 
 
 " That is an object," said Proctor. 
 
 " But not necessary to your case." 
 Perhaps not ; but the curiosity is natural and — " 
 
 •' Justifiable. You certainly owe much to the lady. But now 
 to the papers. These documents are derived from fountain-head. 
 I have no doubt that they are genuine copies, and that they 
 show truly what you have to guard against. It might be well, 
 however, if we could arrive at the possible source of your infer- 
 
THE rebel's menagerie. 257 
 
 mation. .Balfour has two regular secretaries, both mere lads; 
 one named Monckton, the other Hesk. Do you know either V 
 
 " I do not. But he has others occasionally." 
 
 " Are you intimate with them, or with any of his aids ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Nor his associates, Barry, Craden — V 
 
 " We have nothing in common. Colonel Cruden is my uncle ; 
 but he values the commissions on confiscated estates much more 
 than any claims of kindred, and he is the ally of' Balfour, as a 
 matter of policy. As for Barry, he is a vain fopling, a small 
 wit, who has no sympathies, no heart,- no magnanimity — " 
 
 " Egad, you have learned to appreciate justly the dominant 
 virtues of our conquerors. You have no clew, then, to this 
 writing?" 
 
 " None but what I relate." 
 
 " We must leave that matter, then, for the present. And now 
 for this body of evidence. On the face of it, you perceive that 
 it is formidable. It makes out a strong case against you. 
 Something will depend upon these witnesses, much upon such 
 as you can bring to rebut them. The details of this testimony 
 are all of a sort to be severally rebutted. Who is. this Grad- 
 ock?" 
 
 " A squatter in the neighborhood of Dorchester, who brought 
 US suppHes of game and fish ; a poor, worthless fellow, claiming 
 to be half Indian, but who is, probably, half mulatto. His char- 
 acter is notoriously bad. He is a great liar, and a wretched 
 drunkard." 
 
 " Have you testimony to that effect 1 This Blonay — " 
 
 "Dead. A fellow of like description." 
 
 " Clymes, or Olymer 1" 
 
 •• Clymes V 
 
 Proctor answered all the questions of old Singleton ; and, in 
 this way, the whole body of testimony was sifted. We need not 
 pursue the details of the investigation. The result for the pres- 
 ent may be given in the old man's language. 
 
 " It is clear that you must visit Dorchester and the neighbor- 
 hood, with reference to all these witnesses. You must meet 
 their testimony by that of other witnesses, or convict them out 
 
258 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 of their own mouths. At all events, get sufficient proof of the 
 sort of people to be sworn against you. Do you know old 
 Pryor, of Dorchester ?" 
 
 " He is, secretly, a rebel." 
 
 " But none the less an honest man. At this moment, it will 
 be wise, Major Proctor, to dismiss your prejudices as a British 
 officer. Pryor is a rough dog, scarcely civil of speech, but with 
 a man's heart ; and he will serve you faithfully if you can per- 
 suade him to take an interest in your affans. These witnesses 
 against you have, you think, been houglit up by your enemies. 
 Old Pryor was once a sort of king over all the people in that 
 quarter. He can probably assist you in getting the truth out 
 of some of these hirelings. Gradock, you see, and Clymes are 
 the persons whose testimony is most likely to be troublesome. 
 These must be managed, and Pryor is probably the very person 
 to undertake this part of the business. He can do it for you, or 
 put you in the proper way to do it for yourself. At all events, 
 your policy is to proceed to Dorchester with all the despatch 
 and all the secrecy possible." 
 
 The whole process underwent examination, between the par- 
 ties. The .details of the contemplated plan of action need not 
 be discussed further at this stage of our narrative. Enough, 
 that the shrewdness, good sense, acuteness, and rare knowledge 
 of persons, possessed by old Singleton, surprised Proctor, and 
 encouraged him to believe that he could meet all the difficul- 
 ties of his case. At the close of their interview. Proctor re- 
 quested him to take charge of his papers, referring to the secret 
 espionage of his servant, John, and the insecurity of his own 
 chambers. 
 
 " Do you keep that fellow still ?" demanded Singleton. 
 
 " I was counselled to do so by Captain Furness. His opinion 
 was that any person whom I should get in his place would be 
 equally liable to be coiTupted ; while, by keeping liim, I dis- 
 armed the suspicions of my enemies in regard to my knowledge 
 of their schemes ; and, knowing John, I was better prepared to 
 guard against him." 
 
 " A sensible fellow is Furness. He is probably right. Well, 
 Major Proctor, I will be your depositary. You are probably 
 
THE eebel's menagerie. 259 
 
 not unaware of the fact that my own position here is one of 
 great insecurity. I am at any moment liable to be seized in my 
 bed, and sent to provost or prison-ship, at the whim and mere 
 caprice of your despotic commander. But I have places of 
 hiding ioi your papers such as will be likely for some time to 
 escape search. My rattlesnake shall take your secrets into 
 keeping. Behold what a snug escritoir he has for the sei-vice 
 of my friends." 
 
 This said, the old man touched a spring in the bottom of the 
 cage in which the serpent lay coiled in repose. A false bottom 
 was instantly revealed, showing a shallow drawer, which already 
 contained sundry papers. The rattle of the snake was quickly 
 sprung, and the burnished head of the monster was threaten- 
 ingly raised at the same moment. 
 
 " He is on the watch, you see. Few persons would prosecute 
 a search in this quarter, with so vigilant and terrible a guardian 
 ,of its secrets. Give me the papers." 
 
 " One recommendation, Mr. Singleton," said Proctor, " before 
 I leave you. Your kindness to me and interest in my affairs 
 will justify me in speaking of yours. Take your monkey out 
 of his uniform ! Balfour would scarcely forgive you .the carica- 
 ture, particularly as you have caparisoned the beast in a costume 
 very much hke his own." 
 
 " Fashioned directly after it, I confess. And do you observe 
 I have taught him the genuine Balfour strut and carriage 1" said 
 the old man with a complacent chuckle. 
 
 " A dangerous experiment, which, if known, will be certain 
 to get you lodgings in the provost." 
 
 " Poo ! poo ! my young friend, this alarms me nothing. What 
 matters it upon what plea, whether of fun or patriotism, I get 
 into limbo 1 When it is needful to dispose of me, Balfour will 
 never lack a pretext. In the meantime shall I be without my 
 amusement ? In the ' durance vile' of my present condition, it 
 is something when I can laugh at the antics of the enemy whose 
 claws I have yet to fear." 
 
 Proctor shook his head. He saw that old Singleton was one 
 of those men who never lose their joke in their perils, and he 
 forbore all further exhortations, which he felt would be waste of 
 
260 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 counsel. They had much talk besides, but such as we may 
 dispense with in this narrative. Returning to his lodgings, the 
 Brittish officer found his man John returned, and looking very 
 curious at his absence. But he gave him little heed, The 
 next morning he was on his way to Dorchester ; but not unat- 
 tended ! 
 
CAPTIVITY. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 CAPTIVITY. 
 
 Balfour was soon apprized, by the treacherous servant, of 
 the absence of Proctor from his lodgings the night before ; and 
 the impossibility of accounting for it, as usual, led to the con- 
 jecture that John had been sent out of the way, simply that he 
 might not follow the footsteps of the master. When, the next 
 day, Proctor left the city, it was determined by the command- 
 ant, after a long conference with John, that the latter should 
 pursue him, but in a disguise, and on a horse which Balfour fur- 
 nished. Two hours, accordingly, had not elapsed, when the 
 faithless servant was on the tracks of his master. The progress 
 of Proctor was not so rapid but that he could be easily over- 
 taken by an eager pursuer. Fifteen miles from the city the 
 spy distinguished him about half a mile ahead. He maintained 
 this distance for the rest of the journey. 
 
 Proctor reached Dorchester and proceeded to take lodgings 
 at the house of Humphries, " The Soyal George," the better to 
 avoid suspicion. A rival tavern was kept by Pryor, but, as he 
 was a suspected whig, he no longer received the public patron- 
 age. Even the patriots, in order to escape suspicion, avoided 
 the dwelling of one with whom they yet thoroughly sympathized. 
 
 The spy, whom practice had made an adept, halving ascertained 
 the manner in which his master had disposed of himself, went 
 at once to the post of Dorchester, carrying letters from Balfour 
 to Vaughan. His horse groomed and stabled, he left the for- 
 tress under cover of the night, and established a watch upon the 
 house of Humphries. After supper, Proctor came forth, and, as 
 
262 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 the localities were all well known to him, he took the direct 
 route for the neglected hotel of Pryor. Thither the spy followed 
 him ; but. beyond the single fact that he saw his master enter 
 this dwelling, he gathered nothing from his espionage. Pryor 
 received his visiter at the entrance, and conducted him to an 
 inner apartment, where in the course of an hour's conversation, 
 Proctor unfolded all the difficulties in his case, and indicated the 
 extent of service which the other might perform for him. 
 
 Though a blunt, rude man, and a fierce whig, Pryor was not 
 hostile to Proctor. The latter, in command of Dorchester, had 
 done his spiritings so gently as to have compelled the respect 
 of the people generally. Besides, the service desired by him 
 was one which aimed to defeat the machinations of Balfour and 
 Vaughan, both of whom were hated, and was further commended 
 to him by a brief letter from old Tom Singleton, whom our 
 landlord well knew and greatly honored. The conseq[uence was 
 that Pryor took up heartily the cause of his visiter. 
 
 "It can be done, Major Proctor. It shall be done!" said 
 Pryor with an oath. " I will do it. I can manage Gradock and 
 Clymes, but I must have money and my own way." 
 
 " You shall have both," was the prompt reply. 
 
 Twenty guineas were at once put into his hands. 
 
 " This win do," returned the landlord. " If more is wanted I 
 will contrive that you shall know it. You shall hear of me 
 through old Tom Singleton. He will tell you that your money 
 will be safe in my hands." 
 
 Proctor quickly declared that he needed no such assurance. 
 
 " Nevertheless, major, it's in the way of business that you 
 should have it. And now that we understand what's to he 
 done, we don't need you any longer. You must be off with to- 
 morrow's sun. You can be of no service in dealing with these 
 people, and your presence here will only occasion suspicion, and 
 make the affair difficult to manage. Of course, Balfour knows 
 all about your coming here." 
 
 " Scarcely." 
 
 " Don't you believe it. He knows you've left the city. If 
 he's busy, as you think, in this matter, and really desires to 
 destroy you, and if your man John be in his employ, and is the 
 
CAPTIVITY. 263 
 
 rascal you think him — and which I verily believe — I never 
 could bear the fellow — then, be sure, that he has sent a spy 
 after you." 
 
 " I saw no one," replied Proctor, with rare simplicity. 
 
 " Oh, to be sure not I It is a spy's business to see and not 
 to be seen. But do you so act as if you felt that every footstep 
 which you take is watched. Go back to Humphries, and ask 
 the old scoundrel all sorts of questions in regard to the affair of 
 the rescue of Colonel Walton. Don't say a syllable of Gradock 
 and Clymes. Talk only of Marion's men, and the goggle-eyed 
 tory, Blonay. This will lead them oif the scent. Set off with 
 the dawn to-morrow, or an hour before it, and, by sunrise, I'll 
 report everything to Vaughan, just as Humphries will be sure 
 to do. This will save me harmless. Otherwise, I should be 
 very apt to enjoy the bayonet pricks of a corporal's guard before 
 I had fairly swallowed breslkfast. We must be artful. We 
 must fight fire with fire." 
 
 Satisfied that things were no'jv in proper train in this quarter. 
 Proctor left the shrewd old landlord and returned to play the 
 game prescribed with the loyalist, Humphries. We need not 
 dwell upon the details. The counsel of Pryor was closely 
 followed, and the whole history of the rescue of Walton, by 
 Marion's men, was deliberately discussed, point by point, in all 
 its particulars, under the dubious lights accorded by the wit or 
 wisdom of the tory landlord. 
 
 With dawn. Proctor was already crossing Eagle bridge, ga- 
 zing sternly, as he passed, upon the little fortress in which his 
 experiences for more than a year, had been those of unmixed 
 trial and bitterness. His heart was filled with the maledic- 
 tions which his lips did not utter, as he thought of his enemy, 
 Vaughan ; and his hand griped fiercely the handle of his sword 
 in a mute but expressive thirst for the moment when he could 
 close the account of enmity between them in the deadly arbitra- 
 ment of fight. He little dreamed that his action was beheld, 
 and its import properly divined. The traitor John was also in 
 the saddle, and, from a neighboring covert, had him clearly in 
 his eye. Proctor drove the spur into his steed and darted for- 
 ward ; and the other dogged resolutely after him, taking due 
 
264 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 care not to draw too nigh, yet as careful never long to lose his 
 master from his sight. 
 
 The spirits of Proctor grew more elastic as he rode. There 
 is something in the very effort to foil an enemy which contributes 
 to the conviction that the thing may be done ; and the exhorta- 
 tions of Fumess, of old Singleton, and Pryor — their counsels, 
 and the cool readiness with which their several faculties had 
 been brought to bear, in the same manner, and upon the same 
 game — seemed to relieve it from all its embarrassments. For 
 a moment, it occurred to the British major as something singular 
 that his two agents in the business should both be of the patriotic 
 or rebel party ; and that he should owe his acquaintance with 
 Singleton to the interposition of a provincial loyalist — though 
 sufficiently explained by the former — was yet a circumstance 
 which continually occurred to his thoughts as something curious. 
 Nor did it escape him, as also among the catalogue of things to 
 occasion surprise, that Pryor should speak so confidently of com- 
 municating with old Singleton whenever the necessity for it 
 should occur. 
 
 But Proctor had become quite too cold, as a subject of his 
 royal master, and entertained quite too little sympathy with the 
 existing powers in Carolina, to allow himself to meditate these 
 doubts with his usual vigilance. If there was anything suspi- 
 cious in the connection between these parties, there was no re- 
 sponsibility on his part, which required that he should investi- 
 gate the matter. New thoughts and fancies, new conjectures, 
 hopes, and fears, passed into his brain ; and he found himself 
 busied in fruitless guesses as to the unknown, but, as he now be- 
 lieved,_/a?V correspondent, to whom he was indebted for all the 
 clews to his present inquiries. 
 
 Was she fair 1 was she young .and lovely ? and how, when, 
 and where, had he awakened in her bosom the degree of inter- 
 est such as her solicitude in behalf of his fortunes would neces- 
 sarily show that she felt 1 He was bound to believe her both 
 young and fair. Commcm gratitude required nothing less, and 
 it gave him pleasure to believe it. 
 
 His interest in the unknown continued to rise — it had risen 
 prodigiously within the last few days — and his fancy began to 
 
CAPTIVITY. 
 
 265 
 
 frame a portrait of her to liis eye, which might possibly become 
 a fixed image in his heart. But of this Proctor had no misgiv- 
 ings. He felt grateful for the'love which, unknown, had watch- 
 ed so faithfully over his fortunes ; and the syinpathy which had 
 been thus gratuitously shown, might, naturally, in the heart of 
 one so much alone in the world, and so much assailed by ene- 
 mies, provoke and deserve a warmer sentiment than simple 
 gratitude. 
 
 It was while thus brooding over the services of the unknown 
 damsel that our British major was suddenly, and somewhat 
 roughly, brought back to more immediate interests by a stern 
 command to halt, from unknown lips, and by finding the bridle 
 of his steed in the grasp of an assailant. He looked up, to be- 
 hold before him a sturdy forester, in the well-known blue hunt- 
 ing-shirt of the colonial rangers, one hand presenting a pistol, 
 while the other bore heavily upon the bridle of his steed. 
 
 To clap spurs to his horse, to ride over the obstruction, and 
 draw his own pistol from the holster, was the instant impulse of 
 Proctor ; but his action and purpose were beheld in season for 
 a warning, to which he was compelled to listen. 
 
 " It's useless, major. You're surrounded. You're a prisoner." 
 
 The man's tones were civil, but firm. His words were sec- 
 onded by the appearance of three other persons in similar cos- 
 tume, each of whom presented his rifle as he drew nigh. The 
 necessity was not to be eluded or escaped, and, submitting with 
 a good grace to his captors, one of them led his horse by the 
 bridle into the neighboring thicket. In ten minutes after, a sim- 
 ilar party had taken like possession of the treacherous servant 
 John. The whole affair happened within twelve miles of the 
 city. 
 
 The captives were taken to the shelter of a dense forest 
 growth which skirted the Ashley. Not a word was spoken dur- 
 ing the progress. Proctor, staggered by the audacity of the 
 proceeding, was yet comparatively resigned to the event. His 
 mind was in a state which enabled him to look with something 
 like indifference upon all the caprices of fortune. For the 
 present, he made no inq^uiries, contenting himself with the re- 
 flection that the explanation would come q[uite soon enough. 
 
 12 
 
266 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 He was permitted to throw himself at ease, where he would, 
 among the trees ; and his horse was properly cared for by a ne- 
 gro groom whose face Proctor fancied he had seen before ; a 
 conjecture which seemed to iind encouragement in the broad 
 grin that opened the fellow's countenance to barn-door dimen- 
 sions, as he led away the steed. But the captive was permitted 
 no words with him. He was vigilantly guarded, three or four 
 riflemen constantly keeping him in sight. 
 
 Proctor was surprised at the numbers of these people. They 
 were continually coming and going. He noted no less than for- 
 ty different persons. All of them were well mounted and ap- 
 parently well armed. The place had the appearance of being 
 frequently used, as in the present instance, for the camp of the 
 scouting party. The earth was well beaten by the hoofs of 
 horses. The trees bore saddles and bridles ; the cook-pot smok- 
 ed constantly with .wild cheer of the woods ; and yet the whole 
 party were within two miles of the Ashley Ferry road, then 
 much more travelled than at the present day. Among all this 
 motley and somewhat savage group. Proctor saw no officers be- 
 yond the grade of a sergeant ; but the utmost order prevailed 
 in the encampment. It was while he lay at ease in the shade 
 that he saw another captive brought in as he had been. This 
 was his man John. But the British major did not recognise 
 him, and the prisoners were guarded separately, and at no time 
 allowed to come together. 
 
 At noon, dinner was served- him alone, and he was waited on 
 with respect by one of the foresters. He was well known. The 
 man addressed him by name. 
 
 " Who is your leader, sir 1" was the question of Proctor. 
 
 " He must answer that question for himself," was the reply. 
 
 " When shall I see him V 
 
 " To-night, I reckon." 
 
 It was an hour after dark, when a considerable bustle in the 
 camp announced an anivnl. Meanwhile, a fire had been built 
 among the trees whore Proctor had made his tent, and a couple 
 of blankets were provided him, with a thick roll of black moss 
 by way of pillow. He had supped ; and while he lay at ease, 
 with hia feet to the fire, meditating the novel phase in his for- 
 
CAPTIVITY. „ 267 
 
 tunes, a group approaclied Mm of three persons, the centre and 
 taller figure of the party, to his great surprise, heing masked. 
 They stood on one side of the fire, while Proctor lay on the oth- 
 er. The masked figure began the conversation with asking the 
 captive how he had been treated. 
 
 " As well as I could wish, sir, my captivity alone excepted. 
 Am I to understand that I am a prisoner in the hands of the 
 Americans 1" 
 
 "You are! You will' be treated well, Major Proctor, and 
 with proper respect for your character and rank. Indeed, sir, 
 you need not be a prisoner a moment longer. If you will give 
 me your word, as a man of honor, that, for one week, you wUl 
 say nothing of this adventure, nor make any report of the body 
 of soldiers you see here, you shall be free to depart with the 
 dawn." 
 
 " That is impossible, sir. I can make no such pledges. My 
 duty, sir " 
 
 " Enough, Major Proctor ! It will be my duty then to keep 
 you safely, at least for a few days. It will be our care that you 
 shall have no reason to complain of anything but your deten- 
 tion. Our fare is coarse, and the couch assigned you is a hard 
 one ; but you are a soldier, sir, and can accommodate yourself 
 to such small inconveniences." 
 
 " I am content, sir. But, Colonel Walton, your voice betrays 
 you^-I know you ! " 
 
 " You know too much for your own safety," cried one of the 
 officers accompanying Colonel Walton, drawing a pistol from his 
 belt, with the words, and presenting it at the head of the pris- 
 oner. But for the timely interposition of Walton, the rash sub- 
 ordinate would have drawn the trigger. The piece was already 
 cocked. 
 
 " Pshaw ! M'Kelvey !" cried Walton, arresting his arm. "Hq 
 can do us no hurt. We have only to keep him safely. Put up 
 your weapon. Let me see nothing of this." 
 
 " You are too indulgent, colonel," said the other. " You will 
 pay for it some day. This man " 
 
 " At least, let us do no murder ! Major Proctor, have I your 
 word that you wiU not endeavor to escape, until we release you ? 
 
268 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 This will be in a week, at the utmost. If yott refuse, I shall 
 only be compelled to subject you to greater restraint — in fact, 
 to put you in irons." 
 
 " I can have no objection to make you such a promise, Colo- 
 nel Walton, in the hope to escape such ignominy." 
 
 " It is then understood. Your range must be limited to the 
 hundred yards on either side of your present place of rest. To 
 attempt to pass beyond these limits wiU subject yon to the 
 rough handling of your guards. Good night, sir." 
 
 With these words the party retired. Proctor, however, could 
 still hear, as they went, the expostulations of the angry officer 
 who had threatened his life,, against the ill-advised mercy of his 
 superior. He congratulated himself upon his narrow escape 
 from a sharp and sudden death, and wondering at the nature of 
 the enterprise which brought the partisans so near to the city 
 garrison, he sank into slumbers not less grateful because of the 
 rough couch assigned him for their enjoyment. His fortune was 
 much better than that of his servant John. The treacherous 
 spy was hustled across the river that very night, his wrists fold- 
 ed together with bracelets of iron, and a determined trooper on 
 each side ready to shoot him down at the first sign of difficulty. 
 Let us return once more to the city. 
 
GRADUALLY DEVELOPING. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 GRADUALLY DEVELOPING 
 
 While these events were in progress in the career of Proc- 
 tor, society in Charleston was not wholly stagnant. The un- 
 dercurrents, which represent the moral influences of the social 
 world, were in sleepless motion ; and the several parties to our 
 history were more or less moved by their varying influences. 
 The great ball at Cruden's was yet to take place, and was look- 
 ed forward to with eager excitement, by hundreds of those who 
 sought in society rather the passing dehghts than the substan- 
 tial TOtues which make society secure and permanent. The in- 
 terval, meanwhile, was not unemployed by those who, without 
 being able to emulate the splendor of the intended assemblage, 
 were yet anxious to make some figure in the world correspond- 
 ing with their proportions and' resources. The days were, ac- 
 cordingly, consumed mjetes champetre, and the nights in lively 
 reunions. Parties for Haddrill's, Sullivan's, James', and Mor- 
 ris islands, were of constant occurrence, and drives into St. An- 
 drews', Goose Creek, Accabee, and other contiguous places fur- 
 nished employment and excitement to merry groups to whom 
 the question of the Benzonian, " Under which king, &c. V never 
 offered the slightest annoyance. These excursions were all ta- 
 ken during the daylight, for the autumn season, in the swamp re- 
 gions of CaroHna, did not suffer pleasure to sport with impunity 
 along the water-courses, unless with the sanction of the day- 
 light and the sun. At night, gay abodes in the city received 
 and welcomed the butterfly tribes to whom life offered no as- 
 pects which rendered the economy of time desirable. Our ex- 
 cellent Mrs. Eivington had her " evenings'' as surely as her 
 
270 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " mornings ;" and there were a number besides, ■who, if individ- 
 ually less frequent in throwing open their saloons, were suffi- 
 ciently numerous to suffer no night to pass without affording a 
 point of gathering for the light and motley multitude. 
 
 We will suppose some few days to have passed in practices 
 such as these, since our last meeting with the conspirators at 
 Mrs. Singleton's. The occasions were studiously contrived by 
 Balfour and his satellites to bring Katharine Walton into com- 
 pany. The policy of Mrs. Singleton encouraged her in yield- 
 ing to this object, however little she may have relished it at 
 heart. But two results were aimed at in the concession. It 
 was only prudent not to offend authorities which had the parties 
 completely in their power ; and quite as important, by conce- 
 ding thus much, if possible, to divert suspicion from the secret 
 toils of our feminine conspirators. Accordingly, Katharine Wal- 
 ton moved in a circle which in her heart she loathed, and re- 
 ceived the devotions of those whose tributes revolted equally 
 her patriotism and pride. But she preserved her temper in the 
 calm control of her pure and proper thoughts, and if she was 
 not all that her suitors desired, she at least afforded them no 
 necessary cause of complaint. 
 
 In the meanwhile, she had met with and made the acquaint- 
 ance of Ella Monckton. At first the two maidens were some- 
 what shy of each other. We are in possession of the sufficient 
 reason for this shyness on the part of Ella. Katharine's reluc- 
 tance arose naturally enough : first, from the knowledge that 
 EUa belonged to the enemy — was of the loyalist faction ; and, 
 second, because there was nothing either in what was said of 
 her by others, or in the emprcssement of her own manner, to en- 
 able her to fix or command the consideration or curiosity of our 
 heroine. But circumstances, and occasional communion, served 
 to break down the first barriers which natural restraints had set 
 up between them. A word, a tone, a look T\'ill suffice, where 
 hearts are ingenuous and young, to appeal to the affections ; 
 and, very soon it was that, under a shrinking aspect, which the 
 vulgar might consider pride, but which is just as likely to be an 
 exquisite sensibility, Katharine Walton perceived that Ella 
 Monckton harbored tlie most delicate, pure, and generous of na- 
 
GRADUALLY DEVELOPING. 271 
 
 tures. On the other hand, Ella, someho-w, felt herself, in spite 
 of herself, drawn toward her rival, as by an irresistible attrac- 
 tion. At first, the language of her heart secretly said — 
 
 " I do not hate, hut I fear her ! She pains and distresses me, 
 though she does not offend." 
 
 Subsequently, it had another language. 
 
 " There is something very noble and commanding about this 
 lady '. She is a lady ; sensitive, yet firm ; pure and chaste, yet 
 without any affectations of delicacy. She is gentle, too, and 
 sweet, and there is a wondrous strength and melody, mixed^- in 
 the tones of her voice. I like her in spite of him; I like her, 
 and feel that I, too, could love her." 
 
 But there was a reserve even about the intimacy of the par- 
 ties, which time alone could have broken down. Of course, 
 Katharine Walton was not aware of any interest which she 
 could have in the afiairs of Ella ; whUe the latter, on the other 
 hand, was restrained by an ever-present fear that Katharine 
 would decipher her secret interest in herself at every glance of 
 her eyes and in the tremulous tones of her every utterance. 
 The fear was idle. Katharine saw nothing in those eyes but 
 the expi*ession of a rare tenderness and delicacy; and heard 
 nothing in her voice but a soft and touching harmony, which in- 
 creased her interest in one in whom she never once thought to 
 find a rival. But the parties insensibly came together more and 
 more every day. The ancient intercourse between the widows 
 Monckton and Singleton was gradually resumed through the 
 growing intimacy between the two damsels. To spend a morn- 
 ing at the house of the latter was a not unfrequent thing with 
 Ella ; while Katharine was easUy persuaded to take her work, 
 or her book, to the house of Mrs. Monckton, and go into a sort of 
 temporary solitude in the sweet society of the widow and her 
 daughter, whither the crowd never came, and where she was 
 seldom exposed to the annoyances which elsewhere invariably 
 pursued her, of a misnamed gallantry, and a devotion which 
 suggested nothing grateful to her fancies. 
 
 It was one afternoon, while Ella Monckton was on a visit to 
 Katharine, that the gay widow Brewton joined the circle. In 
 the constantly increasing round of her social progress, this lady 
 
272 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 was usually put in possession of the latest on dit of the city. 
 She had heen that morning at Mrs. Eivington's, where it seems 
 that Proctor, and his command at Dorchester, had been the sub- 
 ject, of conversation. 
 
 " There is evidently a determination, in high quarters," said 
 the widow, " to destroy that poor fellow, Proctor." 
 
 The heart of Ella trembled at these words. 
 
 " I suspect, Kate Walton," she contmued, " that you are to 
 blame for it all." 
 
 "Me! How? Why?" 
 
 "Ah ! do not feign ignorance. Barry, and his eternal shadow 
 M'Mahon, were both in full cry against him for his presumptu- 
 ous admiration of you. It was charged that you are the cause 
 of aU his neglect of duty ; and a great deal was said of a nature 
 to lead me to suspect that great pains will be taken to establish 
 the facts against him. But I did not so much trouble myself in 
 relation to his case as to yours. The q^uestion was, in what de- 
 gree you had given Proctor encouragement." 
 
 " I give him encouragement !" 
 
 " Come, come, Kate ! Do not put on that sublime look of in- 
 dignation. Proctor is not a person to be despised. He is one 
 of the noblest of all these British officers, and, by the way, one 
 of the best looking. A maiden might well give him encourage- 
 ment without intending it, and might just as easily forget to 
 shield her ovm heart against his attacks. Mark you, I do not 
 say that such has been the case with you ; but there were those 
 present this morning, that did say so, and who brought forward 
 a large number of proofs to conclude what they asserted." 
 
 "And what did you say?" asked Katharine, with a smile. 
 
 " Oh ! you may guess. I asked, with no little scorn, if there 
 was any one so stupid as to suppose that you were going to 
 throw yourself away upon a red-coat ; and I turned to Major 
 Barry, and remarked in these very words ; ' Undoubtedly, ma- 
 jor, you are among the handsomest, the bravest, and the witti- 
 est of all your crew — perhaps the very ]\Iaguus Apollo of the 
 tribe. Now, pray you, thiuk of Miss Walton, of her mind, her 
 person, and, last and least of all, her fortune ; tlien, be pleased 
 to wheel about and confront your own image in that grand mir- 
 
GRADUALLY DEVELOPING. 273 
 
 ror of Mrs. Rivington's. Having done so, and having brought 
 all your well-known self-esteem to bear upon the question, then 
 ask yourself what would be the amount of claim and attraction 
 which you might virge, if seeking the hand of Katharine Wal- 
 ton.' " 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Brewton!" 
 
 ■' I did ; and, positively, a miracle ! The little fellow blushed ! 
 Blushed, until nobody thought to look at the scarlet of his regi- 
 mentals. And Captain M'Mahon, looking in his face, blushed 
 also — by reflection, I suppose; and for a moment the whole 
 squad was silenced. But, with a sort of desperation, they re- 
 newed the fire, as much, it would seem, to please that brazen 
 beauty, Moll Harvey, as with any other object. The argument 
 was that you were quite too deeply involved with Proctor ever 
 to escape ; that Balfour, accordingly stood no chance ; that 
 whatever might be done against Proctor was to him a matter of 
 perfect indifference, so long as his life remained untouched ; that 
 he was already prepared to abandon the British for the Ameri- 
 can cause ; and that your love, of which he was secure, was suf- 
 ficiently compensative for^U his losses and privations." 
 
 Poor Ella felt as if she could have buried her face in the 
 earth — as if her heart were already buried there. 
 
 " What a farrago of absurdities !" exclaimed Katharine. 
 
 "Nay, Kate, upon my soul, I don't see that. I give you 
 my word for it they made a very plausible story among them. 
 Somebody did say something about your once having drawn 
 trigger upon Proctor, as a proof of your dislike ; but the story 
 was positively denied by others, and Proctor's own words quoted 
 in denial." 
 
 " It was nevertheless quite true," said Katharine, gravely. 
 
 " True !" exclaimed Ella, with a convulsive shudder. 
 
 "All true," answered Katharine, with increasing gravity. " It 
 is one of those things of which I do npt care to speak. I revolt 
 at myself when I think of it ; and no doubt Major Proctor de- 
 nies it, with an honorable disposition, to relieve me from the 
 odium of having attempted such a crime. But it was in a mo- 
 ment pf desperation, almost of madness, that the thing was done ; 
 and having told you thus much, I jnust tell you all, by way of 
 
 12* 
 
274 KATHAEINB WALTON. 
 
 explanation ; but I entreat you, Mrs. Brewton, and you, Ella, to 
 keep the matter secret. My dear cousin, Emily Singleton, was 
 dying in our house : her brother, Robert, was with us, concealed, 
 a fugitive, about to receive her last breath. At that awful mo- 
 ment, Major Proctor entered the dwelling, followed by his 
 troops. I an-ested him at the door of my cousin's chamber, 
 from which Eobert made his escape by the window. Major 
 Proctor approaching with the resolution to enter, though I had 
 forbidden it, I seized one of my cousin's pistols, and fired, fortu- 
 nately, without effect, for I had no aim ! I knew not what I 
 did!" 
 
 A deep sigh struggled forth from the breast of Ella Monckton. 
 
 "Why, what a desperado you are, Kate!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Brewton. " I thought I had wickedness and wilfulness for any- 
 thing ; but I never once dreamed of the possibility of my ever 
 attempting to shoot down a British major. How did you feel, 
 child, when you were doing it 1 when you pulled the ugly little 
 crooked iron they call the trigger 1 when you heard the sudden 
 bam ! bam 1 and saw the flash ? Did you tremble ? Did you 
 faiat ? Did you not feel like going off into hysterics 1 Bless 
 me, you are, indeed, a heroine ! and how the thing was hushed 
 up! — for the person — who was it? — that mentioned it this 
 morning, gave it only as a rumor, and was easUy silenced !" 
 
 "It was too true ! I knew not what I was doing — this must 
 be my apology. I owe much to Major Proctor for his forbear- 
 ance." 
 
 " And wUl pay him with your heart." 
 
 " Never ! never ! Let me tell you further, and thus silence 
 your dovibts for ever, Mrs. Brewton — I am the betrothed of my 
 cousin, Robert Singleton ; Major Proctor can never be anything 
 to me but a gentleman of worth, whom I very much esteem." 
 
 Could Katharine Walton have seen the bright but tearful 
 eyes of poor Ella at that moment ! With what a bound her 
 little heart rose to her mouth, and fluttered there like some cap- 
 tive bird, deluded for a moment with a dream of escape from 
 prison ! 
 
 Mrs. Singleton entered the apartment at this moment. She 
 heard the revelation of Katharine, and spoke rebukingly. 
 
GRADUALLY DEVELOPING. 275 
 
 " Katharine, my child, this should not have heen told. It is 
 our policy to keep it secret. If known abroad, it may he fatal 
 to your fortunes. Balfour's forbearance is due entirely to his 
 doubt of your engagement. He has, thus far, no reason to be- 
 lieve it. Let him suppose that the affair is irrevocable, and the 
 commissioner of seq^uestrations keeps no terms with you, and 
 you lose everything." 
 
 " Be it so, my dear aunt," rephed the other ; " but, believe 
 me, I should rather lose all than deserve the reproach of hold- 
 ing out any encouragement to others, which may mislead." 
 ' "You are q[uite right, my dear," cried the widow Brewton. 
 " I much prefer the manly course myself." 
 
 " Nay, she is quite wrong, and you are quite wrong, permit 
 me to say," responded Mrs. Singleton, with great gravity. "You 
 are only asked, my child, to keep a secret which peculiarly con- 
 cerns yourself, and which nobody has a right to seek. In doing 
 so, you hold forth no encouragement to others, so long as your 
 deportment is that of a lady. The presumption which takes for 
 granted its own merits as too potential to be withstood, must pay 
 its own penalties, and is not particularly a subject of commisera- 
 tion or concern. If these people assume your freedom, let them 
 do so ; if they presume upon it, there will always be a season to 
 interpose and check them, either by simple rejection of their 
 civilities, or by showing, if you tliink proper, that you are no 
 longer your own mistress. In your present circumstances, there 
 is no impropriety in that reserve which simply keeps from one's 
 neighbor a private history, which is especially one's own ; and 
 every motive of policy insists upon the reserve." ■ 
 
 " My dear aunt, my secret will be perfectly safe with Mrs. 
 Brewton and Ella." 
 
 The ladies thus mentioned hastened to give their assurances 
 to this effect. 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt, my dear ; but without my warning, you 
 would probably, under the same provocation, have revealed 
 yourself in like manner to anybody else." 
 
 " It is very like I should. I have been always accustomed 
 to tliis freedom ; and I confess to a feeling nowise agreeable in 
 yielduig to the reserve which you call policy, but which cer- 
 
276 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 tainly seems to me to lead necessarily to false notions of one's 
 situation." 
 
 " Not so ; nobody ouglit to suffer because a lady keeps the 
 secret of her betrothal. The gentleman who seeks a lady must 
 feel his way cautiously. His first approaches, met properly by 
 the lady, are his last, and there's an end of it. Everything 
 depends upon herself. If she trifles with her situation, that is 
 quite another thing. In your case, my dear, there can be no 
 fears of this sort." 
 
 The entrance of another visiter changed the snbject. Mrs. 
 Ingliss, who now joined the party, was a genuine patriot, and at 
 present under special annoyance. She had some of the more 
 foppish of the British officers billeted upon her, among whom 
 was the famous wit of the garrison, so often mentioned, Harry 
 Barry, Esq., Major, &c. But the annoyance was not greatly 
 regretted by her friends, since her patriotism enabled her upon 
 occasion to turn it to excellent use. Keeping her own comisels, 
 and studiously forbearing to offend the prejudices of the enemy, 
 she inspired them with a certain degree of confidence, and they 
 spoke very freely before her. By this means she gathered 
 many items of intelhgence, which found their way to our circle 
 of female conspirators, and were by them conveyed to the par- 
 tisans. Something was due to this lady, accordingly, and it 
 became the policy of our patriots to afford every possible coun- 
 tenance to her mode of housekeeping. She visited the ladies 
 of both parties, and they did not withhold themselves from her 
 assemblies. Her present visit was to Katharine Walton. It 
 was the usual formal initial call preparatory to an invitation ; 
 and the customary preliminaries being dismissed, Mrs. Ingliss 
 solicited the presence of our heroine at her house on the ensuing 
 evening. Finding Katharine hesitate, Mrs. Brewton interposed : 
 
 " Of course she will come, Mrs. Ingliss ; we will all come. 
 We know what is due to you, and we shall enjoy ourselves 
 rarely with your lodgers. Barry, you know, is my delicate 
 aversion. I approach him as I would Tom Singleton's monkey, 
 with the mood to torture him into the antics, without which the 
 beast has no qualities. We will come, of course." 
 
 Mrs. Singleton gave a similar assurance, and the consent of 
 
GRADUALLY DEVELOPING. 277 
 
 Katharine followed. Mrs. Ingliss did not linger long after this ; 
 and when she departed she was accompanied by the hvely 
 widow. Ella Monckton still remained, her heart filled with 
 inexpressible emotions. She had spoken little during the con- 
 ference between the parties, but her interest had been lively 
 enough in all that had been said. There was nothing now 
 wanting to confirm that warm feeling of sympathy which she 
 had begun to cherish for the character of Katharine. That the 
 heart of the latter was quite free in respect to PnDctor — that 
 there was no possibility that the parties should be ever more 
 nearly connected with each other than they were at present — 
 was a conviction too firmly established in her mind, from what 
 she had heard, to suffer any future doubts or misgivings from 
 that source. 
 
 The poor girl was, for the time, unreservedly happy in this 
 conviction. When she was about to go, to the surprise of 
 Katharine, she thre^ her arms about the neck of the latter, and 
 passionately kissed her cheek. The proceeding was so unusual 
 — BO unlike everything that had hitherto marked their inter- 
 course — that for a moment Katharine absolutely recoiled. But, 
 in the next instant, as she saw the face of Ella covered with 
 blushes, whUe her eyes, gleaming with a most unusual bright- 
 ness, were yet filled with the biggest drops, she took the tender 
 girl fondly in her arms, and returned her kisses with a tender- 
 ness only less warm than her own. She could only account for 
 the unwonted warmth of her companign by giving her credit for 
 a heart of very great sensibilities, which society had not yet 
 tutored into reserve and caution. But the scene, almost with- 
 out words, united the two maidens in a tie very superior to that 
 which ordiuarily brings persons of their age and sex together. 
 
278 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 OHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 SWEETHEART AND STEED AT STAKE. 
 
 Our scenes are required now to change with almost panoramic 
 rapidity. The night of the day on which the proceedings of 
 our last chapter took place was distinguished by a grand ball at 
 the well-known dwelling of Mrs. Tidyman, in Ladson's court, 
 then occupied by Biddulph, the paymaster of the British forces 
 in Carolina, a person of showy and expensive habits, who lived 
 in great style upon the profits — since vulgarly styled " pickings 
 and stealings" — for which his office afforded him such excellent 
 facilities. 
 
 The court was lighted up with great splendor, and every 
 apartment of the house was -filled to overflow. Hither came all 
 the select of the garrison, all of the loyalists, male and female, 
 and a very few of the whigs, but those only who were too timid 
 to refuse an invitation which might reasonably be construed into 
 a command. There was one exception, among those who did 
 attend, to this general classification of the whigs present. This 
 was Mrs. Brewton, whose talents for repartee usually saved her 
 from any annoying assaults on the score of her patriotism, and 
 who found these assemblages very favorable to her desires, 
 which at once aimed to conceal her purposes, and to afford them 
 opportunities. It was a profound policy which prompted her 
 desire to acquire the reputation of a mere lover of pleasure; 
 while the boldness with which she declared her whigism aloud 
 was almost a guarantee to the enemy that they had nothing to 
 fear from her secret machinations. 
 
 Here she met General Williamson, and, to her surprise, was 
 
SWEETHEAKT AND STEED AT STAKE. 279 
 
 ,drawn aside by Mm from the press, and sounded upon various 
 matters which only did not openly trench upon the actual issues 
 between the parties. She observed that he was curious and 
 anxious, and that, though possessed of little ingenuity in conver- 
 sation, he yet contrived, through the very necessity in which he 
 stood, to throw out sundry remarks, which, had she been dis- 
 posed, might have conducted to an interesting eclaircissement. 
 She had only to seize, with a bold assumption, upon one of the 
 two susceptibilities contained in some of his ec[uivoques, to have 
 found the way clear to a complete development. So, at least, 
 , she thought. But, predetermined that he was not to be trusted, 
 and loathing his character as she did, she availed herself of 
 none of the opportunities which he really desired to afford her. 
 It was while they spoke together, however, that a young ofScer 
 of the guards, named Sadler, approached them, and, addressing 
 Mrs. Brewton, mentioned that he was ordered to Oamden, and 
 should leave the city in two days. He politely offered to take . 
 letters for her to Mrs. Motte (her late husband's sister — after- 
 ward famous in story for confiding to Marion the bow and ar- 
 rows by which her mansion-house was destroyed) or for any 
 other of her friends in the neighborhood. She replied in her 
 usual spirit — 
 
 " I thank you, lieutenant ; I should very much like to write, 
 but really I have no wish to have my letters read at the head 
 of Marion's brigade." 
 
 " Do you really mean, Mrs. Brewton, that I am in danger of 
 falling into the hands of the rebel 1" 
 
 "Would you have me prophesy more clearly, sir? The 
 thing is inevitable. It is your fate. I see it as clearly in 
 your face as if I read it in your palms. Persuade the com- 
 mandant to send somebody else. His destiny may be otherwise 
 written." 
 
 Sadler turned off in a huff. But we may venture to pause in 
 our narrative to anticipate the rest of the story. Poor Sadler 
 was really captured by Singleton, of Marion's brigade ; and, in 
 two weeks after, he returned to Charleston, and called immedi- 
 ately upon Mrs. Brewton to thank her for his disgrace. He 
 fully believed that she had contrived to convey intelligence of 
 
'280 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 his route and progress to the partisans. This event was one of 
 several which finally provoked the British authorities to expel 
 the lady from the city. 
 
 When Sadler had retired, Williamson, with evident eagerness, 
 remarked — 
 
 " You speak with confidence of the whereabouts of Marion's 
 brigade. Is your confidence the result of shrewd guessing, or 
 do you know " 
 
 She interrupted him c[uickly. 
 
 " It is prophecy, sir. I am another Cassandra — doomed to 
 tell the truth, and not to be believed when I do so. This poor 
 lieutenant only goes to be taken. When I say so, I obey an 
 irresistible impulse, which I certainly believe." 
 
 " Ah ! the days of prophecy are not ours ! We should half 
 suspect you of knowing well what you prophesy so boldly. 
 Now, my dear Mrs. Brewton, it concerns me something to know 
 how far you speak from a knowledge of the fact. It will mate- 
 rially affect my habits if I could suppose you knowing rather 
 than prophetic. I propose, for example, to take my usual 
 weekly ride, the next day, or the day after, into the country, 
 and " 
 
 He paused, and looked exceedingly sagacious and encoura- 
 ging. She replied quickly — 
 
 " General Williamson, I do not prophesy for everybody. I 
 can only say in your case that, should you be taken by Marion's 
 men, your chance of being kept long in captivity would be in- 
 finitely less than that of this beardless lieutenant." 
 
 For a moment the significance of this answer did not seem to 
 strike her companion. When, however, the fuU meaning flashed 
 upon him, his face blackened to a thunder-cloud. 
 
 "Madam — Mrs. Brewton !" he exclaimed — then stammered 
 and grew silent. He rose abruptly from his seat, and then 
 returned to it, his features somewhat more composed. Looking 
 at her with an earnest glance, he resumed — 
 
 " It is evident, Mrs. Brewton, that you do not know me. You 
 still regard me as an enemy. You will do me more justice 
 hereafter." 
 
 " Nay, General Williamson, if you think that I do not desire, 
 
SWEETHEART AND STEED AT STAKE. 281 
 
 from the bottom of my soul, to see justice done to you, you do 
 
 not know me." 
 
 This was as bad as before. He turned away quickly, saying — 
 " Very well, madam, very well ! But you will yet repent 
 
 these expressions !" 
 
 She hummed gayly, as he went, the refrain of an old ballad, 
 
 then quite popular — 
 
 " And they bore away my bonny boy, 
 And they bore him away to the fatal tree ; 
 
 Brief space they gave him then to pray — 
 But his latest breath it was breathed for me." 
 
 " Jezabel !" was the single word of Williamson, as he heard 
 the words, and disappeared in the crowd. The widow saw no 
 more of him that night. 
 
 Meanwhile, the dancing had begun, and the gayly-caparison- 
 ed knights and damsels whirled about the apartment, subject to 
 frequent concussion with the densely-packed groups that looked 
 on the whUe. Mrs. Brewton became the centre of one of these 
 inactive groups ; but it was no silent one. — The events of the 
 evening had vexed others as well as Williamson. One of these 
 outraged persons was the somewhat famous Archibald Camp- 
 bell, better known as Mad Archy, or Crazy Campbell, a wUd, 
 reckless, harem-scarem soldier, who united a most irregular in- 
 tellect to a most daring courage — if, indeed, we may consistent- 
 ly discover, in a deficient mind, the fine moral virtue which is 
 described as courage. 
 
 Archy Campbell was famous for doing desperate things. He 
 was vain, rash, headlong, and presumptuous, and much feared 
 as a fire-eater. The arguments upon which he relied, in all dis- 
 cussions, were the bet and the duello. To stake hfe and mon- 
 ey, equally, on his sentiments and opinions, was his favorite 
 mode of proving himself right, and making himself so. He 
 had his virtues, however — though, by the way, the former were 
 not always considered vices or even defects of character. The 
 women rather favored him, possibly because the men feared 
 him. He was handsome and generous, and kept a gig, which 
 was one of the most showy of all the garrison. To drive out a 
 favorite damsel of an afternoon to the " Quarter" or " Eight- 
 
282 KATHABINE WALTON. 
 
 Mile House," or beyond, to Goose Creek — making his trotter 
 do his ten miles by the hour — was with him a sort of triumph 
 which made him indifferent td the capture of posts or armies'. 
 His great ambition was social conquest. To come, see, and con- 
 quer, in a sense somewhat different from that of Cesar, was his 
 daily aim. And he fancied himself always successful. 
 
 This easy assurance led him, on the present occasion, into an 
 error in which his presumption was duly mortified. We have 
 spoken elsewhere of Paulina Phelps, as one of the loyalist 
 hellea at that time in the city. She was a very pretty girl, live- 
 ly and intelligent ; her charms being duly increased in pubUc 
 estimation by the fact that she was the heiress to a very hand- 
 some fortune. Mad Archy was not so far demented as to be in- 
 sensible to this consideration. He was accordingly her avowed 
 suitor and constant attendant. She did not discourage his at- 
 tentions, as she was not the person to be regardless of the 
 devotion of a yovmg, handsome, and high-spirited gallant. 
 "Whether she encouraged them beyond proper limits is a ques- 
 tion. It is certain, however, that he construed her good humor 
 and indulgence into something more significant. On this occa- 
 sion, just before the dancing had commenced, and while she was 
 interested in the conversation of a very graceful gentleman, one 
 Captain Harley, who had recently arrived from New York, Mad 
 Archy broke in upon the party with a bound. 
 
 " Come, Paulina, Miss Phelps," he cried ; " your arm, they 
 are about to dance." 
 
 The lady drew up, offended with this freedom, and somewhat 
 disdainfully answered — 
 
 " You mistake, Major Campbell ; I am not engaged to dance 
 with you." 
 
 " Eh ! — no ! — what !" he repEed, astonished. " Not dance 
 with me !" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 You refuse me, Paulina ! You are capricious. Miss Phelps!" 
 
 " And you presumptuous. Major Campbell !" 
 
 " The devil you say !" cried Campbell, abruptly ; and, turn- 
 ing with a rude stare to Harley, he cried aloud — 
 
 " Well ! Let me see the man who will dance with you to-night," 
 
SWEETHEART AND STEED AT STAKE. 283 
 
 At these -words, with great ease, dignity, and self-possession, 
 Captain Harley said — 
 
 " May I have the honor of being your partner in this dance, 
 Miss Phelps 1" 
 
 The lady, still smarting under Campbell's insolence, instinct- 
 ively rose and took the arm of the other. The action confound- 
 ed Mad Archy, who, for a moment, knew not what to say. It 
 was in this ilaood that he was joined by the professed mischief- 
 makers of the garrison, Major Stock and others. 
 
 " Done for, Archy !" cried Stock, with a grin. " Clearly 
 cut — made dog's meat of, and no burial service." 
 
 " I'll punish her !" exclaimed Archy with an oath. " And 
 as for Harley, I'll teach him such a lesson as will cure his love 
 for dancing from now to doomsday. Look you. Stock ; you will 
 take my message to him in the morning." 
 
 " You will do no such thing, Major Stock," said the widow 
 Brewton, who had overheard every syllable. " If Archy Camp- 
 bell will be a fool, with malice prepense and aforethought, as 
 the lawyers say, there's no reason that you should prove your- 
 self an accessory, either after or before the fact." 
 
 " 'Pon my soul, madam, you are bold," cried Campbell. 
 
 " What L to brave such a fire-eater as yourself ? Look you. 
 Major Campbell, if you are so totally without friends as to be 
 able to hear the truth from none but a woman's mouth, hear it 
 from mine. Let me tell you that there is no extraordinary re- 
 nown in being considered the madman, par excellence, of a very 
 silly garrison of foot and horse. Remember, moreover, that no 
 degree of folly and madness wUl excuse brutality." 
 
 " Binitality, madam," cried Campbell, fiercely. 
 
 " Even so, sir. There is no other word half so appropriate 
 to our present uses. You have been guilty of a great offence 
 against all the proprieties, and must not make your offence still 
 more enormous. You have outraged the sensibilities of a lady 
 whom you profess to admire, and have presumed upon those ' 
 very weaknesses of her sex which should have been her secu- 
 rities against offence. You must not proceed farther — you sfiall 
 not — in the same erring direction. You can not quarrel with 
 Captain Harley without adding still farther to this brutahty. 
 
284 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 He could do no less than he has done under the circumstances ; 
 and, if you can not emulate, at least learn to respect his de- 
 portment." 
 
 " Upon my soul, Mrs. Brewton, you queen it ftiost royally ! 
 You say I shall not, and I m/ust not ; but madam, suppose I 
 say, in answer, that I will I" 
 
 " Why, then, sir, I shall only have mistaken the nature of the 
 animal that I have sought to tame." 
 
 " Well, madam, and pray what animal was that?" 
 
 " A lion, sir ; at worst a royal tiger — " 
 
 " Well, madam ?— " 
 
 " And not a bear — not an — " 
 
 She paused. He spoke — 
 
 "Not an ass, you would say !" 
 
 " Really, sir, jo^fx instincts are sufficiently good, whatever 
 may be the condition of your wits." 
 
 " By Jove, Mrs. Brewton, you are too hard upon me ! But 
 you have courage, madam, and courage is a virtue — and I like 
 you nevertheless. But I can't submit to this ; and I beg that 
 you wiU interfere no farther. I wiU shoot this fellow, Harley, 
 or pink him — " 
 
 " No you won't, unless you really have resolved to give up 
 the lady." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " Take another step in this business, and you lose her for ev- 
 er. Behave like a man of sense and proper feeling, and if you 
 ever had a chance of success you will certainly increase it. Go 
 to her — seek your opportunity — become the penitent — show 
 that you regard her feelings as well as your own — that you are 
 prepared to sacrifice your feelings for hers — and you will make 
 a more favorable impression on her than you ever made before." 
 
 He hesitated, and shook his head. 
 
 " Do you really love the lady 1" 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Brewton, as the apple of my eye !" 
 
 " Then, do as I tell you, even though you should lose the ap- 
 ple of your eye. Proceed to bully her, or her present attend- 
 ant, and, if she have any spark of feeling or of spirit, she will 
 spurn you with loathing from her sight. Go, now, seek your 
 
SWEETHEAET AND STEED AT STAKE. 285 
 
 •opportunity — do not despair if you make no progress to-night 
 ■ — better, indeed, not try to-night, but be sure you seek her and 
 make amends to-morrow; and, by the way, it would be well to 
 make gentlemanly terms with this Captain Harley — " 
 
 " Oh ! by Jove, I can't do that ! but I thank you, Mrs. Brew- 
 ton, for your counsel, I do ! By the Eternal ! madam, you have 
 the soul of a war-horse ; and I honor you, madam, though I'm 
 afraid of you !" 
 
 " And because of it," she answered, q[uietly. 
 
 Major' Stock had heard the better part of this conversation, 
 though pulled this way and that by some old ladies who wished 
 for refreshments. 
 
 " "Well," said he, when Mad Archy had joined him, " so the 
 widow takes your case in hand. It will be well peppered. But 
 she counsels rightly. You can't call out this fellow Harley, 
 who has only played handsome at your expense. You toill run 
 your head against it, Archy ! It's unfortunate. I think there's 
 no chance with the Phelps, after this ! You've lost her, my 
 boy, for ever." 
 
 ■' What'U you bet I don't dance with her to-night 1" 
 
 ' Five guineas on it !" 
 
 " Done ! Now for another ; what'U you bet I don't marry 
 her V 
 
 " Fifty guineas against your trotter." 
 
 " It's an even go. Now look to it ; for, as sure as thunder, I 
 shall have both the ghl and the guineas." 
 
 " Get the one and you get the other," cried Stock, and the 
 parties separated, each seeking different avenues among the 
 crowds. 
 
286 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 CARTEL. 
 
 The equally restless and benevolent spirit of Mrs. Brewton 
 was not satisfied to administer to mad Archy Campbell alone 
 the counsels necessary to propriety. At an early hour, after 
 the interview with him, she sought out the fair object of his 
 temporary resentment. 
 
 " Paulina, my dear," she began, "you have greatly irritated 
 Archy Campbell." 
 
 " Well, he deserves it," was the reply. 
 
 " I think it very likely ; but are you prepared for all the con- 
 sec[uences of his anger?" 
 
 " I don't see how it is to affect otc." 
 
 " Well, in regard to yourself I can say nothing. I know not 
 in what degree you are interested in him. It is very certain 
 that he is greatly interested in you, and I much fear that any 
 unusual harshness on your part will only drive him into mischief. 
 I am afraid that he will force a duel upon this newly-come 
 gentleman. Captain Harley." 
 
 " God forbid !" exclaimed the other. 
 
 " Let me beg that you will forbid also. I am sure, unless you 
 are at some pains to be civil to your suitor, that such will be 
 the event. You may bis quite civil, and disarm his anger, with- 
 out committing yourself in any way." 
 
 The result of the conversation, thus began, was satisfactory ; 
 and, whether Paulina really felt an interest or not in Campbell, 
 she determined to adopt a course less calculated to provoke his 
 irritable nature into excess and violence. The consequence of 
 
CARTEL. 287 
 
 this interposition was made apparent to Mrs. Brewton within the 
 ^^next half hour, when Major Stock approached her, with no little 
 ill humor, and poiating to Campbell and Paulina, engaged in 
 the mazes of the dance, said — 
 
 " I owe it to you, Mrs. Brewton, that I am five guineas minus 
 to-night." 
 
 Both Stock and Mrs. Brewton remained long enough to dis- 
 cover that Campbell was restored to his usual good humor ; the 
 behavior of Paidina being such as to encourage him in the 
 highest hopes for the future. He had won his first bet ; that 
 was gmmblingly acknowledged by Stock. 
 
 " But don't deceive yourself," said the latter. " You owe this 
 only to the good nature of the girl. She saw that you were in 
 a devil of a sulk, and knowing what a mad beast you are when 
 in an iU humor, she was afraid that you'd be venting your fury 
 upon her new favorite. Mrs. Brewton did this for you. I over- 
 heard her. But I shall have your trotter for all that. If ever 
 woman was taken with a fellow, she is with Harley." 
 
 " Do you think I fear him ?" cried Campbell, exultingly. 
 " I'll have her in spite of all the Harleys in creation. Will you 
 go another fifty guineas on it ?" 
 
 " No," was the reply. " I don't know where you'd find the 
 money. The horse will be loss enough for you at present — and 
 the disappointment." 
 
 With a great oath, Campbell broke away to escort Paulina to 
 her carriage. He returned, after a few moments, in increased 
 spirits, and in good humor with all the world — being particularly 
 civil to Harley himself, whom he found conversing with Stock 
 and others over the decanters. Harley was quiet, dignified, and 
 reserved, in his deportment. It was observed that he evaded a 
 good-humored remark made him by Campbell, contriving to 
 answer somebody else at the moment. 
 
 " You design no quarrel with this man, Harley ?" said Stock 
 to Campbell, as they left the house together. 
 
 " No. Why should I V was the response. " The fellow was 
 right enough ; and if anybody had cause of offence he was the 
 person. I threatened all the world, and looked into his face 
 while I did so." 
 
288 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 It was while Stock was busy over a late breakfast, the next_^ 
 morning, that mad Archy bounced in upon him. 
 
 " Look at that !" said he, throwing down a bUlet. 
 
 "Eh! by the powers!" exclaimed Stock, reading the billet. 
 " This is bringing the mill to the grist !" 
 
 It was a cartel from Harley. The tables were turned. 
 
 "Prompt and cool, eh?" said Campbell. "Who'd have 
 thought it ? The fellow has blood, that's certain." 
 
 " By Jove, yes ! A positive demand ; no sneaking invitation 
 to the pacific. Well, what have you done ?" 
 
 " Eeferred his friend to you. Major Ponsonbly acts for him." 
 
 " Then it is business. Well, what will you have ?" 
 
 " The small-sword, and as soon as you please ; but not within 
 the next three days." 
 
 " How ! It will get abroad. Why not this afternoon or to- 
 morrow % The sooner the better !" 
 
 " All true ; but I require two days, at least, for my marriage." 
 
 " Pshaw ! are yoi^ so absurd as to dream of that?" 
 
 " Absurd ! Do you suppose I mean to lose my trotter; or to 
 forego your guineas ? No ! no, Stock ! I shall have my girl 
 and your gold, or hold me a spooney. After that shall Mr. 
 Harley have his desires, not before." 
 
 " He will find his patience fail in waiting, if you hope for 
 Paulina Phelps before you fight." 
 
 " Never you fear ! Make your arrangements ; but not to 
 take effect before Saturday. I insist only on the smaU-sword. 
 Make the arrangements accordingly — place and time, at his 
 pleasure, or yours." 
 
 " Very good ! You are only a shade madder than I thought 
 you. Do you go to Mrs. Ingliss's to-night ?" 
 
 " Where else % I dance with Paulina in the first quadrille." 
 
 " And her consent to this has led you to assume all the rest I 
 • What a vain dizzard you are !" 
 
 " Look you. Stock, get your guineas out of the pay-chest. I 
 shall need them all in two days more. The money is mine, I 
 tell you." 
 
 " Speak out honestly ; has she consented to the marriage \" 
 "No; but /have!" 
 
iKHcr 
 
 CARTEL. 289 
 
 " Pshaw ! Get you gone, and see Francisco at the guard- 
 You may need a little exercise with the weapon." 
 ot a bit of it. I shall touch no sword, and think of no 
 fight, until I am a married man." 
 
 " Hark ! there's a rap. No doubt our customer. -Begone !" 
 
 A servant entered at this moment, and announced " Major 
 Ponsonby." 
 
 " He's prompt. That's handsome !" said Campbell. " Good 
 by, Stock, and see that you get the guineas." 
 
 Campbell and Ponsonby passed each other at the entrance 
 with a bow and a smile ; and the former had scarcely rounded 
 the next square, before the two seconds had arranged the meet- 
 ing for the ensuing Saturday, at five in the afternoon, swords 
 the weapons, the place a well-known grove, just without the 
 lines, on the banks of Cooper river. 
 
 13 
 
290 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 BABRY, AS A SCULPTOR. 
 
 That night both the principals were to be seen at the party 
 of Mrs. Ingliss, as cool and happy as if their immunities of life 
 were insured in the book of Fate for the next hundred years. 
 It was observed that they treated each other with especial good 
 humor and courtesy. But Harley bit his lip when he beheld 
 his rival leading out the fair PaiJina the first into the ring ; and 
 his vexation was not a whit lessened to perceive the smiling 
 grace with which the damsel welcomed the attentions of her 
 gallant. Mad Archy could not forbear, in the exultation of his 
 spirit, casting a mischievous glance of triumph at his disappointed 
 enemy. Harley saw and understood the meaning of the glance, 
 and he resolved to be as merciless in the duel as his rival was 
 in the dance. He soon sought his present consolations in 
 another quarter of the apartment, and being as cool and cour- 
 teous as brave — affecting, indeed, something of the preux cheva- 
 lier — he very quickly joined in the measured mazes of the 
 whirling parties, coupled with a partner whose bright eyes kept 
 his own too busy to suffer him to see the happiness which he 
 envied in his neighbors. 
 
 The scene of festivity on this occasion, the dwelling of Mrs. 
 Ingliss, is yet conspicuous, a fine, airy mansion, scarcely looking 
 so antique as lofty, in Queen street, directly opposite Friend, in 
 the venerable city of Charleston.* It was Uluminated for the 
 occasion from top to bottom. The region west and north of it 
 held but few houses, and an ample garden, in both these quarters, 
 ■ was richly lighted up also, cressets and lamps being sprinkled 
 * Now in the possession of Mr. William Enston. 
 
BARRY, AS A SCULPTOR. 291 
 
 fluite freely among the shmbs and orange-trees. Beyond this 
 Jllpilen, on the south, the view was almost unbroken to the river; 
 a smooth esplanade spreading down to the green skirts of salt 
 marsh which bordered the Ashley on the east. The whole 
 scene was one of great beauty, and the soft airs from the south- 
 west played deliciously among the chambers, in grateful unison 
 with the moonlight and fragrance which surrounded them. The 
 company was not in th^ mood to suffer these luxuries to escape 
 them. They gave themselves up to unreserved enjoyment, or 
 at least seemed to do so ; the secret care at the hearts of many 
 being hushed into repose, or disguised beneath that social mask 
 which so frequently shelters the wounds of sensibiUty and the 
 volcanoes of passion. The lower apartments and the piazza were 
 yielded up to the dancers. The graver persons of the party 
 were grouped here and there among them, as spectators, or 
 congregated in the upper rooms. Some dispersed themselves 
 about the garden, and love and sentiment, and mere humor and 
 politics, found each some fitting place or subject for exercise. 
 
 Leaving the gay groups below, let us ascend to the front or 
 southern apartment in the second story. Here we find Mrs. 
 Ingliss with her more ancient guests. With these are Mrs. 
 Singleton and Katharine Walton, both quietly seated, the latter 
 with an admiring circle, small, but dutiful, in close attendance. 
 Here was to be seen Colonel Cruden, as her guardian, dignified 
 and complacent. Balfour, to the surprise of all, failed to make 
 his appearance. Here, too, at intervals in the dancing. Major 
 Barry, was most obsequious in his service ; and passing from 
 chamber to chamber, the gay groups loitered with that restless 
 feeling, a pleasant sort of discontent, which, perhaps, at places 
 of this sort, furnishes the best stimulus topleasure and excite- 
 ment. We shall certainly not seek to detain the reader with 
 such general descriptions as he may readily imagine for himself, 
 but shall detach, for his benefit, from the events of the evening, 
 such as bear more or less directly upon the progress of our his- 
 tory. 
 
 We have glanced at Major Barry among the guests. It must 
 not be forgotten that the house of Mrs. Ingliss was his place of 
 lodging. In the distribution of abodes for the British officers, 
 
292 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 after the conquest of the city, he had heen hilleted npon her. 
 This lady, as we h^ve seen, was a good patriot ; hut she wa^ 
 treated civilly hy Barry, and his harmless vanity, and almost 
 unv.arying good humor, inclined her in his fa;vor. She rather 
 liked him than otherwise, though she never spared her censure- 
 of his conduct whenever it deserved rehuke. 
 
 It happened, at one of these pauses of the dance this evening, 
 that Barry drew nigh to the group about Mrs. IngUss, with 
 whom we found Mrs. Singleton ,and Katharine Walton. He was 
 then officiating as one of the numerous cortege of the fashiona- 
 ble widow Bivington. Hither, also, drew nigh our other fa- 
 mous widow, Mrs. Brewton. Close behind her followed Captain 
 M'Mahon, Barry's shadow, who was, or affected to be, very earn- 
 est in supplicating Mrs. Brewton for some favor or some act of 
 forbearance. But she was obdurate, and broke into the circle 
 of which Barry, though quite petite of person, was the somewhat 
 conspicuous .obj ect. 
 
 " Major Barry," observed Mrs. Brewton, "you must positively 
 cut Captain M'Mahon." 
 
 "Fie ! Mrs. Brewton !" implored M'Mahon. 
 
 "Why?" was Barry's inquiry. 
 
 " He is no friend of yours." 
 
 " I no friend of Major Barry ! I am the only friend he has 
 in the world." 
 
 " Heaven help him, then ! The sooner he hangs himself the 
 better. But I speak the trath. He has proved it to me most 
 conclusively." 
 
 "And how, Mrs. Brewton?" was the inquiry of Bany, begin- 
 ning to be quite curious, 
 
 " In striving to hide your light under his bushel." 
 
 "In plain terms," said Major Stock, "standing with his big 
 head between you and the canijle." 
 
 " Something worse than that," responded the widow. " We 
 all know that Major Barry is both wit and poet. He is continu- 
 ally doing something very brilliant and grateful to Apollo. A 
 true friend would be anxious that the world should be put in 
 possession of these good things ; yet here is Captain M'Mahon 
 Studiously suppressing them — " 
 
BARET, AS A SCULPTOR, 293 
 
 "WhicTi means," said Stock, "showing them to everybody 
 kinder an injunction of secrecy." 
 
 " Precisely. Now this is treachery to one's friend and treach- 
 ery to the public." 
 
 " To be sure," said Stock ; " particularly as the friend knows 
 all about it, and the world don't care a button to know." 
 
 "Oh, what a malignant!" cried Mrs. Eivington. 
 
 Mrs. Brewton continued — 
 
 " You are mistaken quite. Major Stock. The world Aoe's care 
 to know. At all events, it should be protected from painful sur- 
 prises. Now, if Major Barry's friend would honestly publish his 
 good things in the ' Royal Gazette,' I could read them or not, at 
 tnr^ pleasure ; but when his friend makes me a sort of confidant, 
 and forces upon me a secret, there is a double injury done to me 
 and to the public. The possession of a secret,, to a woman, is a 
 sort of temptation to sin ; and I will not be forced to keep that 
 of Captain M'Mahon or his friend, Major Barry. Here, now, is 
 a new epigram of the major's," holding up a paper. 
 
 " Read it ! — read itl" was the cry from a dozen voices. 
 
 " Oh, don't !" appealed the author, in feeble tones. 
 
 " Oh, dorft !" echoed M'Mahon, in tones quite as feeble. 
 
 " It appears," continued the widow, " that Major Barry has 
 been honored with the gift of a pair of slippers, wrought by the 
 fair hands of but that is a lady's secret, and must not be re- 
 vealed by one of her sex. His acknowledgment for this gift is 
 contained in the following very felicitous verses." 
 
 " Buzz ! buzz ! .buzz !" went round the circle, Barry and 
 M'Mahon both striving, but very inadequately, to increase the 
 confusion. 
 
 " Oh, I won't read till we have perfect silence," said Mrs. 
 Brewton. 
 
 And, with the words, our two Arcadians were the first to stop. 
 With clear tones, and mock heroic manner, she then read the 
 following— ^epigram, we suppose, it must be called: — 
 
 "To Miss Phebe , in compliment for a pair of slippers, wronght 
 
 by her own bauds : — 
 
 "Woman, of old, with wondrous art. 
 Was still content to snare the heart; 
 
294 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 But now her more ambitious goal 
 
 Is conquest o'er the very soul [sole?)- 
 
 No more, with understanding sure, 
 
 Man Tvalks the earth he ruled of yore; 
 
 On humbler /oo(i«^ now be stands, — 
 
 'iL\s footsteps taken through her hands. 
 
 His sole (soul ?) enmeshed, her happy snares 
 
 At least protect from toils and tears {tares I) ' 
 
 Nor all forgot her ancient art. 
 
 Still through the soul o'eroomes the heart." 
 
 " Is tiat all 1" demanded Stocky as the lady paused. 
 
 "All!" 
 
 " Certainly that mountain suffered grievously from that 
 mouse!" cried Stock. "Positively, there should be some en- 
 actment, some heavy penalty against this cruel repetition of 
 ancient puns. I am against you, Mrs. Brewton. If you can 
 really satisfy me that M'Mahon honestly desired to keep secret 
 these verses when he communicated them, then shall I aver that 
 he was a better friend to Major Barry than Barry himself." 
 
 " Oh hush !" cried Mrs. Eivington. " You are too barbarous 
 for a critic, Major Stock." 
 
 " Grant -you, ma'am ; but not too much so for a friend." 
 
 " Cynic ! — but here come the waiters. "We have need of cor- 
 dials and comfits to take the bitter from our mouths." 
 
 And, with these words from Mrs. Rivington, the assault tem- 
 porarily ceased upon Barry. The circle opened to receive the 
 servants, bearing splendid and massive silver trays and salvers 
 containing refreshments. These consisted of jams and jellies, 
 pines, bananas, and other "West India fruits, cordials and lemon- 
 ade ; and sundiy more potent beverages for the stronger heads 
 of the military. It would surprise a modern assembly, in the 
 same region, to behold, in the centre of such a service, an im- 
 mense bowl of punch, the chief ingredients of which were old 
 Jamaica mm and cogniac, of nearly equal virtue. 
 
 "While the gentlemen served the ladies, without finally forget- 
 ting themselves, the eyes of the company were directed, by 
 some remark of Mrs. Rivington, to a good-looking young negro 
 boy of sixteen, in the livery of Barry — a blue ground, with 
 scarlet facings. 
 
BAERY, AS A SCULPTOR. 295 
 
 " By the way," said the fashionable widow, quite abruptly, 
 pi* where did you pick up that clever boy, Major Barry 1" 
 
 The question was so sudden, and Barry's consciousness at the 
 moment, so quick, that he answered confusedly — 
 
 "Me, Mrs.Rivington?— that boy— where did I get that boy? 
 Why, I made him."* 
 
 A solemn hush succeeded this strangely equivocal answer. 
 The elderly ladies looked grave, and the younger vacant. A 
 boisterous laugh from Stock added to the confusion. 
 
 "A better piece of work, by all odds, than the epigram. I 
 should greatly thank you to make me a hundred or two of the 
 same animal, out of the same sort of ebony." 
 
 Barry had, by this time, recovered himself. The little wit 
 found it necessary to put a bold face on the matter, and to exer- 
 cise his ingenuity for his escape from his blunder. 
 
 " And there would be no great difficulty in the matter if you 
 have the necessary amount of faith. Faith is the great essen- 
 tial. The fact is that, some time ago, happening to be in the 
 neighborhood of Monk's Corner, I thirsted for a draught of cool 
 water from a neighboring brooklSl. But I did not wish to wet 
 my feet in getting at it, so I looked about me ; and just before 
 me noted a tract of the bog of the most ivory smoothness and as 
 black as jet. 'Now,' said I, 'will I see what faith will perform.' 
 I scooped up some of the earth, which was soft and pliant. I 
 moulded it into the form and features of a handsome boy. I then 
 devoutly concentrated my will upon it, and I said — repeating 
 the abracadabra, and other potent formula of ancient magic — 
 ' Rise up, Csesario !' and thereupon he rose, a good-looking lad 
 enough, as you see him now, and quite creditable to me as a 
 sculptor." 
 
 "A round about way," said Mrs. InglissHo Mrs. Singleton, in 
 tones almost audible to the circle, " of telling us he stole him 
 somewhere near Monk's Comer." 
 
 "There's no end to Barry's sorceries. Captain M'Mahon, 
 your friend needs a new title." 
 
 *Tliia answer was really given by Barry. The scenes of this sEory, 
 which occur in Charleston, were mostly of real occurrence, gs the parties 
 were mostly real and well-known persons. if; 
 
296 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 "All! What, major?" 
 
 " Henceforth let him be known as the Ethiopian Prometheus." 
 
 The name stuck to the major for a long time afterward — cer- 
 tainly as long as the negro did. 
 
 A crash of plates and glasses interrupted the scene, and fur- 
 nished an excuse to Barry for leaving the circle. His newly- 
 created servant, Csesario, not being bred to his vocation, had 
 allowed the heavy silver tray to slip from his grasp, emptying 
 the entire contents into the lap of the excellent Mrs. Smith, who, 
 it was thought, had caused the accident by bearing with too 
 much stress — under a mistake as to the character of its con- 
 tents, of course — upon the punch bowl. There was great 
 clamor, in the confusion of which, Katharine Walton, taking 
 Ella Monckton by the arm, escaped into the garden. Let us 
 leave them for a season, while looking after certain other inter- 
 esting parties to our story. 
 
BRIGHT AND DAEK. 297 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXII, 
 
 BRIGHT AND DARK. 
 
 We left mad Archy Campbell in the fiill whirl of a most de- 
 lirious and grateful excitement. Whether it was that Paulina 
 Phelps really gave him a preference in her affections, or was 
 afraid of giving provocation to his anger, it would not be easy to 
 determine. Certain it is that she treated him with all the con- 
 siderate solicitude of one who claimed a large portion of her fa- 
 vor. And, to do him justice, he now seemed properly careful to 
 deserve it. His behavior was unwontedly gentle, modest, and 
 devoted. He studiously avoided the language and manner of 
 passion and excess. The coarse phraseology in which he was 
 too mrich disposed, ordinarily, to indulge, was carefully made to 
 give way to a dialect better fashioned to persuade the senti- 
 mental nature ; and it really seemed as if the effort to appear 
 more amiable had taught the lips of mad Archy an unusual elo- 
 quence. He was evidently laboring at an object — evidently to us. 
 
 It was doubtful if the fair Paulina beheld any other art in her 
 gallant than that which should properly distinguish every lovQr. 
 Prom the dance, he beguiled her to the garden, and she was 
 pleased to be so beguiled. She forgot the more sedate attrac- 
 tions of the new-comer. Captain Harley, and, sitting with Archy 
 , Campbell in the subdued moonlight, which fell in softest drop- 
 lets through the leaves and branches of the sheltering orange, 
 the natural language of the occasion was of flowers, and hearts, 
 and sentiments, all of the brightest and sweetest character. Af- 
 ter much harmonious conversation, which seemed like musing 
 and revery riather than discourse, Archy led his companion 
 down the slope of the garden to a spot where the umbrage was 
 
 13* 
 
298 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 less close and massive. The green plain stretched away to the 
 river, the hnes which bordered the green marsh not coijcealing 
 the bright and glittering mirror of the wave from the spot on 
 which they stood. Beyond were the dense groves of St. An- 
 drews, the great pines mingling with brooding oaks, and loom- 
 ing out, grandly solitary, in the embracing moonlight. 
 
 " Oh, how delicious is the picture !" exclaimed Paulina. " One 
 feels anxious to escape to it, and be at peace for ever. I detest 
 the. crowd, this perpetual hum of tedious voices, that speak 
 nothing to the heart, and leave us perpetually wearied even of 
 our pleasures. Give me loneliness rather — give me the sad, 
 sweet woods of autumn — the ground strewn with brown leaves, 
 and the winds sighing gladly over their perishing beauties." 
 
 " And now is the time to see the woods in the very perfection 
 ef their beauty. I drove out the other day to Goose Creek 
 churchy and I was charmed into forgetfulness at every step. 
 Suppose you let me drive you out to-morrow. I have the most 
 famous trotter in the world, and my gig is as easy as a cradle. 
 But you know them both. Take a seat with me to-morrow, and 
 you shall enjoy the luxury of the woods in their fullest sweet- 
 ness." 
 
 " I will !" was the prompt affirmative. " Do you know I've 
 never seen the church at Goose Creek t" 
 
 " Is it possible ? Oh, you will be delighted ! The region is 
 a perfect fairy land. But who comes here V 
 
 " Miss Walton, the new beauty, I think, with Ella Monckton. 
 Do you think her so very, veri/ beautiful 1" 
 
 " I might think her so if I did not find a much superior beauty 
 elsewhere," was the reply, the gallant Archy looking tenderly, 
 as he spoke, into the bright eyes of his companion. He offered 
 her his arm at this moment, and they turned upward once more 
 to the shelter of the garden and its protecting bowers ; neither 
 being in the mood, apparently, to receive any addition to their 
 company. The spirits of Mad Archy were greatly increased ; 
 but he kept a strong rein upon his impulses. We may add that 
 he never once, by any indiscretion of look or word, forfeited the 
 favor which he seemed to have gained that evening, and the 
 last words which Paulina spoke on his leaving her, as he es- 
 
BRIGHT AND DARK. 299 
 
 corted her home that night, reminded him of the engagement 
 for the morrow. 
 
 The eyes of Katharine Walton and her companion, like those 
 of Paulina and her lover, were turned longingly to the fair 
 stream before them, and the silent forests that spread away 
 beyond it. They, too, had yearnings which carried them away 
 into the solitude and from the crowd. , 
 
 " Oh, how these woods recall to me my home ! the sweet, safe 
 thickets, the venerable shade-trees under which I played when 
 a child, and where I first learned to weep and sorrow as a 
 woman. Would I were among them still ! I feel as if all my 
 days of pleasure — nay, of peace and hope — are gone from me, 
 now that I have left them. I feel, Ella, as if I were destined 
 to some great and crushing calamity. My thoughts by day are 
 full of presentiments, and by night my dreams are of evil 
 always. Would I were away, afar, safe from all these bewilder- 
 ing sights and sounds, which speak to me of danger and deceit 
 rather than of merriment or love !" 
 
 " And why is this ! Why is it that you, young, and so beau- 
 tiful, wealthy and so beloved" — 
 
 "Hush! hush!" 
 
 " Yes ; why should you be nnhappy V 
 
 " Ah, you see not ! You know not what I dread and what I 
 deplore." • 
 
 " Indeed, I know not. Before me the prospect appears very 
 bright. Yet a few days ago it was not so." 
 
 " It is because you hope. I fear I You look forward. It is 
 upon the past only that I cast my eyes with any satisfaction. 
 The future wears iTothing but doubts and clouds upon its face. 
 God forbid, Ella, that it should ever seem to you what it now 
 seems to me !" 
 
 " Ah, Katharine, but fm- you, mine would have been such a 
 prospect," 
 
 ' But for me ?" 
 
 Yes 1 But I dare not tell you now. I must reserve the 
 confession for another time, when I have more courage. You 
 little know how much I owe you." 
 
 Katharine expressed her surprise and curiosity ; but, though 
 
300 KATHAEIKTE WALTON. 
 
 tremtling to unfold her heart to her companion, Ella found hei- 
 self unable to approach more nearly the subject which made her 
 tremble. Thus musing together, and contrasting the bright and 
 cloudy in their several horizons, the two maidens continued their 
 walk until they were again shrouded among the groves of the 
 garden. Here they paused, and seated themselves in an arbor 
 sheltered by thick vines and the dense foliage of the lemon, the 
 orange, and the gardenia. While they sat, speaking occasion- 
 ally only, and then in such subdued accents as could reach no 
 other ears, voices were suddenly heard approaching them, and 
 entering an adjoining copse. 
 
 " It is Balfour," said Katharine, in sterner tones than was her 
 wont. " Let us go to the house." 
 
 " Stay !" replied Ella, in a whisper. '' We can not now move 
 without being detected." 
 
 Meanwhile, Balfour and Oruden entered the grove, only sepa- 
 rated from the two maidens by a clump of bushes of the garde- 
 nia and the rose. They seated themselves directly opposite, 
 and proceeded to converse as if upon a subject already fully 
 broached. Balfour, it may be said, had only just reached Mrs. 
 Ingliss's. He had been delayed by business. His manner was 
 still hurried, and his tones indicated some excitement. 
 
 " Well," said he, " of her we can speak hereafter. She shall 
 not always avoid me ! But what of your loving nephew 1 Have 
 you heard nothing recently of Major Proctor V 
 
 '■ Nothing. ■ What of him ?" 
 
 " Do you not know that he has disappeared V 
 
 " Disappeared ! , I have not seen him for a week. He 
 would take none of my counsel, so I let him take care of him- 
 self." 
 
 " That is right. You can neither serve nor save him." 
 
 " But what do you mean by disappeared V 
 
 " He has left the city suddenly. Gone to Dorchester, it ap- 
 pears, where we have the last traces of him." 
 
 " How do you know that he went to Dorchester V 
 
 " I sent his man, John, after him." 
 
 " What ! As a spy upon his master 1" 
 
 " How can you suppose it ] But, hearing that he went off 
 
BRIGHT AND DARK. 301 
 
 suddenly and strangely, I thought it best that the servant should 
 attend the master, and gave him permission to do so." 
 
 " Balfour, this was not right. You should give my nephew 
 fair play." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! It was only a measure of proper precaution. 
 •If I had been disposed to deny him fair play, he should have 
 been closely in ward, well secured in irons, until his trial." 
 
 " And why has not his trial taken place 1" ' 
 
 " For the very reason that I wished to give him fair play, and 
 waited for the arrival of new officers from New York .^-persons 
 who know nothing of the affair, and have no interest in the case 
 one way or the other." 
 
 " Well, and what do you hear of my nephew since he left the 
 city 1" 
 
 " That he went to Dorchester, and made inquiries of old 
 Humphries and Pryor in regard to the escape of Colonel Wal- 
 ton. It appears that he could get nothing satisfactory out of 
 either of them, and the moment he turned his hack they de- 
 nounced him to Vaughan." 
 
 " You hear all this from Vaughan, and Vaughan is his enemy." 
 
 " Pshaw, Cruden, men are their own enemies. They will do 
 well enough if they never have any worse than themselves. 
 Dismiss this notion from your mind. The result of all is this, 
 that Proctor left Dorchester the next day, and has not since 
 been heard of." 
 
 ."Indeed!" 
 
 " Even so ! And this makes the case look worse than ever. 
 My purpose was to put him on trial as soon as he returned to 
 the city. The charges were all prepared. He has probably 
 taken the only mode of escaping conviction." 
 
 " How ! What do you suspect %" 
 
 " That he has fled to the enemy!" 
 
 Katharine Walton felt her hand convulsively grasped in that 
 of Ella. 
 
 '' Impossible ! I will never believe it !" exclaimed Cruden. 
 
 " I am afraid you will find it true. The strangest part of the 
 affair is that his servant John is also missing." 
 
 " Well, should that surprise you V retorted Cruden, with a 
 
302 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 sneer. " Is it anything strange that so faithful a servant should 
 cling to the fortunes of his master?" 
 
 " Gome, come, Cruden, that won't do. We know each other 
 too well for sneers of this sort. There is no denying that John 
 was in my pay, and I feel sure that we should have had his 
 report before this but for the fact that he has been made away 
 with. He has, perhaps, attempted to arrest his master in his 
 fligh't, and has been shot down for his pains." 
 
 " Monstrous ! What do you take John Proctor to be 1" 
 
 " A traitor to his king and country, and a fugitive in the camp 
 of Marion or Sumter ! Such is the appearance of the case. 
 Despairing of defence, he' has fled, and has probably put to 
 death my emissary." 
 
 " And rightly enough. The dog deserved a dog's death. 
 
 " Very like ; yet we must not say this." 
 
 " What is to be done V 
 
 " Nothing ! Let him go. You will believe me, Cruden, when 
 I say that I do not desire to bring i/our nephew to disgrace ; 
 still less to see him shot as a traitor. I prefer that he should 
 fly. He saves both of us some shame and trouble. There is 
 only one thing to be said. We must see that Katharine Wal- 
 ton does nbt escape also. She may or may not like him. I 
 can not yet fathom t/iat. But he likes 7ier; and both together 
 in the rebel camp, a mutual liking might not be so diflicult, the 
 fellow being good-looking enough, and — not unlike his uncle. 
 
 The smile which accompanied this sentence might have been 
 a sneer. Balfour continued — 
 
 " To render this impossible, I must thrive in my own wooing, 
 and you must give me more help than you have done^ I have 
 some plans by which to secure opportunities, of which you shall 
 know hereafter. Enough for the present. Let us now go to 
 .the house. I must play the gallant, and do the amiable to her, 
 with all the grace and spirit I can muster." 
 
 In silence sat the maidens till the two had walked away. 
 Both of them had heard much to deepen and occasion anxiety. 
 
 " Do you wonder now," said Katharine, " that my future 
 should seem so gloomy to my eyes ]" 
 
BRIGHT AND DARK. 303 
 
 " No ! no !" replied the other ; " and my star has also grown 
 dim all of a sudden." 
 
 They returned to the dwelling, but only to endure two hours 
 of mortal weariness, surrounded by music and revelry which in- 
 spired loathing only, and pressed with the attentions of those 
 whom they equally dreaded and despised. 
 
304 ' KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIII. 
 
 IN THE TOILS. 
 
 St. Michael's was just pealing the eleventh hour, when Ma- 
 jor Stock opened his eyes listlessly, and, after a few preliminary 
 yawns of more than ordinary duration, rang for his servant. 
 The fellow had been waiting in the passage, and appeared al- 
 most instantly. 
 
 " Who has been here, Paul, this morning ]" 
 
 " Nobody, sir." 
 
 " Have you seen Archy Campbell 1" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, sir ; he passed in his chair more than an hour ago, 
 i driving a lady, and going off at full speed. He looked up at 
 the windows, sir, but did not stop, and went by without a word." 
 
 " A lady ! Hum ! Who could it be 1 — not that girl, surely ; 
 — not Paulina ! 
 
 This was said musingly, but the servant answered it ; and no- 
 wise to the satisfaction of his master. 
 
 " It was Miss Phelps, sir, I'm thinking." 
 
 " Well, sir, and what has your thinking to do with it ; and 
 who asked you to do any thinking ; and what if it were Miss 
 Phelps, sir 1 Do you suppose that riding out together make.s 
 them man and wife 1" 
 
 " Oh ! no, sir ; not by no means, sir ; I beg pardon, sir ; I 
 did'nt mean to be thinking, sir ; but it did look, sir, as if they 
 was pretty thick together." 
 
 " "Thick ! do you say ! Certainly, the plot seems to thicken ! 
 Can she be such a fool ! Can it be that Fortune takes such 
 pains to spoil such a bruin as Archy Campbell 1 I must see in- 
 to it ! I saw but little of them last night. I must — ah! 
 
IN THE TOILS. * 305 
 
 (yawns) Paul, get me tte hot water ! That I should have risk- 
 ed my guineas upon the impossibility of a conjunction between 
 a crack-brain and a chit !" 
 
 Major Stock was unusually rapid in making his toilet that 
 morning. He scarcely gave himself time to discuss his toast 
 and chocolate, when he departed on his rounds, anxious, by in- 
 quiries in the proper quarters, to relieve himself of his doubts 
 with regard to the safety of his guineas. For the present, we 
 must keep him and the reader equally in suspense. He learned 
 but little that was satisfactory in relation to the matter, and the 
 hour of one found him at the widow Eivington's, still xirging his 
 inquiries. He ascertained that Miss Phelps had, ridden out of 
 town with her suitor, but such drives were frequent enough, and 
 no person seemed to attach any ulterior importance to the af- 
 fair. Leaving him still in a state of much disquiet, and still at 
 the fashionable widow's, let us take the road also. 
 
 Mad Archy Campbell kept quite a showy establishment, and 
 his trotter, as he boasted, could show a clean' pair of hfeels to 
 any four-leggedbeastin Charleston. Paulina Phelps was quite 
 as delighted to see him whirl like lightning over the sandy tracks, 
 between the city and the Four-Mile Post, as was any of the 
 spectators. Just beyond~ this point, the pair came up with Gen- 
 eral Williamson, . jogging slowly, on horseback, in the same di- 
 rection. The general' was accompanied, or rather followed, by 
 a couple of dragoons, assigned hini by Balfour, as much, per- 
 haps, by way of guaranty for his' return to the city, as a guard 
 of honor. 
 
 " Clear the track, general ;" was .the cry of Mad Archy, as, 
 with a wild flourish of the whip, he scored the flanks of his trot- 
 ter, and passed through the opening files of the horsemen. The 
 next moment he had left the latter far behind him. Gayly he 
 sped from sight, leaving to the more soberly-paced Willamson to 
 piroceed at leisure to the Quarter House. Hither he came soon 
 after, and, without looking at his watch, to see that it was legit- 
 imately twelve o'clock, he ordered a bowl of milk punch, and 
 retired to a cljamber. 
 
 The day was quite warm, and the general threw ofi" his coat, 
 and vest, his cravat, and sword, boots, and spurs, and settled 
 
806 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 down at length upon his couch, having prepared himself duly 
 for this attitude, by quaffing, at a single draught, one half at 
 least of the foaming noggin which he had ordered. The residue 
 was placed beside the bed, upon a small table, upon which lay 
 his watch, sword, and cravat. 
 
 Meanwhile, his escort of dragoons were not unmindful of what 
 was due to the comforts of the subordinate. Their horses were 
 fastened in front of the dwelling, under the shelter of some Chi- 
 na trees, and, by turns, the riders penetrated to the hospitable 
 bar-room, satisfied with draughts of a liquor which, if less ele- 
 gant and fashionable than milk-punch, was quite as potent. 
 They strolled about the grounds, paraded before the house, 
 lounged to and fro between their horses and the woods, and, fi- 
 nally, threw themselves lazily at length upon the benches which 
 graced the piazza of the rude hotel, with a sense of luxury 
 quite as lively as that of their superior. 
 
 Thus disposed, our vigilant dragoons saw but little of the 
 world around them. It was not long before they were seized 
 with a certain degree of drowsiness, to which the potent influ- 
 ence of the Jamaica which they had taken, the warmth of the 
 day, and the slumberous waving of the foliage, shading the 
 couches which they occupied, equally contributed to incline 
 them. They did not know, or suspect, that, a few hundred 
 yards below, and as many above, the Quarter House, there 
 might be seen, stealing from* tree to tree, and covering the road, 
 as well from the city, as from' Dorchester, certain wild-looking 
 foresters, well armed wil^h rifle and pistol, who seemed to be 
 singularly alert, and who were gradually contracting themselves 
 about the point which the two occupied so pleasantly. As little 
 did they fancy that, closely harbored within the woods, not 
 half a mile away, were fifty stout cavalry steeds, bitted and 
 bridled, and awaiting to bear away, in fleet career, as many 
 well-armed riders. 
 
 In fact, one of our dragoons was wrapt in a slumber quite as 
 profound as ever hushed the cares of an infant. The other was 
 not so fortunate, but was just in that condition, betwixt sleeping 
 and waking, which leaves the sense doubtful of what disturbs it 
 —which feels but can not fix the disturbance — and mingles tlie 
 
IN THE TOILS. 30T 
 
 real, which assails the external consciousness, with the dream- 
 ing method which employs it. A trampling of ihe horses at 
 the tree, and the whinnying of one of them — an old dragoon 
 charger, which took as much heed of all causes of disquiet as 
 ever did his rider — at length roused up the half drowsy soldier. 
 
 He raised himself upon his elhow suddenly, and caught 
 glimpses of a human figure, darting into the shadows of the 
 wood opposite. This roused him, and, without waking his com- 
 panion, he left the piazza and went out to his horse, which, with 
 ears erect, and eyes kepnly fixed upon the thicket in which the 
 Strang^ had disappeared, was giving our dragoon as full a warn- 
 ing of danger as was possible to his vocabulary. Half dubious 
 that mischief might be hi:ewing, yet not willing to show unne- 
 cessary alarm, the soldier was meditating a call to his comrade, 
 when his movements were decided by the sudden appearance of 
 full half a dozen persons from the woods below, accoutred in 
 the well-known blue hunting-shirts of the Carolina rangers. To 
 disengage the bridle of his horse from the swinging limb to 
 which it was fastened, to leap upon the anitoal, to draw the pis- 
 tol from his holster and discharge it in the faces of the enemy, 
 were all movements of a single moment, and in obedience to a 
 single impulse. To shout to his comrade, and then clap spurs 
 to his steed in flight, was the work of another instant. He saw 
 that there was no chance of conflict ; that he was about to be 
 overwhelmed by numbers, and that his escape to the city was 
 cut off. 
 
 He wheeled about, thinking of Dorchester ; but, to his con- 
 sternation, a group of rangers were approaching him rapidly 
 from this quarter also. To dart for the Goose Creek road was 
 the only remaining resource, and no time was allowed him for 
 hesitation. Throwing to the ground the pistol which he had 
 discharged, he drew the other, and, pointing it backward as he 
 fled, gave free reins to his horse, and applied the spur without 
 commiseration. 
 
 He was not instantly pursixed ; no horses of the enemy were 
 visible ; and, to his surprise, though he saw many rifles among 
 his assailants, not one was discharged. There was a reason for 
 this forbearance, which we may conjecture. He escaped, in the 
 
308 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 direction taken some two hours before by Mad Archy Campbell 
 and the fair Paulina Phelps. But he had not yet gone from 
 sight before he saw his comrade in the hands of the rangers. 
 The poor fellow, aroused by the shot of his associate, only 
 opened his eyes to see the butt of the huge horseman's pistol, 
 by which he was knocked down, descending wildly in the heavy 
 hands of a man looking as savage as an Indian, and as well 
 bearded as a Cossack. How had Mad Archy been suffered to 
 escape, was the reflection of our fugitive dragoon 1 We may 
 be permitted to say that it had been just as easy to have arrest- 
 ed the on6 party as the other. But the ambush had befen spe- 
 cially ordered to suffer the lover and the lady to pass. 
 
 " He is not our man !" said one who wore the manner of a 
 leader. " We must make no unnecessary alarm, lest we lose 
 the object we aim at. Besides, this oiEcer is protected by the 
 lady. Let them go. If they stop at the ' Quarter,' we shall 
 probably have to seize them, if only to make all things sure ; 
 and, if they go beyond, we are equally satisfied ; they will be 
 out of our way." 
 
 It was for these reasons that Mad Archy and his companion 
 went by with impunity. Let us see to other parties. 
 
 We left General Williamson " taking his ease at his inn." 
 But ease and repose on this occasion, an(J with him, did not im- 
 ply sleep. His milk-punch had not produced oblivion. He was 
 deep in thought and expectation. Events had been ripening 
 with him for some time past. He had been in communication 
 with Singleton, and now expected to meet him, still in the char- 
 acter of Furness. He had much to communicate, whiph was of 
 importance to the partisans, and to the future objects of the con- 
 tinental army of the South ; and his anxieties were in due de- 
 gree with the sense of the weight of that intelligence which he 
 brought, and which, in war, derives its value chiefly from the 
 adaptation of the time to the tidings. 
 
 He was destined to be disappointed. Singleton's employ- 
 ments had delayed him in his purpose of meeting Williamson. 
 It was a double misfortune to the latter that he was fated to 
 meet with another of the partisans, who had no sort of suspicion 
 of the new role which the general had assumed. 
 
m THE TOILS. 309 
 
 It was while Williamson was musing the condition of his own 
 and the public affairs, almost as deeply abstracted from the 
 world about him, in consec[uence of the pressure of his thoughts, 
 as if he had been asleep, that he was slightly conscious of some 
 disturbances without ; but he gave them little heed. Soon after 
 came a shot, the hurried treat of a horse, a struggle in the piazza, 
 a groan, and then the rush to the interior of a score of feet. He 
 immediately threw himself from the bed, and, in the same mo- 
 ment the door of the chamber was burst open, and the room 
 instantly filled with a dozen rangers. 
 
 Well did he remember the costume. He had led a thousand 
 such fellows on an Indian campaign. He had gained all of 
 reputation that he enjoyed, while in the confidence of this people. 
 He had deserted his trust, had failed in his faith, was now 
 odious in the eyes of those who lately followed, him with respect, 
 if not admiration, and his heart misgave him as he beheld their 
 swarthy faces, and dark eyes glaring upon him — arms in their 
 hands, and he alone and almost weaponless. He had seized his 
 sword as he leaped from the bed, and bore it, stretched nakedly 
 and threateningly, with point to the intruders. 
 
 " Put down your weapon !" said the stern voice of a noble- 
 looking gentleman. " It can be of no service. You are General 
 Williamson V 
 
 "1 am, sir!" 
 
 " You are my prisoner 1" was the stem response. 
 
 "Who are you] 
 
 " Ool. Walton, of the state line of South Carolina. Give me 
 youi^vord, sir !" 
 
 " Let me know first " 
 
 " It is enough, sir, that you know that we are here, in num- 
 bers, able to put you to death in a moment ; that your dragoons 
 are taken, and that you have no alternative ! What more would 
 you know ?" 
 
 " Do you not know whi/ I am here, Col. Walton ? Have you 
 seen Ool. Singleton? — have you heard nothing from him 1 — are 
 you not despatched to meet me here 1" 
 
 These questions were hurriedly put, and in husky accents. 
 If Ool. Walton indeed, knew nothing of Williamson's previous 
 
310 KATHARINE -WALTON. 
 
 conference with Singleton, the renegade was in a perilous case. 
 He was in the hands of men whom he had abandoned ; with the 
 danger of doom at the drumhead for his treachery. The answer 
 of "Walton was equally prompt and unpleasant. 
 
 " Sent to meet you, sir ! No ! And how should I know why 
 you are here — and what have you to do with Col. Singleton ? 
 Your questions are without significance in my ears, General 
 Williamson. It is enough that you are my prisoner. I have 
 planned this enterprise, solely, to take you prisoner. I had 
 heard of your frequent visits to this place, and knew not that 
 you had any deeper purpose m coming here than the enjoyment 
 of such pleasures, as, it appears, you have not forgotten, this 
 morning." 
 
 The finger of Walton pointed to the empty punch-bowl. The 
 face of WUliamson was sufiused. But his voice grew firmer. 
 
 " I will not yield, sir! I will perish first!" — and he thrust 
 his weapon full at Walton's breast. But the other was not un- 
 guarded. His own sword was instantly crossed in air with the 
 steel of the assailant ; with quick strokes the opposing blades 
 flashed above their heads, and finally lay together for a moment, 
 lapped in a close buckle, until that of Williamson flew to the 
 opposite quarter of the room. He was disarmed. He folded 
 this hands with dignity upon his breast, and looked steadily in 
 the face of the visiter, as if inviting the coup de grace. 
 
 " Secijre him !" was the brief, stern command of Walton ; and 
 his subordinates rushed in. The captive was fast fettered, and 
 conducted instantly to the opposite woods. He was moun^d on 
 a powerful steed, and escorted by two determined fellow? on 
 each hand. Walton then gave his orders : — 
 
 " And now, men, with all speed across the Ashley. If we 
 delay, these woods will soon be too hot for us ; not a moment is 
 to be lost." 
 
 "What is to be done with Major Proctor?" demanded 
 M'Kelvey. 
 
 " We must take hiin with us ! we dare not let him, off just yet. 
 He would reach Charleston in an hour and alarm the gamson. 
 Has the dragoon been pursued who made off?" 
 
 ' He has Brace and Kirby after him.' They will skirt the 
 
IN THE TOILS. 311 
 
 road till sunset, if they do not overtake the fellow, and at least 
 keep the officer and the lady from reaching toAvn before dark. 
 They have their orders." 
 
 " That wOl serve. We must push for the Edisto with all 
 despatch. Take the head of the command, M'Kelvey." 
 
 No sooner said than done. Williamson was immediately sent 
 forward under guard ; while Ool. Walton, bringing up the rear, 
 once more penetrated the thicket assigned to Proctor, and an- 
 nounced the necessity of keeping him in durance a' little longer. 
 The latter was too much relieved by finding himself once more 
 on horseback, to feel any great concern as to the route he was 
 pursuing. 
 
312 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 HOW MAD ARCHY CAMPBELL DROVE." 
 
 Never was heart of young damsel more free and buoyant 
 than that of Paulina Phelps, while speeding over the. deeply- 
 shaded roads of Goose Creek, borne in a vehicle so easy, and by 
 a trotter of such admirable speed and vigor. The day was a 
 fine one ; a little warm perhaps ; but the heat was scarcely felt 
 by our fair one, going at such a rate, a breeze playing around 
 her as she flew, and mad Archy Campbell in the best of all 
 possible humors. Never, in fact, did he so excellently reconcile 
 his riant mood with so much grace and amenity. There was a 
 reckless buoyancy in his words and manner, a playful humor, a 
 wild but not irreverent freedom in what he said, that had an 
 inexpressible charm for his thoughtless companion. She was, 
 as may be supposed, a creature of -extreme levity. She was 
 playful and capricious, and somewhat wilful. It was one of her 
 weaknesses to aim at being considered strong. Her ambition 
 was to exhibit a strength beyond that usually accorded to her 
 sex — a dangerous ambition always — which, perhaps, proves 
 nothing more certainly than the real weakness of the party. 
 But for this, she had never committed the indiscretion of taking 
 such a drive, with such a gallant, and without any other com- 
 panions. 
 
 It is possible that mad Archy culculated on these particulars; 
 but it is just as possible that, in what he thought and resolved 
 upon, his reference was rather to his own character than to that 
 of the lady. He was just the person to conclude according to 
 his own desires, without considering their propriety, or in what 
 degree they might be acceptable to other persons. To dare, 
 
HOW MAD AECHT CAMPBELL DROVE. 313 
 
 wliere most others would be inclined to doubt — to do, simply 
 because it was the opinion of others that the thing should not or 
 could not be done — to startle the sober moods of thought or 
 policy, with a splendid audacity — this was his delight, if not 
 his ambition. He had conceived one of these schemes for 
 achieving the impossible ; his mind had matured its purpose, 
 and, with a method, which always improved his madness, when 
 his design had taken the shape of a will, he had made all his 
 preparations. 
 
 This done, he was assured. He had no misgivings, either of 
 his own failure, or of the defeat of his purpose, and, thus as- 
 sured, there was nothing of moodiness in his words or manner. 
 His mind was not one to brood upon its objects, however grave 
 their character, or extreme the exigencies which they might 
 involve. His conspiracies never kept him wakeful. You would 
 suppose him never to entertain a single thought beyond the 
 moment. Gay as a bird in summer, he was garrulous in a ca- 
 pricious utterance of the most sportive and thoughtless fancies, 
 as if life had no object beyond the momentary flight or song. 
 Such a random, headlong couple never sped away together on 
 such a flight, and with so little seeming purpose, or with so little 
 regard to the judgments of the considerate and grave. 
 
 They were soon beyond the range of Izard's camp. Archy 
 Campbell had his remarks in passing. 
 
 '• Fine place for deer, that ! I have hunted there frequently, 
 and with success always. Went out last with old Stock, and 
 killed a couple of does myself. Five deer were killed among 
 the party. I roasted Stock that day, famously." 
 
 " Roasted him ! How, pray %" 
 
 " Stuck him, that is to say." 
 
 " I am no nearer your meaning yet." 
 
 " How ignorant you girls are ! But beauties are allowed to 
 be so. Roasting and sticking are the most sensible words in a 
 better's vocabulary. We bet on the first shot, which I got. I 
 stuc/c him for two giuneas there. Our next bet was on the first 
 bagging." 
 
 " Bagging ! And, pray, what's that ?" 
 
 " Pshaw ! I shall have to get you a sportsman's dictionary. 
 
 14 
 
314 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 To bag the game, is the proof that you have shot or captured it. 
 I bagged my deer first, and stv^k the old major there, also, to 
 the tune of three guineas more. He lost eveiy bet, and was 
 thus roasted, done down, as they say of roast beef when it is 
 done up." 
 
 " I declare you have the most mysterious mode of speaking. 
 "What now do you mean by done up ?" 
 
 " 'Pon my soul, you need teaching ! "Why, what should dcme 
 up mean but undone 1 The sportsman's language is the most 
 expressive in the world." 
 
 " It may be, when you can get the key to it. But it might 
 as well be Egyptian for me ! But, hold up ; whose charming 
 place is that on the right %" 
 
 " Charming 1 Pretty enough, but not absolutely charming in 
 my eyes, unless, indeed, you were the charmer at the window, 
 instead of that blowsabel you see there. That's one Daniel 
 Cannon's — one of the rebels of the city, who forgot" to count 
 the cost of his patriotism before he adopted the expensive habit. 
 That a man should adopt an unprofitable sentiment ! He has 
 paid for it ! Have you seen enough of the charming settlement ? 
 My trotter, you see, has no sympathy with you, and is anxious 
 to be off." 
 
 " Let him go. He is certainly a splendid creature." 
 
 " Is he not ! "What a skin he has ! Did you ever see a more 
 perfect purple bay in your life 1 It is like a velvet silk, only 
 richer ; and what legs !" — touching him slightly with the whip 
 over his flanks, and shaking out the reins — "now shall you see 
 him fly !" 
 
 " Nay, do not push him. The sand is heavy." 
 
 " He scorns sand ! He is of the genuine Arabian stock, to 
 whom sand is nature. How he speeds ! and you scarcely feel 
 the motion. What a pity to lose such an animal ; and yet — " 
 
 " "What ! "Why think of losing him ?" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Paulina ; to think that that heathen Turk, Stock, 
 should have set his eyes on the beast, that he should hanker 
 after such a creature, and really fancy that he was the man to 
 get him. I 'd sooner cut his throat, than he should have him ; 
 and yet — " 
 
HOW MAD AECHY CAilPBELL DROVE. 315 
 
 "Yet what?" ' 
 
 " We have a bet upon his perfonnances to-day." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes ! the trotter is staked against a purse of guineas ; fifty 
 yellow hammers against my purple bay! Which shall fly, 
 Pauline 1 The birds or the beast 1 Eh ! It would be a pity 
 to lose such a creature." 
 
 " I would not lose him for the world." ' 
 
 " What would you do to keep him 1" 
 
 " What would I noi do 1" answered the lady. 
 
 Mad Archy chuckled, and with a sly glance at his com- 
 panion — 
 
 " I must win the bet, of course !' 
 
 '' Surely ; if you can !" 
 
 " Ah ! there 's the rub ! If 1 can ! 1 must do my best for 
 it — leave no means untried for it — eh 1" 
 
 "Certainly not!" 
 
 " Leap, fly, overturn fences, break through farm-yards, laugh 
 at the laws, if necessary, the church 1—" 
 
 "All! all!" cried the gay damsel, with a merry laugh; 
 " anything rather than lose so beautiful and fine a horse. But 
 you have not told me what the bet is ? There is no secret 
 about it ?" 
 
 " Ah ! but there is ! — for the present at least ; but you will 
 be the first to know it, I assure you. I am resolved to win it, 
 and will ! If I had entertained any doubts before, your encour- 
 agement has settled them. But I may call upon you for assist- 
 ance. Indeed, to confess the truth, the bet is of such a nature, 
 that, without your help, I shall lose it. May I count upon you?" 
 
 " Oh ! to be sure ! But you rack me with curiosity. How 
 can you do so 1 Do you forget that I am a woman 1" 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! It is as a woman only that your assistance 
 will be valuable. But, rest in patience for a season. In truth, 
 the secret will be worth nothing to you at present. It is one of 
 those which can have no interest, but in the moment of its dis- 
 covery; and that discovery, I promise you, shall be first made 
 to you." 
 
 "And to-day?"' 
 
316 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Before tlie day is out ; nay, possibly, in the coui'se of a very 
 few tours. But here is Garden's. You know the doctor and 
 his place, ' Otranto ' ?" 
 
 " Yes ; shall we stop ?" 
 
 " By no means ! we should suffocate ! Don't you suffer, at 
 this distance, from the perfume of his favorite flowers — to which 
 his name is given — the Gardenia?" 
 
 " I see none of them." 
 
 " But you scent them 1" 
 
 " I can't say I do." 
 
 " It don't matter, we are safely past. Go it, Turcoman — go 
 it, Arab ! You know not (but you should know, ! most royal 
 beast) what a burden of beauty it is that you carry ! You know 
 not, oh ! bird-eyed deserter, that upon your legs depends the 
 happiness which you enjoy, in the possession of such a master ; 
 nay, the happiness which your master enjoys in the possession 
 of such a beauty. You shall help him to get more exquisite 
 joys, my sleek-skinned Arabian ! This day shall be marked 
 with a white stone in our calendar ! You shall feed on silver 
 oats hereafter ; you shall sleep in a stable of swan's down ; and 
 there shall be a page, night and morning, to sprinkle you with 
 rose-water, ere you come forth, as a fleet hippogriff, bearing the 
 lady of my love to pleasure." 
 
 Speaking this extravagance, which he concluded with a wild 
 whistle, our harem-scarem cavalier touched gracefully and lightly 
 the purple flanks, now slightly flecked with froth, of the high- 
 spirited animal ; who went off with increasing impulse at an 
 application which rather showed than enforced the desire of his 
 master. 
 
 " Why, you are quite poetical !" exclaimed Paulina. 
 
 " Should I be otherwise ? I have a champagne exhilarance 
 working in brain and bosom ! I feel that I have wings. I am 
 on my way — better mounted than ever was Mahomet, when he 
 rode Alborak, the mule — to something more certain to give me 
 happiness than any of his seven heavens ! And did you note 
 that my noble Arabian understood every word I said?" 
 
 "I can't say that I did!" 
 
 " Indeed ; where could you have ^een looking all the while 1 
 
HOW MAD ABCHY CAMPBELL DROVE. 317 
 
 Did you not see how he threw up his head ; how his ears were 
 erected ; with what an air he set down his feet, and steppeij. oiF 
 as if he knew there was nothing but air to receive him ? He 
 understood me, be sure, every syllable ; and that whistle which 
 I gave" — here he repeated it — "do you see what a glorious 
 hound he takes, as if with the view to leaving the shafts 
 behind him 1 But he shan't do that ! How we spin — how 
 we fly — even as the fairies do! Do you believe in fairies. 
 Paulina?" 
 
 " To be sure I do ! Not your masculine fairies, they are too 
 coarse a creature. Your Oberon is a sort of monster, for ex- 
 ample ; — but I have no doubt about Titania, and Loline, and 
 Nymphalin, and the rest of the tender sex. I would not give 
 up my faith in the female fairies for all the world." 
 
 " As if these could be tolerable, even to themselves, without 
 a just proportion of the other sex ! How we go ! That I 
 should give up such a horse as this ! It was a great rashness to 
 make such a bet ; but, with your encouragement, Paulina, may 
 I be utterly consumed in bitumen, if I lose him! You say I 
 shall not — and I will not. Paulina, you do'not know me." 
 
 "What do you mean] I know that you are Mad Archy 
 Campbell !— " 
 
 " Ah ! but not fou Archy Campbell ! You shall see ! You 
 know me ! Well, I suppose you do, in some respects. You 
 know me as your most devoted worshipper. That I take for 
 granted ; but you little know that I can set fire to the very 
 temple in which I worship ! By Jupiter Ammon, to employ 
 Balfour's most expressive oath, I am capable of a devilish sight 
 of things of which you have no conception !" 
 
 "You wish to scare me, do you? But you're mistaken. I 
 know enough of you to fear you nothing !" 
 
 " Ah ! Eh ! Do you say so ! Well, do you see that hog 
 trying to make his way into that cornfield ? a huge beast, such 
 as they would have hunted with dog, and cry, and bow-spear, 
 in the forest of Ardennes. You see how he rears himself 
 against the fence, absolutely bent to send it down by mere 
 force ? Now shall you see me put one of these wheels over his 
 back before he or you can cry out — 'Cha !'" 
 
318 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Archy Campbell, don't think of such a 
 thing ! Do you see the ditch ? We shall be upset." 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! Through the ditch we go ! Ha! Smack!" 
 and the whip was now laid on with unction. " Bravo ! beast of 
 mine ; across him for a thousand !" 
 
 A jolt — a bound — the ditch is crossed, and, even while the 
 hog, with forefeet erect, is pressing all his weight against thfe 
 worm-fence, which he had already half shaken from its propri- 
 ety, the obedient horse took the irregular motion which had 
 been prescribed to him, and the vehicle rose in air, upon the 
 hog's quarters, and himg in this manner for a perilous instant. 
 A scream from the lady was nothing to the wUd succession of 
 screams that issued from the throat of the porker. Down rolled 
 the beast into the ditch ; down, for an instant, settled the wheels 
 upon him ; another jolt of the vehicle, and the ditch was re- 
 crossed ; the wheels recovered their balance, and off bounded 
 the good Arabian, seemingly as heedless as his master, of the 
 condition of the hog. Before Paulina had recovered, Mad Archy 
 spoke: — / 
 
 " By Jupiter Ammon, it was almost a hang ! I knew that 
 there was some peril in it from the first, Paulina, and but for 
 your assurance that nothing could scare you, I should never 
 have tried it. You are a fearless creature — not once to cry 
 aloud — not once to tremble." 
 
 Then, looking round with a mischievous smile, into her face — 
 " Not the slightest change in your color or feature ! Ah ! Pau- 
 lina, you are worthy to be a soldier's wife. You have courage, 
 indeed !" 
 
 This novel sort of flattery did not soothe the lady very ma- 
 terially. If not absolutely scared, she was bewildered and con- 
 founded. She felt that a mocking devil was in the smile which 
 beheld her features. She knew that they were pale. She felt 
 that her heart and lips were equally trembling. She knew that 
 she had screamed in her momentary terror, and was as perfectly 
 satisfied that he had heard her scream. She spoke nothing. 
 She began now to feel all the impradence of which she had 
 been guilty in riding with such a companion. "Was he mad or 
 not ? He was rapidly, to her mind, realizing the propriety of 
 
HOW MAD AECHT CAMPBELL DROVE. 319 
 
 tlie epithet which had hitherto been conferred upon him in jest. 
 His recklessness was assuming an aspect quite as uncomfortable, 
 to her, as his madness would have been. He did not allow her 
 apprehensions to subside. 
 
 " You say nothing, Paulina ? Perhaps, you wonder that I 
 should suppose ,it a meritorious show of courage, on your part, 
 to feel no fear at such a small adventure. But I can assure you 
 that most of your sex would have felt or expressed some alarm. 
 You do neither. Ah ! it is delightful to drive such a woman ! 
 One is annoyed at the petty feminine fears which see danger in 
 a straw. Now, do you see yonder pines growing upon the old 
 track ? I '11 venture a guinea that there is scarcely a lady in 
 Charleston who would not be disquieted at my driving between 
 them !" 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, sir, do not attempt it !" cried the dam- 
 sel, now seriously alarmed, and all over in a tremor, catching 
 his arm as she spoke. 
 
 " Ah 1 child Paulina, this apprehension is expressed for me ! 
 You feel none yourself. You dread that I will falter at the 
 proper moment, and disgrace my driving. But I will show you 
 that I am as cool and firm of nerve as you are. I have been 
 through that grove before ! I led the way for Barry and M'Ma- 
 hon. I drove old Stock, and the old fellow hadn't a word to 
 say ! By that I knew his nerves were disquieted. We went 
 through at a bound. We measured it afterward, and there was 
 but an inch to spare on each hand. Then I shouted to Barry 
 to come on ; and he did — after a fashion ! He soon saw sights ! 
 The trees, he swore, came out into the path. The left wheel 
 struck, locked, was torn out, and ran a hundred yards, more or 
 less. Barry went out on one side, as if making his way to 
 Cooper river ; while M'Mahon, for the first time taking a difier- 
 ent direction, bounced upward, on his way to Dorchester. We 
 picked them both up with bloody noses. Ha ! Smack ! Turco- 
 man ! Now for it, and oh ! villain, if you swerve under the 
 riband, I '11 roast your flanks for you !" 
 
 With a long whistle, our Jehu gave the animal the whip, 
 threw his head forward, slightly increased his grasp upon the 
 reins, and, in a moment, Paulina was conscious of the passage 
 
320 KATHARiUE WALTOW. 
 
 between the trees. The wheels rolled on a root, and the slight 
 shock, hi her nervous condition, persuaded her that the vehicle 
 had gone to pieces. A deep sigh escaped her, and when Archy 
 looked round upon her face again, with that half diabolic smile, 
 the madman felt that he had conquered. She was powerless. 
 The lustre had left her eyes. Her cheeks were pallid ! The 
 gaze with which she met his own, was that of a subject. The 
 fair coquette, so boastful of her strength and courage, was abso- 
 lutely speechless ; but she could still appreciate the danger of 
 a philosophy so wild as that with which her companion contin- 
 ued to regale her senses. 
 
 " Talk of driving !" said he. " There's no driving where 
 there's no danger ! "Where's the merit of doing that ? A cat 
 may drive a blind horse over a beaten track, and safely keep 
 the centre ; but it is a man only that can scrape the edge of a 
 precipice with his wheel, yet never cease to whistle while he's 
 doing it ! I could take you now, Paulina, full speed, among all 
 the tombs and vaults of the Goose Creek churchyard, chip the 
 corner of every tombstone, whirl three times round the church, 
 leaving but an inch to spare between the comers and the wheels, 
 and haul up at the altar place, cool enough for the marriage 
 ceremony ! There's the church, now !" 
 
 And he touched the flanks of the trotter with his whip, and 
 began to whistle. ' 
 
 " Oh ! for Heaven's sake, Mr. Campbell, don't think of it." 
 
 The poor girl found her voice in anticipation of new and 
 greater danger. 
 
 " Don't think of what ?" he demanded. 
 
 " Driving among the tombstones. It can't be done with 
 safety." ' 
 
 " Can't be done ! What will you bet on it 1 I'll show you. 
 Such an imputation on my skill in driving ! Ah you think I 
 fear 1 Tou would test my courage — my nerves — in every way ! 
 You are a fearless ci-eaturo ; but you shall see that I have as 
 firm a heart as yourself." 
 
 " Oh ! I do not mean that, Mr. Campbell. I am not firm. I 
 am fearful — very fearful. In fact, I feel quite sick. I must 
 have some water." 
 
HOW MAD ARCHY CAMPBELL DROVE. 321 
 
 " It is this cursed beast ! He goes so slowly ! He creeps as 
 if he had the gout ! We have been a tedious time on the road, 
 and you are naturally tired out. I could cut the rascal's throat. 
 Water ! we will get it at the parsonage. We wUl drive there 
 first ; after that we can visit the church. It is one of the pret- 
 tiest of the antiquities in all the low country. Fine tesselated 
 aisles — fine mahogany pews — carved work in abundance, and 
 — but," looking round upon the pale face of his companion, 
 " but for the parsonage, now ! You know the rector, Ellington t" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes ! go to the parsonage." 
 
 " Phew !" — a shrill prolonged whistle, and artistlike flourish 
 of the " persuader," as he styled his whip, and the vehicle was 
 soon whirled up at the door of the parsonage. 
 
 14* 
 
322 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 HOW MAD AECHY CAMPBELL WON HIS BRIDE. 
 
 It is probably very well-known by our readers, that the es- 
 tablishment of the English church was that which generally 
 prevailed before, and during the Revolution, throughout all the 
 parish country of South Carolina. Hence, indeed, the parochi- 
 al divisions which exist in the same region to this day, occa- 
 sioning something like a political anomaly in the distribution of 
 civil power throughout the state. The church establishment, 
 at that period, was a highly respectable one. Great Britain had 
 a reasonable sense of what was due to externals, at least in mat- 
 ters of religion ; and the temples which she raised for worship 
 were strong, fair-proportioned brick fabrics. Good "dwellings, 
 near at hand, were provided for the rectors, and the incumbent 
 was usually one of those " sleek, oily men of God," who show 
 themselves duly sensible of the value of an arrangement which 
 so happily unites the state with the church. 
 
 In South Carolina, the English church was probably quite as 
 well served by its priests as in any other of the colonies — per- 
 haps better than in most. It possessed a very fair amount of 
 education, talent, and good manners. The reverend Edward 
 Ellington, the rector at Goose Creek, was a very respectable 
 clergyman — a man of good looks, easy, pleasant address, and 
 fair ability. There are those living who have listened to and 
 been greatly edified by his preaching. As far as we can learn, 
 though an honest man, and laboring properly in his vocation, he 
 did not suffer his zeal to distress his nervous system — was of a 
 gentle and easy disposition — not at all favorable to martyrdom ; 
 
HOW MAD ARCHY CAMPBELL WON HIS BRIDE. 323 
 
 and, probably, was much more accessible to turtle-soup and 
 Madeira. 
 
 We do not blame him for this. Men must live and toil ac- 
 cording to the endowments of their nature. The phlegmatic 
 temperament may be united to a very excellent head and a 
 good Christian disposition, without feeling at all anxious to en- 
 joy the distinctions of John Eogers ;' indeed, without any fever- 
 ish zeal to vex and goad their neighbors into the way of peace. 
 Mr. Ellington was a priest after this order.. He was mild, and 
 meek, and indulgent ; no fierce reformer ; and perfectly- satis- 
 fied with a flock which betrayed the lea,st possible distrust in 
 regard to their situation as well as his own, It was seldom that 
 flock or pastor disturbed the quiet of one another, or suffered 
 from any spasmodical excitements to which they could give the 
 iiame of religion. Whether they were worse or better than 
 their neighbors, in consequence of this easy mode of encounter- 
 ing the flesh and the devil, is a question which it does not be- 
 come our province to discuss. 
 
 Our pastor was taking his ease on the shady side of his piaz- 
 za as Mad Archy Campbell and the fair Paulina drove up to his 
 entrance. The shade-trees received them, and a servant in a 
 neat livery promptly made his appearance, to whom Campbell 
 threw his reins ; then, jumping out with an easy bound, he as- 
 sisted his companion, trembling all the while, to the solid earth, 
 her heart beating almost audibly with the sense of a danger 
 hardly yet escaped. The worthy pastor arose from the cot of 
 canvass, on which he had been soliciting his siesta, and partly 
 descended the flight of steps leading to the piazza, to receive 
 and welcome the parties, both of whom he slightly knew. 
 
 With a somewhat boisterous courtesy Mad Archy responded 
 to the gentle salutation of the rector, who, giving his arm to 
 Paulina, assisted her into the dwelling. She sank feebly into 
 the first chair that presented itself in the piazza, and faintly 
 called for a glass of water, which was immediately brought. 
 Mr. Ellington soon perceived that her nerves were somewhat 
 discomposed, but he was too phlegmatic to conjecture the full 
 extent to which they had been tried. Besides, Mad Archy gave 
 him little leisure for meditation or scrutiny. 
 
324 KATHARINE WALTOy. 
 
 " We are out of breath, parson ! Such a horse ! Look at 
 the creature ! Hardly ruffled ; never a stain upon his skin ; 
 and just enough moisture to increase the heauty of his purple. 
 You'll hardly think it, hut we have reached you in less than 
 -two hours from the city." 
 
 The preacher looked incredulous ; turning his eyes from one 
 to the other of his visiters, with a doubtful inquiry in his glance, 
 
 " By Moses and Aaron, parson, but what I tell you is the 
 truth," was the irreverent response. The rector looked a be- 
 coming gravity as he replied — 
 
 " Swear not at all !" 
 
 " Oh ! psho ! Parson, you don't call that an oath ? I only 
 appealed to such witnesses as I thought you might believe in. 
 Now, Moses and Aaron ought to be good evidence with you, 
 and if you have any mode of communicating with them, you 
 can soon learn that what I tell you is solemn, hard-favored fact. 
 Don't you see that Miss Phelps has not yet recovered breath. 
 In truth, we flew rather than rode. It is a beast among a thou- 
 sand, that of mine ! Pity to lose such a beast, eh, Paulina ? 
 • But you say we must not lose him, and we will not. Parson, if 
 you have no objection, we will let him pick from that grass plat 
 on the left ; there, under those oaks, where he will find both 
 shade and substance." 
 
 The rector was evidently bewildered by his visiter, but he 
 consented to the arrangement ; and, with a few words to the 
 ostler, the horse was stripped of his furniture. In the meanwhile, 
 ranging the piazza with the air of Sultan Solyman, Mad Archy 
 divided his attention between the rector, the lady, and the Ara- 
 bian. The gig was suffered to reniain beneath the shade trees 
 at the entrance. 
 
 " You have a world to yourself, Mr. Ellington," was the con- 
 descending remark of Campbell. " Can be happy here as the 
 day is long. But your world would not suit me. Peace is not 
 my element. Eepose does not refresh me. I prefer a storm 
 any day to a calm ; and if I were doomed to such a life as 
 yours, I should bum down the parsonage first, and then the 
 church, if it were only to have the trouble of rebuilding them. 
 Did you ever in your life enjoy a bit of fun, parson ? Were you 
 
HOW MAD ARCHY CAMPBELL WON HIS BEIDB. 325 
 
 ever in a row 1 When you were a boy, for example, did you 
 ever knock down a watchman, or upset his box ?" 
 
 "Never, sir," said the parson meekly. 
 
 " At college, however, you have taken the road as a whip 1 
 You have rode steeple chases ; — you have torn off the gown of 
 an official, of a dark night, and met his eyes innocently in the 
 morning 1" 
 
 " I am glad to say that I have never done any of these 
 things." 
 
 " Glad to say 1 I don't see why it should make you glad ! 
 But you are fond of cards, I am certain." 
 
 " I acknowledge that I find pleasure in a rubber of whist, 
 with shilling points." 
 
 " Shilling points ! Silver ! There is no dignity in such play. 
 What think you of fifty guineas on a cast 1" Then, without 
 waiting for an answer : " Now, pray, look at that beast of mine. 
 His fate depends on his and my performance to-day. He has 
 done his part thus far, with very excellent success. I must not 
 neglect mine. Do you know Stock, Major Stock, Mr. El- 
 lington V 
 
 "I do not, sir." 
 
 " The last man in the world to do justice to a horse like that ! 
 It is barely possible that he thinks to own him. He has put 
 fifty guineas on his head; and it will soon be certain whether 
 he or I shall have the felicity of flinging the ribands over him 
 hereafter. This day will decide it. That warns me that no 
 time is to be lost. Paulina, my love, you have said that we 
 must not lose the horse ; and you are right ! Pray, rise, my 
 charmer. Parson, we have come to be married ; will you make 
 the ceremony as short as possible ] We must take our dinner 
 in town to-day !" 
 
 The parson looked more bewildered than ever. The lady- 
 stared aghast, her eyes ranging from one to the other gentle- 
 man. Both the persons addressed were silent. Campbell grew 
 impatient. 
 
 "Zounds! parson — don't you hear? — don't you compre- 
 hend 1 we are come to be married." 
 
 "Are you serious, Mr. Campbell?" 
 
326 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Serious ! Do I look like the man to jest when my happi- 
 ness is at stake 1 Is not happiness one of the most serious in- 
 terests in this life ? Have we ridden up to you for any less ob- 
 ject ? I tell you, sir, that Miss Paulina Phelps and myself have 
 come hither to be married. We know the pleasure that you 
 feel in bringing hearts together, and we entreat this office at 
 your hands. Will you not rise, my Paulina 1 I know that you 
 are fatigued, but the church req[uires that we should be married 
 in a standing posture, with head uncovered ; unless, indeed, one 
 is too sick to rise, and suffers from a bad cold ; then some allow- 
 ance is made for the suffering party. But we can make no such 
 plea. Come, sweetheart ! It will 'occupy but a few moments." 
 
 The lady remained seated and silent, but looked more terror- 
 stricken than ever. The rector beheld the expression of her 
 face, and it suggested to him the ansv/er to Campbell's demand. 
 
 " I will cheerfully marry you," he said, "if the lady consents 
 to it." 
 
 " If the lady consents to it ! And what right have you to 
 suppose that the lady will not consent to it 1 For what purpose 
 has she come hither 1 Do you question my word 1 Should I 
 not know 1 What ! She says nothing herself ! Well, sir, and 
 does not a lady's silence mean consent? Are you capable of 
 making no allowance for the delicacy of feelings which would 
 rather have you understand them, without absolutely forcing the 
 tongue to speak ! Sir, I'm shocked and surprised at you. Learn 
 better, hereafter, how to appreciate the nice feelings of the sex." 
 
 "But, sir^Mr. Campbell " 
 
 " No unnecessary words, Mr. Ellington — we are in haste. 
 We must be in town for dinner. The sooner, therefore, you offi- 
 ciate, the better. We are both of marriageable years, and 
 should know what we desire." 
 
 " You speak for yourself. Major Campbell." 
 
 " Zounds, man, I speak for the lady also." 
 
 " She does not say that /" turning and looking at Paulina. 
 The poor girl caught his hand and looked appealingly into his 
 face. 
 
 " But she says nothing against it," replied Campbell. 
 
 " That will not suffice. Major Campbell. She must speak for 
 
HOW MAD ARCHY CAMPBELL WON HIS BRIDE. 327 
 
 herself!" replied the rector, taking an accent and aspect of more 
 decision. 
 
 "Ha! do you say that!" exclaimed Campbell, in subdued 
 tones, his eye resting upon the face of the pale and trembling 
 Paulina — " Do you say that 1 You are not satisfied with what 
 I tell you ! Now, by Jupiter Ammon, you marry us instantly, 
 or I will blow your brains out ! It is an oath !" 
 
 With these words drawing a pair of pistols from his coat, he 
 clapped one of them to the head of the rector, cocked it quickly, 
 and repeated the oath. 
 
 " We are come hither to be married I Either you marry us, 
 or I put a brace of bullets through your brains. Paulina, fear 
 nothing, my love ; he shall do as I command. I will sooner 
 shoot both of us, than see you disappointed." 
 
 Ellington looked into the face of the madman, and read there 
 a degree of desperate resolution, under which his firmness suc- 
 cumbed. He had met the eyes of a master. He felt that the 
 person with whom he had to deal was capable of any excess or 
 violence. He reasoned rapidly with himself under the exigency 
 of his situation. 
 
 " It is true," he said, " that the lady seems paralyzed with 
 terror, and evidently appeals to me for protection from this man ; 
 but why has she intrusted herself to him ! Unless marriage 
 was her purpose, why consent to such a hair-brained expedition 
 as the present — one which should seriously involve her reputa- 
 tion ? To perform this office will really be to save this reputa- 
 tion ; arid if the lady does not know her own mind, it is high 
 time she had somebody to teach her all necessary lessons in fu- 
 ture." 
 
 Such were the rapid conclusions of the rector, under the coer- 
 cive terrors of Campbell's pistols. The latter gave him but lit- 
 tle time. He saw that the parson was alarmed and prepared to 
 yield.. He had no doubt of the pliant nature of the lady. 
 
 " Hark ye, Mr. Ellington, I am willing to reason with you, 
 even though I shoot you. Shoot you I tcill, and shoot her, and 
 shoot myself, rather than go back to the city to be a finger point 
 
 for every d d blockhead in the garrison ! Now, look you, 
 
 to what is the common sense of the subject. Do you suppose 
 
328 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 that Miss Phelps rode out with me to Goose Creek — with me 
 alone — unless she understood that my purpose was honorable 
 marriage 1 You can not surely suppose her a simpleton. What 
 then? Shall I disappoint her reasonable calculations? Will 
 you contribute to this result, at the manifest risk of this lady's 
 
 character 1 By , sir, you shall not ! We shall both perish 
 
 first. Else, Paulina, my love. Mr. Ellington sees the justice 
 and propriety of all I say.'' 
 
 Campbell took the lady's hand as he spoke, and looked into 
 her eye, with that mixed smile of deviltry and affection which 
 he had shown her in the maddest moments of their morning 
 drive. She rose as if unconsciously — passively yielding at his 
 will — and, in this action, she afforded to the rector an opportu- 
 nity of complying with the demand which his courage did not 
 allow him any longer to oppose. He conducted the couple into 
 the parlor, and prepared his books. We may pass over a brief 
 period of delay consumed in preliminaries, which greatly in- 
 creased the impatience of Campbell. His madness had so much 
 method in it, as never for a moment to allow him to lose any- 
 thing that he had gained. He still continued, by words and ac- 
 tions, to keep up the apprehensions of the rector and the terror 
 of the damsel. Xo the latter he said, while the former was ma- 
 king his preparations — 
 
 " It is a sublime thing to perish with one that we love ! I 
 have always thought well of French passion, from the frequency 
 of this habit among that people. A couple, truly devoted, will 
 say to each other other — ' We are happy — why should we en- 
 danger our love by exposing it to the, vicissitudes of time 1 We 
 might change — a terrible caprice might endanger both hearts — 
 and familiarity produces coldness, and age neglect. Better es- 
 cape this peril. Now, that love is secure, let us die together !' 
 And they agree, and suffocate themselves with charcoal, dying 
 together in the sweetest embrace ; or, they drown together, and 
 are taken up locked in each other's arms ; or, the man shoots 
 the woman, and taking her upon his bosom, in this attitude 
 shoots himself! This is love — this is to be beloved !" 
 
 And, thus speaking, he Idssed the pistol in his gi%sp, with the 
 air of one who embraces a benefactor. Poor Paulina liad not a 
 
HOW MAD AECHY CAMPBELL WON HIS BRIDE. 329 
 
 word to utter. When the rector prepared to officiate, Campbell 
 Btill kept one of the pistols in his grasp, and, sometimes, as if un- 
 consciously, would point it, taking aim the while, with a nice 
 precision, at the mirror, or the pictures against the wall, or 
 through the windows. To the ceremonial rec[uisitions, Paulina 
 nodded droopingly ; — an action that the rector preferred to con- 
 strue into a proof of modesty rather than of fear. But the cere- 
 mony was performed ; and, flinging a purse containing ten guin- 
 eas into the hands of the parson, Oamphell exclaimed — 
 
 " We have saved the horse, Paulina ; I knew we should : but 
 it is at the peril of Stock's life. By Jupiter, but he will swear !" 
 
 We must do our madman the justice to say that he closed the 
 ceremony by most affectionately kissing the bride, and by wrap- 
 ping her in an embrace, as fervent as was ever yet vouchsafed 
 by a devoted lover. Then, leaving her with the rector, he sal- 
 lied forth to give lorders for the harnessing of his trotter to the 
 vehicle.* 
 
 " This is a strange proceeding, Mrs. Campbell ;'' remarked the 
 rector. 
 
 " Very, sir," cried the newly-wedded wife, clasping her hands 
 with strong emotion ; — " but what could I do ?" 
 
 Further explanations were, perhaps, fortunately arrested at 
 this moment, by a clamor and a loud shouting, which sounded 
 from the road without. The rector moved to the entrance, fol- 
 lowed by Paulina, and there discovered a British dragoon, riding 
 at full speed up to the dwelhng. Meanwhile, the horse was har- 
 nessed to the gig of Mad Archy, and that worthy, more magnifi- 
 cent than ever in his carriage, was just about ascending the 
 steps of the piazza, when arrested by the appearance of the 
 dragoon. 
 
 This dragoon, as the reader will readily conjecture, was the 
 fugitive who had succeeded in making his escape from the 
 
 * It may be a proper precaution only, to assure the reader that the mar- 
 riage thus described, did actually take place, under these very circumstan- 
 ces, and between these very parties ; the llev. Edward Ellington officiating 
 as above. He, himself, subsequently reported all the particulars. We may 
 add, that long after, Mrs. Campbell admitted that she had been surprised 
 and terrified into the act ; that she had never seriously thought of Archy 
 Campbell for a husband. 
 
330 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Quarter House," and from the grasp of Walton's partisans, at 
 the moment when his companion was taken. He had been 
 pursued, for several miles, very closely by a couple of Walton's 
 troopers ; but, through the merits of his stout English dragoon 
 horse, had been fortunate enough to leave them behind him. 
 That they still pursued, he had no reason to question, and a cer- 
 tain urgent conviction of his danger, led him very readily to 
 place himself entirely under the direction of Mad Archy. He 
 had almost unconsciously followed the track of Campbell's 
 wheels, and now only drew his breath with ease, when he found 
 himself in the presence of so famous a fire-eater ! 
 
HOW BALFOUR SPEEDS IN HIS WOOING. 331 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 HOW BALFOUR SPEEDS IN HIS WOOING. 
 
 If anything moved by what he heard, the feelings of Camp- 
 bell, as he listened to the narrative of the dragoon, were rather 
 of a sort to welcome the tidings with delight, than to recoil from 
 them with apprehension. Strife, tumult, the hazard of the die, 
 the rare provocation to wild adventure, were things grateful 
 to his impulsive temper. But he subjected the fugitive to 
 close and sensible cross-examination. From him, however, he 
 gathered little beyond the simple facts detailed at his first en- 
 trance. How he and his comrade had been surprised by a 
 goodly host ; the latter knocked down and taken, and himself 
 pursued till within three miles of the parsonage; — this was all 
 that he covild tell. Of the captivity of Williamson he knew 
 nothing. Campbell readily conjectured it ; and, assuming this 
 to be the object of the expedition of the partisans, he at once 
 conceived the full danger of the captive. He was also per- 
 suaded, from what he heard, that they had disappeared from 
 the scene of action as soon as they had secured their victim. 
 He reasoned for their policy with reference to their necessities, 
 and reasoned justly. A sc[uad of fifty light-horse were not likely 
 to linger long in a neighborhood so near to the city garrison 
 after such an adventure. His decision was taken almost instantly. 
 
 " Paulina, my love, let us be off ! We must push with all 
 speed for the city ! Not a moment to spare. Parson Ellington, 
 a thousand thanks, for the spontaneous manner in which you 
 have complied with my wishes !" 
 
 This was spoken with a delightful grin, that caused a deep 
 
33ii KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 suflFusion upon the cheek of the rector. But the disquiet which 
 he felt did not prevent him from expostulating with the husband 
 upon the peril of taking his wife with him upon such an adven- 
 ture, threatened, as he was, with enemies upon the road. 
 
 " You will surely leave Mrs. Oamphell in my protection, 
 until " 
 
 " Devil a bit -will I ! In your protection, forsooth ! As well 
 ask me to employ the wolf to keep my flocks. Ho ! ho ! rever- 
 ent sir. He who has but a single diamond, and that so precious, 
 will do well to keep it in his single bosom only. Shall I just get 
 a wife to part with her so soon 1 I were as mad as my worst 
 enemies are pleased to consider me, were I to do so ridiculous a 
 thing ; and, suffer me to say, meaning no particular personal dis- 
 paragement to yourself, Mr. Ellington, that I have no such faith 
 in your cloth, as to leave to any of the brotherhood the keeping 
 of my ewe lamb. She goes with me. She is a soldier's wife. We 
 will encounter the danger together. You shall carry one of my 
 pistols, Paulina ! You shall ! They are both charged with a 
 brace of bullets ! And when I say the word, look you, then 
 shall you thrust out the weapon thus, full in the face of the 
 assailant, and, keeping your eye open all the time, you will pull 
 tenderly upon this little bit of curved iron, do you see, and leave 
 the rest of the affair to me !" 
 
 Campbell suited the action to the word, while giving these 
 instructions. The rector was too much disconcerted by his 
 speech to expostulate any further, and the bold-hearted Paulina 
 was as much subdued as if she had been caged for six months 
 on bread and water. 
 
 " See to your pistols !" said Campbell to the dragoon, as he 
 lifted the passive wife into the vehicle. " We shall have a glo- 
 rious day of it, Paulina. By my soul, you are a heroine ! 
 There, my angel, I put one of these bull-dogs behind you. He 
 shall give tongue at a moment's warning. You do not fear, eh ?" 
 
 "No !" was the faint response. 
 
 " I thought not ! — Good-by to ye, parson ! We shall pay you 
 another visit at seed-time and harvest! — There, my lad!" 
 throwing the servant a couple of shillings. " And now, my 
 blood, my beauty, now that I have saved you from the rapacious 
 
HOW BALFOUR SPEEDS IN HIS WOOING. 333 
 
 grasp of Stock, show your gratitude by showing your hest heels. 
 Phew!" — a wild whistle, followed by a flourish, smack, and 
 sharp application of the whip, and the goodly trotter went off at 
 a bound that soon left the parsonage out of sight behind them. 
 
 " Now am I the happiest of living men, Paulina ! I have the 
 best horse and the loveliest wife in the country ! I shall mark 
 this day with a white stone in my calendar. How that mame- 
 luke, old Stock, will growl ! By Jupiter, a treble triumph ! I 
 have not only won you, but conquered him, and saved Bucepha- 
 lus ! My precious ! what say you ; shall we make the drive to 
 Charleston in an hour? We can do it !" 
 
 " It will kill your horse !" 
 
 " Very likely ! But I feel happy enough to be killing some- 
 thing, and if these d — d rebels do not give us a chance at them, 
 I shall be wolfish before we get in town. Hark you, my good 
 fellow," to the dragoon, "how many pursued you, do you say?" 
 
 " Two, major, that I saw close after me. There were many 
 more at the 'Quarter.'" 
 
 " How many V 
 
 " More than fifty." 
 
 " But only two pursued you ? Why the d — ^1 didn't you show 
 fight, when you had drawn them out of the reach of their com- 
 rades ? You were well armed, had your sabre and pistols V 
 
 " One of them I had already emptied, major." 
 
 " Well ! the other was enough ; the sword for one of the 
 rebels, and the pistol for his mate. Look you, my good fellow, 
 if you show no better spirit while with me, I '11 shoot you my- 
 self ; nay, my wife shall do it ! Look you, Paulina, use your 
 pistol upon this brave dragoon the moment that you see him 
 disposed to skulk. That she may be able to do it cleverly, my 
 good fellow, do you ride on the left ; keep just five paces ahead 
 of the chair, that you may be within easy range ; and see that 
 you keep up. I warn you that you will have to gallop like 
 thunder if you expect to do so ; but if you do not keep up the 
 Philistines will be upon you ! Phew !" and the usual whistle 
 concluded the speech, and was followed by a smart flourish and 
 smack of the whip. 
 
 The dragoon obeyed orders ; placed himself on the left of the 
 
334 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 vehicle, and rode under the constant terror of the lady's pistol. 
 The speed of Camphell's trotter kept the dragoon's charger at a 
 strain, and, as he had been compelled to tax his utmost strength 
 and spirit in his flight from the partisans, Mad Archy was soon - 
 forced to see that if he did not relax in his requisitions, the poor 
 beast of the dragoon would be dead-foundered and brokeu- 
 winded. 
 
 " Ho ! there ! It 's a bore to hold him ; but, d — ^n your beast, 
 I must not kill him, if I kill my own, and to leave you, without 
 the protection of myself and wife, would be pretty much to kill 
 you too. The rebels would swallow you at' a mouthful. So 
 hold up, and let the elephant creep awhile in these sandy 
 places." 
 
 The dragoon was very well pleased to do as he was com- 
 manded. He had an affection for his charger, which, pressed 
 much longer as he had been, would, he well knew, be very soon 
 in a condition rendering him fit for dog's meat only. The prog- 
 ress of both horses subsided for a while into a walk, CampbeU 
 taking advantage of every piece of hard ground, to make up by 
 an increased speed for lost time. In this way they reached the 
 " Quarter House" without encountering any interruption. 
 
 They saw no enemies. It is probable that the partisans of 
 Walton, finding the pursuit of the dragoon unavailing, and con- 
 tent with having driven him off sufficiently far, wheeled about 
 and took the route back, as instructed by their superior. It is 
 possible only that they lurked in concealment on the road-side, 
 and forebore the attack upon a party of which one of the num- 
 ber was a woman. At the " Quarter House," Campbell obtained 
 full particulars from the hostess, of the seizure of Williamson. 
 He also discovered by whom he had been made captive. 
 Charged with these particulars, he pushed with all speed for the 
 city, leaving the dragoon to follow at his leisure, the road thence 
 being considered safe from the partisans. 
 
 We pass over unnecessary details. The reader will suppose 
 the newly-married wife, " so wildly wooed, so strangely n-on," 
 to have been safely and quietly disposed of at her own habita- 
 tion. Mad Archy then hurried away to Balfour's quarters, 
 where he found the usual guard at the entrance. But Balfour 
 
HOW BALFOUE SPEEDS IN HIS WOOING. 335 
 
 himself was absent, and our Benedick proceeded to seek him at 
 his usual haunts. But he failed in the search at Barry's domi- 
 cil in Queen street ; failed equally at the house of the beautiful 
 Harvey in Beaufain ; and, after vain inquiries here and there, 
 he at length obtained a clew which conducted him to the dwell- 
 ing of Mrs. Singleton, in Church street. But, before reaching 
 this point, he contrived, in passing, to stop at Stock's quarters, 
 and report events, which he could scarcely hope to make so 
 gratifying to the old major as they were to himself. He found the 
 major engaged at his toilet for the evening. A few words sufficed 
 to empty his budget of the matter most interesting to himself. 
 
 " Those guineas. Stock ; they are now absolutely necessary 
 to my establishment." 
 
 " "What So you mean, fool?" 
 
 " Mean ! That I am married, and to Paulina Phelps. The 
 Sultana is mine, and that saves me the Sultan." 
 
 " Don't believe a word of it," said Stock. 
 
 " Very likely ; hut you will have to believe in fear and trem- 
 bling — and pay for your slow faith in the bargain. We were 
 hitched for life, man and wife, this very day, at the Goose Creek 
 parsonage, Ellington, the rector, presiding, and your humble 
 servant submitting. You will hear all soon enough. I don't 
 want your guineas until you are satisfied ; but that will be to- 
 morrow. Meanwhile, there's news — work on hand — and a 
 very great mischief. General Williamson has been captured by 
 the rebels. Please prepare accordingly." 
 
 "Begone with you for a madman, as you are. The thing's 
 impossible." 
 
 " I grant you ; but nevertheless quite true." 
 
 " If it be so, by all the powers, I shall pray that Harley 
 may make you quite indifferent to your wife and my money. 
 I'll help him to cut your throat; by G^ — d, I will !" 
 
 " I think your malice may lead you to it, very nearly. But, 
 talking of throat-cutting, reminds me that General Williamson 
 is in danger of a short-cord, and five minutes only to say grace 
 in it. He was captured to-day, by Colonel Walton, with a 
 party, at the Quarter House. I am now looking for Balfour to 
 give him the tidings." 
 
336 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Well ; he will be grateful for them, no doubt. Seek him at 
 the widow Singleton's. He is there now pretty constantly. 
 The star in the ascendant is Walton's daughter. He will be 
 delighted to show her how many are the obligations he owes to 
 the family." 
 
 Leaving the old major in no good humor, Campbell immedi- 
 ately proceeded to the designated dwelling, where he found 
 Balfour in no pleasant humor at the interruption. But, when he 
 heard the intelligence brought by Mad Archy, lie was aghast. 
 It took him no long time to learn all the particulars, and to 
 anticipate all the consequences." 
 
 " Great God !" said he, " Walton will hang him !" 
 
 " Very likely," was the cool replj^. ..." When a man turns 
 traitor to his colors, hanging forms ai part of the understanding. 
 It is the peril always incurred in such cases." 
 
 " But we must save him if we can !" 
 
 " If they mean to hang him at all, it is probably too late. 
 Rope and tree are too convenient in our forests, to render much 
 delay necessary." 
 
 " They may delay with the view to a formal trial. A provin- 
 cial colonel will seldom venture on any suclj decided measure as 
 execution without trial." 
 
 " According to all accounts, Walton is an exception to this rule. 
 The sui-prise and capture show boldness enough, here, within 
 five miles of the city ; and why this audacity, unless they 
 designed to make an example of the captive ?" 
 
 " Granted ; but a hurried execution will afford no such example 
 as they require. They will aim at an ostentatious exhibition of 
 their justice. In that is our hope. We must move promptly. 
 Campbell, do you get your command in readiness. Go to Major 
 Eraser, instantly, and let him call out all the cavalry of the 
 garrison. To horse all of you, and scatter in pursuit. There is 
 no time to be lost." 
 
 His commands were instantly obeyed ; and, stripping the city 
 of all its horse. Major Eraser led his forces that very night in 
 pursuit of our partisans. Mad Archy was hurried away with 
 his squadron, with a moment only allowed him for leave-taking 
 with his wife. He bore the necessity like a philosopher of the 
 
HOW BALFOUR SPEEDS IN HIS WOOING. 337 
 
 stole order. Folding the lady in an embrace rather more fer- 
 vent than scrupulous, he bade her, be of good cheer, and show 
 the courage proper to a soldier's wife. 
 
 " These rebels shall pay for our privations, Pavila-Paulina ! 
 I almost wish that I were a Cherokee, that I might be justified 
 in bringing you a score of scalps for your bridal trophies ! But, 
 if there be any sooty captives to be taken, you shall have spoil 
 enough. There, my beauty ! One more smack ! Remember, 
 if I perish, Stock has no claim upon my Arabian, and you Tiave 
 a claim for fifty guineas : upon him. I may die in your debt, 
 Paula-Paulina, but not in his. There ! another ! smack 1" 
 
 And with this characteristic speech and parting, mad Archy 
 hurried from the dwelling, leaving his wifi quite unprepared to 
 determine whether his death in battle would really be an evil 
 or a blessing. We must in charity conclude that her reflections 
 were finally put at rest by conclusions favorable to their mutual 
 fortune. 
 
 We must not forget what took place between Balfour and 
 Katharine Walton, when, after the departure of Archy Camp- 
 bell, he returned to the apartment where he had left her. He 
 had been, as we may conjecture, urging indirectly a suit which 
 her reserves had too much discouraged to suffer him to pursue a 
 policy more frank. He had been doing the amiable, after his 
 fashion, for a good hour before Campbell had appeared. In this 
 aspect, his deportment had been forbearing and unobtrusive; 
 his solicitude had been as gentle and deUcate as was possible to 
 his nature ; marked, indeed, by a degree of timidity which had 
 been steadily on the increase from the moment when his interest 
 first began, in the lady and her fortunes. The controlling 
 dignity of her character had sensibly coerced and checked the 
 presumption natural to his, and he was thus, perforce, compelled 
 to submit to an influence which he felt as a curb, from which he 
 would have found it a real pleasure to break away, if, in doing 
 this, he should not thereby forfeit other objects even more 
 grateful to him than the license which he loved. On the present 
 occasion, the tidings brought him of Williamson's capture, and 
 of Walton's agency in that event, were suggestive to his mind 
 of a mode of accounting with the daughter of the rebel, in such 
 
 15 
 
338 KATHARINE WALTOH. 
 
 a Way, as not to compromise Lis own suit, yet to enable him in 
 some degree to exercise his freedom. 
 
 " Miss Walton," he said, with serious countenance, "my esteem 
 for you comes greatly in conflict with my duty." 
 
 '' How so, sir ?" 
 
 " You can not know how indulgently I have forborne in your 
 case already, to the great annoyance of all the loyaHsts in the 
 garrison. But I have just received intelligence which makes 
 it almost criminal for me to regard any of your name with 
 favor." 
 
 " Indeed, sir?" curiously, but with a smile. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Miss Walton. Your father — " 
 
 " Ah ! sir : what of my father 1" more anxiously. 
 
 " He seems resolute to deprive his friends of aU power of sa- 
 ving him, or saving his daughter." 
 
 A pause. He was answered only with a smile. 
 
 " You do not seem curious. Miss Walton 1" 
 
 "Well, sir — since you desire it — what of my father?' 
 
 " He has done that, Miss Walton, which, in the case of any 
 other rebel, would conduct all his connections to the provost, 
 and work a complete forfeiture of all their possessions, and of all 
 hope of the future favor of our sovereign. He has audaciously 
 surprised and captured General Williamson, almost within sight 
 of the garrison." 
 
 " General Williamson was a traitor to his country ! I see 
 nothing in this but the act of an open enemy, and such my 
 father has frankly avowed himself to your sovereign and his 
 armies." 
 
 " Very true ; but General Williamson, if a traitor to the rebel 
 cause, is true to that of his sovereign. If a hair of his head suf- 
 fers at the hands of yom- father, I fear, Miss Walton, that his 
 pardon will be impossible." 
 
 " It will be time enough, Colonel Balfour, to think of his par- 
 don, when the attitude of my father shall be that of supplication." 
 
 The maiden answered proudly. Balfour's reply was made 
 with a deliberate gravity which had its effect on his hearer in 
 her own despite. 
 
 " And you may veiy soon behold him in that attitude, Miss 
 
HOW BALFOUR SPEEDS IN HIS WOOING. 339 
 
 Walton ; needing and entreating mercy without finding it. I 
 have been compelled to order out my entire cavalry in pursuit. 
 They wUl spare no speed — they will forego no efforts, for the 
 recapture of General Williamson, and the destruction of the 
 rebel squadron. Should they succeed, which is highly probable 
 — should your father fall into their hands, I shall not be able to 
 answer for his life. It will need all my efforts, and I shall labor 
 in the very teeth of duty, if I strive to save him from his fate. 
 What shall move me to these exertions — why should I so labor 
 in his behalf? There is but one consideration. Miss Walton, 
 but one ! Your hand, your heart, your affections, in return for 
 those which I now proffer you." 
 
 He took her hand as he spoke these words, but she instantly 
 withdrew it from his grasp. 
 
 " Colonel Balfour, let me entreat you to be silent on this sub- 
 ject, and at such a moment as the present. You describe my 
 father to be in a situation of great danger. I am not prepared 
 to believe in this danger. But if your report be true, it is 
 neither a proof of your affection nor your magnanimity that I 
 should be addressed to this effect, and at this juncture. Let me 
 beg your forbearance. You have given me sufficient cause for 
 sad thought ; for apprehensions which forbid all consideration of 
 the subject of which you speak." 
 
 " But you do not forbid the subject 1" he asked eagerly. 
 
 " And of what avail that I should ? I have already, more 
 than once, entreated your forbearance. If I could hope that 
 my command would be regarded, when my entreaty is not, the 
 word should be spoken. Is it not enough that I tell you that 
 the subject is ungracious to me, that you only give me pain, that 
 I can not see you in the character which you assume 1" 
 
 " It is no assumption. It is felt, it is real ! Miss Walton, I 
 love you as fervently as man ever yet loved woman." 
 
 He threw himself at her feet, and.again endeavored to possess 
 himself of her hand. She rose calmly, and with dignity. 
 
 " Colonel Balfour, this must not be ! I must leave you. I 
 can not entertain your suit. That you may be sure that I am 
 sincere, know that my affections are wholly given to another." 
 
 "What!" he cried, with an impatience almost amounting to 
 
840 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 anger, which he did not endeavor to conceal; "what! is it 
 then true ? You are engaged to that rascally onttyer, Single- 
 ton?" 
 
 " Enough, Colonel Balfour ; this was not necessary to satisfy 
 me of your character, and to teach me what is due to mine. I 
 leave you, sir. In future, I shall much prefer that we should 
 not meet." 
 
 " You will repent this haste. Miss Walton !" 
 
 " I may suffer for it, sir [" 
 
 " By the Eternal, hut you shall suffer for it !" 
 
 She waived her hand with dignity, bowed her head slightly, 
 and passed into an inner apartment. The lips of Balfour were 
 firmly set together. He watched with eyes of fiery hostility the 
 door through which the maiden had departed ; then, after the 
 pause of a few seconds, striking his fist fiercely upon the table, 
 he exclaimed — 
 
 " She shall pay for this, by all that's damnable !" 
 
 In thei-next moment he darted out of the dwelling,, and made 
 his way, with mixed feelings, which left him doubtful where to 
 turn, toward the residence of la belle Harvey. 
 
Walton's camp. 341 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 
 Walton's camp. 
 
 The stir and excitement in the good city of Charleston, now, 
 had scarcely been equalled by any event occurring since its con- 
 quest by the British. The loyalists were everywhere in alarm, 
 dreading that every moment's intelligence would bring them ac- 
 counts of the summary execution of Williamson ; and in his 
 fate, they perceived lowering .intimations of their own, at the 
 hands of the patriots, should the events of war throw them into 
 the same predicament. For the same reason, the patriots in the 
 city were in a high state of exultation. The avenger was at 
 work to redress their grievances, and to exact bloody atonement 
 for the wrongs, the insults, the injuries, which thfey had been 
 made to suffer. The exertions of the oflScers in garrison, had 
 set the entire cavalry of the British in motion, soon after the 
 commands of Balfour had been given ; and that very night, as 
 we have seen. Major Fraser, with an ample force, set forth in 
 pursuit of "Walton. Of course both parties were in a state of 
 equal excitement for the result of this expedition. Fraser ob- 
 tained his clews en route, and was soon across the Ashley. Our 
 acquaintance, mad Archy Campbell, we may mention, conducted 
 one of the strongest of his detachments, which were all soon 
 dispersed in several directions, as the whole of them approached 
 the Edisto. Leafving them to hunt out their game as they best 
 could, let us once more join the partisans. 
 
 "Walton had selected, for his temporary camp, a very pretty 
 spot on the east bank of the Combahee. His own quarters 
 were taken up in the dwelling-house of the plantation which his 
 troops occupied — an airy, comfortable habitation, the proprie- 
 
342 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 tors of which were in exile. His sentinels and videttes were so 
 placed as to secure all the avenues to the place, and his scouts 
 ranged freely for a considerahle distance around it. With ordi- 
 ry vigilance on the part of the subordinates to whom these du- 
 ties were assigned, there could he no possible danger of sur- 
 prise ; and the commander of the party, feeling himself secure, 
 was enabled to bestow his attention upon his several prisoners. 
 Major Proctor was one of these prisoners, but he was held in 
 no duresse beyond that of courtesy ; his word being taken that 
 he would make no endeavor to escape, if subjected to no bonds 
 but those of honor. Even these were to be released, now that 
 an interval, supposed to be suificient for safety, had been thrown 
 between the partisans and all pursuers from the city. It was at 
 dinner that day that Colonel "Walton was pleased to say to liis 
 guest, or prisoner, that he should be free in the morning to depart. 
 
 " You will need," said he, " less than two days' easy riding 
 to reach town, and may as -well remain till to-morrow, kai take 
 an early start with the sun. I trust. Major Proctor, that you 
 will have seen in your detention thus far nothing less than an 
 absolute necessity, which I could not escape." 
 
 " I have nothing. Colonel Walton, of which I could possibly 
 complain. You have treated me with great courtesy and kind- 
 ness, and the release which you grant me, without any equiva- 
 lent, is a debt which I shall always cheerfully acknowledge and 
 requite." 
 
 While dinner was under discussion, a sergeant made his ap- 
 pearance at the door of the apartment, and summoned M'Kel- 
 vey, one of Walton's officers, away from the company. He re- 
 turned a moment after with the tidings that one of the prisoners 
 had somehow succeeded in making his escape. 
 
 " It appears, by the way, Major Proctor," said M'Kelvey, 
 " that the fellow was a servant of yours. This I have just as- 
 certained. He was taken about the same time with yourself, 
 while returning from .Dorchester." 
 
 " Ha !"' exclaimed Proctor, with surprise. "Is it possible? 
 He taken t" 
 
 "Had you mentioned him, major," said Walton, "I should 
 have placed him in your hands." 
 
Walton's camp. 343 
 
 " It is, perhaps, better that you did not. Had you done so, 
 I had most probably shot him. He is a scoundrel. If taken 
 following me from Dorchester, he was a spy upon my actions, 
 commissioned by my enemies. And he has escaped V 
 
 " Within an hour," replied M'Kelvey. 
 
 " You will do well to pursue him," said Proctor. " He is 
 a consummate scoundrel, and» will bring your enemies upon 
 you." 
 
 " Scarcely, for we shall be away by sunset, leaving you in 
 possession of the mansion. We can spare no time, now, for pur- 
 suit, and the fellow is not worth the trouble. Had we known 
 bis relations to you before, we might have prev-ented this ; but 
 — fill. Major Proctor ; do not let it annoy you. This is choice 
 old Madeira, such as seldom honors our camp." 
 
 Proctor filled the glass mechanically ; his brow contracted 
 with thought, and his imagination readily suggesting to him that 
 circumstances had, strangely enough, woven around him a web 
 of increasing meshes, rendering his case more than ever com- 
 plicated. With an effort, hfe shook off this mood, and abruptly 
 addressed Colonel Walton in reference to his more distinguished 
 captive. 
 
 " Pardon me, Colonel Walton, but you have- another prisoner. 
 Pray tell me what is your design with regard to General Wil- 
 liamson 1" 
 
 " He is a traitor. Major Proctor, to our cause i" was the stem 
 reply. 
 
 « Yes, but " 
 
 " There is but one fate for such." 
 
 " But you — you will not be the voluntary instrument of pun- 
 ishment V 
 
 " I would not if I could escape it. If it were possible to con- 
 vey him to the hands of Marion or Greene, I would gladly do 
 so, but " 
 
 " There is no need of this, Col. Walton, said M'Kelvey im- 
 patiently ; " I know not any right that we have to shuffle off an 
 unpleasant duty upon others. It is our duty to try this traitor, 
 or it is not. He deserves punishment, or he does not. He is 
 in our hands, and the blood of our fathers, hung at Camden and 
 
344 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 other places, by Comwallis and his tory allies, demand that he 
 shall not be suffered to escape without his deserts. I am for do- 
 ing my duty. If we delay, we may lose him. We ought not to 
 lisk the chances of securing justice, by any wild attempt to con- 
 vey such a prisoner quite across the country, from the extreme 
 south to extreme north, from Combahee to Lynch's Creek, only 
 that he may be tried and punished for an offence of which he is 
 notoriously guilty, and upon which we have the right to sit in 
 judgment and to execute. Had yon suffered me, he should 
 have been swinging to the highest tree on the high road to 
 Charleston, in twenty minutes after he was taken." 
 
 " I am glad you did not consent to so summary a procedure," 
 said Proctor to Walton. 
 
 The latter said gravely, answering M'Kelvey : — 
 
 " Do not reproach me. Captain M'Kelvey. I have no desire 
 to escape my duties when I clearly recognise them to be such. 
 As for this man, Williamson, we have ordered him for examina^ 
 tion this afternoon, and my decision will depend upon what shall 
 be then educed in evidence. I hope to prove myself neither 
 blood-thirsty nor weak. If his death can be shown as likely to 
 promote our cause, he shall die, though I myself become the 
 executioner. If this can not be shown, then shall he live, though 
 I myself perish in defending him. In this reply. Major Proc- 
 tor, you too are answered. As you remain here this afternoon, 
 you will please be present at his trial. I prefer that you 
 should be able, as an impartial witness, to report truly what 
 we do." 
 
 " This privilege, Colonel Walton, determines me to remain. 
 But for this, I should have entreated your permission to depart for 
 the city instantly. It is, indeed, quite important to my own in- 
 terests that I should be there. You are, perhaps, not aware 
 that I too labor under suspicions which seriously threaten my 
 safety ; and that I momently expect to be brought to trial for 
 something like treason to my sovereign. It is but natural, 
 therefore, that I should sympathize with another in a like 
 danger, though, perhaps, under circumstances exceedingly 
 unlike." 
 
 " Yes, indeed : there can be no comparison in the facts of 
 
Walton's camp. 345 
 
 your case and those in the case of Wilhamson. But what are 
 your offences 1" 
 
 "A supposed participation in your escape at Dorchester — " 
 
 " Good Heavens ! Is it possible 1" 
 
 " And other treasonable conduct evinced during my command 
 of that post, particularly in my visits and supposed intimacy 
 with yourself and family." 
 
 "But my testimony would acc[uit you of all these absurd 
 charges !" 
 
 " Yes, perhaps ; if your testimony would be received. But 
 you forget the position which you yourself occupy in the eye of 
 the British authorities." 
 
 " True ! true ! But can I do nothing for you 1" 
 
 " Nothing that I can see. Yes, perhaps ! Be merciful to this 
 unfortunate man in your custody." 
 
 Walton grasped the hand of Proctor, as the parties rose from 
 the table. He made no other reply. M'Kelvey was not thus 
 silent. 
 
 " Mercy to ourselves and to our people, deny that so great a 
 traitor should have mercy !" 
 
 This was said aloud, and, as he left the room, he muttered 
 audibly : " Would that I had run him up to the first oak before 
 we left the Ashley." 
 
 " He is not the proper person to sit on this trial, Colonel Wal- 
 ton," said Proctor, referring to the last speaker. 
 
 " At all events, Major Proctor, I shall exercise the discretion 
 of a supreme judge in this case. I do not say that we may not 
 find it imperative to condemn this man to instant execution ; 
 but I can assure you, that I shall feel a real satisfaction in es- 
 caping from such conviction." 
 
 Nothing more was said upon the subject. Proctor was left 
 for awhile to himself, and employed his solitude in becoming 
 meditations of his own future and affairs. He had enough to 
 make him gloomy and apprehensive. The iiitelligence of the 
 espionage of his man John — for such it evidently was — of his 
 capture and escape, showed him the probability of new and un- 
 expected involvements, making his case more suspicious in char- 
 acter and.more difficult of defence. It was only with a desper- 
 
 15* 
 
846 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 ate effort, finding his tead to aclie under the embarrassments of 
 Lis thought, that he succeeded in giving a new direction to his 
 meditations. 
 
 Meanwhile, Walton had ascertained the particulars of the es- 
 cape made by Proctor's servant. The fellow had been gone 
 fully three hours when his absence was first discovered. A wo- 
 man, bringing in fniits and vegetables to the camp, had met 
 him several miles on the road below, and described his person 
 exactly. By what means he had escaped the vigilance of the 
 sentinels could not be ascertained ; but that he had thus suc- 
 ceeded, counselled "Walton to a strengthening of his guards, 
 which accordingly took place. Having given orders to his offi- 
 cers to have their men in readiness for moving across the Com- 
 bahee by sundown, Walton prepared for the examination of 
 Williamson. The great hall of the mansion was assigned for 
 this purpose, and the unfortunate prisoner, conscious equally of 
 his degradation and danger, in the eyes, and at the hands, of 
 his old associates, was brought manacled into the centre of a 
 group, in whose stem faces he read no sympathy, and from 
 whose harsh judgments he cordd possibly entertain no hope. At 
 the very moment that he was thus brought up for trial, with a 
 penalty the most fearful in his eyes, the runagate servant of 
 Proctor was encountered by the British detachment under the 
 command of Mad Archy Campbell. He was brought before 
 that dashing ofiicer, andJiis examination may well precede that 
 of Williamson. 
 
 " What ! John, is that you 1 Where the devil have you 
 been 1 Where's your master 1" 
 
 "Ah, sir; your honor, I've been in bad hands; I've been a 
 prisoner to the enemy. They're only seven mUes, here away, 
 a matter of fifty horse or so, under the command of Colonel 
 Walton." 
 
 " Beelzebub ! Do you say 1 Walton ; and but fifty men j 
 and I have sixty ! Push forward with the advance, Captain 
 Auld ; but seven miles ! We must have a grand supper on 
 steel to-night!" 
 
 " If you'll move cautious, major, you'll surprise 'em. They 
 don't look for you or any of our people. They're veiy loose 
 
Walton's camp. 347 
 
 about the sentinels ; that's how I came to get away. Most of 
 their parties are busy looking for fruit about the farms, the reg- 
 ular grub being pretty scarce in those quarters." 
 
 " A good notion ! Better to surprise than be surprised, and 
 an ambuscade is an inconvenient thing. Hold up your men, 
 captain, while we discuss this matter. I say, John, you are 
 quite sure of what you say 1" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, sir, it's as true as the Book." 
 
 " It is "Walton's party, and he has but fifty men, and his sen- 
 tries are careless." 
 
 "All true, sir." 
 
 "Has Colonel Walton any prisoners — your master?" 
 
 " Why, major, my master's with Colonel Walton's party ; but 
 whether he's a prisoner or not, it's not for me to say." 
 
 "Why, you d d Trojan, what do you insinuate?" 
 
 " Well, major, I don't insinuate nothing, only I can't help see- 
 ing for myself. I followed my master from Dorchester, and 
 they put me in ropes, and let him go free." 
 
 " Why, you booby, did you think that they would tie up a 
 gentleman like a blackguard ! They could rely on your mas- 
 ter's word of honor, fool ; but who could rely on yours ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I know that, but " 
 
 " But what ?" 
 
 " I don't think that Major Proctor's been a prisoner at all. 
 I've a notion that when he went into Colonel Walton's camp, 
 he know'd pretty iuuch where he iwas going. He's been free 
 ever since. I never heard that they watched him at all ; and, 
 indeed, the people told me that he had gone over to the rebel 
 cause." 
 
 " Silence, you d d heathen ! That a fellow should sus- 
 pect his own master ! Where do you expect to go when you 
 die, Philistine ? Say no more of your master ! But tell me if 
 General Williamson is still a prisoner with Colonel Walton." 
 
 " Fast, sir, and they do say that they mean to hang him. 
 There was something said this very morning of a jury to be set 
 upon him." 
 
 " It is not too late ! We must push forward quickly, but cau- 
 tiously, Captain Auld. This fellow will be your guide. Take 
 
348 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 liim to the front, and follow his information ; but, if he shows 
 any trifling, cut him down as you would a cabbage. Do you 
 hear that, John 1 do you understand it 1 Very well ; I see you 
 do ; and you know that there's no jest in it ! Now, go forward, 
 lead us faithfully, and, if we succeed in surprising the rebels, you 
 shall have five guineas. If you fail us ; if you show treachery, 
 or even he in this business, you are only so much dog's meat to 
 the sabre." 
 
 " Thank,your honor," said John, lifting his hat, and referring 
 wholly to the five guineas. " If they ain't moved from the 
 camp, you'll be sure to catch 'em in it." 
 
 " Reasonable logic ; away !" cried Mad Archy, and the party 
 disappeared from sight under the guidance of the fugitive. 
 
 He led them unerringly. Unhappily for our friends, his report 
 of the remissness of Walton's sentries was much too true. Newly- 
 raised militiamen, not yet subdued by training, and far from sys- 
 tematic in their military habits, they were quite too prone to as- 
 sume their position to be secure, without making it certainly so. 
 Without dreaming of any movement from the garrison, they did 
 not anticipate one. Pinched by hunger, or lured by the love of 
 fruit, the sentinels had wandered off, in most cases, from the 
 posts assigned them, and were busied in deserted orchards, 
 thrashing the peach-trees for their late and unripe harvest. 
 
 While thus occupied, the British troopers stole within the line 
 of sentries. One incident will serve to illustrate the fate of 
 these unfortunate wretches, in their miserable neglect of duty. 
 On the edge of an old orchard, which was bounded by an open 
 tract of pine forest, a young woman was seated upon a fallen 
 tree, peeling peaches, and chipping them up into small pieces, 
 evidently meant for a pot which stood near her, in which- a few 
 quarts of water was simmering above a slow fire. At the side 
 of the woman, lay a man upon the ground, his head leaning 
 upon the log. He was sleeping. He was garbed in the usual 
 costume of the rangers, with a light-blue hunting shirt fringed 
 with cotton, and with falling cape similarly ornamented. At 
 the end of the fallen tree, leaned against some of the upright 
 branches, was the rifle which he carried. With the exception 
 of a coufeau dc chasse, stuck in his belt, he wore no other weap- 
 
Walton's camp. 349 
 
 on. His coonskin cap had fallen from his head while he slept, 
 and now lay on the other side of the log. 
 
 On a sudden, the young woman raised her head and seemed 
 to listen. She resumed her occupation after a moment's pause, 
 as if satisfied ; but again, after another brief interval, she put on 
 the attitude of a listener, and at length, with some anxiety in 
 her manner, she laid her hand on the arm of the sleeping man. 
 
 "Joel, Joel," she cried, "wake up: I hear horses from be- 
 low." 
 
 "Eh! ah!" sighed the sleeper — slowly comprehending her 
 — and opening his eyes vacantly. 
 
 " I hear horses from below, Joel." 
 
 "Ah ! some of our scouts I 'spose." 
 
 " It sounds like a troop, Joel ; better get up." 
 
 " Oh !' Sail, it's only jist that you wants to be talking to me ; 
 that's it." 
 
 " No I I declare ! Don't you hear them, Joel ?" 
 
 " Why, yes I do ; but it's only a few of the scouts got to- 
 gether, and a riding into the camp." 
 
 " There's a great many on 'em, I reckon by the sound." 
 
 " So there is," cried the fellow, rising slowly to his feet, and 
 looking curiously about him. 
 
 JBeginning to perceive something unusual in the approach of 
 such a body of horse as he now distinctly heard, the sense of 
 vigilance was not sufficiently habitual to move him to an instant 
 decision for his own safety, or the performance of his duties. 
 Had he then seized his rifle, prepared to discharge it as soon as 
 thoroughly certified of an enemy, and dashed for the thickets 
 a moment after, he would have saved himself, and advised the 
 camp of the approach of danger. But he stood gazing at the 
 wood from which the sounds continued to approach, his rifle 
 still leaning among the branches twenty feet from him and 
 more. 
 
 On a sudden, he was brought to the fullest conviction of his 
 folly and his danger, as a group of three British horsemen dashed 
 out of the wood, within less than fifty yards distant. Their scar- 
 let uniforms at once opened his eyes to his true situation. To 
 bound forward to the place where stood his rifle, was the first 
 
350 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 instinct, but it lay between him and the approaching enemy. 
 He hesitated. Sally cried to him, catching his arm as she did 
 so, and pushing him toward the thicket — 
 
 " Run, Joel. Take the bushes — that's your only chance." 
 
 But the manly instinct, tardy as it was, interposed to prevent 
 his adoption of this now judicious advice. He flung her off, and 
 rushed for the rifle. But his haste, and the fact that, while 
 seeking it ■W'ith his hand, his eye was kept upon the enemy, 
 caused a momentary embarrassment, some of the dead branches 
 of the tree catching the lock of the weapon. When, at length, 
 he drew it out, one of the three horsemen was upon him, and 
 within a few paces only. The whole proceeding had occupied 
 but a few seconds. The rifleman, in a moment, perceived that, 
 to prepare his weapon, turn upon his assailant, take aim and fire, 
 would be impossible where he then stood. His object was to 
 secure a little space which would give him momentary safety. 
 To leap the massive shaft of the tree, and throw its branches 
 between himself and the horseman, was the obvious plan for 
 safety ; and he attempted it ; but too late. Even as he leaped, 
 the sabre of Mad Archy — for he was the foremost enemy — 
 made a swift bright circle in the air, and, striking with horizon- 
 tal edge, smote sheer, slicing off completely the coronal region 
 of the unfortunate man. He feU across the tree, prone, without 
 a straggle. 
 
 " Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown !" cried the reck- 
 less trooper in a quotation from Shakspere, shouted rather than 
 spoken. He addo^, making the sentence significant — "Yours, 
 my good fellow, has no such impediment to sleep hereafter." 
 
 The horrors of the scene seemed only to enliven the mood 
 of the desperate soldier. His eye glared with that rapture 
 of the strife, which made the Hun so terrible in battle, and 
 which forms the vital passion of the Birserker of the northern 
 nations. Mad Archy Campbell belonged to this order of wild 
 and terrible spirits. His sword was still uplifted, when the 
 young woman rushed toward the body of her late companion, 
 her arms extended, her face wild as that of a maniac. 
 
 " Out of the way, woman !" he cried aloud as he beheld her 
 movement, and sought to draw his steed aside from her path. 
 
Walton's camp. 351 
 
 " Out of the •wS/j, I say ! A -woman is never in more danger 
 tlian when she would run over a horseman." 
 
 She did not heed him at all; but, tottering forward, fell down 
 by the side of the murdered man. Clapping spurs to his horse, 
 Campbell went over her at a bound, clearing, and without touch- 
 ing, the nnliappy creature. For a moment the fierce horseman 
 thought it possible that his wild blow had cut asunder some dear 
 and very precious, though very humble human affection ; but 
 unhappily such performances lay within the province assigned 
 him, and he had stUl other and like duties to perform. He 
 looked not even back upon the mixed group, the living and the 
 dead; but, joined by others of his squad, bearing swords al- 
 ready dripping like his own, he hurried forward to the surprise 
 of the rebel camp. 
 
352 KATtoiRINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 
 
 LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 We have seen Walton and his officers assembled for the trial, 
 or examination, of the prisoner, Williamson. Major Proctor was 
 present at the proceedings, a curious and somewhat excited 
 spectator. Walton presided, grave, stern, commanding, and res- 
 olute to do his duty, and that only. Williamson looked weary, 
 but his carriage was not undignified. He noticed the presence 
 of Proctor with looks which seemed to betray dissatisfaction. 
 Knowing, as we do, his secret, the presence of the British officer 
 was necessarily a restraint upon him. How could he declare, 
 in his hearing, that he was actually playing the part in the 
 British garrison, as an emissary of Marion and Green 1 Yet, to 
 establish this fact, to the satisfaction of his present judge, was 
 the only hope left to him of safety. 
 
 Every form common to such trials was rigidly adhered to. 
 The officers of the court were sworn. The prisoner was duly 
 arraigned. The charges and specifications were then stated by 
 a judge advocate, by whom a list of witnesses was submitted, 
 upon whose testimony he relied to establish the truth of the 
 charges made. Upon these charges he dilated in a speech, 
 which reviewed the whole career of Williamson, from the first 
 period of his public life, when he did good service to the state 
 against the Indians, passing to that when he strove honorably 
 in the cause of the patriots ; and showing, in contrast with these 
 honorable histories, his supposed imhappy falling off from sworn 
 faith and country. To all this matter the arraigned person was 
 permitted to reply. 
 
 Williamson was hot an orator, not a speaker at all, not even 
 
LIFE OR DEATH. 353 
 
 a tolerably-educated man. He was absolutely illitei;ate ; but 
 by no means wanting in intelligence. He had moth.er-wit and 
 shrewdness in considerable share ; was sensible and thoughtful ; 
 had lived too long by his own efforts, and among intelligent and 
 accomplished men, not to have acquired a considerable degree 
 of readiness, and, indeed, a certain share of grace. He rose to 
 reply to the charges made against him, and which, we need not 
 say, were proved by several credible witnesses. He reviewed 
 the history which had been just given of his career. He did not 
 complain of any injustice, until the period was reached which 
 described him as deserting from the cause of his country, and 
 taking sides with her enemies. To this point he answered in 
 some such language as the following : — 
 
 " This alleged desertion from the cause of my country con- 
 sists in my having taken a British protection, even as you, sir, 
 have taken a British protection " 
 
 This was addressed to Colonel Walton. His brow was 
 wa,rmly flushed, as he replied — 
 
 " When I took a British protection, sir, I was under duresse, 
 a prisoner, in fact, and in a situation well known to the country ; 
 and the protection which I took, under protest all the while, was 
 urged upon me by my friends as absolutely unavoidable in my 
 situation, and absolutely necessary to the safety of my family no 
 less than my own. But I am not under trial, sir: — when it 
 becomes necessary for me to answer to my country, I trust that 
 I shall not find it difficult to meet all the charges made against 
 me." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," replied Williamson, modestly. " In refer- 
 ring to the protection taken by yourself, I meant only to indi- 
 cate the true character of that compromise which the necessities 
 of the time forced so many of us to make. Until Buford's de- 
 feat, I appeal to all the world to say, if I did not honorably and 
 truly maintain my allegiance to the revolutionary party. But 
 in the defeat of Buford went down all organized opposition in 
 the state. It was supposed, on all hands, that the contest was 
 at an end, so far as South Carolina and Georgia were concerned. 
 The regular troops of both were defeated and mostly in captiv- 
 ity. In the fall of Charleston, five thousand of our disposable 
 
354 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 troops were taken from the field. The defeat of Buford dis- 
 posed, in like manner, of all our Virginia allies. The continen- 
 tal army was a qkeleton, and continental money had ceased to 
 be a tender. Without means, or men, or money, I called my 
 officers together. My command of rangers was almost the only 
 one in the state which had not been dispersed ; and, after delib- 
 erate consultation, it was agreed that the contest was hopeless. 
 I declared my determination to abide by their decision, and the 
 result of our deliberations was that we should abandon the field 
 and disperse." 
 
 "But not surrender to the enemy" — said the judge advocate 
 — "not join his forces, not give him aid and comfort." 
 
 " I did neither,'' was the somewhat hesitating reply of Wil- 
 liamson. 
 
 "It is unfortunate for you," said the advocste, "that your 
 correspondence with Eichard Pearis, Robert Fletchall, and oth- 
 ers, is on record, and in our hands." 
 
 " All these letters can be explained, and shown as innocent. 
 Besides, when they were written, I can show that I too was 
 under duresse." 
 
 " Yes : but it was of your own seeking. You had voluntarily 
 thrown yourself into the city of Charleston." 
 
 " What was to be done 1 Of all the acknowledged leaders 
 of the state, not one was to be found. Some were in captivity ; 
 others had fled. General Moultrie was a prisonor-of-war ; so 
 was General Gadsden ; it was not known what had become of 
 Colonel Marion ; and General Sumter and Governor Eutledge 
 had both fled the state." 
 
 "Pled only to North Carolina, and thither only to find 
 recruits in order to renew the struggle," answered the judge 
 advocate. 
 
 " I grant, sir," continued Wilhamson, " that I might have 
 done the same : I confess my regret that I did not. I now see, 
 by what Marlon and Sumter have done, what might have been 
 done by many others ; but I must plead ignorance of our re- 
 sources, or my own resources ; and not wilfulness or a treacher- 
 ous purpose, when, forbearing to follow the example, which as 
 yet had not been shown, I yielded up a seemingly hopeless 
 
LIFE OR DEATH, 355 
 
 struggle. I followed, indeed, a very frequent example, in taking 
 British protection, as entirely hopeless of any other." 
 
 " The charge is not simply that you disbanded your com- 
 mand, and submitted to the enemy ; it is that you joined them, 
 and took sides against your friends. I herewith submit to the 
 court your intercepted letters to certain notorious royalists of the 
 back country, and your letters to certain patriots of the same 
 region, urging upon them the necessity of going over to the 
 British cause. If you deny your agency in these letters, we are 
 prepared to prove your signature." 
 
 " I am very far from denying these letters. I freely confess 
 them ■ but look at the dates when they were written, and you 
 wUl discover that they were written at the moment when I my- 
 self took the protection of the British, and embodied simply the 
 arguments by which I was influenced ; showing, indeed, the 
 exigency which, as I supposed, prevailed throlighout the state. 
 Nobody then believed, or appeared to believe, that we had any- 
 thing to hope for. Congress, it was understood, scarcely able to 
 maintain its ground in the north, was prepared to abandon the 
 extreme south to its fate. That Marion, Sumter, and others, 
 should subsequently take the field, and with so much success, 
 was nowhere anticipated ; and that they have done so, affords 
 me a satisfaction quite as great as that which any of you feel." 
 
 A smile of derision lightened up the faces of several members 
 of the court at this assertion. Walton regarded the speaker with 
 a grave sorrow of countenance. The judge advocate indulged 
 in a bitter sarcasm ; and Captain M'Kelvey, striking impatiently 
 upon the table, exclaimed — 
 
 " Upon my soul we have too much talking by half. What 
 need of it ? The prisoner confesses the charges against him. 
 He admits the letters, and they prove everything. That he 
 should try to explain them away is absurd. His crime is ac- 
 knowledged. I don't see why we should not proceed to judg- 
 ment. I say, for one, that he is a proven traitor, and deserves 
 the death of one ; and I move you, Mr. President, that we take 
 the vote on the question." 
 
 " Ay, ay ! the vote : guilty or not guilty 1" was the echo from 
 several other voices. Williamson became fearfully agitated. 
 
356 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Is this a trial, Mr. President 1" 
 
 " Be patient, sir," answered Walton. 
 
 " It is a more formal and regular trial, by far, than Eawdon 
 and Balfour accord to the whigs, our brethren," was the angry- 
 reply of the judge advocate. 
 
 " Ay, indeed, ' Rawdon's mercy,' and ' Tarleton's Quarters,' 
 are rare sorts of trials !" cried M'Kelvey. 
 
 The feeling was rising. The court was becoming momenta- 
 rily more and more irritable and boisterous. " Death to the 
 traitor!" was audibly announced. 
 
 " Mr. President," said Williamson, " it is surely clear to you 
 that I can not have justice at this board, with such a temper 
 prevailing among its members." 
 
 " Silence the traitor !" muttered several voices ; " we have 
 heard quite enough !" 
 
 " The vote, Mr. President," cried M'Kelvey. 
 
 " I do not see why the question should not be taken, Mr. 
 President," pursued the judge advocate. "Every substantial 
 fact is admitted by the defendant. He is guilty, by his own 
 confession, of going over to the enemy — of corresponding with 
 the blood-thirsty tones who have been rioting in the spoils of 
 our people upon the borders ; — he admits that he has written 
 these letters to our friends, seeking to seduce them from their 
 allegiance ; asserting the inevitable ascendency and success of 
 the British. He lives within a British garrison, and is, as we 
 can also show, the trusted counsellor of Balfour and Rawdon. 
 Is anything more necessary for his conviction V 
 
 The excitement increased with this speech. Williamson 
 eagerly and urgently entreated to be heard ; renewed his argu- 
 ments and explanations ; and was with difficulty secvu:ed a hear- 
 ing. It was evident that a vote taken in regard to liis guilt, 
 and decreeing summary and extreme punishment, would be 
 almost, if not quite, unanimous ; and the defence of the prisoner, 
 as made by himself, was now of a sort rather to provoke than 
 conciliate hostility. His agitation, and the exhibition of some 
 temper, were at variance with all prudence and good policy. 
 Proctor could no longer restrain himself. He rose from his seat, 
 
LIFE OR DEATH. 357 
 
 passed to that of the president, and placed before him a paper 
 on which he had pencilled these words — 
 
 " For God's sake, for your own sake, Colonel Walton, do not 
 suifer these men to decide this case !. They are resolute to have 
 this man's blood, and the circumstances of the case, and the 
 condition of the country, neither call for, nor will sanction its 
 shedding. Let me entreat you, as a man of honor and a Chris- 
 tian, to interpose !" 
 
 Walton wrote at the bottom of the paper — 
 
 " At the right moment, I will. Fear nothing. I will adjourn 
 the court and refer the case to General Greene, aud a board of 
 superior officers." 
 
 This episode had not taken place without causing a new emo- 
 tion in the assembly. There were audible murmurs about the 
 court in regard to the impertinence of one prisoner taking part 
 for another. These murmurs were silenced by the judge advo- 
 cate, who, in a whisper to the most turbulent said — 
 
 " All's right ; ProCtor's come over to us. He has no more 
 love for the traitor than we. Be still !" 
 
 Whether be expressed his own conjecture, or repeated only 
 what he had heard, can not be said ; but Williamson appeared 
 to regard the interposition of Proctor with a mind suspicious that 
 it augured him no good. With a somewhat violent manner, he 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " This is unwarrantable, Mr. President. I protest against any 
 interference, in this case, on the part of a British officer and an 
 enemy. This court is not in the temper for the just trial of my 
 case. It is full of my enemies." 
 
 " Does General Williamson appeal from this court ? His ap- 
 peal will lie to General Marion, or to General Greene 1" 
 
 The suggestion was eagerly seized by the accused. 
 
 " I do appeal," he cried ; " but in the meantime, I have that 
 to say to the president, if allowed to speak with him in private, 
 which, I think, will satisfy him of my innocence, and, that I ought 
 to go free from trial altogether." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Very good !" was the response of M'Kelvey. 
 Walton gravely spoke : — 
 
 "Gentlemen, with your permission, I -will accord to General 
 
358 Ki.THARINE WALTON. 
 
 Williamson the private intemew he seeks. This can do no 
 harni ; particularly, since his appeal will render delay inevitable." 
 
 " If allowed," cried the judge advocate ; " but I see not why 
 it should be allowed." 
 
 " It must be, if urged," answered "Walton ; " our jurisdiction 
 is not final." 
 
 " It ought to be," muttered the judge advocate ; and audible 
 murmurs around the board showed how intractable were the 
 wild spirits whom the president was required to control. Wal- 
 ton did not seem to heed these murmurs, but, rising from his seat, 
 said to WUliamson — 
 
 "Now, sir, if you have anything to communicate, we will 
 retire to the adjoining chamber. I would not do you injustice. 
 General Williamson ; nay, would save your life if this be pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " I will show you good reason why you should," answered 
 WUliamson, eagerly, as the two left the room together. A noisy 
 discussion among the heated bloods of the court, followed the 
 departure of the president and the prisoner. It was now very 
 evident, to Proctor, that, but for Walton, Williamson would, 
 long ere this, have expiated his offences, real or supposed, on 
 the nearest tree. His reflections assured him that, according to 
 the mode of judgment in these times, such a summary execution 
 would have been perfectly justified by the circumstances, assu- 
 ming them, to be true. Of course, he knew nothing of the secret 
 relations between Williamson and Colonel Singleton. 
 
 While the oflicers around him continued in noisy discussion of 
 the matter, our Englishman rose and went to the window. He 
 gazed out upon a once lovely lawn, now in ruins. The shade 
 trees, in front of the house, had shed numerous branches, which 
 were unremoved, and the undergrowth was gross and matted ; 
 all was significant of the wild and vexed condition under which 
 the land was groaning. Broken and decaying fences, right and 
 left, and the slender skeleton stalks of the cornfields of previous 
 years, looked equally mournful ; while the silence, that spread 
 everywhere without, was singularly expressive of the real deso- 
 lation of the country. 
 
 While Proctor gazed and mused, the silence was suddenly 
 
LIFE OR DEATH. 359 
 
 broken by the sound of pistol-shots. These seemed to command 
 no attention among the assembly within. Proctor thought the 
 event worthy of remark, as it would have been in any well- 
 ordered encampment ; but he reflected upon the loose habits, 
 and frequent disorder among the militia, and he concluded this to 
 be nothing more than one of their ordinary violations of discipline. 
 
 But, even as he looked out, he caught a ghmpse, at a distance, 
 beyond the open cornfield, of three of the rangers, ranning con- 
 fusedly from one side of the field, as if seeking a cover in the 
 woods beyond. A few moments after, he descried the flashing 
 of scarlet uniforms among the trees in the opposite woods. This 
 unfolded to him the true history. He, at once, felt for the 
 officers around him, and for Walton ; all of them wholly un- 
 conscious of the apparent danger. With a generous impulse, 
 he turned to the company, still eagerly clamorous in respect to 
 Williamson. 
 
 " Gentlemen, If I mistake not, your camp is in danger of sur- 
 prise, if not actually surprised. I have heard pistol-shots, and 
 have just now caught glimpses of the British uniform among the 
 pines in that wood upon the southeast." 
 
 The whole party rushed to the window. By this time, other 
 pistol-shots were heard. Soon, others of the riflemen, scattered, 
 and in evident flight, were seen to hurry for the woods along 
 the edge of the cornfield, and, at length, a group of dragoons, 
 in the rich uniform of the British army, suddenly appearing, left 
 the event no longer doubtful. 
 
 " Great God ! we are surprised ! They will be soon upon us !" 
 cried more than one of the officers. 
 
 "These d d videttes and sentries!" cried M'Kelvey; 
 
 " that the lives of brave men should rest upon such rascals ! 
 To horse, men, and let us see what can be done." 
 
 " Nothing remEtins to be done now," remarked Proctor, quietly. 
 " but to fly ! Your people are evidently dispersed." 
 
 M'Kelvey gave him a fierce look, and glanced upon him with 
 angry eyes ; but, without a word, darted to the chamber where 
 Walton and Williamson were in conference. He knocked with 
 the hilt of his sword upon the door, which he vainly attempted 
 to open, crying out the while — 
 
360 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 ' The enemy are upon us, colonel ; you have not a moment 
 to lose." 
 
 The door was instantly thrown open, and Walton came forth 
 eagerly, followed by Williamson. 
 
 " The enemy ! where ? And no alarm ?" 
 
 " None ! The sentries have heen asleep, d n 'em, and 
 
 our men are probably all dispersed." 
 
 " We must see to that," cried Walton, preparing to go forth. 
 
 " It is too late, Colonel Walton, to look after your men," said 
 Proctor, approaching. " Fly, while time is allowed you. The 
 dragoons are, even now, speeding across the cornfield, directly 
 for the house." 
 
 "Too true!" cried M'Kelvey, who had been. looking; "we 
 must take the back track, colonel, for the swamp. Fortimately, 
 our horses are just behind the house." 
 
 Walton looked out, and saw a squad of Campbell's dragoons, 
 headed by that impetuous captain, in ftdl speed for the dwell- 
 ing, and scarcely three hundred yards distant. " Sauve qui 
 peut !" was the counsel of every instinct. The back door of 
 the house was already open, and the party rapidly descended 
 from the piazza to the horses. Looking back, just as he was 
 mounting, M'Kelvey saw Williamson at the entrance, watching 
 every movement with great appearance of anxiety. 
 
 " Shall the d d traitor escape after all ?" he cried, fiercely. 
 
 " Not, by Heavens, while I have a bullet !" 
 
 He drew a pistol from his holster at the word, but Walton 
 caught his arm. 
 
 "Stay!" said he; "you know not what you do! Let the 
 man alone. He better serves us in the British garrison than he 
 did when he was ours. Spurs, gentlemen, and scatter for the 
 swamp !" 
 
 Walton saw his officers off at different points, making for the 
 ricefields beyond which lay the thickets, which, once reached, 
 would afford the most ample refuge. With a courteous wave 
 of the hand to the balcony, where Proctor and Williamson 
 stood, he gave spurs to his own splendid charger, a black, which 
 had never before failed him. M-Kelvey kept beside him, a 
 fierce but devoted foUowet ; and they were rapidly approaching 
 
LIFE OR DEATH. 361 
 
 the rear fence which separated the house enclosure from the 
 abandoned ricefields, when the British dragoons, Campbell at 
 their head, burst into the yard. They never noticed Proctor or 
 Williamson; but, with the fugitives full in view, dashed pell- 
 mell upon their tracks. Meanwhile, Walton, as M'Kelvey and 
 himself approached the fence, gave way to the latter, crying — 
 " Go ahead, captain, and take the leap ; the causeway will 
 suffer but one horseman at a time." 
 
 This was a generous suggestion, for the horse of Walton was 
 in the lead. It was an unwise decision made at that moment, 
 since, to enable M'Kelvey to go ahead, it was necessary that 
 Walton should curb the impulse already given to his horse. 
 M'Kelvey, to do him justice, growled audibly at the idle courtesy, 
 but felt that it was not a moment to dispute the privilege. He 
 drove the rowel into his lighter-made steed, and the animal went 
 clear. Walton was less fortunate. The track grew slippery as 
 he descended the bank. He felt the beast falter slightly, and, 
 in fact, trip, just before the fence was reached_, But, giving him 
 spur and rein at the right moment, he, too, went over, but fell 
 prone to the earth, as leaping beyond the horse of M'Kelvey, he 
 stumbled upon, a break in the rice-dam. Walton was thrown 
 completely over his head, and lay stunned for a moment. 
 
 In that moment the British troopers passed. M'Kelvey, be- 
 holding the danger of his superior, wheeled about, and dashed 
 back, sabre uplifted ; and, with all the recklessness of a knight 
 errant, rushed headlong to meet the enemy. He was cut. down 
 in the conflict with two of the dragoons, and, when Walton's 
 eyes opened upon the scene, the last struggles of his brave 
 lieutenant were at an end. 
 
 He opened his eyes only to find himself a prisoner. Mad 
 Archy, with a score of dragoons, stood over him, effectually 
 precluding every thought of conflict. Stunned and bruised, and 
 scarcely o.on5cious,.of his situation, he was taken by his' captors 
 back to the dwelling, where mad Archy was enabled to realize 
 the full extent of his successes. There he found both WiJliam- 
 son and Proctor. The former, though by no means a favorite 
 with Campbell, he congratulated upon his escape — having been 
 already taught how imminent had been his danger. Williamson 
 
 16 
 
362 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 very properly omitted all reference to the inteview wMch he 
 had had with Walton, in which, hy the way, he had shown to 
 the latter what all-sufficient reasons there were, why, if to be 
 hung by anybody, he should suffer that fate by the hands rather 
 of the British than the American. 
 
 To Proctor, the manner of Archy Campbell was marked by 
 great gravity and coldness. 
 
 " Your servant is here. Major Proctor. To him we are in- 
 debted for guidance to the rebel camp. Perhaps you will do 
 well to set him right as to the true circumstances in which he 
 left you here. I have only to say to you, that his report shows 
 him to entertain very equivocal notions of your present relations 
 with the enemy." 
 
 " My servant is a scoundrel. Major Campbell," was the stem 
 response of Proctor. 
 
 " I think it very likely," was the indifferent answer ; " and 
 shall beg you to take charge yourself of his correction and 
 reform. I have but to pay him five guineas, and we are quits." 
 
WIDOWS THE BEST MATERIAL FOR WIVES. 363 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 WIDOWS THE BEST MATERIAL FOE WIVES. 
 
 It was noon of the dAy whicli" has thus been distinguished 
 by the rescue of WillSmson and the capture of Colonel Wal- 
 ton, when two horsemen might have been seen slowly riding in 
 a southerly direction, on the route between the Edisto and the 
 Combahee rivers. They were both well mounted and armed ; 
 the one who seemed the leader carrying sword by side, and pis- 
 tols in his holsters ; the other, in addition to pistols, having a 
 neat, well-polished, and short rifle, lying across the pummel of 
 his saddle. In the portly person and fresh, florid features of 
 the former, we recognise Lieutenant Porgy, of Singleton's com- 
 mand : in the latter the young ensign, Lance Frampton. 
 
 If the reader has not forgotten some former passages in this 
 true history, he will find it easy to account for the presence of 
 these two personages in this neighborhood, at the present junc- 
 ture. It has probably not been forgotten, that, soon after the 
 defeat which Singleton had given to Lieutenant Meadows, and 
 the capture of that officer and of his convoy, the former com- 
 missioned these two officers, Porgy and Frampton, to convey a 
 baggage-wagon, ^itib, supplies, to the camp of Colonel Walton. 
 As this camp^Mas known to be erratic — as was usually the case 
 among the ;gai;jtisans of any experience — the duty thus assigned 
 them implied delay, difficulty, a tedious search, and the exer- 
 cise of a constant caution. Lieutenant Porgy was instructed to 
 take his wagon ■with as much despatch as was consistent with 
 secresy, to the cover of t^ swamps of the Edisto, on the west 
 side of that river ; to leave it there in concealment, with a por- 
 tion of his detachment, and then, himself, with Frampton, to 
 
364 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 proceed in eearcli of the squadron of Walton. There was yet 
 another duty, if we recollect, which was assigned, at the same 
 time, to this officer and his young companion. This was to 
 seek out the widow of Walter Griffin, one of the soldiers of 
 Singleton, who had fallen in the engagement with the troop of 
 Meadows, and to convey to her and her daughter the tidings of 
 his death and burial, together with his effects, and a certain 
 amount in English guineas, which Singleton was fortunate 
 enough to gather from the treasure-chest of Meadows, and 
 which he promptly shared among his followers. 
 
 This latter duty was properly confided in part to Frampton. 
 He might now be considered almost a member of Griffin's fami- 
 ly ; the tender interest which he felt in Ellen, the fair daughter 
 of the latter, having received from Griffin, while he lived, every 
 sanction, and being generally supposed eq[ually agreeable to the 
 young damsel herself. The melancholy part of his task, there- 
 fore, was not without its compensative considerations; and no 
 one could better express the language of sympathy and regret 
 than one who was thus necessarily a sharer in the misfortune. 
 Nor, according to his own notions, was Lieutenant Porgy him- 
 self improperly assigned a portion of this duty. This escellent 
 epicure had his own secret. He had a selfish reason for his 
 readiness to undertake a search like the present, which, but for 
 this reason, would have brought him annoyance only. But we 
 must leave it to himself and the sagacity of the reader to un- 
 fold this secret motive as we proceed. 
 
 We need not very closely follow the footsteps of Porgy and 
 his party, from the moment when they left Eavenel's plantation 
 on the Santee, and proceeded to the Edisto. Porgy was a man 
 nearly as full of. prudence as plethora. He was luxurious, but 
 he was vigilant ; fond of good things, but neglectful of no duty 
 in seeking them. He succeeded in conveying his baggage-wag- 
 on in safety to the spot destined for its hiding-place, in the 
 swamp-thickets of the Edisto. Here he left it in charge of 
 Lieutenant Davis, a shrewd and practised ranger. This done, 
 he set out, as we have seen, with Ensign Frampton, with the 
 twofold object of finding Colonel Walton and the widow Griffin. 
 
 Of the foi-mer, the party had been able to hear nothing by 
 
WIDOWS THE BEST MATERIAL FOR WIVES. 365 
 
 which to guide their progress. He was supposed to he ranging 
 somewhere between the Salkehatchie and the Savannah. In 
 the route now pursued, they had the widow Griffin in view, 
 rather than the partisan. Prampton knew where she dwelt, 
 and it was hoped that, on reaching her abode, some intelligence 
 might be-obtained from her of Walton. The, two had accord- 
 ingly taken a bee line from the swamps of Edisto for the hum- 
 ble farmstead of the widow, and at noon of the day in question 
 might probably be some ten miles from it. But they had rid- 
 den fast and far that morning, and when, after crossing a brook- 
 let, or hrancJi, which gushed, bright and limpid, across the 
 high road, Frampton exclaimed — " It's only nine miles and a 
 skip ; we could make it easy in two hours, lieutenant ;" — 
 the other answered with a growl that singularly resembled 
 an imprecation. " Only nine miles !" repeated Frampton, ur- 
 gently. 
 
 " And if it were only three, master Lance, I would not budge 
 a rod farther until I had seen our wallet emptied. No, no ! 
 young master, you must learn a better lesson. Never do you 
 hurry, even if it be on the road to happiness. No man enjoys 
 life who gallops through it. Take it slowly ; stop frequently 
 by the way, and look about you. He who goes ahead ever, 
 passes a treasure on both sides which he never finds coming 
 back. By pausing, resting, looking about you, and meditating, 
 you secure the ground you have gained, and acquire strength 
 to conquer more. Many a man, through sheer impatience, has 
 swani for the shore, and sunk just when it rose in sight. Had 
 the fool turned on his back and floated for an hour, the whole 
 journey would have been safe and easy. If you please, master 
 Lance, we'll tirn upon our backs for an hour. I have an appe- 
 tite just now. If I fail to satisfy it, I lose it till to-morrow, and 
 the loss is irretrievable. There is some jerked beef in your 
 wallet, I think, and a few biscuit. We will turn up this branch, 
 the water of which is cool and dear, put ourselves in a close, 
 quiet place in the woods, and pacify the domestic tiger." 
 
 The young ensigm, eager, impatient, and not hungry, was 
 compelled to subdue his desire to hurry forward. He knew 
 that argument, at this hour, and under these circumstances, with 
 
366 KATHARINE WALTON^ 
 
 Lis superior, was vain. He submitted accordingly without fur- 
 ther expostulation, and with a proper grace ; and, riding ahead, 
 ascended a little elevation, which led him, still following the 
 winding of the creek, to a cool, shady, and retired spot some two 
 hundred yards from the roadside. He was closely followed by 
 his more bulky companion ; and, dismounting, stripping* their 
 horses, and suffering them to graze, they prepared to enjoy the 
 frugal provision which was afforded by the leathern wallet which 
 the young man carried. This was soon spread out upon the 
 turf ; and, letting himself down with the deliberation of a buf- 
 falo about to retire for the night. Lieutenant Porgy prepared for 
 the discussion of his dinner. 
 
 It was scarcely such as would satisfy either the tastes or ap- 
 petites of epicurism. Porgy growled as he ate. The beef was 
 hard and black, sun-dried and sapless. The biscuits were of 
 corn-meal, coarse, stale, and not palatable even to the hungry 
 man. But the tiger was earnest, and the foo^ rapidly disap- 
 peared. Frampton ate but little. His heart was too fuU of ex- 
 cited hopes to suffer his appetite to prevail. It would be doing 
 injustice to Porgy to suppose that he was glad to behold this 
 abstinence. Though fully equal, himself, to the consumption of 
 the slender provision before them, he was sincerely urgent that 
 the youth should feed. 
 
 " Why don't you fall to, boy ! Do you suppose there's not 
 enough for both 1 Eat, I say ! You've done nothing worth the 
 name of eating since last night. Eat ! I know I'm a beast, 
 seeking what I may devour, but understand, that I regard you 
 as one of my cubs, and will see you feed, even before I do my- 
 self. Take that other biscuit, and there's the beef. Cut, slash 
 — it will need a sharp knife, and sharper teeth to get at the 
 merits of that bull's quarter." 
 
 Frampton complied, or seemed to comply with the command. 
 Meanwhile, Porgy ate on, growling all the while. 
 
 " This is life, with a vengeance, and I must be a patriot if I 
 stand it much longer ! NotJiing seems to agree with me ! Hand 
 mo the bottle, Lance, and run down to the branch with the cup. 
 I believe I should perish utterly, but for the little seasoning of 
 Jamaica which is left. All !" looking at the small remains of 
 
VTIDOWS THE BEST MATERIAL FOR WIVES. 367 
 
 i 
 tlie liquor in the bottle, " it is now only what the poet calls the 
 drop of sweetening in the draught of eare." 
 
 " But if it be a draught of care, lieutenant," said Lanee arch- 
 ly, taking up the cup, and moving toward the branch, " why do 
 you drink of it so often ?" 
 
 " SOk often ! When, I pray you, have I drank of it before, 
 to-day 1" 
 
 " Only three miles back, at the Green Branch." 
 
 " Oh ! I drank three miles back, at the Crreen Branch, did 1 1 
 Well, it was the cup of Lethe to me, since I certainly forgot all 
 about it." 
 
 " There couldn't have been much bitterness in the draught, 
 lieutenant, or the taste would still be in your mouth. But, have 
 you forgotten the other cupful at Swan's Meadows, about nine 
 miles back V 
 
 " Do you call that a draught, you ape of manhood, when you 
 know that the Jamaica was just employed to precipitate the 
 cursed clayey sediment of that vile mill-pond water ? Get you 
 gone, and bring the water. This is good water, and I wUl have 
 a draught now, a genuine cupful ; since the others were only 
 calculated to provoke the thirst and mortify the desire. Away !" 
 
 The boy soon returned with the water. The worthy epicure 
 refreshed his inner man ; threw himself back upon the green 
 turf, under the pleasant shade-trees, and seemed deeply engaged 
 in meditating the merit of his performances. Lance Frampton 
 crouched quietly on the opposite side of the tree, and, for a lit- 
 tle while, neither party spoke. At length Porgy, with whom 
 taciturnity was never a cherished virtue, broke the silence. 
 
 " Lance, my boy, you are beginning life monstrous early." 
 
 " How so, lieutenant ?" 
 
 " When do you pr«pose to marry this little girl, Ellen Griffin i" 
 
 " Well, sir, I can't say. It's as she pleases." 
 
 " Pshaw, fool, it's as you please. When a girl consents to be 
 married, she's ready to be married. Lay that down as a law. 
 The consent to marry implies everything ; and all then depends 
 upon the man." 
 
 " Perhaps " 
 
 " Perhaps ! I tell yoa it it so, and more than that, I feel 
 
368 KATHARISTB WALTON. 
 
 pretty sure that nnless you are picked up by a Biitish bayonet 
 or bullet, you'll marry before the war is over." 
 
 " I should like it, I own, lieutenant." 
 
 " No doubt ; no doubt ; and you are right. I begin to think 
 that marriage is a good thing. I have wasted many years un- 
 profitably. How many women might I have made happy had 
 my thoughts led me this way before. But I may yet do some 
 good in this behalf before I die. I must marry soon, if ever." 
 
 "You, sir!" with something like surprise. 
 
 "Ay, to be sure ! why not I am I too old, jackanapes ?" 
 
 " Oh ! not a bit, lieutenant !" 
 
 " Well ! what then 1 what's to prevent 1 Yon don't suppose 
 that I'm fool enough to think of marrying a slight, fanciful, in- 
 experienced thing, such as you desire. The ripe, sir, not the 
 green fruit, for me. I require a woman who has some knowl- 
 edge of life ; who is skilled in housekeeping ; who can achieve 
 successes in the culinary department ; who knows the difference 
 between hash and haggis, and can convert a terrapin into a 
 turtle, by sheer dexterity in shaking the spice box. There is 
 another quality which a woman of this description is likely to 
 possess, and that is a due and reverent sense of her husband's 
 authority. It is because of her deference for this authority that 
 she acquires her art. She has learned duly to study his desires 
 and his tastes, and she submits her judgment to his own. She 
 waits to hear his opinion of the soup, and is always ready to 
 promise that she -will do better next time. I feel that I could 
 be happy with such a woman." 
 
 "No doubt, sir." 
 
 " The difficulty is in finding such. There are precious few 
 women who combine all the necessary qualities. They are not 
 often native. They come from training. • A wise father, or a 
 wise husband, ■^^^ll make such a woman ; she can not make her- 
 self. "Were I, for example, the husband of a girl such as your 
 Ellen—" 
 
 " My Ellen, sir !" 
 
 " Oh ! don't be alai-med, boy ; I have no idea of such a folly » 
 But were I the husband even of such a young and inexpei-ienced 
 creature, and did we live together but ten years ;, were I then 
 
WIDOWS THE BEST MATERIAL FOR WIVES. 369 
 
 to die, slie would be a prize for any man. She should be as ab- 
 solutely perfect as it is possible with one of a sex, a part of 
 whose best merits depend very much upon their imperfections. 
 Now,, this leads me to the reflection that, perhaps, widows are, 
 after all, the best materials out of which to make good wives ; 
 always assuming that they have been fortunate in the posses- 
 sion-of husbands like myself, who have been able to show them 
 the proper paths to follow, and who have had the will to keep 
 well them always in the traces. I am clearly of the opinion 
 that widows afford the very best material out of which to man- 
 ufacture wives." 
 
 " Indeed, sir." 
 
 " Yes indeed ! my widow would be a treasure for any man ; 
 and if I could only find the widow of a man who in some re- 
 spects resembled myself, I should commit matrimony." 
 
 " Commit ! — when you said that, lieutenant, I thought mur- 
 der was to be the next word, instead of matrimony." 
 
 " Did you ! You are getting humorous in your old age, my 
 son." 
 
 There was a pause, after this, of several minutes : but Porgy 
 resumed, apparently taking up a new topic entirely. 
 
 " Poor Griffin ! What a loss he must be to his wife ! Poor 
 woman ! I do pity her ! I liked Griffin, Lance. He was very 
 much a person of my own tastes ; not so refined, perhaps, not so 
 copious or-various, but with an evident tendency my way. No- 
 body in camp relished my terrapin soup half so well, and, for an 
 ordinary stew, he was admirable himself. We once compared 
 notes for our dressings, and it surprised us both to discover that 
 our ingredients and the quantities were, almost to a fraction, the 
 very same. I liked the poor fellow from that very hour, and 
 he, I think, had quite a liking for me." 
 
 " That he had, lieutenant !" 
 
 " I am pleased to think so, Lance. Many of his other quali- 
 ties resembled mine. He was generous, and spent his property 
 in too great a hurry to see which way it went. He was a man 
 of character, and detested all hypocrisy. He Avas a man of will, 
 and when he put his foot down, there it stuck. It was law. 1 
 
 16* 
 
370 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 Lave not the slightest doubt that poor Mrs. Griffin is an admi- 
 rably-trained woman." 
 
 There was a pause, in which Porgy himself rose, took his cup 
 and bottle and went down to the brooklet, saying — " Thinking 
 of poor Griffin, I will drink to his memory." 
 
 He soon returned and resumed the subject, somewhat, wfe 
 should fancy, to the annoyance of his companion. 
 
 " I am of opinion, Lance, that Mrs. Griffin, when a girl, must 
 have greatly resembled your Ellen. She has exactly the same 
 eyes and hair, the same mouth and chin, and, allowing for the 
 natural portliness of a woman of thirty-five, very much the same 
 figure. She is a fine-looking woman now ; and in her you will 
 be gratified to see what her daughter will be twenty years hence. 
 If she has trained her as she herself has been trained, you will 
 have every reason to be satisfied. Did you ever observe, when 
 Mrs. Griffin was in camp with us on the Santee, how frequently 
 I dhied in Griffin's mess 1 Well, it was in tribute to her excel- 
 lent merit in preparing the dinner. Her husband shared the 
 labor, it is true, and I sometimes contributed my counsel as an 
 amateur. This, no doubt, helped her very much ; but that 
 should not be allowed to disparage her real merits, since, to be 
 satisfied to submit to good counsellors, shows a degree of wis- 
 dom, such as ordinary women seldom arrive at. Poor woman ! 
 how I pity her ! How such a woman, so meekly dependent 
 upon her husband, can endure widowhood, is very problemati- 
 cal !" 
 
 There was another pause. Lance Frampton being heard to 
 turn uneasily behind the tree, when Porgy resumed — 
 
 " Yes ! the truth is not to be denied. I have been quite too 
 selfish ! I might have made many a woman happy — I might 
 have carried consolation to the heart of many a suffering widow ! 
 I have lived thus long in vain. I must make amends. I must 
 sink self, in the sense of dnty ! — Come, Lance, saddle the 
 horses, lad, and let us be riding." 
 
GBIEF — BACON AND EGGS. 371 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 GRIEF BACON AND EGGS. 
 
 In less than two hours, our companions reached the humble 
 farmstead which the widow Griffin occupied. The dwelhng was 
 a poor cabin of logs, with but two rooms, such as was common 
 enough about the country. The tract of land, consisting of two 
 hundred acres, was ample for so small a family. This property, 
 with a few head of cattle, a score of hogs, several of which lay 
 grunting in the road in front of the entrance, and other trifling 
 assets, were the bequest of a brother, a cripple, who died but a 
 few months before, and whom Mrs. Griffin, with her daughter, 
 had gone from the camp of Marion to attend in his last illness. 
 The place had a very cheerless aspect. The fences were dis- 
 mantled, the open spots of field grown up in weeds, and some 
 patches of corn, from which the fruit had been partially stripped 
 already, stripped, indeed, as it ripened— added rather to the 
 cold and discouraging appearance of the place. 
 
 Our companions did not, at once, and boldly, ride up to the 
 habitation. They were too well practised as partisans for such 
 an indiscretion. When within half a mile of the dwelling, they 
 turned into the woods, made a partial detour, and while Porgy 
 remained under cover. Lance Frampton stole forward, on foot, 
 to reconnoitre. The horses, meanwhile, were both fastened in 
 the thicket. 
 
 Lance was absent about a quarter of an hour only, but long 
 enough to make his superior quite impatient. The youth, 
 though eager to gain the cottage, was yet too well trained to 
 move incautiously. He had carefully sheltered himself in his 
 approach, as well as he could, by the cover of contiguous trees. 
 These had been allowed to grow almost to the eaves of the 
 
372 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 building, in front and rear, affording an excellent protection 
 from the sun, wliich, as the house was -without a piazza, was ab- 
 solutely necessary for comfort in such a climate. 
 
 The door was open in the rear of the building, and the first 
 glimpses of it showed Lance the person of his pretty sweetheart, 
 sitting just within it, busily engaged with the needle. The 
 youth, his heart beating more than ever quickly, glided forward 
 with increased stealthiness of tread, in the hope to surprise her. 
 To creep beside the building, until he had nearly reached the 
 doorway, and then, with his cheek against the wall, to murmur 
 her name, was the simple art he used. She started, with a 
 slight cry, at once of pleasure and astonishment, and ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 "Oh! Lance! Is it you? How you scared me!" 
 
 " I did not mean to scare you, Ellen." 
 
 "To surprise me so," continued the girl: "and I without 
 stockings on ;" and with a blush, she drew the delicately-formed 
 white feet beneath her dress, but not before the eye of the 
 youth had rested upon their whiteness. 
 
 " And how's father 1 where did you leave him V 
 
 Lance was silent. The gravity of his face af her question did 
 not escape her. She spoke eagerly — 
 
 " He's well. Lance, ain't he V 
 
 " Where's your mother, Ellen 1" 
 
 " Li the room." She pointed to the chamber. 
 
 " Well, I must go and report to Lieutenant Porgy. He's 
 here. He's got letters for your mother. There's been no Brit- 
 ish or tories about?" 
 
 " Yes ; they've been about, I hear. Some passed up yester- 
 day, by the other road. But all's safe hereabouts now, I 
 reckon." 
 
 " I'll run, then, and bring the lieutenant. He'll be mighty 
 tired of waiting." 
 
 " But you haven't told me about father, Lance." 
 
 "No !" said he, hesitatingly, "the lieutenant will tell you all." 
 
 "But he's well. Lance — he's well? You haven't had any 
 fighting, have you !" 
 
 " Wait awhile, Ellen," he answered as he hastened away, and 
 
GRIEF — BACON AND EGGS. 873 
 
 Lis evasion of the inquiry at once alarmed tlie quick instincts of 
 the girl. She called immediately to her mother. 
 
 " Oh ! mother, there's news from camp, and I'm afeard it's 
 had news." 
 
 " Bad news ! Ellen," answered the mother, coming forth. 
 
 " I'm afeard ; for Lance has just been here, and, when I 
 asked him ahout father, he would tell me nothing, but has gone 
 • off to call Lieutenant Porgy, who is here too in the woods." 
 
 " Lance would n'^t bring Ijad news, Ellen." 
 
 " Not if he could help it, mother ; but why didn't he answer 
 me when I asked after father ; and why did lie say that Lieu- 
 tenant Porgy would tell us alii" 
 
 "Lieutenant Porgy — he's here too?" said the mother, 
 smoothing her cap and apron. " If it was bad news, Ellen, 
 we 'd hear it soon enough. It 's never slow to travel when it 's 
 bad." 
 
 "I'm sure father 's hurt ; something 's the matter. They've 
 had a battle ; and why didn't he write 1" 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; but maybe he did write." 
 
 "But, if he did, wouldn't Lance have brought the letter the 
 first thing ?" 
 
 " Maybe the lieutenant 's got it ! Don't be foolish, Ellen. I 
 don't think Lance would be the one to come with bad news." 
 
 " Oh ! I know he 'd be sorry to do so ; but, mother, he looked 
 sorry enough when I asked about father, and he spoke so little." 
 
 " Come, child, you're always thinking of the cloud before it 
 comes ! That 's not right. Go, now, and look up something for 
 Lance and the - lieutenant to eat. I reckon they'll be precious 
 hungry. Put on a pot of koTniny at once, and kindle up the fire, 
 and get down the gourd of eggs, while I slice off some of that 
 bacon. I don't think there 's any bad news. I don't feel like 
 it ! God knows we 've had son-ow enough to last us now for a 
 long time, and I ain't willing to believe that we 're to suffer any 
 more on a sudden. Come in, Ellen, and stir yourself; that's 
 the way to lose the feel of trouble. Don't be looking out for 
 them" — meaning the men — "it don't look quite proper for a 
 young girl, Ellen." 
 
 " Oh ! mother, how can you " 
 
374 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 The sentence remained unfinished. The girl obeyed, and 
 was soon busied with the domestic preparations wliich the 
 mother had suggested. The pot of hominy was soon upon the 
 fire, the eggs laid out upon the table, and Mrs. Grifiin herself, 
 with a somewhat unsteady hand, prepared to cut from the shoul- 
 der of bacon the requisite number of slices. She was interrupted 
 whUe thus employed, by the arrival of the expected guests. 
 Her agitation, when she received them, was not less great, 
 though less conspicuous than that of her daughter. The poor 
 woman seemed to fancy that a certain degree of hardihood was 
 essential to proper dignity. It is, indeed, a characteristic of 
 humble life among thei people of the forest country of the south 
 and southwest, to assume an appearance of stoicism under grief, 
 in which they resemble the- Indian ; appearing to consider it a ■ 
 weakness of which they have reason to be ashamed, when they 
 give vent to their natural emotions under affliction. In like 
 manner, it is their habit to suppress very much their show of 
 impatience, particularly when they are conscious of an active 
 and growing curiosity. Mrs. Griffin felt fully the anxieties of 
 her daughter, but her training was superior to the nature which 
 strove within her. She met her visiters with the air of one who 
 had nothing to fear ; and, that she really felt anxiety, was to be 
 seen entirely in the measured and cold manner with which she 
 welcomed them. 
 
 "I'm glad to see you, Lance. I'm sure you're welcome, 
 lieutenant ; sit down. You must be miglity tired with your long 
 ride in this hot weather." 
 
 " Tired and hungry, and thirsty and sleepy, all together, Mrs. 
 Griffin, I assure you. And how is Miss Ellen ? has she no wel- 
 come for an old friend?" was the reply of Porgy. 
 
 The girl, wh'o had hitherto hung back, now advanced and put 
 her hand shyly within his grasp, but said nothing. 
 
 " Ah ! you are still as bashful and still as pretty as ever, my 
 little damsel. Don't be shy of me, my dear creature. I need 
 not tell you that I am old enough to be your father ; and I feel 
 that I could love you like a father. You would hardly think, 
 but I have a heart full of the milk of human kindness. It might 
 have been better, perhaps, for me, in a mere worldly point of 
 
GEIEF — BACON AND EGGS. 375 
 
 view, had I less. But I am content. The feelings which I 
 possess are more precious to me than vaults of gold and wagons 
 of silver." He released her hand as he spoke this, and, addres- 
 sing Mrs. Griffin, proceeded as if the girl were no longer in 
 hearing. 
 
 " Ah ! madam, what a treasure to you to have such a child as 
 that. She is all gentleness and sweetness, and all duty, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " She is, indeed, a hlessed child. There are few like her. 
 Lieutenant Porgy." 
 
 Ellen stopped not to listen to her own praises thus hegan, hut 
 stole out,, closely followed by Frampton. Porgy, obeying the 
 repeated request of his hostess, proceeded to toke a seat, while 
 the good woman, having finished slicing her bacon, and thrown 
 it into the frying-pan, laid the implement upon the table con- 
 veniently beside ihe eggs, and, having looked at the pot of 
 hominy, given it a stir, and pushed up the brands beneath it, 
 drew a chair near the fireplace, and, folding her hands in her 
 lap, assumed, unavoidably the look of a person in waiting and 
 expectation. 
 
 The lieutenant surveyed her curiously as she sat thus, her 
 eyes bent upon the ground, and only raised occasionally to look 
 at the fire. Mrs. Grifiin was a comely woman, not much beyond 
 the middle period of life, and, as thus she sat, plainly, bnt neatly 
 dressed, with a face smooth yet, and fair, and with the bloom of 
 health upon her cheeks, our lieutenant inwardly said — 
 
 " Verily, the woman is welL to look upon." 
 
 His conviction took a somewhat different shape when put into 
 words. 
 
 " Mrs. Grifiin, you are very comfortable here ; that is, you 
 might be, with health and youth, and a pleasant abode — one 
 that may be made so, certainly — hut, don't you find it very 
 lonesome V 
 
 ," I 'm used to it, lieutenant." 
 
 "Yes, indeed; and that is fortunate. To be accustomed to 
 lonesomeness is to be independent, in some d.egree, of the changes 
 of life. Sohtude, once familiar to the mind, ceases to be oppres- 
 sive ; and who is sure against solitude ? "We may have a large 
 
376 KATHARINE "WALTON. 
 
 number of relatives and friends, but what is to secure us against 
 the chance of losing them 1 We may have a full house to-day, 
 and all shall be silent and cheerless to-morrow. Such are life's 
 vicissitudes. It is fortunate, therefore, when one has been pre- 
 pared already for such privations. Misfortune; then, can do us 
 little evil, and should death steal into the household " 
 
 " Death ! Lieutenant Porgy 1" 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Griffin, death. We must all die, you know. One 
 will be taken away, and another will be left, and the sui-vivor 
 will have need " 
 
 " Lieutenant, a'n't you just from the camp V 
 
 " Not very long, ma'am." 
 
 "And my husband — didn't he write — didn't he know that 
 you were coming into these parts 1" 
 
 " Why, no, ma'am, he didn't write — he didn't know — he — " 
 
 "Lieutenant, there's something you've got to tell!" inter- 
 rupted the woman. " Speak to me, now that Ellen's not here. 
 Let me know if there 's anything the matter with my husband." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Griffin, I 'm sorry to say that something is the 
 matter," replied Porgy, seriously — the earnest, sad, almost stem 
 manner of the widow impressing him with solemnity, and com- 
 pelling him, by a natural intuition of what was proper, to forego 
 all the absurdities and affectations of speech which a long in- 
 dulgence had rendered, in great degree, habitual. He con- 
 tiaued — 
 
 " You are a strong woman, Mrs. Griffin ; you have seen much 
 trouble and sorrow, and you must, be prepared for more." 
 
 " Tell me !" she exclaimed, clasping her hands and bending 
 toward him. " Tell me ! Don't keep me in this misery." 
 
 " We have had a battle, Mrs. Griffin." Here he paused. 
 
 " And he was killed ! — he was killed !" was her cry. 
 
 Porgy was silent. His eyes were cast upon the floor. 
 
 " Walter Griffin ! Oh, my God ! my poor, poor Walter ! He 
 is dead — he is dead ! I shall never see him again !" 
 
 The head of the woman fairly dropped upon her knees, whUe 
 strong, deep sobs broke from her breast, with occasional ejacu- 
 lations. 
 
 " Walter, Walter, my poor, poor Walter !"' 
 
GRIEF — BACON AND EGGS. 377 
 
 Porgy did not reason unwisely wlien lie forbore all effort at 
 consolation. He took the opportunity, now ttat she seemed to 
 be in full possession of the fact, to relate the particulars. 
 
 " He died like a brave man, Mrs. Griffin, in battle against the 
 enemies of his country !" 
 
 " Ah ! I know'd he would. Walter was a true man. He had 
 the heart of a lion in him !" 
 
 " That he had, indeed, Mrs. Griffin. I will bear witness to 
 his courage and his manhood. He was a brave, generous, whole- 
 souled fellow — a good companion and an excellent friend." 
 
 " Oh ! yes ! Poor, poor Walter ! But you don't know half 
 what he was to me, when there was nobody and nothing! — ah ! 
 how could you know? And what is to become of us now! — 
 my child — my poor Ellen, fatherless here, in these cruel times, 
 and in these lonesome woods." 
 
 " Ah 1 Mrs. Griffin, remember you are a Christian. Trust in 
 God brings with it the best of promises. He tempers the wind 
 to the shorn lamb. You will never want a protector, I am sure, 
 and your sweet and gentle daughter will surely find a father 
 and many friends." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't see where, lieutenant ; we are very poor, and 
 very unbefriended. If the war was over, and the people would 
 come back to the settlements !" 
 
 " The war will be over before very long ; the people will 
 surely come back to the settlements. You will have many and 
 kind neighbors ; and I can promise you, Mrs. Griffin, one among 
 them, who will be as true a friend to you as he was to your 
 husband. Let peace be restored to us, and if my life is spared 
 me, I mean to live in this parish. I will be your friend. I will 
 protect your daughter. I will be a father to her, out of the love 
 I bore to her father." 
 
 " Oh ! lieutenant, I thank you for your kindness, from the 
 bottom of my heart. I reckon you will be as friendly as any- 
 body in the world ; but there 's no such thing as replacing the 
 husband and the father, and making us feel as if we had never 
 known the loss. Oh ! Walter Griffin, I was dubious always 
 that you would be killed by the enemy ! I know'd how ven- 
 turesome he was, lieutenant. I told him he ought not to be 
 
378 KATHARINE "WALTON. 
 
 rash, for the sake of his, wife and daughter ; and it 's all turned 
 out as I warned him. My God ! what are we to do now, here 
 in this lonesome wilderness ! I don't see ! I don't see ! I feel 
 as if I could lay right down and die." 
 
 " Don't give up, Mrs. Griffin. There's no help in despair. 
 Death must come, at last, to all of us. It might be Griffin or it 
 might be me. It might be on the field of battle, or it might be 
 here in bed. We can't know the moment when the summons 
 must be heard, and we must resign ourselves with philosophy, 
 to a fate from which there is no escape. There's no use in sor- 
 row." 
 
 " Oh ! but who can help it, lieutenant ! I know there's no 
 bringing Walter back ; but that don't make me feel easier he- 
 cause he's gone. If I did't cry, my heart would be sure to 
 burst." 
 
 Her speech throughout, was broken by continual sobs and 
 wailing. The evidences of real feeling were quite too conspic- 
 uous to suffer Porgy to indulge in any follies, and what he said, 
 by way of consolation, was respectfully and kindly said, though 
 as usual in such cases, of no value. At length, he bethought 
 him of Singleton's letter, and the money intrusted to his care. 
 
 " It ought to be a great satisfaction to you, Mrs. Griffin, that 
 Walter had so completely won the love of everybody in camp. 
 I've seen the colonel himself standing over him, with the big 
 tears gathering on his cheek, as he listened to his last words. 
 The colonel has written to you in this letter.'' 
 
 " God bless him ! Colonel Singleton is a good man, and Wal- 
 ter loved him ^ery much. Read the letter for me, lieutenant, 
 for I'm too blind to see the writing." 
 
 The letter of consolation was read accordingly. It set the 
 stream of tears flowing anew. 
 
 " Keally," thought Porgy as he watched her, " a most exem- 
 plary woman. It is pleasant to think that we shall be thus 
 wept and remembered when we are no more." 
 
 This reflection led to another. " AVhat a profitless life is 
 mine ! Were they to assign me my last tenement to-morrow, I 
 doubt if a single eye would give out water ; unless, indeed, this 
 youngster, Lance, and possibly, Tom, the cook ! Verily, this 
 
GRIEF — BACON AND EGgS. 379 
 
 thing must be amended. This poor woman is the very person 
 to whom I must administer consolation, and from whom I must 
 receive it. But, not now ! not now ! We must give ourselves 
 time. She feels her sorrow, that is clear, and does not merely 
 feign it ; hut the stream flows too freely to last over long ; and 
 the fountain that exhausts itself quickly, will soon feel the need 
 of new supplies." 
 
 Such was the unspoken philosophy of our epictire. He real- 
 ly persuaded himself that the sort of consolation, which he pro- 
 posed ultimately to ofier to the widow, was the proof of a cer- 
 tain virtue in himself. He congratulated himself with the con- 
 viction, that he .was about to do a charitable action. An inter- 
 val in the grief of Mrs. Griffin allowed him to place in her hand 
 the ten guineas which had been sent her by Singleton, Griffin's 
 watch, and some other trifles which he brought. She gave 
 them little heed, emptying the gold upon the table, and putting 
 the watch into her bosom. Then, as if Singleton's letter had 
 yet to be read, she turned it over, and appeared striving to~pos- 
 sess herself of its contents. But she handed it, a moment af- 
 ter, to Porgy, saying — 
 
 " I can't see the letter !" What does the colonel say, lieu- 
 tenant 1" 
 
 He again commenced the perusal of the letter, but had scarce- 
 ly compassed a sentence, when hasty feet were heard at the en- 
 trance without, and, in the next moment, Ellen Griffin and 
 Lance hurriedly entered the apartment. Both seemed very 
 much agitated. The eyes of the girl were red with weeping, 
 and the big drops yet stood upon her cheeks. But there was 
 little time allowed for observation. 
 
 " The red-coats, lieutenant — the British !" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Not a quarter above, coming down at a walk, dragoons, more 
 than fifty that I see ! We must cut for the bushes. We'll 
 have time, if we move at once, but we must run for it." 
 
 " The devil ! run ! as if I had not an infirmity in my heel, 
 like that of Achilles !"' 
 
 " Shut the front door, Ellen," cried the pradent Mrs. Griffin. 
 
 " Better gather up these guineas, Mrs. Griffin," cried Porgy, 
 
380 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " or the British will swear to the stamp. Lance, my boy, can 
 we find cover all the way hack 1" 
 
 " Pretty much ! There's a bend in the road above, just here 
 at the corner of the cornfield, where there is a piece of woods 
 that screens us for awhile, and if we get beyond that, we're in 
 the thicket. But we must put out at once." 
 
 " To be sure we must ! Mrs. Grifiin, with your permission 
 we'll withdraw the temptation of this bacon and these eggs from 
 the eyes of these rapacious red-coats. We must not feed, or 
 give comfort in any way to the enemy. Lance, tumble these 
 eggs into the frying-pan — it already contains the bacon, and 
 take it on your shoulder. I will take possession of the pot of 
 hominy." 
 
 " But I have my rifle, lieutenant." 
 
 " What of that ! carry both, can't you ? I have my sword, 
 do you see ; yet, I mean to take the pot also." 
 
 " We must be in a hurry, lieutenant," said Lance, swinging 
 the frying-pan, laden with eggs and bacon, over his left shoul- 
 der, and grasping his rifle in his right hand. 
 
 " Oh ! yes ! better go !" cried Ellen, entreatingly, who divi- 
 ded her time between a watch through the cracks of the door 
 and her lover. Wiping her eyes with her apron, Mrs. GriflSn 
 hurried their departure also. 
 
 Porgy had already seized upon the hangers of the hominy 
 pot, and was unbuckling his sword, to carry in his hand, that it 
 might not embarrass him in walking. The sounds of the ap- 
 proaching horse were beginning to be faintly heard, as the two 
 partisans stepped out of the door in the rear of the building, 
 each armed after the fashion described, and stealing away un- 
 der the shelter of the trees. 
 
 It required no extraordinary haste, for the British came slow- 
 ly down the road. This was fortunate, since Porgy was not the 
 man to fatigue himself in flight. He would much prefer to en- 
 counter odds in conflict at any time. His portly figure present- 
 ed quite a picture, such as Oruikshank would have painted con 
 aviore, rolling, rather than striding, away beneath the trees, his 
 sword in one hand, thrown out at right angles with his body, 
 the better to preserve that balance which was necessary to his 
 
GRIEF — BACON AND EGGS. 381 
 
 carrying tlie hominy-pot at a proper distance from his breeches. 
 Mrs. Griffin and her daughter watched the two from the back 
 door for awhile ; then, as the nearer approach of the British 
 was heard, closing the entrance in the rear as well as the front, 
 and they prepared within for the possible necessity of receiving 
 unwelcome visiters. The money, just received, and watch, with 
 certain other portable treasures, were dropped down within a 
 secret hollow in the floor; and, with a hope that the enemy 
 would pass by without pausing, the widow and the daughter 
 both sat down, seemingly busied in knitting and needle-work. 
 
 But they were not thus destined to escape. The dragoons in 
 advance stopped at the entrance of the dwelling, and, as the 
 several divisions came up, they paused also. There was some 
 delay, during which all was anxiety in the hearts of the widow 
 and her daughter. A knock followed at the door, and a voice 
 of authority demanded entrance. It was immediately thrown 
 open by Mrs. Griffin herself, while her daughter sought shelter 
 in the chamber. Let us leave the widow with her unwelcome 
 guests while we follow the footsteps of our lieutenant and ensign 
 into the forest. 
 
382 KATHARINE ^fALTON. 
 
 OHAPTEE XLI. 
 
 PORGY PROVES POT-VALIANT ONLY. 
 
 The two partisans, laden as they were, tte one with the pot 
 of hominy, the other with the frying-pan, made their way to 
 the woods with all despatch, and without detection. Fortu- 
 tunately, as we have said, the forest cover extended almost to 
 the cottage. Our fugitives soon satisfied themselves that they 
 were in a place of security, though but a few hundred yards 
 from the dwelling. They were in a tolerably close covert, on 
 the slope of a moderate hill, at the foot of which stole off a 
 slender brooklet, the child of a great bay or wooded pond, that 
 covered a hundred acres, more or less, a quarter of a mile dis- 
 tant. Here Porgy paused. He had found his pot of hominy, 
 precious as it was, an incumbrance. He laid it upon the ground, 
 cast diwn his sword beside it, drew a long breath, and wiped 
 repeatedly the perspiration from his brows. Lance Frampton 
 followed his example ; and the youth, at the bidding of his su- 
 perior, proceeded to strike fire in his tinder-box, which he 
 brought from his horse furniture ; the two steeds being fasten- 
 ed still farther in the woods, where, still bitted and saddled, 
 they were allowed to nibble the grass, which was now tolerably 
 rank. The fire kindled, and the pot set to boiling anew, Framp- 
 ton proposed that he should take an observation — in other 
 words, see how the land lay with the enemy. 
 
 " Ay, do so, lad. Yon are of no use here. You have no mer- 
 its in the kitchen. I will do the cooking, for which I flatter my- 
 self I have a native faculty, and, if you do not stay too long, 
 you will find your share of the dinner in waiting for you. And 
 
POEGY PROVES POT-VALIANT ONLY. 883 
 
 look ye, Lance, boy — don't forget your business, in your anxi- 
 ety to have a chat with Ellen. Many a poor fellow's heart has 
 been pampered at the cost of his head. Be on the lookout, for 
 if caught, you will be trussed up to the first tree, hting against 
 all odds, as no better than a spy ; and I sha'n't be there to hear 
 your last confession. Be off, at once, and show yourself back 
 again as soon as possible." 
 
 The lad promptly acted on this permission. He sped away 
 with the lightness of a deer, though with the cunning and cau- 
 tion of a much smaller animal. Porgy, meanwhile, went on 
 cooking. In this province he was at home. His pot began to 
 boil ; with the aid of his couteau de chasse (vulgarly Jack-knife), 
 which the partisans all wore as habitually as the sailors, he con- 
 verted a bit of cypress clapboard, which he found convenient to 
 his hand, into a hominy -stick (an article of which our northern 
 friends know nothing, unless, perhaps, as a basier or paddle, as 
 a substitute for school-birch, when an unruly urchin is to be ad- 
 monished) with which he stirred the simmering grist, and occa- 
 sionally drew it up for inspection. His eggs and bacon, mean- 
 while, lay ready in the frying-pan, to be clapped on the fire the 
 moment that the hominy had reached the proper consistency. 
 In these operations, our cuisinier was singularly deliberate. He 
 knew what a good supper required, and he had no fear of the 
 enemy. His calculations were that the British, on their way 
 to Charleston, had made but a momentary pause ; and as they 
 had no suspicions, so far as he knew, of the proximity of any 
 of the Americans, he saw no reason to suppose that they would 
 penetrate the wood sufficiently far to disturb his operations. 
 Besides, Lance was out upon the scout, and of his vigilance, 
 Porgy had sufficient experience. During all these operations 
 and calculations, the soHloquies of our lieutenant were frequent 
 and prolonged. Had we leisure, it would be easy, from his 
 own lips, to prove him equal epicure and philosopher. He 
 mingled his philosophies with his occupations, and dignified the 
 latter with all the charms of sentiment. He was indeed a 
 rare compound of the sensual and the sentimental philosopher. 
 
 His hominy was about to assume the degTee of consistency 
 which rendered it fit for use, and he was engaged in hauling 
 
884 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 away the fire from iDeneath it, in order to set on the frying-pan, 
 with its contents of eggs and bacon, when Lance Frampton 
 reappeared. The youth was all consternation. 
 
 " Oh ! Lieutenant, would you believe it 1 they've got Colonel 
 Walton a prisoner !" 
 
 "The d—l they have I" 
 
 " Yes ! I've seen him myself, sitting in a chair in the hall, 
 under a guard of six dragoorfs with their pistols cocked and 
 watching every movement. I counted more than seventy dra- 
 goons, and I reckon there's quite a hundred. How could it have 
 happened ? What's to he done ? We ought to be doing some- 
 thing to get him clear !" 
 
 " Doing something, boy ! What the d — ^1 would you do with 
 seventy dragoons or more 1 If we save our own bacon, it's as 
 much as we can hope to do. Did the enemy look as if they 
 were suspicious 1 Do they show any signs of stopping long ?" 
 
 " Not that I see ! They have only stopped to rest and re- 
 fresh. They've been off to the spring and got some buckets of 
 water for themselves, and most of them are leading their horses 
 to the spring, and rubbing them down. I saw several of them 
 out in the bushes, here and there, bvit they did not straggle far 
 from the house. But what's to -be done for Colonel Walton V 
 
 " What can be done 1 He's a prisoner, and must wait for his 
 exchange, I suppose, with what philosophy he may." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Porgy, I'm afraid of something worse. I am afraid 
 they'll not treat him as a common prisoner. You remember 
 that they were going to hang him when our colonel rescued him 
 before." 
 
 " That's very true," replied Porgy, with increasing gravity; 
 — " that's very true. I had not thought of that. But, what- 
 ever may be their purpose with him, we have no power to serve 
 or save him. We must only be on the lookout to see that we 
 ourselves are not gobbled up by these scarlet-bodied dragoons — 
 whether, indeed, they should not be called dragons rather than 
 dragoons ?" 
 
 " Lieutenant," said the youth quickly, as if with the resolution 
 suddenly made, -' I must hurry off to camp and let our colonel 
 know aU about it." ' 
 
POEGY PROVES POT-TALUNT ONLY. 386 
 
 "Why, boy, Singleton's on the Santee hy this time." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I reckon, but I'll find him," 
 
 " What good in that 1 Before you find him these dragoons 
 will have their prisoner in the provost in Charleston. There 
 would be some use in it, if there was time enough to enable Sin- 
 gleton to dash between and cut them off before they could get 
 to the city, but that is impossible ; and to know that Walton is 
 in the provost, will be only annoying information, q[uite as 
 pleasant to learn a month hence as now." 
 
 " I don't know, Mr. Porgy ! Our colonel has a good many 
 strings to his bow. I know he has working friends in the city, 
 and has got some plans going on for getting up an insurrection 
 there. Now, he ought to know of this capture, and if I set off 
 at once, by hard-riding, I may give him the information much 
 sooner than he would even hear of it from Charleston. I must 
 go, lieutenant." 
 
 " You shan't go till you have eaten, boy." 
 
 " I don't want to eat, lieutenant ; I'm not at all hungry." 
 
 "You are a fool! Not eat! defraud the docile animal that 
 walks, rides, toils, fights, for you ! send it supperless to bed, 
 when its work is done ! That won't do, boy. You shall eat 
 before you ride. As for riding with you, helter-skelter to the 
 Santee, and at this moment, I don't do it, for all the Waltons 
 and Singletons between this and Huckleberry Heaven ! You 
 may go by yourself, if you choose ; perhaps it's just as well that 
 you should ; for, as you say. Singleton has his plans, and con- 
 spiracies, and agents, everywhere, and he may do something 
 to extricate his kinsman. But you sha'n't depart till you have 
 eaten. Indeed, you can not expect to go till the enemy have 
 disappeared." 
 
 " I can take the back track, lieutenant ; steal off in that 
 direction, going upward and westward, and then wheeling about 
 and pushing for some of the upper fords on the Edisto." 
 
 " Yes, and defeat your own subject ; lose half a day's time or • 
 more in this roundalouting ; when, by waiting quietly and ly- 
 ing close, for an hour, you may be able to start off on the direct 
 road, without an enemy in the way. Quiet, boy, and eat be- 
 fore you ride. I sha'n't go with you, mark that. I shall cer- 
 
 17 
 
386 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 tainly stay to-uiglit at the house of our friend. I have much to 
 communicate — much to say, in the way of consolation, to this 
 amiable and lovely widow. You may tell the colonel that I 
 shall devote myself to the task, now' that Colonel Walton is 
 taken, of saving my little party, and our wagon of stores. My 
 object wUl be to find Colonel Harden and furnish his command 
 with all that is necessary, rather than risk everything by return- 
 ing with such an incumbrance. Push up those brands, boy, and 
 turn that bacon. Our mess will soon be ready. What a savory 
 odor ! Heaven send that it penetrates no worse nostrils than 
 our own." 
 
 The boy did as he was directed, turned over the slices of 
 bacon in the pan with an air of resignation, while Porgy gave 
 the hominy a finishing stir, and drew the pot from the fire, to 
 enable it to cool. He was thus busied when he heard Lance 
 Frampton give a slight cry, and was astounded to see the youth 
 leap away, at a couple of bounds, putting the brooklet and the 
 bay between them. Just then, a harsh voice, just above him, 
 in the direction of the house, cried out — 
 
 " Hoo noo ! wha' would ye be after there, you overgrown divil 
 that ye are !" 
 
 Porgy, \hQ pot-lioohs, with pot depending, still in one hand, 
 and the hominy stick in the other, looked up only to discover a 
 dragoon leisurely marching down upon him, and but a few steps 
 off. He cast his eyes about him for his sword, but it lay where 
 he had been sitting, to the windward of the fire, fully ten paces 
 off. Here was a quandary. The dragoon was in the act of 
 picking his teeth when he first saw him ; he was now deliberate- 
 ly drawing out his sabre. Porgy 's glance at his sword, and a 
 slight step backward, moved the Scotchman to suspect him of 
 flight ; to prevent which, the latter rushed directly upon him, 
 his weapon now flourishing in air. 
 
 The bulk of Porgy, the nearness of the enemy, and the dis- 
 tance at which his own sword lay, forbade the hope of his recov- 
 ering it in season for his defence, and ns the dragoon darted on 
 him, obeying a first impulse, our epicure raised the pot by the 
 kangers, with his left hand, caught one of its still burning feet 
 in the riglit, and, with a desperate whirl, sent the entire contents 
 
POEGY PEOVES POT-VALIANT ONLY. 887 
 
 of the vessel, scalding hot, directly into the face of his as- 
 sailant. 
 
 The effect was equally awful and instantaneous. The dra- 
 goon dropped the uplifted sahre, and set up the wildest yell of 
 agony, while he danced ahout as if under the direct spells of 
 Saint Vitus. The hominy stuck to his face and neck like a 
 plaster, and the effort to remove it with his hands, only tore 
 away the skin with it. Porgy was disposed to follow up his 
 success ; and, knocking the fellow on the head with the empty 
 vessel, was a performance which was totally unresisted. In the 
 agony of the dragoon, his approach for his purpose was totally 
 unseen. Down he rolled, under the wild shock of the iron 
 kettle ; and our hero, congratulating himself with his narrow 
 escape, seized upon the frying-pan, not disposed to lose his 
 bacon as well as his bread, and was wheeling to make off for 
 the woods, when another dragoon made his appearance on the 
 brow of the hill, making swift tracks in pursuit. 
 
 " D n that fellow. Lance,'' muttered Porgy to himself, 
 
 " he has left me to be butchered !" 
 
 He gathered up his sword, as a point of honor, but still held 
 a fast gripe upon the frying-pan. There was but one dragoon 
 in chase, and if he could draw him yet further into the woods, 
 the noise of the strife would probably alarm no other — that is, 
 if the howhngs of the first had not given the alarm already. 
 
 Our epicure, as we know, had little speed of foot, and with 
 his impediments of sword and frying-pan iti his hands, he made 
 very awkward headway. The pursuing dragoon gained upon 
 him ; and Porgy was already preparing to wheel about for the 
 purpose of defence, when his feet tripped in some roots that ran 
 along the surface, and over he went, headlong, the contents of 
 the frying-pan flying forward in all directions. In another mo- 
 ment, and when only half recovering — on his knees still, and 
 painfully rising to his feet — the dragoon stood above him. 
 
 " Surrender, ye d d ribbel, or I shorten you by the shoul- 
 ders." 
 
 Furious at the loss of both meat and bread, Porgy roared out 
 his defiance. 
 
 " Surrender be d d ! Do I look like the man to cvyj)eccavi 
 
888 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 to such a sawney as you ? Do your best, barelegs, and see what 
 you'll make of it !" 
 
 With unexpected agility, unable to rise, he rolled over at 
 these words, and now lay upon his back, his sword thrust upward, 
 and prepared to parry that of the assailant, after a new fashion 
 of defence. In this situation, no defence could well be made. 
 The exhibition was, in fact, rather ridiculous than otherwise. 
 The abdomen of Porgy rose up like a mountain, seeming to 
 invite the attack. The dragoon, however, did not appear to see 
 anything amusing in the spectacle. He showed himself in sober 
 earnest. His brother soldier groaned hideously at this moment, 
 and he had no reason to doubt that, his hurts were mortal. He 
 straddled the prostrate Porgy, and, in reply to his defiance, pre- 
 pared to strike with his broad claymore at the head of the epi- 
 cure. His sabre was thrown up, that of Porgy thrown out to 
 receive it, when, suddenly the dragoon dropped hfeless upon our 
 partisan, and the next instant the report of a rifle was heard from 
 the neighboring wood. 
 
 " Ah !" cried Porgy, throwing off the incumbent body of his 
 assailant, " that dog Lance ; he has not abandoned me ; and I 
 should have known that he never would. The rascal — how I 
 love him !" 
 
 The next moment Lance Frampton rushed in. 
 
 " Up, lieutenant, we have not a moment to lose. That shot 
 will bring all the dragoons down upon us, and we don't know 
 how nigh they are. The horses are ready, not thirty yards off. 
 They've rested well and eaten, and we can soon leave these 
 heavy English drags behind us." 
 
 " You're a lad among a thousand ! I love you. Lance, by all 
 that's affectionate !" 
 
 Then, as he bustled up, with Frampton's help, seeing the 
 scattered eggs and bacon strewed upon the ground, he fairly 
 groaned aloud in the tribulation of his spirit. 
 
 " I must lose my dinner after all ! And that hominy .was as 
 good a pot as was ever boiled. It served a pui-pose, however ; 
 never, in fact, boy, did pot of hominy do such good service be- 
 fore." 
 
 But there was no time for trifling. This was said while our 
 
POEGY PEOVES POT-VALIANT ONLY. 389 
 
 corpulent professor, hurrying off under the guidance of his en- 
 sign, was making such headway as, in later days, waa quite new 
 to his experience. They were both in the saddle, and in full 
 retreat, when the British trumpets, sounding the alaim, faintly 
 echoed through the forest. Pursuit was fruitless. 
 
390 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLII. 
 
 CUTTING THE CARDS. 
 
 The night appointed for the great ball of Colonel Cruden at 
 length came round, and at a tolerably early hour in the evening 
 — for great parties, in that day, convened some hours sooner 
 than at present — the guests began to crowd the spacious and 
 well-known mansion' of General Pinckney, on East Bay. This 
 venerable and stately dwelling still stands, one of the many me- 
 morials which the city of Charleston has to show, in proof of the 
 troubles and changing scenes of that period of revolution. As 
 we have already mentioned, it had fallen to the lot of Colonel 
 Cruden, who fondly anticipated such a permanence of title as no 
 caprices of revolution could disturb. The dwelling, on the occa- 
 sion referred to, was splendidly illuminated " from minaret to 
 porch." The spacious gardens were draped with lights, which 
 were multiplied and reflected a thousand times at the extremity 
 of each avenue, from pyramidal lustres of shining steel, bayonets, 
 burnished muskets, and sabres grouped in stars and crescents. 
 
 Thejete was the great display of the season. It was attend- 
 ed, accordingly, by all who felt a becoming loyalty, and by 
 many who only sought to display it. There were others, be- 
 sides, whom policy, or the love of pleasure, drew to the assem- 
 blage, but who did not sympathize with the common sentiment 
 of the company. In the former category, hither also came Mrs. 
 Singleton and Katharine Walton, governed, in doing so, by con- 
 siderations of prudence, which were greatly in conflict with 
 every political and social sentiment which filled their bosoms. 
 They were not without countenance from others, their friends 
 and relations. Witty and mischievous as ever, Mrs. Brewton 
 
CDTnNG THE CARDS. 391 
 
 ■was the life of the circle whither she went, and made merry with 
 the spectacle which she had not the stoicism to avoid. 
 
 Balfour quickly attached himself to ELatharine Walton, in 
 spite of the angry glances cast upon them both by la 'Belle Har- 
 vey, who looked her loveliest that night, and seemingly looked 
 in vain. Balfour was in the best spirits, though it was remarked 
 that the subdued and grave features of Katharine promised him 
 no encouragement. She had evidently come with the determin- 
 ation- to endure passively a certain degree of annoyance in re- 
 gard to certain leading necessities j and her air was that of a 
 resignation, where will, though sufficiently determined, was yet 
 held in abeyance. Her passiveness of temper decided Balfour. 
 He regarded her seeming submission as an indication in his fa- 
 vor, when greater privileges were to be implored ; and his satis- 
 faction in this conviction, almost rendered him gallant. It was 
 in the midst of his attentions, promenading one of the several 
 thronged apartments, that he was passed by the Harvey. She 
 was walking with Major Stock. She caught the eye of Balfour, 
 and her eye flashed with increasing fires. As they passed slow- 
 ly, restrained by the crowd, she whispered him — 
 
 " It is war, then, between us V 
 
 •' Why should it be 2" 
 
 " Who is not Jo?- me is against me !" She answered through 
 her closed teeth. "Beware, Colonel Balfour] — I always told 
 you that your danger was from a woman. You shall pay for all 
 this !" 
 
 He laughed — full in her face — he laughed; and the next 
 moment the crowd separated them. She regarded his retreat- 
 ing form but a moment, and with a glance full of malignant pas- 
 sions that might have taught even a bolder nature than Balfour 
 that her threat was something to be feared. But he was one of 
 those men whom good success and prosperity make forgetful of 
 all prudence. He ^v^as quite too much enamored of Katharine, 
 to care a straw what were the feelings of vexation, disappoint- 
 ment, baffled love or hate, in the bosom of his former mistress. 
 
 " What had you to whisper so lovingly to Balfour 1" de- 
 manded Stock of his companion. "It seemed to amuse him 
 wondrously 2" 
 
892 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " I did whisper him lovingly, and that is reason good why \ 
 should not tell you what was spoken. He -is a person to he 
 loved, is he not ?" She did not wait for the answer, but contin- 
 ued thus — "But might he not have shown a much better taste 
 in the selecti6n of his new flame ? She positively is not even 
 good looking." 
 
 " Is it possible you think so 1" asked Stock curiously — " Tou 
 once thought otherwise." 
 
 " Yes, in truth ! — But such a stiff, starched, cold, no-meaning 
 sort of person as it is now, as if there were no more blood in her 
 veins than in those of an icicle — is enough to change my opin- 
 ion. And they speak ^f her as a very paragon of virtue, a sort 
 of Una, as if it were any merit in ice not to bum." 
 
 " My dear Harvey : let me differ with you ! You are a 
 beauty in your yr&j — indeed, very brilliant and very beautiful; ■ 
 but, by Jove, don't deny that the Walton is a beauty also. You, 
 at least, are bound not to deny it." 
 
 "Why, indeed!" • 
 
 " From policy ! Utter such an opinion to other ears than . 
 mine, and you will be set down as envious of a rival, and trem- 
 bling for the loss of empire. Now, Harvey, believe me, you can 
 well afford to give the Walton as much credit as anybody else." 
 
 "Look you. Stock, I don't care thai" (snapping her fingers) 
 "for anybody's opinion. I repeat that she is positively homely.*' 
 
 " Now, my dear child, don't be wilful ; you must not say so, 
 for another and a better reason. People, then, will be C[uite as 
 apt to decry your lack of taste as of generosity ! But let us on \ 
 I have a sneaking notion that a tumbler of punch will be par- 
 ticularly grateful at this moment." 
 
 They passed into the adjoining apartment; while, pursuing 
 another route, Katharine Walton — never dreaming that she 
 foi-med the subject of Miss Harvey's criticism — passed into an 
 opposite room, still attended by Balfour. Let us follow Stock 
 and his companion. 
 
 That rousing bowls of ptmch should be conspicuous objects at 
 a mixed party of males and females, in that day, will something 
 shock the sensibilities of ours. Yet the fact is not to be denied. 
 Major Stock made his way with the fair Harvey into the midst 
 
CUTTING THE CARDS. 393 
 
 of a circle surrounding a table upon which stood a richly enam- 
 elled vase, holding several gallons of this potent beverage. In 
 goodly-sized cups of filagreed china, the liquor was served out. 
 Filling one of the smallest of these for his companion. Stock 
 provided himself with another of more ample dimensions ;' the 
 providence of the host always remembering that the capacity 
 of endurance was much greater in some persons than in oth- 
 ers. Thus armed, the two made their way to one of the ample 
 windows, at which stood — the centre of a devoted group — the 
 lovely Mary Roupell, another of the loyalist belles of Charles- 
 ton, of whom we have already spoken. - She half sat upon and 
 half reclined against the open window, the sash of which, it so 
 happened, was sustained by a dragoon's sword ; the button 
 which usually supported it, having been broken off during the 
 evening. 
 
 Stock was a rough and somewhat awkward gallant. He con- 
 trived in some way to jostle the sabre, and elbowed it out of the 
 place. The heavy sash fell upon the wtist of Miss Roupell, 
 who screamed violently, and under the extreme anguish of the 
 hurt, fainted. Great was the confusion. The crowd was such 
 as to render the place excessively warm ; and the extrication 
 of the lady was, for the time, impossible. In the emergency, 
 greatly excited, and before any one could interfere, our excel- 
 lent major, seizing upon the mammoth bowl of punch, inconti- 
 nently discharged its voluminous "contents, with admirable dex- 
 terity, over her face and bosom. With another scream she 
 came to herself only to swoon again at the condition in which 
 she found her person — saturated with Jamaica, and redolent of 
 sweets that very so,on substituted a swarm of flies for a swarm 
 of courtiers. A more considerate friend bore her out of the 
 circle, and, as she recovered, into her carriage.. As we may 
 suppose, she never forgave the major. Nor did he escape that 
 evening. Barry's muse was instantly put in requisition for an 
 epigram. 
 
 . " Ha ! ha ! ha ! decidedly the best thing that I ever heard in 
 all my life," said M'Mahon, breaking into the circle of which 
 Mrs. Rivington was the centre. " My friend, Major Barry, is a 
 most wonderful genius. Here it is !" 
 
 17* 
 
394 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 And be repeated : — 
 
 " Whea fair Roupell lay fainting in her pain, 
 'Oil I what,' cries all, ' will bring her to again V ' 
 'What! whati' says Stock, 'but punch — a draught divine; 
 "TwiU ease her pain — it always conquered mine I'" 
 
 The company cheered and applauded. 
 
 "But that's not all," continued M'Mahon. "My friend, Ma- 
 jor Barry had another arrow in his quiver. Listen to this — 
 
 "Stock, to the lady dearest to his breast, 
 Gave the sweet beverage that he loved the best, 
 Yet mourned the fault committed in his haste, 
 Such goodly physic doomed to such a waste ; 
 And prays his friends, should fainting be his case. 
 They'll fill his throat and leave unsoused his face; 
 A natural error 'twas, that what is good, 
 Taken internally for flesh and blood, 
 More grateful, too, than any dose beside. 
 Should still be good externally applied."* 
 
 The laugh was too great for Stock to withstand. He disap- 
 peared by the back stairs, and found his way alone into the 
 garden, which, like the dwelling, was brilliantly illuminated. 
 But he was followed by the merry crew whom he thought to 
 ba£3e, and, unequal to the encounter with them, he darted once 
 more into the dwelling, and hurriedly made his way through 
 the lobby and into the front portico, resolved on flight to his 
 own lodgings. But he was prevented. At that moment rode 
 up a couple of officers, who proved to be Mad Archy Campbell 
 and one of his lieutenants. 
 
 "You, Stock V asked Campbell. 
 
 " Yes, what they've left of me ! I've been doing a d d 
 
 stupid thing, and shall never hear the end of it." 
 
 " Well," said Campbell, " it will keep, then ; and I wUl per- 
 mit myself to hear it another time. I need you, now. Go and 
 bring Balfour out into the garden. I've news for him — mat- 
 ters which must be seen to at once." 
 
 " Get in yourself, then, and see him." 
 
 " Nay, that's impossible. I'm covered with mud and dust, 
 
 * This incident really occurred to Miss Roupell at the ball in question. 
 
CUTTING THE CARDS, 395 
 
 atLcl something of. a darker stain than either. I've had a sharp 
 brush, and have brought in certain prisoners." 
 
 " Have you saved Williamson ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but take my message, and laugh at the laughers. I 
 suppose it's no one worse than Barry." 
 
 " D — n him for the meanest of all doggi-eUsts !" was the stirly 
 answer, while the major was disappearing. A groom, mean- 
 while, took Campbell's horse and he glided through the wicket 
 gate into the garden. 
 
 Balfour very unwillingly left the side of Katharine Walton, 
 at the instance of Major Stock ; but the revelations of Camp- 
 bell in the garden reconciled him to the interruption of a tete-d- 
 tete which seemed to promise him every encouragement. 
 
 " Walton here, and my prisoner ? Then slie is in my power! 
 But what did you say of Proctor 1" 
 
 Campbell, with a gentlemanly reluctance, related this part of 
 his history ; that portion of it, in particular, which he had de- 
 rived from the revelations of the treacherpus serving-man. 
 
 " Enough ! enough !" exclaimed Balfour, " and lie, too ! Ha ! 
 ha ! Campbell, you are a bird of bright omen. What a lucky 
 cast of your net this has been !" 
 
 Cruden was now summoned to secret conference by Balfour. 
 
 " It is all as I told you, Cruden. The very worst is true of 
 Proctor. He has gone over to the rebels, was privy to the cap- 
 ture of Williamson, privately whispered his counsels into the 
 ear of Walton, when they were actually trying the general for 
 his life, and has now been captured with Walton. Taken in 
 the very act. Nothing now can save liim. He must be tried 
 for his life." 
 
 " I know not that, Balfour," said Cruden, somewhat sullenly, 
 " I know yoli hate him ; but he must have fair play. The trial 
 must be had, of course ; he himself will desire it ; but I trust, 
 for my sake, you will subject him to no indignity." 
 
 " He is under guard ; he ought to be in custody." 
 
 " No ! no ! I will be his surety that he will not seek to es- 
 cape." 
 
 " Beware ! you undertake too much." 
 
 " I would undertake nothing if I could avoid it, But he is 
 
396 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 my sister's child, Balfour, and I must not abandon him without 
 an effort." 
 
 " Make your effort, but see that it does not "Involve you in 
 any embarrassments with our superiors ; particularly as you 
 will scarcely serve him, however much you may sacrifice your- 
 self. But to another matter. You perceive that this capture of 
 Walton places Katharine completely in my power. You will 
 not forego any opportunity of impressing this upon her." 
 
 " Truly not : but what is the process 1" 
 
 " We shall try him for his life, if need be, as a traitor to his 
 majesty's cause, and a spy of the enemy. For that matter, ac- 
 cording to Eawdon's maxim, we need not try him at all. We 
 have only to identify his person, and hang him to the nearest 
 tree." 
 
 " It certainly is a most fortunate event." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! It makes her mine, if there had been any 
 doubt about it before. I am now the master of her fate I" 
 
 They left the garden together, having discussed sundry other 
 matters in detail, which need not concern us. Scarcely had 
 they gone, when Moll Harvey rose from the deep thicket of a 
 bower, where she had been crouching, and where she had heard 
 every syllable. Her features were greatly inflamed, and she 
 spoke in a brief solUoquy, but with accents of concentrated bit- 
 terness. 
 
 ■ " So ! thus the land lies, Signior Xesbitt Balfour ! and thus I 
 am to be sacrificed ! But we shall see ! There shall be anoth- 
 er party to this game, or the soul of woman never knew the 
 passion of revenge, and never had the courage to enjoy it. We 
 shall see ; you may shufile the cards after your own fashion ; 
 but I will cut them after mine." , 
 
BALFOUR TRIUMPHS. 397 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 BALFOUK TRIUMPHS. 
 
 In less than twenty minutes after this conversation, Mrs. 
 Singleton hurried Katharine Walton away from the assembly, 
 though without giving her the reason which prompted her some- 
 what precipitate withdrawal. She reserved the painful commu- 
 nication for a situation of greater privacy. She was in posses- 
 sion of the evil tidings, which had been brought by Mad Archy 
 Campbell ; the patriots, in Charleston, being almost as well 
 served with information as their temporary masters. 
 
 Balfour, it may be mentioned, had left Cruden's house, imme- 
 diately after the conference just reported. He withdrew with 
 Campbell ; the circumstances of the case calling for his imme- 
 diate absence. Cruden returned to his guests, with a bow some- 
 what graver than before, but without betraying any knowledge- 
 which might cause a sensation among the company. He did 
 not oppose the departure of Katharine Walton, and immediate- 
 ly perceived, from the countenance of Mrs. Singleton, that she 
 was in possession of the secret. When the two reached home, 
 Katharine for the first tinle, remarked in the face of the latter, 
 a stem and melancholy gravity, which struck her as significant 
 of something evil. 
 
 "You have heard something- — something that concerns me. 
 What is it V 
 
 " I have heard something, my child, and something that seri- 
 ously concerns your peaces of mind. Katharine, my child, you 
 have need of all your courage. Read that ; your father is in 
 the hands of the enemy !" 
 
 Katharine clasped her hands together, and gazed with a wild 
 vacancy of look in the face of the venerable woman. 
 
398 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " God be merciful !" was her only exclamation, as she took 
 the little billet, which had been brought her by the boy George 
 Spidell, written by old Tom Singleton, and which, in a single 
 sentence, contained the whole painful information. 
 
 " He is in the provost ;" such was the fact contained in the 
 note. " Oh ! madam, you will go with me at once." 
 
 " It is midnight, Katharine." 
 
 " Day and night are the same ;" answered the other vehe- 
 mently. " He is in bonds and shall I sleep — in sorrow and hu- 
 miliation — perhaps, covered with wounds, and shall I not con- 
 sole and minister to him 1" 
 
 " I doubt if they will give us admission at this hour." 
 
 " Oh ! madam, no doubts, unless you would drive me mad. 
 How can they deny the father to the child ?" 
 
 " "We shall need to see Balfour first, to obtain permission." 
 
 " Is this necessary?" 
 
 " I take that for granted. They would scarcely admit us at 
 any hour without this permission." 
 
 " Then let us go to him at once." 
 
 " It might be more prudent to wait till morning ; but be it as 
 you say. The carriage is not yet put up. We can have it 
 ready in a moment." 
 
 A few moments sufficed for this, and the two ladies were driv- 
 en at once to Balfour's quarters. Two sentries guarded the en- 
 trance, who gave surly answers to their application to see the 
 commandant. They were denied, and told that he was absent. 
 He had not returned from Oruden's party. ' Back to Oruden's 
 the carriage was driven. There the merriment stUl continued ; 
 gay crowds were passing and repassing, in quick succession, be- 
 neath the shining chandeliers and cressets. The garden was 
 now, also, full of crowds. The sight of all this gayety seemed 
 to sicken Katharine. 
 
 " Ask quickly, quickly if you please." 
 
 Omden'^as sent for, and came out to the carriage. 
 
 " The commandant, is he here still. Colonel Cruden 1" 
 
 " He is not, madam ; he left us nearly an hour ago, on receiv- 
 ing some important intelligence." 
 
 " You know it then, sir," exclaimed Katharine — " my father." 
 
BALPOUE TEIUMPHS. 399 
 
 " I have been informed, Miss Walton." 
 
 " And where shall we find Colonel Balfour 1" asked the dam- 
 sel impatiently. 
 
 " Most probably at his own house." 
 
 " We have been there. He is not there." 
 
 " Then I know not, unless at the provost. But would it not 
 be well to wait till morning, ladies ?" * 
 
 "Wait! wait. How can I wait; and he a prisoner? — my 
 father in bonds — perhaps wounded, iU and suffering." 
 
 " Nay, I can relieve you on that score. Your father is un- 
 hurt. He is not sick, he has received no wounds, and, except- 
 ing a few bruises, he has no cause of suffering." 
 
 " I must see him, nevertheless, as soon as possible. Oh ! 
 madam, will you let them drive to the provost V 
 
 " Surely, my child, we will go thither ;" and the carriage was 
 driven off accordingly. They reached the guarded entrance of 
 the gloomy edifice at the eastern extremity of Broad street — 
 "where now the merchants most do congregate" — and were 
 doomed to another disappointment. Balfour was not here, nor 
 could they obtain direction where to find him. 
 
 " But you will suffer me to see my father, sir ?" said Katha- 
 rine to the officer on duty, and who treated the ladies very re- 
 spectfully. 
 
 " I am sorry, Miss Walton, that I am not permitted." 
 
 " What ! not permit the child to see the father 1" 
 
 " It would give me pleasure to comply. Miss Walton, if this 
 were possible ; but the commandant has strictly enjoined that 
 the prisoner is to be seen by nobody." 
 
 " Ah ! he has been here, then," she exclaimed with bitter- 
 ness. " He is merciful ! It is his humanity that would not 
 have the eyes of the daughter behold the chains about the neck 
 of the father." 
 
 " Your father is not in chains, Miss Walton ; he is strictly 
 guarded, but subjected to no indignities. Colonel Balfour has 
 said nothing about excluding you in particular. He has only 
 commanded that nobody shall be suffered to visit the prisoner, 
 unless with his permit. I presume that you will find no diffi- 
 culty in obtaining this permit during proper hours, in daytime." 
 
400 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Then we must wait, I suppose ; and yet, my dear madam, 
 if you would consent once more to drive to tlie ' commandant's 
 quarters." 
 
 " Cheerfully, my dear child ; cheerfully." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," cried the maiden eagerly, the big 
 tears rolling from her eyes, and falling rapidly upon her hands, 
 which* were now clasped upon her knees. A few moments suf- 
 ficed to bring them once more to Balfour's dwelling, which, as 
 before described, was that fine old mansion at the foot of King 
 street, now in the possession of the Pringle family. The visit 
 was again fruitless. The commandant had not yet returned. 
 They received the same answer as before. In silent despair, 
 Katharine gave up the effort for the night. 
 
 " We must wait till morning, my child," said Mrs. Singleton. 
 She was answered by an hysterical sobbing, which lasted pain- 
 fully, for several minutes, to the great anxiety of the venerable 
 widow. A free flood of tears at length came to the relief of the 
 sufferer, and she appeared patiently to resign herself to a disap- 
 pointment, for which there was no apparent remedy. The par- 
 ties reached their abode, and Katharine retired to her chamber, 
 but not to sleep. Th^ rest of the night, indeed, was a long 
 vigil. Slumber never, for a moment, visited the sad eyes of that 
 suffering daughter, and as soon as she could reasonably insist 
 upon another, visit to the commandant, she did so. But it was 
 no part of Balfour's policy that she should see him yet. He 
 well knew that her excitement would be intense, and that she 
 would be an early petitioner for his indulgence. He determined 
 to avoid her. 
 
 " She shall feel fully that I am the master of her fate. She 
 shall sue for the smallest privileges, and be made to understand 
 that every concession must have its price. I shall concede 
 nothing too quickly. She shall pay well for every favor." 
 
 "With this policy he kept out of her way. It was easy to do 
 80 ; and, hour after hour during that long first day of her father's 
 " captivity, did she haunt every abode in the city where it was 
 possible to find the person who kept the keys of his dungeon. It 
 was only at the close of the day, when Balfour well knew that 
 she was half distraught, that he suffered himself to receive her. 
 
BALFOUR TRIUMPHS. 401 
 
 When he did so, at his quarters, in the afternoon, his counte- 
 nance boded no favorable auspice. His words were equally 
 discouraging. 
 
 "Miss Walton," said he, "for the first time since I have 
 known you, do I regret to see your face." 
 
 " Do not say, do not look thus, Colonel Balfour ; you wijl not 
 deny that I should see my father." 
 
 " I know not how I should consent. Miss Walton." 
 
 " Not consent — not suffer the daughter to console the father 
 in his bonds !" 
 
 " Were these simple bonds, Miss Walton, were his an ordi- 
 nary case " 
 
 He paused with well-studied gravity of visage. 
 
 " What mean you, Colonel Balfour ]" 
 
 " Is it possible you do not remember, that you do not compre- 
 hend?" 
 
 "What should I remember? what should I comprehend? 
 My father is a prisoner, taken in battle, the victim of the chances 
 of war, and must remain in captivity until exichanged ; as soon 
 as General Greene, or General Marion, can affect his exchange, 
 I have no doubt '' 
 
 He shook his head with great solemnity. She paused. 
 
 " Miss Walton, your father is not simply a prisoner-of-war. 
 He is regarded as a fugitive from justice, as one under condem- 
 nation of a competent tribunal, against whom judgment of death 
 stands on record." 
 
 "Death! Death! Judgtiient of death!" she cried wildly, 
 almost fiercely ; " Colonel Balfour, you can not mean this ! You 
 do wrong, you are cruel, sir, thus tot trifle with the feelings of a 
 daughter!" 
 
 " I have found no pleasure in speaking that, Miss Walton, 
 which you will be compelled to hear from others. But I can 
 not shrink from a duty, however painful." 
 
 " But you will suffer me to see him 1" 
 
 " Even this would be an indulgence, which, under present 
 circumstances, I should very reluctantly accord ; and, perhaps, 
 make myself liable to much reproach in doing so. His majesty's 
 government is in possession of facts which go to show that an 
 
402 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 insurrectionary spirit is at work within this city, that a conspir- 
 acy has been for some time on foot, and that Colonel Walton 
 has heen privy to the secret workings of this nest of traitors. 
 My duty forbids that I should suffer them in any way to com- 
 mune with one whose boldness and daring may give them any 
 counsel or encouragement." 
 
 " Oh ! Colonel Balfoui, I 'm no conspirator ! I will promise 
 you to take no part with any traitors, or share in any treason. 
 It is the child that seeks her father, to console with him, attend 
 upon him, weep over his captivity, and succor him with "Jave and 
 duty only. I give you the word of one who has never wilfully 
 spoken falsely, that I will convey no message of treason — that 
 I shall in no way partake in any plots of any conspirators." 
 
 " Your assurance, Miss Walton, might well satisfy me, as a 
 mere individual. As Nesbitt Balfour, my dear Miss Walton, it 
 would not need that you should give them. . Nay, it would not 
 need that you should ask for the sympathy and favor which my 
 heart would rejoice to offer you unasked. But I am not permit- 
 ted to forget that I am here in charge of my sovereign's interest. 
 I know not the extent of our danger, nor the degree to which 
 these conspirators have carried their designs. Caution becomes 
 necessary to our safety. Distrust of all is now a duty ; and you 
 and yours, it is well known, are the undeviating enemies of my 
 sovereign." 
 
 Mrs. Singleton, who had said little before, now interposed. 
 
 " Colonel Balfour, the hostility of Katharine Walton and her 
 father, to say nothing of myself and all my kindred, has been 
 an^ openly avowed one, to your king and his authority. That it 
 has been always thus openly avowed should be a sufficient 
 guaranty for the assurance that we make you now, that Katha- 
 rine Walton will not abuse the privilege she solicits, of seeing 
 and being with her father. Her claim, indeed, is the less ques- 
 tionable, since you proclaim the painful and perilous "situation in 
 which he stands. The policy, real or pretended, which should 
 deny her the privilege of consoling him in his dungeon, would 
 be an outrage to humanity." 
 
 " So would his death, madam, under a lawful judgment ; but 
 humanity is thus outraged daily for the maintenance of right 
 
BALFOUR TRIUMPHS. 403 
 
 and justice. But I am not disposed, Miss Walton, to incur your 
 reproaches, however little I may shrink at those of other per- 
 sons. I will grant your petition ; preferring to incur any risk 
 rather than see you suffer where I have the power to prevent it. 
 The order shall he made out that you shall see your father." 
 
 " Oh ! thank you ! thank you ! — And shall I have it now 1" 
 Katharine asked eagerly. 
 
 " On the instant ;" and with the word he hastened to the 
 table and wrote. 
 
 " This order," he said, wiU secure you admission at any hour 
 of the day, between nine in the morning and six in the after- 
 noon. You will have something over an hour in which to spend 
 with him to-day." 
 
 "Oh! thanks, Colonel Balfour — believe me, I am very 
 grateful." 
 
 He smiled with a peculiar self-complacence, which did not 
 escape the eyes of Mrs. Singleton ; and taking the extended 
 hand of Katharine, carried it to his lips, before she was aware 
 of his purpose. She hastily withdrew it, while her cheeks red- 
 dened with shame and annoyance. He laughed quietly as he 
 perceived her disquiet — a low sinister chuckle which might have 
 been construed to say — " You are coy enough now, my beauty ; 
 but there shall be a season -which shall find you more submis- 
 sive." But his lips said nothing beyond some idle words of 
 courtesy and compliment, and as the ladies prepared to depart, 
 he gave an arm to each and assisted them to the carriage. 
 When they had whirled away, he rubbed his hands together 
 exultingly. 
 
 " Now, let no lurking devil at my elbow dash the cup from 
 my lips, and mine shall be a draught worthy of all the gods of 
 Olympus ! Let her refuse me, and the father dies — dies by the 
 rope ! Will she suffer this 1 Never ! She will yield en these 
 conditions : she dare not incur the reproach, even if she had not 
 the strong attachment for her father, of suffering him to perish 
 by a shameful death, when a single word from her would save 
 his life! — And wffat is the sacrifice] Sacrifice, indeed!" — 
 He passed the mirror with- great complacency while he said 
 this. — " Sacrifice, indeed ! She will perhaps be not unwilling 
 
404 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 to find an excuse for a necessity which gives her such a good- 
 looking fellow for her lord." 
 
 "How now?" — aloud — to young Monckton, who suddenly 
 entered the apartment — "what do you wish, Monckton?" 
 
 " Major Proctor, sir, was here repeatedly to-day, and seemed 
 very urgent to see you. He came, at last, and hrought this 
 letter, requesting that it should be placed in your hands the 
 moment you came in." 
 
 " Ha ! Well ! Lay- it down. I '11 see to it." 
 
 The secretary disappeared. 
 
 " Proctor, eh ! Well ! we have him, too, in meshes too fast 
 to be broken through." 
 
 He read the epistle, which, as we may suppose, gave a de- 
 tailed account of Proctor's captivity, and of what he saw while 
 in the camp of the partisans. 
 
 "Pshaw!" said he, "that bird can never fly — that fish can 
 never swim — that story can't be swallowed." 
 
 He was interrupted by the entrance of Cruden. 
 
 " Balfour," said the latter, " I have seen Proctor. He has 
 been to me — he has been to see you also, a dozen times, he 
 says, but without finding you. He explains all this matter, and 
 very satisfactorily." 
 
 " I have his explanation here," was the answer, " and I 'm 
 sorry, for your sake, to say, that there's nothing satisfactory 
 about it. His revelations are all stale. He makes them only 
 when he can't help himself; when he knows that WilUamson 
 has told the story, and Campbell has told the story, and his own 
 fellow, John, has told the story. They all agree in most par- 
 ticulars, and Proctor supplies nothing which we have not from 
 another quarter, in anticipation of his account. They are all 
 before him." 
 
 " But, Balfour, that is not his fault ; he sought for you last 
 night and repeatedly to-day." / 
 
 " How idle, Cruden ! Campbell sought for me last night, and 
 so did Williamson ; they could find me. Why did not Proctor 
 come to your house in search of me, last night 1" 
 
 " He did so, and you were gone." 
 
 " He was unfortunate ; but, in truth, Cruden, his narrative is 
 
BALPOUE TRIUMPHS. 405 
 
 without weight, unless supported by other testimony than his 
 own. Look at the facts. He leaves the city without beat of 
 drum. His objects were then suspected, and I sent his man, 
 John, after him. He leads John into an ambush, where the 
 fellow is laid up neck and heels, hurried across the Ashley and 
 the Edisto, with his legs fastened under the belly of a horse ; 
 his master meanwhile, with sword at his side and pistols in hols- 
 ter, rides in company with the rebel leaders, Walton and others, 
 and actually takes part in -the deliberations which they hold 
 upon the fate of Williamson." 
 
 " Does Williaihson say this 1" 
 
 " Swears to it. John, the servant, contrives to escape from 
 his bonds ; but Proctor the master, when found, is in the rebel 
 camp and under no restraint." 
 
 " But Proctor explains all this." 
 
 " Pshaw, Oruden, leave it to the criminal to say, and he will 
 always explain away the gaUows. Come ia with me, and you 
 shall see all the affidavits." 
 
406 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE PRICE OF LIFE. 
 
 Permission had no sooner been granted to Katharine Wal- 
 ton, then she flew to visit her father. In an agony of tears she 
 threw herself into his arms, and, for a long time, no words were 
 spoken between them. Colonel Walton was the first to break 
 the silence. 
 
 " Nay, my child ! Kate, my dear, exercise your firmness. 
 There is really no necessity for tears. I am a prisoner, it is 
 trae. I am in the hands of the enemy, useless to my country, 
 when every soldier is needful to her cause. This is a great 
 grievance, I confess ; but I shall be exchanged as soon as our 
 people shajl find a British captive of rank equal to my own." 
 
 " But, is this true, my father 1 Is it certain that you will be 
 exchanged"? Is it sure that you wUl be regarded only as a pris- 
 oner-of-war ?" 
 
 " And why not ? Where is the reason to think otherwise, my 
 chad 1" 
 
 " Oh ! if you were sure ; but " 
 
 " But what ? Wherefore do you hesitate ? Who has led you 
 to suppose that such will not be the case ?" 
 
 " The commandant, Balfour ! He tells' me -that you are to be 
 tried as a fugitive from justice — as a " 
 
 " As a what, my child 1 Speak fearlessly." 
 
 With choking accents, she answered — " As a traitor and a 
 spy?" 
 
 "Ha!" 
 
 Walton's brows were clouded for a moment, but ho shook off 
 the sudden feeling which had oppressed him, and answered : 
 
THE PRICE OF LIFE. 407 
 
 " It was base and unmanly that he should seek to alarm you 
 thus ! He has some vicious purpose in it. Even were it true, 
 my child, which it -can not he, he should have said nothing of 
 the sort to you. He should have felt how cruel was such a state- 
 ment to a woman and a child." 
 
 " No, no ! If it be true, my father, I thank him that he has 
 told me all. Better that I should hear the whole danger at the 
 outset. But you teU me that it is not true. You are sure? 
 You know ? Do not you deceive me, my father. Let me know 
 all the danger, that we may labor in season to save you from 
 these people." 
 
 " And what can yon do, my daughter ?" 
 
 " Oh ! much can be done in all dangers, by love and courage. 
 Devotion, armed with a resolute will, can move the mountain. 
 We are feeble, I know ; I know that I am good for little ; but 
 you have friends here. There are wise and wtuous citizens 
 here, busy always day and night, in planning measures for 
 the rescue of the country. What they can do for you I can 
 not say ; but they will strive to serve you, I am certain. Do 
 not deceive me, therefore ; do not suffer me to remain in blind 
 ignorance of the truth until the bolt falls, and it is too late to 
 save you." 
 
 " Be of good cheer, Kate. Dismiss these apprehensions. I 
 have heard nothing yet which should lead me to apprehend that 
 Balfour really designs what you mention. I suspect that he 
 only aimed to impress upon you the great value of his favor, in 
 permitting you to visit me. There is no denying that the Brit- 
 ish authorities have a sufficient pretext for bringing me to trial ; 
 but there would be no policy in doing so. They would gain 
 nothing by it but discredit to their cause. I see no room for 
 fears at present ; of one thing, Kate, be sure, that should I evei; 
 feel that I stand in danger, you shall be the first to know it." 
 
 " Oh ! thanks for that, my father. Do not underrate my 
 strength for endurance. Believe me, I can die with you if I can 
 not save you." 
 
 The father pressed her to his bosom. 
 
 " You are the same noble, fearless, loving child, my Kate, that 
 I have ever known you. Believe me, I do not feel or fear the 
 
408 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 danger that you speak of; yet I do not doubt or deny that, if 
 the policy of the British authorities lay in putting me on trial 
 for my life — nay, putting me summarily to death — at this mo- 
 ment — there would be sufficient pretext, and no law of right or 
 reason would be respected by them. But their policy, at pres- 
 ent, is forbearance, toleration, and a mild government. Revenge 
 or cruelty would only embitter the public feeUng, and arouse a 
 spirit in the country such as they could never hope to allay. 
 Enough now, my child, on this subject. Have you heard any- 
 thing lately from Robert 1" 
 
 She told him the history of the ruse de guerre by which 
 Lieutenant Meadows had been defeated by the soi-disant loyalist, 
 Fumess ; at which he laughed heartily.' 
 
 " But, of course, youJseep this to yourself, my eluld. I pre- 
 sume it is known to you only. Fumess did not appear in the 
 business, except as a loyalist, and if I know Robert Singleton 
 truly, he will not abandon a character so long as it will serve a 
 good purpose. We shall hear more of this Fumess, be certain. 
 Xou have not heard directly from Robert since you parted with 
 him at the ' The Oaks V " 
 
 "Cy him, but not from him. "We were told " 
 
 " Hush ! some one approaches." 
 
 It was the officer on duty. The evening had closed in, and 
 the time had come for Katharine's departure. She would have 
 lingered — she clung to her father's neck with a renewal of her 
 tears, and it was with some eflFort that he put her away. When 
 the officer reappeared at the entrance, she met him with dried 
 eyes and a calm exterior, which greatly astonished him. An 
 hour after her departure, Colonel Walton was honored with an- 
 other, but less welcome visiter. This was Balfour. 
 
 " Colonel Walton," said the intruder, in mild and gravely 
 sympathizing accents, " I am truly sorry to find you in this situa- 
 tion." 
 
 " As the sentiment honors your magnanimity. Colonel Balfour, 
 at the cost of your policy, I am bound to give you credit for 
 sincerity. I certainly find it irksome enough just now, to be a 
 captive ; but it is the fortune of war ; it is one of the incidents 
 of our profession, and not the worst." 
 
THE PRICE OP LIFE. 409 
 
 " But, my regret, Colonel Walton, has its source in the pecu- 
 liar condition which you occupy as a prisoner. You can not be 
 insensible to the fact that his majesty's government regards you 
 in quite another character than that of mere prisoner-of-war." 
 
 " Indeed, sir ; well !" 
 
 •' When rescued at Dorchester, you were under sentence of 
 death. That sentence has never been revoked." 
 
 " But was that the sentence of a proper tribunal. Colonel Bal- 
 four ? Was it not a denial of the right which I had to a proper 
 trial by my peers ? Was it not the exercise, by Lord Cornwal- 
 lis, of a despotic will, in which he sacrificed law and justice to 
 arbitrary authority V 
 
 " I have no right to discuss this question with you. His ma- 
 jesty's oilicers here are not prepared to oppose their superiors in 
 matters in which the responsibility is theirs alone. It is the ex- 
 pressed opinion of Lord Eawdon, for example, that all that is 
 necessary, is to indentify your person, and immediately carry 
 out the sentence of Lord Oornwallis." 
 
 " I am truly obliged to his lordship. Colonel Balfour. He 
 does not mince matters with us poor provincials. Well, sir, am 
 I to understand ihat you concur with him ? That you are pre- 
 pared to carry out his opinion into performance ? If so, sir, I 
 Lave but to spare you the trouble of all investigation, by assur- 
 ing you that I am the real Richard Walton, colonel in the state 
 line of South Carolina militia." 
 
 " It is my wish. Colonel Walton, to save you. It is therefore 
 that I am reluctant to recognise the opinion of Lord Eawdon. 
 I should much prefer an investigation — that you should have a 
 regular trial, as if no decree from Earl ComwalHs had gone 
 forth ; in fact, sir, I am anxious to give you time, that you may 
 reconcile yourself to his majesty's government, and make your 
 peace with the powers yon have so grievously offended. They 
 are not vindictive, and, in the case of one whose private charac- 
 ter they have so much reason to respect, they would prefer to be 
 indulgent." 
 
 " No doubt of it, sir ; no doubt. Hitherto, they have proved 
 their indulgence in a thousand cases, as well known to you, sir, 
 as to me. Was it an instance of this regard to our sensibilities, 
 
 18 
 
410 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 Colonel Balfour, that you should deliberately communicate to 
 my daughter the peril in which her father stood — that you 
 should speak of me as a fugitive and spy, -and point, as it were, 
 to the ignominious gallows in which I was to he justified as 
 such 1" 
 
 The face of Balfour paled at this address. His heart and eyes 
 sank together under the stern questioning of Walton. He spoke 
 stammeringly — 
 
 " I had to excuse my reluctance, sir, at suffering her to visit 
 you in prison." 
 
 " And whence this reluctance 1 Suppose me the condemned 
 criminal, convict, and doomed to the fatal tree ; even in such 
 case what ground would there be for refusing the visits of a child 
 to a parent. At svich a time, and under such circumstances, she 
 had an especial claim to make them, if, indeed, you recognise 
 humanity as having a claim at all." 
 
 " But, Colonel Walton, you do not know the circumstances ; 
 you do not know that there are traitors in this city — an orga- 
 nized conspiracy, including wealth and numbers, who are for- 
 ever plotting against the peace of his majesty's government." 
 
 "In spite of all its indulgences and humanities!" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; in spite of all ! These conspirators would like 
 nothing so well as your extrication from bonds." 
 
 " I should be grateful to them for it." 
 
 " No doubt, sir ; and what would be my answer to his ma- 
 jesty's government, if, knowing these things, and knowing how 
 many women are concerned among these conspirators, I afforded 
 them such facilities of communicating with you, through your 
 daughter, as to enable you to make your escape ?" 
 
 " A subtle diiSculty, Colonel Balfour, but the plea is without 
 substance. All captives will desire to escape from captivity, 
 and all true friends will help them to do so. It is for the jailer 
 to see that tliey do not succeed ; not, sir, by a denial to humanity 
 of what it may justly claim, but by vigilance that never sleeps 
 or tires. Sir — Colonel Balfour, you have done a very cruel 
 thing in speaking to my daughter as you have done." 
 
 Balfour by this time had recovered his native effrontery. He 
 felt his power, and was disposed to assert it. The tone of su- 
 
THE PRICE OP LIFE. 411 
 
 periority which Walton employed annoyed hjg amour fropre, 
 and he answered somewhat pettishly — 
 
 " I am willing to think, Colonel Walton, that I may have 
 erred. I certainly have no desire to object that you should 
 think so. The error, however, must he imputed to the head 
 only. I had no desire to make Miss Walton unhappy." 
 
 " Let us say no more of it, Colonel Balfour." 
 
 The lofty manner in which this was spoken had in it an ap- 
 pearance of disgust which increased Balfour's irritation. He 
 was doubly vexed that, resist it as he would, he felt his resolu- 
 tion quite unseated in the conference with his prisoner. It was 
 with something of desperation, therefore, that he proceeded to 
 resunie the conversation, taking a higher attitude than before ; 
 in fact, determined on making Walton fully feel and (as he 
 hoped) fear his situation. 
 
 " Colonel Walton," he said, " I must tell you that you do not 
 pursue the right course tg make friends. This tone of yours 
 will never answer. Here you are in our hands, a prisoner. By 
 the decree of our highest local authority your life is forfeited. 
 You are a recovered fugitive from our justice. You are told 
 what is said of our power, having identified you, to subject you, 
 instanter, to the doom of death, from which you were once so 
 fortunate as to escape. Yet you take a tone of defiance which 
 rejects the help of those who would befriend you, alleviate 
 your situation, and, perhaps, help you to elude its dangers. Is 
 it wise, sir, or prudent, that you should act thus 1" 
 
 " Colonel Balfour, I take for granted that you have some 
 meaning when you speak thus. You mean to convey to my 
 mind, in the first place, that you yourself are friendlily disposed 
 to me." 
 
 " Undoubtedly, sir; youare right." 
 
 " Well, sir, a profession of .this kind from you, sir, in your po- 
 sition, to a person in my circumstances, would seem to say that 
 something may be done — that, in fact, my case is not entirely 
 desperate." 
 
 " I certainly mean to convey that idea." 
 
 " Well, sir, now that we understand each other on this point, 
 may I ask in what manner you propose to exercise tliis friend- 
 
412 KATHARINE WALTOX. 
 
 ly feeling toward me ! Clearly, Colonel Balfour, my object is to 
 escape from captivity and deatli, if I may do so. That I am legiti- 
 mately a prisoner, I admit ; but only a prisoner-of-war. That 
 I am lawfully doomed to die, I deny ; yet I do not profess to 
 think myself safe because I am innocent. I frankly tell you, 
 sir, that I do not doubt the perfect coolness and indifference with 
 which the present authorities of the country will commit a great 
 crime, if it shall seem proper to their policy to do so. I am 
 perfectly willing to deprive them of any excuse for the commis- 
 sion of this crime, in my case, if you will show me how it is to 
 be done ; and if, in its performance, I am required to yield noth- 
 ing of self-respect and honor — " 
 
 " Oh ! surely. Colonel Walton, I am bound to do so. I would 
 not, for the world, counsel you to anything at all inconsistent 
 with either. I have too high a respect for your name and char- 
 acter — too warm an admiration for your daughter " 
 
 " Ah !— " 
 
 " Yes, sir, for your daughter, whom I esteem as one of the 
 most amiable and accomplished, as she is one of the most beau- 
 tiful women I have ever seen." 
 
 " I thank you, Colonel Balfour, but I, who know my daugh- 
 ter well, can readily dispense with this elogium upon her." 
 
 Balfour bit his lips, replying peevishly — 
 
 " Colonel Walton, you carry it quite too proudly. I would 
 be your friend, sir — would really like to serve you. — " 
 
 "Well, sir; — proceed — proceed!" 
 
 " Thus, then. Colonel Walton — having endeavored to show 
 you perfectly your situation, and the danger in which you stand, 
 I declare myself friendlily disposed, and willing to assist you. 
 Your case is a bad, but not exactly a desperate one ; that is to 
 say, it may be in the power of some persons, so to interpose be- 
 tween the justly-aroused anger of our sovereign, and the victim, 
 as to save him from his punishment." 
 
 " In other words, sir, you. Colonel Balfour, can exercise a suf- 
 ficient in€uence with Lord Cornwallis to relieve me from his 
 sentence." 
 
 " Precisely, my dear colonel ; that is exactly the point. I 
 may venture to affirm that, besides myself, and possibly Lord 
 
THE PRICE OP LIFE. 413 
 
 Rawdon, there is no other man or set of men, in South Caroli- 
 na, to whom this thing is possible." 
 
 " I think it very likely." 
 
 " And I am disposed, Colonel Walton, to use this influence in 
 your behalf." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, Colonel Balfour, as I have 
 said ; I think it very probable that you may interpose, as you 
 have said, successfully, for my safety, and that no other person 
 that I know, is likely to do so. But, sir, you will suffer me to 
 say, that I am too well aware that I have no personal claim up- 
 on you for the exercise of this act of friendship. I certainly 
 can not claim it on the score of former sympathies, or even by 
 a reference to your recognition of my individual claims as a man 
 of worth and character." 
 
 Balfour winced at this. He felt the latent sarcasm. Wal- 
 ton proceeded : — 
 
 " It is clear, therefore, that I can not expect you thus to serve 
 me, without some special acknowledgments. There must be a 
 consideration for this. The quid pro quo, I understand, is not 
 to be overlooked in anything that may be determined upon." 
 
 " Really, Colonel Walton, you relieve me very much," an- 
 swered Balfour. " As you say, you have no personal or partic- 
 ular claims upon me, except, generally, as a man of worth. 
 There have been no previous relations of friendship existing be- 
 tween us. If, therefore, I am moved to serve you, it must evi- 
 dently be in consequence of certain considerations, personal to 
 myself, which — ah !" 
 
 Here he faltered for a moment. The stern but calm eye of 
 Walton was upon him. His own wavered beneath the glance ; 
 but the recollection of the vantage ground which he held, re- 
 stored his confidence, and he assumed a tpne somewhat foreign 
 to his spirit, when he resumed what he was saying. 
 
 " In short," said he, " Colonel Walton, I can save you from 
 this danger, and I alone : and I will save you sir, upon one con- 
 dition, and one only." 
 
 " Name it. Colonel Balfour," answered Walton calmly. 
 
 " Your daughter, sir, Miss Walton " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
414 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 The brow of Walton grew clouded. The air of Balfour be- 
 came more desperate, as he added — 
 
 " Yes, colonel, your daughter ! I acknowledge her virtues 
 and her beauties. They have subdued a heart which has nev- 
 er yet trembled at the smile or power of woman. Sir — Colonel 
 Walton, give me the hand of your daughter, in honorable mar- 
 riage, and you are saved. I pledge my life upon it." 
 
 Walton started to his feet with a burst of indignation which 
 he could not repress. He confronted the commandant with a 
 stem visage, and a voice that trembled with passionate emotion. 
 
 " What, sir, do you see in me to suppose that I would sell my 
 blood to save my life ! That I would put the child of my af- 
 fections into bonds that I might break my own ! Colonel Bal- 
 four, your offer is an insult. You owe your safety to the fact 
 that I am your prisoner !" 
 
 " You will repent this violence, Colonel Walton," said Bal- 
 four, rising, and almost white with rage. " You are trifling with 
 your fate, sir. Be warned ! Once more I repeat the offer I 
 have made you. Will you give me your daughter's hand in 
 marriage, and escape your dangers 1" 
 
 " Never ! Let me rather die a thousand deaths ! Sell my 
 child — yield her to such " 
 
 " Beware, Colonel Walton ! You are on the precipice. A 
 single word — a single breath, and yon go over it !" 
 
 " Away ! sir ; away, and leave me !" 
 
 " Very well, sir ! if the daughter be no wiser than the father, 
 look to it ! Your doom must be spoken by Jier lips, if not by 
 your own. That is your only chance !" 
 
 Balfour gave the signal at the close of this speech, to the 
 keeper of the door without, and as soon as it was opened to 
 him, he rushed out with feelings of fury and mortified vanity, 
 such as he had not often endured. 
 
 " He means to oifer this alternative to my child— this dread- 
 ful alternative ! But no ! she shall never be made the sacrifice 
 for me ! Richard Walton can not accept the boon of life, how- 
 ever precious, at the peril of his child's peace, and to the ruin 
 of her best affections !" 
 
 Such was the stern resolution of Walton, spoken aloud, after 
 
THE PRICE OF LIFE. 415 
 
 Balfour had retired. He felt that his peril had greatly increas- 
 ed in consequence of the passion which the latter declared for 
 his daughter. He now well understood his game. The danger 
 lay in the bad character of the commandant, and the general 
 irresponsibility of the British power, at present in the sfate, the 
 recklessness of its insolence, and the conviction which its repre- 
 sentatives generally felt, however blindly, that there was no 
 fear to be entertained that they were destined to any reverses. 
 Walton's mind promptly grasped all the circumstances in his 
 case, and he deceived himself in no respect with regard to the 
 extremity of his danger ; but the result only found him more 
 resolute in the determination he had formed so promptly, to per- 
 ish a thousand times rather than suffer his daughter to make 
 such a cruel sacrifice as that which was required as the price of 
 Lis deliverance. 
 
416 KATHARINE WALTOK. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 ULTIMATUM. 
 
 Whew, tlie next day, Katharine Walton presented herself in 
 her father's dungeon, he bad reached the course which he had 
 resolved to pursue by which to defeat the desires of Balfour. 
 
 " Kate, my child," said the father, as he pressed her affec- 
 tionately to his bosom, " there is a matter upon which I must 
 speak with you in advance of all others. You are engaged, I 
 know, to Robert Singleton. But ties of this sort, unless the 
 heart really furnishes the cement between the parties, are per- 
 haps better broken than maintained." 
 
 " Broken, father ! Ton surely would not have me break faith 
 with Robert !" » 
 
 " By no means, my child, if you really feel that you love 
 him beyond all other men, and if your confidence in his judg- 
 naent and honar be such as to enable yoa to repose with perfect 
 reliance upon his bosom. It is this very question which I de- 
 sire to urge. Are you as quite satisfied this hour with the en- 
 gagement made to Robert as in the hour when you first consent- 
 ed to it ? Is there no falling off of faith — no coldness, no in- 
 difference, no distrust between yon ?" 
 
 " None, father. But wherefore do you ask 1 Surely, you do 
 not hold me so fickle as to — " 
 
 " No ! no ! Kate, my precious ! 3 have no such suspicions ; 
 and your answer, as it concerns yourself, is perfectly conclusive. 
 And now tell me of Robert. Are you quite satisfied with him ? 
 Is he still, so far as you know, as faithful, as devoted to you as 
 you feel yom-self to him 1 Have you no neglect, no coldness to 
 
ULTIMATUM. 417 
 
 complain of? Does he still appear to you the man of honor, of 
 character, and of high sentiment that we have hitherto always 
 thought him 1" 
 
 " I have never once fancied that he could change, my father. 
 Robert has always been, to my mind, the ideal of a noble and 
 faithful gentleman." 
 
 " Enough, then, on that subject. My opinion and estimate of 
 Robert Singleton have long been the same as yours. Your 
 feelings remain the same as ever : your engagement must be 
 equally obligatory. And now, Kate, assure me on your sacred 
 word — nay, I must have it on the sacred volume, my child — 
 that, while Robert Singleton lives and continues true to his 
 pledges, you will never wed with any other man !" 
 
 " Say this — swear to this, my father ! Oh, how can it need 
 that I should do so ? Can you, indeed, require that I should 
 take such an oath 1" 
 
 " Kate, my child, I am but taking a precaution against events. 
 There are some things which, as yet, you do not know, and 
 which I shall be the last person to unfold to you. I do not 
 doubt your affections, my child, or your principles ; but I see 
 certain contingencies ahead, which, but for the support I desire 
 to give you lay the oath which I now propose to administer, 
 might find you feeble, and seem to force you to a faithlessness 
 which your own heart would abhor. You might find it neces- 
 sary to rupture your ties with Robert, and, perhaps, give your 
 hand to another person." 
 
 " Never ! never ! Oh, my father, how can you so think of 
 me 1 What contingencies can possibly occur to make me so 
 base and so faithless to Robert ! — so false to my own heart as 
 well as pledges'?" 
 
 " As I have said, Kate, I foresee that which you do not sus- 
 pect. I foresee trials of which you have no fears. I do not 
 question your faith, your love, your sense of duty, your prin- 
 ciples. Your truth is one of the most precious convictions in my 
 heart. But I distrust your strength under certain circumstances, 
 and would wish to give it succor at the moment of your trial. 
 The process for doing so is the one that I have resolved upon. 
 Do not you doubt me, my child, or question if I have sufficient 
 
 18* 
 
418 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 reason for what I do. If still devoted to Robert Singleton, pre- 
 ferring him to all the world of men, and still confident of his 
 integrity and nobleness, it can not give you pain to renew to 
 me, in the most solemn manner, in his behalf, the pledges 
 already made to him. Submit to me, my child, and believe me 
 that there are necessities for this proceeding of which I may not 
 speak to you. This Bible which you have brought me is your 
 dear mother's. She has kissed it a thousand times. Take it to 
 your own lips while I adjure you, and you promise me, that, so 
 long as Robert Singleton lives and without loss of character, 
 you will wed no other man, no matter what events may happen 
 to make it appear politic to do so ; though death, though dan- 
 ger, though wrong, contumely, and murder even, should threaten 
 yourself and others most dear and precious to you ! Swear to 
 me, my child, and remember all my words, for there may come 
 a moment when you may discover that the very meanest of 
 them has a value. Will you not do for me what I require, my 
 child?— what I entreat?" 
 
 The maiden took the sacred volume in her hands. She 
 looked bewildered and confused; but she spoke — 
 
 " I will do as you require, my father. I should be wretched, 
 however, to suppose that you doubt my faith, *and deem it 
 necessary thus to make it steadfast." 
 
 '' I do not doubt your faith ; but you little dream in what 
 manner it is to be assailed. I would really seek to strengthen 
 myself in the conviction that nothing which may happen shall 
 prevail to separate you and your cousin." 
 
 " And nothing shall, my father, while Robert remains faithful 
 to his pledges. I will take the oath which you propose. It is 
 sworn. I have pressed my lips on pages which my dear mother 
 has made doubly sacred by the frequent pressure of hers. I 
 solemnly vow that no other man shall have the hand which I 
 have given to Robert Singleton." 
 
 " I am satisfied, my child. You hare relieved me of a dread- 
 ful apprehension. But of this I must saj' nothing. I will not 
 shock your ears by a revelation which I fear that you will be 
 compelled to hear from less scrupulous lips. Be firm in what 
 you have promised, for you are destined to be terribly tried. 
 
ULTIMATUM. 419 
 
 And remember that, whatever may happfen, your mother and 
 your father, the one a pure spirit, the other a still suffering mor- 
 tal, are the witnesses of a pledge that they will both expect you 
 to redeem with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all 
 your strength." 
 
 We need not linger now with our captive in his dungeon. 
 Throughout the long day it was relieved of its gloom, if not 
 made cheerful, by the fond and unwearied attentions of his 
 daughter. Her food was brought her also in his prison, and it 
 was only at nightfall, when required to depart, that she con- 
 sented to tear herself away. She returned to her home that 
 evening to gather, for the first time, an inkling of the purpose of 
 her father in the solemn requisition which he had made upon her. 
 
 Scarcely had the tea-service of Mrs. Singleton been removed, 
 when Colonel Balfour was announced. He was promptly con- 
 ducted to the parlor, when he desired the servant to say that his 
 visit was made to Miss Walton. Katharine did not long delay 
 in presenting herself. 
 
 Balfour was profound in his courtesies. He rose at her en- 
 trance, conducted her to the sofa, and seated himself beside her. 
 We dismiss, without notice, the preliminaries, the civil inquiries 
 after her own and the health of other parties, his remarks upon 
 her good looks, and all those usual phrases with which the vete- 
 ran politician would naturally strive to qualify the effect of more 
 annoying matter. Balfour's hardihood was too great, however, 
 his anxieties too urgent, his consciousness of power too complete, 
 to allow of much delay in approaching the more serious object 
 of his visit. 
 
 " Miss Walton," said he, after finishing his prefaces, " I surely 
 need not now inform you that, since I have known you, I have 
 entertained the warmest sympathy for you, and the most earnest 
 desire to see you happy." 
 
 The face of -Katharine wore its most vacant expression, yet 
 she steadily met his glance. He continued — 
 
 " You will do me the justice to admit that, from the moment 
 of your arrival in this city — since, in other words, you have be- 
 come a ward of the crown — you have been honored with the 
 most respectful attentions. Your health, happiness, and comfort, 
 
420 KATHARINE WALTON". 
 
 have been equally cared for, and your slightest wishes considered, 
 where these did not conflict with the rights of his majesty." 
 
 " Colonel Balfour, I do not know what is the nature of the 
 acknowledgment which you desire to extort from me by this 
 speech. It may he enough, perhaps, to say that I have no com- 
 plaint* to offer. I do not acknowledge that my happiness or 
 desires have been at all aft object of the solicitude of his majes- 
 ty's government, as these can not well be consulted in a con- 
 dition of captivity such as mine." 
 
 " Captivity, Miss Walton ! Surely not !" 
 
 " Surely yes ! I regard my situation as one of captivity, the 
 severity of which has been modified only with reference to my 
 sex. Were it left to me, sir, the mountains of North Carolina 
 or Vh-ginia should environ me, rather than the walls of a British 
 garrison." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you speak thus. Miss Walton. I had 
 hoped that the kindness with which you have been welcomed 
 everywhere in Charleston, the respectful devotion of all in gar- 
 rison, the indulgence — " 
 
 " No more, Colonel Balfour. Is it not enough to say that I 
 have no complaints ? 1 utter no reproaches." 
 
 "No, Miss Walton; let me say that this is not enough, when 
 it is remembered how small was the claim upon his majesty's 
 indulgence which could be urged by any of your name, or any 
 of your connections. We find them all against us, all hostile in 
 sentiment, and most of them in arms against their legitimate 
 sovereign." 
 
 " I am willing to admit all these alleged offences, Colonel 
 Balfour ; but whither do your charges tend ? I am your captive 
 — my father is in your bonds. Our humiliations have kept pace 
 with our supposed offences. What farther admission would you 
 have me make 1" 
 
 " Your father's situation, Miss Walton, should surely convince 
 you of our power." 
 
 " It is not denied. We are in your power." 
 
 " We ! You ! I would it were so ! We shall see. Your 
 father is; and you must be sensible in what danger. I have 
 spoken of this matter already." 
 
ULTIMATUM. 
 
 421 
 
 " Yes, Colonel Balfour, you have ; and I trust that it is not 
 for the renewal of that communication that yoil seek me now. 
 1 can not believe that, in your calmer and cooler moments, you 
 mean to urge so cruel a subject." 
 
 " But if it be true 1 If it be that your father is in peril of his 
 life—is—" 
 
 " It is not true ! It can not be true ! I can not doubt that 
 there is humanity enough in the British authorities in this state 
 — magnanimity, perhaps, I should say — to arrest all such mur- 
 derous purposes, such as you yesterday expressed." 
 
 Balfour shook his head. 
 
 " Suppose I tell you. Miss Walton, that you hope against 
 hope ? Are you prepared to listen to the whole truth, and with- 
 out looking with hate and horror on him who speaks it 1" 
 
 " 1 know not, sir ! — I know not [ But, at all events, speak 
 the truth, the whole truth, whatever be the consequences. 
 Have no fears for me. If what you propose to tell me be the 
 truth, it is just as well that yow should declare it as another. 
 Only let it be l7ie truth that you speak, and without any such 
 exaggerations of its mischievous import as the very generous of 
 your sex too frequently employ when they would impress the 
 fancies or the fears of ours. If the truth is to be borne, I must 
 bear it and prepare for it as I may." 
 
 " You are sarcastic. Miss Walton — very bitter — " 
 
 " Bitter, you say ! Certainly a very unnatural savor in the 
 case of one with such a prospect of sweets before her." 
 
 " The prospect is dark enough, I grant you ; but not without 
 its light. If I show you the threatening tempest, it is possible 
 that I may also show you the blue sky and the harbor of refuge 
 beyond. Be patient with me, I entreat you, while I do so. I 
 have to speak of gloomy and terrible things ; but you shall see 
 that I can point you out the little gleam of light which comes 
 up out of the darkness. What I said to you yesterday was 
 quite true. . Yovu- father has nothing to hope but from the mercy 
 of his majesty's representatives in Carolina. He is a doomed 
 man, as he himself must feel ; one who, whether justly or vm- 
 justly, is sentenced to a forfeiture of life. That sentence might, 
 from the nature of the case, be carried into effect by any British 
 
422 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 officer who found himself in the possession of Colonel Walton's 
 person. He is in my possession. I hold this authority to exe- 
 cute the decree of Lord Comwallis ; and what prevails to pre- 
 vent that I should do so V 
 
 " You will prevent ?" 
 
 " Ah ! You shall hear yet further. We regard these states of 
 Carolina and Georgia as already conquered. Your continentals 
 are even now flying hefore Comwallis in Virginia, and Rawdon 
 holds undisputed authority within the interior. Marion, and Sum- 
 ter, with tlieir ragged followers, will soon share the fate of yoiu* 
 father's command. The southern states will all fall into our hands 
 one hy one. The New England states no longer supply the ar- 
 mies of Washington and his generals. From the moment that 
 the war was withdrawn from their barren domain, they aban- 
 doned the contest. The destruction of a French fleet will efiect- 
 ually cut of another of the alUes of rebelBon ; and your states 
 of the south will perish under the -natural exhaustion which is 
 sure to follow from such an unequal conflict. It is mere despe- 
 ration to hope that anything can be done for saving those states 
 of which we have possession. The struggles of your father and 
 such men are simply suicidal." 
 
 " You will not convince Mm of that." 
 
 " That is Ms misfortune. But we must bring him to this con- 
 viction, as one of the means of saving him. We must persuade 
 him to renounce the conflict and accept the mercy of his ma- 
 jesty." 
 
 Katharine shook her head mom-nfully. 
 
 " He will never prove false to his country." 
 
 " We shall not ask him to take up arms. We shall simply 
 require him to lay them down, and resume the neutral attitude 
 which he kept until, in evil hour, beguiled to take the field at 
 Camden." 
 
 "And if he consents — should we persuade him to this." 
 
 " Something then will have been gained toward restoring him 
 to the favor of his majesty ; and, upon certain other conditions 
 being complied with, I think I might venture to say that his 
 mercy — " 
 
 "Ah, there are other conditions !" 
 
ULTIMATUM. 423 
 
 " Yes, Miss Walton ; but such as, I trust, will not be found 
 too difficult for compliance. In fact, my dear Miss Walton, the 
 rest will depend on jourself." 
 
 " On me, sir !" with unfeigned astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, on you, and you wholly ! The fact is, my dear Miss 
 Walton — I need not perhaps, tell you that, to my discretion, 
 Sir Henry Clinton has confided the whole government of affairs 
 in this section. Mine is the power to bind and loose, to save or 
 execute. The life of your father is Jn my hands. My voice, 
 my will, can save him ; and the question is, what shall be the 
 influence by which I am to be moved to exert this voice and 
 will ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir ! — Colonel Balfour — humanity alone — " 
 
 " Won't do for me ! I confess to being a rather selfish man ;- 
 and when I see before me a great treasure, which I fondly be- 
 lieve I may attain through the exercise or the forbearance of 
 the power I possess, of life or death, I tell you frankly that 
 my selfishness rejects all minor considerations, and insists wholly 
 on the treasure for which it thirsts. Do you not understand 
 me?" 
 
 '' I confess, sir, I do not." 
 
 " My dear Miss Walton, you have already heard me declare 
 the admiration which I felt for you, and the passion which 
 sought you as its first and only object. You have treated this 
 passion with scorn, unwisely ; for I am not the man to suffer 
 tamely. I gladly forget your scorn. I renew my vows of de- 
 votion. Once more I fling myself at your feet." 
 
 And the action was suited to the word. 
 
 " Rise, sir — rise. Colonel Balfour ! I can not suffer this !" 
 
 Katharine herself rose ; but he seized her hand. 
 
 " Nay, my dear Miss Walton, it is thus that you f/iusi hear me 
 — that I must make my confession, and declare the love that I 
 feel for you, and the desire that I cherish to make you mine !" 
 
 " Eise, sir ! It is impossible !" 
 
 He rose, reluctantly. 
 
 " Nay, do not say impossible. Do not be rash. Remember 
 all the circumstances in your condition. You must feel the ne- 
 cessity of finding friends at this juncture — of finding such a 
 
424 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 friend as myself ; one who has the power to destroy ; but who 
 may be persuaded to spare and save. Believe me, you have 
 but to say the word, and all the power I possess shall be sub- 
 ject to your will." 
 
 " You do but try me, Colonel Balfour. I can not believe so 
 harshly of you as to suppose that you will make a father's life 
 depend upon a daughter's favor. You say you have the power 
 to save him. I believe it. I rely upon you — your sense of 
 justice, your humanity, the obligations that you owe to the peo- 
 ple over whom you rule, the policy which becomes the sovereign 
 that you represent. You will not outrage all of these by an ex- 
 treme exercise of power — by the cruel murder of a noble gen- 
 tleman, from whom his enemies always found humanity and 
 mercy." 
 
 "You plead eloquently, my dear Miss Walton, but the selfish- 
 ness of my passion will not allow me to listen to your plea. I 
 love you too earnestly not to take every advantage of the cir- 
 cumstances in which you are placed. I can not afford to be 
 magnanimous. I see before me a treasure, the loveliest and 
 most precious that ever blessed mortal eyes, or was intrusted to 
 mortal keeping ; and I feel that by the exercise of a certain res- 
 olution, that treasure must be mine. I can not venture to be gen- 
 erous. I can not fling away, perhaps, the only hope upon which 
 I build for the attainment of this treasure. You must be mine, 
 Katharine Walton, if not through the love you bear to me, 
 through that which you bear your father." 
 
 " Oh ! Colonel Balfour, this is terrible — it is cruel, it is un- 
 manly — and when you know that it is impossible " 
 
 " I know nothing of the sort ! Nay, Katharine Walton, let 
 me tell you freely, I know that there is nothing impossible in a 
 situation like yours. Your father's life hangs upon a thread, as 
 fine, as easily sundered as that by which the spider hangs 
 against the wall. You love your father — I know how precious 
 is the tie between you. Will yours be the hand to smite that 
 thread which is his only hold upon life ? Will yours be the stern 
 voice which dooms him to a premature and shameful death ?" 
 
 " No more, Colonel Balfour ! You have no right to torture 
 me thus ! I will carry the tidings of this wanton cnielty, this 
 
ULTIMATUM. 425 
 
 profligacy and tyranny, this equal abuse of power and humanity, 
 to Lord Cornwallis, to Sir Henry Clinton, to the foot of the 
 throne itself! and you shall feel and be made to tremble, in 
 your turn, at a power to which all that you may boast is but a 
 breath, an echo, without either strength or substance. Release 
 my father from this danger, consent to his exchange with some 
 loyalist captive of his own rank, or I expose you to your own 
 superiors !" 
 
 " And is it thus, my lovely Katharine, that you defy me, and 
 oppose your feeble strength to mine ? You will expose me to 
 Cornwallis and Clinton — you will carry your plaint to the foot 
 of the throne itself ! One would suppose, my fair enemy, that 
 you Americans had already sufficiently experienced the unprof- 
 itableness of petitions at the foot of the throne and elsewhere. 
 Will you learn nothing from experience 1 But why should I 
 argue ? With the endeavor to convince ? The result must 
 prove itself. Miss Walton, the case of your father will undergo 
 investigation within the next three days. When the decision of 
 the court is made, I shall again seek you. Meanwhile, let me 
 commend you to a calmer view of the whole subject. Katha- 
 rine Walton, you can only escape me at the peril of the loss of 
 all that you most value. On the word of a soldier and a man, 
 your father's life hangs entirely upon your speech." 
 
 " You are neither a soldier nor a man, sir, to speak to me in 
 such language. Go, sir ; I will not believe you ! I will not 
 suffer myself to think that the British authorities will so trample 
 upon all that is precious in humanity, in order that the passions 
 of one bad man shall triumph." 
 
 Balfour smiled bitterly. 
 
 " You will recall these words. You will repent that you have 
 spoken them. When you rest in my arms, as my lawful wed- 
 ded wife, Katharine, you will blush for these reproaches, and 
 ask yourself with wonder, how was it that you should have de- 
 nied soldiership and manhood to j'our lord ; how you should 
 have applied the epithet of base to one whose name you bear." 
 
 Katharine rose to her full height. 
 
 " Enough, sir ; I have no more epithets for you ! May I 
 hope that you will leave me now 1" 
 
426 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 This was spoken with a rare mildness of tone and manner. 
 It impressed her visiter. Plis accents were changed and apolo- 
 getic. 
 
 " You provoke me unreasonably, Miss Walton, and mine is a 
 temper not too placable. It would always yield to you. I will 
 not trespass longer. You have heard me. What I have said is 
 earnestly and truly said. The facts are all as I have stated 
 them. The danger is precisely what I have shown it. The 
 remedy, I repeat, is in your own hands. Think upon it calmly, 
 for you may be assured of this, that I have declared the only 
 conditions upon which your father's safety depends ; and, as I 
 live, I wiU relax in nothing of what I ask ! I love you too pas- 
 sionately to forego a resolution through which only may I hope 
 to bend your stubborn heart to my desires." 
 
 With these words he left her, miserable enough. 
 
 "This, then, was the secret of my father's purpose. Can it 
 be that this base, bad man revealed to him his cruel calcula- 
 tions 1 But, he dare not — he dare not ! Eawdon would not 
 suffer it, nor Cornwallis, nor Clinton. I have but to declare the 
 facts in this interview to shame him before the world." 
 
 Poor Katharine — she little fancied how httle responsibility 
 the world feels in such matters — how q^uietly it submits to the 
 wrong-doing that trespasses not upon its individual limbs or 
 pockets. Still less did Katharine, in her rare simplicity ^f 
 heart, comprehend the degree of independence enjoyed by Brit- 
 ish officers when three thousand miles from the throne, or how 
 intimate was the alliance between these worthy agents in Car- 
 olina when victims were to be chosen and spoils were to be 
 appropriated. 
 
DUELLO. 427 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVI. 
 
 DUELLO. 
 
 Events began to move with unwonted rapidity among all 
 parties in Charleston. Proceedings were initiated against Colo- 
 nel Walton as a rebel and a spy, and a court of inquiry was 
 designated for an early investigation of his case. Similar pro- 
 ceedings, under charges which were studiously rendered vagiie, 
 were also appointed for the consideration of another court, so6# 
 to be convened, in regard to the case of Major Proctor. He 
 remained still under a nominal arrest only ; a forbearance due 
 chiefly to the desire of Balfour to conciliate Cruden and save ap- 
 pearances. But the wily commandant only waited the moment 
 when his game was quite sure, to convert the nominal into an 
 actual arrest, made certain with bolts and fetters. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the patriots and friends of Walton were 
 busy, day and night, in studying how to meet his danger, or 
 effect his deliverance. Meetings took place nightly at old Tom 
 Singleton's, and other places. But the consultations of the con- 
 spirators only showed them their weakness ; and at length, their 
 whole hope of rescuing Walton was based upon a plan for cor- 
 mpting the keepers of his person. In this work, Mrs. Brewton 
 took an active part, and made the greatest progress of any of 
 her associates. Between herself and Tom Singleton two of the 
 guards were bribed ; but these successes proved delusive, the 
 corrupted parties being removed the very night after they had 
 sold themselves. 
 
 The gamp had to be begun anew, and with increased caution. 
 It was evident that the vigilant eyes of Balfour were upon all 
 
428 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 their movements, and the zeal and activity of Mr. Brewton soon 
 drew down upon her the especial attentions of the commandant. 
 She was congratulating herself one morning upon the con- 
 siderahle progress which she had made in the favor of a British 
 sergeant, in whom the officers placed considerable confidence, 
 when she was surprised by a visit from Balfour. He was 
 smiling and very courteous, and these, with him, were always 
 suspicious appearances. He did not leave her long in doubt as 
 to his purpose. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Brewton," said he, " I am sorry to perceive 
 that the atmosphere of Charleston does not quite agree with you 
 this season. Everybody remarks how much flesh and color you 
 have lost within a month. My anxiety in your behalf makes 
 me resolute that you shall change the air. I have brought you 
 a passport, accordingly, giving you permission to retire to the 
 ' country, whither you will please depart within the next twenty- 
 four hours. You had better go to the Oongarees — anywhere not 
 within eighty miles of the city." 
 
 The beautiful widow, for once, was overwhelmed. 
 
 "What do you fear?" she at length demanded, impetu- 
 ously. 
 
 " Your health, your beauty, your spirits, all of which are in 
 peril while you remain here." 
 
 She would have expostulated and argued, even promised and 
 pleaded, for she was willing, at this moment, to submit to some 
 sacrifices, to make som.e concessions of pride and spirit, but in 
 vain ! The petty tyrant was not to be moved, and, with a 
 Parthian arrow, she prepared for her departure. 
 
 " I could have looked for nothing less from such as you. The 
 want of gallantry and grace is always the sure sign of an equal 
 want of character and courage. Colonel Balfour, I am encour- 
 aged by your fears, since these alone expel me from your gar- 
 rison. Well, sir, the fortress which thus apprehends danger 
 from a woman must surely first have become conscious of the 
 worthlessness of its men." 
 
 " Ah ! madam, you will then give me no credit for the sym- 
 pathy and care which are thus mindful of your health. We 
 shall greatly miss you from the garrison, but shall find consola- 
 
DUELLO. 429 
 
 tioi) iu the fact that when you come back to us, you will have 
 recovered all your bloom and beauty. Good morning ! An 
 escort shall attend you to the ' Four-mile House.' " 
 
 Her departure was a loss to our conspirators, and somewhat 
 discouraged their hopes and efforts. Several of them, that 
 night, were assembled in consultation at old Tom Singleton's 
 when Proctor suddenly presented himself. Singleton received 
 him alone, in an upper apartment, and did not now take him 
 down to the vaulted chamber whither we accompanied him on a 
 previous occasion. The old man received him hurriedly, and 
 reviewed his case with some abruptness. Proctor had seen him 
 repeatedly, we may here mention, in interviews which we have 
 not been required to report. The two spoke, accordingly, with 
 reference to foregone conclusions, which the reader must take 
 for granted. 
 
 " Prior," said Singleton, " has done all that he could for you. 
 I have the affidavits which he has procured, and the witnesses 
 are all forthcoming. But, from all that I can see and hear. Ma- 
 jor Proctor, they will avail you nothing. It is evident to me 
 that Balfour means to destroy you, and he is well seconded by 
 that insidious scoundrel, Vaughan. What they alleged against 
 you in the affair of Dorchester, might be met and refuted, were 
 that alone the difficulty; — but your capture by Walton, the un- 
 happy combination of circumstances which marked your deten- 
 tion, the evidence of Williamson and of your servant John, all 
 together, persuade me that you can do nothing better than make 
 your way from the garrison, and cover yourself among the 
 mountains of North Carolina." 
 
 " What ! sir, and not face the enemy — not stand this trial 1" 
 
 " By no means." 
 
 " Impossible ! my honor ! " 
 
 " Can not counsel you to surrender yourself, bound hand and 
 foot, into the hands of your enemy." 
 
 Proctor shook his head mournfully, and being provided by 
 Singleton with the papers for which he came, and finding the 
 manner of the latter rather huriied and impatient, he prepared 
 to take his departure ; but, before he could do so, both parties 
 were suddenly surprised by the appearance, even as the door 
 
430 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 was unclosing for the 'egress of Proctor, of his supposed loyalist 
 acquaintance, Furness. 
 
 Proctor was really rejoiced to see him, and old Singleton dis- 
 quieted. A squeeze of the hand with the latter, and a word or 
 two, as it were, to remind him that he was young Furness, son 
 of oU Furness, whom he ought to know so well, and the par- 
 tisan turned away with Proctor, saying to Singleton that he 
 would see him again within the hour. The old man replied, 
 gruffly — 
 
 " Better see your friend out of the city, and take care, hoth of 
 you, that no one sees your backs unless beyond cannon distance." 
 
 With these words, he closed the door upon them, and returned 
 to his guests in the cellar. 
 
 Furness, or rather Singleton, soon told his story to Proctor, 
 as he had, within two hours, told it to Balfour. He professed to 
 have been taken by Marion's men at the defeat of Lieutenant 
 Meadows' escort, and had just succeeded in making his escape 
 from captivity. 
 
 Such was the substance of his narrative. Of course, he 
 revealed as little as possible to his companion, being more 
 anxious to hear him speak than to say anything himself. The 
 details given by Proctor, in answer to his inquiries, unfolded 
 fully the condition of affairs in the city, his own approaching 
 trial, with that of Colonel "Walton, and the charges brought 
 against both. Singleton soon gathered from the statement, in 
 Proctor's own case, that he stood in an attitude of serious dan- 
 ger. He did not hesitate to give him the same counsel which 
 had been given by old Tom Singleton. Proctor was unwilling 
 to see the matter in so gloomy a light', but was evidently deeply 
 oppressed by what he heard. 
 
 " In a few days," said Singleton, " I hope to leave for the 
 mountains myself, as soon as I shall have procured some new 
 supplies from the commandant; and if you will only steal 
 away before that time, and meet me on the road, we can find a 
 safe tetreat for you until you can be sure of a proper tribunal 
 and honest judges. Think of this matter to-night, and do not 
 deceive yourself. There is evidently a secret and .strong pur- 
 pose, on the paa't of Balfour, to destroy you ; and, unfortimately, 
 
DUELLO. 431 
 
 circumstances have given him all the advantage in the game. 
 I will see you soon to-morrow — nay, if you will give me a part 
 of your bed, I will sleep with you to-night, for, as yet, I have 
 sought no quarters." 
 
 " Gladly," was the reply ; and Proctor gave him instructions 
 where to find him. They separated, and Singleton immediately 
 hurried back to his kinsman. He conferred with him for ten or 
 fifteen minutes, heard all that had been done, and all that was 
 doing, and then proceeded to see Katharine, whom he yet 
 dreaded to encounter. She threw her arms about his neck as 
 she recognised him, and exclaimed — 
 
 "O, Robert! you peril everything for me — for him! Tell 
 me, can you save him again?" 
 
 " I have come to see and try, Katharine. God alone knows' 
 yet what we may achieve. As yet, I know but Uttle of his 
 condition and his dangers. Sit, dearest, and you shall tell me 
 all." 
 
 She did so — all that she knewj felt, and feared. Mrs. Single- 
 ton did the same. Our partisan shuddered as he beheld the 
 prospect. It was no longer one in which a troop of desperate 
 horsemen could achieve deliverance. But he did not suifer his 
 gravity to appear conspicuous. 
 
 " Cheer up," said he. " It is a sad affair ; but I have strag- 
 gled through worse. We must not despond, since that will 
 make us feeble. I must hurry off at once, and see Uncle Tom 
 again. I must learn some other particulars before I can hope 
 to do anything. I will try to see you in the morning ; but must 
 move cautiously. You remember that I am still Captain Fur- 
 ness, of the loyalists." 
 
 ^ Jhis, for the time, ended their conference ; and the indefati- 
 gable partisan hurried off once more to see his ancient kinsman. 
 We need not ask what subjects they discussed, as, for the time, 
 the discussion was without result. Enough, that the more our 
 partisan became aware of the true nature of the case in the affair 
 of Walton, the more did its dangers loom out upon his imagina- 
 tion. When old Singleton apprized him of the terms offered by 
 Balfour for the safety of Walton, he was stricken as with a bul- 
 let. These had been suppressed by Kate. 
 
432 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Can it be true !" he exclaimed, when he recovered speech. 
 " Then, if we fall to rescue him, Katharine will consent." 
 
 "Never!" cried the old man, fiercely. 
 
 " She must! She can not avoid it !" was the mournful reply 
 of Robert Singleton. " I shall deplore the necessity more than 
 all, perhaps, but it will be a necessity, nevertheless." 
 
 When told of the oath prescribed by Walton to his daughter, 
 he exclaimed — 
 
 " Ah, the same magnanimous spirit and true heart ! But, 
 should the last necessity occur, even that oath wiU not, and 
 ought not to bind her." 
 
 " Would you have her marry that scoundrel ?" 
 
 " She must save her father, even at that sacrifice !" 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 " Hush, sir ! Hush ! This is all idle." 
 
 We need not pursue the unprofitable dialogue. It was late 
 when the parties separated; but 'Singleton, or Fumess now, 
 found Proctor waiting him with anxiety. They sat up late to- 
 gether, these young men, making their mutual revelations, and 
 " chewing the cud of sweet and bitter thought." Our partisan 
 continued to persuade his companion to a secret and swift 
 departure from the city ; but with no success. 
 
 "No !" was the reply of Proctor. " Though I perish, I wUl 
 never, by such a flight, give countenance to the slander that 
 assails my honor." 
 
 Early next morning, both of them were abroad. Soon after 
 breakfast, Furness found his way to the presence of Balfour. 
 We have already mentioned his communication with the latter 
 the day before. It wUl suffice to say that he gave the com- 
 mandant a fuU and satisfactory account of all his adventures, as 
 a loyalist, from the moment when he set out with the escort of 
 Meadows. Balfour had no complaints of Furness in this busi- 
 ness. On the contrary, basing his judgment upon the favor- 
 able, but singularly mistaken, report of Meadows, he was pleased 
 to bestow a high compliment upon the fidelity and desperate 
 courage which the former had displayed. In fact, the loyalist 
 captain was in a fair way to become a favorite with Balfour. 
 The profound deference of the provincial was particularly grate- 
 
DUELLO. 433 
 
 ful to the self-esteem of the pufFed-up parvenu. He freely spoke 
 to him of his own and puhlic affairs, until, at length, the affair 
 of Walton was brought upon the carpet. Having stated the 
 full particulars of his case to a very attentive auditor, who found 
 it exceedingly difficult to restrain the exhibitions of his emotion 
 and keep them within the limits of simple curiosity, Balfour 
 suddenly clapped Furness on the shoulder, exclaiming — 
 
 " By the way, captain, you are the very man to serve me in 
 this business !" 
 
 " Anything that I can do, colonel ?" 
 
 " You can do much. You shall visit Walton in the provost. 
 You shall let him know how hopeless is the chance for rebellion 
 in the back country. You shall report all the dangers of his 
 case, and persuade him of the necessity of full submission. He 
 doubts me — he distrusts me — and will doubt all the British 
 officers ; but one of his own people, who knows the interior, and 
 can report truly how little he has to build on, will probably be 
 listened to. The object is fully to alarm his fears and those of 
 his daughter, and to reconcile him to such concessions as I shall 
 require in return for his pardon. I am not successful in showing 
 him these things, I provoke his anger, and become angry my- 
 self. Now, you shall see and show that I do not seek his life ; 
 but that I will use my power and take it, unless he consents to 
 my demand ! You will report to him also that to-morrow is ap- 
 pointed for his trial. Succeed in what I desire, Furness, and t 
 am your friend for life. You are in the way of promotion," 
 
 Singleton had great difficulty in suppressing the shows of 
 eagerness and joy, when told that he was to see Walton in his 
 dungeon. 
 
 " I will do it, colonel ! I will do what you require. That is, 
 if I can ; but I am afraid that Colonel Walton will be as little 
 likely to listen to me, a loyalist^ as to the British officers. Be- 
 sides, I am — " 
 
 " Pooh ! . pooh ! You distrust yourself. Captain Furness. 
 You are only too modest. You have better abilities, my young 
 friend, than you yourself suspect ; but I have pierced your 
 depths, and see what can be made of you. Yoii will do this 
 bxisiness well, I feel very certain. Here, let me write the order 
 
 19 
 
434 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 for yonr admission to Walton. You will go to him to-nigtt, 
 after his daughter shall have left him, or to-morrow night — that 
 will be better, when he shall have undergone his trial, and been 
 made aware of his sentence. To-morrow evening dooms him to 
 the gallsws — you will insist upon "the only measure by which 
 to save him from it. Do you understand 1" 
 
 " Perfectly. I wUl see him to-night and prepare him for the 
 danger, and to-morrow, when what I have predicted shall have 
 been realized, he wiU, perhaps, be better able to appreciate his 
 situation." 
 
 " Meanwhile, I shall work upon the daughter. Do your part 
 faithfully, and it is odds but we carry the game. But where are 
 you lodging V 
 
 " Nowhere, exactly. Last night, Major Proctor, whom I met 
 at Dorchester, gave me a bed at his lodgings.'" 
 
 " Ha ! Beware of him ! He is a traitor !" 
 
 " He ! Major Proctor !" 
 
 " What ! You have not heard 1 He is about to he tried, 
 also, for offences which will drive him from the anny or hang 
 him. Beware of him ; but continue to lodge with him, if he will 
 suffer you. You can keep an eye on him. Eh ? You under- 
 stand V 
 
 " I do ! I see ! It shall be done !" 
 
 " What are you doing with yourself to-day 1 Nothing ? Then 
 drive out at twelve o'clock to Hampstead — the 'field of honor ;' 
 anybody will tell you where to find it. There is to be a duel 
 to-day between two hot bloods of the garrison, about a lady's 
 favors ; Mad Archy Campbell, who captured Colonel Walton, a 
 regular dare-devil* and Captain Harley, of the rifles, who is said 
 to be a fire-eater. They fight with the small-sword. It will 
 be a pretty passage, and you will be delighted. Your presence 
 will be no objection. There will be Several spectators." 
 
 " But do you sviffer such affairs V 
 
 " I do not see them. I hear of them only when all 's over, 
 and then arrive at nothing positive. I only see when I am not 
 disposed to suffer them. In this ease, there are reasons why I 
 s'ImvM not see. Do you go, and report to me the affair." 
 
 "I shall be there, colonel. I shall be pleased to -see." 
 
DUELLO. 435 
 
 " Should the passage be a short one, drive round, after It, to 
 Mrs. Rivington's, whose ' mornings' take place at ' one! You 
 will see everybody there. I have carte hlanche, and you will 
 find yourself at home there, at that hour, any day in the week." 
 
 Singleton gladly availed himself of Balfour's suggestion to 
 see the duel. He rode out with Proctor, who procured for him 
 a horse ; our hero having made his appearance in the city with- 
 out one. His precaution had stabled his own steed, with the 
 horses of those of his best troopers, and in their keeping, within 
 six miles of town, in a close thicket, not far from the Goose 
 Creek road. 
 
 A score of spectators were already upon the ground. The 
 spot chosen in that day for such purposes was but a little way 
 beyond the lines of the garrison, amid a clump of mingling pines 
 and oaks that covered a small headland on the banks of the 
 Cooper. Hither soon came the two combatants, attended by 
 several friends, a couple of assistants, and as many surgeons. 
 Dueling was then as now, in the same region, a recognised social 
 institution. But it was then an affair of honor, and not, as ioo 
 frequently now, an affair of malice. The solicitude was the point 
 of honor BxroT^ly — to maintain the social attitude. Malice, rage, 
 vindictiveness^would have been held qualities entirely inconsist- 
 ent with the grace and chivalry of a passage at arms between 
 gentlemen ; and to waive all advantages, in favor of an oppo- 
 nent, was always a struggle, gracefully, but tenaciously urged 
 between the parties, even after weapons had been crossed. 
 
 Singleton observed the scene with much interest. He prided 
 himself upon his own swordmanship, and anticipated, with some 
 eagerness, the event. The parties were both fine-looking men. 
 Archy Campbell was in the best of spirits, smiling and satisfied, 
 habited in a sort of military undress, in the most gentlemanly 
 fashion of the time. Stock, his second, was sulky and satirical. 
 Harley, his opponent, was cool, courteous, and rigid as a marti- 
 net. The time was come, and, under the direction of Stock, 
 Campbell threw off his coat, vest, chapeau bras, and cravat. 
 The spectators became as eager for the issue as ever were the 
 gamesters of the cockpit, largely betting on a favorite main. 
 But they were all destined to disappointment. The " point of 
 
436 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 honor" in that day did not deny such a conclusion to the affair 
 as that which followed. When all was expectation, the friend 
 of Harley stepped forward and demanded of Stock, loudly 
 enough for everybody to hear — 
 
 " Is it true, Major Stock, that your principal is married ?" 
 
 " The devil ! Yes ! But what a question ! True, to be sure 
 it is" — then, sotto voce — " and the worse for me ! But" — aloud 
 — "what has this marriage to do with the business %" 
 
 " A great deal, sir," replied the other, " as we will show you 
 hereafter. One other question : Is it true that your principal is 
 married to Miss Paulina Phelps ?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir. It is to Miss Paulina Phelps that Major 
 Archibald Campbell is married." 
 
 " Then, sir, we withdraw our invitation to the field. It is not 
 our policy or principle to fight with a gentleman on behalf of 
 his own wife ; and, indeed, We conceive that, in marrying the 
 offender, she has preferred a mode, and perhaps the best, of 
 punishing him for his offences to herself. We repeat that our 
 challenge is withdrawn upon the original grovmds ; but without 
 the assertion of any claim on our part that the duel should not 
 go on. It is* with the defendant to say whether he wUl suffer 
 us to quit the field." 
 
 This was said with a profound gravity, and with the stateli- 
 ness of a diplomate. A hearty laugh followed from Campbell. 
 
 "To be sure," said he, "I consent; but on one condition, 
 that Captain Harley and his companions dine with me and my 
 wife to-day. Expecting to be hurt in the encounter with so 
 keen a swordsman, I ordered a good dinner, in order that my 
 friends should not behold my sufferings without some conso- 
 lation." 
 
 The parties embraced ; and thus ended an affair of honor of 
 the eighteenth century. Stock seemed the only person not 
 satisfied with the arrangement. He said, with an affectation of 
 disappointment — 
 
 " It 's too provoking ! I was in hopes that Harley would have 
 given you your quietus, and then I should have saved my 
 guineas." 
 
 "Not so," cried Campbell. "I prepared against that, and 
 
DUELLO. " 437' 
 
 left proofs of the debt in the hands of my wife, who is the very 
 woman to prosecute the claim, if only that she might have in 
 her power so rare a gallant." 
 
 " I am reconciled to your escape and safety," retorted Stock. 
 " I have too sensible a fear of the tender mercies of a creditor 
 among the sex," 
 
438 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE PLOT. 
 
 The rest of the day was employed by Singleton, the parti- 
 san, with the assistance of tried friends in the city, in procuring 
 certain implements for the use of Colonel Walton in prison. 
 The permit which enabled him, as Fumess, the loyalist, to hav« 
 free access to the prisoner, offered him an opportunity quite too 
 important to be foregone. He accumulated -files, acids, and a 
 rope-ladder, and took them to him that very night, after Katha^ 
 rine had left the prison. We may take for granted that he 
 urged none of the arguments to Walton which Balfour had put 
 into his mouth. 
 
 The next day Walton's trial came on — if that may be call- 
 ed a trial which examined no witnesses. Conviction and sen- 
 tence were things of course ; and the ptisoner was remanded to 
 his dungeon with the assurance that he would, in four days, ex- 
 piate his offences to the crown upon the gallows. He heard his 
 doom with a calm and fearless spirit, indignantly protested 
 against the mockery of justice which he had just gone through, 
 and appealed to the arms of his country for the punishment of 
 those who should shed his blood under such a sentence. Scarce- 
 ly was the examination over, when Balfour again waited upon 
 Katharine. He was the first to report the decision of the court. 
 
 " Your father's life is in your own hands. Miss Walton." 
 
 "Mercy! mercy!" she shrieked, falling before him. 
 
 " Boon for boon, prayer for prayer, mercy for mercy — lovo 
 for life I" 
 
 She held up her hands, pleading dumbly. 
 
 " As we both live, Katharine Walton, these are the only con- 
 ditions !" he answered, sternly. 
 
THE PLOT. > 439 
 
 She sank forward gasping, and lay without sign of life upon 
 her face. He raised her up in alarm, and' called for Mrs. Sin- 
 gleton. She hurried in and relieved him of his burden. 
 
 " Why do you linger, sir 2" she asked. , " You have done 
 your work effectually, for the present, at least. Leave us now, 
 sir, if you please. It will take some time before I can recover 
 her." 
 
 An oath rose to Balfour's lips, which he found it somewhat 
 difficult to suppress. He seized his chapeav, bras and hastily 
 disappeared, without saying a word. Hurrying to the provost, 
 he left instructions there that Miss Walton should not that day 
 be admitted to see her father. This was on the plea of tender- 
 ness for her feelings, and sympathy'with her situation. But, in 
 truth, the policy was dictated by a desire to work upon her anxi- 
 ety and fears — to make her feel, in every possible way, how 
 arbitrary and entire was his power. Meanwhile, the native cit- 
 izens of the place were moving. A memorial, in behalf of 
 Colonel Walton, was prepared and signed by all the chief peo- 
 ple among the whig inhabitants. Several of the loyalists signed 
 it also, and the signatures of the ladies were numerous. A com- 
 mittee of these presented it, and the petition was enforced by 
 the personal entreaties and tears of those presenting it. It was 
 without eifect. The answer of Balfour was a cold one. It is 
 to the credit of General Williamson that he earnestly added his 
 efforts to those of the citizens. 
 
 "What!" said Balfour. "You, too, general! Do you so 
 soon forget your own recent escape from the clutches of this in- 
 solent rebel ?" 
 
 " No, sir : and it is this recollection that now prompts my en- 
 treaty. I cannot forget that, but for the interposition of Colonel 
 Walton, which saved me from the tender mercies of his subor- 
 dinates, I should certainly have tasted of the terrible doom 
 which now threatens him." 
 
 " And which he i7iust suffer !" was the conclusive reply. " The 
 public safety requires this sacrifice. We must rebuke rebellion 
 bj the punishment of some of its conspicuous leaders." 
 
 That day Balfour took his dinner alone at his quarters, dining 
 at a late hour, and after many fatigues and excitements which, 
 
440 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 to a mind like his, were not unmixed with pleasure. He was 
 rioting in power. He was not without a hope of realizing his 
 most selfish objects. At length, he had persuaded the people 
 of OharlestOB, and Katharine Walton in particular, of the ear- 
 nest purpose which he entertained. She, at length, felt that 
 her father's life was really in danger. She had already begun 
 to seek and to sue, in tears and gloomy apprehension. She had 
 paid him a visit, in order to obtain permission to see her father 
 again ; a privilege which, as we have seen, he had that day de- 
 nied. He had avoided her, and he conjectured the extent of 
 her agony. Gloating over his convictions, he drank freely of 
 his Madeira, and was already at the close of his feast, when Al- 
 fred Monckton made his appearance from the adjoining room 
 where he wrote, and communicated the arrival of Major Yaughan 
 from Dorchester. He had been summoned down to attend the 
 trial of Proctor, which was assigned for the ensuing day. 
 
 " Send him here," said Balfour, and Vaughan was mstantly 
 ushered into the presence of the potentate. 
 
 " You are welcome, Vaughan, doubly welcome at this mo- 
 ment. Sit, and /fill yourself a glass. We are at the harvest 
 time at last.'' 
 
 " Yes, colonel, and a full harvest shall we have of it. I bring 
 you news which shall strengthen the evidence against this arch- 
 traitor." , 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! The more the merrier, though we scarcely 
 need it. We have quite enough in this late affair, foi his full 
 conviction. But what's your news 1" 
 
 " Such as will startle you. You remember the fellow that 
 palmed himself off upon you as Captain Fumess of the loyal- 
 ist lifles ?" 
 
 " Yes. Well, was he not what he called himself?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! He was no other than the rebel. Colonel Sin- 
 gleton, of Marion's brigade !" 
 
 "What!" cried Balfour starting to his feet. " How know 
 you this 1" 
 
 " By the true Captain Fumess himself, who has just escaped 
 from the guard assigned for his safe-keeping among the rebels. 
 He made his way to the post at Dorchester, and has come with 
 
THE PLOT. 441 
 
 me to town. I have brought him here, and only wait the word 
 from you to introduce him." 
 
 " Bring him in ! By the Lord Harry, but this is excellent ! 
 And Proctor knew him at Dorchester 1" 
 
 "Intimately!" 
 
 " And they are intimate together here, at this moment, and 
 occupy the same lodgings." 
 
 " Indeed ! then we have them ! Het-e, do you say?" 
 
 " Here ! here ! and the rebel has imposed npon me thrice. 
 Shall he not swing 1 But bring in the genuine Tumess. Are 
 you sure of him 1" 
 
 " Quite sure ! His proofs are beyond q[uestion, and he brings 
 a great deal of intelhgence." 
 
 " Bring him in, bring him in ! Singleton ! Ha ! ha ! Her 
 lover, her betrothed ! The audacious rebel ! Well ! the ven- 
 geance shall be sweet in degree with the insolence ! Nothing 
 shall save Aim ! She shall pray for Mm in vain. She can pur- 
 chase but the life of one, and her choice must be her father. 
 Ha ! well. He is here." 
 
 Vaughan returned, bringing in the true Fumess. He was a 
 man very much in size and person like, the bold rebel who had 
 assumed his character, but wanting the noble bearing, the high 
 tone, the eagle eye and aspect. He was seated, and the wine 
 poured out, and the impatient Balfour summoned him to a nar- 
 rative' of all the particulars relating to his capture, Retention, 
 and escape. The commandant was very soon convinced that 
 he had been egregiously deceived hitherto ; and his mortified 
 vanity, at the deception, made him doubly vindictive in his de- 
 termination. He recalled all the dialogues between himself and 
 Singleton, in the assumed character of the latter ; how freely he 
 had unfolded himself to the supposed loyaHst; and bitterly re- 
 flected how much material for secret sporn and laughter his con- 
 fidence must have afibrded to the partisan. His cheeks flushed 
 with the reflection of a deeper red than could be given by the 
 ruddy juices which he drank, and, striking his fist heavily down 
 npon the table, he exclaimed, in a voice of thunder — 
 
 " Shall he not swing for it ! — swing on a gallows as high as 
 that of Haman!" 
 
 19* 
 
442 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 "And you say that he is here — here now, ■within the city?" 
 demanded Vaughan. 
 
 " Ay, indeed ! and a lodger with that other traitor of our 
 own, John Proctor !" 
 
 " Then we have them both !" 
 
 " Ay, indeed ! in the same net ! They shall pay for their 
 audacity." 
 
 " Should you not seize them at once, colonel 1" 
 
 "Ay, indeed!" — rising — "I will see to it. Here, Mr. 
 Monckton." 
 
 The secretary appeared at the entrance. 
 
 " But, no I" said Balfour, resuming his seat, and filling his 
 glass anew. " You may go," said he 'to Monckton. " Pass the 
 bottle, Major Vaughan, to Captain Fumess. I have a better 
 plan for making this arrest. ~ We are probably watched. Any 
 movement, at this moment, were I to send a guard-to Proctor's 
 lodgings, and Singleton not happen to be there, might only give 
 him warning, and enable him to make his escape." 
 
 '" How can that be ? Issue orders, in advance, that no one 
 leave the city, and strengthen the guards along the lines." 
 
 "Ah! Vaughan, that would only make the matter worse. 
 The city is full of traitors. They have their emissaries .every- 
 where, and Communicate with the enemy by means of the winds, 
 I believe, for there's no finding out the process exactly. But it 
 is fortunate that my very confidence in this rebel Singleton 
 gives me the means for securing him, if we make no stir, and 
 do not alarm his apprehensions. He is to visit Walton to-night, 
 at eight o'clock, in the provost. There, we have him. He will 
 scarcely fail to be there ; was there last night, and made me 
 quite a glowing report, this morning, of what he had done tow- 
 ard convincing Walton of the necessity of making submission, 
 and doing what is required of him." 
 
 " What is that, sir ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, a matter of state, which" — looking askant at the 
 loyalist — " need not be dwelt upon. It is enough that the reb- 
 el will seek Walton again to-night in his dungeon. I am now 
 satisfied that he will do so with the view of facilitating his es- 
 cape. Against that we will guard. But we will take him in 
 
THE PLOT. 443 
 
 tlio toils. We hate this fellow of Proctor's, John, constantly 
 on the heels of his master. I will have Jiim here, and command 
 his watch upon hoth, and, to-night you shall be ready, with a 
 guard, to arrest him in Walton's dungeon. How do you rel- 
 ish the service V 
 
 " Command me, sir," eagerly. 
 
 "And you, Captain Pumess, will have no sort of objection to 
 change places with your late captor — to assist in putting him 
 into Umbo ?" 
 
 " Not a bit, colonel !" 
 
 " Very good ! Let us make our arrangements." 
 
 The plan was devised. The details, which were fully ade- 
 quate to the object, need not concern us. Enough that Balfour, 
 Vaughan, and the loyalist, were all warmed with a tiger appetite 
 for the blood of the victim, which could scarcely be restrained 
 by the policy which determined not to move until it could move 
 with certainty. We may add that Proctor's treacherous servant, 
 John, was soon put in requisition, and counselled to report equally 
 all the movements of Singleton as well as those of his late mas- 
 ter. When, at the close of the conference between the parties, 
 Alfred Monekton was again called for, he had disappeared. 
 
 " Gone to dinner, sir," was the answer of the other secretaryf 
 who had just returned from his. 
 
444 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 THE COUNTER PLOT. 
 
 Balfour, filled with excitement and wine, had spoken in 
 louder accents than were necessary, and Monckton heard every 
 syllable. He was at once struck with the importance of the new 
 danger, not only to Proctor — with whose fate he deeply sym- 
 pathized on account of his sisteir — but to Singleton, in whose 
 behalf he felt a rising interest, in conseo[uence of his intimacy 
 with Kathatine Walton, which had duly ripened with that of 
 Ella Monckton. We have seen how large was the influence 
 which his sister possessed over him, and how small was that of 
 Balfour. ' The latter he regarded with positive antipathy, the 
 consequence of the tyrannous- and wanton insolence of the com- 
 mandant, which he seldom forbore to exercise. Should he suffer 
 these two noble yoting men to become his victims ? Should he 
 refuse to the sister whom he loved that intelligence, the timely 
 use of which might save them — a result so precious to her de- 
 sires and best affections 1 He had not strength for this. His 
 conscience reproached him with the betrayal of his employer's 
 secrets ; but his will was not sufficiently potent to suffer him to 
 keep them when the safety of such dear interests counselled 
 their revelation. The struggle in his mind was a very brief one. 
 With eager agitation, he revealed the whole affair to Ella, with 
 all the resolutions which had been adopted by the commandant, 
 and the particular means to be employed for the capture of Sin- 
 gleton. She was overwhelmed at the danger which threatened 
 the man she loved and the lover of her friend. 
 
 " Alfred," said she, " you must go to Kate this very moment 
 and tell her every syllable." 
 
THE COUNTEE PLOT. 446 
 
 " Impossible ! I must hurry back this very moment, or as 
 soon as I have swallowed my dinner. I am wanted ; and if not 
 absolutely called for before I return, it will be only i)ecause 
 Balfour has started another bottle." 
 -" Then I must do it myself!" 
 
 And, with that calm, but unyielding energy which was char- 
 acteristic of her affections, the noble girl at once hurried off to 
 the dwelling of Mrs. Singleton, while her brother, trembling with 
 a secret consciousness of wrong, hastened back to the weary toils 
 of his secretaryship. 
 
 Kate Walton was absent ; and, in an agony of apprehension, 
 Ella related her discovery to Mrs. Singleton. The old lady 
 was seriously planned. 
 
 " They must be found !" said she ; " Eobert must be advised of 
 this new danger in season to prevent it. Yet where to find him at 
 this moment ! There is but one hope. Write, my child — write 
 all that is necessary to be said — to Tom Singleton. Fortunately, 
 little George Spidell is here preparing for his trip to-night. He 
 will find him, and carry the letter safely. This is our only chance." 
 
 Ella sat down to the table and penned the hasty billet, giving 
 all the substantial details in respect to the impending danger. 
 George was called up and despatched upon his errand ; while 
 Ella hastened home, in order to provoke as little suspicion at 
 this moment as possible. 
 
 Let us now proceed to the lodgings of Proctor. Here, Single- 
 ton and himself were just sitting down to a late dinner. The 
 former had only a moment before made his appearance. Both 
 of them were gloomy enough, and but little inclined to eat. 
 Their disinclination was increased by the sudden appearance of 
 old Tom Singleton. The apology was brief which took our par- 
 tisan away from the table to a corner of the room. Here, the 
 billet of Ella Monckton was thrust into his hands. The moment 
 he had possessed himself of its contents, he turned to Proctor. 
 
 " What would you do 1" demanded Tom Singleton. 
 
 " What I should ! Proctor, I have deceived you. Read 
 that !" 
 
 He displayed the billet to the eyes of the astonished Briton, 
 who had scarcely glanced at the paper before he exclaimed — 
 
446 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Who does this come from 1 Whose handwriting is it ?" 
 
 " What matters that 1" demanded Tom Singleton. " Enough 
 that it comes from a true friend. It is all the truth." 
 
 "' Pardon me," said Proctor, " that, seeing the handwriting, I 
 did not consider the contents. You wiU see that it is from the 
 same pen that wrote me the anonymous warning of danger." 
 
 " Then I congratulate you. Major Proctor, on having found 
 interest in the heart of one of the noblest jowag creatures in the 
 city," answered Tom Singleton. 
 
 " Who?" demanded Proctor, eagerly. 
 
 " Miss Monckton — Ella Monckton ; as sweet a girl as I ever 
 knew. But of this hereafter. What is to be done 1" 
 
 " Proctor," said Robert Singleton, I am in your power. I 
 throw myself on your generosity. You see how I have de- 
 ceived you !" 
 
 "And can you doubt me, Singleton?" The young English- 
 man extended his arms, and the two were at once locked in a 
 fast embrace. Old Tom Singleton looked on silently for a mo- 
 ment. At length he spoke — 
 
 " All' very well, and very gratefdl, young gentlemen ; but you 
 are neither of you out of the halter yet. The question is, what 
 is to be done 1 Now, if you will listen to me — " 
 
 " Speak, sir." 
 
 " Well, briefly, then, the house is watched at present. Your 
 fellow, John, is on the lookout somewhere. He has seen me 
 come in. He must see me go out. And the next question is 
 how to get Bob Singleton out without his being seen by the 
 same rascally eyes. Now my notion is. Major Proctor, that, if 
 we two go forth together, we shall certainly draw this spy after 
 us. We may go forth to a certain distance and then separate." 
 When we have thus drawn off the spy, our kinsman here can 
 take his departure and shape for himself another course. To do 
 anything for Ms safety, we must first cut the clews of the spy. 
 I will give Robert directions whither to go ; and, when I sepa- 
 rate from you, I will seek for him. The rest hereafter. Are 
 you prepared to lose your dinner?" 
 
 Proctor caught up his hat on the instant, and old Singleton, 
 after a few words to our partisan, went out with the former. 
 
THK COTJNTER PLOT. 44T 
 
 Having allowed a reasonable time after their departure, Eobert 
 Singleton went forth also ; and, obeying the instructions of his 
 kinsman, took his route in a northeastern direction, gradually 
 inclining to the Governor's Bridge. 
 
 The streets were generally qtiiet. He met but few persons, 
 and but one or two of the military. The day was quite warm, 
 and it was just that time of the day when, dinner being over 
 mostly in every quarter, the great body of the people were in the 
 full enjoyment of the customary* siesta. Singleton provoked lit- 
 tle notice, and congratulated himself with the belief that he had 
 been seen by no one likely to give him trouble. Thus advan- 
 cing, he at length reached the eastern margin of the city, and 
 but a short distance below the lines which divided it in that 
 quarter from " The Neck." The tide was low. An old hulk 
 lay stranded beside the wharf, which, at this point, was a rude 
 fabric of palmetto logs, clumsily thrown together and very much 
 in decay. On one side the logs were partially rotted out, leav- 
 ing a space sufficiently large for the entrance of an able-bodied 
 man. Singleton loitered awhile about the old hulk, then, as his 
 eyes took in the neighboring places, and he fancied himself un- 
 seen, he quietly passed over the sides of the hulk and stole into 
 the opeUings of the wharf. Here he was in a sort of cavern. The 
 space between the logs had never been filled in, and, while the 
 tide was low, his territory was ample for all reasonable exercise. 
 At ordinary tides, he could still have kept his head out of wa- 
 ter, yet kept within his cavern. Looking about him, he discov- 
 ered within the recess, also, the well-kept boat of Master Lock- 
 wood and his efficient second officer. Master George Spidell. 
 Apother chasm in the wharf, on the northern side, afforded the 
 little craft the means of egress ; and quietly throwing himself 
 down in the bottom- of the vessel. Singleton yielded himself up 
 to meditations, the nature of which, as we may readily suppose, 
 were anything but agreeable. 
 
 Meanwhile, old Tom Singleton and Proctor pursued their way 
 together in a westwardly direction, finally passing into Broad 
 street. 
 
 " I am greatly concerned about your kinsman's safety," said 
 Proctor. " What plan will you adopt for it 1" 
 
448 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " Better that you should not know," said the old man ; " the 
 more ignorant you are, on this subject, the less embarrassment 
 to you if called upon to answer. Do not be displeased. If you 
 could really assist in his escape, I should tell you freely what I 
 purpose." 
 
 "And if you need the help of a weapon, sir, I beg you will 
 think of mine." 
 
 " No ! no ! Proctor, we must keep your enemies in the wrong. 
 It will be of no service on your trial, even if you could prove it 
 so ; but it is something also to suffer with a pure heart, and a 
 fearless conscience. Had you taken the comisels of this dear 
 girl in season !" 
 
 " What do you know of Miss Monckton ?" demanded Proctor 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Know her ! I know everything of her — knew her from an 
 infant — know her mother, and very intimately knew her fa- 
 ther." 
 
 " She is of good family 1" 
 
 " One of the best in the country." 
 
 " She is not beautiful 1" 
 
 "No! but very sweet, and very true, sir — and there's a 
 world of beauty in her heart. You do not ask if she is rich !" 
 
 " I did not think of it." 
 
 " Humph ! a very singular omission. And now, sir, as I take 
 for granted that your scoundrelly servant has his eyes upon us, 
 and that Robert Singleton has made off in the opposite direction, 
 it may be just as well that we should separate. We are now 
 within a hundred yards of the widow Monckton's dwelling.' 
 An old house, sir — lacks paint, you see. The widow is rather 
 needy." 
 
 The old man wheeled off without any adieus. Involuntarily, 
 Proctor turned about in the same direction. But a moment's reflec- 
 ' tion taught him that, with the eyes of the spy in all probability 
 upon him, his better course was to continue onward. As he did 
 so, his eyes caught again the venerable outlines of the widow 
 Monckton's mansion. Instantly a new impulse fastened upon 
 his mind. He did not soliloquize, but the thoughts, fashioned 
 somewhat in this manner, passed through his brain. 
 
THE COUNTEL PLOT. 449 
 
 " It may be that I am at the end of my career, and, at this 
 moment, the only two persons who have manifested any interest 
 in my fortunes, and wlio have striven to avert my fate, are those 
 whom I have never sought. Here is a noble rebel against 
 whom I have fought. He has taught me to understand the fuU 
 beauty of that friendship of which we read in the history of 
 David and Jonathan. I could freely die in battle for that man ! 
 — And here is one — a woman — young, devoted ! — I will see 
 her ! I will speak to her the thoughts — the gratitude that fills 
 my heart ! She, perhaps, of all this city, woul4 feel a pang at 
 my death. Her bands, alone, might plant some sad flower upon 
 my grave !" 
 
 He looked round in search of Tom Singleton. The retreat- 
 ing form of the old man was nearly out of sight. Proctor went 
 forward. A few moments brought hjm to the door of the 
 widow's dwelling. He raised the antiquated knocker, and was 
 scarcely conscious of the heavy reverberations which followed 
 fromthe stroke. He asked to see Miss Monckton, and was in- 
 stantly admitted. 
 
450 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 ■ CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 THE dove's conquest, AND THE ADDER'S RAGE. 
 
 Shown into the parlor of the ancient mansion of Mrs. Monck- 
 ton, and left alone by the servant, Proctor, for the first time, 
 began to reflect coolly upon the motive of his visit. He had 
 simply obeyed an impulse. But that impulse, when he appealed 
 to his deliberate thought, he soon discovered to spring from a 
 just recognition of his duty. In his mind, he ran over very rap- 
 idly the whole history of that grateful interest which (he now 
 knew) Miss Monckton had taken in his fortunes. The discovery 
 which had just been made furnished the clew to a long traia of 
 services which he owed to that lady, and revealed her to him 
 as a being of generous and noble nature, whose devotion to his 
 safety and honor, so long and delicately concealed, was signifi- 
 cant of warmer feehngs than those of mere generosity. He 
 i-ecalled hurriedly what he knew of her personally — what he 
 had heard her say — her looks, tone, and general manner; and 
 his interest in her person and character sensibly increased in 
 consequence of this review. When, again, he remembered his 
 own isolation, the absence of all relationships on which he could 
 rely in his emergency, the indifference and selfishness of his 
 kinsman, and the hostihty of his superiors, his heart warmed 
 more than ever to the young and gentle creature whose prefer- 
 ences, so secret and so useful to him, had been so generous and 
 decided. When, at length, Ella Monckton entered the apart- 
 ment, he was prepared, though unconsciously, to do justice not 
 only to her devotion, but to her affections. A warm suffusion 
 covered her face and neck as she appeared before him ; but her 
 eye was tremulously bright, and her heart was glowing witli 
 
THE dove's conquest, AND THE ADDER'S RAGE. 451 
 
 emotions which might have had their birth in hope. As she 
 appeared, he advanced impetuously, and, under another warm 
 impulse of gratitude, he extended her his hand. Silently, she 
 yielded her own to his grasp, which was accompanied with a 
 warm pressiu'e ; and he scarcely suffered^ himself to conduct her 
 to a seat, before he declared his knowledge of all that she had 
 wrought in his behalf. 
 
 " Miss Monckton, I can not do justice to my gratitude by 
 words. I have only lately become aware of what you have 
 done for me. You have found me alone, cheerless, hopeless, 
 struggling against many and powerful enemies. You have, like 
 an unseen angel, whispered to me in counsels and warnings 
 which I have not sufficiently heeded. It is now, perhaps, too 
 late for safety — not too late for acknowledgment and gratitude. 
 Would that I could requite such kindness, such generosity ! But 
 you have my prayers, my thanks, my best thoughts and fondest 
 remembrances." 
 
 He carried her hand to his lips. A deep sigh escaped her. 
 It was her only answer. He continued: — 
 
 "Had I but known in season! Had I but suspected the 
 source of these secret intimations of my guardian angel, which 
 would have taught me of my secret dangers ! Had I but 
 given them the heed which they deserved ! Regret is hopeless ■ 
 now ; my enemies are about to triumph ; I am in the toUs ; they 
 will conquer ; I see no process of escape. But, if I perish. Miss 
 Monckton, believe me, the thought of your interest in my fate, 
 the feeling of a most devoted gratitude within my soul, will be 
 the last consciousness which will leave my spirit." 
 
 She murmured, rather than spoke — 
 
 " Oh ! do not speak thus — do not speak of perishing. Surely, 
 surely. Major Proctor, you have means of escape !" 
 
 "No!" he answered gloomily — "my trial takes place to- 
 morrow. My enemies are prepared to destroy me. Circum- 
 stances of the most cruel sort combine against me, and afford 
 proof which will be conclusive to any court of what will be 
 declared my guUt and treason. They will find me guilty, and 
 shame will fasten upon my name, even if the tyranny under 
 which I suifer shall forbear my life." 
 
452 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 " But you may escape. You are still free. You will fly from 
 the city and avoid this trial !" 
 
 " That will he as fatal to my fame as if I were to linger here 
 and perish. That is what my enemies desire. It is for this 
 reason that, charged as I am with the most criminal offences, 
 Balfour leaves me out of bonds. He pretends to ascribe this 
 forbearance to a due regard to my uncle, and to the hope that I 
 ■\vill free myself from these imputations. But he knows his 
 power to convict me, and only affords me these opportunities 
 of flight that I may convict myself. I dare not avail myself 
 of this opportunity. I must face my enemies — and must 
 perish!" 
 
 Ella Monckton covered her face with her hands. A slight 
 sob escaped her, and Proctor beheld the glistening tears steal- 
 ing through her fingers. He was seated beside her on the sofa 
 Unconsciously, his arm encircled her waist. 
 
 " You weep for me, Miss Monckton ! Ah, these are precious 
 tears ! So strange to me, and doubly precious for this reason. 
 I could die for such ! I could almost dare to live for them !" 
 
 " Oh, live ! live !" she exclaimed impetuously. "Let me im- 
 plore you to fly from this danger, and from these merciless 
 enemies. If &ey convict you, as you say they will — nay, as I 
 kno'wr they will — it is shame, and perhaps death also. It can 
 not be worse if you fly ; and time will then be allowed you to 
 refute these charges — to fasten the shame upon these hateful 
 and treacherous people." 
 
 In thus speaking, she had removed her bands from her face, 
 and her eyes had resolutely sought his own. The big drops 
 yet stood upon her cheeks, and the soft suffusion yet hung upon 
 and fell from her lids. But the animation of glance which 
 seconded her appeal made her very beautiful in the eyes of 
 Proctor. How had he failed before to discover so much loveli- 
 ness 1 His heart was deeply touched by her warm sympathies. 
 
 "Alas!" he exclaimed, "I can not hear you. I must not 
 listen to such counsel. No, my dear Miss Monckton, I have been 
 trained in a school which teaches that such a flight would be 
 unmitigated dishonor. I must brave and face the danger, even 
 though I foresee that it will overwhelm me. Whither should 
 
THE dove's conquest, AND THE ADDER'S EAGE. 453 
 
 I fly ? To the rebels ! Safety I might find among them — no 
 doubt would ; but a safety found in shame would make life in- 
 tolerable. I must not contemplate such a prospect. Where 
 else could I fly ? To no region covered by our arms could I 
 retire, without the double danger of disgrace and death. The 
 fates surround me with a wall of fire I can not break through. 
 I must encounter all that they threaten." 
 
 She answered him with new entreaties and arguments ; but 
 he mournfully cheeked her pleadings. 
 
 " It is all in vain. To this fate I must yield. I can pursue 
 no such course, not even though hfe were certainly safe, and 
 shame were equally certain not to follow. Had I listened 
 sooner to the sweet but unknown voice that counselled me at a 
 season when I was deaf and blind to the danger which hunted 
 at my heels ! Ah ! had I known you then, Miss Monckton, as 
 I know you now ! Hear me !" he exclaimed, passionately — 
 " hear me, Miss Monckton, if it be not worse than madness to 
 listen to such a declaration from one who, like myself, stands 
 upon the brink of the precipice, with the terrible fate towering 
 above and preparing to hurl him down the steeps ! Hear 
 me at the last moment, when life is without hope and love 
 - dreams of no fruition ; hear me in the wild declaration that I 
 would gladly live, if it were only to ofier you a heart which now 
 ens^^rines your image as its most precious treasure !" 
 
 Her head rested upon his shoulder, A deep-drawn convulsive 
 sigh and sob spoke more than any words, the passionate delight 
 with which her heart received a declaration which was not the 
 less grateful because it came with the assurance that it was made 
 hopelessly and in vain. He continued — 
 
 " I feel that I do not deceive myself, Miss Monckton. I feel 
 that I do not make you an idle assurance. You have not shown 
 this long-continued a,nd devoted interest in my fortunes without 
 being conscious of nobler and warmer sympathies than belong 
 simply to humanity and friendship. In giving you my heart. 
 Miss Monckton, do I deceiye myself — have I not yours also? 
 Ah!" 
 
 She threw herself with a wild cry upon his breast, and he 
 held her there, closely pressed with emotions such as seemed to 
 
454 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 kindle a new being in his breast. They were thenceforth 
 united. 
 
 "It is not vain! — it is not vain, this precious consciousness, 
 even though I die to-morrow !" 
 
 "You must not die !" she said, in quick but whispered accents. 
 "You must live now — you will live" — the rest of the sentence 
 was spoken in a whisper — "if not for yourself, for me /" 
 
 She buried her blushing face in his bosom. A new necessity 
 became apparent to him. Whatever he should finally deter- 
 mine, she at least must be spared every unnecessary pang. She 
 must be encouraged for the present with a hope, even if he in- 
 dulged in none himself. And he promised — he knew not ex- 
 actly what — to fly, to live — to preserve a hfe which had ac- 
 quired a new value to both in that passionate, but fleeting inter- 
 view of bliss. He promised her to elude the mockery of a trial 
 which he well knew was but designed as furnishing the sanction 
 to a brutal and selfish crime ; though without really entertain- 
 ing such a purpose. But her tears, and his own tenderness of 
 mood, made him readily yield to an entreaty which he could 
 find no other way to answer. 
 
 Why Ihiger upon the scene 1 Enough that ProctoT tore him- 
 self away from the maiden whom he had made happy and 
 wretched in the same moment — happy in the sweet response to 
 a sympathy which can live on nothing else ; and wretched with 
 fears that threatened to dash the cup of joy from her lips in the 
 very moment when its delicious waters had been only tasted. 
 Proctor had been gone but fifteen minutes. EUa Monckton 
 was on her knees, before the sofa on which he had left her, 
 when she was startled by a loud and sudden rapping at the 
 door. It was opened by the servant, and the visiter, without a 
 word, pushed into the passage, and darted at once into the par- 
 lor, the way to which he seems to have well known. Ella look- 
 ed up to behold in the intruder the person of Major Vaughan, 
 the enemy of Proctor, if not her own ! 
 
 " How now, sir !" she exclaimed, starting to her feet, her face 
 all flushed with indignation. " You here ! By what right, sir, 
 do you presume thus to intrude upon me V 
 
 His eyes searched the room. He did not instantly answer, 
 
THE dove's conquest, AND THE ADDEB's EAGE. 455 
 
 and her question was repeated with increasing indignation. It 
 was evident that he was disappointed — that he did not expect 
 to find her alone ; hut he put on an air of confidence, and the 
 sneer that mantled his lips was of the most provoking inso- 
 lence. 
 
 " He has gone ! he has escaped ; hut only for the present. 
 Did you suppose, Ella Monckton, that it was on a mission of 
 love that I sought your dwelling 1" 
 
 " If it were, no one should better know than yourself that 
 such a mission was in vain." 
 
 " Ah ! is it so ? But I will spoil the love of others ! It was 
 hate that brought me to your presence. It was for the purpose 
 of a long-delayed vengeance that I came ! If I can not find 
 the way to your heart, no other shall !" 
 
 " In that I defy you, sir ! You are too,late !" This was said 
 with all the exultation of a heart for the first time secure in a 
 requited affection. 
 
 " I know it now ! But your triumph shall he a short-lived 
 one. Look ! I hold in my hands the authority for the arrest of 
 your minion. He shall be in bonds before the night is over. 
 To-morrow brings his trial as a traitor, and in twenty-four hours 
 he dies an ignominious death. Ha ! do you feel — do you fear 
 me now ?" 
 
 " I loathe — I scorn you ! Hence, sir, and leave me. You 
 have no right here — none to insult me with your language or 
 your presence. You may triumph in your hate, but you shall ' 
 have no triumph over me. Were I myself decreed to perish, 
 instead of him, my last words should be those of loathing and of 
 scorn for you." 
 
 With a grin of bitter malice, he shook the warrant at her, as 
 he cried — 
 
 " Know, at least, that your faithlessness to me, and your silly 
 passion^for him, have doomed him. You could lure me to your 
 feet once. Could you now prostrate yourself to mine, it would 
 be unavailing for his safety. The galldws shall clip the neck 
 that your fair hands have striven to environ !" 
 
 " Liar and craven ! I deny that I ever offered a lure to yoiH 
 affections. Your vanity alone, confounded the courtesies of a 
 
456 KATHARINE WALTON 
 
 lady with another feeling. Begone ! Were you not utterly 
 base, you would seek your enemy with your sword, and not 
 with the wretched artifices with which you have striven to de- 
 stroy him." 
 
 " And were he not already convict, I should seek him now 
 with the sword. But that were a poor revenge for me ! No ! 
 EUa Monckton, I shall not now balk the sweets of a perfect 
 vengeance by giving him an honorable death." 
 
 " Away ! and meet him if you dare ! You but cloak your 
 cowardice under this miserable plea of vengeance !" 
 
 With a lurid grin that lighted up his features with a Satanic 
 expression, he once more shook the cyder for arrest before her, 
 , and, striking it with his hands, exclaimed — 
 
 " When this has d,one its work, Ella Monckton, you may look 
 for another visit from the man whose affections you have out- 
 raged. Till then, I leave you to youi' very pleasant medita- 
 tions." 
 
 Once more, the maiden was left alone. Let us drop the veil 
 for the present over her sorrows. 
 
PINAL ISSUES. 457 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 FINAL ISSUES. 
 
 The secret of Vaughan's sudden appearance at Mrs. Monck' 
 ton's is easily made known. The treacherous servant of Proc- 
 tor had tracked the latter to the spot. Vaughan had instructed 
 him to communicate to himself, in particular, whatever move- 
 ments Proctor might make ; and the spy, having seen him safe- 
 ly housed, had hurried off to his employer with his information. 
 Vaughan, in his long interview with Balfour, had drunk freely. 
 Though ordinarily a temperate man, cold and circumspect, he 
 had been taken off his feet by the peculiar influences working 
 upon his feelings. He was about to enjoy a long-delayed and 
 vindictive passion. The prey was almost in his grasp, and the 
 doom was about to be spoken. This conviction greatly excited 
 him, yet this was not the sole cause of excitement. He was 
 still unsatisfied. He would obtain revenge — he would atone to 
 wounded pride ; but there was a lurldng sense of shame and 
 baseness which left his pride in need of far other sorts of sooth- 
 ing. Besides, Ella Monckton, the object, at one time, of far 
 more grateful emotions, was as far removed from his attainment 
 as ever. There was one thing which promised consolation. It 
 was in the belief that, as yet, the feelings with which Ella re- 
 garded his enemy, were totally unknown to the latter, and lock- 
 ed up from all knowledge except his own, in the single bosom 
 of the maiden herself. But even this assurance was about to 
 be taken from him. He had just left Balfour, and returned to 
 his own lodgings, inflamed with wine and gnawing passions, 
 when the traitor, John, made his appearance hurriedly, and in- 
 
 20 
 
458 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 formed him of Proctor's appearance at the residence of Mrs. 
 Monckton. 
 
 Thoroughly roused by the information, in his excitement he 
 lost his coolness and circumspection ; and, congratulating him- 
 self on the precaution which had provided him with Balfour's 
 warrant for the arrest of Proctor, he hurried in search of him, 
 with the hope to take him in the very presence of his mistress. 
 His evil passions rendered him insensible to the brutality of 
 such a proceeding. We have seen the results in his temporary 
 disappointment. The event of the interview did not greatly 
 improve his temper or his prudence. When he emerged from 
 the dwelling of Mrs. Monckton, he found the spy in waiting with 
 a couple of Hessians, who had been brought for the purpose of 
 taking the prisoner into safekeeping. Vaughan was not willing 
 to forego their services. 
 
 " You must recover trail, John," he said to the spy. 
 
 " Must have time for it, major. We must get back to his 
 lodgings and see if he's gone back there ; I left a pair of eyes 
 on the lookout in that quarter, and can soon know. But it 
 won't do to be going in a crowd. These men can follow us at 
 a distance without appearing to follow, and you had better keep 
 a good bowshot behind me. These rebels have their spies out 
 as well as ourselves, and they whisper, from wall to wall, who's 
 coming." 
 
 "As you will," said Vaughan — "only hasten! We must 
 have him by the neck and heels before night !" 
 
 The party distributed by the spy pursued their way, but with 
 considerable intervals between the several divisions. They 
 reached, at length, the neighborhood of Proctor's lodgings. 
 There they ascertained from the subordinate who had been left 
 to watch the premises that he had reappeared, entered, and 
 again gone forth, not ten minutes before. The direction which 
 he had taken was pointed out, and the pursuers again resumed 
 the chase. 
 
 For a long time they found it fruitless. Proctor, it seems, had 
 set out to seek for Singleton, alias Fumess. His mind had ta- 
 ken a new direction since his recent interview with Ella Monck- 
 ton. Strange to say, the feeling of despair, and complete resig- 
 
FINAL ISSUES, 459 
 
 nation to his fate, wliicli had weighed him to the earth not an 
 hour before, had given way entirely to a new sentiment of hope 
 and life. He scarcely yet grasped fully the vague intimation of. 
 his thought ; but, for the first time, he felt how much wisdom 
 there was in the counsel of his friend, which warned him to fly 
 from a trial in which he was already unjustly condemned. 
 Proctor had not yet fairly determined to adopt this advice, but 
 the earnest desire to see and talk with Singleton once more 
 vaguely contemplated this very necessity, and the means for 
 employing it. Besides, we must do him the justice to say that 
 a very considerable feeling of anxiety for the safety of the lat- 
 ter entered into the desire which he felt in respect to his own 
 affairs. / 
 
 But how to seek the fugitive was the question ! Old Tom 
 Singleton had, very properly, given him no clew ; being very 
 conscious that if, as he knew, Proctor was under espionage, it 
 would only conduct the pursuers on Robert Singleton's track to 
 suffer the former to find him out. We have seen where the lat- 
 ter had found shelter. It was sunset, and the dusk was rapidly 
 approaching, when Tom Singleton left Oonover's Hotel, in 
 Queen street, and pushed up East Bay. He was suddenly en- 
 countered near Colonel Oruden's (Pinckney) residence by Proc- 
 tor, the last man he desired to see. The latter would have 
 stopped him, but he pushed by him, saying abruptly, as he 
 passed — 
 
 " Major Proctor, if you would not do mischief, walk over to 
 Ashley river, and forget that you have seen me." 
 
 " But I would see my friend Singleton — I have something to 
 say to him of very great importance." 
 
 " Say it to your looking-glass ! Dig a hole in your garden, 
 as the barber of Midas did, and bury your secret from the winds. 
 I tell you, sir, that you will mar everything — that you will only 
 bring the enemy upon our footsteps." 
 
 Proctor paused, half piqued at the rudeness of the old man, 
 and half impressed by the reason of his suggestion. He stood 
 aside, accordingly, and suffered him to make his way as he 
 pleased. Old Singleton pushed forward, and, for a moment, 
 Proctor watched him. The old man looked back, and seeing 
 
460 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 that he was watched, darted aside into Pinckney street, pursuing 
 a due-west direction. Proctor continued up the Bay, walking 
 slowly, and fast forgetting the external world in his inward 
 meditations. On a sudden, however, he was startled hy the 
 reappearance of Tom Singleton, who crossed the Bay from one 
 of the streets at right angles with it, and hurried rapidly down 
 to the wharves. Proctor's desire to see and speak with Robert 
 Singleton was immediately revived within him. He looked 
 back upon his own footsteps. He saw nobody, and the dusk 
 had now so thickened that he could distinguish objects only at 
 a small distance. 
 
 " This old man," be said to himself, " exaggerates the danger. 
 There is no one after us now ; and if there were, he could see 
 but little." 
 
 He came rapidly to his determination, his desires prompting 
 him to make light of all causes of apprehension ; and, wheeling 
 down the wharves also, he kept old Singleton's retreating figure 
 constantly in his eye. He little thought that, when he wheeled 
 from the Bay into another street, he placed himself under the 
 very espionage which he flattered himself he had eluded, and 
 which indeed, had failed, up to this moment, to come upon his 
 tracks. It was in this very street that the keen eyes of his 
 treacherous servant, John, stiU followed by Vaughan and the 
 Hessians, had caught sight of old Singleton. The same treach- 
 erous scoundrel now instantly detected a something in the air 
 and gait of the new-comer which reminded him of his master ; 
 but the dusk was now too great to enable him to reduce this to 
 certainty, unless by a nearer approach, which, as he knew his 
 master's temper, he was careful not to make alone. He waited 
 accordingly, till Vaughan came up, when he expressed his be- 
 lief that Proctor was just before them, a space of not more than 
 fifty yards." 
 
 " Why, then, do you stop 1" demanded Vaughan, eagerly. 
 " Why did you not dart upon him 1" 
 
 " He will fight like a devil, major.'' 
 
 " Push on with me !" 
 
 " Hadn't we better hold on till the Hessians come up V 
 
 "He is alone, you say?" 
 
PINAL ISSUES. 461 
 
 "Yes, sir ; but old Singleton was ahead of him." 
 
 " And he is too old to give us any trouble. But do you run 
 back and hurry on the Hessians. I will push on and keep our 
 man in sight." 
 
 He was obeyed. Alone, he pressed forward, and with such 
 speed as brought Proctor again in sight. The route led to a 
 lower wharf — that in which we have seen Robert Singleton 
 concealed. Something which Vaughan could not see, prompted 
 Proctor suddenly to increase his pace. It was now growing 
 difficult to distinguish objects at thirty yards. Vaughan's im- 
 patience would not allow him to delay. He knew but of the 
 single enemy before him, and reasonably calculated that all that 
 was necessary was to retard his flight for a few moments until 
 the arrival of the spy with the Hessians. He quickened his 
 walk, already hurried to a run, and suddenly found himself 
 almost at the head of the wharf, with a group of shadowy fig- 
 ures upon it and a boat on one side, in which several persons 
 were to be seen. Proctor was speaking with one of the persons 
 in the boat. The sound of his voice was enough to bring out all 
 the vindictive animosity of his pursuer. He pushed at once for 
 the group, which opened as he drew nigh, leaving Proctor con- 
 spicuously before him, but with his back toward him. Vaughan 
 seized upon his arm, exclaiming, as he did so — 
 
 " You are my prisoner, Major Proctor ! Here is the order for 
 your arrest from Colonel Balfour." 
 
 Proctor wheeled about, shook himself free, and with a sudden 
 blow of the fist, delivered fairly in the face of his assailant, he 
 sent him staggering back. But Vaughan instantly recovered 
 himself, drew his sword, shouted to the emissary, John, with his 
 Hessians, whom he supposed to be close behind him, and rushed 
 with mortal fury upon his enemy. At this moment. Singleton's 
 voice was distinctly heard to say — 
 
 "This determines it. Proctor; you have no alternative." 
 
 Proctor had drawn his sword the moment he had given 
 Vaughan the blow. Their weapons now crossed ; and the group 
 on the wharf, seeing the approaching Hessians, with the spy, 
 disappeared over the sides, completely concealed in the shadows 
 of the wharf, and on the old hulk that lay there in the marsh. 
 
462 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 Vauglian heard the cry of the treacherous servant announcing 
 his approach, and he called to him while still fighting with 
 Proctor — 
 
 " Seize the heat ! The rebel, Singleton, is in it !" 
 
 The Hessians, with the spy, at once jumped upon the hulk, 
 to the stern of which the boat was fastened. Scarcely had they 
 done so, when the two fonner were seized by unseen enemies 
 and violently thrown down upon the deck. John, the spy, 
 however, continued to seize the fasts of the boat, and, stretching 
 over, laid his hand upon the prow. A single blow from -Robert 
 Singleton with an oar, which he caught up suddenly, delivered 
 roundly upon the head of the fellow, stunned him, and falling 
 between into the dock, he went down. like a stone, and never 
 reappeared. Meanwhile, the contest between Proctor and 
 -Vaughan was continued with fearful violence. Both of them 
 were wounded, though not dangerously, and Vaughan, aware ia 
 some degree, of the capture of the Hessians, and no longer hear- 
 ing the voice of the spy, was losing all his caution in the fear of 
 losing his prey. Proctor was never cooler in his life. The 
 desperateness of his situation seemed to bring out all his char- 
 acter. Meanwhile, Singleton leaped ashore. 
 
 " We must put an end to this. Proctor. Lights are moving 
 down toward us, and they are waving torches upon the eastern 
 bastion. "We can take and tie this worthy gentleman, and either 
 leave him on the wharf or take him with us." 
 
 "A moment! — only a moment more!" was the reply of 
 Proctor, who felt his advantages. It scarcely needed so much. 
 Almost while he was speaking, a desperate lunge of Vaughan 
 threw wide his guard, and the prompt weapon of Proctor found 
 its sheath in his bosom. He leaped up as he received the 
 thrust, and fell forward upon his enemy, the sword breaking off 
 short at the hilt. Singleton stooped to the body, which was 
 utterly lifeless. 
 
 " It is done! And your flight is decided," said he. "You 
 have resisted the arrest of your superior, and your fate is sealed 
 if you remain !" 
 
 Proctor offered no resistance ; but silently suffered himself to 
 be led away to the boat. It was pushed off the moment he was 
 
FINAL ISSUES. 463 
 
 seated. The inmates were six in number : Singleton, himself, 
 Lockwood, the boy George Spidell, and two faithful negroes. 
 The last four took the oars ; but of these little use was made, 
 except to direct the coHrse of the vessel, as the tide, now nearly 
 at the flood, bbre it in the required direction. 
 
 " These stars are shining out too brightly," said Lockwood, 
 and may give those fellows on the bastion a glimpse of us. We 
 must strike over for Haddrill's until out of sight, then take the 
 tide for the marshes of Town Creek. You persist, Colonel Sin- 
 gleton, in going on the west side of the river ]" 
 
 " Yes, certainly. My horses are hidden this side of the 
 ' Quarter,' and such a course will be totally unsuspected. They 
 will naturally expect us to strike over for Haddrill's." 
 
 " Oars, boys," said Lockwood ; " we must use them for awhile, 
 at least, till we get fairly beyond the range of sight from that 
 bastion. They are waving torches. They see something, that 
 is certain." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and design to make us see something, too," 
 said Singleton, as the roar of a twenty-four pounder shook the 
 welkin. The grape, a thick shower, hustled over the heads of 
 the fugitives. 
 
 " A civility designed for us ! They evidently see us." 
 
 " They will not see us long," answered Lockwood. " One or 
 two more lusty pulls, my good boys, and they must aim at ran- 
 dom." 
 
 Another and another shot followed ; but they were now quite 
 wide of the object. 
 
 " Enough, boys ; that will answer. They see us no 
 longer, and we may leave everything to the tide. AU that 
 need be done now may be left to that paddle. Hand it me, 
 George." 
 
 The night deepened, and under its shadows the little boat 
 once more approached the western banks of the Cooper. The 
 channel called Town Creek received them, and they were al- 
 ready within the gorges of the marsh when they saw the lights 
 of numerous boats setting forth from the city in pursuit, and all 
 taking the route for Haddrill's. 
 
 ' Safe for the present, colonel," said Lockwood ; " and the 
 
464 KATHAEINE WALTON. 
 
 Booner we part the better. You wish no other help ? I can pot 
 you higher up if you desire it." 
 
 " No ! no ! take care of yourself now. I trust you will find 
 that easy. For me, notliing is more so. I have horses at hand, 
 such as none in garrison could overtake, unless, perhaps, Archy 
 Campbell's, and no one will look for us in this quarter. What 
 will you do, Lockwood ?" 
 
 " Give yourself no concern about me. Daylight will probably 
 find us up the Wando." 
 
 The parties separated; and, before dawn. Singleton and 
 Proctor, with a few followers, were rapidly approaching the 
 heads of Cooper river. 
 
coNCLDsiosr. 465 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 We may imagine the fury of Balfour at the events of the 
 night. Two of his victims had escaped, and one of his aUies 
 had perished in the very moment that he deemed his vengeance 
 certain. But there was one victim still in his hands, and per- 
 haps two. At all events, the commandant of Charleston was 
 resolved that the fate of Colonel Walton should he sealed he- 
 yond redemption, unless with the sacrifice of his daughter. We 
 have already mentioned that the trial of Walton had taken 
 place. The whole proceeding was a miserable mockery of 
 justice. The witnesses were unsworn, and the charges accord- 
 ing to the plea put in for Walton, were denied to furnish just 
 grounds for a criminal prosecution. He denied the jurisdiction 
 of the court, and offered a protest against its proceedings, which 
 was not received. His appeal lay to his country only, and the 
 patriots fighting her battles to do justice to his memory and 
 avenge his cause. He was found guUty, as a matter of course, 
 and condemned, within twenty-four hours, to expiate his alleged 
 treason upon the gallows. The citizens of Charleston were 
 overwhelmed with consternation and surprise. They scarcely 
 could believe that anything more was designed by the command- 
 ant and his court than simply to occasion a wholesome sentiment 
 of terror. They proceeded, as we have said, by memorial, to 
 implore the mercy which they did not doubt would be accorded 
 them. They were to be terribly undeceived in this expectation. 
 The ladies presented this petition in person, and were repulsed 
 with austerity. The venerable men of the city, including nu- 
 merous loyalists of rank, among whom was ex-governor Bull, a 
 
 20* 
 
466 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 public character greatly esteemed by all parties, renewed the 
 petition, and all without success. In Balfour's dwelling Katha- 
 rine Walton threw herself at his feet in a vain entreaty for her 
 father's life. 
 
 '' It is in your hands," was the only reply — "you have but to 
 speak to save him. You know the conditions ! By the God of 
 heaven. Miss Walton, you shall have no other !" 
 
 She was taken away swooning. 
 
 The day came assigned for the execution. Colonel Walton 
 was taken from the vaults of the provost, and carried up stairs, in 
 the same building, to the northeast chamber, in the second stoiy, 
 where he was permitted to see his friends, and to habit himself 
 properly for his painful public exhibition. Hither his daughter 
 found her way at the earliest possible moment. There was a 
 sense of utter desolation in her grief that left her almost speech- 
 less. But we shall not attempt to describe the agony, which 
 needed not, and was indeed superior to the necessity for, any 
 words to declare its intensity and extremity. There are some 
 sorrows, over which the judicious painter always draws the 
 veil, despairing to depict them. Such is our policy and ne- 
 cessity. At length, the moment came for parting. At this 
 moment, Balfour appeared in the dungeon. He approached 
 Katharine. 
 
 '' It is not too late !" he whispered in her ears. " You have 
 yet time ! You may yet save him !" 
 
 The voice of Walton immediately followed the whisper of 
 Balfour. 
 
 "Katharine!" 
 
 She looked up through her tears. 
 
 " Remember, my child ! your oath ! your oath !" 
 
 She sank down at her father's feet. 
 
 " Colonel Balfour," said Walton, " this is veiy unmanly. Do 
 you not see the misery which you inflict ? You embitter the 
 last moments of my life." 
 
 ' I would save your life !" was the answer. 
 
 " You can not do it by this process." 
 
 "There is then no other!" was the savage reply, and with 
 these words, Balfour left the chamber. As he was about to de- 
 
CONCLUSION. 467 
 
 part, Katharine half rose with the purpose of arresting him, hut 
 her father grasped her hy the arm. 
 
 " My child, my Kate, remember ! Do not think to save the 
 short remnant of my life by the sacrifice of your own. Eemem- 
 ber your oath ! It is my last command, my child, that you 
 never wed this man !" 
 
 We forbear the rest of the scene. The moment came for 
 separation, and with one agonizing embrace, one convulsive kiss 
 upon her quivering lips, Walton tore himself away from his 
 swooning daughter. For a moment after, she lay unconscious 
 in the arms of her venerable kinswoman. Then, as she heard 
 the roll of the melancholy drum without, signaHzing the move- 
 ment of the sad procession, she started to her feet. 
 
 " Let Tis go," she cried, " I can not endure this agony and 
 live ! I must go to him ! to Mm !" 
 
 " To whom, my child V 
 
 " To Balfour ! ' My father must be saved !" 
 
 Mrs. Singleton did not oppose her. It vras impossible to do 
 so. The two hurried to the carriage, which was in waiting, and 
 it was driven with all speed to Balfour's quarters. Katharine, 
 leaving Mrs. Singleton in the vehicle, hurried into the house. 
 Without noting who was present, she exclaimed, as she entered 
 the room in which hitherto she had found the commandant — 
 
 " Spare him, save him. Colonel Balfour — I consent to all you 
 require !" 
 
 She was answered by Alfred Monckton — "Colonel Balfour is 
 not here. Miss Walton." 
 
 " Oh ! My God, do not tell me so ! Where is he V 
 
 " I have to go to him, even now, upon business," was the 
 reply — " I will conduct you to him." 
 
 " Thanks ! thanks ! But hasten, or we shall be too late." 
 
 The young man assisted her into the carriage, and took a seat 
 on the box. He ordered the coachman to drive at once to Miss 
 Harvey's, whither Balfour had ordered him to bring certain pa- 
 pers. The horses were put to their speed, and were soon at the 
 residence of that rival beauty whose charms had only failed 
 with the commandant when Katharine Walton entered upon 
 the scene. 
 
468 KATHARINE WALTOK. 
 
 Balfour, after leaving the provost, had hnrried to his resi- 
 dence, full of rage and disappointment. Here he had left a few 
 orders ; then, mounting his horse, he had galloped up to the 
 dwelling of the beauty he had so much neglected of late, seek- 
 ing that consolation from the one damsel which he had failed to 
 obtain from the other whom he most affected. His steed was 
 fastened at the entrance, and he entered the house. As he did 
 so, Moll Harvey cried out ftom the upper story, bidding him 
 take a seat in the parlor, and promising to be down directly. 
 She had not made her toilet ; and now proceeded to this pleas- 
 ant duty with a full sense of the situation of affairs, and a ftill 
 determination to make herself as irresistible as possible. 
 
 It was while she was engaged in this employment that she 
 heard the carriage which bore Kate Walton drive up to the 
 door. Looking through the lattice, she saw her alight and en- 
 ter. The servant conducted her into the parlor, whither she 
 was followed by Alfred Monckton. Mrs. Singleton remained 
 within the carriage. The moment Kate appeared, Balfour saw 
 that he had conquered. He hastily took the papers from Monck- 
 ton, and told him to wait in an adjoirung room. The hurried 
 words of Katharine, meanwhile, had announced her resignation 
 to her fate. 
 
 " I consent. Colonel Balfour — only save him — hasten, before 
 it is too late !" 
 
 " You will be mine, Katharine 1" 
 Yes! yes ! anything — only do not waste these precious 
 moments." 
 
 Meanwhile, Moll Harvey had descended to the lower story. 
 She was standing beside the half-closed door as the words were 
 spoken. She heard all that was said. She knew all that was 
 determined upon. Through the crack of the door, she saw Bal- 
 four approach a table, and, with a pencil, hastily pen a few 
 words on a scrap of paper ; then, as he came toward the pas- 
 sage, she drew back and sheltered herself within a closet. Bal- 
 four came out, entered the adjoining room, and putting the pa- 
 per into the hands of Alfred Monckton, bade him take his horse 
 and gallop off, with all haste to the scene of execution. He was 
 ordered to put the paper into the hands of Major Frazer, com- 
 
CONCLUSION. 469 
 
 manding the detachment. This done, Balfour returned to the 
 apartment where he had left Katharme Walton. 
 
 Alfred Moiickton had already left the house, and was about 
 to mount the horse of Balfour, when Moll Harvey ran out to 
 him. She carried a folded paper in her hands. 
 
 " Mr. Monckton," she cried, " approaching him, " Colonel 
 Balfour sends you this. He says you must send him hack the 
 other paper. This is more satisfactory. Now hurry, as fast as 
 yon can, or you will be too late." The exchange was effected. 
 Monckton could have no misgivings, and he immediately put his 
 horse to the top of his speed for the scene of execution. Moll 
 Harvey re-entered the house through the gate and garden. She 
 stole silently up the back steps, and once more to her chamber. 
 There she read the billet which she had taken from Monckton ; 
 the order to Major Frazer to " suspend the execution, and to 
 conduct the prisoner, under a strong guard, to his (Balfour's) 
 quarters." A bitter smile, full of triumphant malice, covered 
 the face of the lovely traitoress, as she tore the scrap to atoms. 
 She only said — " Wretch ! I have baffled him at last !" 
 
 Colonel Walton was attended to the place of execution by 
 Dr. Eamsay and other friends, and by the Eev. Mr. Cooper, an 
 ecclesiastical clergyman. He walked ; preferring this to the 
 degrading progress in a cart. The military detachment assigned 
 as his guard consisted of equal bodies.' of British and Hessian 
 troops. These formed a hollow square at the place of execu- 
 tion ; the Hessians on the right and left, the British in front and 
 rear. Crowds were in attendance, but of foreigners only. The 
 natives kept then- houses, which were closed in mournful silence 
 as the procession was in progress. It had already reached the 
 scene of appointed sacrifice, a place beyond the fortifications, well 
 known in that day as Radcliffe's Garden, before Alfred Monck- 
 ton made his appearance. The preparations were all complete, 
 when the courier, spurring onward, " hot with haste and fiery 
 red," made his way to the presence of Major Frazer, and hand- 
 ed him the billet as from Colonel Balfour. Frazer opened it, 
 turned it over, and exclaimed — 
 
470 KATHAEINB WALTON. 
 
 " What means this 1 There is nothing here ! Are you sure, 
 sir, that you have given me the right paper 1" 
 
 "Quite sure!" was the answer; but the youth was greatly 
 bewildered as he examined the seeming billet and found it a 
 blank envelope only. 
 
 "I understand!" muttered Frazer. " It is just like Balfour. 
 It was only to get rid of some importunate petitioners that he 
 has sent this empty paper. I could have wished it otherwise, 
 gentlemen," he remarked, turning to Eamsey and the other 
 anxious frends of the condemned. " But it only rests with me 
 to do my duty." 
 
 They expostulated with him, and insisted upon the evident 
 intentions of Balfour in sending a messenger in such hot haste ; 
 the blank paper was evidently some mistake. But Frazer 
 shook his head mournfully, but firmly. 
 
 " Gentlemen, this blank paper means everything I It espe- 
 cially commands me to do my duty, and shows me that no or- 
 ders are designed to arrest it. Let the prisoner prepare himself. 
 The minutes are nearly exhausted." 
 
 When Balfour, having despatched Monckton with the biUet, 
 returned to the parlor, he found Katharine Walton with her face 
 covered by her hands, and leant upon the arm of the sofa. She 
 was silent, but, at slow intervals, drew long convulsive sobs. 
 Balfour undertook the work of soothing ; but such a task re- 
 quired the agency of finer sensibilities than any in his possession. 
 He either annoyed the sufferer, or failed to make any impres- 
 sion on her senwes. When, however, his pertinacity fixed her 
 attention, she hastily started up and exclaimed — 
 
 " Let me go now. Colonel Balfour, my aunt is in waiting, and 
 I — I — should be at home. I anj very sick and very weary." 
 
 " Mrs. Singleton has already gone home, dear Miss Walton, 
 having left the carriage for you." 
 
 "Gone! gone! and I am here alone!" she exclaimed, with 
 some surprise and annoyance. 
 
 "And why not, my dear Miss Walton] You are not alone. 
 Who should better assert the right to protect and comfort you 
 than he to whom you have given so precious a claim ?'• 
 
CONCLUSION. 471 
 
 " Comfort ! comfort ! Oh God, have mercy upon me ! My 
 father, when will he return V 
 
 " Now, very soon." 
 
 "Ah, thanks ! thanks !" 
 
 It will not task the imagination to conceive the sort of com- 
 fort and consolation, mixed with bald professions of affection, 
 which Balfour would attempt to bestow upon his companion ; 
 nor will it be hard to understand with what annoyance Katharine 
 Walton heard them all. But she had adopted her resolution, 
 and she submitted with resignation to his declarations, his soft 
 tones, and honeyed assurances of love. Only, when he would 
 have encircled her waist with his arm, did she revolt and resist. 
 She could not, at such a moment, bring herself to submit to this 
 — not so soon, at least. 
 
 We pass over, an interval of time, which she felt to be equally 
 tedious and full of anxieties. It was in a moment when Balfour 
 was most pressing and solicitous that both the parties were sud- 
 denly startled by the sullen roar of a heavy cannon. Balfour 
 started to his feet. 
 
 " Ha, that cannon ! What can it mean 1" 
 
 Katliarine looked up with sudden terror. 
 
 " It is a signal !" she exclaimed. " Tell me — tell me. Colonel 
 Balfour. Can it be — can it be that" — 
 
 She could say no more. Breathless, with hands extended, 
 she advanced towarS him, while, evidently annoyed and con- 
 founded, he approached the window and threw it open. His 
 evident disquiet increased that of Katharine, who now impetu- 
 ously appealed to him in respect to her father's safety. 
 
 " He is safe !" he answered. " Quite safe, dear Miss Walton, 
 He will be here directly." 
 
 At this moment, Moll Harvey threw wide the door, and, 
 dressed in the most splendid style, suddenly appeared before 
 them. — Katharine looked up at her, but without any feeling of 
 interest or surprise — with eyes, indeed, of vacancy. Balfour 
 recoiled from the unexpected vision. Moll Harvey addressed 
 herself to her unconscious rival. Her accents were full of scom 
 and fire. 
 
 " He tells you that your father is safe — that he will be here 
 
472 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 directly ! He tells you what is false ! He is himself a living 
 falsehood ! Your father is dead — he will be here only in his 
 coffin ! That cannon announced the moment when the execu- 
 tioner did his work !" 
 
 With one wild scream, Katharine Walton sank senseless. 
 
 "(Fiend !" cried Balfour, " what have you done 1" 
 
 " Spoken the truth ! I have saved her, and punished you ! 
 You wonder that Walton perishes. Know that when you gave 
 your order for a respite to Alfred Monckton, I exchanged it for 
 one in hlank, professing to do so by your orders." 
 
 " Woman, you have been guilty of murder !" 
 
 " Hang me for it, if you dare ! I overheard your bargain 
 with this poor creature, and I determined to save her from such, 
 a monster !" 
 
 " Yet you would willingly surrender your own charms to such 
 a monster!" he answered, with a sneer. 
 
 "Not «o«c, Nesbitt Balfour!" she answered, sternly. "You 
 might have said that an hour ago. Now ! No ! no ! Never I 
 I have too much pride for that : too much scorn of so base a 
 spirit as that which you bear, to link myself with it for hfe. I 
 would sooner link myself to a carcass ! And she, the unhappy 
 minion whom I have saved from this doom — she will loathe you 
 now as much as I do. If I mistake not, your bargain is void. 
 I have spoiled that very pretty arrangement. I avow the deed. 
 If mine is a crime which merits punishment, inflict it if you dare I 
 I defy you, and challenge you with all your power !" 
 
 " You are a devil, Moll Harvey ! But keep your secret. You 
 have done mischief enough. Tor this poor girl, you have killed 
 her." 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! I have saved her ! She will do well enough 
 now. Had you succeeded, you would have killed her by a 
 thousand tortures ; for I know that she loathes you. I saw that 
 in the choking accent which declared her compliance, and I re- 
 solved, from that moment, that she should not be sacrificed. 
 J'rom that moment, I pitied her from the bottom of my heart. 
 Away now, and leave Iier to me. I will recover her. I will 
 see that she is restored to her haughty but honorable kins- 
 woman. And, Balfour, in leaving this house, see that you do 
 
CONCLUSION. 473 
 
 not enter it again, unless you desire that I should spit upon you. 
 I have been weak — vicious, perhaps ; and know that I deal 
 with passions which are quite too powerful for me. They will 
 destroy me yet. That I know; but destruction — death itself, 
 for and with one whom I could honor as well as love — nay, 
 shame itself with such a one — I should not dread to welcome. 
 But with you ! No ! no ! Nesbitt Balfour — impossible !" 
 
 Balfour evidently quailed in spirit before that of the fierce 
 woman whom he had roused to fury. There was a story and 
 relations between them, of which we have not heard. They 
 gave her the vantage-ground in the struggle. She probably had 
 good reason for the scorn which she expressed. Balfour strove 
 to niake light of it. 
 
 " Pshaw ! Harvey, this is sheer nonsense. You wUl grow 
 wiser by to-morrow. But, just now " 
 
 " Why will you linger 1 You certainly have no longer any 
 hope of succeeding with Miss Walton ] As for me, if you are 
 so confident of me, brave me to-morrow, if you wUl — if you 
 dare ! Now, begone, and let me tend to her. I am only fit for 
 curses while you remain." 
 
 Colonel Walton met his fate with courage and a manly firm- 
 ness. His daughter, with Mrs. Singleton, obtained permission 
 to leave the city for the interior, a few days after. Balfour 
 could not venture to outrage public decency so far as to deny 
 this permission. She ultimately became the wife of Robert Sin- 
 gleton. Under their auspices, Major Proctor, at the close of 
 the war, married Ella Monckton. The descendants of both 
 parties are now to be found among the most noble citizens of 
 the great southwest. Three nights after Walton's execution. 
 Dr. Eamsay, old Tom Singleton, with thirty-eight others, sus- 
 pected citizens of Charleston, were seized in their beds, and sent 
 off in a prison-ship to St. Augustine, where they were kept as 
 hostages. 
 
 We have but to speak of mad Archy Campbell. He was 
 killed, some time after, at the battle of Videau's Bridge. He 
 fell a victim to his own restless nature and headstrong will. At 
 the opening of the action, the Americans having the advantage, 
 
474 KATHARINE WALTON. 
 
 Campbell was taken prisoner, disarmed, and placed under the 
 guard of Nicholas Venning, of Christ Church parish, who was 
 ordered to kill him if he attempted to escape. In a httle while 
 after, the fortune of the day hegan to change ; the Americans 
 were about to be repulsed ; and, seeing this, Campbell became 
 so impatient and so insubordinate that, after repeated threats 
 and warnings, Venning put his orders into execution, and slew 
 him. Here ends our chronicle. 
 
 It may be well to mention that, in our progress, we have dealt 
 largely with real historical personages. Our facts have mostly 
 been drawn from the living records. Our dialogues, our incidents, 
 our portraits, have mostly a traditional, if not an historical ori- 
 gin. We may add that many of the details in the naiTative of 
 Colonel Walton have been borrowed from those in the career 
 of the celebrated Colonel Hayne. It was Hayne who took 
 Williamson prisoner, as described in our story. He himself was 
 captured under the very circumstances given in the case of Wal- 
 ton ; and the details of the execution are gathered from the hps 
 of living witnesses. 
 
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