University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.
THE OUTLAWS FIND NEW CAPTIVES.

Harricane Nell hadn't been gone from our group of runagates
more than half an hour, when they were all startled by
the sound of a horse approaching from above. The men were
on the alert, and as the horseman dashed into camp, he was challenged
promptly and answered satisfactorily. 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
swamp above, and to scout awhile around them, so as to ascertain,
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,” demanded
old Rhodes, 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—l! But let
me have some supper, Jenny. I'm as hungry as a 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

never gits up a harricane 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—l kain't you let the gal live in peace!”

“I wonder ef she'll let us. She's for finding fault with everybody
and everything. What do you think of her telling me
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 supper here.”

“No you wouldn't! Ef it hadn't been for her, we'd ha' ixtricated
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
you 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,
and you'd rather, a mighty deal, have saved that bag than ha'

saved me. I knew it! Even my own sister thar, and my
brother-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 consciences!
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 see, and talking very
foolish.”

“Yes, and you talked mighty brute-like back at her! That's
the how! Don't I know! Don't I see through the whole of
you; 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 Murdoch,
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 blessedest
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 live with her, and she a-raving all

the 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 quietly. 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 participate.

And our fugitives watched equally, while their enemies breakfasted
and consulted.

The day wore on.

Suddenly the woman, Molly Rhodes, who had been left in
the background, with the horses, all deeply hidden in the shelter
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 something.
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 addressed
all their watch to the progress of the new-comers, in
whose cautious and stealthy movements, they clearly perceived
that some dashing enterprise was afoot.

This troop, as they knew by the uniform, was undoubtedly

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 his 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 directed.

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 sufferings by a merciful
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 correctness
but his own.

Two hours might have elapsed before Mat Floyd and the
other young man came in, all brimful of intelligence.

“Well?” demanded old Rhodes.

“Well! It's all smoke and blazes. I reckon that Lem Watkins
and all his troop is all cut to pieces. The chase was
mighty close — the men of Marion cutting down and chopping
up 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, toward
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 women
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 opposition
to the suggestion of plunder. Even Mat Floyd, who, under
the eye of his wild young sister, was somewhat inclined to become
tame, appeared just as eager as the rest, now, when plunder
was in sight.

“You say all's safe, Mat?” demanded the veteran rogue.

“Safe — safe!”

“Red coats and blue — the whole army 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
for clean reaping. But snake it, boys; and you, Moll, keep

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 you
see any more?” was the query 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, prepared
to enter upon the same business on their own account.

“Do you take the horses by the head, Mat Floyd; you're
about the quickest 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. You be at hand, Molly,
to consolate them if they happens to be too much frightened,
and want to squeal.”

A very good plot, but less easy of execution than was calculated
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 Cato! 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 engaged
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 her daughter, a young
girl about eighteen, very fair, very beautiful, and with a countenance
full of animated and benevolent expression. The manner
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

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 affections
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 interruption,
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 quietly 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
his whole length upon the ground.

Cato's triumph, however, was of short duration. Mat Floyd
left the horses to one of his fellows, sprang into the box 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, interposed
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 together
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 embarras des richesses, but, with the wonted habit of

cupidity, were unwilling to fling away any of their spoils, even
though they should prove impedimenta only.

No long time was consumed in consultation. They soon reappeared
upon the scene, and proceeded to the completion of
their work, but without giving us the slightest clue to their further
purposes.

“We must git the carriage into the main road again, Mat.”

“Shall I drive it round?”

“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
throw 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 carriage, 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 civilly
invited them to accompany himself in a walk through the
woods.

“But who are you, sir, and what means this violence to unoffending
women?”

“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

jest keep you ontil your friends kin hear of you, and pay ixpenses.”

“But where are our friends, sir? Where's Captain St. Julien?”

“Ah, ma'am, I'm mighty sorry that I kaint answer you as
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? Oh, Heavens!”

“What! St. Julien — Captain St. Julien?”

“The very same excellent young captain, and most honorable
gentleman. You see, ma'am, he fell into a-skrimmaging
with the most bloody, determinate cappin Lem Watkins, of the
Flurrida riffigees, and they jest as well as tore him to flinders.”

“Horrible! But how do you know this? Did you see it?”

“Ah, ma'am, eyes never seed sich an orful massacree! All
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! What do you mean to do with us?
what do you require of us? And let me warn you, sir — beware!
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
that 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?”

“Well, that's the right thing. You see, ma'am, we'll jist carry
you 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.

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 yer. We hab for stay here, whay de cappin put we for
stay till he come back.”

“Shet up, you shunk, before I slit your tongue,” cried the
outlaw, who stood 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 indiguity, and that she had no argument left,
which could possibly operate on such a ruffian. She yielded a
quiet submission, accordingly, and, taking the arm of her
daughter, they walked down into the swamp with all the calmness
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 he 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

almost blind neighborhood tracks, upon which the traveller was
now rarely to be seen.

What was its destination? what the purpose of the outlaws?
This was hidden in the bosom of old Rhodes himself, who answered
the queries of Mat Floyd with a significantly cunning
look:—

“I knows 'em well. They belong to big people, and kin pay
well for all the trouble they gives us.”