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E U T A W 
 
 A SE(tD£L TO 
 
 THE FORAYERS. OR THE RAID OF THE DOG-DAYS 
 
 A TALE OF THE EEVOLUTION 
 
 By W. GILMORE SIMMS, Esq. 
 
 -a, 
 
 A.nTH">R "F "THK partisan" " MELLICHAMPk" " KATHABINE WALTOh"— 
 
 ■•THE FOKATEHS" — "THE SCOUt" — " WOOHCRAFt" — " CH AKI.KMONT," ETC 
 
 " The southern wnid 
 Doth piny the trumpet to his purpoepe- 
 And, by hia hollow whistling in the lenv«(^ 
 Foretell a tempest." Shakspkra 
 
 NtSn gnife: 
 
 A.-C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 
 
 714 BROADWAY. 
 
 1882. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congi'css, la tho vwir 'SSfi. 
 
 By J. a REDFIELD, 
 
 :3i the Clerk'a Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for tho tioumerp 
 
 District of New York, 
 
 SATAOE &. MOGREA, STEKEUTYPEHS. 
 ^ la <;h(iijnbe|-8 Street, N. 1. 
 
TO 
 
 HON. JOHN PERKINS, JR 
 
 OF ASHEWOOD, 
 MADISON PARISH, LOUISIANA, 
 
 I TAKE LEAVE TO INSCBIBE 
 
 €|jia ^tnnt of tljj EtnnktiDii. 
 
 The Acthob. 
 
 WooDLAin>s, S. C. 
 Febrmnj, 1856. 
 
£ U T A ^^^ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 It is surely an early Lour for the 'whip-poor-'will to begin 
 Ler monotonous plainings, sitting on her accustomed hawthorn, 
 jiist on the edge of the swainp. The sun has hardly dropped 
 from sight behind the great pine-thickets. His crimson and 
 orange robes still flaunt and flicker in the western heayens 
 gleams from his great red eyes still purple the tree-tops ; and 
 you may still see a cheerful light hanging in the brave, free 
 atmosphere ; while gfay shapes, like so many half-hooded friars, 
 glide away through the long pine-avennes, inviting you, as it 
 would seem, to follow, while they steal away slowly from pur- 
 suit into the deeper thickets of the swamp. 
 
 That melancholy night-bird is premature with her chant. 
 She anticipates the night. Emerging from the gloomy harbors 
 of the Cawcaw, she has not guessed what a delicious twilight 
 yet lingers along the hills, persuading Humanity to revery, and 
 inspiring a thousand sweet fancies into cheerful activity. 
 
 But no ! she is not alone, nor premature. The frogs are in 
 ftill concert also, with their various chant; and now you hc.ir 
 the sudden, deep bellow of the steel-jawed cayman, as, rii'.ing 
 frbm the turbid pool, he stretches away toward <;ho. nisliy b. nis 
 of the stream. 
 
6 EUTAW. 
 
 But for these sounds, how deep were the silence along the 
 borders of that massed and seemingly impervious thicket — that 
 dense region of ambush — shrub, bramble, reed, and tree — cy- 
 presses and pines crowding each other from the path, and 
 stretching upward as if to catch the last gleams of rosy sunlight 
 —all laced together firmly, fettered like a chain-gang, by the 
 Berpent-like twinings of the insiflious vine, which clambers over 
 their tops, and winds itself about all their limbs ! 
 
 Very still, very silent all the scene, as if earth, air, and forest, 
 were all awed to worship. But only for a moment. The frog- 
 chant is resumed, and, for awhile, continues unbroken. Sud- 
 denly you hear the roar of the cayman ; then, as the silence 
 begins to feel heavy upon the ear, almost beside you the night- 
 bird again complains — this time seemingly in flight, as she 
 speeds out to the hill-slopfes, seeking a higher perch for song, 
 and other auditories. You hear her now from among the pine- 
 thickets above. 
 
 Down the slopes — for these risings of the ground can scarce- 
 ly be called hills — the Night is pitching her dusky tents apace. 
 The shadows fall in successive clouds. You feel the transitions, 
 which you can not well see, from light to obscurity. Each in- 
 stant brings its quick transition. There is hardly any twilight 
 here. The day-star sinks. A blood-red or orange flag hangs, 
 like a signal, for a single moment, from his western tower ; is 
 tlien suddenly withdrawn, leaving in place only a dusky stream- 
 er; and that as suddenly disappears within the tents of Night. 
 The gray of twilight thickens magically into darkness. It is a 
 progress of mysteries, managed in the twinkling of an eye, like 
 the wondrous changes effected by some matchless wizard. 
 
 And how fitting the accompaniment — that chant of the night- 
 bird, sudden as she flits from shade to shade ; that wild, guttu- 
 ral strain in chorus from the swamp ; that hoarse bellow of the 
 cayman at intervals ! These are all ministers to Silence — to 
 the wild and solemn harmonies of the desolate abode — the 
 place, the hour — the dusky purposes of Night. They break 
 not the spell : they rather burden it with an awful significance. 
 
 Now, down these slopes, from the eminence of gi-eat pines, if 
 you descend to the thickets of the swamp, you shall take your 
 steps with a frequent pause, and tread heedfully ; for, vevily. 
 
PRELUDE. 7 
 
 youi eyes shall now avail you little. Tet there is a growing 
 light upon the rising ground. The stars begin to steal forth 
 upon the evening — timidly, one by one, even as scouts of an 
 army feel their way to security, before they summon the hosts 
 to follow. But, in another moment, even as you look, they 
 start up, and out, without trump or drum, and appear by squad- 
 rons and regiments, all in brightest armory. And each division 
 takes its place in regular array — their watches set severally on 
 the highest, places, and all their camp-fires lighted, and blazing 
 brightly in the benignant atmosphere. The hosts are bivou- 
 acked in heaven. 
 
 But the swamp-recesses darken even as the hilltops of heaven 
 grow bright. It is not even for such clear-eyed and beautiful 
 watchers to pierce their gloomy depths. The pitchy tents be- 
 low are impenetrable ; and frog and cayman exult aloud, in 
 horrid concert, even because of the dense thickets which keep 
 them from the loving eyes of the stars. 
 
 Hark ! there are other sounds than such as issue from throat 
 of night-bird or reptile. They hold not the empire to them- 
 selves. It is a bugle that speaks shrilly to the night. One 
 single, sharp note — a signal — and all is again silent, save the 
 whip-poor-will. 
 
 The solitude is broken. There is a light — a torch that flits 
 through the woods above, and along the narrow ridges, where 
 the ground slopes toward the swamp. It approaches. You 
 hear the tramp of steeds. They are .descending toward us — 
 down, even to the deep thickets — and slowly pick their way 
 along the uneven ledges. You may see them by the torch, as 
 it waves aloft and onward — some twenty troopers or more, as 
 they pass in single file down into the gloom — the torch-bearer, 
 on foot, showing them the narrow trail, which, one by one, they 
 take in silence. They are now buried from sight, swallowec' 
 up in the close embrace of that wilderness of shadow ! 
 
 It is a time and a region of many cares, and cruel strifes, 
 and wild, dark, mortal mysteries. And these gloomy thickets, 
 and yonder deep recesses, harmonize meetly with the perverse 
 deeds of man. The cry of beast or reptile, the chant of melan- 
 choly bird, the darkness of night, the awful silence which fills 
 up the hottr— these are all in concert with the actors in the 
 
b EUT/SW. 
 
 scene. There is ccncealmiut hsie — a secrecy which may be 
 full of mischief, perhaps of t'^rror. It may be the outlaw that 
 low seeks his harborage. It may be the patriot, who would 
 find temporary refuge from vindictive pursuit. There are armed 
 legions, heavy of hand, and cruel in their might, not far remote. 
 Let us follow the footsteps of these strange and silent horsemen, 
 and see where they hive themselves to-nip;ht. We may need 
 to spy Out their mysteries, and rop rt what deeds of ill they do, 
 c meditate. 
 
 We follow the receding light. We descend the little slopes. 
 The Ian ''. undulates. Now we are on the swells of hard, red 
 clay. Now we sink. The way is broken before us into holes 
 and rivulets. The fallen cypress, half buried in the long grasses, 
 stretches at our feet. We scramble over it, only to plunge into 
 "■.he turbid waters of the bayou. Here is a fenny bed of rushes,. 
 f7Jere the alligator has found his sleep. We cross a clammy 
 moat ; we scramble up a rugged causeway, at the farther end 
 of which you may see the torch waving to the horsemen. The 
 bearer of it stands upon a fallen tree, spanning a gorge, in which 
 you see a shattered wheel in a half-choked mill-race. The 
 horsemen wind along below him, near the edge of the Cc.aoe- 
 way. Now they leap their steeds across the ditch, runui,...i 
 with dark-glistening water ; and now they scramble up th . 
 banks opposite. 
 
 Ah ! there is the ancient mill-seat, half in ruins, and tottering 
 to its fall. The light sweeps rounds it to the rear. The horse- 
 men follow, winding out of sight for a moment, and over a path- 
 way which we do not see. It is among bays and willows,. be- 
 yond that lake of cypresses. They disappear from sight. The 
 hearer of the torch reappears upon a rising ground, and behind 
 him stands the rude log-house of the miller. The horsemen 
 join him. They pass beyond the log-house. 
 
 Again the bugle sounds. The light now gleams through the 
 open fissures of the cabin ; and you may note the horsemen, as, 
 one by one, or in small groups, each afoot, they make their 
 way to the dwelling. They have fastened their horses in the 
 thicket. They are bearing in their saddles and furniture ; some 
 carry bundles, others but tlieir weapons. There is a hoarse voice 
 in command ; there are others that answer to it. They are all 
 
PRELUDE. 9 
 
 r> w within the dwelling, and here will they make their refiige 
 for the night. Already the fire gleams ruddily from the old 
 clay chimney-place, and hrightens up the rugged apartment. 
 
 And all is still without. You can hear but a rill that chafes 
 against the roots of trees, as it trickles down unseen below. As 
 you cross the fallen tree that spans the gorge, you feel the sud- 
 den breeze sweep up about you from across the great basin of 
 the mill-seat. It spreads away on the north and east, surround- 
 ed by gaunt and ghostly cypresses, that wave their heads 
 mournfully in the starlight. The breeze sways the tops of yon- 
 der green pines, and they miirmuT back, as if replying in their 
 sleep. 
 
 Hark ! an owl in the old millhouse ! What strange inood 
 makes him there, with his wretched whoop, when the cypresses 
 offer him their arms on every side ? But for his discordant cry, 
 how dead would be the stillness of all the scene, the very stars 
 keeping in their breath, as they strain, with all their eyes, to 
 see the deeds which are done in these night-tents upon earth ! 
 
 1* 
 
10 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FLORIDA REFUGEES. 
 
 The group assembled in the old cabin of Rhodes, the miller, 
 was of military, but motley complexion ; one of the numerous 
 bands of irregular troops, half-soldier, half-plunderer, that, for 
 so long a time, during the last three years of the war of the 
 Revolution, continued to infest the rural regions of South Caro- 
 lina. Their half-savage costume was picturesque enough, if not 
 uniform ; wild, and sufficiently impressive, but not such as would 
 mark any regular service. The squad consisted of some twenty 
 persons, all told. Their chief was a stalwart ruffian, well-built, 
 vigorous, and, no doubt, quite capable of leading boldly, and 
 with fair success, in any equal struggle, such a force as that 
 which he commanded. Rude, irregular, untrained, and lawless, 
 the swarthy outlaws grouped about the lowly cabin where we 
 find them, were, at least, a fearless gang of blackguards. They 
 could fight better than pray ; could more easily strike than 
 serve; and, truth to speak, were of a character to render no 
 command a sinecure, of which they were the subjects. Their 
 laws readily yielded to their moods ; and, in this respect, they 
 had very little the advantage of their leader. He was a wild, 
 irregular, licentious savage, like themselves ; and was recog- 
 nised as a chief only because of his stalwart frame and superior 
 audacity. His costume somewhat distinguished him from liia 
 followers. He wore the epaulette of a captain — a chapeau 
 bras — which might have been plucked from the cold brows of 
 some English officer in some luckless battle-field; a green 
 plume, which was sufficiently frayed to prove the hard service 
 of its owner ; a green sash, which betrayed its frequent vents 
 
THE FLORIDA REFUGEES. H 
 
 in spite of .frequent patchwork. His sword was a stout cime- 
 ter-shaped weapon, which dangled in a plated scabbard, from a 
 belt of common leather. Beyond these distinctions, which were 
 not much superior to those worn by one of his lieutenants, there 
 was nothing much to separate Captain Lem or Lemuel Watkins, 
 from one of his lieutenants, who enjoyed a similar equipment, 
 and whose bulk and whiskers were of like dimensions with 
 those of his superior. Of moral or intellectual authority, our 
 captain displayed but little. But he practised a savage dis- 
 cipline of his own, which sometimes suddenly arrested the ex- 
 cesses of his band, whom long indulgence would naturally bring 
 into occasional license, inconilict with his patience or his mood. 
 Beyond this, there was but little discipline among the marauders. 
 
 They were not congregated together for the purposes of war. 
 That was only their pretext. They belonged to that class of 
 adventurers who were known to the patriots as Flffrida Refu- 
 gees. This implied that they were loyal Americans, who had 
 emerged from Florida so soon as the British ascendency had 
 been established in Carolina. The latter province was overrun 
 by thousands of these marauders, after this event, who had 
 never before set eyes upon her plains. Florida, it will be kept 
 in mind, was the usual place of refuge for the loyalists of the 
 whole South, on the breaking out of the Revolution, and during 
 the period of whig success ; even as Canada afforded a region 
 of retreat for all of the same class of politicians in the northern 
 colonies. 
 
 War then — the cause of the crown — was simply a pretext 
 with these marauders. They were nothing less than plunderers 
 under the sanction of the war. Sometimes they joined them- 
 selves to the regular service, and were employed as scouts and 
 rangers. But this they found too hard a service. They were 
 then, really the menials of the regular army, and they revolted 
 at the servitude ; using the connection only when it might be 
 thought necessary to countenance or shelter their excesses. 
 They followed a chief, so long as he proved successful, and 
 shared his spoils freely among them ; frequently deposed him ; 
 threw off his rule for that of another; and, sometimes, merged 
 their independent existence (measurably) in that of superior 
 bands. But they changed nothing of their nature in the change 
 
12 EUTAW. 
 
 of service, aud were only so many rude banditti always. "Tiis 
 much will suffice for their morals ; of their manners, they ishall 
 report themselves. 
 
 A rude cookery was begun soon after their entrance. Two 
 of the party took this duty upon themselves as if it were their 
 ordinary occupation : soon, the corn hoe-cakes were browiiiiig 
 before the fire ; ^T3at slices of bacon wtre hissing in the frying 
 pan, aud a pot of coffee v/as set to boil. But, for these comforts 
 of the kitchen, no jne waited. A corpulent jug of whiskey 
 was already in requisition, and, following the lead of Captain 
 Lem Watkins, the troopers successively quaffed deeply of its 
 potent waters. 
 
 Then came the supper. They ate, they drank — freely, with 
 something of the appetite of famishing men. There was little 
 talk among the party the while, except such as took place with 
 small groups, who, for this purpose seemingly, occasionally loft 
 the house, and went out into the thicket. There was an inflvi- 
 ence at work among them, not depressing exactly, but one of e 
 sort to make them reserved — perhaps sullen — at all events, 
 mostly silent. Words were spoken, as if not calling for answer 
 Those who spoke, with the hope of amusing the company, or 
 provoking response, were rarely successful — never, certainly, 
 in the former object. Occasionally, the chief let fall something 
 that might have been designed for a jest or a sarcasm ; but the 
 humor did not spread. If honored with a chuckle, it was but 
 of momentary duration and the result only of some little effort. 
 It was a lugubrious feast, such as one might be supposed to 
 make the niglit before his execution. There was no song over 
 the supper. The stillness of the group suffered them all dis- 
 tinctly to hear, at intervals, the protracted whoop of the owl 
 without, who noted the watches of the night, by becoming sig- 
 nals, from the ancient millhouse. 
 
 It might be seen that one of the party did not eat. It was 
 observed, finally, by his companions, toward the close of oupper 
 
 "How now, Mat Floyd," said Nat Snell, turning to this 
 person where he sat aloof in a corner — "what if you ah' in 
 trouble? Eat, man, there's no trouble in the pot !" 
 
 " Ay, let him eat ; loose him awhile and let him eat," quoth 
 Captain Watkins ; " we don't want to put him on his trial on an 
 
THE FLORIDA REFUGEES. 13 
 
 empty stomach. Loose him, gnell, and give him a bite. It 
 sha'n't be eaid that we starve a fellow even vhongh we have to 
 hang him after supper !" 
 
 Snell did as he was commanded, and proceeded to nndo the 
 cords which bound the person addressed, takinp- an opportunity, 
 as he did so, to whisper in his ear. 
 
 '' Seize your chance, Mat, and git off if you kin !" 
 
 The other sat quiet, stupidly it would seem, rather than 
 gloomily; and showed no disposition to rise from the floor, 
 even when loosed from his bonds. • He indicated no desire for 
 supper. 
 
 " What ! won't he eat ?" demanded the captain, with an oath. 
 
 " Then let him starve, and be d -d, for a sulky fool, as well 
 
 as a treacherous rascal. He was both always. What do I care 
 if he eats or not!" 
 
 " Give him time, captain, to consider," said the friendly fol- 
 low sailed Snell- 
 
 "Ay, and for his prayers too! But the sooner he's about 
 them the better. Let him have an hour, and then see that he's 
 roped up for other matters. Only see that he don't slip out. 
 Put a hitch in the door." 
 
 ■" It's past hitching," was the answer, as one of the party 
 endeavored to fit the unwieldy leaf of the door to the posts in 
 spite of broken hinges. " There's nara hinge left, and not a 
 staple to hook to." 
 
 " Well, fix it as you can, and keep an eye on the rascal. Sec 
 him, Snell. You shall be jailer." 
 
 ' I'd rather you'd put somebody else that's more spry than 
 me, cappin. I'm a l^etle oneasy in the j'ints with this bloody 
 rheumatiz," lyas the answer. 
 
 " Well, you take charge of him, Peterson, and if he's not 
 safe here, the moment we want him, you take his place, that's 
 all ! Look to it ! And now clean off the table, men. We've 
 got or.r settlements to make, and square off the business of this 
 last campaign. I don't want to keep any shares but my own ; 
 and whet, tne paymaster of the squad plays traitor, and makes 
 off with the chest, I reckon there's fcAv of you that wouldn't 
 rather keep his own money. It's not so much, the matter that's 
 eft us now to divide. But we'll take our satisfaction, I reckon, 
 
14 EDTAW. 
 
 out of one of tlie rascals. Gather round, all of you, and see if 
 we do what's right. There, Watts, heave up that portmanteau, 
 and that sack." 
 
 The portmanteau and sack were laid upon the table, opened 
 both, and the contents turned out before all eyes. They were 
 of a character to show what sort of war was that waged by our 
 forayers. There was money, some few pieces of gold, a con- 
 siderable amount in Spanish dollars, and a few handfuls of 
 crowns, pistareens, and shilling pieces. There were rolls also 
 of continental money, but these seemed to command little 
 attention. The more valuable contents of valise and sack, 
 were trinkets of gold, watches, and plate of various description 
 — a general assortment of plunder, as yielded to the outlaws, 
 by the person or the dwelling of the defenceless. How much 
 blood had been shed in procuring this spoil — how many dying 
 curses lay upon these ill-gotten treasures — who shall declare ? 
 
 The division of the spoil was made — how, we shall not say; 
 but, no doubt, under laws to which all parties had given their 
 consent. It is not so certain that the division was satisfactory 
 to all. The several shares were received, most generally, in 
 profound silence ; the captain tendering as he thought proper ; 
 the subordinate receiving what was given without a word. In 
 some instances, a wish was expressed for gold, rather than sil- 
 ver ; in one case, a watch was desired by one of the parties, 
 whose share did not amount to the value put upon the article ; 
 and the captain was gracious enough to promise to keep the 
 watch until his profits should enable the craving man to pur- 
 chase his treasure. There were eyes that gloated over articles, 
 for which they could make no demand, and which they beheld 
 the amiable captain put aside, with a considerate regard to his 
 own — which was, of course, the lion's — share ! But there was 
 no expression of discontent. The continental bills, were very 
 liberally bestowed. In fact, the parties helped themselves at 
 pleasure ; though some few turned from the proffer with open 
 scorn, refusing to burden themselves with a commodity, which 
 had depreciated to a value scarcely superior to that of waste 
 paper. 
 
 " A drink all round, fellows," said the accommodating supe- 
 vior, when all the shares were distributed. 
 
THE FLORIDA REFUGEES. 15 
 
 ^' Tliat scjre's all rubbed oiit, and I hope you're all satisfied ! 
 You'll not say, no one of you, that I don't deal fair and square 
 with you. If there's a man to say so, let him up, and out with 
 it, and look me in the face all the time ! Out with it at once, 
 I say, and no afterclaps ! I won't understand any man that 
 wants to open the accounts again to-morrow. I'd answer such 
 a man with a broadsword wipe, as soon as look at him ! So, 
 out with it now ! Is any one dissatisfied, I ask?" 
 
 The glance round the circle, and the action which accom- 
 panied this speech, the tones of voice, the whole manner of the 
 thing, was pretty much siich as would be shown by a savage 
 bulldog, walking off with your meat, and growling, right and 
 left among the crowd, as he departs ! The experience of the 
 subordinates had been such as naturally prompted them to the 
 full appreciation of Dogberry's counsel, for the treatment of 
 refractory persons, offenders against the law. No voice was 
 raised in doubt of the perfect justice with which Captain Lem 
 Watkins had made the division of the public treasure. 
 
 "Very good!" exclaimed our amiable bulldog, "I want all 
 myv people to be satisfied. Now, I say, let's have that drink 
 all round. Hand up the whiskey, Fritz. I wish it was Jamaica 
 for your sakes, fellows. You deserve something better." 
 
 The benevolent wish called for the most amiable echoes, and, 
 as the party drank to the favorite toast of the captain : — 
 
 " Here's to the cow, boys, that never goes dry." 
 
 They almost forgot, in their potations, that any one of them 
 had the slightest reason to complain. Strong drink is pacifica- 
 tion as well as provocation. 
 
 They drank deep, and were comforted — after a fashion I 
 
 There was a pause. Captain Watkins was not the person to 
 relish a pause, or silence, except in such hours as he gave to 
 sleep. 
 
 " And now, fellows," quoth he, " there is business to be done 
 — pretty serious business too, as you all know ; but, there is 
 sport, also ; and whether we shall go to business or to sport 
 first, it shall be for you to say ! No doubt, some among you 
 would like to be adding to his wallet by what there is in mine ; 
 and I'm ready ! By the powers, I am as willing to lose as win. 
 Yon know that, and there are the pictures ! Out with them 
 
16 KUTAW. 
 
 from the wallet, Peterson, and let them Iiandy. You eha!. 
 play or work, which you please. We must try thai traitor t: 
 night, and give him what justice he deserves. But that won't 
 take us long. ' A short horse is soon curried,' and three yards 
 of rope will halter the longest rascal that ever foundered under 
 an easy burden. What shall it be — the cards or the trial firet ', 
 the old rogue or old sledge ?" 
 
 " Oh ! the trial ! Let's have that off our minds before we 
 think of sport. I want to have a free sperrit when I go to play. 
 I don't want any trouble in my~thought." 
 
 " Right, Hollis ! That's just my notion. So, boys, throw 
 on sothe fresh lightwood. Let's have a good blaze to see by, 
 and bring up the prisoner. Put him there, at the foot of the 
 table, and get round him. We'll have short work of it, I 
 reckon." 
 
 " Yes, the case is mighty clear. Get up, Mat, and answer foi 
 yourself. Square round, boys, and make room. Let's hear the 
 captain." 
 
 The culprit was hustled forward. The ropes were again 
 wound about his wrists, which were tied behind him ; and he 
 stood, at once sullen and anxious, at the foot of the table. 
 The forayers grouped themselves around him; a hardy, reck- 
 less, unfeeling company, in whose faces you could detect few 
 traces of sympathy. There was one of them, there might be 
 two, whose eyes betokened something of pity ; the fellow, Snell, 
 who had whispered the captive to steal off if he could, was one 
 of these ; but he strove naturally to conceal a sympathy which, 
 if discovered, might only have brought down danger upon his 
 own head. 
 
 The lightwood blazed up brightly, illuminaiiug the apart- 
 ment. Captain Lem was accommodated with a seat up6n a 
 high, but rickety bench, one of t'le logs of which indicated 
 extreme decrepitude. The captain put on all his gravity, as he 
 began to state the chai-ges to the culprit and his audienic, which 
 he did in the following language. We omit little bui the decora- 
 tive blasphemies of the speaker, with whoui an oath supplied 
 the lack of metaphor and figure. 
 
 " Hold up your hands, Mat Floyd, and if you hold up yout 
 head at the same time, it will be no worss for yon." 
 
THE FLCirOA RKKUUKKS. 17 
 
 The culprit raised his head prc.mptly, and looked his judge 
 full in the. face. Floyd was a young fellow not more than 
 twenty-thrco years of age, small and slight of person, swarthy 
 of skin, with a dark, scowling and sullen aspect, and keen, but 
 fiiTiall black eyes. There was something at once sinister and 
 savpge in his countenance. 
 
 " Now, Mat Floyd, yon know junt as well as we do what we 
 hav^e against you. You're the brothcr-in-hiw of Nat Rhodes — 
 he married your sister." 
 
 " But he didn't marry me. !" answered the other rpickly and 
 savagely. 
 
 "Don't be sassy, boy," said old Snell, interposing — "don't 
 be sassy ; give the cappin good words, and hear him out what 
 he's got to say." 
 
 " Let him talk, Snell," said the captain very coolly — ' I like 
 when a fellow talks out on his own trial. It's just ten to one 
 that he'll let out a leetlc more of the truth than will do him 
 good. Let him talk and answer for himself, just as he thinks 
 proper. It's the truth we wiint. — Now, as I was saying. Mat 
 Floyd, you're brother-in-law to Nat Ehodes, and Nat Rhoden 
 has just made off with the money portmanteau of the squad." 
 
 "But I hain't run off, and I hain't no money. If that's what 
 you're after, s'arch me." 
 
 ' " Search you ! as if you'd hide your robberies about you ! 
 But it wasn't any honesty in you, that kept you from running 
 off. Where were you caught, you scoundrel 1 Five miles from 
 camp, and streeking it, fast as your mare could carry you ; and 
 just on the road where he was seen last." 
 
 " I don't see because I was a-riding down, that I was a-run- 
 ning off," said the culprit. 
 
 " No ! But it was a monstrous suspicious circumstamo, I'm 
 thinking. But that's not all. You had a watch — 'twas seen 
 upon your person, and you afterward gave it to your sister, 
 Ilarricane Nell, to keep for you ; and that watch belonged to 
 the sC[uad, and was a part of the stock left in the portmanteau 
 when Nat Rhodes carried it." 
 
 " Nat gave it to me ! 'Twas his Watch. He got it himself, 
 hy himself. 'Twa'n't any of the squad's property. 'Twas his 
 own property.' 
 
18 EUTAW. 
 
 " Ah ! you say so ; but 'twon't serve you, Mat Floyd, though 
 you were to swear it. TVe'U let you know that everything we 
 take belongs to the souad, till it's divided by me, the captain. 
 ]sn't that the law, fellows 1" 
 
 •' Ay 1 ay ! cappJK, true as gospel." 
 
 " You hear tha';. Mat Floyd. The watch was the property 
 of the squad, and everything, till we had a fair division of 
 shares. But Nat Rhodes never gave you that watch till he 
 was making off; and you knew, of his going off and never re- 
 ported ; and your sister, Harricane Nell, knew of it, and his 
 father, Jeff Rhodes the miller, knew of it, and so did Clem 
 Wilson, and Barney Gibbes, and John Friday ; and they've 
 gone off with him or after him, and you were gone too, as far 
 ao you could get h^Jcre we caught you. Now, this was a 
 conspiracy, do you see, as well as a robbery, and I'll let 
 you know that conspiracy and robbery together, makes high 
 treason — high treason! — do you hear? and that's the of- 
 fence, Mat Floyd, for which you're up on trial at this awful 
 moment. So now you hear the charges against you, and the 
 nature of the offence ; and the penalty is death by the rope ! 
 So, even answer for yourself as you can. We've got the proof 
 here present, to prove what we say : let's know what proof yon 
 have to answer it. Speak out, like a brave fellow, if you can't 
 like an honest one, and make a clean breast of it, before we 
 tuck you up." 
 
 " I'm in your hands," said Floyd boldly, looking full at his 
 judge, " and I know that you've got the power to do what you 
 please with me." 
 
 "I rather think we have!" said the captain, " and we'll do 
 't too !" 
 
 "That's as God pleases !'' 
 
 " Don't be taking God's name in vain, you bloody blasphe- 
 rjier," responded the reverent captain — "speak about wliat 
 /ou know." 
 
 " I Know that I'm in the hands of a most bloody villain, and 
 if I am to speak, ar.a to suffer after it, I'll let out all that's on 
 my mind for the bir.efit of them that ain't got the soul and the 
 sperrit to think and to speak out for themselves !" 
 
 " Jxist hear the audacicus -.•ebel !" exclaimed the captain, a«> 
 
THE FLORIDA REFUGEES. 19 
 
 t Wliy joufounded by the recklessness of the speaker. " Just 
 hear his sauce and insolence !" 
 
 " Ay, let them hear, Cappin Watkins I want them to hear 
 There's some of them that would like tc say the same thing ei 
 they darst, and all of 'em that knows it's only the truth that 
 I'm a-saying. I say, and I say it again, chat you're a most 
 bloody tyrant and villain, and that 'tain t my robbery as yoa 
 calls it — which was only a taking of my dtti-— but other things 
 which you darsn't say out, or charge agin mc, that makes yox 
 so hot after taking my life. As for the dividing the treasure, 
 it's a pretty division of shares that i/ou ever makes. Sich a 
 division, as, ef justice was done, would put the rope round your 
 neck instead of mine, and make yon answerable for a thousara 
 more criminalities than you'll ever - •; fe?s onder the gallows '■ 
 
 " Will nobody stop the beast's mouth " .-jftrsd the captain 
 
 "Shet up, Mat," said Suell, once more. '^J'jn't provocate 
 the cappiu without iieedcessity. 'Twill only make the case 
 worse for- you, this talking." 
 
 " No ! it kain't ! Ef I was to say nothing, he'd hev' my life 
 jest the same ; jest so long as you here, you poor, mean, cow- 
 ardly critters, that let yourselves be robbed and cheated with 
 your eyes open — jest so long as you'd stand by, and see one 
 man put down — one by one — whenever he happens to stand 
 up for his own rights along with your'n. 'Tis true, I was 
 a-making off, bekaise I was only too eager to git out of sich 
 hands as his'n and your'n ! It's true that Nat Rhodes made 
 off with the money ; but 'twas only bekaise 'twas the natural 
 right of him, and Jeff Rhodes, his father, and Moll Rhodes, his 
 wife, and Nell, my sister, and 7ny right, and the right of Glei.-^. 
 Wilson, and Barney Gibbes, and John Friday ! We tuk bni 
 what was our own; and the rest we hid away, near to you, 
 meaning to send you word where to look for it: so that every 
 man might hev' his proper share. And we did conspirato, ef 
 so be that agreeing together means, conspirating — to do as we 
 did, and to make off where we could never bev' to do with 
 sich as you any more ! And that's the truth of the matter,, 
 though you never listened to the truth before. So now you've 
 hearn it, you may jest do :i f TV.rst ycu kii. I'm m yco' 
 power." 
 
20 EUTAW. 
 
 " That's true, at all events, Mat Floyd," responded the cap- 
 tain with unexampled coolness. The company, meanwhile, 
 maintained a singular silence, if not composure. They did not 
 seem so much offended by the free speech of their bold com- 
 panion. Its truth appealed to their sympathies, though it could 
 not rouse their courage ; and, in all probability, there was a 
 lurking conviction, in the minds of most of them, that Mat Floyd 
 was a sort of martyr in the common cause. Besides, heroism, 
 itself, at such a moment, under such circumstances as those in 
 which Floyd stood, was well calculated to impress itself even 
 upon the rough, unscrupulous wretches by which he was sur- 
 rounded. It is barely possible that the captain, himself, felt 
 something of this influence ; though it is just as likely that his 
 forbearance, and the speech with which he answered the culprit, 
 was dictated quite as much by policy as by admiration. 
 
 " Well, Mat Floyd," resumed the captain, "you've made your 
 defence, such as it is ; and proved the case against yourself, as 
 well as we could have done it with a hundred witnesses. You've 
 had your say, and can't complain that we've put bolt and bar 
 u) on your tongue. You've made free enough with me ; but 
 that I don't take into the account at all ; for we can settle with 
 you on other grounds. Only, I'd like to hear, before going far- 
 ther with you, if there's any present, as you would seem to 
 think there is, who lias the audacity to think as you do ! I am 
 waiting to hear if there's another per.son here, who accuses me 
 
 of tyranny and injustice ! Let him speak ! By ! I am 
 
 waiting patiently — very d d patiently! — Only let him 
 
 speak !" 
 
 And he smote the table with his fist, and his eye glared about 
 the circle, from face to face, illustrating, somewhat anomalously, 
 his meekness of mood, and the patience with which he craved 
 their responses. 
 
 The eye of the -culprit looked round the circle also, but not 
 with hope. A smile was on his countenance as he gazed, ex- 
 pressing only a sullen scorn. He knew them well ; and well 
 knew what would be the effect of their captain's pacific appeal, 
 upon a gang which lacked all the elements of a proper resist- 
 ance to a tyranny which yet revolted them. 
 
 " You see. Mat Floyd !" resumed the captain, turning to the 
 
THE FLORIDA UEFUGEES. 21 
 
 Eulpi'it ; " there's not an honest man present who is not ready 
 to give the lie to your assertion." 
 
 " There's not an honest man that dar'st do so, onless he's 
 liot a'ter h — I's brimstone !" was the retort. 
 
 " Silence, you blaspheming rebel, and answer to what I'm 
 about to ask you ! You say that the rigbtful share of the squad 
 has been put away hereabouts, somewhere, for us, by the rob- 
 bers who have made off with the rest ? Now, if we're disposed 
 to look mercifully on your offences, will you show us the place ?" 
 
 " Am I free to go and find it ?" 
 
 " Not exactly ! Some of us will go along with you, just to 
 see that there's no skulking." 
 
 " Nobody shall go with me, if I'm to find it ! If you don't 
 trust me, I don't see why I'm to trust you. I know you too 
 well, cappin. Give me a two hours' start, and you shall find 
 it in the cypress hollow, by Dyke's cabin at sum-ise to-morrow. 
 I swear it : and I'll do as I promise. 
 
 "Your word for it; and that's a pretty security!" 
 
 " Yes, and a cussed sight better than your oath !" 
 
 " You lying villain ! — " 
 
 "■ Lying ! Look you, Cappin Watkins, there's not a man 
 hyar that don't know you to be the lyingest person that ever 
 stept in shoeleather; and, jest knowing you as I do, I know 
 its no more use to be making a bargain with you, or taking a 
 promise from your mouth, than ef 'twas the old devil himself 
 that was a-speaking, and now, jest to ease my heart of what 
 I've got in it, I'll tell the men here, loud enough for the hardest 
 hearing to onderstand, that if my sister Nelly had only listened 
 to your imperdent speeches, and hadn't slapped your chops 
 while you was a making 'em — she and I might ha' got the whole 
 of the portmanteau of the squad, and I'd never heard a word 
 of the gold watch that she got, and I'd never ha' been in the 
 present fix ! I say it — agin and agin — that the cappin here 
 offered her everything in the treasury — yes — ef she'd " 
 
 " Silence, you d d blasted liar of a traitor and rebel," 
 
 roared the captain, as, stretching across the table, he smote the 
 speaker in the face with his clenched hand, the blood gushing 
 from mouth and nostrils at the blow. 
 
 In an instant, the culprit, though with both hands bound b«»- 
 
22 EUTAW. 
 
 hind hitn, with a wonderful exhibition of muscle, leaped upon 
 the table, and answered the assault by two formidable kicks of 
 the foot, heavily shod, which, delivered before the captain could 
 recover from the forward movement he had made in striking, 
 hurled him back from the table against the fireplace, his whole 
 face blacked, bruised, and bloodied, by the sharp and stunning 
 blows ! 
 
 The table came down with a crash in the struggle ; and, as it 
 fell, the culprit bounded away toward the door, which he cer- 
 tainly would have reached, and through which he would prob- 
 ably have escaped — for there were some present not indis- 
 posed to favor his flight — had not his hands and arms been 
 securely fastened behind him. 
 
 Before he could take a second stride toward the door, hew- 
 ever, a blow of a cudgel from behind, in the hands of one of the 
 ruffians felled him to the floor, while two or three others sprang 
 upon him. 
 
 All was in confusion for a while. Several were scuffling over 
 the prostrate man; some shouted aloud — whether in hope, or 
 fear, we can not say — supposing him gone; and, for a few mo- 
 ments, all order, all authority was at an end. 
 
 Captain Watkins was the first to recover his wits if not his 
 placidity of look and temper. He recovfad his legs with dif- 
 ficulty. 
 
 " Have you got him there, fellows '" 
 
 "Yes — fast enough," was the answbi. 
 
 " Tou see ! but one thing's to b 5 l.me ! It's mutiny, as well 
 as high treason and robbery I Ti,k ) him oit , to the old mill- 
 house. We'll have an end of it nos^ • Your -;ord, Fritz ! Out 
 with him, 1 say — no poking — 'no p.evarieation; and let me 
 see if there's more than one candids;te lo-night for the gallows ! 
 Off with him ! It's not five minutes he"s got to swear by." 
 
 He drew bis sabre as he spoke, aid vav-id forwaid th-i party 
 Three of the fellows grappled with the still -nrostrate eul rit, 
 raised him up and bade him walk. But he only staggered for- 
 ward, with a grasp of a stout ruffian on each shoulder, the whole 
 party surrounding th? three, and the captain following with 
 ready weapon. 
 
HARRICANE NELL." 28 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "HARRICANE NELL." 
 
 The prisoner, wholly unresisting, was thrust forward by the 
 two ruffians in whose grasp he stood, followed closely by the 
 vindictive captain of the party, his sword drawn in one hand, 
 and a pistol concealed beside him in the other. The troop fol- 
 lowed OH, or led the way for the culprit. 
 
 The old millhouse stood not more than fifty yards from the 
 cabin which they had left, and a few moments sufficed to bring 
 the party to the place which was destined for the execution. 
 The procession was conducted in deep silence, only broken by 
 an occasional muttering, in oath and threat, from the lips of 
 Watkins. He knew the tenure by which he maintained his 
 rule over his refugees ; and the reckless and wild spirit of defi- 
 ance exhibited by Floyd was in proof of the presence of feel- 
 ings, among the rest, which, however unspoken as yet, he had 
 every reason to apprehend. Nay, the flight of his treasurer, 
 Rhodes, and the small party which followed or accompanied 
 him, was conclusive of a discontent in the squadron, which only 
 needed a bold leader to rouse up into mutiny among the whole. 
 Watkins was prep'ared to believe that it v/^ould require more 
 than the one victim to quiet, in season, the growth of this insub- 
 ordinate spirit; and he kept eager watch upon the party — re- 
 solved, with the first provocation from any other quarter, to 
 nake a prompt example of the offender. 
 
 It is probable enough that the troop, all of them, felt instinct- 
 ively what was working in the mind of their captain. They 
 knew that, if he was a rascal, he was not less a reckless ruffian, 
 who would not scruple at any violence ; and they were, none 
 
2i EtIIAW. 
 
 of them, quite prepared to bring tlieir discontents to a sudden 
 trial of their respective strength. They marched over the 
 ground quietly, with the full consciousness that they were under 
 the eye and arm of a sudden and fierce authority. 
 
 The savage spirit of the culprit, too, appeared to have died 
 out after the signal ebullition of life which it had displayed. 
 Whether it was that he remained under the stupor occasioned 
 by the severe blow which had stricken him down, or that he 
 felt how idle would be any exhibition now, of either passion or 
 apprehension, he was led docilely to the place of execution. 
 This was «oon reached. 
 
 The inillhouse was one of the ordinary structures used for 
 this purpose throughout the country — a large, unsightly frame 
 of wood, almost wholly unenclosed, of two stories, the lower 
 consisting only of naked supports, the upper naked also, but 
 with a partial and broken flooring — the planks loosely laid 
 down, here and there revealing frequent openings, and offering 
 everywhere a very unsteady footing. The ascent to this sec- 
 ond story was by a pile of refuse slabs, or scantling, the ends 
 of which, on one side, rested upon the earth, and on the oppo- 
 site against the plates of the second story — thus forming an 
 inclined plane, of some steepness, the ascent of which required 
 lue painstaking and caution. This was the only eligible mode 
 left for ascending, unless we look round to the other side of the 
 building, where, rising from the pond, and with the ends resting 
 also upon the plate of the second story, we may note a couple 
 of huge logs of ranging-timbsr, such as h-.d been left unsawcd 
 when the mill-seat was suddenly alnnc ),:i ,-. 
 
 The course taken by the refugees or-jUj,!!* (hem, with the 
 culprit, to the pile oi refuse planks, which tbay immediately be- 
 gan to ascend. Hitherto, there had been no delay, except such 
 as was inevitable from the darkness — which the two torches, 
 borne by as many of the party, failed to illumine, save for a 
 few paces around them, and which left it necessary that each 
 man should pick his way with a proper painstaking. The cul- 
 prit, thus far, had offered no resistance, and showed as little 
 reluctance ; the stupor, or indifference, with which he began the 
 march, appearing to continue. But, when he was midway up 
 the steep plane of tottering planks, there was a struggle, under 
 
"HABBICANE NELL." 25 
 
 wliicli tlic unwieldy pile swayed, and shook, and groaned, as if 
 abotit to sink down in the middle, and fall together, in a heap. 
 This was in consequence of a desperate effort of the prisoner, 
 very suddenly made, at a moment when the plank was over- 
 crowded. The fellow, rendered cool and vigilant by a consid- 
 erable rufEan experience, had been economizing his strength 
 and temper for the first favorable moment. And he was as 
 strong as he was resolute, with a wonderful wiry muscle, as we 
 may suppose, from its sudden exhibition when he made his 
 heels return the indignity, in the face of his captain, which the 
 fists of the other had inflicted upon his own. 
 
 He had timed his purpose well ; and, could he have succeeded 
 in throwing off the grasp of the two stout fellows who had him 
 by the shoulder — a performance which he would most probably 
 have achieved had his arms been free — his chances of escape 
 were good. His plan was, once relieved of their grasp, to leap 
 out boldly, headlong into the darkness — from this place, out 
 into the swamp ; well knowing that, if he escaped any evil in 
 the leap, he could easily elude pursuit under the circumstances. 
 All the torches of the party, by night, would have availed the 
 pursuers but little in such wild and dismal recesses. Mat Floyd 
 knew the situation well. The mill had been established by old 
 Rhodes ; had been managed by Nat Rhodes, who had married 
 the sister of the culprit ; and he had played, and leaped, and 
 gambolled, a thousand times, among its slopes and hollows, over 
 its causeway, and among its coves, and banks, and brambles ; 
 and he attached but little importance to the mere dangers of the 
 leap. Familiar with the whole locality, he felt assured that, 
 unless he should lucklessly encounter some misplaced log, or 
 fallen tree, his descent must be made into a tolerably soft cy- 
 press-bottom, in which he could not suffer much injury. What- 
 ever the risk, the poor fellow was inclined to take it, if he 
 could, and leave his chances of escape to fortune, to the shelter- 
 ing darkness, and to his own experience of the thousand har- 
 boring intricacies of such a region : any prospect was preferable 
 to the one before him He knew that he was doomed other- 
 wise! 
 
 But the effort, though vigorously made, was fruitless. His 
 fettered arms — the firm grasp of the two men who held him — 
 
 •2 
 
26 EUTAW. 
 
 defeated the attempt ; though the whole scaffolding upon which 
 the party struggled shook like a leaf in the wind, swaying and 
 cracking beneath their weight. 
 
 For a moment — a single moment — the brave fellow enter- 
 tained a hope — as one of his keepers tottered on the very verge 
 of the plane, and hung over, balancing doubtfully for an instant 
 of time, until rescued from fall by the help of another who 
 scrambled up behind him ; but it was a breathless, desperate effort, 
 i'lto which the culprit threw a degree of muscle and energy 
 which none who regarded merely the slightness of his figure 
 would ever have supposed him to possess. Borne down, after 
 this effort, he submitted without a word, and was hurried up the 
 plane without more resistance. 
 
 " Bring up the torches," cried the captain ; " there's no see- 
 ing what's to be done, or where to step. Here, this way, fel- 
 low ! What the d — 1 are you looking after, down the milbrace 
 — your grandmother's blessing] You must look deeper, and 
 into a darker place, if you would look for that. Here, away ! 
 bring more lights — more torches. Let us see that the thing's 
 done handsomely." 
 
 And the lights were brought ; and the captain strode boldly 
 along the scattered planks, forming the imperfect flooring of the 
 place. 
 
 " Whoo-whoo ! whoo-whoo !" screamed the homed owl, whom 
 this sudden invasion of light drove from his place of harborage 
 under the broken eaves. 
 
 " Ay ! be off, croaker ! If he had stayed, he might have 
 served the purpose of a parson ! We know who, and you will 
 know, too, hereafter ! — Well, what's it, Murdoch V 
 
 " Didn't you hear a whistle, captain V 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " I thought I heard a whistle just below, there, down upoj 
 ibe causeway." 
 
 " Perhaps ! but it don't matter. You can be looking about 
 yon, and making ready for what's to come. Who's to whistle, 
 think you ? Some of these runaways ? Let them bring their 
 whistles here, if they would have their pipes squeezed till the 
 wind gave out ! We shall stop this chap's whistle, at all events. 
 Hale him on, fellows !" 
 
"HARRICANE NELL." 27 
 
 It was now that the culprit might have been heard to fipcak 
 in lew, hoarse, half-apprehensive tones to those beside him 
 
 " Let me jump, Snell — Fritz ! That's all ! Jest let me jjimp, 
 Yon won't let me be hung for jest heving my own rights." 
 
 " 'Kaint be did. Mat," was the whispered answer. " Nc 
 chaince." 
 
 " I'll tell you where to find the hidings !" 
 
 ' Well, what do you stay for ?" demanded the captain hoarse- 
 ly. " Bring him up. You know the beam 1 You have the 
 rope, Fritz ! Quick, and fling him out ! He wants justice, does 
 he? I'll not sleep to-night till I see him kick the learn /" 
 
 Our captain of refugees, as you will perceive, was something 
 of a wit. 
 
 In spite of his peremptory orders, there was still some little 
 lingering on the part of those who had the culprit in charge. 
 He still had time for other pleadings and promises. 
 
 Now, what might have been the disposition to help him off, 
 of Fritz and Snell, it is impossible for us to conjecture. But it 
 seems that Watkins suspected them. Of course, when Floyd 
 exposed the captain's dishonorable approaches to the sister, 
 Nell Floyd, or, as all parties seemed to call her, " Harricane 
 (the vulgar corruption of Hurricane) Nell," and when he ad- 
 ministered the " shodden foot" to the face and dignity of his 
 superior, he had put his case entirely beyond the pale of hope 
 or mercy. From that moment he was doomed, and all parties 
 knew it. 
 
 Watkins doubted his men — possibly suspected Fritz and 
 Snell in particular — was, at all events, resolved that his victim 
 should never escape him. He said to two of the fellows besido 
 him : — 
 
 "Betts — Murdoch — see to those fellows, and bring the ras- 
 cal forward. If he escapes, mark me, I'll have it out of you. 
 See to it. Bring him on. Those fellows are playing false. 
 There's a bribe working." 
 
 Betts and Murdoch immediately dashed over the rickety 
 planking. 
 
 " Who talked about a whistle 1" demanded Watkins. " I 
 hear one, too. 
 
 " And there goes another," quoth Ben Tynson. 
 
•^« KUTAW. 
 
 ' Bring him on, Murdoch !" was the cry of Watkius. " Vherc's 
 some rascality afoot. Bring him on, and run him up. Waste 
 no time.'' 
 
 " Cappin !" cried the criminal, struggling with the new men 
 who seized him, and crying hoarsely — " cappin !" 
 
 " "Well ! what ? Pitch your whistle as you please, scoundrel, 
 it sha'n't save your neck ! What have you to say ?" 
 
 To the surprise of all parties, the response of the culprit 
 seemed to be a jeering one. 
 
 " You wouldn't like to be gitting all that pile of silver and 
 gould that's hid away V 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Only that you'd better save that, and let me save my neck. 
 I wants to live jest as long as God will let me." 
 
 " God ! you intolerable rebel ! God's got nothing to do with 
 such as you." 
 
 " Well, the devil, then ! Don't matter much which, so I clear 
 the rope and timber. I'll git you all the money and plate. It's 
 no small chance, I tells you, if you'll clear the track for me ! 
 But, you must let me hev' my heels for it !" 
 
 There might have been a moment's pause in the reply of 
 Watkins, and it does not much matter what occasioned it— 
 whether it was because he was confounded by the cool, almost 
 contemptuous tones of the speaker, or that he really suffered his 
 cupidity to urge the arguments to his mind, in spite of his anger 
 — but suddenly he cried out : — 
 
 " No, rascal, if you offered me all the gold of India, I would 
 not let you off. Run him up, Murdoch, and stop his tongue for 
 ever ! It's one rascal less in the world ; one rascal more in a 
 crowded country ; and we shall happily get rid of him ! And 
 let every man present, that's not altogether in the right humoi 
 to toe the mark with his friends and officers, let him take warn- 
 ing, and respect the virtue of the halter ; for, as sure as I'm your 
 captain, and a living man, able to pull trigger or wield sabre, so 
 sure will I serve, with just the same sauce, every fellow that 
 offers to play traitor !" 
 
 The fellows Murdoch and Betts were more under the captain's 
 authority, or more savage than the two who had previously had 
 the culprit in their keeping. He was torn away from between 
 
nVKRlCiNE NELL." 29 
 
 them in a moment; and, whatever their feelings in his favor, 
 they liad no longer the power to indulge them. As for the vic- 
 tim, he seemed to entertain no hopes from his new custodians. 
 "Was he callous ? 
 
 They bore him onward, beneath the fatal timber, without re- 
 sistance. The rope was adjusted to his throat in the smallest 
 possible space of time, showing the parties to be well practised 
 in their business, and quite in earnest ; and, as the torches waved 
 above the prisoner, tlic flame showed him ready for the doom , 
 and conspicuous in the sight of all parties. 
 
 Some faces were turned away ; the rest were grouped around, 
 Bilent, if not sympathizing. The prisoner was erect. He too 
 was silent. Had he any hopes ? He offered no prayers, to 
 either God or man — none that were audible, at all events ! 
 
 " Well !" cried the captain, " has he any confession to make 1 
 L(?t him out with it !" 
 
 " He won't speak," was the answer. 
 
 " Tlieu up with him, and let him die dumb, like the dog that 
 he is!" 
 
 It is, perhaps, not at all surprising, the degree of callosity 
 which the mind acquires from familiarity with brutality and 
 scenes of strife. It is, perhaps, as little to sui-prise, that men 
 yield themselves to death, under the same sort of training, with 
 the stolidity of the brute, if not with the resolute defiance of 
 the hero ! The two fellows to whom the execution of the cul- 
 prit was intrusted, proceeded to their office as coolly as if the 
 victim were a mad dog only ; and he, calmly staring them in 
 the face, witlioiit word or plea, appeared as perfectly resigned 
 to the doom that threatened him. 
 
 The cord was thrown over the beam, and the stalwart arms 
 of the two drew it down, hand over hand, while the victim went 
 •.:p in air. 
 
 " It's up with him, is it V cried the captain. 
 
 'He kicks free," was the answer of Murdoch. 
 
 "Then keep him up till he stops, kicking. He'll find, when 
 all's over, that he's kicked once too often for his own salvation 
 Let him kick there till he rots !" 
 
 Seai'cely had he spoken the words, when there was a shrill 
 scream from below — a human cry — then a rustliiie: sound and 
 
30 EUTAW. 
 
 movement; and, in a moment after, a slight form, the ont^H; 
 of which, seen in the waving light of the torches, appeared to 
 be that of a woman, rushed up to a level with the group, ascend- 
 ing the building from the side 'against which, as we remember, 
 rested the two great logs of ranging-tunber left unsawn. The 
 movement was like that of light — a flight — a flash — and the 
 unannounced being, darting forward to where tho culprit swung, 
 a foot or more above the general level, with a single stroke, 
 which nobody had time to prevent, she cut the victim down, 
 smiting the rope which suspended him with a long, keen, glit- 
 tering knife ; and, in the next instant, flashing the blade full in 
 the faces of the two executioners, whose hands still kept hold 
 upon the divided cord. They yielded incontinently before her, 
 in panic, so sudden and unexpected was the movement — so 
 fierce the threatening gesture. 
 
 "Harricane Nell, by the powers!" was the involuntary ex- 
 clamation from half-a-dozen round. 
 
 "Yes!" was the cry in answer; "it's Harricane Nell, you 
 bloody, bitter villains, that's come here to look upon the dis- 
 grace of man! Where's he? v/here's that black-hearted, blood- 
 thirsty villain ? where's Lem Watkins 1 Lot me see him, that 
 I may spit upon him, and defy him to his teeth !" 
 
 And she turned to where the principal ruffian stood, hardly 
 yet recovered from his amazement, and certainly not yet deter- 
 mined what to do, in this novel condition of afiairs. 
 
 Meanwhile, the culprit, who had been too promptly relieved 
 to have suffered materially from his momentary strangulation, 
 sunk down upon the mde flooring, where, for an instant, he lay 
 crouching, and recovering his senses and his strength. These 
 returned to him sufficiently soon ; for, taking advantage of tho 
 surprise which had been occasioned by the unexpected entrance 
 of the stranger, he crawled a single pace, to where the planks 
 opened, and, in the darkness and confusion of the scene, quietly 
 dropped through into the space below — an achievement which 
 did not seem to entail any special hurt upon his person. 
 
 But his descent was heard, and it served to recall the refugee 
 captain to his senses. 
 
 " Ha ! you have let the scamp-escape I" 
 
 " Ay !" cried the woman, swiftly crossing tho space to the 
 
"HAERICANB NELL." 31 
 
 spot A\^here "Watkins stood — flitting over the scattering planks 
 as if she did not heed their support, and confronting him — 
 ' ay, and you may help yourself as you can ! Send out your 
 scouts, and see what chance they will have in these swamps, in 
 the darkness, against one born under their cover. A cracked 
 crown, each of them, more likely than a captive !" 
 
 " Woman ! what do you here V 
 
 " To save the brother whom you would have butchered, to 
 re'"enge the scorn of the sister." 
 
 "It is false, wench !" 
 
 "Wench! — Dog! — False! True as any star in heaven! 
 And there is not one of these here but believes it !" 
 
 " Ilaving robbed us, you come back to insult us, do you]" 
 
 " llobbed ! Yes ! you have talked much of our robberies ! 
 But let the troop search the luggage of their captain, and they 
 will find proof of robberies far beyond anything which has ever 
 been charged to us." 
 
 " Mad woman, you lie !" was the furious roar of the refu- 
 gee captain. 
 
 " Do I lie I"' exclaimed the woman. " Then prove it ! 
 Throw your luggage open to search; nay, only show the fine 
 things that your villany offered to me when you would have 
 bought me to dishonor ; and to this boy, and to my sister's 
 husband, when you would have had them sell me to dis- 
 honor. But, what care I, whether you spoil these dastardly 
 wretches of their gains or not. Rob' them as you please, they 
 deserve it. Kick them as you will, you can not degrade them 
 below their present stature. But me and mine, Lem Watkins, 
 you shall neither rob nor kick while I can help it or prevent. 
 You call me mad, do you 1 Well, I am mad for you ; and my 
 madness shall carry knife and dagger for you, felon, whenever 
 you dare to cross my path or threaten. I am done with you, I 
 hvipe for ever. It will be wise for you to have done with me 
 and mine. They are out of your clutches now, and that is all 
 for which I care. As for the miserable toy for which you would 
 have taken n-y brother's life, here it is. It is aU that ever came 
 to me out of your accursed treachery. Take it, wretch, with 
 all its blood upon it, and may the curse which follows blood 
 ■ling: '*'Jth it io yoiu- sciul for ever." 
 
Thus speaking, she pulled a gold wa.c'i with a sparkling 
 chain from her bosom, and hurled it fall at the face of the refd- 
 gee captain. 
 
 He caught it ere it struck, or fell. 
 
 " You have done with us, Harricane NelU but most excellent 
 wench, we have not done with you. You have rescued the 
 criminal ; you shall be a hostage in his place Seize her, men, 
 and we shall recover all our stolen treasures !" 
 
 "Let me see the man who dares!" cried the bold gir!, 
 striding back a pace, so that her person stood out bravely in 
 the evening light, on the very verge of the mill, and where it 
 was totally unbounded. With a spring she could bury herself, 
 as her brother had done, in the thick darkness wl)ich shrouded 
 all the mill-pond below, overgrown with weeds, dark with shrub 
 and tree, a region in which, by night, search was idle, and pur- 
 suit almost physically impossible. 
 
 " Come on who will ! I am ready ! I can smite, too, as you 
 know, when it is a ruffian's throat that implores my knife. One 
 spring, and I'^an escape and laugh at you. But I do not mean 
 to spring. I would have your brave captain do the work him- 
 self which he calls upon you to execute. I am ready for him, 
 though he carries sword and pistol. Know, Lem Watkins, that 
 we laugh at you, as we loathe you. You are, in fact, in our 
 power. In your fury, you forgot your precautions. Where 
 are the rifles and pistols of your party 1" 
 
 "Hell!" cried one and then another. "They are in the 
 cabin." 
 
 "Ha! fools!" cried the captain, "you did not leave your 
 weapons behind youl" 
 
 " Well, we didn't see as there would have been any use for 
 'cm jist now," growled one of the subordinates. 
 
 "Oh! fools! fools! blockheads!" 
 
 " Yes, and none greater than their captain," cried the woman. 
 " Your rifles and pistols are in our possession, with hardly an 
 exception, save those which your captain cames. And, look to 
 each corner of this building, and you will see an armed man 
 armed to the teeth, with gun and pistol, and with the bead 
 ready drawn upon every enemy present; upon yor first. Lin-, 
 W.ntkins, if j'on dare to budge a peg; upon yon next Black 
 
"HAREICANE NELL." 83 
 
 Murdoch ; upon you, viperous Sam Betts, as viperous as your 
 captain is murderous, and as cowardly as you are viperous ! 
 We are ready to make our cross upon every one of you whom 
 we know to be malignant as wicked. Look about you, and see 
 that I speak the truth. See if you recognise, as of your party, 
 the dark figures that stand ready to do my bidding, at every 
 corner of this house !" 
 
 2* 
 
34 EUTAW . 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 chiar' oscur'. 
 
 li\voi,J\TARiuY, every eye ttirned, as bidden, and beheld, 
 even as lae strange passionate woman bad said, the shadowy 
 outlines of the dark hostile figures by which they were surround- 
 ed ; armed every man ; and, though few in number, but five or 
 six in all, yet, under the circumstances, ready and able to put 
 in execution the commands of the speaker. Lem Watkins fairly 
 howled in his rage and fury ; gnashed his teeth ; and, being 
 really brave enough for any struggle, would incontinently have 
 brought the pistol, which was already in his gripe, to bear 
 upon the nearest of the strangers, but that Murdoch caught his 
 hands, and, in low tones said to him : — 
 
 " What's the use, captain 1 We should ali be murdered. 
 They have the track of us now : we've only got to make terms, 
 and get off as easy as we can." 
 
 " And with twenty men give up to half a dozen V yelled the 
 captain aloud. 
 
 "Ay !" was the shrill answer of Harricanc Nell, " a.id thank 
 your stars that we are not suc^ mtrderous wretches as yourself, 
 or we'd have shot you down ia your tracks, man by man, and 
 you couldn't have raised a finger. But wo do not want your 
 blood on our hands. Enough that you have hone of ours on 
 your souls. Pursue your course in safety, but beware bow you 
 cross ours. We shall see that you get your weapons before 
 morning. But the nigtt must be ours. Do not attempt to pur- 
 sue us, or look to do it at your peril. We are not so many, but 
 we are sworn against you ; and you are not so sure of yonr own 
 people, to attempt anything against mine. Remain here till 
 
CHIAB' OSC0R'. 35 
 
 you hear our bugle three times. If you attempt to move, it will 
 bo the worse for you. I won't answer for the life of one of you 
 that passes, before that signal, from the spot where he now 
 ctands." 
 
 With these words, without waiting for any answer, she leaped 
 out from the spot where she stood, as it were into the great 
 black void behind her, and, catching the branch of a China tree 
 that rose from the bank behind her, she descended by it to the 
 earth, as safely and as nimbly as the native squirrel of the 
 swamps. In the next moment, her partisans, one by one, si- 
 lently disappeared, slipping down the columns of the rude fabric 
 where the scene had taken place, and by which some of them 
 had ascended, or by the great logs of ranging timber, which had 
 furnished as easy a mode of ascent, as had been afforded the 
 party of the outlaw, by the piled-up masses of refuse plank. 
 
 When they were gone from sight, Watkins and his men gave 
 free expression to their rage and mortification, the first, in 
 openly expressed fury ; the rest in sullen growls and mntterings, 
 and undertoncd disputes among themselves. 
 
 "Pretty soldiers have you shown yourselves," cried the cap- 
 tain — "to leave sword and pistol and rifle behind you, to be 
 seized upon by a handful of traitors, and suffer yourselves to be 
 caged here, and bullied by a mad woman." 
 
 " Harricano Nell is not so mad as people think her," quoth 
 one of the party, " and I'm mighty sorry that anything's driv' 
 her off from us." 
 
 "And do you mean that I drove her away?" demanded 
 Watkins. " Who is it that dares say I drove her off ! Is there 
 one among you that believes her silly story that I did or said 
 anything to drive her off? If. there is, let him say it out bold- 
 ly, and let me see him while he talks." 
 
 And he was about to stride off in the direction of the grum- 
 bler, when the timely interposition of Murdoch arrested him. 
 
 " Take car<j, captain, or you may get a shot, as she promised 
 you, if you move too soon. We haven't heard the bugle-signal 
 yet." 
 
 " No, and I reckon we shall hardly hear it for an hour yet 
 They'll want time to carry off all our we'pons and plunaer,' 
 was the growling speech of another of the gang. 
 
36 EUTAW. 
 
 " Dou't you believe it. Mad or not, and fierce as the devil 
 when you rouse her, Harricane Nell never lies ! I don't think 
 she'll suffer 'em to carry off anything. She says the we'pons 
 will be all put back, and I think it likely that she'll make 
 Rhodes restore all that he can of the treasury. You've got the 
 watch, captain, you see, and her spirit won't suffer her to keep 
 anything that she can't make her own title to." 
 
 " D — ^n her !" was the ungallant response of Watkins, his soul 
 sickening beneath its insults — her open exposure of his villany 
 — her scornful rejection of his tenders — and, as we have reason 
 to believe, her blow upon his mouth, when his suggestions bo- 
 came insolent. 
 
 " D — n her ! I only wish I had her tied up to a tree, and 
 with a good slip of hickory in my grasp." 
 
 " Why, cappin, you wouldn't lick a woman." 
 
 " Why not ! This creature," — he used a more offensive epi- 
 thet — "is no woman but a she- tiger ! It was as much as I 
 could do to keep from putting a bullet through her skull." 
 
 " And she seemed mighty nigh, cappin, to giving you a tasto 
 of her knife." 
 
 A laugh followed among the group whence this latter speech 
 issued, which Watkins did not relish. He felt that the insub- 
 ordination was growing among his rufnans. The scene, which 
 had jnst taken place, was certainly somewhat calculated to les- 
 sen the reverence for his authority. 
 
 "No more of this, man," he cried hoarsely. "As for the 
 traitors, we shall have it out of them yet. They can not escape 
 us. Let us once get otir weapons, and " 
 
 " Tsh ! captain," whispered Murdoch. " Don't say what 
 you'll do, till you feel yourself on solid ground again ! Wdt 
 till you feel the rifle in your hand. No halloo till we're out 
 of the woods. I reckon they've got their spie"s listening to us 
 now. Rhodes is a born scout ; Mat Floyd is first rate for spy- 
 ing. If they hear what we mean to do hereafter, they may 
 Vtiange their minds and never give us a chance. We're in a 
 fix, now, and its good sense, and right soldiership, to be patient 
 till we can undo the hitch, and get on free legs again." 
 
 "You're right, Murdoch — right!" answered the captain. 
 " So, fellows, all keep silence ; not a word in the rtanks ! As 
 
CHIAR' OSCUR'. 37 
 
 we've got to wait upon a ■woman, it's only wisdom to take it 
 patiently." 
 
 And the men squatted down on tlie places where they stood ; 
 some stretched themselves ofif at length, as if for sleep ; Wat- 
 kins, himself, condescended to take a seat upon the planks 
 leaning hack against one of the uprights of the fabric ; while 
 Murdoch peered out, with all his eyes, through the openings of 
 the floor, as if to see whether there were any watchers below. 
 Meanwhile, the torches gave out, and the party was left in utter 
 darkness. They did not dare to look for new brands. 
 
 Darkness and silence for a goodly hour ! Meanwhile, the 
 great horned owl which had possessed himself of the deserted 
 fabric, assured of its abandonment, flew back to his perch, and 
 resumed his doleful chant above their heads; a disquieting 
 burden that seemed to every watcher, oppressed naturally still 
 with misgivings of the enemy, to be an ominous assurance of 
 future evils ! And, in all probability, the mysterious bird did 
 not absolutely hoot vainly, to their fancies, of their fates ! Who 
 shall say what the future shall bring forth, of evil, to the life 
 which is itself evil ? Who shall say that those wild, monmfu/, 
 mystic voices, which, in so many situations, do sound an omen to 
 cur consciovis souls, were not designed for this very purpose ? to 
 inspire terror — to induce a reasonable fear — to compel tho 
 soul to assert itself above the passions ; and, failing in this, to 
 indicate the danger that hovers in the air, in the night, in calm 
 and storm, invisible, but not less armed and present, with all the 
 avenging powers of the Fates that we despise 1 
 
 For a goodly hour — incessant, in the ears of those criminal 
 and sleepless watchers, did the obscene bird chant his gloomy 
 warnings ; they, themselves held voiceless all the while ! At 
 length the sudden and cheering signals of the bugle sounded 
 from the edge of the swamp above — faintly, but sufficiently to 
 reach every ear of the party. 
 
 Then, with a breathless sense of relief, each leaped to his 
 
 feet. 
 
 " Torches ! lights !" cried Watkins. " Ho, one of you near- 
 est to the plank, get down and bring us a light, so that we may 
 not break our necks in this place of pitfalls." 
 
 And the refugee chief impatiently waited, cursing all the 
 
68 EUTAW. 
 
 while, till Fritz and Brodrich, brought lightwood torches from 
 the cabin. 
 
 "All's right!" they cried, as they ascended the platform, 
 waving their lights before them. " The rifles and pistols, aad 
 swords, and knives, are all put back, though its cl'ar they bar. 
 'em all off for awhile. They're all bundled up together in the 
 corner." 
 
 " D — n 'em !" cried the ungrateful captain — " they shall pay 
 for their frolic yet." 
 
 And the party slowly, though with no little eagerness of 
 mood, found their way back to the hovel. Then followed a 
 hasty inspection of their rifles and pistols. 
 
 "Every flint gone !" ciied Fritz. 
 
 " Ha ! they thought to make themselves safe by knocking 
 them out, did theyl Fortunately, I have a pound of them 
 somewhere, in one of my wallets. Well, boys, you can't com- 
 plain hereafter, of anything that I may wish to do to this im- 
 pudent pack of traitors." 
 
 Thus the captain. All parties agreed, nem. con., that the 
 worst was too good for such ungrateful wretches. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say so," quoth Watkius ; " for I v/p.h 
 afraid some of you were getting quite too mealy-mouthed, and 
 milky-souled for your business, and for me ; and I confess, fel- 
 lows, there was one or two among you, that I began to bo a 
 leetle suspicious, was somewhat inclining to the same practice 
 with these traitors ! I was getting ready, at the first show of 
 skulking or sloping, to throw away an ounce bullet on an 
 empty skull. But I see you're right. I'm glad of it, for it 
 makes the work easy to-morrow. You all see what's to bo 
 done, I reckon." 
 
 It so happened that all did not see, and the amiable captain 
 was compelled to explain. 
 
 " Why, we're to take the woods after these rebels and traitors 
 — bring 'em up to the bullring, when we've got broad daylight 
 for it, and no danger of surprise, and see if we can't get back 
 our stolen goods at least ; we've worked quite too hard after 
 them, and risked too much life, to have 'em whipt off from ua 
 by those we trusted !" 
 
CHIAR' OSCDR'. . 39 
 
 " Well, I reckon, the goods are all here" interposed old Snell, 
 ■' in this sack, that stands here in the corner." 
 
 " And how did you know all about it ?" demanded the captain 
 sharply. 
 
 " Why, I see the sack in the corner, and 'twa'n't here before, 
 and then Harricane Nell said she'd have all the plunder brought 
 back." 
 
 " Hand it up, fellows, and let's see what's in it. As for you, 
 Snell, you seem to be quite too knowing in this business. I am 
 doubtful of you, old fellow ; do you hear ? I'm doubtfal that 
 yon would like to play us just such a trick as Nat Rhodes ; so 
 be on your P's and Q's, for as sure as thunder, if I catch you 
 at any fox-tricks, I shall have your skin off, and your scalp too, 
 and so fix it that no surprise shall get ycm out of the scrape 
 until it's too late for you to do any grinning on your own ac- 
 count." 
 
 " I don't see why you should suspicion me, cappin : I've al- 
 ways done my duty. I'm an honest man to my duty." 
 
 " Yes, and perhaps something more than your duty. But no 
 words. You're a little too quick to answer. I'm suspicious to- 
 night of all quick-speaking people. Up with the sack on the 
 bench, here. The d d table hasn't a leg left." 
 
 The sack was raised. The treasures were carefully' lifted out 
 — a curious and various spoil, and one of comparative value, 
 The eyes of the ruffians gloated over the recovered treasure. 
 
 " That mad wench, Harricane Nell, has some good in her," 
 quoth Murdoch. " She has made the rest bring it back. We'd 
 never hav' seen a stiver of it, if 'twa'n't for Lor." 
 
 " No thanks to her, d — n her ! I'll have it out of her hHe 
 to-morrow, if I can catch her." 
 
 Such was the unamiable resolution of the ungrateful W tkins. 
 Murdoch evidently thought him imprudent also, which, among 
 rogues and politicians, is a much worse offence than lying or 
 stealing. 
 
 " You talk too loud, captain, if you mean what you say. It's 
 no use giving the game any unnecessary warning. We don't 
 know what coon may be squat under the eaves. Turn out one 
 of you — you Shivily — and snake about the premises. Look 
 sharp, for yv^'ve got to deal with u. whole family of sharpn." 
 
40 EUTAW. 
 
 " Ay, and by tliuncler they've found us nothing but fiaU to- 
 night ! But what's to be done with this stuff, fellows ? Shall 
 we divide again to-night, or wait a more quiet time ?" 
 
 " A bird in the hand, cappin," said Fritz, and his sentiment 
 found sundry echoes. " Better share off to-night." 
 
 " Very good," growled the captain ; " I'm sure I don't want 
 any more risk and trouble in keeping your money and valua- 
 bles. Come up, all of you, and see that it's fair play and fair 
 share. As for Shivily, you Murdoch, can answer for him." 
 
 We need not report or watch the dull detail of distribution, 
 or note what each man receives of the ill-gotten treasure. 
 Enough that, at the close of another half-hour, all parties were, 
 or professed themselves to be, satisfied. 
 
 " And now, fellows, that we've jobbed that job, let's arrange 
 for to-morrow. You understand that we're to take the woods 
 after the party of Rhodes, the traitor, and this mad woman, 
 Harricane Nell." 
 
 " But, cappin," said Fritz, " I dont see why ; they've gin up 
 everything." 
 
 " No, d — n 'em !" was the fierce response of the refugee chief, 
 " they've got more. They've got their lives, do you hear — 
 their lives ! They've got off — safely — after their treason and 
 •rsbellion; their defiance, their mutiny; and after that bloody 
 rascal has planted both his feet in my face ! He, at least, shall 
 sweat. for it — shall sweat in blood! I've sworn to that, so, 
 look you there's no argument. There's but one. It's between 
 him and me ! His blood or mine." 
 
 A long consultation followed, as to the processes by which 
 Captain Watkins was to carry out his plans, and pacify his 
 passions. His followers were not altogether influenced by his 
 moods, even those who were apt to be most ready at his will. 
 Tlie fellow Murdoch, who was quite as shrewd and bold as ho 
 was selfish; Fritz, who was cool and calculating; and some few 
 others — were all disposed to argue the case, in spite of the 
 decrees which had gone forth forbidding argument ; but "Wat- 
 kins was found so mulish, as well as savage — so obstinate as 
 well as sanguinary, that, finally, all parties seemed to arrive at 
 the conclusion that, the only course which a further discussion 
 of the cubject would leave to them, would be the alternative 
 
CHIAR' OSCUR'. 41 
 
 which he himself had indicated, namely-, a choice between him- 
 self and the late culprit, Matthew Floyd ! For this none of 
 them was quite prepared ; or, rather, they were not prepared, 
 as yet, to break out in open defiance of their leader. The re- 
 sult was that the captain had his way, and it was resolved, that, 
 next day, they were to hunt up and punish the fugitives, to 
 whose forbearance they owed so much to-night. 
 
 Meanwhile, the objects of their hostility were safely shroud«d 
 (temporarily, at least) in the swamp-thickets a mile or two be- 
 low. Let us gather, with them, around their little camp-fire, 
 and make the acquaintance of those whom we have only seen 
 in shadow. 
 
 Thus far we have seen them, by contrast, in rather favorable 
 aspects. The nearer view will not help the portraiture. They 
 were mostly ruflSans, like the rest ; quarrelling with the majori- 
 ty only because of passion, or a degree of cupidity in themselves 
 which had been denied the desired exercise. Jeff Rhodes the 
 miller, an old man of sixty, Avas simply a rude, coarse offender 
 — without much sense, and with even less sensibility. His son, 
 Nat Rhodes,, was only a younger likeness of the father. Mat 
 Floyd we have seen already, and the evidence we are possessed 
 of in respect to him will probably suffice. Of three others, whom 
 we shall be content simply to name — Clera Wilson, Barney 
 Gibbes, and John Friday — we have no otlier report to make. 
 They do not differ materially, in moral or aspect, from their 
 associates. Something more of the women. 
 
 These were two sisters. Mary or Moll Rhodes, wife of Nat, 
 was an ordinary slattern ; cold and coarse, young but nnattrac- 
 tive. Her sister, Nelly or Ellen Floyd, otherwise " Harricane 
 Nell," was a creature of different stuff — quite an anomaly, in 
 fact. We have seen her under wild conditions — conducting 
 herself with the spirit of a man ; showing a masculine intre- 
 pidity and energy which shamed all the men about her ; quick 
 to tlie occasion ; prompt in the emergency ; equal to the dan- 
 ger ; superior to the event ! 
 
 Now, as we see her, under the full blaze of the rousing 
 camp-fire around which the party was grouped, and in a state 
 of comparative repose, it may be well, as it is now easy, to de- 
 scribe her personal appearance. 
 
42 EDTAW. 
 
 She was tall, but slight of form, with features which betrayed 
 some family likeness to those of the brother whom we have 
 seen in peril of his life ; dark of skin, with glossy black hair, 
 which was allowed to hang down upon her shoulders, without 
 tie or restraint, a foot perhaps, and was then squarely cut away, 
 presenting a not dissimilar appearance to that of an Indian girl 
 of thirteen. Her eye was of a piercing black, like that of her 
 brother, but, unlike his, was singularly prominent and large, 
 round and dewy, and dilating in its flashing light. Her cheeks 
 were neither thia nor full ; the mouth was small ; the nose Gre- 
 cian, and rather large than small ; the chin finely rounded ; and 
 the forehead, as we see it now, freed of cap or covering, large 
 and high, but somewhat narrow. The whole face was finely 
 oval, and of a rich olive color, warmly tinted by the southern 
 sun. It was not one which you would call handsome — cer- 
 tainly it was not pretty ; but it was a distinguished portrait, 
 worthy of Murillo, and such as he w^ould have gone out of his 
 way to paint. Nothing could be more expressive, more intelli- 
 gent — nay, at times, startling — in the flash of its glance, in the 
 glowing vivacity and spirit, in every feature, all consentaneously 
 working to produce a singleness of effect, under the goads of an 
 impulsive and bounding blood, which was for ever restless, and 
 impatient of restraint. 
 
 Her costume was far less feminine than picturesque. It was 
 a nondescript — mannish rather. A boy's hat of felt, wrapped 
 about with a red handkerchief, was her usual head-dress, and 
 its aspect, in connection with the long, black hair, that, fell down 
 upon her shoulders, was not a little curious ; but a few moments 
 fully reconciled you to it, by its evident propriety, judging by 
 the excellence of its effect. Was she aware of this ? Perhaps ! 
 — she was a woman, spite of all ! 
 
 Her frock — she certainly wore a frock — was short enough 
 to serve the wants and satisfy the tastes of a favorite sultana ; 
 but the material was of the common blue homespun of the coun- 
 try. Under this she wore loose trowsers, and her feet were 
 clad in moccasins. A man's jacket, fastened tightly about her 
 body, with close-set rows of jet buttons, completed her costume. 
 The stuff of which the jacket was made was of homespun, like 
 
CHIAR' OSCUR*. 43 
 
 the pantaloons, but dyed, with wild roots of the conntry, of a 
 bright orange color. 
 
 Such is Nelly Floyd — " Harricane Nell" — to the eye, as 
 she half sits, half reclines, against a tree, a few paces from the 
 fire of the camp. Her sister is preparing supper — a homely 
 and rather surly drudge. The rest of the group are busied, 
 each, in some fashion : one cleans his rifle ; another sharpens 
 his knife ; a third attends the horses, some twenty paces dis- 
 tant ; and all pursue their toils in silence. Mat Floyd, so nearly 
 the victim to the hostility of the refugee captain, is not present ; 
 and the party, obeying the signal of Mrs. Rhodes, gather about 
 the supper, which is laid out upon the grass ^— an ample sup- 
 ply of bacon and corn-bread, not forgetting the inevitable 
 coffee. 
 
 Of the men, as they came up to the circle, we need but men- 
 tion that they were §tout fellows, capable of service ; well built, 
 and looking finely in the picturesque and highly-appropriate 
 hunting-shirt of the frontiers — a garment that never should 
 have been abandoned by our rural population. But their faces 
 betray none of that superiority which indicates the present au- 
 thority ; and we see, as we look into them, how and why it is 
 that the slight girl, whom we find along with them, should have 
 taken upon herself the lead in an enterprise of great difficulty. 
 The eager impulse in her eyes — the fire that burned upon her 
 cheek — the lively play of muscle in her vivacious counte- 
 nance — are in beautiful contrast with the bald, inexpressive, 
 and slillen visages, of all around her. 
 
 It did not seem that her companions relished this natural su- 
 periority, and the authority to which it as naturally led. The 
 glances shot toward her were unfriendly. The words addressed 
 her were cold and discouraging. • 
 
 " Why do you not come up and eat, Nelly V was the query 
 of her sister. 
 
 " I wish nothing. I can not eat." 
 
 " Well, but take some coffee." 
 
 "Yes, I will drink directly — not now." 
 
 "Oh, don't bother with her!" said old Rhodes, churlishly; 
 " bhe will eat when she wants to. She will only do what pleases 
 herself, you know." 
 
44 EUTAW. 
 
 The girl shot a flash of the eye at the speaker, but took no 
 fu'.-ther notice of the speech. 
 
 "You're too proud, Nelly Floyd, for your own family," said 
 her sister, Mrs. Ehodes, junior. "It's a great misfortin' and a 
 sin when a person gits too proud for her own family. That 
 raising you got in the house of rich people, and being larned 
 above your sarcumstances, did you no good." 
 
 To her also the wild girl gave only a flashing glance of her 
 large, eager, and dilating eyes. 
 
 " I don't know where she got her edication," said old Rhodes, 
 ■' and I don't much care. I only know that it don't at all suit 
 the naedcessities of the life we have to lead here on the Edisto." 
 
 " Then leave it !" said the girl, almost fiercely. " Leave it, 
 and be a better man elsewhere. Leave it, and have clean hands 
 elsewhere, and make your soul white with peace." 
 
 " Peace ! and where are we to git peace anywhere, now-a- 
 days, in this country 1" 
 
 " Nowhere ! do, leave the country ! It's high time that you 
 should do so There are enemies that you have made, all 
 around you, who will haunt your footsteps till they wash out 
 blood with blood — the blood you have spilt with the blood that 
 iuns in your own veins ! I warn you, Jeff Rhodes, that you 
 can't stay here long. The war is coming down upon you. 
 Watkins knows it, and he's going below, and going south. You 
 will need to fly too." 
 
 " Well, and if we've got to do what "Watkins is gwine to do, 
 where was your argyment that took us jill off from Watkins ?" 
 
 " The argument was your own. It was nn argument of plun- 
 der. You got possession of the treasure of the troop; — it's ill- 
 gotten treasure; and you robbed the robbers." 
 
 " Andjright enough, too." 
 
 " You never cared to quit Watkins, till you had his golil and 
 silver." 
 
 " Ay, and where's it now 1 Why ha'n't we got it now ? Why 
 are we all, now, poor as Job's turkeys, not knowing where to 
 find a house to sleep in, or git food for to-morrow's dinner 1 It's 
 owing to you ! If you hadn't got the bag in your own keeping, 
 and, like a mad fool as you are, gi'n it back to Watkins, we'd 
 .la' had something to go upon now, go where we will. There 
 
CHIAR' OSCUB'. 45 
 
 was no right and reason to give up the plunder. Hadn't we 
 got the boy off ? Wasn't it enough to give 'em back their rifles 
 and pistols'? Where was the use, I. want to know, of your 
 toting back the bag of gould, and silver, and paper, the silver 
 cups, and the gould watches ? It was jest so much waste. H — 1 
 and blisters ! ef it had been only in my hands, or ef I could ha' 
 got it out of your'n, they'd never ha' fingered the first shilling 
 of the treasure. Why the h — 1, Nat, did you trust the bag to 
 sich a crazy critter ?" 
 
 " I did it for the best,'' answered the son sullenly. " I was 
 hard pushed, and she offerea to take care of it, and said she 
 could hide it away where none could find it." 
 
 " And did I not ?" responded the girl, with something of tri- 
 umph in her tones. " You tried to find it, -did you not ? You 
 failed ! and well for you that you did. Your blind avarice 
 would have kept it. You would have risked nothing to save 
 my brother's life." 
 
 " Didn't we offer to make a dash upon 'em, when they was 
 bringing him into the swamp, after night ? and couldn't we have 
 done it, when tbey was stumbling along the causeway ?" 
 
 " You might, with a chance of having every one of you butch- 
 ered ! — with a chance, at least, of some of you being slain, and 
 of my brother falling first. For, had you attacked them, what 
 would he have done, with both arms tied behind him, and Black 
 Murdoch with his pistol at his ear ? No ! we could only save 
 him as we did, without peril to any one of you — except my- 
 self!" 
 
 "Well, supposing we. agree to that, what was the use, then, 
 of giving up the bag 1 We had 'em at our marcy ! We had 
 all their we'pons ! We made jest what tarms we pleased with 
 'em, and they was all too glad to git off with their we'pons and 
 their lives. We needn't ha' gi'n 'em a copper of the treasure." 
 
 " Better so, than have the weight of blood upon your souls ! 
 But, had we not given up this treasure, do you think that Wat- ' 
 kins would have suffered you to make away with it 1 Would 
 he not follow your steps, day by day ? Avould lie not haunt you 
 and harass you out of your lives, from swamp to swamp, and 
 from thicket to thicket ? would you ever be permitted to sleep 
 in peace, so long as he knows that there is gold or silver iu yc'? 
 
46 EUTAW. 
 
 keeping 1 No ! It matters not to him from whom he drags the 
 treasure, so that he has it ; and while he knows that j/ou have 
 it, will he not haunt you for it ? And the very fact that you 
 had violated your trust, and robbed him of his gains, however 
 ill-gotten, would have justified him in pursuit, and kept you for 
 ever in a consciousness of wrong-doing, which would have kept 
 you always in a state of fear ! Better as it is, old man ! Bet- 
 ter clean hands, and a white soul, though we hunger by day, 
 and sleep shelterless by night. I can sleep shelterless ; I need 
 no house, though it is thought that, because I was reared in a 
 noble one, I have been spoiled for other uses. I can do with- 
 out supper, ay, and without growling over my starvation. I 
 can endure hunger, poverty, exposure, if I feel that my hands 
 are clean. My lieai-t is light under the naked sky." 
 
 "Ay, 'twouldn't be amiss having alight heart, ef the head 
 wasn't so cussed light too. It's your head, Nell, that plays the 
 d — 1 with us. 'Twas your light head, a'ter all, that made us 
 dissatisfied with Watkins, and want to quit the sarvice. 'Twas 
 a good sarvice, and it paid pretty well, though it gin us hard 
 work sometimes. And I don't see why you should have flashed 
 up in the face of Watkins, jest because he was fond and scrump- 
 tious to you. You might go farther, I reckon, and fare worse, 
 than ef you had taken to him kindly." 
 
 " Hajk you, old man ! it is not for such as you to speak of 
 my head or my heart," answered the girl, rising as she spoke, 
 and stretching her hand over the group, with the air of a far 
 superior being. " You know nothing of either. You neither 
 know the thoughts in the one nor the feelings in the other. My 
 head is light, do you say i And yours, I say, is heavy — heavy 
 as the solid lead or rock! As for my heart — man! man! it 
 has stood between you and damnation more than once. It has 
 striven, a thousand times, to save you from eternal fires. You, 
 to dare to speak of my heart — you, to me — when these eyes 
 have seen you shoot down an angel ; ay, in ambush, behind a 
 thicket, you have shot down the unsuspecting angel, as he went 
 upon his way. I saw him fall ! I saw you as you rifled his 
 person. And, even while you were engaged in the pitiless rob- 
 bery, I saw the angel rising from the corpse, and hanging over 
 you iu the air, without wings, but supported in space, and going 
 
CHIAR' OSCUR'. 47 
 
 upward ylowly; and, as he Avent, lie looked down wpou you 
 with pity, though I could see that his hands were lifted up to 
 Leaven, as if pleading for eternal judgment ! And you to talk 
 of my heart, when I know that black crime, and how many oth- 
 ers that I do not know, to he hanging like a millstone about 
 yours ! Ay, old man, even now I see your heart before me. 
 The breast is naked. I see into your soul, and 1 see it covered 
 with grimy spots of corruption, black and rotting, where your 
 evil deeds have each made a print of hell !" 
 
 It was through such speeches as this that Harricane Nell had 
 incuiTed the imputation of insanity. "Was she insane ? Was it 
 madness that spoke, or had she the fearful gift of supernatural 
 vision that she claimed ? 
 
 "Mad — mad as thunder!" cried the old man. " Was ever 
 sich nonsense ? To think of my shooting an angel ! 'Tis the 
 affair of young Ancrum that she's thinking of. But only to be- 
 lieve that she seed his sperrit, rising up from the body, jest 
 when I was a-stripping him !" 
 
 " I saw it ! I saw it ! There is not a star shining down upon 
 us now, but can assure you that I saw it." 
 
 " Mighty good witnesses of sich a matter, ef they could only 
 come into court and make affidavy of it. What a mad fool she 
 is — madder than ever ! Ha! ha! ha! — shoot an angel ! Ha! 
 ha ! ha ! Shoot an angel — only think !" 
 
 The laugh was not a sincere and honest laugh. There was 
 something quite suspicious in the tones. They were husky and 
 laborious. The old man was sensibly affected by the strange, 
 startling, and solemnly-uttered communication. He had just 
 enough knowledge of religion to believe that there is a soul , 
 and, though his practice betrayed usually but small concern 
 after the conditions of the future, yet souls ascending and d:- 
 gcending were (however vague) the articles in his secret faitii. 
 He found the effort vain to encounter the intense spiritual gaze 
 of that great, prominent, round, dark eye, that looked on him. 
 while he yelled out his labored laughter, with a glance of fas- 
 cination. She turned away a moment after. 
 
 " Don't laugh, father !" cried the sister reproachfully. " Nel- 
 ly's not to be laughed at. She's got a power of seeing sperrits, 
 She li.ns ! Now, don't lanph ! It's vri-y fearful to think of; 
 
48 EDTAW. 
 
 but she bas it ! She's told me of other things before, and I'm 
 sure she seed 'em. Nelly never lies !" 
 
 The girl had sprung off several paces into the shadows, but 
 she returned as quickly. 
 
 " Be warned," she said, " and leave this place by peep of day 
 if you can. Mat will be in soon. He's done all that couid ht, 
 done. He sounded the bugle a mile above, in the upper swamp ; 
 and if Watkins hunts after you, he will probably strike upward. 
 Better yon> go below. Keep down the Oawcaw, till you strike 
 the Edisto, then cross ; get on to South Edisto, and cross that 
 too ; and you can find close harbor for the present in the Salke- 
 watchie swamp. That's your safest place. You're not safe 
 here. You're not safe from Watkins. You're not safe from the 
 dragoons of either party. Both of them know too much of you 
 by this time. Go, if you are wise ! It is the last counsel that 
 you will probably ever get from my light head and heavy heart. 
 Go!" 
 
 She turned instantly away, not waiting for any answer. Her 
 sister called after her, but in vain. 
 
 " She's gone ! she kaint bear hard speaking," said the sister. 
 "Your hard speaking's driv her off." 
 
 And the woman, who had shown no sort of sensibility before, 
 now began to whine pitifully. 
 
 " Shet up," said the husband, " and don't make a fool of your- 
 self!" 
 
 '' Let her go, and a good riddance !" was the speech of the 
 old miller. " She was for ruling everything while she stayed, 
 and meddling in every man's business. The misfortin' is, she 
 won't be gone long. She'll be back agin, there's no telling how 
 eoou. I reckon she'll jest canter over to old Mother Ford's ; 
 and the two between 'em will be talking of ghosts, and sperrits, 
 and witches, the whole livelong night. Shoot an angel, indeed I 
 Only to think of that! "Well, Molly, though she's your own 
 dear sister, I must jest say she's as mad as any critter that was 
 ever commissioned for a lunatic." 
 
 In these words, the old ruffian only declared his real senti- 
 ments. He was perfectly satisfied to get rid of the wild girl 
 whom nobody could well comprehend. Rude and savage as he 
 was, she was a restraint up'on him. She kept him and most of 
 
CHIAU- OSCUB'. 4'l 
 
 the party in awe. He was afraid of her on many accounts — 
 not only as a superior, who still, somehow, contrived to control 
 himself and all the party, but because she knew too much, and 
 might some day work him evil. He did not much fear being 
 brought to account for shooting an angel, but he had some mis- 
 givings lest society should think that there was a degree of 
 criminality in shooting a man ; and he felt that it would be 
 quite as distressing to him to suffer on the gallows even for so 
 innocent a mistake. He felt relieved, therefore, in the absence 
 of so truth-telling a witness. 
 
 Meanwhile, Nelly Floyd, alias Harricane Noll, was speeding 
 on horseback — riding a-straddle like a man across the coun- 
 try, and iii the direction of the Edisto. 
 
 3 
 
fiO EOT AW. 
 
 OHAPTEE V. 
 
 ■rHK OUTLAWS FIND NEW CAPTIVES. 
 
 Hakricane Nell hadn't been gone from Our group of runft- 
 gates more than half an hour, when they were all startled by 
 the Bound of a horse approaching from above. The men were 
 on the alert, and as the horseman dashed into camp, he was chal- 
 lenged promptly and answered satisfactonly. He proved to be 
 the absent culprit, Mat Floyd, who had been commissioned to 
 give the signal to the party of Watkins from a section of the 
 Bwamp above, and to scout awhile around them, so as to ascer- 
 tain, if possible, what purposes they had in view. The vigilant 
 watch which they maintained about the cabin of the miller, 
 when they re-occupied it, prevented him from making any very 
 near approach. 
 
 " They'll be stirring by times, I reckon, in the morning, and 
 I suppose they'll be brushing up after us, above." 
 
 " And why do you suppose they'll brush after us at all," de- 
 manded old Bbodes, who had asserted the same thing himself 
 in dealing with Nelly. 
 
 " It stands to reason. We've stung 'em too badly to-night ! 
 That cussed Lem Watkins is as unforgiving as h — 1 ! But let 
 me have some supper, Jenny. I'm as hungry as -i horse." 
 
 His supper had been saved for him. 
 
 "Where's Nell?" he demanded, after he had begun to eat. 
 
 " Cleared out," was the answer of old Rhodes. 
 
 " Cleared out !" 
 
 " Yes ! She got into her tantrums, and gave us a sort of 
 harricane, and then mounted her horse and galloped off." 
 
 " You've driv' her off among you," said the brother. " She 
 
THE OUTLAWS FIND NKW CAPTIVES. 51 
 
 never gits up a Larricane onless there's provocation for it. She 
 kain't stand abuse." 
 
 " Nobody's been abusing her. She's been abusing us." 
 
 " She had a reason for it, I reckon, and you've gin it. Why 
 the d — 1 kain't you let the gal live in peace !" 
 
 " I wonder ef she'll let us. She's for finding fault with every 
 body and everything. What do you think of her telling mt 
 that she had seen me shoot an angel — shoot an angel! ha! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 " Well, ef she said so, I reckon you did. Nelly always 
 speaks the truth. But you must have provocated her to make 
 her say so." 
 
 '' Ef it's provocating her to tell her she's a fool for giving up 
 our gould to them bloody rapscallions for nothing, then I reckon 
 you may say we did provocate her." 
 
 "And you're more senseless than stick or stone for doing so ; 
 and that, too, after all she's done for me to-night ! Ef 'twa'n't 
 for her, I reckon I'd ha' been swinging from the millhouse 
 beam, and never a bit wiser for this snpper here." 
 
 " No you wouldn't ! Ef it hadn't been for her, we'd ha' ix- 
 tricated you from the inimy when you were gwine down into 
 the swamp, and saved our bag of gould and silver 'besides!" 
 
 " You !" said the young man scornfully. " I reckon you 
 might ha' tried for it, but you never would ha' done it, and 
 would only ha' got your heads split for it, every two-legged man 
 of you ! Nell's plan was the sensible one, and it sarved ! 
 Besides, we agreed on it aforehand, without letting you know 
 about it, 'kaise we knowd that you'd ha' been meddling in it, 
 and sp'iling it all with your own inventions, and bekaise you 
 wa'n't willing to give up the sack. That sack would ha' kept 
 yon from doing anything ; and I'd ha' been swinging in the 
 wind to-night, with the old owl whooping over me, as who but 
 he! Tell me nothing of what you'd ha' done. You wa'n't 
 men enough, any of you, to be doing rightly when the time 
 come to strike." 
 
 " Well, letting that go, whar was the use of giving up the 
 bag ag'in to them rapscallions ?" 
 
 " Oh ! it's that bag that's at the bottom of all your miseries, 
 nnri vnn'il rather, a mishtv deal, have saved that bag than ha 
 
62 EUTAW. 
 
 saved me. I knew it ! Even my own sister tliar, and my 
 brotber-in-law, and you, his father; you'd ha' said — 'Well, 
 we've got the sack and all the gould in it, and that's something ; 
 as for Mat Floyd, it's his chaince, poor fellow, and 'twould be as 
 much as the lives of all of us was worth, to be putting in to try 
 to ixtricate him from them chaps ; they're too many for us.' 
 And so, I should have been now in the cross-timber and the 
 rope ! That's the way you'd ha' made it easy to your con- 
 sciences ! And, bekaise the gal took the temptation away from 
 you, and show'd you how to do the thing, you've driv' her off 
 with your abuse." 
 
 ''We hain't abused her, Matty," interposed the sister, Molly, 
 ■ but she was in her high head, you sec, and talking very 
 foolish." 
 
 " Yes, and yon talked mighty brute-like back at her ! That's 
 the hoAv ! Don't I know ! Don't I see through the whole of 
 yeu ; and it's all owing to that cussed bag of plunder." 
 
 " To be sure ! And enough, too ! And why did she give up 
 the plunder a'ter you had got out of the hitch, and when there 
 was no needcessity for it." 
 
 " Nelly was right ! Twa'n't ours by rights.'" 
 
 " We had "shares in it." 
 
 " And so, bekaise you had shares in it, you was for taking 
 the whole ! But Nelly was right for another reason, and she 
 show'd me all about it aforehand. So long as we carried that 
 plunder, jest so long would we hev' Watkins, and black Mur- 
 doch, and the rest, hunting after our blood !" 
 
 ' " Psho ! besides, you've just done saying that they'll brush 
 the woods a'ter us to-morrow." 
 
 "-Maybe ; it's like enough. They'll most likely try the 
 woods above, and that'll give us a chance. So make the most 
 of it. Ef I hev' to fight to-morrow I must sleep now ; but I 
 do say, when you driv' off Nelly Floyd, you driv' off the best 
 head — light and foolish as you think it — and the blessedcst 
 creature that we ever had among us. She's only too good for 
 such as we." 
 
 " She'll come back agin, Matty," said the sister. 
 
 " I hope so, Moll ; but ef she don't, then I know another that 
 goes a'ter her. I'd sooner Jive with her, and she a-raving all 
 
THE OUTLAWS FIND NEW CAPTIVES. 53 
 
 tLe time, then with the rest of you that's always a-growling and 
 a-grumbling, do what you please for 'em." 
 
 And Mat Floyd rolled himself up for sleep with his feet to 
 the fire. 
 
 And the night passed q^uietly. The watch at our camp of 
 fugitives had not been neglected. Each had taken his turn at 
 scouting, and the day found all the men armed, and under close 
 cover, Keeping sharp espionage upon the mill-seat above. 
 
 They were not mistaken in their calculations. Lem Watkins 
 and his refugees were in motion with the dawn, and, as had 
 been anticipated, were soon beating the upper woods of the 
 swamp, in keen pursuit of the seceding party. This exercise 
 employed some hours ; it was fruitless, of course, and they 
 returned to a late breakfast at the cabin, and then proceeded to 
 a mock consultation of war, in which we do not care to par 
 ticipate. 
 
 And our fugitives watched equally, while their enemies break- 
 fasted and consulted. 
 
 The day wore on. 
 
 Suddenly tlie woman, Molly Rhodes, who had been left in 
 the background, with the horses, all deeply hidden in the shel- 
 ter of the swamp, stole upward along the stream, till she neared 
 the party who were keeping watch upon the old mill-seat. 
 
 "A party of horse," she murmured to her husband — "a 
 party of Marion's, I reckon — hev' pushed into the woods, not 
 two hundred yards from our camp. They have a carriage with 
 them, and they are consulting together. They have seen some- 
 thing. Be on the look out." 
 
 To change front; to steal backward and outward, so as to 
 have an eye upon the upper road which wound along by the 
 swamp, was an easy performance for our fugitives ; and, armed 
 to the teeth, with rifles ready, not knowing what they were 
 destined to encounter, they turned away from their watch upon 
 their old associates — some of whom they could distinctly see, 
 in and about the mill-seat and the broken causeway — and ad- 
 dressed all their watch to the progress of the new-comers, in 
 ■whos'3 cautious and stealthy movements, they clearly perceived 
 that some dashing enterprise was afoot. 
 
 This troop, as they knew by the uniform, was undoubtedly 
 
54 EUTAW. 
 
 one of Marion's. From close cover of bush, ravine, and fallen 
 tree, they beheld its progress, all the way under cover, until, 
 when within a hundred yards of the mill-seat, it burst forth with 
 bound and shout, and bugle-blast and cry, charging pell-mell 
 upon the refugees of Watkins, as they were grouped about, or 
 scattered, in no sort of order, at the entrance of the causeway 
 or upon it. Some of the refugees were on horseback ; Watkins 
 himself was midway upon the causeway, on foot, drinking above 
 the stream, his bottle in one hand, his bridle in the other. A 
 dozen of them were on foot, lounging free, their horses fastened 
 to swinging limbs of a tree, to which they made, at full speed, 
 at the first signal of danger. 
 
 But too late. It was a complete surprise. The troopers of 
 Marion were upon them, cutting and slashing, ere they could 
 unhitch their steeds, or mount. 
 
 A rout followed, Watkins leading at a run, and leaping his 
 horse over break and chasm in the causeway, followed by one 
 half of bis band, the pursuers darting close upon their heels. 
 
 Our little squad of runagates, on their side of the mill-seat, 
 beheld the whole transaction. They were relieved. 
 
 " No danger,'' said old Rhodes, " from Watkins and his rogues 
 to-day. Now, Mat, you and one of the boys cut straight across 
 the swamp, and see what happens t'other side." 
 
 And the parties sped accordingly, even as dii-ected. 
 
 Meanwhile, the shouts rose faint and fainter upon the air; 
 and Rhodes stole out, followed by one or two of his companions, 
 and cautiously took the trail of the pursuers, and noted the 
 havoc which they had made in their hurried dash across the 
 causeway. Seven men were slain outright — all by the broad- 
 sword There might have been some wounded ; but, if any, 
 old Rhodes refused to see them. Had they been in his way, 
 he would probably have shortened their sniferings by a merci- 
 ful knock on the head from rifle-butt or billet. It is not certain 
 that he did not use one of these implements, in this manner ; 
 for his temper was naturally bloodthirsty, and Molly Rhodes, 
 to whom he made his report, had no authority for its correct- 
 ness but his own. 
 
 Two hours might have elapsed before Mat Floyd and the 
 other young man came in, all brimful of intelligence. 
 
THE OUTLAWS FIND NEW CAPTIVES. 6fi 
 
 ' Well ?" demanded old Rhodes. 
 
 " Well ! It's all smoke and blazes. I reckon that Lem Wat- 
 kins and all his troop is all cut to pieces. The chase was 
 mighty close — the men of Marion cutting down and chopping 
 np at every lope of their nags ! Ef Watkins is saved at all, it's 
 by the skin of his teeth. He's had a narrow chaince." 
 
 " But, these Marion's men ? — " 
 
 " Well, their chaince is a mighty nice one too ; for, look you, 
 they only hauled up in the face of a great army of red-coats — 
 more than a thousand men, I reckon." 
 
 " Well, well ?— out with it all !" 
 
 " Well, the red-coats driv' the blue-coats down the road, tow- 
 ard Orangeburg, and I reckon they'll sarve 'em with the same 
 sauce they sarved out to Watkins. They've gone on, red-coats 
 and blue-coats, and we're safe ! Bless the blue-coats and the 
 red-coats both, for they've may be settled all our accounts 
 square with Watkins and his rapscallions for a while and for 
 ever !" 
 
 " And there's a carriage they've left in our woods, with wo- 
 men in it!" quoth Molly Rhodes. 
 
 "Ha! oh, yis, a carriage! Quick, boys — let's look after 
 that carriage. I reckon there's smart pickings in that carriage 
 for them's that thrifty." 
 
 And the old ruffian led the way backward to the spot where 
 the strange cavalcade, and the escort of Marion's men, had been 
 first discovered by Molly Rhodes. No one made any opposi- 
 tion to the suggestion of plunder. Even Mat Floyd, who, under 
 the eye of Lis wild young sister, was somewhat inclined to be- 
 come tame, appeared just as eager as the rest, now, when plun- 
 der was in sight. 
 
 "You say all's safe, Mat?" demanded the veteran rogue. 
 
 "Safe— safe!" 
 
 " Red coats and blue — the whole ai-my gone clear by, down 
 for Orangeburg ?" 
 
 " Ay, and fighting as they go ! And Watkins and his men 
 all swallowed up, somehow ; and the swamp between us and 
 the whole of 'em !" 
 
 " Then the way is clear ; the field's our own : so git ready 
 /or clean reaping. But snake i*, boys ; and you, Moll, keep 
 
56 EUTAW. 
 
 back among the horses. Snake it, boys ; there's no telling if 
 there's not some sentinel on the watch somewhere." 
 
 And they snaked it, from cover to cover, until, among the 
 pine-groves of the highlands, they discovered the travelling- 
 carriage and the parties whom it bore. 
 
 " Two women, a sarvant-gal, and the nigger driver. Do yon 
 see any more V was the q[uery of old Rhodes to Mat Floyd, 
 who crouched beside him. 
 
 " Them's what you see outside. Moutbe, some one's inside 
 the carriage." 
 
 " I don't think. I see no sign of anybody besides. It's 
 easy skrimmaging — 'most like taking partridges in trap. Ef 
 the picking is as good as the catching's easy, we're in luck, 
 boy, for once in our lives." 
 
 And the rogues, just escaped from a roguish fraternity, pre- 
 pared to enter upon the same business on their own account. 
 
 " Do you take the horses by the head, Mat Floyd ; you're 
 about the [[uickest in motion. Nat Rhodes will gripe the driver, 
 though 'tain't like he'll be offering to fend off; and me and the 
 other boys will sarkimvent the women. Yon be at hand, Molly, 
 to consolate them if thoy happens to be too much frightened, 
 and want to squeal." 
 
 A very good plot, but less easy of execution than was calcu- 
 lated on ; for, though the driver of the carriage was a negro 
 yet he was an old one — a tough, prompt, fearless fellow — and 
 his name was Oato ! He must not discredit his name. 
 
 The two ladies had been walking and gathering wild flowers. 
 They were now seated upon a fallen tree, and seemingly en- 
 gaged in a deep and interesting conversation. One was past 
 her prime, but vigorous still, unwrinkled, with a clear, bright 
 eye, and intelligent face. The other was hor daughter, a young 
 girl about eighteen, very fair, verj' beautiful, and with a coun- 
 tenance full of animated and benevolent expression. The man- 
 ner of both indicated care, however, and some present anxiety. 
 
 " You hear nothing. Bertha ?" said the elderly lady. 
 
 " Not a sound, mother. Could Captain St. Julien have pushed 
 the pursuit of the enemy ? Surely it was very rash to do so." 
 
 " It is not for us to decide, my daughter. The soldier should 
 know his own duties best. Besides, when men are engaged in 
 
THE OUTLAWS FIND NEW CAPTIVES. 57 
 
 action, and the blood is thoroughly excited', they can not arrest 
 themselves. I hope St. Julien has not pushed the pursuit too 
 far, and fallen into some ambuscade." 
 
 " I wish Willie Sinclair were here, mother. The stillness of 
 everything, after that wild shouting, becomes positively awful." 
 
 " I don't know, if Sinclair were here, my child, that he could 
 or would have done otherwise. You must not let your affec- 
 tions bias you, to the wrong of Captain St. Julien. Willie has 
 the utmost confidence in his courage and ability, and we have 
 seen enough to convince us that he is a man of great prudence 
 and coolness." 
 
 "He's almost too cool, mother — cold, indeed; certainly, he 
 has treated us with singular reserve — knowing, as he must, 
 what are our relations with Willie." 
 
 " But he has been most respectful. Bertha, and has shown no 
 lack of solicitude at all needful moments. Do not be unjust. 
 It is only his peculiar manner. But do you not hear a noise, 
 my child, like the breaking of a branch ? I thought, too — " 
 
 At that moment, the conversation received a startling inter- 
 ruption, both' ladies finding themselves pinioned from behind, 
 by the grasp of strong arms thrown about them. A slight 
 shriek escaped the girl, as she endeavored to rise ; but the 
 elderly lady, looking q^uietly behind her, met, with a glance of 
 little discomposure, the harsh features of the ruffian by whom 
 she was secured. 
 
 " Quiet, gal," said old Rhodes, keeping Bertha in her place 
 — "quiet, and no screaming! We're not guine to hurt you; 
 only jest guine to keep you safe, as I may say, out of the way 
 of harm." 
 
 At that moment, the heads of the horses, some thirty paces 
 distant, were seized by the firm hands of Mat Floyd; while 
 Nat Rhodes, rather deliberately advancing to the negro driver, 
 put out his hand to grasp him, as he said : — 
 
 " Git down, old fellow ; we want to see the measure of your 
 foot." 
 
 But Cato was true to his name. He answered with a sudden 
 blow from the butt of his whip, laid on with no light emphasis, 
 and Nat Rhodes .incontinently went down under it, measuring 
 hie (irhole length uppn the ground. 
 
 2» 
 
f^B EUTAW. 
 
 Cato's triumph, however, was of short duration. Mat Floyd 
 left the horses to one of his fellows, sprang into the hox at a 
 bound, and hurled the old negro out headlong. At the same 
 moment, a couple of fellows from the woods sprang out upon 
 the negro. 
 
 Seeing the fall of the faithful slave, and one of the outlaws 
 upon him, the young lady darted away from the relaxed grasp 
 of old Rhodes, and rushed to the place of struggle before he 
 could prevent her. She threw herself upon the negro, inter- 
 posed her own person between him and the ruffians, and shrieked 
 for mercy. 
 
 By this time, old Rhodes came up, and interposed also — just 
 in time, it would seem ; for the young outlaw who had taken 
 Cato by the throat, was already preparing to tickle it with his 
 knife. 
 
 " He's killed Nat Rhodes," said the fellow, as he waved the 
 glittering weapon. 
 
 " I hope not ! I think not. Nat's got a hard head of his 
 own, and 'twas only a whip-handle stroke, a'ter all." So, old 
 Rhodes. 
 
 " Look at the blood-puddle ! And he don't rise, you 
 see !" 
 
 "Wait! Jest rope the nigger; and, ef anybody's killed, 
 why, we kin hang him afterward the same as before. But 
 there's no fun in killing a nigger that we kin sell !" 
 
 By this time, the whole gang of ruffians were grouped to- 
 gether about the party. The negro was roped, hands and feet, 
 and the ladies bade to keep quiet while the process of rifling 
 was going on. Molly Rhodes was present at this operation, 
 and kindly consented to take care of the gold, trinkets, and 
 watches, of which the ladies were despoiled. 
 
 To the astonishment of the captives, they deigned no notice, 
 and answered none of their questions. The carriage was 
 searched, and in marvellous short time was stripped of all that 
 was at once portable and valuable. 
 
 While one of the rogues held the horses, and another kept 
 watch over the prisoners, old Rhodes, Mat Floyd, and the rest, 
 retired to the thicket for a further consultation. They labored 
 under an ewharras des richesses, but, with the wonted habit of 
 
THE OUTLAWS FIND NEW CAPTIVES. 59 
 
 cupialt)', were unwilling to fling away any of their spoils, even 
 tho'ig-li they should prove impedimenta only. 
 
 No long time was consumed in consultation. They soon re- 
 appeared upon the scene, and proceeded to the completion of 
 their work, but without giving us the slightest clue to their fur- 
 ther purposes. 
 
 " We must git the carriage into the main road again. Mat." 
 
 " Shall I drive it round V 
 
 " Drive it round ? No, no ! That would be to tell whosever 
 comes a'ter, what's the track we've taken. No, as we've got to 
 go down, you see, we'll back the horses upward, and so git 
 backward into the road above. Then, you see, ef they track 
 us out of the woods into the road, they'll naterally think we've 
 kept on upward, while we're a-pushing down, you see ! But 
 we won't keep the track long. We'll cross at the narrow gut, 
 where the water's mighty shallow, and the thick not so close 
 that the carriage, pulled by four sich stout critters — and them's 
 fine critters. Mat — can't be pulled through! And so, we'll 
 cross the swamp, and git into the rear of that great army, and 
 then push below into the woods agin. "That'll pretty much 
 tnrow off all them that might hunt for us." 
 
 The scheme was that of an old fox apt at doubling. The 
 plan was one which would have led away from the right scent 
 most ordinary scouts. It was of easy performance. It needed 
 only that one should go behind the carnage, regulate the course 
 of the wheels so as to avoid trees and stumps, while another, at 
 the head of the well-trained horses, backed them obliquely into 
 the road. And the thing was managed, cleverly enough, after 
 some little delay. The tracks of the wheels seemed to show that 
 the carriage was driven upward, entering the road obliquely, 
 and making no turn when the road was gained. This done, 
 our ruffianly senior, old Rhodes, approached the ladies, and civ- 
 illy invited them to accompany himself in a walk through the 
 woods. 
 
 " But who are you, sir, and what means this violence to un- 
 offending women 1" 
 
 " Oh, no sort of unoffending, ma'am ; not a bit of violence. 
 We'll treat you as civil as we kin help. We're only taking 
 care of you in these obstropolous times of needcessity, and we'll 
 
fiO EUTAW. 
 
 jest keep you ontil your friends kin hear of you, and pay Ix 
 penses." 
 
 " But where are our friends, sir ? Where's Captain St. -Jn- 
 lien ?" 
 
 " Ah, ma'am, I'm mighty sorry that I kaint answer you &» 
 you'd like to hear ! The cappin's in no way to help you now. 
 He's been butchered all to pieces, and I reckon sculped too by 
 the orfullest villains that ever skirr'd a country." 
 
 " Butchered i Oh, Heavens !" 
 
 "What! St. Julien— Captain St. Julicn?" 
 
 " The very same excellent young captain, and most honora- 
 ble gentleman. You see, ma'am, he fell into a-skrimmagin^ 
 with the most bloody, determinate cappin Lem Watkins, of the 
 Flurrida riflSgees, and they jest as well as tore him to flinders." 
 
 " Horrible ! But how do you know this 1 Did yon see it '•" 
 
 " Ah, ma'am, eyes never seed sich an orful massacree ! AU 
 of him, and his troop, that rode by so sassy, only two or three 
 hours ago, all cut to mincemeat by the riffigees." 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother ! but this is too horrible !" 
 
 " Ay, to be true ! I don't believe it. Do not fear, my 
 daughter — this man lies! I see it in his face." This was 
 spoken aloud. 
 
 " As I'm a mortal sinner, ma'am — " 
 
 " You need not swear I What do you mean to do with us ? 
 what do you require of us? And let me warn you, sir — be- 
 ware ! You will account for all this conduct to those who have 
 the power to punish." 
 
 " Oh ! ma'am, never you be afeard. You're in good hands 
 ';bat won't hurt a hair of your head ef you'll only listen to the 
 reason of the argyment, and jist do as we axes quietly." 
 
 " What shall we do V 
 
 "Well, that's the right thing. You see, ma'am, we'll jist carry 
 ycu a bit off, and put you out of harm's way ; and so, ma'am 
 — the first step's hafe the battle, you know — I'll jist thank 
 you to walk along with me, you and the young lady, your da'ter 
 —and a mighty putty young gal she is — and — it's only a step 
 across the swamp here, ma'am — mighty nice walking, logs 
 across all the way, and when we gits you on t'other side, we'll 
 bring the coach through, and then you kin take your seats agin 
 
THE OUTLAWS FIND NEW CAPTIVES. 61 
 
 We'll then, you see, be only a few miles from Orangeburg, and 
 — so — jist a leetle bit of a walk." 
 
 Here Cato interposed. 
 
 " Hello ! dere, missis, don't you go wid dem d — n blackguard, 
 you ver. We hab for stay here, whay de cappin put we for 
 stay till he come back." 
 
 " She.'- -xp. ycu skunk, before I slit your tongue," cried the 
 outlaw, who stoou watch over him — the exhortation enforced 
 by a suggestive kick of the foot. 
 
 " Kick away, and cuss ! I ain't 'faid ob sich cattle. I 'bay 
 order ! I for stop yer, till de cappin come back. Yeddy !" 
 
 ''You will see that my coachman suffers no harm — and the 
 girl, sir — the girl." 
 
 " She's in a leetle hitch, ma'am, for the present, but nothing 
 to harm. The nigger's sassy, but we ain't too preticular how a 
 nigger uses his tongue when he can't use his legs. He'll come 
 over safe, and the gal will go along with you." 
 
 The matron soon perceived the sort of person she had to deal 
 with — saw that resistance was out of the question, and would 
 only provoke indignity, and that she had no argument left, 
 which could possibly operate on such a ruflSan. She yielded a 
 quiet submission, accordingly, and, taking the arm of her 
 daughter, they walked down into the swamp with all the calm- 
 ness they could command, though with a lurking misgiving that 
 their murder in its dark recesses, might be made to cover their 
 robbery. 
 
 The woman, Molly Rhodes, led the way — the negro-girl 
 followed her mistress ; Cato was tumbled into the carriage-box, 
 tied as ho was, and made to keep his seat alongside of Mat 
 Floyd, who, following his instructions, drove down some two 
 hundred yards below, then turned out of the road, at a point 
 where a swath of turf suffered scarce an impression of the 
 wheels ; he then made his way into, and through the swamp and 
 stream, at a crossing-place only known to the outlaws, who had 
 been lingering for some time in the precinct. 
 
 Once across, the two ladies and servant girl were made to 
 resume their places in the vehicle, and it was driven up the 
 slopes, into the road which the British army had so recently 
 pursued; then, directly across it, and down the country, by 
 
62 EUTAW. 
 
 almost blind neighborhood tracks, upon which the traveller was 
 now rarely to be seen. 
 
 What was its destination ? what the purpose of thft outlaws i 
 This was bidden in the bosom of old Rhodes himspit, wtio an- 
 swered the queries of Mat Floyd with a significantly cuntiing 
 look : — 
 
 " I knows 'em well. They belong to big people, ano km pay 
 well for all the trouble they gives us." 
 
THE WILD OIHL'B CANTER. G3 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE WILD girl's CANTER. 
 
 We are sorry to admit that Mat Floyd, so recently out of tbo 
 halter, showed himself singularly indifferent to the morals of 
 his present career, and seemed easily reconciled, by the promise 
 of spoil, to a resumption of the evil practices, which, at one 
 moment, he had thought to have abandoned for ever, when he 
 abandbned the party of Lem Watkins. It is probable, indeed, 
 that with Nelly Floyd beside, to strengthen him in a good re- 
 solve, he would have maintained it — for the time. But Mat 
 Floyd was one of those frail creatures that need the Mentor 
 beside them always ; and, with whom the escape, for a single 
 moment, from the guidance of the superior, is almost a certainty 
 of lapse fi'om good to evil. He was rude, wild, ignorant ; not 
 wanting in good impulses, but terribly susceptible to the bad. 
 Old Rhodes, as consummate and hardened an old villain, as 
 ever was born for a halter, easily swayed him in the same direc- 
 tion with himself, the moment the mad gii-1 — as they all con- 
 sidered or called her — was gone from sight. 
 
 And Nelly Floyd — Harricane Nell — what is the course 
 which she takes, on leaving the party of outlaws, with whom, it 
 appears, she could so little assimilate 1 She rides away as if 
 with a purpose — as if with a well-considered object in view, 
 and seemingly as fearless of the route as if it were broad day- 
 light, and the country everywhere reposed in the arms of peace. 
 
 If the most singular fearlessness of character, a masculine 
 decision, an intense will, and an impulse that always declared 
 itself without restraint — if these qualities were, in any way, 
 characteristic of insanity, Nelly Floyd was certainly the mad 
 creature whom her associates believed or asserted her to be 
 
64 EUTAW. 
 
 But we have our douLts. Nelly was not a mere woman — not, 
 certainly, an ordinary one ; she did not act as is the common 
 mode with her sex. She did a thousand things from which most 
 of them would shrink — said a thousand things which would 
 never have entered the brain of an ordinary woman to con 
 ceive", and never gave herself much concern about that influence 
 which women iisually find so coercive a power — " what my 
 neighbor thinks." Public opinion was to her not even a name. 
 Her mind and heart, eminently just, never seemed to think it 
 necessary to submit her conduct to any other control than her 
 own will. This regulated her impulses, and she obeyed them. 
 Ordinarily, to do this, is to come in conflict with society ; and 
 he or she who comes in conflict \7ith society, naturally incurs 
 the imputation of being bad or mad. If she errs in moral, 
 having such impulses and obeying them, the world calls her 
 bad ; where it can take no offence on this head, the epithet is 
 more indulgent — the woman is simply mad ! In either case 
 she is in a state of outlawry — is an offender; and if she goes 
 unwhipt of what the world calls justice, it is rather because of 
 her good fortune than the world's good feeling. All of her 
 neighbors will agree that she deserves the lash ! 
 
 Nelly Floyd's infirmity was that of the Arab. Her nature 
 was untameable through the usual processes. She could be 
 governed by affection, rather than by coercion ; could be held 
 fettered by the sympathies, but by no other fetters. Coldness 
 or selfishness revolted her. Her impulses were all unselfish. 
 Her nature seemed superior to all common cravings. Lacking 
 most other ties, she loved her horse, Arab fashion — though h«, 
 a mere pony of our swamps, called in common speech, the 
 "marsh tackey" — was no Arab, yet he might have had Arab 
 blood in him. Quien sabe 1 His race is traceable to the 
 descent of Heman de Soto, when he sought to conquer Flor- 
 ida, but where the Floridians conquered him. The stock was 
 Andalusian, and so, had an Arab origin. And the little beast 
 of Nelly Floyd, insignificant in size, and not very comely of 
 outline, had yet some characteristics of the descent. He was 
 fleet, hardy, never to be tired down, and fed on weeds, wild gras- 
 ses, the cane-top, anything — without showing any dissatisfaction 
 with the owner who could make no better provision for his 
 
THE WILD girl's CANTER. 65 
 
 wauts. Dismissed with a word at evening, he was hrought out 
 of the swamp or marsh .it morning, with a whistle. Very free 
 yet very docile, it needed but a word of Nelly to send him for- 
 ward — to restrain his motion — and, when absent, to call him 
 to her side. She had plaited his mane, as yoti see them plait 
 the hair of little girls in heavy links, which hung down, parted 
 equally on both sides of his neck. She loved to pat and talk 
 with the animal, and it loved to be patted and to listen ; and 
 the two friends so grew together, that neither was quite satisfied 
 when the other was out of sight. And these fondnesses be- 
 stowed upon her steed, were among the many proofs which she 
 gave to those about her, of an idle brain, or a deficient wit. 
 
 With the vulgar world all displays of affection are apt to be 
 held ridiculous. You must show yourself superior to these enfee- 
 bling dispositions. And, if you happen to bestow your sym- 
 pathies on the infirm, or those toward whom it can not be sup- 
 posed that any policy should incline you, you are guilty of the 
 sublime in the absurd, showing yourself wasteful and profligate 
 of arts, which, used toward a superior, may be rendered very 
 profitable to self.' 
 
 Oh ! believe me, nothing can be more curious than worldly 
 definitions of the virtues. Enthusiasm ; a frank nature ; a 
 disregard of self; charity, love, religion; all these incur, at 
 some period or other, the imputation of simplicity, eccentricity, 
 insanity; the three regular degrees of transition in such a 
 progress. These simple, yet sublime virtues, constituting as 
 they do, the great essentials for preserving, perpetuating and 
 elevating human society, are yet, perpetually under the ban of 
 society : what is call good society ridicules them, as absurd, 
 weak, silly, childish ; while the mulish and ignorant positively 
 find in them traits of madness — latent, perhaps — shoT\'ing only 
 perversity and witlessness for a time, but to be developed by 
 circumstances ; and so, always dangerous. 
 
 But our Nelly was yet perpetually affording other proofs to 
 those around her of this witless mind, this eccentric will, this 
 dangerous infirmity of brain and blood. We have seen what 
 has been her recent achievement. Old Rhodes and all his gang 
 pronounced it the most mad scheme in the world, the attempt 
 to get Mat Floyd out of the halter, with twenty men to guard 
 
iJO EUTAW. 
 
 him, by ti force of half-a-dozen headed by a girl. He swore a 
 dozen pledges to extricate the culprit on his way tc the swamp, 
 but never made the attempt ; and, but for the determined, and, 
 as it seemed, desperate will of the wild damsel. Mat Floyd 
 would have been certainly hung. But l^eWy had contrived, 
 when Rhodes and his party were pursued by Watkins, to get 
 possession, and to conceal from their search, the whole of that 
 treasure which was the bone of struggle between the two par- 
 ties. While she held this treasure, Rhodes and his fellows 
 were, perforce, the subjects of her will. They knew that, un- 
 less her will was complied with, they would never see a stiver 
 of the spoil ; and she planned the re.^cue of her brother, and 
 effected it, as we have seen. 
 
 That, having done this, she shotild yet restore, of her own 
 free will, the stolen treasure to the refugees, was an offence that 
 Rhodes could not forgive. He would have scourged her from 
 their camp if he had dared, but her strangeness of character ex- 
 ercised a certain control over even his imagination ; and he too, 
 as well as her sister, was not wholly unprepared to acknowledge 
 her alleged faculty of second sight. The startling charge which 
 she had so wildly made against him, of the murder of an angel, 
 was of very impressive effect, even while he strove to laugh it 
 off as another proof of her madness. It startled him, as well 
 because of her discovery of a crime which he had supposed un- 
 known to all but himself, as by the curious details which she 
 uttered in respect to the event. The murdered victim, he knew, 
 had fallen among bushes, which totally concealed him fiom all 
 eyes but his own. Had she really beheld his spirit rising above 
 the bushes, and into the air, wearing the aspect of the murdered 
 youth, and pointing the eye of Heaven to his murderer ? Tlie 
 superstitious query troubled the thought of old Rhodes that 
 night, long after all the others were asleep. 
 
 It was in the utterance of pretensions such as these, that 
 Nelly Floyd still more certainly won for herself the imputation 
 of insanity. Let us do her justice. She herself urged no pre- 
 tensions as a seer. The utterance of such revelations as that to 
 which we refer, was usually made without premeditation. It 
 was a gush of speech, of which she herself seemed almost un- 
 conscious; and she asserted nothing in behalf of the strange 
 
THE WILD GIUL'b CANTEK. 67 
 
 power which Bhe rather seemed to exercise than to feel. She 
 was simply, on such occasions, a voice, sending out the mye*ic 
 burden in her soul, or of another soul, as if with an impulse 
 beyond any of her own. That she thus spoke was perhaps a 
 sufficient reason why she should be held not altogether wise — 
 somewhat witless — and, perhaps, quite uncanny. Old Rlitd°s 
 was di7ided in his opinions whether to conceive her a mad wo- 
 man or a witch. He sometimes considered her a fool, as in the 
 needless surrender of the treasure to the Florida refugees ; but 
 the shrewdness, sagacity, and forethought, which she perpetu- 
 ally displayed, made him hesitate about the jiropiicty of this epi- 
 thet. He concluded, usually, by elevating her foolish perform- 
 ances into malignant ones, when he could not call them madness. 
 
 There were other proofs of insanity which Nelly Floyd con- 
 tinually gave to her associates. She had little policy in her 
 practice. In her speech she lacked prudence. She made no 
 calculation in respect to the results, to herself, of what she de- 
 livered. She expressed her surprise, her anger, her indignation, 
 without reserve. She had no measure in her speech when her 
 strange passions or sentiments found provocation to utterance. 
 She never scrupled to denounce the crime, the cruelty, the prac- 
 tice, where it met her disapproval. She called things by plain 
 English names. With her, a lie was a lie, and she so pro- 
 claimed it. To the villain she would say : " Beware ! I see 
 the halter ready for you !" And she spoke as if she did see it ; 
 and spoke, sometimes, in such a way as to make the wretch 
 fancy that he saw it too ! To Rhodes himself she had always 
 predicted the halter. 
 
 " Beware r' she said repeatedly — "beware, Jeff Rhodes, of 
 what you do ! Beware ! You have but a little while — but a 
 little while ! You have nearly reached the end of the lane 
 where there -is no turn. Look up, where you are — lookup, 
 with all your eyes — and you see a gallows. You will hang, 
 Jeff Rhodes — you will hang !" 
 
 These were unpleasant predictions, and they always pro- 
 duced commotion in the camp. Here, but for her brother, she 
 would not have remained a moment. But her fears for him kept 
 her lingering among the outlaws, from whose association she 
 was ever striving to withdraw him. 
 
58 EDTAW. 
 
 "],cave these people, Mat," she would say; "leave theiii 
 They are nil doomed. They will all hang. I see them, one 
 aitor another, as they go to the gallows. And Moll will perish 
 too, hut not hy such a death. No ! — hut it will not he more 
 merciful — her fate. I see you too, Mat — you too, with the 
 halter ahout your neck ! Oh, come away in time ! You will 
 escape, if you come out from among them. But if yon etay. Mat 
 — if you stay, only a little while longer — you will perish on 
 t!;e tree. T see it, Mat — I see it ! I have long seen it !" 
 
 The- prediction need not have a supernatural origin. The 
 lives of the outlaws ; the wretched condition of the country ; 
 the summary judgments usually executed hy those having the 
 mere power, irrespective of the laws or of society ; the universal 
 recklessness of human life which naturally follows a condition 
 of civil war — these as naturally justified the prediction, as o 
 mere result of human reasoning, as if it had heen indicated hy 
 a supernatural finger. 
 
 But Nelly Floyd did not speak as one who dealt in the induc- 
 tive processes. Her speech was delivered as so much evidence 
 — as that of one who saw — hefore whose eyes the future event 
 was even then looming up with its awful, shadowy aspects. 
 
 She was, accordingly, fearfully impressive. She startled and 
 made her hearers tremhle for the moment. A thousand times 
 had Mat Floyd yielded to her warnings, and pledged himself 
 to make away from the gang. But the tempter soon again 
 wound ahout him with his snares ; and he was involved, by his 
 ready impulses, and his unreasoning blood, and by the habitual 
 sway of Rhodes and others, in new offences, at the very mo- 
 ment when he was promising to break away from the past. He 
 was too weak, with such a training as he had had, to be honest 
 or resolved ; and he, too, after a while, was fain to admit, even 
 against his own instincts, that Nelly Floyd was a half-crazy wo- 
 man. His real feelings taught him otherwise. He felt het 
 superiority ; but his conscience needed that he should declare 
 her witless, the better to escape her censures, which be could 
 never otherwise answer. 
 
 The reiterated expressions of all about her had, at length, the 
 effect of forcing upon poor Nelly herself the question of her own 
 sanity. 
 
THE WILD GIEL'S CANTER. t9 
 
 Have you evpr reflected, dear reader, upon the awful emo- 
 tions which such a question must necessarily inspire in a human 
 bosom, when forced thus upon self-inquest ? Can you conceive 
 its effect upon such a creature as I have described Nelly Floyd 
 to be — warm, affectionate, enthusiastic, eager, impulsive — hav- 
 ing no conventional resources — aloof, as it were, from all scji- 
 ety — forced to commune only with those whom she must de- 
 spise — educated in tastes, habits, feelings, and associations, all 
 superior to and accordingly inconsistent with her destinies in 
 life — a just heart, a pure mind, exquisite tastes — a subtle 
 fancy, a wild impulse, an extraordinary and masculine will, and 
 an intensity of mood which wrought upon all her faculties, so 
 that all, in turn, seemed qualities of fire — seemed to glow, to 
 burn, to elevate — and thus wore perpetually upon the' mere 
 physique, so that she ate but little — scarcely seemed to feel 
 the want of food — scarcely knew limit to her physical exertioii 
 — rode, ran, rambled, apparently without fatigue, and seemed 
 to rest only when in motion ! Conceive the character of the 
 girl, then imagine for yourself the effects, upon such a nature, 
 of such a terrible inquiry. 
 
 It was perpetually forced upon her by others, until at length 
 it became a troubling and ever-present thought to herself. Ri- 
 ding, walking — ever, except when in exciting action — it was 
 the one troublesome suggestion of doubt and anxiety. Even as 
 she rides now — cantering through unfrequented paths, through 
 great forest-stretches, upward, away from the river and the 
 swamp, but deep in thickets, which, in the present state of the 
 population, were almost as safe and silent harborages- — she asks, 
 communing only with herself: — 
 
 " Is it true ? Am I crazed ? Is there insanity in my blood 
 and brain, as all these people tell me 1 Are my actions ordered 
 by no reason 1 Do I not think as other women, feel as ether 
 women, understand as quickly, and compare and act as jnstly 1 
 I know not — I know not ! My poor head ! If I am not al- 
 ready crazed, they will make me so, if I keep with them any 
 longer. I must break away from them altogether, though I 
 leave Mat to his fate. My poor, foolish brother ! And he, too 
 — he so foolish — so easily led away by that villain Rhodes — 
 he, too, calls me crazy ! He sensible, and me crazy ! I should 
 
■'O EUTAW. 
 
 .ike to ask these people, if 'twere not useless, what they call 
 wisdom. I can answer for them. With Jeff Rhodes, it is roh- 
 bery and murder; and — I'm afraid it's pretty much the same 
 with the rest! As for Molly Rhodes — but no! let it pass. 
 She h my sister, but I do not fed it. But Mat Floyd is my 
 brc';her. I grow to him, and he, poor, foolish brother, he has 
 a love for me too, and he knows that what I tell him is right 
 
 and true ; and yet he calls me foolish ! Foolish and I 
 
 know nothing about the business of men ! Men's business ! O 
 God of the bright world, what a business it is to have the name 
 of reason ! Here are a thousand men slain in a gi-eat battle, 
 and the wisdom of man says it is all right and proper. And 
 t'iod approves, they teil you, and says: 'Smite on! — strike — 
 slay — butcher the creature I have made in my image; do not 
 faint, but butcher all the day, from the rising to the setting of 
 the sun !' And the reason for this butchery is, that one party 
 should rule the other. The right to rule gives the right to 
 butcher. Oh ! this sounds very much like reason and wisdom, 
 does it 1 They say so, but I don't see it. And here is one 
 who crouches beside a bush and shoots down God's angels as 
 they ride along the highways ; and the reason for this is to bo 
 found in the gold which the slain caiTies in bis pocket ! No ! 
 it is clear that I can not reason as these people do. Something 
 in my heart and head tells me that it is all very wrong and very 
 horrible. And I persuade myself that I think and reason ! — 
 that I do as a right mind should do, and feel according to the 
 wisdom of a right heart. Ah, if I am mistaken in all this !" 
 
 And as she rode, at a smart canter, she continued to solilo- 
 quize after the same fashion. The habit of soliloquizing — fre- 
 quently talking with herself — thinking aloud — was one of 
 those which contributed also to obtain for her the imputation 
 of ineanity. But, without reproaching her for this habit, or ad- 
 mitting the propriety of this imputation as a consequence of it, 
 let us take advantage of her spoken thoughts. They will 
 probably afford us some clues to her own history as well as 
 character : — 
 
 " Is it because I have been schooled differently from my peo- 
 ple — that I have read many books — that I have heard the 
 speech of those who were rich, and accustomed to better things 
 
THE WILD girl's CANTEK. 71 
 
 tban my people — that they showed me higher ways, and kindei 
 and softer ways, and taught me more gentle feelings, and made 
 me soft and weak like themselves 1 That they showed me a 
 class of people who were not upon the watch always to get the 
 better of others — to trick and cheat them — to envy the posses- 
 sions which they had not — and hate the superiority which they 
 could not reach ! — 
 
 " And, surely, Lady Nelson was a veiy superior woman ; and 
 Bettic Nelson was superior as sweet, and Sherrod Nelson — he 
 — oh ! yes, he was superior ! And how beautiful they all were 
 — loving each other, and speaking the truth, and ready always 
 to sacrifice their own pleasures and desires to please one an- 
 other. And why did they take me and teach me all these 
 things ; and fill me with thoughts and feelings such as do not 
 belong to my own people ? Why 1 What do they profit me 
 here? What do they prove me here? — mad, mad, mad! 
 Mad or very foolish. Oh ! was it kind in them to train me to 
 this' 
 
 "And where can Lady Nelson be now? and Bettie — and — 
 but I must not ask after Sherrod now ! What is Sherrod Nel- 
 son to me? He, an officer in the army — the British army. 
 B'lt where ? The last time I heard of them they were all in 
 Florida — gone — driven out by the people ! Why do they not 
 come back, now that the British are ruling in the country 1 
 Perhaps they never will return. Oh ! dear Lady Nelson, how 
 glad I should be to see you once again — and you, dear little 
 Bettie — but no! I must not think of him/ I must not hope 
 to see Sherrod any more. To feel for him as I do, and wish 
 to 'ook on him — that — that — is madness! 
 
 " I have looked on him too often. But he never saw me ! 
 N" ! no I And now he's a captain in the British array, gone, 
 pe"hap=, to the West Indies, and fighting with the French ! 
 Mav the good God save and spare him ! May he grow great and 
 be Invpd greatly, though he may know nothing of the love which 
 is telt for him by the poor wild girl of Edisto, whom his mother 
 toot '^ato her own chamber, and taught her in her own child's 
 books, and made so different from her own people, that they all 
 consider her mad. Oh ! what a lifo of misery it is ! 
 
 " But I will not be mad ! They shall not drive me to it. I 
 
72 KUTAW. 
 
 will leave them for ever. I will see them no more. I will live 
 quieJy,with poor old Mother Ford, and help her in the garden, 
 and help her to spin and weave, and forget that there are books, 
 and wise, beautiful, sweet people, who have thoughts and man- 
 ners not suited to the wild life in these lonesome woods." 
 
 Of these glimpses of her past, which she gives us in this ram- 
 bling manner, we know nothing more. Of the Lady Nelson — 
 in that day in America, it was customary to call the wives of 
 very wealthy and distinguished persons by this title — of Bettie, 
 and Sherrod Nelson, we hear from her lips for the first time. But 
 we can follow these clues sufficiently to form some idea of the 
 peculiar education of the orphan-girl, in the hands of a liberal, 
 wealthy, and enlightened patronage. 
 
 Nelly Floyd rode on, burying herself, more deeply in the 
 forest than before, yet pursuing, all the while, a little Indian 
 trail, with which her pony seems quite familiar. She gave him 
 the reins, and never seemed to regulate or heed his progress, 
 until he brought her to a little low worm fence, deep in the 
 woods, surrounding a small log cottage. Seen in the imperfect 
 light of the stars, it was one of the most humble of fabrics — 
 at once very small and very rude of construction. 
 
 Nelly cantered round the house to its rear — took off a small 
 sack which she had carried before her — took off saddle and 
 bridle, then dismissed the horse, in so many words, as it he 
 understood every syllable : — 
 
 " Go now, Aggy, until I want you in the morning." 
 
 And she patted neck and head, and sent the beast off witn 
 a gentle slap, which he seemed to take as a further proot oi 
 affection : for he lifted his ears and head, rubbed his no«e 
 against her cheek, and, with a lively whinny, scamperea off 
 into the well-known thickets. 
 
 "He doesn't think me mad," said the wild girl as she boundea 
 over the fence, having first laid within it the sack, saddle ano 
 bridle. Taking the former up in her hands, she approachea tue 
 hovel, to which she brought, finally, all her trappings, and laia 
 them down in a very rickety piazza. 
 
 The rude little fabric lay in darkness. All was silent. Ttie 
 girl rapped at the door and called out : — 
 
 " It's me, mother. It's Nelly Floyd." 
 
THE WILD GIKL's CA^JTER. TH 
 
 " Ah, Nelly, I had a-most given you up," was the salutation 
 of Mother Ford, within, as she undid the fastenings of the 
 door. " What kept you so late ? You'll git into trouhle some 
 of these nights, when you're a riding in the dark so late." 
 
 " Oh ! who's to trouble me, mother ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know, but these awful sodgers a skirring about 
 for plunder all the time, they're not the easiest folks to manage 
 when you meet 'em. And you a young gal creature too." 
 
 " Oh ! never you fear. I'm quick to see, mother, and a sharp 
 rider ; and, little as he is, it takes a quick horse to get ahead 
 of Aggy. Besides, I've nothing to pluuder. I've brought you 
 a sack of potatoes, mother, as it's pretty hard feeding every- 
 where just now." 
 
 " And thank you, too, my child. I'm sometimes hard run 
 for a bite, and ef 'twa'n't for them Halliday children, I'm afeard 
 I'd sometimes be in a broad road to starvation. There's a-most 
 nothing in the garden. The potatoes ha'n't turned out nothing, 
 and ain't likely to turn out nothing, and the corn kain't be got 
 ground easy, except when young Halliday gits a chaince to go 
 to mill. I've been forced to eat big hominy for the last ten 
 days." 
 
 " And not such bad eating either, mother," said the girl. 
 " But I'll work for you, and see if we can't put the garden in 
 order. I've come to stay with you for awhile, and see what 
 can be done. I'm strong, you know, and can hoe the corn, and 
 gather the peas, and do a little spinning and weaving for you, 
 and ride to mill too, when there's need of it. Between me and 
 ■^SSJ' ^® shall get you a good sack of gi-ist before the week's 
 out." ^ 
 
 " I thank yon, my child. I know you're willing, and you're 
 strong too, but you ain't quite up to the notion of real hard work. 
 I reckon your book-learning has sp'iled you a little for that." 
 
 "Never you believe it, mother.'" And the wild girl could 
 not but think, at the moment, of the curious hoiTor of book- 
 learning, and the strong tendency to disparage it, which is a too 
 common characteristic of the ignorant. Envj', by the way, has 
 not a little to do with this tendency. 
 
 " Never you believe it, mother. It hasn't weakened me in 
 body, and it hasn't made my mind less willing." 
 
74 EUTAW. 
 
 " But your fingers ain't quite so spry and quick at the labors 
 of common people." 
 
 "You think not, mother!" and the girl laughed out mei-rily, 
 as the memory suddenly flashed over her thought, reminding 
 her of the dexterity with which, that very night, her hands had 
 cut down a man from the gallows; an adventure from which all 
 but herself had shrunk. 
 
 " Why what do you laugh at so, Nelly ? What tickles you 1" 
 
 " Oh ! nothing, mother ; but I wonder what poor Mat Floyd 
 would say if you were to speak to him so slightingly of my 
 fingers, and what they can do.'' 
 
 " Why, what would he say, Nelly, and why do you call him 
 poor Mat 1" 
 
 " Ah ! don't ask me, mother. Mat's poor enough, and I'm 
 poor enough, and we're all poor enough, and Heaven knows 
 whether we shall any of us be any better off than we are. If 
 we are not worse it will be a mercy ! Poor Mat will break my 
 heart, mother, for I can't get him away from those people. 
 They arc marching him to the gallows, step by step, and the 
 boy sees nothing. Oh ! mother, it's enough to drive me mad." 
 
 " Stay a bit, child, till I fling a few more knots of lightwood 
 upon the fire, we shall be in the dark presently ; and I always 
 likes to see the face of a person when I'm a speaking to 'em, 
 or hearing them speak. It seems to enlighten a body as to 
 the true sense of what the person is a saying. Stay a bit, 
 Nelly." 
 
 " Let me do it, mother." 
 
 "No, Nelly, it's jest as easy for me.'* 
 
 But Nelly had already performed the task. She knew wbcru 
 the lightwood lay, in a box in a corner of the hovel, and in a 
 moment, the feeble flicker of light in the fireplaci, from brands 
 nearly burned down, was exchanged for a rich, cheering blaze, 
 such as, in those days when gas was not — good ya< lightwood 
 only could afford. The room — the only one in tha cabin — 
 fairly lightened up in all its recesses, unveils itself, with all its 
 potty and poor possessions fully to our eyes. Let us look around 
 us, for, in those days, just such hovels sheltered hundreds 
 and thousands of those pioneers of civilization, who had been 
 gradually spreading away fioiii tlie AUoi.tic f.ir llic Ap«l;!chia!i 
 
THE WILD ClRLs CANTER. "^6 
 
 and only stopping short when -witTiin sight of the gloomy heights 
 of the red men of Cherokee. Just such a hovel as that of 
 Mother Ford, fonned house and fortress for the scattered hor- 
 derers of the southern interior, from the waters of the Potomac 
 to those of the Altamaha — from the ranges of Powhatan, to 
 those of Atta«Kulla-Kulla ! 
 
JJUTiW 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LOG CABIN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 That chamber — it was hall and chamber both — the whole 
 dwelling had hut a single apartment — may have been sixteen 
 by twenty feet in size. It was of bare logs, the crevices filled 
 up by clay. Its rafters were naked to the eye. It had no loft 
 — no flooring above. The chimney was of clay, with its nozzle 
 scarce a foot lifted above the roof, the ends of which were thor- 
 oughly begrimed by its smoke. Within, the aspect was wretch- 
 edly poor, like the outside. In one corner stood the rude couch 
 of the aged widow, a rough stout frame of oak. The mattress was 
 of moss ; old and worn, and in tatters, but still carefully pre- 
 served and scrupulously clean, was the quilt spread over it — a 
 thing of shreds and patches. There was a shelf over the fire- 
 place, on which were ranged a dozen empty physic bottles, a 
 cup and bowl. A pine beaufit, without doors, exhibited a ridic- 
 ulous array of crockery, cups and saucers, plates and pitchers, 
 most of them fractured — few fit for use — relics of a past the 
 comforts of which they seemed to mock with their grinning and 
 broken edges. Two or three pewter spoons complete the in- 
 ventory. Opposite the bed in another corner, was the unwieldly 
 old fashioned loom. There were two spinning-wheels, three 
 chairs of oaken staves, covered with hides. And here you have 
 ;he whole catalogue. And there, alone and poor,* lived this 
 aged woman ; and she lived in safety. She had nothing with 
 which to tempt cupidity — she was not in the way to provoke 
 malice. As she herself said : — 
 
 " I have no husband, no .son, to go out and find enemies, and 
 
LOG Cabin philosophy. 77 
 
 bring 'em home here with sWord and fire ! It's nothing that 
 one can rob me of. What can they get from me but an old 
 woman's curse instead of blessing ? And what a fool lie mnst 
 be that can come for that." 
 
 Mother Ford was no bad philosopher. In her day she had 
 been a shrewd, sensible housewife — thrifty, careful, industrious, 
 energetic, but — poor always ! We need not ask why, with 
 these virtues, she should be poor. It is enough that it is writ- 
 ten — the poor shall never die out of the land. And well for 
 man that it is so written ! What a terrible condition of poverty 
 would prevail in a region where everybody is rich ! What a 
 world of titter selfishness, and so of utter destitution ! 
 
 Mother Ford did not repine because of her poverty. She was 
 a stern woman, somewhat, but very cheerful, nevertheless ; with 
 rough manners, but a genial heart. A tall meagre frame of 
 seventy, perhaps ; long, sallow, skinny face, deeply furrowed 
 by the plough of time ; long, bony arms, still sinewy, and a 
 keen black eye still shining in her head. 
 
 While Nelly Floyd was flinging the brands upon the fire, the 
 old-fvoman smoothed out her apron — white homespun over a 
 blue homespun frock — seated herself in a well-worn rocking- 
 chair, of domestic manufacture — a rude oaken frame, the seat 
 of which, a tightly stretched ox-hide, still showed some of the 
 hairs, unworn, along the edges. Here, while Nelly Floyd poured 
 forth lier griefs. Mother Ford commenced a see-sawing motion, 
 which we have frequently observed to be a process among an- 
 cient ladies, for bringing the mind to bear, with proper efficien- 
 cy, on some troublesome domestic problem. Her face told the 
 Bame story, of grave doubt and difficulty in the case ; and might 
 liave suggested some notions of severe censure yet to follow. 
 But never did listener receive intelligence with so patient an 
 ear, and with so few interruptions. She suffered Nelly to get 
 through the w^hole story of her griefs. Then, after a pause : — 
 
 " I'd be most mighty sorry, Nelly, ef Mat Floyd should come 
 to such harm as you speak of; though that's always a danger 
 from the sort of company he keeps. I dandled the boy upon 
 these knees when he was a baby in the lap, and I loved his 
 and your own poor mother, as ef she was niy own sister. She's 
 an angel now in benven, Nelly." 
 
78 EUTAW. 
 
 The girl slipped down from her chair, and crept up silently 
 to the old woman, nestling close beside her as she listened. 
 
 " She was not the mother of Moll^ Floyd, you know. Ah ! 
 that first wife of old Mat Floyd, was a different sort of creature. 
 Molly is mighty like her in everything; only she ain't got the 
 same sperrit. That first wife led your father a mighty miser- 
 able sort of life; and kept his house, and himself too, pretty 
 much in hot water. 'Twa'n't no case of broken-heart for him, 
 I tell you, when she was carried out of his cabin foot foremost 1 
 B\it he took warning by her temper ; and when he looked out 
 for another wife, lie got an angel — a little too much of an angel 
 — thougli I say it of your own father, Nelly, yet I have to say 
 it — a lettle too much of an angel for him. He never knowd 
 her valley, child, till he lost her; and then his conscience 
 ti-oubled him, as he told me himself, for the hard words — ay, 
 Nelly, and the hard blows — that he gave her." 
 
 " He didn't strike her, mother ? No ! no ! don't tell me 
 that !" 
 
 " It's a sad truth, Nelly, but he did ! But he was mighty re- 
 pentant. And he took on mightily after she was gone. She 
 died suddently, you know, jest like a flash. The doctors said 
 'twas disease of the heart ; and you, and Mat, were the only 
 two children she had. Tlien Molly began to ill-use you both. 
 She was the oldest and the biggest, and she soon got to be sich 
 a ruler that there was no peace for you two. I don't know that 
 you can remember it. But I heard how things went, and that 
 made me bold to go to your father, and claim his last wife's 
 children. Your mother, you see, had as good as given yon both 
 to mo, and your father know'd it. But he worn't quite willing, 
 until he heard how Molly was a-beating you, and ho couldn't 
 piirtect you, for he was half the time in the woods or upon the 
 river. So he gin you both up to me, and we was all a-getting 
 on mighty well, for we was quite a happy family, and, in them 
 days, I had something to go upon. I worn't quite so bad off as 
 I ain now. Bnt, after a-while, your father got work Gomowa/ 
 off, down south, and upon the salts, with a grs^nd rich gentleman, 
 or, as they called him in those days, the old Landgrave — Ljiud- 
 grave — what's the name ?" 
 
 " Landgrave Nelson I" 
 
LOG-CABIN PHILOSOPHY. 79 
 
 "Yes, that's the name — Landgrave Nelson. Well, you see 
 your father got emploj'ment with him,_and worked faithful ; and 
 the landgrave took a liking to him ; and he let on to the laud- 
 grave about you two children ; and, I reckon, did paint you 
 both up mighty fine — you in preticklar — for old Mat did think 
 a mighty great deal of you, Nelly, and said you was smart as a 
 flash and jest as bright. But it's nateral enough for a father to 
 think so of his own child, and the young one too; and so, the 
 old landgrave's wife — a mighty fine lady as ever I see — she 
 thought it a nice thing to get you to be a company for her own 
 darter — a good-natured child, and full of play — " 
 
 " Dear Bettie," murmured Nelly, while a big round tear kept 
 fawelling and swelling in her eye till it almost blinded her. 
 
 " Yes, Bettie was the child's name. So, once upon a time, 
 when they' was a travelling out toward the Congarees — where 
 we was a-living then, to see some of their kin, and to buy some 
 fresh lands I reckon — they come, the landgrave and the lady 
 and Bettie — they all come together, in a grand coach and six, 
 with four outriders, in green and gold — and after a good deal 
 of palaver, to make me sensible of the good twas to do to you, 
 they carried you off. It was a hard pull upon my feelings, 
 Nelly, to make me give you up ; and I cried bitter, I tell you, 
 when I seed the coach driving off; but I reasoned it out, and I 
 give in ; but 'twas bitter, bitter, that day, Nelly, my child, for 
 you had got to be like my own ; and ef I hadn't a-thought it 
 for your good, Nelly, no landgrave woman in the world should 
 have had you ! No ! I'd ha' died first ! But she told me about 
 your education; and she said — what we all know'd — that you 
 was a mighty smart child — and she spoke of what ought to be 
 done for you, and what she could do ; and her own little girl — " 
 
 "Bettie — dear little Bettie !" 
 
 "Yes, that was her name — she hung on to you, and would 
 have you git into the coach with her — and so the great lady 
 had it all her own way." 
 
 " She was a good lady, mother." 
 
 " Yes, I'm not a gainsaying that, Nelly, my child. She looked 
 good, and she put more than twenty guineas in my hand, for the 
 use of the boy, young Mat, and myself; and I reckon she meant 
 to do right. But what made her send you off, Nelly, when shp 
 
80 EUTAW. 
 
 had raised you to be one of her own family, and made you 
 I'arned in books, and full of the onderstanding of strange things 
 that dnn't suit the pror people of our country V 
 
 " She didn't send mo off; mother. It was my own will. They 
 had to leave the state, mother, when the Eevolution broke out, 
 for the landgrave wouldn't favor the patriots, and take up arms 
 against his king — " 
 
 " More fool he ! What's a British king, that he should rule 
 hero in America, I'd like to know ] as if we couldn't make 
 our own kings, if we wanted them ! But we don't want kings 
 at all, no more than the Jews in scripture. Kings is given as a 
 judgment. The landgrave might have stayed and kept his 
 own, and not let himself be driven out in his old age, and when 
 he was fixed so comfortable, like any prince on his estates." 
 
 " But, mother, he could only have remained by joining the 
 patriots." 
 
 " Well, and why couldn't he do that ?" 
 
 "Perhaps he didn't think it right, mother" — but, lest this 
 argument should not avail with the old lady, she added quickly 
 — " and if he had done so, mother, he would have lost all, fior, 
 you see, the king's soldiers are everywhere iu possession of 
 everything." 
 
 " That's true — that's true. The more's the pity, Nelly. I'm 
 5ure I'm for the country, and them that lives in it, and works it, 
 and I don't see why we should have masters sent for us from 
 over the great water. Ah, Nelly, ef I had husband or son, I'd 
 have 'em fighting now, under the Swamp-Fox or the Game- 
 Cock ; and it did vex me to the heart to find that Mat Floyd 
 had gone out, at the instigation of that old villain Rhodes, and 
 j'ined himself to the inimy. I'm afraid, Nelly, you had some- 
 thing to do with that." 
 
 " I'm afraid so too, mother." 
 
 " And what made you speak for the British side, Nelly 1 
 What had you to do with it, taking sides agin your own coun- 
 try?" 
 
 " Ah, mother, when I knew that Sherrod Nelson was an offi- 
 cer of the British, I was afraid that Mat might some day be 
 •sailed upon to fight with hixn, and that they might kill each 
 other !" 
 
LOG-CABIN PHILOSOPHY. 81 
 
 «' You were a foolisli child, Nelly. The chance wasn't one 
 in a thousand that they'd ever lift we'pon agin each other." 
 
 " But there was one chance, mother, and I saw that. I didn't 
 wish Mat to go out at all." 
 
 " He couldn't help it ; he had to do it. Every man in Caro- 
 lina, that's able, has to go out, ar.d lend a hand to the work, one 
 side or the other, as you see ; and when that's the case, the safe 
 rule, and the right reason, is to stand up for the sile [soil) that 
 gives you bread. It was a great mistake, Nelly, and I'd give 
 a good deal €f I could make Mat break off from the Tlurrida 
 riffigees, and j'ine himself to one of our parties — Marion ov 
 Sumter, I don't care which — and make himself a free white 
 man agin, having the right onderstanding that freedom means 
 the right to stand up agin the world, in defence of one's own 
 sile." 
 
 " Oh, mother, if I could get him away from all fighting — " 
 
 '• But you kaint hope for that, Nelly, so long as there's an 
 inimy in the land. It's not the part of a man to skulk out of 
 Mght till the country's free from all its inimies." 
 
 " But oh, mother, I see what you don't see ! I see him tied, 
 and dragged to the tree : I see him struggling to break away. 
 I see the strong men pulling him to death. I see him lifted up 
 in air, and all black in the face, with the horrid rope about his 
 neck." 
 
 " Hev' you seen them signs agin, Nelly 1" demanded the old 
 woman seriously. 
 
 " Yes, twice, thrice, have I seen it, in broad daylight, and 
 when I've been thinking of other things.'^ 
 
 " It's an awful, fearsome gift you hev', Nelly, and it's but 
 right that you should pray, all the time, to the great Lord that 
 rules above in heaven, to spare your sight from such dreadful 
 seeings. But, a'ter all, Nelly, it mout be only a sort of dream- 
 ing, perhaps ?" 
 
 "No, no, mother! it's when I'm awake, in the broad day- 
 light, that I have seen, this and other dreadful spectacles." 
 
 " I don't know. There's a sort of waking, Nelly, that's very 
 much like dreaming — when the eyes may be open, maybe, but 
 when the sight's looking innard, upon the troublesome thoughts 
 that's a-working in the brain. Now, Nelly, all your thoughts 
 
82 EUTAW. 
 
 and feeliii's work more lively and active than with most other 
 people. Yon think at a flash, and feel, as I may say, like a 
 bird a-flying in the bright air. You're quick, mighty quick, in 
 these ways ; and you talk sometimes, and sing out suddent, just 
 upon things that nobody else is talking or thinking about." 
 
 "Is there anything strange in that, mother?" asked the girl 
 m low but earnest tones. 
 
 "Well, no — only it's a leetle different from the ways of 
 other people. It don't seem as if you considerated the folks 
 about you always — it's as if you forgot 'em sometimes, and 
 talked with yourself, or with some one that nobody else could 
 see, and about things that nobody else was a-thinking about. 
 That's the strangeness of it, Nelly." 
 
 "And would you call that madness, mother — craziness?" in 
 very low, husky accents. 
 
 " Craziness 1 — madness 1 No ! What makes you think 
 tliat ?" 
 
 " Oh, mother — " with a burst of anguish — " that is the great 
 terror of my soul ! It is, that I have the seeds of madness in 
 me ! It is, that I talk dreams and nonsense, and persuade 
 myself that shadows are substances, and the merest fancies are 
 substantial things ; that my brain is unsound ; that — that — the 
 day may come when I shall rave — rave — perhaps do mischief; 
 and then, that they will chain my limbs, and bar me up in a hor- 
 rid dungeon with iron gratings to the windows ; when I shall 
 never feel motion on the bright earth, and get no air, no light 
 from the blessed sun in heaven !" 
 
 And, sobbing wildly, the poor girl buried her face in the lap 
 of the aged woman. 
 
 " Why, Nelly, child, what's put all this nonsense-stuff in your 
 head?" 
 
 " Oh, mother, they call me mad already !" 
 
 " Who calls you mad 1" 
 
 "Jeff Rhodes—" 
 
 " He's a beast, and a brute, and worse than a heathen Injin. 
 Ilc'd as soon sculp you as call you mad. He's brute enough for 
 anything." 
 
 " And Molly Rhodes says I'm light-headed." 
 
 " And she's a pudding-head, witli no move brains than a peck 
 
LOG-CABIN PHILOSOPHY. 83 
 
 x){ bran ! She's a pretty piece of impudence, with such a thick 
 skull as she's got, to find fault with anybody's sense !" 
 
 "But Mat, too — even poor Mat, who really does love me — 
 even Mat thinks me foolish." 
 
 " Mat, Mat ! don't speak to me of Mat, and what he thinks, 
 Nelly. If he had anything in his own skull that a gimlet-bore 
 could git at, would he bs sich a fool as to follow the track of 
 sich a raspscallion as Jeff Rhodes ? What's the thinking of all 
 sich people to you 1 Now, tell ms, did tha great landgrave 
 think you crazy ? Did he ?" 
 
 " He never said so, mother." 
 
 " Well, belike, he had not much to say to you, nor you to 
 him; hut the lady landgrave, Madame Nelson — did sho ever 
 let on that she thought you crazy, eh 1" 
 
 " Never, never ! oh, no — never!" 
 
 " Ar.d ef she had thought so, would she ever have kept you, 
 for seven good years and more, in companyship with her only 
 darter, and she an heiress to thousands ? The thing's onrea- 
 3onable. And ef they never found you out to be mad, and I 
 never found you out to be mad, what's the valley of Jeff Eliodes's 
 thinking — the old gray-headed villain ? — -.and what's the valley 
 of what Molly Rhodes thinks, the sap-headed sulk 1 — for she's 
 jest that; and, as for poor Mat — it's no use talking, Nelly, the 
 boy's foolish, and hain't got sense enough to stick to a right 
 idee. I'm sorry for him. I don't quarrel with him. I lovo 
 the boy, for I helped to raise him ; but he's been pervarted 
 from all my raising ; and now the chance ia, that he's in a fair 
 road for all them horrid dangers that you see. None of these 
 people's to be valleyed for tho matter of their thinking. Tou're 
 not so mad as the sensiblest among tiiem ; and you've got more 
 true human-natur sense, Ne.iy, than half the people that I 
 knows. For, what's the right reason 1 To do good ; to love 
 them that spitefully uses you ; to try always to make things 
 better for people, and people better for things ; and to go through 
 the world planting fruits and flowers along the track, and pulling 
 up the tliorns : and that, Nelly dear, is jest the thing — 'cording 
 to what I sees — that you've been a-doing, ever sence you was 
 knee-high. And it's in you, Nelly, to be doing so as long as 
 you kin go. .You've got the heart for it. Call that craziness ? 
 
84 EUTAW. 
 
 Lord, be marciful ! but ef that's craziness, may tlie blessed Lord 
 change all our wise people into crazy people, in the twinkling 
 of an eye ! That's my pray, this very night." 
 
 Mother Ford's argument was probably quite as efficient ae 
 that of the wisest moral philosopher could have been. It wac 
 to the purpose — rough, but salient, practical, well-appiied, and 
 tinpressive. The old woman continued : — 
 
 "One thing, Nelly dear — it's sart'in you're a very different 
 person from most of them you hev' to do with. You've got an 
 edication that puts you above them ; and so, hafe the time, you're 
 a-talking to them strange and onreasonable things. For, you 
 know, them things that we don't know, and don't care nothing 
 about, are alwa.ys onreasonable. And, then, you are strange, 
 ' besides, in your natur', Nelly ; and that's bekaise you've got 
 strange gifts, Nelly. I ain't the person to deny the gifts that 
 you've got, Nelly ; and though, sometimes, it does seem to me 
 as ef you was a-dreaming of what you tells me — of what you 
 see — of speiTits and angels — yet I would be a most impudent 
 old fool to be saying 'twan't so. I believe in sperrits, my child. 
 I don't see why sperrits kain't show themselves in our times, 
 as they did in the times of the heathens and the apostles. It's 
 for God to say ; and ef he finds it needful to use sperrits, I 
 reckon he won't stop to ax us poor ignorant creatur's what we 
 thinks about it. I've never seen a sperrit myself, but I've beam 
 strange things all about- the house, at sart'in times of the year, 
 that's made the hair to rise on my forehead, as it did on Job's 
 forehead, that you read about in the blessed book. But my 
 mother had a gift like yourn, Nelly." 
 
 " And did she ever sec ?" 
 
 " Yes, more than onco ! I remember, once upon a time, when 
 I was with her, and me only a little child, 1 had a sort of sight- 
 gift my own self, but 'twas only that once. We were living on 
 the Santee, that time, and my father had a little property 
 there. One day, a strange gentleman, named Sylvester, came 
 to see him about running some land [surveying for entry] ; and 
 mother called me out of the room, leaving the two men together. 
 We walked out to the kitchen, and off to the stables ; and, as 
 we turned down a lane behind the stables, we seed father, pkin 
 enough, a-walking by himself. Mother called out to him, but 
 
LOG-CABIN PHILOSOPHY. 85 
 
 life made no answer. He kept on, crossed the lane, and went 
 out of sight into the woods. We went back home, and there 
 found father and Mr. Sylvester, a-setting together, jest where 
 we bad left them. Then mother ups, and says — 
 
 " ' Why, how did you git back before us V 
 
 " ' Git back V says father ; ' I hain't been away from this 
 fireside.' 
 
 '• Motlier then tells him what she seed, and what I seed. 
 
 " ' I called to yon,' she said, • and you went into the woods 
 without a word.' 
 
 " ' It's my appairation,' said my father — I remember them's 
 the very words — and he went on to say, ' It's a sign I'm not 
 to live long.' 
 
 " And, sure enough, though jest then a most hearty person, 
 without an ache or a complaint, he died of pleurisy -n less than 
 three months a'ter. I remember another mighty strange thing, 
 Nelly, that happened to mother when I was a child, not more 
 than nine years old. There was a poor, young widow woman, 
 named Rachel Moore, that died on the Santee, near us, and left 
 a little girl, quite onbefriended, about seven years old. My 
 mother took the poor little orphin home with her a'ter the fu- 
 neral, and did for her jest the same as she did for me. And we 
 had her with us more than a year, when, all of a suddent, there 
 come an uncle up from the salts [seasidoj, and claimed her, 
 and took little Rachel off to live with his own family. We 
 missed the child very much, and only two days a'ter, when we 
 was walking in the garden, there came up a sudden shower, 
 though we couldn't see a single cloud in the sky. 
 
 " ' It's a-raining,' said my mother ; but I felt none of the rain, 
 and it stopped as suddent as it began ; and, a minute after, 
 mother said : — 
 
 " ' Why, child, you're all sprinkled with blood ! — and so 
 am I!' 
 
 " She went on, as she seed the same bloody spots ail over her 
 own frock, as they were on mine. Then she said : — 
 
 " ' I see it all. Something's happened tc poor little Rachel 
 Moore!' 
 
 " And so 'twas, sure enough. When we heard of the child, 
 she was dead — was thrown out of the shay and killed, from 
 
86 EUTAW. 
 
 the horses loinning away, when her uncle was a-driving her — 
 the very day and hour when the shower of blood rained on us ! 
 And that was a fact, Nelly, knowin' to my own self. And I 
 could tell you hundreds more. But, child, ain't it high time 
 for us to lie down ? Fling on another lightwood knot. I'm 
 a-feeling quite chilly and we shall be in the dark in another 
 minute." 
 
MORE OP :•?"! SPIRITUAL. 8T 
 
 OHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 MORE OF THE SPIRITUAL. 
 
 And thus did the.se simple women discourse to each other or 
 a subject, from which philosophy is apt to shrink afraid, yet ip 
 v/hich the whole heart of humanity must always take the pro- 
 found csL interest. 
 
 And thus discoursing they retired for the night — but not to 
 sleep, not soon at least. Their fancies had been set to work 
 upon a problem which does not let one sleep easily or immedi- 
 ately ; one of those problems which exercise a strangely fasci- 
 nating power over the human heart and the imagination, begin- 
 ning with the trembling urchin by the evening fireside, nor 
 altogether foregoing the grave and slippered pantaloon in his 
 easy chair in the wintry twilight of life. 
 
 When they had been but a few minutes in bed — they slept 
 together — Nelly said, somewhat abruptly: — 
 
 " Mother Ford, I once saw my own mother." 
 
 " Well, you could hardly remember her, my child. You were 
 but a very leetle creature when she died." 
 
 " I did not remember her, mother? But I saw her — the very 
 night after I went home with Lady Nelson." 
 
 " Yoii saw your mother. But how did you know 'twas your 
 mother ]" 
 
 " Oh ! something seemed to tell me so. I knew her as soon 
 as I saw her, and she was very beautiful. And she was clad 
 in a garment of light, and it was the lightness from her that let 
 me see, for there was no other light in the room. And 1 held 
 my breath. I was not scared. I saw that she looked pleasantly 
 |it me, but she said nothing — only looked so sweetly." 
 
88 TjL i i <P. 
 
 " And how long did she stay." 
 
 "Oh ! some time, mother — some time. And she did not dis- 
 appear till Bettie came up stairs bringing the candle. It was 
 not till I could distinguish the light of the candle under the 
 door, that her light disappeared; but I saw her plainly till 
 then." 
 
 " Well, I reckon you did see your mother, child. And I 
 reckon she is a good angel now, and there's no reason why the 
 good angels shouldn't be let to see their offspring. And who 
 can tell the amount of good which that sight did you, making 
 you think constantly of the beautiful things of God, that we are 
 always a-forgetting in the bad bitter ways of this good-for-noth- 
 ing world. Ah ! child, I reckon 'twould be better for all of us, 
 ef we were now and then let to see a good smiling sperrit from 
 heaven." 
 
 " But, mother, when I told Jeff Rhodes, that I saw him kill 
 an angel, he laughed at me, and called me mad." 
 
 " 'Twas like him ! It stands to reason, child, that the man 
 who would kill a person, 'vould not be willing to believe in his 
 sperrit, for I reckon you mean the sperrit of the man that was 
 killed, when you say his angel." 
 
 He looked to me like an angel, mother, though he had no wings ; 
 yet he was lifted up in air, jnst over the body, and above the 
 bushes where the body was Ij'ing, and Jeff Rhodes was then 
 taking away all the money that the man had about him." 
 
 "Of course a man was killed — murdered by Jeff Rhodes; 
 but you did not see his body." 
 
 " No ! I knew where Jeff Rhodes was hiding on the edge 
 of the bay. He did not know that I was near him. He was 
 armed with his rifle. He fired, and then I heard a horse running 
 away, and just afterward I saw him, and he had no rider. And 
 Jeff Rhodes darted out of the bay, and I saw him now and then 
 lift himself above the bushes ; and 'twas over his head, I saw a 
 faint smoke rising, and it hung above him not twenty feet high. 
 And it grew thicker, and soon I saw the shape of a young" man 
 in the smoke. It was a pale face, and looking very mournful, 
 and his hands were drooping down at first, then afterward liliid. 
 And so the figure rose and rose, till suddenly, it disappeared 
 wholly from sight." 
 
MORE OP THE SPIRITUAL. 89 
 
 " Gone upward ! Well God be praised the soul warn't lost, 
 though the poor human was murdered — took all of a sudden, 
 without a minute given to fall upon his knees. No doubt, 
 Nelly, Jeff Rhodes did a cruel murder that day, but 'twas a 
 man, not an angel, Nelly, that he murdered. He called yon 
 crazy, child, because you said an angel. But I reckon he feels 
 well enough that you are knowing to his murder of the man ; 
 and sooner than you should tell of it, Nelly, he will murder you. 
 So keep away from him, child. He'll be the death of you, if he 
 can get a chance to do it and no one see. So, as you valley 
 your life don't go among his gang agin." 
 
 " But Mat ! How am I ever to get him from their snares and 
 dangers if I do not go among them." 
 
 " Nelly, my child, it's not in you, or any of the giftp you've 
 got, to git that poor boy out of their clutches. The boy is weak 
 and has a nateral hankering after temptation. The love of the 
 sin is in him. That's the mischief. The devil's got a place in 
 his heart where he hides snug, and sends out his p'ison through 
 all the heart. It's gradual, but it works. It's slow, but mighty 
 sure. 'Tain't Jeff Rhodes only that's the tempter. It's the 
 devil in his own heart." 
 
 " Oh ! mother, mother, but this is too terrible. You don't 
 know Mat. He always listens to me. He acknowledges it's 
 true what I tell him, and when I'm with him, he'll do as I bid 
 him. Mat's not naturally wicked." 
 
 " As if all men warn't wicked. He's like the rest, having a 
 mighty great hankering after sin. He knowrs it to be sin, but 
 the sin's too sweet, and he too weak, and he gives in to the 
 temptation. He keeps up smooth talking with you, sence 
 you're his own nateral born sister, and he has sense enough, and 
 jist feeling enough to know that you love him and talk for hip 
 good. But every day the sin gits stronger, and the soul gits 
 weaker, and your words are jist so much wind, flying here 
 and there, and never moving him one side or t'other. In a 
 leetle time, Nelly dear, he won't listen to you at all. The 
 greedy after gould, and the thirsty after blood's, both growing 
 upon him, and in Jeff Rhodes's hands, he'll be mighty soon jist 
 sich a seholerd as his master. Oh ! tell me nothing, Nelly 
 Floyd, of Mat Floyd. Nothing that you kin do kin save him. 
 
00 EUTAW. 
 
 He's easy to hear, perhaps, but hard to hold. Ef you can skear 
 him off from Rhodes, that's your only chaince. The boy, on- 
 happLly kin be skeared, but he kain't be palavered." 
 
 " But surely, mother, the dreadful appearance that I have 
 seen — the gallows and the halter; surely that is a picture to 
 fright him from his path.'' 
 
 " Does it." 
 
 '' Yes! He feels it, fears it, trembles at it, and — believes it." 
 
 " Spose ! And jest as your back's turned he forgits it all. 
 Jeff Rhodes puts his finger to his eye, and roars with laughter 
 as if to split. And Mat's satisfied that his sister dream'd it only 
 and seed it in her dream, and that his sister's only a crazy fool 
 with hfcr inventions. And he's glad to believe you're crazy, for 
 if he didn't, he'd be worried. And he don't like to think of 
 the danger. And he's too well pleased to be ail the time think- 
 ing of the temptation. T reckon you kin skear him jest while 
 you're a-talking to him by yourself; for, sartinly, it's a most 
 terrible vision for mortal eye to see — a woman's eye, too — to 
 see an own dear brother going to the gallows, dragged up and 
 swung off, and — Lord ! Lord ! it's a most awsome gift that of 
 your'n ! a most awful gift. And you've seen that murderous 
 vision more than once ?" 
 
 " Twice, thrice, many times. I know not how many." 
 
 " And always in the daytime, you say ?" 
 
 "Yes! always!" 
 
 " And always jest in the same sort of place V 
 
 " Yes ! I should know it were I to see it a hundred years 
 hence — a dark wood — all pines — except on the edge of the 
 bay, and that's of thick undergrowth. There's a creek near, 
 and a boat, and — oh ! me, there it is now — it rises before me 
 as I speak. I see it all. There is a crowd of men. They 
 drag him off. It is a British officer that commands — a captain, 
 but I can not see his face — I never see his face. Why don't 
 I see that officer's face, mother ! Ah ! ah ! They draw him 
 up — he swings. Oh! mother, mother, it is over — it is gone I 
 All is dark, dark, dark !" 
 
 And she buried her face in the pillow, sobbing with ten-oi. 
 while the old woman wraps her withered arms aboirt her, and 
 draws her up tenderly to her bosom. 
 
MORE OP THE SPIRITUAL. 91 
 
 " It's the thing working in your mind, Nelly dear ; I reckon 
 it was a dream first time you saw it, and a'terward it worked in 
 your brain, till the vision seemed to rise before your sight, just 
 as you had seen it in your dreams. You see, now, it appears to 
 you this time at night. 'Tain't with your natural eyes that you 
 seed anything here, for all's dark as pitch. There ain't the sign 
 of a spark in the chimney. It's in your brain, Nelly dear, that 
 the thing is working. It comes from too much thinking upon 
 it, Nelly, and — " 
 
 "I don't know, mother — I don't know! It seems to stand 
 out clear before my eyes. All stands out distinctly — the scene 
 — the soldiers — all are soldiers — all are visible — clear to my 
 sight — as if they were living and acting in the broad daylight. 
 I see their faces too, Ned's face, and all bul one. The officer's 
 face I can't see. His back is always to me. I watch with all 
 my eyes to see ; for there is something about his figure that I 
 seem to know. He's in rich green uniform, and he's tall and 
 slender. He's young — that I'm sure ! But I can't, with all 
 my trying, and praying, get a sight of his face. He's looking 
 at Mat, and Mat looks at him very fearful ! And I can see the 
 officer lift his hand and wave him off, and turn away, and go 
 ofiF, whilp the soldiers hale my poor brother to the tree. And 
 then all's dark, dark and horrible." 
 
 " That's all mighty curious. It's curious that you kain't see 
 the face of the commanding officer ; and it's curious that Mat 
 should be hung up by the British, when he's upon their side." 
 
 " Ah ! mother, that's the worst of it. So long as Mat keeps 
 with Jeff Rhodes he's on no side — " 
 
 "Yes — the old devil!" exclaimed the aged woman vehe- 
 mently. " If the boy ain't got away from sich a leader, he 
 stands a chaince of being run up by all parties, red-coats and 
 blue, any one that first catches him at his tricks." 
 
 " And what's to be done, mother ?" 
 
 " "What kin be done, child, by two sich poor creatures as we ? 
 I'm too old, and you too young, and we're both women. Ef 
 'twas safe for you to be in Jeff Rhodes' camp, even fi)r a min- 
 ute, I'd say, go, and try your best ! But it's not safe. Ef Jeff 
 Rhodes knows that you seed him murder a man, he'll be sure to 
 
92 EUTAW. 
 
 murder you, the very first chaince ! You kain't go to bis camp, 
 Nelly." 
 
 " But I must try and save Mat, mother." 
 
 " In course, ef you kin ! But, Nelly, child, ef you air to go 
 to Jeff Ehodes's camp, see that he never knows of it. You're 
 quick to move, and keen to see, and kin ride fast, and steal 
 about softly ; and you'll hav' to prac/z«e all your cunning, to see 
 Mat onbeknowing to Jeff Ehodes, and the others in camp. 
 You kin no more trust one than t'other. You kin no more trust 
 Molly Rhodes — though she's your hafe-sister — than you kin 
 trust Jeff. She'd whine about you for awhile, ef anything hap- 
 pened to you, but she'd never eat one bit the less that night, of 
 her 'lowance. The bacon and hoecake would set as light upon 
 her stomach, Nelly, though she made a supper-table of your 
 coffin, as it ever did at any supper in her life. She's as cold as 
 a snake in December, and jist as full of p'ison. And the fel- 
 lows Jeff Ehodes has got about him — Nat Rhodes, and the 
 rest — they're all jist so many tools of the devil, all greased 
 and sharpened, and ready for use, in his hands, whenever he's 
 wanting to cut a throat or pick a pocket; and when is he not 
 wanting them for some sich business ? Better never let any one 
 of 'em set eyes upon you ef you goes to their camp. Better 
 never go at all." 
 
 "And leave poor Mat to his doom — his danger !" 
 
 " "What God writes in the sky, my child, is law for airth ; and 
 it will sartinly come to pass. Ef it's showd you that Mat Floyd 
 is under doom and sentence, I reckon 'twon't be anything that 
 you kin say, or do, that'll save him. And when, at the same 
 time, the devil is a writing his law upon the boy's heart, then, 
 I reckon, the thing's past all disputing." 
 
 " I will try for him, mother, though there were a thousand 
 devils !" exclaimed the wild girl with sudden energy. " I have 
 rescued him this night already from the gallows ! I will save 
 him again. He shall not perish in his sins !" 
 
 " It's a brave sperrit, child, and a good ; and may the blessed 
 Lord help you in what you hopes to do." 
 
 " He will ! he will ! But enough to-night, mother. I must 
 try and sleep now." 
 
 " I reckon you needs it, child. God bless your sleep, and 
 
MORE OP THE SPIRITUAL. [*?. 
 
 protect your waking. Sleep, ef you kin. 'Tain't much of this 
 night that's left you for sleeping, and I reckon there won't bs 
 much sleep for my old eyes now, sence you've set my old brains 
 so hard to working. But I'll shet up, and let you sleep." 
 
 The night, in truth, was very nearly gone, and the hovel lay 
 in silence till the dawn. With the first streak of day, indicated 
 by the shrill clarion of one long-legged rooster in the fowl-yard, 
 the old woman silently arose, and proceeded to her customary 
 exercises. But Nelly Floyd slept on — softly and it might be 
 sweetly — but the grandame every now and then detected a 
 faint moaning escaping through her parted lips, as of a sorrow 
 that still kept wakeful — such a moaning as lapses over the sea 
 after a storm ! 
 
91 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A VISIT FROM MARION'S MEN. 
 
 With dawn, as we have said, good Mother Ford was stirriDg, 
 but Nelly slept on till after sunrise ; then she waked, started 
 up, made her toilet hastily, said her prayers, and joined the 
 old woman cheerfully at the duties of the little household. A 
 simple breakfast of hominy and milk sufficed, and amply satis- 
 fied the appetites of both. During the day Nelly worked and 
 weeded in the garden, or took a turn at spinning-wheel or loom, 
 and wrought industriously, if not as destrously as she might 
 have done had her book-leai-ning been less. But working cheer- 
 fully, what she did was well done, and the manner of doing it 
 sweetened the performance to herself and tia old lady. And 
 so, the day passed in simple toils of the household j the loom, 
 the garden, and in friendly and loving talk between the two ; 
 the inequality of their years causing no inequality of temper. 
 They could find companionship for each other, though, liko the 
 pair . described by Wordsworth: — "One was seventeen, the 
 other seventy-two." 
 
 And again came the serious talk of evening ; serious, accord- 
 ing with the soberness of the night, the silence, the loneliness 
 of their homes and fortunes, and the gloomy strife which raged 
 throughout the country. Serious, according with tlie mutuai 
 earnestness of their minds, and the deep, wild, spiritual inteni-ity 
 which worked in that of the younger. Again, lill a lato hour 
 did they brood in discourse over those weird topics which hot.. 
 of them may have ioved too well. 
 
 Another day of hcusehoid work followed — -another niglit of 
 
A VISIT FROM Marion's men. 95 
 
 dreamy discourse and I'every ; and then the wild Arah restless- 
 ness of Nelly Floyd prevailed. 
 
 " I mnst go forth, mother. I must seek after Mat. I feel so 
 unoasy about him." 
 
 Poor Mat ! little did he trouble himself with the cares and 
 anxieties of his sister — little did he value those sympathies 
 which kept her restlessly brooding over his fortunes and con- 
 dition. He is to be pitied surely ; but there is good reason why 
 he should be flogged also. We may sorrow over the weak- 
 nesses of the offender, but be sure to use the hickory mean- 
 while. 
 
 When Nelly declared her purpose to go forth, Mother Ford, 
 though regretting the determination, did not argue against it. 
 She knew that arguments, after all, really tell only upon the 
 willing mind — the willingness constituting that modicum of 
 faith which is the inclining ear to wisdom. But, though she 
 urged nothing to prevent or discourage the girl, she was yet 
 particularly full in her cautions to her not to trust herself alone 
 within reach of Jeff Rhodes — not to trust herself in his eye- 
 sight, if it were possible to avoid it. And the girl promised. 
 Calling up Aggy, and kissing the good mother, she soon had 
 her beast saddled and bridled, and was cantering off in the 
 direction of the camp where she had left the faction of Rhodes 
 on the night of her brother's rescue. Very anxiously did the 
 ancient dame look after her departing form. 
 
 With night she returned, anxious, excited, with a budget full 
 of news. Rhodes was gone with all his party, leaving no clues 
 to his flight ; and the whole country, along the lower side of the 
 Oawcaw, was full of soldiers. Orangeburg was full of soldiers — 
 the British. The great Lord Rawdon was there, with his three 
 thousand men ; and, hovering about like vultures, greedy for 
 the prey, were the wild forayers of Marion and Sumter, and the 
 tiim legion of Lee, and the rough war-dogs of a score of other 
 " captains, and colonels, and men-at-arms," and a strong array 
 of the continentals under Greene. 
 
 Nelly Floyd was quite a woodman, and knew " how to work 
 a traverse" with any scout in the two armies. She had picked 
 her way from, point to point, until she gathered up all the intel- 
 ligence which we here sum up in a paragraph ; to say nothing 
 
Q6 EUTAW. 
 
 of a thousand details besides, wliicli, interesting enough to good 
 Mother Ford, will hardly compensate our readers. 
 
 Here was a new subject to keep the pair wakeful again that 
 night. War and its glories ; war and its miseries ! Of course, 
 a battle was confidently expected : and how many poor, weep- 
 ing mothers were to be left childless ; how many wives made 
 widows ; how many homes made desolate ; how many noble 
 spirits violently freed, in storm, and wrath, and torture, from 
 the goodly frames of beautiful mortality in which they now 
 walk the earth in strength and authority ! " How few shall 
 part . . . where many meet !" And with whom is the triumph 
 to remain ? And what is to follow to the poor country, already 
 filled with widows and orphans, from that threatened shock of 
 battle ? 
 
 It was of such topics that these two feeble women conversed 
 that night, expecting every moment to hear the cannon. 
 
 But, ever and anon, Nelly wound up her meditations with the 
 one burden of her individual fear. 
 
 "And where, oh, where can Mat be all this while?" 
 
 " Well, ef he's with Jeff Rhodes, Nelly, you may be sure he 
 ain't in the ranks of the red-coats or the blue. Jeff Rhodes is a 
 robber and a murderer, not a fighting sodger. He valleys his car- 
 cass too well to resk anything. He's onlj' good for skulking and 
 shooting down onsuspecting travellers from behind the bush." 
 
 " I shouldn't so much mind it, mother, if Mat was in the 
 army." 
 
 " No, indeed ! I wish I had twenty sons to march up to the 
 Swamp-Pox. Is it death that's the danger? Why, Nelly, 
 that's every human man's danger — what every child that's bom 
 has to ondergo; and the question is about the icai/ one dies — • 
 whether he dies decently, like a human Christian, doing open, 
 broad-daylight actions, that he ain't ashamed or afraid of, or 
 dying in a ditch, like a hog, or in the halter, like a dog ! It's 
 the difference in the dying, a'ter all, Nelly, that makes the 
 danger. Ef I had a son, I'd see him carried to the grave with- 
 out so much as whimpering, ef so be his cappin could say — 
 ' Mother Ford, your boy did his duty, like a free-born white 
 man, and took his wounds all of 'cm in front, fighting for his 
 country's sile !' Oh, Nelly, I'd ha' gone on my knees to Mat, 
 
A VISIT FROM Marion's mex. 97 
 
 oniiateral as 'twould be for an old woman like me to crook a 
 j'int to a boy like that, ef so be I could ha' got him to jlue 
 Thompson's rigiment, when they was a-recruiting about here in 
 the beginning of the war. But 'twas even jest then that Nat 
 Rhodes married Molly Floyd, and so they all got hold of jpoor 
 Mat together, and he'll hear to nothing now that either you or 
 I can say." 
 
 " Oh, mother, if it should happen to him as I have seen ! — " 
 
 '' Hev' you seen that thing agin to-day ?" 
 
 " No, not to-day." 
 
 " It's in your mind only. It's bekaise you think so much 
 about it. Weed it out. Jest stay here, working with me, or 
 not working — jest as you please — though work's the first 
 way to begin a-saving sinners, and it's best for every heart and 
 human ef they will work. But never mind the work : jest you 
 stay with the old woman, Nelly ; and let them that won't stay 
 to hear the prayers of sister and friend, go where — the Lord 
 will provide as he pleases ! He'll be sure to do his will, a'ter 
 all !" 
 
 Nelly shook her head mournWly. 
 
 " Well, you'll hev' to stay ontil the country's clear of these 
 Bodgers." 
 
 " Hark, mother ! do yon hear ? It is the tramp of horsemen, 
 riding briskly." 
 
 " Ah, you've got mighty keen young ears ! I don't hear 
 nothing." 
 
 " Now ! don't you hear them now ?" 
 
 " Ef you tell me, I reckon I will hear a'ter a while. Bat— 
 sure enough, Nelly, I do hear." 
 
 " Shall I throw water on the fire, mother V 
 
 " For what, Nelly ? What hev' we to fear ? That would be 
 a needcessity, prehaps, in Jeff Rhodes's camp ; but here, Nelly, 
 look at the plunder that's to be had — to say nothing of the old 
 woman's curses, kivered up in prayers! No! — let the light- 
 wood blaze !" 
 
 And, with the words, she threw a fresh brand into the fire. 
 
 In another moment, the hovel was surrounded by armed 
 troopers, and a firm but not violent rapping at the door de- 
 manded -that it should be opened. 
 
98 E0TAW. 
 
 The old woman tlncw it wide instantly, and a group of troop, 
 ers, three or four, entered. Two of these were officers. The 
 lightwood blaze showed them distinctly to the eye in every 
 lineament. It revealed to them, at the same time, the tall, erect 
 form of the aged woman, with an eye as calm as if the soul which 
 it represented never entertained one fearful emotion. The 
 young girl stood a little behind her, but on one side, so that she 
 was visible to the officers at the same time. They removed 
 their caps as they discovered the two females. 
 
 "Marion's men !" quoth the old woman, sotto voce, to Nelly. 
 She knew the uniform. 
 
 The officers did not delay to make their business known. 
 
 " I am an intruder, madam," said the person in command, 
 " but I would not be an joffender ; and I must plead a very 
 anxious duty in justification of myself for thus trespassing upon 
 your privacy at this unseasonable hour." 
 
 " Well, the sight of Marion's men is always a welcome one to 
 the eyes of Jane Ford, gentlemen. I'm very glad to see you. 
 Won't you set down ? This is my adopted darter, Ellen Floyd, 
 gentlemen. Mout I hev' the pleasure, sir, of knowing your 
 name V 
 
 " My name is Sinclair, madam. This gentleman is Captain 
 St. Jnlieu, of the brigade of General Marion." 
 
 " I've beam of you both, I reckon. But won't you set down, 
 gentlemen V 
 
 The two officers readily took the seats indicated, one of them 
 waving his hand to the two privates who had followed them 
 into the house, who took the hint, and immediately withdrew. 
 
 " I've beam of you both, I reckon,'' resumed the old lady. 
 "Air you the son of old Colonel Sinclair — the one that they 
 calls ' the baron' — that lives below somewhar ?" 
 
 " I have that honor, Mrs. Ford." 
 
 " Well, T seed him once, the time of Grant and Middleton, in 
 the Cherokee war. I seed them mustering on the Congarees. 
 I'm an old woman, gentlemen, and hev' seen enough of wars 
 and rumors of wars, by this time. But the sodgers of liberty, 
 fighting for the sile, air always welcome to these old eyes." 
 
 " We thank you for the compliment," said Colonel Smclair ; 
 '• and only regret that your sentiments, Mrs. Ford, are not the jo 
 
A VISIT FROM Marion's men. 99 
 
 of all the free-souled women of the country. Had they been, 
 my dear madam, the war would have ceased long before it ever 
 penetrated our little state." 
 
 " AVell, I reckon it will cease afore long, and in a way to 
 make you young sodgers of liberty proud of it. I'm mighty 
 glad to know that G-ineral Marion has so many fine officers. I 
 only Avisli I had a dozen sons to send witli you." 
 
 " I wish you had fifty, my dear madam, all warmed with 
 your own noble sentiments. But, however pleased to converse 
 with you, I must not suffer myself to trespass. I am now on a 
 mission of great uneasiness and apprehension — in search of 
 two ladies, who were left in the neighborhood of the old Rhodes 
 mill, in the Caw caw swamp, two days ago, by a detachment of 
 my command, while it encountered" a body of the Florida refu- 
 gees. The refugees were dispersed ; but when our troop re- 
 turned to seek for the carriage with the ladies, it was gone, and 
 we have not yet been able to discover any traces of their route* 
 Finding an old neighborhood road out in this direction, with 
 marks of wheels, we have pursued it in search, and it brought 
 us here. Our purpose is simply to know if you can give us any 
 information in respect to these ladies. Have they been hers — 
 have you seen or heard of- them V 
 
 We are in possession of facts of which neither Mother Ford 
 nor Nelly Floyd had any knowledge, and their mutual wonder 
 soon satisfied th& visiters that their inquiry was vain in this 
 quarter. They received the unsatisfactory answers with droop • 
 ing' heads and anguished faces. 
 
 They hurried^ their departure. They had nothing more tc> 
 hear. But their leavetaking, like their approach, was consid- 
 erate and respectful : and, when they had gone a few minutes 
 from the hut, a dragoon returned from the troop — now mus- 
 tered without the enclosure — and, placing a sack in a corner 
 of the hovel, said that it had been sent by Colonel Sinclair for 
 Mrs. Ford. The sack contained meal, bacon, and potatoes. 
 
 A chapter might be written, of great and instructive interest, 
 elucidating the peculiarity of the warfare of the Revolution, as 
 conducted by the southern partisans. Historians tell you that 
 the men of Marion and Sumter went and came at pleasure. The 
 practice was inseparable from the necessities of the country. 
 
-00 EUTAW. 
 
 The soldiers were all farmers, interested necessarily in the do- 
 mestic progress, and required to see, at certain periods, to theii 
 families and agricultural interests — to the season of planting, 
 and of harvest, especially — to the proper regulation of the labor 
 ';" herds of half-savage Africans, new to the country, ignorant 
 of the work required at their hands, and only half subordinated 
 to authority. When, too, it is understood that the country was 
 perpetually traversed by foroign refugees, having no families, no 
 responsibilities to society, and seeking plunder only, it will not 
 be thought surprising if the partisans, having done a severe 
 duty of three months at a spell, found it necessary to hurry 
 home to see that the homestead was kept in order, and made as 
 secure and prosperous as it was possible to be. The result was, 
 that the agriculture of the country was measurably sustained, 
 even while the war raged in every section. It was from the 
 fertile fields of Carolina that the British and American armies, 
 the loyalists and the whigs, in the two Carolines and Georgia, 
 wore chiefly fed during the last three years of the war. The 
 partisans, in this way, were enabled to share their food with 
 the destitute and suffering; and -rarely did they leave camp 
 without carrying with them some creature-comforts with which 
 they could make glad, while passing, the wretched widow and 
 ^er famishing flock, in some lonely habitations. It was thus 
 that Sinclair was enabled to tender to Mother T'ord the little 
 sack of supplies, which the old woman as gratefully accepted. 
 
 " They're the true sons of the sile, Nelly. Oh ! Lord, that 
 we had a million jest like 'em. Oh ! Nelly, if that foolish 
 brother of your'n, was only in that squad, under them officers ! 
 Then, it mout be that he would be in danger of death, but 
 therd wouldn't be any shame in it, Nelly." 
 
 Poor Nelly sighed pitifully. She had no other answer. 
 
 " And to think how they drooped, both the officers, when I 
 could tell 'em nothing of them ladies ! It's mighty curious too, 
 Nelly, that they should heV disappeared jest about Rhodes's 
 mill — below it, he said, about a mile or so ! Why, Nelly, that 
 was jest about the place where old Rhodes had his camp, a'ter 
 you got Mat out of Lem Watkins' claws." 
 
 " Yes !" said the girl f&intly. 
 
 ■' And the troopers Jit with Lem Watkins, jest the day a'ter. 
 
A VISIT FROM Marion's men. 101 
 
 and driv' 'em across the swamp ! Well, old Rhodes saw it all 
 Nelly." 
 
 Nelly admitted the probability. 
 
 "And he's carried off the carriage and the two poor ladies, 
 all for plundering ; and, oh ! Lord forgive the thought, but likely 
 for murdering too !" 
 
 " Oh ! no ! no ! ''.o not say it, mother : do not say it ! Mat 
 would never consent to any murder !" 
 
 " Child, child ! There's few people that will rob on the high- 
 way that won't murder on the highway ! That old villain 
 Rhodes will do it — and he'll egg Mat on till he's done the deed 
 afore he knows what he's a-doing." 
 
 "Mother, mother, I must go," cried the girl passionately. 
 " I must go !" 
 
 " Go 1— Where?" 
 
 " To seek after these ladies — to seek after Mat — to bring 
 him away from Rhodes — to save him, and the ladies if I can." 
 
 " You don't budge a peg to-night, child," answered the old 
 woman firmly. " The troopers are about — Marion's men — and 
 old Rhodes will lie close. He knows them too well. No ! let 
 the night pass, and see what good counsels will come to you from 
 God to-night. Git the good book, Nelly, and read me something 
 from its blessed pages." 
 
 The girl rose up meekly from the couch on which she had 
 thrown herself, with a sobbing moan, a moment before; sat 
 down on the floor beside the fire, with the volume in her lap, 
 and read several chapters from the New Testament : the old 
 woman occasionally flinging a fresh brand upon the blaze, but 
 m no other way disturbing the progress of the reader. 
 
 " The Lord be praised for all his marcies. We gits no re- 
 ligion now except what he gives us, and I feel jest as good a'ter 
 Learing you read out of that blessed book, as ef I had been a 
 listening to the best sarment in the world. He's fed us to-night 
 both mouth and ears. In the heart and in the body. It's a 
 blessing, I feel, to see them offsers and men of Marion to-night. 
 I wish there was a hundred million of 'em. May the Lord be 
 with them, and help fight their battles. Let's pray now, Nelly. 
 I feel all over softened for prayer." 
 
 They knelt and prayed together — the Lord's prayer only — 
 
102 EUTAW. 
 
 but they mused otlier unspoken adjuratious for which neither 
 had any proper form in words. 
 
 And then they slept, and the shadow of God rested on the 
 house, and. the hours swept by peaceftilly over it, and the two 
 woke refreshed at sunrise. — But Nelly's msditations had net 
 changed her purpose. The moment breakfast was ovtr, she 
 called np Aggy, and rode forth upon her scouting expedition 
 
GLIMPSES OP CAPTiriTT. 103 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 GLIMPSES OF CAPTIVITY. 
 
 Meanwhile, Jeff Rhodes with his gang, and their captives, 
 pursued their way down the country, with a caution and confi- 
 dence, the due result of their knowledge of the perils of the re- 
 gion, the prize which they carried, and the skill and experience 
 they had acquired in the practice of the scout. One or other 
 of the party rode constantly beside the ancient negro, Cato, who 
 was compelled to continue as the coachman, without being al- 
 lowed to make any comment or question of the route which he 
 pursued. The old fellow was by no means quieted to submis- 
 sion by the rough handling which the robbers had already shown 
 him, and from which he was only rescued by the timely inter- 
 position of his young mistress. He was very much inclined to 
 assert his own and the independence of the ladies whom he 
 served ; and many a sharp response, from his saucy tongue, 
 aroused the outlaws to a momentary show of sharp penalties in 
 store. But of these, Cato would have taken no heed — in fact, 
 he would have relished nothing better than ap encounter, 
 a Voutrance, with any or all of the gang, and without regard to 
 the inequality of forces, if it had not been for the unceasing 
 watchfulness of his mistress, and the stern authority which she 
 continued to exercise over him. Denied to speak or to fight, the 
 grey head of the veteran coachman kept up a frequent motion, 
 bobbing defiance from side to side, as the outlaws severally ap- 
 peared on this or that side of the carriage. He submitted very 
 sulkily, and continued to drive on, through the woods, or along 
 very obscure roads, until night had fairly settled down. Then, 
 one of the outlaws jumped upon the box, pushed the old fellow 
 
104 EOTAW. 
 
 aside and took the whip into his own hands. They drove slow- 
 ly, feeling their way all the while, and occasionally scraping 
 against the pine-trees, or settling suddenly in some bog or hol- 
 low of the way, until about midnight, when the vehicle was sud- 
 denly halted before an obscure settlement, consisting of two or 
 three rude log-houses, not unlike the one of good Mother Ford. 
 
 The suddenness of the stop caused the young lady, who had 
 been sleeping on her mother's shoulder, to start up in alarm. 
 
 " What's the matter, mother 1" 
 
 " Nothing, my child. The carriage has only stopped. Here 
 seems to be a settlement, such as it is. Here are loghouses 
 fancy." 
 
 The girl looked out with a shudder. 
 
 " It's a dismal looking place, mother." 
 
 And so it was. The pine woods were almost as dense as lu 
 the original forest. There were no fences. The rude huts 
 stood under great shadowing trees that frowned them into utter 
 insignificance. The starlight could only very faintly penetrate 
 the enclosure, and the dwellings themselves seemed to have no 
 lights. A moment after, however, the barking of a dog was 
 heard, and then a faint gleam, from one of the nearest of the 
 hovels, announced the inmate to be in motion. The door was 
 soon thrown open, and a hoarse voice cried out : — 
 
 " Hello ! Is it you, Rhodes ?" 
 
 " Ay ! ay ! all right." 
 
 The next moment Rhodes was at the carriage door, which he 
 opened with a profound ol3eisence ; and, with a voice rendered 
 as soft and insinuating as it was in his power to make it, the 
 old ruflSan said : — 
 
 " I'll thank you, respectable ma'am, to git out now, you and 
 the young lady. I reckon you must be pretty nigh tired down, 
 you and the beautiful young madam. We've had to ride far, to 
 put you out of harm's way ; for, you see, the whole country's 
 now alive with sodgers, and a sorry chaince you'd have, you 
 two poor lonesome ladies, a meeting with any of them wild ri- 
 ders of Sumter and Marion. Now, here, you're safe, till we kin 
 find out your friends and family, and let 'em know where they 
 kin look for you. This is the most snuggest hiding-place in 
 all these parts. It's called Cat Corner, and I reckon if puss 
 
GLIMPSES OF CAPTIVITY. 105 
 
 kuow'd all about it, she'd like no better hole to creep into. 
 Please you, now, ma'am, to let me help you out of the coaeh. 
 It's hard dry airth that we stand upon." 
 
 " I thank you, sir, but need no help," returned the elder lady, 
 preparing to alight. " Come, Bertha, my child, we can do no 
 better." 
 
 " That's the right reason, ma'am," responded Rhodes, " and 
 this is the right sort of place to hear to reason. It's so snug 
 and quiet, that, I reckon, ef the whole of the ribbil army was 
 a marching by, they'd never stop to look in, and ef they did, 
 't mout be they'd find nothing to make 'em any wiser.'' 
 
 A torch was brought from the house, and held wlyle the ladies 
 alighted ; and they discovered that the man bearing it — a stout 
 ruffian, without coat or cravat — was wanting a leg. The lack 
 was supplied by a stump of oak or hickory, upon which, with 
 the aid of a staff, he strode on with tolerable ease and confi- 
 dence. He led the way to the house, standing at the door 
 with his torch, while the ladies entered. 
 
 Here they found themselves in a log-cabin, fifteen by twenty, 
 without a single window, and but the one door by which they 
 entered. There was a fireplace upon which a few lightwood 
 brands were feebly burning. The house stood on logs, four 
 feet from the ground. Through the floor there was an outlet 
 of egcape ; one of the planks being moveable ; but of this, of 
 course, the captives knew nothing. This trap conducted to a 
 wing, of logs also, to which from the main building there was 
 no other mode of ingress. It had a door however opening upon 
 the woods, in the rear. Two other huts similarly constructed, 
 and at convenient distances, might be seen in the background, 
 which, no doubt, possessed similar facilities. They were con- 
 tiguous to a deep thicket, and an almost impenetrable bay in 
 the rear. The outlaws had most probably constructed their 
 place of refuge, with an equal eye to obscurity and defence. 
 
 The apartment into which the ladies were ushered had a 
 single rude bedstead, with all the necessary bedding. There 
 was a common pine table in the room, and a few old chairs. A 
 piece of broken mirror was fastened to one of the walls ; but, 
 unless with candle or firelight, it could have very few uses. A 
 
106 EUTAW. 
 
 shelf, with a few old cups and broken ttraiblers and pitchers, 
 completed the furniture of the establishment. The door had a 
 lock on the outside, and a bolt within ; and scarcely had the 
 two captives entered the den, than it was suddenly closed upon 
 them, and they heard the bolt shot from without. They were 
 made to feel that they were close prisoners. Even the servant 
 girl was not suffered to enter with her mistresses. 
 
 You may conceive the anxiety of their souls in this gloomy 
 den of outlawry. But the elder of the ladies was calm, and 
 the younger cheerful. 
 
 "We are certainly destined for our share of adventures. 
 Bertha," said the former. " This yon probably will call ro- 
 mantic." 
 
 "What can these wretches mean, mother?" 
 
 " Plunder, robbery, my child." 
 
 " But they have taken all that' we have." 
 
 " Yes, but that does not content them. They know us, I 
 fancy ; and calculate on extorting a ransom from our friends. 
 We must be patient. They can have no other motives. They 
 are quite too low in the scale of society to feel any other ; and 
 their cupidity once satisfied, we shall be suffered to go free. I 
 do not apprehend in respect to ourselves, except the painful 
 length of our detention, in the present condition of our affairs. 
 My grief, my child, is for your father, and our dear Henry, in 
 the hands, ho doubt, of their bitter enemy. Oh ! my. child, to 
 what are they reserved? — what is their fate? — where are 
 they? — in what condition of suffering and pi-iv^tionl" 
 
 " I can conceive of nothing worse, dear mother, for father or 
 Henry, but some such confinement as our own. There is no 
 reason to suppose that Captain Inglehardt, if he has captured 
 them, will do anything worse than keep them fast as long as ho 
 can, until he can secure some of his objects." 
 
 "Ah! that's the misery. Bertha! What are his objects? 
 He would secure your hand. Are you prepared to make the 
 sacrifice 1" 
 
 " Never ! How can I, mother ? I hate, I loathe him ; and 
 can I, before God, profess to love, to honor, and obey him ! I 
 should look to see the bolt of heaven descend upon me while J 
 was uttering the monstrous peijnrj'." 
 
GLIMPSES OP CAPTIVITY. 107 
 
 " Thus it is, Bertha. Your father feels this, even as you and 1 
 feel it. He, too, hates and loathes this Inglehardt. I despise 
 him. And Inglehardt knows exactly how we all feel toward him. 
 His pride would humble you. His passions lead him to you. 
 Your father's wealth^for he is wealthy — is an object of his 
 determined watch. What will he not do to obtain his objects? 
 I tremble, my child, when I think of his power, his will, his 
 appetites, and his cold-blooded cruelty of disposition ! Our 
 fate somewhat depends upon your father's; for who is there to 
 buy us out of captivity ? These wretches, into whose hands 
 we have fallen, require money. To whom will they apply 1 
 Your father? But where is he? In a dungeon himself. I 
 know not where to look, dear child, unless to God !" 
 
 " I believe in God, mother. I believe that he takes as watch- 
 ful a part in the affairs of men, this day, as he did five thousand 
 years ago ! He will send us deliverance when we least look 
 for it. Sinclair is not idle. I know that his warm heart is 
 vexing him now that he can do nothing. I know that his sleep- 
 less eyes are busy ever, piercing into the dark. Ah ! if 7ie had 
 been with us instead of Captain St. Julien, this had never 
 happened !" 
 
 " Nay, Bertha, child, he not unjust. St. Julien did what he 
 thought right. He had no option. Either he must defeat those 
 refugees, orthey must defeat him. He was compelled to do his 
 duty to the country. He himself told us that our escort was only 
 a secondary consideration, and, however unconrtly the speech 
 might seem, it was only manly and honest, and it declared 
 for his integrity. A woman is always a thousand times more 
 secure, trusting to a man of integrity, than to a mere gallant. 
 I have no fault to find with St. Julien ; and, remember, my 
 daughter, we know not, at this moment, whether he be dead or 
 living ! You may be even now speaking unjustly of one who 
 has paid, with his life, the penalties of his error ; if he has 
 committed error, which I do not believe. Be patient child 
 Let us do no injustice ; particularly to one in whom Sinclair 
 put the most perfect trust. If not slain, or captive, what must 
 be his restless search — what his anxieties this very moment, on 
 our account ? How will he reproach .himself, even though aa 
 bo not really to blame." 
 
108 EOTAW. 
 
 " Ah ! if Willie knew !'' said the daughter. " I look to him, 
 mother, to find and rescue us." 
 
 " Look to God, Bertha Travis, who, I trust, will commission 
 Willie Sinclair for our rescue." 
 
 Thus, for an hour, the two captives, in solitude and compara- 
 tive darkness, communed together of their own, and the dis- 
 tressing condition of their friends. It was a melancholy sort 
 of consolation, this comparison of gloomy notes. At the end 
 of this time, the lock was shot back, the door opened, and an 
 uncouth and ungainly looking white woman, with reddish hair, 
 and purplish nose, made her appearance, and silently drawing 
 out the table, spread over it a dingy cloth, laid plates and knife 
 and fork, arranged certain cups and saucers and bowls in order, 
 and then said : — 
 
 " I reckon you'll be wanting a leetle supper, won't you 1" 
 
 The elderly lady nodded assent. 
 
 " They don't mean to starve us, at all events," she said to her 
 daughter. Meanwhile the woman disappeared, and, in ten 
 minutes after, returned with dishes of corn hoe-cake, and fried 
 bacon, and a vessel of coffee. How she carried all in one arm- 
 ful, was something of a mystery to both the ladies. But she 
 did carry all, with equal ease and dexterity. 
 
 " Well, mem, your supper's ready." 
 
 " Thank you. Can I have my own servant-girl to attend on 
 me ?" inquired the matron. 
 
 " I don't know, mem ; I'll ax the men-folk. They knows." 
 
 She went out. There was some delay in her return ; in trath, 
 the subject was, for awhile, under discussion with Jeff Bhodes 
 and his gang ; but consent was finally yielded, and the servant- 
 girl made her appearance in the prison. The poor creature ran 
 up to her mistresses, and caught their hands with the eager joy 
 of one who has just escaped the clutches of the cormorant. 
 
 " Oh ! misses — oh ! Miss Bert'a — I was afeard I was nebber 
 guiiie see you agin. Dey lock me up in house with Cato, and 
 Cato's mos' go-mad, kaise he ain't le' 'em see to he boss." 
 
 We can readily imagine the martinet jehu denied to attend 
 his horses. 
 
 But the negro-gurl had seen little more than her mistresses. 
 
GLIMPSES OP CAPTIVITY. 109 
 
 She could add nothing to their stock of information. They 
 made her share their prison. 
 
 When supper was over, the red-headed woman, who had 
 attended throughout the repast, removed the remnants ; the 
 negro-girl having first been assigned a portion of the supper, to 
 the manifest disquiet of the woman, who growled dissent, but 
 in vain. When she disappeared the door was again locked 
 upon the party, and they remained prisoners for the night. 
 
 Sunrise brought them a rude breakfast ; noon, dinner ; night 
 supper and sleep again ; and thus several days passed, and the 
 captives were allowed to see nobody but the red-headed woman. 
 Cato, similarly bonded, was furious ; but he raved only to the 
 walls of his log-prison. His mistresses asked after him, of the 
 woman who served them, but her only answer — "I reckon 
 he's doing very well" — afforded little satisfaction. Of course 
 their anxieties increased. Poor Bertha began, at length, to 
 fancy that the world had quite forgotten her, and Willie Sin- 
 clair in particular. The young are very apt to be unjust when 
 they are unhappy. 
 
 Meanwhile, Jeff Rhodes was busy — mysteriously so — play- 
 ing the politician with the profound gravity becoming a states- 
 man who has large provinces in jeopardy. His emissaries were 
 as busy as himself. He, and they, were continually going and 
 returning. Sometimes they departed at night; — sometimes 
 returned under its cover. They were all practised woodsmen, 
 and they wrought, in their mysterious crafts, with equal celerity 
 and secresy. They went abroad alternately, mostly going up- 
 ward ; and, with each returning agent, Jeff Rhodes's gravity 
 increased. His politics were embarrassed by certain unexpected 
 impediments. Even a scoundrel, with the devil's help, can not 
 always have his own way. 
 
 " Why, where the h — 1 can old Travis be ?" he said to his 
 fellows, while in secret consultation with them, in one of the 
 cabins, after several unfruitful expeditions had been made up 
 to the precincts of Orangeburg. " I tell you, boys, he must bo 
 found !" 
 
 " Well, you must find him yourself," was the rough answer oi 
 Lis son Nat ; " for I ain't guine agin. There's too much resk 
 in it." 
 
110 EUTAW. 
 
 " Why, Where's the resk I wants to know ?" 
 
 " Ef yon wants to know, go yourself." 
 
 " Well, so I would, sooner than trust sich a good calkilation, 
 to such poor shoats and cowards ; ef I were a leetle more spry 
 and active now, you'd soon see what I could do." 
 
 "Cowards!" said Nat; " why, you wouldn't have one man 
 face all Greene's army, and Marion's men, and Sumter's : tc 
 say nothing of the red-coats that air as thick a;s dogwood hlos 
 soms, in spring-time, in Orangeburg. I tell you, it calls foi 
 mighty nice making to get through among all these people 
 It's sartin that Oappin Travis ain't at his place, for its al) 
 burnt down, smack and smooth ! The house, kitchen, and out 
 houses, are all in ashes. I reckon, 'twas done only last night 
 for the ashes is hot to the feel yit." 
 
 " Where kin he be V 
 
 " That's it ! Find out, old sodger !" 
 
 " So I will, if I hev to go my own self! I tell you, Cappir 
 Travis is a man to sweat gould, and these wimmins is his wifi 
 and only darter, and he'll pay through the nose to get 'em bact 
 again safe." 
 
 " Well, I'm ready for the gould sweating, whenever you kii 
 find the man ; but that I hain't been able to do yit. Am 
 'tain't me only. Did Olem Wilson do any better ; or Barney 
 Gibbes ? Barney got into Orangeburg, itself; but could d 
 nothing, and hear nothing, when lie got there. Ef you think 
 you kin do better, try it — that's all. The road's open." 
 
 " Well, so I will ; stiff in the j'ints as I am, sooner than los ■ 
 all the profits that we've been honestly working a'ter. Br., 
 you try it to-morrow, John Friday." 
 
 " I'm willing. But I don't think I'm any better in the bushe . 
 than Nat and Clem." 
 
 "Never you mind. Luck's all. It'll be your chaince, 1 
 reckon." 
 
 And the next day, John Friday went on the snaking expe 
 dition. He returned the day after, making no better report 
 than his predecessors ; and Jeff Rhodes finally looked round to 
 Mat Floyd. 
 
 "A'ter all, Mat's the boy to do the business. There's no 
 hotter scout in all this country than 5[at Floyd. Now, he 
 
GUMPSES OF CAPTIVITT. Ill 
 
 knows Che Edisto country like _a book ; and he knows old 
 Orang-',|jurg like a woman; and ef he kain't find out where 
 Cappi'< Travis is, then I give up ! Mat, you're the boy to do 
 this bv linesa." 
 
 The biarney scarcely sufficed to prompt the slow spirit of 
 Mat Fioyd to undertake a mission in which all had thus far 
 failed, and about which there really hung no small danger. Mat, 
 just tLen, had a strong and vivid image before his mind's eye, 
 of that fe^-ful scene, which, as we remember, so painfully haunts 
 the memory of his sister. It was from Nelly's graphic portrait- 
 ure, indeed, that Mat had received his most vivid impressions of 
 the terrors which Fate had for him in store. 
 
 He was reluctant accordingly. But the subtle Jeff Rhodes 
 knew the character of his victim. He bad his arguments for 
 every objection ; his persuasions for every mood of the weak, 
 vacillating creature ; and the scruples of Mat Floyd were 
 finally overcome. 
 
 "As for the danger," quoth Jeff, "where was the dange/to 
 Nat Khodes, and the rest 1 They went, and come, and hadn't 
 even a scare !" 
 
 " Yes, but they didn't go far enough. They did nothing — 
 found out nothing ; and you wants me to see ef I kain't go far- 
 ther, and find out better than them ! Well, I tells you, I knows 
 there's great danger. I'd rather not go !" 
 
 " What ! scared at your own shadow. Mat ]" 
 
 And the morale of poor Mat yielded to the taunts of his 
 companions, even when they failed to convince his reason. He 
 departed that very night for Orangeburg and the Edisto country, 
 in search of a person who could be made to " sweat gould." 
 
 And where was he, the aforesaid " <jonld-sweater" 1 Poor 
 Mrs. Travis, whom our outlaws supposed to know all about her 
 husband and his whereabouts, would have given the world to 
 find him. And others, too, were in search — Sinclair, St. 
 Julien — representing the anxieties of persons even gi-eater 
 than themselves. It is very doubtful whether Mat Floyd will 
 be able to gather much in his mission. 
 
 Poor Captain Travis did not exactly know wher^ he was 
 himself. He had, in fact, but one friend who did know at this 
 . jnncture-. Lot us look after him. 
 
112 EUTAW. 
 
 It is barely a week since Captain Travis fell into the hands 
 of his subtle enemy, Richard Inglehardt, captain of loyalist 
 rifles. He knew his danger from such a condition of captivity, 
 in the hands of such a foe. But his fears for himself were not 
 of a sort to humble him, or make him afraid. He had steeled 
 himself to every fortune ; and, though not a good man exactly, 
 he had nerve and resolution, and was determined that there 
 should he no sacrifices made for himself. But, even in the hour 
 when he made this resolve, he discovered that his only son, 
 Henry — a noble boy of fifteen — had also fallen into the same 
 remorseless hands. It was not till the moment of that discovery 
 that he felt properly his sense of destitution and desperation. 
 We need not attempt to describe his misery ; but he did not 
 yet dream how much he was at the mercy of his foe ! 
 
 Travis and his son were not forgotten, or abandoned, by their 
 friends. An admirable scout was Jim Ballon, of Sinclair's 
 brigade of " swamp-foxes." Jim Ballou was put upon trail, after 
 Inglehardt, Travis, and the boy. A keen hound was Jim after 
 a hot trail. He scented the outlaws ; followed them down from 
 Holly-Dale, to Oak grove — Chevillette's — and below it, for a 
 mile or so ; — found the nest wann, but the birds flown ! 
 
 Jim was not to be baffled. He again found the trail, and 
 followed — slow but sure — giving no tongue, and suffering 
 nothing to escape his vigilance. He could calculate how many 
 hours ahead of him were the fugitives, and he timed his own 
 prospects accordingly. He was but one, but the party he pur- 
 sued were several ; and among them was a famous scout, rank- 
 ing next to himself, called "The Trailer" and be had for a 
 companion, a temble desperado, whose noin de nique was Hell- 
 fire Dick ! Inglehardt himself was one of the party, a wily, 
 hold, cool, and intelligent soldier; not exactly a desperado — 
 for he was a siabtlc calculator — but with morals sufiiciently 
 hexiblc for on 3. 
 
 Jim Ballou was not required to gather up the fugitives ; — 
 jnly to track and earth them. And he was the proper man for 
 the pursuit. He followed all daj' with the scent of a bloodhound. 
 
 " Lawd ! how hot !" he cried, as he took a half hour's rest to- 
 ward sunset, in the thick woods skirting the formidable recesses 
 jf th". Four-Holes sw^mp. 
 
ULIMPSES OP CAPTIVITY. 113 
 
 " Lawd ! if I only had a drink now — Jamaica, peacli, whis- 
 key ! But if I had, 'twere as much as my soul's worth to drink ! 
 No ! Jim Ballou, you've sworn not to touch, taste, or handle, 
 and you mustn't! — but, Lawd! 'tain't against the oath to 
 wish for it ! I dte wish for it, I do ! I do !" 
 
 And he supped sparingly of the waters of a branch that 
 trickled below him. He supped and was refreshed. 
 
 " Water, in a naked state," quoth he, " is not altogether 
 decent drinking — not decent — but as I've sworn off from all 
 better drink, it's only wisdom and decency to swear by water. 
 Swear by water ! Well, it'll do, and that's about as much as 1 
 can decently say in its favor. 'Twill do !" 
 
 And he laid himself down in the shade upon the grasses of 
 the little hill-slope, shut his eyes, and seemed as much a vagrant 
 as any urchin that ever fancied the sunshine only signified play- 
 time, and the night sleep. His horse, meanwhile, more busy 
 but not less gratefully employed, browsed about amid the herb 
 age of the spot, and supped of the naked water also. 
 
 "Now," mused Jim Ballou — "now, here we are, and these 
 scamps ain't quite half an hour ahead of me ! I mustn't push 
 them too closely. They'll hardly go farther to-night. It's 
 clear they're making for the swamp ; and half an hour's farther 
 working will bring 'em to 'Bram's castle. Now, here's the 
 proof of' the major's right way of looking at things. Who 
 taught Hell-fire Dick the way to 'Bram's castle in the Four- 
 Holes? Who but Jim Ballou — and Jim Ballou drunk — 
 drunk ! drunk ! Jim Ballou drunk ! Jim Ballou, if, after this, 
 you again get drunk, may the Lord ha' mercy on your soul, 
 — for, if I'm to be the judge, I'll have none! When the 
 war's over, and there's no more work for the scout, then you 
 may drink, Jim Ballou, but not a drop before — not a drop 
 before I" 
 
 He shut his eyes, and rested, as if asleep^ for about ten min- 
 utes longer. 
 
 " Now," said he, while in this position, " if it's to 'Bram's ••as- 
 tle that they're bound, they've pretty nigh reached it by this 
 time, and I must take the trail afoot. If they're gone beyond, 
 why, it's only half an hour's extra work, and I can catch up 
 with them by an extra start in the morning. I'll give 'em time I 
 
1 14 EUTAW. 
 
 My eyes want another ten minutes' rest. I'll give 'em tiiae— 
 time ! — Rope enough — rope enough !" 
 
 But, -with the final setting of the sun, our scout started up , 
 and, having securely fastened his horse in the thicket, he took 
 the trail on foot. It was a nice and perilous business which laj 
 before him — that of penetrating an enemy's camp, held by half 
 a dozen or more, by a single man, afoot, and treading — as he 
 might be — every step, toward an ambush or a viper ! 
 
 "But who's afraid?" demanded Ballou, somewhat fiercely, of 
 that questioner, within his own heart, which had intimated, in a 
 whisper, the perils of the path before him. 
 
 " Who's afraid 1 There's one to a dozen, may be, but that 
 one's me, Jim Ballou — Jim Ballou ! It's not so easy, my friend., 
 to take the turn on me. I know my business — foxing, snaking, 
 moling, cooning, possnming, and, if need be, wolfing! — these 
 being the six degrees, in all of which, to be worth anything, a 
 scout's got to graduate ! But he's to be bom to it, besides. 
 These are natural gifts. Education can improve 'em, no doubt, 
 but can't, create them! Remember that, brother — remembei 
 that — remember ! 
 
 " Now, being jest the scout I am, I hope I ain't afraid. And, 
 then, don't I know this pretty little hiding-place, like a book ? 
 Haven't I turned over all its leaves, page after page, syllable 
 by syllable, day by day, and hour by hour, for weeks and 
 months together ? Ah ! most excellent Captain Inglehardt, and 
 you Devil Dick, and you Trailer, there are some secrets of that 
 little hiding-place in' which you are ecrooging, which you can't 
 lay hands on in a hun-y ; and, by them secrets, I'll hunt you 
 up, and hear what you've got to say, or there's no snakes within 
 a thousand miles I — no snakes — a thousand miles !" 
 
 In pursuance of this determination, our scout made his ap 
 pi'oaches with eminent caution, and finally buried himself com- 
 pletely in the swamp. Above him, some hundred yards, was 
 a little hammock or islet of the swamp, upon which stood a log- 
 hut, known to the men of Marion, or rather known to a few of 
 them, as " 'Bram's cabin," or castle — 'Bram, the former occu 
 pant, being a confidential slave of one of the partisan officers 
 We shall probably hear of him in other pages. To this spot 
 
GLIMPSKS OP CAPTIVITY. lit) 
 
 Jiallou made his approaches, in a style to make a fox jealous 
 and cmnlous. His discoveries finely satisfied himself. 
 
 " We've treed the coons ; but that's all ! They're in posses- 
 sion of 'Brain's castle. But how long will they keep there] 
 That's the question. Will they stay there long ? No! Why? 
 Because they know it's one of ovr harboring-places, and they'll 
 be naturally looking for some of us to be coming down upon 
 ^em. What then ? what's to be done ? Can I get back to the 
 Edisto, find Major Willie, and bring him back in time to smoke 
 the beasts in their hollow ? It must be tried ! But can't I get 
 at their counsels — get on the hammock itself, and snake about 
 for discoveries? Why not? It's a ticklish business — ticklish 
 — but what isnH ticklish, in the way of business, in these times ? 
 Ticklish — ticklish ; but no trying, no doing ! They don't reck- 
 on on pursuit jist yet. They hardly think me so soon upon 
 their haunches. Devil Dick's drinking, no doubt ; the Trailer 
 helps him, thinking his work's done for the day ! They're sup- 
 ping and drinking, I reckon, under some tree ; and I can snake 
 round 'em, and listen — snake and listen !" 
 
 He did so ! On the extreme upper end of the islet he found 
 Devil Dick and the Trailer, with two others, busy, by a bright 
 firelight, at the fragments of a supper. Ballou worked around 
 them with wonderful dexterity. He listened for a while to 
 what the}' had to say ; but their talk was that of the revel- 
 ler — or rather the marauder — in a maudlin and half-drowsy 
 mood. 
 
 " Nothing's to be got from them. I must see now after Ingle- 
 hardt and his prisoners " 
 
 Crawling, creeping, gliding, he made his way to _the rear of 
 'Brain's cabin. A -ight gleamed from the fireplace within. He 
 heard voices, and stopped beneath the eaves to listen. 
 
 "That's Captain Travis. It's too quick for Inglehardt." 
 
 Inglehardt s answer was too faint, too low of tone, to inform 
 the listener. He looked up to the poplar that stood just beside 
 the chimney of the cabin. The chimney was of clay, the noz- 
 zle barely shooting up above the gable. Quick as thought, 
 Ballou leaped up and threw his arms and legs about the tree. 
 He climbed like a squirrel. He was up in a few moments, and, 
 perched on one of the boughs, could look over, down into the 
 
116 EUTAW. 
 
 very fireplace of the cabin. The place was favorable to hear- 
 ing, when Travis spoke ; Lnt tlie subdued tones of Inglehardt 
 baffled him. He vainly tried to catch the syllables. He conH 
 only hear a buzz. Let us assert the privilege which our scout 
 may not, and enter to the conference boldly. We shall be sure 
 to remain unseen. 
 
FATHER ANB SON I\ FETTERS. I ) 1 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FATHER AND SOX IN FETTERS. 
 
 The hovel in the Four-Holes swamp, distinguished hy the 
 imposing title of " 'Bram's castle'' — more properly " 'Bram's 
 cabin" — contained but two apartments; one a sort of hall, the 
 other a sleeping-room. A party of thi'ee persons occupies the 
 hall at the moment when we look in upon them. Two of them 
 are prisoners, Captain Travis and his son Henry — the latter 
 a boy about fifteen ; the former might have been fifty. They 
 both sat upon the floor, and both were handcuffed. The boy 
 looked weary and dispirited ; the father, when not looking at 
 the son, wore an aspect of stern defiance. The third person in 
 the apartment was Captain Richard Inglehardt, of the loyalist 
 rifles, a cool, selfi.ih politician -^ something of a soldier, but more 
 of a politician — a man of singular manners for a rustic people, 
 with subtlety suited to an old convention, and lacking in that im- 
 pulse and enthusiasm which seem more natural and more neces- 
 sary to a new one. He was stretched out negligently upon a 
 military cloak, not far from the fireplace, in which a few brands 
 had been kindled, for the purpose of light rather than of warmtli. 
 Their blaze enables us to take in the group, and note with ease 
 the expressions of their several faces. The floor is strewed with 
 broom-straw, which, in a log-cabin, is no inappropriate substitute 
 for a Brussels carpet. 
 
 The moment which we take for entering the chamber, finds 
 tlie two men already engaged in a discussion, the preliminaries 
 of which have been dismissed. "We will have to take certain 
 things for granted. The parole is with Inglehardt. His^ones 
 
lis EDTAW. 
 
 were exceedingly mild and subdued, insinuating, and even cor- 
 dial ; but there was an under-note of sarcasm in them which the 
 substance of his words implied also. 
 
 " My dear Captain Travis, it was a game which we played — 
 each knowing his hand, and playing at his own discretion. The 
 hands may have been equal or not. You, at all events, did not 
 regard them as favorable to me. You took the chances of the 
 game, and have no right to complain. You calculated on count- 
 ing honors ; certainly, my dear captain, you have taken good 
 heed to the profits. You made some good points in the game. 
 I confess you outwitted me with your skill more than once ; but 
 you failed in the odd-ivi<i\.. Have I stated the case fairly. Cap- 
 tain Travis 1" 
 
 " D — n the game, sir !" was the answer. 
 
 " Well, a game lost is properly a game damned ! But it 
 helps the loser nothing to lose liis temper with it. You have 
 lost the one game, but you have others yet to play. You have 
 capital enough to resume the contest. Let us look at youi 
 position." 
 
 "You have it in a word, sir. I am your prisoner." 
 
 "Yes, that is something; but a resurvey of our game will re- 
 veal much besides that it is important for you to remember. 
 As a British commissary, sir, largely trusted by Colonel Balfoui 
 and my Lord Rawdon, you grew to riches. My own estimate, 
 captain, of your resources, gives you a fortune of some hundred 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 "You have certainly kept a closer watch upon my interests 
 than ever I did myself." 
 
 "Nay, captain, in saying that, you do injustice to your own 
 thrift. You have been a vigilant accumulator, and a most keen 
 accountant. That I have been able and willing to observe 
 your progress, in fortune-making, is only a proof of my great 
 sympathy in your success. But, in the midst of this success, 
 you fancied a condition of public insecurity under his majesty's 
 government, the results of some very mistaken calculations, 
 which led you, my dear captain, to the further mistake of enter- 
 ing into treasonable negotiations with the enemy. You began 
 to see a beauty in rebellion which, hitherto, you had only seen 
 in loyalty. I undertook to save you from this error; and, the 
 
PATHBH AND SON IN FETTERS. 119 
 
 lietter to do so, would have allied my fortunes witli your own. 
 fou pretended to welcome the alliance — " 
 
 "Never, sir — never! I told you, in so many words, that I 
 loathed it and scorned it from my innermost soul, and only sub- 
 mitted to the suggestion in a moment of necessity." 
 
 " That is, when you found the honors against you, and some 
 danger of losing that odd-trick besides. But you labor under an- 
 other error. Captain Travis. You did not venture to tell me of this 
 scorn and loathing until the moment when, with hands full (as 
 you thought) of trumps, you were about to turn the tables upon 
 me. Up to that moment, my dear captain, you were pleased 
 to encourage my humble suit to your daughter. Ay, sir, en 
 jouraged ; and you contrived, with admirable art, I admit, tc 
 keep me in a state of delusive expectation on this score for a 
 very considerable space of time. Well, the game is played 
 Dut, and you have lost. The stake, substantially, was some- 
 thing more than fortune. It was life, sir, and liberty ! The 
 proof is here, in your present position, a prisoner in the hands 
 of a captain of loyalists, who has the proof in his possession of 
 your treasonable intercourse with the enemy, to say nothing of 
 a goodly catalogue of money-defalcations, forgeries, and false 
 iccounts, the least of which dooms you to the gallows." 
 
 The boy's face flushed ; he writhed himself about, and, look- 
 ing the speaker full in the face, he cried out to his father : — 
 
 " Oh, my father, speak — tell this man that he lies ! Oh, tha , 
 my hands were free !" 
 
 Inglehardt only smiled — a serpent-smile — as he witnessed 
 the ingenuous indignation of the boy. The father remained 
 lilcnt. Inglehardt resumed, coolly and softly : — 
 
 " Were he to do so, Henry, he would only lie himself." 
 
 The boy sobbed, and his face drooped. The father look; 5 
 ound fiercely, as he said to the boy : — 
 
 " Heed nothing that this man says, my son ! I have erred, 
 10 doubt ; but it is not for 7ii7H to judge my conduct, nor is it 
 or you. It will be time enough for a son to do so when his 
 ather's in the grave. My motives are as much above his con- 
 jectures, as they are above your present experience. T will 
 nswer all doubts in due season, my son — and, I trust, atone 
 or all wrong-doing to others, of which I may be guilty." 
 
120 EUTAW. 
 
 It was a beautiful feature in the scene, that the father, wick- 
 ed as he might be, should strive to protect himself from the 
 judgments of the son. Of his mode of doing so, we need say 
 nothing now. Inglehardt, with a sneering smile, replied : — 
 
 "It does not much matter, Captain Travis, what the boy 
 thinks." 
 
 "Ay, sir, but it does," answered the father fiercely — "it 
 does matter much, sir — much that your soul may not appre- 
 ciate, that a child's ears should not be wounded with the story 
 of a father's errors, or his young soul tortured with a notion of 
 his meannesses or crimes. You, sir, with such a soul as yours, 
 can hardly comprehend this necessity." 
 
 There was a slight flush — a very slight flush — upon Ingle- 
 hardt's cheek, when this speech was uttered ; but he replied in 
 tones that underwent no alteration — cool, q[uiet, and even in- 
 sinuating. 
 
 " It is, perhaps, quite as well, Captain Travis, dealing with 
 such excitable moods as yours, that I should confine myself, as 
 much as possible, to the subject of which we were speaking. 
 This was your present condition. I would, if possible, remind 
 you of the actual facts in your case. Whether I am right or 
 wrong, in the statement which I make of your offences against 
 his majesty's government, is for you to determine, while here, 
 and to act upon if you think proper. You can best say whether 
 you are prepared for all alternatives on a trial under these 
 charges before a military court. The substantial matter (after 
 this) remains untouched. I have said that ours was a game. 
 It is yet to be played out. So far, neither has exactly gained 
 it — we have both lost something. I have certainly gained 
 some new securities." 
 
 " What are they ?" demanded Travis. 
 
 '■ Yourself — your son ! These are guaranties to some extent, 
 for the stakes I have at issue." 
 
 " Myself — my son !" 
 
 •• Yes ! And that there may be no future doubt between ns, 
 toucliing our true relations, I have only to repeat that the game 
 needs to be finished. It remains the same, with nothing but an 
 alternative in the stakes — and the securities! You are aware 
 of what I deman'i Npod I s.iv to you, tliat your own, and tho 
 
FATHER AND SON IN FETTERS. 121 
 
 liberty of your son, will follow instantly upon your compliance 
 with my demand, and your mutual safety will depend upon 
 it." 
 
 " Can it be, Inglehardt, that you design to keep that boy in 
 custody ! But I need not ask the question, when I see the or- 
 naments you have put on his wrists, and feel them upon mine. 
 Man, man ! what must be the soul within your breast, when 
 you manacle with irons a child like that !" 
 
 " That child shoots a pistol remarkably well for his years ! 
 He has the blood of two of my troopers on his hands, manacled 
 as you see them." Such was the cool and indifferent answer. 
 The speaker continued, in the same cool and easy manner. 
 
 " But all this passionate declamation, my dear captain, will 
 avail you nothing, and brings us not one step nearer to an ar- 
 rangement of our affairs. Your position is one from which your 
 own wits, unless under my direction, will never extricate yon. 
 You can only obtain release, by placing the hand of Bertha 
 Travis within mine. You hear the condition — this is my sine 
 qua non !" 
 
 " I will rot in your dungeon first." 
 
 " But the boy will rot too. Captain Travis." 
 
 The father gazed on the boy with the bitterest anguish in his 
 countenance. 
 
 " Don't mind me, father !" interposed the son. " Bertha shall 
 never marry such a monster. Let him put what chains he 
 pleases on me ; I will boar all, sooner than know that my poor 
 sister is sacrificed to such a man !" 
 
 " Really, the youngster shows a brave spirit," quoth Ingle- 
 hardt. " He little knows how bonds can break spirits — how 
 boys may be birched and sent to bed supperless. A military 
 school is a hard one. Master Henry, for a very impetuous 
 temper." 
 
 The father glared at the speaker with eyes of a wolfish anger, 
 but Inglehardt only smiled complacently. 
 
 " Think not to escape, Inglehardt," exclaimed the prisoner. 
 " You have me now at advantage. But our friends are in pur- 
 suit. We shall be rescued — avenged !" 
 
 " I think it likely that your friends are busy, but it will be 
 some time, my dear captain, before they get on our tracks ; and 
 
1-22 EUT-4W. 
 
 we feliall adopt the practice of your Swamp-Fox — shift our quai 
 ters before they can beat us up in our camp." 
 
 " Sinclair will avenge us !" 
 
 " I shall be happy to encounter that handsome young gentle- 
 man, whenever he will give me the opportunity, and hope to 
 give as good an account of him, as of yourself." 
 
 " Why didn't you 1" said the boy, " when yon met at Holly- 
 Dale ?•" with an exulting voice and visage. 
 
 There was another slight flush upon Inglehardt's visage, but 
 Le quietly said, and with a smile : — 
 
 " Ah ! you have me there, Harry. Your WUlie Sinclair cer- 
 tainly caught me napping on that occasion. But his success 
 was due to papa's cunning policy. It was cunning papa, Har- 
 ry, that got me into that scrape. But all papa's cunning, you 
 see, couldn't keep himself out of it ; and Willie Sinclair's tri- 
 umph has proved a bitter one, I fancy, to more parties than 
 one." 
 
 " Oh ! that I could see you face to face with the broad- 
 sword !" cried the boy, even while his eyes were gushing with 
 tears. 
 
 " Hush ! Harry, my son ! Hush," said the more politic 
 father. 
 
 " Nay, my dear captain, let the youth deliver himself. It 
 quite pleases me to behold such a grateful specimen of ingenuous 
 manhood. The boy is wonderfully promising — will certainly 
 distinguish himself in time, if not prematurely cut off. Shak- 
 spere had his misgivings of smart boys : — 'So wise, so young, 
 they say, do ne'er live long !' Really, my dear captain, you 
 should scruple at no small sacrifices, that this young eagle should 
 be once more in the enjoyment of liberty. Let me entreat you 
 — give the boy his freedom." 
 
 " Fiend ! Bitter, cruel fiend !" exclaimed the father. 
 " What does this profit you, Captain Inglehardt ? What gain 
 you by these goads and tortures." 
 
 " Profit me ! The question might be put to yourself, dear 
 Captain Travis ; might have been put to you, every day in the 
 year, for the last twenty ; for, in all that space of time, you 
 have been toiling monstrous hard ; and what does it all profit 
 you now ? We do a thousand things in life daily, my dear cap- 
 
FATUEK AND SON IN FETTERS. 123 
 
 tain, iiTespective of the profit. TLo jest, the sarcasm, the in- 
 dignation of bitter words — the sneer, the sting which goads 
 jne's enemy — what do all these profit, if we are to rate the 
 objects by the material results. I .am profited, I fancy, by the 
 mere ingenious speculations, which I make upon my neighbors' 
 moods and modes of thinking and feeling. If, for example, we 
 might, by a series of experiments, ascertain in just what part 
 of an enemy's body or soul, he were most sensitive to wound 
 and injury, it might be of profit to know this interesting fact. 
 I. like these little exercises of ingenuity, and never trouble my- 
 self as to the profit or the loss ; satisfied, my dear captain, to 
 yield some hoiu-s, every day of my life, to the acquisition of 
 simple, knowledge, without a moment's thinking of the money 
 gain. Oome, my dear captain, look upon life as I do ; and 
 then, a game, conducted with skill and fortune, no matter what 
 the result; will be always compensative ! are we to play any 
 longer? You know the stakes. Your own, and the freedom 
 of that very interesting boy — very precocious boy he is — 
 shoots well — remarkably promising every way; I say, my 
 dear. captain, your own and his freedom ; and in return — bonds, 
 about the hands and hearts of your fair daughter and myself." 
 
 " You are already answered." 
 
 "Nay, nay, you answered me prematurely — in your anger. 
 Think better of it." 
 
 " Do not think a moment, father. My sister never shall marry 
 this man ! Sooner let me live and die in fetters." 
 
 Very proud and fond. was the look which the, wretched father 
 cast upon the. boy, as his young soul burst forth with this vehe- 
 ment apostrophe. 
 
 " Bravo ! my young springald ! You are worthy to shake a 
 spear in the tilting at Marignano. The good knight Bayardo 
 would have filled your cap with crowns, and sent you home, 
 with a blessing, to your mother. But, suppose you leave the 
 further answer to your general. That is one of the necessary, 
 lessona of all good knight-service; Come, dear Captain Travis, 
 shall it be a match] Shall we cut short this tangled skein of' 
 ours with a merry bridal, and cry quits for all the past ?" 
 
 Travis was the man to temporize always, where this was pos- 
 sible. It was now, perhaps, his policy to do so. 
 
124 EDTAW. 
 
 " I can not ausw„v for my datighter," said he, with half-sniotli- 
 ered accents. 
 
 " Then you cant answer at all. That is just such an ansTver 
 as you have fed me with for six months. The food is no longer 
 digestible — certainly, no Ijnger palatable. In brief, my dear 
 captain — there is but one answer that you can make which will 
 be acceptable. Your daughter, herself in person, when and 
 where I shall appoint to meet me — ready to marryme — and the 
 perfoimance of the ceremony, by a priest of the English church, 
 in orders — this shall be the only proper signal for your release 
 from bondage — yourself, and the promising young master, your 
 son." 
 
 The spirit of the son filled the struggling bosom of the father. 
 
 " Never, by act of mine ! Bertha Travis shall be free to 
 marry whom she pleases." 
 
 " Ah ! you speak so hurriedly ! It is the fault of your pas- 
 sionate impulsive men. You never give yourself time. You 
 never gain anything from the grand virtue of deliberation. I 
 must not take advantage of your rashness, and prove rash 
 myself. I will give you time. Meanwhile, as I say, you need 
 reflection, not argument." 
 
 He rose slowly from the floor, upon which he had been half 
 reclined all the while, and, folding up his cloak very carefully, 
 unclosed the door and walked forth ; but only for a moment ; 
 and, standing at the door, with the fastenings in his hand, he 
 whistled, and in a few minutes, both Dick of Tophet, and the 
 Trailer made their appearance — neither of them quite sober, 
 yet not so drunk as to be incapable of rough brute or mule 
 duty. 
 
 "Come in!" said the captain. "You know what you are to 
 do, Dick." 
 
 " Oh ! yes ! What ! it's no go, eh ? He won't hear to the 
 argyment ! Very well ! We'll give him a taste of the sort of 
 feeding and famishing he's to git in our keeping." 
 
 And, with these words, Dick of Tophet burst into the hall, 
 followed closely by the Trailer, and, more deliberately, by Ingle- 
 hardt. The two former approached the boy. 
 
 " Git up, young master," said Dick to Henry Travis, " git up, 
 we wants you!" 
 
FATHER AND SON IN FETTERS. ] 25 
 
 " What do you want with me ?" demanded the boy fimily. 
 
 " That's telling ! We knows ! Up with you." 
 
 " I'll not rise till I know what you wish me for. I'll not go 
 with you !" 
 
 " Oh ! yon won't, eh ? Well, it's easy to put a little ring 
 round a wooden finger." 
 
 And the ruiEan seized the boy, and lifted him as if he were 
 an infant. The young blood of Henry would have prompted 
 resistance, but the handcuffs humbled him. He could offer none. 
 He sobbed like a child, when, forgetting his shackles, he strove 
 in vain to strike. 
 
 " Oh !" he cried — " if I were but free and had any weapon." 
 
 " Sword or pistol ! Well, you'd use it, I reckon, for you hev 
 the spunk ! I've seed it a'ready. But you ain't got the we'pon, 
 my lad, and so there's no chaince for you but to go. Kicking's 
 always a downhill game !" 
 
 " Father — I leave you ?" 
 
 Captain Travis had been hitherto so much confounded by the 
 movement, as to be incapable of speech or effort. He now 
 struggled up, and threw himself between the ruffian and the 
 door. But the Trailer swung him aside roughly. Inglehardt, 
 meanwhile, looked on, with the air of an indifferent spectator. 
 
 " Captain Inglehardt, what are you about to do with my son ?" 
 
 " Nay, my dear Captain Travis, / am about to do nothing 
 with him. I am simply yielding him up to his captor, Mr. Joel 
 Andrews — otherwise called Hell-fire Dick — whoso prisoner he 
 properly is, and who properly claims his custody." 
 
 " Pshaw, Inglehardt, will you lie in such a matter ? This is 
 your creature — this!" 
 
 " Lie ! Really, Captain Travis, your speech, for a prisoner, 
 is, I must be permitted to say it, excessively free and easy, if 
 not elegant. But, as your situation is one to impair your judg- 
 ment, I pass over your offence. Properly speaking, your son is 
 the prisoner of Hell-fire Dick, and not of Richard Inglehardt." 
 
 " You will not tear the boy from his father. Is it not enough 
 that you hold us both in these vile bonds ? will you add to it 
 the useless torture of separation 1" 
 
 This was spoken in husky and tremulous accents ; the blow 
 was a terrible one under the circumstances. 
 
126 EUTAW. 
 
 " I fancy that Joel Andrews thinks it very far from useless, 
 this removal." 
 
 -' In course I does," cried the ruffian, haling the boy out on 
 his shoulder ; '' I reckon we'll find a use for it afore I'ra done 
 with him, or with you !" 
 
 "Great God! to what am I reserved!" cried the wretched 
 Travis, turning away from the insolent gaze of Inglehardt, and 
 throwing himself down upon the floor, with his face buried 
 among the rushes. 
 
 Inglehardt gave him but a ssiile of triumph ; then left the 
 hall also, carefully securing the door behind, upon the outside, 
 and walking after his associates. 
 
 From the tree which overhung the gable and the chimney 
 top, Jim Ballon, the scout, could hear the retiring voices of the 
 party, as, followed by Inglehardt, they bore the boy away to 
 the upper edge of the hammock, where Dick of Tophet had 
 made his camp. The groans of Captain Travis, from below, 
 mingled with the sounds. Finally, Jim Ballou heard the groans 
 only. Our scout muttered to himself: — 
 
 " Poor old gentleman ; it's a d d hard tug now about his 
 
 heart-strings ! I'll try and ease him with a little hope and 
 comfort ; though it's but a word I've got to say ; for I mustn't 
 hang about here too long — not too long." 
 
 Detaching from the top of the chimney, a small nugget of 
 clay, he dropped it down the funnel, and a moment after the 
 groans of Travis ceased. Dropping another bit of clay, our 
 scout then bent over the chimney, with his mouth close to it, at 
 the peril of inhaling more lightwood smoke than was needed 
 for odor or refreshment; and said, in steady, clear, but low 
 tones": — 
 
 " Captain Travis." 
 
 " "Who speaks V 
 
 " A friend, from Colonel Sinclair. I have but a moment, and 
 must be off directly. One word only. Don't you be down- 
 hearted. Your friends are busy. They are on the watch. 
 They will save you and your son. Only keep up your spirits, 
 and do nothing rashly. Don't speak again. Imustbeoff. Only 
 hope — hope — hope ! That's all. Hope, and God be with you 
 as well as hope !"' 
 
FATHER AND SON TN FETTERS. 1'^ 
 
 The voice was silent. The prisoner folded his hands m 
 prayer. He hlushed as he did so — not for the act — but be- 
 cause of its infrequent exercise ; because of the self-reproach- 
 fnl feeling, that it was now, as it were, extorted from him, in 
 the overwhelming feeling of his own imbecility. How seldom 
 had he thought of prayer in his prosperity. How necessary is 
 it that the strong, and rich, and powerful, should be rebuked by 
 Fortune, if only that they should be brought, by humility, to a 
 better knowledge of, and faith in, God ! 
 
116 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE gallows-bird's GLIMPSES OF THE GALLOWS. 
 
 Satisfied with what he had done — with the infonnation 
 gained — and the encouraging hope which he had contrived to 
 whisper into the ears of the prisoner Travis, Ballon descended 
 from his perch above the chimney, and was about to jj'o back 
 where he had left his steed, when the suggestion occurred to 
 him, that he might, by possibility, with skill, diligence, and 
 good luck, succeed in extricating the boy, Henry Travi", from 
 the clutches of his captors. 
 
 "He'll be kept, I reckon, in the camp of Devil-Dick and 
 the Trailer. Now, if they should only get drunk — eh ? 
 What might be done ! Monongahela or Jamaica — trong 
 drink's a power of great virtue — great virtue ! I should mou- 
 ctrcusly like, now, jest to smell at an empty bottle !" 
 
 And he snuffed with all his nostrils. 
 
 " But, it must be an empty one ! 'T would be too great a trial 
 of strength to have a full bottle put before me now. Hard 
 ^ork, a long day's ride, and no supper ! Not a bite ! A full 
 bottle now would be, would be a most immortal temptation." 
 
 And the scout sighed involuntarily, as his imagination regaled 
 his appetite and stimulated it. He continued his musings, with 
 a difference. 
 
 "Now, if I could find these two blackguards out and out 
 drunk, I could carry off that dear little fellow from between 
 'em, and never make an eyelid wink !" 
 
 The long experience of the scout, his great skill, his perfect 
 knowledge of the localities, and his ambition — to say nothing 
 of his sympathies with the boy — all prompted him to make the 
 
GLIMPSES OP THE GALLOWS 1"^ 
 
 BUggested trial of his skill ; and he at once proceeded on the 
 adventure. How he snaked, and moled, and cooned — going 
 through all the degrees essential to a scout's diploma — through 
 all varieties of swamp and thicket — we need not undertake to 
 narrate. Enough, that he found it impossible to make a suffi- 
 ciently near approach, under cover, to the camp where the 
 party lay. In every effort, he found the watchers on the alert- 
 
 " It's clear that they have only had a smart taste of the 
 whiskey. Neither the Trailer nor Devil-Dick's the man to 
 stop short of regular drunk, if the liquor is to be had. They've 
 had but a single bottle, and that's gone !" 
 
 He made the rounds of their encampment ; saw Inglehardt 
 once more enter the cabin of 'Bram ; and shrewdly conjectured 
 that it was his purpose to occupy one of its apartments that 
 night, while Travis held possession of the other. Having made 
 all his observations, Ballou quietly stole off through the swamp 
 below, until he reached the place where his horse had been 
 picketed. He saddled the beast, cantered off three miles up 
 ward, and made bis own bivouac in the forests, at that safe dis- 
 tance from the camp of the enemy. By next day's dawn, he 
 was again upon the road, and pushing upward in the direction 
 of Orangeburg. Of course, he knew nothing of the events 
 which had taken place in that precinct, immediately after his 
 departure from Holly-Dale. He was now to find Sinclair and 
 report his progress ; a matter of time and some little danger. 
 
 Leaving him to pui-sue his way, after his own fashion, it is 
 proper that we should renew our intercourse with some of the 
 other parties whom we have left upon the road. 
 
 Mat Floyd, we have seen persuaded to attempt an adventure 
 in which all the other followers of Jeff Ehodes had failed. Mat 
 was not more successful in the enterprise, though he fancied 
 that he deserved to be. His search had been more thorough, 
 as well at Holly-Dale as in Orangeburg itself. There, be had 
 an ancient acquaintance, a fellow named Dill, who was some- 
 thing of a paralytic ; had lost, in a great degree, the use of his 
 limbs, and remained, as an object of commiseration, free from 
 any disturbance by either party. But Dill was not less a 
 scamp because he was a paralytic ; and his cupidity was an 
 invigorating passion which enabled him to use his limbs for his 
 
' ^0 EUTAW. 
 
 'wn purposes, v.'Jien no power of tLe cliurcL could have enableJ 
 b m to do so, nvoa to bring wood to the altar. Dill carried on 
 a small business in contraband Jamaica, which was usually 
 smuggled up the Edisto by confederates. With this potent 
 beverage he contrived to make joyous the spirits of the runa- 
 gate drudges of all parties, as they severally occupied the vil- 
 lage. Wc are afraid, if the truth were known, that it sometimes 
 happened to Mat Floyd, to facilitate the operations of Israel 
 Dill. Jeff Ehodes, in his time, had brought the boy to a good 
 many strange experiences. Dill harbored Mat, on his present 
 visit; and Mat — could he do less? — assisted Dill in serving 
 out his beverages, to sundry scores of wild Irish, whom Raw- 
 don's orderlies were vainly endeavoring to subdue to the sober 
 paces of the drill. It was Dill versus Drill. The influences ex- 
 ercised upon them, by Israel's Jamaica, were in conflict with 
 llawdon's regulations. A riot ensued — a mutiny in which a 
 couple of the poor Hibernians were shot down, after bayonet- 
 ing one of their ofiScers, and a third was hung up in front of 
 the jail, and looking to the river, by way of encouraging the 
 others in a better taste for innocent water. 
 
 Mat Floyd had a terrible fright in consequence. He wit- 
 nessed a portion of the fray, which, at one time, promised to 
 involve the whole army ; made his escape to the river swamp, 
 with the spectacle of the hanging man continually passing be- 
 fore the eyes of his mind ; and was thus painfully reminded of 
 the predictions of Nelly Floyd in respect to his own fate. He 
 brought away with him, however, a bottle of Dill's Jamaica, the 
 gift of that liberal companion, whom he left in the swamp, 
 whither he had fled, also, with a reasonable fear that some of 
 the mutineers might be ungrateful enough to reveal, to the 
 British ofiicers, the source from which they obtained the virtu- 
 ous liquor which had made tliem so vicious. 
 
 Mat Floyd, on separating from Israel Dill, which he did to- 
 ward midnight, naturally felt exceedingly lonesome. Besides, 
 in the hurry of their flight, the cmitrabandistas had been snf 
 fered no time for supper. Alcohol was required to supply the 
 place of food ; and Israel and Mat drank lovingly together at 
 the moment of separation. Having a bottle of liis own. Mat 
 felt that lie needed more food when alone. Ho drank by the 
 
GLIMPSES OF THE GALLOWS. lol 
 
 .vajside wlieu, having gained a cover, some two miles east of 
 ''•rangeburg, he began to feel a little drowsy. It had been his 
 piirpose to sleep with his friend Israel that night, and lodge 
 witli him the next ciay, using Israel to make a search "after 
 Travis through the tents and loungiiig-places of the military. 
 The riot, which had so alarmed and driven them forth, had for- 
 feited his contemplated sleeping-place. Fatigue, fright, and 
 the Jamaica he had drunk, now combined to render sleep an 
 absolute necessitj', and picking out a spot of select obscurities 
 in the woods, Mat threw himself down utterly resigned to the 
 giatef'il drowse that was already fast taking possession of his 
 senses. A single shaft of the sun shooting obliquely through 
 the tree-tops, ia the morning, penetrated one of his eyes, and 
 opened it to the day ; and, somewhat stupidly. Mat Floyd 
 opened the other ; and slowly, and rather stiifly, he raised 
 himself up from the earth. The first object that met his sight 
 ■was the bottle of Jamaica, which, though a spirit, had slept be- 
 side him all night, as sluggishly as himself. Mat felt heavy, 
 and he knew that spirit was light. He felt too that the spirit 
 had rather bitten him the night before, and he remembered the 
 vulgar proverb — "The hair of the dog is good for his bite." 
 So Mat renewed his potations, and felt better, but still slug- 
 gish. He lay among the shadows, suffering the sun to make 
 rapid advances, and occasionally applying the hair of the ani- 
 mal to his hurt, with the view to perfect healing. His draughts 
 increased the activity of his meditative powers. He recalled 
 the terrible scene of the previous day which had so much 
 alarmed him. Once more he beheld the hanging man strug- 
 gling in his death agonies; and he recalled the fearful predic- 
 tion of Nelly Floyd. His disquiet became so great that he 
 nervously swallowed another mouthful from the bottle, while 
 his reflections declared themselves in open soliloquy. 
 
 " I know'd there was danger. I told Jeff Rhodes so. I'll 
 not go no more. Let him go for himself. He's as fit to hang 
 as me. He'll hang easier, for he's heavier, and the first j irk of 
 the drop will be sure to crack his neck. But it would be a 
 cruel slffocating affair with me. Nelly said she seed me all 
 black in the face. That's a sign of siffocation — bloody siffo- 
 cation. H — 1! and when I knows ihaCs my danger, what for 
 
132 3UTAW. 
 
 Bbould I go to Orairgeburg, or any whar', to run my reck mtc- 
 the noose with my eyes open all the time 1 Let Jeff RhofJcs 
 try it for himself. He's jest for using my fingers to take his 
 groundnuts out of the fire. Let him pull out for himself and 
 feel the fire how it tastes. 
 
 " And I'm to hang, Nelly says ! 
 
 " I don't believe it ! I don't feel like it ; and won't, so long ns^ 
 I kin draw a sight or use a knife. It's only to skeer me off 
 from Rhodes that she tells that story. Skeer me, indeed ! As 
 ef I was to be skeer'd by sich an owl as that !" 
 
 Here he took another taste of the Jamaica, by way of .'.ssert^ 
 ing his courage, and confirming it. 
 
 "But I knows what Nelly's after. She has no love for Jeff 
 Rhodes. She wants to git me off from him. But it can't bt 
 did, Nelly. No ! no ! my gal, I'm not guine to leave off a 
 business that pays me in sich pretty little yellow b ys as 
 this." 
 
 Here he pulled a leather purse from his pocket, jingled it, 
 and poured out the contents, some half dozen guineas, the fruit 
 of the recent spoliation of Mrs. Travis, into his hands. 
 
 " No ! no ! Nelly, the business pays too well. You needn't 
 try to skeer me from it. I'm not to be skeer'd. Hanging, do 
 you say ? Siffocation ! No ! no ! when it comes to that, knife 
 and pistol shall talk a bit first, and them that would hang Mat 
 Floyd must first be able to take him alive. They'll not find it 
 easy, I reckon, though they come twenty to one ! Ef it's kil- 
 ling, why, that's another question. The man that sets out to 
 be a sodger, must calkilate that there's some danger in the busi- 
 ness. Shot and bagnet are the nateral dangers of war-time, but 
 that don't mean siffocation by the rope. Dang the rope ! What 
 did Nelly tell me about the rope for 1 To skeer me 1 Skeer 
 me I Ha ! ha ! ha ! How these fool gals do talk ; and 
 Nelly's mad — that's sartin. Poor Nelly — mad or not — she's 
 a good gal, and lovee me. But she musn't try to skeer me, 
 that's all. I'm not so skeery, Nelly !" 
 
 And another sup of the Jamaica restored him to all his con- 
 fidence, and he stumbled up from the ground, caught his horse 
 which had been grazing contentedly along the grassy slopes, 
 and proceeded to mount, which he did with such an effort as 
 
GLIMPSES OP THE GALLOWS. 1S3 
 
 nearly to achiove that result of excessive ambition, which, as 
 Shakspero tells us — 
 
 " o'erleaps itself. 
 
 And falls on t'other side !" 
 
 ■ It was fully ten o'clock when our young sinner, forgetting all 
 Lis fears of " siffocation," proceeded on his way through the 
 woods at a short distance from the road. 
 
 Suddenly he heard the tramp of a horse just behind him, and 
 thrust his hand into his pocket for his pistol. Possessed of this, 
 he wheeled about and lifted the weapon. The laugh of Nelly 
 Floyd herself reassured him ; and the next moment, riding up, 
 she exclaimed — 
 
 " Why, Mat, what sort of weapon is that which you carry ?" 
 
 It was only when this question was asked him, that he be- 
 came conscious that, instead of a pistol, he had grasped by the 
 neck, and presented at the supposed enemy, the bulky butt of 
 his Jamaica bottle ! The fellow was not too drunk or stupid 
 not to feel his face flush with shame at the revelation he had 
 made ; and it didn't need his words — 
 
 "Why, Nelly, gal, how you skeer'd me!" — to make her 
 comprehend his half-besotted condition. 
 
 " Mat, Mat, you've been drinking ! You are drunk." 
 
 This was said with a sort of horror in her voice. She had 
 never seen him thus before. 
 
 " Drunk 1 By — , Nelly, ef any man had called me drunk, 
 I'd ha' been into him with a bloody spur !" 
 
 " And if any man had called you so. Mat, he'd have spoken 
 nothing but the truth. Oh, Mat, Mat, can it be possible that 
 Jeff Rhodes has brought you to this already ?" 
 
 " Look you, Nelly, Jeff Rhodes ain't my master, to bring co 
 to anything I don't like." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear that. Mat ; but I'm sorry that you bring 
 yourself to do wrong, and that you like what is such an enemy 
 to your safety. But I'm sure you owe it all to your connection- 
 with Rhodes. You never drank liquor when you lived with 
 Mother Ford." 
 
 " Psho ! you're talking of the time when I wr.s a boy, Nelly." 
 
 " When you were a good, boy. Mat." 
 
13-i EOTAW. 
 
 "Well, it stands to reason when a man grows up, lie kain't 
 be quite so good as when he was a boy. What's not right for 
 the boy to do, a man kin do when there's a needcessity for it." 
 
 " But Where's the necessity that you should get drunk, Mat ?" 
 
 " Drunk ] Don't say it agin, Nelly ! I despise the word " 
 
 " I would much rather that you should despise the thing." 
 
 " I ain't drunk ! I've jest been keeping my sperrits up, Nelly. 
 I've been pretty nigh to a fix. I've been in Orangeburg, gal, 
 and — hark ye — I seed a man hanging, gal — hanging by the 
 neck, ontil he was dead, dead, dead ! and God ha' marcy ou 
 his soul!" 
 
 This was spoken in a husky whisper — the speaker bending 
 toward her, his eyes dilating, and his whole face assuming an 
 expression of fearful interest in the event he described. The 
 girl started back in horror. 
 
 " Good Heavens, Mat ! you've been in Orangeburg, where 
 the red-coats are — when you knew what I warned you of — 
 that they were the British whom I saw haling you to the gal- 
 lows. And you saw a man hung there !" 
 
 " Yes, but 'twa'n't me, Nelly, gal ; 'twas a young Irishman. 
 The rope's not wove yet that's to make my cravat." 
 
 " A man hung ! and was it not rum that hung him ? Had he 
 not been drinking, rioting, mutineering, murdering — and was he 
 not drunk — drunk — drunk?" 
 
 " Why, you're a witch ! How could you know ?" he ex- 
 filaimied, in half-stupid wonderment. 
 
 " And it will he the rum that will lead you to the gajiows. 
 Fool, fool ! besotted fool ! The rope is weaving in your pocket 
 which shall hang you. Do you not see 1 But a moment ago, 
 when I came suddenly upon you, and you thought me an ene- 
 my, instead of a weapon yon presented the wretched bottle at 
 my head. What if I had been a soldier, an enemy, armed ? 
 Could I not have cut you down, or shot you dead, before you 
 could have discovered your error, and drawn forth your pistol 1" 
 
 " True, by blazes, Nelly !" 
 
 '■' Give me the bottle. Mat." 
 
 " What, the bottle 1 Well, you shall have it, gal" — drawing 
 it foi-th — " but, first —jest one more sup left !" — and he thnibt 
 the mouth of the bottle intp his own, and swallowed the remain- 
 
GLIMPSIS OP THE GALLOWS. 135 
 
 ing contents at a gulp. The girl caught the bottle from his 
 hand, and hurled it into the -woods. With a hoarse, muddled 
 laugh, the poor wretch cried out : — 
 
 " Oh, you reckon you've done great things, Nelly, but there 
 ain't a drop left, not a drop ! None's lost — none's lost !" 
 
 In tones of genuine anguish, the poor girl cried to him : — 
 
 " Matty, my dear brother, go home with me to Mother Ford's ; 
 go with me, and be safe. Every step you take with Jeff Rhodes 
 is a step toward the halter." 
 
 " Oh, none of that, no more, Nelly ! That's an old song. 
 Tou kain't sheer me any more with that blear eye. Owls don't 
 hoot for much. I don't believe in owls : — 
 
 " ' With a hoo, hoo, hoc ! 
 But nothing kin they do ! — 
 It's better to hear the old crows caw. 
 For you know that they're thinking to fill their craw; 
 And the crow-song for me — with a caw, caw, caw !' 
 
 " And that reminds me, Nelly, of the swamp — old Cawcaw ! 
 'Twas called so, I reckon, bekaise the crows had some famous 
 big settlement thar ! Well, where's Lem Watkins, and them 
 Flurrida riffigees ? I hear they're a-sconting about the Edist- 
 yet — somewhere below. I'm doing a better business now 
 Nelly — gitting the real gould guineas by the handful, Nelly - 
 by the handful !" 
 
 " Ay, by highway robbery !" 
 
 " What ! who says that 1" 
 
 " I say it." 
 
 " Look you, Nelly, don't go too fiir, or I'll be apt to hit you 
 a clip. Don't provocate me. I'm no highway robber, I'll let 
 you know, but a preferable loyalist of his majesty's loyal ran- 
 gers. I'm a sergeant — hiccough !" 
 
 " Mat, you've helped to rob and to abduct two ladies, travel- 
 ling in a private carriage along the Cawcaw. Don't deny it. 
 Mat. Don't lie to your sister !" 
 
 Half fuddled as he was, the fellow looked aghast. 
 
 " How the h — ^1 could you hear of that 1 It's the devil - - iai 
 old devil himself ^— that tells you everything, Nelly !" 
 
 " It is true, then — true, true, true ! And you. Mat Floyd, 
 
136 EUTAW. 
 
 have suffered this wretched old villain Rhodes to lead you to 
 highway rohhery ! Oh, my brother, don't you see that, with- 
 out even a military sanction — without a captain's commission 
 even — you have done an act which only needs to be proven, 
 to insure you the very doom of the halter, which is the one dan- 
 ger, above all, of which I have told you ?" 
 
 " And who seed, and who's to prove it, I wants to know ?" 
 
 "God saw — God will prove it." 
 
 " Oh, git out, Nelly I Don't you 'member telling Jeff Rhodes 
 the same thing about God seeing, and God proving ? And what 
 did old Jeff say 1 Why, he said, ' I reckon they wouldn't take 
 his evidence in any court in the country.' Ha ! ha ! ha ! Bible 
 law and God's evidence kain't stand in any Christian court in 
 this country.'' 
 
 " Silence, blasphemer ! Oh, blind fool that you are, why will 
 you listen to Jeff Rhodes and his blasphemies 1" 
 
 " I tell you, Jeff's a lawyer by nater. He's a nateral law- 
 yer. Why, lying comes to him like a gift ! He kin lie through 
 a millstone any day. Ha ! ef Jeff had lawyer edication, he'd 
 be h — I on a trial." 
 
 " He's T/our hell. Mat Floyd — he's devil enough to lead you 
 • J destruction ! Once more, my brother, hear to me, before 
 that vile wretch hurries you to the halter." 
 
 '" D— n the halter ! Who's afeard of the halter 1 You talks, 
 Nelly, as ef 1 was a born and blasted coward. D — n the halter. 
 I ain't afeard ! No siffocation for me. That's for the halter," 
 and he snapped his fingers iu her face. 
 
 " Mat, my brother, leave this villain Rhodes. He'll be your 
 ruin. If you break off from him now, and go home with me, 
 and keep quiet awhile, all will go right. But if you do not, 
 then God only knows what will be your doom. I tell yon that 
 you are- in danger. Marion's men are now in search after those 
 two poor ladies whom you and Jeff Rhodes have carried off 
 Deliver up those ladies, show me where you have caiTied them, 
 and I will get you into the army of General Marion." 
 
 " You ! what do you know about the army of Marion 1 Psho. 
 gal ! You don't know what you're a-talking about. Git out. 
 You're a woman, and kain't onderstand the business affairs of 
 men and sodgers. Git out. Go about your business. Git off 
 
GLIMPSES OF THE GALLOWS. 137 
 
 to Mother Ford, and — here — here's a gonld guinea for you. 
 "When you get out of that, let me know, and I'll give you more. 
 There now ! Good-by, Nelly — you're a good gal, but mighty 
 foolish." 
 
 And fancying that he gave it to her, he thrust the guinea 
 back into his pouch 
 
 " Mat, dear Mat, won't you let those ladies go free 1 Tell 
 me where they are." 
 
 He put his finger to his eye, with maudlin cunning — as he 
 said : — 
 
 " You're mighty smart, Nelly, but don't know nothing, no 
 how. Go long, gal, home to old Mother Ford. Give her the 
 guinea, and tell her to buy herself a coat and new breeches. I 
 reckon she wants 'em. Good-by, gal — God bless yon — and 
 be off." 
 
 "Mat, my brother — " 
 
 " 'Nough now, Nelly." 
 
 " Oh ! Mat, let me save you from this danger, this doom, this 
 terrible and shameful death. Oh ! my brother, it is for ever be- 
 fore my sight — day and night — sleeping and waking, I behold 
 the horrid vision — I see you in bonds, your arms corded be- 
 hind you, and haled up to the shameful gallows " 
 
 The drunken wretch seized her suddenly by the throat : — 
 
 " Look you, you crazy fool, ef ever you bother me agin abouj 
 that gallows, I'll choke the soul out of you. You'll never so 
 much as squeak agin." 
 
 She shook him off — regarded him with a long mournfiil 
 glance, and drew up her bridle. Her eyes were riveted, large, 
 indignant, yet very sorrowful, upon the besotted fool, as her 
 horse receded from the side of his. The half-witted wretch 
 seemed a little ashamed, and cried : — 
 
 " I wouldn't hurt you, Nelly, yon knows ; but yon musn't 
 provocate mc, and no more, do you hear, about that bloody gal- 
 lows. Not a word. Good-by, gal, good-by, and git your 
 senses back as soon as you kin." 
 
 And he rode off. Did she? — No. Giving him a fair start, 
 she rode after him, cautiously feeling her way along the track 
 of his horse — using her experiences in scouting — which were 
 not inconsiderable — and resolved, through liim. to discover 
 
138 EUTAW. 
 
 where Jeff Bhodes had concealed his captives. Of course, Mat 
 Floyd was quite too drunk to conceive the purpose in his sister's 
 mind. He was tickled with the idea, at leaving her, that he 
 had asserted his manly independence, and had given her a new 
 idea as to the importance of those duties which usually occupied 
 the exclusive attention of the masculine gender, and with which 
 women had nothing in the world to do. 
 
 " Women," quoth he, with a sort of maudlin scorn, " what 
 does they know ahout men's affairs 1 Kin they scout and £ght, 
 and make prisoners, and git the gonld guineas for 'em. And 
 now, jest when I'm in a sort of run of luck, for me to give up, 
 and stop because I've got a crazy fool of a sister. The gal's a 
 good loving gal enough, but she's too much given to meddling." 
 
THE SPY IN PERIL. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE SPY IX PERIL. 
 
 And the poor fool, soliloquizing thus, his head tuftied with 
 (Tamaica and that "run of luck," rode on exultingly, never 
 once seeing or dreaming that the fates were even then husy 
 upon that " run of rope" the terrors of which his poor sister had 
 heen strivitig to keep before his eyes. 
 
 She timed his paces, and followed his steps. He reached in 
 safety the den where old Rhodes had cornered himself, and 
 quietly threw himself down for sleep in one of the wigwams. 
 His potations had rendered this proceeding necessary. Old 
 Rhodes and one of his gang were absent. They too were scout- 
 ing, possibly in search of Travis also — certainly, in the pursuit 
 of some outlawry. They did not return till after night, when 
 they found Mat Floyd in a condition of stupor, the result of the 
 mixed influences of drink and a too long slumber, but awake. 
 Rhodes was in a tolerable good humOr, though disappointed at 
 Mat's failure. The latter made a full report of all that he had 
 discovered or failed to discover, while in and about Orange- 
 burg ; but said nothing, however, of his adventures after leaving 
 it ; of his sister and the Jamaica he mentioned not a syllable. 
 Rhodes, however, suspected the latter, and charged it home 
 upon the offender, not exactly as an offence against good morals, 
 but as disparaging his chances of success. 
 
 "You've been drinking. Mat, and that's the reason you ha'n't 
 made out better. I reckon you were too boozy to see Gappiu 
 Travis ef he was a-standing right afore you. I reckon he was 
 all about among the offsers in the village." 
 
 " I wom't 80 drunk but I could see the gdllows!" 
 
I'lO EUTAW. 
 
 . " Oh ! that gallows ! You ha'n't been hafe a man, ever sence 
 tliat fool sister of your'n bad her wisioh." 
 
 " Look you, Jeff Rhodes, talk of the gal decently ef you 
 wouldn't see fire flash from your eyes and claret too." 
 
 "Boys, git out the kairds, or we'll hev a foolish quarrel to 
 patch up. That's the worst fault I find with whiskey and 
 Jamaica. They're mighty fine drinks ; but they makes the 
 best friends fall out. Git out the kairds, fellows, T reckon I've 
 got some money that I kin lose to any boy that's bold enough 
 to front the pictures." 
 
 " I'm your man for that," cried Mat eagerly. " But no more 
 Orangeburg for me. As yov, ain't afeard of the wision of a gal- 
 lows, Jeff Rhodes, you kin go for yourself next time." 
 
 " And so I will. Mat ; but ef I do 'twon't be for yon then to 
 be axing after a share of the plunder. Ef the hands won't do 
 lawful duty, they kain't expect lawful hire." 
 
 " We'll see to that, Jeff. In captivating these ladies we was 
 all consarned, and I reckon I had the most risk in doing it. 
 For that matter I hev the most risky business put upon me 
 always, and I'm not guine to stand it ; so, look to it next time 
 I jest give you notice in good season. Who's for play ]" 
 
 The party seated themselves about an old table in that dark 
 hovel, not one of them withholding himself from a game at which 
 the common people of the South were great proficients seventy 
 years ago — "old sledge." Money was produced in moderate 
 sums, and all the party was soon deeply interested. Jeff Rhodes 
 was one of those rare magicians who work wonders at the gaming 
 table. He soon began to assess his neighbors. As they began to 
 grumble,' he put in exercise one of his arts of soothing, by pro- 
 ducing an unexpected bottle of whiskey. They all drank deep- 
 ly, and the play went on ; and with the drink and play. Mat 
 Floyd, with others, soon began to grow garrulous. He talked 
 over the matter of his fright in Orangeburg, and the awful feel- 
 ings which he suffered at so suddenly confronting the gallows 
 upon which hang another. 
 
 " Lord," said he, " I felt as ef I was the man that was hitched 
 up, and 'tworn't ontil I was safe buried in the swamp, that I 
 could git easy about that wision of poor Nelly ; and when, sud- 
 dentlj, she come a-riding out of the woods upon me this mom- 
 
THE SPY IN PEKIL. 141 
 
 ing, I thought it was a whole troop of the red-coats in chase. 
 And she know'd all about the mutineering and hanging in Or- 
 angeburg — same as ef she'd seen it; and she tells me she seed 
 tliat same wision about my hanging more than once sence." 
 
 " What ! you seed Harricane Nell this morning, Mat, an 
 never said a word about it 1" demanded Rhodes. 
 
 " Yes, I never thought about it till now." 
 
 " And whar did you meet her 1" 
 
 " By Pyeatt's bay, tharabouts." 
 
 " Why, that ain't five miles off from hyar ! Well, whar di? 
 you leave her 1" 
 
 " Oh, I cut off her discourse mighty soon, and toid her to ■: 
 off, and not meddle with men's consarns ; and I shook her * 
 little, for the Jamaica was "pretty strong in me, and I driv tL, 
 poor gal off with a flea in her ear." 
 
 " And whar did she go 1" 
 
 " Lord knows ! — into the thick somewhar." 
 
 " Lord, Lord ! Mat Floyd, you're as great a fool as your sis 
 ter. Why didn't you look after her, and give her a wrong trail i 
 She'll be on our track, by blazes, and will find out all about 
 our prisoners. She'll never rest tell she does, and you knoTj 
 it!" 
 
 '■ Well, I never thought of that !" 
 
 " 'Twas the Jamaica. Lord, Lord, why will you boys be 
 drinking when you're on an ixpedition ? Why kain't you put 
 it off tell we all git safe together, as we air now, after the day'fs 
 work's done 1" 
 
 " But Nelly dont know nothing about the place. She never 
 was hyar." 
 
 " Yes, she was, yeai's ago," interposed the keeper of the den , 
 "she stopped here once with old Mother Ford, when she come 
 lip from the Collinton country." 
 
 " The devil she did ! Then she'll be sure to track us out ; 
 and ef she does, she'll b j jest as sure to bring down some of the 
 dragoons, red or blue, don't matter to her, and warm us up hyar 
 at midnight with sich a blaze as will make every skin crackle. 
 And, ef she didn't know the place before, won't she take Mat's 
 track, I wonder 1 Nelly is as good a scout as any in the Brit- 
 ish orroy, and she's got a heart as bold as any dragoon in both 
 
■-42 EDTAW. 
 
 armies. She'll be doing, I tell you, while we're a-drinkiiig ana 
 a-sleeping. She's a most fearsome cretur." 
 
 Old Rhodes was indignant — Mat Floyd rather chopfallcn, 
 The party played on, however — the old man sullen, moody, 
 houghtful, but never forgetful of his games. Suddenly, after 
 aking up the spoils before him, old Rhodes said : — 
 
 " Boys, you kin play on, but I'll take a peep at the stairs. 
 I've hearn that dog barking now a good bit, and it's jest as well 
 1 take a look around to see that all's right. But you kin play 
 n. Ef I wants yon, I'll blow the hora." 
 
 The door was closed — well fastened. There were no wir. 
 'ows in the hovel. In going out, Jeff Rhodes did not disturb 
 .he fritenings of the door. Stooping down, he lifted a trap 
 anJar the table upon which the group continued to play, and 
 let himself through it upon the ground, some four feet below. 
 He had caught up, unseen by most of the party, his pistols and 
 iunter-knife — the latter a most formidable weapon, only infe- 
 rior in size and weight to the modern " California toothpick." 
 He crawled out quietly from beneath the house, and was soon 
 bidden among the bushes that grew thickly all about it. His 
 soul was full of murderous intentions. 
 
 " Ef it's her," he muttered, " I'll cut her throat for her if 
 Jiar's hafe a chaince. She's spiled our sports more than once, 
 and sha'n't spile 'em agin ef I kin help it." And, so speaking, 
 he crept away. 
 
 The barking of the dog guided his footsteps. The animal 
 was baying, a few hundred yards above the settlement, on the 
 adge of a boggy thicket. To this old Rhodes made his ap- 
 proaches, with infinite caution. As he neared the dog, he gave a 
 slight chirrup, which the animal seemed to recognise, for he ran 
 to the spot where Rhodes was in cover, rubbed his nose against 
 him, fhen darted off and renewed his baying more urgently 
 than ever. Rhodes crept up, and at length discovered the ob- 
 ject of the dog's clamors. This was a horse, with saddle and 
 bridle — not fastened, but quietly engaged in browsing ab '..t 
 among the long grasses of the miry slope. It required but a 
 single glance to satisfy Rhodes that the beast was that of Nelly 
 Floyd — her favorite pony Aggy. 
 
 The first impulse of the outlaw was, to cut the poor beast's 
 
THE SPY IN PERIL. 143 
 
 tliroat. He had nearly done it — the knife actually being made 
 to flourish in the eyes of the unconscious Aggy. Nothing but 
 a suggestion of cupidity saved the animal's life. 
 
 " It'll sarve a more sensible rider," quoth Rhodes, " if we kin 
 only git rid of her." 
 
 Thus coolly did the old scoundrel calculate the profits of 
 throat-cutting. 
 
 "And whar's she? In and about them cabins, I reckon — 
 poking everywhere — feeling and finding out what she kin. 
 Tliat dog's been a-barking a good hafe hour. She's been all 
 the time in our 'campment. It'll worry her, I reckon, to find 
 out anything ; but I'll do what I kin to find "her. Only, I must 
 quiet the dog, or keep him hyar." 
 
 He called the dog to him in low accents, put bis cap down 
 under a bush, pointed the animal to it, and saw with satisfac- 
 tion that he laid himself down with nose upon it, understanding 
 an old lesson readily. 
 
 "All right, so fur. And now, Miss Harricane Nelly, we'll 
 see and settle your accounts by short reckoning, ef the devil 
 ain't more on your side of the house than on om-s." 
 
 And, with this resolve, " fetching a compass," ho proceeded 
 to scout after the spy. We need not say that, being experi- 
 enced at the business, knowing the ground thoroughly, he was 
 able to do this uuderstandingly, and with the sly, stealthy move- 
 ment of a wild-cat on his way to the hen-roost. 
 
 Meanwhile, what of our poor captives in their dark and mis- 
 erable dungeon, held only by fastenings which a stout trooper 
 could burst with a single blow of the heel, not more than a mile 
 or two from a highway, with powerful friends seeking them, 
 and resolute hearts ready to peril life for their rescue % 
 
 "Oh, this is too honible, mother!" was the moaning excla- 
 mation of Bertha Travis, as they sat together on the bedside in 
 one comer of their hovel. They knew it was night, for supper 
 was some time over, but they were allowed no lights. Saving 
 one another and the servant-girl, they saw nobody but the un- 
 couth woman who brought them food. Days had passed in this 
 captivity, and not a ray of hope, not a voice of encouragement, 
 had entered their cell. The mother tried her best to soothe 
 
14.4 EUTAW. 
 
 and inspirit tlie daughter. Tlie latter was in despair, and threw 
 herself down, sobbing, upon the bed. 
 
 At that moment, they heard a distinct rapping beneath the 
 Louse. They started up and listened, 
 
 " Surely that was a rapping, mother." 
 
 "Yes," said the other in a whisper; "I was listening in ex- 
 pectation to hear it again." 
 
 It was repeated, slowly, as distinctly as before — three sev- 
 eral raps. Bertha leaped from the bed upon the floor, and, 
 stooping, spoke in articulate and regular tones, not loud but 
 clear and sharp : — 
 
 " Does some one knock below V 
 
 The quick answer thrilled them with a sudden joy : — 
 
 " Yes ! Are you women ? — are you in trouble 1" The voice 
 was that of a woman. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" answered Bertha, "we are women, and we are 
 kept here in unlawful captivity. Who are you? Can you 
 help us?" 
 
 " I am a woman like yourselves," was the answer, clearly but 
 somewhat mournfully expressed, " but I would serve you as far 
 as a woman can." 
 
 "What can you do toward getting us out of this wretched 
 place? Oh, we shall thank and bless you for ever!" 
 
 " I know not exactly what to do yet, but God will teach me, 
 and T will think. I have no friends near, your door is fast, and 
 the place is kept by a small body of people — " 
 
 She was about to say outlaws, but she remembered that Mat 
 rioyd was one of the party. 
 
 " What do they keep us for?" demanded Bertha. 
 
 " To extort money for your ransom, from your friends. Can 
 yon give me any clues to them, so that I may find them, and 
 let them know where you are, when, if they have the strength 
 and courage, they will be able easily to rescue yon 1" 
 
 " Do you know Major Willie Sinclair ?" demanded Bertha, 
 eagei-ly. 
 
 "Or Captain St. Julien, or Captain Travis, of Holly-Dale?" 
 added the mother, her thoughts misgiving her as she uttered the 
 name of her husband. 
 
 "I have seen Major Sinclair nnd Captnin St. Julien. Tbov 
 
THE SPY IN PERIL. 145 
 
 were looking for youi above, some days ago, but tlien I did nnt 
 know that you were here. Now, it is impossible to say where 
 they are, as the whole American army has moved up the Coii- 
 garee. There are none now about but the British and the loyal- 
 ists. The people who keep you profess to be loyalists. They 
 used to belong to the Plorida refugees — " 
 
 " Oh, mother, those vile outlaws ! — " 
 
 "As for Captain Travis, there's no telling where he is. His 
 place at Holly-Dale has been burned down by the tories, and 
 everything carried off." 
 
 " Ah, mother ! Holly-Dale, our dear home, in ashes !" 
 
 The voice from below continued. 
 
 " Can you mention any other persons who would be likely to 
 serve you ]" 
 
 Mrs. Travis was reluctant to refer to British succor. She 
 remembered, with a tender conscience, the equivocal relations of 
 her husband with the British, and feared to say or do anything 
 which might compromise him — feared, especially, to put herself 
 and daughter into the hands of those, who, at Inglehardt's 
 instigation, would be very apt to keep them as hostages for the 
 reappearance of Captain Travis. There was, accordingly, a 
 pause. A whispered conversation took place between the 
 mother and daughter. 
 
 " Better, my child, that we should remain here, in confine- 
 ment, darkness, discomfort, than peril everything in a rash 
 appeal for help to the British." 
 
 Poor Bertha moaned, but said : — 
 
 " You are right, mother. Let us perish rather than put my 
 father into their ruthless hands. We will wait on providence, 
 and bear up, as God appoints." 
 
 The mother kissed her child, while the big tears fell upon her 
 cheek. The daughter resumed the dialogue with the stranger. 
 
 "We are at a loss to mention any other persons who would 
 be likely to help us. Major Sinclair, Captain St. Julien, or any 
 of the officers of Marion's brigade, if you could meet with them, 
 would do so; but — can you suggest nothing." 
 
 " I i I am a woman, as I told you, with nothing but the will 
 to serve you. I have few friends and no money; but I am 
 young and active, have a horse, know the woods, and have fe>v 
 
146 EOTAW. 
 
 fears to trouble me. I will think and pray for you, and work 
 in your behalf, as God shall teach me to-night. Only be of 
 good cheer, ana do not suppose God forgets you, because be 
 requires you should wait his time and will." 
 
 " !&ow well that was said, mother," whispered Bertha. Then 
 aloud : — 
 
 " Oh ! we shall thank and bless you for ever, whoever you 
 are, even though you should fail to succor us. Your words are 
 full of encouragement, and — " 
 
 A scream from below silenced the speaker above. Jeff 
 Rhodes had grappled with the kneeling girl, and now dragged 
 her from under the house. He had completely surprised her — 
 had crawled in behind her where she had been kneeling, for the 
 house was too low to suffer her to stand, and had gralppled aifd 
 drawn her backward, drawn her out into the open air, before 
 she could scream thrice. But scream she did, wildly, fiercely, 
 and with noble luugs. He sought to stifle her screams with the 
 skirt of his hunting-shirt ; but she struggled vigorously and 
 had almost broken away from him when he knocked her down 
 and put his knee upon her. The knife flashed before her and 
 involuntarily she shut her eyes. 
 
 Even in that moment, with a prayer rising in her soul, unnt- 
 tered by her lips, she was saved. Rhodes was torn from her 
 by the vigorous ann of her brother, who now confronted the 
 ruffian with a weapon like his own. 
 
 " You old villain, did you mean to murder Nelly 1" 
 
 " Murder her ! Oh, no ! I only meant to give her sich a 
 skear as would keep her off from spying about our 'camp- 
 meiit." 
 
 " It looked mighty like it, Jeff Rhodes." 
 
 " Psho ! 'twas make b'lieve. Mat." 
 
 " It was sich make b'lieve that I came pretty nigh giving yoa 
 the kuife afore I laid hands on you. Nelly, air you hurt 1" 
 
 "Hurt!" said the girl, who had already risen to her foct. 
 "No!" 
 
 " WclJ, you'd better stop with us to-night." 
 
 " What ! to have another scare .'" said the girl scornfully. 
 
 " No ! he sha'n't skear nor hurt you while Mat Floyd kin 
 Jlft a we'pon. But where will you go to-night V 
 
THE SPY IN PERIL. l4 (' 
 
 " Where God and the good angels please ; I have many homes." 
 
 " She's in one of her tantrums, when she sees spenits," cried 
 Nat Rhodes, with a laugh. The girl eyed him for a moment, 
 and said : — 
 
 " Ay, and you, too, are among tlie doomed. Your race will 
 Boon be run, but neither by rope nor bullet." 
 
 " Oh ! if you're for a prophesying I'm off," and the fellow 
 retreated. The whole party had left the gaming-table a little 
 before, simply as the money of two of them had given out — a 
 portion having first found its way into the pocket of old Jeffrey, 
 while the good fortune of Mat Floyd had enabled him to gather 
 up the rest. But for this lucky result of the cards. Mat had 
 never conceived the policy of " Looking after old Jeff," in order 
 to resume the contest with the largest banker of the party. 
 We have seen how opportunely he found him. 
 
 Old Rhodes lingered uneasily, while Mat and his sister spoke 
 together. 
 
 " Don't press her to stay, Mat. We ha'n't got any place for 
 her, and she's no business here at all. Make her promise to say 
 nothing to nobody of what she knows." 
 
 " I promise nothing," said the girl. " I owe yon no pledges 
 — no faith. I demand that you give up these unhappy ladies 
 whom you've got confined. Yield them up to me, or I wUl 
 seek for those who will make you do so, even if I have to go 
 to the British garrison for it." 
 
 "You see. Mat," said old Rhodes. 
 
 " Look you, Nelly," said the brother, " this won't do. You 
 mustn't come here to spile your own brother's business." 
 
 " His business is sin, and its wages death ! Oh, my brothei ! 
 why will you rush thus desperately upon shame and danger ? 
 Why continue with this murderous wretch, who, only a moment 
 ago, had his knife at my throat V 
 
 " Only to skear you ! I swear, Nelly — " 
 
 "Oh! hush, man — monster, would yon put another peijury 
 upon your soul. Leave him. Mat. lie is condneting you to the 
 halter." 
 
 "Oh! d — ^n the halter! No more of that, Nelly — you 
 kain't skear me, gal. Not when I'm doing a goulden business. 
 But cpme io the house. I'll find you a good sleeping-plcee. ' 
 
148 EUTAW. 
 
 " Better shut her up with the others," growled old Rhodes. 
 At the suggestion, the girl receded a few paces, as if to get out 
 of reach, in the event of any sudden attempt being made upon 
 her liberty. 
 
 " No !" she exclaimed, " I dare not. The lightnings of heaven 
 will fall upon the place where that old man harbors. God ! 
 Low wonderful is this madness. An old man, near seventy, 
 with the grave open at his feet — a bloody grave — and he lies 
 and laughs, and would drink blood if he could." 
 
 "Drink blood! Ha! ha I ha! only think of that. Mat! 
 Drink blood ! Not when whiskey's to be had, orrum, gal. But 
 she's in her mad fit. Mat — don't mind her — let her go if she 
 will. I'm for the kairds agin." 
 
 And the old ruffian turned away, but loitered still. 
 
 " Hither to me. Mat ! Only a moment," said Nelly ; and she 
 drew the wretched youth some twenty paces apart, and said to 
 him, in low tones : — 
 
 " Give me your knife. Mat." 
 
 " What do you want with it." 
 
 " A weapon of defence. But for you, to-night, that old man 
 would have butchered me." 
 
 " Oh ! never ! He only meant to give you a bad skear, and 
 you know, Nelly, 'twas not the right thing for you to come here, 
 a-spying out our secrets." 
 
 " Give me the knife, Mat ; it may save me when you are not 
 near to do so. Let him not see you give it. Here, slip it into 
 my hand." 
 
 He did so, but hesitatingly. 
 
 " Now, hear me. Mat. You told Jeff Rhodes of your meet- 
 ing with me to-day — he guessed that I would follow your 
 tracks. He got you drinking at the card-table; he left yon 
 there, and came out alone to murder me." 
 
 "Why, how the diccance, Nelly, does you find out these 
 things t It makes me afeard of you myself, when I sees what 
 you kin find out." 
 
 " Hear me further. It is his purpose to get you back to tha 
 gaming-table, to leave you there again, and to take the woods 
 upon me. I know it. I see it." 
 
 '"FA I thought it." 
 
THE SPY IN PERIL. 149 
 
 '■ Needn't think it. Know it yourself. Go -with him to the 
 
 gaming-table — play, if you' will — but drink nothing. Let him 
 
 iicpect nothing. Only watch him. If he leaves you ct the 
 
 table, you may know what he's after. Follow him. Ho kiiows 
 
 hat I will have to sleep in the woods. His purpose now is to 
 
 find my sleeping-place." 
 
 "But what's the need to sleep in the woods. Hyar — " 
 
 " Here I should be murdered. He will make you drunk — 
 get you off on some pretext, and when you return and ask for 
 me, you will be told some wretched story of my getting off. 
 But you will never see me again.. Note what I say. Do what 
 I tell you. Jeff Rhodes will seek to murder me to-night." 
 
 Mat squeezed her hand. 
 
 " I'll have an eye on him." 
 
 " Have all your eyes on him ; for if you but wink, he will 
 blind and deceive you. Oh ! Mat, go with me now, and leave 
 this wretched companionship. Go, for your life's sake, for my 
 sake, for the sake of Heaven, which is now frowning heavily 
 upon you !" 
 
 " Pslio ! Nelly, 't don't look so. See thar, my gal ; pockets 
 full ' Hyar, I gin you a gould piece to-day. Hyar's another." 
 
 " No ! you gave me none. Mat, though you held it out and 
 ss.id you did. You put it back into your purse." 
 
 " Did I ? Fact is, Nelly, I was a little overkim with the 
 Jamaica this morning. But hyar's two gould pieces to make 
 ap." 
 
 "None will I have, Mat. I see the blood on the gold !" 
 
 " Blood 1" looking at the coin, in the starlight, and muttering. 
 
 "No! none will I have, and could I prevail with yon, my 
 brother, you would fling it away into the woods, and go with 
 me where we should never see the pernicious bait again." 
 
 " That's jest where I don't want to go, Nelly." 
 
 Her entreaties were, of course, fruitless. A temporary run 
 af luck had made the wretched boj' fearless even of the gallows. 
 She left him reluctantly, repeating her exhortation to keep an 
 eye on his associates, and soon disappeared in the woods. 
 
 "Well," quoth old Rhodes re-approacliiug — "is it all over 
 between you at last? You see for yourself, the gal's mad, 
 Matty." 
 
150 EUTAW. 
 
 "Yes, she's either mad or mighty sensible, old man. She 
 does find ont thinga wonderful ; and how she talks." 
 
 " Like a hurricane. But, come, we're a-wasting caudles. 
 Let's have another sarment with seven up !" 
 
 And they adjourned to the cabin ; poor Nelly, meanwhile, 
 gliding through the woods to her pony, which she mounted 
 and rode away, without heeding the growls of Rhodes's dog, 
 keeping watch over that old sinner's cap. 
 
 She never checked Aggy, until she had ridden at least three 
 miles from the " camp" of our outlaws. Then she stopped, in 
 a. thick wood in which she had several times made her own rus- 
 tic tent, a few sticks crossed and covered with bushes forming a 
 sufficient shelter, and one easily made. "The groves were 
 God's first temples." Poor Nelly had no knowledge of this 
 beautiful chant of one of our best native poets ; but she felt 
 with him, and the great natural temple in which she proposed 
 to trust herself with God, always raised her devotional enthu- 
 siasm. Fervently she prayed, the stars and trees her witnesses, 
 then laid herself down quietly to sleep, with Aggy browsing all 
 around her. 
 
 But long ere she slept, Jefi" Rhodes had, as she predicted, 
 left the gaming-table. Mat in high play with Nat and the rest, 
 to all of whom old Rhodes had lent sums sufficient to enable 
 them to keep employed. The old fellow, by the way, was no 
 small usurer, though on a small scale. His percentage was 
 always of Levitical regulation. 
 
 But though he left the parties all at play, and stole forth, as 
 he supposed, unwatched and unsuspected, Mat Floyd remem- 
 bered and obeyed his sister's injunctions. He made some ex- 
 cuse for leaving the table also, and found and followed the 
 course of Rhodes, with a scent as keen as that of a beagle. 
 The old man led his horse into the thicket, and had reached the 
 place where Nelly's pony had been haltered, when Mat put 
 his hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Harkye, old man, what air you a'ter here V 
 
 " I've come for my cap," he said promptly, though taken by 
 surprise, and picking up the cap where it had lain safely, up 
 to that moment, the dog still keeping watch. "You see I left 
 it here, Mattie, when the dog started at Nelly's horse." 
 
THE SPY IN PERIL. 151 
 
 " And ycm only come for the cap ?" 
 
 "To be sure — only for the cap." 
 
 " And what did ydn bring your critter for 1" pdiating to the 
 horse. Old Bhodes's l-eSources failed him. 
 
 "Look you, Jeff Ehodes, that gal kin see into your very 
 Boul. She told me jist what you was a-gtrine to do — said 
 you'd git me fast at the kairda, and thin sneak off and put ou*- 
 a'ter her." 
 
 " But I wom't guine to do no sich a thing." 
 
 "You was, Jeff! Don't lie to me, man! I knows it now. 
 And now, jist you hear what I say, and remember it. Ef any 
 harm comes to Nelly Floyd, by your hands, or your contrivings 
 I'll dig your heart out of your very buzzom." 
 
 "But, Mattie— " 
 
 " Don't talk, Jeff ! It's no use. You knows me, and I knows 
 you, and ef you was to swear till all was blue, I'd not believe 
 you a bit sooner." 
 
 " Well," said the other sullenly, " I reckon we'll be the loser 
 by your sister, of all the profits of this speckilation. She knows 
 we've got the prisoners, and where we keeps 'em, and all h — ^1 
 won't stop her now from bringing down the sodgers upon us. 
 Eed or blue, it knocks us out of our gould guineas jest the 
 same." 
 
 " Yes, if you're guine to be sulky about it. But what's to 
 hender us from moving the prisoners to another place 1 We've 
 got places enough." 
 
 " That's true." 
 
 " And what's to hender us from making a bargain with the 
 prisoners themselves 1 That kind of ladies always keeps their 
 word, and ef they promises us the guineas, I reckon they'll do 
 the honest thing." 
 
 " Well, that's true. We'll have a talk with 'em in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " You do it. I never yet could talk with them grand folks." 
 
 " Well, I'll put a price on 'em. Ef they says „hey'll give a 
 hundred guineas, we'll deliver 'em at the place they says, and 
 take their paper for it. We've got a smart sum from 'em 
 a'ready, and I reckon they'll be mighty willing to pay a leetle 
 
162 EUTAW. 
 
 more to get out into the open air agin. A'ter all, Matty, the 
 blue sky is a sweeter sight than pine-rafters in a dark room." 
 
 " Preticklarly to lady folks, I reckon." 
 
 " Well, that's the how. We'll work it to-morrow." 
 
 And so they settled it for the morning. 
 
 And Nelly Floyd slept the while, as if the starlight were to 
 las*, for ever. Oh ! sweet sleep of innocence, that finds the 
 naked bosom of earth soft to your bosom, and rests an easy 
 head on a rocky pUIow ! 
 
A PROPHECY FULFILLED. 153 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A PROPHECY FULFILLED. 
 
 My Lord Eawdon slept badly while iu Orangeburg. His 
 liver was out of order. His skin performed its functions feebly. 
 The climate was doing its work upon him. He was preparing 
 to withdraw from the labors of a field, in which he had merited 
 better fortune than he had found. He had served his sovereign 
 faithfully and with ability. Young and sanguine, his impulse 
 was regulated by a rare prudence, and becoming energy. He 
 was prompt, ready, decisive, full of forethought, and a man of 
 deliberate calculations. In the field, he possessed largely the 
 military faculty, the cowp d'esil, and kept his several divisions ad- 
 mii-ably in hand to meet the emergency. It has been absurdly 
 said that he pretended sickness, in order to escape a country in 
 which he could gather no more laurels, and escape a duty in 
 which the probability was that he should forfeit those already 
 won. We see no grounds for this notion. His antecedentsdo 
 not justify it. He had never shown any disposition to shirk 
 the duty, however perilous or troublesome, and no man had 
 shown himself better able to shape events to his uses and turn 
 contingencies to account. That he shammed the invalid seems 
 to us preposterous, though we can very well conceive that he 
 foresaw the results of the war — saw that it was finally approach- 
 ing a termination, which was unfavorable to the crown — and 
 was not disposed to quarrel with the Fates, who had given him 
 a good plea for withdrawing from the scene, before the drama 
 reached its catastrophe. But he was really an invalid. The 
 climate had done its work upon his European blood. It worked 
 sluggishly. His skin was inactive, his liver dormant, and he 
 detested the bluo-pill. 
 
154 EUTAW. 
 
 See him as he sits in his quarters at Orangeburg, receiving 
 reports. Cruger is present, a clever New York loyalist, of ex- 
 cellent military talents, firm and enterprising. His fifteen hun- 
 dred regulars, added to the force already in Orangeburg, gives 
 to the British general about three thousand men — a force which 
 could have easily overwhelmed the skeleton regiments of Greene, 
 who, when he reached the high hills of Santee, had less than eight 
 hundred regulars, and one half of them on the sick list. His 
 militia were in greater number, but almost naked and half-* 
 starved. He retreated seasonably. His whole strength, when 
 he receded from Orangeburg, lay in his mounted men, the 
 cavalry and rangers of Majion and Sumter, and the legion of 
 Lee. 
 
 But the British army was in almost equally bad condition. 
 The loyalists were the only troops that could really be relied 
 upon. The Irish were a source of constant anxiety — restless, 
 ready to desert always, and sometimes, as in the case recently 
 reported by Mat Floyd, not slow at mutiny, even with the gal- 
 Ipws, in terrorem, staring them in the face. 
 
 Rawdon listens languidly to the report of Cruger. His eyes 
 do not brighten. 
 
 " They are^ then, beyond the Oongaree V 
 
 " And Wateree." 
 
 " There is, then, some respite during the dog-days." 
 
 And he rested his bead upon his palms, and looked vacantly 
 out of hollow, jaundiced eyes. 
 
 " You are looking very badly, my lord." 
 
 " Ah ! do you think so 1" 
 
 " I certainly do. You need rest." 
 
 " I shall never have it in this cursed country. I must leave 
 it!" 
 
 Cruger shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 " We can not spare you, my lord." 
 
 " I must spare myself, Cruger : I must retire." 
 
 " Do not think of that, my lord ! Recruit ! Run down to 
 Sullivan's island, and try sea-bathing. It will give you new 
 life, to complete triumphantly your career in this quarter, and 
 recover all the ground we have lost — recover the country." 
 
 Rawdon only smiled languidly. Just then, a fine, graceful 
 
A PEOPHEGY FULFILLED. ]o5 
 
 fellow, with shining, expressive countenance, and great animal 
 Bpirits, darted — we Lad almost said bounced — into the room, 
 with a movement which scarcely comported with the gravity 
 of military discipline in the presence of a superior. Ilawdon 
 looked up, and smiled more decidedly, as he said : — 
 
 " Ah, Lord Edward, your spirits were worth a thousand 
 pounds to me to-day." 
 
 " I'faith, my dear Lord Eawdon, I should cheerfully share 
 them with you for far less money. A fig for care ! Why let 
 it trouble you ? I am come to ask a favor — to let me cure you, 
 and make myself happy." 
 
 " Really, you propose wonders. Pray, what is this secret of 
 Bueh magical twofold operation V 
 
 " A very simple one. Let us take holyday ; leave drill and 
 drumming for a while, and go chase butterflies. Fly from camp 
 and close quarters. That's all." 
 
 " And where do you propose that we should go, Fitzgerald 1" 
 
 " To Sinclair's barony. Don't smile. I'm seriously in search 
 of health for you, and happiness for myself." 
 
 "3eware, Lord Edward ! Have a care lest, in my next let- 
 ters home, I report you to Lady Inchiquin, for the special ben- 
 efit of her fair protege, Miss Sandford." 
 
 " Oh, dear, my lord, that's an old story. Besides, 'twas noth- 
 ing but a flirtation. Sandford understood me all the while.' 
 She's a clever girl, and not the fool to suppose that, because a 
 young fellow says a fine thing or two in her ears, she is to re- 
 gard him as dying for her love. There was pothing in that 
 affair, I assure you." 
 
 " Is there anything more in this 1" 
 
 " Oh, by my soul, yes ! I can't get Carrie Sinclair out of my 
 head." 
 
 " But, how about the heart ? If she does not garrison that 
 region, I may suppose you still safe." 
 
 " Nay, she's there too seriously. She is too strong for me 
 my dear lord." 
 
 " Then I sha'n't go with you, or encourage you to go. I am 
 in some degree accountable for you at home. And what would 
 your excellent mamma say to a wife from the wildwoods of Car ■ 
 oliua — an American rustic?" 
 
156 EUTAW. 
 
 "What! Game Sinclair a. rustic? Ah, I see you're only 
 laughing at me. But do not laugh. Tm serious. It's a very 
 serious subject. I am really touched, struck, sorely wounded, 
 and can not for the life of me keep from thinking of her. And 
 Where's the objection ? In point of wealth, and beauty, and 
 intelligence, and fine manners, she is equal to most of the wo- 
 men I know at home. In fact, my dear lord, I've calculated 
 the whole affair — considered it in all its bearings — am now 
 quite sure of my own consent, and hope for mamma's." 
 
 " What ! do you take for granted that of the young lady ?" 
 
 " Fie, my lord ! how could you think me such a puppy ? No 
 — I wish tWat were possible. Far from it; I hold that to be 
 rather doubtful. I have heard that she has a suitor, a friend 
 of her brother — the same dashing fellow who tumbled in head- 
 long upon us out of the swamp here, within half-a-dozen miles 
 of the village." 
 
 " Ah, you had a pretty passage with him that day ! I see 
 now that I have not to credit all your chivalry on that occasion 
 to so frigid a sentiment as patriotism." 
 
 " I confess, my dear lord, that I was a little more braced to 
 the conflict when the fellow told me his name. Why he should 
 do so, unless that he had heard or surmised my attentions to 
 Miss Sinclair, I can not conceive." 
 
 " These things travel with the wind. The tales of lovers 
 seem to be like those winged seeds that disperse and plant them- 
 selves whenever and wherever the wind blows. But, seriously, 
 my dear Fitzgerald, as you phrase it, the match is very far from 
 a bad one. It will suit you exactly. The lady is of good old 
 English-Scotch family — the father as proud and fierce as Luci- 
 fer — and they may claim aristocratic connections at home. 
 Her fortune is good ; and, so far as person is concerned, your 
 taste commends your choice. If we are to be driven out from 
 the country, there is no need why you should not keep foothold 
 in it. They have no hostility to Irishmen as such ; and, as an 
 Irish lord, you will find grace in society. But, my dear boy, 
 will not your course of wooing be a rather rapid one V 
 
 " As an Irishman, it would be only proper that it should. But 
 I do not design now to propose — only feel my way a little far- 
 tlier, and make it clear I flatter myself that I was not wholly 
 
A PROPHECY FULFILLED. 157 
 
 wanting in interest to Miss Sinclair, when we were at the bar- 
 ony together." 
 
 " On that subject I can say nothing. I only know that I 
 afforded you fnll opportunity. You owe me something for the 
 prolonged employment which I gave to the old man in private." 
 
 " To be sure I do ; and I am grateful, believe me. But, my 
 dear Lord Rawdon, will you not go V 
 
 " Is it possible, at this moment 1" 
 
 " What's to prevent 1 The enemy is beyond reach, across 
 the Wateree, and not in a condition to give us any trouble. 
 You have quieted all discontents here ; got the army once more 
 into regular paces ; and here's Stuart and Cruger." 
 
 " By-the-way," said Eawdon, looking round, " where's Cru- 
 ger?" 
 
 " He slipped out, the moment I began to talk matrimony, as 
 if a soldier's loves were ever a secret. But here you have Stu- 
 art and Oruger, both veterans .and trustworthy ; the roads are 
 clear ; and we both need air, exercise, change, and a fresTi 
 glimpse of that social world which is so grateful to both of us. 
 That old medicine of the baron will do wonders with you. Let 
 me prescribe for you, my dear lord, and share the benefits of 
 the prescription." 
 
 " Well, my dear boy, I can hardly balk your humor. It 
 jumps with my own. Order an escort of fifty or a hundred 
 picked mounted men, and report when ready." 
 
 " Hurrah ! hurrah !" shouted the young Irishman as he darted 
 out of the apartment. 
 
 The fevered tone of Eawdon led him to anticipate favorable 
 results from the proposed journey. He wondered that he him- 
 self had not thought of it before. He was, accordingly, quite 
 ready, when Fitzgerald reported his escort to be so. 
 
 And glad were all parties once more to be upon the high- 
 road. The cavalcade departed at an early hour the next morn- 
 ing. 
 
 That very day, at sunrise, old Rhodes had an interview with 
 Mrs. Travis and her daughter. We need not report the dia- 
 logue between them. Enough, that she'contracted to give him 
 her order upon her husband for one hundred guineas, the mo- 
 ment that he (Rhodes) should conduct her party to Nelson's 
 
158 EUTAW. 
 
 ferry in safety ; the paper to be so worded that no questions 
 were to be asked ; and the draft was to be made payable to 
 bearer. 
 
 And they, too, set off on their progress, as soon after the ar- 
 rangement was made as possible. 
 
 " Let us go at once, mother ; do not wait for breakfast — wait 
 for nothing — I am dying for sunlight and fresh air !" 
 
 The carriage was soon made ready. When old Cato appeared 
 in sight of his mistress, the old fellow was greatly affected — 
 tears were in his eyes — but he never relaxed in his solemnity. 
 
 "Dey has kep' you fastened up, mistress — and you, Miss 
 TJert'a. Le' me tell you dat dey had fasten' me up too. Ef 
 'twan't for dat, missis, I'd ha' made 'em see de debble wid bote 
 eyes tell dey let you out !" 
 
 And he shook the hands of both, as if he would have wrung 
 them off. Cato was once more upon the box, and beginning to 
 feel himself. But the two Khodes's, father and son. Mat Floyd, 
 and the rest of the gang, rode in company, keeping close to the 
 driver on each side of the carriage. Moll Rhodes was left at 
 their encampment. The job would afford twenty guineas a-piece 
 to each of the gang, and they were not the persons to trust one 
 another. But for this suspicion among themselves and of them- 
 selves, they well knew that any one of them would have sufficed 
 for an escort. And so the party drove and rode. 
 
 An hour after they had gone, Nelly Floyd found her way to 
 the place of harborage, found her sister Molly only, and the 
 womaji who kept house. Molly told her very freely that they 
 had all departed, but lied to her on the subject of the route 
 taken. Some little pains had been taken to conceal the carriage 
 tracks, as on a previous occasion. The ladies had walked to it 
 into the woods, a hundred or two yards below the settlement. 
 And so, poor Nelly was once more on a wide sea of conjecture, 
 but still resolute to seek, in the hope to find and aid. 
 
 But Nelly Floyd was not the girl to wait long in uncertainty. 
 She was, as the reader will have observed, a girl of very re- 
 markable enthusiasm, the secret of her restless and energetic 
 action, and of a beautiful feminine simplicity of character, free 
 from all affectations, and resolutely earnest and religiously true, 
 Her supposed madness was due to this simplicity which prompted 
 
A PROPHECY FULFILLED. 159 
 
 lier to speak fearlessly, and without circumlocution always, just 
 what she thought, and the enthusiasm which as constantly lifted 
 her moods beyond the aim of all around her, and into an inten- 
 sity which the coarse and inferior mind rarely comprehends 
 when unassociated with a selfish object. 
 
 Nelly took the road downward, governed, it would seem, by 
 a mere instinct. She reflected tliat there was a carriage and a 
 heavy one, heavily laden, to retard the rapidity of the party, 
 and by putting her pony into a smart canter, she reasonably 
 calculated to overcome the lost hour during which the fugitives 
 had been upon the road. She succeeded in doing so, and to 
 the surprise and annoyance of old Ehodes, she suddenly dashed 
 up alongside of the coach, presenting a curious if not startling ap- 
 pearance to the two ladies within. They remarked her singular 
 costume, almost approaching the Turkish — her short frock, and 
 loose trowsers, and the fantastic round hat —man fashion upon her 
 head. It did not escape them too, the poverty of the material 
 of which her dress was composed, and they were accordingly 
 wise enough to ascribe to necessity what a vulgar wit might 
 have referred to taste. Spite of all, the whole appearance of 
 the girl was picturesque and pleasing. Her wild, great, dila- 
 ting black eye, prominent in high degree, the wonderful spirit 
 and intelligence of her features, the sweetness of her mouth, 
 the grace of her movement sitting her horse, or managing 
 it — all these things, seen at a glance, struck the ladies as 
 equally curious and interesting. Her language was not less a 
 surprise. 
 
 ■"You here!" demanded old Rhodes — "what do you want 
 now?" 
 
 " I want to know if these ladies are free agents — are they 
 satisfied with your keeping?" 
 
 " What's that to you ? Better be off, Nelly, and don't meddle 
 any more in our consams. Remember last night." 
 
 " I shall not forget it," she answered, looking at him sternly. 
 " But nothing that you can do shall scare me from my purpose 
 I must hear from better authority than yourself, whether these 
 ladies are satisfied." 
 
 " Well, ef they ain't, what kin you do for them, Nelly 1" de- 
 manded her brother. 
 
160 EUTAW. 
 
 "God will tell me. He will answer you," slie replied — 
 ■' wait ! and see what he says." 
 
 " In her tantrums again !" said old Ehodes. The girl did not 
 notice him even with a look, but turning to the window of the 
 carriage she said : — 
 
 "I endeavored last night to serve you, ladies — " 
 
 " Was it you 1" demanded Bertha, eagerly, her eyes already 
 betraying the singular interest which she. had taken in the 
 girl. 
 
 " What makes you talk of that, Nelly ?" said her brother 
 gruffly — "why kain't you be off now, and leave men's affairs 
 alone 1" 
 
 " Devil's affairs, you mean. No ! I will not leave alone 
 when I can balk the evil-doer. I can't. I spoke with you 
 last night," she continued, addressing the ladies — "I would 
 have served you, but that old man seized me, and would have 
 murdered me — " 
 
 "Murdered you !" exclaimed Bertha, 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " No ! I say," cried Rhodes, " 'twas only to skear her that I 
 showed the knife." 
 
 " It matters not now," said Nelly. " God knows who is true 
 or false in the world. What I wish to know of you, ladies, 
 is, whether you are willingly in the escort of this old man." 
 
 " He has contracted to conduct us safely to Nelson's Ferry." 
 
 " What do you fear, except from him and such as he ? He 
 has extorted money from j'ou, I know it. But be will never 
 live to use it. I see the judgment of God written in his face." 
 
 " She's crazy, ma'am ; mad as a wild-cat when the dogs are 
 a'ter her," said old Rhodes. 
 
 " Tell me in what way I can serve you," continued the girl, 
 never noticing the old ruffian. 
 
 I' I know not how you can, my ddar gii'l," answered Mrs 
 Travis somewhat bewildered. 
 
 " We are as ignorant as you are," said Bertha, " of the means 
 of succor; but if you could meet with Major Sinclair, or any of 
 Marion's captains, especially Captaiti St. Julien — " 
 
 " Look here, ladies, I must put a stop to the talking with this 
 mad critter," interposed old Rhodes, now very angry. " Hark 
 
A PROPHECY FULFILLED. 161 
 
 ye, Nelly Floyd, ef you ain't off from us now in a twink, I'll 
 lace your hide with a hickory, brother or no brother." 
 
 " No you don't, Jeff Rhodes," said Mat, " or you laces me 
 first. But be off, Nelly, you've no business here, . I tell 
 you." 
 
 The girl looked defiance only, her eye settling upon that cf 
 Rhodes, till the old ruffian shrunk beneath the glance. 
 
 " You do not surely talk of whipping that young girl," said 
 Bertha Travis. 
 
 " Whip her ! Tes, she desarves it, if human ever did ; and 
 jest you take hold of Mat, boys, and keep him quiet, while I 
 gives her a lesson in cowhide, which is jest as good as hickory." 
 
 Meanwhile, Cato stopped the carriage. 
 
 " What the do you stop for 1 Drive up," said one of the 
 
 party. 
 
 " Beg you pardon, sah ! I guine yeddy fus' what missis 
 say." 
 
 "Say!". cried Bertha — "I say, old man, that if you lay a 
 hand in anger upon that young woman, you shall not receive 
 one copper from us." 
 
 " Does you say so, young mistress," cried old Rhodes, now 
 thoroughly furious, " then, by the etarnal hokies, I drives you 
 back to your captivation. Turn about, nigger." 
 
 "D— n ef I does !" cried Cato. 
 
 " Knock the nigger off, Nat, and jump into the seat. We'll 
 see to your nag. And as he gave the order,' old Rhodes darted 
 round to the side of the carriage where Nelly was. .Mat Floyd 
 dashed at him and passed between. The girl remained un- 
 moved. There was a moment of hesitation in old Rhodes's 
 countenance ; he seemed to be considering the question of odds 
 between himself and young Floyd, who, while resolute to pro- 
 tect his sister, yet appeared to be very angiy at her appearance 
 and interference. While the parties were thus grouped, and un- 
 certain, a shout behind them drew their attention up the road; 
 and old Rhodes cried : — 
 
 " Great Giniini, it's an army, I reckon." 
 
 It was Rawdon and Fitzgerald with a mounted escort of a 
 hundred men. 
 
 "Overhaul those people," v.'as the cnmrn-ind of Rawdon, and 
 
162 EUTAW. 
 
 a score or two of his escort put their horses to a canter and came 
 charging down the road. 
 
 "Sauve qm peui!" was the cry ; or rendered into Jeff Ehodes's 
 English — " Heel it, boys, hyar's old h — ^1 npon us. As for you, 
 d — n yon," roared the old ruffian to NeUy, as he wheeled to fly 
 with the rest, " you shall have your pay for the mischief you've 
 done ;'' and even as he fled, before his purpose could be con- 
 ceived, he discharged his pistol full at the head of Nelly Floyd, 
 and at a distance of less than eight paces. She was seen to 
 shudder, then fling herself from the pony. She stood a moment, 
 then stepped to the roadside, and quietly let herself down by 
 the bushes. 
 
 " God ! they have killed her," cried Bertha, as she saw the 
 girl sink down at length among the bushes. " Open the door, 
 Cato, and let us get out." 
 
 But the horses, alarmed by the pistol-shot just over their 
 heads, became unmanageable, took the bits between their teeth, 
 and dashed down the road. 
 
 Meanwhile Eawdon had seen the proceeding. 
 
 " Scatter over the woods, fellows, and cut off these wretches," 
 was his prompt command, and fifty troopers dashed off in pur- 
 suit. Soon pistol-shots were heard, then shouts, and for a time 
 silence. The outlaws were all well mounted. This was always 
 a leading object, to be attained at any sacrifice. Generally 
 speaking, the British troopei-s, at this period of the war, were 
 ill-provided with beasts: What they rode were small andieeble. 
 The stables had been picked everywhere. But the escort of 
 Rawdon had been selected with care, and several of the men 
 rode good horses. An hour was consumed while Rawdon, with 
 the half of his escort kept the road. Fitzgerald was gone, like 
 a flash, the moment the outlaws were seen to fly. The pursuit 
 was hot. Nat Rhodes, goading his beast with headlong fury, 
 was suddenly seen whirled out of his saddle. His brains were 
 dashed out against a tree, and his back was broken. As Nelly 
 had promised him, he had equally escaped rope and bullet. 
 Old Rhodes was brought down by a pistol-shot at long range , 
 when the troopers came up with him he was dying. The bullet 
 had passed through his body. His mouth, however, was full of 
 
A PROPHECY FULFILLED. 168 
 
 execrations. He was intelligible. To the first trooper who 
 came up, he said : — 
 
 " You got the wind of me. I'm done for ; but that b 
 
 lied. She set me up for the gallows. But she lied." 
 
 " It's not too late," said the trooper. " Here, boys, let's fulfil 
 a prophecy ;" and in a moment, a cord was adjusted about the 
 throat of the gasping wretch, and he was haled up to the limb 
 of the tree that swung above them. He was conscious to the 
 last — horribly conscious — for he howled curses until the gur- 
 gling breath could no longer be resolved into any articulate 
 sounds. 
 
 Mat Floyd, and the two younger scamps, his associates, suc- 
 ceeded in making their escape.^ Meanwhile, old Oato had 
 managed to bring up his horses' heads, and turn them about, 
 and when the pursuing party emerged from the woods, they 
 found Lord Rawdon, and the ladies alighted from horse and 
 carriage, and busied in the work of restoring the strange wild 
 girl to consciousness. 
 
164 KUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XV, 
 
 TRAILING OP THE SCOHT. 
 
 Fortunately, the snrgeon of Lord Eawdon was along with 
 his party. He was engaged in examining the hurt of Nelly, 
 which was in the shoulder, when she opened her eyes to con- 
 sciousness. She strove to rise ; looking somewhat bewildered, 
 and more conscious, apparently, of the unwonted persons about 
 her, than of her wound. They would not suffer her efforts, the 
 surgeon continued his examination, and to the relief of all 
 parties, pronounced the injury to be trifling — a mere flesh 
 wound, the effects of which a few days of quiet would entirely 
 relieve. He dressed the wound where she lay, and she was 
 then, at the voluntary instance of Mrs. Travis, lifted into the 
 carriage. It was a narrow escape, however ; the wound was 
 given obliquely, as the profile of the girl was presented to the 
 assassin. The bullet harked the arm, but it was in direct line 
 with the heart ; an inch one side or the other, it would have 
 been instantly fatal. But the miserable old wretch had already 
 paid, with his life, for his horrible attempt at a deadly crime. 
 
 Nelly would have resisted the efforts to place her in the car- 
 riage, if she could. She opposed it by a murmur of dissent. 
 
 " No ! no ! Aggy, my pony." 
 
 She could do no more. She was still too faint. 
 
 " You must ride with us, my dear," said Mrs. Travis — " with 
 me and my daughter. We are friends and will take care of 
 you My girl here will ride your pony, and bring him along. 
 Do not oppose us. We are friends, my child." 
 
 "Frisnds! friends!" murmured the girl again, looking with 
 
TRAILING OF THE SCOUT. 16' 
 
 an earnest tenderness in their faces, and offering no furthei 
 opposition. She yielded herself quietly to the arms of those 
 who helped her into the carriage — assisted herself — and with 
 a sad sort of smile seem to thank her newly-found friends. 
 
 " Good stuff," said the surgeon — " makes no unnecessary fuss. 
 Half of the young lady patients I have known, in such a situa- 
 tion, and with so many eyes upon them, would have required 
 help for every curl upon their temples." 
 
 The increasing consciousness of the girl was apparent in her 
 eyes, the moment she entered the carriage, in the expression 
 not only of pain, but of anxiety. She suddenly looked out of 
 the carriage windows at the troopers and the woods, and then 
 sank back with a slight moan. But this was not the effect of 
 any physical suffering. Thought was busy. " Where is Mat V 
 " Is he safe ?" Her own helplessness, at the moment, in the 
 feeling of doubt, indicated by these questions to herself, was 
 the parent of the moan. 
 
 Here a conference took place between Lord Bawdon and the 
 ladies. 
 
 " The Sinclair barony is scarce two miles distant, ladies," 
 said his lordship, " and from my knowledge of the proprietor, 
 Colonel Sinclair, I can assure you of his own and the hospitable 
 welcome of his daughter. I am bent thither myself, and will 
 be happy to give you my escort. If you will allow me to 
 counsel, you will stop there for awhile, till my dragoons shall 
 scour these woods, when you can pursue your further progress 
 in safety. This young creature will need to rest there for a 
 few days." 
 
 Here a whispered conversation ensued between the mother 
 and daughter^the latter somewhat earnestly saying — "Oh? 
 no, mother ! not there ! not there !" 
 
 Lord Eawdon had quick ears. He overheard the wcrds 
 
 " And why not, my dear young lady ? I can answer, without 
 hesitation for the cordial welcome of Colonel Sinclair and his 
 admirable daughter." 
 
 The mother answered for Bertha Travis. 
 
 " We are so cii-cumstanced, sir — my lord — that we are no^ 
 permitted to pause anywhere, if it is in our power to avoid 
 doing so. But we will drive to Colonel Sinclair's residence and 
 
106 EUTAW. 
 
 leave our patient, to whom the refuge is, perhaps, absolutely 
 necessary." 
 
 M/ lord was a little curious. He saw that Mrs. Travis was 
 n real lady, of good condition, and his eyes were not insensible 
 to the beauty of her daughter. Who were they ? Where can 
 they be travelling 1 With what mission 1 In the conference that 
 had taken place between them, he observed their shyness and 
 reserve in respect to themselves. As a gentleman, he could not 
 venture to ask any direct questions on any of these matters. 
 He could only insinuate his desires indirectly. 
 
 " I do not see exactly where you can find accommodations 
 along this route for the night, if you go farther — none, certainly, 
 which would be grateful to you, madam. And we know not 
 how many gangs of such scoundrels as we have had the good 
 fortune to disperse, may be upon the road. If I knew whither 
 you were going — " 
 
 He paused here, judiciously. The old lady smiled gratefiilly, 
 but said : — 
 
 " I fancy, my lord, your late service will suffice. We have 
 every assurance that the route is now clear," — and so forth. 
 
 " Well, madam, I trust when we get to the barony of our 
 friend Sinclair, that his amiable daughter will prove more elo- 
 quent in persuasion than a rough soldier like myself." 
 
 The old lady's reply showed her to be far from inexperienced 
 in the easy verbal play of good society. 
 
 " Where the soldier and the courtier so perfectly unite, as in 
 the present instance, my lord, it is scarcely possible to suppose 
 that any persuasion can be needed to enforce your own." 
 
 His lordship bowed : — 
 
 " Madam, your reply would seem to show that you are pos- 
 sessed of some good Irish affinities. May I have the honor to 
 know, that I may recall this interview hereafter with more sat- 
 isfaction, who are the excellent ladies whom I have had the 
 good fortune to succor V 
 
 " Ah ! my lord, your Irish frankness, however admirable, 
 must fail to prompt me to its emulation. But to a certain ex- 
 tent I will be frank with you. We are on a secret expedition. 
 We are nameless dames on an enterprise. You must be con- 
 tent, as a soldier and gentleman, with the single assurance that 
 
TRAILING OP THE SCOUT. 167 
 
 the enterprise does not contemplate any treason against king 
 lords, or commons." 
 
 Eawdon laughed. 
 
 "Yon are too much for me, my dear madam. But it did not 
 need this assurance. I have only to look into your own, and 
 the face of your daughter, to answer for the loyalty of both." 
 
 And he bowed low upon his charger, waved his hand forward, 
 a bugle sounded, and he rode away from the carriage, which 
 came on slowly — one half of the dragoons bringing up the rear. 
 
 " Who the d — ^1 can they be V said Rawdon, as Lord Edward 
 Fitzgerald dashed up beside him. " Quite an adventure. Lord 
 Edward, for a young chevalier des dames." 
 
 " Have you made them out, my lord V 
 
 " Not a syllable. The old lady is close. She confessed to a 
 mystery, and thus silenced all further attempts to get at it. Her 
 daughter, by the way, is a very beautiful creature." 
 
 "And the wounded girl strikes me wonderfully, my lord. 
 Her face is brown but exquisite. She might sing with the 
 dusk nymph of Solomon — 'I am dark but comely.' But did 
 you ever see such a costume— half man's — quite Turkish ; and 
 she evidently rode man-fashion, and on a man's saddle. She 
 is a curiosity." 
 
 And so, talking as they rode, they at length entered the 
 noble avenue leading to the Sinclair barony. As they rode 
 considerably in advance of the carriage, they were able to get 
 over all the preliminaries of the meeting with the veteran of 
 that establishment, and to apprize himself and the fair Carrie 
 Sinclair, of the approaching visiters, and their patient. 
 
 " I have promised a welcome for all at your hands, my dear 
 Miss Sinclair, for they will interest you, as they have interested 
 me. The wounded girl is something of a curiosity, but a plea- 
 singly piquant one. The other ladies express their determina- 
 tion to travel on, after delivering the girl to your hospitality; 
 but you may be more successful than myself in persuading them 
 to become your guests for a season. I know not who they are 
 — can not guess — and acknowledge myself to be curious. 
 They are evidently well bred, and the daughter is quite a 
 beauty, though my Lord Edward scarcely finds her standard 
 of beauty to his taste." 
 
168 EUTAW. 
 
 The last sentence was an adroit speech made for the gallant 
 aid-de-camp. Of course, Carrie Sinclair vas in the piazza 
 awaiting the arrival of the cortege. As the carriage drove Jip 
 to the steps, she hurried down to it, without reserve, and, with 
 the frankness of her temperament, and the graceful ease which 
 was natural to all her actions, she endeavored to succeed in 
 the ohject in which Rawdon had failed. 
 
 Bertha's eyes eagerly observed her as the carriage was 
 approaching. 
 
 " She is very beautiful, mother, and very much like Willie. 
 i)o yon not see the Jikeness % Oh ! how I long to speak out to 
 her — to feel her arms around me." 
 
 "Hush !" said the mother, glancing to Nelly. 
 
 The quick ears of Nelly heard the warning. She smiled, and 
 put her hand in that of Bertha, so confidingly, so promptly, and 
 with such tenderness, that the action said everything. From 
 that moment Bertha would have freely trusted her with the 
 dearest secret of her soul. 
 
 Time was allowed for no more. They were at the steps. 
 The carriage stopped. Carrie Sinclair was already beside it, 
 .and there were assistants ready to lift out the wounded girl. 
 But she suffered none of them. She but looked into Carrie's 
 face, and that was enough. She took her arm — hers only — 
 and was conducted up the steps into the parlor. Having laid 
 her on the sofa, Carrie ran out again to the carriage. 
 
 " Come in — oh, do ! Alight, if you please. Do not refuse." 
 
 And, just then, a servant brought a message from the wound- 
 ed girl, begging to see the ladies for a moment. They could 
 not deny Acr — and in another moment. Bertha Travis stood 
 within the stately halls of her lover's father. How she longed 
 to throw herself into Carrie's arms, and say " sister ;" but 
 the policy was thought to be doubtful, by both mother and 
 daughter ; and the lords, Eawdon and Fitzgerald, were pres- 
 t,jt, and there too was the old baron Sinclair, in his easy-chair, 
 with his feet upon a cushion. All eyes were upon the party, 
 and emotions were impossible. 
 
 The ladies sat beside Nelly, and she took the hands of Ber- 
 tha, and looked up into her face, smiled archly — so Bertha 
 thought — and murmured a few syllables of thanks. Then 
 
TRAILING OP THE SCOUT. 169 
 
 came the surgeon who felt her pulse, and nodded his head as if 
 approving her performances. And then refreshments were 
 handed. 
 
 Meanwhile, Colonel Sinclair added his voice of entreaty that 
 the ladies would remain at the harony. And he was a gentle- 
 man, doing the graces of the host handsomely, spite of the sharp 
 twinges in his feet. The old despot little dreamed who were 
 the parties whom he so solicited. And Carrie Sinclair renewed 
 her solicitations as warmly as if she had known them and loved 
 them a thousand years. And little Lottie, her younger sister, stole 
 up to Bertha, and got hold of her hand, and said — "Do stay. 
 I like your looks." And poor Bertha hardly kept the tears 
 down from her eyes, as she thought of Willie and remembered 
 that these were his sisters. How she longed to go aside with 
 Carrie, and tell her all. But she could only sigh in answer, 
 leaving it to her ml)ther, to play the inflexible in open terms. 
 And the old lady did her part firmly, but not without her emo- 
 tions also, and made it finally evident to all parties, that en- 
 treaty was unavailing. Still, she so completely fulfilled the 
 conditions of the lady, that the sting was taken from refusal ; 
 and when they had gone, it was agreed with one voice, that they 
 were certainly fine women, and ladies too. 
 
 " And — what a beautiful girl," said Carrie, as she turned, 
 from looking after the receding carriage, and took her place be- 
 side the wounded girl, possessing herself of her hand. 
 
 "Who can they be^ Do you know?" to Nelly. Nelly 
 smiled, as she whispered — 
 
 " Yes ; but I must not tell." 
 
 " There is really, then, a mystery." 
 
 Nelly did know — possibly by guess only; but it was quite 
 8uiQ5cient for the simple truthful nature of the girl, that the par- 
 ties most interested in the secret, were desirous that it should 
 remain so. Her instincts were Heaven's teaching; and the 
 proprieties came to, and tutored her mind, without any neces- 
 sary effort of the thought. And this is always the way with 
 the ingenuous spirit, where nature has strength enough to assert, 
 and is permitted to have her own way. 
 
 After resting awhile, Nelly was able to retire with Carrie to 
 her chamber, where the two soon became intimate ; the latter 
 
170 EDTAW. 
 
 being surprised and interested with every moment's increased 
 knowledge of the curious stranger. Her nice propriety of 
 thought and phrase, the high pitch of her enthusiasm, showing 
 itself gradually as she warmed with society, her bold imagina 
 tion, the spiritual lifting of her thought — all seemingly so much 
 at variance with her apparent isolation in life, and the peculi- 
 arity of her costume. Of course, it had been ascertained by 
 Rawdon that the two ladies, who had continued their journey, 
 knew absolutely nothing of her. They had not seen her be- 
 fore, and though they might have told of her generous attempt 
 to rescue them the night previous, stUl, it did not occur to them 
 to do so ; and, indeed, in the caution which kept them from all 
 communicativeness, they had said not a syllable of their late 
 captivity. 
 
 Meanwhile, a detachment of Rawdon'e escort beat the woods 
 in the Sinclair precincts ; the larger body making their camps 
 in the open ground in front of the mansion, and along the 
 avenue. The scout resulted in no discoveries; the woods were 
 clear. The outlaws were all ofp, in other thickets or lying 
 •perdue, so close that no ordinary search could find them. 
 
 You will please suppose that Carrie Sinclair was remiss iu 
 noue of her duties, entertaining her own and the guests of her 
 father. That she made our poor Nelly comfortably at home, 
 we may take for granted — that she made her quite easy in 
 mind was impossible. Nelly could not subdue her fears for 
 Mat. She knew nothing of his fate. She heard nothing of 
 that of old Rhodes, and his son Nat, her brother-in-law. Her 
 anxiety lessened the degree of satisfaction which she might 
 have felt in the solicitous kindness of Carrie Sinclair ; but she 
 was not insensible to it, and with that rare instinct which she 
 possessed, for the appreciation of character, she did not require 
 much intercourse to see and feel all that was cliarming and 
 beautiful in that of Carrie Sinclair. 
 
 But the latter — like the gentle lady married to the Moor — 
 was required to see to the household affairs. So, leaving Nelly 
 to the companionship of little Lottie, she descended to her du- 
 ties. We shall not follow her in these performances. We are 
 to suppose that there were intervals when she looked in upon 
 hor father's guests, passing from hall and pantry to parlor, and 
 
TRAILING OF THE SCOUT. 173 
 
 occasionally lingering in speech with the gentlemen. Of course, 
 my Lord Edward Fitzgerald sought his opportunities, and seized 
 avidly on -aU that he found. Rawdon had too much to confer 
 upon with the old colonel, to interfere with, or note, the prog- 
 ress of his aid-de-camp. The day hurried on. Supper was 
 served and discussed ; and, after supper. Lord Edward per- 
 suaded Carrie to the harpsichord. She played and sang for 
 him — not for him only ; for the surgeon, the captain of the de- 
 tachment, and a couple of young scions of nobility, had, of 
 course, received the freedom of the house, and were present. 
 Rawdon remained with Colonel Sinclair in the supper-room, 
 engaged in close and interesting conversation on public affairs. 
 
 Let us leave these parties, thus engaged, for a brief season, 
 while we note the progress of other persons in this truthful his- 
 tory. For .three days had Jim Ballon, the scout, been looking 
 for Willie Sinclair and his troopers, and in vain. The scout is 
 at a loss. 
 
 " Where can he be ?" he argued with himself, sitting at noon 
 upon a fallen tree in the forest, where he had eaten his frugal 
 dinner, while his horse was browsing about for the coarse and 
 scanty patches of grass in the wood. 
 
 " Where can he be? He's left ine no tracks this time — no 
 tracks. He must be hard pressed somewhere — hard pressed 
 — or he'd ha' made out to let me know where to look for him 
 — to look. I must try the barony. I reckon he's been there. 
 Benny Bowlegs, perhaps, knows all about him. By this time, 
 'Bram ought to be getting up from over the Santee — ought to 
 be. He's perhaps at the barony now ; he'll take it in his way 
 up. He or Benny Bowlegs ought to be knowing where to find 
 the major — ought to be knowing. I'll take a peep at the 
 barony." 
 
 The resolve was no sooner taken, than he caught up his 
 steed and mounted. He was about five miles from the barony. 
 Picking his way cautiously through the woods, avoiding the 
 public road where this was possible, our scout made his prog- 
 ress very slowly, not being disposed to reach the barony till 
 night had fallen. Meanwhile, his eyes were busy, and his ears 
 vigilant. He kept his course in the thicket, some two hundred 
 yards from the main road, thus securing himself from chance 
 
1 r2 EUTAW. 
 
 discovery of wayfarers, yet sufficiently near, perhaps, to distin- 
 guish the sounds from any body of horse that might be pursuing 
 the highway. The sun, meanwhile, gradually sloped down- 
 ward, leaving the woods clad in that " little glooming light, 
 most like a shade," which, along with the usual stillness of a 
 deep forest, imparts such a solemn and impressive character to 
 such a region in the hour of twilight. As our scout mused and 
 rode, thoughtful and observant, he was necessarily impressed 
 by the moral aspects of the scene. People who live much in 
 the solitude, whether of a mountain or a forest country, have a 
 more earnest character, more religious sensibility, and more self- 
 esteem, and less vanity, than those who dwell in more crowded 
 situations, and with whom the daily attrition of society and its 
 small diversions lessen the intensity and the concentrativeness 
 of thought. Scouts and hunters are usually of grave habit; 
 and, in the single province in which their minds work, they be- 
 come wonderfully tenacious of their moods. A degree of solem- 
 nity ensues upon this concentration of thought, and the marvel- 
 lous and spiritual are likely to have large exercise in their souls, 
 in degree as their fancies become active. Jim Ballou was not 
 unlike his brethren ; and, in a situation like the present, his 
 spiritual sensibilities usually grew more lively and coercive. 
 Having first settled in his mind what he had to do, he went for- 
 ward habitually, not tasking himself to think of the routine 
 performance; but, yielding himself up to the foreign — the mu- 
 sings and meditations of a nature which is only suffered to assert 
 itself fully in the solitude. The silence, the dusky silence of 
 the scene, had made his spiritual nature active, and our scout 
 was brooding upon the supernatural, in vague, wandering fan- 
 cies, which lifted him quite above the earth. He was thinking 
 of death, of the grave, and of those dark problems of the won- 
 drous future which no thought has yet been found sufficient to 
 solve. Thus lost in dubious mazes, and heedless, to a certain 
 extent, of the very world through which he sped, he was sud- 
 denly aroused by a wild start of his horse, quite aside from the 
 track, as if with a sense of danger. 
 
 "A snake!" was the first notion of Ballon. He fancied the 
 beast had been struck, and looked down about him ; but there 
 was no snake. He looked up, and his own start was almost as 
 
TRAILING OP THE SOO'U'. 173 
 
 great as that of his steed. A man was haag'ing, quite dead, fiom 
 the very bough which overhung the pathway. It was some min- 
 utes before the veteran scout, whose previous meditations had 
 rendered him peculiarly sensitive at this moment, could recover 
 his steadiness of nerve and coolness of purpose, so as to resume 
 his habits of search and inquiry. He looked about him heed- 
 fully, and listened. Everything was quiet in the woods. It 
 was the stillness of death. He recovered himself, and alighted 
 from hig steed, which he fastened carefully a little away from 
 the spot, to which he then drew nigh slowly, and with every 
 faculty of watch now fully aroused and anxious. 
 
 He examined the body of the hanging man. It was that of 
 old Rhodes. 
 
 " Don't know him," said Ballon to himself; " don't know him, 
 and it's too late for him to make himself acquainted." 
 
 He felt the body. 
 
 " He's been dead about five hours. It's mighty curious ! 
 There's been a good many people about here, and horses." 
 
 The scout then circled about the spot like a hound, enlarging 
 the sweep of his circuit gradually, till he came upon the body 
 of Nat Rhodes. 
 
 " Curious !" he said. " "What's killed this man ?" 
 
 He turned over the carcass, found the horrid crush of the 
 bones of the forehead, but no other wound. 
 
 " He's had his brains beat out," said he. " Somebody has 
 taken him while he slept, and brained him with a lightwood 
 knot." 
 
 The scout was at fault for once. But the subject was not 
 one of importance to his present object, or it is possible he would 
 have worked out the problem to a right conclusion. He con- 
 tented himself with extending his circuit, and found the numer- 
 ous horse-tracks. 
 
 " Hard riding here," quoth he ; " there's been a run for it, 
 and more than twenty men at work." 
 
 He took the heaviest tracks, and they led him to the road- 
 side where the action had begun. He found that a tolerably 
 numerous troop had gone by. He found the fresh marks of the 
 carriage-wheels. At length, he found the traces of the blood 
 from poor Nelly's shoulder. 
 
174 EUTAW. 
 
 " There's been a skrimmage here — a skrimmage ! It's pretty 
 nigh to the barony, too. I reckon Sinclair or St. Julien had 
 something to do in this business." 
 
 Having satisfied himself of all that could be gleaned by per- 
 sonal inspection, Ballon remounted his horse. The sun had 
 now set ; the woods were soon enveloped in thick darkness ; 
 But Ballou knew the route in darkness or in daylight equally 
 well, and rode on fearlessly, till he reached the immediate pre- 
 cincts of the barony, when he shot aside, went toward the river- 
 swamp, and finally, after fastening his horse in the thicket, stole 
 forward with cautious footsteps to a wigwam which he knew to 
 be that of a trusty negro of Colonel Sinclair. He found Benny 
 Bowlegs, the driver of the plantation, in his cabin. 
 
 " Ha ! Mass Ballou, you yer, and de ab'nue fill' wid red- 
 coat ] More dan a hundred, I 'spec' ; and de great gineral — de 
 British gineral. Lord Eoddon — he yer too; and de young Lord 
 Fizgera'd, him yer too, and de hundred dragoon, and heap o' 
 ossifers. Oh, ef we had Mass Willie, wid 'noder hundred ob 
 he men, wouldn't we hab a pretty slashing business, eh 1" 
 
 Ballou and Benny Bowlegs talked over the whole history in 
 an hour. The story of the adventure with the outlaws, the 
 rescue of the carriage, the two ladies, and the strange girl who 
 had been wounded — all had been picked up by Benny Bow- 
 legs, and enabled Ballou to find the clue to his own discoveries 
 of the day. He attached no sort of importance to the ladies 
 and the carriage, since, knowing nothing of the disasters to the 
 female part of Captain Travis's family, he never once fancied 
 they could be of interest. He was made wiser after a season. 
 
 " And the major has not been here, Benny ?" 
 
 " "Who, Mass Willie ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " No ! I no sh'um [see 'em]." 
 
 " And 'Bram 1" 
 
 " He no git yer yet." 
 
 An hour, as we have said, sufficed to empty Benny's budget. 
 
 " And now, Benny," said Ballou, " I must sleep here for a 
 while. I'm pretty well done up. Let me sleep till an hour be- 
 fore day. Then I'll be off. If I can find Willie Sinclair, with 
 his whole battalion, we can give an account of this hundred 
 
TRAILING OF THE SCOUT. 175 
 
 men, and his lordship too. That would be a gireat affair, 
 Benny." 
 
 " Wha' ! for catch de red-coat gineral ? Ha ! ef Mass Willie 
 kin do dat, I reckon de liberty-people guine mek' him a gineral 
 hese'f. Who knows ?" 
 
 " I'll come pretty nigh to doing it, Benny : so, you see, wake 
 me an hour before day, and let me be off — be off. I'll find the 
 major, I reckon, higher up. And if I can do so — soon enough 
 --we'll box up this lord-general of the red-coats, and send him 
 on to Congress for a show." 
 
 " Put 'em in cage, enty ?" 
 
 And the negro chuckled heartily at the notion ; while, throw- 
 ing himself down on a blanket in the hovel, Ballou was sound 
 asleep in twenty minutes. Benny, meanwhile, stole out to carry 
 provisioix? to the horse of the scout. 
 
176 EUTA.W. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI, 
 
 OLD TRAILS TO NEW LABYRINTHS. 
 
 A.FTEK twelve hours farther wandering, Ballou got clues at 
 Herrisperger's to the route taken by Willie Sinclair, and he 
 came up with the command at night, on the edge of Sadler 
 swamp. His appearance filled Sinclair with new hope, such 
 were the acknowledged abilities of the scout. He could hardly 
 wait to hear out his narrative. 
 
 " So, Inglehardt has taken possession of 'Bram's Castle, and 
 Captain Travis and Henry are there, in his clutches, prisoners, 
 but safe — unhurt, you say." 
 
 " Yes, but how long they'll stay there is a question. They 
 didn't seem to have made much provision for keeping the garri- 
 son, and it's hardly reasonable to expect them to keep long in 
 one of our old harboring places. I tracked and treed 'em 
 there, but they may have gone off an hour after I left ; I've 
 been looking for you ever since Monday last." 
 
 "That's true-7— that's the danger. Still, we must strike at 
 Inglehardt, there, or anywhere. We must try and follow up 
 his track. But we must first have your judgment, Ballou, in 
 respect to the disappearance of Mrs. Travis and her daughter. 
 We must—" 
 
 " Disappearance of who, colonel 1" 
 
 Sinclair told the story. 
 
 " In the carriage 1" 
 
 " Yes ; old Cato driving. They had but a servant-girl along 
 with them ; and but for an unlucky rencontre with a sqnad of 
 the Florida refugees, which diverted St. Julien from the escort 
 fi.r several hours, there could h.ive been no difficultv." 
 
OLD TRAILS TO NEW LABYRIXTHS. 177 
 
 " Fegs ! If it should be them, now, that Lord Rawdon res- 
 cued ?'' 
 
 Here he repeated the narrative of the adventure, as delivered 
 to him by Benny Bowlegs. 
 
 " It is — it must be they. There can be no other. A girl 
 wounded, you say 1" 
 
 " Yes, but not one of the party." 
 
 We must now suppose that Ballou went over all the details 
 even as they are known to us. 
 
 " And Rawdon, with a hundred men, is even now at the 
 Barony." 
 
 " Was yesterday." 
 
 " Oh ! that St. Julien were here. I have but thirty men with 
 me. I must send to him. If we can strike Inglehardt, rescue 
 Travis and Henry, then unite with liira ; and dash down upon 
 the Barony. But no! no! How divide myself ? What is to 
 be done? If I pursue Bertha and her mother, we lose the 
 chance at Inglehardt. He may leave the Castle ; and if we go 
 thither we may lose them." 
 
 The subject was one to annoy, with its dilemmas, an older 
 soldier. 
 
 " And where's Captain St. Julien now, colonel V 
 
 " Scouring the neighborhood of Belleville. He went off only 
 yesterday. We have both been daily on the road, almost night 
 and day, ever since I left you." 
 
 " All owing to your not taking tracks of the carriage at first." 
 
 " But we did." 
 
 " Well, a carriage is not so easy to hide. You couldn't have 
 taken the right track or you'd have found it. How was it, and 
 where, colonel 1" 
 
 Sinclair described it, the region. 
 
 " I know it like my prayers. I can see how 'twas. You 
 didn't see whether there was any blind trail through the 
 jwamp. The old causeway at the mill's broken up, not passa- 
 ble for a carriage, and most like there's another through the 
 iwamp, which they could easily cross in this dry season." 
 
 " But we tracked the carriage back into the road." 
 
 " Ah ! did you 1 That's the question, and if you did, how 
 [ong did it keep the main track, and did it go up or down?" 
 
178 EUTAW. 
 
 " Up ! We tracked the wheels obliquely upward Into the 
 road; saw the marks plainly." 
 
 " Yes ; but did you see whether the track was of the carriage 
 going forward or backward V 
 
 " No ! we never thought of that." 
 
 " Ah ! that was the first thing. It's a very easy trick these 
 fellows played on you." 
 
 " But how could you have found it out ?" 
 
 " Easy enough. You follow the track of the wheels going 
 into the woods. Well, did you follow any circuit, any sweep 
 wide enough to show the gradual turning of the horses, when 
 they came out ? Did you see that it wa'n't a short turn, so" — 
 and here he described the sort of figure upon the ground — 
 "pretty sharp — too sharp for a fair turn of the carriage? 
 Don't you see that, if you drive a vehicle into this or that wood, 
 and you want to wheel out, and get back into the road again, 
 you require space enough for a sweep like this ?" Here he 
 drew another figure. " Now, suppose these fellows wanted to 
 cheat you into the notion that they were going up the road 
 when, in fact, they were going down, they had only to back the 
 carriage into the upward course. To tell if they did this, yoxi 
 had to see whether a turn was made, how much, and whether it 
 wasn't, in fact, a pretty sharp angle, so" — here another figure 
 in the sand — "then you watch the course of the wheels, which, 
 in backing, will always run crooked, manage as you will, and 
 scrape against the trees hero and there, one side or the other." 
 
 But Ballou's explanations are a few days too late. 
 
 " I see it now," said Sinclair. " Ah ! if you had been with us. 
 But it's not too late. We must push down after them now." 
 
 " But what about the captain and Master Henry ?" 
 
 "Ah! there's the trouble again. There's but one course. I 
 will send off to St. Julien at once, and appoint a rendezvous at 
 Ford's — three miles below the barony. I will warn him of 
 Eawdon's presence there, and his numbers, though, I fancy, he 
 will be gone below before we can reach him. It is an even 
 chance that he falls into Sumter's hands. He is probably push- 
 ing down to see to his posts at Eutaw, Wantoot, Monk's Corner, 
 and other places, and he looks upon us, as all beyond the 
 Wateree with Greene. We may catch him. If St. Julien gets 
 
OLD TRAILS TO NEW LABYRINTHS, 170 
 
 to the rendezvous in season, we may make a glorious dash at 
 Lis lordship. We can bring seventy tried troopers, on the best 
 horses, into the field against his hundred. Now while St. Julien 
 is pushing down to this rendezvous, I will strike directly across 
 the country to the Four-Holes, overhaul 'Bram's Castle, and, 
 whether we find Inglehardt or not, push immediately after to 
 the rendezvous. This will bring us both upon the track of the 
 ladies, who are no doubt pushing for Nelson's ferry. If they 
 have luck, they can get there before we can possibly reach the 
 rendezvous. If not, we will be at hand to give them any succor 
 which they may need, and see them safely across the river " 
 
 " That's the plan, major. I see no other way you can fix it." 
 
 The preparations were soon made. The despatch was s-jnt off 
 to St. Julien, and an hour before day next morning, the troop 
 of Sinclair was pushing, at a trot, through the woods in the re- 
 quired direction. 
 
 But the first act in the performance was a failure. They 
 found the nest, but the birds were flown. 'Bram's Oastle had 
 not had a tenant for several days. So far, then, as Captain 
 Travis and Henry were involved, the scouts were at sea again ; 
 and while Ballon was left to take the tracks of Inglehardt, if he 
 could find them, Sinclair turned about and pushed for the place 
 of rendezvous. 
 
 What, meanwhile, of Inglehardt and his captives 1 
 
 The very morning after the night when Ballou took his de- 
 parture from 'Bram's Oastle, Dick of Tophet departed also. A 
 long conference with Inglehardt enabled the two to lay their 
 plans for the future. Dick departed, and was absent the better 
 part of two days. With the night of the second he returned 
 bringing with him a new follower — a scoundrel of his own 
 livery whom he had known before. 
 
 "All right — all ready, cappin," said Dick, "and the sooner 
 we set out the better. We kin start afore day." 
 
 The two conferred together. And a little after midnight, 
 Captain Travis was aroused by his captor. 
 
 " Get up, Captain Travis," said Inglehardt, in his sweetest 
 accents, " I must trouble you to rise. You health suffers from 
 this confinement. I must give you some exercise and fresh air." 
 
 The manacled man raised himself uf in his straw, and said : — 
 
180 EU?A , . 
 
 " What would you with me now V 
 
 " I would have you ride a pace with me V 
 
 " Where is my son V 
 
 " He is still in the safe keeping of that excellent person, Joel 
 Andrews, whom they call Hell-fire Dick." 
 
 '• Am I not to gee him 1" 
 
 " You will see him as we ride. I have no reason to suppose 
 that Andrews will deny you this privilege." 
 
 " Captain Inglehardt, why persevere in this idle mockery i 
 Why talk to me of this ruffian having rights over my son, or 
 power against your will, in respect to his keeping ? What good 
 can accrue to you from this cruelty — this most wanton and 
 profitless cruelty 1" 
 
 " Naj', Captain Travis, it is evident that you are in no con- 
 dition for argument, or you would scarcely fail to see that it is 
 not profitless. You will grow wiser after awhile, and we will 
 then confer upon the subject. It lies with you, sir, at any 
 moment, to release your ccn from captivity, and obtain your 
 own release." 
 
 " Buc by what sacrifice ? Never ! never !" 
 
 " Ah ! well ! I said you were in no proper condition for ar- 
 gument. But rise, sir, and let us travel." 
 
 " Suppose I will not." 
 
 " That would be unwise, captain, since it will avail you noth- 
 ing — and only compel us to hard usage." 
 
 "Hard usage! Ha! ha! ha! Hitherto, I am to suppose 
 that your usage has been tender. Why, sir, I am half stai-ved." 
 
 " That, I am sorry to think, is the condition of the army com- 
 missaries themselves everywhere. It is not easy to command 
 supplies in this quarter, aud for this, among other reasons, we 
 are about to remove." 
 
 " I shall see my son 1" 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! you shall see him. He travels with us." 
 
 " My boy, my poor boy !" murmured the father, as he raised 
 himself up from his straw, and prepared to submit quietly to 
 the commands of the petty despot. 
 
 A torch was held at the door of the hovel, by the new recruit, 
 whose name was Halliday. The horses had been already sad- 
 dled and brought forth. They stood without in waiting. A 
 
OLD TRAILS TO NEW LABYRINTHS. 181 
 
 pile of lightwood burned briglitly on an open place of the ham 
 inock. Captain Travis saw at a little distance, as he came out 
 of the cabin, a group of three or four persons. From among 
 these he heard the voice of Henry : — 
 
 " Where is my father ? Yon said that I should see him." 
 
 The voice of the boy seemed to the ears of the father at once 
 hoarse and feeble. They had not been allowed to see each 
 other since that night when we beheld them separated. The 
 father, conscious of the treatment he had himself received, trem- 
 bled to think of that of his son. He cried out to him, advanced, 
 and would have hurried to where he stood, but that Inglehardt 
 interposed. 
 
 " Nay, Captain Travis, they will bring the boy to you." 
 
 But Travis did not seem to heed. He went forward and met 
 the boy approaching. The latter no longer wore his handcuffs, 
 and he rushed to his father throwing his arms about his neck, 
 and sobbing. Neither could speak for awhile, but their tears 
 mingled, and their sobs. Inglehardt looked on with compla- 
 cency or indifference, as he beheld their son-ows. They were 
 not of a sort to touch his cold and selfish nature. In the bright 
 light of the fire, Travis saw that his son must have suffered like 
 himself. His eye was spiritless, his limbs appeared feeble, his 
 cheek was wan. When he spoke, he confirmed all his father's 
 fears. 
 
 " Oh ! my father," he cried, " they have starved me." 
 
 " My boy ! my poor boy !" were the sobbing utterances of 
 the father. "0 God!" he cried aloud — "dost thou look 
 down and suffer this cruelty ! Captain Inglehardt have yoii 
 anything of a human heart in your bosom ?" 
 
 " Not much, my dear Travis, not much. What there is of it, 
 has been closed to all pleading save that of your daughter." 
 
 " And do you hope to please her by subjecting her only brotli- 
 er to torture 1" 
 
 " My hope is not to please her at all, my dear captain. Yon 
 yourself have taught me to despair of any such hope. My hope 
 is to persuade her, captain, only to persuade — " 
 
 " Compel, you mean." 
 
 " Well, if you prefer the phrase ; but dealing with young dam- 
 sels of condition, my dear captain, it is one that I dare not use " 
 
182 EUTAW. 
 
 " Oil ! would you were less daring in more substantial mat- 
 ters. Man! man! if you be such, and not a devil, how can 
 you dare such inhumanity as this ! To starve a boy like this." 
 
 " He ain't starved at all," put in Dick of Tophet — " only on 
 short 'loivance, that's all. We gives him a good-sized hoecakc 
 a day, and any quantity of water. We don't 'lowance him in 
 the water." 
 
 " And look here, father, at my wrists," said the boy, holding 
 up bis hands, and showing the abrasion and sores upon iis 
 wrists, the effect of the handcuffs. 
 
 " God of Ileaven ! Have they tortured you thus, my child V 
 
 " 'Tain't no torture," cried Dick of Tophet ; " 'tis only that 
 the handcuffs was a leetle too tight. Ef you had known what 
 it was to be scorching over lightwood blazes for hafe an hour, 
 to git yourself out of a hitch, then you might talk of torture." 
 
 " Wretch ! you will suffer in hell's blazes for this, you and 
 your master," cried Travis. 
 
 " Come ! come ! Don't be impudent, cappin, or it'll be only 
 the worse for you. But we hain't got time for talking, Cappin 
 Inglehardt. We're all ready for a mount." 
 
 The boy was put upon a horse ; the father was helped upon 
 another ; they had companions each, ready with sword and pis- 
 tol, and Inglehardt followed up the procession. In twenty min- 
 utes they had disappeared from 'Bram's Castle, moving across the 
 country toward that region of interminable swamp and thicket 
 which lies about the first springs and heads of Cooper river — 
 near the line which subsequently marked the route of the canal, 
 by which the waters of the Santee and the Cooper have been 
 united. This extensive range of flat country is everywhere in- 
 tersected by streams and swamps, offering retreats almost inac- 
 cessible in that early day to any footstep save that of the veteran 
 hunter. The Revolution, with its terrible necessities, soon 
 taught the value of these retreats to the wandering patriot. 
 They unluckily yielded a similar security to the marauder and 
 the outlaw. Families, diriven from their ancient homesteads 
 disappeared wholly from sight in fastnesses of this description, 
 and found hammocks and little islets, buried in wildernesses of 
 swamp forest, within a few miles of the very homes which they 
 had been compelled to fly. They could see, frequently, from 
 
OLD TRAILS TO NKW LABYRINTHS. 183 
 
 tlieir hiding-places, the smokes of their enemies' fires, rising from 
 their own patriarchal hearths. Sometimes, a dense swamp 
 thicket, only a hundred yards wide, separated the fugitives from 
 a British post, such as Wathoo and Wantoot. These places of 
 refuge were wonderfully secure. Their approaches were so many 
 webs of Arachne. Their avenues might be likened to those 
 of the Egyptian or Cretan labyrinths.^ Dark mystical woods, 
 deep dismal waters, creek and thicket, fen, bog, quagmire, and 
 stream, all seemed to blend harmoniously in shutting out humani- 
 ty with the sun of4ieaven and the breezes of the air. The stars 
 trembled when they looked down into abysses which they 
 dared not penetrate. The winds flung themselves feebly 
 against the matted walls of forest. The waters crept sluggishly 
 and stagnated everywhere. It was a realm that ^seemed conse- 
 crated to death. Here the owl and bat had their homes; the 
 serpent and the cayman ; the frog and the lizzard. Its terrors, 
 and glooms, and difficulties, constituted the guaranties of safety, 
 on which the fugitive, patriot, and outlaw, could most confidently 
 rely. And in thousands of such regions they reared their rug- 
 ged cabins of logs, the crevices filled with clay; fires were made 
 in clay chimneys, and never a window gave light to the hovel. 
 For better security, these cabins were made with moveable logs, 
 and trap doors, leading beneath the house, as described already 
 in the dens where the Travis's were kept captives. And where 
 streams were at hand, the traps sometimes opened above a 
 water-course, and canoes of cypress were kept conveniently be- 
 low, for the escape of the fugitive by the creek, when the ave- 
 nues above were watched by the enemy. 
 
 It was in such a province as this, that Inglehardt found a new 
 hiding-place for his captives. The place was an old refuge of 
 Dick of Tophet, and a good deal of art was employed in increas- 
 ing its securities. There were several little hammocky ridges 
 that rose out of the swamp near eSch other, on each of which 
 was one or more cabins. There were secret methods for keep- 
 ing up the intercourse between them, and the little creeks that 
 ran between the hammocks was all more or less employed in the 
 general design which had converted the fastness into a fortress 
 — at least a labyrinth. 
 
 Dick of Tophet knew the region thoroughly. It was ?iis ens 
 
184 EDTAW 
 
 tie. And here, through his agency, we find sevnrai of our old 
 acquaintances. Here, in one of the cabins, the one nearest the 
 highland, we discover, as inmate, the venerable Mrs. Blodgit, 
 an ancient rheumatic and sinner ; and her son, Pete Blodgit, 
 something of a cripple, and something more of a scamp. In an- 
 other of the dens we discover two gallows-birds, of the worst 
 color, one of them rejoicing in the descriptive title of " Skin-the- 
 Sarpent" — or, for brevity, "The Sarpent" — the other content 
 with the less ambitious name of Ben Nelson. Each of these 
 parties was fairly individualized by his vices, which included 
 as many deadly sins as the church calendars deem fit to describe 
 in black letter. They were a haggard, wretched, scowling, reck- 
 less set, the whole of them, branded with lust and murder, gaming; 
 drinking, cheating, lying, without even the rogue's virtue, of 
 keeping faith with one another ! They were all fit followers for 
 such a wretch as Hell-fire Dick, and for such uses as were need- 
 ed to the policy of Richard Inglehardt, captain of loyalists, 
 &c., in the service of his Britannic majesty. 
 
 " He's come !" said Pete Blodgit, that night, as he entered 
 the cabin of himself and motlier. 
 
 " Who's come ?" 
 
 " Why, the new cappin, Inglehardt. He's come." 
 
 " Well, and what's the good of his coming, Pete Blodgit, to 
 you or to me, so long as you keeps the poor, mean-sperrited 
 critter and fool that you've always been ] That's what I wants 
 to know ! Here's me, a poor old critter, broke down with the 
 rheumatiz, and hardly able to git in and out of the bed ; and 
 thar's yourself, a cripple, and not able to hold a plough, or do 
 nothing manful, I may say : and yit, though you sees how we 
 stands, poor, and lame, and rheumatic, and mean-sperrited, yit 
 you lets slip every chaince you gits of feathering our nests com- 
 fortably agin old age and bad weather. I feels old age a-be- 
 ginning to creep 'pon me, and I reckon it won't be twenty years 
 before I'm broke down quite, and not fit for nothing !" 
 
 The old hag was already nearly seventy, but with a natural 
 dislike to the idea of age, except as a very remote possibility. 
 
 " Now, ef you, Pete, don't change in your ways, and pick up 
 a leetle more gumption and sperrit, what's the use to us ef there 
 is a now cappin f Have you seed him ? Is ha worth picking ? 
 
OLD TRAILS TO NEW LABYRINTHS. 185 
 
 Is thar anything to pick ? Is he saft ? Will he let you ? — fc 
 I reckon you don't want to be told, at this late time in the day, 
 that the world's given to us poor critters, to make the most we 
 kin out of it — to pick whar we kin, and strip whar we kin, and 
 carry off all we kin ! Now, is you guine to do any better than 
 when Major Willie had you — when you let him strip you of 
 that same hundred goulden guineas — yis, after you had 'em all 
 fast hid away, as you thought — sich hiding! — strip you to the 
 skin, when we mout ha' run for it afore he come ; or, when he 
 did come, worked a button-hole in his buzzom with a pistol or 
 a knife ; and you did nothing, but gin up all, like a sheep guine 
 to the slaughter ; so that, when he was driv off, we hadn't but 
 the clothes on our backs, I may say, and a poor twenty-odd 
 Spanish dollars — and got nothing for all our hard sarvice with 
 the Sinclairs, but curses, and starvation, and poor poverty !" 
 
 "Oh, psho, mother! we got a living — we got a house over 
 our heads, and we got a plenty of bread and meat, and as much 
 clothes as we wanted, and had eggs, and chickens, and pigs ; 
 and brought off the dollars, and a little gould besides, and other 
 pickings." 
 
 " Oh, you mean-sperrited person ! — as ef these things, bread, 
 ind meat, and clothes, was enough to pay us for wearing out to 
 old age in their sarvice." 
 
 " Pshtj, mother, you had nothing to do, you know ! And yon 
 forgit — you brought off the nigger-gal that Willie Sinclair lent 
 you." 
 
 "And what's' the good of her, I wants to know — a mean, 
 lazy, sleepy-head, and, I'm jubous, a runaway ? I'm sure she 
 ain't worth the salt to her hom'ny." 
 
 " Well, they'll be after her, I reckon, some of these days." 
 
 "And you don't think I'm guine to give her up, do you?" 
 almost screamed the old woman. " How kin I do without her, 
 I wants to know, and I so lame with the rheumatiz I kin do 
 nothing for myself ? Sooner than give her up, I'd dig her heart 
 out with a knife — I would !" 
 
 " Well, I reckon so long as we keeps her out of sight, we 
 sha'n't lose her. And I don't see what you hev' to growl about 
 now. We're in the dry ; we've got a plenty to eat, and some- 
 '^hing to drink, and clothes, and everything we wants." 
 
186 EUTAW. 
 
 " But wliar's the money, Pete ? We ain't a-gitting that, and 
 so long as you're a-sarving that Hell-fire Dick, he'll never le' 
 yovi hev a ehaince at the money. Now, thar was a chaincp 
 with Major Willie." 
 
 " Ay, but we wor'n t content with it. We was wolf-greedy, 
 mother, and made too much of the ehaince. We was for getting 
 on too faist." 
 
 "Well, will you do any better with the new cappini Kin 
 you play him sly, Pete ? Is there any pickings, boy, that yon 
 kin get at ? — for the food, and house, and clothing, ain't enough 
 except for to-day. We must put by for to-morrow ; and the 
 gould guineas are the best to keep, and after them the silver 
 dollars. Now, don't you be a fool, Pete ! Hev an eye in your 
 head, and don't be mealy-mouthed for the axing, and don't be 
 slow-fingered for the taking, and larn to keep and hide what 
 you gits, and let me hide it for you. I reckon 'twon't be me 
 that'll be making a hiding-place of the post in the stable." 
 
 '' I wonder how the major ever come to know of thati" 
 
 " Ah ! you'd been a-poking at it, and a-counting the guineas, 
 Pete, when somebody's been looking through the chinks. That's 
 the how." 
 
 " Well, I don't see what's a-coming. Here we is ; there s 
 a house over us, and we've got com and bacon a plenty, and I 
 reckon there's some ehaince for us, sence Devil Dick says you're 
 to keep a prisoner, and I'm to be his keeper." 
 
 "Ha! is that it? Well, we'll see, Pete. Ef the cappin— 
 what do you call him ? — " 
 
 " Oappin Inglehardt." 
 
 " Ef he's not the thing, why, it's like the prisoner is, may be ; 
 so, either way, Pete, there's pickings to them that ain't too sap- 
 headed and too slow. Jest you listen to me always, Pete, and 
 I'll show you how to feather the nest." 
 
 Tliat very night, Henry Travis was quartered upon this ami- 
 able couple, in a close room, ten by twelve, of solid logs, with- 
 out a window, and with a door that opened into the room of 
 Pete Blodgit himself. A tliird room, at the opposite end of 
 the house to that occupied by Henry, was the den of the old 
 woman. 
 
 " You're to keep him safe, Pete Blodgit," said Dick of Tophet 
 
OLD TRAILS TO NEW LABYRINTHS. 187 
 
 That's your busmess. See to it. Ef he escapes, it's as rntich 
 as your neck's worth !" 
 
 This was said in the preser.ee of the old woman. She was 
 on the point of asking, ''But what's the pay for the trouble?" 
 — when a prudential scruple suggested to her that, perhaps, at 
 the very opening of the business, the question might be prema- 
 ture. Besides, she had a better faith in the " pickings" than in 
 any vulgar contract, implying the mere quid "pro quo. The boy 
 was locked in his den, and Devil Dick then drew Pete out, to 
 communicate to him more privately the instructions which he 
 wished followed. These were all subsequently retailed to the 
 amiable, rheumatic mother. 
 
 A similar den, on a distinct hammock, some forty yards dis- 
 tant — a creek running between — received Captain Travis. In 
 the house with him, though occupying distinct apartments, of 
 which Travis knew nothing, Inglehardt took up his lodgings— 
 temporarily, it would seem, for he was off the very next morn- 
 ing, on his route to Orangeburg. A long conference with Dick 
 of Tophet adjusted the duties of that notable personage, and 
 instructed him in respect to the performances which were re- 
 quired at his hands, during the absence of his superior. These 
 did not sink the adventurous Dick into a jailer. For this office 
 there were other parties — " Skin-the-Sarpent," Ben Nelson, 
 "The Trailer" Brunson, and Jack Halliday — to say nothing 
 of the redoubtable Pete Blodgit. These, with the exception 
 of the last, had a cabin to themselves, on the same hammock 
 with that of Pete, and Dick of Tophet found his quarters, as 
 he phrased it himself, " promiscus" with these. Theii- duties 
 done for the day, the prisoners all secure, supper got ready, this 
 interesting group assembled in their quarters, resolved, after the 
 example of more elegant blackguards, " to make a night of it." 
 Cards and drink were both produced, the latter in abundance ; 
 and, as all of tliem seemed to be in unusual funds, they were all 
 unusually merry. 
 
 And as they played, and lost or won, and drank, they con- 
 versed about their past adventures. 
 
 " You couldn't git a chaince at the barony of old Sinclair, 
 'Sarpent," said Dick, " though I left you in a fair way for it 
 
Ife3 EtTTAW. 
 
 1 thought you'd ha' gutted it. There's fine pickin's there, 
 Sarpent." 
 
 " Yes ; but you know'd pretty well, Dick, that the chaince 
 was gone a'ter St. Julien and his troopers come upon the ground. 
 Why, they scattered themselves everywhar, and we could hardly 
 stir without showing a limb to a pistol-shot. We did snake up 
 to the grounds at last, but even the niggers had we'pons, and 
 war' on the lookout at every fence-corner." 
 
 "Psho! you was skeary, that's all. You had such a fright 
 in that one skrimmage with Sinclair, that it sweated all the 
 sperrit out of you." 
 
 " Well, I reckon that did hev something to do with it." 
 
 " Them niggers that you thought was on the watch, with 
 we'pons, they war'n't nothing but old black field-stumps." 
 
 " Stumps ! I had one of 'em to crack at me at forty yards, 
 and felt the shot whistle by my ears mighty close. It was time 
 to be off when the very old stumps was able to draw so close a 
 bead upon my whiskers." 
 
 " Well, I don't believe much in niggers' shooting. Biit ef 
 they was so keen on the watch as that, I reckon the chaince 
 was gone. But ef there was no sodgers about — none of them 
 slashing dragoons of St. Julien — T reckon the niggers might 
 ha' been bottled up to keep or laid out to dry. I'd ha' tried it, 
 by the hokies." 
 
 " But there was dragoons about, though we didn't know it at 
 the time." 
 
 "Oh! you was skear'd. — There's an ace, Ben. Give us 
 that Jack." 
 
 "Skear'd! Well, it's you that says it. But, what better 
 did you do ? You went a'ter Sinclair's hundred guineas — " 
 
 "And his heart's blood too, blast him 1" 
 
 " Did you git the blood ? — did you git the guineas ? Ef you 
 did, fork up our havings, old Satan, for we goes shares in the 
 pickings." 
 
 Ah ! you hev me thar ! Nather blood nor guineas, and I 
 come pretty nigh to losing my own skelp on the journey. It 
 turned out a lean cow. Couldn't git a steak off her ribs." 
 
 " Tliar it is I So don't talk about our skear. Think of your 
 own." 
 
OLD TRAILS TO NEW LABYRINTHS. 135' 
 
 " I had no skcar. And ef Oappin Inglehavdt bad a-left the 
 business to me, we might ha' rolled up Sinclair, and had tho 
 pickin's of as rich a place as the barony, I reckon. But he had 
 his own sarcumventions, and that spiled the chainces. I had 
 hard work, Sarpent. to heel it in that skrimmage." 
 
 " Thunder ! it's hard work everyhow, and hafe the time not 
 even feeding. I've been pretty nigh to starvation more than 
 once sence you left us. We three hadn't for the whole of us 
 more than enough grub for a single man, and that for a whole 
 week, besides having to run, and skulk, and burrow, for dear 
 life, a matter of a dozen times. It's hard work this gitting an 
 honest living." 
 
 " Or a living anyhow !" quoth the Trailer. 
 
 "Yes!" putting in Dick, quite solemnly — "it's worried mc 
 to think how it is, that working, and riding, and fighting as we 
 does, thyar's no gitting on — no putting up — no comforting 
 sitivations, where a man could lie down and He sure of good 
 quarters, and enough to eat for a week ahead. What's it owing 
 to ? Here, we had the fairest chaince at Willie Sinclair with 
 them guineas, and we lost 'em ; and that lame chicken, Pete 
 Blodgit, had them guineas in his own hands, and we had him 
 in our hands, and we lost 'em ;^and thar I had old Sinclair in 
 a fix, safe as pitch, and I lost him, and had to scorch myself 
 over the fire to git away from my own hitch. And old Sinclair's 
 rich as a Jew — as twenty Jews — and his son's rich ; and this 
 Cappin Travis here is rich ; and I reckon Cappin Inglehardt's 
 rich. Ef he ain't, he lives jest the same. Now, what makes 
 the difference twixt us and all these rich people. How's it, 
 that whatever we does turns out nothing, and they seem to git 
 at every turning in the road. We woi-ks more than they, and 
 we has all the resks, and trouble, and danger ; yet nothing 
 comes from it, and by blazes, I"m jest as poor a critter this day. 
 as the day I begun, and something poorer ; and I'm now past 
 forty. And it's 80, jest with all of you fellows. Now, what's it 
 owing to, all this difference ? 'Tain't bekaise we're bad, and 
 they good ; for this Cappin Travis is a rogue, I know ; and our 
 Cappin Inglehardt — ef he ain't akin to the old black devil him- 
 self, then the old black devil ain't got no family at all, and no 
 connections " 
 
190 EUTAW. 
 
 The problem was one to weary wiser heads than Hell-fire 
 Dick's. 
 
 "I'll tell you," said the Sarpent. "It's all owing to the 
 books. It's the edication, Dick." 
 
 "Books," said Dick of Tophet, musing. "May be so. 
 When we consider, boys, that books hev in 'em all the thinking 
 and writing of the wise people that hev lived ever sence the 
 world begun, it stands to reason that them that kin read has a 
 chaince over anything we kin ever hev. I never thought of 
 that. And then you see how many thousand things these books 
 tell about, that we never hear people talk about. For, look you, 
 Sarpent, and you, Trailer, when we meets and talks, what's 
 it ? Only jest them things that consarn the business that we're 
 upon. Now, that business we know by heart. You kain't teach 
 me how to gut a house, or cut a throat, or drill a squad, and 
 whoop, and shoot, and strike, and stick, when there's a fighf 
 guiue on. And I kain't teach you how to take a trail, or make 
 a sarcumvention in the woods. And we all knows seven up by 
 heart ; and we knows how to swallow Jimmaker without wink- 
 ing, one man no more skilful at it than another; and that's 
 pretty much all we does know. But them books knows every- 
 thing — all about the airth, and the seas, and the winds; all 
 about the stars and the sun ; all about physicking and lawing; 
 all about — all about everything in nater ! Yes, it's the book- 
 larning — the book-laming ! It comes to me like a flash. And 
 now I tell you, fellows, that I'd jest freely give a leg or an 
 airm, ef I could only jest spell out the letters, to onderstand 
 'em, in the meanest leetle book that ever was put in print." 
 
 Certainly, this was a strange, an entirely new subject for our 
 rogues to talk about ; yet it furnished the fruitful text for their 
 own rough commentaries through half the night. " Book-leam- 
 Vig" suddenly rose into importance in the estimation of the 
 scamps and savages — the seed of a new idea in the vulgar 
 mind, which may possibly have fruit. But, though they brood- 
 ed thoughtfully over this theme, it did not arrest their play, nor 
 can we report that it lessened their potations a single stonp 
 Lot us leave them to their cogitations for a season. 
 
GAMES OF PEACE AND WAR. iJL 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GAMES OF PEACE AND WAR. 
 
 L\gi.emardt made his way tip to Orangeburg — made liis 
 report t Rawdon — a very fair and specious report of course — 
 resumed the command of his mounted rifles — somewhat thinned 
 in numb'i-s, and was permitted to go forth on a foraying expe- 
 dition. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sumter, and his several lieutenants, had begun 
 that progress which was designed to root out all the garrisons of 
 the British between Orangeburg^ and Charleston; to cut off 
 small posts and parties, cut up forayers, cut off supplies to the 
 two garrisons, where the enemy were in strength too great to 
 be assailed, and to alarm Rawdon for his own safety. We need 
 to recapitulate, very briefly, the processes by which these re- 
 sults were to be achieved. It is to be remembered that the 
 British were feeble in cavalry. Their real strength lay in their 
 light and heavy-armed infantry, and their artillery ; their num- 
 ber at this moment in the colony to be estimated at three thou- 
 sand men — all regulars. Add to this three thousand irregular 
 troops, loyal militia, rangers, and refugees from other colonies. 
 Their chief forces lay in Charleston and Orangeburg; their 
 minor posts, more or less sti-ongly garrisoned, according to their 
 size, and the difiiculties of the country which they were meant 
 to overawe, were now limited to Dorchester, Monck's Corner, 
 Wantoot, Watboo, Fairlawn, and Biggin. At the latter place-, 
 the garrison numbered five hundred good troops ; at Dorchester, 
 there may have been two hundred ; the other posts were of in- 
 ferior importance, and held by detachments varying from fifly 
 to a hundred and fifty men. Small roving commands, employo3 
 
J jI fiUTAW. 
 
 chiefly in foraging, plied between these several stations, and 
 thus contributed to their security. The British cavalry was 
 feeble, consisting of Coffin's, and a few other bodies, not well 
 equipped, badly manned, badly mounted ; not capable of resist- 
 ing the American cavalry, an arm in which the latter was par- 
 ticularly strong. The most efficient of the British mounted men 
 were the loyalists, who had descended from the region of Ninety- 
 Six, with Cruger, on the abandonment of that fortress. But the 
 larger number of these had pressed on to the city, as not equal 
 to the encounter with the troops of Marion and Sumter, and as 
 liable to something more than the penalties of the soldier, in the 
 event of defeat. Most of them were outlawed, and fought, they 
 well knew, with halters about their necks. 
 
 The regular army of Greene, jaded, sick, exhausted, like tiiAi 
 of Eawdon, had gone for respite, during the dog-days. Into camp 
 upon the hills of Santee. It was to the cavalry of Sumter, ana 
 of Marion, their mounted riflemen, and the several detachments 
 of the Colonels Lee, Maham, the Hamptons, Taylor and Horry, 
 Lacy, Singleton, and others, that the special duty was confided 
 of attempting these several garrisons of the British, while the 
 main bodies of the two armies were in summer quarters. 
 
 The duty was begun, though utterly unknown in the British 
 gan-ison at Orangeburg, when Eawdon took the trip to the Sin- 
 clair barony, at the suggestion and entreaty of Fitzgerald. He 
 had scarcely done so when Sumter, and his several detachments, 
 began to swoop down by all the avenues which led to Charles- 
 ton. The course appointed for Sumter himself, with the main 
 body, was to pursue the Oongaree road, leading do^n the south- 
 ern margin of that river, and the east of Cooper. 
 
 And had it not been for a timely fate that interposed for Eaw- 
 don's safety, the Gamecock of the Santee would probably have 
 happened upon a conquest which he never hoped for at the be- 
 ginning of his march. But we must not anticipate. The sev- 
 eral parties were everywhere in motion, on the indicated routes, 
 while Rawdon was sipping Madeira with old Sinclair, and Fitz- 
 gerald was drinking in delicious draughts of love from the 
 bright eyes of Carrie Sinclair, as they sat together over the 
 chess-board, or as she played for him upon the venerable harp- 
 siehovd. 
 
GAMES OF PEACE AND WAK. 193 
 
 Lord Eawdon secured for hira every opportunity for preSwsing 
 -his attentions profitably. He soon engaged Colonel Sinclair in 
 the important topics of the country, the condition of the war, the 
 case of his rebel son, and the future prospects of the struggle. 
 Absorbed in subjects of this sort, the old loyalist colonel almost 
 forgot he had a daughter; and, while Eawdon kept his mind 
 busy on these matters, in the supper-room, long after the meal 
 was over — the Madeira taking the place of the tea and coffee 
 urns — the young lover was free to exhibit all his resources ana 
 attractions, with no restraint except that which is inevitable 
 from the modesty of a bashful Irishman. 
 
 As the dialogue between Eawdon and old Sinclair affects our 
 progress soniewliat more seriously than that random chat in 
 which Fitzgerald engaged Carrie Sinclair, while they brood to- 
 gether over the fate of red and white castles, bishops, knights, 
 and queens, we shall take leave to report tlio more important 
 portions of it : — 
 
 " But, seriously, my dear Lord Eawdon, there can be no pos- 
 sibility of the rebels obtaining the insane freedom which they 
 hope for. The vast resources of the British empire, the vast 
 wealth of the kingdom, the superiority of its troops over all 
 others, the excellence of their officers — " 
 
 And he paused in his array of superlatives, but only to add : 
 
 "These ' parhi/-Tuuz' — these Frenchmen — never yet could 
 stand before the regular troops of Britain; and, as for our own 
 raw militia-men, we know that a single taste of the bayonet is 
 enough for them." 
 
 "Not too fast, my dear colonel," said Eawdon. "It is one 
 thing to take a lofty tone in dealing with our enemies, but it is 
 very doubtful policy if, by doing so, we ever deceive ourselves. 
 I am not more willing to believe than you are that the rebel 
 Congress can ultimately succeed in their wild disloyalty. I 
 have no fear of their armies. My faith, like yours, leads me to 
 calculate confidently on British prowess and British resources ; 
 and I have no doubt that our prospects will brighten as soon as 
 his majesty's government is prepared to make any extraordi- 
 nary effort to give us the means for crushing this combination 
 of our rebels with our natural enemies the French. But we err 
 grievously in disparaging their armies ; and we commit as great 
 
194 EUIAW. 
 
 an error in' thinking lightly of the native militia of the colonies. 
 The French are a valiant people, and the rebels are acquiring 
 the art of war at our hands." 
 
 " By being beaten !" 
 
 " Yes, by being beaten ! So long as beating does not demor- 
 alize a people, it improves them. They are growing more cir- 
 cumspect and more adventurous daily — acquiring fast the two 
 great qualities of soldiership, that of being at once bold and 
 prudent. We have given them frequent lessons of prudence, 
 and they have too much British blood in their veins to be want- 
 ing in courage. They only need experience and good training 
 to be as admirable soldiers as any in the world." 
 
 " That's what Willie says. But, they have not the numbers, 
 the means, the munitions — " 
 
 " No ! and we owe some of our successes to this very defi- 
 ciency — still more to the want of capacity in militia-oiBcers 
 generally. We have gained most of our successes by the in- 
 competence of the militia-officers; but these advantages neces- 
 sarily disappear in the continuance of the war. The imbeciles 
 are soon got rid of; and those who remain in service are those 
 only who approve themselves of qualities which conduct inevi- 
 tably to self-training, as they supply by experience the lessons 
 which can otherwise be only acquired in the regular service. 
 The success of Great Britain depends usually upon the short- 
 ness of a war, since our system soon exhausts the supply of 
 good officers, and leaves none but routine-men in their places 
 Besides, it gives less room for individual military genius. This 
 war has been too long for us, and our hope is that we shall be 
 able to end it soon by some crushing blow. Unless we can do 
 so, we shall lose the colonies ; and we can only do so by an ex- 
 traordinary and immediate increase of our forces. Tliis is our 
 great need and our great difficulty. Our finances are embar- 
 rassed, and our own people weary of a war which cuts off trade 
 and increases taxation. There is a strong party at home, of 
 influential men, who are opposed to the continuance of the war, 
 have always been opposed to it, and are willing to make peace 
 even on the terms proposed by Congress." 
 
 " What ! independence V 
 
 " I am afraid so." 
 
GAMES OP PEACE AND WAR. 195 
 
 *' But will this party succeed, my lord ?" 
 
 " I think not. I think that the national pride will be aroused, 
 so as to make the necessary effort ; and, in that case, I can con- 
 fidently predict the result, for Congress is exhausted also." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear lord, I never expected to hear a British 
 general make such a case. Why, that is precisely the state- 
 ment which Willie makes." 
 
 " It is possible, my dear colonel, that, rather than deceive 
 myself, I may put the case somewhat too strongly ; but the 
 truth is, that I also feel it strongly. We have not been kept 
 supplied with anything like adequate forces from Great Britain. 
 To keep this one colony of South Carolina in proper subjection 
 — to subdue it in all sections — to carry the war into every fast- 
 ness — 1 should require at least ten thousand men. And a like 
 force is needed for Virginia. Yet, for some time past, we have 
 been fighting the rebels chiefly with the American loyalists." 
 
 " Precisely what Willie says." 
 
 "And they have made good soldiers; but — and this is the 
 worst feature in the case — they are getting lukewarm, and grad- 
 ually falling off from their allegiance." 
 
 " The miserable traitors !" 
 
 '' Not only this ; but just as our foroigii troops are withdrawn 
 from a precinct, do the rebels embiidy anew, even those ^eho 
 had accepted parole and taken Biitish protection. We shall 
 need to make some very severe examples, in order to discour- 
 age this propensity." 
 
 " And they will deserve it !" 
 
 " Nothing that could occur, my dear colonel, tells more unfa- 
 vorably for the British cause than these two facts — the defec- 
 tion of old friends, and the rising of those, at this moment, who 
 have hitherto been content to remain in quiet under our protec- 
 tion. It argues, in both cases, a growing conviction of our de- 
 clining power. And, unhappily, in addition to the want of suf- 
 ficient forces, there is another upon which I should not utter a 
 word, except thus confidentially in the ear of one upon whose 
 private fi-iendship and loyalty I feel that I may rely. You 
 spoke of ou- officers in terms of eulogy. Believe me, no eulo- 
 gium could have been more misapplied. Our generalship has 
 «• 'en bad from the beginning, onr plans mostly absurd, our 
 
196 EUTAW. 
 
 aims misdirected. Few of our chief bfScers have any just claim 
 to their position ; and it is curious to remark that, just now, 
 there is really no good generalship anywhere. Neither France, 
 nor Britain, nor America, possesses any great soldiers. Per- 
 haps the rebels really have the best, since they have been able 
 to keep their gi-ound in spite of their poverty and feebleness. 
 The age seems not a military age. Our best officers are 
 younger men, and in subordinate situations. They promise 
 well for the future. It is so with the French — so also with the 
 Americans. Wc want not only sufficient forces, but an entire 
 change in -the chief officers of the army.'' 
 
 " Really, my dear lord, you confound me ! You have given 
 me subjects for a month's reflection. Nay, more, you have re- 
 minded me of so much that Willie Sinclair has said — that 
 unfortunate rebel of my family — oh, that son of mine should 
 ever have raised parricidal arm against his sovereign ! — that I 
 feel constrained to ask your opinion on another subject. Willie 
 was here, as I told you, and at a lucky moment for my life. 
 He told me very much all that has taken place recently, as of 
 things that must certainly take place, and reviewed the condi- 
 tion of affairs with very much the same arguments that you 
 have done." 
 
 " Ah, indeed! How much I sympathize with you, my dear 
 colonel, and regret that the unfortunate young man had not 
 chosen more wisely ! Had he done in the right cause what he 
 has done for the rebels, his services and your claims would have 
 secured him the baton of a brigadier at least." 
 
 " Alas ! my lord, I told him all that. I was aure of it. I 
 swore it to him, but in vain. This rebellion Avas a madness with 
 him, my lord — a madness. But I will not dwell upon his error, 
 and the grief which it has occasioned me. It is the cause of 
 most of these infernal attacks — pardon me, my lord — but these 
 f .vinges!" — and the old man writhed upon his cushions, while 
 a big tear rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 " Let me beg you to fill, my lord. I must drink his majes- 
 ty's health, and the success of his arms." 
 
 And they drank. The brief interruption over, old Sinclair 
 proceeded ; — 
 
 "Willie Sinclair, my dear lord, bating this monomfir'a of 
 
GAMKS OF PEACE AND WAR. 197 
 
 liberty wliich lias made him a rebel, is yet no fool, sir — but a 
 cool, shrewd, thoughtful, long-headed young fellow — and as 
 brave, sir, as Julius Caesar." 
 
 " I know his character, my dear colonel. I have heard the 
 same report of him from far less partial sources. In these re- 
 S2)ects, at least, he proves his legitimacy." 
 
 " Ah ! my lord, I could have been, I was proud of this like- 
 ness to myself, until he became a rebel. But, no more of that 
 — no more of that." 
 
 And unconsciously the old man refilled and swallowed an- 
 other glass of his favorite Madeira, while Rawdon beheld an- 
 other and bigger tear crawling down his cheek. 
 
 "Well, my lord" — recovering himself, as it were — "well, 
 my lord, when Willie was here, he said that you had abandoned 
 ' Ninety-Six,' but I wouldn't believe him ; and he went on to 
 say, that you would be gradually compelled to confine yourself 
 between the waters of the Santee and Edisto — that you would 
 make a stand either at Orangeburg or Jiere — and that all this 
 region would soon become the scene of active warfare." 
 
 "Ah! said he that?" 
 
 " He "did. I'm not sure that I ought to have told you, for it 
 may be a betrayal of some of his secrets — " 
 
 " Not a bit ! not a bit ! It was only what I feared — expected 
 I should say. I inferred that such would be Greene's policy. 
 And—" 
 
 " He counselled me accordingly, to leave this place and go to 
 the Santee, or Charleston. Now, if I am compelled to go 
 anywhere, I shall go to the city ; but I wish to take your coun- 
 sel, touching the propriety of this counsel. It is a serious mat- 
 ter to me just now. Travel is no easy work in my case. 
 Besides, the crop is made. As it is, we have been compelled 
 to hide the indigo in troughs, in the thickets, to save it from 
 marauders, and — " 
 
 " The counsel is good. Go, by all means, though you aban- 
 don everything that you can not carry. I have no doubt that 
 all this region will be traversed by war. Your presence here 
 would only expose yourself and daughters to insult, robbery, 
 and murder ; for all the- vigilance of a general, unless he be 
 very strong, in himself and in his forces, can give only an im- 
 
198 EUTAW. 
 
 perfect sort of protection to a country so exposed, and so 
 Bparsely settled as this. Go, by all means. I am about to 
 leave the country.'' 
 
 " You — you — my loid ! Then all is lost !" 
 
 " Not so ! you ascribe to me too much. I did not mean to 
 convey this idea, but only to say, that, about to leave the coun- 
 try myself, I can promise nothing from myself. The govern- 
 ment will be in other hands. Go, by all means. It will be 
 some time, in any event, before our army, under any generalship, 
 will be able to give you protection. Better risk your posses- 
 sions, than your life and the security of your daughters." 
 
 Old Sinclair seemed overwhelmed. 
 
 " Is it so 1 Is it come to this 1 The arms of Britain can no 
 longer give me protection on my own grounds." And be sighed 
 from the bottom of his heart. 
 
 " Oh, Willie Sinclair ! Willie Sinclair ! you have helped to 
 bring this dishonor on your country's flag !" 
 
 And the baron hastily gulped down another stoup of Madeira, 
 thrusting the decanter to his lordship, who followed his example 
 without a word. Eawdon then resumed the dialogue. 
 
 " I must leave the country, colonel ; you see my condition. 
 I am worn out — exhausted. Another campaign will kill me. 
 My whole system is out of tone. I have no energies. I only 
 remain to see the army put in order — to adjust the afiFairs of my 
 military government with the civil authorities ; do what I can, 
 by some severe examples, to discourage treason and desertion, 
 and then leave the future administration in hands that will, I 
 trust, prove more efficient than mine." 
 
 " Impossible ! That is impossible, my lord." 
 
 In the last remarks he had uttered, Rawdon had foreshad- 
 owed that policy which resulted in the military trial and exe- 
 cution of Hayne. The policy was a doubtful one ; but that 
 the measure was prompted by notions of policy and discipline, 
 rather than by any malignant feeling, we have no sort of ques- 
 tion. Hayne was simply a sacrifice to the changed and chang- 
 ing condition of parties in the country. His fate was designed 
 to be an example to a host of other offenders, whose treason 
 was still in an incipient state only, but was reasonably a 
 subject of suspicion. Rawdon was a man who could be cruel 
 
GAMES OF PEACE AND WAK. 199 
 
 from policy, but not from impulse. If Hayne was a sacrifice 
 to the manes of Andre, it was so decreed from mere policy. 
 
 Leaving the two still engaged in subjects that sufficiently 
 occupied their thoughts, let us look in upon our two younger 
 parties, as they pursue the mimic game of war upon the chess- 
 board. Fitzgerald is speaking as we enter. 
 
 " There are several reasons. Miss Sinclair, why I ehonld not 
 suffer you to beat me." 
 
 This was said after the loss of an unlucky castle by the 
 cavalier. 
 
 " Pray, what are they, my lord 1" 
 
 " First, I am a man, and it will discredit me as such, if I am 
 beaten by a woman." 
 
 Positively, he did say woman and not ladj'. We know that 
 our codfish aristocracy will vote such speaking as excessively 
 vulgar in anybody, especially in a lord ; but they will be con- 
 soled by remembering that Fitzgerald is only an Irish lord, and 
 we doubt if England even, to this day, recognises Irish or 
 Scotch lords, as altogether of the genuine " blue blood." 
 
 " Well, for the second reason?" 
 
 " Secondly, I am a soldier, and to be defeated by a woman in 
 a military game, would be doubly discreditable." 
 
 " Really, these would seem to be good reasons for your sturdy 
 resolution. Are there any more V 
 
 " Thirdly, if beaten by a woman, I am bound to surrender to 
 her, a discretion — a sworn slave and subject — the mere creature 
 of her will." 
 
 This was the nearest approach which our bashfal Irishman 
 had yet made toward love-making. Carrie Sinclair replied, 
 coolly : — 
 
 " On that last score, my lord, I will relieve you of all uneasi- 
 ness — I give you your freedom in anticipation of the event." 
 
 "Ah ! but suppose, I prefer the bonds." 
 
 " That as you please ; but that involves no necessity with me, 
 to be your custodian." 
 
 " Checkmated at the beginning. Scholar's mate !" said Fitz- 
 gerald sotlo voce. He added aloud : — 
 
 " Ah ! you disdain the very victories you win. You send 
 your captives off to execution." 
 
•200 EUTAW. 
 
 " Oil, by no means ! But, like all magnanimous conquerors, 
 my. lord, 1 fight for the honors, and not the spoils of war." 
 
 " And the honors are the best spoils of war. And the captive 
 becomes the trophy." 
 
 " But the truly magnanimous is content with the victory, and 
 not with its display." 
 
 " You are resolved on victory, then, like all your sex. You 
 will queen it while you can. Well, there's check to your queen. 
 Her royal highness is in danger." 
 
 " Not so, my lord, it is the knight as you will see ;" and by a 
 simple move, advancing a pawn, she unmasked a bishop, which 
 bore right and left upon the knight and king of the assailant. 
 
 " Check, my lord !" 
 
 " St. Patrick be my safety. You have put it in great peril. 
 But—" 
 
 The interposition of the opposite bishop did not help the 
 fortunes of the game. The white queen descended upon it with 
 the swoop of an eagle. 
 
 " Check ! — and check-mate, my lord !" 
 
 " It is written. I am a dishonored knight. Overthrown by 
 a woman. Lady, I am your captive." 
 
 " Be free, my lord ! The conqueror delights in conquest, not 
 in victims." 
 
 "You are too generous. Miss Sinclair. I could freely.be 
 beaten thus always." 
 
 " I have half a doubt, my lord, whether you have not pur- 
 posely allowed me the victory. But I will not question fortune 
 at least. I prefer, for the credit of my play, to believe that, in 
 some way, the Pates have helped me to victory, in spite of your 
 superior skill. You are not in the mood, perhaps — out of 
 practice — more occupied with the game of war. Now, I am in 
 practice, and papa and myself daily meet as enemies in this 
 sanguinary battle-field, where pale Faith confronts with sanguin- 
 ary Valor." 
 
 "Your personification reminds me of poetry and music. AVill 
 you do me the honor to sing for me. Miss Sinclair ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly, my lord. I am so fond of singing and playing 
 that I am glad whenever anybody asks me. Nay, for that mat- 
 ter, I sing without being asked, as the birds do, I suppose." 
 
GAMES OF PEACE AND WAR. 201 
 
 And sUe got up from the chess-table, and -went at once to the 
 harpsichord, and while he stood over her, sang as follows: — 
 
 " Where go'st thou, gallant lover. 
 
 On what wild quest, on what wild quest. 
 Still, a gay careless rover. 
 
 From true love's breast, from true love's breast ; 
 On what dark field of danger, 
 
 Seek'st thou the foe, seek'st thou the foe ; 
 Come back soon, heedless ranger, 
 
 Why didst thou go, why didst thou go I 
 
 " I wait thee, wandering lover, 
 
 Still at the gate, still at the gate ; 
 I see the vulture hover, 
 
 Threatening thy mate, threatening thy mate ; 
 But, heed not mine own danger. 
 
 Looking for thee, looking for thee ; 
 Come back, then, dearest ranger. 
 
 Come back to me, come back to me." 
 
 Carrie sang very sweetly, with a great deal of taste, and with 
 that frankness — that overflow and abundance of heart — which 
 made her seem always equally natural and earnest. Her songs 
 seemed neither more nor less than the overflow of her own sim- 
 ple emotions — the absolute sunny outbreak of her own warm 
 heart. 
 
 Fitzgerald was too much of a gentleman, though an Irishman, 
 to use any absurd commonplace blarney on the occasion. But 
 he looked his pleasure — and, for a moment felt it — but a single 
 instant after he became grave. It struck him that there was 
 nome significance in the song, which might be quite individual. 
 He said to himself — nay, had almost spoken out: — 
 
 " The d — 1 ! does she speak of that fellow St. Jiilien, in tlie 
 character of the ranger, and am I her vulture 1" 
 
 The next moment he said aloud, and somewhat abruptly, as 
 he took his seat beside her : — 
 
 "Pray, Miss Sinclair — pardon my impertinence, but, do suf- 
 fer me — do you ever write verses? in other words — don't you 
 make your own songs ? No* that very sweet little ballad I 
 have never had the good fortune to have heard before ; and I 
 h°,(re heard songs, English, Scotch, Irish, ever since I was kne.? 
 high. It Bounds like an impromptu." 
 
 9* 
 
202 EUTAW. 
 
 The lady bluslied a little — why? 
 
 " No ! my lord, the song is entirely American ; but not of my 
 fashioning. It is from the pen of one George Dennison, a native 
 ■^ our region, who is quite a hallad-monger, like Glendower, 
 and almost speaks in music. It was taught me, music and all, 
 by my brother, Willie." 
 
 What more might have been said by our gallant, on this sub- 
 ject, or was said, was prevented, or interrupted, by a sudden 
 clamor from without; hoarse cries — the rush of horses, pistol- 
 shots, and finally the shrill blast of a score of bugles, waking 
 up suddenly the whole still atmosphere. 
 
 " Ha !" cried Fitzgerald, starting to his feet. " A surprise !" 
 and he dashed out without stopping to make his parting obei- 
 sance. Rawdon, similarly aroused, in the opposite room, has- 
 tily gathered up his sword and chapeau hras, and dashed out 
 also. Carrie Sinclair, not less excited, darted into the supper- 
 room to her father ; and to the surprise of both, Nelly Floyd, in 
 her night-dress, made her appearance among them, descending 
 from her chambei; ! She had heard the sounds of battle before 
 either. 
 
THE SURPRISE. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HOW THK SOLDIURS WENT ONE WAY, AND THE LADIES ANOTH- 
 ER — HOW HELL-FIRE DICK TAKES TO LITERATURE. 
 
 For full half an hour, the alarm continued. Shots and shouts, 
 and screams, and blasts of the trumpet, now approaching, now 
 receding, indicated a sharp passage at arms between the parties. 
 In all this time, great was the alarm and excitement in the 
 household. War was already brought to the doors of the bar- 
 my. Old Sinclair, hardly able to lift a leg, was furious at his 
 ?wn imbecility. 
 
 ' Oh !" he cried, " what a cursed fate is this. That I, a mil- 
 itary man and no rebel, should be compelled to cling to my 
 cr.shioufs, when rebellion is shouting about my house. It is time 
 to be gone. It is time to die, when we can no longer make use 
 of life. Ha ! those shots are sharp ! To think that Lord Raw- 
 don, general of the British army should be beleaguered in my 
 own house, and I able to do nothing — to strike no blow — to 
 prove my loyalty in nothing but empty words, vaporing and 
 worthless !" 
 
 " You have done your duty already, my dear father. You 
 Live proved your loyalty by long and faithful services. In 
 the Cherokee war — " 
 
 '•' D — n the Cherokee war ! What was that to this, in which 
 I am able to do nothing. Hark ! the sounds die away. No ! 
 they are approaching. What if my Lord Rawdon is beaten, 
 if they bring overwhelming numbers upon him. If he is slain 
 and taken captive. Get me my sword, Carrie — my pistols. I 
 --an do nothing with the sword ! Ah !" as a sharp twinge took 
 
204 EUTAW. 
 
 liiiii by the foot and wiuug it as in a vice — "Ah! lean do 
 nothing with anything-." 
 
 And he sank back in his chair, pallid and exhausted. 
 
 The skirmish continued. The veteran roared aloud : — 
 
 " And where is that bowlegged rascal, Benny 1 He should 
 b6 here at this time to defend the citadel. He has no gout. 
 He is an old soldier. Why is he not here 1 And Little Peter — 
 the ovei'grown giant — what is he good for that he is not here? 
 With a dozen of these rascals, I could keep the house against a 
 squadron. And who knows but that we shall be compelled to 
 stand a siege. The black rascals to desert me at this moment. 
 Where can they be." 
 
 Carrie suggested that Benny Bowlegs was probably at Lis 
 own house, as the hour was late — that the affair was a surprise 
 — that, in all probability, neither he, nor Peter, nor any of tho 
 hands, could get to the house,'with a host of foes skirmishing be- 
 tween. It was oaly prudence with them to lie close, and keet, 
 in the shelter of their cabins. 
 
 " Prudence ! while you are about to be massacred ! Tho cow 
 ardly rascals. And don't tell me of a surprise. The troops of 
 his majesty are never surprised. To be surprised, Carrie Sin 
 clair, is to be disgraced. It is next, in shame, to cowardice. 
 Tell me not of any surprises. Lord llawdon is too good a sol- 
 dier for that. The enemy was simply beating up his quaiturs; 
 that's all ; but will find him prepared. He will go off, if he 
 gets off at all, on a lame leg. Lord Rawdon, Miss Sinclair, is 
 a soldier. Lord Edward Fitzgerald is a soldier. There is noth- 
 ing to fear, I tell you. We are as safe here, as if within the 
 walls of Charleston. Don't I know that ; but the curse is that 
 I can do nothing. I am a poor, old, worthless, miserable, in- 
 valided cripple, and feeling as I do, I begin to doubt if I were 
 ever in the Cherokee war at all — if I ever crossed the moun- 
 tains with Grant and Middleton — d — n Middleton — he too is 
 a rebel — all the Middletons are rebels — and more shame tc 
 them, too, when they could send into the field, a fellow, with 
 the ability to lead a regiment in the Cherokee war. Hark. m-» 
 child, do you hear anything V 
 
 '' The sounds seem to have died a^ray, my dear fatner." 
 
 "To be sure. I knew they would. The rebels are ds 
 
THE SURPRISE. 205 
 
 poi'scd. What nonsense was it that entered your Head ? Did 
 you suppose that British regulars could be defeated by these 
 skirmishing rapscallions ? Taken by surprise, marry ! and by 
 these renegades. British soldiers taken by sw'prise ! A soldier 
 like my Lord Rawdon caught napping ! No, Carrie, my dear, 
 you are too ignorant of war, to understand that war is a pecu- 
 liarly British science; Britons are born to it — born to it, and 
 the bayonet is their natural weapon." 
 
 And the veteran began to sing even as he writhed — "Brit- 
 ons, sti-ike Home !" 
 
 Carrie, sotto voce, murmured — " I'd much rather, they should 
 go home," but she took care to let no senses but her own, catcli 
 the accents of so impudent a speech. 
 
 " Go to bed, my child — you and your young friend. I could 
 have told you that there was no occasion for alarm — that, as 
 to surprising a British force, under Lord "Rawdon — under any 
 British officer — the thing is impossible. Go to bed, go to bed 
 — but see that the liquors are put forth. Tn abundance do yoa 
 hear ? Let Polly bring out a demijohn of the Jamaica. These 
 brave fellows will need refreshment, and every man who wears 
 an epaulet shall drink when he returns." 
 
 He was obeyed. Edisto Polly was put in immediate requi- 
 sition, and the liquors were provided in readiness, any quan- 
 tity, for the refreshment of the British officers. Meanwhile, 
 Carrie Sinclair and Nelly Floyd retired to the upper chambers, 
 and for awhile, our baron sat in solitary state, waiting anxiously 
 for his returning guests. 
 
 They came at last, Rawdon and Fitzgerald, looking very 
 nnich tired and somewhat angry. It is a very unpleasant thing 
 to be disturbed so suddenly in the midst of pleasant avocations. 
 To be called upon abruptly, by trumpet, to harness for battle 
 with rough customers, when one is swallowing his tokay with 
 a friend, or just on the eve of whispering dulcet suggestions to 
 his sweetheart, will ruffle the best temper in the world. Fitz- 
 gerald, in particular, felt how great were his grievances when 
 he looked round, and saw no female sign in the ascendant, and 
 felt, from the lateness of the hour, that the curtains of the night 
 were drawn between himself and the maid whom he was about 
 to woo so earnestly. 
 
206 EUTAW. 
 
 He, following Rawdon, was followed in turn by Major Jekyll, 
 of the British army, who was instantly introduced to Colonel 
 Sinclair. The old gentleman took the opportunity, immedi- 
 ately after, to introduce the Madeira. 
 
 " You have had some warm work of it, my lord ; will you be 
 pleased to take a glass of Madeira. Gentlemen, willl you be 
 so good as to grace us in a little Madeira. 
 
 His lordship filled, and the other gentlemen followed. Raw- 
 don bowed to the colonel and said : — 
 
 " We owe this brush to your son, colonel. It is he who has 
 been beating up our quarters !" 
 
 " My son ! ah ! my lord, spare me. This is a great humilia- 
 tion to a father." 
 
 " Never a bit, colonel ; however much it is to be regretted 
 that the boy is on the wrong side ; it is quite creditable to him 
 that he can do honor to it. A brave, high-spirited, enterprising 
 fellow. I can only repeat, that the same shows of talent and 
 spirit under the banner of his king, would have secured him 
 much more elevated distinctions. But, with your permission, I 
 will hear the report of Major Jekyll." 
 
 " Perhaps, I had better retire, my lord," said Colonel Sin- 
 clair, twisting uneasily on his cushions. 
 
 "No, sir; not unless you please, and prefer to do so. There 
 is nothing, I fancy, which may not be delivered in the hearing 
 of so good a loyalist as yourself. Now, Major Jekyll." 
 
 " You remember, my lord, that Captain Inglehardt, of the loy 
 alist mounted men, was despatched with his command, on a fo- 
 raying expedition. He took with him three wagons ; and in an 
 encounter with Captain St. Julien, he found himself compelled 
 to abandon his wagons, after a smart skirmish, in which he lost 
 four men. He succeeded, however, in reaching camp in safety, 
 and brought in with him a countryman from the Congaree, who 
 reported the whole of the American army to be in motion, about 
 to move below, and on both sides of the river. This rendered 
 Colonel Stewart uneasy for the safety of your escort, knowing 
 it to be small, and he immediately ordered out a detachment — 
 three companies of light infantry ; in all a hundred men, and 
 the mounted men of Captain Inglehardt — all of which he con- 
 fided to my command. Five miles above, a demonstration was 
 
THE SUEPaiSE. W~ 
 
 oiade upon us by Captain St. Julien, whom we succeeded in 
 beating; off; but, scarcely had his troopers found cover in the 
 woods, when we were again assailed by another body of mount- 
 ed rifles, and cavalry, under the lead of Major Sinclair. In both 
 jmmands, there may have been a hundred, or a hundred and 
 twenty men. They united, in a renewal of the action, and, 
 plying the attack on front and rear, avoiding close action — 
 recoiling at our advance, and resuming the assault, whenever 
 we resumed the march — the fight has-been continued during 
 the progress of the last four miles. . I did not venture to turn 
 about and pursue, since I knew not what ambusli might be en- 
 countered in the woods. My force was too small to suffer me 
 to be venturous, and I contented myself with just the degree of 
 effort which was necessary to keeping them at bay, bringing 
 them down to where I knew, reinforced by your escort of 
 cavalry, we could turn upon them with safety. They made a 
 rush upon us, as we entered your camp, some score or two ac- 
 tually pressing in with us. The rest you know, my lord. Your 
 people were upon the alert, and the enemy reaped nothing from 
 the rashness of their last charge." 
 
 " What casualties ?" demanded Rawdon. 
 
 '' I fear, my lord, that they are greater than we know. We 
 lost nine men, slain outright, on the march ; there are some 
 fourteen wounded, and, thus far, we have a report of eleven 
 missing. The enemy's loss, I feel sure, must be much greater. 
 We saw several drop under our fire, but they carried off their 
 clain and wounded into the woods as fast as they fell. I should 
 3stimate the^'r loss at fifty, at least, in the course of the two en- 
 counters, first with St. Julien, and afterward with himself and 
 Major Sinclair." 
 
 Sinclair would have called Jekyll's estimate of his loss an 
 amusir gly and amazingly extravagant one ; but British est;, 
 mates jf an enei- y's casualties, are usually of this magnificent 
 description. 
 
 " I see nothing to reprove in your conduct. Major J(!li;-ll ; 
 you seem to livra iehaved with proper conduct, valor, and pru- 
 dence. But of tLis we shall speak hereafter, and -v/hcn «-e 
 have had leisure for a full survey of the field. I will tli.'iiik 
 vow to see that your posts for the night arc taken carefully — in 
 
20b EDTAW. 
 
 positions which allow of no cover for the approaches of a.i 
 enemy. In an hour, I will myself make a tour of inspection, 
 your men will sleep on their arms. We shall march an hour 
 before day." 
 
 As Jekyll was about to retire, Colonel Sinclair arrested him 
 
 " One moment, Major Jekyll ; one moment. My lord, I have 
 had a demijohn of rum put in readiness, thinking you might 
 desire to serve out a ration of it to the brave fellows in your 
 escort." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear colonel ; it will prove grateful enough, 
 I warrant." 
 
 " And, if you will permit me, my lord, I should like to join 
 yourself, my Lord Edward, and Major Jekyll, in a much better 
 liquor." 
 
 " I can answer for it, colonel, that my two friends will be as 
 well pleased as myself to do justice to your Madeira." 
 
 They drank, and Jekyll at once retired. The Lords Raw- 
 don and Fitzgerald lingered an hour later, and the bottle was 
 emptied ; unobservedly, by all parties, as a very interesting 
 conversation ensued, upon the affairs of the war. 
 
 But this dialogue we need not report. At the close of it. 
 Rawdon said : — 
 
 " To return to a subject, my dear colonel, which we had under 
 discussion before this alarm. You perhaps see with me, in the 
 occurrence of to-night, and in the report brought by Major 
 Jekyll, additional reasons in support of the propriety of your 
 leaving the barony for a season. Go to the city by all means. 
 You will find no security here, for some time to come. The 
 city will laugh a siege to scorn, by any force that the Americans 
 can bring against us ; and, whether we finally triumph, or ao- i- 
 don the contest, it can not in any way aflfect the rcsulfs tc yen. 
 My advice is to proceed to the city as soon as possible. It i3 
 my purpose to go thither, as soon as I have made all proper 
 arrangements at Orangeburg." 
 
 Tlie colonel groaned at the idea of a fatiguing journey in the 
 slow and heavy coaches of that day, cabined, cribbed, confined, 
 without proper resting-room and place for his game leg. But 
 be felt the force of the advice from the lips of Bawdon. 
 
 " I will make my preparations to-morrow. I hope, my lord. 
 
THE SUUPBISE. 209 
 
 tliHt we filiall have pieasanter themes for contemplation wlicii 
 wo meet in Charlsston." 
 
 Tlic couversatioii was protracted a little longer. At length, 
 Rawdoii, wlio haZ vainly urged the old man to retire — alleging 
 the necessity for .ais remaining up some time himself, in order 
 to take the cnmf- rounds — gave the signal to his aid, and the 
 two rose, and went forth in the execution of their duties. 
 
 Scarcely had they gone, when Benny Bowlegs, and Little 
 Peter, showed themselves at the entrance, prepared to wheel 
 tr lift the baron to his chamber. The look of Benny was ex- 
 ulting — his whole air was singularly lifted and self-satisfied. 
 That of Little Peter strove in admiring emulation of his superior. 
 
 " And where the d — 1 were you, Benny, all the time this 
 skirmish was going on ? How was it, sirrah, that I had ti 
 jcream fcr you in vain ? We might have been all murdered 
 by these rascally rebels, for any aid you could have given us." 
 
 " Oh, psho, maussa, I bin know all de time, dere was no sawt 
 of danger for you, and Miss Carrie. 'Twa'n't no rascally rebel, 
 tall, maussa : 'twas Mass Willie hese'f, Kunnel— Major Willie 
 Sinclair — dat was making de scatteration 'raon'g de red-coats." 
 
 " What, rascal ! have you turned rebel too 1" 
 
 " Me ! nie, rebel ? No, sah ! I goes wid Mass Willie, sah f 
 — da's all ! Lawd ! maussa, ef you'd ha' seen how he mek do 
 tedders fly, in dat las' charge he mek up by de ole field ]" 
 
 " Ha ! he fought well, did he 1" 
 
 " I'ut me in mine ob ole times, maussa, when you dash in 
 'mong dem red-skins, up by Etchoe. Lawd, maussa, it fair did 
 my ole heart good, for see Mass Willie splurging 'mong dem 
 red-coats. I shum [see 'em] cut down two ob dem dragoons 
 wid my own eye. I tink, maussa, so help me God ! he bin cut 
 one fellow fair in two! Oh, he's a slasher wid dat broad 
 swode ! You nebber bin do better, maussa, youse'f, in you best 
 days. He's a chip o* de old block." 
 
 " Ha ! and he slashed away, did he 1" 
 
 "Right and leff, maussa — up and down — out and in — he 
 mek a clear track ebbry side wid he broad swede." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! you saw it 1 He ii a powerful fellow, Benny — 
 monstrous powerful — just what I was in my young days — at 
 his time of life ! I'd give fifty guineas, by the Lord Harry ! 
 
210 EUTAW. 
 
 to see Willie Sinclair on a chai-ge ! What do you grin at, you 
 rascal? You are abetting this rebel son it mine! Do yott 
 suppose, you raseal, because I am glad tc know that my son is 
 a brave and powerful fellow, that I approve o' his conduct? — 
 that I justify him in this unnatural warfare af,ainst his natural 
 sovereign ? Heh, rascal !" 
 
 " Don't ax wedder you 'proves or not, mausso, ; all I got for 
 say, is dat Willie Sinclair is all h — 1 wid de broad-swode." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! all h — 1 with the broad-sword ! Benny Bow- 
 legs this is not the sort of language you should use in my hear- 
 ing. But — Benny, help yourself and little Peter to some of that 
 rum — there, in the big decanter ! Help yourselves freely ras- 
 cals ; you need something to quiet your d d stupid excite- 
 ment !" 
 
 This duty done, the two helped the veteran to his chamber, in 
 the recesses of which, little Peter having been dismissed, the 
 colonel contrived to get from Benny a more copious narrative 
 At the close of it, he said : — 
 
 " Benny, boy, I'm afraid you've had a hand in this business i 
 Rascal ! you smell of gunpowder ! Have you been shooting 
 down any of his majesty's subjects 1" 
 
 " Ki, maussa ! wha' for you ax 'bout tings dere's no needccH 
 sity yer for know ? Benny fight for old maussa, enty 1 — " 
 
 "Yes, Benny, you did, faithfully !" 
 
 " Maussa, dis Willie Sinclair is jest as much like he fadder, 
 when dere's fighting guine on, as ef you bin spit 'em out o' your 
 own mout'. He's h — 1 for a charge !" 
 
 " Begone, you rebel rascal, and see that the house isn't robbed 
 to-night by some of your rascally dragoons !" 
 
 " I guine watch, maussa. Go to bed, and be comfortable, ef 
 you kin. All safe wid Benny." 
 
 "And see that the stables are watched, and that none of my 
 horses are stolen. We shall want them all pretty soon." 
 
 " Ha ! see dat de rebbels t'ief not'ing, enty V 
 
 " See that nobody steals, rascal ! Do you suppose that a ras- 
 cally dragoon, in a red coat, is any more honest than in a blue? 
 See to it ; and on the first sign of trouble, go to Lord Rawdon 
 -•-with my respects, you hear!" 
 
THE SURPRISE. 211 
 
 J yeddy, inaussa ! God bress yon, maiissa, an' de bes' oh 
 eeps !" 
 
 We need scarcely report that the long interval, in which the 
 father was kept waiting for the attendance of the faithful Benny 
 and Little Peter, was consumed by these two favorite sons of 
 Ethiop, on the edge of the thicket, in a close conference with 
 their master's son. Touching their share in the skirmish, we 
 shall be as chary of our revelations as Benny himself. We 
 half suspect, however, that the ancient hound was simply a 
 looker-on. It is quite evident, nevertheless, that he was not 
 unwilling that his old master should suspect him of a more ac- 
 tive participation in the game. Benny Bowlegs had his vanity 
 as well as his master. 
 
 There was no further alarm that night; though, from the en- 
 terprising character of Willie Sinclair, Rawdon had his appre- 
 hensions. He prepared for an attempt at beating up his quar- 
 ters. But Sinclair's policy was more profound. He calculated 
 upon the preparations of the British, and felt that he could gain 
 nothing by an assault upon a superior force, under a veteran 
 general, who counted on his attempt. By withdrawing from 
 the scene, and suffering the enemy to march without molesta- 
 tion for five miles the next day, he succeeded in effecting some- 
 thing like a surprise when he dashed at their rear, which he 
 did at that distance from the barony. And, bold and confident 
 in the superiority of his cavalry, he continued to harass the en- 
 emy until they were in sight of Orangeburg, when he drew off 
 his squadron coolly, and retired into the thickets at a trot. 
 
 He had done a handsome thing in these passages-at-arms, and 
 had really lost few men, not more than half-a-dozen in all, and 
 as many wounded. Jekyll had reported wishes rather than 
 facts in this matter. But the affair had cost Sinclair much time, 
 which was precious to him in the chase after Bertha Travis and 
 her mother. Still, the event was not to be avoided. Opportu- 
 nity came in his way, and, as a soldier, he was bound to seize 
 it. Inglehardt had 'crossed the path of St. Julien, and, in worst- 
 ing and pursuing him, the latter had failed at the rendezvous. 
 Sinclair had become anxious on account of his lieutenant, and 
 had ridden up, to find him engaged in the work of harassing 
 the far superior force, including that of Inglehardt, which was 
 
212 EUTAW. 
 
 led by Jekyll. It was not in the nature of a bold drrgoon Ic 
 forbear " a hack" at Rawdon's escort, particularly with the pros 
 pect of killing or capturing that nobleman himself. Some mis 
 chief was done to the enemy — a few more victims gleaned from 
 the saddles of Inglehardt and the infantry of Jekyll — but the 
 march of his lordship was too compact, his flanks too well guard- 
 ed, and all too vigilant under his fine military eye, to suffer our 
 partisans to make any decided impression. They were sufE- 
 oiently well satisfied with what they had done, and only with- 
 drew from the pursuit when a reinforcement from Stewart was to 
 be seen marching out from Orangeburg to the succor of the wea- 
 ried and vexed escort of Eawdon. 
 
 And now to seek and recover the Travis's — husband and 
 wife, son and daughter. But how — and where? Had the 
 ladies reached Nelson's ferry in safety, or were they wandering 
 still — in what direction — how baffled — surrounded by what 
 dangers 1 A breathing-spell from the actual pressure of conflict 
 brought all these queries painfully to the mind of Willie Sin- 
 clair. He had no doubt that the two ladies, of whom he had 
 heard, as rescued by Rawdon from the Florida refugees, were 
 Bertha and her mother ; but three days had elapsed, and where 
 were they now ? What, too, of Captain Travis and Henry ] 
 Where were they? Inglehardt, he now knew, was with Raw- 
 don. He had tried very earnestly to make a swoop especially 
 at him, but the cautious policy of Inglehardt himself, and the 
 strength of the British infantry, had defeated all his well-meant 
 endeavors. 
 
 Hardly knowing where to turn, it was still necessary that 
 Willie Sinclair should keep in motion, if only to quiet or stay 
 the annoyance of his obtrusive doubts and fears. He posted 
 once more down the road for Nelson's ferry, thinking it possible 
 that he might hear of the safety, at least, of the ladies he pur- 
 sued. 
 
 It is time that we, too, should look after them. We have 
 seen them refusing to accept the hospitalities of Sinclair bar- 
 ony, and continuing their progress without any present prospect 
 of interruption. But the ocean was not quite smooth yet, though 
 the storm, for the time, was over ; and our fair travellers were 
 destined to a protracted denial of their objects. They had 
 
THE SUBPKISE. 21; 
 
 probably left the barony some two hours, and were beginning 
 to meditate the question of their sleeping-place at night, whea 
 they suddenly encountered a horseman at full gallop, be.xring 
 toward them. As he drew nigh, it was seen that he v/as a no- 
 gro. A nearer approach made Oato the driver uneasy with a 
 sentiment of delight. 
 
 "Ha! I know dat pusson ! He is! I know 'em" — ho mut- 
 tered ; then loudly — " I does know 'em for true." 
 
 " Who is it, Oato 1" The ladies began to grow uneasy ... 6 ». 
 The fellow answered his own thought rather than the query of 
 Ills mistress. 
 
 " Yes ! da him for true. Da 'Bram, Mass Major Sinclar's 
 sarbant." 
 
 " 'Bram !" exclaimed the ladies with one breath. They were 
 as much delighted as they would have been at the meeing with 
 a friendly regiment. It was with equal joy that 'Bram recog- 
 nised the party. 
 
 " Wha' ! da you, Missis Trabis ] da you, Miss Bert'a 1 I so 
 glad ! But whay you bin 1 whay you guine ]" 
 
 " To Nelson's ferry, 'Bram." 
 
 " Oh, I so grad I meet you, jest de right time ! Tu'n back ; 
 tu'n into de woods — any whay. De inimy is in depat' I T>fl 
 etarnal varmint, Hell-fire Dick, 'pon de road below. I dodge 
 'em, t'ree mile back, by short cut t'rough de woods. I lucky 
 for see 'em pass, 'fore be kin see me. He's down at leetle o'o 
 tabern day 'pon de road — him and tree, fibe more black, infar 
 nal varmint like hese'f. He da drink whiskey — all ob 'em 
 drink — and dey jes' been a-gitting ready for mount de boss — 
 only dey stop for talk and 'noder drink. Dey was coming u^ . 
 Das wha' mek ms, soon as I kin git t'::ugh de woods and head 
 ob dem — das wha' mek me heel it at fast gallop. Tu'n out 
 yer in de woods. Yer ! I know de way. Der's de fiel' yer. 
 We giiine t'rough dat. Dat'll carry we to de ole neighborhood 
 road yer, down t'ree mile off to de old widow Abinger. He 
 bery good woman dat — frien' to we party. I know all 'bout 
 dis country. Why, jes' a mile or two back is de piace of my 
 young missis, Carrie Sinclar ; but he all bu'n down, 'cept ole 
 house we bin let Pete Elodgit lib in. Tu'n 'bout, Cato — you hab 
 no time for loss. Hell-fire Dick ride like mad when he drunk." 
 
U^ EUTAW. 
 
 "Ob, yes, Cato ! follow 'Bram's directions. Do not suffer 
 that mcnster to see ii.i, or suspect our neighborhood." 
 
 i"a.to did not like to be tossed about under other guidance 
 t)»an his own, and he would have paused for other and fuller 
 €A Txnatious, but 'Bram cut him short. 
 
 ' Ch, tu'n in, nigger, and no more talk ! 'Tain't no time, 
 jest ')w, to hao de eel skin. Take de trute wid de skin on, 
 jest as I ts'l: you. Tu'n about, jest trough dat crack in de 
 wjods. I si.ow you de way." 
 
 And th3 fellow went ahead. Cato growled, but followed ; 
 and, as so:n as they had turned out of the sandy road and into 
 the thicket, 'Bram jumped from his horse, ran back to the road, 
 and rolled over repeatedly where the carriage-tracks had been 
 mads. You would have supposed the impressions to be those 
 ■sf a do'ien well-fed hogs. But the wheel-tracks were obliter- 
 ated. The performance consumed only a few minutes, when 
 he rejoined the carriage ; and, after crossing an old indigo-field, 
 ihey found themselves in a road which was seldom travelled, 
 and was now overgrown with oaken bushes. This they pur- 
 sued for two miles, when they came into a clearing, evidently 
 t^at of an old place. The fences were in decay, the fields had 
 1 een abandoned, and were grown up in weeds. No sound of 
 lowing steer, or bleating calf, or crowing cock, indicated life. 
 The region appeared a dreary solitude. But, at the opposite or 
 lower end of the clearing, our travellers discovered a dwelling 
 eruarginp; from among a dense clump of oaks and cedars. 
 
 Thither they drove, keeping along the edge of the wood, nn- 
 dsr Bram's guidance. He, meanwhile, described the widow 
 wlio inhabited the place, Mrs. Aviuger, as a person highly re- 
 spected, a devout Christian, a sad, broken-hearted woman, but 
 strong, calm, stern — one whose age, peculiar character, and 
 sorrows, had saved her somewhat from the brutal usages of such 
 a war as the country had witnessed. 'Bram described hcF also 
 as a true patriot, upon whose faith and friendly cfSces they 
 could confidently rely. 
 
 "You guine stay here, Missis Trabis — you and Miss Bert'a, 
 till I kin scout about, and see ef de pat' is clair. But 'twon't 
 do for you to risk anyt'ing so long as dat bloody varmint is 
 fcbout." 
 
THE SURPRISE. 215 
 
 They reached the house, and found the matron at the door, a 
 stately gvay-headed old woman, in a mob-cap, in the plainest 
 blue homespun, wearing a face of the most remarkable gravity 
 — serene and grave — very sad withal — but with something so 
 sweet in her voice, and so winning as well as commanding in 
 her eye, that our two ladies were sensibly influenced in her 
 favor in the momeat when they saw her. They craved only 
 present shelter, reserving their explanations for another moment. 
 They were welcomed, and, when they had alighted, entered the 
 house, and taken in their luggage, which was necessarily in as 
 small a compass as possible, 'Bram said to Cato : — 
 
 " Now, Cato, my boy, fuss t'ing, we must hide away de cai . 
 riage and boss in some good tick [thick, or thicket], for wc 
 doesn't know, any minute, who's aguine to come 'pon we." 
 
 'Bram was too good a scout, not to suggest a like warning to 
 the two ladies. 
 
 " You see, Mrs. Trabis, de house Lab two 'tories ; bes' you 
 and Miss Bert'a keep up 'tars, so long as you guin<j 'tay yer. 
 Dar's no knowing wha' we hab for 'speck [expect] sence dese 
 varmints is about ; and then dar's some .red-coats 'long de road 
 besides. I bin pass 'em dis morning." 
 
 This was said in the presence of the widow Avinger, who 
 added : " The advice is good, ladies ; I sometimes have very 
 wild visiters. They do not ti-ouble me, since I have nothing 
 much to plunder; and they know me — my age protects me." 
 
 And she might have added, " her known virtues," for she was 
 the good Samaritan of the precinct who poured balsam equally 
 into the wounds of friends and foes— who ever needed. Our 
 lady-travellers soon understood her character. Her nai'r.ral 
 dignity of bearing, free from pride or insolence, compelled 
 respect; her mild regard, manner, and language, won it; ipt 
 tones of voice secured it; and, altogether, the strangers fw. 
 themselves quite as much at home with her in twenty minutes, 
 as if they had known her for twenty years. Her house was 
 kept in excellent order. The hall was whitely sanded : a little 
 book-case of pine, without doors, stood upon a shelf, and held 
 a dozen volumes, but of what sort Bertha could not say, thpugh 
 she noted them at a distance, as she felt, at that moment, do 
 curiosity to look into books. And when they went to thcii 
 
216 EUTAW. 
 
 chamber, which they soon did, in compliance with the sugges- 
 tion of the widow herself, they found everything clean and 
 tolerably comfortable. But the same prudent caution which 
 prompted them to retire early, and keep up-stairs, denied them 
 any light. The widow herself brought up supper, which they 
 partook together in the twilight; and thus they sat conver- 
 sing in the growing darkness, while a bright fire was blazing in 
 the chimney below. 
 
 An hour had not passed before they had proof of the wisdom 
 of all these precautions. They heard the gallop ef a horse 
 approaching the house. The widow hurried down stairs, and 
 took her knitting in her lap by the firelight. Her eyes were 
 good. In these days spectacles were scarcely known in 
 America, except among speculative philosophers. They had 
 not grown into a luxury and ornament at least. Thus quietly 
 busied, the widow was prepared for the unknown visiter, while 
 the ladies kept mute as mice up-stairs. 
 
 The door was thrown open, and who should appear upon the 
 threshold, but the very person who was so much dreaded — 
 Hell-fire Dick himself. 
 
 It would be idle to say that the widow was not terrified. She 
 could not but regard such a visit as coincident with that of the 
 two ladies whom she had in her house, and who had expressed 
 such apprehensions of him. He must have found and followed 
 their tracks in spite of 'Bram's precautions. But, concealing 
 bar real alarm — though it sounded the drum of terror in her 
 heart, whose beatings she felt and fancied that she heard, she 
 received the unwelcome visiter with a grave and serenn aspect. 
 Sho was not surprised to see him doff his cap as he entered. 
 Ho had always shown a greater degree of reverence for her 
 than for anybody else. There was a reason for this of which 
 we shall hear presently. She spoke to him civilly, and he 
 walked in and seated himself by the fireside ; and he did this 
 as courteously as it was possible to such an untutored monster. 
 It was not in his power to subdue utterly his rough tones, his 
 harsh and unseemly vitterances, and his rude and vulgar bearing. 
 Besides; ho was drunk. That the widow perceived in his rolling 
 eye, and the thickness of his voice, yet he managed to walk 
 steadily. 
 
HELL-FIRE DICK TAKES TO LITEUATURE. 217 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Avinger, you're well, I see ; and I'm glad to see 
 it. Here : I've brought you a little sack of salt — I thought 
 you'd like it. It's a mighty scarce article." 
 
 " I thank you very much, Mr. Andrews. It is a very scarce 
 article. I have tasted none for months." 
 
 " You'll like this the better then." 
 
 There was an effort at civility and decency in the fellow's 
 voice and manner, which, though it only served to distinguish 
 his roughness, was a surprise to the widow, no less than his 
 presence. The whole affair was a surprise. 
 
 " But," said he, " I ain't come for a long visit, and I s'pose 
 you don't much care to see much of me. I reckon not." 
 
 The widow could not gainsay this. 
 
 " And," he continued, " I don't bring you the salt for nothing ; 
 I wants to trade on it." 
 
 " I have no money, Mr. Andrews. You know my poverty as 
 well as I do myself." 
 
 " ^Tain't money I'm awanting. I wants one of your books 
 there. I know'd you had books, and I come for one of 'em ; 
 and ef you're not for giving, I'll hev to take it, whe'r you will 
 or not." 
 
 " Oh ! that you shall not do, Mr. Andrews. I will cheerfully 
 give you one of my books — a good book — one of the best I 
 have." 
 
 Well, I don't care which. I'm not a reader — had no lam- 
 ing, and am so much the worse for it. But I s'pose a good hook 
 is better than a bad one, and I'm for the good always, by — " 
 
 "Through God — by God's mercies — I suppose you mean, 
 Mr. Andrews;" 
 
 " WfeU, d — n me, ef that ain't a nice way to turn an oath into 
 a prayer ; but we won't quarrel, ole lady, 'bout that. Hev it as 
 you will. Only give me the book." 
 
 The surprise of the widow had grown prodigiously ; but she 
 arose, calmly, and having seen frr^m the fellow's face that he 
 was really serious in his request, she went to the little book- 
 case, and brought him a well-thumbed volume — dingy of as- 
 pect — clumsy of shape — antique of type — altogether a very 
 rusty sample of a very rusty edition. 
 
 He took the book from her hands rather hastily, and opened it. 
 la 
 
218 EDTAW. 
 
 There was a rude engraving in front, apparently from a wooden 
 block. It exhibited a weary traveller ascending a hill with an 
 enormous pack upon his back. On the hill was a castle ; and 
 in front of the castle, a terrible giant armed with a club. Dick of 
 Tophet examined this plate with silent wonderment for awhile. 
 
 " It's a hard fight that old fellow has ahead of him, I reckon. 
 He won't make a mouthful for that big chap with the club ; and, 
 with sich a bundle on his back, he kain't hardly git up the hill. 
 Ef he's to fight, the sooner he flings down the bundle the better 
 for him." 
 
 •' He'd like to do it if he could." ' 
 
 " And why kain't he, I wonder ?" 
 
 "Because the bundle contains all his sins. The bundle is 
 sin ! and sin sticks to him.'' 
 
 " You're not poking fun at me, ole lady ?" 
 
 " Me !" and the glance which she gave him seemed to say, ' Is 
 mine the face, or mine the tongue, or mine the heart, for merri- 
 ment V And the look subdued him. 
 
 " Well, ole lady, what's the book about ?" 
 
 " It is called ' Pilgrim's Progress.' It shows the labors of a 
 sinful man trying to free himself from the burden of sin, and 
 make his way to God." 
 
 " Hard work that ! Much easier gitting the sin than gitting 
 free from it you say : eh ! ole lady ?" 
 
 " I'm afraid so." 
 
 " And d— n it, don't I know it ? But, you give me the book for 
 the salt, eh 1" 
 
 " It should be yours, Mr. Andrews, even had you brought me 
 nothing." 
 
 She longed to asked him what he designed to do with the 
 book. He little knew the pang it cost her to part with it. It 
 had been the cherished volume of a favorite son, and she wept 
 its loss when the ruffian had gone. But she feared to ask any 
 questions of such a ruffian ; and when she had declared her 
 assent, he rose abruptly — stuck the book into his pocket, and 
 thrusting his hand out to her, said : — 
 
 '' You'/e a good woman, ole lady. Ef the world was full of 
 sich good people as you, I'd ha' bin a better body myself. But 
 it's no use to talk. I tell you, He lady, I've got a d d si^ht 
 
HELI^PIRB DICK TAKES TO LITERATURE. 21V» 
 
 bigger bundle of sin on my shoulders than even that ole fellow 
 yon see guine up hill ; and I kin no more shake it off than him." 
 
 " But he did shake it off." 
 
 " Did he ! But I reckon he had never been in the dragoon 
 sarvice. So. good night, ole lady. I'm obliged to you, by the 
 hokies!" 
 
 And the ruffian disappeared as he came — no search — no 
 question about the ladies. — no word of hostility, suspicion, strife. 
 It was evident that he came for the one object only — the ac- 
 quisition of a book — it mattered not of what sort. 
 
 The widow was never more confounded in her life. When, 
 afterward, she talked over the affair, up-stairs, with her two 
 guests, she added — and her eyes filled anew : — 
 
 " I parted with a treasure when I gave him that book. It 
 was my youngest son's. Two sons fell in battle at Oamden, 
 fighting for the country, and the third, my poor Gustavus, a 
 youth of nineteen only, was, I have reason to believe, butchered 
 by this same man, Andrews, in a miserable afiray at a tavern 
 below — perhaps the very one where tlie man has lately been 
 drinking. My boy was totally unarmed, but he gave some 
 offence, I know not what, to this outlaw and his associates, 
 blows ensued, and my boy was stabbed to the heart with a 
 bayonet. He was brought home to me a corpse. I am alone 
 in the world ; and this man, Andrews, has bereaved me of every 
 comfojrt." 
 
 The ladies wondered how sh« could endure the sight of such 
 a monster. 
 
 " Ah !" she answered, " if God endures it patiently, why 
 shovddn't II In his time, and at Ms pleasure, justice will be 
 lone to the criminal. I wish for no revenge. 1 try to pray 
 even for the murderer, though I confess I am still too little of 
 * e Cliristian, not to feel a sinful bitterness of spirit, when he 
 comes into my house, as he did to-night, and has the power, as 
 I know, to butcher uie as he did my son. But he feels, ladies, 
 iie feels ! It is some little feeling of remorse, that still keeps 
 alive in his heait, lik^ a coal of fire in the ashes, that makes him 
 civil and respectful to me, and to no one else. And that little 
 coal may yet kindle, even in his soul, a saving fire that shall 
 •varm it to lif©-" 
 
220 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HOW NELLY FLOYD BECOMES MYSTICAL. 
 
 FOK several days our fair friends were kept in durance, at 
 the lonely harborage of the widow Avinger ; but it was not a 
 durance vile, since they found that venerable lady not simply a 
 meek, good Samaritan Christian, but a woman of excellent in- 
 telligence besides. She had enjoyed a large experience of life, 
 and she had the sort of talent which enabled her to deliver her 
 experience with effort and spirit. She was considerate, in the 
 extreme, of the comfort of her guests, and listened to their nar- 
 rative, which they freely unfolded, with a sympathizing interest. 
 She could well understand the embarrassments of their situation 
 and progress, and the dangers that threatened the father and the 
 son, in the bonds of a cruel, selfish, unscrupulous enemy. The 
 condition of the country left the weak almost wholly without 
 security, in the hands of the powerful. 
 
 Meanwhile, 'Bram was busy scouting all the while, and bring- 
 ing in nightly reports of what he saw and feared. It was, per 
 haps, somewhat an objection to 'Bram, that, like the apostle, he 
 was wont to magnify his office. To exaggerate the sense of 
 his own services, and their importance, it was perhaps necessary 
 that the threatened diingers should also be beheld through an 
 enlarging medium ; and 'Bram was especially careful to set thie 
 medium properly before the eyes of those he served, wLenevei 
 his own uses, and the performances in which he was cngagedr 
 were the subjects of discussion. It is possible — possible, we 
 say — that Mrs. Travis and ber daughter might have been ena- 
 bled to resume their journey a day or two sooner than they did 
 — but for this exaggerating h.ibit of our friend 'Bram ; though 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD BECOMES MYSTICAL. 221 
 
 we suggest the notion with some scrupulosity. It may b'. that 
 the clanger was still in the path, and, if so, it was ce,%.iinly o. 
 danger to be feared, as the experience of onr lady-tra -eilert 
 had already shown them. No doubt that Dick of Tophet, and 
 some of his followers — and others, perhaps, quite as great rast- 
 cals as himself — were lurking or loitering in the neighborhood. 
 There was some motive to it, among the class of people, in a 
 sort of tippling tavern, kept by one Griffith, a lame man, about 
 three miles off. Here, the scouts found resort ; here, detach- 
 ments passing to and fro in their progress up and down, usually 
 stopped for refreshment. Here, recruiting sergeants spread 
 their golden baits before simple boys, enjoying their first intox- 
 icating draughts of license and Jamaica. Here, in brief, was 
 the rendezvous of Motley, with all her tribes — the vagrant, 
 vicious, worthless, selfish, scoundrelly, savage, and merely mis- 
 chievous, who love to follow in her train, and swell the chorus 
 of her discordant jubilees. It was from this harborage that 
 Dick of Tophet and his gang, set forth, swollen with rum, on 
 that.memorabie expedition to the quarters of Pete Blodgit — as 
 narrated in a preceding volume — where they did not surprise 
 Willie Sinclair, and discovered, for the first time, and by the 
 purest accident, that they had lost a hundred guineas. Of 
 course, Dick of Tophet knew the region well, and it knew him 
 He rather loved to linger in the precinct as it afforded him that 
 sort of rough-colt fellowship which was most grateful to his 
 tastes. There were some precious rascals about, with whom ho 
 gamed and drank and quarrelled ; who feared, but sought him ; 
 and who found it profitable to be associated with one so reck- 
 less of his money — when he had it — even though at the peril 
 of a broken head from his savage and capricious humors. 
 
 But to reach this Elysian region, Dick had now to ride a good 
 many miles — assuming that to be his proper locale and hailing 
 centre, for the present, in which he kept the captives of him- 
 self and Inglehardt. Still, as he was a headlong rider, and al- 
 ways contrived to keep himself in a good horse, the difficulty 
 was one of only occasional embarrassment. He was of too 
 restless a nature tu heed fatigue, and had tec great a, passion 
 for excitement, to ke?p away from itc- scenes of exarcise for any 
 reason. And tin' '.' w.i, that, having prcvided pr.iper k?epers 
 
-•J- EUTAW, 
 
 or Travis and his son, among the congeries of swamp-fastness, 
 that spread down from the branches of the Four-Holes, and al- 
 most mingle with those that spread up, in like manner, from the 
 waters of the Cooper, he had given himself, as it were, a respite 
 from confinement himself, by undertaking daily expeditions on 
 the recruiting service. Such was the mission that took him to 
 Griffith's and other places, favorable to this object, while Ingle- 
 hardt was doing duty in the field. 
 
 It was here at Griffith's that 'Bram saw Dick of Tophet on 
 each of his scouting progresses. It was upon this establishment 
 that 'Bram kept special watch. He knew its repute, and the 
 fact that, in going down upon the river road, it was absolutely 
 unavoidable that the carriage should pass this place, rendered 
 u necessary, before the party could safely proceed, that the en- 
 emy should be temporarily withdrawn. It would have been 
 easy, perhaps, for the ladies, had they been on horseback, to 
 have " fetched a compass" through the woods for a few miles, 
 and avoided exposure to the danger from this quarter, but the 
 lurnbersome caroch of that day, drawn by four great horses, was 
 quite another thing. It was a question with the ladies whethei 
 they might not take the back track, find their way into some 
 other road, and escape the difficulty by extending their circuit. 
 But what might be the obstruction upon other roads 1 In all 
 probability they would encounter similar embarrassments — per- 
 haps greater — the farther they receded from the Santee in the 
 direction of the Four-Holes. They concluded, after duly dis- 
 cussing the whole subject, to wait patiently and follow ihe 
 course of opportunity. 
 
 'Bram and Cato, meanwhile, were to keep in due exercise as 
 scouts and spies. 'Bram was sufficiently flexible for this em- 
 ployment, and rather liked it ; but not so Cato. He too gi-eatly 
 iesembled the venerable E,om«.n from whom he had bon-owed 
 sc appropriate a name, and was too stiff in the joints for stoop- 
 ing; too feeble of back for crawling , too dim of sight for sharp 
 seeing ; and too stubborn of moral readily to accommodate him- 
 "clf to circumstance. He could fight fearlessly enough, and was 
 .•ather more quick to do so than 'Bram; but, like his great 
 namesake, he would have found it easier to acquire Greek in 
 hh old age, than the nice little details, and sly practices, and 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD -BECOMES MYSTICAL. 223 
 
 cunning expedients, which are necessary to the education of a 
 scout. Accordingly, 'Bram, soon found Oato in his way, rather 
 than a help, and it was not diflScult to persuade him that it was 
 more properly his duty, to stay perdu, with his mistress, and, 
 armed with a good hull-mouthed pistol, to serve as sentinel over 
 the garrison. 
 
 So 'Bram scouted alone ; and one day he had the fortune to 
 see, from his cover on the edge of the road, the redoubtable 
 Dick of Tophet riding up the road with no less than five fol ■ 
 lowers, all armed after a fashion, with broadsword, or pistols, 
 or rifle, or fowling-piece, no two with the same weapons, and 
 Dick of Tophet alone, doubly armed, with sword and pistols. 
 When they had fairly passed, 'Bram conceived the opportunity 
 to be good for emancipating the ladies. But it was first neces- 
 sary to look to Griffith's, which, as he fancied, would be now 
 empty. But here, to his dismay, he found a party of half a 
 dozen more, with a score of beagles lying in the road, preparing 
 to beat the woods in a hunt for deer. 
 
 The event filled him with consternation. Should the bant 
 lead the party into the thicket of the widow Avinger, where the 
 carriage and horses of Mrs. Travis were concealed ! Our scout 
 hurried homeward with desperate misgivings, and, having suffi- 
 ciently alarmed the ladies, he watched and waited momently for 
 that invasion of the premises which might call upon his valor 
 for the best defence. It was in a moment like this, that the 
 genius of 'Bram rather paled before that of Cato. The Roman 
 spirit of the latter rose sensibly with'the idea that he was to be 
 engaged, in the sight of his mistress, with arms in his hands, 
 and in a conflict which, so far from requiring, forbade skulk- 
 ing, sneaking, or any practice which demanded a sacrifice of 
 dignity. 
 
 Poor 'Bram little knew what mischief he had done. In less 
 than an hour after his hurried retreat from the roadside, Dick 
 of Tophet and his party might have been seen, pushing down 
 the road at full speed, followed hotly by all the squadron of 
 Willie Sinclair in desperate chase. The huni:ers at Griffith's 
 were among the hunted ; and the whole party were soon in flight 
 pell-mell, seeking cover in the swamps below, which they only 
 
iilJl EUTAW. 
 
 reached after a Laid run, aud with the loss of two horses,* and 
 the scalps of their owners, by the way. 
 
 Dick of Tophet acknowledged long after that this was the 
 " worst skear that he ever had from the sight of a broadsword." 
 Sinclair, meanwhile, swept on like an arrow-flight; and having 
 dispersed the marauders temporarily, dashed down to Nelson's 
 ferry, where he could obtain no tidings of the fugitives. He 
 as little dreamed of their proximity, when he chased the Philis 
 tines of Griffith's, as they of the near approach and passage of the 
 very friends who should deliver them. From Nelson's ferry our 
 dragoon pressed downward by Eutaw, thinking it possible that 
 the ladies might have been forced to travel on to Murray's ferry, 
 and calculating incidentally on beating up some of the smaller 
 parties of the British at Poshee, Watboo, Wantoot, and other 
 places, on one side or other of his route. At one or other of 
 these places, it was known that the enemy usually made sta- 
 tions. Let us leave him for awhile on this wild scamper, and 
 look after other parties that need our attention. 
 
 Colonel Sinclair, the veteran, had already begun his prepara- 
 tion for flitting to the city. His movement was to be an early 
 one, i. e., as soon as he could adjust affairs, and harness up for 
 the journey. The barony was to be nailed up. Goods and 
 chattels secreted where possible ; plate buried ; te^ine buried ; — 
 all somewhere in the swamps, at midnight, and in the presence 
 of but two witnesses. But we must not linger upon such details. 
 It is enough that we indicate the necessities which were involved 
 in eveiy removal in that day, and under such circumstances. 
 We can readily conceive what anxieties filled the household. 
 How the fear pressed upon father and daughter, that the first 
 tidings they should receive, after their departure, would be of 
 the house having been burned, with all its contents. Poor Car- 
 rie looked at the harpsichord of her mother, with weeping eyes, 
 feeling as if she should never behold it again. Every picture 
 upon the walls seemed to look farewell for ever. No wonder, 
 poor child, that she wept — wept bitterly, as if about to separate 
 from loving friends. 
 
 * Wo may be thought to rank tlie horses more highly than the riders in 
 this ordering ; but we follow Tarlcton in the matter. See the reports of hi; 
 losses in battle, and liis regrets relatively for lioi-scs and horsemen. 
 
HOW NELLY PLdYD BECOMES MYSTICAL. aZv 
 
 ■' Do not weep," said Nelly Floyd to her, as they sat togethei 
 in Carrie Sinclair's chamber. " Do not weep. The good God 
 ].« above us. Do not let these things become idols. Wo have 
 living creatures to love and worship. And you — oh, you hav3 
 those whom you can honor, as well as love ! and tliat — tha*'. " 
 God's greatest mortal blessing ! Would you thinh of thes» 
 things at all, were it otherwise V 
 
 Carrie looked long and musingly in the face of this strange, 
 sad counsellor — that brown face, that large, dilating Arab eye, 
 humid, yet so big and bright ; that exquisitely-turned and ex 
 pressive mouth, that grave, spiritual countenance — she looked 
 and wondered, and as she mused, and spoke : — 
 
 " Nelly, it was a great wrong done to you by the lady who 
 took and kept you so long, and trained you so long and so well 
 — it was a great wrong for her to abandon you as she did." 
 
 "Abandon me ! Oh, no, dear Miss Sinclair, do not say that ! 
 Do not do that noble lady so much injustice ! She had to 
 leave the country ; but she would have taken me with her, 
 would have taken me to the world's end — anywhere — every- 
 where ! She never refused or abandoned me. The act was 
 my own." 
 
 "But why — why did you leave so excellent a lady?" de- 
 manded Carrie, perhaps incautiously ; for a moment after the 
 cheeks of the girl deepened in color ; a rich crimson diffusing 
 itself over the brown cheek till they glowed transparent. 
 
 " Ah, do not ask that !" she answered. " I had to leave her. 
 My heart bade me leave her, though I loved her, and her 
 daughter — loved all very much — more than anything besides. 
 I was told to leave her. It was a command." 
 
 "Your father's?" 
 
 " No ! no ! I know not whose it was. It was a voice that 
 said to me — 'Go! It is not well that you should stay hero 
 longer.' " 
 
 " A voice ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I hear it often. It tells me what to do. It tells me 
 many things — things of the past and things to come; and 
 warns me, and threatens me, and rebukes me, and somatimes 
 it encourages me, and whispers very sweetly to my soul." 
 
 Carrie looked at her and mused, then said frankly : — 
 
^> t EUTAW. 
 
 " 1 see, I feel, that you are truthful, Nelly. I see it in your 
 tace — I feel it in all your tones ; yet it is very certain ihat 
 your language lacks something or possesses something, which 
 makes it conflict with common ideas. Is it a voice in your 
 ears, or in your conscience, that you hear thus speaking ?" 
 
 ' I can not tell, dear Miss Sinclair ; it is a voice that seems to 
 .eacn jie through my ears; but it fills my heart, my soul, my 
 tnought, my conscience ; and 1 have to obey. And it teaches me 
 through mine eyes also ; though it may be that I dream I see. 
 Yet I see things that happen afterward ; they always happen. I 
 see many sad things, that have not happened yet, and they trouble 
 me very much. I would not see them, if I could. But I have 
 no choice. I can not help it. I must see the strange sights. I 
 must hear the strange voice. Now, pray, my dear Miss Sin- 
 clair, do not ask me to tell you about these things, for some of 
 them make me shudder and grieve, and keep me in great ter- 
 ror. There is one sight that keeps me veiy sad and soiTowful, 
 and will not let me rest; and now that I am better, and my 
 wound ceases to give me any pain, I have to go forth, because 
 of that sight, and see after a poor only brother of mine, whom 
 I have to watch over, and must try to save from a great and 
 cruel danger which threatens him. He fell into bad company, 
 that taught him to game, and to drink, and to quarrel. He was 
 one of the party that captured the two ladies. The old man 
 that first made him bad, is dead. The troops of Lord Kawdon 
 hung him to a tree. His son, that married my sister, was had 
 too ; but he was killed at the same time, but not by cord or 
 bullet. 1 saw how it would happen before, and I told Mat of 
 it, and I warned him of his own danger ; but they all thought 
 me crazy and laughed at me, and drove me ofi", and the old man 
 would have murdered me, but for Mat, and because I would 
 liave rescued the ladies. And now Mat's in the woods, with 
 two others of the same party, and they're hiding from fear 
 of the British ; and poor Mat has haidly anything to eat, and 
 the clothes nearly torn from ofi' his back, by the woods and 
 briers." 
 
 " And how do you know all this, Nelly ?" 
 
 " Oh, I see it. I saw it all last night ; and the voice spoke 
 ♦o me, and told me I must go and bring him av,'av from tboon 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD BECOMES MYSTICAL. j y. 
 
 bad companions who would lead him into worse danger. A.id 
 so I must go." 
 
 Carrie was more mystified than ever. She thought of all 
 that she had ever heard or read — of soothsaying, and second- 
 sight, and sorcerers, and wizards, witches, and enchanters. But 
 as she gazed on poor Nelly with her ingenuous face, she smiled 
 to herself at the absurdity of ascribing witchcraft, or anything 
 demoniac to her. Never was innocent creature so modest in 
 her statements. Nelly saw the smile, and said sadly : — 
 
 "And do you think me crazy too, dear Miss Sinclair?" 
 
 " Far from it, Nelly ; but I confess you puzzle me. How old 
 are you, Nelly 1" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " You can not be more than eighteen V- 
 
 " 1 don't think I am." 
 
 " And the Lady Nelson took you with her when very young ?" 
 
 " Yes, when I was a child. My mother died when I was n 
 child." ( 
 
 "And you were educated along with this lady's daughter?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! dear Bettie and myself learned from the same 
 books. We .sang and played together." 
 
 "Did you learn any instrument?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! we had a harpsichord like yours. Lady Nelson 
 was very rich, and had everything fine about her." 
 
 "And after living in her fine house for years, and learning so 
 much, Nelly, you could, of your own will, abandon all, and go 
 back to the woods ?" 
 
 "I had to, Miss Sinclair. It would have been wrong to 
 Btay." 
 
 " Here again you puzzle me. Why wrong ?" 
 
 " Oh, do not ask me that ! for I must not tell you. I was 
 possessed by a great folly, Miss Sinclair ; and when I thought 
 of it, I felt that I ought to go into the woods again, and leave 
 the fine dwelling and the luxuries, and the splendid society, 
 which did not suit with my condition." 
 
 " But the folly, Nelly ?" 
 
 -All, no! not that! It is a folly that I muse in pain aa5 
 sorrow. It is the only sorrow that humbles me on my ow" 
 account " 
 
EUTAW. 
 
 4nd again the girl's face flushed with a crimson, deep like 
 that of sunset. 
 
 " Well, you must keep your secret, Nelly, until you are wil- 
 ling to believe me such a true friend, that you will gladly ask 
 me to help you in keeping it. I hope, Nelly, you think me 
 your friend — that you will let me protect you as a friend." 
 
 " I know it. I can tell, at a glance, whom to believe. The 
 voice tells me. Your face I read directly, soon as I saw it ; and 
 I felt that I could love you." 
 
 "And I'm sure, Nelly, I can and do love you. You are 
 certainly a strange, sweet creature. Did no one — did Lady 
 Nelson never tell you that you had some extraordinary gifts, 
 Nelly V 
 
 "Not Lady Nelson, but others — Jeff Ehodes, Sister Molly, 
 Nat Rhodes, Mat, my brother, and good old Mother Ford, said 
 I had gifts, but all laughed at them except Mother Ford. They 
 said it was a sort of madness ; and sometimes I feared myself, 
 from so often hearing of it, that I was crazy. But talking with 
 you, I have no such fear ; and I had no such fear when with 
 Lady Nelson. She never said anything of the sort, nor Little 
 Bettie, nor Sherrod — but then it was only about six months be- 
 fore I left Lady Nelson, that I began to hear the voice, and to 
 see strange things." 
 
 " Who do you call Sherrod ?" 
 
 " Sherrod !" . 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Sherrod Nelson is the son of Lady Nelson — he is gone with 
 her, and they tell me he is now a captain in the army, in the 
 West Indies somewhere." 
 
 " Was he a clever fellow, that Sherrod, or one of the spoiled 
 .ristocrats of the city ?" 
 
 " Sherrod spoiled 1 Oh, no ! nothing could spoil Sherrod. 
 He was as good as he was handsome; all heart and soul, and 
 60 beautiful — tall, with such an eye, and such a sweet voice." 
 
 "Ah !" was the subdued comment of Carrie. The girl con- 
 tinued ; — 
 
 "No; Sherrod had no vulgar pride or vanity. He was 
 
 nobleness itself: all his sentiments were noble, manly, gener- 
 
 ni; affectionate. And he had such talents. Wo used to play 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD BECOMES MYSTICAL. 229 
 
 and sing together nightly ; he had a voice of great power, and 
 so exquisite a taste — " 
 
 The slightest possible smile was mantling upon the counte- 
 nance of Carrie when the quick eye of Nelly discerned it. 
 She stopped short on the instant, and looking sadly conscious, 
 but not a whit confused, quietly, but abruptly, walked out of 
 the chamber. Just then, little Lottie, the sister of Carrie, 
 bounded in with a message from her father, and the elder sister 
 hurried down with affectionate promptness to see what the old 
 man wanted. She was detained by the veteran half an hour or 
 so ; and, when dismissed, she hurried up to Nelly Floyd's cham- 
 ber, to see after her. But Nelly was not in her chamber, and, 
 to the surprise of Carrie, she discovered the dress — one of her 
 own — in which she had persuaded the strange girl to clothe 
 herself, throwing aside her pictureBque but unconventional cos- 
 tume, lying upon the bed. She ran through the house hastily, 
 and finding the girl absent, she darted out into the contiguous 
 groves, in which Nelly had previously been seen to wander. 
 
 She found her sitting upon a rude bench of pine, beneath a 
 group of noble water-oaks. There she sat singing — singing a 
 weird, sad chant of autumn leaves and winds — the most unsea- 
 sonable strain in the world for midsummer, when every tree and 
 shrub was gorgeous in green and glitter. We must copy the 
 ballad, if only to indicate the natural sentiment in poor Nelly's 
 bosom — a sentiment which her ordinary conversation did not 
 express; for, though Nelly expressed herself always — no one 
 more frank — yet o^ herself she was rarely brought to speak:— 
 
 "Ah ! the leaves are falling, 
 
 Blighted from the tree ; 
 And the birds are calling. 
 
 Very mournfully ! 
 
 Very, very mournfully. 
 Do they shriek and cry. 
 
 As they break the dreary 
 Wailing through the sky—' 
 
 Dreary, dreary, very drealy. 
 Wailing through the sky I 
 
 " Hark I the bugle wailing 
 From the mountain-towers ; 
 Hosts of winter trailing 
 
 Through our summer-bowers—. 
 
280 EUTAW. 
 
 Trailing very solemnly, 
 As at burial-rite, 
 
 Of a great one, solemnly. 
 In the dead of night — 
 
 Wailing, wailing — oh, the wailing I — 
 Wailing through the night ! 
 
 " Oh ! it was a bridal 
 
 Beautiful to see ; 
 And a birth that joyed all. 
 
 Bright exceedingly : 
 
 Bright, oh, bright exceedingly 
 -Was that birth of flowers, 
 
 When the Summer lovelily 
 Pranked her bridal bowers — 
 
 Joyously, so joyously, 
 Singing through the hours ! 
 
 " Ah ! the flowers are dying, 
 
 Falling from the tree ; 
 And, for song, the sighing 
 
 Answers mournfully. 
 
 Very, very mournfully 
 Do the zephyrs fly 
 
 From the tempest dreary 
 Wailing through the sky — 
 
 Dreary, wailing dreary — 
 Wailing through the sky ! 
 
 ' They have laid her lonely 
 
 'Neath the naked tree ; 
 She we loved so fondly — 
 
 Very nakedly — 
 
 Very, very nakedly. 
 They have laid her down, 
 
 Where the winds wail drearily. 
 Making midnight moan — 
 
 Lonely, dreary, wild, and weary, 
 Making midnight moan I" 
 
 " Why, Nelly dear, what a doleful ditty ip this ! And how 
 unnatural ! how unseasonable ! With trees and flowers every- 
 where in bloom — with the birds singing summer in the trees — 
 bees, with perpetual hum of happiness, flitting through the 
 woods incessant — and the blue sky above, and a bright sun 
 shining from the heavens — you are chanting of storm and 
 winter !" 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD BECOMES MYSTICAL. 231 
 
 A sweet, pensive smile lightened up the face of the girl 
 softly, as the moon puts aside the cloud ■with a smile, and she 
 answered : — 
 
 "Ah, Miss Sinclair, I tAink winter, and do not feel the sum- 
 mer !" 
 
 " Nay, I will have it otherwise, Nelly. You shall both feel 
 and think summer when with me. I will be a cheerier voice 
 to you than that you have been wont to hear ; I will show you 
 brighter pictures than those which sadden you to see. Thus, 
 my wild girl of the forests, with this kiss I break the spell of 
 the wizard. There, you are now mine, and you shall see none 
 but summer signs in the sky while mj spells are on you." 
 
 And she kissed the wild girl tenderly on her forehead, while 
 she passed her hand under the heavy masses of her shortened 
 hair. , 
 
 Nelly rose, and with sudden impulse embraced her ; then re- 
 coiled, and looked at her fondly but steadily, saying — 
 
 " Ah, Miss Sinclair, it is the summer that blossoms in your 
 heart !" 
 
 " It shall bloom in yours yet, Nelly." 
 
 And she pulled the girl down again to her seat, and took a 
 place beside her. 
 
 " Why did you change your dress, Nelly V 
 
 " Oh, I went to see poor little Aggy, and he wouldn't hava 
 known me in any other dress than this." 
 
 " You went to the stables 1 How did you find them V 
 
 " Oh, I found them well enough. I went to see the poor feL 
 low yesterday, and he was so glad to see me ! And I told him 
 I should want him to-morrow, and he seemed so glad to hear !" 
 
 " But you don't think of leaving us to-morrow, Nelly ]" 
 
 " Yes, I must. I must go and see after poor Mat." 
 
 " But why not go with us to the city ?" 
 
 " Me ? no, no ! — never there again !" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Oh, I should think all the while of the snmmars T tpeut 
 there with Lady Neison and Bettie — " 
 
 "And Sherrod." 
 
 "Yes" — sadly enough — "and Sherrod." 
 
 " It will not be a painful sadness, Nelly. Go with us there." 
 
2;J2 EUTAW. 
 
 " No, dear Miss Sinclair. I am bidden to look up Mat, and 
 watcli bim, and save him if I "can." 
 
 " Well, stay with us till -we depart." 
 
 " And while I stay with you, hearing you speak such music 
 to my heart, poor Mat is in rags, and starving." 
 
 " Oh, no ! Why should you think so ? He is a man : he can 
 take care of himself." 
 
 "He is a boy — a poor boy. He is weak, weak — though 
 not crazy — no one calls him crazy — but he is so weak — so 
 easily tempted ! And, I tell you, my brother starves." 
 
 " But you, Nelly — what can you do for him V 
 
 " Tell him what God wills ; help him to know and see what 
 God wills ; and God provides, you know, even for the sparrows, 
 and Mat is worth many sparrows — though so weak — so weak 
 
 — so fond of his weakness ! No, I can not go with you, or stay 
 with you longer ; though my love will follow you. Miss Sinclair 
 
 — will follow you with eyes and wings, even to the distant city. 
 I shall see you in the crowd, and, if harm threatens you, I will 
 see it ; for, when my love goes to a person, then I see what is 
 to happen to them." 
 
 " Is it possible 1" 
 
 " Yes, I shall see ; and, if there's danger, then I will come to 
 you — come to you and tell you." 
 
 Enough of the conversation between the two damsels for the 
 present. We may add that it was resumed that night, and con- 
 tinued till a late hour. Very affectionate was their parting em- 
 brace for the' night ; and Carrie Sinclair did not sleep for a long 
 while, as she meditated the intensity of that fervor of the strange 
 girl, which was yet expressed with so much simplicity. To her 
 surprise and annoyance, when she rose in the morning, Nelly 
 Floyd was gone. 
 
 As Benny Bowlegs described her departure, " she was gone 
 like a harricane." 
 
 The ncgi-o had unconsciously likened her to the headlong 
 tempest fror. jvhicb she had received her nom dc niqtie. 
 
TORTUBO — APPLICATION OF "THE QaESTIO"." 
 
 JHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE TORTDRO — APPLICATION OF "THE QUESTION." 
 
 The military employment of luglehardt was of a nature to 
 suffer Lim to use it incidentally for his own purposes, and he 
 was by no means the patriot to reject such opportunities. The 
 necessities of the British garrisons at Orangeburg and Charles- 
 ton made them greatly dependent upon the loyalist light- 
 troops. They constituted, in fact, the best if not the only cav- 
 alry of the army ; and, though generally mounted gunmen, 
 rather than dragoons, they served to cover the flanks, to press 
 pursuit, to go on sudden and secret expeditions, and to do the 
 general work of foraging. A service like this left them a large 
 discretion, and it was accordingly that which the loyalist ran- 
 gers most prefeiTed. Hence the perpetual outrages committed 
 by small, irresponsible detachments ; hence the frequent encoun- 
 ters of small bodies ; and hence the cruel civil war that raged 
 ever'ywhere, and was so fearfully illustrated by the most atro- 
 cious crimes. And the British generals, though they knew of 
 these atrocities, dared not rebuke them or restrain them." The 
 criminals were too generally useful, too necessary, not to enjoy 
 some peculiar immunities, which laughed at all wholesome mili- 
 tary as well as moral restraints. 
 
 Ingleha;dt was cot the person to forego any of his privileges 
 or opTiortunivicS. He. took his own course at will, whenever he 
 was fair'.y without ths garrisoned place. He rode in and out 
 at pleasure ; his absences were more or less prolonged ; and his 
 own reports were never too critically scrutinized. But for the 
 danger of such sharp encounters with such well-mounted cav- 
 alry as Sinclair^ commanded, the service would have been a 
 
EOTAW. 
 
 grateful one in every respect, even if it brought no promotion. 
 It brought its profits. It had done so to Inglehardt, as to a 
 hundred others, in very considerable degree. But the field was 
 daily growing more and more circumscribed, as well as danger- 
 ous. The profits were decreasing ; the chances lessened, and 
 the mischances were proportionally increased. The hot pas- 
 sage-at-arms with Sinclair and St. Julien had cut off a score of 
 our loyalist's most vigorous emissaries, and it seemed to Ingle- 
 hardt that Sinclair found or sought no other employment than 
 to watch for him. There seemed a fate in it ! In fact, we are 
 not unprepared to believe that Sinclair had come to the conclu- 
 sion that the best mode of extricating Travis and his son was 
 to conquer, capture, or destroy, Inglehardt. 
 
 This was the conviction of the latter ; and, loathing Sinclair, 
 and regarding him as the true obstacle to his success with Ber- 
 tha Travis, Inglehardt longed for the opportunity to take deadly 
 vengeance on his head. But he was in no condition to face the 
 body of men whom his rival led ; and he gave all his efforts 
 now so to recruit his own force as to put himself in condition 
 for tiie desperate struggle. He could have obtained any num- 
 ber of recruits from the ranks of the army, but they were with- 
 out horses. He was reduced, therefore, to the one means — 
 that of picking up, where he could find them, the rangers of the 
 country, most of whom contrived to secrete their horses when 
 not absolutely using them, and only risked them, in the sight 
 of superior strength, when they were incorporated in the ranks 
 which they might otherwise have been taught to fear. The 
 employment which he especially assigned to Dick of Tophet, 
 and to Sam Brydone, alias " Skin-the-Sarpent," was that of 
 recruiting from among these people. Inglehardt himself had 
 succeeded in incorporating with his own corps the remains of 
 the Florida refugees of Lem Watkins — that fierce rufiBan hav- 
 ing perished in an encounter with the troop of Captiiin Coulter 
 of Edisto. Thirteen horses and Tncn were picked up from this 
 source ; and Andrews and Brydone were busy along the swamp- 
 margins of the Cooper and the Santee, in making further addi- 
 tions to his command. We have seen Sinclair dispersing one 
 of these cohorts, which Dick of Tophet had just got togethei, 
 and which he was exercising for the first time. The affaii 
 
TORTURO -- APPLICATION OP "THE QUESTION." 'Id, 
 
 added not a little to the capital of rage and hate which lugle 
 hardt and his lieutenant had been long accumulating, to expend 
 upon the enemy's head whenever the chance should offer. 
 
 These employments of Inglehardt, during the scenes we have 
 been describing of late, suffered him only a single opportunity 
 of getting down to "Muddicoat Castle" — as the region where 
 the Travis's were confined had been appropriately styled by 
 Dick of Tophet. He arrived late in the evening. Brunsou 
 and Blodgit were on duty. Dick of Tophet was on the wing. 
 Inglehardt did not bring his troop with him into the swamp- 
 fa.stn esses. Of its secrets they were allowed to know noth- 
 ing. He made them bivouac in a thick wood, two miles above, 
 leaving the command in the hands of his lieutenant — a cool, 
 shrewd, circumspect loyalist, named Lundiford. 
 
 It was (][uite da^'k when Inglehardt entered the log-cabin 
 where Captain Travis was still kept, and in irons. The latter, 
 as if too depressed by care — or as if he knew already, by sure 
 instincts, who was his visiter, never asked a word — never raised 
 his head from the pillow of pine-brush upon which it lay. 
 There was no light in the apartment, and Inglehardt called to 
 some one without, to bring a torch. This was laid in the fire- 
 place, a few brands added to it, by Inglehardt himself, and the 
 blaze soon lighted up the blank and dreary chamber, so, at least, 
 as to exhibit all its cheerlessness. Blodgit, who had brought the 
 torch, now lingered — when Inglehardt, suddenly and sternly, 
 bade him depart. 
 
 " To your own house, my good fellow," said our loyalist cap- 
 tain to skulking Peter — who was even then meditating a plan 
 of espionage — "to your own house; and, remember, if found 
 here, when not called, or needed, you may forfeit your ears." 
 
 Pete lin^ped away — he always grew very lame when threat- 
 ened. The mild, slow accents of Inglehardt, uttering such 
 words, were as full of terror, as if poured forth in the thunder- 
 ing accents of Dick of Tophet ; and the effort was such, that, for 
 the present at least, his purpose of espionage was forgotten. 
 When he had gone, Inglehardt closed and secured the door, 
 wheeled a bench beside the fire, and having quietly seated him- 
 self, suffered his eye to steal round the apartment until it rested 
 upon the sleeping place of Captain Travis. 
 
:-' '■ EUTAW. 
 
 But Travis did not sleep. His eye, bright as that of a woU, 
 'ooking up from the deep dark hollows of his den — as wUd and 
 savage — encountered fearlessly that of the loyalist. 
 
 " Well, Captain Travis, I am glad to see you. I hope my 
 felli wB make you quite comfortable here." 
 
 No answer to this dulcet expression, which was made in very 
 swset measures, and with amiable emphasis. 
 
 ■'I see they do. Your eye looks bright and cheerful. I 
 trust you enjoy yourself. Solitude is the great field for con- 
 templation. You lived too much in the busy world when you 
 were abroad. It made you prematurely old. It was a life of 
 care, and such a life gnaws into the heart, and saps all the 
 vigor of the soul. Here, in seclusion, free from the anxieties of 
 strife, one might grow young again. The peace, the peace of 
 the solitude, how sweet are its securities. Verily, your thoughts 
 must have been very grateful in the unwonted quiet of your 
 present abodes." 
 
 Inglehardt paused and pulled out his snuff-box, a new one by 
 the way, which he had recently bought, or found, or procured 
 by the usual agency of military appropriation. He fed his nose 
 with gingerly delicacy, as if he specially considered the pecu- 
 liar' claims of the member. After a pause, Travis showing no 
 disposition to reply to the remarks made by his captor, the lat- 
 ter resumed : — 
 
 " You do not speak, my dear captain. I trust you have no 
 childish humors growing upon you in the solitude. Beware of 
 such. The solitary must choose such subjects of contemplation 
 only, as will sweeten his humors, subdue his querulous moods, 
 and vexing fancies, and bring him finally into such peace with 
 all the world, that his reason may have free play, conducting 
 Lim gradually to all the fruits of wisdom. Nor, because you 
 have temporarily withdrawn from the vexing anxieties of the 
 world ought you to show yourself wholly indifferent to its 
 progress. Such indifference would be quite inhuman, not to 
 say unchristian. The great point to obtain, is that condition of 
 freedom from a world, in which we still entertain an interest — 
 in the struggles of which we still sympathize — and after the 
 health and progress of which, it is still pleasant to make an oc- 
 casional inquiry. Now, it strikes me, that you should like to 
 
TOBTURO — APPLICATICN OP "THE QUESTION." 237 
 
 liear s&mething, however small in import, of that busy life from 
 ■which you have withdrawn in disgust. You must not, my dear 
 "aptain, because you have nothing now to gain or lose in society, 
 Se wholly regardless of the gains or losses of society. The 
 yorld is in progress, I assure you, though you leave it and think 
 ittle of it. There are men and women everywhere still striving 
 in their pretty, petty plans, of self and their neighbors ; and, 
 by the way, the war is still pending between his majesty's 
 forces, and those of rebellion — not exactly as when you with- 
 Irew into retirement — but with some fervor still. How long 
 t will continue, it may not be difficult to predict from what we 
 fenow. Perhaps you would like to hear something of its prog- 
 ress since you left the field." 
 
 Here the amiable captain of loyalists paused, to give his 
 (risoner the opportunity to reply. But Travis never answered, 
 !ut Still kept a bright, stern eye fixed on the face of the 
 speaker, intense, with almost serpent-like intensity. 
 
 " You are curious, I know, though you do not like to con- 
 fess it," resumed his tormentor, '■ and I am indulgent to your 
 curiosity, though you may little deserve it. Know then, my 
 lear captain, that the army of our rebel-friend, Greene, has 
 •just been completely annihilated at Murray's ferry. Greene 
 »as had to take refuge in the Santee swamps with Marion, while 
 ive are rid of Sumter for ever. He was mortally wounded, and 
 by this time, I suppose, is laid up in lavender for ever. The 
 rumor has just reached us also that Lafayette has surren- 
 dered with all his army to Cornwallis, and that Washington is 
 hiinying with all his remaining regiments, to make himself safe 
 at West Point, giving up Philadelphia without a struggle to our 
 friends. This intelligence, to a good loyalist like yourself, must 
 bp particularly grateful." 
 
 The eyes of Travis watched those of Inglehardt more fixedly 
 than ever. He did not seem moved by the intelligence In 
 fact, he knew Ingleb-irdt too well, not to feel very sui-e that 
 the whole narrative was an invention, designed for his own self 
 ish purposes. 
 
 "What ! do you pretend, my dear captain, that your philos- 
 ophy makes you superior to these tidings ? Arc you really so 
 )ndi£Perent to the world's wholesome doings ? Or, are you really 
 
238 EUTAW. 
 
 less comfortable than you should be in this sylvan retreat ? An- 
 swer me, my dear captain, and tell me how they serve, how 
 they provide — how, in brief, they feed you." 
 
 Travis answered, at length : — 
 
 "You see ! I live!" 
 
 " And I'm glad to see it ! I couldn't spare you just yet, and 
 trust that I am properly solicitous to have you kept comfortably, 
 as well as closely. But now that yon have found your tongue, 
 be pleased to indicate the subject upon which you would con- 
 verse." 
 
 " My son ! I would see my son ! I would speak with him 
 — hear his voice — see if still he lives !" 
 
 " Ah ! well ! I suppose there can be no good reason why 
 you should not see him, and if the worthy sergeant who claims 
 to be his keeper, has no objection — " 
 
 It rather surprised Inglehardt, cool as he was, to find himself 
 interrupted by a wild hiss of scorn from the straw where Travis 
 lay. 
 
 " Nay, my dear Captain Travis," said Inglehardt, " you must 
 not be rash and hasty. It is too much your wont to be alto- 
 gether consistent with the mood of a solitary. What I tell you 
 is the truth. Your son is the special captive of Joel Andrews, 
 otherwise Hell-fire Dick; and Joel has his own notions of what 
 should be the privileges of his captive, as I of mine. He is, I 
 frankly tell you, resolved to keep your son strictly private, un- 
 less you are willing to exchange him for your daughter. The 
 truth is. Hell-fire Dick has a most singular afiection for his cap- 
 tain, and knowing how much my happiness depends upon Ber- 
 tha Travis, he has come to the resolution that nothii^ but en 
 exchange of this sort will serve his purpose. And he has a no- 
 tion, that the less you see of your son, the b^^ttcr likely to at- 
 tain his object. There, you have the whole amount of his pol- 
 icy. Does it not strike j'ou as rational ?" 
 
 " My son ! shall I see and speak with my son ?" was all the 
 answer of the captive. 
 
 " Well, I am amiable of mood to-night, my dear captain, and 
 I will step out for awhile, and make the necessary inquiries." 
 
 And with leisurely step, Inglehardt went forth, closing and 
 fastening the door behind him. 
 
TOBTURO — APPLICATION OP "THE QUESTION." 239 
 
 " God !" cried Travis when he had gone, " Oh ! for five 
 oiinute's grapple with that monster !" 
 
 Monster in human shape he was. But is there any cause of 
 marvel in this? It is not possible to conceive how great a mon- 
 Eter a man may become, who is utterly swallowed up in self, 
 Cf course, we know, as T'-avis knew, that Joel Andrews was 
 but the creature of his employer ; and that, whatever treatment 
 Henry Travis received, was due wholly to the commands of 
 Inglehardt. No wonder that the scorn of Travis found its only 
 expression in a serpent hiss. 
 
 Dick of Tophet was absent ; but Inglehardt simply content- 
 ed himself with asking after him. He then gave his orders to 
 one of his constables, and himself returned to the dungeon of 
 Travis. 
 
 " Joel is not unwilling that you should see your son. Captain 
 Travis, and has ordered that he be brought to you. It appears 
 to me, Travis, that you could not do more wisely than properly 
 to entertain the affectionate idea of Joel. Exchange your son 
 for your daughter, and Joel will consent that I shall become 
 her sole custodian. Joel has perfect confidence in me, I assure 
 you, as a good keeper of a fair prisoner.'' 
 
 He had hardly finished speaking, when Brunson appeared, 
 conducting Henry Travis. When he perceived him at the en- 
 trance, Inglehardt threw more brands upon the fire, which ena- 
 bled the father to behold the son distinctly. With a sort of 
 famishing howl, Travis rose up in his manacles and straw, and, 
 with difficulty, struggled to his feet. The boy was brought up 
 to him, and grasped him sobbing about the neck. Then, after 
 a moment, the l?ither pushed him away and surveyed him where 
 he stood. 
 
 What a change did the appearance of the boy exhibit, from 
 that which he was but a few weeks before. Where was the 
 elastic bound of footstep, the cheery, birdlike music of his voice, 
 the eager aspiration in his eye, the laughing, gay humor of his 
 heart ? all gone ! In place of these, he was wan, thin, feeble j 
 his eye seemed to lack lustre, was at once dull and humid, his 
 voice was feeble, the tones spiritless, the whole aspect lan- 
 ^uishmg. 
 
 " Oh ! Henry, my son. What liave they done to you]" 
 
240 EUTAW. 
 
 " Done to me, father ? Nothing. But I am so hungry, anc- 
 I never see the light." 
 
 " God of Heaven ! Darkness and starvation." 
 
 The boy let himself down languidly upon the straw of the 
 dungeon. The father cried : — 
 
 " Captain Inglehardt, is it really your purpose to murder tha* 
 boy by starvation V 
 
 " Starvation ! eh ! no ! How can you conceive such an idea 1" 
 
 " Look at him ! The boy is famished." 
 
 " Well, he does not look so buoyant quite as when he flour- 
 ished in the charge of Sinclair's dragoons ; but a little dieting 
 will, perhaps, be of service in subduing him to a little necessary 
 humility. The loss of one's liberty is apt to press sorely at firs'; 
 upon high young blood ; but it is very beneficial in the end." 
 
 " But why starvation ?" 
 
 " Pshaw, there is no starvation ! Don't you feed the boy, 
 Brunson 1" 
 
 " Gives him his 'lowance reg'lar, cappin ; what Hell-fire 
 Dick says." 
 
 " Ah ! you have your orders from Andrews 1" 
 
 " Tes, cappin, jest as he says. The boy gits his reg'lar 'low- 
 ance. He's only got the pip, as I may say." 
 
 " The pip !" cried Travis, " my chick ! my child ! my poor, 
 poor boy ! But I see your purpose. Captain Inglehardt. Tou 
 would torture me into compliance with your demands, by the 
 torture of that young innocent." 
 
 " Oh ! you mustn't call it torture, my dear captain. A denial 
 of his old luxuries — you were spoiling the boy, Travis — ma- 
 king him tender ; and the coarse food of camp, at a time of 
 short commons, may imply a hard training, but not a cruel one. 
 As for any torture, the notion is idle ; and the charge of starva- 
 tion positively slanderous. But, do you not see, my dear cap- 
 tain, that it is in your power, alone, to loose his bonds and your 
 own ? Why will you persist in this cruelty to him and to your- 
 self? Here, I have brought you a paper; it is addressed to 
 your daughter ; re-write it, sign it ; I will send it. I have an 
 opportunity at this very moment, in the Santee country — write ; 
 and the event proving as I wish, your discharge follows instantly, 
 and — his." 
 
TORTURO — APPLICATION OP ."THE QUESTION." 241 
 
 " Ah ! you have the power to treat for Ms discharge also, 
 though not your prisoner !" cried Travis, with a bitter sneer. 
 
 " Precisely, my dear captain. There is nothing in this in- 
 consistent with what I have already said. My excellent lieu- 
 tenant gives me to understand that, one condition complied with 
 by you, I am then permitted to release the boy. My own 
 heart will prompt my release of you in the same moment." 
 
 " Your heart ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What a mockery. But read 
 the paper — read the paper. Let us hear these fine conditions." 
 
 " You have already heard them, captain." 
 
 " Oh ! I presume so ; still, I would hear you repeat the dam- 
 nable requisitions ; I would like to see how you frame the base, 
 cruel, and horrible terms in language; how you disguise their 
 enormities for the ears of the sister, by which you hope yet to 
 compel her self-sacrifice, for the safety of her brother's life. 
 Head, man of heart — read !" 
 
 " You are positively satirical, Captain Travis ; but I am for- 
 tunately clad in meekness as in a garment, and your sarcasm 
 shall not vex my humility. It is permitted to the losing game- 
 ster to be angry. Brunson, lift one of these brands from the 
 fire, that I may read this paper." 
 
 It is evident, by the way, that Inglehardt knows no more of 
 the whereabout of Bertha Travis than her father. Both believe 
 that she and her mother are across the Santee. 
 
 Meanwhile, Travis, with his handcuffed hands, was feebly 
 clasping his son's cheeks, and kissing his face, every now and 
 then sobbing huskily : — 
 
 " My boy — my poor, poor boy !" 
 
 " Do they give you bread, father ?" asked the boy. 
 
 " Yes, such as it is, my boy ; more, I believe, than they give 
 you — Inglehardt! — let them give me but half of the food 
 which they allow me, and give the rest to my son.'' 
 
 " You foi'get, my dear captain, that I can not interfere with the 
 captive of Joel Andrews. In feeding yofit, I take due care of 
 my own captive." 
 
 " Oh !" — Travis was about to utter a bitter curse, but he 
 checked himself. He felt how completely he was in the power 
 of the tyrant, and he feared to irritate self-esteem into rage. 
 " Oh ! — but read your precious paper — read !" 
 
 11 
 
2i2 KUTAW. 
 
 " Father," said the boy, in under tones, but still audibly to 
 Travis, '• have you any bread left ? I am so hungry." 
 
 " There is ! there is !" cried Travis, about to rise ; but he 
 stopped in the effort, and pointed his son to the comer of the 
 room — " There," said he, " there, Henry, my boy, you will find 
 some fragments. Go : get them ; eat, eat, my poor famishing 
 boy!" 
 
 The fragments were in a wooden tray, and stood upon a low 
 table in one comer of the room. The boy's eye turned in the 
 direction to which he was pointed, and, with eager appetite, he 
 started up to seize upon the spoil, when, at a motion from Ingle- 
 hardt, Branson strode between, seized upon the tray, and lifted 
 it above his head as the boy grasped at it. Henry grappled 
 him with a return of the fiercer mood of youth, which starvation 
 had not yet subdued. But a rough push of Branson threw him 
 down upon the straw, where he crouched, sobbing bitterly in his 
 disappointment and mortification. 
 
 " Monster !" cried Travis, " will you not even suffer the boy 
 to eat what his father has left 1" 
 
 " 'Tain't 'lowable," answered Brunson, with a laugh, " we're 
 a dieting the young gentleman for the business of the wars, and 
 the good of his health." 
 
 " Inglehardt, there shall be a day of hon-id settlement between 
 us for this ! I ask but a day — an hour !" 
 
 " Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. The proverb 
 comes pat. Shall I read you this letter now. Captain Travis 1" 
 
 " Eead or not ! What matters it to me ?" 
 
 "But your son !" 
 
 " Ah !" with a sort of shriek, " my son ! my son ! Read, sir 
 — let me hear! And oh ! if it be possible to save this child, 
 by any concession less than the more cruel sacrifice of another, 
 I am prepared to make it." 
 
 "Why will you call it a sacrifice, Captain Travis? Do I 
 offer less than marriage to your daughter ?" 
 
 " God of heaven ! As if there could be a worse sacrifice for 
 the dear child-heart, that is destined to rest for hope, and life, 
 and succor, upon such a bosom as yours! But read — read 
 Let us hear the worst." 
 
 And Inglehardt read the letter, as follows : — 
 
TORTURO — APPLICATION OP "THE QUESTION." 243 
 
 •' My child, my dear Bertha : To you alone can I look for 
 the rescue of your brother and myself. We are in the power of 
 an enemy, who requires your hand in marriage for the safety of 
 my own and my son's life. We have forfeited the security of 
 British law. My own offences are such that, delivered to the 
 commandant of Charleston, as I am threatened, my death — an 
 ignominious death — must follow. Your brother is a captive 
 also, charged with murdering the king's soldiers without a war- 
 rant. He is suffering in health by hi.s unavoidable confinement. 
 He can not long live in the condition in which he is kept ; and 
 his release and mine are made to depend entirely on yon. Let 
 me implore you, my child, to come to our succor, and to save us. 
 Become the wife of Captain Inglehardt, and suffer us once more 
 to see the light of heaven, and enjoy the freedom of earth. 
 Come, my beloved child, to our rescue; and, in making the 
 sacrifice of your choice, to my own, receive the blessings of 
 your fond, but fettered father. [P. S.] You will readily con- 
 ceive our exigency, when I tell you that my wrists and feet are 
 even now in manacles of iron, and have been so from~the first 
 day of my captivity. For a time, indeed, your brother Henry 
 was held in similar fetters." 
 
 "Truly, a most encouraging statement— one admirably cal- 
 culated to secure the affections of a daughter for him, to whom 
 the father and brother owe such becoming ornaments as these !" 
 
 Such was the comment of Travis. But the boy, unexpectedly 
 to all, had his comment also. He had raised himself up when 
 the reading of the letter was commenced, and his eye bright- 
 ened with attention, while his countenance darkened with indig- 
 nation. Scarcely had his father spoken the single sentence we 
 have reported, when the son, in subdned, but deep and emphatic 
 tones, said to him :^ 
 
 " Oh ! sir, you will write no such letter !" 
 
 " No ! sooner than pen such an epistle to child of mine, wel- 
 come the gallows." 
 
 " And hear you, sir," said the boy, rising from the floor — no 
 longer sobbing — no longer weak — and addressing Inglehardt, 
 " hear you, sir, even were my father to write such a letter — 
 even were my sister to consent to such a sacrifice — it should 
 
244 EUTAW. 
 
 never profit you ! I stould never sleep — never suffer you to 
 sleep — in the possession of Bertha Travis. Day and night 
 should I follow your steps, seeking my opportunity ; and when 
 it came, I should shoot or stab you without remorse, even were 
 you to seek for safety in her protecting arms. Know me. Cap- 
 tain Inglehardt, boy as I am — feeble as I am — fettered where 
 I am — know me for your enemy; and if God will permit, for 
 your fate — sworn for your destruction should you ever succeed 
 in your designs against my sister !" 
 
 The father dragged the boy down to him on the straw, and 
 kissed him passionately, while his sobs sounded loudly in the 
 apartment. 
 
 " Verily," was the cool remark of Inglehardt, who could sup- 
 press any show of feeling, even when it was most poignantly 
 bitter, " Verily, the diet of our lieutenant, Dick of Tophet, is 
 not so debilitating after all ! Pip or not, our chicken still has 
 the strength to crow ! But how long will it last, Brunson, eh !" 
 
 " Till the next hungry fit, I reckon, cappin." 
 
 "Take him hence — these passionate greetings help the 
 heallb neither of father nor son. Take him away. I would 
 counsel Andrews to give the lad a little less salt to his gruel. 
 It hurts the juices." 
 
 The boy clung to his father's neck as he heard these words; 
 but Brunson was as brutal, in a more sober way, as Joel An- 
 drews ; and it was with violent and unscrupulous force, that he 
 tore the parent and the child apart, bearing the latter away to 
 his own dreary fastness. 
 
 " Well, Captain Travis," said Inglehardt, rising, " I trust that 
 a more prolonged meditation iu the solitude — free from the 
 harassing cares and strifes of the world — will bring you to a 
 ■wiser determination. I shall preserve this letter — isn't it a 
 model ] — in the faith that you wiU yet implore me to make use 
 of it." 
 
 " Never ! never !" 
 
 " We shall see," said the other, as he prepared to depart. 
 
 " Inglehardt !" cried Travis, as he went out, " Inglehardt — if 
 you are born of woman — if you ever bad a mother — if you 
 believe in a God — in a futui-e — in a hell! — let them not, for 
 your soul's peace — suffer them not to starve that noble boy I 
 
TOBTURO — APPLICATION OP "THE QUESTION." 245 
 
 Beware of what you do ! Beware of the vengeance which such 
 cruelty shall bring down upon your head in horrors such as hell 
 can not surpass." 
 
 " Good-night, Captain Travis, good-night. Light suppers se- 
 cure pleasant dreams. May yours be such as will improve your 
 pliilosophy," and vouchsafing no other answer, Inglehardt dis- 
 appeared, locking the door after him. 
 
 " God ! be with me and the boy, in mercy ! Keep him 
 under thine own eye — save him, Eternal Father of all mercies, 
 save him — save and protect my poor children, whatever fate 
 you assign to me !" 
 
 The prayer of the father was poured forth in broken sobbing 
 accents, with his face buried in the straw of his dungeon. 
 
 The next morning, with the dawn, Inglehardt was off on a 
 foraying expedition. 
 
246 EDTAW 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF " BOOK-L'ARNING." 
 
 Dick of Tophet retiirned to Muddicoat Castle the night of 
 the day when Inglehardt departed. He received the report of 
 Branson in silence ; listened, but without answer or comment, to 
 a message which his captain had left for him ; and then passed 
 into the den where he kept with the others, and ordered a bowl 
 of coffee by way of appetizer for the evening. Dick of Tophet 
 was singularly grave for his companions — not so morose as 
 nsnal — but close, more reserved, and more serious. But he had 
 lost his taste for neither cards nor Jamaica ; and, in these re- 
 sources, Muddicoat Castle was well supplied. They soon — 
 Dick, Brunson, Halliday, and Nelson — began to game, and 
 Dick was lucky, as usual ; but, as Brunson phrasbd it, he was 
 still in the dumps. 
 
 " What's hit you on an end, Dick 1" was the C[uery of " the 
 Trailer" — the only one of the party who could have ventured 
 on such a liberty with this savage customer. 
 
 " H — ^1, I reckon !" was the reply of the swamp-diabolus. 
 " It wants me to stir up the brimstone that's a-boiling for the 
 good of all of yon." 
 
 " Well, don't make it too hot for summer-time," said " the 
 Trailer" coolly. " Ef it's a hard winter, a blazo of brimstone 
 mout be as comforting as one of lightwood ; Int, for the summer- 
 time, it's a wasteful extravagance. — Is that your l»iad?" 
 
 "Yes; we'll take what you kin give us!" — and the game 
 proceeded, and the stakes were lifted, and, as was usually the 
 case, fortune seemed to favor Dick of Tophet. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OP " BOOK-L'ARNING." 247 
 
 " Well, the d — 1 sarves you faithfully, Dick, even ef he does 
 call upon you, nowand-then, to stir up his fires. Tou rake up 
 our shillings jest as ef you had a born, nateral right to 'em." 
 
 " Well, I spends 'em as fast as I gits 'em, and you always 
 has a share. I'm a wasteful pusson. Tou all owes me more, I 
 reckon, than you ever kin pay me. I hope you keep it in recol- 
 lection." 
 
 " Wait tell I gits my pay," said Brnnson ; and the rest echoed 
 him, while acknowledging their indebtedness. 
 
 " Oh, never mind the pay ! So long as I has, I don't want. 
 But business is gitting mighty dull, fellows. Pickings is hard 
 to come at now. We've gutted the country pretty much." 
 
 " Did you pick up any fellows V 
 
 " A few pokes — not much ; but they hev horses. I reckon 
 I'll get a few more to-morrow. Griffith has his eye on three 
 skunks that hev got to be mighty ragged in the swamps. But, 
 onless thyar's a leetle bait of gould on the hook, the fish don't 
 bite free these times. And whar's the gould to come &om, or the 
 silver either, jest now ? I'm jubous things ain't gnine right with 
 the red-coats. Our cappin's mighty close with his money. It's 
 all work and no pay, jest now ; and a man makes a breeze at 
 the resk of his neck every side." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad you're considerin' the matter, Digk," quoth 
 the Trailer, " for, you see, where we is now, it's onpossible to 
 make a raise any how, and wo kaint hope for much out of our 
 rig'lar pay. Thyar's no windfalls ; and besides, Dick, this 
 squatting here, jest only to watch them two captivated prison- 
 ers, is a mighty tiresome business." 
 
 " That's true ; but, you see, ef we kin bring this tough ole 
 Cappin Travis to our tarms, we gits well paid in the eend. 
 That's sartain. Jest so soon as he's consentin' to his darter's 
 marriage with Inglehardt, then our cappin will come down, 
 handsome, with the gould picters of King George and the old 
 dragon, out of the ole cappin's pockets." 
 
 The Trailer reported the scene of the pre\'ious night with 
 fidelity and some force. Dick listened to it with great gravity. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I'd rather we could fix it so as to make 
 the starvation fall on the father, rather than that young cock ; 
 for I like the fellow. He's gpt a big heart in his leetle buzzpm, 
 
248 EUTAW. 
 
 and it rather goes agin me to harness liim down so tight. But 
 we've got to squeeze somebody to git the gonld. We kaint do 
 without that. Even the buzzards must be fed, you know." 
 
 " But a man ought to git better feeding than a buzzard, Dick." 
 
 " En so I'm thinking all the time ; but how's it that one man 
 will git the feed of twenty, and another man won't git hia own 
 poor share of one, though he has all the trouble and the resk 1 
 It's owing to the harrystocracy that keeps all the book-l'arning 
 to themselves. That's the how. I wonder, when the fighting's 
 done, how we're to git along 1 Do you feel like turning plough- 
 man, Rafe ? You've been a blacksmith afore now, Ben Nelson ; 
 but I reckon you never loved the trade too much. And ymi've 
 been a sort of overseer, in your time, Halliday, but I reckon 
 you never was no great shakes at planting ! What's to become 
 of we all 1 That's the puzzle. As for me, I do believe I'm not 
 good for nothing but skrimmaging." 
 
 "And I don't see, old fellow," quoth Brunsou, "that skrim- 
 maging ever did much for you, more than scouting for me ! It 
 filled your pockets one day, may be ; but somebody else come 
 along the next, and skrimmaged you empty agin." 
 
 "Ah! it's owing to the want of book-1'aming. Them har- 
 rystocrats keep all the books to themselves ; but we'll see ! I 
 reckon books ain't hard to I'arn, efter all ; for, you sees, a poor 
 leetle brat of a boy, knee-high to a young turkey — why, he 
 kin I'am to read, and spell, and write ; and I don't see what's 
 to bender a grown man from book-rarniiig, when he knows so 
 much more than a boy. It ought to be more easy to him." 
 
 " Ay, that sounds like reason and sense, Dick ; but, mout be, 
 he knows too much to I'am from books. 'Tain't so easy to 
 break in an old woman or an old mule. You hev to begin with 
 'em before the muscle gits too tough, or they won't feel the 
 kairb, and they don't I'am the right paces." 
 
 " Well, I don't feel too stiff in the j'ints yit to try a tumble 
 in strange fields," said Dick of Tophet, " and I ain't sich a 
 bloody fool as to kick against I'arning, with the idee that I 
 knows everything a'ready. Some things I knows jest like a 
 book, and nobody kin teach me ; but thyar's a hundred other 
 things, I reckon, that I knows nothing about, no more than a 
 blind old 'millhorse. — Hand- up that Jimmaker, Halliday -'-I'm 
 
PllILOSOl'UY OF ■• BOOK-L'ARJflNG." 249 
 
 a-dryiug up for want of a driiik ! Ah, boys, ef we know'd as 
 much about book-l'arning as we knows about whiskey and Jim- 
 maker, I reckon we wouldn't be hyar tonight, playing second- 
 fiddle to any cappin of mounted men in the whole British 
 army." 
 
 " Or the rebels' either ! That's a most rcdikilous truth, 
 Dick." 
 
 " Yes ; but what's more redikilous than to thinjc of a great 
 grown man like me having to ax a brat of a boy, knee-high to 
 a bantam, to read a book to him, and tell him what's the sense 
 of it? That's what I call a most cruel, redikilous thing — a 
 deuced sight more redikilous than anything else 1 knows on ! 
 Yit, that's a sight to be seed everywhar, jest for the looking 
 out for it. Them harrystocrats makes it a p'int to edicate their 
 sons in book-l'arning, and their darters too ; and that's more 
 redikilous yit. That a woman-child, that I could squeeze up 
 to a mummy by jest one gripe in these five fingers hyar — that 
 she should be able to read out of books and written papers, and 
 I not good for nothing in that line ! Thyar's something quite 
 agin nater in these doings. — Ben Nelson, h'ist up that Jim- 
 maker." 
 
 And thus, drinking, gaming, and lamenting his educational 
 deficiencies, after his own fashion, Dick of Tophet brooded for 
 two mortal hours in a manner very new to his habit. Sud- 
 denly, at the conclusion of a game, he pushed away the cards, 
 swallowed another mouthful of rum, and rose from the table. 
 In doing so, a book fell out of his pocket. 
 
 " Pick it up, Ben !" said Dick. 
 
 "Why, it's a book, sargeant!" exclaimed Nelson. 
 
 " I wonder how you come to know^ that so quick?" 
 
 " Well, I sees it's a book, sargeant." 
 
 " Yes, I knows you sees it, and feels it, too ; but how you 
 come so quick to the knowing of what 'tis, that's the puzzle ! 
 I didn't think you hed got quite so much edication." 
 
 "But whar did you git it, Dick]" demanded "the Trailer," 
 showing some little curiosity. 
 
 " Whar ? well, from a woman, I reckon." 
 
 "And what air you guine to do with iti" 
 
 " Gut it ef I kin, and see what I'aniing I kin git out of it. 
 
250 EUTAW. 
 
 1 wants to Lear what's in it, and jest see what sort of stuff it is 
 that makes a havrystocrat better than a common man." 
 
 " And do you think sich a book as that's guine to help you?" 
 
 " Why not ? I reckon there's something of I'aming iu all 
 books, and they all ain't jest alike, for they calls them by dif- 
 ferent names. Now, the woman what gin me this book, she's a 
 good woman, and she says it's a good book. So I reckon it 
 must be full of precious fine I'arning. But look here, Rafe : 
 hyar's something mighty curious, to begin. Jest look at that 
 picter thar, of the poor feller guine up hill, with that great bun- 
 dle on his back, and no we'pon ; and do you see what an etarnal 
 ten-footer of a chap stands ready for him, with a most amazin' 
 big club — ^hickory, I reckon ! Now, what's the little fellow's 
 chaince, without no we'pon at all, with a great bundle on his 
 back, and agin that all-fired ten-footer up thar ?" 
 
 " Well, I reckon he's got no more chaince than a sucking 
 kaif [calf J agin a buffalo ! Why don't he cut a stick out of the 
 woods, and throw off the bundle ?" 
 
 " Ah ! that's what he'd like to do ; but he kaint. He's got 
 to mount hill, and fight the ten-footer jest as he is, and he 
 kaint fling off the bundle — not yit." 
 
 " Then he's a gone coon." 
 
 " No, by the hokies ! The old lady tell'd me, that he got off 
 safe, and got up the hill, a'ter awhile, tho' he had to carry that 
 bundle in all his battles." 
 
 " That was hard business." 
 
 " That bundle, Rafe Brunson, and hyar you too, Ben Nelson 
 — and hyar you too, Halliday ; that bundle was all of his sius, 
 packed hard like a tobacco-hogshead — clapt tight on his shoul- 
 ders, and sticking faist, like a pitch-plaister, to the naked skin ! 
 And I reckon the meaning is, that it's a man's sins that keeps 
 him from gitting up, and gitting on, in the world ; and leaves 
 him at the maicy of sich fellows as that ten-footer you sees upon 
 the hill. What I wants to know, now, is jest how the poor 
 lectle chap got shet of his great big bundle. Now, boys, what's 
 it keeps us down hill? Hev we got our big bundles on our 
 shoulders, and don't know it?" 
 
 The question was a poser. No one attempted to answer it. 
 The condition of Poor Pilgrim, however, occasioned no small 
 
PHILOSOPHY OP " BOOK-L'ARNING." 2i3l 
 
 speculation among our reprobates, who found it no ways easy 
 to give any but a literal and physical interpretation to the alle- 
 gorical and spiritual problem which the inquiries involved. 
 And, after a long and curious examination of the picture, and a 
 fruitless turning of the leaves, Dick of Tophet finally closed it, 
 stuck the volume into his pocket, and said : — 
 
 " Now, boys, a swig all round, and hyar's that we may git our 
 edication without flinging away our knapsacks !" 
 
 They drank heartily to the wish, but had scarcely finished, 
 before Halliday suddenly put in : — 
 
 " I say, sergeant, I sees how the little fellow got np the hill, 
 and upset the ten-footer." 
 
 "Eh! how?" 
 
 " Why, he never showed his pistols, tell he was close upon 
 the inemy ; then he down'd him suddently, with a bullet." 
 
 " Well, I reckon that icas the way ; for, you see, ef he warn't 
 quite sure that he hed the we'pon, at hand, to do the big fellow's 
 business, he'd never ha' gone up hill so bravely. He'd 'a' fought 
 shy, and fetch'd a compass round the hill, or snaked off among 
 the bushes out of sight. I reckon 'twas jest so. He had the 
 pistols in his buzzom. But no ! Mother Avinger tell'd me sol- 
 emn, he had never no we'pon at all." 
 
 " So you got the book from Mother Avinger, Dick V said 
 the Trailer, looking curiously into the other's eyes. Dick of 
 Tophet scowled at him in return. 
 
 " Yes : you worked it out of me." 
 
 " It slipt out, you mean. What I wonder is, Dick, that you 
 ever went thar, knowing what we knows ?" 
 
 "And I wonder myself, Eafe — I do. 'Twas jest as the 
 notion tuk me. So I went. I carried her a peck of salt." 
 
 " The d — ^1 you did ! Well, there's no eend to the wonders. 
 And she tuk it ?" 
 
 " Yes." The answer was rather churlishly given, and Dick 
 of Tophet turned away, saying — " Nough of that, Eafe. 
 Hyar's to you, boys, and a good sleep for all." 
 
 He finished his can of liquor as he spoke, and, with a slight- 
 ly uncertain gait, stepped out into the open air. He walked 
 about the hammock, to and fro, for the space of half an hour — 
 oi'cniing jandecided Bomswhat in bis purposes ; at length, as if 
 
252 EUTAW. 
 
 be had reached conclusion, or resolve, he strode into the cabin 
 of the Blodgits. 
 
 " Well, Pete, how's the captivated boy V 
 
 " Well, I reckon. He's thar." 
 
 " Open : I wants a leetle talk with him." 
 
 The next moment found him in the straw and darkness of 
 poor Harry Travis's dungeon. The boy seemed to start from 
 u doze, and murmured out, in broken tones : — 
 
 "I'll ride now, mother — the horse is at the door." 
 
 " He's a-dreaming of home, and his horse, and his mammy. 
 That's the good of sleep. It makes a fellow so rich in his own 
 conceit. It gits him out of captivation. He's on horseback, 
 and jest ready to ride where the devil pleases." 
 
 " Who's that 1" demanded Henry Travis, now thoroughly 
 awakened. 
 
 " Well, it might be the old blackamoor devil himself, for all 
 you kin see in this place. How's you gitting on, boy V 
 
 " Well," was the indifferent answer. 
 
 "Hello, out thar, Pete Blodgit; bring's a light. Put some 
 knots into this old chimney hyar, and let's see if we kin make 
 it blaze." 
 
 The first thought of Henry, when he distinguished the voice 
 of his brutal captor, was that he had come to murder him. He 
 had heard, and read, of such a fate for young captives, like him- 
 self, who had lived too long for their neighbors. The poor boy 
 thought of the bright sky, and the green earth, the woods in 
 which he hunted, the waters where he fished ; — and he said to 
 himself — "I shall see them no more;" and he thought of his 
 sister, and mother, father, and Willie Sinclair; and his heart 
 swelled within him, and his emotion became too great for 
 thought. And then he prayed silently — prayed for God's pro- 
 tection, failing that of man ; but, just then, the idea of Willie 
 Sinclair rushing in to help him, made him feel involuntarily 
 around him for a weapon, in the idea of doing something by 
 which to help himself. But be felt nothing but his straw ; and 
 a deep moan broke from him without restraint, as he laid him- 
 self down upon the straw in despair. 
 
 " Don't grunt, boy — don't grunt; a brave young cock-spar- 
 row, sich ao you shouldn't grunt because you're captivated 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF " BOOK-L'ARNING." 253 
 
 Wait a bit tell we kin git a ligbt, and then you'll brigliten up. 
 Hurrah, Pete." 
 
 The torch was brought, apd other brands added to it, in the 
 clay chimney, and soon the little den was conspicuously alight 
 in its farthest corners. 
 
 " Thar, my brave little fellow, what do you say to that ? The 
 sun's a-coming out, you think. But 'tain't near to-day yit ; and 
 I want some talk with yon. — Git out, Pete Blodgit, and go the 
 rounds ; and see that you keep a bright look out, tell I wants 
 you agin. And tell your 'spectable mammy to put her rheu- 
 matiz to sleep, tell I'm out of hearing of it ; you hear. Shet 
 the door, and skip, or limp, jest as yon pleases." 
 
 Somewhat surprised, Henry Travis was now sitting up in his 
 straw, and watching every movement of the ruffian. There was 
 neither bench nor table in the den. Dick of Tophet went out 
 and returned with a bench. 
 
 " Thar," said he, " sit thar, my young un ; let's have a leetle 
 talk together. I reckon yon don't much care about it yourself; 
 but I don't know either, seeing as how you hain't got much 
 ch'ice of comp'ny. It's better 'cording to my idee, to have the 
 devil himself to talk to sometimes, than nobody at all !" 
 
 By this time, poor Henry had pretty much arrived at the 
 same conclusion, and he was the more reconciled to look with 
 toleration upon his present visiter, from that paralyzing and 
 prostrating sense of utter loneliness, which is so oppressive to 
 the young. 
 
 " You've got I'arning, my boy, I reckon 1 You've got your 
 edication ^" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " What ! they hain't I'arned you to -read in books, hand- 
 write, and printing, yit 1 You kaint read books ? Why, what 
 the are you good for 1" 
 
 Henry was half inclined to answer 'nothing'; but a growing 
 sense of policy prompted him to think better of it, and he re- 
 plied — however coldly and abruptly — civilly and to the 
 point : — 
 
 " Yes, I can read and write ; but I haven't got my education 
 yet." 
 
254 EUTAW. 
 
 " Oh, you mean you hain't ^finished gitting it. There's more, 
 and better, whar the other comes from 1 That's it, eh 1" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " "Well, that's what I thought. I s'pose, a man, though he's 
 never so I'arned, kin still be Taming something every day he 
 gits older. I knows t/tat myself, in fighting, and scouting, and 
 sarcumventions. Why, thar's ' The Trailer' now, that knows 
 as much about scouting as the whole British army, yit he says 
 he I'arns some new sarcumventions every time he beats about 
 the bush. You, T 'spec', will be wanting some day to be a law- 
 yer ; and you must have the I'arning for that ; or a doctor ; or 
 something else that you may airn the guineas by. But you 
 knows enough for me now. See thar ! I've brought you a 
 book, and I wants you to read in it for me. See, thar's a pic- 
 tur — a man going up hill, with a great bundle on his back, and 
 no we'pon, to fight a ten-footer ! What do you make out of 
 that, I wonder? But, I s'pose the book'U tell in the print. 
 Thyar's some writing thar, on the white leaf; — what's that 
 writing first ? I'll see what you knows." 
 
 We need not say that the surprise of Henry Travis was duly 
 increased by this application ; and he was not at first persuaded 
 to comply with the wishes of his captor. He was about to fling 
 the proffered book from him, and to break out into bitter speech ; 
 but the same little suggestion of policy, which prompted him to 
 answer the ruffian civilly, now served to reconcile him to the 
 proposed exercise. Besides, to say the truth, poor Henry 
 longed for a book — no matter of what sort — even more than 
 he longed for a companion. A book, in his situation, was the 
 safest of companions, the most honest, the least likely to de- 
 ceive and defraud the hope — the companion from whom he 
 could have no reason to fear treachery. Yes, he gazed at the 
 book with eyes of hunger, even as he gazed at Dick of Tophet 
 with eyes of surprise. While he hesitated, the other resumed : 
 " Come, boy, don't be huffish. 'Tain't much to do, ef you kin 
 do it. You don't like me, I knows, and you hain't got any good 
 reason to like me; that I knows too — and I don't always like 
 myself; and, you see, I reckon, that I'm a leetle in liquor jest 
 now. Jimmaker's an artful drink. It sneeks mighty soon into 
 the brain. Never you mind, drunk or sober, I wants you to read 
 
PHILOSOPHY OP "BOOK-L'ARNING." 255 
 
 to me some of that book. I don't reckon I could stand it nil. 
 'Twould be too strong, like the Jimmaker ; but a leetle now, on 
 trial, I may say. Come, my lad, jest begin a bit, and let me 
 hear how it sounds. And, first of all, jest read that writing 
 thar." 
 
 The boy took the book and read the writing — written in a 
 boy's large hand — as follows : — 
 
 "Gustavus Avinger, his book; a gift from his mother, this May 13, 1771. 
 My birth-day. I am now 1 2 years old. 
 
 " ' Steal not this book, my worthy friend, 
 For fear the gallows be your end !' " 
 
 Dick of Tophet looked stricken — aghast — as he heard the 
 writing read. 
 
 " Is that the writin' 1" he asked. 
 
 " That's all." 
 
 " Well, I reckon you kin read. I reckon it's thar, jest as you 
 say. And 'twas his book the old woman gin me ! And she 
 never made a wry face ! And she never said a hard word to 
 me!" 
 
 This, though spoken aloud, was spoken unconsciously — to 
 himself. 
 
 And the forehead of the ruffian settled down between his 
 palms, while he sat upon the rushes ; and he seemed to medi- 
 tate, forgetful of the presence of the captive. Henry's eyes, 
 meanwhile, alternated between the face of his keeper, and the 
 pages of the book within his grasp. The book was new to the 
 boy; — the title struck him — the picture awakened his curi- 
 osity, as it had done that of Dick of Tophet. He, too, was 
 curious to see how the little fellow, struggling up hill, with such 
 a great pack on his back, was to escape the encounter with the 
 fierce, well-armed giant, who held the only pass over which he 
 could travel. 
 
 Dick of Tophet looked up, suddenly, while the boy was turn- 
 ing the pages. 
 
 " A woman," quoth he, " is a mighty strange animal. What 
 does you think, my boy ? But you knows nothing of women 
 yit. Do you reckon a woman curses out loud, or only in hei 
 heart V 
 
256 EUTAW. 
 
 " I don't suppose a woman curses at all. I never Leard 
 one curse." 
 
 " I don't know. 'TwouM be nater only, with some of them 
 to curse; that is, when they've got good cause. Is you the 
 only son of your mammy 1" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, ef I was to cut your throat now, or make a dig, with 
 this knife, atwixt your ribs, so as to let your witals out ; — do 
 you reckon you're mammy wouldn't curse me ?" 
 
 The boy shuddered at the horrible suggestion, but did not 
 answer. He could not. 
 
 "Well, I reckon you kaint say. You never thought ot that I 
 But, don't be skear'd ; I'm not a meaning to skear or hurt you ; 
 and we won't talk any more about sich bloody things. But, 
 jest you read a bit for me, and we'll see how we like the notion 
 of the article. It's a good book, the old woman said, and I 
 reckon it must be, seeing as how she gin it to her own son, for 
 his birthday. Jest read a bit now — begin at the beginning; 
 and we may onderstand how that poor little fellow with the 
 bundle took his first start up hill." 
 
 And the boy I'ead patiently for an hour by the flickering light 
 of the pine-torches in the fireplace, till his young head drooped 
 over the pages in which his young heart had already begun to 
 take an interest. But nature was temporarily exhausted. As 
 his voice faltered, Dick of Tophet looked up. 
 
 "You're sleepy, I reckon, boy; and so — " 
 
 " No," said the boy, raising himself up ; " but I'm so hun- 
 
 gi-y!-" 
 
 " Hungry, is it ? Humph ! well, that's an ailing that kin be 
 cured, I reckon. You've hed your 'lowance for the day; but 
 night-work must hev its own 'lowance. I'll git you a bite, boy 
 —I will!" 
 
 And be did so. A bit of hoeoake, and a slice of cold, fried 
 bacon — the latter an unwonted luxury in his dungeon — were 
 brought to sustain the boy in his up-hill labors with Poor Pil- 
 grim. He devoured the meat with famishing eagerness. 
 
 " Well, I reckon you've done enough for the book-l'aming 
 to-night," said Dick of Tophet. " I kaint say that I sees what 
 it's all a-coming to ; but I reckon we'll soon hear about that fight 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF " BOOK-L'ARNING." 257 
 
 ■with the ten-footer on the hill ! Ef I feels like it, I'll come 
 agin, and we'll hev another s'arch into the I'arning; and you 
 ehill hev another bait for the night-work. And so I leaves 
 you to sleep, and dream of your mammy, and what you pleases 
 besides." 
 
 " Won't you leave me the book 1" asked the boy. 
 
 " No ! I reckon I can't trust it ; for, 'twas a gift to me — and 
 it might hang another man to steal it, you know, as the writing 
 said. So I won't leave it, my young chicken — not this time !" 
 
 Strange ! but poor Henry slept better than usual for his sup- 
 per, and, so far as he knew, never dreamed at all. Strangei 
 still, his heart felt lighter and more hopeful, even from the 
 presence of the dreary, rough, brutal aspect of Dick of Tophet 
 in his dungeon. But humanity is a wondeiful dependant ; and, 
 when we think of it, none of its eccentricities may be considered 
 strange, when they are moved by its need for sympathy." 
 
3'' t EnTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HOW BUNYAN SAVES HELL-FIRE DICK. 
 
 With the dawn of the next day, Dick of Tophet rode off for 
 Griffiths', and did not return till night ; but, scarcely had he 
 supped, when, book in pocket, he proceeded to the dungeon of 
 Henry Travis, whom he easily persuaded to resume his read- 
 ings ; and the practice was continued, off and on, nightly, with 
 occasional intervals, for a week ; by which time, both parties 
 were pretty well informed as to the purpose and progress of 
 Poor Pilgrim. And both were interested, though in different 
 degree, and perhaps to different results. Of course, the reading 
 was by no means an uninterrupted one. Dick was :ril:i;al, 
 quite, upon the strategics of the story, as shown in the perform- 
 ances of the various warring characters ; and he frequently 
 interposed a doubt or an objection, usually of a military nature, 
 as Henry read. To give these doubts and objections, though 
 sometimes queer and amusing enough, would too greatly trench 
 upon our limits, and delay our own progress. We must leave 
 it to the reader who has read Bunyan, and who has conceived 
 our character of Dick of Tophet, to apprehend them for him- 
 self Nor shall we stop to ask in what degree this noble alle- 
 gory of Good and Evil wrought upcn the moral of our niffian. 
 Enough, if we suppose that thert, is an insensible progress. 
 Humanity rarely relaxes all hold up .1 the mortal, while the 
 warmer passions live and work in his bosom ; nay, so long as 
 obey do live, no matter what their excesses, the heart is still 
 susceptible of purification. It is only when they are dead, or 
 prurient, that the process of cure, through iTieir agency, is en- 
 'irely cut off. And thus, perhaps, in his dungeon, our poor hoy. 
 
HOW BUNYAN SAVES HELL-FIEE DICK. 259 
 
 Henry Travis, himself suffering — a mere boy — thoughtless of 
 his own uses — was an instrument in the hand of Providence 
 for working upon a nature which no more direct authority could 
 reach. For the self-esteem of such a ruffian as Dick of Tophet 
 forbids that he shall come auspiciously in contact with any of 
 the recognised apostles of truth. 
 
 Ostensibly, there was no change for the better in the moods 
 and practice of the ruffian. "We find him, one morning, at Grif- 
 fiths' — in a secluded cabin which the latter keeps in the woods, 
 a mile in the rear of his hostel — drunk and blasphemous ! He 
 has a little circle of half-a-dozen reprobates around him, with 
 whom he drinks, games, jests, swears, and whom, by these pro- 
 cesses, he evidently seems desirous to conciliate ! He has suc- 
 ceeded in making them nearly as drunk as himself; but they 
 look up to him, nevertheless, with a certain maudlin reverence. 
 Dick of Tophet is proverbially a fellow to be feared. 
 
 Among these conscripts, we discover no less a person than 
 Mat Floyd, brother of our Nelly, with two out of the three 
 comrades who escaped with him from the hot chase of Raw- 
 don's escort. These two are Clem Wilson and Jack Friday ; 
 Barney Gibbes, the third, on his flight, received a bullet some- 
 where about the midriff, of which he died in the swamp, having 
 succeeded in escaping the pursuit only to perish in the mixed 
 agonies of a deadly wound, exposure, neglect, and the absence 
 of all succor — scarcely heeded, in his prayers for help, by his 
 starving associates, whose own necessities and terrors made 
 them selfishly indifferent to his sufferings. They buried him 
 from sight, however, but did not forget to empty his pockets. 
 
 The survivors, creeping out under their necessities, have got 
 down to Griffiths'. He has warmed them with whiskey, and 
 strengthened them with meat. Dick of Tophet has interposed, 
 at the right moment, and the sight of the " king's picter" on " a 
 gould guinea" has been sufficient to persuade them to incorpo- 
 ration into the ranks of Inglehardt. It was while this treaty was 
 in progress, and when these runagates were preparing to hunt 
 the deer in the swamp — where, as fugitives, they had found 
 " sign" enough of game — that the little body of recruits so pain- 
 fully got together by our Dick of Tophet was dispersed by the 
 uncx))ected onslaught of Willie Sinclair. He swept forward 
 
260 EUTAW. 
 
 baving tlip survivors — whom it would have bepr. useless to 
 pcrsuc into the swamp-fastnesses where they found temporary 
 refuge — to come forth at leisure. Two nights' reading were 
 lost to Dick of Tophet in consequence of this affair. The third 
 found him at Griffiths', with the remnant of his squad. Among 
 those were Mat Floyd, Jack Friday, and Olem Wilson. Sup- 
 per, rum, cards, and good-fellowship, restored their spirits ; and 
 the tastes of Dick of Tophet, as well as their own, counselled 
 them, after their hard usage and late ill run, to " make a night 
 of it," Their orgies were continued to a late hour, until, one 
 by one, they sank out of sight around the table where they had 
 been revelling, and soon lost all consciousness upon the floor of 
 the hovel in which their revels had been carried on. 
 
 The lights by which they had gamed and drunk were torches 
 of pine, kept up in the fireplace so long as they could feel a 
 want of light ; and, when this was no longer the case, the blaze 
 .aturally expired. In less than half an hour after they were 
 gll oblivious, the room lay in utter darkness. No sentinels were 
 on duty anywhere. The party had their arms about them, but 
 •,hey were too drunk to use them in any emergency. They had 
 veiled for security on the secrecy of their situation and the fidel- 
 ity of Griffith, whose interests too greatly depended on this class 
 of customers to render it probable that he would betray them 
 1,0 any chance passers of an enemy's forces — who could have 
 no reason for supposing any such harborage to be in the neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
 It might have been half an hour after the lights had been 
 entirely extinguished iu the hovel, and when all the inmates, 
 without exception, were fast folded in the embrace of sleep — 
 that sleep of drunkenness which is an absolute lethargy, more 
 benumbing than any sleep but that produced by opium — wlien 
 a flight figure might be seen, in the faint starlight, to steal up 
 to the door of their hovel, and feel carefully its fastenings. 
 I'liese consisted of a wooden latch, lifted by a string on the 
 outside, and within of a thong of leather tying the door bv a 
 hole to a staple in one of the logs beside it. There were sta- 
 ples for a bar, a wooden bar also for crossing and securing the 
 door within ; but our runagates, in their deep sense of security, 
 qrising from deeper potations, had contented themselves witli 
 
HOW UNYAN SAVES HELL-?IUE DICK. 2GI 
 
 merely using the thong of leather for the fastening, and leavhig 
 the bar unemployed in a corner — tho necessity of sending or 
 going occasionally to Griffiths', for supplies of rum and sugar- 
 making them reluctant to lift and replace the huge oaken log 
 on each occasion. Doubtless they would finally have laid it 
 securely within its sockets, on retiring for the night, had this 
 event been one of purpose and deliberation. On the present 
 occasion, however, Sleep relieved them from all cares, as if as- 
 . suringthem that she would be the fortress, would set the watch, 
 and make their securities fast. 
 
 The figure, whom we have seen trying at the door, was that 
 of Nelly Floyd. How came she hither 1 How had she tracked 
 her brother, the worthless Mat, from wood to wood, from swamp 
 to swamp, from one hiding-place to another, till now she finds 
 him, passing from the service of one desperate rufiian into that 
 of another of proverbially worse reputation 1 
 
 Nelly has satisfied herself in respect to tho fastenings. She 
 takes a knife from her girdle, smites the thonp-, through the 
 crevice of the door, lifts the latch, and boldly enters the apart- 
 ment. She is now in utter darkness, not knowing where to 
 turn ; but Nelly's resources are ample for her purposes. In her 
 pocket is a box of tinder, flint, and steel. Here, too, she carries 
 some fine splinters of the fattest lightwood, which taK.cs fire at 
 a touch, like gunpowder. She strikes a light, kindles a blaze 
 in the chimney, and surveys the apartment. 
 
 What a spectacle of bestiality ! Nelly looked about among 
 the sleepers with a countenance of very natural disgust. The 
 faces of two of them were turned upward. One of these was 
 that of Hell-fire Dick. The begrimed, scarred, bearded, and 
 utterly savage aspect, of this man, seemed to fill her with hor- 
 ror. She shuddered visibly as she gazed upon it, but a feai-fiii 
 sort of fascination seemed to fetter her to the survey for sev- 
 eral minutes. An expression of pain appeared in her counte- 
 nance. She turned away hastily from the spectacle, then again 
 resumed her examination of the revolting features, and with still 
 shuddering attention, such as one engaged in a scientific exami- 
 nation would bestow upon the object which is yet offensive to 
 all his sensibilities. 
 
 It is certain that Nelly Floyd exhibited a singular an \ pai ■ 
 
262 EuiAW. 
 
 ful interest in the study of the brutal feature-. ' of our monster 
 far excellence. She turned away, at length, and, froni among 
 the other sleeping drunkards, soon distinguished the person of 
 her wretched brother. He lay almost beneath the table, his 
 head upon his crossed arms — his face downward. She stooped 
 to him, pushed him, turned him over, whispered in his ear. She 
 might as well have sought for intelligence, and human conscious- 
 ness, itt the rock ! She strove for his awakening in vain. 
 
 There was a motion on the part of one of the sleepers. He 
 turned uneasily, and groaned aloud. Nelly was instantly on 
 her feet, and preparing to gain the door. But the sleeper was 
 quiet in the next moment, and she renewed her efforts to rouse 
 up her insensible brother. But with no better effect than be- 
 fore. Then she wrung her hands, despairingly, and murmured 
 a prayer. 
 
 We have a privilege which those around do not enjoy, of 
 hearing her soliloquy. 
 
 " If I get him not hence, and from these people, he can not 
 be saved ! I see the danger approaching. And he will not 
 see it ! Oh ! Mat, Mat ! that you will not hear to the only one 
 that loves you — will not heed the only one that prays for you. 
 Will rush on, with these bad people — headlong — to where the 
 doom waits for you — more and more near every day !" 
 
 As if stimulated to new efforts by this reflection, the girl again 
 strove to awaken the sleeper — again pulled his arm — even from 
 beneath his head ; but the head fell heavily upon the floor, and 
 the sleeper snored aloud, as if declaring his resolute purpose 
 not to be awakened. And she failed finally, and had to aban- 
 don tlie attempt as hopeless. Yet, to her horror and surprise, 
 even while she strove for his awakening, she saw the head of 
 Hell-fire Dick suddenly rise up, with his shoulders from the 
 floor. The eyes were wide open. They glared around the 
 .oom. They were met by those of Nelly ; and, as if bound by 
 a spell, she could not turn her glance away from the painful 
 stare of those sleep-glazed eyes of the ruflSan, which seemed 
 • hat of a frozen life — a blank meaningless gaze — full of a dazing 
 /T-tnisity, but liO aim. She was crouching over Mat Floyd, with 
 ji hand upon his shoulder when first alarmed by the lifting of 
 ■'. e head of Dick of Tophet , and she maintained this position. 
 
HOW BUNYAN SAVES HELL-FIRE DICK. 26a 
 
 incapable to move, while the gaze of his eyes was upon her. 
 At length, the head of the ruffian sank back upon the floor ; 
 and a few hoarse, broken syllables escaped his lips. He had 
 evidently not cieased to sleep a moment, during all his staring. 
 He was dreaming all the while. 
 
 Nelly Floyd rose — now thoroughly conscious that, in his 
 present condition, there was no hope to arouse her brother. 
 She went to the fireplace, threw another brand of lightwpod 
 upon the blaze, and then, with more deliberation than before, 
 surveyed the features of Dick of Tophet. 
 
 -"Somehow," she said to herself, "'l fear this man! I never 
 felt fear of any person before ; but this man I feiar ! The voice 
 tells me, 'Avoid him — beware of him!' Oh! if I could only 
 get poor Mat away, would I not do so 1 How horrid he looks." 
 
 And she loathed and trembled even as she gazed, and with 
 feelings and thoughts of an indefinite terror that kept her shud- 
 dering to the soul all the while she remained thus spelled by 
 the fearful fascination. 
 
 She starts, even while she looks and muses. Her keen ears 
 have caught approaching sounds. She hastily steps to the fire- 
 place, smothers the lighted brand in the ashes, and all is again 
 in darkness. She glides, then, heedfuUy among the sleepers ; 
 gains the door, and listens ; steps out rapidly ; and, slipping off 
 among the bushes,^ is soon hidden out of sight. She now hears 
 distinctly the voice of one approaching the door of the hovel. 
 It was Griffith himself, who limped with a crutch. [A large 
 proportion of the tavern-keepers in that day and region were 
 lame people. Their crippled condition gave them a degree of 
 immunity from both parties, which able-bodied persons could 
 not well have obtained.] 
 
 " I sartinly seed a light !" said Griffith — " They wants more 
 liquor." 
 
 And he pushed open the door. All was darkness. All still 
 slept ; and, after kindling the blaze a&esh, and looking around 
 him, Griffith satisfied himself that no more liquor was neces- 
 sary, and that the light which he had seen was that of some 
 brand, which had been thrown upon the fire before, hut had 
 kindled very slowly, and only after the runagates were asleep. 
 
 "A pretty crew, I hev," said Griffith — "but they pays!" 
 
264 EUTAW. 
 
 The philosophy, in brief, which reconciles the whole world o 
 rascality ! 
 
 And, satisfied with his scrutiny, he pulled to, and latched the 
 door, and hobbled off to his own slumbers. Poor Nelly prowled 
 about till morning — snatching a brief sleep under a tree in a 
 close thicket, where Aggy busily browsed about for her supper. 
 Poor Nelly ! she had again left a home of luxury, for the cheer- 
 less life of the forests. How she procured food is something of 
 a problem. But she contrived to do it. She would enter a 
 house and say, " I am hungry — will you give me some bread ?" 
 And when the inmates looked in her face, they gave it. At 
 other times, she had biscuits in her pocket, of corn-flour ; and, 
 sometimes, she had a little mealed grain and sugar. She had 
 gathered up some of the lessons and resources of forest life from 
 her intercourse with Jeff Rhodes and his party. 
 
 Druuk as he had been, during the night, the military habits 
 of Dick of Tophet were inflexible ; and, with the first peep of 
 day, he was stirring himself, and rousing up the stupid wretches 
 around him. They had an early breakfast of hominy and rac- 
 coon meat, with rum and water in place of coffee. The break- 
 fast discussed, the party was soon in saddle, and on the road— 
 nay, not the road exactly, but along a Mind trail through the 
 forests. They little dreamed, any of them, that Nelly Floyd 
 was following, at a convenient distance, along the same route. 
 
 But Dick of Tophet did not lead his recruits to the secret re- 
 cesses of Muddicoat Castle. He stopped short of this point, and 
 made his hivouack about a mile distant, on a bit of high ground 
 on which stood an old loghouse — where, in fact, Inglehardt 
 had previously encanjjped his company, while he visited the 
 swamp fastnesses alone. When Dick had safely planted his 
 cohort, and laid down his decrees with sufficient emphasis and 
 distinctness to his lieutenant, he disappeared from the party, 
 taking a circuitous course, and finally, worming his way to the 
 dark avenues of the swamp. He was safe against his own fol- 
 lowers, and never suspected the strange scout that haunted all 
 his footsteps with the lightness of the deer, and the stealthiness 
 of the serpent. Nelly Floyd was on the route to new mys- 
 teries. 
 
 That night she was back again to the camping-gi-oiind where 
 
HOW BUNTAN SATES HELL-FIRE DICK. 265 
 
 nor brother was stationed. At midnight he was wakened - up 
 to keep watch ; and, watching him, she stole upon him when 
 she supposed all the rest to be well asleep, and was beside the 
 drowsy sentinel, without his suspecting any human proximity. 
 Her murmured accents first apprized him of her presence, iis 
 she said, " Mat, my brother, it is Nelly, your own sister Nelly." 
 But, so surprised was he, that he started, leaped, and seemed 
 about to run. He was armed with knife and pistols only. 
 Fortunately, these were in belt or bosom. Had there been a 
 weapon in his hand, such was his agitation, at the first, that he 
 would most probably have tried to use it. 
 
 " Don't be afraid. Mat— it's Nelly !" 
 
 " Afeard ! who's afeard 1 What do you want, Nelly ?" 
 
 " I want you, Mat ! I have come in pursuit of you. I wish 
 to carry you off from these wretched people. Oh ! Mat, will 
 you not take warning in season, from the fate of Jeff Rhodes, 
 and Nat, and the rest 1" 
 
 " What's become of Jeff?" 
 
 " Hung !" 
 
 " Hung !" and the fellow shivered with the most unpleasant 
 associations. 
 
 " Hung by the British, and Nat had his brains dashed out 
 against a tree !" 
 
 " He always was a half-blind fellow, and covddn't manage a 
 horse easy in the woods." 
 
 " You see, Mat, one after the other perishes in blood and 
 shame ! Rhodes was a monster, and you have taken service 
 with another monster like him. He will lead you to Rhodes's 
 fate, as sure as day and night come together." 
 
 " Look you, Nelly ; don't be talking any more of 7ni/ hang- 
 ing. I tell you, so long as I kin carry a knife, and hev the 
 strength to use it, no rope shall siffocate me." 
 
 " Hear me. Mat : Jeff Ehodes made the same boast ; yes, 
 even when he lay wounded on the sward ; and the enemy heard 
 him, and hung him in all his wounds, and he died in the rope." 
 
 How did Nelly Floyd pick up this anecdote ? 
 
 The curious feature of the fact, struck the dull faculties of 
 Mat Floyd painfully ; but lie was of a stiff-necked generation. 
 and his heart was hardened against his sister. The Fates wore 
 
 12 
 
266 EUTAW. 
 
 resolute ou not losing their victim, and no one is more surely 
 such than the man whose self-esteem makes himself the blind 
 instrument of then- designs. Mat Floyd had a shaae of philos- 
 ophy in his answer, based upon the doctrines of probabilities, 
 which he delivered as soon as he recovered from the shock. 
 
 " Well, 'tain't reasonable that two men of the same party is 
 guine to suffer jest in the same way. The truth is, Nelly, 
 you've been a dreaming at me, with that gallows wision of 
 your'n, till I'm almost sick of seein' and hearin' you ! You 
 wants me to go off with you, and git a hoeing the tater patcfc 
 of Mother Ford ; and what ef the sodgers, one side or t'other, 
 sees me at that ? Will they let me stay at it % No ! Won't 
 they take away my boss and all I've got, and been a-gitting ?" 
 
 " Where's what you've got, and been a getting, Mat ? In 
 these rags ?" demanded the girl abruptly and sternly. 
 
 " Ha ! Nelly," answered the other with a chuckle, " rags is a 
 disguising and a sarcumvention. Rags hides more than they 
 shows. Look a' that, gal — gould all, and silver a few," and he 
 drew up from amidst his rags, a handful of gold and silver pieces 
 — no great deal, perhaps, but something unusual with him, and 
 with persons in his condition. But Mat was beginning to be an 
 accumulator. He had emptied the pockets of Barney Gibbes, 
 who died in the swamp ; and his skill as a gambler, aided by a 
 temporary run of luck, had enabled him to make the present 
 exhibition. 
 
 " Don't talk to me, Nelly, of leaving a business which brings 
 sich good pay, to go hoeing Mother Ford's turnips and taters ! 
 I'd be jest as crazy as you'self, Nelly, ef I was to do so." 
 
 The girl recoiled from him, with a sort of horror, at this rude 
 speech. She said sadly : — 
 
 " My craziness. Mat, does not prevent my loving yon, and 
 feeling for you, and thinking of your danger, night after night, 
 when you are drinking and sleeping, and not thinking or caring 
 for yourself." 
 
 And she told him of her efforts to rouse him up from his sleep 
 and stupor the night before, in the hovel of Griffith. She 
 desci-ibed vividly the wretched spectacle which she witnessed. 
 
 " Suppose," she added, " that, instead of me, it had been an 
 enemy, who found you in that condition, when you could neither 
 
HOW BUNYAN SAVES HELL-FIRE DICK. 267 
 
 ift an arm, nor open an eye, how would your knife, then, 
 oave saved you from the gallows ?" 
 
 The fe'Jow was a little confounded with the story ; but he was 
 fas. lasirg a'l sense of shame ; and he answered brutally : — 
 
 " D — n the gallows ! Ef you're afraid of it, I ain't. )on't 
 bother me any more about it. Ef I'm to hang, I 1-aint drown. 
 That's enough. Git off now, 'fore the fellows wake up and 
 find you hyar. It's no use to argyfy. You're a gal — a woman 
 
 — and don't understand the business of men-folk. We must 
 hev money, Nelly. Thar's no getting on without it, and so 
 long as I kin git it, in this business, jest so long I. must take the 
 risk of the siffication. Thar you hev it ! Hurrah for the gal- 
 lows ! "Who's afeard ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mat ! This is awful ! My poor, poor brother, do you 
 hurrah for shame, and infamy, and death ! Oh ! beware, lest 
 God takes you at your word, and sends them all ! Oh, brother 1 
 do not suppose me foolish — crazy — as you call it! I am not 
 crazy ! I have a fearful gift of vision which enables me to 
 see what is to happen. And I tell you, dear Mat, my poor 
 misguided brother, that you are destined to the horrid death I 
 have painted to you, unless you fly with me. You are doomed !" 
 
 "Well, ef I'm doomed — sartain — what's the use of your 
 argyfying ? What's the use of my trying at all ? Even ef I 
 was to give up business hyar, and to turn to hoeing taters and 
 '.urnips for Mother Ford, 'twouldn't do no good. The rope, you 
 say — the gallows — must have the pusson ! That's the how, 
 ain't it?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! not so ! The precipice is before you, but you can 
 turn away from it. The danger threatens you, but you can avoid 
 — avert it! God warns and threatens; but repentance saves. 
 He does not willingly destroy ! He only cuts off the offender 
 who will not repent. Bxother, brother, you may still be saved 
 
 — only resolve in season. Go with me. Leave the camp now 
 
 — now — while all 'e sleeping." 
 
 " Why, that's iesartion ! That's a hanging matter, right off, 
 soon as they catch me. I've got the king's picter, in gould, in 
 my pocket, and that swears me to be true man. Ef I desarts, 
 I'm hung, sure as a gun, soon as they lays hands on me. And 
 
'2l!8 EUTAW 
 
 they'd like no Letter fun for, you see, they gits my boss and all 
 my vallyables." 
 
 " And who is this fearful-looking man to whom you have sol ;. 
 yourself for money 1 The very sight of him fills me with 
 teiTor !" 
 
 " And he's jist the man to make most folks feel skeary. 
 Why, that's Hell-fire Dick !" 
 
 " Oh, Mat ! and is it possible that you are in the hands of 
 that monster ?" 
 
 " Wall he don't hear you ! But he's only the recruiting sar- 
 •.'ent,. Tlif; eappin's name's Inglehardt." 
 
 " Ab ! I've heard of him. He's a bad man too. Mat, Mat, 
 leave these wretches ! Go with me ! I will work for yon. 
 You shall never want. If we can't get money, we can get 
 safety. We can get bread, and clothing, and shelter, and 
 peace, peace. Mat — and what more do we need? What more 
 can money buy ?" 
 
 " Fiddlestick ! I want a great many things more ! And 
 you jvork ! You promise mightily ; but I knows you. Jest in 
 the midst of work you'd hev your visions, and then start off, 
 crazy as a mad-eat, nobody knows whar! You're too full of 
 notions, Nelly ; and I ain't the man to be depending on a crazy 
 gal like you. I don't feel like weeding taters and hoeing tur- 
 nips. I'd rather, a deuced sight, fight than dig ; though I has 
 to fight onder the very gallows !" 
 
 It is enough that Nelly Floyd labored at her mission until it 
 became time to change the watch, then she disappeared ; but 
 only out of sight ; she still lingered about the precinct ; honef al 
 of a more auspicious season. We leave her for awhile, guarded 
 by innocent thoughts only, in deeper thickets of the forest ! 
 
 But we leave her only to turn to a less grateful portrait. We 
 must follow Dick of Tophet to his den, and its murky asso- 
 ciates. He appeared among them as usual, perhaps a shade 
 more surly. He had a private talk with Brunson before join- 
 ing the rest ; in which he heard the home news, and uttered 
 himself freely : — 
 
 " Thar's all sort of rumors, B,afe ! Griffith says that the 
 rebels hev most sartinly gone down to take the city ! And he 
 says, that thar's a rumor that lord Rawdon has gone down to 
 
HOW BUKYAN SAVES HELL-FIBE DICK. ?^^ 
 
 defend it. The rebels are sai'tinly a-breezing up, and gittsing 
 stronger. Thar's a power of 'em a-borseback now, so that our 
 red-coat dragoons stand no chaince. All Marion's and Sumter's 
 fellows are a-horseback. I reckon we'll hyar all from Cappin 
 Inglehardt, -when he comes in to-morrow." 
 
 " Is he coming in to-morrow 1" 
 
 " He said so. But who knows ? Thar's so many troops about, 
 that one kaint be sure of his breakfast without a skairmish." 
 
 After their chat they went in to supper, and after supper to 
 cards, and along with cards, Jamaica ! They sat irp very late 
 at their revels ; and, as one debauch only paves the way for 
 another, Dick of Tophet drank almost as freely as on the 
 previous night, and lost all his money besides. He rose from 
 play, when this result was reached, and staggered about with 
 curses in his mouth — to steady his movements we suppose — 
 until he had found the place where he had shelved his antique 
 copy of Bunyan. Having stuck this into his pocket, he strode 
 and staggered off to Pete Blodgit's, where he aroused that 
 amiable keeper, with his rheumatic mother, from the pleasantest 
 of naps. Pete gave him entrance ; and he made his way at 
 once into the dungeon of Henry Travis. 
 
 " Make up a light hyar, Pete !" commanded the ruffian, with- 
 out looking to Henry. The blaze was soon kindled, and Dick 
 discovered the boy, with his eyes open, but still stretched at 
 length upon his straw. 
 
 " Git up, little fellow," said he, " and let's git a little more 
 -book-l'arning. Them harrystocrats shain't hev it all, by the 
 hokies ! Git up, my little hqp-o'-my-thumb, cocksparrow, and 
 lot's hear you read out the I'arning. The Tarning's the thing. 
 Lawd, boy, ef I only had that, how I'd regilate the country. 
 I'd be king of the cavalries !" 
 
 " I can't read to-night," said Henry ; " it's too late. I'm toe 
 sleepy." 
 
 " Sleepy ! you young wolf, and harrystocrat, riprobate ar.d 
 sarpent ! Sleepy ! Ef I take a stick to your weepers, I 
 reckon I'll work the sleep out of 'em for the next glneration ! 
 Git up, before I put a spur into your musquito ribs, you little 
 conceit of an argymeut, and stop your singing for ever and the 
 third 4ay a'ter." 
 
27C EUTAW. 
 
 Poor Henry felt greatly like bidding the ruffian defiance; 
 but that grave counsellor, Prudence, just then interposed, and 
 taught him better. He was not so sleepy, indeed, as sour; 
 was weary, vexed, impatient, unhappy, and his ill-humor was 
 threatening to impair his security. But the saving policy 
 came in season. He got up quietly, took his seat upon the 
 bench, received the book from the hands of its owner, who, 
 quietly stretched himself out upon the straw, and prepared to 
 listen. 
 
 By this tjme, Henry discovered that Andrews was very drunk, 
 and could scarcely appreciate a sentence ; but he commenced 
 reading, and continued to read aloud for awhile, though not 
 without frequent querulous and very stupid interruptions from 
 his maudlin hearer. But the boy read on patiently, satisfied, 
 in some degree, to read for himself. The charming fiction of 
 Bunyan was gradually appealing to the imagination of the boy, 
 winning its way to his heart, and engaging all his sympathies 
 in behalf of poor Pilgrim. At length, all show of attention, on 
 the part of Dick of Tophet relaxed — his head finally settled 
 down upon the straw, and Henry Travis was only apprized of his 
 utter insensibility, by a loud snore, which would have done honor 
 to the nostrils of a bufialo, from those of the auditor. The boy 
 only gave him a look of loathing and disgust, and resumed his 
 reading ; though now not aloud. He was engaged in a portion 
 of the narrative where it was most dramatic and most exciting; 
 and, in his progress, he almost forgot that his custodian lay at 
 his feet. 
 
 Suddenly, the boy closed the book, and looked about him. 
 The stillness of everything around had startled him into a 
 sudden consciousness, and was suggestive of a new thought to 
 his mind. Why should he not flyl — possess himself of thf 
 key, which he knew to be in the pocket of the sleeping man 
 ?nd take advantage of his obliviousness to escape 1 
 
 No sooner did he think thus, than he prepared to act npo» 
 the suggestion. He stooped cautiously beside the sleeper, anfi 
 felt in one of bis pockets, but brought up nothing but a piece 
 of tobacco, a handful of bullets in a leather bag, and a plough- 
 line. The other pocket contained the key, and Dick lay upon 
 that side. The boy felt cautiously all around him, but the 
 
HOW BUNYAN SAVES HELL-FTRE DICK. 27V 
 
 pocket was completely covered by the huge carcass of the 
 sleeper. To turn him over was scarcely possible, unless at the 
 peril of awakening him ; but, just then, Henry discovered the 
 buck-handled hilt of a couteau de chasse protruding from the 
 bosom of the sleeper. 
 
 Here was the key to the key ! Here was emancipation from 
 liis bonds — escape — flight — the rescue of his father, and ven- 
 geance upon the head of their petty tyrant ! The tliought 
 swept through the brain of the boy with lightning rapidity. 
 His eyes gleamed ; his whole frame trembled with the eager 
 inspiration. He clutched the weapon, and drew it from the 
 bosom of the sleeper, leaving the leathern sheath still in the 
 folds of his garments. He was now armed, and a single blow 
 would suffice, struck manfully, and in the right place ! 
 
 And the heart of the boy was strong within him. We have 
 seen that he does not shrink from strife — does not tremble at 
 the sight of blood — has no fear of death, when his passions are 
 excited for victory ! And there is his enemy, the brutal enemy 
 who has not spared his blows, has threatened him with stripes, 
 starves him, and keeps him from liberty ! He has but to slay 
 him, possess himself of the key, and fly ! All is very still around 
 him ; and the wretch beneath his arm has no claim for mercy 
 upon him. What need for scruple ? 
 
 Such were the obvious suggestions. But they were not 
 enough, though all true — not enough to satisfy the more exact- 
 ing requisitions of that young humanity which the world's strife 
 may have irritated, but not yet rendered callous. The struggle 
 between his sense of provocation, the objects he had to gain by 
 the act, and his nicer sensibilities, was a paipful and protracted 
 one. But the nobler nature triumphed. Henry Travis could 
 not strike the defenceless man, though his enemy — could not 
 stab the sleeping man, however a monster ! 
 
 He drew back from the ruffian — averted his eyes, lest the 
 temptation should be too strong for him ; and, resolutely seating 
 himself, as to a task, he took up old Bunyan, and resumed his 
 reading. But, ever and anon, he felt how wearisome now were 
 its pages ; the fiery, passionate thoughts still recumng to him 
 with their suggestions of escape, and the excitement in his mind 
 being infinitely superior, in the circumstances in which he stood. 
 
272 EDTAW. 
 
 to any of the wild moral conflicts, as they occurred to the prog- 
 ress of Poor Pilgrim. But Henry persevered in his determina- 
 tion to do no murder, for such he persuaded himself would be 
 the stabbing of the sleeping and defenceless man. He buckled 
 to old Bunyan bravely ; and, at length, following the allegory, 
 he contrived to subdue his own bosom to a partial calm, after 
 the warm conflict with his goading passions, through which he 
 had gone. It was a real and great triumph for the boy, that 
 he had forborne so well; for he had already enjoyed that first 
 taste of blood and strife which is so apt to impair for ever the 
 mild virtues of that sweet milk of humanity which suffers no 
 infusion of the bitter waters of evil without instantly undergoing 
 taint and corruption. 
 
 And the boy read on for several hours. His torches for light 
 were abundant, and he kept them alive by fresh brands when- 
 ever they grew dim. He no longer felt the need of sleep. He 
 had slept till midnight, when he had been roused by his visiter ; 
 and the disturbance which the visit and the subsequent event 
 had excited in his mind drove sleep effectually from his eyes. 
 Meanwhile, Bunyan was gradually making him forgetful of Dick 
 of Tophet, and an occasional snore only reminded him of the 
 presence of that personage. On such occasions, Henry would 
 involuntarily grasp the hunting-knife of the ruffian which he still 
 held, with the book, in a fast clutch ; and, contenting himself 
 with a single glance at the desperado, would resume his reading. 
 
 At length, the sleeper awakened — uneasily, and with a long 
 growl — a sort of mixed groan and cry — which drew upon him 
 the sharp eye of the captive. 
 
 The ruffian was awake, and somewhat sobered. 
 
 " Well," said he, as if he had been listening all the while, 
 " that's very good sort of I'arning, and full of sarciimventions, I 
 kin see ; but they won't do for war-time in this country. None 
 of them fellows knows how to fight sinsibly. They kin do it, 
 up and down, mighty well, but they don't know nothing of 
 scouting. Why, Rafe Brunson, our Trailer, could run a ring 
 through the nose, of any of 'em, and muzzle 'em up, so that they 
 could never show their teeth at all, 'cepting to grin. They 
 couldn't bite ! They couldn't even bark, I reckon, ef he had 
 once snaked about 'em for a night." 
 
HOW BUNYAN SAVES HELL-FIRE DICK. 2< 
 
 For a moment, Henry was silent. Then he rose, and laid hi 
 book down on the bench, and displayed the couteau tL chas e i 
 (he eyes of the savage. 
 
 •• Do you see that V asked the boy. 
 
 " How ! Yes, I see ! It's a knife — it's my knife !" 
 
 And this was said with a sort of howl, as, searching his owt 
 bosom, he drew forth the scabbard, and satisfied himself that the 
 blade was wanting. 
 
 " Take it," said the boy, throwing it to his feet. " Take it ! 
 I had you at my mercy ! You slept ! It needed but one blow 
 to make you sleep the sleep of death ! With that one blow, I 
 could have obtained my freedom — perhaps my father's; and I 
 had no reason to spare you ! I stood over you, prepared to 
 strike. But I could not ! You were sleeping ; you could make 
 no defence ! It would have been murder ! I spai'ed you. Take 
 your knife, and leave me. Do not tempt me so again ; I couldn't 
 stand it a second time !" 
 
 The ruffian regarded the youthful speaker with something 
 like consternation in his countenance. He stooped slowly, and 
 repossessed himself of the knife. Then, after another moment's 
 pause, he exclaimed : — 
 
 " Gimini ! and you bed me sure — hed me dead, I may say, 
 thar ; and you hed the knife ; and 'twas jest only a single stick ! 
 And you didn't do it ! you didn't do it ! — The more fool you !" 
 
 " Perhaps so ! But that remains to be seen. It seemed as 
 if a voice within said to me, ' Do not strike the sleeping man — 
 that would be base.' And then another voice said without, in 
 my ears : ' Do not slay him yet. I have uses for him. He 
 ■must throw off his hundlc first ! He is a great sinner !' " 
 
 " Eh ] what ! You heard that !" 
 
 " Yes ! in my very ears ^ heard it !" 
 
 " It's a most etarnal tr .th ! It's a most monstratious bniidli^ 
 on »»y back, and tliar'p .o throwing it off. It sticks like pitch and 
 fire. It's no use — n^ use! And so, boy, you hed me at yoiu 
 marcy, and didn't stick when you hed the knife and the chaince ? 
 More fool you ! more fool you! Ho ! ho ! ho ! The devil always 
 helps his own. Why, boy, 'twas his voice that made that whis- 
 pering in your ears, jest to save me, when I couldn't save my- 
 self I 'Twas him that told you true : he hed more uses for mc 
 
EUTAW. 
 
 — couldn't do without me, in fact ! 'Twan't no angel that whis 
 po.Tod that ! Ef it had a-been, he'd ha' said : ' Stick quick, 
 stick deep, and never be done sticking, tell the breath stops— 
 tell the life's clean gone out of him!' Ho! ho! ho! — to 
 think, now, that you could ha' been so easy tricked by the ola 
 'un!' 
 
 " I am not sorry that it is so. I should be sorry to have 
 your blood upon my hands, though you have been so bad an 
 enemy of mine and my father." 
 
 " Don't you talk of your father, now, and all will be right 
 and sinsible. Look at this bloody hole that he worked in my 
 ear with his bullet; and the wound is green yit ! Does yon 
 think I'm guine to forgive him for that ?" 
 
 " That was in fair fight. You attacked him first." 
 
 " Well, so 'twas ; and I reckon it's the conditions of the war. 
 And so you — you little hop-o'-my-thumb — you hed me at your 
 marcy ! And your heart growed tender. 'Twas the book- 
 I'arning, boy, that made you so soft-hearted. 'Twas that same 
 book that whispered to you, and made you stop when you was 
 about to stick ! Give me the book. I never thought book of 
 Gus Avinger would ever ha' saved my life. Well, you see, 'tis a 
 good book, boy ; but, look you, as I'm apt to take a leetle too 
 much rum over night, and you mayn't always be hearing to a 
 sinsible whisper from the old 'un, we won't hev any more read- 
 ings a'ter book-1'arning." 
 
 "But you'll leave me the bookl — I want to finish it." 
 
 " No ! no ! 'twas a gift, you see, of that old woman ; and she 
 had no reason for loving me, I tell you ; — rether, she had the 
 most reason, and good occasion, for hating me above all the 
 bad men in this big world; yit it's her giving that's saved my 
 life. She's gin it to me with a blessing upon it, and I'll carry 
 it close in my buzzom, 'longside o' my knife. It'll keep oflF a 
 nullet maybe, ef it does no better." 
 
 As he was about to go Henry suddenly cried out to him : — 
 
 " Oh, do not ill-treat my father !" 
 
 " Well, why don't you ax for yourself ? You won't, eh ? 
 You're one of them proud harry stocrats a'ter all. WeH, I'll 
 considerate you. I owes you a debt, I ecknowledges ; but you 
 was bloody foolish, when yon hed tlie chaince, and the knife. 
 
HOW BDNYAN SAVES aELL-FIRE DICK. I'v 
 
 that you didn't stick — stick deep, and sure, tell there was no 
 kickin' left in the carkiss." 
 
 And with these words, though graver thoughts were behind 
 them, Dick of Tophet emerged abruptly from the den, safely 
 locking the door after him ; and, in a few minutes, was heard 
 leaving the house. A momentary feeling of self-reproach, as 
 he heard the receding footsteps, troubled the heart of the boy : — 
 
 " I have let my chance escape for ever !" and he looked round 
 the dismal chamber with a sigh. Then he sank upon his knees, 
 and, with a better and more strengthening feeling, he returned 
 thanks to God for keeping his hands clean from unnecessary 
 bloodshed. 
 
 Meanwhile, Dick of Tophet had an encounter, as he turned 
 round the cabin of Blodgit, to go to his own ; he saw a figure, 
 somewhat like that of- a woman, flitting into the thicket just 
 before him. 
 
 " Ha ! who's that 1" he cried out ; and, as there was no an- 
 swer, he pursued. One more glimpse of the receding object, 
 was all that he caught, ere it disappeared entirely from sight. 
 
 " It's mighty strange," quoth he, as he stopped and Won- 
 dered. " 'Twas here, jest a minute ago, and now it's gone ; 
 jest as ef 'twas the very air itself But I do believe it's the 
 rum that's a-working yit to my deception. It's hard to give up 
 Jimmaker — mighty hard ; it's a'most my only comfort in these 
 wars and skrimmages. But, when it upsets a man, jest as ef 
 he was a baby, and puts him at the marcy of a hop-o'-my- 
 thumb, that ain't yit come to a beard ; and makes him see 
 sJi-ange sights of women in the air, and in the woods, I reckon, 
 the sooner I break the bottle, and let out the liquor, the better 
 for my etarnal salvation hyar on airth !" 
 
h76 :itra^. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 INGLEHARDT DISCOVERS THE EVIL CONSEaUENCES OF REM- 
 ING " pilgrim's progress" AMONG THE SATAMCS. 
 
 The next day, at about ten o'clock, Captain Inglehardt 
 arrived with his troop at the place of encampment, and found 
 Dick of Tophet honestly busied in the task of drilling his raw 
 recruits into some knowledge of their new duties. These, ai 
 present, involved no mystery more profound than that of obedi- 
 ence to discipline — the word of a master — the docility of the 
 man-machine. The recruits were all, in some degree, accus- 
 tomed to arms, to rough services, and were all good horsemen. 
 To bring them into the regular harness was the one great 
 essential, and Dick of Tophet, however deficient in other vir- 
 tues, was a good drill-sergeant — something, indeed, of a mar- 
 tinet when on duty. He was minutely exacting, no matter 
 how small the concern, when his men were on parade, in the 
 case of the very individuals with whom he got drank the night 
 before. 
 
 Inglehardt approved of the recniits, seven or eight in num- 
 ber. His corps was reduced, and greatly needed even thig 
 small increase. It brought his force up to forty-four men. He 
 ordered his commissariat to clothe them, as nearly in uniform 
 as possible ; and this worthy, who rode with a great pack be- 
 hind his saddle — one almost as large as that which Poor Pil- 
 gi'im was compelled to carry on his own shoulders, proceeded 
 at once to rig out his new customers. Coats and breeches were 
 ready made in his pack ; but it was soon evident that they had 
 been made 'o do service in the professional use of other wearers. 
 They had survived their wearers ; and, aa the recruits tried on 
 
HOW INGLEHARDT MAKES A DISCOVERT. 277 
 
 this or that garment, they occasionally happened upon a hole 
 in the hreast or hody, somewhere, that seemed very much like 
 that which a musket-bullet might work, under the moderate ict 
 pulsion of two drachms of gunpowder. Here and there, too, 
 the sleeve of a coat, or the back, exhibited a long slit, which it 
 was no strained supposition to conjecture might have been the 
 work of a hasty broadsword, unnecessarily sharpened for the 
 mutilation of good worsted. And, not unfrequently, dark omi- 
 nous stains, disfigured the bright green of the material, showing 
 the passage of a thick fluid, which the most simple understand- 
 ing readily conceived to have flowed once through the veins of 
 a living man. 
 
 Our raw recruits did not suffer these signs to escape them ; 
 but, after the first glance, they did not find them any sufficient 
 cause of objection to the garment, so that it fitted snugly. They 
 were soon equipped ; and a few suits were left with the com- 
 missariat, for the conversion of other recruits into goodly 
 mounted men. 
 
 Our captain and his worthy sergeant — this duty done, and 
 the corps properly transferred to the lieutenant — retired from 
 the observation of the rest, and made their way circuitously to 
 the dusky recesses of Muddicoat Castle. They had many sub- 
 jects to discourse about by the way ; and each unfolding his 
 discoveries, to the degree in which he was prepared to submit 
 them to the other, a great deal of small intelligence was pro- 
 cured by both, which it was important that both should know, 
 in respect to the progress of the war. But both of them had 
 reason to observe the caution urged by the canny Soot, and 
 
 each 
 
 " Kept something to himself. 
 He never told to ony." 
 
 But of the details given on both hands, we need report nothing. 
 Some of them we already know ; others may perchance reach 
 us from purer sources of intelligence. We shall report only 
 those portions of the dialogue which more immediately affect 
 the parties to our little drama. 
 
 " Well, Andrews, what says Captain Travis now 1 Have 
 you been with him 1" 
 
 " Yes, cappiu : but hp's tough.!' . . 
 
278 EUTAW. 
 
 "What! stubborn as ever ?" 
 
 " As a lightwood knot." 
 
 "Have you taken pains to show him his danger?" 
 
 " I tell'd him jest what you said." 
 
 "But not that /said it?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! jest as ef I said it myself." 
 
 " You let him understand that the boy's life would pay for 
 his stubbornness 1" 
 
 " Says I, ' Cappin, don't you see we has to make you come 
 to it V And says I, ' Cappin, we knows you're tough, and kin 
 stand a great deal yourself; but the boy kaint stand it; and 
 don't you see, cappin,' says I, ' that he's a-gitting thinner and 
 weaker every day V " 
 
 " And you let him see the boy 1" 
 
 " No ; I rether reckon he'd seen enough before, and know'd 
 well what to look for ; and he know'd us, you see ; and I reck- 
 on'd his fears would make it out a great deal worse from not 
 seeing." 
 
 " Did he ask to see him ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! but I tell'd him, ' The boy's too weak to be drag- 
 ging about from place to place.' " 
 
 "And what did he say to that?" 
 
 " He fairly howl'd agin, and said, ' You're a-murdering the 
 child !' " 
 
 "Ah! well?" 
 
 " Then says I, ' Cappin, don't you see how you're to save 
 him ?' " 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " Then says he, ' Better that the boy should perish, than that 
 the gal should be a sacrifice. She, at least, is safe 1' Then he 
 swore, down upon his knees, never to give in — never to consent 
 to let his da'ter be your wife." 
 
 " We must make him unswear it, Andrews." 
 
 " Ah, I don't quite see how you're to do that, cappin. He's 
 tough as the lightwood, I tell you ; and I'm a-thinking it's only 
 
 right and sensible to try, some other path through the woods 
 
 try some better sarcnmventions." 
 
 " What other V ' 
 
 " Oh, I don't quite see myself. That's for you to consider." 
 
HOW INGLEHABDT MAKES A DISCOVERY. 279 
 
 " I see no other way. We must take the toughness out of 
 him. We must be more and more tough ourselves, The wood 
 is tongh, but the axe tougher. He hardens himself against us ; 
 we must make ourselves harder upon him." 
 
 " Well, jest as you say ; and ef you kin show's how to work 
 into his tender feelin's, I'm the man to work. I owes him no 
 favor. But I reckon we've done jest as much as we kin do, to 
 the young chap. He kaint stand much more of the hardship, 
 and the poor little fellow looks so bad it a-most makes me sorry 
 for him." 
 
 " You sorry !" 
 ' " Well, yes, cappin ; for you see he's a mere brat of an infant 
 sarcumstance, not hardly worth while for a grown man to han- 
 dle. I'd rether a thousand times scorch the daddy to his very 
 intrails, than jest give the suckling a scald." 
 
 " Eh ! this is a new humor, most tender-hearted -of all the 
 Satanics !" s"id Inglehardt, eying the ruffian with a sudden 
 sharpness of glance. " How long, pray, Joel Andrews, since 
 you began to recover the taste of your mother's milk 1" 
 
 "Well!" laughed the ruffian hoarsely — "it's precious little 
 milk of any sort I cares about onless it's the milk of Jimmaker ; 
 but I'm a-thinking, cappin, that it's quite a pitiful business for 
 strong grown men like we, to be harnessing down a leetle brat 
 of an infant cub, that ain't altogether loosened yit from his 
 mother's apun strings. Now, I'm willing to give it like blazes 
 to the old rascal, his daddy — but — " 
 
 " You're not so willing to give it to the boy, eh ?" 
 
 " N-o — not so edzackly, captain — for you see — " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I see ! You are getting tender-hearted in your 
 old age, Andrews — meek and Christianlike." 
 
 " No, not Ohristianlike edzackly." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, Joel, though you may not know it yourself. You 
 are growing saintly. I see it in your eyes. They wear a most 
 benign and Christian expression of benevolence." 
 
 " Now, cappin, you're a poking fun at me." 
 
 " Poking fun ! God forbid that I should deal so irreverently 
 with one who is getting grace so rapidlj'. No ! what you say 
 impresses me. It offers some new views of the subject. It is 
 clear that, ^rhen you urge considerations of humanity, the policy 
 
280 EUTAW. 
 
 of our practice is questionable. Still, it may be that this sort 
 of life is not consistent with your genius, and that your mind 
 has grown a little blunt and dull, from the want of proper asso- 
 ciation with the camp. I fancy, Joel, you must have renounced 
 Jamaica altogether." 
 
 " I see you're poking fun at me, cappin. But you're mis- 
 taken ef yoij thinks I ain't fit for the old business. Only I'm 
 a thinking, you ain't in the right way for bringing old Travis 
 to a settlement." 
 
 " Can you teach a better ?" 
 
 " Well, I'd sooner you'd try a haul upon his own neck with 
 a tight rope, a few times up to a swinging limb, rather than 
 harness the boy any more tightly." 
 
 " The cub seems to have found favor in your eyes." 
 
 "Oh! no— only— " 
 
 " Only, you're getting pious, Joel. In a lltt'" vjile, I app'-c- 
 hend, you will grow thoroughly ashamed of the title of ' Hell- 
 fire Dick.' Nay, you'll be getting angry w'th any one who 
 should call you by that epithet. You will prefer to be called 
 ' A Brand-from-the-burning Joel !' '' 
 
 " I don't think. Es for the burning, cappin — " 
 
 " Have you .seen the hoy lately i" 
 
 "Oh! yes." 
 
 " Ah ! Have you talked with him ?" 
 
 " A lectin ! We've had a consultation." 
 
 " Ah ! a consultation ! a good word. Well !" 
 
 "Well, cappin, he's a poor boy, very quite down-hearted and 
 sort o' sickish." 
 
 " We sh.ill have lo physic him. We do not want him tp die 
 — not just yet. Though such cubs, if let alone, are apt to gi-ow 
 into very fierce, strong wolves, wild and savage, and sometimes 
 too strong fo. their keepers. Now, had the ' harnessing' been 
 a little tighter and heavier, and had some signs of it been shown 
 to the father, as T ordered, I fancy we should have seen the 
 fruits of it before this. Why was not this done 1" 
 
 " He couldn't stand it. cappin." 
 
 ' Pshaw, an occasional scoring of hickories on his bare shonl- 
 aers, would, only Jiave roused the urchin, and such a sight, to 
 
now INOLEHABDT MAKES A DISCOVERY. 281 
 
 file fatlier, would have taken the toughness out of him. I bade 
 you try the experiment." 
 
 " It went agin me, cappin. I couldn't do it." 
 
 "I'm Sony, Andrews, that your taste for asses' milk, has 
 somewhat lessened the value of your services in affairs of 
 men." 
 
 " Ef it's a fight, cappin, and with grown men, I'm as good a 
 man as ever." 
 
 " Well, we must exercise you in that field, since the other 
 seems only calculated to develop the Christian virtues, which 
 are just now absolutely useless. You can go back to the camp, 
 good Joel, and betake yourself to the more genial employments 
 of tlie drill. I will see the boy myself. I must try and find 
 out some less saintly operator on the fears of the father." 
 
 And thus they separated, Inglehardt pressing on to Muddi- 
 coat Castle, and Dick of Tophet worming his way through the 
 thickets to the camp which they had left. He had lost his cap- 
 tain's favor. He was conscious of that. But Joel had a sort 
 of philosophy of his own. 
 
 " And who cares ! He kaint do without me in the field. 
 He's got no man, I knows, to take my place. Let him find 
 somebody to do that Icetle business for him ; I kaint and won't ! 
 I'm not a Christian — that I knows. I'm as bad a fellow as 
 most ; and worse, I'm willing to say, than most I knows ! But, 
 though my heart is black, and bad, and bloody as hell, yit, by 
 the Etarnal, thar's some heart in my body yit ; and that's what 
 you kaint say for your own, Cappin Inglehardt. ' Ef 'tain't 
 stone, then it's iron, or 'tain't nothing. No, no ! I wouldn't 
 mind giving the father a h'ist to a swinging limb ; but I couldn't 
 hurt a hair of the boy's head now, for nothing, nor for anybody, 
 llo had mc at his marcy — me drunk — asleep — and he with 
 my own knife standing over me ! And he didn't stick ! More 
 fool he, I says ! For, I desarvod nothing better. By rights, 
 he ovghl to ha' made mincemeat of me : but he didn't ; and my 
 liand sba'n't be raised asin him — never agrin !" 
 
 The idea that suggested itself to the mind of Inglehardt, by 
 which to account for the sudden change in the humors of the 
 ferocious Dick of Tophet, was that he had been bribed in some 
 way —corrupted by the son or the father, to, at least, a partial 
 
282 EUTAW. 
 
 treaclieiy. He gave Lim no credit for any increaue of human 
 ity, and never could have conceived the relation which had 
 been established between the parties, by Poor Pilgrim. Dick, 
 himself, had only indirectly indicated this plea, and had never 
 himself dreamed of any right that he had to make it. 
 
 The inspection of Henry Travis was calculated to confirm 
 this impression of Inglehardt. The boy, though still pale, and, 
 of course, unhappy, was yet considerably improved in his ap- 
 pearance. He had certainly lost no flesh. Some inquiries, 
 which were then made, of Brunson, the Trailer, and Pete Blod- 
 git, led to the discovery of the occasional suppers of meat, which 
 Dick had provided for the boy ; and to the more curious reve- 
 lation still, of the nightly processes, by which, through Henry 
 and Poor Pilgrim, the ruffian was endeavoring to remedy his 
 deficiencies in " book-learning." The whole history struck In- 
 glehardt as exhibiting an equal degree of stupidity and treach- 
 ery in his agent. It was not difficult to procure additional tes- 
 timony that, on all of these nightly visits of the jailer, to his 
 prisoner, the former was very decidedly drunk ; a fact which 
 greatly helped the morals of the ofifender, in the estimation of 
 his superior ; for, if drunk, he could scarcely suppose him de- 
 liberate ; and, lacking in deliberation, he could hardly suspect 
 him of any treacherous design. Of course, be heard nothing of 
 the scene, in which, the boy, having the drunken man at his 
 mercy, spared his life ; a fact which might better have account- 
 ed to Inglehardt, for the human change which had taken place 
 in the nature of his emissary. 
 
 The result of his investigations, was to transfer the charge 
 of Henry Travis to Brunson; to whom he gave such instruc- 
 tions as were best calculated to carry out his policy, by which 
 the sufferings of the boy were to be made to act upon the sym- 
 pathies of the father ; so as to produce the concessions which 
 were demanded of him, by his captor. Inglehardt had an inter- 
 view with Travis, in which he was at some pains to let the father 
 know that his son was too ill to be seen ; a communication 
 which filled the soul of the old man with fresh agony, but did 
 not move his resolution. Inglehardt exhibited great coolness, 
 amounting to indifference, in regard to the subject ; his whole 
 QVportment being that of one assured of his power, and of the 
 
HOW IN6LEHARDT MAKES A DISCOVERY. 2Sli 
 
 ultimate attainments of liis objects. He did not linger iu tbt! 
 interview; nor long in the recesses of Muddicoat. Having 
 arranged the future government of the precinct to his own satis- 
 faction, he rejoined the camp, and now, taking Dick of Tophet 
 along with him, as more useful in the field than in the camp — 
 certainly more to be trusted when removed from the temptation 
 to treachery, which might be found at Muddicoat Castle/ In- 
 glehardt rode on his progress — foraying equally on British and 
 his own account. 
 
 He had not been gone half an hour from the place where the 
 encampment had been made, when Nelly Floyd might be seen 
 to emerge from the deep thickets in the rear, where she had • 
 found safe harborage, quite unsuspected, and in a situation 
 where she could see a good deal that was going on, and hear 
 perhaps quite as much that was spoken. She had made some 
 discoveries both in camp and castle, and it wag wonderful with 
 what instinct — if this indeed be the proper word in the case of 
 one so curiously gifted — she could find and pursue the clues to 
 the secrets of other people. She had certainly found the secret 
 passage, over log, and fallen tree, and through sinuous path- 
 ways of a seemingly interminable and impervious swamp, which 
 conducted to the recesses of the castle. What other discover- 
 ies she had made there must be reserved for future study -xnd 
 report. At present she prepares to canter after the troop of 
 Inglehardt, which, from this moment, she is sworn to follow — 
 haunting the footsteps of her wretched and undeserving brother 
 — as devoutly as she followed him, when he served under the 
 guidance of Lem Watkins, and the outlaw, Rhodes. We shall 
 not accompany this parly, now, but, at a future stage of our 
 narrative, will make the necessary report of their progi-ess. 
 Enough, here, that JST-i-i'v Floyd keeps them in sight, but with 
 wonderful dexterity <;■. manages her own and the movements 
 of her little, poiiv, A^gy, that her following footsteps are never 
 once suspectec^ L" any of the troop, unless, indeed, by her 
 brother ; who, if i , Ic ^t suspect has at least sufficient prudence 
 to koop his suspic ns secret. 
 
 She disaj pei.i-3 £i-om the scene ; and, that very afternoon, we 
 find Jim J^allou prowling about the encampment which Ingle- 
 hari. l\9.3 ''jne-'ii ".canting and inspecting horse-trnckp-^ 
 
'■iSi EUTAW. 
 
 turning from one clue to another, and finding himself, at the 
 close of the day, in as great a state of bewilderment as ever. 
 
 •' Here's the pony track," quoth Ballou. " Here, and here, 
 and here; but here it stops. Here's the troop, every horse 
 counted — where they were hitched, and where they stamped 
 through a three hours' feed or more. It's clear this is not the 
 first, nor the second time either, that the same party's camped 
 iu this very place. They've been here, now, more than three 
 times, this very body. Here's the track of Inglehardt, and this 
 ia Devil Dick. I can't find the Trailer's. I reckon he's on a 
 tramp. But where, and what after ? Now what should make 
 the troop camp here, three several times at least; camp here 
 for a matter of three hours for a time, that's the question. Here 
 the tracks lead directly on ; no turning one side or the other. 
 Of course I know there's a secret — and it's there — there, and 
 nowhere else but there — the secret's there, nowhere else but 
 there — there !" 
 
 And the scout's eyes ranged over, while his arm was extended 
 toward, the vast, yet utterly blank and silent waste of dense 
 swamp thicket which spread away on all sides but one, seeming 
 everywhere equally impenetrable, and rendering the attempt to 
 enter it a madness, particularly in the dog-days, unless one 
 could be sure of a clue to some already beaten pathway. 
 
 " If I could take the wind of that pony !" quoth the scout, 
 "that pony — bhe's brought me a step farther than anything 
 else. And it's mighty curious too. The person that rides that 
 pony is tracking the party just as I'm doing. He don't hitch 
 and halter with the rest ; always half a mile ahead or behind, 
 and then in the closest thicket. And I catch the track when 
 they're a moving, always separate, and half the time it's in the 
 woods, even when there's a high road to travel. It's a little 
 creature too, must be ridden by a boy, I reckon ; and it takes a 
 pretty long lope too, as if 'twas quick and didn't need the whip 
 and spur. Here it is you see — and here — and here. Now it 
 goes off on one side round them buslies ; and now it comes out on 
 the track of the party. But it don't keep it long, the same ; it 
 works cautious, and on the watch always. Well, it's my con- 
 clusion, thar's a spy upon Inglehardt's heels, and it"s a boy-spy, 
 or some mighty light person. And what to make of thnt — 
 
HOW INGLEHARDT MAKES A DISCOVERY. 286 
 
 • tffake of that ! I'm bothered all to bits ! It's a shame to me 
 that a brat of a boy-spy should be better able to fasten upon 
 the heels of that troop thain an old swamp-sucker, and wnnH . 
 borer like myself! 
 
 " But, I must even follow the pony so long as '.'; .''• I'low:! (he 
 party. There's nothing better to be done ! Thcrc'o i socroi, 
 about here ; thaf I see ; but it's hunting for a nee lie in a hay ■ 
 stack, to poke into that wilderness of swamp thicket without 
 some little finger-point along the route. It's a waste of time 
 and patience. No ! The shortest way is to take after the 
 pony. How if the rider is Henry Travis ! If he's got off 
 from Inglehaidt, and has picked up some marsh tackey, and is 
 close following after his father ? By Jupiter, that's a sensible 
 notion. And yet, if it's him, he's more cf a Lor.i SLout thaii - 
 ever reckoned him to be. He's gf<l a genius tor it, if it's lun,, 
 A genius for it — a genius ! He beats me. I ain't altogethe/ 
 what I was. I'm a doing nothing — nothing. I'm just as 
 stupid as a fat tui-key. If I only had a mouthful of Jamaica 
 now — but one mouthful — mouthful — I reckon my sense would 
 come back to me. I hain't had my right senses ever since I 
 gave up Jamaica, I hain't ! Yet I've sworn a monstratious oath 
 agin the creature — the Lord lorgive me — and keep me from 
 temptation !" 
 
 Ballou was jaded, and not « little mortified. The reader 
 understands, we trust, the peculiar diificulties in the way of 
 his further discoveries at the preso.it moment. He has ja.' 
 none but cold tracks of Inglehardt and his troopers to puvsuvs 
 and the trail has been that of horsemen ; and has been cut. 
 whenever the horsemen have reached the camp, within a mile 
 of the swamp fastness. The further connection between t}.ie 
 one place and the other has been found only on foot, and is 
 known to only a few of Inglehardt's party. The foot trail has 
 eluded the search of our scout for sufficient reasons. It has 
 ceen so contrived that there shall be no foot, tr'il The liby 
 •intli in which Travis and his son were hidden away, have 
 never been sought by any of the parties on horseb .ck ; and th j 
 route, penetrating the swamp at one point on.y in a front of 
 several miles, has not a single salieat ^eature by which to arrjsl 
 the eye. "o find it r&juires a clue, which, as yet our scout ha 
 
286 EUTAW. 
 
 entirely failed to gain. The nearest approach to this swamp ■ 
 fastness was made by Nelly Floyd's pony, which was sheltered 
 on the very edge of the thicket, but fully a mile from the spot 
 where the entrance was effected. Ballon must wait events. 
 But he resumes his journey with spirit, and if scout is ever to 
 be successful, in finding sign, where sign 18 none, yon may be 
 sure he is the man for it. 
 
THE BARON TAKES PLIGHT, 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE BARON TAKES FLIGHT. 
 
 Meanwhile, the outer and the greater world has not been 
 quietly at rest, purring like a fat tabby at its slumber upon the 
 hearth rug, while we have been observing the action in progress 
 among a portion of our own dramatis personce. Lord Rawdon 
 has been kept busy in his camp at Orangeburg ; on the qui vive 
 lest Greene should be down upon him without giving signals. 
 His situation is one to emban'ass a general exceedingly. He 
 can not obtain information. Lacking in horse, and the few 
 troops of this arm in his service, being constantly busy in the 
 work of foraying for the army — lacking, also, as these do, in 
 enterprise and moral — he finds it impossible to ascertain exactly 
 what the continentals are about. Their mounted men are suf- 
 ficiently active, everywhere, not only to keep him from intelli- 
 gence, but to keep him apprehensive of a movement on every 
 quarter ; and all sorts of rumors reach him, and distress him, 
 touching the movements of his enemies. His liver does not 
 improve under the circumstances ; and he is anxious to leave a 
 position which is so distressingly full of anxieties ; but it is now 
 a point of honor that he should not do so, so long as there is any 
 possibility of a demonstration being made by Greene. 
 
 But though much worried, and something bewildered by his 
 circumstances, Rawdon is too good a soldier to pule, and peak, 
 and pine, and do nothing. He strains every nerve, spares no 
 exertion, to put his army on a good footing, so that he shall be 
 ready for attack, at any moment, and, if spared a struggle, for 
 which he can only inadequately prepare at best — then, that ho 
 shall be able to leave the army in good posiflfon and condition 
 
28H E'.-7\v 
 
 to his successor. Grimly he works, day by day, in Orangeourg 
 He is severe as Rhadamanthus, and, no doubt, tries to be as 
 just as Minos. He has needed to hang a few raw Irishmen — 
 his own countrymen — for a riot, that looked like mutiny. He 
 has driven all the idle mouths out of the village. He has 
 bought, or seized, all the horses that could be laid hands on ; 
 and his liver gets no better ! He must try other specifics ; but, 
 just now, he can not try Charleston. He is fettered by duty 
 for the present, and this bondage does not improve his temper. 
 His subordinates arc hourly made sensible of this. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lord Edward Fitzgerald has been required to 
 rejoin his regiment, the nineteenth, at Monck's Corner. His 
 lordship found it no longer pleasant to serve as aide to a general 
 whose liver is so much out of order as Rawdon's ; and, being 
 of an enterprising disposition besides, and Hearing vague rumors 
 of a movement of Sumter's below — the movement on Murray's 
 ferry had reached his ears — he signified his desire to join his 
 regiment, to which Rawdon readily listened. With a corps of 
 forty horse, badly mounted, and mostly loyalists, Fitzgerald 
 succeeded in getting to Monck's Corner at the lucky interval, 
 when all the American light parties, having struck down for the 
 Ashley river and Goose creek country, he fonnd the roads tol- 
 erably clear. He took the Sinclair barony eii route, and ten- 
 dered his escort to the colonel of that ilk. But, just then, our 
 loyalist baron was suffering from a severe grip of the gout, 
 which left him inaccessible to every suggestion, of whatever 
 sort, and made that of travel particularly personal and offensive. 
 We are afraid that his civility, if not hospitality, was something 
 faulty on this occasion ; and, which made the visit of particu- 
 larly ungracious result, in the eyes of Fitzgerald, Carrie Sin- 
 clair so contrived it as not to give our young Irish noble a 
 single chance of a private chat with her. Either she was 
 always about her father, or about the household affairs, or Lottie 
 ■was always with her. 
 
 Lord Edward cursed the Fates which required that he should 
 set off at dawn of day, without obtaining a single love-chance. 
 He had not sufficiently overcome the preliminary difficulties, as 
 to venture to summon the fortress. He reached Monck's Cor- 
 ner without interruption, his party being one of those the prog- 
 
THE BARON TAKES PLIGHT. 289 
 
 ress of which contributed to the alarm of our friend Bram, now 
 serving as scout-sergeant to the bewildered ladies cf the Travis 
 household, where they harbored, lurking, perdu, in that of the 
 Widow Avinger. 
 
 But though, under the griping pain of his gout, our Baron Sin- 
 clair was, perhaps, somewhat cavalier in his treatment of Lord 
 Edward, he yet greatly regretted his inE(bility to avail himself 
 of the proffered escort. At the particular moment when the 
 escort was tendered him, his case was at the worst — he was 
 immovable, and the young lord could not wait for him. He 
 would sooner have submitted to a rapier-thrust, under the fifth 
 rib, than stirred a peg of his own motion. Three days after, how- 
 ever, the acuteness of his pains over, he prepared to depart. It 
 was easy now to do so. All his preparations had been duly made. 
 Tte great family carriage was in the courtyard, four fine blacks 
 (horses, not negroes) were harnessed to it, and old Sam was 
 mounted on the box. Behind, you see Little Peter, rising like 
 Gog upon Magog, upon a monstrous raw-boned steed of wonder- 
 ful dimensions. The carriage was an affair of state in the old 
 families of those days in Carolina. It was of London manu- 
 facture, and modelled after that of the lord-mayor — possibly of 
 Whittington's time. Four horses were much more necessary to 
 such a vehicle, than two would be to the modern equipage of 
 the same denomination. Of course, our baron was accompanied 
 by his daughters ; and there was a little negro-girl whom they 
 stowed away in some capacious crevice. 
 
 Our baron, bolstered up with blanket and military cloak, with 
 cushions adjusted to his feet, was already lifted into the vehicle, 
 when he called aloud for sword and pistols. He tried the latter 
 with the ramrod, and satisfied himself that the charge was wor- 
 thy of the bore in each. He adjusted these conveniently to his 
 grasp, in the pocket of the coach beside him. His rapier hnng 
 before him, just as ready to the gripe. You will please suppose 
 that creature comforts were not improvidently forgotten by so 
 good a housekeeper as Cai-rie Shiclair. ^ And, ere the vehicle 
 was set in motion, what a cohort of Ethiopians gathered around, 
 to wave and shout the farewell to master and mistress. And 
 each squad had its own satrap, prominently advanced, cap in 
 hand ; at the head of all, the redoubtable Benny Bowlegs— over- 
 
290 EUTAW. 
 
 seer and driver — a sort of cross of orderly-sergeant upon driver 
 Benny had sundry causes of dissatisfaction and complaint, which, 
 dwelt upon in previous conferences, he was fain to renew at the 
 parting moment. 
 
 " I tell you, niaussa, 'tis a mos' foolish derangement, dis, dat 
 takes ole Sam, who's jes' as good as nobody — and Leetle Peter 
 who habs no experiences in de worl', and loffs behind de beny 
 pusson dat can manage de trab'ling operations. Wha's de good 
 ob ole Sam, and Leetle Peter, ef you gits into any skrimmaging 
 
 wid dem d d refifygees ? I's de properesome pusson for hab 
 
 de charge ob dis trab'ling distractions." 
 
 "Oh, don't talk of troubles, and distractions, aai skrimmages. 
 to us now. Daddy Ben, when we are on the eve of starting !" 
 said Carrie. 
 
 " I ain't put 'em off, tell dis time, Miss Carrie. I bin talk to 
 ole maussa 'bout 'em before." 
 
 " To be sure you did, you troublesome old rascal !" cried the 
 colonel, with a groan, as a twinge of his gouty timbers remind- 
 ed him of his mortality. " To be sure you did ; and that is 
 just sufficient reason that you shouldn't bother me again about 
 the matter. I tell you, old dog, that you are quite too conceit- 
 ed ! Old Sam is as good a driver as ever you were in your best 
 days ; and Little Peter is twice as strong as you are, ef there's 
 any need of fighting — do you hear t" 
 
 " Yes, maussa, Pete hab de strengt', but whey he git he sod- 
 ger edication ? /I'arn wid youse'fva. de Cherokee war." 
 
 " Oh, d — ^n the Cherokee war now ! and no more of your 
 stuff, Benny. I should take you with me, and should prefer to 
 do so, yon old rascal, if I didn't want you here ! — prefer you to 
 any other outrider, if it will do your conceit any good to hear 
 me say it ; but we can't spare you from the plantation. I need 
 you Jiere, I say, to keep the garrison, and save the property, and 
 beat off outlaws, and run the hands, if need be, across the swamp. 
 You remember all my directions on these subjects ? And, hark 
 you, old fellow, have you hidden away all the indigo iu the 
 swamp ?" 
 
 " Ebbry bit. De debble hese'f couldn't fin' 'em, nor Debbie- 
 Dick neider !" 
 
 " Well, I can't stop now for further directions. Wp have no 
 
THE BARON TAKES FLIGHT. 291 
 
 time to lose. I must have your wisdom, and your military edu- 
 cation, and your fidelity and courage, here, old fellow ! You 
 are captain of the garrison, do you hear ? and that should satisfy 
 your monstrous vanity, I'm sure. It would, if you were a white 
 man. But a conceited negro, Benny, has the stomach of an 
 ostrich." 
 
 "Mc, Benny, conceited, maussa? — me V 
 
 " Yes, as a peacock. But, give me your hand, old fellow. 
 There! see to everything. I look to you — to no one else. 
 So be satisfied. God bless you, Benny ! God bless yon, my 
 people ! Take care of yourselves ; follow Benny. He will 
 take care of you. Good-by all !" 
 
 And the answer — through all the notes of the gamut — was 
 vociferous from a hundred mouths. 
 
 " Gorrah bross you, maussa ! Gorrah bress you, young missis ! 
 De Lawd be wid you, and hab massy 'pon you !" — " Good-by, 
 Miss Carrie?" — "Da! da! Lottie! Da! da! bring frock for 
 Sissy Bepp!" — "An' knife for Bike, please !"—" An' Leetle 
 Lottie, 'member de Jews' harp you bin promise for Jupe !" 
 And there was no end to commissions, farewells, and benedic- 
 tions, which followed the party down the avenue long after it 
 had got quite out of hearing. 
 
 Ah, the dear black, dirty scamps of negroes, big and little, on 
 one of the old ante-revolutionary plantations ! They acknowl- 
 edge loving necessities as the fleas do ; are as free in their in- 
 timacies as the frogs of Egypt; will blacken the very sunshine- 
 upon your walls with the pressure of their affections ; and carry 
 real, genuine hearts, full of sympathy for all the family, in spite 
 of their rarely- washed visages — which revolt, instinctively, at 
 the unnatural application of soap and water to a skin that great- 
 ly prefers friction with oil and sunshine. But we must go on. 
 
 Colonel Sinclair was fortunate in his progress. He suffered 
 no interruptions, and was permitted to grunt at ease, upon the 
 grips of his gout, and to make himself as comfortable as he 
 could in the narrow province to which his ample physique was 
 perforce contracted. You will please suppose him, at best, to 
 have got on badly. Still the worst of his present attack was 
 passed, and it was only what the physicians facetiously call the 
 " tail of the sout" that d-o-^" >•''" •'-^■" ?r!.-<---rT^^.?^.r>.=.^ 3[jg fgei 
 
292 EUTAW. 
 
 were simply sore and swollen, and every now and then he suf- 
 fered a twinge of toe or ankle such as a loving blacksmith's vice 
 "ould effect upon a joint into which the operator should thrust 
 at the same time a tiny cambric needle. The restraint was 
 something too of an annoyance, riding in a close vehicle. Our 
 colonel was an equestrian, and never rode in a carriage if he 
 could help it. When able to escape its use, he cursed all such 
 contrivances of art. Now be groaned uneasily at a necessity 
 which he could not escape. 
 
 The weather, though still hot, was not otherwise unpleasant 
 The roads were good. The carriage was slow of movement, 
 but this rather on account of the invalid than because of any 
 inability of the horses. As already said, the moment was 
 favorable to a safe progress down to Monck's Corner. The 
 American parties were mostly below ; the Britisli were chiefly 
 circumscribed within the bounds of the Orangeburg and Charles- 
 ton garrisons, except the command of Colonel Coates at the 
 Monck's Corner post, where the Nineteenth regiment, with 
 some auxiliar forces were stationed. There had been small 
 commands elsewhere about, on the route or near it, but these 
 have been electrically affected by the progress below of the 
 American parties, and have drawn in their antennas. Still, 
 there were roving squads of both parties — uidicensed forayers, 
 who might be looked for at any moment, and with whom no- 
 body could feel quite safe, unless they were able to make fight. 
 It may have been some of these rapscallions who dashed by the 
 carriage, twice or thrice during the progress. It was not easy 
 to conjecture who they were. Their uniforms were not uni- 
 form, and of nondescript cut and color. These all came from 
 above, or turned in from lateral roads, and were all spurring 
 below. They offered no offence, however, and no inquiry cal- 
 culated to provoke the wonder of our travellers. At each ap- 
 proach of these pai-ties the veteran grasped his pistols, and kept 
 them ready with finger on trigger. But his va'iaucy remained 
 unchallenged. The strangers all proved fast riders, scarcely 
 giving more than a look to the party as they drove below, like 
 so many vultures trooping to the carnage. 
 
 Little Peter looked knowing as they passed him by. He 
 might have answered the colonel's doubts had the latter conde- 
 
THE BARON TAKES FUGHT. 293 
 
 scended to inquire. The parties — Little Peter would have 
 sw;rn — were all Marion's, "n their way back to the camp of 
 the Swamp-Fox. Tl e large business on hand below gave them 
 no time for loitering. 
 
 "What hawks can th^se be?" muttered the colonel. 
 
 " Oivil ones, at least,'' said Carrie Sinclair. " I suspect them 
 to belong to the liberty party." 
 
 " Liberty dev.is ! Rebels, Miss Sinclair ! Heartless, soul- 
 less, insensible, savage, ridiculous rebels ! Liberty indeed ! as 
 if liberty was designed for such scum of the earth ; as if the 
 great body of any people, of any country, were in any way 
 prepared for that blessing which belongs only to the gods, or at 
 most to the bes'^ and wisest of the human family. Don't use 
 such nonsensical phrases again, my daughter. You may be 
 right enough in your conjecture that they belong to the rebel 
 party : their vagabond looks and costume would seem to say as 
 much. Such rapscallions to constitute an army, and to dream 
 of liberty! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Really, the more you see of this 
 wi-etched rebellion, the more absurd and monstrous it shows 
 itself." 
 
 " Of the absurdity of it, my dear father," answered Carrie 
 demurely, '• it may be prudent to say nothing until we see the 
 result. Rebellion is said to change its name when it succeeds. 
 Success is very apt to strip the enterprise of the absurdity which 
 attended its outset." 
 
 ''But" — with a sort of horror in his countenance — "you 
 can not fancy surely that there is any prospect of success for 
 rapscallions rebellion such as this V 
 
 " I don't know, sir. Appearances are certainly very suspi- 
 cious at the present juncture. Why are we running away from 
 home ? Why is my Lord Rawdon about to run away from Or- 
 angeburg? Why have the British generals run away from all 
 their posts of Camden, Granby, Ninety-Six, Fort Motte, Au- 
 gusta — everywhere, except Orangeburg and Charleston ? If 
 these signs have any import whatever, then rebellion is fast 
 losing its old aspects, whether of monstrosity or absurdity." 
 
 " Nonsense ! What should a woman know of such matters ? 
 These movements of the British generals, which you most ridic- 
 ulously style ' runnings,' are, in other and proper words, ' strata 
 
294 EUTAW. 
 
 gics.' They merely indicate a profou-aJ. policy: tlic/aea-;- 
 signed to delude these vulgar aud conceited rebels, who, ii tney 
 forget themselves, and dare to occupy the places which hav3 
 been temporarily abandoned, will become the certain vietimo 
 of that policy which thus designs to snare thaoi to their fate." 
 
 " As we bait a mouse or rat trap, and dra v off that the rat oi 
 mouse may have the liberty to cage himself: ' 
 
 " Precisely ; though your comparison is S'arcely sufficiently 
 dignified for the subject, Miss Sinclair." 
 
 " Well, I don't know, my dear father ; but I fancy that, if I 
 were a warrior, I should be very grateful to the enemy who 
 should build a fortress, and fill it with cannon, store it with 
 guns, and powder and shot, and all the munitions of war — make 
 ready his defences, line his walls, hang out his banners, show a 
 brave front — yet run off and leave his fortress and all his muni- 
 tions the moment I came against him." 
 
 '' Hem ! I tell you, Carrie, the subject is entirely beyond 
 your comprehension.'' 
 
 " Very likely, sir. Your explanations certainly tend to make 
 it so. But I can see that there is a subtlety somewhere, and I 
 begin now to suspect that, when Lincoln surrendered Charles- 
 ton to Sir Henry Clinton, he was only executing a grand stroke 
 of policy — getting the whole British army into a trap, in order 
 to cut 'em all off at a blow. And the oigns are tending that 
 way apparently. But, this being the case, is it altogether 
 proper policy for us to go to that city, where we shall be as so 
 many poor little mice in a baited cage, fattening up for some 
 great mouser of rebellion 1 Were it were not wiser policy for 
 us to turn aside, and either go back to the barony, or cross the 
 Santee into a country where, just now, the rebels permit no 
 cages to be built t" 
 
 " Pshaw ! you are a fool, girl, and don't know what you are 
 talking about ! At all events, it is quite as absurd for us to be 
 discussing here the strategics of British generalship. Still more 
 absurd to be beguiled into such a discussion because of the en- 
 counter with certain dirty blackguards, who carry rifles and 
 shot-gxins, and pretend to be military, and impudently dream of 
 such a thing as liberty. Liberty is indeed n goddess, and she 
 admits no rapscallions to her altars." 
 
THE BARON TAKES PLIGHT. 29o 
 
 vVell, my father, I learn for the first time from you that the 
 r-mform makes the soldier." 
 
 •' Who said any such nonsense ?" 
 
 ' T. must infer it from what you say." 
 
 " And what nonsense have I spoken to justify any such infer- 
 ence ? I lell you, girl, the subject is one only to be discussed 
 by men. It is beyond you. Tou are only repeating at second 
 land the absurdities which you have heard from that ridicu- 
 lously conceited and obstinate brother of yours, who will get 
 himself knocked on the head, or hung, when he is most top- 
 heavy in feather." 
 
 " Ah, no ! Leave Willie Sinclair to take care of himself. 
 He is a soldier, father, and a brave fellow to boot." 
 
 " He might have been, in a regular and honorable service ; 
 but, with such rascally fellows as these — " 
 
 " Stop, my dear father. The proverb says, ' Never curse the 
 bridge that carries yon over.' In the spirit of the proverb, let 
 me say, never curse those who forbear to trouble you when 
 they might ; who have the power to harm, when you can not 
 resist, and who deny themselves the opportunity to do so, and 
 at a period when there are few securities for life and property, 
 when opportunity invites the marauder." 
 
 " Ha ! let the rascals attempt it. I carry a brace of lives 
 here," showing his pistols — "and I can still wield a rapier, 
 my girl, in defence of my children and my honor. — But — " a 
 moment after — "But you are right, Carrie; the fellows were 
 civil and forbearing, and we should be thankful. I confess to 
 have forgotten for the moment my religion in my loyalty. The 
 fellows might have done us harm, and were civil; and I — I — 
 with this miserable game leg of mine to be talking of what I 
 could do in a struggle. I am as great a braggadocio as Benny 
 Bowlegs. Ah ! that twinge was a proper penalty for my lack 
 of Christian patience and humility. Still, my dear girl, these 
 fellows, though they may be civil — and have some notion of 
 order, are not soldiers, by any means — never will be sol- 
 diers. It is not in them. Soldiers, forsooth ! The awkward, 
 ungainly, sprawling, lanksided, listless caterans. Ah ! my 
 child, you should see a British army in all its grandeur — its 
 thousands in line or column, glorious in costume — in crimson 
 
296 EUTAW. 
 
 and gold and green — its great banners streaming tj tne wind 
 — its gorgeous panoply — glittering steel and golden gonfalon ! 
 — its serried ranks of bayonets — its jliarging battalions of 
 horse ! — What can such ragamuffins hope, when opposed to her 
 formidable legions V 
 
 " Why, dear father, will you be so blind and so unjust ! Did 
 not just such people as these constitute your provincial regi- 
 ments in the old French war ? and did they not save the rem- 
 nant of Braddock's regulars, when they fled in a panic which 
 would have disgraced the vilest poltroons upon earth ? And. 
 did not Middleton's provincials do the same good turn for Grant's 
 regulars among the Cherokees 1 and was it not for this very 
 sort of disparagement that Middleton cudgelled Grant, himself, 
 in the streets of Charleston ?" 
 
 " And you would have me cudgelled too, I suppose, as well 
 as Grant, for being so free spoken of your favorites." 
 
 " No, sir ; but I would have you just /" 
 
 " You are right in that, Carrie. To be just always should be 
 the highest ambition of a gentleman. To be unjust, in however 
 small a matter, and in reference to however small a person, is 
 always a meanness. I would not willingly be unjust ; but Car- 
 rie when in addition to a disloyal son, and the devU, who is 
 every man's double, 1 have another ever-present enemy in the 
 gout, you must not be surprised if I occasionally err against my 
 own principles, and my own desires. Say no more. The colo- 
 nists can fight — can make good soldiers, spite of the uniforms 
 — ax/, I will admit the possibility — can be successful rebels! 
 I begin to confess a fear to myself, daily, that they will become 
 so ; and if so, Carrie, I will admit further, it is because they 
 have not had justice. Where, for example, was the necessity 
 of their sending us such a general as Edward Braddock, when 
 there was such a military buckskin in the country as George 
 Washington? and why give us such impertinent puppies as 
 Grant, when the country could produce natives like Moultrie, 
 and Marion, and Sumter, and Middleton, and a thousand be- 
 sides, who were worth a thousand such popinjays. Rebels, 
 though these men be, they are nevertheless able and skilful 
 rebels, and brave and audacious rebels — and like to be, I fear, 
 successful rebels ; and they have been made rebels, in too many 
 
THE BARON TAKES FLIGHT. 297 
 
 cases, I fancy, by the cvuel injustice wliicli denied them the 
 right authority among their people ! I have said this very thing 
 to Earl Oornwallis, to my Lord Rawdon, and to many others ; 
 though, you are not to understand me as admitting, for a mo- 
 ment, that their rebellion is justified because of the injustice 
 which might have provoked it. Their loyalty should have been 
 superior to self." 
 
 " And the prince that challenged that loyalty should have 
 been superior to self too, and superior to fraud and wrong, my 
 father." 
 
 "What fraud — what wrong, and — but who is here? Your 
 wild girl, Nelly, as I live, Carrie, and her eternal little light- 
 footed pony." 
 
 Sure enough, in the midst of tlie political conference between 
 father and daughter, F'elly Floyd cantered up suddenly beside 
 the carriage. 
 
 ■' "Why, Nelly, is it you ]" said Carrie. 
 
 " V/ell, my girl, how ii .t ' I am glad to see you well again 
 as ever," was the good-numored address of the baron, while 
 little Lottie, in silence possessed herself of the hand of Nelly, 
 which, at the stopping of the coach, was thrust in at the 
 windows. 
 
 " Oh ! well, sir, I thank you. I scarcely feel the hurt at all 
 now. And I'm glad to see that you are able to travel, sir." 
 
 " Able to travel. Able to fly, you mean ! I am able to en- 
 dure a travelHng horse, my girl, but that's all. I'm able for no 
 more." 
 
 " And you, dear Miss Carrie 1" 
 
 " Oh ! I'lii quite well, Nelly. I haven't tin.e to be otherwise. 
 My father' does all my sickness, and Lottie does all my play ; 
 so, between the two. I'm relieved of almost all cf the usual cares 
 of girlhood." 
 
 " And you might add womanhood too, while in the satirical 
 vein, for the description will suit half the sex, even though 
 you leave out the children entirely. But where are you from, 
 my girl ?" 
 
 The question seemed to disquiet the girl, though not to con- 
 fuse her. But she answered promptly enough. 
 
 " Oh ! not far, sir ; I haven't had to ride any distance to-day.' 
 
 13* 
 
298 EUTAW. 
 
 "Egad, I suspect you are half the time on the road." 
 
 He was really moderate in his estimate. 
 
 "I love to ride, sir," answered the girl evasively — "and 
 Aggy never tires, sir." 
 
 " She's Virginny all over then, according to the old song. 
 But where arc you bound now V 
 
 " Nowhere, sir, exactly. Just riding about." 
 
 " By my faith, you love it with a strange passion. You take 
 tlie road without fear of those refugee rascals that seem to be 
 everywhere, and from whom your escape has been so narrow 
 already. Are you not afraid, my girl ?" 
 
 " Oh ! no, sir ; not afraid." 
 
 " But seriously, my young girl, you have good reason to be 
 cautious, and afraid too." 
 
 " Oh ! I am very cautious, sir." 
 
 " Well, but look you, my good lit:le girl, a young creatura 
 like you, and of your sex too, has reason to be something more 
 than cautious in respect to tra "e mg the highways, alone, at 
 such a time as this. You are doing wjoiig. I must scold you. 
 Do you know your weakness, ."•o you know what your sex 
 calls for — what it imperatively demands. Come, come, don't 
 be skittish now," seeing a restiffness in the girl's manner, and 
 a twitching of her bridle which augured a hasty flight — " come, 
 you must listen to your friends. We must stop this wild and 
 perilous game which you are playing. You do not guess — do 
 not dream — how great is the peril" — here the looks of the 
 baron were full of awful significance — "you wi'l be lost before 
 you know where you are.'' 
 
 The girl smiled, as she answered : — 
 
 " Ah, sir ! I know the woods too well. You couldn't lose mo 
 in any forest between the Santee and the Savannah. I know 
 the woods, sir, as the mariner knows the sea !" 
 
 She had interpreted his speech literally. 
 
 " The simple innocent !" muttered the baron. Then, aloud : 
 " You do not understand me. You are exposed to dangers — 
 dangers, I say — of which you do not guess! That's what I 
 mean. Horrible dangers — shameful dangers — distressing dan- 
 gers — dangers, my girl, worse than any death." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't think so, sir." 
 
THE BARON TAKES PLIGHT. 299 
 
 " But you must let your friends tliink for you. Come now, 
 there's nothing to keep you here. Keep on with us, and when 
 we get to Monck's Corner, I will make arrangements for getting 
 yon a vehicle, when you can travel more honorably and agree- 
 ably. Come, go with my dai%hter to Charleston, and live with 
 us, as one of my family. I like you, my good girl — like you 
 very much, and so does Carrie ; and you must go and live 
 with us." 
 
 Carrie warmly seconded the entreaties of her father. But, 
 the girl shook her head in denial — somewhat sadly, however. 
 
 " I thank you, sir, but I can not now. I have much serious 
 matter to keep me here, and keep me watchful. And, I am 
 very cautious, sir, and very careful ; and risk nothing which is 
 avoidable. I know there are dangers, but I also know where 
 they lie — from what quarter they threaten, and how to escape 
 them." 
 
 " If you do, then, by Jupiter, you are a d d sight wiser 
 
 than most of the graybeards that I know, of either of the sexes. 
 But what serious matters can you have — a mere girl — what 
 troubles — that should render necessary any exposure 1" 
 
 " Ah, sir, where do you learn that youth is exempt from care 
 and trouble — that age only has the privilege of care V 
 
 "By my faith, a searching question!" exclaimed the baron, 
 as he looked up in wonder. " The 'privilege of care ! Girl, you 
 are a mystery to me. That is said with great profundity or 
 great simplicity, and I can not say which. Care is, doubtlessly, 
 the grandest of human privileges. It makes all the difl'erence 
 between man and other animals. But men rarely rise to a sense 
 of it as a privilege, or as grateful in any way, and wome)i still 
 more rarely. If you, a girl, are able to do so — but no ! — " and 
 the baron muttered to himself — " no ! it was but a random shaft 
 of speech." 
 
 He was confirmed in this notion as he looked at the features 
 of the girl. She was surveying him, hearkening to his comment 
 ^ which was half a soliloquy — with a look of the utmost sim- 
 plicity, as if totally unconscious of anything in her own remark 
 which was calculated to provoke surprise. Our baron might 
 even have fancied her deficient in ordinary intelligence, judging 
 from the quiet indifference of her expression, but that the eyes. 
 
.^00 EUTAW. 
 
 the moutli. find the whole face, had in them so much of soul as 
 well as sweetness ; as if Thought were there, but stripped of all 
 support of the passions ; as if the intelligence were of a sort to 
 secure the possessor from all disturbing influences of earth. 
 "While the look exhibited the utmost unconsciousness of what 
 was Ike force in her remark, it was yet so expressive, in general 
 respects — so full of frankness, and ingenuous grace, and viva- 
 city too — that it disarmed every doubt of the capacity of the 
 intellect which informed it. And yet the whole matter was a 
 probleni : the girl, though totally free from mystery in her man- 
 uer, was yet evidently a mystery to all who beheld her, or lis- 
 tened to her voice. 
 
 When our baron stopped in his speech, Nelly seemed to wait, 
 as if expecting that he would resume it ; but, as he did not, she 
 again spoke. 
 
 " You warn me of danger, Colonel Sinclair, while you your- 
 self are going into it." 
 
 '■Me!" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and oh, it is pitiful to carry your daughters to 
 where they may see human blood running like water !" 
 
 " How ! human blood, Nelly !" cried Carrie Sinclair ; " of 
 what do you speak] what doyou mean?" 
 
 " You are on your way to Charleston. You are going by 
 Monck's Corner ; but there the soldiers are gathering — the sol- 
 diers of both sides. Even now, Sumter, whom they call the 
 Gamecock, and who deserves the title, is hurrying down to that 
 very place ; and Marion is there ; and a whole host besides. 
 Did you not see Marion's men pass you — three squads, all with 
 sprigs of cedar in their caps ? The horn has been sounded, 
 calling 'em up, all the way to the South Edisto. All the scouts 
 and forayers are going in ; and they are driving everything be- 
 fore them. The British have no horse, and all of these are 
 horsemen ; and they aim to destroy the British posts at Monck's 
 Corner, and Wautoot, and Fairlawn, and all about the Cooper 
 river country." 
 
 " And how know you all this, my girl ?" 
 
 " Oh, I see and hear ! I tell you it is so, believe me. Ma- 
 rion and Sumter are both there, and they have a thousand men, 
 and more are coming in ; for the corn-harvest is over, and the 
 
THE BARON TAKES FLIGHT. 301 
 
 indigo is made, and every farmer is now able, if he is willing, to 
 take the field." 
 
 " Pshaw, Nelly ! they can never raise a thousand men in that 
 quarter, and at this season of the year." 
 
 "Oh, dear sir — Colonel Sinclair — but, in truth, you must 
 Delieve me ! For all that I tell you is true — sure." 
 
 "Pooh ! pooh ! And do you not know that there is a Brit- 
 ish regiment at Monck's Corner, my girl — a British regiment — 
 full, fresh, and commanded by as brave a colonel as heads any 
 army regiment at this moment in America V 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir : the British have almost a thousand men also. 
 But they have only a few horse — nothing to the men of Marion 
 and Smnter — " 
 
 " Pooh, Nelly, my girl ! Five hundred British regulars, with 
 bright bayonets, are equal to a thousand, ay, five thousand mili- 
 tia, at any time." 
 
 " Do you think so, sir 1" answered the girl, with a simplicity 
 that seemed to bother the colonel. He laughed good-humoredly, 
 however, and said : — 
 
 " Well, Nelly, as you put it to me so closely, I confess I do 
 not exactly think so ; but if five hundred British regulars are 
 not equal to any thousand of Marion's ragamufiSns, then I'll 
 never sing ' Rule Britannia' again." 
 
 " Your son is one of Marion's men, colonel : do you think 
 him only half as good as a British dragoon V asked Nelly, as 
 if seeking the solution of a difficulty. He gazed at her vacantly 
 a moment, then said, with a sort of roar : — 
 
 " By the powers, girl, if Willie Sinclair is not equal to any 
 colonel -if dragoons in the British army, I'll — I'll — I'll — turn 
 rebel myself!" 
 
 " I think he is, colonel; and I tell you that Marion and Sum- 
 ter have a great many brave and powerful soldiers like Colonel 
 Sinclair." 
 
 " Like mo t" 
 
 "No, sir — like your son." 
 
 " But he's only a major." 
 
 " Oh, you hav'n't heard ! He's promoted. He's made a 
 colonel by Governor Rutledge himself; and — " 
 
 '' By Jupiter, promotion seems a rapid thing in this rebel scr- 
 
302 EUTAW. 
 
 vice ! 1 did not get a colonelcy before fifty, and then I had to 
 raise my own regiment." 
 
 " So much in favor of the rebel service. The natives have 
 Bome chance in that," slyly put in Carrie Sinclair. 
 
 " Yes, and the difference must tell in every way," answered 
 the veteran, with a gloomy shake of the head. " A system," 
 he continued, " which encourages the young, is not only likely 
 to seduce thousands to its flag, but is also as likely to develop 
 the genius and ability of many who will prove superior to any 
 course of training. But, Nelly, my good girl, while I thank 
 you for your information, and believe much of it to be true, I can 
 not fear for the result when the forces are so nearly equal. If 
 Coates has a regiment of five hundred men, and half as many 
 horse, he can not be driven from his post." 
 
 " He will retreat, sir ; he will — I know it." 
 
 " Five hundred British bayonets, opposed to a thousand clod- 
 hoppers, never retreat." 
 
 " They will, sir — they will ! Marion's men can shoot, sir, as 
 no European can shoot." 
 
 "Ay, my girl, but will a British officer stop at shooting, 
 when it requires but a word, 'Charge!' — and where are the 
 militiamen to withstand the shock of British steel V 
 
 "They will fly — the British — nevertheless," said the girl, 
 pertinaciously. 
 
 " Never ! I fear nothing. I must go on." 
 
 " Oh ! do not, sir — do not ; for what I tell you is the truth. 
 They will retreat. The British soldiers have lost their confi- 
 dence. Their horse can not stand the cavalry of Marion and 
 Sumter. Your own son is a far better dragoon than any in the 
 British service. And oh, sir, even if this be not true — even if 
 the British keep their ground — would you carry your daugh- 
 ters to the place of slaughter? For there will be blood, sir — 
 there will be a fearful strife, and much blood will be spilt. 
 Why should they be spectators of it ? Tvrn back, sir, to your 
 plantation. There is no war there." 
 
 " But how long will it be so ? I have the opinion of Lord 
 Rawdon himself, and my son Doth, counselling Eie to leave." 
 
 " Go, then, over the Se.ntee. Seek the nea '.st ferry." 
 
 " Oh, do. my father !" entieated Carrie 
 
THE BARON TAKES PLIGHT. 303 
 
 " What are you so scary too ? No, no, Carrie ! Never shall 
 it be said that I turned back, having once set my hand upon 
 the plough. I go on, and have no fear but that Colonel Ooates 
 can give me shelter at Monck's Corner till I can see my way to 
 Charleston. I have spoken. Once more, Nelly, my girl, will 
 you go with us, and be one of our family ? You see us as we 
 are. I am a rough old bear, at best ; and, when the gout is on 
 me, I am a hyena. Beware of me then. Otherwise, you have 
 no cause of fear. For cause of love, my girl, I refer you to 
 Carrie and little Lottie." 
 
 " Oh, do go with us, Nelly !" said Carrie. 
 
 " Impossible, dear Miss Sinclair ; but, though I refuse, my 
 heart is full of gratitude. But I can not go with you. I have 
 much that demands my constant care and attention. Hist you, 
 a moment ! — " and, as Carrie leaned her ear out of the window 
 of the carriage, she whi.spered : — 
 
 " Oh, Miss Sinclair, I have found him — my brother ! Alas ! 
 I find him again in bad company, and I'm trying, when I can 
 get a chance, to win him away from it ; for I see the terrible 
 fate that awaits him, though he does not, and he will not believe 
 me. Oh, he is so foolish, so perverse ! but I still hope — hope 
 — hope ! I can hardly do anything else but hope." 
 
 " How I could wish that I could help you ! Will money be 
 of any use 1" 
 
 This was said in a whisper. 
 
 " No, no ! I thank you ; but it is not money that will serve 
 me here." 
 
 The baron began to grow impatient. 
 
 •' We must drive on, my girl. Once more, will you go with 
 us, and be one of our family ?" 
 
 "I thank you, sir — I can not say how much I thank you; 
 but this is impossible. I have duties here, sir, that make it 
 impossible." 
 
 " Duties !" Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried, 
 " But where do you live, Nellie — with whom 1" 
 
 " Me ? oh, I live everywhere — here !" And she wjjved her 
 hand out, as if over the forest. 
 
 " You do not mean to say that you lodge and sleep in the 
 woods V 
 
304 EUTAW. 
 
 " Wlieii I can do no better." 
 
 " Good Heavens, my girl, you mvsl go with us ! Sleep in the 
 woods?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, and a pleasant couch it affords when the weather 
 is so mild and fine as this, and when there is no rain." 
 
 "But the snakes, my girl — the wolves !" 
 
 " They' never trouble me." 
 
 The fact was a curious one, and to be remembered in connec- 
 tion with what else is singular in the histoiy of this damsel. As 
 old Mother Ford was wont to say, long afterward, to Carrie Sin- 
 clair and others : — 
 
 " I have known her sleep within three feet of a rattlesnake's 
 hole in midsummer ; and I have come upon her at early sunrise, 
 while she has been sleeping there, and I have seen with my 
 own eyes a monstrous rattlesnake creep all round her going 
 into his hole, and never offering to trouble her. I do believe 
 that she had a power to charm the beasts." 
 
 To resume : — 
 
 "But, my good girl, such a life, such exposure — and to a 
 young and delicate creature like yourself! Why, you are ' 
 slighter than my Can-ie." 
 
 " Oh, sir, but I am very strong, and I sleep on a hard bed 
 muc'M better than on a soft one ; and the woods shelter me 
 kindly, and, the heavens cover me, and the eye of God is over 
 all, and I have no fear, somehow ; and it is only in our fears, I 
 believe, that Nature is ever terrible." 
 
 And, as she spoke these words, she turned half about upon 
 the saddle of her pony, and her hand was waved toward the 
 woods, and toward heaven ; and the confidence that glowed in 
 all her features was absolutely spiritual, while the action was 
 that of a perfect grace. And, in the thoughts of Carrie and her 
 father both, she seemed even to gi'ow beautiful — her eye kin- 
 dling as if rapt, her cheek glowing, and her hand waving with 
 an air so nobly graceful. Very strange and wondrous winning 
 did she seem, certainly, as she sat her horse, like a damsel of 
 Mexico, her costume half in the picturesque fashion of the 
 Turkish sultana, while her head was surmounted with a straw 
 sombrero, from beneath which her hair in mass, clipped tolera- 
 bly short, fell down upon her shoulders. 
 
THE BARON TAKES PLIGHT. 306 
 
 " Come with us, girl !" cried the veteran, with an almost sav- 
 age look of authority. 
 
 " Do, do come with us, Nelly !" cried Carrie, while the tears 
 rose into her eyes. 
 
 " Thanks, thanks ! But no ! my necessity lies here, and I 
 must go to that. But oh, may God's blessing cover you as with 
 a mantle, and his love gladden you, wherever you go, with all 
 the blossoms of the spring !" 
 
 And, hastily lifting the hand of Carrie Sinclair to her lips, 
 she kissed it, flung it from her as if passionately-, and putting 
 Bpure to her pony, darted away like an arrow from the bow. 
 
806 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE FORAY OF THE PARTISANS. 
 
 " Is she gone ]" demanded the veteran, half striving to raise 
 himself from his cushions and look forth. 
 
 "Yes — already out of sight." 
 
 " Heavens ! what a creature ! So strange, so wild, so inscru- 
 table, and yet so sweet and gentle. And to think that she 
 wanders about these woods — without a protector — half the 
 time without a shelter. But can we believe that, Carrie 1 Is it 
 possible t" 
 
 " I do not doubt it. What we have seen of her, leads me to 
 think her perfectly truthful. And what we have heard from 
 others would seem to confirm the statement." 
 
 '■But is there not some touch of insanity about her ? I have 
 had the impression, more than once, while talking with her," 
 
 " I hardly think so, now. At first, when she was brought to 
 the barony, I was startled at much that was strange and un- 
 usual in her words and conduct; but I soon found that this 
 arose simply from her being so utterly unsophisticated. I found, 
 upon examination, that all she said and did, however uncomriwn 
 in society, was in perfect sympathy with humanity, and the 
 most natural laws of thought. She is evidently a strangely-gifted 
 being, who as certainly knows little or nothing of her own gifts. 
 She is entirely without pretension." 
 
 " I am loath to leave her in these woods. I'm afraid, Carrie 
 we were not sufficiently urgent in the attempt to persuade her 
 to go with us. Hark ye, Little Peter, ride after that young 
 Toman, and beg her to come back for a moment." 
 
 " Ki, maussa !' ' exclaimed Peter, almost aghast, " you 'speck 
 
THE POBAT OP THE PARTISANS. 307 
 
 me for catcli Harricane Nell — me, on dis great bony critter, and 
 Nelly on de pony who's got wing to he foot V 
 
 " Harricane Nell ! What the d — 1 does he mean by that 1" 
 
 " It is her nickname, it appears, among those who know her 
 intimately." 
 
 " And why do they call her so ? Is she passionate or quar- 
 relsome ?" 
 
 " No ! Only, I suspect, because she is as impulsive as the 
 wind, going and coming as she listeth, and without _any pre- 
 monition." 
 
 "Well, sirrah!" to Little Peter, "can't you overtake her 
 easily, on that great long-legged^nimal you bestride ?" 
 
 " Lor' bless you maussa, 'tain't in beas' like dis to catch dat 
 swallow ob a boss dat Harricane Nelly is a riding. Why, 
 maussa, dat little critter goes like a streak, and nebber leffs de 
 track behin' 'em ! Dar's no catching de gal, onless she's willing 
 for le' you catch 'em." 
 
 " Well, we've no time for a chase ! Drive on, Sam. Yet I 
 would cheerfully give a hundred guineas down, to be sure that 
 she should be in good keeping, and under a good roof hence- 
 forward. Certainly, a most interesting creature ! And as 
 graceful and gentle as she is strange and wild ! What a singular 
 union, Carrie, of masculine courage and directness, with girlish 
 simplicity and modesty ! And this union appears equally in 
 form and figure, face and expression, as in action. What a 
 spiritual look her eye gives forth — so meek, yet so wild — so 
 simple, yet so positive and searching. And she talks well — 
 wonderfully well ! Where did she pick it up ?" 
 
 Carrie reminded him that Nelly had been the protege of 
 Lady Nelson. 
 
 " True, and that will account for the propriety of her lan- 
 guage ; but not for tone and'tenor. Books and schooling afford 
 neither of these ; they are native. She drinks them from skies 
 and zephyrs, and natural fountains in the woods. She — but 
 why the devil, Sam, don't you drive on ? What are you 
 dreaming about, man V 
 
 Sam had been actually drowsing. 
 
 " I jes' been wait for you done talk, maussa," he answer&j 
 conflisedly, rousing himself witli a start. 
 
308 EnTAW. 
 
 " Oh ? and yon fancy yourself bound to listen to what I say, 
 eh ? I am talking for your special benefit, am I ? Or do you 
 suppose, my good fellow, that the motion of my tongue will 
 stop when your nags begin theirs ? Put the whip to them, you 
 drowsy old rascal, or I'll stop the first scouting ragamuffins of 
 Marion I see, and beg them to take your scalp off, and the ears 
 along with it ! Whip up, I say ! We are wasting more sun- 
 shine than you ever swallowed in all your sleeps." 
 
 And Sam whipped up his horses, and the progress was re- 
 sumed ; the lumbering coach of state wheeling slowly forward, 
 along the monotonous route, through a gloomy range of silent 
 thicket ; and, for the present, bearing our veteran baron and 
 his fair daughters from our sight. 
 
 Leaving them to this progress, with all its uncertainties, we 
 must bestow our attention now, upon other parties to our drama, 
 from whom it has been somewhat too long withheld. 
 
 Up to this period the disorderly groups at Griffith's, and the 
 frequent appearance of doubtful squads, have kept Mrs. Travis 
 and Bertha still the guests of the excellent widow, Avinger. 
 But 'Bram, who has been constant upon his watch, at length 
 reports the wigwam of Griffith to be closed. There are no 
 more loiterers to be seen. Next, he hears of the passage down- 
 ward of Lord Edward Fitzgerald and his escort, and, finally, 
 he picks up the intelligence of the passage, also, of his own 
 master's father, the lordly baron of Sinclair, in his coach of 
 state, with the young ladies, and without any escort. The 
 augury is such as to encourage him in the opinion, that the party 
 may resume their own journey without any impediment. He 
 wastes no time in communicating his opinions, first, and his 
 facts afterward, to the ladies themselves, and they eagerly 
 snatch at the opportunity of escaping from a durance, iu which, 
 however kindlily they have been entertained, they have still 
 felt the painful constraint and uncertainty of their situation. 
 They declare their purpose, to their hostess who would fain 
 persuade their longer stay. She refuses all tender of com- 
 pensation, and begs to see them again as friends, should fortune 
 again afibrd them the opportunity of paying her a visit. They 
 promise her cheerfully ; and after the warmest and most proper 
 
THE FORAY OP THE PARTISANS. 309 
 
 fasbioi), they declare their gratitude, and take their leave, 
 carrying with them the widow's blessing on their way. 
 
 Thus, then, in this most capricious history, we find all our 
 parties once more at sea — that is, upon the road — the world 
 before them, and 'Bram their guide in the absence of any more 
 imposing personage. He travelled as outrider — keeping a good 
 half mile ahead of the carriage, in order seasonably to prepare 
 for the approach of bad company, should any show itself. 
 
 Meanwhile, what of Willie Sinclair and his brother-in-arms, 
 Peyre St. Julien] We are not to suppose them idle— not to 
 suppose that they have suffered any diminution of interest in 
 the fortunes of the Travis family. But, hitherto, they have 
 been singularly fated to miss all the clues that might have con- 
 ducted to the secret dens of Inglehardt, and the temporary 
 hiding-place of his wife and daughter. Ballou, as we have seen, 
 has been working his way into the precincts of the one set of 
 captives, yet has been bewildered and baffled upon the very 
 threshold of discovery. We have seen him pursuing the trail 
 of Nelly Floyd's pony, which, in this particular instance, has 
 really carried him farther from his game, though still in close 
 proximity with those who had ensnared it. During this time, 
 Sinclair, with the troop of St. Julien, has been scouting, driving 
 and sometimes fighting, whenever the opportunity has been 
 afforded him : first along the Four- Holes, then crossing its 
 bridge, and alternately in concert with the Hamptons (Harry 
 and Wade), Lee, and Taylor, down to the margin of Ashley 
 river. When operating with either of these leaders, his com- 
 mand has necessarily been subordinate. To report their progress, 
 will, accordingly be, in some degree, to exhibit his ; since, except 
 on occasions when he was tempted to turn aside, in the hopes 
 of finding clues to his fugitives — a privilege which had been 
 secured to him especially by Rutledge — he found it equally his 
 duty and his policy to avail himself of such opprrtumtios of 
 search, as their progresses might afford; and here it occurs, as 
 particularly proper, to arrest our own narrative for a brief space 
 in order the better to exhibit the general progress of the foray 
 in tliis section of the country. It connects very naturally vith 
 the thread of our story, and the proper comprehension 6f the 
 latter may, indeed, somewhat depend upon a knowledge of the 
 
310 KUTAW. 
 
 events in the progress of the former. We shall be as brief, 
 however, in this episode, as possible, though it is one upon 
 which we might well be tempted to dilate. 
 
 It will be remembered that, on the withdrawal of Greene and 
 his regulars from the field, during the dog-days, to the salubrious 
 ranges of the hills of Santee, it was assigned to Sumter, having 
 under him the several bodies of mounted men led by Maricn, 
 Lee, the Hamptons, Taylor, Maham, Lacy, and other well-known 
 partisans, to make an incursion into the lower country, striking 
 at the enemy, at every post or point where he should be found, 
 between his main camp, at Orangeburg, and the garrison of 
 Charleston ; these two places being the only supposed unas- 
 sailable positions, which the British continued to hold. We 
 have been told, already, what was the force which Sumter com- 
 manded in this foray, and how distributed. 
 
 It happened, unfortunately, for the full attainment of the 
 objects of this expedition, that Sumte* was, in some degree, 
 diverted from his main design, by tlie receipt of Intelligence, 
 which led him to send off a detachment of three hundred men, 
 to strike at a reported force of the enemy at Murray's ferry. 
 The intelligence was probably correct in the first instance ; but, 
 if so, the British had left the place before Sumter's detachment 
 could reach it. Some time was lost by this diversion from the 
 main object of the expedition, which required that the move- 
 ment should be so sudden as to prevent the enemy from receiv- 
 ing re-inforcements from the city, or withdrawing to its securi- 
 ties. The result was to baffle one of the chief enterprises 
 which the foray contemplated. But of this hereafter. We 
 may add, however, that the eccentric movement operated, in 
 some degree, upon the conduct of the parties to our story ; 
 which, but for this, might have reached other conclusions, an' 
 at an earlier date, than these to which they are destined now. 
 
 Meanwhile, however, the various detached parties of Sumter, 
 striking out each in a different direction, proceeded with zeal 
 and energy to the fulfilment of the tasks assigned them. Whil., 
 Sumter himself was pursuing the Congaree road leading down to 
 tha south of that river, and toward the east side of Cooper river, 
 Lee with his legion carried Dorchester, the garrison of which, 
 educed by drafts from'Orangeburg, and defective in rrwinff - 
 
THE FORAY OP THE PARTISANS, 311 
 
 iu consequence of a terrible mutiny which had just taken place, 
 in which more than a hundred men were put hors de combat — 
 was in no condition for defence, and fled precipitately at the 
 first appearance of the Americans. Lee found large booty in 
 this place, of horses, stores, and fixed ammunition. Henry 
 Hampton, at the same time, captured and held the post at the 
 Four-Holes bridge. Maham, at the head of one of Marion's 
 detachments, passing the heads of Cooper river and Watboo 
 creek, penetrated to the east of Biggin church — having for Ms 
 ohject the destruction of the bridge over the Watboo, in order 
 to obstruct the retreat of the British garrison at Biggin church ; 
 that sanctuary having been converted into a fortress. Wade 
 Hampton, meanwhile, pressing below the British corion also, 
 passed on to the east of Dorchester, by the Wassamasaw road 
 to Goose-creek bridge, destroying the post at that place, and 
 cutting off the communication between Dorchester and Monck's 
 Corner. 
 
 When we mention that the several routes thus taken covered 
 the different roads communicating with the metropolis, the reader 
 will readily conceive the important uses of the expedition in 
 isolating the various scattered posts of the enemy, and thus 
 leaving them at the mercy of their enterprising antagonists. 
 So completely, thus far, was the object attained, that Wade 
 Hampton, becoming impatient of delay at Goose-creek bridge 
 — having waited vainly for Lee's approach from Dorchester, in 
 order to effect a junction — dashed boldly, at the head of his 
 own dragoons, down the road to Charleston itself, sweeping 
 away and destroying every obstacle in his path. A British 
 patrol of dragoons, and the detachment posted at the quarter- 
 house, within six miles of the city, were thus destroyed or cap- 
 tured ; and, knowing the feebleness of the Charleston garrison 
 in cavalry, Hampton stretched forward with an audacity which 
 was fully justified by the event, making his way down toward 
 the metropolis, apparently with the headlong determination of 
 one resolved on its capture with his own hands. He thus con- 
 tinued until the two rivers, Ashley and Cooper, opened on his 
 sight at the same moment, the walls and steeples of the city 
 Bwelling up between, while the harbor spread away to the east, 
 the ships-of-war lying at anchor, and the galleys roving to and 
 
312 EUTAW. 
 
 fro, wholly unconscious of clanger. Had he been followed 
 closely by the army of Greene, at that moment, the citizent 
 would have risen, and the garrison would have been crushed 
 Gallantly charging down through that grand avenue of oaks, 
 which was once second in venerable beauty to no other in the 
 world — which formed the main approach to the city — as bold- 
 ly as if a conquering army did follow at his heels, our colonel 
 of dragoons threw the whole garrison into sudden consternation. 
 They had received no intimation of his approach. Their out- 
 posts had all been surprised and captured.- Their patrols had 
 suffered the same fate, and the celerity of Hampton's movement 
 allowed no opportunity for the communication of intelligence 
 casually. He was naturally assumed, by the garrison, to be only 
 the avant courier, preceding the entire army of Greene ; and the 
 city was in no condition for the reception of such a visiter. The 
 old walls had become dilapidated — had been partly pulled 
 down to make way for new ones, which were yet in an unfin- 
 ished state. The garrison had been reduced, the chief force 
 lying at Orangeburg. Many of the troops were raw, others un- 
 ruly; and, for some time past, Balfour the commandant had 
 conceived considerable cause for suspicion of insurrection among 
 the patriotic portion of the inhabitants. These began to meet 
 and whisper, and put their houses in order ; and, in brief, there 
 was good reason for consternation in the garrison. The alarm- 
 gun was fired ; the alarm-bells were rung ; there was hot spur- 
 ring of aides-de-camp, a wild rush of artillery and horse, hasty 
 buckling on of armor, and loud clamors of drum and trumpet. 
 It was, indeed, a very pretty alarm for the occasion, and the 
 season of the year ; and Hampton might congratulate himself 
 upon giving the British garrison a very unpleasant scare, if he 
 did nothing more serious. 
 
 The lines were hastily manned ; the cannon were made to 
 belch forth their thunders at the audacious little squadron ; and 
 the garrison, man and boy, under arms everywhere, looked anx- 
 iously forth, from loophole and turret, for the appearance of 
 those massed legions of the rebels who were supposed to be 
 pressing forward in the rear, and for the encounter with which, 
 in any force, the commandant at Chaileston was never more 
 inadequately prepared than at that moment. 
 
THE FORAY OF THE PARTISANS. 313 
 
 He was, of course, very soon relieved of Iiis terrors. Greene's 
 army, at tte same moment, was hardly equal to a march of three 
 leagues. Sick, half naked, wanting in arms, munitions, and 
 number^, they had no sort of mmale for any enterprise. Hamp- 
 ton, contemplating nothing more than insult and bravado, and 
 an hour's enjoyment of the sea-breezes in July, wheeled about 
 after he had sufficiently satisfied these objects. He carried off 
 with him some fifty prisoners, and a few gallant knights, whom 
 he picked up, with steel gloves, en route. Lee, passing over the 
 same route the next day, found it barren. His " Memoirs" omit 
 to state the fact — which greatly annoyed him at the time — 
 that Hampton had anticipated him, and had thus left nothing in 
 the field for another gleaner. 
 
 These duties done, the several parties moved on to unite 
 themselves with the main body under Sumter. The object of 
 Sumter, at this moment, was the British post at Biggin. Biggin 
 church was a strong brick building, which art had improved for 
 military purposes. It is about a mile from Monck's Corner, 
 where the British had a redoubt also. The church at Biggin 
 covered the bridge across Watboo creek, and secured the re- 
 treat on that route (the eastern) from Monck's Corner. At this 
 latter place, there is a choice of ihree roads to the city ; and, at 
 Biggin, you are on an arm of Cooper river, the navigation of 
 which is unimpeded for small craft to the city and the coast, a 
 distance of little more than thirty miles. 
 
 We have seen that, in order to cut off the retreat of the Big- 
 gin garrison by the eastern route, Maham was despatched to 
 destroy the bridge over the "Watboo. But the ill consequences 
 of the delay to which Sumter had been subjected, by the diver- 
 sion of a large portion of his command for the destruction of a 
 reported force at Murray's ferry, were now to be ascertained. 
 Colonel Coates, who held the post at Biggin, had succeeded in 
 receiving reinforcements from the city. In all probability, this 
 reported force at Murray's ferry had suddenly been recalled to 
 meet the threatening danger. Hampton and Lee had suffi- 
 ciently alarmed the garrison at Charleston. The sense of peril 
 had led to the immediate strengthening of the force at Biggin, 
 which, before Sumter could reach the ground, was increased to 
 five hundred well-disciplined infantry, some two linndred horce. 
 
314 
 
 EUTAW. 
 
 and a piece of artillery. We are to suppose, also, that there 
 were loyalist auxiliaries swelling the commancl, though of these 
 the British made no returns. With a body of regular troops, 
 eight or nine hundred in number, in a strong position, a brick 
 fortress, garnished by artillery, and seconded by nearly two 
 hundred cavalry, opposed to him, it was now the necessity of 
 Sumter to move with as much caution as celerity. His whole 
 force consisted of but a thousand men, including the legion of 
 Lee ; and, like his opponent, he had but one field-piece. He 
 had really no infantry. Upon occasion, the mounted men of 
 Marion served in this capacity, but were rarely armed with the 
 proper weapons for the service. Eifles and shot-guns, though 
 very formidable under cover in the woods, were of but small 
 service in the proper duties of the regular foot-soldier, which 
 requires the crossing of the steel, as the ultimate test of the 
 strength of opposing battalions. 
 
 Maham, with his detachment, had made a demonstration upon 
 the bridge at the Watboo, but was overawed by the superior 
 strength of Ooates. Accordingly, Sumter despatched Colonel 
 Horry to the support of Maham ; and the former, ranking Ma- 
 ham, proceeded to the destruction of the bridge. The British 
 cavaby engaged them with an air of confidence, which was not 
 sustained by the issue. The troops of Horry encountered them 
 with a degree of impetuosity from which they recoiled. The 
 mounted riflemen of Lacy, who had a command in the detach- 
 ment, broke through the British ranks, and, after a short but 
 sanguinary passage, the whole party was dispersed. But the 
 flight of the enemy's cavalry was a sufficient intimation to 
 OoUnel Ooates of the necessity for bringing a larger force 
 into the field. He did so, and arrested the attempt upon the 
 bridge. Horry, in turn, was compelled to retire before the Bril- 
 'Eh regulars, particularly as they appeared in such force as to 
 persuade Sumter that their whqle army was at hand, advancing 
 to a general engagement. 
 
 In this belief, and that Coates had marched out to give him 
 lattle, the American partisan withdrew to a defile in the rear of 
 )S then position, and quietly prepared to receive the attack. It 
 was a proper prudence, perhaps, but of unfortunate result, 
 
THE FORAY 0'" THK PAB'lTfciANS. 315 
 
 Ooates had no purpose of battle. The ruse deceived tlie 
 A.merican general. The design of the British colonel, was to 
 gain time — to waste the day — and retreat under cover of the 
 night. Such a resolution, by a British colonel, at the head of 
 such a force of regulars, opposed to an army, scarcely superior 
 in numbers to his own, and of inferior arms of service, was, of 
 itself, ominous of the declining morale of the British. It was 
 certainly such a determination as Sumter had no reason to aiiti 
 cipate. Never doubting the desire of his enemies for battle, he 
 waited for the advance of Coates, but in vain. The demon- 
 strations were kept up hy the British colonel, throughout the 
 day, with considerable ingenuity. There was evermore a move- 
 ment in progress, and in sight of Sumter's reconnoitring parties, 
 which promised the issue. Never were preparations for battle 
 more ostentatious, or to so little purpose. The heads of columns 
 were constantly to be seen, advancing, and halted — in readiness 
 for further advance, and only waiting for the word. Beguiled 
 with these appearances, and persuaded that the event might be 
 momently expected, Sumter beheld the day wearing away in 
 vain, and night coming on. Of course, nothing more was to be 
 done until the next sunrise. Sumter bivouacked in the position 
 m which he had waited for his enemy. The British retired 
 with becoming deliberation to their post and quarters. 
 
 It was just about this time that our veteran baron of Sinclair 
 drove into the British encampment, where everything was in 
 confusion. One of the first objects that arrested his attention, 
 alarmed him for the safety of his sable attendant, Little Peter. 
 This was the spectacle of a slave-gang of thirty-two negroes, 
 chained in pairs, and driven, by an escort of soldiers, through 
 the woods as secretly as possible, .to a guard sloop which lay in 
 the river, in the hold of which they were to find their way to 
 the city, and thence to the West Indies. — " Peter," cried the 
 old man, " do you see that ? Begone, boy. Home as fast as 
 you can ; or they will put your arms into bracelets also, and 
 carry you to the Jamaica Paradise." And so Little Peter was 
 sent off; our colonel naturally supposing that he should no 
 longer need his services in his farther progress to the city. 
 A moment after, he was relieved and gratified by the appear- 
 ance of Lord Edward Fitzgerald. 
 
316 EDTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 TROUBLE IN THE CAMP. 
 
 "Oh! -why, why are you here at this unlucky moment?" 
 was the astounding sort of welcome which the tongue of Fitz- 
 gerald gave to the ears of our baron of Sinclair and his two 
 companions. 
 
 " And why not, Lord Edward V was the query of Oolonel 
 Sinclair in reply. " What's the cause of apprehension V 
 
 " What ! have you not heard of our situation. We are almost 
 surrounded by the enemy. They head us on every side, and 
 wc shall have to cut our way through them, if we would effect 
 our escape." 
 
 "Escape! Does a British soldier think of escape, when he 
 has an opportunity to fight ! Do you. Lord Edward, talk only 
 of escape — of flight — from these rascally rebels?" 
 
 " They are troublesome customers just now, and have such a 
 force in cavalry that we have need to apprehend the worst. 
 But we do not talk of escape without fighting, colonel ; far from 
 it. We expect to fight and are prepared for that necessity. 
 But that which we might not fear for ourselves, my dear colonel, 
 becomes a reasonable subject of alax-m, when we contemplate 
 the perils of your daughters." 
 
 " Ah ! I did not think of that," answered Sinclair, looking 
 gravely — " I did not think of that." 
 
 " But let us find you a shelter, colonel. Let your coachman 
 follow me." 
 
 Fitzgerald led the way to the rear, and the carriage, entering 
 a wagon-track rudely cut through the woods, and full of obstruc- 
 tions, followed for a quarter of a mile, till a cluster of log-houses 
 
TROUBLE IN THE CAMP. 317 
 
 were reached, in the rear of the church, which the British had 
 made their fortress. At one of these the party halted, and the 
 colonel was assisted carefully from the carriage and conducted 
 into the hovel. Carrie Sinclair and little Lottie followed ; and 
 Fitzgerald, having seen to the dispositiorl of the carriage, re- 
 joined the family at the hovel. The place was a mere shelter. 
 A table, a few chairs, a couple of truckle-beds, scantily clad in 
 drapery, constituted the only furniture. But the tables were 
 covered with glasses and bottles, significant of those creature 
 comforts and wassail combats which are so essential to the 
 Anglo-Norman tastes, if not to its valor. 
 
 " You are in rough soldier quarters, Miss Carrie," said Fitz- 
 gerald, while his servant busied himself in removing the bottles, 
 and re-adjusting the apartment. " We had no notion of such 
 fair visiters at this moment." 
 
 " But did you not expect us ?" demanded Sinclair. "I told 
 you!" 
 
 " Yes ; tip to a certain moment I did expect you. Three 
 days ago I expected you. But things have changed since 
 then." 
 
 " Ah ! how Was I to know that ]" 
 
 •'From the commotion in the coulit»y. Did you not meet 
 with frequent bodies of tile rebels ? They have been pressing 
 down from above, as well as from east and west. They are all 
 around us." 
 
 " I did meet with some few squads of awkward rangers and 
 riflemen — " 
 
 " But did you not pass through their leaguer within the las> 
 three miles V 
 
 " No ! we saw nc "igns of an army whatever. The wonder 
 is, if they do surround you, that we should have been suffered 
 to pass within your lines." 
 
 " Ah ! they lie perdu. Had you been a body of horse, or 
 foot, coming to our help, you would have heard of them. But 
 they might have warned you off. There could be no reason 
 why thoy should suffer you to expose your daughters to the 
 chances of a savage conflict." 
 
 " What ! do you look for gallant, gentlemanly, chivalrous 
 things from these barbaror.s Yahoos V exclaimed the old gen- 
 
318 EUTAW. 
 
 tleman bitterly — "No! no! They were not unwilling that 
 we should add to your consumers and embarrass your defences. 
 But, tell me, why should the presence of these banditti give 
 you, any real concern ? I am fully assured that the whole force 
 in this quarter is but a thousand men and one field-piece." 
 
 " Yes ; but this whole force consists of mounted men." 
 
 " Well, they're only so much the worse off for infantry." 
 
 " Ay, but these men are accustomed to do battle as infantry 
 when occasion needs.'' 
 
 " After a fashion, and only when dealing with inferior troops. 
 Tliey have not the weapons for infantry duty, and when they 
 dismount, it is only to serve as riflemen — and for flanking pur- 
 poses." 
 
 " But in thick forest countries such as these, the rifle and shot 
 gun become formidable even against the bayonet. Indeed, it is 
 difficult to make the bayonet tell in such regions." 
 
 " Ay, the rascals melt away before it." 
 
 " That is the Worst feature of the business. They do not 
 wait for the charge — and I don't blame them — and they re- 
 turn to the attack, the moment you cease to press them. These 
 infernal woods give them a fortress everywhere. Besides, my 
 Jpar colonel, these rebels about us now are all old soldiers, 
 trained up by Marion and Samter ; they are cool and hardy. 
 Now, ours are calf of them new recruits, and whatever, their su- 
 periority in weapons, it is fully made up by the veteran charac- 
 Iv: of ihe rebel troops. One old soldier, of five years standing 
 is equal to any five ordinary recruits." 
 
 " My dear Lord Edvi'ard, you confound me, you speak so se- 
 riously of your affairs. Why, Lave you not a full regiment, of 
 'iv6 Ir.inSrid rrg^ilar troops ?" 
 
 "Regulars — so called — but mostly ra\.' o);es." 
 
 " But British, my dear iDrd — British; men with Wicm fight- 
 ing is a sort of natural exercise ; grateful ac beef and rum ; 
 natural as sin ; proper and becoming as prayer on the sabbath, 
 and grace at a feast." 
 
 '■ Irish — not British." 
 
 "And where's the difference] Won't the Irish fight," 
 
 •' Like devils, when they're in the burner for it, • d when 
 their sympathies go with tho'r colors. But — a word in your 
 
TROUBLE IN THE CAMP. 319 
 
 ear, my dear colonel — we half distrust our Irish regiments, and 
 this is one source of our seeming timidity. Their hearts do not 
 go with us. They do not fed the cause. They fight best as 
 new men, and when they do not Itnow the enemy ; but, contact 
 with the rebels wins them to rebellion. Eebellion is so grateful 
 to an Irishman's stomach that he naturally inclines to all its ar- 
 guments. We have had some proofs lately, of a sort, to make 
 ns very dubious of the result where the numbers are so nearly 
 equal." 
 
 " It is terrible to think this of the troops you have to lead 
 into action." 
 
 " Terrible ! The doubt half the time is, whether the men 
 you are leading to the charge may not thrust their bayonets 
 into your own back !" 
 
 " But you have a smart auxiliaiy force of loyalists, my lord. 
 They will fight. They fight with halters about their necks." 
 
 " Not so now ! Even these we can rely upon no longer. The 
 rebels have found out the way to tamper with their fidel- 
 itj"^. They threaten only those with the halter who refuse to 
 unite with them in the bonds of love. They receive the prodi- 
 gals back, if they are repentant, and at once employ the rascals 
 against as ; and it is found that they thus fight better for them, 
 than they ever did when serving with us." 
 
 " Ay, for it is now your halter that they fear ! But what vile 
 *aith?.es3 rascals ! Not even keeping up the show oi jirinciplc !" 
 
 " Principle, indeed ! The _file of an army, my de- colonel, 
 is always mercenary. The word should be vile: I have n'. 
 doubt it was originally writte i t'lus — probably from vilain ; 
 and vile is naturally the ant't'aes's of rank. We cai depend 
 upon none of them ; neither regulars nor rangers ; and our horse 
 numbers scarce a hundred and fifty. Thus, with a force nearly 
 numbering that of our assailants, and much more efficiently 
 armed, we take our steps in fear and trembling, not assured of 
 iiir troops for a single hour." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! what a condition ! And here I am, at thin 
 juncture, under these circumstances, with these two children." 
 
 '■ I would not even seom •nliospitable, my dear colonel," saia 
 Fitzgerald ; " but, if you will take my advice, you will order 
 vour carriage this very momf.nt. ».nd take the track homewara 
 
320 EUTAW. 
 
 I have 110 doubt tliat the rebels will suffer you to pass their 
 cordon without obstruction." 
 
 " D — n their charities ! what is it that sacred writ tells us 
 about the charities of the wicked ? Ah ! if I could mount a 
 horse! But it is no use to growl ! Gro back — back! retreat 
 — no, no ! I can't do that. I must go on." 
 
 " Father !" said Carrie — " you forget tliat you are not alone. 
 Better listen to what Lord Edward counsels." 
 
 " Not alono. ! do you say 1 "Well, what of that ? You would 
 . tell mo that you are girls, not able to fight. The mere's the 
 pity. How I should like to transform you both now into able- 
 bodied vigorous young fellows, ready to fight for king and con- 
 stitution." 
 
 " God forbid !" quoth Fitzgerald, sotto voce. 
 
 " And if you could, and did, father," said Carrie aloud, " you 
 might find us rebels too, and fighting against you." 
 
 "Ha! are you there, Miss Pert ? But you are right. Chil- 
 dren, now-a-days, seem to take a pleasure in thwarting the 
 wishes of their parents, flying in the face of authority, and ma- 
 king a mock at wisdom and propriety." 
 
 This, by-the-way, is the complaint of all periods. Man is for 
 ever reproached with the disposition to throw off his shackles. 
 Our own notion is, that the great body of men prefer them. It 
 is surprising how long a people will submit to the rule of im- 
 becility. 
 
 " I woa-'^.n'tbe a rebel, father," said little Lottie; " I would 
 fight fcr you and Lord Edward, if 1 were a man !" 
 
 "Beautiful little sinner!" cried old Sinclair. " Oome and 
 kiss me, you pretty po!iticia~. What would old Lear have 
 given for such a daughter ! Oome, kiss your papa, Lottie ; take 
 care of my foo., you vixen ! Would you crush me to death 
 with tliose great hoofs of yours V 
 
 Some twinges of the gout, which had duly increased with 
 his anxieties, had made the old despot timorous as well a? 
 wrathful. 
 
 Carrie returned to the siege. 
 
 " Father," said she, " you can be of no use here. We arf 
 not only in the way of danger, but we are in the way of our 
 friends. We trouble and embarrass them only. Wnj- not 't. 
 
TROUBLE IN THE CAMP. 321 
 
 tiiru 1 Why remain here, to endure all the horrors of a strug- 
 gle ill which you can not share, and where we can only suffer? 
 I have no doubt the Americans will let us pass without diffi- 
 culty, and treat us with as much civility as any soldiers." 
 
 "D — n their indulgences! Americans! — and are not we 
 Americans — we who are fighting for king and constitution in 
 America? Am I less an American, because I refuse to be a 
 rebel ? I tell you, Carrie Sinclair, we will not go back ! It 
 would disgrace the whole past of my life. No, girl, we will see 
 it out. We will go with the army. I do not fear but that we 
 shall make our way, in spite of, and triumphant over, this mob 
 of rebel rapscallions." 
 
 " Amen ! I hope so !" said Fitzgerald. " Still, I could wish, 
 my dear colonel, that your daughters were safe — safe, at least, 
 from exposure to the scene — to the terrible spectacle of war in 
 all its horrors — safe from exposure to its caprices. We are 
 strong, and will make good fight ; but war is a game of great 
 uncertainty. Panics are, of all things, the most sudden and 
 unaccountable. Now, it .strikes me, colonel, that there is no 
 humiliation in your retiring from the scene. Your daughters 
 furnish the apology, with the necessity. You are an invalid, 
 and, at your age, none but a fool would expect you to exhibit 
 unnecessary daring. I repeat my counsel — leave our camp 
 this very evening. You can ride five miles with ease, and in 
 two hours put yourself entirely without the enemy's alignetnent. 
 Do so, let me entreat you; for, whether we succeed or fail — 
 whether we keep our position, retreat in safety, or beat the 
 rebels — the scene will be such as no lady would endure to 
 witness." 
 
 " Defeat the rebels, my dear lord, and my daughters will en- 
 dure the sight ! I am not much cursed with the disease of 
 fear ; and a loyal stom.ach is nowise delicate, when the specta- 
 cle is that of royalty triumphant. As for flying from these rab- 
 ble rascals, I won't do it ! I don't believe in these apprehen- 
 sions. I have such a faith in British bayonets, that I shall feel 
 secure — confident of a safe progress — under their protection. 
 Don't talk to me of retreat : I have not left home to be scared 
 back again at the first show of danger. There is no danger if 
 wo face it." 
 
822 EUTAW. 
 
 The twinges of the gout had been increasing. They made 
 the baron dogged and queralous. A roar of pain concluded his 
 speech fittingly, and silenced all attempts to answer it. Just 
 then, a young lieutenant appeared at the entrance, and, lifting 
 liis cap, communicated to Fitzgerald the desire of Colonel Coates 
 to see him at a conference. 
 
 " Ay, go, my lord, and see if you can get better tidings for 
 us. See what your colonel says. Tell him, frtrni me, to fight 
 — figJU, if there were five to one ! _ Let him put a bold face 
 upon it, and all will go well." 
 
 It was with some reluctance that Fitzgerald disappeared. He 
 would have much preferred to have lingered with Carrie Sin- 
 clair, though there was but little prospect of engaging her in a 
 tete-a-tete under the circumstances ; and the temper of our baron 
 was not favorable to smooth sailing on any sea. His gout was 
 becoming more tenacious of its hold. The twinges were more 
 frequent, and his moods were governed accordingly. The hour 
 that followed, in which Fitzgerald was absent, was passed in 
 fretful, impatient, peevish, and sometimes raging humors, in 
 which Carrie Sinclair was permitted to exercise but the one 
 virtue of patience. 
 
 At length, Fitzgerald returned, looking graver than ever. 
 
 " Well, my lord, well ]" demanded Sinclair. " What is de- 
 termined on 1" 
 
 " What you will hardly approve. To escape a fight, if pos- 
 sible ! Our colonel is confirmed in his previous convictions of 
 this policy. We have been amusing the rebels for one third 
 of the day, with promise of battle. We have succeeded in im- 
 pressing them with the notion that our purpose is to hold our 
 ground. They have retired to the woods for the night, though 
 ready for position and battle in the morning. We are not to 
 wait for the morning. The orders are circulated already to get 
 in readiness the column of march for midnight. If, therefore, 
 you resolve to go with us, and share our fate, you must be 
 ready to set out by twelve o'clock. I shall arrange for your 
 progress after the passage of the main body. If the advance 
 is obstructed, you will have timely notice of it, and a strong 
 rear-guard will equally secure you in that quarter." 
 
 " Retreat ! Oh, monstrous ! And why retreat 1 With the 
 
TROUBLE IN THE CAMP. 323 
 
 church as a redoubt, with log-houses scattered about, and with 
 a force of infantry superior to that of our enemy, a fieldpiece 
 like themselves, and almost the same numbers, why -the d — ^1 
 should you retreat ? You can much better make yourselves se- 
 cure here, than on the march, where yon perpetually run the 
 risk of ambush, with sharp-shooters and hungry horsemen 
 harassing you at every step. What suicide, what folly, what 
 madness, infidelity, and sin ! Oh, that I could mount a 
 horse !" 
 
 " My dear colonel, the decision is that of a majority. I op 
 posed it. But there are arguments in behalf of the movement 
 of which you have not heard. We are short of provisions. 
 The cavalry of the enemy covers all the approaches to our 
 camp, and cuts off communication and supply. Besides, their 
 numbers are increasing ; and if we stay much longer, even if 
 we beat them off in pitched battle, we must still succumb 
 through starvation. This necessity would involve the surren- 
 der, as prisoners-of-war, of the whole command. By a timely 
 retreat, supposing we can effect it safely, or with small loss, we 
 save the army from such a catastrophe — a catastrophe which, 
 in the present state of our forces, would involve the loss of that 
 at Orangeburg, and lead almost certainly to the abandonment 
 of Charleston." 
 
 " And why shouldn't my Lord Rawdon rather abandon Or- 
 angeburg, and come down to your relief? He can return if he 
 wishes it." 
 
 " He scarcely knows our condition. We have reason to be- 
 lieve that all our despatches have been intercepted. Even if 
 he did know, it would be impossible for him to do anything for 
 our relief in season. We have only to rely upon ourselves." 
 
 " And a very good reliance too, if you could only believe it. 
 Fight, sir, fight is the great remedy ! Do not be driven from 
 your position. Hold it for three days, and your enemies will 
 melt away as frost beneath the sun." 
 
 " The subject is bfeyond discussion now, my dear colonel. I 
 have my orders ! It is for you now to say whether you will wait 
 events, share our fortunes, or quietly return homeward while 
 the opportunity is left you." 
 
 " I go on, at all hazards ! I have not set out, to be turned 
 
324 EUTAW. 
 
 back at tbe first show of difficulty. I have no fears. I cain 
 not persuade myself — I will not believe-^— that eight hun- 
 dred regular troops, wearing his majesty's colors, are to be beat- 
 en and dispersed by an ill-ordered, ill-conducted, ill-equipped 
 gang of rapscallion rebels.'' 
 
 Fitzgerald, looking only to Carrie Sinclair and her sister, and 
 sympathizing with their situation, would have argued the case 
 with the baron. But his pride, and vanity, and gout, were 
 sadly at variance with all his reasoning powers, and he was in- 
 sensible to argument. When the young Irishman found this to 
 be the case, and that expostulation was hopeless, he said : — 
 
 ■' Well, sir, as you resolve, so be in readiness. I will instruct 
 your coachman. My servant will await you, and obey all your 
 commands. The night promises to be pleasant. The mere dif- 
 ficulties of travel will be nothing, even to the ladies, if we are 
 not compelled to fight our way. I shall be with the ladies when 
 it is necessary that you should remove." 
 
 The duties of his post called him away. He had given to 
 the party all the time that was possible. He had shown a de- 
 gree of concern, and respectful regard, which merited the ac- 
 knowledgments of all, and, at his departure, Carrie Sinclair 
 gave him her hand, and said : — 
 
 " We are very grateful. Lord Edward. You have served 
 and advised us as a true friend, and shall always command my 
 gratitude." 
 
 " Ah, Miss Sinclair, if I could only hope for more." 
 
 This was all that he ventured, at that moment, to say in ref- 
 erence to the subject which was uppermost in his heart ; and 
 to this she returned no answer. 
 
 At midnight the party was roused ; the carriage was in read- 
 iness. Fitzgerald had made all provisions, and Colonel Sin- 
 clair, his gout a shade more troublesome, was lifted into his car- 
 riage with the succor of two stout dragoons. The British army 
 was already under march. A dead silence prevailed throughout 
 the encampment and over the great forests by which it was 
 sheltered. Not a drum was heard, not a trumpet note, as the 
 British retreat was hurried ; not a soldier discharged a random 
 shot ; and not even the damsels were flurried. 
 
 And, tlins silently, the whole cavalcade of foot and horse was 
 
TROUBLE IN THE CAMP. 325 
 
 set in motion, taking their way eastward, having reason to sup- 
 pose that the larger body of Sumter's troops were in their rear, 
 and anticipating their retreat by the western routes to the city, 
 if, indeed, they anticipated their retreat at all. But this was 
 not their notion. 
 
 And for awhile, the British pursued their route without dis- 
 turbance, and would have secured two more hours for undis- 
 turbed retreat than they did, but for the exerpise of a piece of 
 vandalism, of which the British generals were too commonly 
 guilty during the warfare of the Revolution. Colonel Ooates 
 compelled to abandon large supplies of store, munitions, &c., 
 which he could not carry off, had accumulated them, for this 
 purpose, within the church which he had lately made his bead- 
 Quarters. The historian remarks, gratuitously, that he might 
 as well have gathered and fired them toithout the church, spar- 
 ing the sacred building to its consecrated uses. But the good 
 jistorian makes no proper allowance for the piety of a British 
 colonel, in that period. Coates probably contemplated a nota- 
 ble burnt-offering to the gods, upon their own shrines, as a 
 proof of his gratitude ; and pecessarily regarded such a valua- 
 ble sacrifice, as he then made, of his goods and chattels, as es- 
 tablishing a claim to the favor of the Deity in his future prog- 
 resses ! It is possible that he Dnly esteemed it as a tribute of 
 acknowledgment to the Deity for the shelter he had found in 
 his temple for a season. But here, within the church, a vener- 
 able square structure of brick, an episcopal church besides, 
 built under royal government, he gathered his goods, decreed to 
 the sacrifice, and lighted the train which was destined to con- 
 sume them. The train was rather premature. The gods too 
 rexdily accepted the burnt-offerings. The fiaraes, bursting 
 through the roof of the church, at three o'clock in the morning, 
 illuminated the forest, announced to the Americans the flight of 
 the enemy, and roused them up to the pursuit ! Of course 
 Sumter and his host were instantly in the saddle to recover the 
 ground which had been lost, by overtaking the fleeing enemy. 
 But they had already near four hours start of tb;ir pursuers! 
 
S2S EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 PURSUIT — THE SKRIMMAGE AT QUINBY. 
 
 The ground should never have been lost. Why it was lost — 
 by what circumstances — by whose misconduct — the chronicles 
 all fail to inform us. They were probably unwilling to censure 
 favorite names, and suppressed much, that, for the benefit of the 
 student, should properly have been given. Their accounts of 
 the events in connection with this escape of the British are all 
 exceedingly confused and contradictory. A severe critical ex- 
 amination would exhibit many contradictions and absurdities 
 of which historians should be made ashamed. In seeking to 
 save the military reputation of their subject, they forfeit some 
 credit to their own. Why were the British suffered to escape 
 on this occasion 1 They were almost completely environed. 
 They could have been quite. All the routes might have been 
 covered, and no matter what the result of the battle, the British 
 could have been most effectually kept from evading it. We 
 have seen in a previous chapter, the struggles first of Maham, 
 and next of Horry, to secure or destroy the bridge at Watboo. 
 We have seen that by an overawing force, Colonel Coates had 
 baffled these a'ltemptB. It was by the route over this bridge 
 that the British commander made his escape. Yet it was cer- 
 tainly in the power of Sumter, whose position was such as to 
 warrant his expectation of battle every moment at the hande 
 of the former, to have covered the route by this bridge, even if 
 he found it policy to avoid bringing on the general action a. 
 this point. Why was this not done 1 
 
 The question brings us back to our former difficulties. As 
 we have said, there is nothing satisfactory to be gleaned from 
 
PURSUIT — THE SKRIMMAGE AT QUINBY. 327 
 
 ou, chroniclers ; and, as the case stands, the censure necessarily 
 vests on the general in command of our partisans. We are 
 scarcely satisfied that this should be so. Yet, from Sumter's 
 known rashness, which had already incurred frequent reproach- 
 es, the world will readily accuse him of that neglect of proper 
 precautions, which constitutes the military fault in the present 
 instance. In one respect he is not liable to this imputation of 
 rashness on this occasion. Nay, it would seem, that, sensible 
 of his fault, he was inclined to be more circumspect than usual, 
 since he rather withdrew from before the demonstrations of the 
 British, and chose his ground with a deliberation which he had 
 hitherto disdained to show, whenever battle was presented to 
 his sword. Ordinarily, he was not a man of much method, or a 
 watchful prudence. He preferred rapid to slow performances ; 
 was always more eager to do, than to do systematically ; was 
 eagerly impulsive ; dashing and adventurous ; never counting 
 the hazards with an enemy before him. And there would have 
 been no such deliberativeness in his method in this aflPair, had 
 he ever dreamed of the possibility of the' British colonel seek 
 ing to evade the issue, which he seemed to offer. How should 
 he fancy such a thing 1 The British force was, in numbers, 
 nearly equal to his own. They had a superior infantry. They 
 held a position of considerable strength. There was no reason 
 why they should not maintain it, against any assault, from such 
 a force as his, even if they did not succeed in keeping it under 
 a continued leaguer. He knew the British temper too well to 
 suppose that under such circumstances there could be any re- 
 luctance to fight ; and we have no doubt that when Sumter 
 rolled himself up under his tree that night for slumber, he did 
 so with the full conviction that he was to do battle in the 
 morning. 
 
 But should Sumter have been deceived by the ruse of Coates ? 
 Should he have confided in these ostentatious demonstrations 
 which he had made of battle during the latter part of the day, 
 when the bridge of Watboo was the ostensible object of con- 
 troversy ? Should not the very strategics of Coates, by^which 
 one third of the day was consumed unprofitably, have awakened 
 some suspicions of the ."eal purposes of that officer t If his 
 plan was battle, there needed no delay. Why, if such were 
 
828 EUTAW. 
 
 ?iu purpose, should be delay. His whole force was in hand, 
 and that was equal to that of the Americans. No re-enforce- 
 ments could be expected, in the brief interval of a night, which 
 he seemed to require. His troops had not been fatigued by 
 any hard duty as was the case with Sumter's. They were all 
 fresh, all well-armed, and ammunition in abundance. Sumter 
 ought not to have been deceived. 
 
 But was he deceived ? Was he himself prepared for battle 
 at the moment. We think not. We believe that his troops 
 were not in hand ; that his force was inadequate to the conflict 
 when Coates made his demonstrations. Our reasons are founded 
 upon the fact that it was only that very day that the mounted 
 men of Marion and the legion of Lee reached him. We 
 have no evidence to show at what hour they did an-ive, but 
 most probably late in the day — probably not before night had 
 fallen; since we find that Lee in his memoirs, reports nothing 
 of the efforts severally and jointly made by Maham and Horry 
 to destroy the bridge at Watboo, by which the enemy must 
 pass if he took the route east of Cooper river. He only tells 
 us that Coates had occupied it with a detachment. Subse- 
 quently, it appears from Lee's statement, that Coates had aban- 
 doned it, and that Sumter had ordered a party to take posses- 
 sion of it. They certainly did not ieep possession of it, for by 
 this very route Coates made his escape unobserved. But the 
 statement would acquit Sumter of all blame. But how was it 
 that the passage of the bridge was suffered 1 The answer is 
 that Sumter believed the bridge to have been destroyed ; that 
 he had detached a party for this purpose ; that tlie report of the 
 officer of the detachment assured him that the work had been 
 done ; and that the British were effectually cut off from retreat in 
 that direction ; and that Sumter manoeuvred to compel their re- 
 treat by the western route which was the shortest and easiest ; 
 conceiving them to be too strong in their position at Biggin to 
 attack them in that place. It is farther stated, by way of ex- 
 cusing the party who had undertaken the destruction of the 
 bridge, that they had done so, effectually, but that Coates baa 
 repaired it. 
 
 Now this was next to impossible, if the work had been 
 thoroughly done. Had the sleepers been cut through, as weU 
 
PUI4SUIT — THE SKEIMMAGE AT QUINBY. d29 
 
 as the planks thrown off, there could have been no repairs 
 effected, adequate to the passage of eight hundred men, of 
 which one hundred and fifty were horse, a piece of artillery, 
 and an extended train of haggage-wagons. But even allowing 
 that the British had repaired the bridge, why were they suffered 
 to do so 1 Where were the scouting parties — the patrols — the 
 hungry, eager, watchful, vigilant hawks of war that should 
 have been for ever on the wing around the enemy's whole en- 
 campment ? There is no answer to this question. Indeed, 
 from all circumstances, it would seem that no watch had been 
 maintained at all. This seems to be the naked fact — let the 
 blame fall where it will. Goates should never have been suf- 
 fered to repair the bridge, even if this were possible. But we 
 doubt this whole story. We suspect that the party sent to 
 destroy it, contented themselves with throwing off a few planks, 
 which a few men in half an hour could readily restore. It 
 should never have been left to the fiery beacon, which their 
 own hands had kindled, to announce the flight of the British in 
 the camp of our partisans. 
 
 But who shall say that Sumter had not taken all these and 
 other precautions ? It is one of the evils of a volunteer and 
 militia service, that vedettes,'and sentinels, and patrolling pai^ 
 ties, are easily beguiled from their duty. They rarely acquire 
 the stern discipline of the regular service. This is their grand 
 defect. They have ardor in greater degree than the regular ; 
 are famous at a dash — in the first headlong onset ; but they get 
 easily diverted from the main to minor objects ; easily dis- 
 couraged by unlooked-for reverses ; lack in that simple steady 
 courage and endurance which secures a victory, and never loses 
 an opportunity. We can scarcely conceive that Sumter shoui 1 
 retire to his tents, without taking every proper precaution 
 against his enemy's movements. In all probability his scouting 
 parties were ordered on the duty and evaded it. Of courai, 
 there is no excuse for this dereliction ; but it may be sug- 
 gested that a large portion of Sumter's command had just 
 arrived in camp • that they had already been engaged, for 
 several days, in incessant and exhausting operations ; that the 
 weather was intensely hot; and that nature was overcome witu 
 languor and debility. Perhaps the partisans also generail; 
 
330 EUTAW. 
 
 indulged in Sumtei's own conviction, that the fight was cer- 
 tainly to come off on the morrow, and that rest was necessary 
 to prepare them for its trials. We can readily find apologies 
 for all parties, but never a good excuse for any. 
 
 But, to our narrative : — 
 
 The church in flames soon taught our partisans that the bird 
 Iiad flown. The pursuit was immediately commenced. It was 
 as quickly ascertained that Coates had pursued the eastern route 
 and not the western. Why he should have done so, is not 
 important to our study. The west was the shortest and the 
 easiest route, unobstructed by water-courses ; but it was proba- 
 bly the heaviest march in hot weather, and over long tracts of 
 sterile sands. Water and shade might have been the induce- 
 ments to pursue the eastern route and it is possible that Coates 
 may have been apprized of some ascending galleys by the 
 Cooper river, bringing provisions and reinforcements. Enough 
 for us that our partisans were soon aware of the direction taken 
 by the British. 
 
 The pursuit, hotly eager, was begun by Lee with the cavalry 
 of his legion, and Maham, with a detachment of Marion's. 
 The rest of the forces followed as fast as possible ; the field- 
 piece (as if. proved unfortunately) being left behind in charge 
 of Lieutenant Singleton, in order not to retard the infantry ; a 
 policy which rendered the pursuit much more swift than sure. 
 It is necessary here that we should remind the reader that there 
 is a choice of roads on the route east of Cooper river, both of 
 which conduct to the metropolis. Biggin creek, the most 
 northerly of several streams which unite to make the river, is 
 esteemed the head, or chief of its western branches. East of 
 this creek the Charleston road crosses two other creeks, called 
 Watboo and Quinby, the latter being esteemed the eastern arm 
 of the river. Between these two creeks the road forks, and 
 crosses the latter at two different points ; the right at Bonnean's 
 ferry, the left at Quinby bridge. The road to Bonneau's ferry 
 follows the course of the main stream ; the route by Quinby 
 diverges from it, for a time, in an easterly direction. The in- 
 terval between the two crossings may be, m an air line, six or 
 seven miles. We may call it fifteen miles from Biggin, the 
 point of starting, to Boi.neau's and something more to Quinby 
 
PURSUIT — THE SKRIMMAGE 'AT QUINBY. 331 
 
 The fork which opens the roads to these two points begins at a 
 .'hort distance only from the former. 
 
 These particulars being understood, it will be easy to follow 
 the course of our partisans, and of the British respectively. 
 The former, in full . chase, darted across Watboo bridge, which 
 the enemy had not broken down behind them — probably be- 
 cause they feared to disturb the slumbers of the sleeping Ameri- 
 cans. Our troopers dashed on until they made the discovery 
 that the British army had divided, the infantry and artillery 
 taking one route, the cavalry another, the latter pursuing the 
 right hand road leading to Bonneau's ferry. Hampton alone 
 continued the pursuit of the cavalry, Leo proceeding with hia. 
 legion against the infantry. But, Hampton, though he urged 
 his steeds at every bound, had the mortification to discover, 
 when he reached the ferry, that the enemy had escaped him, 
 had crossed in safety, and secured the boats on the opposite 
 side. He could only cast wistful glances at the quarry, and 
 cursing his misfortune, to wheel about and retrace his steps, in 
 hope to get up in time to take a part in the play with the 
 British infantry. 
 
 Meanwhile, the legion horse, and Maham's, were pressing 
 hard and fast upon the heels of the enemy, on the route to 
 Quinby bridge. Colonel Coates had marched well, and, so far, 
 prosperously; but he was not one of those military marvels who 
 • bring genius to the aid of drill. He was a tolerable soldier of 
 the old school, and in a period when the age was not distin- 
 guished by any great military examples. He had outgeneraled 
 Sumter, had stolen away from him, but had committed several 
 errors. His firing the church was an error in policy, if not in 
 morals. He had unnecessarily advised his enemy of his flight, 
 just two hours too soon. Better had he left the stores for the 
 temptation of the starving and naked partisans. The disposi- 
 tion of his column of march on the retreat, was not a judicious 
 one. His baggage-train, instead of being sent ahead, under a 
 sufficient escort, was made to bring up the rear, under a guard 
 of one hundred men, commanded by a certain Capt. Campbell. 
 The rear-guard, on a retreat, should consist of picked men under 
 a first-rate officer. In the present case, it was composed of raw 
 Irishmen who had never been under fire, and was led by an ii' 
 
332 EUTAW. 
 
 competent person. Another error was in tLe lengthened line 
 of the coluDfin of march ; the rear-guard being most of the time 
 move than a mile in the rear of the main body. But we must 
 not stop for criticism ; let us proceed to the events of this pui- 
 suit. 
 
 Coates, as we have said, marched well ; but the most rapid 
 march of infantry, cumbered with a heavy baggage-train, is still 
 a slow progress. It was not difficult for our Baron Sinclair's 
 carriage, drawn by four first-rate horses, to keep up with the 
 march. Fitzgerald, in order to the better security of the little 
 party, had introduced it in the interval between the main body 
 and the rear-guard. Here, the chances were, that, whether at- 
 tacked in front or rear, there would still be time afforded to get 
 the carriage out of the melee. 
 
 This disposition, besides, afforded him frequent opportunities 
 for communion with the lady whom he sought. Our young 
 Irishman neglected no precautions, and forbore no attentions. 
 He was frequently beside the carriage, and, by his buoyancy 
 of temper, and lively play of conversation, greatly contributed 
 to beguile the tediousness of the route. He was never more 
 elastic, more gay, more graceful ; never appeared to better ad- 
 vantage ; and it was with difficulty that our Baron Sinclair 
 could refrain, when the young fellow withdrew to his duties, 
 from reproaching Carrie aloud, for preferring — as he muttered 
 
 it to himself — " a d d demure son of a Frenchman," to the 
 
 brave and dashing young cavalier, who was so distinguished, 
 and could make himself so agreeable ! Our present task will 
 not suffer us to report the dialogues between these parties on 
 the route, or even to give a sample of them. Enough, that the 
 night rapidly stole away, and the dawn opened, and the day ad- 
 vanced, and they as yet felt none of the fatigues of the journey. 
 Hours had now passed, since their departure from Biggin, and 
 no hostile trumpet had sounded in their ears. At length the 
 vanguard reached Quinby in safety, crossed, and continued its 
 progress. The main body followed in safety, also, dragging 
 their solitary piece of artillery across the bridge. The planks 
 of the bridge were then loosened from the sleepers, ready to be 
 thrown off, and into the creek, as soon as the rear-guard should 
 have passed. The howitzer, its muzzle turned toward the 
 
PURSUIT — THE SKRIMMAGE AT QUINB'i . Z32 
 
 bridge, charged with grape, was allowed to remain, to protect 
 the party destined to demolish it. 
 
 So quiet had been the march, so utterly undisturbed the 
 progress, that the severe exertions of the British colonel were 
 relaxed. His precautions seemed to give him every security. 
 What had he to fear from the rear, with a strong detachment 
 of a hundred men a mile behind him 1 What to fear in front, 
 with his main body already marching across the causey before 
 him, and pressing onward, through a lane, into a friendly set- 
 tlement? There were surely no reasonable grounds for appre- 
 hension, at such a moment ; and Coates himself loitered at the 
 bridge with the howitzer, waiting for the arrival of the rear- 
 guard and baggage-wagons. His escape was a matter so sure, 
 in his opinion, that his mood and muscles relaxed to memment. 
 Fitzgerald, who had just galloped up from Sinclair's carriage, 
 which he had left half a mile behind, was the subject of much 
 of that sort of jest in which old soldiers love to deal at the ex- 
 pense of young ones, and which young lovers rarely find offen- 
 sive. Coates assumed him to be successful in his pursuit ; and, 
 though Fitzgerald denied it, and expressed his fears, yet this 
 was ascribed, by his colonel, only to a proper modesty, which 
 would not suffer him to boast. At this very moment, and while 
 the two, attended by a few artillerists only, were loitering about 
 the gun, the leading officer of the pursuing partisans had report- 
 ed the rear-guard, imder Campbell, to bo in sight. 
 
 The legion cavalry were in advance ; Marion's, under Ma- 
 ham, close behind them. Lee, at once, prepared for the charge. 
 The legion cavalry was directed to take close order. Captain 
 Eggleston, with one troop, was detached, turning into the woods 
 on the left, in order to gain the enemy's right; while the squad- 
 ron under Lee, supported by the cavalry under Maham, ad- 
 vanced along tlie road directly toward the quairy. 
 
 We have seen how the rear-guard of Coates was composed, 
 and of what force it consisted. The approach of the American 
 liorse, from two directions, first awakened Campbell, the captain 
 01 the iJritish, to a sense of his danger. He formed his line, and 
 blundered in doing so. Had he at once taken to the swamp 
 v/hicli skirted him, and posted himself under cover ot \r.. 
 WBgons, he would have been safe, ^nstpa-^ of ihis 1- > formed 
 
384 EUTAW 
 
 in line, Lis left upon the road, and his right in the woods oppo- 
 <!'le to Egglestjn's command. 
 
 'We have him as we want him!" said Lee, to his captain 
 /.'.•tnstrong, a very gallant and powerful fellow. 
 
 The British line was scarcely formed when Lee's bugle 
 sounded the charge. His troop dashed forward, swords drawn, 
 and steeds in full gallop. At that instant, the British order to 
 "fire" was heard distinctly from right to left. But no fire fol 
 lowed. Lee felt the danger. 
 
 " They reserve their fire to make it more fatal !" said he to 
 Armstrong. 
 
 " It is fatal if we falter now !" exclaimed Armstrong, giving 
 his steed the rowel as he spoke, and rushing forward. He was 
 promptly followed, with a wild shout, and every sword flashing 
 m the air. 
 
 To the surprise of the assailants, their delighted surprise, 
 there was liot a shot. The wild Irish threw down their arms, 
 and begged for quarter. 
 
 Was this terror 1 Was it the menacing attitude of the cav- 
 alry that produced this result 1 Possibly. And yet, of a hun- 
 dred men, of a notoriously fighting race, was there not one man, 
 '■0 discliarge a musket — from impulse, if not from will or pi-in- 
 •;iple ? Not one ! Lee ascribed it all to panic. It may have 
 jaen so. Panic is as contagious as fire, and runs as quickly 
 iLrough t?je ranks as fire does over the prairies in dry weather. 
 Ant we remember what Fitzgerald said to Sinclair, and we half 
 •uspect, there was no hearty good will for the British cause 
 mong these wild Irish, and that this had something to do with 
 Anyhow, it is very clear that their captain Campbell was 
 n imbecile. 
 
 Of course, Lee was very well pleased to grant quarter to 
 people who had behaved so civilly. Both narties escaped un- 
 Imrt. A few of the militia horse was detached to take charge 
 of the prisoners and baggage, and the legion cavalry dashed 
 ahead after the main body of the re*7:eating P::ltish. Scarcely 
 had Lee's back been turned, wbt,- Cc^t&ia .?/v...pl3ll, beginning 
 to feel ashamed of himself, made an effort to persuade his men 
 -o resume their arms; but T---r t ' esaeiger brought Lee 
 
PURSUIT — THE SKEIMMAGE AT QUINBT. 335 
 
 back, and the captain not over fierce, and his men not over wil 
 ling, they were soon subdued to docility. 
 
 But this paltrj' petty incident, probablj' saved the British 
 army. While Lee was quieting Campbell, Armstrong came in 
 sight of tlie bridge and Coates. The latter, at this moment, 
 was in his most humorous vein, jeering Fitzgerald about his 
 couquests. He was actually talking about Cupid and Hymen, 
 and such antiquated divinities, in a sort of speech which the 
 poets of that day had dealt in ad nauseam. Our readers will 
 remember that that was the era of such geniuses as Pye, and 
 Whitehead, and Wharton, successively poets-laureate. We 
 may judge readily of the sort of poets which could willingly 
 sing the glories of the Guelphic dynastie-s of the Georges — 
 first, second, or third ! Lee ought not to have turned back. 
 What if the wild L-ish under Campbell did resume their arms, 
 how could they effect the result ? Besides, the infantry under 
 Sumter were pressing forward, and the British rear-guard might 
 safely have been left to them. The moments were too precious 
 to be wasted upon any subordinate objects. Everything de- 
 pended upon the headlong rush over the bridge, while Coates 
 was unsuspicious of danger, and while his main body were 
 crowded along a causey, girdled by swamp, packed closely on 
 this causey, and in the still narrower lane beyond it, unable to 
 deploy, and to be mown down like thick grass at the will of 
 the reaper. Had the whole force of the legion dashed onward, 
 the discomfiture of the whole army of the British, in this situa- 
 tion, was inevitable. No infantry can withstand a determined 
 charge of cavalry while in such condition. 
 
 But the gallant Armstrong, though leading his own troop 
 only, remembering the orders of the day, to charge the enemy 
 at all hazards wherever he could find them, dashed onward to 
 his prey giving no heed to consideration, right or left. He 
 passed the carriage of Colonel Sinclair like a streak of light- 
 ning, giving it no sort of heed, as if it were game quite too 
 small for any trooper with a goodly enemy before him. Your 
 petty chapman of a captain would have stopped to look into 
 the vehicle, to see if it contained " the elephant." 
 
 The little party of Colonel Sinclair were roused on a sudden, 
 as the troop went bj'. 
 
•336 EUTAW. 
 
 " Who are these people ? Why this nish ?" demanded Carrie 
 Sinclair jf her fathei-. 
 
 "The rebels! by all that's damnable!" roared the colonel, 
 and he felt for his pistols. But the troop had swept by. An- 
 other came, and another, and they swept on also, without heed- 
 ing the vehicle. 
 
 "Oh ! my father, they are about to fight. Let us fly — into 
 the woods. Into the woods." 
 
 " Ay, we shall have it now, my girl, and you will soon see 
 how the British regulars will trim the jackets of these fellows ! 
 But it is something queer that they should pass the rear-guard. 
 They couldn't do so without a fight. Have I been asleep. 
 Have you heard nothing, Carrie ?" 
 
 " Nothing, till the rush of these horsemen." 
 
 "No guns — no trumpets — no shouts?" 
 
 "Nothing, sir." 
 
 " It is strange. These fellows look to be rebels. Their uni- 
 form — if it may be called such — is not ours. What can the 
 rear-guard be about. Where the devil is Fitzgerald 1" 
 
 " He has only a little while left us, you remember." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; but where the devil is he tiow. It is now that he 
 is wanted." 
 
 "But, dear father, we are here in the way of danger. Had 
 we not better turn into the woods." 
 
 " Danger ! Pshaw ! Do you suppose that these trooping 
 squads, even if they be of the rebel route, can do anything 
 against his majesty's infantry, covered with a field-piece. 
 There's no danger, girl. None ! But, I think, Fitzgerald 
 might have shown himself, so as to have pacified your fears at 
 least." 
 
 Fitzgerald was, at that moment, as well as his colonel, iu a 
 position of some awkwardness. We have seen how confident 
 Coates was in his securities. How he could jeer our young 
 Irishman about his amours. As we have said, he had just been 
 mouthing about Cupid and Hymen, in the poetical slang — for 
 poets of an imitative school are all so many slangw/iav^tre — 
 repeaters of a stereotyped phraseology — when Armstrong burst 
 upDn him — no drum beaten, no bugle sounded, no shot fired 
 frnm the re.ir-guard to give him warning of his danger. Arm- 
 
PaBSUIT THE SKRIMMAGE AT QUINBY. 337 
 
 strong never stopped for staj- or hinderance, but dashed over the 
 bridge at the head of his section, and threw himself headlong 
 upon the little group who had charge of the British howitzer. 
 
 His headlong audacity was in fact only a proper prudence. 
 The howitzer, with its jaws charged with grape,, confronting 
 him, and covering the bridge, the port-fire burning, and ready 
 for use, allowed him not a moment of respite for thought or 
 hesitation. His policy was to seize the piece, take advantage of 
 the surprise which he had occasioned, and cut down the gunners ; 
 and so thinking, if he thought at all, he dashed recklessly over 
 the rickety planks which had been loosened from the sleepers, 
 in readiness to be thrown off with the passage of the baggage 
 and the rear-guard. 
 
 The audacity of Armstrong was temporarily successful. Had 
 Lee been present to support him, with the legion, the success 
 •would have been complete. The artillerists in charge of the 
 piece, as well as their officer, taken by surprise, had not time to 
 apply the match, and were summoned instantly to defend them- 
 selves. Armstrong had been followed, under a like impulse, 
 by Lieutenant Carrington, of the legion ; and he, in turn, by 
 Colonel Maham, and Captain Macaulay, of Marion's. The two 
 first were followed by their sections. The third section was 
 arrested in the leap by the fact that their predecessors had dis- 
 lodged the planks of the bridge by the desperate plunges of 
 their horses, and that a wide gulf separated the parties, the 
 deep dark water of the creek, rolling between. It was when 
 the third section came to a halt that Maham and Macaulay forced 
 their horses to the leap. But at this very moment an unseen 
 enemy started up, almost from beneath the bridge, in a working 
 party set to complete its destruction. These delivered a fire 
 under which Maham's horse fell dead. Two of Lee's dragoons 
 on the opposite side were slain at the same fire; the chasm in 
 the bridge had been made wider, and the efforts of Lee who 
 had now rejoined his third section, seemed altogether unavailing 
 to repair the bridge, even for temporary use. His two sections, 
 with Maham and Macaulay, seemed cut off from all succor, and 
 in the power of the enemy. 
 
 But their audacity was continued, the result now of their 
 peculiarly perilous position. In a moment they drove the artil- 
 
 15 
 
338 KUTAW. 
 
 lerists from the howitzer, and assailed the small British party 
 at the spot. These, headed by Coates and Fitzgerald, had 
 drawn their swords, cheered on their few followers, shontod to 
 the regiment along the causey, and, seeking temporary shelter 
 behind a wagon which had crossed, bearing some sick and 
 wounded officers, they skilfully opposed their small swords to 
 the threatening sabres of the partisans. These would have 
 been of little help without the cover of the wagon, but with 
 this defence, and the exercise of great activity, and the most 
 vigilant eyes, they succeeded in prolonging the defence till they 
 could receive succor from their troops. It was not long before 
 the causey was crowded with combatants, and a desperate hand- 
 to-hand conflict took place; a wild melee, showing a dozen or 
 ■nore separate duels, after the fashion of the middle ages, in a 
 regular tournament a Voutrance. But such a conflict could not 
 long continue. All would depend upon the ability of the 
 partisans to cross the bridge ; and of this there was now little 
 prospect. Without succor, our dashing cavaliers, isolated from 
 their companions, must succumb. Thus far they had lost a few 
 dragoons, but the officers remained unhurt. The panic of the 
 Britisl; had now ceased. In the first moment of alarm, believing 
 that the whole force of the Americans were upon them, and 
 conscious of their total inability, from their closely-packed order 
 along the narrow causey, to receive them, they had hurried for- 
 ward in inextricable confusion. Had the legion cavalry crossed, 
 or had Maham's command been able to do so, there could have 
 been but one rssult, in utter defeat and ruin. But the Fates 
 were agtiinst our friends — the Fates, and something in them- 
 selves. The British recovered. The panic was arrested. Strag- 
 gling bodies forced their way back; the fight became hotter. 
 Our troopers were no longer the assailants, and when they 
 looked up the causey, and beheld the human billows rolling to- 
 ward them, and looked behind them to see the impossibility of 
 getting any succor from their friends, they felt that but one 
 duty remained to them — to effect their escape if possible, 
 Neither their coolness nor courage abandoned them at this 
 moment. They felt that but one hope of escape was left them, 
 to charge through the straggling masses along the causey, 
 and gain the woods, whence they could make their way into 
 
PURSUIT — THE SKRIMMAGE AT QUINBY. 339 
 
 the swamp. They felt very sure that the British would never 
 fire upon them, through a natural dread of shooting their own 
 officers whom they left behind them on the causey — felt sure 
 that no arm would be stretched out to arrest their steeds under 
 the spurred and goaded violence of their headlong rush — and 
 knew that the enemy had no cavalry with which to pursue. 
 An instant sufficed for these reflections, a word to make them 
 simultaneously felt by their comrades, and, sounding their bugles 
 with a lively trill of defiance, they wheeled about from the foes 
 with whom they had been contending, and dashed headlong up 
 the causey. Right and loft, the enemy's infantry — a strag- 
 gling mass — gave way, while the gallant troopers rushed through 
 their masses, scattering them from side to side. The moment 
 they reached the highlands they wheeled into the thickets on 
 their left, and escaped by heading the stream. Never was a 
 brave determination more gallantly carried into execution. 
 
 Note. — ^In the Life of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, by the poet, Moore, he 
 has fallen into some mistakes in respect to his subject, in connection with this 
 spirited little affair, and in respect to the events themselres, which we propose 
 to correct for tlie benefit of fiitnre editors of the poet's writings. Moore 
 represents his hero as being with the rear-guard on the occasion, and as check- 
 ing Lee in his demonstrations upon it. He does not, indeed, say that he 
 saved the guard and the baggage, but he leaves this to be inferred ; and this 
 inference will be drawn from his statement by every one who reads the pas- 
 sage in ignorance of the events. He is right in representing Lord Edward 
 as at the bridge, and as being spiritedly engaged in covering it ; but he again 
 misrepresents him as the person in command at this spot ; when, in fact. 
 Colonel Coates himself was present, and to his presence jur historian as- 
 cribes much of the success of the British in saving the army. Fitzgerald 
 was in the rear of the main body, but the rear-guard and baggage were a mile 
 in his rear, and these were not saved, but lost ; the Americans making large 
 booty on the occasion; captuiing the army chest, with all its treasure, a 
 thousand guineas, with a large body of stores besides, of the most useful 
 description. The poet again mistakes when he represents the conduct of 
 Fitzgerald in this affair as first commending him to the favor of Lord Eaw- 
 don, and securing his appointment as aid-de-camp to his lordship, in his 
 march to the relief of Ninety-Six. The biographer, in this statement, puts 
 the cart a long way before the horse. The siege of Ninety-Six, and its relief, 
 preceded the battle at Quinby by no less than four weeks. The assault upon 
 Ninety-six was made by Greene, on the 18th day of June; the battle of 
 Quinby took place on the 17th of July. Lord Edward's regiment, with two 
 others, from Ireland, reached Charleston on the 2d of June, and. for the fii-sf 
 
1-40 EUTAW. 
 
 time, affbided Hawdon the means by which to attempt the relief of Ninety- 
 Six. Tlicse troops were not designed for employment in South Carolina; 
 but the exigencies of Rawdon required that he should divert them from their 
 original destination. As soon as possible after their arrival from Ireland, he 
 set out on his march, at the head of two of these regiments, and other troops. 
 He entered Ninety-Six on the 2ist of Juno, three days after the assault of 
 Greene, which had been precipitated to anticipate the arrival of Rawdon. It 
 is thus shown that Lord Edward won the favor of Rawdon by services under 
 his own eye, and was his aid a considerable time before the event at Quinby, 
 which the biographer describes as securing him this compliment. 
 
•,.v)w TWO KINDS OF Fiaa WERE CONFOUNDED. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 SHOWING HOW COLONEL SINCLAIR, SENIOR, CONFOUNDED TWO 
 VERY DIFFERENT KINDS OF FISH. 
 
 There was great blame somewhere. The affair bad been 
 very much mismanaged. The game was certainly in the hands 
 of our partisans. The surprise of Coates, with the main body, 
 had been as complete as that of his rear-guard. Sumter, in his 
 oiEcial report of it, says : " If the whole party had charged across 
 the bridge, they would have come upon the enemy in such a 
 state of confusion, while extricating themselves from the lane, 
 that they must have laid down their arms." And so we say. 
 But we have shown why the whole party did not charge across 
 the bridge ; and will not stop to inquire, here, upon whom the 
 blame of this failure should fall. An inquiry might tend to 
 rob some favorite of a rose from his chaplet, but we have no 
 wish to do this discourtesy, at this late period in the history. 
 No censure, now, can change the results. Let us rather look 
 to some other parties to our drama, whom, not participants in 
 the action, we have left behind us in a very uncomfortable con- 
 dition of anxiety and apprehension. 
 
 Our baron and his two daughters were beginning to experi- 
 ence all the trotibles of their peculiar situation. As troop after 
 troop drew nigh, and dashed past his vehicle, the veteran be- 
 gan to fidget at a most distressing rate. Mind and body began 
 to be equally sore and uneasy. The twinges of the gout be- 
 came more frequent, and, ready to scream half the time with 
 physical pain, he was equally in the mood to roar with mental 
 disteinpevature. He could no longer doubt that all these troop- 
 
3i'2 ErjTAiV. 
 
 ers were rebels. He saw it in the ragged costume, the queer, 
 strange attempts at uniform, the sprigs of green cedar in the ca^75 
 of Marion's men ; in a thousand little details which stripped the 
 matter of all uncertainty. The excitement of old Sinclair in- 
 creased duly every moment. He swore his most famous oaths. 
 He started up, till admonished by an extra twinge in foot or 
 ankle, when he laid himself back in the carriage with a groan. 
 Then he got down his sword, drew it from the scabbard, and 
 leaned it up in a corner of the vehicle. The next object were 
 his pistols. He fidgetted till he got these out of the holsters, 
 and examined their primings. At this, Carrie Sinclair thought 
 it necessary to interpose. 
 
 " Father, father ! This will never do ! What can you do 
 with these pistols ? How can anything that yon can do avail, 
 except to endanger our safety ? Oh ! father, remember your 
 children — see this poor child, and be prudent." She had 
 drawn little Lottie into her lap and held her firmly back in 
 the carriage. " These people do not seem disposed to harm us. 
 See, they pass us without stopping to look or speak. If you 
 show your weapons you may provoke them to offence." 
 
 "You are right!" answered the veteran with a groan, as he 
 thrust back his pistols into the pocket of the coach. " But, oh ! 
 that I could mount a horse once more ! Strike one more blow 
 for Britain before I die. The bloody remorseless rebels ! 
 D — n their impudence ! See how audaciously they ride, as if 
 the royal banner was not floating in their paths, and a thousand 
 brave British hearts rallying round for its defence. "Would I 
 could lift an arm once more in the same glorious cause. Ha ! 
 they are at it ! It begins ! Now we shall see ! ha ! ha ! We 
 shall see how rebellion carries itself when the royal lion rouses 
 and roars in vengeance !" 
 
 The shots from the bridge were now audible. • 
 
 " You shall see how the British lion will drive these runagate 
 rebels even as the dog drives the sheep !" 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! my father ! There are other troops ap- 
 proaching." 
 
 A deep voice was heard behind them. 
 
 "No bugles! on silently. Forward!" And a troop went 
 along at the gallop. 
 
HOW TWO KINDS OP FISH WERE CONFOUNDED. 343 
 
 " Where the devil can Fitzgerald be all this time ? He should 
 have let us known what was going on." 
 
 •' You are unreasonable, sir ! How could he with this host 
 behind him 1" 
 
 " Sheep ! sheep ! A gallant dash backward, of but one hun- 
 dred good British dragoons would demolish or scatter the whole 
 herd." 
 
 " Hardly, sir ; for the rear-guard, if you remember, consisted 
 of a hundred men and they appear to have been conquered and 
 captured." 
 
 " What riglit have you to suppose such nonsense 1 They 
 have probably taken another path." 
 
 At this moment a young officer approached, and pausing for 
 an instant, said to Sam, the driver — giviijg but a look as he 
 spoke to the inmates of the carriage : — 
 
 " Drive aside, old fellow, and clear the track. You are in 
 the way." And he rode on. 
 
 " We are in the king's highway !" roared the veteran within, 
 as he caught up his sword, and thrust the point toward the win- 
 dow. Fortunately, the action was not seen. 
 
 " Father ! father !" cried Carrie, as she grasped the arm that 
 held the sword, and gently took the weapon from his clutch. 
 
 " I am truly an old fool !" said the old man meekly, while 
 the big tears gathered in his eyes. "My son! my son! Oh! 
 Willie Sinclair, you have brought me to my knees — to my 
 knees." 
 
 We may see what was the associated idea in the mind of the 
 old man from this speech. His loyalty was a thing of doubt 
 while his son was a leader among the rebels. 
 
 The commotion increased. The steady tread of infantry was 
 heard behind them, with an occasional dash of steeds. At this 
 moment the horses of Sinclair began to share the excitement 
 of their master. The clash of arms, the rush of steeds, the 
 shouts of men, the sharp shot in front, all tended to make them 
 restiff and uneasy ; and old Sam, the driver, was himself quite 
 too much confounded by the scene, to be master either of him- 
 self or the horses. Without the baron's being conscious of what 
 bis driver or his beasts were doing, the carriage had been 
 3topp«^d. Sam liad drawn up as closely as possible to the roaJ 
 
344 EUTAW. 
 
 Bide, leaving as much space clear to the troopers as he could 
 well afford ; and this arrest of their motion seemed to increase 
 their disquiet. It was only while the animals began to bound 
 and curvet, snort and rear, that our baron was apprized of the 
 fact that the carriage was no longer in motion. 
 
 " What the d — 1 do you stop for, yon old rascal 1 Drive up, 
 T say, and let's see what's going on. Better be in the thick of 
 it, than remain in this terrible doubt and uncertainty." 
 
 " Oh, no ! Do not, dear father, go any nearer. Let us rath- 
 er turn aside into the woods and escape from it." 
 
 " Do, papa, that's a dear papa !" and the little Lottie, quite 
 scared at the scene, added her entreaties to those of her sister. 
 
 " What ! are you a coward too 1 Pooh ! pooh ! There 
 would be no danger, once under the king's banner." 
 
 " But there's no getting under that, father : there are thou- 
 Bands of men in the path." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! not five hundred ! We arc only a mile from 
 the bridge. So Fitzgerald told us. Drive on, you rascal." 
 
 But Sam did not obey. 
 
 " Look yer, maussa, 'tis no use. Der's no gitting along t'rough 
 dcse armies and de bosses is no longer altogedder sensible of 
 what's to be doing. Ef I could break t'rough de woods now !" 
 
 " The cowardly old rascal ! He's afraid of a bullet through 
 hig worthless old carcass. I should have brought Benny Bow- 
 legs. He's afraid neither of man nor beast, neither shot nor 
 devil. -Oh ! for Benny Bowlegs. To have to deal with a scamp 
 that's afraid of his sliadow ! Drive on, yon sooty son of Satan 
 — on, sirrah, till I tell yon when to stop." 
 
 " Why, look yer, maussa — " 
 
 " Do not seek to master me, 3'ou rascal !" 
 
 " Nay, dear father, Sam is right." 
 
 "Right! Everybody's right but me, I suppose! I'm al- 
 ways wrong. Of all Lear's daughters, there was but one — " 
 
 " And her father would not understand Aer /" added Carrie. 
 
 The old man looked at her, silenced for a moment — but re- 
 covered himself and said sarcastically : " Oh ! you are my Cor- 
 delia, then." He turned from her in the next moment, and 
 roared out to Sam — "Drive on, rascal, though you run youj 
 wheels over the necks of a thousand rebels." 
 
HOW TWO KINDS OP FISH WERE CONFOUNDED. 345 
 
 Sam moodily bobbed his head to one side, and shook out his 
 reins. One of his horses began again to plunge. 
 
 " You see, maussa," cried the fellow. 
 
 " Give him the whip, you skunk ! Don't he afraid of him, 
 or we're gone." 
 
 But Sam hesitated, and was for a moment saved from personal 
 responsibility by the interposition of another. 
 
 " Back with your horses, fellow !" cried one of Marion's troop- 
 ers, dashing along, and speaking as he passed — "back, into the 
 woods with you — anywhere — but get out of the way !" 
 
 The words were distinctly heard, and the veteran shouted — 
 he knew not what — in defiance. 
 
 " Oh, father, be quiet ! They will hear you." 
 
 " Let 'em hear, d — n 'em ! I want 'em to hear, that I loathe 
 'em, and curse 'em, and defy 'em." 
 
 And he got hold of "his pistols as he roared out thus impru- 
 dently. The trooper, meanwhile, who had given Sam his order 
 to betake himself to the woods, sped forward without stopping 
 to see wlietber he was oheyod or not. Others followed. The 
 horse snorted with increasing terror. His' companions began to 
 give signs of sympathy. They were catching the panic conta- 
 gion. The rush of another squadron from the rear increased 
 their terrors, and, wheeling and plunging, they had brought the 
 carriage nearly across the road, almost closing up the passage. 
 An officer dashed up at full speed, halted so suddenly as to 
 throw his own steed upon his haunches, and, catching the rein 
 of the restiff beast short at the head, wheeled him rapidly out 
 of the track. 
 
 " Into the woods, blockhead," cried the stranger, " before you 
 are torn to pieces !" 
 
 In the same moment, the officer wheeled about, and showed 
 bl[iiself at the carriage-window. He was about to speak — was 
 speaking — when, quick as lightning, old Sinclair, who had 
 again caught up his pistols, thrust one full at his head, and 
 pulled the trigger. The explosion followed ; the officer reeled 
 under it, his cap fell off, and, as he cried — 
 
 " Good God ! my father !— " 
 
 Carrie Sinclair recognised her brother. 
 
 ]5» 
 
346 EUTAW. 
 
 " Oh, father, it is Willie ! You have slain him— ytu have 
 slain my hrothev!" 
 
 " Willie ! Willie Sinclair ! — my son Willie !" 
 
 It was all the old man conld speak. He was seized with a 
 shivering-fit, dropped the other pistol, which he probahly wonld 
 have used also, and, covering his face with his hands, shrieked 
 
 his agony of soul ! The voice of Willie, the next moment, 
 reassured the party. 
 
 " Be not alarmed," he said ; " I am unhurt !" and he passed 
 Lis hands over his forehead, which seemed to have been simply 
 scorched and blackened by the flame, or wadding from the pis- 
 tol. An inch higher, the bullet had gone through his cap ! 
 
 "On, Colonel Sinclair!" said Marion, riding up. "You 
 should be with your command. Who are these ?" 
 
 " It is my father and sisters, general," replied Willie. 
 
 " Your father and sisters ! What are they doing here 1 But, 
 get them into the woods, out of the track, or they may taste the 
 grape from the enemy's howitzer. Back them out, as soon as 
 possible ; we must have a clear track. Spur onward, as soon 
 as you have done this duty, and rejoin your command. Every 
 moment now is worth a score of lives." 
 
 And Marion rode forward. 
 
 " Oh, my son ! oh, Willie ! have I been mad enough to at- 
 tempt your life 1" 
 
 Such was the piteous appeal of the old man, who was cov- 
 ered with a cold sweat, and trembled like a leaf. 
 
 " No, sir. You knew not whom you shot at, or what yon 
 did!" 
 
 " That's true ! I'm a madman ! This girl is wiser by far. 
 She got me to put down the accursed pistols, and I really knew 
 not that I had again taken them out, until I had fired. Oh, 
 my son, had I slain i/ou with the one, I had surely slain myself 
 with the other!" 
 
 " Thank God that no harm's done ! But wo must get you 
 iience. — Wheel into the woods, Sam. There is room enough 
 for you, if you manage well. Don't heed those saplings. There, 
 drive ahead !" 
 
 He was obeyed. The vehicle was got into the woods, and, 
 making a difificult circuit, was carried out of the press, and some 
 
HOW TWO KHrDS OF FISH WERE CONFOUNDED. 347 
 
 small distance into the rear of the moving parties. The horses 
 seemed to know the voice of Willie, who rode his own blooded 
 charger beside them, and thus timed their paces, and soothed 
 their disquiet. 
 
 "What am I to do, my son?" asked the old man feebly — 
 " where am I to go, Willie ? Say — order !" 
 
 " Home, sir, home ! and remain quiet, till you hear from me. 
 I will send a friend to see you out of the camp ; but I must 
 leave you now — and you, dear Carrie — and you, little Lottie 
 — and I do so very sorrowfully. I would you were safe at 
 home ! You are not safe here. Your most secure route, just 
 now, is homeward. Go thither ! Do not turn aside, on any 
 pretence, or at any suggestion. God bless and protect yon, 
 father — sisters ! God be with us all !" 
 
 And he darted away, trusting himself to no further speech. 
 The sisters wept — the father groaned in agony and self- 
 reproach. 
 
 " Oh, my God, what a narrow escape I have had ! To think 
 that my hand should have aimed at the life of my own son !" 
 
 " But, father, you did not mean it." 
 
 " Oh, Carrie, how would that lessen my agony had ho fallen ? 
 I am an old fool ! What had I to do with pistols ? what could 
 I do with them ? It was all owing to that rascal Sam. Why 
 did he stop the horses 1" 
 
 " Could he do better, my dear father ? Would you have had 
 him carry us into the thick of the fight 1 Do not be unjust." 
 
 " How do you know that there has been any fight ? Those 
 rascally Irish have run, the besotted villains ! And poor Fitz- 
 gerald !, he has probably fallen a victim to their treachery and 
 cowardice." 
 
 " Nay, dear father, this is not likely. It is evident that there 
 has been little fighting as yet. You see that the main body of 
 the Americans have not yet gone forward. You may see a 
 squad of them now, through the woods; and look — there is an 
 officer riding toward us." 
 
 "Where? who?" 
 
 " Here, sir, on the right." 
 
 " What ! that big fellow 1 Why, he's a mountain on horse- 
 back !" 
 
348 EUTAW. 
 
 " But his horse seems big enough for the mountain." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! It is the largest horse, I think, I ever saw. 
 But what a huge man to be a dragoon ! and what a belly for 
 an officer to carry ! — and yet, see what a monstrous girth he 
 wears ! And, what a uniform !" 
 
 " Hush, sir ! he approaches." 
 
 The officer rode up, and, bowing politely, said, in musical 
 tones — 
 
 " Colonel Sinclair, I believe." 
 
 "At your service. And who the devil are you, sir?" 
 
 This rude speech was prompted — we must say apologetically 
 — by a sudden and sharp twinge of the gout at this moment. 
 But the stranger was prompt to reply in the same spirit. 
 
 "The devil himself, sir, at your service: but — you will 
 please remember, my dear young lady," addressing himself to 
 Carrie — "that, whatever his other demerits, the devil has the 
 reputation of being a gentleman." 
 
 " An assurance," answered Carrie, with a smile, " which should 
 surely reconcile us to his representative." 
 
 "You are a woman of sense, madam — a rarity among your 
 sex. You may rest assured that I shall do nothing to forfeit 
 the social reputation of my principal." 
 
 "Well, sir," said our baron, whom the gout was troubling at 
 this moment especially, and who, as an old aristocrat, was ex- 
 ceedingly impatient of the familiar tone which the stranger 
 employed when speaking with his daughter — angry, indeed, 
 with Carrie herself for the civil speech with which she had sim- 
 ply designed to do away with any ill effects that might have 
 arisen from the rude apostrophe of -her father — " well, sir, to 
 what do I owe the honor of this interruption to my peaceful 
 progress ?" 
 
 " Peaceful progress," quoth the stranger coolly. " My ven- 
 erable friend," he conthiued, " I do not come hither to retard 
 or prevent your very peaceful progress, but if possible to ren- 
 der it more so. I promised your son to see you safe beyond 
 our lines." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir; you are the gentleman that he promised to 
 send me. I thank you, sir — I thank you very much. Forgive 
 me, if 1 have seemed to you peevish and uncivil, but I am a 
 
HOW TWO KINDS OF PISH WERE CONFOUNDED. 349 
 
 victim to the gout, sir, and am besides in a devilish bad 
 humor." 
 
 '' No apologies, my dear sir, further. Both of these are gen- 
 tlemanly privileges. I respect them. I am glad to believe, 
 my dear young lady, that you are not troubled with the 
 gout also." 
 
 " And why should you suppose her free from it 1" growled 
 the baron. 
 
 " Simply, because, as a lady, she ought to enjoy neither of 
 these gentlemanly privileges. I can answer for it, sir, that she 
 gladly yields the monopoly to you of the other gentlemanly 
 privilege." 
 
 The baron growled good-humoredly — "Do not dwell, sir, 
 upon my rudeness. You are a wit, I see, and must suffer your- 
 self to be opposed by other weapons than your own. Few per- 
 sons practise well at the foils with this class of person. It is 
 fortunate for his majesty's cause, I fancy, that you are not 
 allowed to lead in this attack." 
 
 "Your sagacity, Colonel Sinclair, or your instincts, it matters 
 not which, has conducted you to a truth which revelation would 
 hardly suffer the American Congress to receive. It is fortunate 
 for his majesty's cause that I was not the leader in this expe- 
 dition, or that I was not permitted to select the leader. The 
 results, I promise you, would have been very different. We 
 should not have allowed the British army to slip through our 
 fingers." 
 
 This was said with a sort of savage gravity, as if the speaker 
 solemnly felt it all, and felt, besides, that not only a great wrong 
 had been done to himself, but that a serious mischief had result- 
 ed also to the country. 
 
 "Well, sir, I'm not sure but that you might have done as 
 well, or better, than those who do lead your troops ; but you 
 will permit me to hint that it is hardly possible that any leader 
 could have secured you success against the troops of Britain. I 
 infer, you perceive, from your words, that you are in a difficult 
 situation — what the vulgar call 'a tight place' — that, in short, 
 you are about to receive a drubbing." 
 
 The corpulent captain lifted his eyebrows. Then he laughed 
 merrily. 
 
350 EUTAW. 
 
 " My venerable friend, you never, I fancy, heard of Ike Mas- 
 sey's bulldog 1" 
 
 " You are riglit in your fancy." 
 
 "Well, sir, Ike had a bulldog — a famous bulldog — that 
 whipped all other dogs, and whipped all bulls, and Ike honest- 
 ly believed that he could whip all beasts that ever roared in the 
 valley of Bashan. On one occasion, he pitted him against a 
 young bull, whom he expected to see him pull down at the first 
 jerk, muzzle and throttle in a jiffey. But it so happened that 
 Towser — the name of his dog — had, in process of time, lost 
 some of his teeth. He did take tlie bull by the nose, but the 
 young animal shook the old one off, and with one stamp of his 
 hoof he crushed all the life out of Towser. But Ike, to the day 
 of his death, still believed in Towser, and swore that the dog 
 had no fair play ; that the bull had improperly used his hoofr 
 on the occasion ; and that, in fact, baving honestly taken his 
 enemy by the nose, according to bulldog science, the victory 
 must still be conceded to him. Now, your faith in British sci- 
 ence is not unlike that of Ike Massey in his dogs ; but the bull 
 may safely concede the science, so long as he can stamp his 
 enemy to pieces. We are working just in this fashi'^n in our 
 fighting with the British. They have the science, but they are 
 losing the teeth ; while we are young and vigorous, lark the 
 science, and have the strength. Scientifically, the British whip 
 us in all our contests ; but we do an immense deal of very in- 
 teresting bull-stamping all the while ; and it is surprising how 
 much dog-life we are crushing out of the British carcass. As 
 for the present affair, you are quite out if you suppose that we 
 are in any tight place. Our difficulty is that the place is rather 
 a loose one. You err equally in supposing that we ai-e about to 
 be lathered. Our difficulty is that the British are running, and 
 we can't get at them, on account of a paltry creek with a paltry 
 bridge over it that is not passable. It is all owing, I am afraid, 
 to a poor apish trick of emulating British science, that we haven't 
 stamped the dog to pieces this very day. We have done a little, 
 however, toward taking the life out of the animal. We have 
 captured the rear-guard of a hundred men, and taken all the 
 baggage and the money-chest." 
 
 " Captured, without a fight ! Captured a pack of cowards !" 
 
HOW TWO KINDS OP PISH WERE CONFOUNDED. 351 
 
 " No, no ] my venerable friend. The fellows are no cowards, 
 not a man of 'em ; but they had no such love for British rule 
 that you entertain, and gave themselves up to better society." 
 
 " You should be grateful for their civility, I think." 
 
 " I am. Do you remember how the fat knight of Eastcheap 
 conquered Sir Ooleville of the Dale. We felt on taking our 
 raw Irishman as Falstaff did in that conquest, and said to them 
 — almost in his language — 'Like kind fellows ye gave your- 
 selves away, and I thank ye for yourselves." We did not have 
 to sweat for them any more than Sir John, for his prisoner. 
 But your driver will please to quicken his pace. The woods 
 are open enough here for trotting. I must hurry you discour- 
 teously, for my company has these liberal Irishmen in charge, 
 and all the baggage ; and the treasure is too precious to neglect. 
 There are some casks of rum, too, among our stores ; and such 
 is the mortal antipathy of the Irish to this American liquor, that 
 they would waste it even on themselves, sooner than not get 
 rid of it." 
 
 " One question, sir. Are you not Captain Porpoise V 
 
 The eye of our captain was sternly fastened for an instant, 
 upon the face of the speaker, but there was no sinister expres- 
 sion in the baron's countenance leading him to suppose that 
 any offence was meant. Before he could speak, however, Car- 
 rie Sinclair corrected him. 
 
 " Oh, father, it is Captain Porgy !" 
 
 " Bless my soul, so it is ! What have I said ! Pray forgive 
 me. Captain Porgy, it was in pain and some bewilderment, that 
 I committed the mistake. I asked the name, sir, only through 
 most grateful motives, and as, from my son's very favorable ac- 
 count of you, at his last visit to the barony, I was anxious to 
 know you." 
 
 "His description seems to have been a close one. Colonel. 
 Sinclair,'' answered Porgy, with a grim smile. " Colonel Sin- 
 clair, your son, is a friend whom I very much honor." 
 
 " And he honors you too, Captain Porgy," interposed Carrie, 
 eagerly, anxious to do away with any annoyance that her 
 father's blunder may have occasioned. She continued — "And 
 my father, sir, and we all, will be pleased to welcome you, 
 should you ever do us the kindness to visit the barony." 
 
352 EOTAW. 
 
 " To be f.ure, Captain Porgy, to be sure. Come and see ns 
 Though you are a rebel, sir, like my son, you are a gentleman, 
 I believe, and a man of honor ; and all that I have ever heard 
 of you is grateful. Nothing, I assure you, will give me more 
 pleasure, in a social way, than to have you at my board ; and I 
 promise you, if you will come, to put some old Madeira before 
 you, of the vintage of 1758, such as is seldom broached now-a- 
 days in Carolina. I pray you, sir, to believe that I am sincere, 
 and forgive that stupid blunder of mine in taking your name in 
 vain." 
 
 All this was said very heartily, and in just the tone and strain 
 to make its way to Porgy's heart. 
 
 " To be sure, you are sincere. Colonel Sinclair. A man with 
 the taste to keep Madeira twenty years in his house must be an 
 honest man ; and to broach it freely to his guest, proves him a 
 gentleman. You may look to see me, should occasion ever offer. 
 As for your mistake in my name, sir, let it never trouble you. 
 I never take offence where I am assured it is unmeant ; and, 
 when we look at the facts, you really conveyed a compliment. 
 In respect to relative dignity, the porpoise must take precedence 
 of the porgy. Let the matter never trouble you, my dear young 
 lady. I can see that you felt your father's mistake much more 
 than I did. You are a true woman, which means, that you pos- 
 sess the exquisite sensibility, which fears to inflict pain, much 
 more than it fears suffering. I would I were a young fellow, 
 for your sake. But we are friends, are we not V He offered 
 her his hand. She gave hers readily. 
 
 Oh ! yes, sir, my brother's friends are all mine." 
 
 " Would they were friends only," muttered the baron, ioUo 
 voce, remembering Peyre St. Julien. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Porgy, " but we must be friends on our cwii 
 account, not on your brother's." 
 
 " Well, as you please. I am sure that you will do me honor." 
 
 " I'll try. And now, my dear old gentleman," said Porgy, 
 " we have reached the end of our tether. You are here on the 
 edge of the road. Yonder is the king's highway — where the 
 king dare not wag a finger, or cut a pigeon-wing. You can 
 find your way home without trouble, and I hope without intei- 
 rnption. We can do no more for you just now. Hurrj- homp 
 
HOW TWO KINDS OP PISH WERE CONFOUNDED. 858 
 
 as fast as you can, for the woods will be in a blaze for some time 
 to come. We are smoking out the ' varmints.' God bless you 
 now, and good-by. It is time for me to see if I can't find a 
 chance to stick a finger in this business. Good-by !" 
 
 And, thus separating, our baron pushed into the main road, 
 while Captain Porgy dashed off to join his command at full 
 speed, as if neither himself nor his gigantic steed had any 
 weight to carry. 
 
 " How he rides for so large a man," was Carrie's remark. 
 
 " His face is positively handsome," said the father. 
 
 " But his figure, father." 
 
 " Ah ! no more of that, or I shall be sure to call him porpoise 
 again when next I meet him. But what do you stop for, Sam V 
 
 " Whay for go now, maussal" 
 
 •' Home, rascal ! didn't Willie Sinclair tell you 1 Ah, Willie ! 
 Willie ! That I should have lifted pistol at ray son's head. 
 Oh, Carrie ! if it were possible, I should like to kneel, here 
 where I am, and give thanks to God for his mercies, that inter- 
 posed and saved me from my son's murder." 
 
 " The heart may kneel, father, as well as the limbs. The 
 soul that feels, and the mind that thinks, its obligations to God, 
 are already busy in prayer." 
 
 The carriage was soon out of reach of bullet from the scene 
 of war, aijd Porgy was equally soon at the head of his com- 
 pany, condemned to the dreary task, while battle was impend- 
 ing, of keeping watch over captured men and wagons. Let us 
 leave both parties, and resume our ppgress with the active 
 combatan*.s. 
 
854 EurAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 FURTHER PASSAGBS-AT-ARMS AT SHDBRICK'S. 
 
 We Lave seen what was the unfortunate result of the ill- 
 managed attempt upon the British at Quinhy bridge; how 
 everything was in the hands of the Americans, had there been 
 proper concert among the parties, and had the forward troops, 
 which had dashed across the bridge, been properly supported. 
 These were in possession of the enemy's only field-piece, a 
 howitzer, loaded with grape, which might have been whirled 
 about in the twinkling of an eye, and made to pour its fiery 
 contents upon the massed column of the British as it straggled 
 up along, and over, the narrow causey. Had there been no 
 pause, for deJ.iteration, at the bridge, no moments of hesitation 
 in following the first two sections of the legion, dragoons, a suf- 
 ficient body could have been thrown across to have cut to pieces 
 the small British party at the bridge, turned the howitzer upon 
 its former owners, and swept the causey at a single charge 
 We have seen what were Sumter's opinions ; and we may say, 
 2)ar parenthese, that Captain Porgy is no mean auti.ority in such 
 matters. We have heard his opinions also. But we must not 
 dwell upon this sore subject; and would not iir a moment, but 
 that we share in Porgy's vexation, who was wont to say that 
 half of the battles he had ever seen lost, were lost by a petty 
 finessing, when plain, honest, direct, up and down fighting, was 
 all that was essential. 
 
 But Sumter and Marion were not the men to give up the 
 game, while it was possible to find, or to take, the trail. Marion 
 happened upon a negro who thought he could show them a way 
 across the river swamp, in a place that was passable. Marion 
 
FURTHER PASSAGBS-AT-ARMS AT SHUBRICK'S. 355 
 
 immediately sent him forward, and closely followed upon his 
 heels with his brigade. But "this route was a circuitous one ; 
 and, during the delay, Coates, having succeeded effectually in 
 throwing the planks from the bridge, cutting off all danger 
 of instant pursuit from that quarter, retired at a tolerably quick 
 step to the adjoining plantation of Shubrick, of which he took 
 possession. Having no cavalry himself, and not daring to 
 trust himself to a further march, in the face of so powerful a 
 body of this description of troops, as were at his heels, he 
 resolved to convert the Shubrick dwelling into a fortress, and 
 maintain himself in the position if he could. The spot chosen 
 was very suitable to this purpose. The dwelliiig-honse was of 
 two stories, and upon a rising ground. There were numerous 
 out-houses, a picketed garden, and connecting fences ; of all 
 of which the British colonel took possession ; arranging for bis 
 defence as rapidly as possible. He was thus covered against 
 cavalry, and measurably from the marksmen of the partisans — 
 his only two sources of apprehension at present. The arrival 
 of Sumter's field-piece, which had been sent for, would materi- 
 ally abridge these securities ; and the quiet leaguer of the place, 
 by the numerous cavalry of the partisans, would starve the 
 garrison into submission. But both of these objects required 
 time, and the delay might work results such as one could not 
 hope for, and the other might not expect. And a good general, 
 like a good politician, looks to time, usually, as involving a large 
 chapter of chances, for, as well as against ! At all events, there 
 would be time enough to think of surrender — "to-morrow, and 
 to-morrow, and to-morrow." 
 
 The infantry of Sumter's command amved on the ground at 
 three o'clock, P. M. They found Coates' main.force drawn up 
 in a square in front of the dwelling, his sharp-shooters occupy- 
 ing the several houses about, by which the approach was com- 
 manded. 
 
 Sumter had very few bayonets. It was by no means his 
 policy, accordingly, to march up to the assault. His game was 
 probably to use the sort of weapons which he had, in such a 
 way as to deprive his enemy of the full use of those in which 
 he was superior. He divided his infantry into three bodies. 
 His own brigade, under Colonels Middleton, Polk, Taylor, and 
 
356 EUTAW. 
 
 Lacy, aavanced in front, under cover of a row of negro-houses ; 
 Marion's brigade, now considerably reduced, thrown into two 
 divisions, was ordered to advance on the right, where there was 
 no shelter, but from some common worm fences, and these within 
 short musket range from the houses which the enemy's sharp- 
 shooters occupied. His was to be the hottest business evidently. 
 The cavalry, such as it was utterly impossible to use as gunmen 
 at all, was stationed securely, at some distance from the scene 
 of action, but sufficiently near to cover the infantry in the event 
 of pursuit. 
 
 We have made a formal distinction between the infantry and 
 cavalry of Sumter's command, as Sumter himself had done in 
 this arrangement for battle. But, properly speaking, the greater 
 portion of his infantry were dismounted riflemen. Their proper 
 exercise was as mounted gunmen ; a very efficient military arm 
 in certain departments of service, especially border and Indian 
 warfare ; where the object is to reach" the scene of action rap- 
 idly, and then to serve, as occasion rec[uired, whether on horse 
 or foot ; to overtake a flying enemy, or, as riflemen and rangers, 
 to oppose the red men after a fashion of their owr, oy keen 
 knife, and deadly bullet. Opposed to regular infantry, to a 
 drilled foot-soldiery, armed with the bayonet, and without a 
 cover, they had little real efficiency, unless in overwhelming 
 numbers. 
 
 The attack was begun at four o'clock. It was undertaken 
 with the greatest alacrity by the brigade of Sumter, which, 
 gaining, at a run, the cover of the negro-houses in front of them, 
 soon plied its rifles with destructive effect upon the houses, when- 
 ever a victim showed himself at door or window. From this 
 cover, Tom Taylor, with some forty-five men of his regiment, 
 then pressed forward to the fences on the British left, whence 
 his fire soon became too serious and fatal to suffer him to remain 
 long in this position. Accordingly, our dashing young Irishman, 
 Fitzgerald, was soon seen pressing down upon him with a de- 
 tachment, at the pas de charge, before which Taylor's party 
 ivere compelled to recoil, and from which they might not have 
 escaped, but for the daring intei'position of Marion's men, wlio 
 seeing Taylor's danger, rushed forward to his relief. Led by 
 Sinclair and Singleton, a hundred lithe and active forms, vari- 
 
FURTHER PAS8AGES-AT-ARMS AT SHUBRICK'S. 357 
 
 ously armed, mostly with rifles, but here and there with musket 
 and bayonet, and a few with pikes, darting through a galling 
 fire from the house, made their way to the fences on the right, 
 and rescued Taylor from Fitzgerald's bayoijets which were dri- 
 ving them down hill. It was Fitzgerald's turn to yield to this 
 pressure ; but another party from the house, with trailing mus- 
 kets, hurried out to his relief; and between these and Marion's 
 men the fight, in a few moments, became desperate and hand- 
 to-hand. Those who were armed with suitable weapons, firmly 
 met the British, while the riflemen, under the slight covering of 
 the open 'fences, maintained a steady and deadly fire, under 
 which the enemy slowly and sullenly gave way. Another 
 sally, with similar results, satisfied Coates, that it was no part 
 of his policy to risk his force any longer in this manner in the 
 open field ; and he shrunk back into his cover, from which he 
 now saw that no efforts of his present assailants could dislodge 
 him. Marion's men kept up the fight with the temerity of vet- 
 erans. For three mortal hours, the rifle did its work fatally. 
 Not a head could show itself — not a musket glitter at the win- 
 dows of the dwelling — that did not draw its bullet. It was 
 dark before the American general withdrew from a contest, 
 which, doing mischief while it lasted, was yet not of a sort to 
 effect the conquest of the post. He withdrew his forces in per- 
 fect order. It was no longer possible for him, indeed, to con- 
 tinue the fight, employing his men as infantry. Every charge 
 of powder in Marion's command was exhausted. 
 
 Firing from a house of two stories, from doors and windows, 
 and a picketed garden, and better provided with ammunition 
 than the Americans, the British did not suffer their assailants 
 to escape without some loss. The brunt of the battle fell chief- 
 ly upon the men of Marion. They had generously periled 
 themselves in the rescue of Taylor ; but the position which had 
 been assigned them was one of superior peril. This was the 
 subject of much reproach among them, against the general in 
 command. Sumter's own, they murmured, had been spared and 
 economized, with the exception of Tom Taylor's detachment of 
 forty-five. It is certain that all who fell in the action were 
 Marion's ; which lost, among others, two veteran officers, in 
 Colonels "3 winton and Baxter, men who had followed him in all 
 
358 EUTAW. 
 
 his previous fortunes, and over whose fate he grieved with all 
 the deep sympathies of a friend and brother. But the British 
 loss was far greater — seventy of their men were slain outright, 
 twice that number were wounded. They were in fact put hors 
 de combat, and must have surrendered at discretion, could the 
 field-piece of Lieutenant Singleton been brought into the action 
 ft had been sent for, but, when it came, there was no powder 
 Bullets of pewter were to be had in tolerable plenty, yet not an 
 ounce of powder. In such trim were our poor partisans con- 
 stantly compelled to go into battle. 
 
 That night there was murmuring enough in the camp of the 
 Americans. There were sharp words between Sumter and Lee, 
 the former ascribing all the disappointments of the expedition 
 to the misconduct of the latter. It is a curious circumstance, 
 which the chroniclers have not sought to explain, why the 
 legion infantry were not employed in the action at Shubrick's 
 house. Only the men of Sumter and Marion were engaged. 
 Lee's infantry must have remained with the cavalry, or possi- 
 bly in charge of the baggage. Of the action at the house, his 
 own memoirs say not a syllable ; or just enough to show that 
 he himself knew nothing about it. On this occasion he ignores 
 Sumter's presence altogether, and leaves the reader to infer that 
 he and Marion alone were in the field ; yet Sumter was in com- 
 mand, and present all the while. Sumter and Lee had no love 
 for each other. Lee's manners were very offensive, and Sumtei 
 had several causes of complaint. He does not spare his censure 
 in his despatches, and charges him with having failed in every- 
 thing which he undertook during the expedition. In camp. 
 Lee's conduct was very freely canvassed. He was said to have 
 been far more tender and careful of his horses than of his men , 
 and to this tenderness was ascribed the reluctance of the third 
 section of his cavalry, which he led himself, to take the leap at 
 the bridge, when Maham and Macanlay, of Marion's, swept by 
 him successfully. To complete the chapter of his offences, on 
 this occasion, he left the camp early the next morning, without 
 leave, and, moving off for that of Greene, thus contributed to 
 lessen the chances of success against Coates, who might have 
 been invested the next day had Lee remained, to enable our 
 partihans to make a complete leaguer of the post. As it was, the 
 
FURTHER PASSAGES-AT-ABMS AT SHUBRICK'S. 359 
 
 partisans built their watch-fires, and environed it all night. It 
 was a gloomy watch in the tents of Marion, who had to lament 
 two favorite officers, and a score of men ; the only casualties of 
 the fight at the house falling upon his brigade. Its daring ex- 
 posure might well have led to the loss of many more, who were 
 under full fire from doors and windows, and the picketed gar- 
 den, for three hours, and themselves without cover. That he 
 did not lose the better part of the force engaged is almost mirac- 
 ulous, and only to be ascribed to the fact that the British force 
 consisted chiefly of raw Irishmen, who knew very little of the 
 uses of the gun as a " shooting-iron." 
 
 But, small as his loss was, it was of serious concern in the 
 eyes of a commander who was very economical of life — whose 
 force was usually too small to suffer him to be prodigal in this 
 respect ; and the hour of midnight, assigned to the burial of the 
 dead — favorites some — all personally known to their general 
 — was one of gloom and bitterness. No wonder that they felt 
 and spoke harshly of those to whose selfishness and indiscretion 
 their losses were to be ascribed. 
 
 We need not depict the mournful ceremonies of a military- 
 burial at midnight. The picture is a fine one for the romancer, 
 as well as for the painter ; midnight in the great, gorgeous for- 
 ests, with a hundred torches flaring over the new-made grave 
 — the dead stretched out without a shroud — the comrades who 
 have galloped and shouted with us in the gay sunshine of that 
 very day — who had rushed into battle with us a hundred times 
 — but who see us not now, hear us not; will never rise to blast 
 of bugle or clash of steel again. Dust to dust ! It need not be 
 spoken. The action is sufficient. We hear the heavy sod as it 
 falls in upon and shuts from our eyes the noble form of our com- 
 rade ; we wave the torch over him for a last look ; then turn 
 away to hide our tears, and start, as at the sound of the last 
 trump, when the three-fold volley over the grave announces to 
 us that the last fight of the soldier is finished ! 
 
 Very bitter was the talk in Marion's camp that night, 
 Marion said nothing, but he paced the rounds himself, as if 
 dreading to seek repose. In one part of the bivouac there is a 
 group, all of whom we know, discoursing of the events of the 
 day. 
 
3t)0 ECTAW. 
 
 " God lias been too bountiful to us !" said Captain Porgy, ir, 
 bis peculiar manner. "He has been too profligate of great 
 men. Tbis seems to have been our curse always. Onr great 
 men have been too numerous for our occasions always. They 
 are in each other's way. They rob one another of the sunshine. 
 They behold in each other only so many offensive shadows that 
 pass between them and glory. I think it would not be di£Scnlt 
 to prove that this has been one of the chief causes of all onr dis- 
 asters. I can enumerate them from the time of Bob Howe, who 
 was half-witted ; Charley Lee, who was only fit to head a charge 
 of cavalry, no more ; and who, properly to be prepared even for 
 tbis performance, should have been invariably horsewhipped be- 
 fore going into action. And there was old Lincoln, who might 
 have been a good army nurse, or chaplain, but should never 
 have been suffered to enter the camp in any other capacity. 
 Then came Gates — but the chronicle is too sickening; and it 
 is such blockheads as these that decry the militia. 1 tell yon, 
 that the instincts of the militia nose out an imbecile in a week's 
 duty, and they naturally contemn and despise the authority in 
 which they have no confidence. I don't wish to excuse the 
 faults of the militia. They are improvident. That word 
 covers all. They waste time — take no precautions — have no 
 forethought ; and are only worth painstaking, when you are al- 
 lowed to have 'em long enough for discipline. But, whatever 
 their faults, they are precisely such as most of these blundering 
 captains have shared along with them ; with this difierence, 
 perhaps, and in favor of the common soldiers, that they are not 
 troubled with that vainglorious pretension which curses too 
 many of their captains, and which has but too frequently been 
 made to cover not only incompetence, but cowardice." 
 
 "Enough, Porgy, my dear fellow," said Singleton — "the 
 subject is one of great delicacy. You hit right and left. Ee- 
 member, we are not now under the command of our own briga- 
 dier." 
 
 " Would we had been ! T don't blame Sumter ; since he 
 never pretended to any strategy ; and what he did claim to do, 
 and that was fighting, he always did well. Would he, think 
 you, have let those brave fellows, Armstrong and Carrington, 
 and Mabam and Macaulay, risk themselves alone, to-day, in 
 
FURTHER PASSAGES-AT-ARMS AT SHUBRICK'S. 361 
 
 that melee at the bridge ? Never ! He'd have been first across, 
 I tell you. He cominitted some mistakes. He mistook Goates's 
 covering party for an attack ; then suffered Goates to protract 
 his shows of action, without forcing it upon him. To suffer 
 one's self to be amused for three hours with such mere overtures 
 was a great mistake." 
 
 " Another time, Porgy," said Sinclair. 
 
 " Yes, we shall have time enough, and provocation enough 
 for such discussion hereafter ; but I could eat my sword with 
 vexation ! Then, here comes the field-piece, of which such 
 large expectations are formed ; and not an ounce of powder !" 
 
 " Plenty of bullets," quoth the lieutenant. " Help yourselves, 
 gentlemen !" 
 
 " And yet," continued Porgy, " here are hundreds of pounds 
 of powder taken in Dorchester, by Golonel Lee,- and sent — 
 where ? Up to General Greene, in his camp of rest, as if he 
 had any use for it ! As if it were not wanted here ! By heav- 
 ens ! gentlemen, say what you will, and try to make excuses as 
 you may, but the blunders of this expedition are so atrocious, 
 that I can not but think them wilful, and designed for sinister 
 purposes. We can only suppose them otherwise, by assuming 
 for the actors such a degree of stupidity as would henceforth 
 assign them only to asinine associations." 
 
 Sinclair defended Sumter. 
 
 " Oh ! hush, "Willie Sinclair, you know I don't mean Sumter ! 
 D — n the fellow, I admire him ! I prefer our own brigadier, 
 it is true ; bat, next to him, I hold to Sumter. But he has suf- 
 fered Lee too much independent exercise ; and he himself feels 
 it ; and if he is sore about any one thing especially to-night, it 
 is in not giving precedence to Mahani's cavalry and his own. 
 And Lee would have done better had he not been spoiled by 
 Greene — much better in this foray, had he not had his head 
 turned by his unexpected success with the rear-guard, and his 
 
 capture of these d d baggage-wagons. It was the fear of 
 
 losing these spoils that made him turn back, on the report that 
 Campbell was stirring up his raw recruits for mutiny ; turn 
 back, when he was within six hundred yards of the bridge and 
 the enemy, leaving those brave fellows, Armstrong and Carring- 
 ton. to their fate, when everything depended upon following up 
 
 16 
 
3(JiJ 
 
 EUTAW. 
 
 the rush of the first two sections, by others, in prompt succes- 
 sion, his legion cavalry, by ours, and all together overwhelming 
 all opposition. The British never could have rallied. _ They 
 must have been crushed under the first rush of the horses. 
 There was no room for display, for a single evolution, and any 
 efforts would only have ended in their being cut to pieces and 
 trampled under foot ! And this chance was lost — on what pre- 
 tence 1 This rear-guard was beginning to mutter and resume 
 their arms. And if they were, was not Marion and Sumter 
 with an overwhelming force, coming down upon them at a trot ? 
 And might they not have been left to our tender mercies, Lee 
 knowing exactly where we were, how nigh, and never doubting, 
 I fancy, that we were pei-fectly competent to the management 
 of these raw Irishmen ? No ! no ! It was the baggage that he 
 feared to lose. He is famous for securing the baggage. I have 
 no doubt, when he hurried back, that he took a peep into the 
 wagons to see if the fingers of plunder had not been busy in his 
 ten or twenty minutes absence." 
 
 " Porgy, Porgy, you are unjust. Lee is a good soldier- 
 fights w«ll and bravely." 
 
 " But that's not enough for a good soldier." 
 
 " Keeps his legion in admirable discipline." 
 
 " I grant you ; but is disposed to sacrifice everything for his 
 legion. It is that which causes our mischiefs. He would strip 
 every other command in the army, of its rights, resources, se- 
 • curities, to keep his legion in handsome order." 
 
 " Allow the fact as a fault, still, my dear fellow, it should not 
 be permitted to decry his other merits. He has done good ser- 
 vice, has fought bravely, has been always active and vigilant; 
 is never to be caught napping, and is rarely to be found want- 
 ing. I grant you that he has committed some serious faultS; 
 especially in this campaign ; but these, I suspect, really arise 
 from a jealousy of his reputation. He is greedy after glory, 
 and loves not to see any one preferred to himsialf." 
 
 " In other words, in his greed of glory, he would sooner seo 
 his superior officer defeated or embarrassed, than successful in 
 any achievement beyond his own." 
 
 " Shocking, Porgy, shocking. Do not speak in this manner 
 Do not think thus," said Singleton. 
 
PUR'rHER PASSAGES-AT-ABMS AT SHUBRICK'S. 363 
 
 ' It is the thought of the whole army, let me tell you. He 
 has got Greene by the ear. He is an earwig. He whispers 
 him to the disparagement of Sumter, Marion, and in fact every- 
 body ; and Greene, unfortunately listens to him. This is what 
 even the common soldiers see and say. His legion is petted 
 and patted on all occasions, and to the neglect and disparage- 
 ment of other commands. All others must be sacrificed, while 
 the legion is to be economized and kept in bandbox condition 
 for state occasions — great shows and solemnities. And here, 
 taking large bodies of stores at Dorchester, powder included, he 
 packs it all oflf direct to Greene, as if to say 'see what I have 
 done, 'and to keep us from all share in the things which our 
 ragged, half-starved people need. Who has a better right to 
 these stores than we t To whom should he have despatched 
 them but Sumter, under whose immediate command he was 
 serving ? and why send off to an army in camp that has no pres- 
 ent need of these things, the very munitions of war which are 
 absolutely necessary to our present purposes 1" 
 
 "No more of it, my dear Porgy; we have causes enough of 
 vexation without diving after them." 
 
 " But if by diving after them we can bring up the truth — by 
 the locks — rescue it from drowning — we may have some rea- 
 sonable prospect hereafter of curing these causes of vexation." 
 
 "Ah! my fat friend," quoth Singleton — "the naked, bare- 
 feced truth would be indecently exposed just now, and would 
 only afford new causes of vexation. Think no more of this 
 matter — at all events, speak no more of it. Your language, 
 such as you now use, can only do mischief, if put in circulation." 
 
 '' In circulation ! Bless you, it's the talk of all the camp ; 
 and if Lee does not himself hear of it, it's only because of a 
 continued deafness, such as he caught when he encountered one 
 of the Spanns, at the time the legion served with us against 
 Georgetown." 
 
 " What happened then 1" 
 
 " Why Lee, whose insolent haughtiness of manner was always 
 employed to humble the common soldiers, sitting on a log with 
 his coat off, and sleeves rolled up, and seeing our Lieutenant 
 Spann, dipping up a bucket of water from a branch, cried to 
 him, 'Hark ye, my man, bring me a bucket of that water.' 
 
364 EUTAW 
 
 Spann was iu homespuu, and Lee did not notice the epaulette 
 on his shoulder. The answer of Spann was as quick as a pistol 
 
 bullet. ' You be d d ! Walt on yourself, as your betters 
 
 have to do !' Lee became deaf on the instant, and fortunately, 
 for he might have heard a thousand such speeches, but for this 
 profitable infirmity. He will probably be compelled to hear of 
 them after this afPair, unless his deafness is absolutely incor- 
 rigible." 
 
 " Now, bark ye, Porgy," said Singleton, " I see what your 
 humor is ; but for the sake of the sei-vice, and of our own gen- 
 eral, do not you make any such speeches in Lee's hearing or in 
 that of anybody else." 
 
 " And do you think, Colonel Bob Singleton, that I care a 
 straw whether he hears me or not V 
 
 " No ! I know you too well to suppose that you do care ! 
 I take for granted that nothing would give you more satisfaction, 
 in your present temper, than to make him hear." 
 
 " You are right, by Jupiter ! I feel it in my soul, to ring it in 
 his ears with a trumpet summons." 
 
 " Precisely ! And that is the very thing that you must not do. 
 You are not to sufier your private moods to stir up strife in the 
 army, upon a subject that is already sufficiently troublesome, 
 and to the defeat of the cause that we have in hand. This, by 
 way of warning, my dear Porgy, for I have reason to know 
 that the ' Fox' himself has heard of some of your angry 
 speeches, and means to speak to you about the matter.'' 
 
 " Let him speak ! Nay, my dear boy, don't suppose that I 
 shall so consult my own humors as to do any public mischief. 
 It is because I am thus restrained that I feel like boiling over. 
 But, between us, the ' Fox' knows, as well as you and I, that 
 what I say is true — true, every syllable !" 
 
 " Be it so ! Although, I repeat, your prejudices against Lee 
 prevents you from doing justice to his real merits. But let us 
 change the subject somewhat. You have seen this afternoon's 
 work. Have you any idea of Coates's force in the house and 
 grounds 1" 
 
 " Four or five hundred." 
 
 " Six hundred regular infantry, at least. Nearly twice tho 
 number with which we made the attack." 
 
FURTHER PASSAGES-AT-ARMS AT SHUBRICK'S. 360 
 
 " How do you arrive at the fact 1" 
 
 " We found, in the captured"baggage, the commissary's return 
 of the issues of the army for the day — nine hundred rations, 
 and forage for two hundred and fifty horses." 
 
 " And that we should lose all this prey, when it only needed 
 that we should lay bold hands upon it !" said Porgy. 
 
 "Nay, no more growling, my dear Porgy," said Sinclair 
 " Instead of dwelling upon what we have failed to do, let us try 
 and console ourselves by looking to what we have done. We 
 have killed and wounded two hundred of the enemy at least ; 
 we have safe in hand, bagged, more than one hundred and fifty 
 prisoners, not including nine commissioned ofiicers. We have 
 captured a large convoy of baggage, with nearly a thoosand 
 guineas in the army-chest — "' 
 
 " Ah ! these d d baggage- wagons ! It is to them we owe 
 
 it, that we havn't done everything that we should have done. 
 At first I thought Coates a blockhead, to put his baggage- 
 wagons in the rear, under a feeble guard, when he w^as in full 
 retreat from a pursuing enemy. I now suspect him of a pro- 
 found policy. I suspect he reads his bible on Sunday. He has 
 learned his military lessons from Scripture. He put the tempta- 
 tion behind him, and before us. He knew how greedy we were. 
 He felt sure that we could not withstand the bait, any more 
 than a hungry mawmouth perch in midsummer. He was right, 
 and baiting us, he got oft' from the hook himself." 
 
 " Well, well 1" continued Sinclair. " To proceed : — We have 
 the bait nevertheless, the baggage and plunder. Besides, we 
 rescued from the flames, at Biggin, a large body of stores, cap- 
 tured and destroyed four schooners at the landing, and bent 
 back the British bayonet at Shubrick's house. The charge wns 
 beautifully repelled." 
 
 " You gay that the British lost two hundred men at the houso 
 to-day — killed and wounded — how do you know the fact?" 
 demanded Porgy. 
 
 " We do not know it. But we have some facts which render 
 this a reasonable estimate. The crack riflemen of the brigade 
 have not been peppering away at their enemies, sometimes on 
 the open plain in column, sometimes at doors and windows, for 
 f-hree mortal hours, without inflicting, as well as breaking pain.s ! 
 
366 EUTAW. 
 
 Pardon the pun, my dear Porgy ; its demerits are due to the 
 annoyances of our lee shore experience, and the rough wind, 
 which make even a dragoon's humor costive. I have no doubt 
 that Coates does not get off to-day with less than two hundred 
 hors de combat. At the bridge he lost one commissioned officer 
 and five privates killed, and four wounded." 
 
 " And what to-morrow ?" 
 
 "Sufficient for the day! — But we must go the rounds. If 
 Ooates be at all enterprising, he may beat up some of our 
 drowsy sections with a warm bayonet to-night." 
 
 " Not he ! But he has that dashing young Irishman, Fitz- 
 gerald, with him, who has spirit enough for the attempt. By 
 the way, St. Julien, you had a pass or two with him to-day, at 
 close quarters — that is to say, across the fence." 
 
 " But a pass !" said the taciturn St. Julien. " It is the sec- 
 ond time that we have crossed blades unprofitably." 
 
 " You have both reason to beware of the third passage," said 
 Porgy, " I believe in the Jute in threes I And so let us sip a 
 little of this punch, which unites the sweet, the sour, and the 
 utrong ! It would be almost justification for a man to get drank 
 to-night, particularly on such liquor, after so many mortifying 
 disappointments to-day." 
 
STRANDED ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 367 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 STRANDED ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 
 
 The morning brought with it little to alleviate the mortifica- 
 tion of such of our partisans as were especially ambitious of 
 performance. With the first inquiry it was found that Lee, 
 with his legion, horse and foot, had taken the route to join the 
 main army under Greene, without the knowledge or consent of 
 Sumter. But the force remaining with the latter general would 
 still have been quite sufiicient to conquer Coates in his fortress, 
 could he — to use an Hibernicism — be dislodged from it. The 
 field-piece would have sufficed for this purpose, but, with abun- 
 dance of bullets, there was, as we have heard, no powder ! It 
 was a mockery to sight and thought ! Still, our partisans could 
 have starved Coates out, were sufficient time allowed them ; 
 and, once forced out, every step that he took would be under the 
 surveillance and continued assault of our mounted men ; and, 
 without cavalry, the British colonel must finally have succumbed 
 to them. 
 
 But time was not allowed for the indulgence of these inter- 
 esting exercises. The scouts brought in advices that Lord 
 Rawdon had already set out from Orangeburg, with five hun- 
 dred picked infantry, the flower of his command, and was 
 marching downward, with all despatch, for the relief of Coates. 
 This was a sufficient reason for abandoning the leaguer, which, 
 to be successful, would require at least three days. Rawdon 
 might be supposed to be already at Monck's Corner, which was 
 but seventeen miles from Shubrick's. Besides, Shubrick's was 
 but twenty miles from Charleston, on a point accessible by 
 tide-water ; and a hostile force might be anticipated at any 
 
oba EUTAW. 
 
 momeiil f on. the city garrison. Under all circumstances, 
 Sumter was unwillingly compelled to forego his prey. He 
 secured his prisoners, his captured stores and baggage, and 
 sullenly deliberate, took his march Eastward and across the 
 Santee, where he was soon in safety. 
 
 We could add a great deal to the arguments to which we 
 have already listened, from the months of others, in the last 
 chapter, to show why the expedition had not realized all the 
 results anticipated from it — to show why it had failed at cer- 
 tain points, and in what way it must have succeeded ; — but our 
 purpose contemplates no such nice examination of the history. 
 We have only to add, that, could Goates have been captured, 
 the battle of Eutaw would probably never have taken place ; 
 the whole British force must have been drawn down from 
 Orangeburg ; and Charleston itself, as a British garrison, must 
 have been endangered. An order from New York required 
 the transfer, to that place, of two of the regiments lately re- 
 ceived from Ireland ; and the rest of the British forces, within 
 the state, would have been absolutely required for the mainte- 
 nance of the garrison at the metropolis. Certainly, as we pre- 
 figure to ourselves these results, we can appreciate the savage 
 criticisms of Captain Porgy, upon those blunders and wilful- 
 nesses — if such they were — which he conceived to be at the 
 bottom of their defeat. 
 
 But, while Sumter retires across the Santee, and Marion into 
 the haunt of his brigade ; while a large number of their several 
 commands take advantage of the dog-day respite, to see their 
 farms and families; — what of our other parties, whom the 
 Fates still keep busy in spite of the season 1 
 
 What does Willie Sinclair contemplate doing in respect to 
 Travis and his son. Bertha and her mother ? As yet, he knows 
 nothing, can hear nothing, of either party. Jim Ballou has 
 made no recent report ; and from this silence, Sinclair readily 
 conceives that Travis and his son still elude the search of the 
 Bcout. In respect to Bertha and her mother, though he holds 
 the probabilities to be strong, that they have crossed the San- 
 tee in safety, and reached the dwelling of Mrs. Baynard, the 
 sister of Travis, yet, even this point is a subject of anxiety. A 
 long consultation with St. .Tulicn determines his present route 
 
STRANDED ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 369 
 
 though it does not lessen his doubts and difficulties. He con- 
 cludes to accompany the march of Sumter up the Santee, and 
 ascertain, certainly, the facts in reference to Bertha and her 
 mother. His plan is, having quieted himself in respect to them, 
 to recross the Santee from above, and reneiv his search in and 
 about the Edisto, the Four-Holes, and the heads of Cooper 
 river — naturally supposing that the parties must be hidden 
 somewhere within those precincts, which constitute the foraying 
 ranges of Richard Inglehardt. To return, by way of Biggin 
 and Monck's Corner, would be not only to leave himself unsat- 
 isfied as to Bertha's safety, but would be to endanger his own ; 
 since Lord Rawdon, with his five hundred men, is supposed to 
 be in and about this very region. 
 
 And, so resolving, he took up the line of march with Sumter, 
 with whom he continued until the precincts of Fort Watson 
 were attained ; when Sinclair separated, with his company un- 
 der St. Julien, from tlie main body, which, under instructions 
 from Greene, proceeded to ascend, along the Congaree, and 
 take post near Tridig's ferry. Briefly, to conclude the doubts 
 of' our hero, and increase his anxieties and fears, he found, on 
 reaching Mrs. Baynard's plantation, that Mrs. Travis and her 
 daughter had not yet arrived. The good lady reported the 
 safe arrival of all her brother's negroes, under the escort of 
 'Bram, and the departure of that tnistworthy emissary. But 
 she could report nothing more. 
 
 And here, poor Willie Sinclair was all at sea again ; clouds 
 gathering, and no star, east or west, to indicate his future 
 course. For awhile, he was confounded — too much so to 
 think or to determine justly ; and St. Julien quietly took the 
 direction of affairs into his own hands, and Sinclair submitting, 
 the ti'oop proceeded to recross the Santee, by the nearest ferry, 
 and resume the search, once more, in those precincts, which it 
 had already so unprofitably traversed. 
 
 Leaving Sinclair to his toilsome labors, destined for awhile to 
 continued disappointment, let us take the route after his father 
 and sister, and see what has happened to them, in their homof 
 ward progress. They had now to retrace their steps, over the 
 ground which they had compassed in the morning; and the 
 journey was a tedious one. The recent excitements subsiding. 
 
'610 EUTAW. 
 
 left the whole party in a state of considerable prostration — de- 
 pression, in fact; for poor Carrie Sinclair could now reflect 
 upon the perils of her brother and her lover. She conjured up 
 "a thousand images of terror — fancied both perishing on the 
 field ; for she knew the audacity of her brother's temperament, 
 and the cool, determined bravery of her lover. We may ima- 
 gine her reflections, and conceive the gloominess of their pres- 
 ent aspects. 
 
 As for her father, he could never be done thinking, and talk- 
 ing, of his desperate shot at his son. 
 
 "What an old fool ! what an old fool!" he kept muttering; 
 and only varied the burden to utter thanks to God who had 
 spared him the murder of his first-born. 
 
 " For it would have been murder, Carrie," said he solemnly. 
 '' I was not in the army. I was not called upon to fight. It was 
 in very wantonness and madness, folly and stupidity, that T 
 lifted weapon this day ; and why the d — ^1, girl, did you suffer 
 me to do it ? It was all your fault. Had my wretched folly 
 slain yom- brother, the sin would have been upon your head !" 
 
 A booby of a girl, vain and worthless, would have reminded 
 her father, that she had striven to make him put up his weap- 
 ons — nay, had seen them put up — and would have been at 
 pains to convince the old man that nobody was to blame but 
 himself. But our Carrie was a noble, sensible woman, who 
 preferred that the old man should make out his case as he 
 would, and conjure up what consoling reflections he might, by 
 which to lessen the grievous burden upon his soul. Dear girl, 
 we will make a wife of her, if we can ! She stifled her own 
 griefs, and submitted to the reproaches of his. 
 
 Before night his gont was very troublesome, and he grew 
 more and more peevish and c[uerulou8 every moment. He was 
 impatient with old Sam, the driver, and wished a thousand 
 times he had brought Benny Bowlegs, who had smelt fire, and 
 did not fear it. He next charged upon Sam, as the real cause 
 of his shooting at his son. 
 
 " Had the scoundrel not stopped the horses, nothing of the 
 kind could have happened I" 
 
 And so the party travelled. The gout grew worse. The 
 nigtt came down It was ten o'clock before they got back ta 
 
STRANDED ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 371 
 
 Moack's Corner, where they found lodgings at the little old 
 n( Hiel that was kept at the place. Here, after a hot supper (of 
 old bacon, fried eggs, and some disconsolate fish, of nondescript 
 class, which had been taken from the river, or some one of its 
 arms), which the gouty baron swore it was indispensable to his 
 peace that he should eat that night, the party retired to rest. 
 
 Two hours after, there was a great stir — a tramp — a com- 
 motion. Lord Eawdon had arrived with his regiment of five 
 hundred men. He was told of Colonel Sinclair's recent arrival, 
 and of the. flight of Coates. But of the result of the flight, the 
 landlord could tell him nothing. His lordship was too anxious 
 — the affair of too much serious importance for postponement 
 — and, with these apologies, Bawdon insisted on seeing our 
 baron ; and, after first apprizing him of his purpose, he made 
 his way to his chamber. A long conference ensued between 
 them. Sinclair narrated, as well as he could, all the events of 
 which h« knew anything, occurring that day. The narrative 
 threw my Lord Eawdon into great uneasiness. He dreaded 
 the catastrophe, which would, indeed, endanger his own safety. 
 
 " It is impossible to march now ; my men are exhausted by 
 our forced march to-day !" he said. It was now one o'clock in 
 the morning, and he strode the chamber in great agitation. 
 Meanwhile, Sinclair was groaning upon his mattress. He had 
 been aroused from sleep just as he had fallen comfortably into 
 it; an offence — according to Captain Porgy — which merits 
 death in the offender. Aroused by his groans, to a sense of 
 the claims of the old invalid. Lord Eawdon undertook to con- 
 dole with him ; but, when he talked of gout, old Sinclair cried 
 out : — 
 
 " My lord, I have this day tried to slay my own son ! I shot 
 at him — shot him, I may say — the bullet grazing his forehead ! 
 Can you conceive of a crime more horrible V 
 
 " But you knew not that it was your son V 
 
 "Oh, certainly, I knew not! I was in pain — in agony — 
 and under a most d — enable excitement ! The exulting rebels 
 were in procession before my eyes 1 I saw the king's banner 
 
 tiampled under foot — your d d Irish, my lord, threw down 
 
 their arms without a struggle — and that miserable old scoun- 
 drel, Sam, my driver — it was all his doings — he must needs 
 
372 ■ EUTAW. 
 
 stop short in the road, just when the affair was going on at the 
 bridge ! He was the cause of it all, and made me shoot my 
 son ! I was so much goaded by all these things, that I played 
 the madman, which is next thing to playing the fool !" 
 
 " Scarcely, my dear colonel. The one role is infinitely more 
 dignified than the other. But what are now your purposes? 
 Whither do you go ?" 
 
 " Home ! home ! home !" 
 
 " But you need not ! Your course to Charleston is now clear. 
 You can go thither without impediment. I will guaranty your 
 safe progress. Whether by the routes, east or west, of Cooper 
 river. With the dawn, I shall march on Quinby, relieve 
 Coates, and disperse the rebels. A single day, by the western 
 route, will easily take you to Charleston from this place ; and, 
 I suppose that there is hardly a scouting party of the rebels 
 now west of Cooper river. But, if you will take the road with 
 me, I will see you safe. My course is for the city, though I am 
 compelled to turn aside for awhile to beat off these hornets." 
 
 •• Thank you, my lord ; but I left the matter to Willie. He 
 has said — home — and home I go! I go to die, perhaps; I 
 feel like it. I am very ill. Very ill. Such a day as I have 
 had. And this shooting of my son 1" 
 
 "But he is not shot — not hurt — as I understand you !" 
 
 " To be sure not ! God was merciful ! I missed him ; had I 
 slain him, my lord, be sure, I had not been here to answer you 
 to-night. I had kept one pistol for myself." 
 
 " My dear colonel, dismiss these thoughts. I hope to drink 
 many a good glass of that old Madeira with you yet. But suf- 
 fer me to send my surgeon to you. He is an able man, and 
 may, no doubt, afford you some relief." 
 
 " No, my lord, no ! I thank you. My disease, you are aware, 
 IS chronic. All the specifics are notorious. I have 'em all — 
 and he can only prescribe medicines which I am used to. Look 
 yonder, there is a medicine chest — my travelling companion. 
 If you could send me sleep, my lord, it were far better than the 
 surgeon I" 
 
 Rawdon had got from the veteran all that he could report. 
 His last hint was not to be mistaken ; but old Sinclair would 
 have died, before saying, in so many words — "pray get yoo 
 
STBANDKD ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 373 
 
 gone, my lord, and let me sleep ;" as the good common sense 
 of the present generation would be very apt to say it without 
 scruple. But the period of the Georges was of the old trick in 
 social policy — a thing on stilts and out of nature. We have 
 reformed all this. 
 
 His lordship, of course, expressed his regrets at having disturb- 
 ed the invalid, but pleaded anew the apologetic circumstances — 
 his great anxiety for the army — the royal cause, &c. ; and the 
 baron roused himself up to answer courteously to all this, while 
 Eawdon was bowing himself out of the room. 
 
 With the sunrise Carrie Sinclair was at her father's door. 
 But Eawdon had set off before the dawn, on the route to 
 Quinby. It is only necessary to add, that before he reached 
 this spot, he was met by the messengers of Goates, who had 
 already been relieved by the departure of Sumter. His lord- 
 ship wheeled about, and made for the city by the western route. 
 There he did not remain long — only enough to sanction, if not 
 to command, the execution of Hayne, as a traitor — an unwar- 
 rantable stretch of power — and to depart for England. On 
 the route he was captured by the French, and was brought 
 back, a prisoner-of-war, to Yorktown, the surrender of which 
 place to Washington, he was compelled to witness ! But for 
 this last grateful event, and the near prospect of peace which it 
 afforded, Rawdon would undoubtedly have expiated on the 
 gallows, the wanton and profligate cruelty of Hayne's execu- 
 tion ! 
 
 After breakfast, feeling something easier. Colonel Sinclair 
 and family resumed their journey. And his gout resumed its 
 attacks, and the cloud resumed its progress before them, and 
 hung all the way along their route. How gloomy was the 
 prospect as they travelled, and how tedious all the way, to all 
 the parties ; what doubts oppressed their souls ; what fears 
 chilled their hearts, we shall not attempt to describe, nor enter 
 into unnecessary details of any kind. Enough, briefly, to men- 
 tion that our baron's gout grew worse and worse — his feet 
 were very much swollen — his bad temper fearfully increased; 
 and it required all the patience of Carrie, and the exercise of 
 all her resources for amusement, to the suppression of her own 
 griefs and anxieties, to keep her father in any endurable humor. 
 
374 EUTAW. 
 
 We must suppose all the desagremens of a day of travel in veiy 
 hot V7eather, under these circumstances. 
 
 But tjey -were not to escape with these annoyances only. 
 The progress had been made without interruption, till the after- 
 noon. The party had finally got a few miles above Eutaw 
 Springs, and the old man was drowsing npon the shoulder of 
 Carrie, in one of the pauses of his gout, when, all of a sadden, 
 an ejaculation from Sam, the driver, and a cry from Lottie, 
 roused Carrie from her sorrowful reveries, and the old man 
 from his snatch of sleep. In the same moment, a burst of 
 hoarse, harsh voices was heard, and half a dozen or more, wild, 
 half-savage looking persons, darting out of the woods, arrested 
 the horses by their heads and surrounded the carriage. Two 
 of them presented themselves at the carriage windows, the most 
 decently apparelled of the party. Most of them were ragged 
 and squalid of appearance ; some without jackets, one or two 
 without covering for the head, but all armed with guns, two of 
 them with bright new English muskets, and, from their voices, 
 they were readily distinguished to be Irishman. 
 
 " Deserters ! by Heavens !" murmured old Sinclair to his 
 daughter. It is wonderful that his prudence was sufficiently 
 active to keep him from roaring it aloud. But gout is a won- 
 derful subduer of the spirit. Our veteran was now rather 
 querulous than quanelsome. His daughter squeezed his hand 
 to counsel forbearance and caution. They were completely at 
 the mercy of the outlaws. 
 
 " Be aisy now," said one of the party at the window of the 
 carriage, " and no harm will come to yer !" 
 
 " But why do you stop my carriage V 
 
 " It's for your own good, and the king's sarvice," said another 
 of the party, looking in at the window ; " a purty pair of gals 
 ye've got, old gentleman, that we'd like to git better known to 
 ef we had the time ; but the sun's pushing for quarters, and we 
 must see after doing the same thing. Houn-ah ! there, boys, 
 git on !" 
 
 " Maussa !" cried old Sam, " dey's a-taking out de bosses !" 
 
 " Taking out the horses ! What the devil, my good fellows, 
 do you mean by taking out my horses ?" 
 
STRANDED ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 376 
 
 " It's in the king's name ! We're a wanting 'cm for public 
 sarvice !" 
 
 " My horses for the public service 1 By whose orders ? Show 
 me your orders." 
 
 " They lies here !" cried one of the outlaws, showing his rifle. 
 The baron roared aloud, and, seizing his sword, drew it, and thrust 
 it through the windows at the fellow. He only laughed, though 
 he receded. Sinclair writhed, and groaned, and swore, and 
 thrust out his weapon again and again, in mere threatening, as 
 well as he could, on both sides 6f the carriage, and through the 
 windows, his daughter vainly striving to disarm him. The ban- 
 ditti too well perceived his imbecility to be made augry with 
 his efforts. They seemed to be rather in a jovial than a trucu- 
 lent humor. 
 
 " Why don't you drive on, and over these rascals, you miser- 
 able skunk !" shouted the veteran, to Sam. "Oh ! that I had 
 brought Benny Bowlegs !'" 
 
 " He hab de boss head down, maussa !" 
 
 " Drive on ! I say !" 
 
 Sam made the motion, but the moment he did so, one of the 
 ruffians admonished him of the impropriety of all such demon- 
 strations by a prompt and rather rude application of the butt of 
 his musket to the negro's head. 
 
 "What do you poke about, boys, stopping to unharness?" 
 said another. "Cut loose, I say — cut 'em out! We've no 
 
 time to lose. We'll have that d d Lieutenant Nelson after 
 
 us, and then we'll catch it !" 
 
 And the knife was applied, the horses cut out of the traces, 
 and, in a moment, each was mounted by one or more of the 
 deserters — such they were ! In his rage and pain, the veteran 
 colonel sank back fainting in the carriage, while, with a wild 
 whoop and halloo, the outlaws dashed off into the woods on the 
 right, and were lost to sight and hearing in a few minutes. 
 
 Old Sam was, for awhile, the only person fully conscious of 
 the extent of their misfortune. The old fellow actually blub- 
 bered like a baby. 
 
 "My bosses gone; tek out; tief 'way; my own hosses; 
 Nero and Nimrod ; and Clarence and Nabob ; and wha' is for 
 be done now 1 De Lawd hab massy 'pon we ! Wha' for do ■?' 
 
376 EUTAW. 
 
 Carrie and Lottie were both too anxious about the old man, 
 too busy in the application of restoratives, to think of their loss, 
 or even to comprehend it at present. After awhile the father 
 opened his eyes. 
 
 "My children! My poor children! You are safe — safe! 
 Thank God, you are safe ! But," looking around him, " where 
 are those wretches V 
 
 " Gone, sir, I believe !" 
 
 "He gone!" cried Sam, " but oh, Lawd ! maussa, wha* we 
 for do ? Dem wild men carry off all de bosses !" 
 
 " Carried off the horses I Carried off the horses, do you 
 say V the colonel yelled out. " And why did you suffer it, you 
 spiritless old scoundrel 1 Why did you not whip up, and run 
 over the rascals ? Why did you sneak along so slow, that a 
 teiTapin could have walked over you ? Good Heavens ! what 
 is to be done ] We must be several miles from any habitation. 
 None, that I know of, nearer than Eutaw ; and it is impossible 
 for me to walk. What a situation, and we have hardly three 
 hours to sunset!" 
 
 " Der's some houses in de woods, maussa, 'bout seben, or fibe, 
 or six miles fudder on, I t'ink." 
 
 " They might as well be in the mountains of the moon, rascal, 
 for any good they can be to me !" 
 
 The gout grew worse, with the mental annoyance. Half an 
 hour was consumed in cries and groans, and ravings, and con- 
 jectures, and suggestions ! But the situation of the party was 
 one admitting of no feasible plans, relying as they had to do 
 upon their own resources only. Thought was resourceless. 
 
 In the midst of their tribulation, the sound of horses' feet 
 were heard at a smart trot. In a few moments, a squad of 
 twenty mounted men rode up, dressed in a rich green uniform. 
 At their head came a handsome young lieutenant, scarcely 
 twenty-five, of fine face and figure, uniformed like the rest, 
 with a thick bunch of ostrich plumes, dyed green like the uni- 
 form, trailing over his cap, which was of a soft beautiful fur. 
 
 The troop stopped naturally at the carriage ; the officer rode 
 up and addressed the inmates, announcing himself as Lieutenant 
 Nelson, of his majesty's loyal Carolina rifles. He was soon 
 made to understand the condition of the party, and told all thp 
 
STRANDED ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 377 
 
 particulars of their recent misadventure. When the outlaws 
 were described, Nelson said : — 
 
 " These are the very rascals of whom I am in pursuit. They 
 are deserters from Lord Rawdon's command ; have evidently 
 thrown off their uniforms ; exchanged them, probably, with the 
 backwoodsmen by whom they have been seduced from their 
 ranks. I must pursue them !" 
 
 He was told, by Sam, in what direction the deserters fled. 
 
 ' But you will not leave us, lieutenant, in this situation. I 
 am a loyal subject of his majesty. My name is Sinclair, of 
 Sinclair barony, well known to Lord Sawdon, with whom I 
 have the honor to be intimate — with whom I had a long inter- 
 view last night, at Monck's Corner. Can you not succor me in 
 this strait ? His lordship would." 
 
 " His lordship can do, Colonel Sinclair, what I can not. I 
 was not with his lordship last night — have not yet reached 
 Monck's Corner ; but was despatched yesterday morning on 
 this very service. It is an important one. His lordship feels 
 it necessary to enforce severely the penalties against desertion, 
 and has given me instructions so urgent, that I am not permit- 
 ted to turn to the right or the left, unless in carrying them out. 
 I feel deeply for your situation ; and if I can send you any 
 assistance, or find it possible to return here to your relief, I 
 shall be most happy to do so. Believe me, my dear sir, noth- 
 ing would afford me greater pleasure than to be of service to 
 you and to these young ladies." 
 
 The baron could only groan, when the lieutenant had disap- 
 peared, which he did some few moments after; the old mau 
 
 d d all polite speakers ; all fellows capable of an apology, 
 
 or excuse, on all occasions — all professions that never mean 
 performance. Poor Carrie could only weep secretly. She 
 thought that the young lieutenant had shown, along with most 
 courteous manners, a real desire to be of service, and an honest, 
 genuine sympathy : but she said nothing. 
 
 The sun, meanwhile, seemed to be travelling west with mon- 
 strous rapidity. Old Sam shook his head, as if to say, " It's all 
 up with us." In the road, far from human habitation, night ap- 
 proaching, no food for supper — what a prospect ! Fortunately, 
 
378 EUTAW. 
 
 the seasou was such that a night in the open air was no disaster, 
 though the loss of supper may be very distasteful. 
 
 But the dove of promise appears, breaking through the cloud. 
 While the little family were beginning fully to appreciate all 
 the desagremens of their situation, a horseman and another car- 
 riage hove in sight, coming from above. 
 
 How things work together under providential laws ! This 
 carriage was that of Mrs. Travis, containing that lady and her 
 daughter, and escorted by our old acquaintance, 'Bram. They 
 had been kept back a day, in consequence of Lord Bawdon's 
 progress, and were now following slowly in his wake. Their 
 purpose was to get to Nelson's ferry by night. They discov- 
 ered, or rather were apprized of the appearance of Colonel Sin- 
 clair's carriage, long before their own vehicle was perceived by 
 the other party. 'Bram being their vanguard, and riding a 
 quarter of a mile ahead, saw and recognised the vehicle of his 
 old master, in season to ride back and inform the party. That 
 it was without horses was a subject of surprise and apprehen- 
 sion, which left the trasty negro in a shivering fit. Why were 
 the horses gone ? He could perceive no signs of life from the 
 distance at which he beheld the carriage, and a thousand fears 
 — such as the condition of the time was apt to occasion — 
 rushed into his thoughts. The party might have been robbed 
 — must have been — and, if robbed, why not murdered? He 
 dashed back to the carriage of Mrs. Travis, with all speed, to 
 report his intelligence. Their horses were drawn up, while a 
 brief consultation ensued among the travellers. It was, at 
 length, decided to go forward. Whether living or dead, it 
 would seem that Colonel Sinclair's family were in trouble. 
 But, before moving, Mrs. Travis was careful to insist upon cer- 
 tain precautions. She called 'Bram up. 
 
 " Remember," said she, " 'Bram, we are on no account to be 
 made known to Colonel Sinclair, or his family. We insist upon 
 this, as much on your master's account as on our own." 
 
 "I comperhends," answered 'Bram, with a knowing look, 
 and significant shake of the head. The negro, in fact, well 
 understood the delicacy of his young master's situation, and his 
 father's prejudices. 
 
STRANDED ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 379 
 
 *' You must call us by some other name ; any name but that 
 of Travis," said the lady. 
 
 " I call you Smit' — Miss Smit'. Da's easy name for 'member* 
 Der's a heap o' people in the worl', I know, wha's name Smit'." 
 
 " As you please, 'Bram ; only do not forget yourself. You 
 may tell what story you think proper to account for being with 
 us. You are in search of your young master, and we happened 
 to be travelling the same route." 
 
 The story thus far was true, though evasive. It was agreed 
 upon — one of those white lies, harming nobody, which every- 
 body legitimates in good society and times of war. The pom- 
 pous Oato had his instructions also, and the servant-girl ; and, 
 thus prepared, with all precautions taken, 'Bram was permitted 
 to canter ahead again, and open the negotiations. Cato, at the 
 same time, as if eager to have his share in them, hemmed audi- 
 bly, lifted his hat on his forehead, pulled up his shirt-collar, and 
 gave his horses the whip, following, as fast as possible, in the 
 tracks of 'Bram, the vanguard. 
 
 'Bram was soon up with the wrecked carriage, and expres- 
 sing his mixed delight and dismay in unmeasured language. 
 
 " Da you, ole maussa ? Da you, young missis ? and you too, 
 little Lottie ? Lawd bress my soul ! I so grad for see you ! and 
 wha' you da do yer, and all de boss gone 1" 
 
 " Do ! But what carriage is that behind you, 'Bram i" 
 
 " Dat ! Oh, dat day Miss Smit' carriage — Miss Smit' an' he 
 da'ter." 
 
 " And who the d — ^I is Miss Smith ? Where did you come up 
 with these people 1" 
 
 " I pick 'em up on de road. I day look for young maussa, 
 and dis Miss Smit' guine de same road down for Nelson ferry, 
 where I yerry young maussa is for be by dis time. Da's de 
 way I come for pick 'em up." 
 
 " You know nothing about them then 1" 
 
 " How me for know 1 I jis pick 'em up, I tell you, trab'ling 
 de high road. Da's de how ob it." 
 
 'Bram could lie with any dragoon, whether in the regular or 
 ranger service, and do the thing unctuously, and win the repu- 
 tation of great sanctity from the grace of his execution. Of 
 course, many more things were said, especially between 'Bran* 
 
380 EUTAW. 
 
 and Sam, who were cousins in the fourth degree, and had no 
 love for each other in any degree ; 'Bram holding Sam to be a 
 drone, and a sneak; and Sam regarding 'Bram as quite too 
 loose in his morals for good society; a looseness which he 
 ascribed to his army connections entirely. 
 
 Meanwhile, the carriage of " Miss Smit' " drew nigh, drew 
 up, and Carrie Sinclair was pleased and surprised to discover in 
 Mrs. and Miss Smith the two ladies that had so briefly chal- 
 lenged the hospitality of the barony, when poor Nelly Floyd 
 was brought in wounded. It did not require many words to 
 explain the condition of the Sinclair family — their predica- 
 ment — or what Dick of Tophet would call "their fix!" The 
 affair was one to render the Smith famUy exceedingly anxious 
 for themselves ; their own horses; their own safety — particular- 
 ly when they understood that the opposing forces were then 
 actually in conflict along the route below — heaving to and fro, 
 with their foragers and scouts, on every road, and their skir- 
 mishing parties prowling through every covert. Mrs. Travis, 
 alias Smith, at once determined what to do. She said to her 
 daughter : — 
 
 " We must go back to Mrs. Avinger's, my deai*. It is but 
 seven miles back, and we can gain its friendly shelter, I trust, 
 without difiiculty." 
 
 The daughter assented in silence. 
 
 Then, Mrs. Travis, turning to Colonel Sinclair, said : — 
 
 " I see but one way to serve you and your daughters, Colo- 
 nel Sinclair, and that is, to give you what room we can in my 
 carriage. My servant-maid and your own can walk, in two 
 hours, the distance we shall have to go in order to reach a house 
 to-night. There is one at that distance owned by Mrs. Avin- 
 ger, who has entertained us ever since I left your house. She 
 has room enough, and is so good a Christian — so truly kind 
 and hospitable — that I venture to say, that she will as cheer- 
 fully shelter you, as she sheltered us." 
 
 This proposition was a great relief to our stranded party. It 
 was gratefully welcomed by the baron ; and the tearful smiles 
 of Carrie, and her deeply-toned, " Oh, thank you ! thank you !" 
 were full of heart, and at once satisfied Bertha Travis of the 
 justice of Willie Sinclair's description of his sister. 
 
STRANDED ON THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 381 
 
 The friendly offer of Mrs. Travis, we need not say, was 
 gratefully accepted ; and, as no time was to be lost, the parties 
 proceeded promptly to the necessary arrangements. Bertha, 
 taking little Lottie in her lap, placed herself at once on the 
 front seat, with Cato, the driver. Mrs. Travis and Carrie 
 found seats opposite each other within, while a back seat, with 
 one vacant in front, was assigned to the veteran and his game 
 leg. The worst task was to lift him out of the one, and into the 
 other vehicle, so as to avoid inflicting pain. He could not put 
 his feet to the ground. In a soldierly attempt to do so, without 
 due litied to the helping arms of 'Bram and Cato, the old man 
 came down in the sands, and screamed out with the suffering. 
 The performance was finally affected, but not without much 
 trouble and to him great torture. He tried to bear it, with (at 
 most) a grin, being in the presence of strange ladies ; but he 
 could not hold out stoically long ; and accustomed always to 
 declare his feelings loudly, whatever they were, his groans 
 were soon audible enough, to the shame, as he felt it, of hie 
 manhood. 
 
 At length, the whole party was comfortably crowded into the 
 one vehicle, cushions, luggage, and all, the servant-maids being 
 crowded out. To these the gallant 'Bram gave up his own 
 horse, and they rode him double. 'Bram and Cato then, with 
 vigorous shoulders, succeeded in wheeling the wreck out of the 
 road, and into the woods, where they hoped to recover it — 
 after certain days. With this trouble, the perils of the day 
 were over. The carriage reached the widow Avinger's after 
 night, but in safety ; and that good Samaritan confirmed all the 
 assurances of Mrs. Travis, by a frank and unaffected welcome 
 to all her unexpected visiters. Mrs. Travis, by the way, took 
 an early opportunity to admonish her hostess, that she must be 
 known only as Mrs. Smith. To justify herself in this change of 
 name, she felt it necessary to put the widow in possession of the 
 peculiar relations in which her daughter stood to the Sinclair 
 family — a revelation which she made frankly, having the ut- 
 most confidence in the prudence and sympathy of her auditor. 
 And thus, having safely disposed of the two families, let us 
 leave them for the night. 
 
88^ EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 SHOWING HOW THE SCOUT, BALLOU, DID NOT CATCH NKLLV 
 FLOYD, AND HOW HE CAME NIGH TO BEING CAUGHT HIMSELF. 
 
 Lord Rawdon, before leaving Monck's Comer, re-established 
 the post at that place ; strengtheniDg the force of Coates with 
 a portion of his own detachment. He also re-established the 
 post at Wantoot, and put the small body of royal rifles, ander 
 Lieutenant Nelson, at Pooshee — an old Indian settlement, like 
 Wantoot and Watboo — all of which are Indian names. On 
 his way to Charleston he re-occupied Dorchester, and sent from 
 the city a strong body for this garrison. The guards at Goose 
 creek, and Four-Holes Bridge, and the Quarter-house, were 
 replaced also. He thus restored all the posts of which our 
 " forayers" had so recently dispossessed him ; and, satisfied now, 
 that, for the present, Greene was not prepared to move from the 
 Santee hills, and that the raid of our partisans — which had 
 been as sudden, and as swift in passage, as the fire in the grassy 
 prairies — was over for the dog-days — he took for granted that 
 all these points could be easily maintained so long as Colonel 
 Stewart kept his ground at Orangeburg, or at any point above 
 Monck's Corner. He had thus done all, within his power, to 
 put the British cause in good condition in Carolina, before he 
 left the country. We have already shown what were his own 
 fortunes by sea ; and how he returned, only to behold one of 
 the last desperate struggles of the royal army to maintain itself 
 in the colonies, finish in disaster. 
 
 But, while such was the progress among the partisans, and 
 such the progress of Coates, and the proceedings of Rawdon, 
 we are not to suppose that the rest of the world, not engaged 
 
HOW THE SCOUT CAME NIGH BEING CAUGHT. 383 
 
 in these events, was idly looking on. The world shall be in 
 commotion everywhere — states and systems threatened with 
 overthrow and convulsion — yet you will find thousands bus) 
 in their small economies — dressing their steaks and eating them 
 — taking good heed to their own petty, selfish strategics, without 
 troubling themselves one instant about the disorder among the 
 planets. Perhaps, after all, there may be a certain wisdom in 
 not suffering the sympathies to spread over too broad a surface. 
 
 And so, Captain Inglehardt worked in his small empire, un- 
 disturbed by the commotion in bigger spheres. His duties were 
 ostensibly heavy. He had to do a share in the foraging busi- 
 nebs of the camp of Stewart at Orangeburg — no easy matter, 
 wo assure you, to supply food and forage to two thousand hun- 
 grj soldiers cantoned on the Edisto at this season ; particularly 
 as few of the Bull family can easily be persuaded to find th« 
 chicken snake a delicacy, the alligator a bon houche, or the frog 
 nutritious. Captain Porgy would have been a rare commissary 
 at such a juncture. If Arnold was worth ten thousand guineas, 
 for his unprofitable treason, our, partisan epicure should com- 
 mand thrice the amount for his services in art. His ingenious 
 capacity for the cuisine would equally improve the resources 
 in the department, and the tastes which the soldiers fed. He 
 would have raised the standards of the British morale, by incul- 
 cating a higher order of kitchen sentiment. 
 
 But, hard as the work appears at this juncture, of foraging 
 for the wants of the British army, Captain Inglehardt takes 
 good care not to suffer it to press too heavily upon him. He 
 takes it easily. He gives it only so much of his leisure as he 
 can afford from his own pursuits. Occasionally, he drives a 
 score or two of leau cattle into the shambles of the garrison, and 
 thus maintains the credit of his office. And these he strips from 
 whig and tory, without troubling himself with any nice discrimi- 
 nations. In doing this duty, he does not overlook other game. 
 All's grist that goes to his mill. Inglehardt, not to deal too 
 mincingly with our subject, is only a reputable sort of picaroon. 
 He does not disdain his share of profitable plunder. He has 
 contrived to pick up a few negroes in his rambles, which he 
 conveys, under cover, to the sea-board. He has a score of 
 fine horses, for which he never paid a copper ; and he does not 
 
384 EUTAW. 
 
 despise eveu smaller profits. Inglehardt has a taste for gems 
 and jewelry, and is nursing a collection — for study possibly — 
 and for these, we venture to aflSrm that he never expended a 
 sixpence. 
 
 But among these small cares and performances, our captain 
 of loyalists, has larger calculations — landed estates rise before 
 his vision, which the triumph of British arms, may even render 
 baronial. The coldest lymphatic in the world has his dreams 
 and fancies. Tributary to this dream — if not object — is his 
 action in respect to the family of Travis. He does not forget 
 the fair bride whom he has chosen to bring him to a large landed 
 inheritance. He does not forget the peculiar arts of conciliation, 
 by which she is to be won. In brief, he does not neglect the 
 care, if he does the comforts of his prisoners. 
 
 These divide his time with his public duties and private 
 desires. After rendering a small herd of cattle to the commis- 
 sary at Orangeburg, he rides forth with his troopers, dashes 
 down the Charleston road along the Edisto, till he gets fairly 
 out of whoop and sight of the garrison, then wheels about on 
 an easterly course, and makes for his secret fastnesses, where 
 the Trailer holds his captives. He has sent a squad in advance, 
 under the command of Devil-Dick, carrying supplies of grist 
 and bacon. They have preceded him by a day. It concerns 
 us to mention one additional fact only, in connection with this 
 statement; the obscure, unstable, profligate boy. Mat Floyd, 
 accompanies this detachment. It finds its harborage in the 
 old camp, near the swamp refuge of Inglehardt. Need we say, 
 that close at its heels, Nelly Floyd, our "Harricane Nelly," 
 faithful to the last — faithful to a mere superstition — follows, on 
 her little pony, on the heels of her profligate brother. 
 
 And what of the inmates of the swamp— our Captain Travis, 
 and the brave boy, Henry, his son? They have fallen into 
 worse hands than those of Dick of Tophet. Ralph Branson, 
 the Trailer, is not of such warm blood as Devil-Dick. He has 
 no such impulses. He is, therefore, the more proper instrument 
 of Inglehardt in a work of cruelty. His prisoners feol the 
 difference ! 
 
 Dick of Tophet, as his name implies, is a sulphurous cus- 
 tomer. Brunson, the Trailer, rather fears than loves him 
 
now THE SCOUT CAilE NIGH BEING CAUGHT. 385 
 
 TLcy linvc been long alliccl in wickedness, and know eacb 
 other tliorouglily. Dick of Tophet, at all events, knows his 
 man. Hardly h&d he arrived at his old cabin in Muddicoat 
 Castle, than he summoned the Trailer to his presence. 
 
 "Well, Rafe, how air you gitting on here in the bog? Up 
 to your eyes in the miseries of good living, eh V 
 
 " Hairdly that, sence you've a'most starved us. You was a 
 mighty long time a-fetching that meal and bacon." 
 
 " Well, it's come at last, and so there'll be feasting after the 
 stiirvation. But that 'minds me to aix how the piisoners git on 1 
 Hev you starved them into consenting yet V 
 
 " Why, we ain't starving them at all. We feeds them rigilar 
 every day." 
 
 " Psho ! Don't I know what that feeding means ? Hain't I 
 done a leetle of it myself, till I was ashamed of it ? I wish you 
 luck of the business. I tell you, Rafe Brunson, none of the 
 mean, wicked, rascally things I ever did in all my life, ever 
 went so hard agin the grain — agin my conscience — as the 
 putting that poor boy on short 'lowance ; and seeing the hunger 
 in his eyes, like "a ravenous wolf, ready to roar out whenever 
 lie but seed the sight of bread or meat. I'm glad, ef that busi- 
 ness is to be done, that it's put into anybody's hands but mine. 
 You're the man for it, Rafe. You kin cut out the very heart of 
 a man — that is, when you've got him flat of his back — and his 
 eyes looking up to your'n, and begging for marcy all the time. 
 And that, too, when you've got no eenmity agin him. But gi' 
 us the key, Rafe ; I wants to take a look at the boy, and hev a 
 ■word with him." 
 
 Brunson hesitated. 
 
 " But the cappin said I wa'n't to let any body see him." 
 
 " To be sure not. But that anybody don't mean wie. Gi' us 
 the key, old fellow." 
 
 " Well, to be sure, Dick ; but you see — " 
 
 "I see you're a born fool ! — that's what you air — and Lev 
 your head a leetle turned by promotion — that's it — and yet, yon 
 bloody fool, ef it hadn't been for a word of mine, where would 
 your promotion ha' been 1 I've been the making of you, you 
 born sneak ! and now you've got your tail up for a start away 
 from the very hands that's showed you how to run ! But, yon 
 
386 EUTAW. 
 
 ain't out of the bairness yet, Eafe, and I'll hev to put a new 
 and a bigger kairb in your jaws. Gi' us the key !" 
 
 Dick of Tophet knew his man, as we have said. Ealph 
 Bi-unson was bullied out of his trusts for awhile. He gave up 
 the key misgivingly, saying, entreatingly, as he did so : — 
 
 " Now, Dick, you knows I trust you. But don't let out to 
 the cappin — eh 1" 
 
 " Teach a cat how to lap milk,'* said the other. " Don't you 
 be afeard, Rafe. I cut my eye teeth, when you was a-trying to 
 chaw on the naked gums. T knows the cappin jest as well as I 
 knows you." And, taking the reluctant key, he disappeared. 
 
 In Blodgit's cabin, he found the respectable rheumatic mother 
 of that amiable cripple. 
 
 " Well, old woman, how gets on ? How's the rheumatiz t" 
 
 " Bad enough, Joel Andrews ; I only wish I was out of thia 
 alligator country. I shall never be a well woman in these 
 parts." 
 
 " Don't think you ever was a well woman anywhar. Ever 
 sence I heard of you, you've been ailing and out of sorts — al- 
 ways sick as a buzzard, and sour as a hawk." 
 
 " That's what you knows. I could tell. But I'll never he 
 well agin here. I only wish I war back again to the Sinklar 
 place. Ah, we had fine times thar; but that poor fool son of 
 mine, be couldn't be easy; and you come, with your pack of 
 roaring housebreakers, and routed us from the best place in the 
 world." 
 
 " Psho ! you routed yourself, with your hankering a'ter 
 Willie Sinklar's guineas ; which you didn't know how to keep 
 a'ter you bed 'em. I could ha' show'd you. But the chaince 
 is gone, this time, and you'll never hev another like it." 
 
 " I'll try for it. I'll git out of this alligator-hole as soon as 
 I kin." 
 
 " You won't. You're hyar for life, old woman, and for death, 
 too ; for when your last kick's over, we'll drop you in one of 
 them same alligator-holes, leaving it to them to give you Chris- 
 tian burial." 
 
 " In their cussed stomachs you menu J ' 
 
 " Jes' so." 
 
 "You're H hateful scamp of a sinnpr. and no better than fl 
 
HOW THE SCOUT CAME NIGH BEING CAUGHT. 387 
 
 lioni SOU of the old devil himself, Joel Andrews, and ef ex'er 1 
 git a cliaince — " 
 
 " Look you, old woman, don't be cutting any shines now. 
 Cappin Inglehardt ain't the sort of pnsson that Willie Sinklar 
 is. It's a short cut with him to the consekences. Ef you, or 
 your son, starts off from hyar, without aixing leave, you'll both 
 of you limp a great deal worse than ever. You'll come to a 
 dead halt, I tell you." 
 
 " And what right has he to keep me hyar, I want to know, 
 whar thar's no gittings or airnings 1 Pete ain't seed the shine 
 of Cappin Ingl'art's guineas yit." 
 
 " Pete lies !" 
 
 " What ! the cappin's paid him, and he ain't let me see a 
 shilling 1 And to tell me such a broad, barefaced lie about it 
 too ! 'Twas jest so with Sinklar's guineas. Instead of giving 
 'em to me to keep — me, his own mammy — he digs a hole and 
 sticks a post over 'em, jest to show people whar to look." 
 
 " Well, give him the hickories. I kain't talk to you now. I 
 wants to see this boy-pris'ner you've got hyar. How's he git- 
 ting on 1" 
 
 " Well, he's poorly. He don't eat much." 
 
 '' Does he git it to eat, much V 
 
 " Yes, his 'lowance is rigilar ; but Eafe Brunson says he's not 
 so well, and mus'n't hev too much. But it's the want o' eating, 
 I thinks, that makes him poorly. 'Twould kill me, I'm sartin." 
 
 " You're a wise woman, in spite of them rheumatisms. But 
 git off now to your shakedown. I'm going to exaniinate the 
 boy for myself." 
 
 And he pushed the crone aside, opened the door, and passed 
 into the dark and cheerless dungeon of poor Henry Travis. He 
 could see but little there, until he brought in a torch of light- 
 wood, and kindled a blaze upon the hearth ; then he looked 
 about him, and spoke — "Well, my young sodger, how does 
 the wolf gnaw by this time 1" 
 
 Henry roused himself, as if from sleep or stupor, or both to- 
 gether, and looked upon his visiter with a languid, spiritless in 
 difference, which sufficiently declared how he had sufferej 
 When youth, full of blood, hope, enthusiasm, is thus subduec, 
 the suffering is not to be described. That it is borne, endured 
 
388 EUTAW. 
 
 without the party sinking under it, is guaranty f'/r large natural 
 resources, of physique and mind. The boy was wan of aspect, 
 and evidently very feeble. After a brief space, his eye bright- 
 ened, as if in recognition of his visiter. " Ah !" he said, " is 
 it you ? I'm glad to see you." 
 
 " Did you miss me, boy 1" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I'm so lonesome. It's so dark here ; and I'm bo 
 hungry !" 
 
 " Hungry ! I reckon so. Hist, boy — " and the wary Dick of 
 Tophet went to the door, opened it slightly, looked into the 
 hall, and closing the door, returned quickly. " Hist, boy," 
 said he, " I've brought you something to mend your appetite." 
 
 With these words he drew a small sack from under his coat, 
 the contents of which, when unveiled, made the eyes of Henry 
 Travis glitter with a wolfish brightness. 
 
 " Hyar's some ham and biscuit. Thar, take a bite and a bis- 
 cuit. Eat! And now, jest you listen to me. I'll leave all of 
 these with you. But you must hide 'em away ; and promise 
 me, honest now, only to eat three of these biscuit, and a slice or 
 two of the ham a-day ; for, you see, 'twon't do to waste. I 
 don't know when I kin git, and bring you any more. You 
 must make these last as long as you kin. Thar's another rea- 
 son. ' Twon't do for you to he looking too well ! Jest now, try 
 and look as bad as you kin. Thar's good reason for it. You 
 must promise me — " and he gave the boy another biscuit. 
 
 " I will promise !" cried Henry, munching greedily. " I will 
 promise : but what's the reason ? Why does he starve me X" 
 
 " Oh, he don't want to starve you edzactly : jest keep you 
 down in the fl"/sh, and sick-looking. It's to work on your 
 daddy." , 
 
 " My father ! what ! are they starving him ?" 
 
 "No! I reckon not — not edzactly; though, I reckon, the 
 eappin's for keeping him down in the flesh too. Now, look 
 you, boy, I'll show you a hiding-place, for the rest of these bis- 
 cuit. You mus'n't eat no more now." 
 
 " Oh, give ms but one more 1" was the piteous entreaty of the 
 boy." 
 
 " Not a bite, my lark. You've had enough for one devour- 
 ing, and you must solwmn, like a pussnn of honor, promise mp 
 
HOW THE SCOOT CAME NIGH BEING CAUGHT. 389 
 
 not to eat more than three of these biscuit a day. I knows 
 you ; and ef you say, ' I promise,' I'll b'lieve you." 
 
 " I do promise ; but give me one more now !" 
 
 " Not a bite. 'Twould do you hurt. You've hed enough for 
 one time. To-morrow, take three, and two bits of ham. You'll 
 find all cut up, and ready for you to devour. See, hyar's a hole 
 in the logs. Look at me, whar I put them in. Hyar, you see, 
 ef you'll only work on this peg, you kin take out this block, and 
 you see thar's a sort of box in the wall, alongside the floor." 
 And, showing him the hiding-place, the inflexible Dick of 
 Tophet, who would not give our young hungerer a single addi- 
 tional " bite," yet supplied him with a stock to last several 
 days, meted out by his prescribed limits. Oh, how Henry 
 hungered to break those limits ! But he bravely overcame the 
 temptation. 
 
 " You see, boy, I didn't forgit you, tho' I hed enough besides 
 to think upon. But you're a fine fellow. Yon hed me under 
 your knife, and you didn't stick ! and you read to me in that 
 book. I've got that book yit, and, may be, I'll come and git you 
 to read a bit in it to-night. May be. Jest you now be strcng- 
 hearted, and don't turn milk and waterish, like a g.-vl, and you'll 
 be a sodger yit." 
 
 " But, my father ]" 
 
 " Oh, don't talk to me 'bout him ! I kaint tell you nothing. 
 He ain't in no danger, I reckon, though he's captivated jest like 
 yourself." 
 
 " But they starve him too ?*' 
 
 " I don't think. It's you that the cappin's a sp3iim6z.tin' 
 on." 
 
 With these words, Devil-Dick hurried away. He did not 
 forget his politics in his friendship. He rejoined his camp, 
 which, as the reader will remember, was usually established in 
 the woods, about a mile from the secret fastnesses of Muddicoat 
 Castle, the recesses of which none but a favored few were per- 
 mitted to penetrate. 
 
 About half a mile from this encampment, in a still deeper 
 thicket, Nelly Floyd made her encampment also — she and her 
 pony, Aggy. It was tending toward three o'clock, in the after- 
 noon of the same day on which the interview of Devil-Dick with 
 
890 
 
 EUTAW. 
 
 Henry Travis took place, wben Nelly, seated upon the grass, 
 was partaking of her simple forest-fare. She too had biscuits, 
 and some bits of dried beef. Where she got them, we know 
 not. But Nelly had her friends in sundry cottages, and, where 
 known, she was always a favorite. Aggy was browsing about, 
 apparently quite as well satisfied as her mistress, and, like her, 
 totally free from all the cares of ambition. Nelly Floyd ate 
 with appetite. Though slight of frame, she was vigorous in 
 high -degree. Her health was excellent, though she rode by 
 day in the sun, and slept by night in the cool glow of the stellar 
 heavens. She was an elastic creature, mind and body elastic ; 
 and her sunburned cheek had a certain plumpness about it, and 
 her bright eye never drooped a lid, even when her soul was 
 drooping most. Fed on pure thoughts, she had never a fear; 
 though she had sorrows and apprehensions in abundance. She 
 ate heartily of her simple food, and drank the waters of the 
 brooklet afterward, with the relish of an Arab, who has just 
 i-eached a fountain in the desert. 
 
 Stooping and drinking, Nelly looked up, and was surprised 
 to discover a stranger — a man seated upon a fallen tree, and 
 witnessing her performances. Like a fawn suddenly roused in 
 the wilderness, by the sharp bay of the beagle, Nelly Floyd 
 started, with a consciousness of danger, as she beheld this un- 
 looked for spectator. How had he come upon her so suddenly 
 — so stealthily — and with what object? She prepared to fly, 
 and edged off in the direction of her pony, who was still grazing 
 some thirty yards from her on the rising slope from which she 
 had descended to the brooklet. But as she made this move- 
 ment, the stranger also started into activity and threw himself 
 between her and the pony. He was on foot, like herself; but 
 he too, in all probability, had his horse at hand. Indeed, we 
 can answer for it boldly that he had. 
 
 "Don't be scared, young woman," said the stranger. "I 
 don't mean you any harm. I only want to talk to you about 
 some business that's of great importance to me and my friends, 
 and I reckon you can tell me all 1 want to know — want to 
 know. I've been looking after you a long time, and followed 
 your trail in every direction a good many miles — many miles. 
 Aiid now, you see; I've got you at last ; so just you be a good 
 
HOW THE SCOUT CAJIE NIGH BEINO CAUGHT. .391 
 
 gal now, and tell me what I want to know — want to know — 
 and no harm shall come to you." 
 
 " What do you wish to know 1" answered the girl timidly. 
 
 " Well, I'll come to you, since you don't ofifcr to come to me, 
 for 'twon't do to be telling what I've got to say to all the trees 
 in the forest — ths forest." 
 
 He was approaching, when she said : — 
 
 " No nearer ! Speak where you stand. There is no one to 
 hear you but myself." 
 
 " How do I know that ? But what's to scare you ? You 
 don't suppose a big able-bodied man like me would hurt a gal 
 like you." 
 
 " Perhaps not. Still, as your voice is strong, and my ears 
 are good, you can speak and I can hear just where we are at 
 present. I don't know that I can tell you anything that is im- 
 portant to you, but whatever I can tell, that will hurt nobody. 
 I'm willing to speak." 
 
 " Hurt ! no ! It's to help somebody that I want you to speak. 
 Help somebody. If anybody's to be hurt, it's only them that 
 desarves the worst that a heavy hand kin put upon 'em. But 
 I don't like to talk so loud, my girl. Just let me come a little 
 nigher." 
 
 "Not a step!" said the girl promptly — and as, at that mo- 
 ment, he began to move toward her, she sprang, at a bound, 
 across the brooklet, and watched his course with apprehensive 
 eyes from the other side. The stranger looked at her vexedly 
 and with a sharper accent, he said — "What's to scare you? 
 As I'm an honest man, I don't mean to hurt you." 
 
 " Better," 'said the " girl, that you shouldn't have the opportu- 
 nity. Speak your wishes where you are if you desire me to 
 listen to them." 
 
 " Well," said he, in somewhat harsher tones — " The matter 
 is this. You have been following after the steps of a certain 
 gang of rascals that harbor about and in them yonder swamps, 
 where I know they've got a snug hiding-place somewhere, and 
 I wants to find it out. Now, I'm pretty certain that you know 
 all about it ; for I've tracked you down mighty nigh to the 
 edge, and I have tracked you away from it agin. I know you- 
 ai)i't a party with these rapscallion refugees, for I see that you 
 
392 EL'TAW. 
 
 only follows tlicir tracks and don't travel with 'cm. What you 
 follow them for, I can't reckon ; but I'll tell you right out and 
 about, that I'm following them to try anj get out of their in- 
 farnal clutches a man and his wifie, and their son and daughter 
 
 — a whole family of harmless good people, that a black-hearted 
 etarnal son of Satan named Inglehardt has got hid away in 
 some dark hole in the wilderness. So you see, it's to do good 
 that I wants you to give me help, and just put me in the way 
 of scouting about their hiding-places. That's all — all !" 
 
 '- A mother and her daughter !" said the girl, looking uncon- 
 scious and bewildered. 
 
 " A most excellent good woman, and her most beautiful 
 daughter, in the hands of the most infernal blackhearted Satan 
 of a refugee dragoon that ever spiled the vines with his hoofs. 
 I'm just afte'r saving them, and bringing the outlaw rascals to 
 justice and execution. Ef I kin once find my way into their 
 hiding-place, every rascal of the gang shall swing for it. Hang 
 'em every one — every one !" 
 
 The girl looked terrified at these words. A terror possessed 
 her heart, and made itself apparent in her eyes. The stranger 
 was surprised at the effect which his words produced. 
 
 " What scares you ?" said he. " I didn't say I'd hang you, 
 only them bloody refugee outlaw rascals in the swamp, that's 
 captivated the mother and the daughter, the father and the son 
 
 — the whole innocent family. It's them refugees that's to hang, 
 and the sooner the better for the good of all innocent people." 
 
 "I can tell you nothing," said the ^irl receding — "I know 
 of no mother and daughter in captivity. I know of no people 
 that you have a right to hang. 1 can give you no guidance." 
 
 And she moved backward as she spoke. 
 
 " Ay, but you 7n,ust., my gal. 1 hain't been on your track so 
 long to give you up now, just when I've got you at last. We 
 don't part so quickly. You must let out what you know about 
 this swamp place of the refugees, and until you do, I'll first take 
 leave to keep you a prisoner." 
 
 "Me a prisoner!" and the nostrils of the girl seemed to di- 
 late, as, giving a single glance at the stranger, she at once 
 moved off toward the woods opposite. 
 
 " You don't git off," said the scout, now starting in pursuit 
 
HOW THK SCOUT CAME NIGH BEING CAUGHT. 3'Jo 
 
 Hud throwing himself across the brooklet at a few bounds. 
 Ballon, for it was he, wps a man of a good deal of power, and 
 some fleetness arising from plentiful muscle and early training, 
 and never doubted his ability to run down a girl ; and possibly, 
 were the costume of Nelly Floyd that usually worn by the sex, 
 lie might easily have caught her. But he soon found that his 
 calculations were sadly at fault. He might as well have chased 
 the wind in its play with the ocean. The girl left him behind, 
 and after running a couple of hundred yards, and tripping over 
 a root which brought him heavily to the ground, he was faiu 
 to give up a chase which promised only such hazards. He rose 
 pantirig, and vexed, looking wistfully at the figure of the girl, a 
 hundred yards beyond him, standing quietly beside a tree, and 
 looking composedly on all his movements. 
 
 "Ay, you're a laughing at me !" quoth he, "but I have the 
 means to catch you yet." And so speaking to -himself, he 
 wheeled about, recrossed the brooklet, and made straight toward 
 Aggy, the pony, who was quietly browsing still and showing no 
 sort of apprehension. Ballou did not doubt that he should be 
 able to catch the unconscious beast who never lifted head as he 
 approached. But the girl had divined the object of the scout ; 
 and at the very moment, when Ballou thought to put out his 
 hand and seize the bridle of the beast, which was hanging loose, 
 Nelly whistled shrilly twice or thrice, and Aggy bounded away, 
 throwing up her heels almost in the face of the stranger. The 
 pony took the course direct toward her mistress, and looking 
 after both of them with wonder, Ballou muttered to himself — 
 " It's like what they tell of the gypsies. Now, all the teaching 
 in the world, wouldn't make that big beast of mine follow after 
 me, like a dog, only at the sound of a whistle. But I mus'n't 
 lose the gal now. She's got the clue and I must hev it. She 
 can't get off from me, in the long run ; and though the pony is 
 a mighty quick little goat of a horse, yet its legs are too short 
 to devour much ground, let him do the best with his little legs 
 that he can!" 
 
 Ballou took his way into the thickets in the rear, having first 
 seen Nelly mount her pony, and trot off, apparently toward the 
 road running west of the swamp. When he hnd found and 
 mounted his horse, and got back to the spot where he had seen 
 
 17* 
 
394 EUTAW. 
 
 Uer last, she was out of sight. To stop to look for her tracks 
 would be only to lose her entirely, and our scout started off 
 accordingly, taking his course, according to what seemed the 
 probabilities of hers, and increasing the rapidity of the chase, 
 in duo degree as it seemed to he most objectless. He pursued 
 an old road, and hurried forward, supposing that the girl had 
 precipitated her flight over this route, and had only obtained 
 such a start, from putting bar little nag to its utmost speed at 
 the beginning. In this event, he was sure to overtake her. 
 
 To be beaten by such a mere circumstance of a gal-child," 
 as he himself phrased it, was a circumstance of mortification 
 which prompted him to a more determined effort. And so he 
 rode for a mile or more, when, sweeping suddenly round a curve 
 in the road, he discovered a party of thirty mounted men, or 
 more, not a hundred yards in front of him. Their equipment 
 made them out to be loyalist rangers, and a second glance as- 
 sured our scout that it was Inglehardt himself that he beheld at 
 the head of them. 
 
 In a moment he wheeled into the woods. But not before he 
 had been seen and distinguished. " It is Ballon, Sinclair's 
 scout," cried Inglehardt ; " after him, half a dozen of you, and 
 pursue him even to the Edisto. Do not rest till you bring him 
 down. Five guineas to the man who brings me his ears." 
 
 So liberal a reward would have set our loyalist's whole troop 
 in motion ; but he suffered only five of his best-mounted troop- 
 ers to take the chase. But Ballou was luckily well-mounted, on 
 a stout horse of equal speed and bottom, and, as he felt his 
 danger, and knew what he had to expect, should he fall into 
 ■iuch hands, he at once sternly braced himself up to the exercise 
 of all his resources. Leaving pursuer and pursued for awhile, 
 let us briefly report that Nelly Floyd, no inferior woodsman, by 
 this time, had, harelike, doubled upon her tracks, and before 
 night was once more prowling about the tents of the wicked : in 
 other words, lurking about the camp of Inglehardt, in the hope 
 once more to confer with her witless brother. 
 
OKCE MOKK AT MUDDICOAT CASTLE. 895 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 ONCE MORE AT MUDDICOAT CASTLE. 
 
 Inglehardt was disquieted by this adventure. Had Ballon, 
 that inveterate and skilful scout, found out the secret avenue 
 to the recesses of Muddicoat Castle? It was a question to 
 alarm the loyalist for the safety of his prisoners, for Ballon was 
 but the avant courier of Willie Sinclair's dragoons. It now 
 became necessary to push Captain Travis to the uttermost, by 
 goading the fears of the father to the sacrifice of the daughter 
 for the son. Inglehardt found Dick of Tophet at camp, and all 
 things apparently in good order. With their usual precaution, 
 leaving the camp in charge of the first lieutenant, Lundiford, he 
 and Andrews made their way to the recesses of the swamp, and 
 an interview soon followed between our two captains, the captor 
 and captive. The first words of Inglehardt brought their issues 
 to a point. 
 
 " Well, Captain Travis, have you grown more reasonable 1 
 Will you write to your daughter % Will you command her to 
 fulfil your pledges 1 Will you tell her that your own, and your 
 son's safety depend upon it ?" 
 
 To this the answer was indirect. 
 
 " Where is my son ? Why am I not suffered to see him ?" 
 
 " It is hardly my policy to grant your wishes, Captain Travis, 
 since you yield to none of mine. But you shall see your son. 
 1 trust the interview will be more influential to persuade you to 
 your duty, than my arguments and entreaties have been." 
 
 " Your arguments ! Your entreaties ! They are stings and 
 poisons ! But let me see my son.'" 
 
 Inglehardt motioned to Dick of Tophet, who disappeared 
 
396 EOTAW. 
 
 promptly, and proceeded to the prison of Henry Travis. Hs 
 whispered the boy as he led him forth : — 
 
 " Don't be scary ! It'll all come right in the eend. Only 
 look as down-hearted as you kin !" 
 
 And the boy was brought into the presence of the father. 
 As the old man beheld him — his wan cheeks, his drooping eyes, 
 and utterly wo-begone aspect — thin, emaciated even — filled 
 him with hon-or ! He burst into a ton-ent of bitter tears, while 
 the boy threw his arms about his neck. 
 
 By this time, Travis well conceived the game that-Inglehardt 
 was playing. He well conceived that the latter had no purpose 
 to destroy the boy, and that he was only seeking so to distress 
 and torture both parties, as to compel the acquiescence of the 
 father to his demands. 
 
 But the natural fear of Travis was, that the boy would suc- 
 cumb under the severe privations to which he was subjected ; 
 and, certainly, the appearance of Henry was such as to justify 
 this apprehension. When the father remembered the noble and 
 fearless spirit of the youth ; his well-developed form ; his eagle 
 eye, always bright with impulse and ardent emotion ; — and 
 contrasted the grateful picture of the past, with the lean, cadav- 
 erous, wretched aspect of the boy now, he again burst into a 
 passion of grief, which poured itself forth in a torrent of re- 
 proaches to the jailer, and of almost childlike sobbing sympa- 
 thies to the son. He renewed his prayer to his tyrant; re- 
 peated his denunciations, and was only answered with derision. 
 
 " I have not resolved idly. Captain Travis," said Inglehardt, 
 throwing off all masks, " your son is in my power as well as 
 yourself. I have shown you the only conditions upon which you 
 can procure your own or his safety. I will not answer for the 
 consequences of your obstinacy. There is the paper. Sign it ; 
 and, when it realizes, for me, the objects upon which I insist, 
 you are free — he is free ! I demand of you nothing unreason- 
 able. I require compliance only with your own deliberate en- 
 gagements. You pledged me the hand of your daughter. I 
 demand that you keep your pledges. His fate and yours, both, 
 depend on your doing so !" 
 
 "Better die' my father!" murmured Henry Travis, in the 
 jld man's ears. 
 
ONCE MORE AT MUDDICOAT CASTLE. 397 
 
 " Ay, better die !" exclaimed the father, " than doom another 
 child to worse than death !" 
 
 " Be it death, then ! Since you so resolve," said Inglehardt, 
 slowly, sternly, coldly, " death on the gallows to the one — 
 and—" 
 
 Here he paused, and motioned with his hand. At this signal, 
 Dick of Tophet took the youth away, while the father buried 
 his face in the straw of his couch, and sobbed pitifully, like an 
 infant, in his passion. 
 
 " Hear me," said Inglehardt, when the father and himself 
 were alone together. " Hear me, Captain Travis, in order that 
 you may open your eyes to a deeper necessity in these our 
 relations, than is yet apparent to your senses. I see what is 
 your hope, and what are your calculations. You rightly con- 
 ceive my purpose, to compel your own and daughter's consent 
 to my wishes, through your fears for the safety of your son. 
 You see to what extent I have already carried out my purpose. 
 You see the condition of the boy. But you fancy that I will 
 not press this purpose to extremes. You do not yet conceive of 
 what I am capable when baffled ! You will find that I will not 
 suffer myself to be baffled ! that, though you may deny the 
 gratification of one of my passions, there are others which can 
 feed fat on your sufferings ! Can you not conceive of a pas- 
 sion fiercer than love, which shall take its place in my bosom, 
 and even sacrifice the most precious of its objects rather than 
 go without gratification ! I can revenge myself for any disap- 
 pointments ! I can destroy this boy by the most terrible tor- 
 tures, beneath your eyes, and reserve you, at last, for the degra- 
 dation of the gallows ! All this I can do, and will do, when- 
 ever I shall tire of this tedious practice upon your obstinacy. 
 Obduracy shall contend with obstinacy ; and, though yoti may 
 save your daughter from my arms, yet shall you neither save 
 your son from torture, nor yourself from an ignominious death !" 
 
 And all this was said in subdued and even gentle tones, with- 
 out any show of passion. 
 
 •' Fiepd ! devil 1 cold-blooded torturer fi-om hell ! why have 
 you not come with hoofs, and horns, and tail, that the world 
 may know you what you are V 
 
 " Softly, and a word more. Your daufflitor, too, shall not 
 
898 fiUTAW. 
 
 escape me. Already, the arms of his majesty have passed up 
 to Murray's ferry, east of the Santee, and I know now the 
 place of your daughter's refuge. Ha I do you feel me now ? 
 She is with her mother, at your sister's, at Mrs. Baynard's. 
 She shall be torn thence. And you may well pray that I shall 
 succeed in this object; since, then I shall have no further motive 
 for keeping you and your son in bonds. Meditate on this. You 
 may anticipate what must happen, and save the boy from what 
 he must still endure, until my triumph is made certain." 
 
 Something of this, as we know, was Inglehardt's mere inven- 
 tion, the fruit of his conjecture only. He did not wait for any 
 answer to this speech, but left the prisoner to brood upon it- 
 left the dungeon, and was no more seen by Travis that night. 
 
 " He lies !" said Travis, hoarsely, to himself, but with a shud- 
 dering doubt even while he spoke. " The British dare not ven- 
 ture up the Santee on the east. No, no ! He but lies to terri- 
 fy me. Yet, oh, my daughter ! oh, my son ! what tortures must 
 ye both bear for the errors of your father ! — and in the hands 
 of this hellish monster ! Oh, God of heaven ! hast thou no sud- 
 den bolt, to speed in thy mercy, striking down this wretch 1 ay, 
 send it — speed it — though the same fiery shaft shall make me 
 its victim also !" 
 
 We leave him to all the horrors of his thoughts — supported 
 only by the virtuous resolution to brave all danger, for himself 
 and for his son, rather than sacrifice his daughter to the passions 
 of one so terribly fiendish. 
 
 Inglehardt did not leave the swamp without duly considering 
 the dangers which seemed to threaten its securities from the 
 presence, in the neighborhood, of such a scout as Ballou. He 
 conferred on the subject with Dick of Tophet, and concluded to 
 leave him with a small command of ten men, to range about the 
 precincts. In the event of any attempt to force the retreat, 
 these ten men could maintain it against thrice or even four 
 times their number. The place was one which might be easily 
 made defensible. To Brunson he renewed his private instruc- 
 tions with regard to the prisoners. We may readily conceive 
 their purport. With the dawn of the next day he took his de- 
 parture, leaving Dick of Tophet in camp with his ten men. 
 
 The privilege of scouting was one of those which Dick of 
 
ONCE MORE AT MUDDICOAT CASTLE. 899 
 
 Topliet Talued above all others. It was one calculated greatly 
 to increase his " chainces," to use his own choice phraseology. 
 We may have an opportunity, shortly, to see him busy at their 
 exercise. Among his ten men were some new recruits, inclu- 
 ding the scapegrace, Mat Floyd. That night, watching her 
 chance, Nelly again obtained an interview with her brother, 
 coming upon him while he was on his post of watch. Dick of 
 Tophet, meanwhile, had again made his way into the fastnesses 
 of Muddieoat. 
 
 " What does yon come for, Nelly 1" demanded Mat Floyd of 
 his sister. " You knows I kaint and won't listen to you. It's 
 no use, I tell you. You needn't talk to me any more of that 
 hanging business, sence, you see, I'm in no danger now. I'm 
 rigilarly 'listed into the king's army, and ef so be I'm taken 
 prisoner, they kaint hang me. I'm jest a prisoner-of-war, you 
 see." 
 
 " Oh, Mat," said the girl, very solemnly, " I'm sure, your be- 
 ing enlisted gives you no securities ; for still I see the danger 
 that threatens you, of that very death ! It has come to mo 
 more than once sia;^ I have spoken with you; and it gi'ows 
 clearer and clearer '■.o my sight every time. I have seen them 
 aaling you to the gallows — I have seen you striving to break 
 pway — have heard your very cries, I tell yon ; and I feel more 
 than ever certain that such will be your doom, unless you escape 
 from your present connections. You are under a very bad man, 
 ';his Joel Andrews." 
 
 " Do you know wh£.*.'f his other name ?" the youth asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, I have he&i-d it ; and that alone should be enough to 
 make you dread the danger of which I tell you. He will lead 
 you to his own sins — he will conduct you to his own fate !" 
 
 '' Psho ! the devil ain't quite so black as people say he is," 
 answered the youth, repeating unwittingly a proverb. "But, 
 do you say that Hell-fire Dick's to be hung too % Have yon 
 seen him a-hanging in your visions V 
 
 " I know not that. I have not seen it. But such deeds as 
 he has done, may well lead to such a fate." 
 
 ■' Oh, that's the way you come to dream of me a-hanging ! 
 '^"'or it's all a dream, Nelly : one of your crazy dreams, I reckon " 
 
400 EUTAW. 
 
 " Oil, Mat, Mat ! do not speak to me thus !" 
 
 " Look you, Nelly — be off! You mustn't come to bother me 
 when I'm on duty. And you mustn't be trying to skear me as 
 you does. Sometimes, I'm a-dreaming about the hanging my- 
 self; and it's all bekaise of your putting the nonsense in my 
 head. Well, when I thinks of it, I knows thyar's no danger; 
 for you see, as I tell'd you, I'm rigilarly 'listed ; and that's good 
 reason why I mustn't desart : for that's hanging, you know ; 
 and ef I minded you, I might come to the gallows by the very 
 nighest cut, and jest because I listen to you. So be off, and 
 don't bother me any more with your craziness." 
 
 " Mat, I am not crazy !'.' 
 
 "Well, you're foolish! But, be off! I hear a noise. It's 
 the guard !" 
 
 " One moment. Mat. I have seen one thing to notice, in the 
 terrible vision of your fate — one thing that I never noticed 
 when it came to me before. You will fall into the hands of 
 troopers in a green uniform ; and it's an officer in gi-een^ that I 
 see ordering you to the gallows !" 
 
 " In green, you say? But, be off! I hear the guard !" 
 
 And she sped silently away into the deep thickets; while, as 
 the relief came upon the ground, instead of the proper challenge, 
 Mat Floyd cried out, " In green !" 
 
 The meditations of Nelly Floyd in her woodland covert, lone- 
 ly and desolate as was her life, were of a pure and refining sor- 
 row ; but they were nevertheless a sorrow. Of their type and 
 character we may reasonably conjecture from what we know 
 of hers. But the subject which most distressed her soul was 
 that of the vision which presented itself so repeatsdiy to her 
 eyes, or her imagination, and of which the impression was evi- 
 dently deepening. There is no doubt that she fully believed 
 tliat she beheld this vision. It was no choice invention, meant 
 to scare the offender from his evil practice. It may have been 
 the natural conjuration of her thought, colored and strengthened 
 by the vivifying force of the imagination ; for she was a crea- 
 ture of imagination all compact — so sublimed by the influence 
 that she was totally unconscious of any arts. Her soul rayed 
 out, in its sweet and naked simplicity, not only unconscious of 
 .i!l convention but superior entirely to its commands. Her 
 
ONCE MORE AT MUDDICOAT CASTLE. 10 i 
 
 mode of life ministered to the imaginative mood. She did not 
 live much among human heings. She lived apart, and found 
 her chief communion in strange aspects which naturally cams 
 to supply the lack of human associates. She hecame spiritu- 
 alized in her sole communion with the woods hy day, and with 
 the stars hy night. Her very fancies thus became positive ex- 
 istences to her mind. When, in connection with this fact, we 
 note her capacity to observe, how perpetually she moved about 
 the forssts, in pursuit of her brother, no matter what his change 
 of place or associates, it is not a matter of wonder tha* she 
 should pick up a great deal of intelligence of actual things and 
 persons. It is just possible that this knowledge, thus acquired, 
 was worked up by her imagination as so much raw material, 
 fused with her fancies ; and hence her so-esteemed visions, 
 which, from the nature of things, and according to reasonable 
 probabilities, might very well be verified. Nothing, for exam- 
 ple, would be more probable than that the practices of her 
 brother should conduct him to the gallows. But it was Nelly's 
 own subject of wonder, that the event was always, as it were 
 scenically painted, in detail, before her eyes. This painting 
 as we have said, had recently become deepened in color, and 
 strengthened in detail. She has been able to say to her broth- 
 er — " Your executioners wear a green uniform." She has even 
 counted their numbers. She has seen their faces. She could 
 describe the very spot where the tragedy will take place. But 
 one aspect seems to elude her — that of the officer who com- 
 mands the party. 
 
 "Why, oh, why," she murmured to herself — "why can not 
 I see his face ? But I shall see it yet. Every night it grows 
 clearer. Every time it comes, I see something more. Green 
 uniforms ! — I don't recollect to have seen any green uniforms 
 in either of the armies ; but I have never seen whole armies. 
 The Americans are blue mostly, and the British are red. Per- 
 haps the French wear green uniforms. I never saw any of 
 them. Oh, it is so bewildering — and my poor brain how it. 
 throbs !" 
 
 And then she sank upon her knees in prayer, and spread the 
 rushes of her couch, and laid herself meekly down without fear ; 
 and, with crossed hands, looked up to heaven, and closed her 
 
402 EUTAW. 
 
 eyes in sleep, even while watching the slow marches Uong the 
 blue waste of the sadly-shining stars. 
 
 "While Nelly Floyd was thus sleeping, innocently and lonely, 
 in the forests, Dick of Tophet had made his way from camp to 
 the recesses of Muddicoat Castle, Here he indulged in a famous 
 carouse with Rafe Brunson and Pete Blodgit. They gamed, and 
 drank, and supped, and Dick contrived to lay his boon compan- 
 ions under the table, without becoming seriously muddled him- 
 self. This achievement done, he quietly passed his fingers into 
 Brunson's pocket, and possessed himself of the key to young 
 Travis's dungeon. He did not scruple to arouse the boy, andj 
 lighting a fire of pine-knots, he good-humoredly said to the pris- 
 oner : — 
 
 " Now, my young sodger, I wants you to gut this book for me, 
 and tell me, pretick'lar, about that skrimmage among them 
 double-jinted giants. I wants to see how Cappin Pilgrim sar- 
 cumvented them bloody, big-boned inimies." 
 
 And he pulled the book from his bosom, and the boy read for 
 him for a couple of hours, when Dick yawned fearfully, and 
 Henry naturally construed this to signify that the "gutting" 
 had been sufficient for the night. Dick assented, when he pro- 
 posed to stop, and taking the book, restored it carefully to his 
 bosom. He then said : — 
 
 " Young sodger, I'm mighty sorry to see you in sich a fix, 
 and I kaint help you out of it. Now, does you see how the 
 matter stands 'twixt your daddy and the cappin 1 I reckon 
 you does. Now, why don't your daddy let the cappin hev your 
 sister?" 
 
 " What ! my sister marry such a cold-blooded heartless mon- 
 ster, who tortures her father and her brother, to win her affec- 
 tions? Never! never!" 
 
 " Well, it's true, the cappin is a mighty cold and hard man, 
 and all h — 1 when he takes that way ; but it's only bekaise he 
 kain't hev his own way. Ef he could hev his own way, now, I 
 reckon he'd be jest as good a husband as the gal could git. 
 Why, do you think, when once he's married, that he'll show 
 any of his brimstone like he does now ? Not a bit of it ! He'll 
 be as sweet-tempered a husband as a woman ever bed, always 
 supposing that she's got the sense to let him hev his own way. 
 
ONCE MORE AT MUDDICOAT CASTLE. 403 
 
 which it's only right and nateral he should hev. Now, my 
 sodger boy, I wants to see you out of this fix, and on free legs 
 &giu. I do ! I likes you, though I kain't say I has much liking 
 for that daddy of yourn. He worked a bullet hole in my ear 
 that kaint hold a ring, even ef 'twas made out of the gould it- 
 self. But you I likes, and ef you'll jest take my advice, you'll 
 be after argufj ing it with your daddy, and gitting him to say 
 ' yis,' to all the cappin axes. The cappin ain't a hard man with 
 anybody that let's him hev his own way ; and I reckon he'll 
 make as good a husband for the gal, as she'll find 'twixt here 
 and huckleberry heaven — which is a mighty long way off, you 
 know. And I'm a thinking that arter all, thar's no sich great 
 difference 'mongst men — so far as the woman has any right to 
 know. Ef a man's young and wicked, why he'll hev the longer 
 time to git good in ; and ef the wife's sinsible of her rights and 
 desarvings, she has only to let her husband hev his own way, 
 and then she kin do jest as she pleases. Now, do you be think- 
 ing it over, my young sodger, and see what you kin make of it. 
 I don't want to see you in this fix. It's a hitch for me. I'd 
 like to help you out of it, but kaint. But, somehow, I'll try to 
 do a leetle toward helping you, so that you shaint go down by 
 the run, ef a leetle hog and hominy kin keep you up. Thar 
 now ! I've said jest as much as I mean to say, and we'll quit. 
 Make your biscuits last as long as you kin, and I'll try to give 
 you another lift when they're out. So go to sleep now." 
 
 Without waiting for any answer, Dick of Tophet disap- 
 peared. With the dawn of the next day he sallied forth with 
 his jiarty from camp, and gave the woods a thorough scouring ; 
 bit Iselly Floyd was on the alert, and no more to be caught by 
 Devil Dick than by scout Ballou. That night, Dick coursed a 
 few miles below. The next day, he again scoured the precinct, 
 bnving been properly warned of the danger from Ballou's prox- 
 imity. He found nothing. Three days may have passed in 
 this m£nner, scouting by day, card-playing and drinking by 
 night ; with another reading of Pilgrim's Progress, and a chat 
 with Henry, to whom he conveyed a few more biscuit, but with 
 the injunction to eat but three a day. 
 
 His visits at Muddicoat were seriously hurtful to the morals 
 f that place. He won all the money of Brunson, and did lio* 
 
404 EUTAW. 
 
 disdain that of Pete Blodgit. The allowance which Inglehardi 
 made to these parties was liberal enough ; but to those with 
 whom a habit of " picking and stealing" has created an inordi- 
 nate appetite, this compensation was utterly inadequate. Bran- 
 son growled, and, if Pete Blodgit did not growl openly, his 
 mother did. Whatever his earnings she now got none of them. 
 One uight she kept awake, waiting the return of her hopeful 
 son from the drinking and gaming bout at Brunson's. He came 
 in at a late hour, somewhat fuddled, but rather more furious 
 than fuddled. He had lost every copper of money. 
 
 "You Pete," screamed out his respectable mammy — "you 
 Pete ; come hyar ! I wants to talk with you." 
 
 " "Well, what's it, mother ?" 
 
 " What keeps you out so late, whenever Devil Dick comer 
 liyar?" 
 
 The fellow was just drunk enough to be audacious. 
 
 " Drink and gambling, I reckon." 
 
 " Drink and gambling, you varmint ! And whar do you git 
 llie money to gamble V 
 
 "Oh! I gits credit!" 
 
 " Has the cappin paid you the last 'lowance." 
 
 "Not a copper !'' 
 
 " Oh ! that I should hev a son to do nothing but lie to his 
 mother !" 
 
 " And you larned me nothing better I" was the terrible reply. 
 
 " I larned you 1 Oh ! sarpent ! A'ter a while you'll be say • 
 ing, and swaring too, that I hain't given you a vartuous edica- 
 tion and example." 
 
 " And ef I did, 'twould be the trath mother, though I said 
 it by haccident only." 
 
 " Oh ! varmint ! But the cappin has paid you, and in gould 
 too. Devil Dick says so." 
 
 " Well, ef he says so, look to him for it. He's got it all 1 
 He's dreaned me I" 
 
 " And ain't you a bloody fool to play kairds with the devil.' 
 
 " I must be a-doing something. Hyar, a man kin neither lie, 
 nor steal, nor cheat, nor buy, nor sell ! It's a h — 1 of a place, 
 mother, and I don't kear how soon I git shet of it I" 
 
 " Nor 1 1 Them's the only sensible words, you've said. Yon 
 
OXCE MORE AT MUDDlCOAl' :;iSTLE. 40. 
 
 dou't aim nothing. You gits your pay— and what's that? 
 Why, it ain't a speck, to the airnings we had when we was at 
 Willie Sinclair's." 
 
 " Yet you wa'n't easy when you was thar ! You was alway ■- 
 for gitting off somewhar else ; always a-growling !" 
 
 " Oh ! sarpent ; but that was only bekaise you was a-keeping 
 sich bad company. But, look you, hinny" — she began to whee- 
 dle — " tliar's a way to be a-doing something. We ain't a-git- 
 ting anything much out of this Cappin Inglehardt ; though the 
 pay's rigilar enough, ef you wouldn't waste it. Now, I hear 
 'em talk, that this Cappin Travis is a mighty rich man. Kaint 
 we be doing something with him ? He'd pay, mighty heavy, 
 I reckon, to git out of his fix — he and his son." 
 
 "Husb up, mammy, who knows who's a-listeniug? Shet up 
 now. We'll talk about the matter to-morrow. I hain't got the 
 head now for close calkilation." 
 
 And there the conversation ended for the present. The next 
 night, the old woman intercepted Dick of Tophet, on his way 
 to the dungeon of Henry Travis. He was entreated to her 
 bedside, whither he went reluctantly ; for she was never a fa- 
 vorite of our Satan, though, no doubt, on the b,est of terms with 
 his master. She knew this, and began to wheedle him. 
 
 " Oh ! none of that, old woman !" said he. " I'm a man. 
 Talk out. Empty your bile. Who do you want to roast ? 
 How big's your swallow. Say out what you want to say." 
 
 " Well," said she, " you was always a cantankerous pussen. 
 But, I've got something to tell you that I reckon you'll find it 
 best to hear. I sec what the cappin's about. He's a-starving 
 this boy, and his daddy, jest, you see, that he may say they 
 died nateral ! But it's a slow way. Now, the thing kin be 
 done easy enough and a mighty deal quicker. Hyar ! do yon 
 look at that." 
 
 She showed some weeds, dried.' 
 
 "Well, what of that?" 
 
 " Why now, do you see, ef we but mixes a pinch of them 
 yairbs in what they eats, or what they drinks, they dies jest 
 as naterally as if the doctors did it !" 
 
 For a moment, Dick regarded the old hag in silence, then 
 with a burst, he cried : — 
 
i06 EUTAW. 
 
 '' And what does you see in my face, you old Satan, you old 
 mother of fifty devils, to make you think I would feed a pris'ner 
 on pizon ! I've killed many a man, but 'twas always in fair 
 fight. I've killed a woman too, but that was in a fight, when I 
 couldn't git off from it. And that's the heaviest load on my 
 conscience a'ter all ! But to pizon a pris'ner ! Pizon a human ! 
 Pizon even an inimy ! H — 1 ! you've I'arned your lessons, old 
 woman, in sich a cchool as beats me hollow ! Now, look you, 
 so sure as my name's Joel Andrews — or Hell-fire Dick — which 
 you please — jest so sure as I hear of this boy dying of his cap- 
 tivation hyar, I'll hev you strung up for pizoning him ! I'll 
 do it, ef all the devils was agin it !" 
 
 He seized the dried plants from her grasp — "I've hafe a 
 mind to ram 'em down your infarnal old throat !" He flung the 
 weeds into the fire, then, with the brief words : — " Rieollect 
 now ! You shall hang ef that boy dies in his captivation ! 
 I've sworn it by all the devils ! And I'll keep my oath !" 
 
 Such was his excitement that, instead of goisg to the boy, as 
 he intended, he went off to Brunson. 
 
 " Look you, Eafe," said he, " keep a sharp eye on that ole 
 woman and her limping son. They're a'ter mischief. Thafa 
 all." Brunson could git no further explanation from him. 
 "Look to 'em — a sharp eye — that's all!" 
 
 "Look to 'em!" said Brunson. " Look yoM, Dick, I'm mighty 
 tired of this sort of life!" 
 
 " I reckon'd you'd be." 
 
 " But is it never guine to eend 1 I'd sooner cut and run, than 
 litand to it much longer. Thar's no chaince here of getting a 
 Icetle ahead. I'm a longing to be out on a scout, preticklarly 
 when I hear that Jim Ballou's about." 
 
 " Never you mind Jim Ballou. Hold it out. Ef the cappiu 
 gits things as he wants 'em, he'll fill your pockets, and mine 
 too. 'Nough said 1 Look to that old hag and her whelp. Eat 
 no porridge of their cooking, and clap the hooks on em, the 
 moment they begin to twist suspicious in the harness." 
 
 "A pretty fix they're all in!" quoth Dick, as he left the 
 swamp. " What the devil made that ole woman say 'pizin' to 
 me, 'stead of lia^ Brunson ^ Does I look more like a Philis 
 
ONCE MORE AT MUDDICOAT CASTLE. 407 
 
 liau savage, and a heathen Turk than him ? The rheumatic 
 ole varmint !" 
 
 Certainly the dangers to Travis and his son seem to grow. 
 Dick, changing his purposes, left the swamp that night. The 
 next morning he took a progress down the count-y, where he 
 found GriflSth in a new location, and heard a variety of news 
 — matters relating to the war — the particulars cf which wo 
 know already. There was a sort of partnership existing be- 
 tween Griffith and Dick of Tophet. The former was a kind 
 of pilot-fish to the latter. He had established himself in a snug 
 hiding-place in the swamp, about five miles, equi-distant, from 
 Wantoot, and Pooshee. Here, his propinquity was unsuspected, 
 except among those whose policy it was to keep it secret. 
 Griffith entertained the scouting parties of the British, and 
 helped off deserters, whenever they wished to run. He did 
 Pot encourage them in this practice ; but he freely exchanged 
 his rum and tobacco for muskets, shot and powder, which always 
 found a market. It is surprising how readily such an establish- 
 ment becomes known to those who patronize it. Advertising 
 is quite unnecessary; the dragoon, scouting, ranger, rifle, foray 
 service, always find out such a place of refuge by instinct ; and 
 Griffith, though only recently established in his new domain, 
 was already in receipt of a considerable custom ; much to the 
 detriment of the British posts, Pooshee, Wantoot, and Monck's 
 Corner, the commandants at which places, scarcely yet warm in 
 their seats, did not suspect the near neighborhood of an influ- 
 ence so hostile. Of course, Griffith and Dick of Tophet com- 
 municated their several facts only when closeted together. But 
 men pursuing such a life are apt to be as singularly indiscreet,-at 
 times, as they are habitually cautious. As they are apt to drink 
 and game, so the most circumspect will blab. Their secret 
 conference over, the leaders suffered their followers to take a 
 share in their revels. Dick's pride, as a British officei, did not 
 prevent him from winning the pay and profits of his men. 
 Accordingly, we find the whole gang busy at midnight, in a wild 
 carouse, in which songs and shouts, and terrible stonps of liquor, 
 were employed to relieve "seeen-up," and other gambhng games. 
 Th^. dip^ by-the-way, sometimes spelled the cards ; and two ot 
 three audents, of a school sinking, even then, into contempt 
 
'^08 EUTAW. 
 
 were l-jsiug peuniea and shillings at draughts and domino 
 (jiiffith. obeying the apostle after a fashion of his own, was in 
 turn, all tnings to all men. But, even as the games went on, 
 and the liquor circulated, the two principals suffered themselves 
 to talk inciaentally over more serious affairs. 
 
 "Lid y.L Lear of old Sinclair's scrape 1" said Griffith to 
 Dick of .""ophet. " He was pushing for Charleston, and got to 
 Ooates )ust at the time when old Swamp-Fox was whisking his 
 brush i" to his face. Coates heeled it down to Quinby, and Fox 
 after hjm. Coates thought to steal a march upon old Fox, and 
 had the start some five hours. Old Sinclair went along with 
 Lim. But, when Fox got up with Coates, the brush got too 
 warm for the Cherokee baron. So he turned about for home. 
 He had his gals with him in the carriage — he himself, was lame 
 as a duck and sick as a chicken with the pip. He hadn't got 
 up to my old quarters, when half a dozen fellows popt out upon 
 him from the bushes, cut out his horses from the carriage, and 
 made off with 'em." 
 
 " And how did the bloody old harrystocrat git home 1" 
 
 " I'm not sure he's got home yit. There was a niggar along 
 here, three days ago, of old Burdell, who said that a carriage 
 with two ladies took up the old codger and his gals, and went 
 off to some house nearabouts — the first house — and that old 
 Sinclair couldn't lift a leg." 
 
 " The old heathen harrystocrat. I hope he mayn't raise 
 another. And this was near about your old quarters ?" 
 
 "Not two miles off." 
 
 " Hem ! And so — stop thar, boy. The kaird's down, and I 
 mean to kiver it. No lifting. And so — " and he looked sig- 
 nificantly at Griffith. 
 
 "And so — " answered the other — and both, as by one con- 
 sent, dropped the subject. 
 
 "You've hearn tell of Sam Peter Adair, I reckon?" said 
 Griffith. 
 
 " Don't ricoUect that I ever did." 
 
 " Well, Sam went off to the West Indies, and he's got back, 
 they say, rich as a Jew, with a mortal death in his liver, or 
 , lights, or belly somewhere. Where he's got^he distemper I don't 
 know ; but he's got a wife ; and they do say he'll die of it." 
 
ONCE MORK AT MUDDICOAT CASTLK. 409 
 
 " What ! the wife ?" 
 
 "Well, perhaps, or the distemper — one. But he's got back 
 hyar, they say, to-day ; and the old fool's brought back a heap 
 of gould and silver. Why, they do say he's got silver plate 
 enough, cups and bowls, and spoons and what not, to kiver a 
 a church, and build a chimbly to it, all out of silver. He's a 
 good friend to the king, and he gives parties to the young ossi- 
 fers from Watboo, and Wantoot, and Monck's Corner, every 
 now and then; and its rare drinking, though Death — and may 
 be the devil — is a standing over the shoulder, and making all 
 sorts of mouths at the glass. You hevn't beam of Sam Peter 
 Adair ?" 
 
 " Not till now. And he's a living hereabouts you say ]" 
 
 "Not three miles from Pooshee — an old house that use to 
 b'long to one of tne Devaux, and he's to keep thar tell the 
 weether gits cold enough for him to push for Florida, where I 
 reckon he'll make a die of it." 
 
 "And he's thar, eh? And so — " 
 
 And Griffith and Devil-Dick both paused judiciously. 
 
 But enough had been said, both for their information and 
 that of others. There were greedy dogs in Dick of Tophet's 
 gang — more greedy and venturous than he had ever dreamed 
 them to be. They had heard, and brooded over the information 
 as quietly as their leader. The night was consumed in debauch- 
 ery. In the morning Dick took his departure, but not before 
 he had some significant words with Griffith. Then he bade the 
 bugle blow, and started upward in a trot, making his way, with 
 all his party, to the old haunt of Griffith, but a few miles from 
 the Widow Avinger, where we once before found him at his 
 revels. There he quartered his party, with strict orders not to 
 quit, while he went forth on a little scouting expedition of his 
 own. 18 * 
 
410 EDTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII, 
 
 THE WRONG LAP. 
 
 As this movement of Dick of Tophet brings him within the 
 precincts of the Widow Avinger, it may be proper that we 
 should also take the same route, and inquire after our late com- 
 panions. Several days have elapsed since we left them safely 
 housed, in a condition of greater comparative comfort and se- 
 curity than they had enjoyed while under the escort of Coates's 
 army, or in their subsequent wandering away from it. But, 
 our baron of Sinclair was by no means in the mood to enjoy 
 this state of ease and safely. It brought no ease to him. The 
 excitements which he had undergone had brought upon him one 
 of the severest fits of the gout which his manhood had ever yet 
 been required to endure. His agonies, for several days, were 
 such as to occasion the liveliest apprehensions in his daughter's 
 mind, who had never before seen him so humbled by bis infirm- 
 ity. Fortunately, Mrs. Travis, otherwise Smith, was a woman 
 of large experience, great good sense, and thoroughly domestic. 
 She and her daughter, both, came to the succor of Carrie Sin- 
 clair, and shared with her the duties of watch, tendance, and 
 nursing. Night and day they were indefatigable — solicitous 
 of every movement — every complaint — of the querulous baron ; 
 anticipating every want, and sympathizing with every pang. 
 Rough and stern, haughty and proud, as he was. Colonel Sin- 
 clair was a true gentleman ; and, even in his sufferings, when 
 his agonies were worst, and compelled his wildest ravings, his 
 eye, and, occasionally, his tongue, made ample and grateful 
 acknowledgments for all the kindness and attention he received. 
 His sufiering had reached that degree which humbled pride- 
 
THE WRONG LAP. 411 
 
 and, in bis impatience, he was as pliant and submissive as the 
 child that dreads the birch. 
 
 You will please suppose that, for five days, the watch and 
 nursing of all these parties, together and severally, have been 
 coutiuued, day and night, and until the acuter pangs of the suf- 
 ferer have undergone mitigation. When somewhat, relieved, 
 the old man was exhausted, and lay in a partial drowse half the 
 time. Then the care was to nourish and revive the strength, 
 and restore the vital energy, which had been consumed in the 
 struggle ; and, in this respect, the skill and experience of Mrs. 
 Travis, and the tenderness of the girls, proved quite as impor- 
 tant as the niinistiy which they had exercised in his more ex- 
 acting trials. We will not endeavor to detail the nice little 
 dishes which they contrived to tempt the appetite ; nor the vari- 
 ous social arts with which they sought to divert the mind of the 
 sufferer. We do not know that we have anywhere spoken of 
 the musical talents of Bertha Travis, which, without being 
 greatly cultivated, were yet considerable. She had, like Car- 
 rie Sinclair, a natural gift in this province ; singing like a wild 
 bird — native woodnotes only — but these were, perhaps, best 
 calculated to satisfy an ear like that of our baron, who was ear- 
 nest, passionate, unaffected, and knew none of the subtleties of 
 European art — had never refined away, in the acquisition of 
 its complicated graces, any of the natural vigor of his tastes. 
 The two girls, without any instrument, sung together ; and it 
 was something of a surprise to Carrie Sinclair, to find that Ber- 
 tha Travis, otherwise Smith, knew precisely the songs in which 
 ahe herself most delighted. It was a pleasant coincidence, 
 which first moved surprise, then awoke delight ; and, while the 
 old man drowsed upon the rude settee, where, supported by 
 cushions, he lay most of the day, they carolled together like a 
 pair of well-contented mocking-birds, who dwell together in 
 amity in the boughs of the same sheltering orange. But the 
 hearts of both of them were sad, even while they sang. Ber 
 tha, from the apprehensions and griefs which haunted every 
 thought, and of which she dared not speak ; and Carrie, from 
 natural misgivings in respect to her father's condition. Little 
 .Lottie, meanwhile, picked up the songs of both, and they found 
 it I '■ s-idjtiojial ■ m.ode of diversion froin their cares, in tuto»ng 
 
412 EOTAW. 
 
 her little pipes, according to their degree of knowledge in the 
 exquisite art, in which even sorrow finds it so natural to in- 
 dulge. 
 
 And thus the days passed : full of anxiety no doubt, and suf 
 fering ; but anxiety not without hope, and suffering not wholly 
 without compensation. There bad been a sufficient progress in 
 religion, among all the group, to enable them to rise to the 
 grand law and lesson which teach resignation ; and subdued, 
 humbled, sorrowing and apprehensive, there was no slavish 
 despondency of mood in any of the fond, feeble hearts, whom 
 we have been compelled to bring together in our poor widow's 
 house of refuge. Her story was a sadder one than any of theirs, 
 and her deportment conveyed a sweet. Christian lesson, of be- 
 coming fortitude, to the worst sufferer in the circle. 
 
 And, all things considered, our aristocratic baron behaved 
 with rare courage and manfulness, under the extreme physical 
 tortures which he was compelled to endure. It seemed, indeed, 
 that his temper grew better in the extremity of his afflictions. 
 In proportion as the pains became intense, ho rose in soul, de- 
 fiant under their pressure. He believed himself to be dying, 
 regarded this as the final attack which should carry him off; 
 and, with this conviction, his soul fully asserted itself, as it 
 would have done in the field of battle. Like most persons, 
 small afflictions made him querulous and peevish only ; but the 
 belief that death was at length confronting him, made him put 
 on all the soldier. Then it was that he not only became patient, 
 calm, and fearless, but he put on the sweetness, grace, concilia- 
 tion, and courtesy of the gentleman. lie suddenly stopped com- 
 plaint. 
 
 " This is death, Carrie !" he said, after one of his terrible 
 twinges — "death, my child! But I am a man. Bead to me 
 — sing to me ! Whatever you please. I must not wince now. 
 I am a sinner, I know ! But I am not wilfully so — only too 
 weak to be good. I must get strength from on High ! Bead, 
 child, or sing. I care not which." 
 
 And she read the Bible for awhile. He stopped her. 
 
 "I know all that — by heart. Now sing! Something mar- 
 tial! Ah!" — A pang. — "My affairs are all settled! You 
 will have do trouble ; and — lest in my pain 1 should hereaftei 
 
THE WRONG LAP. 413 
 
 forget it — say to Willie that I forgive him. Let him marry 
 whom he, pleases, fight whom he pleases — marry and fight 
 according to his own conscience ! He is a hrave, good fellow ; 
 he will never do a mean action, anyhow ! — of that I am sure. 
 And you, too, my child ; marry whom you please ! And God 
 help you to a noble gentleman, a husband whom you will never 
 cease to honor ! To see you all happy is all my care. I have 
 not been very selfish, Carrie, ray child — never so selfish as not 
 to think first of my children. If I have not lived wholly for 
 them, I could have died for them at any time. I have been 
 rougfi, you say. "Well, well — " interrupting her — "you don't 
 say it. And you are right. Mere manners, though very good 
 things in their way — essential things in society — say very 
 little for the heart. Mine have been always those of a soldier. 
 It is the effect of soldier-training, and a frontier life. But they 
 never declared for my affections — at all events they never 
 marred them. I will tell you now, for the first time, of one of 
 my good deeds, that answer for my heart, when my manners 
 would report against it. I rescued an' Indian babe from the 
 burning of the Cherokee towns in the expedition of Grant and 
 Middleton, carried it forty miles on the saddle before me, and 
 finally, after great painstaking and privation, restored it to its 
 mother. That was the sweetest moment of my life. It comes 
 back to me now as a great satisfaction. I have been trying to 
 look up my good deeds, in the last three days, to see what off- 
 sets I had to the bad ones. These told for themselves, and kept 
 me always in remembrance. It was some effort to recall the 
 good. That looks squally, Carrie, my child, as the day of set- 
 tlement approaches. But Heaven help ns ! If God be not the 
 merciful creditor that I hold him! I have that faith in his mer- 
 cies, child, that helps me wondrously in this adjustment of my 
 profit and loss account ! 
 
 And so, for an hour, the old man rambled on ; — his conscience 
 busy after a rude soldier fashion, in subduing the evil principle 
 in his bosom, and preparing him for his last combat. That he 
 should apprehend the approach of death, naturally impressed 
 Carrie with the conviction that such was his danger, and never 
 did poor fond, loving, dutiful heart strive more earnestly than 
 hers, to keep down her anguish, and to maintain the appearance 
 
414 EUTAW. 
 
 of calm in his presence. But, how it sunk — that heart — sunk, 
 sunk, all the while ; and when she escaped, for a moment, to 
 her chamber, it was to get relief, and strength, for a longer trial, 
 in a gush of tears, and a short spasmodic prayer to Heaven. 
 This momentary relief obtained, she would return to her place 
 of meek watch, attendance, attention, and those homely minis- 
 tries, which, at such a moment, bring out all the nobler virtues 
 of woman, in the exercise of her peculiar mission. He would 
 resume, as soon as she reappeared, perhaps in another phase of 
 the same prevailing mood. 
 
 " I have been harsh to Willie ! How harsh, I only begun to 
 feel when I had lifted weapon against his life. What a mad- 
 ness was that ! And why should I have been harsh to him ? 
 He had been always dutiful. Never was more faithful son. 
 True, he had joined the rebel cause ! But the world changes. 
 Laws change. Nations change. There must be change among 
 men and nations, for they are mortal. There have been revo- 
 lutions enough in Britain, and who was right ? The present 
 house was not that which ruled my fathers. Was I not a rebel, 
 too, when I gave my allegiance to the Guelph, the house of 
 Stuart having still a living representative ? Tet I feel justified. 
 Why ? What is the argument 1 Not worth a straw ! And 
 how should he care for either 1 This is a new world, and why 
 should it not have its own dynasties ? Why not a new race 
 in authority here — as proper as any in Britain? This man, 
 Washington, is certainly a marvellous man. What if he 
 should found a house, and become the sovereign 1 Verily, if 
 this should be, the hand of man in the work would be as noth- 
 ing, compared with that of God. So be it ! Let Willie choose 
 his own master. I forgive him the rebellion. He is faithless 
 to no duty, which, as a son, he owes to me ! And what was his 
 other offence ? He would choose a wife to suit himself, not me ! 
 Ah ! Carrie, what had I to do with that ? Could I doubt that, 
 good, brave, noble fellow, as he is, with cultivated mind, and 
 generous heart, and nice sensibilities, he would choose wisely 
 and well ? It was that devil of pride which I have too much 
 nurtured, which roused me up, in that matter, to such fierce hos' 
 tility. What have I to do with pride — sinner that I am — 
 feeble that I am — poor prostrate de\nl myself — looking with 
 
THE WRONG LAP. 415 
 
 fear to that God whom I have so often offended ! Ah ! my 
 child, how the eyes clear, and the thought, as the soul is about to 
 break away from its miserable tenement of clay. Let the boy 
 marry whom he pleases ! I should not quarrel with him, 7ww, 
 were he even to declare for this gentle little creature, with the 
 plebeian name of Smith. She is a good girl, as good a nurse, 
 almost, as you, Carrie ; and as ■a'atchful and devoted to me as 
 if she were my own child. I have observed her, when she 
 thought I slept ; and her face is very noble and beautiful. How 
 the devil, child, did such a creature become the proprietor of 
 such a name 1 What Smiths are they 1 Do you know V 
 
 Th^ answer was negative. 
 
 "I have -known several Smiths — never intimately, and only 
 among men. A woman with the name should change it as soon 
 as possible. There was a Smyth whom I knew on the Ashepoo. 
 But that family has died out. The people of the name, who 
 rank in Britain, all spell it with a y. Do these ladies do so ?" 
 
 Carrie could not answer. 
 
 " Ah, Willie ! It does not matter. If Willie would marry 
 that girl, though I can not bring myself to like the name, I 
 should not quarrel with him. Poor Willie ! How I long to see 
 him. Oh, Carrie ! if I should never see him more ! My son ! 
 my son ! Why do you not come to me, my son !" 
 
 And with this passionate burst, the old man fairly sobbed. 
 And poor Carrie sobbed with him ; and their tears mingled, she 
 on her knees beside him, striving hard, at the risk of choking, 
 to keep down her agonizing emotions. 
 
 Of course, such scenes were sacred to themselves. There was 
 no obtrusiveness in the solicitous attention of Mrs. Travis and 
 her daughter. It was only when Carrie seemed to need assist- 
 ance that they were present at the communion of the father 
 with his children. In his hours of extreme suffering, such as 
 that we have shown, they felt, by natural instincts, that their 
 place was elsewhere. 
 
 But this, and other paroxysms passed, and gradually dimin- 
 ished in their frequency and intensity. The immediate danger 
 disappeared at the end of the week, and it only remained to 
 soothe the harassed mind, to invigorate the exhausted frame, 
 and 1.0 minister, with loving arts, to the fancy and the tastes. 
 
ll*> EUTAW 
 
 And so, as we bavo said, the young damsels sang together 
 while, stretched upon the sofa, or propped by cushions in it. 
 corner, the feeble old man listened to his favorite melodies, anr 
 rewarded the minstrels by the increasing interest which he be 
 trayed in their exercises. His appetite, meanwhile, came back 
 to him, and — though more slowly — his strength; and, very 
 soon, an increase of irascibility declared for his general improve- 
 ment of physi(^ue, if not of temper. 
 
 It happened, in this stage of his progress, that, one evening 
 toward dusk, while propped in his cushion upon the sofa, he 
 seemed to drowse, Carrie Sinclair had occasion to leave the 
 room. She motioned to Bertha to take the seat quietly beside 
 him, and to maintain her watch during her absence. Bertha did 
 so. She had not long been seated, when the veteran somewhat 
 suddenly subsided from his pillows toward her. She thought 
 him about to fall from the sofa and extended her arms to arrest 
 his descent; but it seemed that he was not unconscious, nor 
 without a purpose, for, yielding to her grasp, his head gently 
 descended into her lap. Meanwhile, he murmured low and 
 broken sentences. Whether he dreamed, or mused in a revery, 
 Bertha could not say. But she soon found that, sleeping or 
 waking, he was speaking to her as if he thought her Carrie 
 Her situation was a novel but not an unpleasing one. When 
 she thought of the relation in which she stood to his son, and 
 of his hostility to that relation, she felt it rather an awkward 
 situation ; but, though piqued at his rejection of her claims. 
 Bertha could not feel any resentment for the father of her lover. 
 Besides, his prostration disarmed every sentiment of anger; 
 while his age, dignity of character, and real nobility of soul, 
 impressed her veneration ; and she sustained the head, thinly 
 clad in hair of silvery whiteness, with all the tender, sympathies 
 of a loving child. His eyes were closed as she watched him, 
 and, supposing him to be asleep, though he murmured stiU at 
 intervals, her fingers played with and parted gently, his long, 
 white locks. After awhile his tones were raised, and his voice 
 became audible. 
 
 " I feel, Can-ie, that I could die easily, and now, if Willie 
 were present. My boy, my boy ! 1 will never cross him mur? 
 Let Iiini marrj' the girl if he pleases. I have no doubt, worth 
 
THE WRONG LAP. 417 
 
 less as her father is, that she is worthy. He would never love 
 her were she not. He wonld never so war with my prejudices, 
 and his own tastes and character. No ! she must he worthy. 
 Still, I should like to see and know her. Not that I douht him, 
 or her. But I would wish, hefore I die, to see the being to 
 whom he would confide his happiness. It would not be hard, 
 after that, to die ! No ! death is not hard. Pain has recon- 
 ciled me to it all, except the separation from the hearts that 
 shall suffer when I am gone, and for whom I can do nothing. 
 But who shall say that? Who shall say that the soul, that 
 subtle, winged, powerful spirit, shall not be able to minister 
 still, thongh insensibly, to the weal and happiness of those 
 whom it loves, and leaves on earth ? I will not believe other- 
 wise. That must be a part of its mission. I feel that I shall 
 watch over my children ; over you, Carrie, so that you shall 
 encounter no serpent in your path, without timelier warning 
 than his rattle will give you; — over him,, Carrie, in the field of 
 battle, and, if possible, to make the bullet swerve aside from his 
 bosom ! That I may do this, my child, is my faith ; and, with 
 this faith, death seems to me but a small trial of the strength 
 and courage. I feel that I shall sink into sleep without a mur- 
 mur. You must tell Willie all that I have said, should we 
 never meet again. My son ! my noble son ! why did we ever 
 quarrel ?" 
 
 And Bertha noted the big tear standing in his eyes. Her 
 own were dropping precious dews of sympathy. He contin- 
 ued: — 
 
 "And you know nothing of these ladies — these Smiths? I 
 confess, I can't endure the name. Shakspere can not per- 
 suade me that a rose would smell quite as sweet if called a car- 
 rot. But, spite of the name, I love them. What a dear, kind, 
 good old lady is the mother ! If she had been my own sister, 
 she could not have nursed me more tenderly and fondly. And 
 that daughter, what a beautiful, gentle creature ! Her voice 
 reminds me of yours, Carrie, though it is far less powerful ; and 
 she sings all your songs. Her education has been good. What 
 a pity that the name is Smith ! But she will change it. Such 
 a girl can not go long without finding a husband. I hope he 
 will be worthy of her. She would just suit Willir ; I slionlil 
 
 IS* 
 
ilB EUTAvr. 
 
 fancy just such a woman for him. What a pity that her name 
 is Smith, and that he is already committed elsewhere ! But, as 
 he wills. I will oppose his wishes no more." 
 
 Tiiei'e was a pause. Of course, Bertha made no reply to all this 
 — how could she 1 Her position gi-ew momently more awkward ; 
 yet there was no escape from it, but in silence. And with what 
 conflicting emotions — gratification predominant — did she lis- 
 ten 1 How she longed to clasp the stern old baron in her arms, 
 and declare herself. But she dared not. With what a delicious 
 maidenly triumph, did she listen to his concessions ! And how 
 she did begin to loathe the vulgar name of Smith ! The veter- 
 an resumed — still talking, as was his wont, to Carrie — at fits, 
 ramblingly, just as the thought happened to occur to him. Of 
 course, all the speeches that we have given him, were spoken 
 at random, as it were, not consecutively as we have condensed 
 and delivered them. They wandered off to the war ; to the 
 plantation ; to the interests of the king and the country ; and 
 to those of the negi'oes — Tom, Sam, Sambo — and the rest, not 
 one of whom appeared to escape his recollection. It seemed 
 as if, though relieved from his acuter pains, and fi-om the pres- 
 ent fear of death, that he yet contemplated only the final issue, 
 and was making due preparations for it. 
 
 In the midst of his monologue, Carrie Sinclair re-entered the 
 room, and started, with an exclamation of surprise, as she be- 
 held the scene. Her exclamation caused the old man to open 
 his eyes. He looked and saw his daughter. In whose lap had 
 his head been reposing all the while? He changed the direc- 
 tion of his eyes, and read the disquieted and half-bewildered 
 features of Bertha Travis. 
 
 " Good heavens ! my dear Miss Smith — you — and I thought 
 it Carrie all the while !" 
 
 " It makes no difference, dear sir," answered Bertha, trying 
 to look playful and careless, and smiling through a little gush of 
 tears. 
 
 " Ay, but it does ! Lord bless me ! what have I been talking 
 about?" 
 
 This reflection stunned the old man into silence ; and as he 
 raised himself from his usurped place in her lap. Bertha made 
 her escape. Of course, our baron had a world of apologies to 
 
THE WRONG LAP. 419 
 
 make, and be burdened Carrie with a most submissive message. 
 His worst annoyauce was in the reflection that he had beeii 
 speaking very freely about the Smiths themselves ; but what he 
 h.ad said, he could no more have recaUed than flown. 
 
 " But I could not have said any evil about them, Carrie — 
 that is some consolation — for I think nothing but good of them, 
 and am gratefal for all their kindness." 
 
420 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE EVIL BYE. 
 
 That night, Bertha Travis told her mother all that had taken 
 place in the scene with the old haron ; and when she had done, 
 she said : — 
 
 " Now, motjier, this will never do. This fraud, however in- 
 nocent of evil purpose, is painfal and oppressive to me. I can 
 not bear to go under an assumed name any longer. I must de- 
 clare the whole truth, at least, to Carrie. She deserves this 
 mark of confidence from us. She merits nothing less than the 
 truth from me. I have no doubt of her faith. I have every 
 confidence in her afitection. Besides, I have Willie's assurances 
 that, with her, he has a right and fnll understanding. I must 
 tell her all. I can see that there are diflScnlties in the way of 
 an explanation with her father ; for we are to suppose that it is 
 nothing to him, whether we have a name at all. We are mere- 
 ly travellers, passing, and speaking kindlily together as we pass, 
 but, possibly, destined never to meet again. But, with Carrie, 
 the case is very difierent. I must reveal to her all our secret." 
 
 The mother hesitated for awhile ; then said : — 
 
 " Perhaps you are right. Bertha. Still, there can be no mor- 
 al reproach to us, my child, if we conceal or disguise ourselves, 
 for our own safety, in a moment of emergency, and where the 
 disguise and concealment operate no hurt to other persons." 
 
 " Ah, but that question of hurt ! Who shall say that there 
 wiU be no hurt 1 Do you not see that we were governed, in the 
 adoption of a false name, solely to escape the recognition of one 
 whose prejudices against our real name would have utterly pre- 
 vented our intimacy V 
 
THE EVIL EYE. 421 
 
 " And who would have been the loser but himself? We have 
 served him — perhaps saved him — under the name of Smith. 
 "Would he have rejected the service had it been tendered under 
 that of Travis 1" 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " Hardly. He would scarcely have suffered his siUy preju- 
 dices to reach so far." 
 
 •' At least, he should have been allowed the privilege of deter- 
 mining the matter for himself. But this matters not, mother. 
 It is impossible to say what evil consequences may grow out 
 of a falsehood, however seemingly innocent it may appear — 
 however really innocent the object." 
 
 " In this case, my child, the consequences have been good. 
 We have conquered the unjust prejudices of this old man — he 
 has suffered us to serve and succor him. But for our timely 
 assistance, he might have perished on the roadside ; for what 
 could that young girl have done ? And, serving him, as we 
 have done, we have brought his mind, as you yourself report, to 
 the overthrow of its own prejudices." 
 
 "Tes, we have beguiled him, under false pretences, of his 
 sympathies. Under a false name we have won his friendship 
 — his affections. And what will be the revulsion, when he 
 comes to know the truth 1 He will straight conceive the de- 
 sign to have been deliberately meant to conciliate him in favor 
 of my marriage with his son ! Oh, mother, this seems to me 
 the danger, with a person of his jealous moods and fiery im- 
 pulse !" 
 
 " My daughter, do as you will. But I think your fears are 
 all imaginary, and your scruples somewhat too nice for our 
 present circumstances. We have employed no arts but such as 
 have been dictated by humanity. We did not seek Colonel 
 Sinclair. We found, on the public highway, an old man in 
 distress. We brought him to a place of shelter. We have 
 nursed him in his sickness, simply as Christian women. We 
 ask nothing at his hands. We studiously forbear to utter a 
 name in his hearing to which he is hostile — which it might 
 give him pain to hear — and to speak which, in his ears, 
 might seem the assertion of a claim upon his gratitude, in a 
 peculiar way, and on a subject, in which aU his feelings are in 
 
422 EUTAW. 
 
 conflict with ours. This is all our offence. Our forbearance 
 has been for his sake, not our own ; and I could still wish that 
 he, at least, should know nothing of us, except as the Smiths, 
 who were Samaritans in spite of a vulgar name. Now, if you 
 tell Carrie, she will be required to reveal it all to him, the mo- 
 ment that he asks the question of her. She can not do other- 
 wise ; for you can not enjoin her secrecy, at the moment when 
 a conscientious sense prompts you to throw off concealment as 
 burdensome and dishonorable to yourself. You will have to 
 tell her unreservedly." 
 
 " And I mean to do so." 
 
 " Then, for the consequences. With such a man, so proud, 
 passionate, irritable — so little capable, just now, of reasoning 
 justly — capricious too ; for, when quite well and free of these 
 sufferings, his pride will return — he will forget the lessons they 
 have taught him — will forget his own meeker and better reso- 
 lutions ; you may look to have a storm, the moment the discov- 
 ery is made !" 
 
 " Better the honest storm than the deceitful calm. We must 
 bear it as we may. But we need not bear it at all. We have 
 done all for him that we can. He will soon be able to resume 
 his journey. He already speaks, of sending Sam up to the 
 plantation for fresh horses. In a few days he can be on Am 
 way, and wc can set forth on ours, at an earlier period. It is 
 time, indeed, that we should be on the road, relieving this ex- 
 cellent Mrs. Avinger of the pressure which we have put upon 
 her. I hear of no troops at present in the neighborhood, and the 
 probabilities now, are in favor of our crossing the Santee in 
 safety. Once on the other side, we are under Marion's pro- 
 tection." 
 
 The old lady meditated all these suggestions, weighed them 
 deliberately, and yielded. 
 
 " You are right in all, my daughter. Let it be as you say. 
 Reveal yourself to Carrie, and, doing right — amending the 
 error we have committed, whether slight or serious, we shall, at 
 all events, have nothing with which to reproach ourselves, what- 
 ever the reproaches we may have to endure from the lips, or in 
 the thoughts of others." 
 
 "Mother, there is something more. It will be only. a ha?/ 
 
THE EVIL EYE. 423 
 
 correctiou of the error, to confine its revelation to Oaixie. 1 
 could wish that you would do the rest. Let us quietly prepare 
 to depart. We may surely do so within the next three days. 
 When ready, seize an opportunity of a conference with Colonel 
 Sinclair, and tell him the truth also. You can do this in a way 
 to prevent him from supposing that you regard the revelation 
 as necessary or any way important. The disguise was put on, 
 because of a temporary exigency. That has passed. You see 
 no reason for keeping np an unnecessary mystery, particularly 
 with regard to one from whom you have nothing to apprehend. 
 You called yourself Smith, when upon the highway. Your true 
 name is Travis, and you speak it as if it were just as insignifi- 
 cant in his ears as that of Smith. This is all that need be said ; 
 and, saying this to him, we are relieved from every imputation 
 of management and falsehood." 
 
 " Not so easily said ; but, as you feel the matter so deeply, 
 and as it is not impossible that the old man may, in truth, be 
 quite reconciled to the idea of Willie's choosing for himself, I 
 prefer, indeed, to take this course. You can give our first con- 
 fidence to Carrie. I will take care that the colonel shall have 
 a full explanation before we depart." 
 
 It was with lightened heart, that Bertha said, her prayers 
 that night, and yielded herself to slumber. Was it in reward 
 for her proper decisions, that she dreamed of Willie Sinclair — 
 of standing up with him before the altar, while the old baron 
 himself, with hands extended, pronounced the benediction of a 
 happy father upon the pair 1 
 
 The day dawned brightly, and passed away pleasantly enough 
 in our widow's household ; for, though there was some constraint 
 in the manner equally of Bertha and her mother, which the 
 keen and delicately appreciative sense of Carrie Sinclair did 
 not fail to detect, still, this reserve was not so prononce as to 
 chill the circle, or affect it in any way. After dinner our baron 
 prepared himself for his siesta — "as was his custom of the af- 
 ternoon" — and the ladies retired to their rooms. In the cool of 
 the eventide, Bertha whispered to Carrie to steal forth with her ; 
 and the two went together under the grateful shadow of pines, 
 wbich all day, spite of the sun, had been harboring cool 
 
i'2-i: SUTAW. 
 
 breezes as securely as ever did the grand avenues of a Grecian 
 colonnade. 
 
 The two girls we need hardly mention at this late period- 
 had become singularly communicative and affectionate. In young 
 hearts, which have been kept from the eager strifes of the world, 
 confidence is a creature born at a bound — in a smile, a look, a 
 tone — any brief sentence of thought, or expression of feature, 
 which seems to show that there is no fraud in the soul that 
 speaks or looks ; or where the sentiment or expression itself, 
 compels instant sympathy for itself. It was not hard, accord- 
 ingly, for Bertha Travis to begin the work of confession. 
 
 " Carrie," said she, " I have something to say to you, which 
 you should have heard before, and which it has been rising in 
 my heart to tell you, from the first moment when we met." 
 
 " Is it so serious a hurden, my dear, that you begin with such 
 a grave visage ? Now, do smooth your brow, and give forth 
 your thought, as if it were a song of joy that you could not keep 
 your tongue from singing, even if all the larks of Heaven had 
 bribed you to withhold the dangerous rivalry." 
 
 " It is neither thought nor song, dear Carrie, hut a simple 
 truth which has been suppressed ; nay, something more — it is 
 the correction of a fib which has been told you, and, I am sorry 
 to confess, with my sanction, about which my conscience has 
 been uneasy from the first moment of its utterance. I do not 
 like concealments of any kind, but this is something worse than 
 a concealment. We have made your acquaintance — may I 
 say, your friendship — " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! it is friendship, true, loving friendship between 
 us. You—" 
 
 " Thanks ! thanks ! It is what I hoped for, Carrie, for sev- 
 eral reasons, all of which you will see as I proceed, without 
 making it necessary that I should name them. Know then, 
 Carrie, that I am Bertha Travis !" 
 
 " Bertha Travis ! oh, how did I dream it !" cried Carrie Sin- 
 clair, embracing her. " Oh, my prophetic soul ! my sister 1" 
 
 " Dream it ! Did you suspect 1" 
 
 " No, no ! I must not say that / But, from the very moment 
 when you came up to the barony, I felt that you were dear to 
 me — that I had a peculi(»r interest in you; and never since 
 
THE EVIL EYE. 425 
 
 have I looked into your iaoe, or heard your words, that the sight 
 and sound have not brought up the imago of out dear Willie ; 
 and, so constant was this association that I found myself per- 
 petually asking the question of my thought — ' Why is this V 
 and the only answer I cpuld get to the question, was in the con- 
 viction that you seemed made for each other ; and oh ! how 
 often have I wished that the unknown Bertha Travis would 
 prove like you; and I sometimes sighed to think that such 
 might not be the case — in spite of all Willie's assurances that 
 you were certainly perfect. 
 
 " Oh ! you must not repeat such nonsense !" answered Bertha, 
 blushing. "But, in truth, dear Carrie, nothing has more dis- 
 tressed me, apart from the feeling of shame, at wearing a disguise, 
 than the necessity of keeping myself hid from you. I longed, a 
 thousand times, to throw myself into your arms, and say, 'I am 
 the simple rustic whom the simpler Willie Sinclair has preferred 
 among women as his wife.' " 
 
 " It is a joy delayed, not lost ! It is enough that we have it 
 now, my own Bertha, and that your avowal leaves me nothing 
 to regret. I forgive you the deception, if you will so dignify 
 your assumption of the name of Smith — which so distresses my 
 father — in consideration of the dear delightful surprise which the 
 truth occasions. And you have won papa's heart, even under 
 the odious name of Smith ! He spoke so gratefully of you, and 
 you so completely satisfied all his tastes, that he said to me, he 
 should be quite pleased if you were Willie's choice, in spite of 
 your vulgar name." 
 
 " He said the same thing to me." 
 
 "Ah! did he?" 
 
 " Yes, when I held his head upon the sofa." 
 
 " That wa» a scene ! And how you must have been distressed 
 by his free talking ! I can guess what it must have been, know- 
 ing him so well; and it worried Aim not a little, afterward, to 
 think how he might have spoken. What he did say, he could 
 not easily recall ; but he remembers something of a disquisition 
 upon the name of .Smith, which he fears must have made you 
 very uncomfortable. Ha 1 ha ! It must have been very amusing 
 in spite of its annoyances." 
 
 "Yau may readily suppose, now, that the freedom he took 
 
426 ECTAW. 
 
 with the name of Smith gave me no annoyance at all. But lie 
 said many things which fully aroused me to the necessity of 
 this explanation ; which, you will believe me, to have meditated 
 before. Ah ! Carrie, I need not say, that it was a rare pleasure 
 to hear such words of affection and kindness as he uttered then, 
 to the unknown damsel, from the lips of one whom I should be 
 so anxious to please. But I can not describe the distress which 
 I feel, lest he should suppose that we had practised a deliberate 
 trick upon him, by which to steal into his confidence." 
 
 " Oh ! don't let that worry you at all ! How should he think 
 such a thing 1 You've rather avoided us. You fled from our 
 hospitality — rejected all our entreaties — would take neither 
 rest nor refuge with us — gave no name — sought no communion 
 with us— were cold of manner, if not repulsive ; and we shoidd 
 never have known what you are, felt your worth, or learned to 
 love you for yourselves, had you not happened upon us, in our 
 hour of trouble, when, so far from disguising, you threw off all 
 disguises, and suffered your heart to speak out, and to act, 
 without regard to self at all. No ! no ! dear Bertha, my father, 
 with all his prejudices and passions, seeks honestly to be just. 
 His pride, as a gentleman, requires this. His justice, in his 
 calmer moments, is perpetually busied in repairing the faults 
 done by his more passionate impulses. Oh ! be sure, it will all 
 come right now. It is a most fortunate providence which has 
 brought us together. It is a. providence. We know you now 
 personally. He has been enabled to know you under circum- 
 stances which will compel his justice, and favor the overthrow 
 of all those mistaken notions which at first resolved him against 
 your claims." 
 
 It was grateful to Bertha to think as Carrie counselled. She 
 3ii not dispute the probabilities, though she still sighed with a 
 doubt. Hearts that truly love are rarely very sanguine of their 
 objects. They are- modest of their claims on Fortune in degree 
 as they put a high value on the prize which they hav.e in view. 
 And Bertha spoke her misgivings as well as sighed them ; but 
 Carrie wiapped her anns about her, and laughed merrily, and 
 spoke assuringly, saying : — 
 
 " Nay, no doubts now of the future ! Take the hope, bright- 
 winged as it is, and gayly crowned, to your bosom, even as yon 
 
THE EVIL EYE. 427 
 
 wowld shelter the bird that, of itself, flies to tlie same refuge as 
 in search of home. And so, yon are Bertha Travis — Willie's 
 Bertha — onr own Bertha ! And you are heaatifiil ! I thought 
 so, would you believe it, Bertha, even when I was forced to 
 consider you as Miss Smith — was it Araminta or Amina Smith 1 
 — or merely poor little humdrum Annie Smith, one simply of 
 a very numerous family ?" 
 
 And Carrie laughed as she had not done for a long time 
 before. 
 
 " It is one of the happiest moments of my life. Oh ! hovr 
 Willie will rejoice to hear. Now, don't think me ridiculous. 
 Bertha, hut I feel like leaping, dancing, singing, whirling you 
 about in the bushes — romping like mad, in short, even as the 
 little girl in possession of her first alabaster doll. 
 
 " Oh ! yon don't surely rank me in the doU-eatalogue. Is it 
 that which you mean when you tell me of my beauty." 
 
 " Hush up, Miss Pert, or I shall suspect you of vanity. Now, 
 let us laugh a little and sing. We can romp here in safety. 
 Nobody to see our antics or frown upon our fun. I do feel, 
 Bertha, like wrestling with you out of pure love and joy, and 
 a delight that has hardly any measure !" 
 
 The merriment of Carrie was contagions. Soon the girls were 
 laughing merrily and romping together. Bertha's heart as light 
 now as if it had not come forth heavy — nay, not light, only 
 gay, for she had many unquiet cares, and apprehensions that no 
 momentary gleam of joy could make her forget. On a sudden, 
 she stopped short in her laughter — stopped in the lively action 
 which the arms of Carrie, flung around her, had induced, and 
 burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 Carrie was shocked. 
 
 " Bertha, dear Bertha, why is this 1" And she tenderly drew 
 her to her bosom, kissed her, and wept too, &om sympathy. 
 
 " Oh, Carrie ! my father — my brother !" 
 
 Then followed the whole sad story. 
 
 The girls wept together. For this grief Carrie could suggest 
 no remedy. 
 
 " But," she said, " they can be in no danger. Their captoi 
 can have no motive to do them harm." 
 
 " Ah, Carrie ! that captor is no doubt Richard Inglehardt " 
 
428 EUTAW. 
 
 " I have heard of him! But Willie is in search of them, 
 Bertha, my love, and if you knew him as you must, you need 
 not he told that he will never forego the pursuit while there is 
 hope, and be discouraged from no effort by any fear of toil oi 
 danger." 
 
 " I know it ! I know it ! My hope is in him. May God 
 smile upon his efforts." 
 
 What a close kin to joy is grief. Slowly the two girls, the 
 arms of Can-ie about the neck of Bertha, went toward the 
 dwelling — Lot happy — but meeker and fonder of heart — and 
 with a hope ! — a hope, such as is ever born in tears! 
 
 They had talked and prattled freely — said together a thou- 
 sand things which we have not thought proper to report — un- 
 veiled a thousand clues to their mutual histories and affections, 
 which it must suffice for us to conjecture ; and speaking for the 
 first time together, without the smallest reserve, laid open not a 
 few of those mysterious, yet thinly-clad secrets of the maiden 
 heart, which love to be found out in their hiding-place by the 
 proper seeker — never thinking of other ears than their own. 
 How would they have been shocked and troubled, had they 
 fancied that there was a witness present all the while — who 
 had seen all and heard much ! One, not only uncongenial, but 
 hostile. A shadow on the sunlight — a reptile among the flow- 
 ers, a hideous, inhuman aspect, such as the malicious elf appears, 
 when he breaks in upon the fairy circle, and puts to flight the 
 gay, bright, fantastic legions of the courtly Oberon ! 
 
 An evil eye was upon the maidens while they opened their 
 mutual souls together in the forest. When they had gone, the 
 uncouth and unsightly form of Dick of Tophet rose from the 
 concealing shrubbery in which he had enveloped his hostile 
 aspect, and grinned and laughed in the triumph of a savage 
 purpose. 
 
K7EEYWHEBE THE SiK?,':!:;f? UNDER THE VINES. 429 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 EVERYWHERE THE SERPENT UNDER THE VINES. 
 
 " Jest as I suspieioned !" quoth the monster, as he- slowly 
 rose and looked about him. " It's her. It's old Travis's 
 daughter; and liyar, sure enough, is old Sinclair and his da'gh- 
 ters. Now, couldn't I make a clean sweep of the whole ki^ 
 and biling of 'em ! But what's the profit of that ? I don't 
 reckon Sinclair's got any much gould about him, sence he was 
 on his way down to Charleston ; but the gal has a watch and 
 rings and sich small jugleries. We kin think about them an- 
 other time, and I must jest be on the lookout, when he starts 
 off agin. As for doing anything agin him in that house, 'twon't 
 DO ! I kaint face that old woman, onless I'm in a humor to be 
 doing something good. I kaint stand her eye. I wish I hadn't 
 had to kill her boy ! He was only a boy. I might ha' tumbled 
 him> suddent, without giving him the knife ; but I was rashing 
 quick that day, all owing to the liquor. And then, to think, 
 though she knows it all, that she gin me the very book of that 
 very son !" 
 
 He reseated himself and took the book out of his bosom. 
 Turning to the fly-leaf, he said : — 
 
 " Thar's his name in handwrite ! It's mighty strange. 
 Hyar's a boy now that reads this handwrite and tells me the 
 name of the very man I had killed ; yet this boy never knowed 
 him, and never knowed I killed him. I had a mighty strange 
 feeling on me when I haird him read that name. 'Twas 
 strange! And he could do — he a mere sarcumstance of a boy 
 — a leetle hop-o'-my-thumb — could do what I couldn't do, a man 
 full grown, and strong as a horse ! It stands to reason that a 
 
man who hain't got edication, must be doing bad things ! Ef 
 the boy was a rogue, he could cheat me out of my eyes, by the 
 I'arning of handwrite only. And me, a great overgrown big 
 man. It's the want of Taming. I reckon I might ha' been a 
 gentleman born — a regilar harrystocrat — ef so be they had 
 given me the book-Taming like this boy. But it's no use to 
 talk. When a man's forty, he kaint Tarn much ; and the more 
 I looks at this printing, the more it seems jest like a great 
 mountain that I kaint climb. It's worse than this mountain 
 hyar" — and he turned to one of the pictures — "Yes, a mighty 
 deal worse ! I could go Xip that, though I had jest such a 
 bundle on my back as that crooked leetle old fellow has to 
 carry ! Ha ! and hain't I got a worse bundle than ever he 
 toted, ef so be that's a bundle to signify his sins, I reckon ! 
 But it's an ixcuse for a pusson like me that bed a sinful edica- 
 tion, and never Tarned the good things in print and handwrite. 
 I kaint help doing what I does. It's the needcessity of a hard 
 life, you see. 
 
 " And thar's more to be done of the same business, so it's 
 no use to look into the book about it." And he restored the 
 ancient volume to his bosom. " Thar's more to be done ! Let 
 me see !" And he laid himself down on his back, and appeared 
 to meditate — after awhile : — 
 
 " Yes, the first thought is the best a'ter all ! I must carry 
 off this gal to Muddicoat Castle. That's the how ! First, you 
 see, bekaise the cappin ain't altogether as scrumptious with me 
 now as be used to be ; he's a leetle suspicions, I reckon, that 
 old Travis has mounted my weak side with a leetle bag of gould 
 guineas.^ He's put Rafe Brunson in my place, and Bafe watches 
 me pretty much as close as he watches his prisoners. Rafe 
 Brunson to watch me ! But he's sot to do it. The cappin's 
 gin him his orders. That shows that he suspicions me, which 
 ain't so sensible, Cappin Inglehardt, for a pusson that knows so 
 much as you. Now, ef I kin carry him this gal that he's so hot 
 a'ter, I make all things square agin. That's the bow. That'll 
 show him he wasn't quite so wise when he put Rafe Brunson 
 ahead of me. 
 
 " And where'U be the harm of that ? 'Twon't hurt the gal. 
 What if she don't affection the cappin, and likes Willie Sinclair 
 
EVERYVVHISRE THE SERPENT UNDER THE VINES. 431 
 
 better ? Well, I reckon all tins liking of woman is jest as the 
 notion takes 'em. To-day it's one man ; to-morrow it's another. 
 Everything goes by the eye while the gal's young ; and they 
 judge of men only by the eyesight. But that's only before 
 they cut the eye-teeth. A'ter that, and when they gits a leetle 
 usen to it, they don't care much about the looks of the pusson. 
 It's the man himself. Well, the cappin's a good-looking pusson 
 enough ; not so handsome, prehaps, as Willie Sinclair in a gal's 
 eye, and thar ain't quite so much of him ; but he'll do ; and a 
 young gal mustn't be onreasonable and ixpect too much. Ef 
 she gits a husband, that's young enough, and well looking 
 enough, that kin purvide agin the needcessity, that's all she's 
 got a sensible right to, and no woman ought to grumble ef she 
 gits that. Well, that's what I gives this gal ef I carries her 
 off to the cappin. He'll marry her like a decent white man, by 
 a regilar parson, and make all things right in the face of the 
 sun ; for he wants to hitch her by law, honest and regilar. 
 Well, what more kin she aix of any white man ? Suppose she 
 don't like it at first — what then? She'll hev' to like it at last, 
 and make the most of it ; and then she'll not find it hard to 
 carry on business as a married woman. So that's calkilated ! 
 I gives the gal a husband — a good-looking young fellow, that's 
 able to manage her affairs, and purvide the needcessity ; and I 
 puts it out of the cappin's head to mistrust and suspicion me. 
 I reckon nobody ought to complain of the thing ef it's done up 
 decent. 
 
 " But to thmk how he should put Rafe Brnnson over me, to 
 watch me, and keep me from knowing too much, and putting a 
 finger into his pie, when it's a-baking ! Ha I ha ! ha ! Eafe 
 Branson over me. That's a leetle too funny to be quite sen- 
 sible. And that shows how a man may be a leetle more cun- 
 ning than sensible. Why, with a single look of my eye, I kin 
 drill through the very soul and witals of B.afe. I kin see 
 through all his hollows and dark places. He kaint fool me. 
 But I kin fool him out of his seven senses. He's great for 
 scouting, and kin find a'most everything in the thickest woods ; 
 he's better than me at that ; for I'm not so good at sneaking. 
 What I does, I likes to do with a rush. But, ef I kaint sneak, 
 I kin s'arch, by a way of my own. I knows one secret ; and 
 
'•>/'. 
 
 EUTAW. 
 
 that is to find out where another man hides his secret. I kir 
 guess pretty nigh what my inimy is thinking ahout. I hev a 
 sensible idea of what he's a guine to do ; and so I makes ready 
 *or him, and sets an ambushment in the right place. Now, 
 tnat's the sort of sense that Rafe Bmnson ain't got, let him be 
 never so great as a trailer. Well, Eafe's put over me, and the 
 keys is in his pocket ;• but I hev the power to feel my way into 
 Rafe's head, and when I gits thar, I jest handles his pocket like 
 my own ; and I will handle it, by the powers, jest as long as I 
 kin, and jest as if I had a natural right to use it. And hain't 
 I ? When a man kin tame a horse, or an ox, and make it do 
 jest what he wants, aint it his'n 1 And when a pusson has the 
 power to do the same thing with- another pusson, ain't he nat- 
 erally his'n. And ain't Eafe Brunson my own property, by 
 nateral right and training, and won't I use him, by the powers, 
 jest so long as he's able to go — let Cappin Inglehardt, or Cap- 
 pin No-heart-at-all — and that's jest what he is — app'int jest 
 as he pleases. 
 
 " So that hash is about cooked right. We sees what's to be 
 done — the why and the wharfore — and done it shill be! It's 
 as good as done, sence it's sworn to ! I'm to carry off the gal ; 
 the cappin marries her ; and the boy is let out of prison ! Darn 
 the fellow, how I likes him ! I don't know jest why ; but he 
 reads mighty sweet. It's like singing jest to hear him. And 
 he's full of spunk and sperrit, too, like a young tiger, when he's 
 got the chaince : and he had me under the very knife and didn't 
 stick! I wonder why! Not another inimy of mine, that I 
 knows on, would hev given me time to say 'God help me!' 
 Yes, ef his sister marries the cappin, then all's right. He gits 
 cl'ar of captivation, and his daddy git's cl'ai-, too, and, though 
 I shouldn't feel a shiver, or snort oneasy, to see him a-swiuging, 
 yet, for the boy's sake, I'm agreeing he should get off. All's 
 right; I knows what's to be done; and then, for that other 
 business !" 
 
 Thus ended the self-communing of Dick of Tophet, carried 
 on in the thickest coverts, near the Widow Avinger's dwelling. 
 What is the other business to which he alludes ? On this sub- 
 ject his talk gives us no clues. He has not sufficiently medi- 
 tated the matter for utterance ; or, rather, he forbears meditating 
 
KVEllYWHEKE THE SERPENT UNDER THE VINES. 433 
 
 until the time shall arrive for action. Dick of Tophet is ono 
 of those persons who usually think best in action, or in com- 
 pliance with the growth and pressure of the occasion. At all 
 events, he rarely suffers one performance to interfere with an- 
 other. 
 
 He rose from his position upon the ground, and, T^ith the 
 habit of the wolf, he worked his way around and about the 
 settlement, wherever the thickets afforded him a cover, prowl- 
 ing, in the vague hope of gathering up some unconsidered prey 
 or spoil. Suddenly, he sinks back into cover. He sees the 
 negro 'Bram emerging from the settlement, and taking his way 
 into the woods. 
 
 'Bram, since his return to the widow's, has been busy scout- 
 ing as before. Like the hound, who hunts for his pastime, 
 though he never hears the horn blow, he took the woods, and 
 " looked for sign" without any orders from his master. He has 
 been somewhat surprised at the closing up of Griffith's old es- 
 tablishment by the roadside, but, in his frec[uent compasses in 
 the woods, he has made some other discoveries which keep him 
 active and excite his curiosity. He has a pui-pose now, in ta 
 king the woods, just as night is coming on. He goes forward 
 boldly, never once dreaming that another dog of fiercer species 
 than his own, is following upon his track with the keenest nos- 
 trils. How "Bram went forward, and Devil Dick after him, 
 need not be detailed step by step. Enough that Dick, with 
 some surprise and disquiet, tracked the negro to the secret place 
 of Griffith, in the deep thickets where he had left his little 
 squad. He had readily recognised the negro, knew his merits 
 ns a scout, knew his relations with Willie Sinclair, and began 
 to ajjprehend that the latter might be about. It did not occur 
 to him that Sinclair might have assigned him to a temporary 
 service with the Travis's. But Dick's disquiet did not make 
 him heedless of the profit which might accrue to himself from 
 his own discovery. He kept as close as possible to the heels 
 of 'Bram, prudently however, and carefully timing his progress 
 so as to avoid discovery. It was something in his favor, that, 
 though a good scout, 'Bi:am was always a little too easily as- 
 sured. The negro nature did not suffer him to take any pre- 
 cTutions which involved much troijblc ; and the tedious prelim- 
 
434 EUTAW. 
 
 inarics of feeling his way out, at the start, always a first neces 
 sity with every good scout, were but too apt to be dispensed 
 with by our son of Ethiop, in spite of all teaching and experi- 
 ence. He went forward, boldly enough, never once seeming to 
 recollect that it was not quite dark, till he had got beyond the 
 widow's precincts. Then, as he drew near to the public road, 
 he began to peer out cautiously before him, ere he ventured to 
 cross to the woods opposite. He could still distinguish objects 
 in the dusky light, though at no great distance, and here Iiis 
 ]irecautions began. They were duly increased as he approached 
 the hidden cabin of Griffith. At this stage of his progress, no 
 snaking could have been better done. So Dick of Tophct 
 thought, compelled to observe the most singular precautions 
 himself, to escape discovery. But 'Bram never once looked be- 
 hind him. The poor negro never dreamed of the wolf-dog at 
 his own heels. But neither now could see. The reliance of 
 both was now necessarily upon another sense. The vision of 
 the negro, by night, is usually better than that of the white 
 man, but his hearing is commonly more obtuse. Dick of 
 Tophet's cars, bored as one of them was by Travis's bullet, 
 were worth a score of 'Bram's. But 'Bram was not dull in this 
 faculty. Suddenly, as he neared the house, he heard a move- 
 ment. He had startled some other scout from a place of watch. 
 
 " Who' da' dat 1 I yer somet'ing move." A country negro 
 is given to soliloquy, and these words, though in a whisper to 
 himself, were distinctly uttered. He had scared our poor girl 
 Nelly Floyd from her perch. She was loitering about the cabin 
 in the hope to see her wilful brother, and if possible to speak 
 with him : but she had failed that night. She fled on the ap- 
 proach of 'Bram, deeper into the covert. The negro soon for- 
 got the rustling sound which had reached his ears, and finally 
 made his way under the eaves of the cabin. 
 
 The squad of Dick of Tophet were — to use the expressive 
 idiom of the vulgar — at "high jenks," as usual. Drink and 
 play — "tipsy dance and jollity," in abundant variety, relieved, 
 for them, the tedium of hours not employed in strife and spoil 
 They commonly led to both. Very soon, the ears of Dick of 
 Tophet enabled him to distinguish the drunken shout, the bac 
 channalian song, the Wasphemy and brutal speech. 
 
BVEBYWHEBE THE SiKPENT UNDER THE VINES. 43t) 
 
 " Thar's no having good sodgers out these fellows, do what 
 you will," quoth he. "Now hyar's a spy onder their very 
 noses and they never smells him out ; and, ef he had the power 
 wouldn't he give 'em blisters ! Ef he had but three fellows 
 with him, and they had the we'pons, he could jest now scalp 
 and massacreethe whole kit and b'iling of 'em." 
 
 And as negro 'Bram heard the uproar, and peering through 
 the crevices beheld the condition of the crowd, he too had his 
 soliloquy. 
 
 " Ha ! if Mass Willie bin yer, wid only five, free or seben 
 ob he dragoon, wouldn't he mak' de fedders fly !" 
 
 Poor 'Bram ! In less than twepty minutes after this reflec- 
 tion, his own feathers were clipped. He was suddenly startled 
 into consciousness, at a moment, when his eyes were greedily 
 watching our ruffians over a portly jug of mm, by the weight of 
 a mountain on his shoulder, which bore him flat upon the earth, 
 face downward. The gigantic limbs of Dick of Tophet were 
 over him, straddling him, as the old man of the sea straddled 
 Sinbad, and his struggles against the unlooked-for enemy, were 
 just as impotent for escape as those of the Arabian adventurer. 
 He howled, and kicked, and strove, manfully enough, but in 
 vain ; while, shouting to his followers within the cabin, Dick 
 soon brought them forth, quite able, however drunk, to secure 
 the captive which their chief had taken. To rope him and lift 
 him into the hut was an easy process. Poor 'Bram, prostrate 
 in a corner of the cabin, was effectually humbled. His scouting 
 was all at once put to shame. 
 
 " Ef I hadn't ha' been see dat rum," was his first reflection, 
 followed by another. " I 'speck I mus' been grunt. Jim Bal- 
 lon bin tell me 'bout dat grunt befo', but I nebber tink I grunt. 
 And, oh ! Lawd, now I in- de han' ob dis Hell-fire Dick !" 
 
 That he was a gone coon, was his natural reflection. He 
 took for granted that he was to be scalped, hung, and slaugh- 
 tered. But Dick of Tophet had some small economies present 
 to his mind, which eflBctually shut out such sanguinary ideas as 
 were conjured up by the fears of our captive. 
 
 " That's fifteen guineas cl'ar gain," quoth he, as ho saw the 
 negro fairly wrapped up in hemp. " Hark ye, boys, why the 
 h — 1 kaint yc watch as well as drink. Ef play and drink was 
 
436 BUTAW. 
 
 Ae business, as I reckon it always will be, why the don't 
 
 you jest set one of the party to snaking round, and take it by 
 turns at the business. You'll be sarcumvented, and every 
 scalp will feci the knife some day, when you're all soaked 
 to the very soul in liquor. I doesn't say you shain't drink 
 and you shain't play, but d — n your livers, kaint you do 
 some watching at the same time. Ef yon was in the reg- 
 ilar sarvice now, whar would you be ? At the halberds, 
 every mother's kaif among ye, and gitting his thirty-nine 
 lashes! — But put up your kairds, and put up your liquor. 
 You've been putting it down pretty freely. I wants three on 
 you. You, Gus Clayton, you, Sam Jones, and you. Mat Floyd. 
 Git up, all three on you, and hyar to what I says." When 
 tliey had risen he drew them aside. " It's three guineas in 
 your pocket — one apiece — the business I'm guine to send you 
 on. In two hours, you set off with that nigger, take him be- 
 hind one on you, and trot down to Griffith, and deliver him to 
 Griffith, and each of you shall git his guinea, in the hand. In 
 two hours, mind you — and — a guinea a-piece. But, ef you 
 drop him by the way, your heads shall pay for it. No drink, 
 you hyar ! No stopping to play ! Square up to the work, and 
 do it, onless you'd see blazes." 
 
 And, while poor Nelly Floyd, sleeping soundly, exhausted 
 by long watching and hard riding, was oblivious in her thickets, 
 her wretched brother was riding off, with Gus Clayton and 
 Sam Jones, on their way to Griffith's " Swamp HeU-ery !" — as 
 they had already learned to style the precinct, each of them 
 nursing an eager appetite, which the commission of Dick 
 of Tophet had instantly suggested to their minds. Even as 
 they rode, Gus Clayton spiured his nag to the side of Jones, 
 who carried the negro, and said : — 
 
 "Sam, you haird what Griffith said to Old Brimstone" — an 
 irreverent mode of naming Dick of Tophet — "about a rich 
 fellow named Adair, living near about upon Pooshce V 
 
 " Eeckon I did. And—" 
 
 "Mighty rich old chap — and — " 
 
 "Yes!— and — " 
 
 And in this way, the three compared notes in their progress 
 We need not report their dialogue. Enough, that tlie subordi- 
 
EVERYWHERE THE SERPENT UNDER THE VINES. 437 
 
 iiate villains very soon concocted a scheme among themselves, 
 hj which to anticipate one of the purposed crimes of their 
 s\i]u>rior. 
 
 They reached GriflSth's in safety, delivered the negro, and 
 received three guineas, one apiece. They loitered and drank a 
 little, Griffith being an indulgent publican. In the meantime, 
 Clayton picked up all the information he could touching the 
 whereabouts of Sam Pe.ter Adair, the lich old gentleman, dying 
 of liver complaint or consumption, and occupying, temporarily, 
 the desei-ted dwelling of'one of the Devaux family. It was 
 easy to pick up this intelligence. Griffith, himself, was garru- 
 lous, and some soldiers, who had stolen off from duty at Wan- 
 toot, coming in at midnight, gave an account of a great dinnex' 
 that very day, which Adair had given to the officers of both 
 Pooshee and Wantoot, from which most of them went home 
 drunk. Drunkenness, in those days, be it remembered, was not 
 a military offence, except when on duty. Our ruffians draub in 
 eagerly everything that was spoken, then quietly took their 
 departure, a little before daylight — but not to go very far. 
 They simply retired to the neighboring woods, and compared 
 notes. The robbery of old Adair was determined upon, to ba 
 executed the ensuing night. They were to tax their invention 
 for a lie, by which to excuse themselves for not returning 
 promptly, the next day, to their officer. All this was easy. 
 And the next steps were so to ascertain the actual condition of 
 Adair's household, as to arrange the details of the burglary. 
 We need not attempt to gather up these details. 
 
 Sam Peter Adair, that day, entertained a single guest, in a 
 person who, in South Carolina, enjoys a certain amiable reputa- 
 tion, as one of the few British officers who exhibited traits of 
 courtesy, tolerance, and magnanimity, in dealing with his foes. 
 This was Major John Marjoribanks,* a fine-looking gentleman, 
 
 * Marjoribanks. The original surname of this family was Johnston, but 
 at what period the alteration took place, can not now be determined : — it 
 continaes, however, to bear the Johnston arms. The assumed surname, 
 which is local, is said to have been thus derived: — When Walter, high- 
 steward of Scotland, and ancestor of the royal house of Stewart, married 
 Maijorie, only daughter of Robert Bruce, and eventually heir to his crown, 
 the barony of Batho was granted by the king as u marriage-portion to his, 
 daughter, by charter, which is still extant; and those lands being sul)se- 
 
438 EUTAW. 
 
 of -middle age, tben commanding a flauk battalion, and stationed', 
 for a time, at Mouck'e Cornef which post Rawdon liad re-estab- 
 lished. His duties calling him to the neighborhood of Wantoot 
 and Pooshee, Adair eagerly sought ont Marjoribanks, and made 
 him his guest while in the vicinity. Hence the dinner-party of 
 which Griffith has told us ; the officers at Wantoot and Pooshea 
 being invited to meet with Marjoribanks. He remained, after 
 they had gone, and though but a portion of the guests suffered 
 from the wine, in the manner reported at Griffith's, yet all of 
 them were made sufficiently to approve of the host's old Ma- 
 deira. 
 
 Of Sam Peter himself we have been able to gather but few 
 particulars, and these, probably, would have been lost to us, 
 but for the terrible character of the subsequent events. He 
 wa.s, apparently, a man of fortune, having claims of considerable 
 extent in the precinct where we find him, which he derived 
 anr.er alleged conveyances of Sir John Colleton. He had 
 spent a portion of his life in the precinct, and had a liking for 
 it. This taste, and the hoped-for satisfaction of these claims 
 were, it seems, the motives for returning to the country from 
 Florida at this juncture. The climate seemed to suit his con- 
 dition as an invalid, a,nd the British influence was essential to 
 his claims. It was, perhaps, for the better assertion of these 
 that he had a land-surveyor with him, a person named Moore, 
 of good convivial habits like his own. Sam Peter was a hon 
 vivant ; a trifler ; an old beau, very fastidious about his cos- 
 tume, always wearing the biggest gold shoe and knee buckles, 
 the most capacious ruffs at bosom and wrist, the biggest buttons 
 to his coat, and a shock always starched and stiffened into a 
 solid mass by pomatum and hair powder. He was a Jittle 
 bilious, dried-up, red-herring sort of body, who might have 
 passed for a Spanish grandee of the genuine blue blood. And 
 his wife, Mrs. Sam Peter, was very much like her liege ; quite 
 as ugly and as bilious, as insignificant of person, and as careful 
 of her person. With the free use of cosmetics she had brought 
 her face to the perfect aspect of the whited sepulchre, from the 
 blankness of which her keen, fine, bright black eyes peered 
 
 quently denominated " Terre de Matho-Marjoriebankis," gave rise to the name 
 vf Marjoribanks. — Burke's Pee age and Baronetage. 
 
KVBUYWHERE THE SERPENT UNDER THE VINES. 439 
 
 out, like a couple of rare jewels, burning at the bottom of a 
 well. Her husband and self were equally vain. They trav- 
 elled with a trunk of silver plate, which they sought every 
 occasion to display. He gloried in a dinner-table exhibition, and 
 wasted himself and wines freely, in the hope to secure the hom- 
 age of those who preyed on both. She, meanwhile, coquetted 
 with all her guests in turn, as sillily as the poor little girl of 
 fifteen, who is feeding, for the first time, on the arch flatteries 
 of young wolves in sheep's clothing. Between the vanities of 
 these two poor old creatures, both on the threshold of eternity, 
 Marjoribanks found that his three days' quarters with them had 
 required a greater outlay of lying civilities, than he had ever 
 been required to expend in three years' service in any other 
 household. Their exactions were inordinate. The lord was 
 very tenacious about his wines, every bottle of which had its 
 history ; about his seals and crystals, of which he had a collec- 
 tion ; about his sterling plate, which was not only massive, but 
 elaborately wrought and ornamented by the graver, in a style 
 which he thought worthy of Benvenuto Cellini; abont his 
 sword and pistols, gold-headed cane, and snuff-box; — his ox, 
 his ass, and everything that was his — except his wife! He 
 made no sort of boast of her. He challenged no man's admira- 
 tion to that commodity. But her challenge was not to be gain- 
 sayed. She taxed onr British major at backgammon. She 
 held a good hand at whist. She played on the harp — badly 
 enough — but the attitude enabled her to display her attenuated 
 figure ; and she sang with a loud, cracked voice, that knocked 
 every sentiment on the head the moment it began to breathe. 
 But as vain people are apt to be good-humored and amiable 
 while you keep them well served with the aliment they seek, 
 so it was not difficult, except in the case of very conscientious 
 people, to tabernacle with them for a short season. 
 
 There had been a long session that day. The dinner-table 
 not spread till four o'clock in the afternoon, was not abandoned 
 till midnight. The party consisted of the host and hostess, Mar- 
 joribanks and Moore. The wine was freely circulated. The 
 host dwelt upon his experience in the English fashionable 
 world. He was one of those poor devils who fancy they rise 
 into importance by exalting the foreign at the expense of the 
 
440 KLTTAW. 
 
 domestic. The lady had her early conquests to narrate, to all 
 of which Sam Peter secm"d to turn a deaf ear — perhaps, if 
 the truth were known, an unbelieving one. Marjoribanks was 
 of gay, elastic mood, good sense, steady, yet shrewd and obser- 
 vant. He had his anecdotes of army life, which he told with 
 spirit. Moore, whenever he filled his glass, spoke to the host, 
 and looked to the lady, bowing and smirking. He praised the 
 lands, goods, and chattels of the one, and sighed and gazed 
 languishingly, when he beheld the charms of the other. He 
 knew the art of feathering his own nest from the beds of richer, 
 if less sagacious people. What with cards and music — for the 
 lady always contrived to prove, before the day was over, that 
 by no possibility could she ever undergo transformation to a 
 nightingale^ — the hours sped till, having reached the extremest 
 length, they began to contract to the shortest, ere the hostess swept 
 out of the room with a bow, and smile, waving her hand gi'ace- 
 fully, as if dispensing ambrosial slumbers. Moore soon after- 
 ward dropped ofiF, but not before he had shown some awkward 
 inclination to drop under the table; — and Maijoribanks and our 
 host were left together, with the decanter before them pretty 
 nearly reduced. By this time, the latter had gone into a long 
 narrative of his own affairs, Marjoribanks hardly able to sup- 
 press his yawns ; and was building up a most glorious future of 
 fortune out of the prospects and possibilities of the present. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said he, " at the least twenty -four thousand acres 
 of land ; a baronet's inher!*^ance ! and why not a baronetcy ? We 
 have had such and other titles before this in Carolina. And — 
 remind me in the morning — I will show you my plan of a cas- 
 tle, somewhat after that of our lords of Northumberland, but 
 with very decided improvements. Yes, I think I may venture 
 to say, very superior improvements, especially in the towers, 
 which I shall greatly relieve by the interposition of corridors. 
 I shall park no less than ten thousand acres for deer, and flatter 
 myself that my scheme of fisheries for these swamps will give 
 me such reserves as the world has never before witnessed. 
 They are admirable by nature for the purposes of' fish-breeding. ' 
 
 But we need not repeat the dreams of this vain, poor, feeble, 
 old creature. The reflection of Marjoribanks, as he listened tr 
 him, will serve our purpose. 
 
EVERYWHERE THE SERPENT UNDER THE VINKS. -ill 
 
 "Great heavens!" said he — "what a strange mystery is 
 man ! Here, now, is this vain old fool, making his calcnlationa 
 for a thousand years, who has scarcely more than one to live 
 He can hardly last out another winter ! Were there ever two 
 such old fools 1 Without chick or child, tljiey calculate as if 
 their posterity covered a thousand hills; without grace of per- 
 son, speech, look, thought, or sentiment, they talk at yon, as if 
 the whole world were eagerly looking on and listening !" 
 
 And they thus separated for the night, Marjoribanks observ- 
 ing that his host gathered up a hand-basket, heavy with plate, 
 which Mrs. Sam Peter had placed beside her lord before she 
 left the room. This burden, for it was such, the little old man 
 was wont to carry religiously to his chamber every night, and 
 store away heedfuUy, as in supposed safety, beneath the head 
 of his bedstead. 
 
 " Calculating," quoth Marjoribanks, " for a thousand years, 
 yet with scarcely more than one in which to live !" 
 
 Little did even the latter fancy that his allowance, short as 
 it is, was yet too extravagant. Little did the poor, silly old 
 man, meditating a baronet's escutcheon, ever dream that the 
 decree had already gone forth — "Fool! this night shall thy 
 soul be required of thee !" 
 
 19* 
 
112 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE TIOMR UAQBS IN THE SHEEP-COTE — THE VULTURB CAIt- 
 RIES OFF THE DOVE. 
 
 It was a warm nigbt, but not oppressively so for the season. 
 The stars were bright, the winds were whisht. The great for- 
 ests slept profoundly all about the dwelling. One would 
 think that Peace harbored here in perfect security ; but why 
 do those dusky stealthy forms glide from cover to cover, through 
 the grounds, and about the porches ? Why do they hold whis- 
 pered consultation in the shadows of yonder clump of cedars ? 
 Why do they now gather beneath the eaves ? Such Indian 
 stealth would seem to argue hostility. 
 
 Marjoribanks could not sleep. He had drank too much wine 
 for sleep, and he lay listless upon his couch, indulging in deli- 
 cious reveries, which were not less so because of the vagueness 
 of the hopes which filled them, and the shadowy doubts that 
 are ever a burden to the blessedest hopes. His room was in a 
 wing. The main building had a piazza in front which did not 
 extend to the wings. Sam Peter Adair and his wife occupied, 
 as a chamber, one of the rooms in the main building, a single 
 window of which openea upon the piazza. The house stood 
 .ipon brick pillars six feet high. This uscent was overcome by 
 a flight of steps which conducted into the piazza, and thence, 
 by a central passage, into the house. 
 
 As Maijoribanks lay upon his bed, undressed but not sleep- 
 ing, he could see a corner of the piazza, and a bit of green tree 
 here and there, and, occasionally, a star dropping oflf to bed 
 dfter a long night's shindy in the skies. But he saw nothing 
 
THE TIGER RAGES IN THE SHEEP-COTE. 443 
 
 more. How long he may have lain thus, he knows not, nor do 
 we. He does not think he slept. We have our doubts. He 
 admits to a drowsy feeling, at last, after a protracted vigil ; 
 from which he was startled by a crash, and, he fancied, by a 
 cry or shriek, proceeding from the chamber of the ancient 
 couple. 
 
 To start up, snatch his pistols, and dart his head through the 
 window, were all the work of an instant only. There he caught 
 sight of a dusky figure in the piazza, handing a bundle, or basket, 
 to another on the steps. In a moment Marjoribanks guessed 
 the whole mystery, and he deliberately fired on the more con- 
 spicuous robber and brought him down. The other, half seen 
 on the steps, darted away. Our major sent a second bullet 
 after him, as he ran, but apparently without effect. To sally 
 out, sword in band, leaping through the window, was the next 
 performance of Marjoribanks, but he soon found that such pur- 
 suit was idle. The ruffians, few or many, were soon covered 
 in the thickets. 
 
 To return to the house, rouse the servants in the kitchen, get 
 lights and survey the premises, consumed some time ; and, in 
 the meanwhile, the wounded robber made a desperate effort to 
 crawl off; he had crept down the steps into the yard, but had 
 fainted from loss of blood, and, when picked up, was quite in- 
 sensible, with a severe wound in the thigh. 
 
 It was with feelings of trembling horror and apprehension 
 that, having gathered the servants, with lights, Marjoribanks 
 proceeded to the chamber of his host. Everything was silent 
 in that quarter. The villains had entered by the piazza win- 
 dow, which had been left open, with only a light musliu curtain. 
 The crash which had startled, or awaked, our major, was that 
 of the sash, which seems to have fallen, was perhaps torn out, 
 by one of the robbers while making his exit. They had done 
 their work as thoroughly as terribly. Though their object was 
 robbery only, it involved the murder of both Adair and his 
 wife. They had been awakened, it would seem, to a conscious- 
 ness of the presence of the robbers, and Adair had shown fight. 
 His gold-headed rapier was still griped fast in his hand — the 
 blade broken beneath him, where he lay, stark, stiff upon the 
 floor. He had been stabbed by a knife, two wounds, both upon 
 
444 EUTAW. 
 
 the breast His wife had been strangled, evidently choked 
 down by muscular fingers, as she ofifered the vain efforts of her 
 woman strength to the rescue of her husband. Her gray hairs, 
 usually concealed by a wig, were torn out and scattered npou 
 the floor. Her face, neck, and body, were black with bruises, 
 but there had evidently been no blow, which could have pro- 
 duced her death. But the marks of the fatal fingers were prom- 
 inent enough upon her neck. Both were dead when they were 
 discovered. 
 
 And there, and thus, were ended the chapters of a most egre- 
 gious mortal vanity. So Marjoribanks thought as he viewed 
 tlie ill-fated couple. When he thought of the poor, silly dreams 
 and anticipations which possessed their feeble souls, but a few 
 hours before, the event grew more and more horribly dark and 
 awful. The thing was so sudden, the disproportion of penalty 
 to desert, seemed so disgusting as the work of Fate, that Marjo- 
 ribanks, though shuddering, could scarce believe the horrors 
 which he beheld. Such frail, feeble, butterfly natures to be 
 broken on the wheel ! It seemed to him the worst sort of mur- 
 der ; like crushing an infant between the jaws of a crocodile. 
 
 Of course, our major of brigade did his duty in the premises. 
 He sent despatches to the commanding officer both at Wantoot 
 and Pooshee, and soon had a detachment of horse to guard the 
 property, take possession of the prisoner, and scour the woods. 
 But our purpose is not to follow the history of this transaction, 
 and it is only an episode in our narrative, which would not have 
 been introduced at all, but for the fact, that one of our dramatis 
 personcB is involved in the afiair. The captive robber, whom 
 Marjoribanks had wounded, is the silly, restless, purposeless, 
 thoughtless, young sca{)egrace, Matthew Floyd, brother of our 
 forest girl, Harricane Nell ! 
 
 He had sworn to his sister that he should always carry a 
 knife which should defeat the rope ; he had assured her, that 
 in the regular service, he possessed immunity from this latter 
 danger. And he did carry the knife r and, even when crawl- 
 ing down the steps, wounded, the blood gushing at every move- 
 ment, he thought of the boast that he bad made to her ; and. 
 feeling for the weapon in his bosom, he congratulated himself 
 that he had it in reserve for the occasion. But, even at that 
 
THE TIGER RAGES IN THE SHEEP-COTE. 445 
 
 moment be swooned into utter apathy, and when he again 
 opened his eyes to consciousness, he was manacled, a prisoner, 
 and his weapon gone. That security lost, we shall see what is 
 the virtue in being registered a king's man, on the muster-rolls 
 of Captain Inglehardt's loyal rangers. But of his fate there 
 will be time enough hereafter. Let us bestow our regards on 
 more important personages. 
 
 Our friends, lying perdu at the widow Avinger's, had not 
 yet missed the presence of 'Bram, the scout. His roving coin- 
 mission so authorized his coming and going, without beat of 
 drum, so justified his prolonged absences, that, unless with some 
 special reason, his disappearances occasioned no apprehension. 
 He was regarded as one of those persons who can always take 
 care of themselves, and for whom nobody feels any anxiety. 
 Twenty-four hours therefore, passing, in which he does not pre- 
 sent himself, only led to the conviction that he was making 
 profitable discoveries elsewhere. Meanwhile, our baron of Sin- 
 clair was recovering his insolent strength. He could now swing 
 his leg of his own will, and without succor, oflp and on his cush- 
 ions ; he talked more freely ; laughed ; made merry with the 
 widow, and jested with Mrs. Travis, still as Mrs. Smith, as if 
 she were a widow also ; never heeding the grave visage with 
 which she entertained his jibes, nor the sly, significant glances 
 with which Carrie looked to Bertha, and the eyes of the two 
 gills smiled in mute converse together. He kept them singing 
 for him when he could. He was fond of music, and taxed their 
 frequent practice in this exquisite domestic accomplishment. 
 He was fortunately quite good-humored in the exercise of his 
 growing strength ; and, speaking in the language of his recov- 
 ered authority, his despotism was yet of an affectionate order. 
 He chucked Bertha Travis under tlie chin, drew her to him and 
 kissed her between the eyes ; swore she was quite too fine a 
 girl for any of the Smith family, vowed that he wished he were 
 again a young man for her sake, and never once heeding the 
 awkward constraint which her manner exhibited, or disposed 
 to ascribe it to the modesty peculiar to the Smitli family, lie ex- 
 hibited such a fondness for the girl, such a cordial regard for 
 Ker. as, under other circumstances, it would have been eminenth- 
 her anxiety to inspire in the bosom of her lover's father. His 
 
446 EUTAW. 
 
 improving condition na/.urally led to the determination to return 
 at once to the Barony, and as soon as possible ; and this deter- 
 mination just as naturally brought back Bram to his recollec- 
 tion. He was the proper person to- send to the Barony for 
 horses. Sam was too timid — too old — too deficient in re- 
 soiuxes. 
 
 " Who has seen that rascal Bram for the last two days 1 
 He is never hei'e when wanted. Willie has ruined the fel- 
 low. He has now such conceit of his abilities as a scout, that 
 he fancies it a sort of abuse of his talents to be put to any other 
 duties. He will get knocked upon the head, some of these days, 
 with all his cleverness, and go the way of all that race of fools 
 whose mere vanity leads into danger from which their valor 
 would be apt to shrink. Now, he is the only fellow whom I 
 can safely venture to send up to the plantation. Sam would 
 poke along, never using ears or eyes, and be sure to be gobbled 
 up and carried off by some of these refugee rascals. Do, my 
 dear little Smith" — Bertha was the only person present when 
 this soliloquy was spoken — " do, my dear little Smith, prettiest 
 and sweetest of all possible Smiths — do summon Sam, and see 
 if he knows anything of 'Bram !" 
 
 But Sam could only answer, non mi ricordo — that is, " I aeb- 
 ber knows, maussa, whay 'Bram day." 
 
 " Get out of my sight, old terrapin ! You never know any- 
 thing." 
 
 The expression of the baron's purpose, to take his departure 
 as soon as he could get his horses down from the plantation, 
 naturally led to Mrs. Travis's avowal of her own intention to 
 depart very soon also. 
 
 "But why, my dear madam, will you go before I do] And 
 where do you mean to go V 
 
 " Across the Santee, to my sister near the ' Hills.' " 
 
 " Ah ! you have a sister near the ' Hills' ? But, will you not 
 accompany Carrie and myself to the barony, and stay a while 
 with US — stay, at least, until you can be better sure of the 
 safety of the road ? We must have you with us for a while, 
 my dear Mrs. Smith. I can't do without my little Smith pet- 
 ling here. I must see more of her. I can't part with her so 
 soon; acd, if there be no pressing necessity carrying you across 
 
THE TIGER RAGES IN THE SHEEP-COTE, 4i7 
 
 the Saiitee, then I must insist upon taking you both captive, for 
 a week or two, at all events." 
 
 " Thank you, Colonel Sinclair ; we are very grateful, and 
 should like nothing better at some other season ; but, just now, 
 there is a pressing necessity. There are, indeed, some serious 
 cares overhanging me at this juncture, and the t'me already 
 lost by our forced delay has added to them." 
 
 " Serious cares ! I hope not. What have women to do with 
 cares ? Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Smith 1 Don't be 
 shy, now, in speaking. Say the word. Let me know in what 
 way T can serve you, and, believe me, I shall 'prefer to deny 
 myself than deny you. You have done a good service to my 
 children and myself. You have succored me in my sufferings, 
 and they have been great. I do believe, but for your assist- 
 ance, your own and your daughter's nursing, I should have 
 died. Now, let me show myself grateful. I don't mean to 
 show myself restiff under obligations which I can not requite ; 
 for where the gratitude really exists, the obligation is already 
 satisfied : but I wish you to afford me some opportunity of serv- 
 ing those whom I love and honor. Let me know what sort of 
 cares are these which trouble you, that I may help yon as I 
 can." 
 
 " I thank you, my dear Colonel Sinclair, and do not hesitate 
 to say that if you could, in any way, help me, I should not for 
 a moment pause to show you how it might be done." 
 
 " That's right, my dear madam ; that's the right Spirit. But 
 how do you know that I can not help you 1 I have wealth — " 
 
 " In that fespect. Colonel Sinclair, we suffer no want." 
 
 " Nay, do not think me so impertinent, my dear Mrs. Smith, 
 as to — " 
 
 And our baron felt an unusual awkwardness in finishing the 
 sentence. The lady came to his relief: — 
 
 " A few words, dear Colonel Sinclair, will save further speech 
 on this topic. My anxieties, and those of my daughter, do not 
 arise from any pecuniary difficulties. They result rather from 
 the condition of the country, and from some painful relations 
 which affect a very dear portion of otir family. But these 
 things are of a nature which do not suffer me to speak of them 
 at present. We are unfortunate, but not poor; anxious and 
 
448 EUTAW. 
 
 suffering, but hopeful, and not conscious of any uudeseit ; we 
 are fugitives, but only because we are wronged : in brief, my 
 dear colonel, there is a mystery about our house, at this mo- 
 ment, which I am not allowed to unveil even to the eyes of one 
 whom ^. so much honor and esteem as Colonel Sinclair. Let 
 this suffice. You shall be the first to know the truth, hereafter, 
 wi srever it shall be safe and proper to take off the seal from 
 our mystery ; and I promise you that, when I may need such 
 service as you can bestow, I shall deem it a duty which I owe 
 to your generbus offer to seek you out among the first." 
 
 " That's right, ma'am. That's what I like, and I thank you, 
 and shall remember this promise. I don't feel toward you and 
 your daughter, Mrs. Smith, as if we were strangers. It seems 
 to me that I have known you both. Heaven knows how long. 
 You are both as natural to my thoughts and heart as if you hatt 
 served in the training of both. As for that girl of yours — but 
 where the deuce does she keep 1 I have not seen her since 
 dinner, nor Carrie either." 
 
 Here little Lottie Sinclair, who had just entered the room, 
 answered : " They went out to walk, papa, and sis wouldn't let 
 me go with 'em. I wonder why 1" 
 
 " Went out to walk, and not home yet ? Why, it's dark ! 
 Certainly, my dear Mrs. Smith, these damsels are a little too 
 adventurous. I hope they have not wandered far." 
 
 Mrs. Avinger here made her appearance with a light. 
 
 " Have the girls come in, Mrs. Avinger ?" was the query of 
 Mrs. Travis. 
 
 "Not yet," was the reply, in subdued and grave accents. 
 Her tones struck Mrs. Travis. She drew the widow out of the 
 room, and said — 
 
 " Is anything the matter, Mrs. Avinger V 
 
 " I hope not," was the answer, " but it is now quite dark, and 
 I confess to being a little uneasy about the girls. They should 
 not have gone far. I warned them not to do so ; and they 
 should not have stayed so late. They may have wandered 
 down to Cedar creek, and in their chat have not observed tho 
 lateness of the hour." 
 
 " We must send after them." 
 
 " I have already despatched Cato and Sam." 
 
THE VULTURE CARRIES OFF THE DOVE. 445 
 
 An hour elapsed. The uneasiness of ali parties increased. 
 Colonel Sinclair was particularly restless. It was found impos- 
 sible to keep the matter from him, and he was chafing with bis 
 fears and impotence, while professing to na'-e no apprehensions. 
 He tried to reassure Mrs. Travis, alias Smith. 
 
 " They have only strolled too far, and are tired. I', is the 
 cfise with your sex always, Mrs. Smith. They never calculate 
 timo., space, strength, or anything. Wcmon do not pofspss the 
 faculties of calculation, lacking forctliougiit. You are all hut 
 terflies, with a sort of summer life amoiig flowers. But, you 
 have sent to look for them. Who ? Sam's a poke and a 
 blockhead. I know nothing of your fellow Cato, Mrs. Smith ; 
 hut he is old, and a negro, which is equal to saying that he will 
 drowse on the edge of a volcano in full blast. Where the d — ^1 
 is that fellow 'Bram 1 He is never to be found when wanted. 
 Ah, if I could only mount a horse !" 
 
 And the baron groaned and writhed between his fears and 
 his imbecility. An hour elapsed — and such an hour! Mrs. 
 Avinger had the table spread for supper, but nobody ate, no- 
 body drank. Mrs. Travis kept up a continual progress from 
 porch to chamber. Sinclair, meanwhile, unable to move, main- 
 tained a perpetual soliloquy of contradictions. All the parties 
 had reached that period in life when tlie emotions cease to cry 
 aloud. But they had their own modes of speech, nevertheless, 
 in the case of each, and these were sufficiently impressive to 
 any observer. 
 
 At length, and when this suppressed anxiety seemed to be 
 no longer endurable, there was a sound, footstejis, and a move- 
 ment from without. All rushed into the porch except our 
 baron, and he made a most formidable effort to move also, the 
 attempt ending only in a bitter groan from the equal pain i-i 
 foot and heart. The next moment brought in Carrie Sinclair, 
 supported by the two old ladies. She had been brought home 
 insensible by Oato and Sam. She was totally unable to sup- 
 port herself. They had found her, fully a mile off, prostrate in 
 the woods, seemingly insensible. This fact, and her appear- 
 ance, furnishes a sufficient preface to a fearful history. Her 
 face was blackened by blows and bruises ; her garments torn, 
 and covered with stains of the soil ; her hair was freed from all 
 
450 BUTAW. 
 
 ties and combs, disordered, distevelled, covering face, neck, 
 shoulders. She had evidently gone through some tei-rible trial ; 
 but, for the moment, she was incapable of speech. She conld 
 only sob convulsively. Her whole nervous system seemed to 
 be shattered. 
 
 They laid her down upon the sofa, and applied restoratives. 
 When she had recovered, her first sign of consciousness was to 
 scream for " Bertha !" 
 
 " My child ! my child ! what of my child ?" cried the mother. 
 
 "Who is Bertha? What does she mean?" demanded fhe 
 colonel, who fancied that Carrie was delirious. 
 
 "Miss Smith," whispered the widow Avinger in the ears of 
 the baron. 
 
 " I thought her name was Annie !" 
 
 But, in the meantime, Carrie began to speak somewhat cohe- 
 rently : — 
 
 " Where is she ? Where have they taken her 1" 
 
 " Who ? my child ?" 
 
 " Yes, Bertha ! She is carried off by ruffians from the woods." 
 
 " God, be merciful to me a sinner ! My child ! — carried 
 ofi"? Why — by whom ? Speak, Carrie Sinclair, and tell me 
 of my child !" 
 
 " Oh ! how can I tell you ? I know nothing more. We 
 were suddenly set upon by ruflSans from the woods — four oi 
 five in number — dark, savage-looking men — all armed. That 
 horrid creature whom you called Hell-fire Dick was the leader 
 I knew him at a glance. They tore us asunder. They draggec 
 her away. I followed. I clung to her. I strove to release 
 her, and they struck me down, thrust me back, put a man to 
 guard me, while they dragged her off to their horses. We 
 screamed, but no one came. I struggled in the grasp of the 
 strong man, and see my condition. He smote me as fiercely as 
 if I were not a woman. His fist felled me to the earth, and I 
 knew no more, until I found myself in the arms of the ne- 
 groes." 
 
 Her appearance amply testified to the severity of her treat- 
 ment. There had been a terrible blow planted almost between 
 her eyes. They were bloodshot, and the forehead was com- 
 pletely blackened by the stroke. Never had beautiful young 
 
THE VULTURE CARRIES OFF THE DOVE. 451 
 
 woman found so little mercy from the hands of man before, un- 
 less when murdered outright. 
 
 For a moment, Colonel Sinclair was erect, on his feet. "My 
 sword ! my pistols !" he cried. But he sank back into the seat 
 a moment after. His passion was quelled by his own physical 
 sufferings. He could only groan and writhe in the mingled 
 tortures of mental and physical agony — could only rage with 
 impotent fury — the most humiliating of all kinds of conscious- 
 ness. His roar of pain and rage ; the convulsive sobbings of 
 Carrie ; the screams of little Lottie, who beheld the defaced 
 visage of her sister with a child-like horror ; the clasped hands 
 and the tears of the widow Avinger ; these were evidences of 
 the grief and terror of the household ; but how feeble, in com- 
 parison, with that speechless sense of wo and agony, under 
 which, with a single shriek of desolation, the mother of the lost 
 girl sunk down upon the floor, in a heap, senseless for awhile — 
 mercifully so for the relief of a brain already overstrained too 
 much. There is a period in the event when the dramatic 
 painter judiciously drops his curtain over the scene. We must 
 imitate his example. 
 
452 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 NELLY FLOYD A CAPTIVE. 
 
 "We scarcely need to add anything to the narrative of Carrie 
 Sinclair, detailing the adventure in which Bertha Travis had 
 heen carried off. She, perhaps, did not dilate, as she might 
 have done, upon her own desperate efforts to resist the assail- 
 ants, and to rescue her companion. How, forced away, she yet 
 broke loose from the rude grasp which held her back ; darted 
 upon the ruffians who were lifting Bertha upon horseback; 
 clung to her like a maniac ; was beaten down ; recovered ; 
 renewed her efforts, and was finally torn away, and put under 
 the custody of one of the outlaws, to keep back, while the 
 abduction was completed, and the girl carried off. How, even 
 then, she strove, and with so much vigor, as to provoke the 
 fellow put in charge of her, to those brutal blows which, finally, 
 left her insensible. It was while she lay in this condition that 
 the ruffian left her, and made off after his associates. Of course, 
 there were no clues to the route which they had taken. 
 
 That night was one of a sleepless agony with all the little 
 group at the Widow Aviiiger's. Of the poor mother's wo, reft 
 first of her son and husband, and now of her daughter, who 
 shall make report? The blood of Carrie Sinclair was now 
 burning with fever. She was delirious ! Of the vain fury of 
 the baron ; his rage that had no object ; his desperate purpose 
 of strife, which lacked all power of exercise ; producing a men- 
 tal conflict which was almost as unendurable, and which only 
 served to bring back his physical sufferings, it is impossible to 
 give a portrait ; so various and capricious were his moods, so 
 utterly bemocked by imbecility were r.11 his rages. 
 
 It was in the moment of storm and agony, when caution was 
 
NELLY FLOYD A CAPTIVE. 453 
 
 forgotteu in suffering, that our baron was suffered to know the 
 secret of Bertha Travis and her mother. It came to him as a 
 surprise, but brought with it no revulsion. 
 
 " What does she call her. Is she not Annie Smith 1" 
 
 "No, sir — no!" cried the mother vehemently, as she heard. 
 'I am a Travis — no Smith. My daughter is Bertha Travis, 
 and the affianced of your own son !" 
 
 " Good Heavens ! How is this ? That dear little girl, my 
 son's affianced 1 Oh, Willie ! Poor Willie ! Why is he not 
 here, to pursue, recover, and avenge her ? What the d — 1 is he 
 about that he is not here? And where is 'Bram? What can 
 tliat rascal be doing ? pretending to scout, and keep guard and 
 watch, yet here the wolf boldly rushes into the fold, and carries 
 off the innocent flock. But I can still mount a horse ! I will 
 make the effort. Sam shall help me ! Once mounted, I shall 
 be able to keep my seat. I will try it. I will ride. Summon 
 Sam to me. He shall have my horse ready. Get me my 
 pistols. And my sword. They shall find, the bloody, blasted 
 wretches, that I am still strong enough to smite and slay !" 
 
 Of course, all this ended in exhaustion. The brave old 
 man was shattered in frame. His physique was inadequate to 
 the feeblest demonstration of his gallant spirit. 
 
 The absence of 'Bram happened to be commented upon in 
 his presence, by Mrs. Avingcr. 
 
 •' Ay ! he is caught up too, by these rascals ! He is in their 
 hands. They are, no doubt, bearing him away to the West 
 India plantations. The bullhead ! blockhead ! with his conceit, 
 to suffer himself to be taken prisoner by these wretches, and, 
 no doubt, without ever striking a blow — without blowing out a 
 bingle villain's brains, or cutting the throat of one gallows-bird 
 of all the gang ! And yet, the scoundrel has pistols, and knife 
 — prides himself upon them — swears to do famous things with 
 'em, yet lets himself be kicked and cuffed, and hand-cuffed, and 
 driven off, like a sheep to the shambles, without ever striking a 
 blow !" 
 
 It was thus that the fancies of our furious baron furnished 
 him with his facts. Yet they were not very wide from the 
 truth. But he does not give 'Bram sufficient credit for resources, 
 as we shall perceive hereafter. 
 
454 EDTAW. 
 
 Thus, theu, without a single clue to the route taken by tl* 
 outlaws, and reduced to utter despair, from a total deficiency of 
 resource, our little circle at the widow's house of refuge — 
 which has proved of so little security — must be left, for the pres- 
 ent, to the endurance, with whatever strength they may com- 
 mand, of the evils and sorrows for which they can see no 
 remedy. Let us, leaving them for awhile, look after those per- 
 sons who have been vainly looking after our friends. 
 
 We have seen the scout, Ballou, chased out of sight, by some 
 of the best troopers of Inglehardt's squad. They drove him 
 across the Edisto, into the Fork, His escape was a narrow one. 
 Pushing upward, and resolved to make his way even across the 
 Congaree and Wateree, till he should find Sinclair, or procure 
 a force sufficient to penetrate and thoroughly search the swamp 
 intricacies of Muddicoat Castle, he sped on, and, to his great 
 relief, found his superior very soon after his passage of the 
 river. He made his report, and the whole party proceeded 
 downward. A sharp skirmish with a mounted squad of the 
 British, in which the latter were dispersed, did not lead Sinclair 
 to anticipate what, in four hours after, he found to be the case ; 
 that Colonel Stewart, with the whole British army, was then 
 actually on the march toward him, making rapid progress on 
 the route, to M'Cord's ferry. What could this argue, but the 
 determination of the British commander to seek out Greene, 
 and force him to the final issue of battle. 
 
 Believing Greene to be unprepared for this, and supposing it 
 possible, from the rapidity and secrecy of Stewart's movements, 
 that he might succeed in surprising the American general in 
 very disadvantageous circumstances, Sinclair, with a groan, was 
 compelled, for the moment, to forego his personal objects, throw 
 himself in the path of the enemy, and, keeping in advance of 
 him, barass and retard his movements, while he took occasion 
 tc report them fully at the American camp. This was done 
 mtil Stewart had taken post at M'Cord's, on the south side, 
 where, though with two rivers between, the two armies lay 
 almost in sight of each other's fires. Sinclair, meanwhile, sped 
 across, and made his report to Greene. Here he received 
 orders to go below, and join Marion with all haste ; that parti- 
 san being about to undertake one of those secret expeditions, 
 
NELLY FLOYD A CAPTIVE. 455 
 
 in which his celerity and skill were usually so famous and so 
 productive of profitable results. 
 
 This expedition of Marion was to Pon-pon river, at the south- 
 ward, where Colonel Harden, to whom the military charge of 
 this precinct was confided, was hardly pressed by a British force 
 of five hundred men, chiefly loyalists from Charleston. These 
 were some of the people driven from the Ninety-Six district. 
 Their active services were now compelled, somewhat reluctantly, 
 by tlie necessities of their starving families, from whom the 
 British commandant had threatened to withdraw their rations, 
 unless the men should instantly take the field. The royal 
 exigency was such, that the British generals could be no longer 
 tolerant. This detachment was led by Major Fj:azer. 
 
 By a forced march Mai-ion crossed the country from St. 
 Stephen's to the Edisto, a distance of a hundred miles, passing 
 secretly between both lines of British posts, which kept up their 
 intercourse with Charleston, and succeeded in joining Harden 
 before his presence could be suspected by the enemy, for whom 
 he planted an ambush along the swamps near Parker's ferry, 
 sent oat our squad of St. Julien's, as a decoying body, beguiled 
 Frazer into his snares, and gave him a severe handling, cutting 
 up his horse completely. But that his ammunition gave out, 
 he would have annihilated the whole detachment. 
 
 This work was thus effectually done, and our Swamp Fox 
 had reached his old position on the Santee, in the short space 
 of six days. 
 
 But these six days were lost to Sinclair in his search after his 
 friends, who still lay in seemingly hopeless captivity. And he 
 was doomed to a still longer denial of his objects. 
 
 We return to the operations of the main armies. It is prob- 
 able that Sinclair had mistaken Stewart's intentions, in moving 
 toward the Congaree in the face of the Americans. Th.ongh 
 his army had recruited somewhat, and had been strengthened in 
 numbers, and by supplies, it was yet in no condition to be auda- 
 cious or enterprising. It still labored under a woful deficiency 
 of cavalry. 
 
 Stewart had one good reason for leaving Orangebui-g, 
 and seeking a more favorable camp-groond. He was, in fact, 
 starved, out. His foragers, even such wily strategists as our 
 
456 EUTAW. 
 
 Captain Inglehardt, failed to provide the adequate rationa 
 The American partisans were either in the way all the time, or 
 they had swept the fields in advance of the British foragers. 
 The Congaree country was supposed to promise something bet- 
 ter, and it was hoped that a bold face put upon his fortunes, 
 would tend somewhat to discourage Greene, who would natur- 
 ally suppose him to be governed, in his demonstration, by a 
 perfect confidence in his strength. Something of the venerable 
 British games of brag and bully, were, no doubt, contemplated 
 by the British general. 
 
 But the Congaree country had been reaped already by the 
 sharp sickles of Sumter's and Marion's partisans. Stewart 
 found as little good feeding there as upon the Edisto ; while 
 Greene, not willii>g to be bullied, struck his tents, flung out his 
 colors, and put his army in motion for the passage of the rivers 
 which kept him from his foe. Ordering his scattered detach- 
 ments to join him at Howell's ferry, he took up the march for 
 that place. 
 
 This movement soon prompted our British general to a 
 change of front and purpose. By forced marches, he fell back 
 upon his convoys and reinforcements, taking post fully forty 
 miles below, at the Eutaw springs. This brings the British 
 encampment within a few miles of the widow Avinger's — not a 
 greater number from Muddicoat Castle, and so, accordingly, 
 within the immediate sphere of our dra?natis 'persona. 
 
 But we must not anticipate. There aie events ripening, yet 
 to mature, in this very precinct, before Stewart's arrival. Let 
 us consider these, in due order, and with due brevity. 
 
 Marion, as we have seen, has got back to the Santee. His 
 immediate duties are suspended. Shiclair procures renewed 
 leave of absence, on the special performances for the prosecu- 
 tion of which he has so long enjoyed the peculiar license of 
 Rutledge. Hs has incidental military commissions grafted upon 
 his personal objects, thus securing for them a military sanction. 
 He is to feel the strength of the British posts at Pooshee and 
 Wantoot. These, with Monck's Corner, Biggin, Fairlawu, and 
 Mulberry Castle, constitute a line of mutually-depending British 
 posts, connecting the main aimy under Stewart directly with 
 the garrison at Charleston. But these posts way be isolated, 
 
NELLY FLOYD A CAPTIVE. 457 
 
 and conquered in detail ; and for this duty, in respect to Poo- 
 sliee and Wantoot, Sinclair has his commission. 
 
 We find him, with St. Julien's troop, one fine day in August, 
 bright and not too hot, in the shady pine-forests, some four miles 
 from Eutaw. His squad is "nooning." Suddenly there is a 
 stir. But it is the return of a scouting-party, led by Jim Bal- 
 lon. He brings with him a prisoner, taken not a mile from 
 camp. He brings with him also an old acquaintance, just es- 
 caped the clutches of the land-pirates. 
 
 The prisoner is Nelly Floyd. The escaped fugitive is the 
 uegro 'Bram. 
 
 We need not say that 'Bram was delighted to regain his mas- 
 ter, but his story we must reserve to another opportunity. At 
 present, we owe all our regards to the strange girl who, hith- 
 erto, has been so successful in eluding captivity. We see that, 
 seer as she is, dexterous and light of foot, swift on horseback, 
 and a marvellous woodman, she is eauglit at last ! In the end, 
 the Fates show themselves to have few real favorites. 
 
 She had been caught, emerging from the woods, Ballon hav- 
 ing absolutely run down her little pony — literally, by running 
 upon him with his big-limbed Virginia turfite. The poor little 
 pony had actually been thrust to the ground. Nelly would not 
 have been taken — would have seen the approaching party — 
 but for a strange stupor which seemed to possess her senses, 
 making her, for the time, oblivious of all external objects. We 
 shall see hereafter why she was thus seized with this unwonted 
 stupor. 
 
 Her appearance compelled the wonder and admiration of 
 Sinclair. Where had he seen her before 1 Somewhere ; but, 
 certainly, wearing no such expression — in no such attitude — 
 as she now exhibited before him. She looked now, for all the 
 world, like the mad girl — the " Harricane Nell" — whom they 
 sometimes called her. She was pale, haggard, her eyes dila- 
 ting wildly, more than ever ; her movements unnaturally eager, 
 nervous, spasmodic, and totally uninfluenced by surrounding 
 objects and occurring events. She had not listened to Ballou's 
 statements without frequent interruptions and ejaculations. 
 
 " If you be a man and a gentleman," she exclaimed to Sin- 
 clair, seeing him in command, " release me ! What business is 
 
 :?0 
 
458 EtITAW. 
 
 this, which employs an army to seize and bear away a woman 1 
 What have I done to deserve this V 
 
 " A mighty wild sort of woman !" said Ballon with a chuckle. 
 The girl gave him but a glance, and turned from him to Sin- 
 clair. 
 
 " What girl is this 1" demanded Sinclair, " and why have you 
 brought her here V 
 
 " She is one of Inglehardt's gang of outlaws, that have Cap- 
 tain Travis and his son in keeping. She knows the secret pas- 
 sage to their hiding-place." 
 
 "It is false! I am connected with no gang of outlaws — 
 with DO gang of any sort. I am neither an outlaw myself, nor 
 do I give help or countenance to those who are so. I do no- 
 body any harm. I help the suffering wherever I can. If you 
 be Colonel Sinclair, as I believe, I have risked my life to help, 
 and rescue from outlaws, two ladies in whom, I am told, you 
 have an interest." 
 
 " Ha ! two ladies, in the hands of outlaws 1 Where ? when ? 
 what ladies ?" 
 
 "Mrs. Travis and her daughter !" 
 
 " And they are in the hands of outlaws ?" 
 
 " Not now ! I helped to rescue them. I was wounded in 
 the attempt to do so. We were all saved by Lord Bawdon 
 with a British escort, and carried to your father's barony." 
 
 " What ! Bertha at the barony ]" 
 
 " Yes, and her mother, and myself. I was, for several days, 
 nursed kindly, and my wound dressed, by your sister Carrie." 
 
 " Wonder upon wonder ! And my father saw Bertha Travis ! 
 And where, my good girl, are they now? — not at the bar- 
 ony?" 
 
 Here 'Bram interposed. He could supply the defects in Nel- 
 ly's testimony. 
 
 " Nebber, sah ! Day leff de barony de same day. Day's yer, 
 not tree, fibe, seben mile off, at de widow Abinger's. I leff 'em. 
 day, all safe, when I bin go out 'pon a scout, and bin catch by 
 Hell-fire Dick. I hope Hell hab twenty-seben fire and blazes 
 for de 'tarnal varmint !" 
 
 Do not suppose that 'Bram stopped here. But we abridge 
 his long speech to our dimensions. It had the effect of reliev 
 
NELLY FLOYD A CAPTIVE. 459 
 
 ing Sinclair's worst apprehensions, and of deceiving him, too 
 for, as 'Bram knew nothing of the subsequent abduction of Ber- 
 tha Travis, so he cr ndently assured his master that she was in 
 safety still at the widow's. 
 
 But Nelly Floyd had not listened to 'Bram's harangue with 
 the degree of patience which his other hearers manifested. She 
 broke out into occasional exclamations, and exhibited paroxysms 
 of distress, which, to most of the party, seemed unaccountable. 
 
 "What is all this to me 1 Why am I kept ? What have I 
 to do with it? Pray, sir — pray, let me depart. I am no of- 
 fender ; but a poor girl, troubling nobody, and seeking only to 
 save others from trouble ! Will you not let me go 1" 
 
 Such were the speeches with which she frequently broke in 
 upon the tedious and self-complacent naiTatives of the negro — 
 her restiffiiess momently increasing, until it rose into- such an 
 expression of real agony as necessarily to compel the attention 
 of her auditors. It was not fear for herself. She seemed to 
 entertain no feeling of the sort. Her tones were as bold, free, 
 unembarrassed, almost masculine, even when the language was 
 that of entreaty, as if she possessed the will to decree and exe- 
 cute. In the meanwhile, Sinclair and St. Jnlien were both 
 observing her closely. 
 
 " My good girl," said Sinclair, " who are you 1" 
 
 " I am a ^1, and that should save me from insult among 
 men ; a woman, and that should protect me from the perils of a 
 soldiery ! I am peaceful, and do not, of right, incur any of the 
 penalties of war. I am neither ashamed nor afr-aid to tell who 
 I am ; but I know not any right, of colonel or general, to seize 
 upon me, simply riding the highway, divert me fi-om my duties 
 — no matter what the loss or peril to myself — for the mere 
 purpose of questioning me about such imimportant matters. 
 My name is EUen Floyd, and I am an orphan — another con- 
 sideration which should secure me the protection and not sub- 
 ject me to the ill-usage of men wearing the word and epau- 
 lettes of soldiers and gentlemen, and professing to fight for the 
 liberties of the citizen." 
 
 " Ton are sharp, my good girl ; but you do us injustice. We 
 have no disposition to detain yon, but it is charged that yon 
 are connected with a band of outlaws, who have been guilty of 
 
460 EUTAW. 
 
 great outrages upon the country, and have, even now, some of 
 our free citizens in a grieTous bondage." 
 
 " I have already answered you on this point The man lies ! 
 I am connected with no band of outlaws J'rove it, and slay 
 me ! But do not take the mere guessings of a scout for evi- 
 dence." 
 
 " What say you, Ballou V 
 
 " Well, I found her among the outlaws." 
 
 " False ! you did not /" 
 
 " You was harboring about them." 
 
 " So were you !" 
 
 " Well, that's true ; but I was harboring to find out the 
 hiding-place of the rascals, and to get out a person from their 
 clutches." 
 
 " So -was I !" 
 
 " Well, that's a pretty story ! And what could you, a wo- 
 man — and a little one at that — what could you do toward get- 
 ting out a prisoner from the clutches of Inglehardt and Hell-fire 
 Dick ?" 
 
 "I could risk my life — nay, have done it — have crept into 
 their hiding-places, which your stupidity faDed to find, or your 
 cowardice dared not penetrate! — Sir, do not confront me any 
 longer with this man ! You hear the extent of his charge. He 
 found me in a like position with himself, havering around a 
 camp of outlaws. He had his object, I mine ! I was no more 
 in concert with them than he himself! Nay, I was striving 
 against them. He laughs at my efforts and powers. What 
 more has he done ? Nay, if I could tell all, he has done far 
 less. You, as gentlemen, however, are better able to tell him 
 what even a woman may do, when resolved by justice, and 
 strengthened by faith, purposing nothing but good, and made 
 earnest in her cause by love ! The mouse gnawed through the 
 nets of the lion. If Mrs. Travis and her daughter were here, 
 they would tell you that I have had the knife of the outlaw at 
 my throat, in the effort to rescue them ! It was while engaged 
 in a similar effort, in behalf of these same ladies, that I had a 
 bullet shot into this arm ! Sirs — gentlemen — let me go in 
 peace ! Believe me, I am not connected with these, or any 
 outlaws; and oh, believe me, furtlier, that every moment wliich 
 
NELLY FLOYD A CAPTIVE. 461 
 
 I now lose is an agony, and may be a death ! Life and death 
 depend upon my speed and freedom at this moment." 
 
 And the action was throughout admirably suited to the high- 
 spirited, logical, fearless, ingenuous speech ; her eye kindling 
 and dilating ; her lips (quivering with emotion ; her arms, hands, 
 the whole frame, seeming to speak as well as the tongue : and 
 when she spoke her scorn, looking at Ballon, her expanding 
 nostril, uplifted head, and the mixed indignation and contempt 
 which she expressed, were clearly discernible in every gesture, 
 as she turned away from his to the other faces in the group. 
 You should have seen her ! We have said, elsewhere, that she 
 was not pretty ; and, for this reason, that the word would havo 
 been a disparagement of the noble, the lofty, the high-souled, 
 all-speaking, and all-animated, in every feature of her face. 
 Sinclair looked on her with admiration — St. Julien with an 
 intense, searching eye, which seemed to be riveted because sat- 
 isfied. But Ballou was unmoved. He had been stung by her 
 speech of him ; mortified at her escape from him on a former 
 occasion ; vexed with the reproach which she had uttered, of 
 his incompetence at the very craft in which he had acquired a 
 local fame second to that of no other scout ; and, though a very 
 good fellow as the world goes, such as the world is very full of, 
 particularly in good society, was not capable of a very mag- 
 nanimous emotion, at his own expense, and which would involve 
 the necessity of a tacit admission of fault as well as failure. 
 
 " All mighty fine," quoth he, " but all pretty much pretence, 
 I'm thinking ! If you let her oflF, colonel, before she shows you 
 the way to that den of thieves, you'll deserve to lose your 
 chances. She's among 'em, I tell you ! Make her confess be- 
 fore she goes, and keep her fast till she does so !" 
 
 " Be merciful, gentlemen, and let me go, even if you do not 
 believe me. I could easily disprove all that this bad man tells 
 you — for he lies ; but time is my object. Time, now, is as 
 precious to me as life. Life depends upon it. There is one 
 whom J love in a dreadful danger. Let me go! Every hour 
 now is needful to my purpose — and to his safety !" 
 
 " But, my girl, you know the route by which we may reach 
 the hiding-place of these outlaws," said Sinclair. 
 
 "I know nothing — I can know notliing — will know noth- 
 
462 EUTAW. 
 
 ing, now ! I tell you that a precious life depends upon these 
 minutes, and you talk to me of your affairs. What are your 
 affairs to me % What claim have they, or you, upon me, that 
 you arrest me, to do your work, and keep me from the duties 
 in which I may save a life which is precious to my own ! I 
 can not think of anything now, but the one cry which sounds 
 through the forests in my ears! a cry of agony — which bids 
 me speed — speed — and save from a cruel death the life of a 
 beloved one !" 
 
 And she wrung her hands bitterly, and threw them up to 
 Heaven wildly. 
 
 " But who is this who is so precious to you, and whom you 
 are to succor ?" 
 
 " God ! this is the wisdom and the magnanimity of man ! 
 At a moment like this, he would keep me back to know whether 
 it is mother, father, brother, sister, who is perishing for a cup 
 of water, and shrieking to me for help ! My house is on fire, 
 and he would keep me from putting out the blaze, till he knows 
 whether the fire caught from the chimney or the cellar ! God 
 be merciful to me ! Sir — do I look like a liar] Suppose that 
 I speak the truth, and what sort of heart can you have, that can 
 so trifle with a human being's griefs and agonies ! Here, before 
 God, I swear that your scout speaks falsely ! I do not harbor 
 with outlaws. I have no connection with these you seek. I 
 have harbored about them, it is true, as Tie has done, seeking to 
 rescue rnie victim from their talons ! The eye of God is upon 
 us now. Do you believe that 7 Then believe me when I ap- 
 peal to him. I swear," — and she dropped upon her knees — 
 " God of the bright world, and the dark, attest my truth ! — Oh ! 
 how can you, officers and gentlemen, as you are, or claim to be, 
 require this of a young girl like me, as if I had no faith, no 
 truth, no heart to suffer like your own !" 
 
 " For God's sake, Willie, let her go ! She is as truthful as 
 an angel !" so spoke St. Julien, sotto voce, even in the moment 
 when Sinclair cried out, aloud : — 
 
 " My good girl, you are free to depart ! God forbid that I 
 should keep you, for a moment, to your own hurt, or to the 
 suffering of another ! It must be my plea, for having de- 
 tained you so long, that my own most precious ones are in dan- 
 
NELLY FLOYD A CAPTIVE. 403 
 
 ger, also, and you are thought to be able to help me to discover 
 them. But go! go! — lam sorry that you were arrested. I 
 shall feel deeply if you are too late !" 
 
 " Oh ! thanks ! thanks !" cried the girl, the tears now for the 
 first time gushing from her eyes ; and she darted to her horse, 
 and at a bound was upon his back ; then, as she bent to the 
 saddle, and gave her steed the reins, she waved her hand to the 
 two officers — " Thanks, gentlemen, thanks ! I shall not forget 
 you. I will try and help you, hereafter — but now ! now ! It 
 is impossible ! I am called ! It is life or death ! I must 
 go! go!" 
 
 She was oflf in another moment like the wind — out of eight 
 like a sudden arrow from the Egyptian bow. 
 
464 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIIl. 
 WILLIE Sinclair's visit to his father. 
 
 For the first few moments after the disappearance of Nelly 
 Floyd, a feeling of wonder and admiration, if not awe,j)ver- 
 spread the little circle, and hung like a cloudy spell upon the 
 senses of all. 
 
 " What an astonishing creature !" cried Sinclair. " Did she 
 drop from the clouds V 
 
 " There is certainly some curious mystery about her," an- 
 swered St. Julien. Such a wonderful mingling of rudeness and 
 refinement, simplicity of manner and high tone of character, is 
 exceedingly rare. It shows superiority of endowment, with a 
 certain peculiar piquancy of training, or nature has executed one 
 of her marvels." 
 
 " What an eye she has ! so large, dewy, and dilating, yet 
 fiery ; and how animated the expression of her face ! How 
 every muscle seems to speak. I have certainly met her some- 
 where before. The mere features strike me as familiar." 
 
 " Yes. do you not remember ; at the house of the old woman, 
 Ford, whither we went in search of Mrs. Travis and her 
 daughter." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; now I remember ! But then she was silent, and 
 there was none of that fiery enthusiasm which she has just ex- 
 hibited. HJithei; B12 is an angel, or the subtlest counterfeit that 
 ever know how to yu' on the guise of virtue, and warm it with 
 the arcs A zeal ' 
 
 "She IS an ki\g-J.\'' said St. JuHen. "There is no trick 
 about her. Cunning could never rise to that altitude. She is, 
 "n brief, a wonae" " 
 
WILLIE SINCLAIR'S VISIT TO HIS FATHER. 465 
 
 " I reckon she's nothing better than a cunning gipsy," quoth 
 Ballou, " artful as the d — ^1, and full of all sorts of mischief. I've 
 seen a good many of that class of people." 
 
 " You've been more fortunate than other people, Ballou," re- 
 sponded Sinclair — "I never had the fortune to meet such a 
 person before." 
 
 " Well, you've let her off, and you'll be sorry for it. She's 
 tricked you." 
 
 " Even if she has, I shall not be son-y that I let her off. Bet- 
 ter I should be deceived, than that I should be troubled with a 
 constant misgiving lest I had done a great wrong to humanity. 
 We had no right, besides, to detain her." 
 
 " Well, I reckon we can't consider about rights so closely in 
 war time. If we did, we'd half the time do nothing — nothing. 
 We've got to strain the laws mighty hard, sometimes, if we 
 would make a proper headway against the enemy. It ain't the 
 laws that's going to make an obstinate rogue give in, and let 
 out what he knows. We have to put the pinchers to his tender 
 feelings, and the hickories to his back, or we can't always untie 
 his tongue, and get at his secrets." 
 
 " And you'd have subjected such a girl as that to the lash 
 Ballou ? I really had a better opinion of your humanity." 
 
 " Well, -I don't pretend to too much humanity in war time. 
 I don't mean to say that I'd have the gal whipped, exactly, 
 though, once, when she dodged me before, I felt in my heart 
 like licking her soundly, if I could have caught her ; but I'd 
 have taken her into captivity, and kept her on short commons, 
 till she let out all we wanted to know. And she's so eager to 
 get off, that I'm sure she'd have let out her secrets, had you 
 only pinned her up in a ploughline for awhile. You had her at 
 your mercy, colonel, and could have got all her secrets by a little 
 squeezing. But it's no use talking now. You've let her off, 
 and we must now work our own traverse, after the track, to that 
 hiding-place of Inglehardt." 
 
 " So be it ! That we had her at our mercy was no good 
 reason why we should abuse our power, and in the case of a 
 young creature like that, and a woman too. You would have 
 us, Ballou, imitate the practice of our tories, and these Florida 
 rcftigces, with whom women and the weak are always chosen 
 
466 EDTAW. 
 
 victims. Your scouting business teaches you some hard les- 
 sons." 
 
 " It makes me mighty suspicions of the cunning of sich sort 
 of cattle." 
 
 " You don't believe much in the virtues, Ballon." 
 
 " Well, I see too little of them now-a-days, to be easy of be- 
 lief Besides, here's a matter I may say of life and death. 
 You set me to hunt up Captain Travis and the boy Henry ; and 
 I find the /ery person that can carry you to their hiding-place ; 
 and when it only wants a little tight squeezing to make her do 
 it, yon listen to all her cunning stories, and let's her off. I don't 
 believe a word of her story. She's just come over you with a 
 sarcumvention of her own, and she's a-laughing at yon now, 
 even as she rides." 
 
 " Be it so, Ballou. Yet, though something of a soldier, and 
 not over-confiding myself — not easily imposed upon, I'm sure 
 — I believe every syllable that was uttered by that strange 
 girl. Eveiy word, every look, was truth." 
 
 " It was !" interposed St. Julien. " Ballon can not understand 
 such a nature. The woman is an anomaly. In the old world 
 she would probably be accounted a genius — one of that class 
 with whom a most fiery impulse is yet subordinated to a true 
 controlling thought. She is true. Nay, more : she will seek 
 us out. She will bring us voluntarily the information we seek. 
 She will not be coerced, except by her own will. She does not 
 will to do so now, because of the concentration, upon some one 
 earnest purpose now, of all her hopes, fears, thoughts, and feel- 
 ings. Had we kept that girl in bonds, in the hope to compel 
 her to our purpose, we might have driven her to madness, but 
 never to submission." 
 
 Here 'Bram, who had been showing himself very impatient 
 of a conversation in which he had been suffered to take no part»^ 
 interposed and said, abruptly enough : — 
 
 " I yor somet'ing 'bout dat same gal. Mass Willie. I yer from 
 old Cato, who's carriage-driber for Miss Trabis. He time, wha 
 de gal tell yon, 'bout he gitting shoot in de arm, by dem rascal 
 wha' bin cotch de ladies; he shoot 'em jis when de Lawd 
 Roddin come up — den de gal fall down and faint 'way; den 
 do British sodger run at de rascal in de woods: shoot some — 
 
WILLIE SINCLAIR'S VISIT TO HIS FATHER. 467 
 
 hang odder some ; den day pick up de gal, put 'em in de car- 
 riage wid Miss Trabis, and bring 'em to we house. He 'tay 
 day, two, tree, fibe, seben day, maybe, tell he git better ob he 
 hu't; den he gone — nobody know whay he gone; and day 
 nebber sees 'em 'gain, tell Ballon catches 'em, and brings 'em 
 yer." 
 
 " You see, Ballou, 'Bram's story confirms that of the girl." 
 
 " In that matter, may be : but not in the other. I tell you 
 she had to do with Inglehardt's gang. I have seen her talking 
 with one of them." 
 
 " That proves nothing. You have seen her talking with us, 
 yet she had no connection with us, except against her will." 
 
 "Ay, but it was not against her will that she talked with 
 them." 
 
 " Ballou, you are inveterate. According to your own previous 
 report, this girl's track was always qftei; and about the tracks 
 of these ruffians. You yourself admit to have made her separ- 
 ate track your guide to the places where they were to be found." 
 
 " Yes, and it always led me right." 
 
 " But that it was still always separate fully confirms her as- 
 sertion, that she harbored about theril, even as you did, but did 
 not mingle with them." 
 
 " Ah ! that's her assertion only." 
 
 " It seems confirmed by all other testimony. But enough, 
 now. I am satisfied that she is as innocent as yourself. Your 
 pride has been hurt by the girl ; and you feel it a little too 
 deeply. You have been faithful and zealous, but unfortunate, 
 so far; and this mortifies you. She has spoken offensively to 
 you, and this has vexed you into injustice. But for these things 
 you would probably see her in the same light with ourselves. 
 Her words to you were harsh ; but, if she spoke the truth of 
 herself, she was justified in what she said of you. Do not 
 suppose that I question your truth and fidelity, because I be- 
 lieve in her. And now for 'Bram's story." 
 
 We need not give the details of that long narrative. 'Bram 
 had much to tell. Of his escort of Travis's negroes safely 
 across the Santee; of his subsequently attaching himself to 
 Mrs. Travis, whom he encountered on the road ; of the finding 
 of his master and the young ladies in the highway, foundered ; 
 
468 EOTAW. 
 
 robbed of tbeir carriage-horses ; of the extreme illness of the 
 old man ; of the fond attentions and care shown by Mrs. Travis 
 and her daughter, during the veteran's extremity ; of the inti- 
 macy which had grown up into a|Pection between the parties ; 
 of his own indefatigable exertions, great merits, and eiiflfcrings 
 as a scout ; of his capture by Dick of Tophet, and his subse- 
 quent transfer to the custody of Griffith, the promiscuous dealer 
 in contraband, near Wantoot and Pooshee : of all these particu- 
 lars 'Bram delivered himself at great length. His prolixity 
 underwent due increase, when he came to narrate the particulars 
 of his connection with Griffith, and final escape. We must not 
 suffer him to speak, or he will take up too much of our time. 
 Enough to state that, finding himself in the hands of Griffith, 
 his sagacity at once scented his danger. He soon learned that 
 he was to be sent to the British West India islands. Griffith, 
 himself, who had already accumulated a score of similar cap- 
 tives, destined to a similar fate — all of whom he kept in a log 
 pen in the swamp — had told him, and the rest, that they were 
 to go thither ; that they were to be slaves no longer, but free 
 to enjoy the fat of the land ; a region in which rum-juice run iu 
 the canes, filling all their hollows ; sugar grew upon the bushes 
 in place of berries ; where the sun always shone, day and 
 night ; and where the sole employment was to eat, drink, and 
 keep their wives in order, taking as many as they chose. " The 
 heaven of each is but what each desires," and the heaven thus 
 painted for the negroes in the log-pen, was so painted, by the 
 cunning Griffith, as effectually to intoxicate the fancies of these 
 sable sons of Africa, who were all eager to be gone. Accord- 
 ing to 'Bram, however, his wisdom was more than a match for 
 Griffith's cunning. But seeing, he pretended not to see. Doubt- 
 ing, he appeared religiously to believe. He put on the look of the 
 simpleton ; opened his mouth from ear to ear ; drank in delight- 
 edly all he heard ; and was so easy of faith, so happy in the pros 
 pect, that Griffith was effectually deceived. Having need of a 
 vigorous laborer, he preferred 'Bram to the office of a clerk or 
 assistant. There was a boat, ran up the creek, containing casks 
 of rum and sugar ; these had to be unloaded at midnight, and 
 wagoned ,up to the secret post which our contrabandista main- 
 tftined. To assist in this duty, 'Bram was omi)]oyed, and by 
 
WILLIE SINCLAIR'S VISIT TO HIS FATHER. 46& 
 
 little and little, his opportunities grew, and he did not suffer 
 them to escape him. He watched his chance, while at the boat ; 
 and, having sent off his last cargo, emptying the boat, and 
 finding himself alone, he cut her loose, allowed her to drift a 
 short way down stream, and when she struck upon the opposite 
 bank, a mile below, be jumped out aud took to the woods, 
 where he effectually hid himself from pursuit, until, in his sjib- 
 aequent wanderings, he threw himself in the way of Ballou and 
 his party. 
 
 " We caught the rascal asleep," quoth Ballou. 
 
 " I no bin !>leep, Ballou. I bin mak' b'lieb I sleep. I jis bin 
 lay mj'self down to res' my leg, when I see de sodger. I 
 knows dem and le' 'em come up and find me. Ef I hadn't a' 
 bin know 'em, day nebber bin find me for t'ousand yeai's." 
 
 " I had to waken him by kicking," said Ballou. 
 
 " Psho, Ballou, enty I bin know whose foot it was ? Enty I 
 bin know you all de time 1 Ha ! you s'pose dis nigger fool I" 
 
 " Well, I can only say, you must have loved kicking mightily 
 to have taken so much of it from your friends, without any 
 reason for it." 
 
 " Psho ! he ain't hu't. You kin kick me all day yer" — stri- 
 king the invulnerable region with complacency — " au' I nebber 
 feel 'em.'' 
 
 It will be seen that 'Brani was equally insensible in the 
 point and seat of honor ; and this insensibility was, in consider- 
 able degree, a matter of pride and satisfaction with him ; even 
 as the alligator congratulates himself that his hitle defies a rifle 
 bullet; as a turtle exults that his coating laughs at the teeth of 
 the shark, and the bill of the sword-fish : as a well-provisioned 
 garrison chuckles over the strength of its walls, when the foe 
 thunders against them from without. 
 
 The bugle was sounded. 
 
 " Whither now, Willie 1" demanded St. Julien. 
 
 " To this good Widow Avinger's, of course ; to see all the 
 dear ones — father and sister, and my poor Bertha! Heavens! 
 how they all suffered." 
 
 " Willie I" 
 
 "Well! what?" 
 
 " You forget your comm"c-!ion." 
 
470 EtJTAW. 
 
 " WLat ! bball 1 find myself only a few miles from my fathei 
 and sisters and deny myself to see them." 
 
 " Yet the instructions of General Marion, touching Pooshee 
 and Wantoot." 
 
 " The devil take Pooshee and Wantoot, if they are to keep 
 me from one hour's enjoyment of home — at a moment like this 
 — after such anxieties as I have borne so long — after such toils 
 as we have undergone ! No ! no ! my dear Peyre, yon are 
 quite too much of a martinet. Nay, you are cold-blooded, man ; 
 for you seem to forget that yon shall see Carrie when I see 
 Bertha. By Heavens ! if this is the philosophic mode — stoical 
 all over — with which you are to love my sister, you sha'n't 
 have her after all ! I'll second my father's objections. I'll 
 admit that you are not only a Frenchman, but but an unnatural 
 Frenchman, who has no proper sense of la belle passion." 
 
 " Willie," said the other, while his bronze visage showed 
 warmer tints through the skin than ever. 
 
 " Oh ! you mean that I do you injustice ; but, by Heavens, 
 Peyre ! to think of your opposing such a visit, only for an hour, 
 under such circumstances, is absolutely monstrous ! What 
 would Carrie say !" 
 
 " That I did not forget honor in love." 
 
 " And who forgets honor ? What is there in conflict with 
 honor in this proposed visit?" 
 
 " With duty, then 1 Do you not see, from this very story 
 of 'Bram, that there are new reasons rendering the reconnoi- 
 sance of these posts doubly necessary ?" 
 
 " And will the delay of a few hours affect the duty 1" 
 
 " It may I" 
 
 " Well, let it ! I am a man as well as a soldier. I have not 
 had an hour's respite for the last three months — have not 
 wasted an hour idly. Shall I be denied a few brief moments 
 of pleasure — a single hurried embrace with those who are dear 
 to my heart 1 Oh, Peyre, Peyre, how can yon deny me ?" 
 
 " I deny myself, Willie." 
 
 " I don't believe it ! You are a stoic, a cynic, an ascetic ! 
 You have no more heart than a millstone. I tell you, Peyre, I 
 will pay this visit. An hour's riding will carry us there. I 
 will buf kiss all round, and say, ' God bless you !' and ' How 
 
WILLIE SINCLAIR'S VISIT TO HIS PATHEK. 471 
 
 d'ye dD V and ' Good-by !' all in the same breath ; and then cry 
 aloud, to appease your conscience, ' Captain St. Julien, sound 
 to-saddie !' There ! will that promise serve you?" 
 
 " I can only counsel, Willie." 
 
 " And you persist in counselling for Pooshee and Wantoot, 
 and against this visit ]" 
 
 " I do — however reluctantly, I do ! It is against the desires 
 of my own heart that I so counsel." 
 
 " That for your counsel !" snapping his fingers. " Boot and 
 saddle, there ! Shall there be no sunshine, because I am a sol- 
 dier? — no smile, because I must scout and fight? — not a kiss 
 from loving lips, because, a moment after, I may have a bullet 
 through my breast ? Come on, Peyre ! Never look so dreary, 
 man — so stern! — don't treat yourself so unkindly. I know 
 your heart — know that you long, as much as I do, for this 
 meeting with our friends ; and that your virtue and duty are 
 quite too severe for ordinary humanity. They will starve you 
 yet in the midst of plenty. To-saddle, man ! We shall see all 
 the dear ones in an hour !" 
 
 And so they rode ! 
 
 But they had not ridden a mile before they encountered one 
 of Marion's scouting-parties, post-haste, " spurring, fiery red," 
 who brought despatches for Sinclair, commanding his immediate 
 return to the brigade. Marion wrote : — 
 
 " The general designs a great movement, which requires the 
 concentration of all our forces. Give no further heed to the 
 small posts of Pooshee and Wantoot. We are in possession of 
 all that we need to know of these places, which sink into insig- 
 nificance in consequence of the approach of Stewart with his 
 whole army. He is pushing down the country, and will be upon 
 you, unless you move quickly. He will probably halt and for- 
 tify himself at Eutaw. He has, we know, ordered up all his 
 detachments from below. Five hundred infantry are now on 
 the march from Fairlawn, while Stewart's own army is said 
 to number two thousand and three hundred. We shall have 
 our hands full of business soon, and need all the men that we 
 can muster. If you can convey intelligence of this to Captains 
 Vanderhorst, Conyers, and Coulter, who are all operating some- 
 
472 EUTAW. 
 
 where above you, do so. But lose no time in doing it ; and, 
 above all, do not let this or any other duty interfere with your 
 immediate return to the brigade." 
 
 Another despatch was from Eutledge : — 
 
 " Sorry, my dear colonel, to cut short your roving commis- 
 sion ; doubly sorry that it has not yet resulted as you could 
 wish. But we can spare you from the main action of the drama 
 no longer. We are now, I think, approaching the denouement, 
 and require all our heroes on the stage. Stewart is in rapid 
 march downward — a little too strong for us yet, particularly 
 with the reinforcements which he will get from the lower posts. 
 We hear of these in motion from several quarters, as many as a 
 thousand or twelve hundred men. These, in addition to his 
 estimated strength at present of twenty-three hundred, will give 
 heavy odds against us, unless our mounted men come out much 
 more numerously than usual. Greene is on the march, some- 
 what recruited, but very little strengthened. Congress has done 
 nothing — can or will do nothing — not even give us arms and 
 ammunition ! Three hundred of our people are still without 
 serviceable weapons of any kind, and seven hundred without 
 jackets or breeches. It is really lucky that we have hot 
 weather. We must make up in zeal what we -lack in men and 
 munitions, and only fight the harder from having but little 
 means with which to fight at all ! That, my dear Sinclair, is a 
 new philosophy for the management of armies, but it is one 
 that will not seem altogether silly in the estimation of the true 
 patriot. At all events, it is about the best that I can give to 
 you, who know how to fight so well on short commons ; and it 
 affords the only hope upon which I have fed (very like fasting) 
 for a long season ! Once more, then, my dear Sinclair, let me 
 regret the necessity which requires that you rejoin your bri- 
 gade, and defer, for a brief season, the painfully interesting per- 
 sonal enterprises upon which you are engaged. 
 
 " Ever sincerely your friend, " J. Rutledgb." 
 
 Sinclair read with evident vexation. Ho handed the de 
 spatches to St. Julien, with the single remark 
 " Was ever anything so malaprop ]" 
 
WILLIE SINCLAIR'S VISIT TO Hid FATHER. 47f5 
 
 Then ho addressed himself to the bearer of despatches, and 
 asked sundry questions about the position of the brigade, its 
 numbers, and so forth. 
 
 " Of course, Willie, you obey these mandates 1" 
 
 " To be sure ! Could you doubt 1 But if you mean, by this 
 question, Peyre, to convey the idea that I am to be cut off from 
 this visit to my father, you are mistaken. No, by Heavens ! 
 I will see him — see them all — feel the gripe of their hands 
 once more, though Stewai-t with all his army came thundering to 
 the interview ! Ho, there !" 
 
 And he called up a couple of lieutenants. 
 
 " Mazyck, take ten men, and scout along the road above. 
 Rendezvous in two hours at Mrs. Avinger's. You, Postell, take 
 another ten men on the road below. Watch well, both of you, 
 and keep to time." To BaJlou he gave instmctions for finding 
 Vanderhorst and Conyers. " Coulter," said he, " may be about 
 the Four-Hole Bridge. But he is too far to reach now. Unless 
 by some fortunate accident, we can hardly find him in proper 
 season. At all events, take this paper" — here he penciled 
 upon a scrap of letter a single sentence. " Drop it in the old 
 hollow at Green Fork. It is just possible that he may be in 
 the precinct, and will look there. You" (to Ballou) " can re- 
 sume your scouting about the hiding-place of Inglehardt. You 
 must find out the secrets of that fastness, man, or die ! Your 
 reputation as a scout depends upon it. Do not let this wild 
 girl beat you at your own business. — And now, Peyre, my 
 brother — my cynical, duty -loving friend— you go with me ! I 
 am resolved that we shall not lose the one hour which T dedi- 
 cate to our hearts, for all the British armies that ever left Land's 
 End !" 
 
 And again they rode. 
 
 Under 'Bram's guidance, they soon reached ths widow Av- 
 inger's. They got i glimpse of old Cato as they dashed into 
 the ecclcsuro. Old Sam was seen to take off his C£.p and grin, 
 and make a leg ; but they stopped nowhere short of the piaza.a. 
 where, dismounting, they hurried up the steps, and were in the 
 hall of the dwelling, before the inmates were aware of the char 
 acter of the visiters. 
 
 The baron lay drowsing upon his sofa. Carrie Sinclair w.\s 
 
474 EUTAW. 
 
 in her chamber, in her bed, still suffering from her terrors, her 
 bmisea, and the natural excitement and anxiety of her soul. 
 Mrs. Travis was in attendance upon her. Mrs. Avinger was in 
 the kitchen. St. Julien lingered in the piazza, as Sinclair 
 darted in. 
 
 "My father!" he cried, as he recognised the old man on the 
 sofa, and rushed up to him, and threw his arms about his neck. 
 The veteran started from his drowse, with a cry of joy and pain ; 
 " My son ! oh, Willie, my son, my son !" he cried, and burst 
 into a sobbing lamentation, like a child, utterly overcome. The 
 son was shocked. 
 
 " Why, sir, why do you weep thus ]" 
 
 " Weep ! ha ! ha ! Rather ask why I do not rave — why I 
 do not tear my hair — why I am not a madman !" 
 
 " I knew that you were sick, sir ; but you are better now." 
 " Sick, sir ? D — n the sickness ! I have been nigh to death, 
 sir ! Oh, Willie, I have been nigh to death ! But I am a 
 man — a soldier. Do you suppose I trembled at the thought 
 of death ? do you suppose that death, or danger of my own, of 
 any kind, would cause these eyes to fill and overflow ? It is 
 worse than death ! Oh, Willie, have you not heard — do you 
 not know? That girl — that sweet, loving, dear creature — 
 Annie Smith — no, not Annie Smith (d — n the Smiths!) — but 
 your girl, your affianced — yes. Bertha — she ! — my God, pre- 
 serve my brain I" 
 
 " Be;;tha ! what of her ! I know that she is here !" 
 " You know no such thing ! She is gone, I tell you ! Why 
 the devil will you not understand, at once, without my telling 
 it again and again, as if it were a pleasure to rub afresh the 
 Vounds in my heart." 
 
 " Gone ! Bertha, gone ! Where ?" 
 
 " Ay, where ? Why are you not alle to answer the ques- 
 tion ? Why were yon not here to protect, and defend, and res- 
 cue, the innocent creature from the wolves and vultures — frorr. 
 the dark, damnable ruffians that have carried her off." 
 "Carried off! Ruffians!" 
 
 "Why do you echo me!" with a fearful oath. "Do you 
 suppose it a pleasure with me to have the infernal thorn for ever 
 iU my side ! Ay, carried off, by ruffians, with violence, carried 
 
WILLIE SINCLAIR'S VISIT TO HIS FATHER. 475 
 
 jfiF, no one knows whither, or for what purpose ; but, as we sup- 
 pose, by Inglehardt, since that hell-borr ruffian, whom you once 
 let escape you, Hell-fire Dick, was the leader of the gang !" 
 
 " Great God !" cried Willie Sinclair, as he staggered back> 
 convulsed and trembling with emotions that denied him furtlici' 
 speech. At that moment, Carrie Sinclair,. who had heard her 
 brother's voice above stairs, and could not be restrained, rushed 
 into the room, and threw her arms sobbing, as if her heart would 
 break, about his neck. 
 
 " Oh ! Willie, oh ! my brother ! I strove for her ; I would 
 have died to save her, but I had no strength ! Look at me, 
 how they have beaten, and disfigured me in defence of her !" 
 
 " My poor Carrie !" cried Willie, recovering strength from 
 the feeling of horror as he beheld her bruised and blackened 
 face — " Why was I not here ?" 
 
 " Why ? why ? Oh ! Willie, all was going on so well ! The 
 dear girl is an angel, and won all our hearts !" 
 
 Willie's second thought, as he beheld his sister's face, was — 
 "St. Julien must not see her thus!" But St. Julien, as he 
 heard her voice, entered the apartment. He took her hand, 
 pressed it — oh!, how earnestly — looked into her eyes, which 
 drooped before him, and with one look from his own, which had 
 in it a world of intelligence, he dropped her hand softly and 
 advanced to the baron. 
 
 " Oh ! you are both here, now, when it is too late !" was the 
 old man's only salutation. " And what are you about to do for 
 her recovery. You will seek — " 
 
 "Ay, seek ! slay !" cried Willie Sinclair, with a fierce burst 
 which was unrestrainable. " I will drink of that villain's blood ?" 
 
 But we dismiss the scene. We can add nothing to it. It's 
 facts were so much — no more. Of what avail the narrative 
 — the sobs which accompanied it — the deep agonizing groan, 
 or wail, and the fierce exclamation, which followed the cruel 
 details. It was storm and rain throughout- — thunder and light- 
 ning, and a pitchy cloud over all ! But there was one spot 
 through which the blue heavens shone with promise ! There 
 was no longer one hostile feeling in old Sinclair's heart, to the 
 object of his son's affection. So much had been gained, at least, 
 to love, and hope supplied the rest 
 
476 KDTAW. 
 
 And the two captains tore themselves away, at last, as the 
 bugles sounded without the assemblage of their several squads 
 at the place of rendezvous. They had brought a glimpse of 
 consolation to the family by their presence, though they could 
 offer none. But how changed was the scene, in reality, to them- 
 selves, from that which had awakened poor Willie Sinclair's 
 glowing anticipations. 
 
 " And what now, Willie ?" demanded St. Julian, as they 
 reached the woods. 
 
 " Pursue ! pursue ! hunt ! search ! Take no rest, no respite, 
 no sleep, till I track that wolf-robber to his den, and»rescue the 
 victim from his jaws !" 
 
 " That is impossible now, Willie ! Remember the orders of 
 Marion, the despatches of Rutledge." 
 
 "And what right has Marion, or Rutledge, to deny that I 
 shall be human — have a heart — seek to save the dearest ob- 
 ject of my soul from hurt and shame !" was the wild fierce re- 
 sponse of the roused and passionate man. 
 
 " You are not sane now, Willie. You must obey-orders." 
 
 " Go, Peyre ! Do your duty. Take the men with you ! 
 Leave me, my brother. I have one duty — over all — to her — 
 to myself — which I can no longer forego !" 
 
 " No, Willie, this must not be. I must save you from your 
 self. Submit to me. You know that I would not counsel you 
 to error. You must not leave the army on the eve of battle ! 
 Leave it in my hands. Bertha is, really, in no danger. She 
 is only under temporary constraint. The object of Inglehardt 
 is to force her to marry him, not to wrong or harm her other- 
 wise!" 
 
 " And suppose he succeeds." 
 
 " Then let her go !" 
 
 "Ha!" 
 
 " Yes, let her go ! If his threats or artifices can prevail upon 
 a sensible mind like that of Bertha Travis, then is her love of 
 too little value to provoke a care !" 
 
 " But, Peyre, my brother — " 
 
 " I know what you would say. Fidelity, Willie, means faith, 
 and truth, and resolution, against force, power, threats, terror, 
 bonds, everything ! That is the meaning of all such pledges if 
 
WILLIE SINCLAIR'S VISIT TO HIS FATHER. 477 
 
 they mean anything ! To be faithful only when the skies 
 smile, and the seas are smooth, and there is no danger, no suffer- 
 ing, is a butterfly sort of fidelity which you may whistle down the 
 wind in all seasons. Have faith in your betrothed ! She will 
 defy the arts of this ruffian, mock his threats — come out of the 
 furnace purer, stronger, truer, and more devoted than before. 
 It is your want of faith that questions hers !" 
 
 " I do not question her faith, but her strength, Peyre." 
 
 " Faith makes strength. You must go with me. You mttst 
 not he absent from the army noie." 
 
 " Honor ! Honor ! Duty ! Country ! what sacrifices of the 
 heart ye ask at our hands !" 
 
 Enough, that, with a loving zeal, tenderness, and authority, 
 Pcyre St. Julien clung to his refractory friend till he coerced 
 his submission. He was unexpectedly succored in his argu- 
 ments and entreaties, by the arrival of Lieutenant Mazyck and 
 his scouting party, who reported Colonel Stewart with the wliole 
 British army to be only two miles above, and rapidly pressing 
 down upon them. 
 
 With a deep groan, Sinclair ga^^e the orders to sound to sad- 
 dle, and prepared to reconnoitre the advancing columns of the 
 enemy, before returning to Marion's camp on the Santee ; and, 
 if possible, to harass their flanks, and cut off stragglers : a duty 
 which he performed with his usual energy — perhaps with a 
 savage increase of energy — giving the enemy, an hour's cause 
 of disquiet, and picking up half a score of prisoners. All this, 
 with the British deficiency in horse, ho executed with equal 
 spirit and success. 
 
478 EDTAW= 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 HOW NELLY FLOYD SPED TO SAVE HER BROTHER. 
 
 We need here a little historical resume. We have seen tlat 
 Colonel Stewart — or, as we should now call him, General Stew- 
 art, having the command of all the active British operations in 
 Carolina after the departure of Lord Rawdon — had pushed up 
 to the banks of the Oongaree, and, almost as promptly, wheeled 
 about and pressed down, with all his army, to the low country. 
 Meanwhile, the Americans were watching him closely. Colonel 
 Washington was detached down the country also, along the 
 Santee ; Lee upward, along the north bank of the Congaree ; 
 the latter, to co-operate with Colonel Henderson, then in com- 
 mand of Sumter's brigade, at Fridig's feny : the fonner, to 
 strike at the enemy's communications with Charleston, and co- 
 operate with Marion and Maham, in covering the Lower Santee. 
 Colonel Harden, as already reported, with his mounted militia, 
 was seeking to straiten the British beyond the Edisto, and 
 along the heads of tide water in that region. Most of these 
 bodies were mounted men, and, as Greene himself testifies, 
 " never excelled for enterprise in the world." 
 
 We have not deemed it necessary to report the numerous 
 small adventures in which they were perpetually and almost 
 alwayB successfully engaged. We have rather sought, by the 
 exhibition of a few instances, to give a general idea of their 
 spirit, enterprise and vigilance, than to furnish a perfect chroni- 
 cle of their doings. We may state, however, that, in this very 
 progress, Washington cut up two distinct bodies of the Britiph 
 light horse, making some fifty prisoners ; while Lee, crossing 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD SPED TO SAVE HER BROTHER. 47'. 
 
 the Oongaree with his cavalry only, penetrated between th 
 main body of the enemy, and the garrison which he had left at 
 Orangeburg, and, almost in sight of the latter place, drove in, 
 dispersed, cut to pieces, or captured, several of their foraging 
 and communicating parties. On one of these occasions, our 
 Captain Inglehardt suffered some rough handling, lost fiv3 of 
 his troopers, and made a narrow escape with the rest. 
 
 The audacity of the American cavalry was now such, and 
 their activity and vigilance so great, that, unless under protection 
 of large detachments, the convoys of the British were invariably 
 captured. Stewart was thus compelled to seek all his supplies 
 from below, and, through the several posts which formed a 
 chain of connection from Charleston to Orangeburg. 
 
 But, even these failed to afford the necessary cover for his 
 parties ; and his departure from Orangeburg, and the subsequent 
 withdrawal of the garrison from that post, had become a neces- 
 sity. It had become essential to the safety of the lower posts 
 themselves, watched as they were, by Marion, Maham, and 
 Washington, that the main British army should concentrate, at 
 some point considerably below Orangeburg, whence it might 
 send out succor promptly to the relief of any garrison which 
 the activity of the partisans should straiten. By forced 
 marches, as we have shown, Stewart hurried from the Congaieo 
 downward, and took position at Eutaw Springs, at a plantation, 
 the brick dwelling of which might be put to use as a fortress. 
 His estimated strength we have given in a previous chapter. 
 He was able to concentrate, at this point, if he thought proper, 
 at least three thousand men. We now know, from the official 
 returns of the British army, that the number of troops which 
 they had in Carolina, on the 1st of September, 1781 — this 
 very time — was 9,775, and these were nearly all veteran regi- 
 ments — enough, it would seem, to keep in subjection, and 
 effectually criish, if properly directed, any force which the 
 Americans had within the state, or any which, in their present 
 condition, they could raise or equip. That Stewart might have 
 accumulated from three to five thousand men at Eutaw, we have 
 no question ; and but for the fear of the consequences of draw- 
 ing too greatly upon the strength of the garrison at Charleston 
 — which constituted his only great base of operations — he 
 
480 EUTAW. 
 
 would probably have so strengtbened himself at Eutaw, as 
 would have discouraged efiFectually all the attempts of the 
 Americans upon that position. That he had between twenty- 
 five hundred and three thousand men under arms at th^t place 
 is now beyond all question. His great deficiency was in cavalry. 
 His only regular force, of this sort, consisted of something less 
 than one hundred men, led by Captain Coflfin, an officer of 
 ability and spirit. His irregular horse was more numerous, 
 consisting of mounted loyalists, some half a dozRu or more 
 bands, such as that led by our Captain Inglehardt, to whom the 
 business of convoying and foraging was usually confided. 
 
 But, even laboring under this deficiency of cavaliy, Stewart 
 felt himself quite secure at Eutaw. His position might be 
 roudarcd one of great strength, and he was fully conscious of 
 his superiority in numbers, in training, and in all the materiel 
 of war, in which the Americans Avere notoriously deficient. 
 He, accordingly, seated himself at Eutaw with a serene and 
 well-satisfied composure, which, perhaps, rendered him some- 
 what neglectful of proper military precautions. 
 
 The Eutaw spring is situated in the upper edge of the pres- 
 ent district of Charleston, not far distant from- Nelson's ferry. 
 The waters gush up through an opening in the earth of small 
 diameter, and immediately form a pretty basin, a hundred and 
 ■ fifty paces round, transparent, and only a few feet deep. From 
 this basin the waters glide through a subten-aneous passage of 
 limestone, and, at a distance of a hundred paces, boil up, and 
 reappear through a variety of passages which unite to form 
 the Eutaw creek. The creek is a bold one, having high banks, 
 which, at this period, were well-wooded, forming an almost 
 impenetrable cover of tree and shrub, sapling and brushwood. 
 Erom the dwelling-house, which was of brick, and two stories 
 in height, there ran a garden, down to the bank, enclosed with 
 palisades. The main building, which commanded the fields on 
 every side, was surrounded with various offices of wood, and 
 farm-buildings — one of them a barn of considerable size — all 
 of which were convertible to use, for defence, in a moment of 
 emergency. The place was well-selected for Stewart's pur- 
 
 But we must not anticipate. The British army has not yet 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD SPKD TO SAVE HER BROTH KR. 481 
 
 quite reached this place of refuge ; and Nelly Floyd is rapidly 
 speeding downward, several miles in advance of their columns. 
 She has a long ride before her, and her impatience and anxiety, 
 which were increased feaifully at every step in her progress, 
 prompted her to put her little beast to the utmost uses of her 
 legs. She entreats her, as she goes, with a voice of tenderness 
 and earnestness, which, however, does not prevent her from the 
 occasional application of the twig of hickory which she carries 
 in her hand. She speaks to her, as if she understood fully 
 every syllable of argument and entreaty, and pats the neck, 
 which, a moment before, she has irritated with her whip. 
 
 " Do now, dear Aggy, go a little faster ! You are so slow to- 
 day- — and we have lost so much time already. That bad man, 
 to ride over us, and thrust you down, and make me a prisoner ! 
 What right had he to make me a prisoner? What right had 
 those officers to keep me answering their foolish questions? 
 Oh, Aggy ! we've lost more than three hours. We shall be too 
 late — too late!" 
 
 And Aggy's little trot became faster. It was surprising how 
 the creature compassed the ground, never once stopping to walk, 
 but keeping up the rapid gait with which she started, appa- 
 rently without fatigue, certainly without cessation. But her 
 rider was by no means satisfied. 
 
 " Oh ! that I had wings ! I shall be too late ! Poor Mat ! 
 I warned him, all I could. I saw it from the first. Oh ! that 
 bad company ! That first false, false step ! Why did I counsel 
 him to keep away from the Americans ! Why did I not speak 
 to him in time before he got into the snares of that wicked old 
 man, Rhodes ! Oh ! that Molly Floyd had never seen one of 
 that Rhodes family ! All wicked ; all murderers and robbers 
 from the first ! 
 
 " It is all my fault ! Why did I leave him that night at 
 Griffith's, and go to sleep, when I could not know what was to 
 happen — before I found out that they were going to send him 
 below ! And how stupid it was to follow that wicked crew, 
 half a day, without finding out that Mat wasn't among them. 
 It is all my sleep and stupidity. Oh, me ! if anything happens 
 to him, I shall never sleep again. 
 
 " And it will happen to him, unless I can get there in timo ! 
 
 ai 
 
482 EUTAW. 
 
 I have seen it again, this very daj^that terrible picture ! This 
 time, I have seen him on the fatal gallows ! Ah ! Goil of 
 mercy, let it not be so! — but I have seen it! Let me be in 
 time ! Hark ! It is his voice, I hear him ! He cries to me ! 
 He says : ' Save me, Nelly, my sister ! Come to me, Nelly, 
 before I'die!' Yes, I will come, Matty, I will! Oh, little 
 Aggy I how slowly yon do go !" 
 
 And she smote the little beast, this time, sharply, heavily, 
 with all the weight of her arm. And she rode on confidently, 
 not heeding her course, though she had never, in all proba- 
 bility, trodden the route before. How did she know it now ? 
 What were her sources bf information 1 How bad she learned 
 where Mat Floyd was, and in what danger 1 Had she heard 
 from the lips of others ; or does she derive her information 
 solely from those dreams, those visions, which she asserted 
 and believed herself to see ? Who shall tell ? She, herself, 
 tells us nothing more than we have heard. It is only : " I have 
 seen it ! Oh ! the horror ! The doom is come at last ! It is 
 all clearer, fuller, more terrible than ever !" 
 
 And she never seemed to ask herself koio she was to save 
 the wretched youth, even if she should arrive in season. On 
 this subject she seemed not to reflect at all. Her only object 
 was to reach the scene of trial and of dread, and all the rest 
 seemed easy. To this one end, her whole effort was addressed. 
 This employed all her thought. The entire mind seemed in- 
 tensely concentrated on the single point, and, perhaps, fortu- 
 aately; for how, if she had asked herself the next question — 
 how shall I save him, now that I arh here ? save him from the 
 consequences of his crime — the robbery, if not the murder of 
 the Adairtfi—foT of th6 latfr crime he declared himself guilt- 
 less — save him from the terrible weight of circumstantial evi- 
 dence, and from the stem judgment of the military tribunal 
 before which he is tried? — how should she have- answered t 
 It may be that she had resources in reserve, of which we have 
 no knowliedge; but the probabilities are, that she had none, 
 but her tears and eloquence, prayers and pleadings ; and that, 
 in her sanguine eageriiess to reach the scene, she entirely over- 
 looked the rest. It was, no doubt, a providential relief to her 
 brain, that such was the case. She could not well have an 
 Bwered or endured the further inquiry 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD SPED TO SAVE HEB BEOTHEH. 483 
 
 Bat, as she rode, as fast as her little beast conld be made to 
 go, stopping never, and impatient always when Aggy seemed 
 disposed to economize his little legs. 
 
 " Oh ! go on, Aggy, yon shall have a long rest to-night !" 
 
 And so, for more than twenty miles, she sped, right on, not 
 even pausing to drink at the brooklet as it ran across her path. 
 She had ate nothing all day ; and, with the exception of the 
 brief period in which she had been detained by Sinclair, she 
 had been all day in rapid motion upon the road. She was now 
 nearing her journey's end, and her excitement vividly increased 
 with her weariness. The excitement alone sustained her. But 
 it wroa^t terribly npon her soul as well as countenance. She 
 was haggard with fear and weakness. She momently cried 
 aloud her agonies. 
 
 " Oh ! I shall be too late— too late ! I see it all ! —ah !"— 
 with a fearful shriek — "He calls me again — again! He cries 
 out in his agonies. Yes — a moment — only a moment, Mattie, 
 and I will come! I am coming fast — I am riding hard. I 
 ■will soon be with you. Wait, oh ! wait. I am comii^ 
 fast !" 
 
 And, thus shrieking, as if she heard and saw — as if he, the 
 victim, could also hear and see — she threw out her hands before 
 her, while her eyes seemed about to leap from their sockets in 
 the eflEbrt to overcome the weary space that lay between. It 
 was now approaching sunset, and she was within a mile of the 
 homestead of Devaux, in which the Adairs had been murdered. 
 And it was there, even there, that the awful tragedy of justice 
 was to be enacted. A military tribunal had already sat in judg- 
 ment upon the miserable prisoner. He had denied all share in 
 the murder, but admitted his participation in the robbery. But 
 his own pleas could avail nothing. The court found him guilty 
 and doomed him to die upon the gallows, in front of the dwel- 
 ling where the crime had been committed. So shocking had 
 been the transaction, so intimate had been the British officers 
 with the poor, old, weak, vain, but hospitable victims, that the 
 judgment and execution were equally hurried. The trial had 
 taken place in the very chamber where the murder bad been 
 done ; and from the court to the gallows there was but a step ! 
 The culprit doggedly heard his doom in silence. When asked 
 
484 EUTAW, 
 
 what he had to say — why he should not die for the crime — ho 
 answered : — 
 
 " What kin I say ? I tell'd you all a'ready. 1 did not kill the 
 old people. I didn't strike either of 'em a blow. 'Twas Gus 
 Clayton did it. I wasn't consenting to it no how ; and ef you 
 hangs me for the doings of another man, it's murder, I reckon. 
 I'm willing to swear upon the Holy Book, that I never struck 
 either on 'em a blow." 
 
 Of course, he shared the offence. It needed no argument on 
 this subject, even if they admitted the truth of the fellow's state- 
 ment. It made no impression upon the court. There was no 
 voice of dissent from his doom, and he was led out in five min- 
 utes after sentence to execution. When he saw the gaUows, he 
 said, with a hoarse sort of chuckle : — 
 
 " You've been mighty quick about it." 
 
 There was no answer. His tone changed slightly. 
 
 " But you ain't guine to hang me right away ! You'll give 
 me time to considerate a bit — a few days, cappin — jest a few 
 days. You ain't guine to turn a man out into the dark, and 
 never let him say his prayers." 
 
 " Say them quickly. You have but ten minutes allowed 
 you." 
 
 " Only ten minutes. Lord God, have mercy. You give a 
 man only ten minutes, and he a great sinner. Oh ! cappin, yoa 
 don't know what a great sinner I 'em." 
 
 " I can believe it," was the reply. 
 
 " Oh ! then be marciful and give me time, jest three days or 
 80, that I may pray for marcy for my sins." 
 
 "You must do all this in ten minutes," said the officer taking 
 out his watch.'" 
 
 " Oh ! Jesus ! It's jest what Nelly said. It's a cappin in a 
 green uniform. Oh ! Lord, ef I had only Iiearn to Nelly. And 
 hyar I am, tied up like a bear to a tree, and no doing nothing ! 
 Oh ! cappin, won't you just let 'em ontie my arms. This rope 
 does so cut into the flesh." 
 
 " Believe him, if it needs," said the young officer to one of 
 the soldiers. " But, my poor fellow, such a pain must be small 
 — you should scarcely feel it, with your life forfeit, and to be 
 loB*'. BO soon " 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD SPED TO SAVE HER BROTHER. 486 
 
 " Ah ! but I does feel it ! Ef I'm to die, I want to die as 
 easy as I kin. The rope hurts me mightily." 
 
 The officer seemed to commiserate the fellow's condition — 
 was, perhaps, unused to the painful duty before him. He avert- 
 ed his face from the spectacle. Meanwhile the soldier was busy 
 about the cords which bound the prisoner. 
 
 " But he ain't ontied me !" cried the criminal. 
 
 "No ! but I eased the tightness," answered the soldier. 
 
 " But kaint you ontie me ? I hain't got no weapons. What's 
 tobeafeardof]" 
 
 Had the miserable creature a hope ? He had, indeed, no 
 weapon. The knife which was to save him from the rope was 
 no longer within his gripe. He, possibly, relied upon his wiry 
 muscle, and great agility — we have seen it exercised once be 
 fore when he was in a similar strait — should he obtain the free- 
 dom of his arms — in the desperate use of his heels, when the 
 chance was that they would have shot him before he could be 
 taken. And they might miss their aim, and he might gain 
 the wood. Such was probably his hope. But, perhaps, sus- 
 pecting the criminal's purpose, the young officer now said 
 sternly : — 
 
 " No, sir ; you can not be untied. Waste no time. It is 
 precious to you now. Call upon God with all your might, and 
 all your heart." 
 
 " Ef you could get me a parson ! Tou won't hang me with- 
 out a parson, to help me a-praying V 
 
 " Your demand is impossible. There is no clergyman here. 
 You must do for yourself all that you can. Pray ! repent ! for 
 you have but three minutes left." 
 
 " Three minutes ! Lord God, ha' marcy ! But three minutes 
 and I'm to be a dead man. I won't. I won't go to the gallows. 
 You may chop me to pieces but I won't go ! It's a shame to 
 hang a man dead, in three minutes." 
 
 " We'll do for you in less time than that," said the provost- 
 marshal, who was an old soldier, and had done much of tliis 
 sort of business — giving the sign to a couple of stalwart assist- 
 ants. The officer put back his watch into his pocket. In an 
 instant they seized the criminal and haled him away. He 
 fought like a wild beast, plunging, butting, and tossing from 
 
186 EDTAW. 
 
 side to side. It required the strength of two or three other 
 soldiers to suhdue and bear him away to the gallows foot, and 
 lift him into the cart which stood below it. The rope was ad- 
 justed in spite of his struggles. The executioner mounted the 
 ladder and arranged it. All was ready. They bat waited for 
 the signal. Then, for the first time, the prisoner seemed to be 
 fully conscious that every chance of safety and escape was cnt 
 away. 
 
 " Lord God have mercy ! Don't ! don't yet ! O Lord, have 
 mercy ! Look out, ef you don't see somebody coming. Some- 
 body's coming, I tell you. Don't ! Oh, Nelly, whar kin you 
 be, now, when I wants you — now, when the time's come you 
 said ? Come and help me, Nelly ; come and save me, gal, ef 
 yon ever did love — ah ! ah ! — " 
 
 And the sounds ceased in a horrid gnrgle. The cart had 
 passed from beneath the wretched criminal, and he hung wri- 
 thing miserably in the air. 
 
 A mile away, those last words seemed to reach the ears of 
 Nelly Floyd! She cried out, at that very instant: "I am 
 coming, Mat — I eun coming ! O Father of mercies, help me to 
 get to him in time !" 
 
 And poor little Aggy was made to keep to her paces ; and, 
 in less than twenty minutes after, the girl was upon the scene, 
 her horse barely bringing her to the spot, then staggering for- 
 ward, and stumbling with both knees to the ground. 
 
 Nelly was ofif from her back in the same moment, and stand- 
 ing upon the earth herself, staggering blindly forward to the 
 group of officers and soldiers upon the hill. She seemed to be 
 blinded, feeling her way forward confusedly with her arms 
 and hands extended, while tottering up toward the group. 
 Suddenly, she looked up — caught a sight of the gallows — 
 of the victim, whose agonies were all over — and, with a wild 
 shriek, she darted forward to the officer in command, crying 
 out: — 
 
 " Take him down ! — oh, take him down ! — Oh, sir, be 
 merciful to me ! Spare him ! — Let him live ! — He is my 
 brother !" 
 
 " It is too late, my poor girl ! He is dead !" 
 
 " Who speaks ?" she cried, more wildly than ever. The 
 
HOW NELLY FLOYD SPED TO SAVE HER BROTHER. 4!?T 
 
 officer turned his glance full upon her — and their eyes 
 met! 
 
 "Sherrod Nelson!" — with a piercing shriek — cried the 
 unhappy girl — " oh, Sherrod Nelson, you have hung my 
 brother !" 
 
 And, with arms extended, she fell prostrate at his feet-upon 
 her face. She was insensible. 
 
488 EDT^W. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 HOW NELLY FLOYD DISAPPEARS. 
 
 It was no mere faint into which Nelly Floyd had fallen. It 
 was swoon — it was trance! Her body lay insensible, but it 
 kept warm. Her pulse scarcely vibrated to the touch. It was 
 doubtful if she breathed. For eighteen hours did she lie in this 
 condition. A surgeon of the British army was brought up from 
 Monck's Corner to see her. He had never seen so curious or 
 remarkable a case. He studied it closely. The syncope seemed 
 perfect and general as prolonged, yet deatli did not ensue. The 
 economy of life was going on, but with an almost total suppres- 
 sion of all external evidence of life — and howl There were 
 no tremors, no convulsions, no struggles, no breathings ! To 
 all mere casual observation, Nelly Floyd was dead. But the 
 surgeon said she lived ; but that nature, overtasked in many 
 ways, and suffering from peculiar mental as well as physical 
 conditions, rec[uired a peculiar process of recuperation. 
 
 Meanwhile, Slierrod Nelson ga^-e the poor girl every atten- 
 tion which it was in his power to bestow. He recognised her 
 as the special favorite of his mother ; as one whom his only 
 sister had passionately loved ; as one whom he had himself 
 studied with curious eyes and a loving interest, as a creature of 
 great sweetness of soul, and of veiy remarkable powers. He 
 procured a good old woman of the neighborhood as a nurse. 
 He himself watched by her couch for hours, as a sympathizing 
 attendant. The surgeon shared his watch, studying the case 
 with all the interest equally of science and humanity. Sherrod 
 Nelson wrote to his mother, in Florida, giving her all the par 
 
HOW NKLLY FLOYD DISAPPEARS. 489 
 
 ticulnvs. He wrote while Nelly lay lifeless before his eyes. 
 •His account was copious, as far as he knew. The picture he 
 drew was sufficiently pathetic. Already had he conceived the 
 idea of sending the girl on to his mother, in Florida, should she 
 recover from her swoon. 
 
 It was nearly sunset of the next day before she did show 
 signs of consciousness. Then her eyes opened to the light. 
 She looked around her. She spoke only a few words, but these 
 were intelligible. 
 
 " I know," she said — " I know." 
 
 What did she know 1 The surgeon was present at the mo- 
 ment. He ordered her nourishment. She ate a little gruel — 
 then sank away into sleep once more, or stupor, murmuring 
 feebly as she did so, " I know all now J" 
 
 " She needs nourishment, and soothing. Let there be no 
 noise. Watch her closely. As she awakes, supply her with 
 a little gruel — a little only at a time, but give it whenever she 
 awakes. She is docile, and that is fortunate." 
 
 For twelve hours more they watched her, feeding her thus 
 whenever she awoke to any consciousness. She always sub- 
 mitted — always ate a little, and again seemed to sink back to 
 sleep. A little wine was mingled cautionsly with her gruel. It 
 strengthened her. After a few more hours, she opened her 
 eyes, and appeared to scan the apartment. The old woman 
 who nursed her was alone present, and she began to prattle 
 with the usual eloquence of feminine antiquity. But Nelly 
 waved her hand, palm outward, as if commanding silence ; and 
 the nurse, though much wondering at the bad taste of her pa- 
 tient, to whom she was disposed to deliver all the news of the 
 precinct, was perforce hushed by the action into stillness. 
 
 Finding her patient thus doing well, and ill — finding that 
 she had a distaste for that peculiar sort of eloquence with which 
 she was specially gifted — the old woman left her for a while, 
 and went out, seeking companionship among the soldiers who 
 were quartered in the kitchen, and better prepared to do jus- 
 tice to her gifts of speech. There she found supper and scan- 
 dal in equal quantity, and, relishing both sorts of food, she lin- 
 gered, perhaps, rather longer away from her patient than was 
 altogether prudent for a nurse to do — but which, by-tlic-way, 
 
490 EUTAW. 
 
 a nurse is rather apt to do -r- and whet she got back to the 
 chamber, was confounded to find Nelly sitting up. 
 
 "To-bed — to-bed again!" cried the dame. "What'll the 
 doctor say ? You'll git your death ! You ain't fit to be setting 
 up after the long swound you've hed" — and she put forth her 
 hands to second her words ; but Nelly was docile, and at once 
 submitted, without offering resistance. 
 
 " Ah ! you'll do ! That's right. Only jest mind what'e told 
 you, and what the doctor says, and what I says ; and I reckon, 
 in a month, or five or six weeks, you'll be able to go about 
 agin." 
 
 "A month!" muimured Nelly to herself. "A month! It 
 mjist be done long before." 
 
 " What's that you're a-saying, my gal 1" 
 
 " Nothing, mother ! nothing." 
 
 " She calls me mother I She hain't got quite back into her 
 senses yit." 
 
 And the girl lay quiet, and slept, or seemed to sleep again ; 
 and was aroused only at certain periods, with a suggestion of 
 gruel. The next day, Sherrod Nelson came with the surgeon. 
 Nelly heard his voice as he entered the room. She shut her 
 eyes, and lay quite still. The surgeon soon had his finger upon 
 her wrist. 
 
 " She's a-sleeping yit," said the nurse, " she does hardly any- 
 thing but sleep, except when I routs her up to take her grueL 
 But in the night, I jist went out for a minute, and when I comes 
 back, I sees her a setting up by the window. I had her back 
 again, I tell you, in the twink of a musquito." 
 
 " Ah ! she got up, did she V said the surgeon. " Did she 
 say anything ?" 
 
 " Something to her ownself. I could jist hear her buzzing a 
 little with her mouth shet." 
 
 " She'll do. The pulse is feeble, but even, and the skin is 
 growing less rigid. I do not perceive any signs of pressure on 
 the brain. The functions are going on naturally. But we must 
 avoid noise, andforbear all provocation to excitement. Twenty- 
 four hours will free her, if she keeps on thus, of all doubtful 
 symptoms. But she has had a terrible shock, and the forces of 
 nature, for awhile, were all driven in. They are rallying now. 
 
HOW NELLY PLOTD DISAPPEARS. 491 
 
 The shock required that the faculties should all be respited, for 
 awhile, or recuperation would have been impossible. You 
 know her, then, Captain Nelson ?" 
 
 " Know her almost as a sister. She lived with my sister 
 Bettie, and myself, for years, like a sister. She was a pet of 
 my mother. A poor orphan-girl, whom my mother fostered at 
 first from charity, and afterward from love. She was always a 
 strange, wild creatnre^^all impulse — yet always gentle, even 
 when most wild — full of fondness for all of us-; and why she 
 left us I know not. There was no reason for it, that any one 
 could see. My mother wept bitterly to pai-t with her, and 
 Bettie, my sister, grieves even to this hour. There is some 
 mystery about the poor girl, and it had much to do with her 
 quitting us. Several times my mother sought to find her ; but 
 she seems to have hidden from us. The war, besides, made 
 search difiicnlt, particularly as we were loyalists, and were 
 driven out for two years. But we will not lose her now. J 
 have written to my mother, who is in Florida still, to say that I 
 will get her down to Charleston as soon as she is able to travel. 
 Now that we have her, she shall not escape us. She shall be 
 one of us again. Poor girl, what has she not endured. Look 
 at her garments. How strange ! How squalid ; yet a more 
 sensitive creature — a more delicate — does not live. A creatnre 
 of wonderful character and talent. I may say, in fact, a genius." 
 
 " But not a beauty, captain." 
 
 " Perhaps not ! and yet, I have seen her when ghe was per- 
 fectly beautiful even to my eyes, and my standards are rather 
 exacting. When animated, she is brilliant, if not beautiful ; 
 but — now — burnt by the sun, and chafed by the wind — poor, 
 badly clothed — perhaps, half-starved all the time, it is only 
 wonderful that she preserves so much of her former sweetness 
 of countenance. You should see her eye when she is in health 
 and heart. Now !" 
 
 " Could this miserable young man have been her brother ?" 
 
 " Such was certainly her speech ; but I doubt the connection. 
 She had probably known him from boyhood, and she was always 
 of a nature to attach herself-—'' 
 
 " Stay !" said the surgeon, with hand upon his lips, and in a 
 whisper. " She stars." 
 
•192 EUTAW. 
 
 They had spoken beside her bed, and, though iu very low 
 tones, yet the wakeful senses of the girl had caught up every 
 syllable. She had writhed more than once during that conver- 
 sation. She could endure it no longer. She showed signs of 
 awakening, and the surgeon motioned to Nelson to leave the 
 room. He, himself, only lingered to feel the pulse of his pa- 
 tient once more, and to see if her eyes would open. But they 
 did not. She was conscious that Nelson had gone out, and now 
 lay quiet. 
 
 The surgeon soon followed the young captain of loyalists, and 
 joined him where he waited, in the court without. 
 
 " She is again quiet," said the surgeon, anticipating the ques- 
 tion of the young man, " she will do now, I think. To-mon-ow, 
 we shall find her a gi-eat deal better." 
 
 And they walked off together. Sherrod Nelson was busily 
 employed all day, but the image of Nelly Floyd was present to 
 his fancy all the while. 
 
 "Yes," he said, thinking to himself, "Nelly was beautiful. 
 She will be so again when restored to health, and once more in 
 the dwelling of my mother. Why did she leave it ? We all 
 loved her. 
 
 " Yes ! I loved her. But—" 
 
 Sherrod Nelson hardly yet saw into his own heart. He had 
 lived a little too much, perhaps, in that sort of world which is 
 apt to obscure one's heart from one's own scrutiny. He had 
 lived in a conventional world — one of fashion — was himself 
 something of " a glass of fashion and a mould of form ;" was 
 wealthy, and, so, the "observed of all observers" — was petted 
 by the young women, and, occasionally pressed. Had been as 
 near to seizure by some of the desperate of the sex, as ever 
 young Adonis before. But his world, out of his mother's house- 
 hold had been a sophisticating one, and so a cooling, hard- 
 ening, and selfishly-exacting, not self-sacrificing world. The 
 army was a bad school, also, in which to train the sensibilities ; 
 and, in spite of the somewhat peculiar simplicity and natural- 
 ness of all the influences of home, Sherrod Nelson was no 
 longer a person to obey the calls of the heart to the exclusion 
 of all other voices. He had seen Nelly's beauty — -Je/t it — 
 admired her spirit, grace, sweetness, talents ; but — Nelly was 
 
HOW NELLY PLOTD DISAPPEARS. 493 
 
 an orphan — sprang from unknown people — nay, from people 
 too well known — and, Sherrod Nelson had lost some of his 
 independence of soul, in his sophistication. Convention is a 
 rare subduer of real courage, at least, in certain provinces where 
 we need it most. 
 
 Nelly Floyd had made a deep and vivid impression upon 
 Sherrod Nelson ; but, who is Nelly Floyd ? 
 
 " It would never answer !" the young man muttered to him- 
 self with a sigh, as he thought of her. 
 
 Yet, how nearly had he approached the verge of that preci- 
 pice, which, had he passed — what would the world say ? No ! 
 with all his real virtues, affections, and natural strength, he 
 could never brave that voice of vulgar fashionable opinion. 
 
 Lose caste ! no ! no ! He was right. " It would never an- 
 swer for him !" 
 
 And such also was the conclusion of Nelly Floyd. 
 
 Sherrod Nelson, step by step, had approached, with his own, 
 60 nigh to the heart of Nelly Floyd — nay, had so nearly 
 spoken out, from his own, to her heart, that the girl started up 
 into sudden consciousness of the true relations between them. 
 She saw all — all in a moment. She saw into her own heart, if 
 not his. But she fancied that she saw into his also. And, 
 with these discoveries — with this consciousness — seeing to the 
 remotest consequences — she suddenly said to Lady Nelson : — 
 
 " I must go !" and, without giving any adequate reason — but 
 showing fully, by her distress and tears, that she felt the neces- 
 sity to be urgent, she went. 
 
 Here is a brief history, but it contains volumes. She went 
 — and Nelly Floyd never met with Sherrod Nelson till the mo- 
 ment when she encountered him as her brother's executioner. 
 
 " But I have her now !" he repeated. " She shall not escape 
 me again!" And satisned on this score, he proceeded to his 
 military duties, still meditating the fate of the girl and how he 
 should dispose of her. 
 
 Had he now any purpose of defying convention — of showing 
 to the world that his faith in her beauty and her gifts was su- 
 perior to the requisitions of society and caste ? We know not. 
 We fear not. He, perhaps, simply meditated restoring her to a 
 more fit social condition. Enough, that, with some exultation 
 
i9i EUTAW. 
 
 he repeated to himself, more than once, throughout the 
 day :— 
 
 " I will not lose her now !" 
 
 But he knew not Nelly's strength, or pride, or sensibility. 
 That night old Mrs. Withers, the nurse, went forth, as usual, 
 when she got a chance, to the kitchen which the soldiers occu- 
 pied, to enjoy, as before, her scandal and supper. She left 
 Nelly Floyd " in her swound," as she called it. Wlien she got 
 back, after a two hours' recess, the bird had flown — the couch 
 was empty -^though still warm. Nelly Floyd was nowhere to 
 be found. In the morning it was discovered also, that Aggy, 
 the pony, had disappeared about the same time with his mis- 
 tress. They must have gone together. Yet how had she found 
 the horse ? How, in her weakness contrived to saddle, mount 
 him and ride away ? It was shown that she had done this. 
 
 All was consternation. Sherrod Nelson was in a passion of 
 excitement. He could have torn Mrs. Withers to pieces. 
 Search was made about the neighboring woods, but fruitlessly ; 
 and that very day, vexed, worried, and apprehensive, the young 
 man was compelled to march his command up to Eutaw, where 
 Stewart had already arrived with the grand army. 
 
 " Where was Nelly Floyd 1" 
 
 " Had she fled a maniac? What a horrid thought !" 
 
 Yet that horrid thought was the companion of our young 
 captain of loyalists during, and long after, all that dreary march ! 
 
 "Howling in the woods, great God ! — A maniac !" he shud- 
 dered at the picture. It might, indeed, be true. 
 
 At that moment, and with that fear filling all his fancy, Sher- 
 rod Nelson felt that Ellen Floyd was more dear to him than all 
 the world of fashion. But the terrible sway of that conventional 
 realm in which he had been trained ! It needs every now and 
 then, some terrible event to shock it back into humanity ! 
 
THE CAPTIVES MEET FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 435 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE CAPTIVES MEET — FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 While these events are in progress, determining the fates of 
 some of the minor personages in our drama, what of those who 
 claim a higher place in our regards 1 What of the loving and 
 beautiful Bertha Travis 1 
 
 We have heard of her abduction by the brutal ruffian with 
 the horrid nom de nique. We are also aware of the motives, by 
 which he was governed, in this audacious procedure. He was 
 too coarse a scoundrel, to suppose that any very serious griev- 
 ance would result to his victim, by her enforced marriage with 
 a person of good figure and agreeable deportment. It is true, 
 he gave Captain Inglehardt, whom he knew quite as well as 
 anybody else, but little credit for qualities of heart, or sensibil- 
 ities of any kind. But this deficiency he counted as of far less 
 importance to women, than to men ; for, it must be confessed, 
 that, like thousands of peopl6 much more polished, Dick of 
 Tophet regarded woman as a creature designed only to minister 
 to the more lordly sex, when the moods of the latter required 
 her attendance. His philosophy was very much that of the 
 young French princess, who, when asked by the reverend abbe 
 — a questibh of the catechism, no doubt — " What were women 
 made for?" — answered, with equal naivete and humility — "To 
 please the gentlemen, sir." This was precisely the notion of 
 our Dick in contemplating the uses of the sex. Dick was some- 
 thing of a Turk in his religion and a savage in his philosophy. 
 
 Now, as it was hi.«i own desire, just then, to please Captain 
 Inglebardt, he was not prepared to suppose it any great hard- 
 ship — inflicted on Bertha Travis — if she were required to do 
 
496 EUTAW. 
 
 likewise. But, we have already noted all his self-conceived 
 arguments on this subject. We must do him the justice to in- 
 sist, however, that his chief motive lay in the idea which he en- 
 tertained, that the capture of the sister would lead directly to 
 the release of the brother from captivity. Even as he rode, the 
 reflection occurred to his mind, and escaped his lips, in a mur- 
 mur of self complacency. 
 
 " I'll git the young sodger out of the harness. I likes that 
 fellow mightily." 
 
 When we consider Dick's peculiar philosophy, we are pre- 
 pared to make some allowances for his violations of law ; which 
 the world is very apt to do, you are aware, iu the case of per- 
 sons in better condition, for whom less allowance ought to be 
 made. 
 
 Bertha was treated with all possible tenderness consistent 
 with the outrage of which she was the subject. Dick of Tophet 
 was as deferential as he could well be, to a lady who was des- 
 tined to be the wife of his superior. He used, heedfnlly, only 
 that degree of violence which was necessary to secure and carry 
 off his captive. She was treated with much more tenderness 
 than Carrie Sinclair. But she was made to ride. Lifted upon 
 the steed that was to bear her away, and maintained upon the 
 saddle by the iron gripe of Dick himself, she was kept some 
 hours in as rapid motion as the difficulties of the forests, during 
 a night journey, and through hlini roads,* would allow; aud 
 was finally lifted from her horse, at midnight, in a state of par- 
 tial insensibility, carried into one of the log-cabins of Muddicoat 
 Castle, and was laid gently down upon a rude mattress of moss, 
 while Dick of Tophet went forth, we may suppose, in search of 
 assistance. Before he returned, the damsel recovered her coh 
 Eciousness and found herself alone and in utter darkness. We 
 may conceive the hoiTors and apprehensions which filled her 
 mind. She was left to brood with these for more than an hour. 
 When Dick reappeared, he brought with him a lighted tallow 
 candle, stuck in a bottle, which he set down upon the floor. 
 The apartment had neither chair nor table, nor was there win- 
 dow or chimney in it. It was, in so many words, a strong dun- 
 geon of heavy logs, with but a single door which might be barred 
 within, and locked upon the outside. There was a trap in tlic 
 
THE CAPTIVES MEET — FATHER AND DAUGHrER. 497 
 
 floor, leaving a means of escape below ; but, of course, this was 
 a secret, kept closely by those who possessed the fortress. 
 
 Bertha's courage came to her promptly enough with the re- 
 turn of her consciousness ; and this she had only lost for a short 
 time, and through sheer fatigue and exhaustion and not from 
 fright. She demanded of the ruffian in calm, resolute language, 
 what was designed by this deprival of her liberty. His answer 
 — no doubt designed to be very civil and encouraging — was, 
 however, very little consoling or satisfactory. 
 
 " Oh ! don't you be skeared now, young madam ; 'tain't no 
 barm that we're a-guine to do to you. "We don't mean to do 
 anything to you, but jest to make you a happy woman, as young 
 ladies likes to be made happy, and thar'^ but one way for that, 
 yoti know !" 
 
 To other demands of the young girl, the answers wferfe iequally 
 vague and unsatisfactory. Dick again disappeared, and, aftei 
 the lapse of half an hour more, he returned with a bowl of coffee 
 and a hoe-cake. 
 
 "You hain't had your supper to-night, young inadam, and I 
 reckon you'd like a bite of something." 
 
 " I wish nothing but my freedom," was the answer. 
 
 "Well, that you kaint hev just now, and freedom's but a 
 poor sort of feeding, ouless you kin find something more solid 
 to send down along with it — and ef you're sensible, you'll do a 
 lieetle eating jest now, and whenever you kin git it, ef it's only 
 to keep up your strength agin the coming of the freedom, you 
 knows !" 
 
 In this particular Dick's philosophy is not wanting in good 
 sense. Our poor Bertha was not disposed to deny it ; but she 
 could not then have swallowed a mouthful on any account. She 
 forbore, and, in silence, beheld her captor set down the coffee 
 and the hoe-cake beside the lamp upon the floor. Giving her 
 another urgent counsel to eat, drink, and be strong — if not 
 merry, Dick left her again to her melancholy meditations. 
 She heard him carefully lock the door without ; and he ap- 
 peared to her no more that night. 
 
 But he visited her brother. He soon found his way to the 
 den of the Trailer, on whom had devolved the entire govern- 
 ment of Muddicoat Castle during the absence of Inglehardt ; 
 
498 EUfAW. 
 
 and found n« difficultj in persuading the former — who had 
 gone to bed after a carOuse which left him exceedingly obliv- 
 ious of duty — to a surrender of his keys. Poor Henry Travis 
 started up with a sense of pleasure and society, when he beheld 
 the grim visage of our Dick peering into his dungeon. 
 
 " Well, little sodger, how does you git on here in the dark 1" 
 
 " Oh ! I'm so weary !" 
 
 " And hungry too, I reckon." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I never get a quarter as much as I can eat." 
 
 " I reckoned so ! I've brought you a few bites, young 
 sodger," continued the rufiSan taking a small bag from under 
 his arm, and displaying the browned corn bisenits — half a peck 
 at least — which he required the boy to put away in his hiding- 
 place — limiting him, at the moment, to a single biscuit, which 
 the boy devoured greedily. 
 
 " Now, look yon, my lad, you mustn't be too free in your eat- 
 ing. You must make these go jest as fur as possible ; 'caise, 
 you see, I'm off to-morrow, and I don't know when I shill git 
 back. Thar's hot work before us soon, I reckon ; and it mout 
 be that I'll never git back agin ! It's a chaince I may git a 
 taste of what's a-guine, when thar's a thousand bullets at one 
 time a-brnshing through the air." 
 
 " Is it a battle ?" demanded Henry eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, I reckon it's a-coming, from what I sees and hyars ; a 
 right r'yal battle ; big armies o' both sides and cannon a-thnn- 
 dering !" 
 
 " Oh ! can't you get me out I" 
 
 " Well, not jest yet : but the chainces for you are a-gittmg 
 better, sence to-night ; and I reckon 'twon't be long before I 
 gits you a discharge." 
 
 " In time to see the battle V 
 
 " May be ! kaint say ! we'll see to-morrow. I've got a sar- 
 cumvention a-foot, that, I reckon, will help you out of the tim- 
 bers. So don't be down in the mouth ; but pick up, and hev a 
 good heart, and you may see sights of fine fighting before many 
 days. Ef things go, jest now, as I wants 'em — and I've got 
 'em fair upon the right track — I reckon I'll bring you good 
 news afore long. So, be spry, and keep cheery, and ready 
 
THE CAPTIVES MEET — FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 499 
 
 for a spring, and a hop, skip, and jump. The time's a-coming 
 to give you a chaince agin." 
 
 " Oh ! I shall be so glad ! and I'll never forget you ! never ! 
 Shall I read to you, Mr. Dick V 
 
 "Not to-night. You wants all the night you kin hev for 
 sleeping.' 
 
 " No ! Day and night are all one to me here I I sleep all 
 the time, I believe." 
 
 " Well, young sodger, I reckon you doesn't see much light 
 any time, only when I comes. I'd like to hyar a leetle of the 
 book to-night, but I'm a-wanting a leetle sleep myself. My 
 eyes are a-drawing straws mighty fast." 
 
 " Bat won't you leave the book with me, Mr. Dick, to read 
 when I'm by myself?" 
 
 " Leave the book ? No ! I kaint do that. Ef you knowed 
 how I come by this book, you'd understand that I'm never to 
 part with it. It's come to me, I may say, from the dead. It's 
 out of the fingers of a dead man that it's come into mine ; and 
 thyar's bad luck to me ef I let's it go out of my hands. I keeps 
 it always in my buzzom, young sodger, to keep off the bullets." 
 
 " And you think 'twill do that ?" 
 
 " I knows it ! Oh ! ef you knowed the history of this book ! 
 But I kaint tell you ! And so good night, young sodger, and 
 don't git out o' heart ! I shain't forgit you !" 
 
 'The next day brought Inglehardt. His visits to Muddicoat 
 Castle, though at intervals in his foraging duties, were always 
 timed ; so that Dick of Tophet knew pretty well at what periods 
 to find him. Indeed, there was a concert in their arrangements 
 which enabled our captain of loyalists frequently to compare 
 notes with his striker, the better to carry on the complicated 
 business in which they were engaged. Dick of Tophet awaited 
 his coming. 
 
 Inglehardt was not in the best of humors. His fortunes had 
 felt some reverses. His disappointments had been frequent of 
 late. He had been roughly handled by Lee's cavalry, and had 
 made a narrow escape with his own life, losing a fifth of his 
 squad, and certain wagons in which there had been stored away 
 some valuable little pickings of his own, the fruit of a raid in 
 which a suspected <rhig had lost his plate, and stock, and a few 
 
500 EOTAW. 
 
 negi-oes. The stock had found their way to the British com- 
 missary at Orangeburg ; the negroes had been safely yielded 
 to the hands of Griffith ; the silver plate had been in that un- 
 lucky wagon which the dragoons of Lee had picked up by the 
 way. Inglehardt had reason to be dissatisfied with Fortune on 
 many accounts. 
 
 He now began also to conceive very awkward misgivings as 
 to the result of the war. If this should terminate favorably for 
 the Americans, death or exile stared him in the face. These 
 dangers he could only escape by going over, in season, to the 
 patriots ; a practice now becoming rather frequent, since the 
 same sign that oppressed Inglehardt's imagination, had appeared 
 equally impressive to that of other loyalists; and, since the 
 policy of Eutledge, which welcomed every prodigal's return, 
 had shown them an easy process for reconciling themselves to 
 the power which they had offended. 
 
 But Inglehardt could not attempt this policy with safety, so 
 long as he remained unreconciled with the Travis's;, and for 
 this reconciliation there was but one process — the marriage, no 
 matter how brought about, with Bertha. Once united with her, 
 by whatever process, the father was almost necessarily silenced ; 
 and the rest was comparatively easy. Inglehardt was growing 
 desperate, and resolved to stick at no measures which would 
 secure him his desired objects. The first grand necessity, there- 
 fore, was to obtain the hand of Bertha Travis. What was his 
 triumph, therefore — the exultation of his mood — when his 
 brutal emissary apprized him that the victim was already in his 
 power. 
 
 In a few brief words the facts of her abduction were all com- 
 municated ; and, in the first eager impulse of his satisfaction, he 
 hurried away to the cabin where Bertha was confined, to gloat 
 upon the beauties of his captive, and to make her feel the ex- 
 tent of his triumph. 
 
 Bertha had passed a dreary night. She had snatched a few 
 hours of broken slumber; nature having asserted her necessi- 
 ties, in defiance of the brooding, sleepless, and troubling thought. 
 But it was only in snatches that she slept. Her candle had 
 burnt out. She lay in utter darkness — no ray from without 
 ever penetrating that dungeon, unless in the bright sunshine of 
 
THE CAPTIVES MEET — FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 501 
 
 day, when small faint gleama miglit, hei-e and there, be caught, 
 as they trickled through the crevices of the cabin. Whenever 
 she waked, during the night, she could hear the ehant of frogs ; 
 and, at intervals, the hoarse bellow of the cayman. By these 
 she knew that she was buried in some dismal swamp ; but where, 
 in what quarter, she could not conjecture. She awoke, finally, 
 conscious of the daylight. There were certain little fine 
 streaks of sunlight that trembled through seams between the 
 logs, and glided timidly about the dusky chamber. These en- 
 abled her to see, at least, that it was daylight. 
 
 Thei'e is no describing the horror and suffering of her soul. 
 When she thought of her mother — of the grateful circle from 
 which she had been torn away — she could have wept bitterly, 
 but that the agony was too deep for tears. She never doubted, 
 for a moment, that she was in the power of Inglehardt; and it 
 was, accordingly, no surprise to her, when he presented himself 
 before her. She received him with all the calm of soul which 
 she could command. Her scorn of him, the sense of wrong and 
 brutal usage, all contributed to increase and strengthen the 
 natural dignity of her bearing and manner. 
 
 " I am rejoiced," said Inglehardt, not able to conceal his ex- 
 altation,, but still speaking in the cool, slow, indifferent manner 
 which was natural to him. " I am rejoiced to welcome Miss 
 Travis to my humble nefuge in the swamp." 
 
 " I am then your prisoner !" 
 
 " Oh, no ! not a prisoner — why prisoner? say guest, my dear 
 Miss Travis, an honored. gues,t." 
 
 " An unwilling one, sir, as you know. As a guest, I am free 
 to depart 1" 
 
 " What ! would you go without seeing, your father — your 
 brother?" 
 
 "My father! — my brother! It is here, then, that you also 
 keep them .prisoners." 
 
 " They are here, and I confess they enjoy less freedom than 
 I can accord to you, and for sufficient reasons. They are prio- 
 oners of state, under heavy charges." 
 
 Bertha smiled, but with some effort. But she felt all the 
 Bcorn which her smile expressed. 
 
 " Captain Inglehardt," she said, with as much, of quiet dignity 
 
502 EUTAW. 
 
 and calm as she could command, " you have a pretext for hold- 
 ing my father and my brother in captivity. Have you any for 
 detaining me 1" 
 
 " Yes," he said, promptly, " you are here to fulfil a solemn 
 contract which your father has made in your behalf." 
 
 " Proceed, sir, the nature of this contract 1" 
 
 " Your hand in marriage." 
 
 " "With yourself, is it not 1" 
 
 •' Yes." 
 
 " Then, sir, as my father could not justly dispose of my hand 
 in any such contract, and as I have no inclination to do so, you 
 will see that I am brought here to no end. I beg to assure you 
 that, under no circumstances, shall you ever have my hand." 
 
 " You are precipitate. You are, perhaps, quite ignorant of 
 the vital necessity which exists for your compliance with that 
 contract. Let me put you in possession of the good and suflR- 
 cient reasons why you should adopt another resolution." 
 
 Here he gave a rapid summary of her father's offences against 
 the crown — his treacheries and defalcations — sparing nothing, 
 suppressing nothing, and making the picture as odious as he 
 could. He concluded : — 
 
 " You have heard. For either of these offences, once in the 
 hands of Colonel Balfour, your father would perish on the gal- 
 lows. I have, in my keeping, the proof of all his crimes. It 
 is by my forbearance that he lives ; it is through me, only, that 
 he can escape ; and I am only to be moved to favor his escape, 
 and to the suppression of these proofs, by your compliance with 
 the tenor of his contract." 
 
 The maiden heard him patiently throughout. When he had 
 finished, she said: — 
 
 " Now, sir, hear me. Not a word of all this do I believe ! 
 Not a word that i/ou can say, calculated to lessen my self- 
 respect, my respect for my parents, or my scorn for you, will 
 avail you anything ! I am armed against all your representa- 
 tions by a thorough knowledge of your character." 
 
 Inglehardt reddened. Her coolness confounded him no less 
 than her scorn. She was quite as deliberate as himself; showed 
 no sort of impatience, no eagerness, no excitement, but delivered 
 herself precisely as if engaged in the least important interests 
 
THE CAPTIVES MEET -- PA THER AND DAUGHTER. 503 
 
 in the world — precisely, indeed, as if she were, as she said, quite 
 insensible and invulnerable to every utterance from his lips. 
 
 " You may believe my words or not. Miss Travis, but yon 
 can not resist the proofs which I shall offer." 
 
 " Captain Inglehardt, the proofs which you may offer will no 
 more affect me than your words. I believe that you are a per- 
 son who can find it as easy to mamtfacture the one as to pro- 
 nounce the other." 
 
 The cool, phlegmatic, snuff-taking deliberative felt himself 
 growing angry. It was with some effort that he kept his tem- 
 per in subjection. He said : — 
 
 " But your father's confessions ? — " 
 
 " He has made none to me. Received through you, I hold 
 them to be no less false than your words and manufactured 
 proofs. It will be time enough for me to hear his confession 
 from his own lips." 
 
 The girl spoke promptly, but she evidently so bridled her- 
 self as to say not a syllable more in response than the speech 
 of her enemy seemed to require. Inglehardt looked at h3r 
 with almost demoniac aspect. His artifice was baffled. His 
 own phlegm seemed for once to become accessary to his defeat. 
 In his roused and angry mood, he seized her by the wrict. 
 She flung him off with revulsion. He approached hor — ho 
 hissed in her ears : — 
 
 " You believe me unscrupulous ! Yon believe that I would 
 invent a lie, and manufacture proofs to sustain it !" 
 
 "Yes !" was the fearless answer. 
 
 " Then, if you believe this, do you not feel that here, in my 
 power — in this swamp-fastness — with no help within, and no 
 succor from without — the same unscrupulous power can subject 
 you to trials even more fearful than the sacrifice of father 
 and brother ? I am prepared for these and other extremities — 
 prepared for any use of my power — to secure my object ; and 
 I will use the worst, before I suffer myself to be baffled in th . 
 jne purpose upon which I have set my will ! Do you under- 
 stand me ? Do you feel the full force of all I say ? Do you 
 see that you are at my mercy — that you have no hope but in 
 my mercy — and that, if you are unmoved by fears for the 
 safety of your father and your brother, there are penalties still 
 
504 EUrAW. 
 
 more terrible, which the young virgin may well tremble tc 
 incur! Do you comprehend me now, Miss Travis?" 
 
 " Ay, as I comprehend the snake that hisses, the wolf that 
 howls, the vulture that shrieks in air! I comprehend, but I 
 fear you not. I believe in God ! It is with his permission 
 only that you can harm me ; and, if he wills, be it so ! But 
 with no will of mine shall you obtain one triumph over my feel 
 ings, my fears, my honor, or my hate ! Reptile ! I spurn yor 
 with equal scorn and loathing." 
 
 And he left her — stung and maddened — and proceeded in- 
 stantly to the dungeon of her father. Whence had she that 
 strength which she exhibited — that fearlessness of soul, which 
 contemned the obvious force of all his threats and arguments ? 
 God! He sneered at the piety — weakness rather — which 
 professed such a source of reliance ! 
 
 When he had gone from sight, Bertha sank upon her knees, and, 
 even while she prayed for succor, her hand unconsciously found its 
 way into her bosom, and made sure grasp upon the little ivory- 
 hilted dagger which she had worn from the moment when she 
 bogan her journey, and so well concealed, that her captors 
 never once suspected her possession of it. 
 
 On his way from the dungeon of Bertha to that of her father, 
 Inglchardt summoned Dick of Tophet to his side, and gave him 
 some instructions. 
 
 " At once," said the superior, " she shall be made to see with 
 her own eyes — hear with her own ears ! They shall make 
 music for one another with their mutual groans !" And, so 
 speaking, he went forward. 
 
 In the dungeon of Travis, he found the father not a whit 
 more tractable than he had left the daughter. In fact, Travis, 
 from exhaustion, excitement, bad fare, darkness, and his own 
 gloomy thoughts, had reached a desperate sort of mood, which 
 seemed to render him wholly reckless of all that might happen. 
 It was hardly politic to appeal any longer to his fears. He 
 seemed to have survived them all. When Inglehardt threat- 
 ened him with the terrors of the British authorities, and tha 
 death of a traitor, he almost shouted in reply : — 
 
 " The sooner the better ! Any fate is preferable to this." 
 
 Now, he said sharply, seeing his enemy enter : — 
 
THE CAPTIVES MEET — FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 506 
 
 " Well, what have you to say now ? Any change in the 
 burden of the old song 1" 
 
 "Yes!" answered the other^with some elevation of his voice, 
 and less deliberation than usual — "yes, I am happy to tell you 
 that your deliverance is at hand." 
 
 " It is enough that you tell it, to assure me that it is a lie ! 
 But I care not for deliverance. Unless you come to carry me 
 cut to execution, get away and leave me to myself- Your pres- 
 ence is disagreeable to me." 
 
 A week before, he would have said loathsome, horrible, fright- 
 ful — anything but disagreeable ! 
 
 " Well, I make some sacrifices of taste myself when I look 
 upon yours!" answered the other, with a sneer. "You are 
 scarcely as considerate of your toilet, at Muddicoat Castle, as 
 you were at Holly-Dale." 
 
 And, in truth, Travis had become frightful to behold. His 
 hair and beard, long and grizzly, had not felt comb or brush for 
 weeks. His dress was ragged, and hung loosely upon his ema- 
 ciated person. His cheeks were pale, thin, bloodless; while 
 his protruding teeth, from lips that seemed to be all the time 
 parted, gave a .frightful, wolfish look to the expression of his 
 face, which, to other eyes, vould have made him seem terrible 
 rather than ridiculous. 
 
 "Get away — get hence! Do not trouble me, I tell you!" 
 was the answer of Travis to the sneer of Inglehardt. It was a. 
 sort of reply to surprise him. It betraye.d a considerable change 
 of mood and moral from the time of their last interview, not a 
 week before. 
 
 " Get hence ! You bore me." 
 
 " Have you seen your son lately. Captain Travis V 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ! They bring him here every day." 
 
 " Well, does he improve 1" 
 
 " Why do you ask ? How the d — ^1 should either of us im- 
 prove in your hands, and upon your lean diet !" 
 
 •' You are satisfied, however, with his appearance V 
 
 " Get hence, I say ! If you propose to torture, you have 
 done enough. You have passed your true bounds for policy. 
 I see your object. You can move me no longer by this process. 
 Try some other." 
 
506 EDTAW. 
 
 " I agree with you. I have made arrangements for another 
 process. How would you like to see your daughter ?" 
 
 " Ha ! my daughter ? — Well !— " 
 
 " She is here !" 
 
 "Here? no! impossible! Ha! ha! do you suppose I aia 
 any longer to be deluded by your falsehoods?" 
 
 " You shall see her ! She is here, I tell you— in my power 1 
 Mark that. You know what that means, I fancy, something 
 better than your daughter ! Verily, she U a beautiful virgin — 
 young, tender, more beautiful than ever. And she :s here — 
 here — alone — and in my power t" 
 
 " Another of your lies ! But you can no longer terrify me 
 by your stale inventions. Nothing that you can say can nov/ 
 disturb my fears. I scorn you, I defy you, I spit upon you ! — 
 and — I sing — sing in your ears : — 
 
 • Brother Eeynard saw never the peril. 
 
 And, wagging Ms tail as he came, 
 Stole orer the fence to the fowlyard. 
 
 Intent upon bagging his game ! 
 But the wisest of foxes may blunder, 
 
 If he sets too much store by his tail ; 
 And the rogue, stooping down to his plunder, 
 
 Starts up 'neath the stroke of the flail ! 
 Ho! ho! tally ho! — heyup, andho! ho!' 
 
 'Off with you, brother fox — you find no more prey in my 
 fowlyard !" 
 
 The wild, savage merriment of the prisoner, as be sung this 
 fragment of an old ballad in the very ears of bis captor, abso- 
 lutely astounded our captain of loyalists for a moment, though 
 for a moment only. 
 
 " Really," said he, " I am delighted to find you in such excel- 
 lent voice. Your musical powers have increased in the solitude. 
 Deprived of the exercise of your peculiar moral powers, you are 
 developing fresh resources of art in your old age. This is won- 
 derful. I never heard you warble a stave before, during the long 
 period of our interesting intimacy. You must have been in- 
 spired by the nightly chant among the frogs. But I still ven- 
 ture to think, my dear captain, that, when you come to a 
 knowledge of the facts in my possession, you will sing ijaite 
 another tune." 
 
THE CAPTIVES MEET — FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 507 
 
 "Perhaps so — perhaps so ! Meanwhile, I sing according to 
 my present humor. Will you have another ditty, eh ?" 
 
 " Well, really, as I have need to wile away a few moments 
 more before I shall be prepared for your better enlightenment, I 
 don't care if you do exercise your vocal powers for my benefit.*' 
 
 " For your especial use. 
 
 [Sings — in very natural frog-fashion :J — 
 
 ' Go to the d — 1, and shake yourself; 
 Save him the trouble, and stake yourself; 
 In the sulphut' lake slake yourself. 
 Then come back 
 
 [Spoken, "If he'll let you"], and hang yourself 1" 
 
 And Travis chuckled incontinently with his humor after thus 
 delivering himself. 
 
 " Well, Captain Travis," said the other, " now that you have 
 enjoyed your wit and your music, suppose we give a few mo- 
 ments to business ?" 
 
 "" Oh, the d — 1 take tlie business ! He has need to, and right 
 too, for all your business is so much devil's business ! But, speak 
 out and begin ; for I know you too well to suppose I shall have 
 any rest until you have fairly discharged all the venom in your 
 sack !" 
 
 The other proceeded : — 
 
 " I have said that your daughter is in my possession. You 
 do not believe it, but you shall see her. When you have seen 
 her here — alone — in my power — j/our hanis Jettered, and mine 
 free, — you will then conceive readily to what uses I may put 
 my power. My wish is to vian-y your daughter, and release 
 you and your son ; not to harm, or discredit, or dishonor either ! 
 I give to you, and to herself, the last opportunity for enabling 
 me to do this. But have her I viill ! When I next return, I 
 will bring with me a regular clergyman ; and she becomes mine 
 under the most solemn sanctions of religion, or — " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence. A door in the adjoining room 
 was heard to open, and persons to move in it. 
 
 " Now, Captain Travis, I will satisfy your own eyes of yout 
 daughter's presence here — in this swamp — in this very build- 
 ing — in my absolute power! When you have communed to- 
 gether, and compared notes — which yon shall have full time 
 
O08 EUTAW. 
 
 for doing — I shall return, to find you Doth, I trast, in better 
 mood for complying with my demands." 
 
 -paying these words, Inglehardt approached the partition 
 which separated the two rooms. This was built of solid logs, 
 like the outer walls of the building — a dead wall-, without door 
 or window. But there was a trick of mechanism, by which a 
 small section of one of the poles, about eighteen inches long, had 
 been sawed out and replaced, and was held in its station by 
 pegs from below, which, in the usual darkness of the apartment, 
 naturally escaped notice. To draw these pegs away was but 
 the work of a moment ; and the section, thus cut off from the 
 rest, was taken out by Inglehardt, revealing an oblong opening 
 eight by eighteen mches, sufficiently large to enable the parties 
 to see from one apartment into the other. 
 
 " Now, Captain Travis, you may see your daughter. Sum- 
 mon her with your own voice." 
 
 "My daughter !" cried the father, evidently staggered by the 
 procedure of Inglehardt. "No, no — impossible! Bertha! — 
 Bertha Travis, if you be, indeed, in this monster's power, say 
 so — show me — speak, and let me go mad at once !" 
 
 " My father ! oh, my father !" was the instantaneous answer 
 from within. At the sound of her voice, Travis rushed to the 
 opening. Bertha, meanwhile, unobstructed, and conducted by 
 the sounds, had darted, at the same moment, to the same spot. 
 Their faces nearly met ! At the sight of his, so haggard, wild,, 
 shaggy with beard and hair — more like that of a wild beast of 
 the woods than a human being — the poor girl gave a piercing 
 shriek. 
 
 " God have mercy upon me ! Is it, indeed, my father V 
 
 " No, my child ! It is a, wolf, a wild beast, whom you see ; 
 a monster, the worst of monsters — a wolf without teeth, a viU- 
 ture without claws, a madman without the power to rend the 
 devil who has made him so !" 
 
 " I leave you to your communion, which begins too eloquently 
 for my taste!" said Inglehardt, in his old, slow tones. "You 
 both hear me ; both know my resolution, and your own danger. 
 When I next return, I return with a clergyman. Bertha Travis 
 then becomes my wife — hark ye ! — or — what I plesise I" 
 
BATTLE OF KUTAW. 509 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 BATTLE OF F.CTAW. 
 
 With these terrible words — this threat, in which all that 
 was horrible in the conjecture of imagination seemed to be em- 
 bodied — Inglehardt left his captives — not together, exactly, 
 for the impassable walls stood between them still ; bnt to com- 
 mune tbgether, face to face — sad solace ! — in such mournful 
 thoughts and fancies as were natural to their fears and situa- 
 tion. We must leave them for a while also, to their gloomy 
 comparison of notes — leave them to such solace as Heaveu 
 alone may vouchsafe them. There seems to be no present help 
 from man ! 
 
 We must proceed to more general interests. The affairs of 
 the country — the natural progress of events in the military 
 world— ^require us to attend those more stirring and stormy 
 fields of debate upon which hang the fortunes of a whole people. 
 The affair of grand armies is approaching ; and the circum- 
 stances which require that Inglehardt, leaving his swamp-fast- 
 ness, should now take a dorvnward instead of an upivai'd route, 
 indicate the necessity which governs us also in shaping our 
 course in a like direction. His orders cany him to Eutaw, and 
 to the country below it. His selfish interests suggest the neces- 
 sity of seeing GriflSth and other agents, who have been his emis- 
 saries, if not his associates, in the business of peculation. He 
 has exhausted the resources of the Edisto ; he would now try 
 those of Cooper river and Santee. Under cover of the British 
 army at Eutaw, and the lower posts which they have again 
 occupied, he calculates largely on the spolia opima. He lias no 
 notion that Greene's aritiy has left the b&nks of the Congarep ; 
 
/SIC E0TAW. 
 
 and never dreams that the affair of grand armies will open be- 
 fore the cool breezes of October shall set in. 
 
 We are, of course, better advised. But not so the British 
 general. He had planted himself at Eutaw, as we have seen ; 
 and, regarding his position, justly, as one of some strength, and, 
 anaware of any movement of the American army, his attitude 
 was that of one perfectly confident in his security. Stewart 
 seems to have been a person of easy character, of the methodi- 
 cal old school, lymphatic and of very moderate ability. So 
 effectually had our partisans cut off all his communications with 
 the country above him, and so careless did he seem in respect 
 to the acquisition of intelligence, that not a scout, not a • patrol, 
 not an agent of any sort advised him of Greene's movements 
 until his artillery was already sounding in his ears. It can not 
 be doubted that he was remiss in seeking intelligence, and that 
 he was in some degree the victim of a surprise. The only 
 patrol he is known to have sent out, was captured. The fact is 
 that, so long as he believed the brigade of Marion to be behnv 
 him, on the Santee, he felt no occasion for apprehension. He 
 could not believe that Greene, with inferior numbers, wanting 
 in munitions, and his men not yet recovered from their debili- 
 tating marches, and the effects of the season, would venture an 
 action without calling in all his parties. Without Marion's 
 command, he felt very sure that he would not ; and he had 
 every reason to believe that no junction of Marion with the 
 grand army had yet taken place. The skirmish, so recently 
 had, between his flanking parties, and the little squad under 
 Sinclair — which was driven below — was enough to assure him 
 on this head. But Marion's movements were those of light. 
 Stewart, rather slow himself, did not anticipate that the famous 
 partisan would, by a forced march, in a single night, wind about 
 him, steal above him, and unite with the descending columns of 
 Greene. Yet such was the case. 
 
 The approach of Stewart to the Gongaree had set Greene's 
 army in motion. It would Lave greatly favored the prospects 
 of victory to the Americans, if they could have brought the 
 British to action upon that river, where, remote from their con- 
 voys and base of operations, any disaster would hfive proved 
 fatal to their arms. But the rapid retreat of Stewart, who felt 
 
BATTLE OP EUTAW. 511 
 
 this very danger, lessened Greene's motives for activity ; and 
 he proceeded on his advance with steps of greater leisure than 
 when he set out. This deliheration also contributed to the 
 encouragement of the British commander, to whom it suggested 
 the idea of a deficient confidence, and lack of resources, on the 
 part of the Americans, which would keep him harmless for 
 awhile. 
 
 In one respect he was correct. The resources of the American 
 army were exceedingly inferior. There seemed to be a singular 
 fatality, about this time, attending all the calculations of its 
 commander. Not only did Congress fail to furnish adequate 
 supplies, leaving the army lacking in all the necessary material 
 and munitions of war, to say nothing of clothes, tents, and camp 
 utensils ; but there was a sad failure iu its anticipated personnel, 
 which no present effort could supply. The army had recmited 
 in health, and improved in moral, during its temporary respite 
 upon the salubrious hills of Santee ; but it had improved in nf 
 other respect. Greene, during all this period, had been vexing 
 the echoes with calls, north and west, for supplies and rein- 
 forcements without receiving any more solid response than echo 
 could impart. He had been promised eight hundred Pennsyl- 
 vanians, but, when the call was made for them, they were no 
 more available than the tributary spirits whom Owen Glen- 
 dower kept in his employ, but whom he summoned in vain from 
 regions of the vasty deep. Wayne, with his Pennsylvanians, 
 was diverted from the Carolinas, to help in the siege of York- 
 town ; where, in spite of the grand armies registered at this day 
 on the pension, and other pay-lists, the whole force of continentals 
 under Washington did not exceed seven thousand men. Greene 
 had been assured, by Shelby and Sevier, of the succor of seven 
 hundred gallant mountaineers of the West ; such as had con- 
 quered Ferguson at King's Mountain ; and the brave fellows 
 were actually advancing to his support, when they were met by 
 false tidings of his successful march below — and that he had 
 already driven the British into Charleston. The report had grown 
 out of the dashing foray of the dogdays, by the mounted men and 
 cavalry of the army. But, however idle, it was mischievous. 
 The mountaineers, taking for granted, that nothing new remained 
 for them to do, quietly ' travelled back to theii hill-slopes. 
 
512 EUTAW, 
 
 There was a fine body of recruits, some liundred and fifty, 
 raised by Colonel Jackson, in Georgia. Jackson was a brave 
 fellow, and a man of talents. Greene relied confidently on this 
 force, at least ; yet, to his horror, and that of their captain, the 
 camp of the Georgians was entered by the pestilence, at the very 
 moment when they were about to repair to the main army ; the 
 whole force of one hundred and fifty men, were seized with 
 small-pox, at the same time, and more than fifty of them per- 
 ished under this horrid disease. 
 
 In brief, of all the anticipated reinforcements, none came 
 but some few hundred levies from North Carolina ; and the 
 whole force of the Americans, at the reopening of the campaign, 
 consisted of twenty-five hundred combatants, all told. The 
 main strength of the army, in which it excelled the British, lay 
 in its cavalry and mounted men. In reguhlrs, it was numeri- 
 cally inferior — inferior in artillery as well as in the number 
 of its bayonets. Butwe must not anticipate these details which 
 events will suflSciently develop. 
 
 Greene, fully conscious of his weakness, meditated a discon- 
 tinuance of the pursuit of Stewart, as he felt it likely that the 
 latter would fall too far back upon his base of operations, to 
 leave it possible for him to make any successful demonstration. 
 He crossed the Congaree, moved slowly down the south bank, 
 intending to take post at Motte's, and wait events and rein- 
 forcements. Lee, with the legion cavalry, was, meanwhile, 
 pushed down upon the steps of Stewart, to watch his movements ; 
 while General Pickens, in command of the state ti'oops, was sent 
 forward to observe, and damage, if he might, the garrison which 
 Stewart had left in Orangeburg. 
 
 With the approach of Pickens, this garrison hurried down 
 after Stewart, and joined him seasonably at Eutaw ; while the 
 troops from Fairlawn, five hundred in number, reinforced him 
 about the same time, from the opposite quarter. When apprized 
 by Pickens and Lee of these proceedings of Stewart, and of 
 the concentration of his chief strength at Eutaw, Greene re- 
 solved to give him battle ; the post at Eutaw being suflSciently 
 far from Charleston, to assure the American general against a 
 too easy recovery by the British from disaster, should be be 
 successful in obtaining any advantages from the conflict It 
 
BATTLfi OF EUTAW. 513 
 
 also assured liim against any ill consequences, to himself, other 
 than he might suffer from the conflict with the one army with 
 which he was to contend. Satisfied now, that Stewart was not 
 unwilling to measure swords with him, he resumed his march 
 accordingly, with the determination to fight ! 
 
 On the 5th of September, we find that Marion, supposed by 
 Stewart, to be still below him, has, by a night march, thrown 
 his brigade seventeen miles above ; and is stationed at Lau- 
 rens's plantation, waiting the arrival of Greene. The latter 
 reached the same point the same evening. Here the State 
 troops under Pickens, joined also. The 6th of September was 
 devoted to rest and preparation. On the evening of the 7th, 
 the army had reached Burdell's tavern, on the Congaree road, 
 seven miles above Eutaw. Here it bivouacked for the night, 
 Greene taking his sleep beneath a China (pride of India) tree, 
 one of its bulging roots answering for a pillow. His suite, and 
 officers generally, were similarly couched. The night was mild 
 and pleasant — the open air more grateful than salubrious; and 
 the stars watched the sleepers without shedding any of those 
 fiery signs over the heavens, which in olden time, were sup- 
 posed to give auguries of a bloody morrow. 
 
 Up to this moment the British general had no notion of the 
 near appi'oach of his antagonist. Nor, through the night, did 
 he receive any tidings of his presence. In the morning, so little 
 were the British prepared to suspect the propinquity of the 
 Americans, that a rooting party, of a hundred men, were sent 
 up the road, to gather siipplies of sweet potatoes from the farms 
 and plantations along the river. They had been some time 
 gone, when two deserters from the American cam~p found their 
 way to the British post, and gave the first intimation to Stewart 
 of his danger. He immediately despatched Coffin with his cav- 
 alry to protect and bring back his foragers, and reconnoitre and 
 retard the American advance. 
 
 Meanwhile, the American army had been put in motion 
 marching down, in four columns, in the following order : The 
 South Carolina state troops and Lee's legion, formed the ad- 
 vance, under Colonel Henderson ; the militia of the two Caro- 
 linas, under Marion followed next. Then came the regulars 
 under General Sumner, and the rear was brought up by Wash- 
 
514 EUTAW. 
 
 ington's cavalry and the Delawares. They were thus arrangea 
 in reference to the order of battle, in which they were to be 
 formed upon the field. 
 
 The American advance of Henderson and Lee encountered 
 Coffin. He charged them with a singular audacity, not seeming 
 to suspect that the main army was at hand. Of course he was 
 made to recoil. The firing drew the foragers out of the woods 
 and farms, and they all fell into the hands of the Americans. 
 Coffin's audacity, in the charge, led Greene to believe that 
 Stewart was nigh to sustain him. He called a halt accord- 
 ingly, gave his troops a sup of Jamaica all round* and then 
 displayed in order of battle. The militia of the two Carolinas 
 formed his first line, Marion leading the right, Pickens the left. 
 Malmedy the centre. Henderson, with the South Carolina 
 state troops covered the left of this line, and Lee, with the le- 
 gion, the right. The regulars displayed in one line also ; the 
 North-Carolinians under Sumner, on the right ; the Maryland- 
 ers, under Otho Williams, the left ; the Virginians, under Camp- 
 bell, the centre. Two three-pounders, under Captain Gaines, 
 moved centrally in the road with the first line ; two six-pound 
 ers, in the same order, under Captain Brown, with the second. 
 Colonel Washington, in cover of the woods, formed the reserve. 
 The militia force of foot, under Marion and Pickens, was about 
 six hundred, Malmedy's North-Carolinians were one hundred 
 and fifty : the line of regulars numbered three hundred and 
 fifty North Carolinians, two hundred and fifty Virginians, and 
 two hundred and fifty Marylanders. The cavalry and mounted 
 men were relatively more numerous ; and there were covering 
 parties, and a force in charge of the baggage (which had been 
 left forty miles in the rear), the numbers of which are not given, 
 and hardly now to be determined by any estimate. At the 
 utmost Greene had probably twenty-five hundred men, rank 
 and file. 
 
 In this order the troops marched forward — moving slowly, as 
 the whole country, both sides of the road, was in woods. Ths 
 first American line drove Stewart's advanced parties before 
 them, until they found shelter in their own line of battle. There 
 
 * At Camden, Gates gave them molasses and water, which, tradition sayh, 
 did infinite mischief, and was the main cansc of his dcfoAl. 
 
BATTLE OF EUTAW. 615 
 
 was no faltering in this progress. The militia of the Carolinas, 
 when led by Marion and Pickens, never faltered, so long as the 
 order was heard to fight ! 
 
 Stewart had drawn up his troops in a single line, extending 
 from the Eutaw creek, beyond the Oongaree road. The creek 
 effectually covered his right ; his left was " in air," to use the 
 military language — i. e., not covered — and was supported by 
 the cavalry of Coffin, and a strong body of infantry, which 
 were, in turn, under cover of the forest. The ground which the 
 British army occupied was altogether in wood ; but, a small 
 distance in the rear, was a cleared field, extending west, south, 
 and east of the dwelling-house which formed his castle of ref- 
 uge, and bounded north by the Eutaw spring — thickly fringed 
 with brush, and a stunted growth of forest. But we have al- 
 ready, in a previous chapter, indicated the characteristics of the 
 spot, the house, grounds and garden. South and west of the 
 house, it may be well to mention here, an old ffeld was oc- 
 cupied by the British camp, all the tents being left standing 
 when the battle joined. The house commanded these tents 
 and the camp, and was important to Stewart, as a rallying point 
 in the event of disaster. Major Sheridan was, accordingly, in- 
 structed to occupy it on the first sign of misfortune. For further 
 security, Stewart had posted Major Marjoribanks, with three 
 hundred picked troops, in the dense thickets which border the 
 Eutaw creek. The artillery of the British — five pieces — cov- 
 ered the main road. 
 
 The skirmishing parties had done their work with spirit — 
 had melted away on both sides, and yielded to heavier battal- 
 ions ; and the artillery of the first line, and the militia of the 
 two Carolinas, all under Marion, went into the melee with the 
 fierce passions of individual ardor, and the stubborn and despe- 
 rate resolve of veterans. Very obstinate and very bloody was 
 the struggle, and singularly protracted. The artillery was 
 worked admirably, and continued to belch forth its iron rages, 
 until both of the three-pounders of the Americans, and one of 
 the British, were disabled. Nor did the militia fail the artillery. 
 Never perhaps had militia done better — never perhaps quite 
 so well. The regulars looked on with equal surprise and ad- 
 miratios, as they beheld these brave fellows, whom it is so ens- 
 
616 EUTAW. 
 
 tomary to disparage, as they rushed forward into the hottest of 
 the enemy's fire, totally unmoved with the continual fall of their 
 comrades around them. 
 
 " The veterans of Frederick of Prussia, never showed them- 
 selves better fire-eaters !'' was the ejaculation of Greene. " Reg- 
 ulars, you must look to your laurels !" 
 
 And, all this time, these men of Marion, Pickens and Malrae- 
 dy, were enduring the fire of nearly twice their number, for 
 they were opposed to the entire British line. But such a con- 
 flict could not last. The two pieces of artillery were finally 
 demolished. The British not able to stand their deadly fire, 
 for eveiy southron was a rifleman, now pressed forward with 
 the bayonet. This was a weapon which our militiamen did not 
 use. They were compelled to recoil before it ; but not before 
 every man had emptied his cartnuch-box. They delivered 
 seventeen rounds before they yielded, and retired by tbe wings 
 to the covering parties, on either hand. Rutledge who was 
 on the field with Greene, sobbed like a child with exultation, as 
 he clasped Marion about the neck when he came out of the 
 action. 
 
 "Our fellows Lave won immortal honor — immortsll honor!" 
 
 The issue thus presented, of the bayonet, brought the Ameri- 
 can second line into action. The militia, as we have seen, dis- 
 appeared away upon the wings, retired into the woods, and 
 rallied, for future work, upon the flanking-parties. 
 
 The regulars, under Sumner, had felt the example of the mi- 
 litia, and glowed with anxiety to take their place in the strug- 
 gle. They rushed forward, keen as lightning; and, at their 
 approach, Stewart brought the majority of his reserve into line. 
 The conflict was then renewed, witli as much fury as ever. 
 Leaving these combatants equally matched, or nearly so, let us 
 look to other parties. 
 
 From the first of the action, the infantry of the American 
 covering parties had shared in it as well as the first line, and 
 had been steadily engaged. " The cavalry of the legion (Lee's) 
 being on the American right, had been enabled to withdraw 
 into the woods, and attend on its infantry, without being at all 
 exposed to the enemy's fire. Not so, however, the state troops 
 under Henderson. These had occupied one of the most exposed 
 
BATTLE OF EUIAW. 517 
 
 situations in the field ; for, though the American right, covered 
 by the legion infantry, extended beyond the British left, the 
 American Je/i fell far short of the British right. The conse- 
 quence was, that the state troops were exposed to the oblique 
 fire of a large part of the British right, and particularly to that 
 of the flank battalion undet Marjoribanks, which was pushed 
 under cover of the wood along the banks of the creek. Hen- 
 derson implored to be allowed to charge the enemy whom he 
 could not see ; but he could not be spared from the one duty, 
 that of covering his portion of the line. Never was constancy 
 more severely tried. Wounded, at length, ai:d carried from the 
 field, Henderson's place was occupied by Colonel "Wade Hamp-" 
 ton, who, admirably supported by Colonels Polk and Middletou, 
 was compelled to endure for a while the same trials which Hen- 
 derson had undergone." 
 
 We must return to the main battle. We have seen Sumner, 
 with his brigade, taking the place vacated by the militia. He, 
 at length, yielded to the superior force and fire of the enemy. 
 As his brigade wavered, shrank, and finally yielded, the hopes 
 of the British grew sanguine. With a wild yell of victory, they 
 rushed forward to complete their supposed triumph, and, in doing 
 so, their line became disordered. This afforded an opportunity 
 of which Greene promptly availed himself. He had anticipated 
 this probability, and had waited anxiously for it. He was now 
 ready to take advantage of it, and gave his order — to Otho 
 Williams, in command of the Marylanders — "Let Williams 
 advance, and sweep the field with his bayonets !" 
 
 And Williams, heading two brigades — those of Maryland 
 and Virginia — swept forward with a shout. When withni 
 forty yards of the British, the Virginians poured in a destructive 
 fire, under which their columns reeled and shivered as if struck 
 by lightning ; and then the whole second line, the three bri- 
 gades, with trailed arms, and almost at a trot, darted on to the 
 savage issue of naked steel, hand to hand, with" the desperate 
 bayonet. The terrible fire of the Virginians, followed up by 
 the charge of the second line, and seconded, at this lucky junc- 
 ture, by the legion infantry, which suddenly poured in a most 
 destructive fire upon the now exposed flank of the British left, 
 threw the whole line into irretrievable disorder. But the bay- 
 
518 EUTAW. 
 
 onets of certain sections were crossed, though for a moment 
 only , men were transfixed by one another, and the contending 
 officers sprang at each other with their swords ! 
 
 The left of the British centre at this vital moment, pressed 
 upon by their own fugitives, yielded under the pressure, and 
 the Marylanders now delivering their fire, hitherto reserved, 
 completed the disaster ! Along the whole front, the enemy's 
 ranks wavered, gave way finally, and retired sullenly, closely 
 pressed by the shouting Americans. 
 
 The victory was won ! — so far, a victory was won ; and all 
 that was necessary was to keep and confirm the triumph. But 
 the day was not over ! The battle of Eutaw was a too-act, we 
 might say a iliree-e^i, drama — such were its vicissitudes. 
 
 At the moment when the British line gave way, had it been 
 pressed without reserve by the legion cavalry, the disaster must 
 have been irretrievable. But this seems not to have been done. 
 Why, can not now be well explained, nor is it exactly within 
 our province to undertake the explanation. Lee himself was at 
 this moment with his infantry,, and they had just done excellent 
 service. It is probable that Coffin's cavalry was too much for 
 that of the legion ; and this body, sustained by a select corps of 
 bayonets, protected the British in the quarter which was first 
 to yield. It now remained for the Americans to follow up their 
 successes. The British had been driven from their fii-st field. 
 It was the necessity of the Americans that they should have no 
 time to rally upon other ground, especially upon the ground so 
 well covered by the brick-house, and the dense thicket along 
 the creek which was occupied by Marjoribanks. 
 
 But a pursuing army, where the cavalry fails in its appointed 
 duty, can never overtake a fugitive force, unless, emulating 
 their speed, it breaks its own order. This, if it does, it becomes 
 fugitive also, and is liable to the worst dangers from the smallest 
 reverse. This is, in truth, the very error which the Americans 
 committed, and all their subsequent misfortunes sprang entirely 
 from this one source. 
 
 The British yielding slowly from left to right — the right 
 very reluctant to retire — and the Americans pressing upon 
 them just in the degree in which the two sections yielded, both 
 armitis performed together a half-wheel, which brought them 
 
BATTLE OP EUIAW. 519 
 
 iuto the open grounds in front of its house. In this position 
 the Marylanders were hrought suddenly under the fire of the 
 covered party of Marjoribanks, in the thicket. This promised 
 to be galling and destructive. Greene saw that Marjoribanks 
 must be dislodged, or that the whole force of the enemy would 
 rally ; and Colonel Washington was commanded to charge the 
 thicket. He did so very gallantly ; was received by a terrible 
 fire, which swept away scores of men and horses. Deadly as 
 was this result, and absurd as was the attempt, the gallant 
 trooper thrice essayed to penetrate the thickets, and each time 
 paid the terrible penalty of bis audacity in the blood of his 
 best soldiers. The field, at one moment, was covered with his 
 wounded, plunging, riderless horses, maddened by their hurts. 
 All but two of his officers were brought to the ground. He 
 himself fell beneath his horse, wounded ; and, while such was 
 his situation, Marjoribanks emerged with his bayonets from his 
 thickets, and completed the defeat of the squadron. Washing- 
 ton himself was narrowly saved from a British bayonet, and 
 was made prisoner. It was left to Hampton, one of his survi- 
 ving officers, who was fortunately unhurt, to rescue and rally 
 the scattered survivors of his gallant division, and bring them 
 on again to the fruitless charge upon Marjoribanks. Hampton 
 was supported in this chcuge by Kirkwood's Delawares; but 
 the result was as fruitless as befoie. The very attempt was 
 suicidal. The British major was too well posted, too strongly 
 covered, too strong himself in numbers and the quality of his 
 troops, to he driven from his ground, even. by shocks so decided 
 and frequently, repeated, of the sort of force sent against him. 
 
 Up to this moment, nothing had seemed more certain than 
 the victory of the Americans. The consternation in the British 
 camp was complete. Everything was given up for lost, by a 
 considerable portion of the army. The commissaries destroyed 
 their stores, the loyalists and American deserters, dreading the 
 rope, seizing every horse which they could command, fled in- 
 continently for Charleston, whither they carried such an alarm, 
 that the stores along the road were destroyed, and the trees 
 felled across it for the obstruction of the victorious Americans, 
 who were supposed to be pressing down upon the city with all 
 their might. 
 
520 EUTAW. 
 
 Ec[ually deceived were the conquercrs. FluHlied with success, 
 the infantry scattered themselves about the British camp, wliich, 
 as all the tents had been left standing, presented a thousand 
 objects to tempt the appetites of a half-starved and half-naked 
 soldiery. Insubordination followed disorder ; and they were 
 only made aware of the danger of having victoiy changed into 
 a most shameful defeat, by finding themselves suddenly brought 
 under a vindictive fire from the windows of the brick house, 
 into which Major Sheridan had succeeded in forcing his way, 
 with a strong body of sharp-shooters. 
 
 He had not done this, however, but with great difficulty. Close- 
 ly pressed, particularly by the legion infantiy, a desperate strug- 
 gle took place at the very entrance of the dwelling. The pursuers 
 nearly succeeded in forcing their way in, pell-mell, with the fugi- 
 tives ; and when the latter finally succeeded in securing posses- 
 sion, the former had made so many prisoners — some of rank — 
 that they covered their own retreat from the fire of the building, 
 by the interposition of their captives. It was on this occasion, 
 and thus, that Lieutenant Manning, of the legion, carried off 
 Major Barry, the wit and poet par excellence of the British 
 army. BaiTy, though a man of considerable self-esteem, was 
 of diminutive dimensions ; and tradition describes Manning as 
 taking him off on his back. 
 
 ' " Sir," said the captive, " do you know who I am ? Set me 
 down immediately ! I am Major Harry Barry, sir, adjutant- gen- 
 eral of the British army !" 
 
 " Very glad, indeed, to hear it," answered Manning. " The 
 veiy person I have been so anxious to see !'' 
 
 And hoisting him upon his back, he carried him off, at a trot, 
 the British musketeers not daring to fire at the captor lest they 
 should hurt his distinguished prisoner ! 
 
 But there were many far less fortunate than Manning. The 
 American officers, eagerly striving to disentangle their men from 
 the tents in which they were revelling, became conspiciious 
 objects for the aim of the fusileers from the house. The fire 
 from this quarter grew, momentarily, more and more destructive, 
 while everywhere about the field the confusion was predomi- 
 nant. Lee's dragoons, under Major Eggleston, meanwhile, 
 charged Coffin's cavalry, without success, and were compelled 
 
BATTLE OP ECTAW. 521 
 
 to retire. Coffin and Marjoribanks, both having succeeded in 
 baffling their immediate assailants, made simultaneous move- 
 ments upon the field. The American troops, scattered among 
 the tents, fastening upon the liquors, had grown unmanageable. 
 Greene beheld his danger, and vainly ordered a retreat. Coffin, 
 during this time, had made his way to the rear of the tents, and 
 the sabres of his cavalry were teaching lessons of terror to the 
 refractory, to whom their officers had failed to teach subordina- 
 tion. Here he was encountered by Hampton, leading the rem- 
 nant of Washington's command, and sustained by a detachment 
 from the mounted men of Marion. A sharp passage followed, 
 which emptied a good many saddles ; and it was on this occa- 
 sion that Sinclair caught sight of Inglehardt, as he swept with 
 his squad over a group of fugitives emerging from the tents. 
 With a wild cheer, our partisan colonel darted after his quarry, 
 making sure of his prey. He descended like lightning, unex- 
 pectedly, upon the enemy he sought. The strife was of the 
 shortest. The powerful form of Sinclair, as he rose in his stir- 
 rups, and swung aloft his claymore, expecting, the next moment, 
 to cut down the loyalist captain, seemed, on a sudden, to the 
 eyes of Inglehardt, like that of some terrible angel commis- 
 sioned for his destruction. His instincts got the better of his 
 manhood. He recoiled from the collision, and whirled behind 
 a tent, which, as Sinclair dashed after him, was overthrown in 
 the rush, and fell partly upon the head and neck of our .dra- 
 goon's horse. Before he could extricate himself, Inglehardt had 
 disappeared from the scene — from the field; for, believing 
 everything lost — ignorant of the rally of Marjoribanks as well 
 as Coffin, and seeing the latter driven before the dragoons of 
 Hampton, he obeyed only the counsels of his own fear, and led 
 the remnant of his troop into the deep thickets, whence he 
 made his way into the nearest swamp harborage. 
 
 The field now presented an appearance of indescribable ter- 
 ror and confusion. Small squads were busy in separate strifes, 
 here and there ; the American officers vainly seeking to rally 
 the scattered regulars ; the mounted partisans, seeking to cover 
 the fugitives ; while, from the house, the command of Sheridan 
 was blazing away with incessant musketry, telling fearfully 
 upon all who came within their range. Meanwhile, watchful 
 
522 EUTAW. 
 
 of every chance, Marjoribanks had changed his ground, keeping 
 still in cover, but nearer now to the scene of action, and with a 
 portion of his command concealed behind the picketed garden. 
 In this position he subjected the American cavalry to another 
 severe handling, as they approached the garden, delivering a 
 fire so destructive, that, according to one of the colonels on 
 Hampton's left : " He thought every man killed but himself!" 
 It was in the midst of this confusion that Peyre St. Julien 
 caught sight of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, at the head of a small 
 body of volunteer cavalry. To sweep toward him with what 
 remained of his own corps, was the instant impulse of our 
 partisan. Fitzgerald saw him approach, and, nowise loath, 
 gallantly applied the spurs to his steed to shorten the space 
 between them. The followers of both leaders, meanwhile, 
 dashed to the encounter headlong, and but a few moments suf- 
 ficed for St. Julien's dragoons to ride over the few volunteer 
 gentlemen, whom Fitzgerald had drawn together, with the view 
 to a diversion in the field, at the proper moment. They were 
 anything but a match for the vigorous, well-mounted dragoons 
 of Sinclair. But, though they melted away, Fitzgerald, him- 
 self, drew firmly and fiercely toward his assailant. And St. 
 Julien spurred forward to the encounter. Already his sabre 
 was uplifted, already had he risen in his stirrup prepared to 
 smite and hew down ! But, suddenly, he paused ; lowered his 
 sabre, making the graceful salute, instead of the savage stroke ; 
 and said, bowing gracefully : — 
 
 " My lord, you are hurt ! You are wounded. Let me help 
 you out of this melee." 
 
 " No ! never a prisoner, sir, never !" answered Fitzgerald, 
 very faintly, and still showing fight. But he was sinking from 
 a still bleeding wound. He was growing faint and dizzy. 
 
 " By no means, sir ! As a friend, as a gentleman, my lord, I 
 propose to help you. Give me your band, sir, myhonor goes 
 with it. There, sir. Keep up but a few moments, now, till we 
 can get safely into the wood !" 
 
 And, under the shelter of St. Julien, Lord Edward reached 
 the wood, and about three hundred yards from the field of 
 battle they found a hut, in which a negro crouched, trembling 
 
BATTLE OF EDTAW. 523 
 
 with 'terror at their approach. St. Julien helped Fitzgerald 
 from his horse, and into the hovel. He said to the negro : — 
 
 "What's your name, hoy 1" 
 
 " Tony, maussa !" 
 
 "Get some water, Tony — (juick." The negro brought his 
 bucket. Fitzgerald drank. St. Julien laid him down upon the 
 floor, bound up his wound, which was in the thigh — a sword 
 thrust — deep in the flesh, but not serious ; exhausting only from 
 the great flow of blood. This done, and as he could no more, 
 St. Julien prepared to leave him. 
 
 " This is very generous, sir," said Fitzgerald. 
 
 The other smiled — "It is what you would do, my lord." 
 Then, addressing the negro — " Tony — take care of this gentle- 
 man ! Wait on him well ! Do all that he tells you, and you 
 will be rewarded. If you do not I will hang you ! Do you 
 understand tfiat ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, mass cappin !" 
 
 " Very well ! Eemember what I say !" 
 
 " I yerry maussa ! I guine do jes' wha' you tell me." 
 
 " I must leave you for the present, my lord. I can do no 
 more." 
 
 " Oh ! thanks, thanks ! You have done much. You have 
 saved my life, I believe." 
 
 " If mine is spared me," said the other, " I will try to come 
 to you. If we keep the field, I will surely do so." 
 
 He wrung the hands of Fitzgerald warmly, as he hurried 
 away. In half an hour after, Colonel Washington, wounded, 
 and a prisoner to the British, was brought to the shelter of the 
 very same hovel ; and subsequently, by the curious caprice of 
 Fortune, Fitzgerald became his custodian, when they were both 
 removed to the city.* 
 
 * Tony proved faithful. He obeyed St. Julien's commands to the letter. 
 Fitzgerald, in gratitude for his serrices, gave him an Irish in place of a Caro- 
 lina lord. Without giving any heed to the right of property, he carried Tony 
 with him to Europe, where he served him to the close of his career. See 
 Moore's " Life of Fitzgerald." Mr. Moore tells the story somewhat different 
 from ourselves. The difference is not substantial, but ours is the proper ver- 
 sion. The errors of the historian are somewhat amusing. We have exposed 
 ■iome of them already. An anecdote which Moore gives, of Fitzgerald, may 
 fitly close this note. When his lordship lay suffering of the wounds of which 
 
524 EUTAW. 
 
 St. Julien, returning to the field, found all in confusion as be- 
 fore. The two six-pounders of the Americans, which had ac- 
 companied their second line, were brought up to batter the 
 house. But, in the stupid ardor of those having them in charge 
 lliey had been run up within fifty yards of the building, and 
 the cannoneers were pickedoff by Sheridan's marksmen as fast 
 as they approached the guns. The whole fire from the windows 
 was concentrated upon the artillerists, and they were either all 
 killed or driven away. This done, Marjoribanks promptly sal- 
 lied forth from his cover into the field, seized upon the aban- 
 doned pieces and hurried them under cover of the house before 
 any efibrt could be made to save them. He next charged the 
 scattered parties of Americans among the tents, or upon the 
 field, and drove them before him. Covered, finally, by the 
 mounted men of Marion and Hampton, the infantry found safety 
 in the wood, and were rallied. The British were too much 
 crippled to follow, and dared not advance from the immediate 
 cover of their fortress. 
 
 No more could be done. The laurels won in the first act of 
 this exciting drama were all withered in the second. Both par- 
 ties claimed a victory. It belonged to neither. The British 
 were beaten from the field at the point of the bayonet ; sought 
 shelter in a fortress, and repulsed their assailants from that for- 
 tress. It is to the shame and discredit of the Americans that 
 they were repulsed. The victory was in their hands. Bad 
 conduct in the men, and bad generalship, sufficed to rob them 
 deservedly of the honors of tha field. But most of the advan- 
 tages remained in their hands. They had lost, it is true, se- 
 verely ; twenty-one of our officers perished on the field : and 
 the aggregate of killed, wounded, and missing, exceeded one 
 fourth of the number with which they had gone into battle. 
 Henderson, Pickens, Howard, and many other officers of dis- 
 tinction, were among the wounded. They had also lost two of 
 
 he died in 1798, he wag reminded by a Charleston friend of his wounds at 
 Eutaw, which had led to their first intimacy. Fitzgerald replied : " Ah ! I 
 was wounded then in a different cause ; that was in fighting against Liberty 
 — this in fighting^ it!" He was another of the Irish victims to British 
 usurpation. See, on this subject, the remarlvs of Sinclair, Chapter XVI. of 
 " The Forayers." 
 
BATTLE OF EUTAW. 5^25 
 
 their field-pieces, and had taken one of the enemy ; and all 
 these losses, and the events which distinguished them, were 
 quite sufficient to rob them of the triumph of the day. But, on 
 the other hand, the losses of the British were still greater. The 
 Americans had chased them from the field at the point of the 
 hayonet ; this was a moral loss ; plundered their camp ; and at 
 the close held possession of the field. Stewart fled the next 
 day, his retreat covered by Major M'Arthur, with a fresh bri- 
 gade from Fairlawn, which had been called up for his succor. 
 Marion and Lee made a fruitless attempt to intercept this re- 
 inforcement. But the simultaneous movement of Stewart and 
 M'Arthur enabled them to effect a junction, and thus outnumber 
 the force of Marion. Stewart fled, leaving seventy of his wound- 
 ed to the care of his enemies. He destroyed his stores, broke 
 up a thousand stand of arms, and, shorn of all unnecessary bag- 
 gage, succeeded in getting safely to Fairlawn. His slain, 
 wounded, and missing, numbered more than half the force with 
 which he had gone into battle. The Americans carried off four 
 hundred and thirty prisoners, which, added to the seventy taken 
 in the morning, made an aggregate of five hundred. One of 
 the heaviest of the British losses occurred after the battle, in 
 the death of Marjoribanks, who had unquestionably saved the 
 whole British army. He died, not long after, on the road to 
 Charleston.* 
 
 * Marjoribanks acquired the esteem of the Americans by his general good 
 conduct and abilities. He died of fever upon the march, and was buried on 
 the roadside. A rude headboard of cypress, the inscription cut appai-ently 
 with a comraou Icnife, stood, uninjured by man or time, until a comparativelv 
 recent perio'd. When it fell into decay, a marble tablet was raised over the 
 grave by members of the Kavenel family, who restored the old inscription, 
 which ran thus: "John Marjoribanks, Esq., Late Major to the 19th Regi- 
 ment Infantry, and commanding a JFlank Batt.alion of his Majesty's airay. 
 Obiit 22d October, 1781." To this inscription, the liberal and amiable gen- 
 tlemen, by whom the old cypress headboard wai replaced by a marble tablet, 
 added simply — " This slab has been placed over the grave of John Marjori- 
 banks, in substitution of the original headboard from which the above inscrip- 
 tion was copied. June, 1842." Thus, sixty yeare after, a generous enemy 
 paid ti'ibute to the virtues of the soldier who had been forgotten by his own 
 people. The old cypress headboard, by-the-way, was, curiously enough, car- 
 ried to England by Greneral James Hamilton, and sent with a respectful let- 
 ter to the Duke of Wellington. Ho acknowledged the novel present, rath<>i 
 
526 BUTAW 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 POBOV CRITICISES THE BATTJ.B — MILITIA FASHION. 
 
 The British power in Carolina was brokea at Eutaw. True, 
 there was no complete victory for the Americans. But the re- 
 sult was almost the same, though less immediate than it might 
 have been. Even the field was retained by our partisans; 
 Colonel Hampton's command being left in possession of it, while 
 the army of Greene retired a few miles to the rear, where they 
 could procure food and water. It was the purpose of the Amer- 
 ican general to renew the action next day ; but he pressed the 
 pursuit in vain. The retreat of Stewart was too rapid even for 
 the eager impulse of our mounted men. But we must not follow 
 the general events of the war, to the neglect of our special 
 dramatis 'persona. Let us return to those. 
 
 Night had fallen ; a clear and pleasant night of stars and 
 gentle breezes. Among the pines, the scattered gi-oups of our 
 partisans were bivouacked, mostly without tent or covering, 
 save that of the trees and the heavens. One of these groups, 
 alone, will demand our attention. Seen in the blazing camp- 
 fires, a dozen manly forms sate, or reclined, together, under a 
 clump of pines, with a little brooklet trickling by, along the 
 slopes. Heat and fatigue, toil and wounds, had produced their 
 natural effect, in exhaustion and great weariness. There was 
 
 cavalierly, through his secretary. That General Hamilton should suppose 
 the Duke of Wellington, or tlie British government, to care a straw for such 
 a momento, was singularly gratuitous. Great Britnin had been bui7ing her 
 majors without headboards at all, in every region to which her Norman am- 
 bition had earned her banner. If her drum responded everywhere to the ri- 
 sing of the sun in triumph, it had eveiywhere corresponding with his progress, 
 been rolled in muffled music, to the burial of her gallant soldiery. 
 
PORGT CRITICISES THE BATTLE. 527 
 
 no bustle, no parade. When they spoke, it was mostly with an 
 evidence of languor, if not of sadness. They were sad. They 
 had reason to be so. They had to mourn the loss of friends and 
 comrades, and to think, with trembling, of the wounds of others 
 which might possibly be mortal. Most of this group were offi- 
 cers. Some of them had griefs and anxieties of a more personal 
 and touching nature still, which kept them silent. Sinclair was 
 one of this group ; St. Peyre another ; Captain Porgy a third. 
 The latter was in the hands of the surgeon at this very juncture. 
 He was hurt in the thigh, not seriously, but he had suffered con- 
 siderable loss of blood, which had served, in some degree, to 
 modify his usual elasticity. Still, he was less subdued than the 
 rest ; and his words flowed almost as freely as ever. He was 
 in an irascible mood, and showed no small impatience at the 
 deliberation, and searching examination, of the surgeon while 
 attending to his hurt. 
 
 " There," said he, " that will do ! The thing is nothing. I 
 knew, all the while, that it was a flesh wound only — nothing 
 to make a fuss about. It will take a long-winded bullet to make 
 its way fairly into my citadel." 
 
 " Yon bled like a stuck pig, nevertheless," said MelHchampe. 
 
 "Had you said 'stuffed' instead of 'stuck,' I had never for- 
 given you, Ernest. The comparison is irreverent, anyhow ! 
 
 Don't risk another, my dear boy, lest you make me angry. 
 I am in the humor to resent any impertinence to-night. I have 
 been in the humor to fight any, the best friend, half-a-dozen 
 times to-day. Wounds of the body, I feel none. I got this in 
 the beginning of the action. It was smart not pain. But pain 
 there is ! Great Grod ! to think of our useless loss to-day : of 
 the profligate and blundering waste of life ; of those poor fel- 
 lows of Washington's legion, most ridiculously sacrificed ; of a 
 complete victory sufiered to slip out of our hands, when we had 
 only to close upon them, and make it secure ?" 
 
 " Nay, Porgy, no more ! What good will it do to canvass the 
 affair so close ? We have got the advantage, if not the victory. 
 We shall be wiser of our mistakes hereafter. We shall know 
 better next time." 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear Sinclair, but it is you that mistake. 
 We shall never repair this sort of blundering if we never pxpose 
 
528 EXJTAW. 
 
 it. We are altogether too mealy-moutVied when we come to the 
 discussion of the faults and hlunders of the great. As for im- 
 proving hereafter, I do not believe it, so long as we serve under 
 the same leaders. And, there is a particular reason why we 
 poor militiamen, rangers, riflemen, and partisans, as we are 
 called, should lay bare, whenever we can, the vices and the 
 worthlessnesses of these martinets, and regulars, who invariably 
 excuse their own defeats by charging their disasters upon the 
 militia. Gates had it, that the militia ran at Camden. And, 
 no doubt, they did. And very right too. But he, himself, was 
 among the first to run. I do not so much blame him for that. 
 He had a particularly large carcass to take of, and a world of 
 genius and ability to economize and preserve for other more 
 auspicious occasions. But how can a militia be expected to 
 stand fight, when their general conducts them into a false posi- 
 tion, and finds himself in the thick of battle without dreaming 
 of the approach of an enemy ? Now, one of the veiy first 
 necessities of a general is, to inspire his men with confidence. 
 But when the general's own incompetence is so glaring that the 
 meanest camp follower is able to detect it, how should yon 
 expect to inspire this confidence ? The militiamen, who had no 
 weapons but our mean, long-handled, bird guns, without bayo- 
 nets, are pushed forward, in the first rank, to encounter British 
 regulars, all of whom are armed with the best Tower muskets 
 of large bore, and bristling with bayonets. They seem to be 
 put forward, as David put forward Uriah, to be slain certainly. 
 Why are they thus put forward ; forming a regular line of bat- 
 tle, when they have no means of resistance when it comes to 
 the push of steel 1 To be slain ? Well, no ; not exactly : hut 
 really to draw the enemy's fire, in wdcr to lessen the dangers to 
 the regulars when the bayonet is required to he used ! In other 
 words, they are food for powder. Their lives are nothing. We 
 can waste them — expose them — and, just in proprotion as they 
 are shot down, will you lessen the same danger to those who 
 follow them. Well, a militiaman understands all that. He sees 
 that there is no scruple shown when Aeis to be sacrificed — tliat 
 bis general has no sympathy with him — that he exhibits no 
 such economical regard for his life, that he shows for his regu 
 lars ; and that he should be expected to stand the charge of a 
 
PORGY CRITICISES THE BATTLE. 629 
 
 «'eapon which he himself does not use, is quite enough to make 
 liim distrustful of a generalship, which requires him to take the 
 worst risks of the battle, merely to lessen the danger to his 
 favorites. No wonder that he runs." 
 
 '• But our fellows did not run to-day, Porgy, until the bayonets 
 were almost into them.'' 
 
 " True ; and why ? Because tliey are mostly old soldiers, 
 and because their own favorite generals were immediately in 
 command. And let me say, that no militia in the world, and 
 fow regulars, ever behaved better than our boys to-day. Had 
 you swopped guns with the regulars, and put tJiem forward, to do 
 the same business, and endure the first brunt of the battle, as 
 our fellows did, you wcSuld have had them all scampering at the 
 first volley. But the case is not altered because our fellows 
 stood fire manfully. I repeat, that this whole plan of battle is 
 false, and immoral, which thus makes a first regular column of 
 attack, of a badly-armed militia." 
 
 " It is the usual plan, nevertheless." 
 
 ," And it is the secret of so many of our disasters ! It is a 
 vicious plan, and might reasonably be expected to work us 
 defeat in every action. For, do you not- see that, once taught 
 to understand that he is expected to run, if not shot, the in- 
 stincts of the militiaman are always ready; — well, he runs, and, 
 though it is expected that he will ran, the effect of such an 
 example is necessarily bad upon the regular ; he has not only an 
 example, but a plea for running also. But, if the militia, en 
 masse, and in their panic, fling themselves back upon an ad- 
 vancing column of regulars, it is scarcely possible to escape that 
 degree of confusion, which is next in effect to panic ; and the 
 whole army is thus demoralized. No. You must employ mili- 
 tiamen — call them what you will, sharpshooters or rangers, on 
 the flanks, and as skirmishers, or, when they are old soldiers, 
 you must intermingle them with the regulars, either in alternate 
 bodies, or, as a second line, when the army is displayed for 
 battle. Any plan but the present. Disparaged if not despised, 
 denounced as only made to run ; without the proper weapons 
 for close combat ; they are yet required to exhibit all the moral 
 forces which are needed for the Jirst encounter ; why, every 
 school-bov's experience might correct this folly. There is not 
 
630 EDTAW. 
 
 an urchin, knee-high to a cock-sparrow, but will tell you that 
 the first blow is always half the battle." 
 
 " Well, but, Porgy, it is admitted that the army to-day suf- 
 ficed nothing, from the first line being made up wholly of militia- 
 men." 
 
 " But they suffered ! But that is nothing to the argument. 
 Answer me ! Suppose the same endurance, hardihood, and au- 
 dacity, which our boys showed to-day, in the case of men who, 
 after disorganizing the entire British line by their sharp-shoot- 
 ing, were prepared, with proper weapons, to start forward at 
 the -pas de charge, and do you suppose that a single company 
 of the enemy could have escaped annihilation ? That is the 
 true question. The army lost nothing in the affair to-day, 
 perhaps, because of their first line being militia. Marion and 
 Pickens have the art, always, of keeping their men firm so 
 long as they are disposed to keep the field themselves. But 
 how many such leaders as Marion and Pickens are you to find 
 in the armies of the world ? Suppose, however, that their troops 
 had been employed in the woods and on the flanks as skirmish- 
 ers, while the regulars had played their game from the first, and 
 all the while, as manfully with their bayonets as the militia did 
 with their shot-guns and rifles — what, then, must have been 
 the result? The annihilation of the British army ! When the 
 British line pressed upon the militia, and they melted away out 
 of the path of the continentals, the British column was already 
 dreadfully disorganized — in fact, hardly a line at all, but un- 
 dulating, in ridges of advances ; here a billow, and there a gulf 
 — here a swell, and there a hollow — and comparatively easy 
 game for a uniform charge of bayonets brought squarely up to 
 the business. And I am free to allow that the continentals did 
 their part handsomely. They came up to the scratch in beau- 
 tiful style ; and here, if anywhere in America, the Britisli regu- 
 lars were met, hand to hand, and beaten at their own weapon, 
 the bayonet — driven from the field before the bayonet! But, 
 would they have been thus driven, but for the previous havoc 
 made by our shot-guns, and their subsequent demoralization at 
 the hands of our militia V 
 
 " That, surely, is an argument, Porgy, in support of the pres- 
 ent practice." 
 
PORGT CRITICISES THE BATTLE. 531 
 
 " Not SO. It would be an argument, perhaps — though I deny 
 even that — were you always sure of yK._r militia as yon might 
 be always in the case of the brigades of Marion and Pickens ; 
 but if sure of them, why not give them the bayonets also, and 
 let them rank with the regulars ? The fact is, we are perpetu- 
 ally making a distinction in this matter, where there is no sub- 
 stantial difference. Look to the real meaning of your phrase, 
 and all veterans are regulars, and all raw troops suffer from tlie 
 inherent difficulties of an inexperienced militia. They are ranked 
 as militia only because they are raw ; and no matter what the 
 weapons you put into their hands, an inexperienced body will 
 be apt to make very doubtful use of them, even if they make 
 any use at all, while the old soldier will work vigorously with 
 any sort of tool. It is, in fact, because of the rawness of the 
 British troops of late, that we have got most of our advantages 
 over them. Their new Irish recruits know nothing of drill, do 
 not appreciate the moral strength derived from the touch of a 
 comrade's elbow, have no knowledge of the gun, whether rifle 
 or musket, and are only beginning the necessary training for 
 battle when the battle is upon them. Here lies much of the 
 secret of our late successes, and particularly that of to-day, 
 when the two lines came to the push of the bayonet. 
 
 " But, dismissing this point, let us look to other matters which 
 more certainly cut us off from the victory of which we were 
 secure. 
 
 " The battle was clearly won when the British line was k'O- 
 ken, and their masses scattered and driven from the field. How 
 was it lost, then 1 By the dispersion of our regulars among the 
 tents ; by the mad fury with which they fastened upon rum and 
 brandy. But where were their officers, that they were suffered 
 to do this?" 
 
 " Pendleton says," was the remark of Singleton, " that when 
 Greene sent to Lee to charge Coffin, Lee was not with his cav- 
 alry at all. Subsequently, he was found riding about the field 
 with a few dragoons, giving orders to everybody — in fact, 
 usurping the entire command." 
 
 " Well, where was Greene, when his favorite was thus em 
 ployed 1 What was he doing ? Should he not have been pres- 
 ent ? Why did he not, instead of sending an army-surgeon tr 
 
632 EUTAW. 
 
 tell Williams to sweep the field with the bayonets of his divis- 
 ion-— why did he not gallop to their head, and lead them into 
 action himself 1 That was the moment when a general should 
 peril himself greatly, if necessary, in order to achieve great re- 
 sults. It was the crisis of the action. The British were sha- 
 king everywhere. If, then, the general had dashed to the 
 front, and, with all the thunders of his voice, had cried out to 
 his men, ' Follow me, boys, and let us sweep these red-coats 
 fi'om the field !' they would have gone forward with a madden 
 ing cheer; would have stormed the gates of h — ^1; would have 
 never paused nor faltered, never stopped for tents, or drink, or 
 gaudy equipage and plunder ; and w« should have had the 
 brick-house in our possession before Sheridan could have won 
 the entrance with a single man. Then, there could have been 
 no Lee to usurp the field, and assume the grand direction of 
 afiairs. Where was your general all this time, that the subor- 
 dinates were playing fool and monkey 1 In the rear, and de- 
 spatching slow orders through unofScial agents, whom nobody 
 was bound to recognise." 
 
 " Greene was very angry with Lee, according to Pendle- 
 ton." 
 
 "Angry! He should have ordered him under arrest — or- 
 dered him to the rear — nay, mt him down — cut him out of the 
 path ; anything, rather than suflFer such an impertinent and ridic- 
 ulous proceeding. And had Greene been present — there — in the 
 very place, where he should have been — he probably would have 
 done nothing less ! But, even this was really a small matter 
 compared with some other proceedings of this day. We owe 
 our worst mischief to other causes. When the British were 
 driven into the house, they held, in that, and one other posidon 
 only — the thick wood on the edge of Eutaw creek, where Mar- 
 joribanks was posted with his flank brigade. Everywhere besides, 
 they were routed ; flying in absolute, iiTetrievable defeat and re- 
 treat, in all other quarters. What remained to us ? Why, we 
 had them in our grasp completely. We had only to bring our 
 fieldpieces into action. Well. The fieldpieces were brought 
 up, and instead of taking position a hundred and fifty or two 
 hundred yards from the house, and battering it down at leisure, 
 what do the blockheads do, but rush both pieces up to within 
 
PORGY CRITICISES THE BATTLE. 533 
 
 fifty yards of the building, while the sharpshooters swept away 
 the artillerists as fast as they approached tlie guns. Where 
 were the commanding officers here 1 Where the sense, or gen- 
 eralship ? What next ? Why we are to dislodge Marjoribanks 
 from his cover along the creek. And how is this to be done ? 
 Marjoribanks, with three hundred picked infantry, well armed 
 with muskets and bayonets, and covered besides with a dense 
 forest of black-jack, is to be dislodged by horse. By horse ! 
 Was ever such an absurdity conceived before ? Washington's 
 cavalry is req[uired to hurl itself upon this wall of black-jacks, 
 this forest of bayonets — a dense wall; a bristling barrier of 
 steel blades — and the fortress to be won by unsupported cav- 
 alry. Why, had the object been the utter annihilation of the 
 corps, the device could not have been better chosen. Even 
 were there no bayonets, no muskets, no Marjoribanks, the black- 
 jacks would have proved impervious to all the cavalry in the 
 world ; and so these poor fellows were really sent to be slaugh- 
 tered ; and when half their saddles were emptied, yon might 
 see the survivors, still wilfully obedient, failing to urge their 
 horses forward, wheeling about and trying to back them into 
 the thicket, while smiting behind them with their broadswords. 
 Of course, a moment's reflection shows us that when they were 
 ordered on such a duty, the wits of the general were in the 
 moon ! Such folly is without example. And when we reflect 
 that the whole necessity was reduced to a simple use of the two 
 pieces of artillery ! With one of these pieces battering down 
 the house at two hundred yards, with the other, stuffed to the 
 muzzle with grape and raking the copse where Marjoribanks 
 was covered, twenty minutes would have sufficed for dislodging 
 both parties ; when, with Washington and Lee's cavalry, both 
 on hand, and our mounted men of Maham and Horry, we had 
 every man of them doomed as food for the sabre, and nothing 
 but prompt surrender could have saved the lives of a single 
 mother's son of them ! I'll engage that if Marion had been the 
 master of the army to-day, we had done these very things, and 
 no less. Eegulars, indeed ! I tell you that, all old soldiers are 
 regulars, even though you arm tliem with pitchforks only. 
 Had our militia shown the white feather to-day, in the first of 
 the action, they would have been burdeued with the whole dis^ 
 
584 EUTAW. 
 
 credit of its failure. Had they been the troops to break into 
 the British camp, and to grow insubordinate, while wallowing 
 in strong drink, we should never have heard the ead of it ! 
 Luckily, they fought this day to make these continentals stare ; 
 and we owe it to them, and their weapons, that all of these fine 
 regulars were not slaughtered in these tents. But for our cov- 
 ering rifles. Coffin and Marjoribanks would have swept every 
 scamp of them into eternity." 
 
 " Supper, maussa!" quoth Tom, the cook, entering at this 
 moment, and making a spread upon the turf. 
 
 " But yon will eat nothing, Porgy," said the surgeon. 
 
 "Will I not!" roared the other, looking round with great 
 eyes of indignation. " Shall a hole in my thigh insist upon a 
 corresponding hole in my stomach ? Because I am hurt shall I 
 have QO appetite 1 Because you would heal, have you a right 
 to starve me 1 This is a ridiculous feature, my dear doctor, in 
 your medical philosophy. Let me tell you that one great secret 
 of the art of healing is to strengthen the defence of Nature, so 
 that she herself may carry on the war against disease. And let 
 me tell you further, that one of Tom's suppers will hurt no man 
 who sleeps with an easy conscience. Starve your siuners as 
 much as you please, my dear fellow ; they deserve it on moral 
 grounds, and it may help them in physical matters ; but for a 
 virtuous soldiery, like ours, feed them well and they need no 
 physic. But, where would you go, Sinclair, now, just as sup- 
 per's coming in?" 
 
 " I wish none, Porgy. I have no appetite." 
 
 " No appetite ! Go after him, St. Julien. Something's 
 wrong. A Christian without an appetite is as strange an 
 anomaly as a soul without a wing !" 
 
 But St. Julien did not stir. 
 
 " Let him alone," said he, " and do not observe him, Porgy. 
 He has need to be sad just now. He has much to trouble 
 him." 
 
 " Well, there's a need of sadness, at times, if only to make 
 the sunshine agreeable. Let him go. We shall keep some- 
 thing for him when he gits back. All ready, Tom 1" 
 
 " You kaint be too quick wid de supper, maussa. He jist 
 warm enough for de swallow." 
 
P0B6Y CRITICISES THE BATTLE. OSO 
 
 " Draw nigh, and fall to, boys. What if there be blockheads 
 in camp, shall we go to bed snpperless for that ? Because there 
 are ambitious dunderheads, shall good soldiers feed on bullets 
 only ? I dream of a time, when every man will, perforce, fall 
 into his right place ! In other words, I think a millenium pos- 
 sible. Meanwhile, let us eat, drink, and be satisfied, though to- 
 morrow we sup on steel !" 
 
ft3fi EUTAW 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 NELLY FLOYD GUIDES SINCLAIR. 
 
 Sinclair joined Hampton in his lonely bivouac on the field 
 of battle. Very mournful, indeed, was the spectacle, even as 
 beheld in the vague, imperfect starlight. There lay, all about, 
 scattered heaps — still — silent, unconscious — which, they well 
 knew, were all but five hours ago, warm with life, eager with 
 hope, improvident with impulse. And now the wildcat will 
 troop over their bosoms, and not one of them will shudder. 
 There lay the horse, whose nostrils lately dilated with energy, 
 and snuffed the blood and the battle with a fiery passion. Rider 
 and chariot are overthrown. Death sits crouching in the midst 
 of all, with great grinning jaws, glaring about with phosphoric 
 eyes, from bloody sockets, drinking in the horrible odors, as if 
 they were so much wine, that already began to reek up from 
 that sad atmosphere of mortality. 
 
 Sinclair strode lonely over the field, hardly answering the 
 sentinels as he went by, his thoughts elsewhere, though the 
 cruel spectacle around him, might well have kept Thought fixed 
 to the spot, and busied in her intensest exercise. 
 
 "Ha! sir! T-o you see that — you?" 
 
 And as the sentinel spoke he shivered. 
 
 " See ! what !" answered Sinclair ; scarcely comprehending 
 the other's emotions, and half indifferent to what he said. The 
 soldier pointed him to a group of dead — their armor gleaming, 
 above the heap — conspicuous enough in the starlight. Around 
 this group, a tall slight figure was seen to hover and circle, and 
 flit, appearing and disappearing. Occasionally it appeared to 
 
NELLY FLOYD GUIDES SINCLAIR. 537 
 
 stoop, and seemed to be busy iu the examination of the slain. 
 In husky tones the sentinel continued : — 
 
 " I have seen it, colonel, moving all about, far as my eye 
 could reach ; and it stooped jest so, as it does now, and felt 
 about, jest as it's adoing now, all among the dead bodies." 
 
 The awe and horror expressed by the soldier, did not affect 
 Sinclair. At once the thought occurred to him — "Can it be 
 that we, too, have strippers of the slain, even as in the terrible 
 battle-fields of which we read, in Europe, where poverty becomes 
 desperate, and where crime is so numerous and reckless, that 
 no veneration remains among men — where they rob the dead, 
 and extinguish life in the wounded ?" 
 
 " I will see !" said he to the soldier, who had plucked him by 
 the arm, " I will see." And he was darting forward, when the 
 sentinel held him back. 
 
 " Better not, colonel." 
 
 " Why not V 
 
 "Perhaps, sir — I reckon it's — a ghost!" 
 
 " Perhaps !" said Sinclair quietly, as he shook off the soldier 
 and went forward. "Perhaps it is; I will see." And, to the 
 consternation and admiration of the sentinel, he hurried toward 
 the object whose appearance seemed so unnatural, and whose 
 employments seemed so mysterious, among the slaughtered of 
 the field. 
 
 The supposed spectre was busied turning over the bodies 
 among a pile of British. Sinclair had approached so nigh that 
 he could distinguish the red color of their uniforms. He saw 
 that one of them was an ofiScer. He saw the unknown ob- 
 ject of his curiosity turn the wan, blear face of this officer 
 up to the starlight. He heard her say — for the person 
 was a woman — in tones of relief — "He is not here! He 
 must be safe !" And it was only after this, that, raising her 
 form from the spot, she discovered the near approach of our 
 partisan colonel. In the same moment, Sinclair distinguished, 
 in the searcher of the slain, the strange wild girl, Nelly Floyd, 
 who, in some degree, held in her hands the clues to that mys- 
 tery which was then his anxiety. He uttered an ejaculation of 
 pleasure, and sprang forward. 
 
 " Is it you, my girl 1" 
 
638 EUTAW. 
 
 " Yes, sir !" she answered meekly, and without snrprise or 
 alarm — "Yes, sir, and as soon as I am done here, I meant to 
 come and seek you." 
 
 " Ah ! I am glad to hear that ! But what can you be doing 
 here 1 What can a young girl like you have to do in such a 
 horrid scene as this, and at such a fearful hour ]" 
 
 "Ah! sir, look over this battle-field, where so many noble 
 forms have perished on both sides, and think how many young 
 girls, and how many -"Id men and women too, would be weeping 
 now, could they only know who sleep here among the slain ! 
 The young and old who live, still have a mournful interest in 
 the dead. I have now no kindred of my own living, and yet I 
 feel that I could weep for some that are here. And I thought 
 of one dear lady, who had a son in this battle ; and I saw him, 
 from the thicket, sir, as he led his little company into battle ; 
 and I saw the shattered remnant of his company, as they were 
 scattered by the dragoons of Maham ; and the young officer was 
 not with them then ; and I have been looking for him over all 
 the field ; but I do not find him ; and even now, sir, he may be 
 groaning somewhere, for a single cup of water to quench his 
 thirst." 
 
 "You are a brave and noble girl," said Sinclair. "Tell me 
 the name of this officer, my girl ; perhaps I can tell you some- 
 thing about him." 
 
 The answer was given in hasty accents, as if the speaker 
 dreaded to hear her voice, or to trust it with the necessary 
 burden. She answered somewhat indirectly : — 
 
 " He was a lieutenant of rifles, sir, the company had a green 
 uniform. He, too, had a green uniform : "and — and — sir, he is 
 the son of a dear good lady whom I loved very much — the 
 good lady Nelson — I owe her much, sir, very much — for she 
 protected and trained my childhood — and so I would have 
 found her son if I could, and, helped him if he were wonnded ; 
 or—" 
 
 Sinclair, finding her beginning to halt, now spoke. 
 
 " I am glad, my good girl, to relieve all your anxieties. 
 Lieutenant Nelson is safe — unhurt, though a prisoner. He fell 
 into my own hands to-day, and has been marched to the rear 
 of the ai-my with the rest of the prisoners." 
 
NELLY FLOYD GUIDES SINCLAIR. 539 
 
 "A prisoner!" and she clasped her hands together. "But, 
 there is nothing against him 1" 
 
 " Nothing ! He is in honorable captivity, with five hundred 
 other brave fellows, who will be well treated until honorably 
 exchanged. You shall see him to-morrow, if you will." 
 
 " Oh ! sir, I thank you, but — " quickly, " I do not wish now 
 to see him. You say he is unhurt, unwounded — and that is all, 
 sir. I do not care to see him." 
 
 "Unwounded — a little bruised and sore perhaps, for he was 
 thrown down somewhat rudely ; but otherwise he is quite safe 
 — wholly uninjured, and will not be long a prisoner." 
 
 " Thanks, sir ! Thanks, Colonel Sinclair ! Oh, sir ! if harm 
 had come to Sherrod Nelson, I think I should have died, sir ; 
 for it would have been the death of his poor mother — the good 
 Lady Nelson. He is the very apple of her eye. And now, 
 Colonel Sinclair, since I have no other reason for searching in 
 this bloody field, and no reason, now, to refuse to do what your 
 scout would have forced me to do when I saw you before, let 
 us go at once, sir, to find the place where the boy and his father 
 are confined by the tories in the swamp." 
 
 " Ah ! my good girl, are you really willing ? Shall we go 
 now? at night !" 
 
 " Yes, sir, the sooner the better. They are in the hands of a 
 very bad man, and he will be there to-night. He fled into the 
 woods, very near where I was hiding, when the battle was 
 going on ; he, and such of his people as escaped. Several were 
 slain, I think, by your own troopers. There is one among 
 them — a cruel, bloodthirsty man, whom they call by a very 
 wicked name — " 
 
 " Hell-Fire Dick !" 
 
 " Ah ! you know him, sir. He is a terribly cruel man. I 
 f»itr him, as I never feared another man. The sight of him 
 always makes me tremble." 
 
 Sinclair watched the girl while she spoke. He could trace 
 her features distinctly by the starlight, she stood so near to 
 him. He saw that she was veiy pale and wan — haggard, in 
 fact — but this might be the effect of the starlight ; or it might 
 be that her soul had been more keenly affected by the terrible 
 spectacle of that bloody field, than the tones of her voice be 
 
540 EUTAW. 
 
 trayed. He observed the extreme slightness of lier frame, 
 which, in her half-boy garments, appeared to be very much 
 attenuated ; and he said to her ; — 
 
 "My good girl, though very anxious to set out upon the 
 journey for the recovery of my friends in the hands of this 
 tory, Inglehardt, yet I fear that you would suffer unless you 
 had rest to-night. It will require several hours of hard-riding 
 to bring us to the place." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! I am strong. I don't feel weariness. I am used 
 to travelling by night. It is the safest time in our country, 
 now. Then the outlaws lie close. Bad men are more apt to 
 travel by day than by night. They seem to fear God rather 
 than man. They fear the lonely woods, and the stars, and the 
 winds, and other things that speak by night. It is safer, sir, 
 and I do not fear ; and I have not been travelling all day, sir — 
 and I am not fatigued. I have been waiting and watching in 
 the thickets all day, for I saw Sheirod Nelson when he first 
 went into the field, and I watched to see that he came out of it; 
 and since then — since the darkness, I have been looking about 
 the field ; and that is the only toil I have suffered to-day. And 
 now that you tell me he is safe, I do not feel weak or unhappy. 
 I feel light and strong, and would rather ride to-night about the 
 woods than sleep. Indeed, I could not sleep to-night. My 
 mind is too lively for sleeping." 
 
 And she said this in the saddest tones, with a voice nowhere 
 raised, and with a wan melancholy visage, and such sorrowful, 
 dewy, but dilating eyes. 
 
 " Well, my good girl, be it as you say. No one can be more 
 anxious to take the road, in the recovery of my friends, than 
 myself. But you speak only of the father and son — of Cap- 
 tain Travis, and the boy, Henry Travis, as captives of this tory. 
 Did you hear nothing — see nothing — of another captive — a 
 lady — Bertha, daughter of this same Captain Travis? She is 
 also gone — no doubt, a prisoner in the same swamp with her 
 father, and in the power, also, of Inglehardt !" 
 
 But of Bertha Travis, Nelly Floyd could say nothing. She 
 iiad, in fact, not been within the precincts of Muddicoat Castle, 
 from the moment when her Inckless brother had left them lagt ; 
 
NELLY FLOYD GUIDES SINCLAIK. 541 
 
 itiid tlie abduction of Bertha had taken place after that last 
 departure. 
 
 Sinclair, finding the girl willing, and even eager, lost no time 
 in preliminaries. He was making his way back from the field 
 toward the encampment of the partisans, when Nelly proposed 
 to leave him, in order to get her pony which she had hidden 
 away in a dense thicket on the right. For a moment, Sinclair 
 became dubious of her honesty, and hesitated to reply ; but she 
 seemed to conjecture what was passing in his mind and said : — 
 
 " You must not doubt me. Why will men prefer to suspect 
 sooner than believe. And yet faith seems so easy, and is so 
 sweet — to woman!" 
 
 The last two words were said after a small pause. Sinclair 
 felt rebuked. He put his hand on her shoulder : " Go, my girl, 
 your school is the wisest one. I believe you. I will wait for 
 you, at the camp." 
 
 " You will not need to wait long. Aggy is a fast goer." 
 
 And she disappeared in the next moment among the trees. 
 Sinclair moved as rapidly to his quarters, and routed up St. 
 Julien and his squad. Everything was related in few words, 
 and, before the troop was quite ready for departure, Nelly 
 Floyd, perched on Aggy, was waiting in the foreground. 
 
 No unnecessary delay was suffered, and very soon the party 
 was moving off, and upward, under the guidance of the wild girl 
 of Edisto. We need not accompany their progress. Enough 
 that they rode as fast as they well might, in the darkness of the 
 night, and for most of the time in woodland paths known only 
 to deer and hunter. Our scout, Ballou, who was one of the 
 party, would have kept on the right hand, or the left, of the 
 girl ; but she avoided him, and suffered him to see that he had 
 displeased her. He little dreamed how much. He little con- 
 jectured that, in her secret soul, she ascribed her failure to save 
 her brother from the gallows, to his violent arrest of her, and 
 her subsequent detention, in the camp of the partisans. Once 
 when Ballou, as well acquainted with the -precincts as herself, 
 though ignorant of the recesses of Muddicoat Castle, was for 
 going ahead, she stopped short and said to him : " If you will 
 lead, you do not need my services ;" — upon which Sinclair or- 
 dered the scout to fall behind. And thus, for two hours or 
 
542 EUTAW. 
 
 more, the party rode, sometimes at a canter, but most commonly 
 at a smart trot. A considerable distance was overcome, when 
 Nelly came to a halt. In a moment, Sinclair was beside her. 
 
 " We must turn aside here. To the left." 
 
 Ballon interposed. 
 
 '' Why, girl," said he, " we'^p three miles off from the place, 
 at the least — three miles off. 
 
 " Choose between us !" said the girl to Sinclair. " If he will 
 guide you, well. You need not me." 
 
 " Back, Ballou !" said Sinclau- sternly. " Do not interfere." 
 
 The girl proceeded : — 
 
 " Three miles off is the encampment where the toiy keeps his 
 troop. But they do not enter the swamp at all ; have never 
 done so, since I have been watching them. The path upon 
 which I propose to take you is remote from the camp. It is 
 the safest path to pursue, and will bring us to the best place 
 for entering the swamp. There are two routes for this. I do 
 not wish you to carry your whole troop- in this direction. Half 
 a dozen men, your best men, will probably answer, to penetrate 
 in this quarter. I do not think that the tory has ever more 
 than three or four men in the swamp. He keeps it secret from 
 his people. But, while half a dozen men take this route, and 
 penetrate the swamp, the rest of the force can compass the tory 
 camp. If you would fight them, and capture them, he can lead 
 your men" — and she pointed to Ballou. " He knows the way 
 as well as I do. But I would not see the fighting. It is per 
 haps best that you should throw your main force between the 
 camp and the swamp ; whether you attack them or not, it is im- 
 portant, perhaps, that you should have your own people between 
 the greater force of the tories and the place you seek. So shall 
 you be able to penetrate without interruption, and be secure 
 that no enemy comes behind you. If that bad man, whom they 
 call ' Hell-fire Dick,' be in the camp, it is well to have a force 
 ready to meet him ; for he knows both the routes leading to the 
 swamp, and the noise of strife, the sound of a bugle in alarm, or 
 a shot, in that quarter, can reach the ears of those who keep the 
 camp. The distance from the hammocks of the swamp, and the 
 camp, is something under a mila ; though, by the route we take, 
 U is fully two miles I tell you what I think to be the best 
 
NELI r FLOYD GUIDES SINCLAIR. 543 
 
 plan. It is for you to say whether you will carry your whole 
 troop into the swamp, where such numbers might make an 
 alarm, or will only select a few who ax'e quiet enough, if the 
 tory-captain continues the practice which he pursued before, of 
 encamping his squad on the outside." 
 
 Sinclair hardly hesitated to consult with St. Julien. It was 
 arranged that the latter should conduct the main body of the 
 troop, under the guidance of Ballou, so as to occupy a position 
 between the camp and the swamp. No movement was to be 
 made by St. Julien against the tories until the bugles of Sinclair 
 from the swamp should apprize him of the success of the small 
 party under the latter ; unless, indeed, the conflict was forced 
 upon him by a premature discovery of his presence or approach 
 by the scouts of the tory squadron. 
 
 Ballou avowed his ability to conduct St. Julien to the re- 
 quired position ; but the old scout hankered to see the mode of 
 entrance into the swamp, and, still jealous of the girl, would 
 have offered objections to the arrangement. Nelly, who seemed 
 to entertain quite as much dislike for the professional scout as 
 he for the amateur, had her answer ready : — 
 
 " If he will undertake your guidance, you need not me." 
 
 And it was surprising with what masculine resolve and will 
 that slight girl declared her decision. Sinclair did not hesitate 
 a moment. " Go," said he to Ballou. " Do as I tell you." 
 
 St. Julien, cool as an iceberg, and as steady, with a single 
 word sent the scout forward, and the parties separated. At 
 parting, Nelly Floyd said : — 
 
 " We must have an hour and a half, at least, sir. We must 
 move slowly and cautiously here, and we shall, in less than a 
 mile, have to leave our horses, and pursue the rest of the way 
 on foot." 
 
 All was rendered clear, of the plan, to both parties, before 
 the division of the troop was made. This done, both went for- 
 ward as silently as possible on their separate courses. Ballou, 
 somewhat sullen, yet did his duty. Nelly pushed on ahead of 
 the little squad of six sure troopers, led by Sinclair in person, 
 all well armed with sword and pistol. When they had gone a 
 mile or more, Nelly stopped. They began to feel the swamp. 
 The woods had grown thicker ; the water-courses and ponds 
 
544 EUTAW. 
 
 more numerous ; the obstructions such, in fact, that the horses 
 ^yere worse than useless. 
 
 " Fasten your horses in that thicket," said Nelly. " If they 
 whinney, they are too far from the swamp-refuge of the tories 
 to be heard. They are of no more use in our farther progress. 
 See to your pistols. If that bad man Dick be here, he will be 
 watchful, and he loves fighting and murder. I fear him. I fear 
 Mm very much. He is the only man I fear." 
 
 Sinclair commanded an examination of all the pistols of his 
 party. Flints were picked — the pans supplied with fresh pri- 
 ming. This done, they set forward. 
 
 It was fully an hour, working through the tangled wilderness 
 in which they went, before Nelly brought them to the margin 
 of the deeper swamp — the barrier of bush, and bog, and brier 
 which formed the outer wall of Muddicoat Castle. She found 
 an avenue through this, and the whole party emerged from its 
 massed intricacies only to find themselves on the edge of a 
 pretty wide and tolerably deep creek. In what direction then 
 to proceed — how to cross the creek, unless by wading, waist- 
 deep — was the question that had puzzled Ballou. Where then 
 to go 1 There were bits of highland, covered with pine, that 
 could be seen, here and there, in the distance. There were 
 small hammocks matted over with *a?/>-palmettoes and scragged 
 bushes, wild, thorny thickets, and scattered clumps of shrub, 
 and slender shafts of cypress and other trees, mostly stunted, 
 growing between and among the palmettoes ; but the eye set- 
 tled nowhere upon any definite route which might by possibility 
 conduct to an occupied region — humanly occupied — of this 
 domain. Immediately in front was an islet — we should say, 
 hammock — a strip of mud and sand, covered with a luxuriant 
 undergrowth that was gi-een in winter, and black in its excess 
 of foliage during the summer period. But the creek swept be- 
 tween, and it could only be reached, apparently, by wading; 
 and, when reached, it promised to conduct no farther, for the 
 watery empire seemed to spread aw.iy interminably beyond it. 
 Nelly appeared to understand Sinclair's bewilderment as he 
 surveyed, and said quietly : — 
 
 ' Your scout got as far as this, but could see his way no far- 
 ther.' 
 
NELLY FLOYD GUIDES SINCLAIR. 645 
 
 " I don't wonder at that, my good girl. I am no more able 
 to see my way than Ballon." 
 
 " It puzzled me for a while, too, but I know that the simple 
 is always the greatest mystery, when we are looking out for a 
 mystery ; and this place, and the way for getting into it, is sim- 
 ple enough when you have once been shown." 
 
 " True," said Sinclair. " Columbus's egg upon the table 
 could be planted by anybody, the moment that it was once done 
 by Columbus." 
 
 " Yes, sir, yes — I remember the story," said the girl quietly.. 
 " And, so, this is just as easy. Now, sir, you see yonder ham- 
 mock. There is a cypress-log resting upon another, stretching 
 out into the creek. In the daylight, you would see that that 
 cypress-leg has worked all the bark off of the one upon which 
 it rests, and even worked a little hollow into the body of the 
 log itself. That first led me to think that it might be made use 
 of in crossing this place. So, I looked closely, and discovered 
 that the other end of the cypress comes nearly across the creeks 
 though it mostly lies buried in the water. In daylight, yon 
 might see it nearly all the way across. But it would take a 
 great spring to get upon the log, where it is out of the water; 
 from the bank where we stand ; and, even if you did get upon 
 it, it would turn over with you. Your scout tried it, and he fell 
 in, over head and ears, and so he gave it up. Now, in the day- 
 light, you might discover on this very bank where we stand 
 just above you, where the end of a log had been rubbing in the 
 mud. That I found, and I could see no^her log about which 
 could make the mark but this. This led me to look farther 
 and, thinking more earnestly about it, I soon found a long 
 grapevine, hanging over the trees — here it is, sir, you see — and 
 trailing down, there, into the creek itself; and I followed it till 
 I found that it ran under and twisted round one end of the cy- 
 press that worked loosely below the water. Well, I tried it 
 with all my strength, and found that, by pulling on the grape- 
 vine, I could bring up the end of the cypress — which is nicely 
 balanced on the log over there — and make it rest on the bank, 
 in the very place where you see the mark which it made. 
 When I did that, I had a bridge over the creek ; and when I 
 got on the other side, by bearing on the opposite end of the 
 
546 EUTAW. 
 
 cyj)refes, as it rests upon the log like a pivot, I could work tins 
 end back into the creek, carrying the gi-apevine with it. You 
 see how easy it is to make the bridge, and unmake it — the 
 lijilaiice being sO well Adjusted." 
 
 Cei-tainly, it was very easy, very simple ; yet, ntevertheless, 
 no ordinary difficulty to ordinary men. And this girl had dis- 
 covered the process which had baffled such a scout as Ballon. 
 Sinclair began to regard her with that instinctive deference 
 which we show to genius ; which is, in brief, neither more nor 
 less than the spirit of Discovery, winged by Imagination. The 
 grapevine was woi-kfed upon, the cypress swung up to the hank, 
 as a sawyer Works to and fro in the western waters, and the 
 party crossed over. 
 
 " The rest is easier," said the girl, as she conducted Sinclair 
 to the other side of the island which they had reached, where 
 other avenues of approach to Muddicoat Castle opened, gradually 
 and almost without search to the seeker. Still the guidance of 
 the girl was necessary ; but hiaving shown her first processes, 
 we must leave the rest to the Conjectures of the reader. We 
 need not detail the several steps of progress ; how they passed 
 bog and creek ; stagnant and running waters ; through cane 
 brake and " -pshaetto Jlats ;" and the thousand varieties of em- 
 biarrassment, which are characteristics (if such a region. At 
 length, Nelly laid her hand on Sinclair's wrist. 
 
 " We must now be more careful than ever. When we cross 
 that log we get upon the island where the tory-captaih harbors. 
 Hidden in that thicket is one of theii- houses. They have sev- 
 eral. But, in that one, there are two or three men, that sleep. 
 They could see us through the bushes if we were to cross in 
 daylight. That bad man, Dick, he lies all about ; but he fre- 
 quently lies, and sleeps, under that great tree which you see 
 rising over all the thicket. It is a sycamore. There, he can 
 see if anybody crosses to the island ; and when we are crossing, 
 we are within pistol-shot. We must now work cautiously — 
 not a whisper, not a word ; and, above all, we must not stum- 
 ble. A plash in the water, from a heavy body, might bring us 
 a bullet. 
 
 " If that be the case, my good girl," said Sinclair, taking her 
 by the arm, " you might let me go first. It is now my turn to 
 
NELLY FLOYD GUIDES SINCLAIR. 547 
 
 take the lead. I see the log ; I see the way before me. You 
 have told me all that I need to know. Do you, now, remain 
 behind. You must incur no danger." 
 
 The girl hesitated. Sinclair, grasping her arm, could per- 
 ceive that she trembled — shuddered, perhaps, would be the 
 more appropriate word. But she said, though in faltering ac- 
 cents — she had not seemed to fear or falter before : — 
 
 " You will need me after you get across, for the houses are 
 scattered, and sometimes concealed by bits of wood, which are 
 very thick ; and you ought to know the right way at once, or 
 you may stumble upon an ambush." 
 
 " Well," said he, " you can follow me ; but it is now my turn 
 to lead ;" and so speaking, and putting Nelly behind him, he 
 stepped firmly, and noiselessly, upon the fallen tree, which 
 spanned the creek, and led from the little boggy hammock which 
 they had reached to the island — the obscure fastness of Muddi- 
 coat — which stretched away in shadowy woods, though under 
 the dim light of stars, before their eyes. Noiselessly drawing 
 his sabre, at the same moment, Sinclair prepared for any struggle 
 — better satisfied, feeling this weapon in his grasp, of the cer- 
 tainty of his aim, than he could be of any pistol practice in the 
 vague and hazy light which the night and the forests permit- 
 ted. He went forward, thus prepared, Nelly immediately be- 
 hind him, while his half-a-dozen dragoons followed in Indian 
 file, as silently along the cypress. Conld Sinclair have looked 
 behind at that moment, he would have been surprised to see the 
 pallid and wild aspect of the girl — her eyes were more than 
 ever dilated— they looked up to heaven — her lips were parted 
 — was it in prayer ? — and her hands nervously clasped togetlier. 
 She was again the seer — the vision was upon her ! 
 
548 EUTAW. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLV. 
 
 SINCLAIR PENETRATES MUDDICOAT CASTLK. 
 
 The vision was upon her — and such a vision ! But she was 
 silent. Oh ! what a world of past, present, future, was crowded 
 in that vision — was locked up in that voluminous silence ! But 
 she went forward — all went forward — in the same mute and 
 rigid purpose — still as death ! But what were her anticipa- 
 tions, her fears 1 We must not ask at present. We are required 
 to shift our ground, and abandon these, for other parties to our 
 drama. We must now return to Inglehardt, and report his prog- 
 ress which necessarily anticipates that of Sinclair. 
 
 Our tory chieftain, as we have seen, has been something more 
 than unlucky. He has been discredited before his men ; mor- 
 tified by defeat ; and, which was the most humiliating reflection, 
 been seen to shrink in .battle from the uplifted sabre of that 
 very enemy and rival whom he had avowed it to be his first 
 and dearest desire to encounter ! Nothing saved him from the 
 keen edge of Sfnclair's sabre but his own rapid recoil from the 
 stroke, and the subsequent confusion occasioned by the falling 
 of the tent. In shame and confusion, and with the full convic- 
 tion that the field was utterly lost to the British, he had fled in- 
 continently, too soon — with hundreds more — had found shelter 
 in the swamp thickets, and harbored in them closely, while 
 he stole away noiselessly to his own deeper hiding-place. A 
 slight wound, which rather stung than hurt him, added to his 
 mortification ; and he fancied that his troop had all beheld, 
 and felt the momentary failure of his heart when he was con- 
 fiontod by the weapon of Sinclair. He never asked himself 
 if any of them knew the special reasons which he had for not 
 
SINCLAIR PENETRATES MODDICOAT CASTLE. 549 
 
 refusing the fight with Sinclair. It was enough that Dick of 
 Tophet knew and understood them all, and he could not mis- 
 take the impudent leer in the eyes of the latter, when they 
 dashed away together from the field of battle, followed by as 
 many of the troop as had survived the conflict. They were 
 now reduced to twenty-one men, all told. Dick had fought 
 like a Trojan ; never showing fear for a moment ; and had car- 
 ried off an ugly cut upon one shoulder, and a deep graze of a 
 rifle-bullet in the same arm, as proofs of his own exposure. 
 These hurts were rudely bandaged up as soon as they found 
 safe shelter in the woods. They did not need much surgery. 
 Surgery, properly speaking, there was none at that time, in the 
 irregular or militia service. 
 
 But Dick did not care for surgery. He was a bold, hardy 
 rascal, and could grin over his mischances while he reviewed 
 the case and conduct of his superior. When about six miles 
 from the field of battle, the party halted for awhile, to rest some 
 of their number, and attend to the hurts of others. Then it 
 was that Dick got his own wounds dressed, while Inglehardt 
 submitted his thigh, scathed by a bullet, to the examination of 
 Dick himself, who ofiiciated as an assistant in the rough surgery 
 of the times. An hour's rest and the bugle sounded, and the 
 squad resumed its flight. Inglehardt was impatient to go for- 
 ward. 
 
 Dick of Tophet, as far as he dared, expostulated against this 
 timeless haste. He had his doubts about the result of the bat- 
 tle. Dick was an old soldier, not unable to defect the radical 
 blunders made by the Americans. He, besides, gave full credit 
 to the positions held by Marjoribanks and Sheridan. 
 
 But Inglehardt woiild admit of no argument. He had seen 
 the British regulars in full flight, making for the brick house ; 
 nay, had he not seen hundreds of them flinging away their 
 weapons, as impediments to their flight, and pushing, with 
 headlong speed, for Charleston 1 He could not doubt the re- 
 sult ! He dared not delay. If caught by the ^Vmericans, he 
 had no hope of escape from the halter ! He had put himself 
 out of the pale of mercy. He had now but one hope ; and that 
 was to bind Travis to his interests. He must compel Bertha 
 Travis to submit — to take him for her husband in season — to 
 
550 EDTAW. 
 
 have the knot inevitably tied, so that he should have the path 
 opened to him, for making terms, through her fether, with the 
 Americans, should they continue to triumph — which he now 
 began to believe they certainly would. To put himself in safety 
 — to secure the spoils already won — he had no mode but that 
 offered by the alliance with Travis. He must force that meas- 
 ure, and quickly ; that very night if possible. 
 
 On this point he is determined. He is now as morose and 
 savage as impatient. He is prepared to urge his power to ex- 
 tremity — to any extreme — rather than forego his only remain- 
 ing policy, and to escape the necessity of exile ; and he was 
 rousing himself to the exercise of the darkest moods of his na- 
 ture. His orders were given in brief, stern, savage accents. 
 To his Lieutenant Lundiford, he said, as they rode • — 
 
 " You have ascertained that the old Dutch parson, Piteiameitz, 
 is still at Frink's 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; he's teaching Frink's children." 
 
 " When you get to camp, despatch one of your men to bring 
 him. It is but three miles off. He knows for what I want 
 him. I have seen him already. Say that I have sent, and let 
 him come off at once. Bring him by force if necessary 1" 
 
 Dick of Tophet heard the order. He smiled grimly, and mut- 
 tered to himself apart. 
 
 " Force ! It's come to that, is it ? He's thinking, now, to 
 force his happiness ! He's just now in a mighty fine sort of 
 temper to be a happy man, ain't he ? Well, he'll do for the gal 
 jest the same as a better man, prehaps ; and my little sodger- 
 boy will get out of his captivation ! And that's jest all that I 
 cares about it [" 
 
 And so the party rode, till, reaching a certain well-known turn- 
 ing-point, Lundiford led the main body of the troop forward to the 
 old ?amp-ground, while Inglehardt, Dick of Tophet, and one 
 other person, a common soldier, took their way along one of the 
 secret passages conducting to Muddicoat Castle. They pene 
 trated this domain some two hours before the arrival of Sinclair 
 and his dragoons in the same region. 
 
 Having reached the refuge, Inglehardt at once proceeded to 
 the prison of Captain Travis and his daughter, while Dick of 
 Tophet and the soldier turned into the wigwam occupied b}' 
 
SINCLAIR PENETRATES MPDDICOAT CASTLE. 651 
 
 Biunson. Branson was absent at the house of.Blodgit — the 
 prison-house of Henry Travis. The soldier went out to look 
 after him. He did not return directly, nor did Brunson. The 
 latter had met Inglehardt, who took him with him to Travis's 
 keep. Dick of Tophet remained alone, and by no means happy 
 Never the man to be happy when alone. He was sore of body. 
 He had gone supperless, and was wounded. He was, besides, 
 uneasy of mind — he knew not well why — but the proceedings 
 of Inglehardt ; his desires, his designs, the condition of the hap- 
 less family in his hands, and most o^ whom had been entrapped 
 by Dick himself — all these things cpmbined to produce some 
 disquiet in the thought of the latter. What if things did not 
 turn out as he hoped and expected 1 What if the girl spurned 
 her captor. If the looy perished 1 Dick of Tophet saw that 
 Inglehardt was in a ten-ibly savage n^ood. He well knew in 
 what variety of ways the latter had been mortified ; and he felt 
 an oppressive apprehension, that he could not shake o£P, that the 
 tory chieftain was prepared to do sgme desperate act should the 
 resolution of Bertha Travis prove superior to his arts and 
 threats. He was uneasy, we say — an uneasiness, by the way, 
 which would not have troubled him greatly, but that he had re- 
 cently received, in some tender part of his conscience, a barbed 
 shaft of truth, which h?id stuck, and worked, and rankled — 
 keeping him sore and thoughtful ! We have seen that the fel- 
 low, deep-dyed as he was in crime and blood, and every sort 
 of sin, had yet some lingering speds of humanity in his bo^oni, 
 which, long dormant, had under curiou? circumstances — an old 
 woman's Christian meekness — a child's soft bii'^like tones in 
 reading — a rude woodcut in an ancient volume — a quaint 
 allegorical history of sin, itself — had begun to sprout afresh, in 
 some spot not wholly sterile of his heart ! Dick of Tophet, in 
 the loneliness and silence which e^ivironed him — sore of body 
 besides — and he had no drink meanwhile to quiet reflection — 
 had become thoughtful ; and his thoughts made him uneasy. 
 
 He took the book out of his bosom — poor Pilgrim, striving 
 up the mountain with that more than mule bundle on his back ! 
 He took out the book, and squatted down upon the clay hearth 
 of the hovel, and pushed a fresh brand to that ^hich was 
 already burning, and as the resinous pine flared up brightly, he 
 
{)52 EUTAW. 
 
 prepared to turn the pages which he could not read, and fauc) 
 the legend which he had scarcely hegnn to fathom. 
 
 But the volume had hardly caught his eyes, when he started 
 to his feet, and cried out, while his whole frame shivered undei 
 the sudden convulsive motion of his soul. What had he seen? 
 What heard ? What shocking discovery could he make 1 
 
 He dropped upon his knees. He laid the hook reverently 
 down upon the hearth. He clasped his hands as if in prayer. 
 But he spoke not. His lips seemed rigidly sealed. He had 
 never learned to pray. He knew not how to begin. He could 
 only ejaculate, after his barren, savage fashion : — 
 
 " Great Gimini ! Oh, the Lord ! It's a providential marcy, 
 this ! It's the woman's blessing on the man that murdered her 
 son !" And he took up the hook, and pointed to it, precisely as if 
 showing to a spectator, the thing which had staggered and con- 
 founded himself. 
 
 A bullet — a musket bullet of an ounce weight — was buried 
 in the book : had passed through the centre of the cover, and 
 was still nestled, midway, among the leaves of the volume ; and 
 that volume had been stuffed into his bosom, right over the 
 region of the heart ! 
 
 " Gimini ! Lord ! Ef 'twa'n't for this book, whar would I 
 be now 1 Kaint say ! May be, mighty oncomfortable in some 
 hotter country ! Who knows ! Ef them preachers say the 
 right thing, I'd be kivered, jist this minute, with brimstone 
 blisters, from the top of the head to the bottom of the feet. 
 That book has saved me from that blistering. 'Twas gin to 
 me with the blessings of that woman, that old widow ! And 
 'twas my knife that did the butchering of her only son. And 
 he only a sucking kaif — a sarcumstance of a hoy, that I could 
 hav' tumbled with a single lick of the back o' my hand. I was 
 rashing drunk that day, and marciless, and I butchered him ! 
 And hyar, his own mammy, giv' me a sawt o' protection from 
 the bullet! It's cur'ous — mighty cur'ous ! Thar's sperrits, I 
 reckon, in the world. And thar's a God over all ! And ef so, 
 thar's a blistering hell o' brimstone somewha ! Hain't I had a 
 narrow chaince to-day ? And what a difference in the hearts o' 
 people. Hyar's this old woman widow, blesses and pertects me, 
 and I butchered her only son ; and he a mere sarcumstance of 
 
SINCLAIR PENETRATES MUDDICOAT CASTLE. 553 
 
 a boy ! And hyar's another sarcumstance of a boy, that 1 
 knocked over and captivated — he and his daddy both — and 
 pretty much starved besides; and he reads to me — and he has 
 the whip-hand of me — and he has my own knife over me — 
 and me a sleeping — and he don't stick ! It's mighty cur'ous ! 
 I reckon there must be sperrits in the world ! And thar's a 
 God over all, that watches ! Oh, Lawd God ! I reckon thar's 
 no chaince for me gitting out o' the brimstone, onless I hed a 
 thousand years for it. I've got a bundle on my shoulders, a 
 thousand times worse, I reckon, than ever this poor old leetle 
 fellow carried up that mountain !" 
 
 He shook the bullet out from among the leaves where it had 
 been closely bedded. He turned it over narrowly. It was 
 flattened, but still heavy. 
 
 " An ounce bullet, I reckon ; pushing with dead aim at the 
 heart ! The Lawd bless the old woman and her book ! That's 
 the good of laming and edecation." 
 
 And all this time, Dick of Tophet was on his knees. He 
 had forgotten his position. Possibly, his novel mood of humil- 
 ity, and awe, and growing reverence — nay, superstition — kept 
 him in it. He was thus surprised by the sudden appearance of 
 Brunson. 
 
 " What ! down on your marrow-bones, a-praying ! Well ! 
 what's next ? What's the world a-coming to ?" 
 
 " I praying !" and the other, ashamed of his humility, rose 
 indignantly. " I was jist a blowing up the fire." 
 
 "But that's a bible, ain't it — or a prayer-book?" 
 
 " It's a book of sin and temptation, and I was jist a trying to 
 take a new lesson in sinning ; for my I'arning, that hay, ain't a 
 huckleberry to your persimmon, B.afe ! And what's it you 
 wants now ?" 
 
 '' Well, it's to stir you up to watch, and not to pray. The 
 cappin's busy. He's wolfish, I tell you ! I'm to send Gorton 
 off to camp, and you're to watch the crossings till he gits 
 back." 
 
 " Well ! that's easy ! But what's he about ?" 
 
 " He's with the gal and her daddy. They're all talking at 
 the same time ; though I'm a thinking old Travis don't alto- 
 gether know what he's a talking about. He doesn't seem to 
 
554 EDTAW. 
 
 hev any right idee how the cat jumps. He talks wild ani 
 foolish." 
 
 " But what about the boy ?" 
 
 " Oh ! he's to be a sawt o' grindstone, I reckon, that the 
 eappin'g guine to sharp his we'pon on." 
 
 "Eh!— how sharp?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know. But I'm jubous, the cappm's gnine 
 to scalp the boy jist to make the daddy and the gal sensible ! 
 I'm to carry the chicken now to the cooh." 
 
 " Eh ! you air !" and Dick of Tophet moved about uneasily, 
 then approached the Trailer, and said : — 
 
 "Look you, Trailer, don't be too quick, to do what the 
 cappin says in his passion. He's wolfish now, and hain't got 
 the right sense and the wisdom to know altogether what he's a 
 doing ; and it's fifty to one, that he calls you to do the thing 
 now that he'll be sorry for to-morrow ; and when it's done, and 
 he sees the worst of it, he'll be calling you to account, and he 
 won't believe that he ever giv' you the orders, and all you say 
 won't stand in the argyment with anybody ; they'll all believe 
 the cappin sooner than the scout ! So, you be sensible ; and 
 easy ; and don't be too quick to do the thing that you kaint 
 mend easy when it's done." 
 
 " Look you, Dick, see to that !" and the Trailer displayed 
 five gold pieces. Dick, with a groan, admitted that the reasont 
 for Branson's obedience were very potent ; but he renewed hi* 
 counsels, until they grew into entreaties — to the surprise of th« 
 Trailer. At last, when they separated, each to proceed to his 
 post, the latter was a good deal mystified by the direct petition 
 of Dick : "Not to hurt the boy, any how ; give him time, wid 
 give the cappin time ; and only let me know, Rafe, what's a 
 guine on. You shain't lose by it, though the guineas goes out 
 of my own pockets to make you whole agin !" 
 
 And the Trailer disappeared. And Dick of Tophet slowly 
 buckled on his pistols, and restored the Pilgrim to his bosom, 
 and took his way — still uneasy, still gravelled by thought and 
 conscience — toward the appointed station; to watch at the 
 very cypress, which WiUie Sinclair was to cross under the 
 guidance of Nelly Floyd. 
 
 Here, not five steps from the inner terminus of the cypress, 
 
SINCLAIR PENETRATES MODDICOAT CASTLE. 555 
 
 he stretched himself out, covered with a clump of myrtle, at the 
 foot of a mighty sycamore. Gorton disappeared with a mes- 
 sage to Lundiford in camp, and Brunson, withdrawing Henry 
 Travis from the wigwam of Pete Blodgit, conducted the boy to 
 that in which his father and sister were confined. 
 
 Dick of Tophet, alone, pistol in one hand, and Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress in the other, watched the cypress across the creek. He 
 could use the pistol, but not the book ; but the latter seemed to 
 have acquired a new interest in his eyes, apart from the virtues 
 in his theory of " education." It was now his talisman. He 
 owed to it his life ; and he mused upon the mysteries, so lately 
 opening to bis vision, until he almost forgot that he carried a 
 pistol, and was on watch across the creek. 
 
 But he did not forget Henry Travis in his musings. To the 
 influence of this boy, our Dick of Tophet ascribed something — 
 he knew not what — of the virtues of his talisman. He owed 
 the boy for something, of a moral sort, which he could not de- 
 fine, apart from the debt of life which he owed to his forbear- 
 ance, in his sleeping hour, and when the wronged boy stood over 
 hiin with knife above bis breast. 
 
 He was troubled about the boy. He was disposed to do 
 something for him. The ties which bound him to Inglehardt 
 had been growing feebler, from the first moment, when those 
 had begun to grow which attached him to Henry Travis ; and 
 he was now just in that mood, when a sudden collision of any 
 sort with his superior — any situation stimulating bis present 
 mood to action— would probably have found him, lifting weapon 
 openly in the boy's defence and in defiance of his captain ! 
 Were he, for example, in attendance upon Inglehardt at the 
 present moment, instead of Brunson, and were Inglehardt to 
 attempt, or require from him, any demonstration against the 
 boy's health or safety, Dick would have ranged himself beside 
 the threatened captive, and done battle to the uttermost in his 
 behalf. 
 
 Now, habit interposed — in the absence of overt provoca- 
 tion — to keep Dick of Tophet at his post ; though he could still 
 fancy the boy's danger, and feel a growing uneasiness in conse- 
 quence. He knew the desperate case of Inglehardt ; he knew 
 the hard, cold, brutal, servility of Brunson ; and, but that he be- 
 
556 EDTAW 
 
 lieved that the former would aim at nothing more than to frighten 
 Travis and his daughter into compliance with his wishes, by 
 seeming to threaten the boy's life, he would, most likely, have 
 left his post and pushed directly for the scene where the drama 
 was in progress. But habit prevailed with the old, drill ser- 
 geant, and he crouched under his tree, behind his bushes of 
 myrtle, and brooded over the mysteries of Providence which 
 converted his book of the Pilgrim into a shield for his safety in 
 the day of battle. 
 
 Ah ! how much more grateful to us now, could we report him 
 wandering away from his post ; forgetting the mere military ser- 
 vice, and, in his new interest in humanity, taking his way to 
 the succor of the boj', resolved on saving him, or sharing in his 
 fate ! We should then be spared, one terrible passage in which 
 he is — a blind creature of the Fates — to work once more in 
 the business of the Furies ! 
 
 And, brooding where he lay, Dick of Tophet forgot to watch. 
 Watching, he ceased to be a sentinel. He dreamed. His thought 
 was far away ; foreign to his habit as his duties ; when, suddenly, 
 he was roused to consciousness, by the sound of a falling body. 
 
 Sinclair, not seeing, in the dim, misty light, the butt end of 
 the cypress, which he crossed, made a false step, as he reached 
 the termination of it, and came heavily to the ground. Dick of 
 Tophet was brought instantly back to consciousness and to his 
 duties. He started up, upon his knee ; saw several dark forms 
 passing rapidly over the cypress ; and fired his pistol, with di- 
 rect aim, at the foremost. A shriek from Nelly Floyd, showed 
 that his bullet had found a victim : the last, probably, that the 
 murderer would have chosen ! 
 
 In that moment, Sinclair recovered his feet ; and, while Dick 
 of Tophet was rising to his, our dragoon rushed upon him, 
 quick as lightning, and smote with all his might, and with that 
 terrible broadsword ! Dick saw the glittering steel as it hung 
 in air a moment ; a flash — a sweeping flash — clear as the cres- 
 cent moon — and there was no retreat! he threw up the hand 
 which still grasped the story of poor Pilgrim ! The steel smote 
 sheer through the wrist, and rushed, deep, down, into the neck 
 of the victim, almost severing the head from the body. He sank 
 without a groan ! A moment of quivering muscle, and all was over I 
 
CAPTIVIIY — FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 657 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 CAPTIVITY — FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 And thus, at length, euccessftilly, did Sinclair penetrate the 
 secret domain of Muddicoat Castle. But at what a price ! Poor 
 Nelly Floyd was mortally wounded by the last shot that Dick 
 of Tophet ever fired. She had feared this man especially. 
 Him only ! She seems to have had some prescience of her dan- 
 ger at his hands. It is possible that this, too, was among her 
 visions — this scene — the passage of the cypress — the grim, 
 spectral Death that watched the portal — the one shot from the 
 ambush — the final catastrophe, to herself and her destroyer 
 Following Smclair, and but a few paces behind him, when he 
 made the misstep which saved his life, she received the bullet 
 in her breast. She would have fallen into the creek, but for 
 the ready grasp taken about her person by the dragoon imme- 
 diately behind her. 
 
 Sinclair heard her scream, at the moment that he rushed upon 
 the man who shot. It smoke him to the heart to hear, for he 
 readily conceived the extent of the disaster. Nelly was not the 
 person to cry aloud unhurt. But our dragoon could not stop to 
 look behind him at such a moment. The passionate impulse 
 which carried him forward, was quickened, rather than dis- 
 armed, by that spasmodic shriek. In fact, it added somewhat 
 to the terrible weight of his sabre, when he struck. lie did 
 not — as we have seen — strike in vain ! He soon saw that the 
 enemy could strike and strive no more — he readily identified 
 him, as he lay quivering, no longer conscious, at his feet ; a 
 single glance sufficed for this — and he then turned to the 
 wounded girl, who had been sustained and brought to the firm 
 land in the arms of the soldier. 
 
658 EDTAW. 
 
 She was conscious. Her eyes opened upon him sweetly, witli 
 a smile, and she said faintly : — 
 
 "Take me to that house. There is one just there," — and 
 she tried to point. "Leave me there — leave me anywhere — 
 but push on now — C[uick as you can! You have no time to 
 lose. ■ That pistol-shot will alarm the camp." 
 
 "My poor, poor girl !" was the involuntary exclamation of 
 Sinclair, the tears dropping from his eyes the while, as he took 
 her into his arms and bore her to the wigwam of Blodgit. One 
 of the soldiers kicked open the door suddenly, and the mother 
 and her hopeful son- were discovered in an apprehensive con- 
 ference — alarmed by the pistol-shot — dubious of what was 
 going on — not knowing .where to turn, and fearing everything 
 in the oppressive consciousness of guilt. Both cowered as they 
 beheld Sinclair. He hardly saw tliem — did not recogniee them, 
 as he cried out : — 
 
 " Here, my good people, your help. Be quick — a bed !" 
 
 " And what's the help that a poor old rheumatic woman kin 
 give, I wants to know !" 
 
 Sinclair knew the voice, looked at mother and son, and said 
 sternly : — 
 
 "Do what you can for this poor girl — get her a bed — be 
 quick about it ; be attentive, and you shall be well rewarded^ 
 Do not stop, and purr — or I will punish you — both ! I know 
 you now ! Be quick !" 
 
 His glance was enoughtfor Pete Blodgit. The bed was found 
 in a moment — the wounded girl laid upon it gently. Poor 
 Nelly, suppressed every moan. She hardly seemed to suffer — 
 did not certainly think of herself. 
 
 "Now go," she said to Sinclair, "I shall soon be better!" 
 She said this with a smile. 
 
 " Is there any surgeon here V Sinclair asked of Pete, " any 
 doctor ?" 
 
 " Well.jnajor, I reckon — " 
 
 " Reckon not with me, fellow. Say, yes or no !" 
 
 There was no trifling in the mood and eye of the dragoon. 
 
 " No, major 1 I don't know of none." 
 
 " Do not mind me. Colonel Sinclair, unless you would lose 
 everything I No surgeon can do me good. I feel that I Go ! 
 
CAPTIVITY — FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 559 
 
 See to the others. Oh ! believe me, you will have no time to 
 lose. You will all be butchered — your friends, perhaps !. Go ! 
 go!" 
 
 And the calm, patient smile, seen in the light of the chimney 
 torehwood, was as encouraging as it was earnest. Sinclair felt 
 that she had counselled Wisely. He could do nothing for her, 
 at the moment. He pressed her hand, with a gripe of genuine, 
 anguish. Then he went out to his dragoons, who waited at 
 the entrance. 
 
 " Chiffalle," he said to one of them; " find your way back. 
 You can mount your horse, and push for our camp. See if you 
 can get a surgeon to come hither, at wing^Speed. Go to the 
 widow Avitiger's, and get my father's carriage, or that of Mrs. 
 Travis. Put a feather-bed ih it, and bring it on as close to our 
 halting-place as you can ; and as rapidly as you can. Away 
 now — do not lose a moment" 
 
 The dragoon disappeared. Sinclair had done all that might 
 be done. He had helped to stanch Nelly's wound, which was 
 on the side. There was little external flow of blood, but this 
 made it more serious. The lungs were probably hurt. The 
 girl breathed with effort — spoke gaspingly. 
 
 Unable to help her, Sinclair prepared to withdraw from a 
 spectacle which wrung his heart. Besides, as she had properly 
 counselled, he was needed elsewhere — he knew not what neces- 
 sities to encounter ! He left the girl in charge of the old wo- 
 man, who had, as we have seen, a vi<'ious know^ledge of the 
 sinful ; she might, by possibility, know srtmething of the good. 
 We, too, must leave the scene, in which we can make no report 
 of progress — nothing grateful or fiivorable, at least. We must 
 anticipate the approach of Sinclair to other quarters, and nar- 
 rate the previous proceedings of the tory chieftain, in his de- 
 signs upon the peace and happiness of our favorites. 
 
 We have seen in what mood Inglehardt left the field of battle 
 We know the desperation of his fortunes. We have every 
 reason to apprehend a con-esponding desperation in his per- 
 formances. J^or shall we be disappointed. There is a ferocity 
 of soul, the natural results from the defeat of long-entertained 
 desires, which, where the heart is callous, and there are no 
 buman sjn.pathies to relieve the intense pressure of one selfish 
 
660 EUTAW. 
 
 paesion, will work, finally, into a sort of madness. If mere 
 recklessness of mood — a desperate resolve to attain the objects 
 of a despotic will — and an utter freedom from all the ties of 
 society, and all the restraints of conscience, can madden a man 
 to the execution of the wil4est and most brutal of actions, then 
 Inglehardt is about to commit the worst ! There is, it is true, 
 a lingering social policy to restrain him for awhile ; and if he 
 can be suffered the indulgence of this policy, he will prove mild 
 and forbearing enough. Otherwise nothing can restrain him 
 but the prompt application of a power superior to his own. He 
 anticipates the presence, or approach, of no such power now ; 
 and his despotic nature exults in the belief, that he will at 
 length compel the submission of his victims — will now gloat 
 over the triumph of his long-baffled passions, and he is pre- 
 pared to secure this triumph by any agency, whether of Hell or 
 Heaven ! 
 
 He has called Brunson to private counsel. He has shown 
 him what to do. The Trailer is a willing tool and creature. 
 He will scruple at no baseness — falter at no cruelty — when he 
 can be made secure from danger, and sure of reward. He has 
 shown a handful of guineas to Dick of Tophet — as the suffi- 
 cient reasons for his obedience to the will of Inglehardt, no 
 matter what shall be his commands : and Dick of Tophet, 
 knowing the Trailer well, is satisfied that no argument of his, 
 which does not take the same shape and color, can, in any 
 degree, avail to persuade Brunson to pause or forbear in carry- 
 ing out the evil purposes of his superior. Dick, monster as he 
 is, feels that there are arguments, which even he would acknowl- 
 edge, which can in no way affect the Trailer. 
 
 And the latter sped as promptly and cheerfully to do the 
 cruel work of Inglehardt, as he would have sped in the per- 
 formance of any angelic mission to humanity. Let us observe 
 his movements and those of his superior. 
 
 Lights are kindled in the prison of Captain Travis. Torches 
 of pine blaze upon the hearth ; but there are tallow caudles, 
 also, lighted, and placed upon the little pine-table, the only one 
 in the cabin. This was an unwonted luxury of light in that 
 region. An old chair, a rude bench — these, with the table, 
 constitute the only furniture of the apartment. A fresli 
 
CAPTIVITY— FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 601 
 
 gpriakling of pine straw over the floor takes place; and the 
 Trailer retires locking the door carefully behind him. 
 
 Travis sees, but does not show surprise at these proceedings. 
 In truth, the period has gone by when he should show surprise 
 at anything. His prisoner-life, limited or bad food, terrible 
 anxieties, have worked a more terrible change in him. His 
 whole moral constitution is overthrown. The mental change is 
 even as great as the physical. His hair, which had been thinly 
 mottled with gray before, is now uniformly white as snow. His 
 beard, white also, spreads down over his breast like that of a 
 Jewish patriarch or prophet. Hair and beard are matted : the 
 one stands up almost erect, though massed, in great bristles 
 above the eyes and temples ; the other grows thick in pointed 
 sections, and spreads out over cheek, and chin, and mouth, in 
 separate peaks, as we sometimes behold it in the grotesque 
 wood-carvings of a Gothic frieze. He is emaciated, but hardly 
 so much so as we might expect. And there is a color in his 
 cheeks, the consequence of a more exciting tendency of the 
 blood brainward than would be altogether safe in the case of a 
 very plethoric person. In the person of a sanguine-plethoric 
 temperament, such a tendency would conduct to apoplexy ; in 
 the bilious nature, or nervo-bilious — that of Travis — it is only 
 
 insanity ! 
 
 Wild, half-savage, grotesque — in consequence of the strange 
 mingling of vivacity in his eye and of haggard and squalid, 
 wretchedness of hair and visa,ge — Travis sits upon a rude 
 bench, directly beneath the little aperture which has been cut 
 through the log-partition ; and through this aperture, only large 
 enough to admit a hand — scarcely a head — he communes with 
 his daughter. There, in that one seat, he keeps almost all the 
 time, except when, in the exhaustion of nature, he lapses away 
 upon the rushes, and delivers himself up to sleep. There he 
 sits, his wrists still manacled, and Bertha's hands, passed through 
 the opening, play with his hair and beard — smooth them out — 
 and occasionally she takes the comb from her own hair, and 
 labors, after an awkward fashion, to work the twines and tan- 
 gles out of his ! 
 
 And there and thus he sits the while, the livelong day, prat- 
 tling incessantly of home, and happy and childish things, wit!i- 
 
562 EUTAW. 
 
 out saying one word Of his present situation, or seeming to be 
 conscious of its cares. 
 
 And she answers all his prattle, just as he seems to desire ; 
 and sometimes she sings to him, but only when he calls for it ; 
 and she tries to keep up the appearance of cheerfulness, in what 
 she says or does, in spite of a constant, terrible sinking of the 
 heart. To school her own griefs to silence and submission, 
 while she beholds his crushed and humiliating aspect, needs a 
 powerful effort ; and no more mournful picture of despair could 
 be painted than that which she exhibits, at that little hole in 
 the wall, as, hour by hour, she stands on one side of the parti- 
 tion, he on the other, and ministers with gentle offices, and ten- 
 der words, and pathetic ballads, to the wayward frivolity of the 
 old man's moods. Terrible indeed, and terribly sudden, lias 
 been the change in him. But two months ago, a healthy, vig- 
 orous, keen-witted, eager, selfish, impatient, grasping worldling ; 
 and now, an ntter imbecile ! What must have been the tor- 
 turous process, which, in that little space of time, could effect 
 such a shocking transformation ! 
 
 Such is the picture before us at this rnoment. He sits 
 beneath the hole in the wall, through which we see the mourn- 
 ful and wan visage of Bertha Travis. One of her hands, passed 
 through the aperture, is even now paddling in the old man's 
 tangled hair. He sits placidly, as if he liked the situation and 
 sensation ; and his eye glitters, with a bright, humid light, some- 
 what glassily, but surely with a singular intensity. Yet there 
 is nothing intense in his mood. He laughs at moments mer- 
 rily, as if he beheld some amusing spectacle — laughs out sud- 
 denly, stops as suddenly, and, a minute after, you perhaps see 
 his eyes fill with tears. But only for a minute. The changes 
 are as quick and uncertain as the fiittings of the shadows upon 
 the wall cast by the flame from the hearth ; and, like these, 
 they declare for light rather than for life ! It is a touching 
 picture, for, while he laughs, you see the iron cuffs about his 
 wrists, his hands resting in his lap ! 
 
 The unusual light in the cabin from torches and eimdles 
 amuses the imbecile old man. He says : — 
 
 " That's right. Bertha. When the sun goes out, make a good 
 fire, and get candles. That's wisdom. Why we have no sun 
 
CAPTIVITY — FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 563 
 
 iiow-a-dayB, I don't exactly see. There's some cliange g''i"g 
 ou in the climate that I can't account {ot. And this is tlifi 
 longest winter I've ever known. It's high time it was over. 
 We shall have spring now, very soon, I'm sure. I heard the 
 frogs singing last night. There's a whip-poor-will that Cried 
 for two nights just under the eaves — a certain sign of spring. 
 But that don't secure us against a frost now and then. I have 
 known frosts in June even. We must provide a good fire 
 against them. When we have warm firiBS, there's nothing to 
 fear from the hirds and the cold Weather." 
 
 "Nothing to fear from the birds and cold weather!" — what 
 a confusion of ideas ! Bertha repeated the words, Tinconscious 
 that she did so. 
 
 " Yes," said the old man, " let us keep clear of them. And 
 they will soon be gone. There is quite a feeling of spring in 
 this fire and these lights. But oughtn't these to come off, now 
 that we are getting warm weather? Why do I wear them, 
 Bertha ? They fetter me !" 
 
 And he lifted up his manacled wrists. The fetters, by-the- 
 way, had been taken from his legs some weeks before, as they 
 had worn into the flesh. It was with a bitter feeling — which, 
 armed with a dagger, and favored by the opportunity, would 
 have been fatal to their petty tyrant — that she replied: — 
 
 " They were meant to fetter you, my father. It is the policy 
 of Captain Inglehardt to fetter you." 
 
 " But not now, when the spring is at hand. I will speak to 
 Inglehardt when he comes. I know him well. Hark, Bertha, 
 in your ear — it is a secret — Inglehardt is — I think — a very 
 doubtful person." 
 
 " He is a monster !" 
 
 He whispered in reply : — 
 
 " Exactly ! That is just what I think. But I must not say 
 so just yet. Softly, softly ! I must feel my way out first. Oh ! 
 don't I know him ? I knew his father. He was my overseer 
 — my grazier — and I found him out. It was something about 
 steers — about the hands — young calves, too, and in the season 
 — of course, young calves know when the spring comes, jast as 
 we do, and they like it as well or better. Well, what would 
 the youug calves be doing now? Frisking in the old field.s. 
 
504 EUTAW. 
 
 They'd never let the grass grow. And I must go out into the ' 
 old fields too. This feeling of spring, Bertha, puts me all in a 
 glow." 
 
 And so he ran on, his whispers rising into the loudest tones. 
 All this prattle, poured forth with the most satisfied compla- 
 cency, fell drearily upon the senses of poor Bertha. She had 
 no response. She could only sigh, and let fall great, swelling 
 tears, that it half-choked her, the effort to restrain. 
 
 At length, Inglehardt made His appearance, looking the 
 haughty exultation which he felt, mingled with the savage 
 ferocity of mood which be owed to his recent humiliations. 
 
DEfJOUEMENT. 665 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 DEx\OUEMENT. 
 
 FoK a moment, old Travis seemed to cower before the tory- 
 caplain. But the next instant, he laughed aloud, merrily, as at 
 the contemplation of some queer matter in thought or sight ; 
 and he immediately began to address his rambling and garru- 
 lous discourse to his new auditor, though without rising from 
 his seat — the hand of Bertha still playing in his thin, gray, but 
 long, wild, dishevelled hah-. 
 
 " Lights and a fire, Inglehardt. Though this be the longest 
 winter, we have it cheerful. I made ready for your coming, 
 you see. How did I guess you would come to-night ? It's like 
 old times. You shall have some punch. A fire is very season- 
 able still, though spring is coming on. We have had winter 
 long enough. Sit down. We shall have some music now. You 
 shall hear my birds." 
 
 Inglehardt looked long and steadily at the old man. Was 
 he feigning ] " Is this pretence 1 Is there not some trick in 
 this ?" 
 
 Such was his conjecture. He resented the idea of trick as 
 an outrage. He suspected all things aad persons. He could 
 oot easily persuade himself that one whom he liad hitherto 
 found so cunning at the foils, should, in so short a time, almost 
 at a bound, become suddenly an imbecile. He searched Travis 
 with his most stem and penetrating glances. He glanced keenly 
 to Bertha, who stni stood at the aperture, looking with wan de- 
 spair, over her father's head, as he sat, smiling and waving his 
 manacled hands, with a sort of childlike satisfaction. Ingle- 
 hardt surveyed both of them with glances of doubt and disquiet 
 
666 EUTAW. 
 
 He was not to be made the subject of fraud and deception. He 
 was not to be driven from his purpose by any juggleries. He 
 Bat down to the table, deliberately, and drawing his sword, laid 
 it upon a book which rested upon the table between the two 
 candles. The book was the Bible. How did it get there? 
 Why was it brought 1 The sword crossing it, indicated some 
 mysterious rites. Whether the tory-captain defiired to produce 
 some impression of this sort, or whether he merely meant to re- 
 lieve himself of the hamper of sword and belt, and merely flung 
 them down in the place which first offered itself, can not be 
 said. But he probably had a purpose in it. He had a strategic 
 policy in all his performances. But why should the sword be 
 drawn ? Could he design to use it on any of the parties pres- 
 ent ; or was it his vulgar purpose simply to intimidate — to in- 
 spire them with a fear lest he should use it. He had, as we 
 know, a rascally penchamt for stratagems ; and there is no con- 
 ceiving, or following, the petty artifices of 8u<jh a man, or conjec- 
 turing the particular eflFect which he aims to produce. 
 
 Old Travis noted with some curiosity, this ostentatious dig 
 play of the weapons of the tory. He said : — 
 
 " Put up your sword, Inglehardt. Winter's over now, and we 
 shall have supper directly, so there's no sort of use for weapons. 
 The wars are over — the spring is come, and we shall have sup- 
 per. After supper we shall have a bowl of punch of the good 
 old fashion. Put up your sword ; for, what says Shakspere ? 
 'put up your sword, or the dew will rust it' — no, that's not it 
 exactly," and he mused with finger to bis temple. " ' Put up 
 your bright sword' — no ! ' Keep up your bright swords for the 
 dew will rust them.' It occurs in Othello. Ah ! what a mas- 
 terpiece is that ! It is sueh a history as belongs only to a warm 
 climate, such as ours. Though, by-the-way, Inglehardt, this 
 has been the longest winter I have ever known in Carolina." 
 
 Inglehardt looked at Bertha. 
 
 " What does it mean 1" 
 
 " It speaks for itself," she answered. 
 
 " Yes — but if it be cunning — acting ?" 
 
 "Acting ? Is he able, think you, to put on a gray head iu 
 the short space of four weeks? to look like that! Ton have 
 brought him to this ! you only." 
 
DV.NOUEMENT. 667 
 
 " I shall bring him to \i orse things yet — and you to worse, 
 nnlesB I can bring you both to wiser." 
 
 " What worse than this ?" 
 
 " You shall soon know. Captain Travis — " 
 
 " Well Inglehardt, what's it now ? But not a word about 
 business now till we have had supper. Tou were always ciuite too 
 fond of business. I hate business in cold weather. You always 
 had something to diseiiss just at supper time. Now, I won't 
 spoil my appetite for supper by any talk of business at this 
 time. By-the-way, fish ought to be coming in. I reckon the 
 perch are biting now. How I long for a perch supper. I am 
 tired of bacon and corn-bread. The fish now must be in season. 
 The dogwood must be in blossom, I reckon. I have heard the 
 iVogs nightly for a week past." 
 
 "Captain Travis," said Inglehardt — "suppose we talk of 
 other things." 
 
 " Well, well, what other things ? There's many other things 
 that we can find to talk about. There's the winter and the 
 summer ; and warm weather aud cold ; and wars and rumors 
 of wars; and — hark you, Inglehardt — is that a bible that's 
 before you ? I wonder where it came from 1 I never saw that 
 book in our house before. Is it a bible I It is not ours." 
 
 " Yes. But I must beg you to pay attention to other matters. 
 We shall need the Bible before we are done." 
 
 " Yes : to be sure. If it's the Bible, then there are many 
 other matters. There's Job, and the vision in the night. I 
 have seen that very vision. I have. It has made me shiver 
 all over, head to foot, and the hair stood up on my head, like 
 bristles. Yes, other matters in the Bible. Hell, and the grave, 
 and the devil ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Better not look too closely, 
 Inglehardt, into the Bible. You've been a bad fellow in your 
 time. Were a bad boy when your daddy was my overseer. The 
 Bible has your case reported there. Don't look. It's a bad 
 case. The transaction relates to cattle. I remember all about 
 it, but you had better not inquire too closely. I wouldn't tell 
 it for the world."' 
 
 The swarthy cheeks of the overseer's son flushed to a deep 
 crimson. The random bolt is ever a danger where there are 
 open windows. Inglehardt answered quickly aai savagely. 
 
568 EUTAW. 
 
 " You are talking nonsense, Captain Travis, and you know 
 it. If you think to impose upon me, you are mistaken. Let 
 me see if I can't bring your tlioughts back to other matters." 
 
 " To be sure ; other matters ! Well, let it be the fish. There 
 are ponds about. I hear the frogs, I tell you, nightly. By 
 that I know that the season for fishing is come. For what says 
 the Bible. The winter is-past, the rain is over and gone ; the 
 singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in 
 the land ! That's it, or near it. But I half forget. I am afraid, 
 Inglehardt, that you don't read your Bibl6 enough. That's 
 ymir bible. Why don't you read it ? If it were mine I should. 
 It's a good book in times of business. A first-rate book for 
 keeping accounts in." 
 
 " He has got a-talking devil !" exclaimed Inglehardt aloud, 
 and with an oath. " But I'll work it out of him. Well, Cap- 
 tain Travis, we will open our accounts, this night, in the Bible 
 together." 
 
 " Good ! good ! the first item relates to cattle." 
 
 " You have violated your bible pledges to me. Captain Travis 
 — your solemn pledge to give me the hand of your daughter." 
 
 "Ah ! that reminds me, Inglehardt — why do you keep these 
 things on my hands any longer, now that the winter is over ? I 
 find the clothing too heavy for spring. Take 'em off I say, and 
 let me have the use of my hands again. How shall I do any 
 fishing in such harness. Take 'em off — wont you?" 
 
 " Yes, when you keep your pledges. They are among my 
 securities for the proper performance of your promise." 
 
 " Well, as you say. Take 'em off: and let me go fish." 
 
 " When you deliver your daughter into my hands, you shall 
 be free." 
 
 " Oh ! I've nothing to do with that. What's it all to me ? I 
 tell you, I will have no more to do with business. I've done 
 enough. I must rest now — I must sleep, and sport like the 
 calves in pasture, and must fish in these ponds. Don't you try 
 now to keep me from pleasure when I'm awake. I must soon 
 sleep, you know." 
 
 For a moment Inglehardt seemed bewildered and desperate. 
 He was puzzled. He strode fiercely toward the old man, whc 
 laughed at his emotion, and held up his manacled hands. 
 
DENOUEMENT. 669 
 
 " Come, take 'em off at once." 
 
 " Never ! till you do what I demand." 
 
 " Oil ! don't be angry now. Why should you be angry ? 
 What's the use, and where's the sense of being angry 1 Why 
 can't you be sweet tempered like the season, when the voice of 
 the turtle is heard in the land ?" 
 
 " You don't cheat me with this pretence of simplicity. I tell 
 you, Captain Travis, that I will have you scourged like a dog, 
 and hung up like one, unless you speak to the point." 
 
 The old man whimpered, and then laughed. 
 
 " You get so angry of a sudden ; and just hear the frogs ! 
 They sing. They sing summer. Why don't you sing summer 
 like the frogs ?" 
 
 " Dotard ! but you can not deceive me. Do you not compre- 
 hend me, old man?" and he rudely seized him by the shoulder, 
 and shook him roughly as he added — " Do you not hear that I 
 mean to hang you like a dog, unless — " 
 
 " Oh ! monstrous, Captain Inglehardt !" exclaimed Bertha — 
 *' Do you not see that he can not comprehend you ; that you 
 have destroyed him, destroyed his mind — done your worst 
 upon him!" 
 
 " And if he can not comprehend, fair mistress, you can, and 
 shall ! The matter is, indeed, wholly in your hands. To your 
 ears it is properly addressed. You are aware that your hand 
 has been pledged to me by your father." 
 
 " But I have given no such pledges." 
 
 " True ; hut it will be for you to fulfil those which he has 
 given, or bear the penalties which, as there is a God living, shall 
 be paid ! I am desperate of fortune, and just as desperate of 
 resolves. You have seen what he has suffered — yon see the 
 result — in consequence wholly of your perverse opposition to 
 his wishes." 
 
 " Monstrous ! Do you charge me with the terrible wreck of 
 my father's brain, the fruit of your own cruelty and crime 1" 
 
 " Yes ; you can not deny that his wishes were to this effect 
 as well as mine ; that he urged you to accept my hand." 
 
 " He did so. He honestly kept his word with you. But my 
 pledges were given to another." 
 
570 EUTAW. 
 
 "Ah ! we shall see if that other will save you from the con- 
 sequences of your disobedience." 
 
 " There wis no disobedience. My father expressed hk wish, 
 but the will was wholly mine in a matter which affected my 
 own happiuefes only." 
 
 " You are mistaken. You see how it has affected him /" 
 
 "How you have affected him — cruelly seeking to compass 
 your own objects at the expense of right, justice, and humanity." 
 
 " Be it so ! And I am in the same mood still." 
 
 "You have done your worst!" 
 
 " Ah ! do you think so ? Do you forget that you, too, are in 
 my power ? That here, in this almost inaccessible swamp, no 
 cry of yours, though shrieked out in the utmost agony of na- 
 ture, will avail for your relief? Shriek as you will, there is no 
 ear that hears you, but mocks at the suffering which you de- 
 clare." 
 
 "God hears me — will hear! He will not mock, I am in 
 his hands." 
 
 "And you really can not conceive, Bertha Travis, that I 
 have the power to torture you beyond human endurance V 
 
 " Have you not done so % Look at that poor old man I Do 
 I not conceive it — do I not feel it ! God be merciful, and 
 strengthen me to endure all that you can inflict ; but know. 
 Captain Inglehardt, that I am the pledged wife of another. Do 
 what you will, no word of my mouth, as no feeling at my heart 
 "an make me yours." 
 
 "Ah! Well!—" 
 
 "Look you, Inglehardt, talk to me — to me — why do you 
 talk to her V-r- now interposed Travis, who had been listening 
 impatiently, wpndering somewhat, at the dialogue between the 
 tory-captain and his daughter. " Get away from the window. 
 Bertha — a very comical sort of window — get away, girl ; it i« 
 not delicate, not proper, for you to be mingling in the conversa 
 tion of grown men. You are but a child, girl — remember tTua 
 a child — a mere brat, who ought to be at her sampler. I say, 
 Inglehardt, take these hooky bracelets off. They fetter me ; 
 they are as heavy as iron, and quite unseasonable now ; take 
 them off, for it's impossible that I should engage in any business 
 matters, with such things on my hands." 
 
DENOUEMENT. 571 
 
 "Fool !" said Inglehardt, -ffhirling him aside, with contempt- 
 uous violence. 
 
 " Fool ! Fool ! That was suFely an indignity ! I shall re- 
 member that. Captain Inglehardt. In my own season, I will 
 remember it. Fool ! Fool ! I shall remember ! ' — and the old 
 man paced the floor restless, and no longer laughing ; while In- 
 glehardt proceeded to the little aperture where Bertha stood. 
 
 " You can not deceive yourself, Bertha Tra.vis. You are in 
 my power. I am desperate. I am resolved to make you mine. 
 My fortunes, and — hark you — " here he almost hissed it in 
 her ears — " mj passions AemajxA it! But I shall not subject 
 you to indignity. My pride requires that you should be my 
 honorable wife. This assurance given, ask yourself if I have 
 not the power to make you feel, to the heart — to the heart's 
 core — if you do not yield me your consent? It is no longer of 
 use to talk to kim — but you can see, feel, know, comprehend, 
 and to you I leave it. Decide — and quickly. In my power, 
 at my mercy, with all your family at my mercy ; and I am, as 
 you may see, desperate ; ay, I may as well tell you, the British 
 cause is desperate ; thus making it essential to my safety that 
 your father's daughter should be my wife ; decide whether I 
 will scruple at anything to effect my purpose ! It is now my 
 necessity that will make me cruel!" 
 
 " God be with me ! Man or devil, what would you more t 
 what can you do more ? Look at Aim /" and she pointed to 
 her father. 
 
 " Ay, I see ! It does not move me. I know him of old ! He 
 Hcorned me; and I found him out — a rogue, a public peculator 
 — a liar ; a traitor ; and, were it worth my while I would bring 
 him to a British galiow?. I need work od him no longer. But 
 dp you forget that \ have your brother in my power also 1" 
 
 "What! that boy 1" 
 
 " Ay, that boy ! What then ? Have I not told yon, shown 
 you, that I am desperate ; that nothing, however desperate, 
 shall be forborne to compel you to submission ? His very life 
 — that boy's life — I tell you, is in your hands. Decide! 
 Decide qniekly. Will you be mine 1" 
 
 "Never — never ! So help me Heaven !" 
 
 " So help me Hell, but you shall ! Ho ! there ! Brunson." 
 
572 EUTAW. 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir," and Brunson answered from without. 
 
 "Do as I bade you." 
 
 It was with singular appropriateness — no want of mind 
 shown in this — that old Travis now strode tragically before 
 Inglehardt, and moutlied out, player-fashion : — 
 
 " What bloody scene hath Roscius now to act V 
 
 Inglehardt again hurled him aside, and with no sparing hand. 
 
 " Oh, this is very honorable, very noble. Captain Inglehardt 
 — this treatment of an old man, and in his condition!" said 
 Bertha. 
 
 " Another indignity to be remembered, Captain Inglehardt," 
 cried Travis, with a childish show of dignity. " Take ofif these 
 bracelets! Only take them off!" and his eye glanced at the 
 sword upon the table. Inglehardt scowled on the daughter, 
 took no heed of the father, but, with grim aspect of determina- 
 tion, took his seat before the table, and sat inflexibly, looking 
 neither to the right nor to the left. In a few moments after 
 there was a bustle at the door ; in another moment it was 
 opened, and the Trailer appeared, dragging in Henry Travis, 
 who was now handcuffed ; Inglehardt having ordered the man- 
 acles to be restored which the more notorious Dick of Tophet 
 had mercifully removed. 
 
 At the sight of her brother, so wan, spiritless, drooping — 
 the mere shadow of his former self — Bertha cried out in 
 agony : — 
 
 " Oh, Henry, my brother ! is it you 1" 
 
 " Bertha !" said the boy. " Bertha ! you here too V and he 
 wept. He had hardly shed a tear before. His father now ap- 
 proached him. 
 
 " What, Henry, my son ! Hurrah, boy ! we shall soon have 
 famous fishing. The perch bite now. We are all together. We 
 shall have sport. But I have something first to settle with 
 Captain Inglehardt." 
 
 " Put that old fool aside," said Inglehardt. 
 
 " Ton hear, boy ! He said, old fool. Captain Inglehardt be 
 so good as to take off these bracelets." 
 
 Inglehardt did not notice him, but sat, sternly observant of 
 everything, at his table, as before. 
 
 " Bertha Travis, yon see," he said. 
 
DENOUEMENT. 573 
 
 " 1 say," cried old Travis, " take these tilings off, if you would 
 have me deal with you, and take them off the boy ! Why, Henry, 
 my son, you can do nothing with these things on your hands." 
 
 The boy looked to Bertha with an air of bewilderment. 
 
 " Father," said he, " what's the matter with yon V 
 
 " Matter ! oh, you shall see soon enough, the moment these 
 things are off!" 
 
 " Bertha Travis," said Iiiglehardt, " I have told you what to 
 expect — what to fear ! Do you consent] The parson will be 
 here in five minutes." 
 
 " Captain Inglehardt, why will you persist when I tell you 
 that I am betrothed to another 1" 
 
 " Does he want to force you to marry him V demanded 
 Henry. "Don't, sister. Never marry a man like him. Be- 
 sides — " 
 
 "Bertha, once more — do you consent V 
 
 "Never ! never !" 
 
 "And / say, never. I don't know what it is — but I say, 
 never, till you have first settled with me !" said the father, but 
 Inglehardt gave 7iim no heed. 
 
 " Proceed !" he said, coldly and sternly, to the Trailer. The 
 latter, by this time, had adjusted a small rope over one of the 
 cross-pieces of the cabin-roof, and he pointed to it. 
 
 "Not that yet!" said Inglehardt; and the next instant, the 
 willing creature, merciless and murderous, grappled with the 
 boy, and proceeded to pass a cord around his forehead. 
 
 " Don't do that, man !" cried old Travis ; " you will hurt the 
 boy." 
 
 " That's jest what we mean to do !" was the answer of the 
 Trailer, given with a chuckle. 
 
 " But I won't suffer it ! Take off these things, and I'll show 
 you!" cried Travis. 
 
 The ruffian laughed outright, as he continued to draw the 
 cord about the boy's brows. 
 
 " Spare him ! Oh, Captain Inglehardt, how can you have 
 the heart to harm this child ]" cried Bertha. 
 
 " It is your heart, not mine. Bertha Travis. Did I not tell 
 you that I am desperate ?" 
 
 "Do not hf^ for me. Bertha — T don't fear him," Baiil the 
 brave bov. 
 
574 EUTAW. 
 
 " Hands off, you dirty scamp !" cried eld Travis. " This is 
 my son, I'd let you know. My son ! only take off these cursed 
 things — they are fetters — they are iron — and you shall see! 
 I am an old man, but I have my teeth ! teeth !" and he showed 
 them, gnashing fiercely together. 
 
 " Say the word, cappin !" said Bmnson. 
 
 "Say what word, fellow? What word should he say? 
 Hear what I say ! Take off these things. They fetter the 
 boy. They hurt him. They prevent his growth. At his age, 
 not a limb should be restrained from exercise. He should ride, 
 should run, should leap, should wrestle, if you would make a 
 strong man of him. And this is the very season when every- 
 thing should leap — when the colt leaps, and the lamb, and the 
 calf, bird, and beast ; and so should he. He should ride. 
 Where's his horse 1 Where's your horse, Henry, my son 1 
 Have it got in the morniilg, and ride. Don't let them keep 
 these things on you, which fetter your proper exercise. I say. 
 Captain Inglehardt, make your fellow take off those iron things. 
 They must hurt the boy, and prevent his proper exercise." 
 
 " Jest as the cappin says," quoth Brunson, while he coolly 
 continued to adjust the rope about the forehead of the boy, who 
 was sufficiently restiff to make the operation a difficult one. 
 
 " Do you see what he's doing with the boy. Captain Ingle- 
 hardt ? Do you approve of what he does 1 Do you hold your- 
 self responsible for what he does 1" 
 
 " Certainly ! I command eveiything he does." 
 
 " You do, do you ? Then, sir, let us have it out as soon as 
 possible! Pistols — or what you please! But, take off these 
 irons, and I am ready for you. Oh, you will find that I can 
 shoot ! Ay, sir, and I can use a small-sword, too ; only take 
 off these bandages !" 
 
 Meanwhile, the Trailer had succeeded in fixing the cord 
 around the brows of the boy, the latter wincing from the prepa- 
 rations rather than the pain, and, without knowing the charac- 
 ter of the vile Spanish torture that was contemplated, readily 
 conceiving, by sure instincts, that some peculiar cruelty was 
 meant. When he could no longer resist, he cried out : — •" 
 
 "Father, oh father, help me — save me I This man is going 
 to kill me !" 
 
DENOUEMENT. 575 
 
 The old man seemed suddenly to be seized with a shivering, 
 as if, in that instant, he was vouchsafed a sufficien': gleam of 
 reason to show how impotent he was to save. He tottered in 
 the direction of the bey, with his braceleted hands outstretched, 
 but suddenly turned to Inglehardt. 
 
 "Don't! don't! For God's sake, don't hurt him! Why 
 would yon rope his head? It will give him headache." 
 
 " I reckon it will, and a mighty bad one too," chuckled Brun- 
 son, looking to his employer, and waiting for bis word. He 
 had so adjusted the cord that, by inserting a pistol-butt into a 
 loop of the rope,Jae could contract it in a moment by a single 
 twist. 
 
 " Jest say when, cappin, and I gives him sich a twist as will 
 make him see daylight in another world, I reckon. I knows 
 the trick of old." 
 
 Inglehardt looked at Bertha. His purpose was to compel her 
 - terrors in especial. She stood with clasped hands, in an inde- 
 scribable torture, incapable of speech. Her eyes were vacant, 
 glassy, fiied, yet unintelligible. She gave no other sign. 
 
 " Proceed !" cried the ruthless despot ; and, at the word, the 
 Trailer gave but a single twist to the pis-tol, and the boy 
 screamed aloud with his agony. Then Bertha shrieked out : — 
 
 "I consent !^- any thing — only spare him — do not harm the 
 child !" 
 
 But old Travis had not witnessed the proceedings with equa- 
 nimity. He had recovered from his shuddering terrors. He 
 was in another mood. 
 
 " You will hurt the boy !" he cried. 
 
 "We means to," answered the Trailer. "It's jest what the 
 cappin says. If he says, I'll twist till I twists the head off." 
 
 " Inglehardt," cried old Travis, " you don't mean to hurt 
 little Henry !" 
 
 " I mean all that I do." 
 
 "But you don't!" cried the other, approaching the table 
 where Inglehardt sat. The features and movements of Travis, 
 looks and gestures, on the instant seemed to undergo a sudden 
 change. His form was bent forward, as if crouching and creep- 
 ing up. The movement was stealthy, like that of a cat. His 
 braceleted hands were lifted np before his breast, and slightly 
 
fiTt) EUTAW. 
 
 thrust forward. TLe fists were doubled. There was a mixtnrF 
 of ferocity and cunning in his eyes, as he approached, which 
 suddenly arrested the attention of Inglehardt. At that moment 
 a pistol-shot was heard without. Both Inglehardt and the Trailer 
 started, the former catching up his sword. 
 
 "Was that a shot?" he demanded. 
 
 " I reckon 'twas nothing else," was the answer. " It's a 
 pistol-shot, but whose 1 — " 
 
 " Devil Dick is at the cypress, is he not ?" 
 
 "Yes — I seed him go there." 
 
 Inglehardt turned once more to Travis, who had approached 
 the table before which the tory-chief resumed his seat. 
 
 " Stand back, sir !" said Inglehardt, as he saw that Travis 
 nearly touched the table. 
 
 " Shall I give him another twist?" demanded Branson. 
 
 " No ! wait ! Did I understand you to consent. Bertha Travis, 
 to our immediate union ?" 
 
 Before she could reply, old Travis interposed, and, striking 
 his handcuffs down heavily upon the little table, he leaned for- 
 ward toward Inglehardt. 
 
 " Look you, Inglehardt — " 
 
 "Stand back, sir!" said the latter, instinctively presenting 
 his sword — a cut and thrust — as the instinct, rather than any 
 mental suggestion, seemed to warn him of danger in the old 
 man's eye. 
 
 " What ! you are for the swords, are you ? Tou prefer them, 
 do you, to pistols ? Well, I don't care — " 
 
 " Back, I say ! You will be hurt." 
 
 " Father ! father !" cried Bertha, entreatingly. " Gome to 
 me, father !" 
 
 " Sword or pistols, it doesn't matter !" muttered the imbecile, 
 his eye fastening with singular intensity upon that of Ingle- 
 hardt. The latter was about to rise, still keeping his sword's 
 point at the breast of the other. In the act of rising, his eye 
 was diverted a moment from that of Travis. That momentary 
 withdrawal of his eye lost him the natural influence with which 
 he might have controlled the growing insanity of his captive. 
 In that one moment, Travis — his soul freed from its master — 
 made a single, tiger-like bound — threw down the table between 
 
DENOUEMENT. 577 
 
 them — threw himeelf directly, fully, fairly, upon Inglehardt — 
 and the two went down together to the floor, crushing the chair 
 beneath them, and shaking the very house in their fall. 
 
 The cut and thrust of Inglehardt, meanwhile, passed clean 
 through the body of his assailant — passed through a vital 
 region — inflicting a mortal wound, which left him but a few 
 moments of life. 
 
 But those few moments suificed. He did not feel the pain of 
 his wound — did not feel the hurt at all; the tiger-like insanity 
 of his blood, at that moment, making the deadly thrust of no 
 more consequence than the pricking of a needle. 
 
 And, prone upon the body of his tyrant — spread out and 
 covering him from head to foot — his hands armed only with 
 their iron bracelets, the handcuffs — he smote heavily, rapidly, 
 repeatedly, as the blacksmith smites the anvil with the sledge- 
 hammer -^every blow delivered upon the face and forehead of 
 Inglehardt ! The eyes of the insolent enemy were driven in, 
 the face battered out of feature, the skull crashed into a pulpy 
 mass, the life utterly extinct in the captor, before Travis was 
 conscious of his own hurt ! He himself, a moment after, and 
 while still in the act of striking, rolled over, with a single con- 
 vulsion, and lay dead upon the floor ! 
 
 The afiair seemed hardly to consume a moment. No time 
 had been left for Brunson to interfere. He was taken by sur- 
 prise, and, lacking in impulse and readiness, all was over before 
 he could well turn to observe the combatants. 
 
 Bertlia, horror-stricken into dumbness, stood, ghastly pale, 
 gazing through the hole in the wall, with a stare like that of 
 idiocy. Henry Travis was the first to recover; and, while 
 Brunson was looking on bewildered, the boy shook himself free 
 (roth his grasp, and had he not been handcuffed also, would, no 
 doubt, in that moment, have turned with desperate and fatal 
 efficiency upon the Trailer. The latter, recovering himself at 
 the evasion of Henry from his grasp, rather than at the horrid 
 sight which he beheld, in his first movement made after the 
 boy. He, prompt as a young eagle, dashed through the door, 
 which had been left unlocked, and, with a cry of fury, Brunson 
 hurried after him. But the Trailer hurried only to meet his 
 fate ! 
 
 29 
 
578 EUTAW. 
 
 Henry Travis soon found himself in the grasp of Willie Sin- 
 clair — safe — while, in a moment after, the Trailer went down 
 lifeless beneath a single stroke ffom the powerful claymore of 
 the dragoon. 
 
 A few moments suflSced for the rescue of Bertha. She was 
 borne away by her lover from the horrid spectacle, and carried 
 to the wigwam of Blodgit, where the touching condition of poor 
 Nelly Floyd, and the duty of nursing her, appealing fortunately 
 to her humanity, served — though still how sadly — to lessen in 
 some degree the force of that terrible shock which her mind had 
 received ! 
 
 To bury the dead — to remove the wounded and still living 
 — these were duties to which, we need not say, that Willie Sin 
 clair gave instant heed. We need waste no time upon details, 
 which were inevitable from the circumstances, and from the 
 character of the now governing authority in Muddicoat Castle. 
 Inglehardt and his followers were buried in the swamp. The 
 remains of Travis were subsequently borne away to the family 
 vault at Holly-Dale. 
 
 loor Nelly !f — 
 
 Was it the same owl that hooted the prelude to our tragedy, 
 which now, suddenly as mournfully, wailed above the hovel 
 where she lay dying ? 
 
 Dying, but how placidly — how sweetly, with her head sup- 
 ported by Bertha Travis, and her eyes looking lovingly up to 
 those of that damsel, and the brave-souled and strong-limbed 
 Willie Sinclair. He, too, could weep — that fearless, desperate 
 soldier — weep as a child — the conflict over, the blow stricken, 
 the battle won ! 
 
 The owl has hooted her last notes for the night. Day dawns. 
 Nelly Floyd still lives — still smiles — knows all — knows that 
 she is dying, and still smiles ! 
 
 "If I could only see good Mother Ford!" she says; and 
 Sinclair, waiting for the can-iage with which he hopes to remove 
 hei", sends off one of his dragoons to Mother Ford's, with in- 
 structions to bring her to the widow Avinger's. If she is too 
 late to see her lovely protege alive, she will help to deck her 
 for the grave. 
 
DENOUEMENT. o{i 
 
 "Oh ! if I could see Sherrod Nelson !" says the girl, hardly 
 conscious that she speaks at all. 
 
 And that prayer, too, Sinclair hopes to gratify. He despatches 
 another dragoon to the camp where Sherrod Nelson !b a captivo. 
 And the day wore on till noon, and Nelly lived. Shs had a 
 nohle vitality. But for that luckless, cruel bullet of Dick of 
 Tophet ! 
 
 At noon, the carriage has reached the boundaries of Kuddi- 
 coat Castle. A litter, meanwhile, has been prepared, through 
 the providence of Sinclair, by means of which, Nelly has been 
 borne across the swamp, without much pain or inconvenience. 
 She is put upon the mattress in the carriage, and Bertha Travis 
 takes a place beside her. And with all possible tenderness, she 
 is thus carried, over the untrodden ways, until they reach the 
 house of the widow Avinger. 
 
 The patient is faint but not exhausted. It was astonishing, 
 the tenacity of life which she possessed ! Mortally wounded, 
 her lungs perforated by the bullet, she still lives, breathes, and 
 speaks, for thirty-six hours after the event. 
 
 St. Julien arrives with his sq[uad, and Sherrod Nelson comes 
 with him. He receives the dying breath of the young girl, not 
 suspecting, to the last, how dear had been his image to her 
 soul ! She leaves a message for his mother, and a dying bles- 
 sing, in which old Mother Ford has a share. 
 
 The old lady arrives in season. All assembled about the 
 bedside of the innocent victim — no longer a sufferer, for the 
 worst pangs of soul and body are passed ! She has all beside 
 her whom she loves. Her cares are ended with her duties. 
 Fond hands press her own ; loving eyes, swimming in tears, 
 watch the flickering soul-lustre which still lingers iu her. 
 She has possessed herself of a hand of Sherrod Nelson on one 
 side, of Bertha Travis on the other. They feel the frequent 
 pressure of her fingers. 
 
 To Bertha Travis she whispers, " Will you take care of poor 
 Aggy 1" To Mother Ford, " Ah, mother, if I could only live to 
 help you on the little farm." To Sherrod Nelson, " Oh, Sher- 
 rod ! tell your mother how much I loved her to the last." And 
 her eyes theo traversed the several mournful faces in the circle, 
 and sighed deeply — then somewhat quickly, murmured, "Tin 
 
hSO E0TAW. 
 
 not look so sad. Do not grieve for me. I do not feel pain. 
 I am not sorry to go. I have done all that I had to do, though 
 T am so very yonng— very young!" And she looked at Sher- 
 rod Nelson, and her own eyes filled. She feebly tried to turn 
 away her head, but her strength failed her; and she shut the 
 eyes whose fountains were overflowing I 
 
 And thus she remained silent, for awhile, speming to sleep. 
 Suddenly, she started, her eyes opening, dilating widely — 
 somewhat wildly — with a strange, spiritual expression, that 
 seemed full of fear, fiut this expression passed off in a mo- 
 ment, and a sweet smile of peifect consciousness followed it, 
 mantling her whole face as a ra^ant sunset suddenly flushes up 
 the sky, ere the dusk night covers it. 
 
 In a few moments after, Sherrod Nelson felt her fingers feebly 
 pressing his hand — and he could just detect the whispered, 
 parting words, "Good-by, Sherrod — good! — happy — bless! — " 
 And the voice ceased. She lay as one sleeping with that sun- 
 set flush of soul-sweetness still giving a heavenly glow to face 
 and forehead. They thought she slept. And she did. But it 
 was the sleep of death. She had passed without pang or strug- 
 gle, into the sacred slumber of eternity ! 
 
 Our action has reached its proper finish. The obstacles, 
 which warred with the peace and happiness of the surviving 
 parties to our drama, being at an end, we scarce need the de- 
 tails which report their future progress. We know that Sin- 
 clair and Bertha, after a certain interval, were united and lived 
 happily together. We are in daily communication with their 
 descendants — a noble progeny, from the goodly pair whose 
 fortunes we have pursued so long. Our baron of Sinclair had 
 been effectually subdued, and not only forebofe opposition to 
 Bertha Travis, but welcomed her with a love that almost vied 
 with that of his son. He subsequently made raeny with his 
 own prejudices, and frequently summoned Bertha to his side by 
 her nom de guerre of Annie Smith. Willie and Bertha were 
 united in the spring of the following year, at a period when the 
 war left to our dragoon colonel a temporary respite from active 
 duty. Indeed, the battle of Eutaw left but little to be done. 
 Neither of the two great opposing parties were in a condition to 
 
DENOUEMENT. 5rf"i 
 
 undertake any bold enterpiise, and the final capture of Corn- 
 ■wallis, at Torktown, sufficed to render Great Britain satisfied to 
 yield the struggle, and concede to the revolted colonies that 
 independence, against which it seemed merely a waste of blood 
 and treasure to contend. That her colonies should rise into free 
 states, seemed, _at length, even to her eyes, to become a decree 
 of fate — one of the fixed facts of Destiny. 
 
 How the war still lingered, and with what petty strifes in 
 Carolina, we need not report in these pages. Enough, perhaps, 
 as we may never meet with him again, in fiction, to report, that 
 our brave boy, Henry Travis, obtained a cornetcy of dragoons, 
 under Sinclair, and served with great spirit, zeal, and promise, 
 to the end of the war. We all know what was the good result 
 of that training which he then received, from the high distinc- 
 tion which he won subsequently, and long after, in the West, 
 when, as Colonel Travis, he went through the Creek and Semi- 
 nole campaign, and in the war of 1812, fully displayed the 
 admirable uses of the lessons which he had acquired in that of 
 the Revolution. 
 
 The baron lived to a good old age, in spite of gout and Ma- 
 deira. He and Mrs. Travis were equally fortunate and happy, 
 in being able to dandle numerous grandchildren upon their 
 knees. 
 
 Good old Mother Ford, with Aggy, took up her abode with 
 Carrie Sinclair, whose union with St. Julien, made the baron 
 wince a little, even at tlie moment of the nuptials; but we have 
 no reason to suppose that Carrie's children were less his favor- 
 ites than Willie's. 
 
 The benevolent widow Avinger suddenly passed into a large 
 and loving circle of grateful friends, who ministered fondly to 
 her declining years ; making them subside, finally, into a gentle 
 sleep, in which all the dreams were pleasant. Ballou, 'Bram, 
 Benny Bowlegs, and Cato, served out the campaign of life iu 
 close connection with the superiors whom they had loved and 
 followed ; useful during their days of vigor, and honored and 
 protected in their decline. The two former, it may be said, 
 continued to scout till the close of the war ; while neither of 
 them utterly renounced his faith in Jamaica as one of tho 
 greatest blessings vouchsafed by Providence to man ! 
 
582 EUTAW. 
 
 Of Lord Edward Fitzgerald the mournful history may be read 
 in the pages of the poet Moore. 
 
 Sinclair and Bertha Travis were married on the 22d of May, 
 of the year following the events recorded in this chapter. On 
 the 22d of April, the year after, they were blessed with a 
 daughter. As the fond young couple gazed together upon the 
 child, Bertha exclaimed : — 
 
 " Oh, Willie ! did you ever see such a likeness to poor Nelly 
 Floyd V 
 
 '' It is wonderful ! We owe it to that dear, good, sainted 
 girl, Bertha — we will name this little creature after her !" 
 
 " Ellen Floyd Sinclair," as many of us will remember, was 
 the helle of her district, during the long term of seven years, 
 from her fifteenth to her twenty-second year, when she married 
 Colonel Walter Sun-y Lucas, of St. Stephen's parish; her 
 reign, as a belle, ceasing only when she became a wife, in 1802, 
 but hardly ceasing as a beauty, even when she had five bright 
 children of her own, in 1819, when we had the pleasure to 
 know her first, under the roof of her brother at the barony, 
 where we spent a week with all the then surviving parties to 
 our story. It was a sweet and beautiful reunion — one which 
 seemed to realize to fact, as to fancy, the glorious delights and 
 grateful simplicities of- the Golden Age. It was on that visit 
 that we gained a knowledge of the parties and events, out of 
 which we have framed this truthful chronicle. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 Whipple. 3 vols., crown 8vo, Cloth, 3,000 pages. 
 
 With a fine Portrait on Steel. Price, $3.75. 
 
 (Bound in Half Calf extra, $3 per vol.) 
 In this edition the essays have been arranged in chronological order, 
 so that their perusal affords, so to speak, a complete biographical portrait- 
 ure of the brilliant author's mind. It contains the pure text of the author 
 and the exact punctuation, orthography, etc., of the English editions. 
 
 A very fuU index (55 pages) has been specially prepared for this 
 edition. In this respect it is superior to the English editions, and wholly 
 unlike any other American edition. 
 
 Sent on receipt of price, charges prepaid, by 
 
 A. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 Broadway, New York. 
 
CHOICE STANDARD WORKS. 
 
 NEW AND REVISED EDITION 
 
 OF 
 
 HALLAM'S COMPLETE WORKS, 
 
 With New Table of Contents and Indexes. 
 
 IN SIX VOLS., CROWN, 8V0, CLOTH. 
 
 PRICE, $7.50 PER SET. (Reduced from $17.50.) 
 
 (Bound in. Half Calf extra, $3fer vol.) 
 
 This Unabridged Edition of Hallam's Works Comprises 
 
 The Constitutional History of England, 2 Vols. 
 The Middle Ages, The State ol Europe Ming tie Middle iges, 2 Vols. 
 Introduction to the Literature of Europe, 2 Vols. 
 
 Reprinted from the Last London Edition, Revised 
 AND Corrected by the Author. 
 
 Macaulay, in his famous estimate of Hallam, says : " Mr. Hallam 
 is, on the whole, far better qualified than any other writer of our time 
 for the office which he has undertaken. He has great industry and great 
 acuteness. His knowledge is extensive, various, and profound. His mind 
 is equally distinguished by the amplitude of its grasp, and by the delicacy 
 of its tact. His speculations have none of that vagueness which is the 
 common fault of political philosophy. On the contrary, they are 
 strikingly practical, and teach us not only the geneial rule, but the mode 
 of applying it to solve particular cases. . . . Mr. Hallam's 
 work is eminently judicial. Its whole spirit is that of the Bench, not 
 that of the Bar. He sums up with a calm, steady impartiality, turning 
 neither to the right nor to the left, glossing over nothing, exaggerating 
 nothing, while the advocates on both sides arc alternately biting their lips 
 to hear their conflicting misstatements and sophism e.\posed. " 
 
 This "STANDARD EDITION" of HALLAM'S WORKS, 
 in 6 Vols., AVERAGES NEARLY 800 PAGES IN EACH 
 VOL., and is sold at $7.50 PER SET (formerly published 
 in 10 Vols, at $17.50.) 
 
 Sent on receipt of price, charges prepaid, by 
 A. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 Broadway, New York.