The partisan a tale of the revolution |
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| 8. | CHAPTER VIII. |
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 | CHAPTER VIII. The partisan |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
And takes a newer vigour from the storm.”
Pushing hastily from the chamber of death, Colonel
Proctor proceeded to the court below, where he assembled
his men for the pursuit. Though profoundly
impressed with the solemn event which he had witnessed—so
far different from any thing he had expected
to see in the apartment—he was too good a soldier, and
too mindful of his duty, to lose time in those now idle
regrets at his own abruptness, which he yet properly
felt. A few brief words, directing his men upon different
routes, and equally dividing them, and the party
dispersed in obedience to his commands. One of
them, consisting of four men, he himself led, and in
the very direction taken by the flying partisan.
Singleton knew his danger if taken, and at once, as
soon as he reached the horses, prepared for the most
rapid flight. He was weaponless, and there was no
have stood his ground, for his was the spirit prompt
always to extricate itself from its difficulties by the
boldest daring. The strife with Proctor also promised
him a large degree of satisfaction, apart from that which
the employment itself might yield. It was with some
vexation, therefore, that, feeling for his pistols in his
belt, he remembered where he had left them. It was
too late to retrieve, and idle to lament the misfortune.
It was only in flight that it could be lessened; and he
took his measures accordingly.
“Tighten your girth, Lance, and mount quickly;
we shall be pursued shortly, and I am without weapon
of any sort. I have left my pistols behind me.”
“Here are mine, sir; they are small, but they've
got a good charge, and new flints both.”
“Give me one of them, quickly now, and mount.
We must get into the main road, if we can, before
they come out of the avenue; so hasten, hasten but
hurry not; cool, boy—cool.”
He tightened his own saddle-girth as he spoke;
took off the handkerchief that encircled his neck, and
thrust it into his pocket; then, seeing that the boy was
mounted and ready, he was soon in saddle himself.
“Now pick the way, Lance; speak nothing, but
keep cool and silent: gently, gently at first; let us
send them as few sounds as possible.
The boy, with goodly promptitude, obeyed to admiration.
Starting with an easy, slow motion, they
emerged from the heavy oaks by the water's side, ascended
the rising ground, and skirted a long, low fence
which girdled one corner of the estate, and led directly
to the main road. The track was simply a negro footpath;
but the evening was sufficiently clear to enable
them to trace it out perfectly and keep it with little
trouble.
“We shall escape them; a few hundred yards more
will give us a fine start, boy, and that is all I care for.
How far is it now to the main track?”
“Not far, sir; just ahead. I think I see the opening
you hear a noise, sir—now?”
“Yes: they are in saddle; they are after us. Push
on, push on; we have little time to waste.”
“Yes, sir, that they are; and if I'm not very much
mistaken, they are after us from two sides—down on
our own trail, and coming out from the avenue. You
hear, sir? somebody cried out from the quarter of the
road, and we hear the horses' feet from the river, at
the same time.”
“More reason for speed, far more, boy; we shall
have to trust entirely to that. Here is the main road,
and they will soon see us on it. You know your
horse, Lance—you are not afraid of him?”
“Afraid of him! no, sir, that I'm not; never was
afraid of any horse yet.”
“Then go ahead; strike in your rowel, and spare
not. There's no danger in front of you, so drive on.”
This little dialogue was all over in a few moments.
The boy put spurs to his animal as soon as the main
road was entered, and, with an easy mastery of his
own steed, Singleton kept his place close alongside of
him. The road was a heavy sand, over which they
sped for the few minutes succeeding their first entrance
upon it; but soon they got upon a tough, pine land
ridge, upon which the beating of their hoofs might
clearly be distinguished at some distance by a heedful
ear; and it was not long, accordingly, before a loud
shout from their pursuers announced their discovery.
“We could turn down here, sir, into the woods; and
there's a sort of wagon track somewhere about here,
I think I could find, sir, leads to the Stonoe. That
would lose them, certain, from our trail,” said the boy.
“No matter, no matter, keep on as you are; if they
come no nigher we are safe.”
“But I think they gain on us, sir; shall I go faster?
My nag can do much more.”
“No, keep his strength; they don't gain much now,
and we shall find it more useful—What is that?”
A sound—a rushing motion in the woods they had
crackling of the dried sticks under feet was distinctly
heard, as the enemy moved over the same ground with
more haste and less caution than had been observed
by them.
“Ha, we have them there, have we! and they will
soon be on the road. They hear us, and know our
route. Push on, boy, a little, but not much faster; a
breath more of speed only, is all we want—so, so.”
The coolness with which Singleton spoke and acted
took from the flight most of the terrors which it otherwise
might have occasioned in the mind of the boy.
His figure grew more and more upright with the feeling
of confidence, as it swelled in his bosom; he began
to imagine the events of a struggle; he began to fancy
the features of the collision; and, with all its disadvantages,
to hope for the strife. There was much of
the same mood at work in the mind of his leader; and
his chagrin may not be expressed, when, under its
stimulus, he reflected upon his want of his weapons.
There was an air of vexatious indifference, a sort of
reckless hardihood in his demeanour, which, looking
occasionally behind him, the boy could not avoid perceiving.
Singleton caught the movement once or
twice; and, at length, in sharper tones than usual, addressed
him—
“Why do you look around, sir? are you afraid?”
“No, sir—oh no!—I don't think I am—that is to
say—but I never tried.”
“Tried what?”
“To fight with men, sir, and to shoot them; and I
don't know, sir, whether I should be afraid or not.”
Singleton smiled; the feeling of the boy rebuked
his own, as it was boyish also.
“Go on, sir; look not behind again, unless you
would have your own shoulders frighten you. And
you may urge your nag a little faster; those fellows
are now out of the bush, and in the heavy sand;
you will soon hear them on the ridge, and then they
will have the same clear track with ourselves; go on,
frequently than is needful, remember that I am between
you and danger. Touch your nag; let him feel
the thorn, and be lively.”
The boy felt mortified that Singleton should think
that he looked round from apprehension; and thought
how happy he should be, to show him that he was not
afraid; but, without a word, he did as he was directed
—stuck the spur quickly into the yet unbreathed animal,
which bounded away under the first impulsion with
a far more generous movement.
As the partisan had said, the pursuers were soon
upon the pine-land track, over which they had themselves
passed but recently. Proctor led them with an
earnestness which arose, not less from his own estimate
of the value of the game, than from a personal
feeling, if not interest, which he seemed to entertain in
his arrest. As he entered the little negro trail running
by the fence, he heard the shout of the party
from the avenue below; and, as this seemed to say
that the fugitive was within reach, a new impetus was
given to his exertion. By dint of hard riding he soon
got up with the party which led off the pursuit; and
the spur was not spared in order to diminish the vantage
ground which the partisan already had, in the
space thrown between them. The composure and
coolness of the flight tended to this object not less
than the speed of the pursuers; and it was with no
small satisfaction that Proctor was now enabled to distinguish
the regularly recurring tread of the flying
horses. He readily imagined that Singleton would
put his animal to its fullest speed, and so thinking, he
did not doubt that a little more effort must result in
their overhauling him; believing this, he shouted encouragingly,
and cried out to his men, while bending
forward with all speed in the chase himself—
“Five guineas to the man who first lays hands on
the rebel! so to it, men—he cannot now escape us.
We gain on them at every leap, and their horses will
soon be breathed. Heed not the boy, but see that the
dead if he resist you: we must have him, dead or
alive; and the reward is the same. On—on!”
A cheer—a hearty cheer, and a driving of the
spur, and the lash freely applied to the warming flanks
of the horses, followed this speech. They dashed
headlong through the thicket; they wound about the
obtrusive pine-tree, standing in the way, with all the
adroitness of an Indian pony; and soon were upon the
broad trace over which Singleton and the boy were
riding. Their horses' feet were heard, but they themselves
remained unseen. The thick shadow of the
forest lay over the road ahead, and under its friendly
shelter the two fugitives were then speeding, with a
pace somewhat quickened in obedience to the necessity.
The boy wondered at Singleton's coolness as
their pursuers drew more nigh. But he ceased to
wonder when he heard the lash which the riders behind
them were applying to their steeds. He remembered
that their own had not been forced, and he felt
more assured.
“Now, boy—now is the time; they are drawing
nigher, and we may as well leave them for a while.
Bend to it, and keep beside me.”
The boy did as he was bdden, and the difference was
soon perceptible; the noble animals sprang off with
all the elasticity of freshness, while those of their
pursuers, which had been ridden rapidly to “The
Oaks,” and then as rapidly after them, failed, in spite
of the repeated urging of their riders, to increase their
speed a second. Gradually, the sounds grew less and
less distinct upon their ears, and were nearly lost,
when all on a sudden, and quite unexpectedly, the steed
of Singleton stumbling along the ground, precipitated
his rider clear over his head. The boy instantly
gathered up his reins, and leaped from his animal
beside him.
“Oh, sir! you are hurt! I'm afraid you are hurt!”
was his passionate exclamation, as he approached
the partisan.
“A little, Lance—a little; but I'm afraid Sorrel is
hurt a great deal more. He moves with difficulty.”
Singleton rose with some effort from the ground.
He had been slightly stunned and somewhat bruised
by the fall; but not so much as to incapacitate him
from movement. He approached his horse, which had
also risen to his feet, and now remained trembling upon
the spot where he had fallen. Singleton took the
bridle in hand, and led him off a few paces. This
was sufficient to satisfy him that the animal was too
much lamed to yield him much if any service in the
flight that night. The danger was pressing, as in the
brief space of the event recorded, the pursuing party
had regained the ground, and something more, which,
in the increased speed of the partisan, they had previously
lost. Singleton at once adopted his decision.
“Lance, you must mount instantly and fly; I'll
take the bush and try to get into safe cover. There's
no time to waste, so at once about it. To horse, boy;
why do you stand?”
“Why, sir, it's you that's wanted in camp, not me.
I can hide in the bush just as well as you, sir; I'm
not afraid!”
“Go to, my poor boy; go to, and be not foolish; do
as you're told and no trifling. Know you not that if
they take you they'll hang you to the tree as a rebel?”
“But, sir, they will hang you too—I know that; and
I'm small—I can hide better in the bush than you.”
“Vex me not, but do as I have told you. Mount at
once and fly, or I shoot you down on the spot. Go.
I shall save myself.”
The boy obeyed reluctantly, and it was high time
that he should. He had barely time to remount, which
he did with a sad, slow step, when he heard the voices
of the pursuers, who, in all this while, had failed to
hear the tread of the fugitives. The boy fled quickly
on his way, and leaving the lamed horse in the road,
not having time to remove him, the partisan plunged
into the thick woods alongside, just in season to
avoid the immediate observation of the pursuers.
a native instinct, hobbled forward feebly, as it were to
escape them, they quickly surrounded him, and, perceiving
his condition, at once conjectured that the rider
was in the adjoining cover. The voice of Proctor was
at once heard in the promptest order—
“Dismount, fellows—dismount, and search the wood
—he must be close at hand, and cannot escape us if
you look well. The woods are thin and open. Five
guineas, you know, dead or alive, to the man that first
takes him.”
“Ah! there's a chance, then, for a choice of death,
at least,” said Singleton to himself, bitterly, as, standing
immediately beside the road, he heard the sanguinary
order. His hands fingered his belt, unconsciously,
where the pistols had been placed, and he
cursed the thoughtlessness which had brought him off
from the dwelling without having first secured them.
But he made up his mind to resist at all hazards, weaponless
or not, if once encountered. He had his hope
of escape, however, and one that did not seem so very
unreasonable. Instead of rushing off into the woods,
where, from the lack of undergrowth, he might have
been discovered readily, he clung to the luxuriant
brush, the product of a vigorous sun acting freely upon
it, that skirted the road. The troopers dismounted,
all but Proctor himself, and another, who seemed a
corporal, and was addressed as such. Supposing, very
naturally, that the fugitive would seek to imbower
himself as far in the woods as possible, they scattered
themselves over too large a surface; and the cries and
the clamour of the search gradually receded from the
highway. Proctor, meanwhile, accompanied by the
single trooper who had been left with him, alternated
to and fro over the road; and as he moved down the
path, a new prospect of escape was suggested to the
active mind of the partisan. The horses of the
troopers were fastened to the swinging boughs of a
tree only a few paces distant. Could he reach them
unheard? He looked out, and waited until the forms of
road, then cautiously keeping in the ditch skirting the
track, and still behind the bush, he approached the
tree. The horses looked up as he drew nigh; and
with a careful glance he strove to single out a stout
animal before he emerged from cover. He did so—
one a few yards distant pleased him best, and he
anxiously awaited until the two riders, who were now
returning, should again wander away from the spot, to
rush out and secure him. In the mean while the hunt
of the troopers continued in the wood. The dancing
shadows in the starlight occasionally deceived them
into hopes of the fugitive—sometimes the persons of
one another; and on these occasions their hurras and
encouraging shouts were prodigious. Proctor passed
close beside the tree as he came up, in the rear of
which Singleton had sheltered himself. He was
chafed at the delay, and shouted to his men as laggards,
repeating the reward offered, and in his tone and
language alike clearly evincing his own earnestness in
the desire which he expressed.
“He must be there, Corporal Turner—he could not
have gone far, sir—but a moment before he was
mounted, and we heard both horses distinctly. This
beast is Singleton's, for so the fellow Blonay described
him—a bright sorrel, with long tail, and a white blaze
on his right shoulder. This is the animal.”
“It is, sir—the very nag; and, as you say, sir, he
cannot have gone far into the bush, if he went in at all;
but may he not, sir, have gone double with the boy on
the other horse?”
“The devil!—yes—I did not think of that; and if
so, we have lost him. Damnation!—it must be so.”
And in his chagrin Proctor resumed his sauntering
ride to and fro along the high-road, followed by the
corporal at a little distance. How impatiently, yet
cautiously, did the partisan look forth from the bush,
watching their movements! Satisfied at length with
the distance thrown between them, and impelled the
more readily by the increasing and approaching clamour
cover, and with a most marvellous composure undid the
loop of the bridle from the bough, and led out the steed
which his eye had already chosen. It was a broad-chested,
strong-shouldered, and well-built animal, that,
under ordinary circumstances, would have been admirably
well calculated both for flight and burden. But
he had been hardly ridden that night, and there was no
erectness in his head and neck—nothing elastic in his
tread—as Singleton led him out from the group. But
there was no time to be lost in lamenting this. Besides,
his condition was that of all the rest, and the
prospect of the escape now was quite as good as that
of the pursuit. In an instant more he was mounted—
the head of his animal turned up the road, and, with a
single glance behind him to note the distance of his
enemy, he plied the spur, and once more resumed his
flight.
“What is that?” cried Proctor to the corporal.
“Ha! it must be the rebel; and, by Heaven! upon one
of our own horses. Ride—ride, sir—after him with
me, and he shall not escape us yet—my horse is too
good for any he could get from that pack, and I can
soon overhaul him. Sound, sir, for the men to saddle
and follow—sound, sir, and follow.”
His orders were given with a rapidity almost emulating
his horse's speed. Vexation at being so foiled,
anger at the object, and a sense of his duty, alike stimulated
the Briton to the most hearty endeavours. His
steed went over the ground like an arrow, while the
corporal wound his bugle, calling up the wandering
troops dispersed about the wood. His animal failed
entirely to keep up with that of his commander, and
Proctor had the satisfaction to perceive that he gained
upon the fugitive. Singleton was soon conscious of
this fact, and seeing that there was but one enemy, he
began to calculate the necessity of a conflict at all
hazards, almost without a weapon and trusting only to a
proper management of his steed to foil and overthrow
that of his pursuer. He was a good horseman, and
achieved. These calculations became momently more
and more necessary. The closer tramp of the pursuing
steed was now sharply in his ears, and he had already
meditated the sudden turn upon him as soon as he
should reach the top of that slight elevation of land to
which he was fast speeding. This would give him an
advantage in descending upon the uptoiling charger.
With this purpose, he gathered up the reins with a firm
but not a close grasp upon the animal, as his object
was not by any means to restrain him; he placed his
feet firmly in the stirrups, which he threw close under
the belly of the steed, wrapping his legs, as it were,
around him; then, crouching forward upon the saddle,
he awaited the proper moment for the contemplated
evolution. The pursuer came on with a reckless, unrestrainable
motion, and had already begun to move
along the elevation, when he drew the curb so suddenly
upon his horse's mouth as almost to throw him
back upon his haunches. The rush of a troop in front
was in his ears, with the cry of many voices. The
partisan also looked forward, and wondered, dreading
to find himself between two enemies; but the next
moment reassured him, as he heard the voice of the
boy Lance Frampton, who was evidently in advance
of the new-comers.
“Here they are! here they are, Colonel Walton!
They have killed the major! show 'em no quarter!—
cut 'em down—cut 'em down! There's not many of
them.”
“Back, boy! keep from the track!—to the rear,
to the rear!” cried the individual in command, while
waving his sword and advancing towards Singleton.
The partisan cried out to his uncle in the next moment—
“Ha! a friend in need, good uncle! I shall remember
the proverb.” And, without a word farther, he
wheeled in with the advancing troop, which consisted of
the little party of volunteers pledged to go out with
Walton. Proctor was near enough to hear the diaIogue
turn to fly, and he delayed not in the endeavour. But
the troop of Walton, comparatively fresh, for they had
just started forth from their place of assemblage near
the Cross Roads when they met with Lance, was down
upon him in an instant. Proctor bravely threw himself
forward upon the first trooper that approached him, and
his sword flashed back defiance upon them, while his
voice shouted encouragingly, as if it could have been
heard, to his men, who were now approaching, though
not yet in sight. They certainly could not have come
up in time to save him, had Walton pressed the assault;
but that gentleman disdained the advantages which
were in his grasp.
“Forbear, Colonel Proctor,” he said, mildly and
respectfully, as he rode up in front of his enemy. “We
purpose you no harm at this moment. You are free
to return to your troop. When we meet, sir, again in
strife, there will be no surprise on either side, and our
several positions will then be understood.”
“Colonel Walton,” replied the Briton, “I bitterly
regret to see you thus—espousing a cause so indefensible
and hopeless.”
“Neither indefensible nor hopeless, sir, as you shall
see in time. But there is no need of comment here.
I forbear all the advantages of the present moment, as
I am unwilling that you should think I have played the
hypocrite to deceive you thus to your ruin. You have
forborne, sir, heretofore, in your treatment of my house
—your intentions have been friendly: permit me, sir,
to requite them as I do now. You are at liberty.
Farewell, sir. The terms of our meeting, henceforward,
must accord with those existing between my
country and yours—peace or war! peace or war!—
Farewell, sir.”
Proctor, chagrined at his disappointment, was nevertheless
highly touched with the courtesy of his new
enemy. In a few brief words he uttered his acknowledgments,
and turned back to meet his troop, with a
bitter spirit, sore on many accounts. His present hope
her as he did, how painful was the new position
in which he stood to her father! The subject distressed
him; and he strove by a motion as rapid as
that of the pursuit to escape from thoughts too little calculated
to yield him satisfaction to win him to their
indulgence. The parties were separated; the one on
its way back to the garrison, the other, somewhat more
imposing from its new acquisition of force, speeding
boldly for the Cypress Swamp.
| CHAPTER VIII. The partisan | |