 | CHAPTER XIV.
RANSOM. The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
RANSOM.
Never was good old gentleman, in the full enjoyment of the
otium cum dignitate, less prepared for further disquiet that
morning, than our sturdy Baron of Sinclair. The previous
events of the day had had the effect of subduing his mood to
one of a quiet, if not a pleasant melancholy. The excitement
occasioned by the supposed danger of his son had not exactly
passed away; but remained in some degree, a cause of thought
and meditation. The old man was brooding over past and present,
anxious and somewhat weary — not so much vexed as sad
— musing upon disappointed expectations, and with those doubts
of his own, and the future of his family, which his very confidence
in the ultimate success of the king's arms, was calculated
to awaken. But his general temper was subdued for a season.
He was partly exhausted by his previous excitement, and a
brief forbearance, on the part of his gout, had left him in a degree
of ease of body, in which his mind could brood without
suffering. His features were now mild. His eyes watched the
play of little Lottie, and he sometimes answered her little
queries, with a childish prattle like her own. Suddenly, the
child approached him with a bound, inspiring him with the utmost
terrors for his foot. He could not stir a peg, and so sensitive
and nervous had he become on the subject of this delicate
member, that he waved her off with both hands as he cried
aloud:—
“Keep off, Lottie, if you would not hear papa squall out.”
“Would it hurt you so very, very much, papa?”
“Don't you think, Lottie, that it must be a very great hurt,
indeed, that would make papa squall out as you sometimes do?”
“As I did t'other night, papa, when the bat flew into the
scare, papa. It just brushed my shoulder with its wings.”
“Yes, Lottie, and it scares me almost as much when you
come bounding about my sore foot like a young kitten.”
“But I wouldn't hurt your foot, papa, for anything. Why
don't you let me nurse your foot? I'd like to help sister Carrie
when she dresses it and binds it up for you in the morning and
at night. I can dress it, I'm sure, just as good as sis. Look
at my little Sophy now. See how I've dressed her, and she
knows how well she looks. Don't you see how big her eyes
are, and how proud she is? And this is all my dressing. I
dress her a dozen times a day, and know just how to put on
everything. And won't you let me dress your poor old foot as
well as sis?”
“Ah! you are not yet able for that, Lottie. Some day,
perhaps, if papa lives till you have grown a young lady, we shall
then see what sort of nurse you will make.”
“Thank you, papa! I shall be so glad.” And as she drew
close to his side, he put his arm about and kissed her. The old
soldier was not always stormy.”
“There now, Lottie, go to your playthings, my dear; I feel
nothing but fear and trembling when you are skipping about
me. And yet, Lottie, I would not that you should cease to
skip — only skip away — afar off!”
“I won't skip, papa — I won't go near your foot. I wouldn't
hurt you for anything.”
“Not designedly, Lottie — you would not. But children are
careless and thoughtless little creatures, and they frequently do
mischief without meaning it. You did not mean to let the
parrot out, Lottie; nor to break the big glass shade; nor to
upset and break my physic bottle; nor to tumble out of the
piazza; — nor to —”
“Oh! papa, don't tell everything. How can you remember
everything against me so?”
“I wish you to remember, Lottie.”
“But I don't wish to remember, papa. I don't like it. It
makes me feel so ashamed.”
“And this feeling of shame is a good thing sometimes, Lottie;
and it is very well, so long as little girls and boys can feel it.
they cease to feel it. But, go to your play, my child. I love to
see you play.”
“I am not playing now, papa; I'm working! See what a
beautiful dress I've just made for little Sophy. I made it all
myself. Sis only cut it out.”
“Very pretty! How many of your sister's dresses have you
cut up, Lottie, making frocks for little Sophy that never feels
the cold?”
“Oh! we don't cut up any except when they're not fit to be
worn any more. Sis don't let me. But, papa, do you really
like to see me about you, and hear me prattle, as you call it?”
“To hear you prattle, very much; to see you too; but not
too near my feet, Lottie;— that's all — remember that!”—seeing
the child again approaching him.
“Do you want to hear the song I've just learned, papa?
Sis taught me. It's so sweet and pretty — all about
And I looked at him and he looked at me.—
And he said, `Little girl, do you like as you look?'
That saucy gray squirrel upon the green tree.”
“A saucy little squirrel, indeed;— but enough of the song now,
Lottie. Some other time you shall sing it all for me. No
doubt it is a very pretty song, if Carrie taught you, for she
knows how to sing pretty songs, and to make them too.”
“She made that one, papa; and she made another that she
sings herself, all about
“A handsome cavalier—”
“Ha! ha! so she sings of handsome cavaliers, does she?
and you would like to sing of a handsome cavalier too, would
you?”
“Yes, if sis would only teach me, but she won't teach me
that song. But I mean to watch her, and listen, when she
isn't thinking, papa, and I'll learn it all by myself.”
“What! stratagem already? And do you remember nothing
more about that handsome cavalier?”
“Not much — it is something about `a handsome cavalier,'
and `a baldric blue,' and how `He rode at early dawn.'”
“Only, I suppose, `to brush the morning dew!' Well, it
won't do to mangle your sister's verses; so, when you have
stolen them from her tongue, then come, Lottie, and hide them
away in papa's ear, and we'll enjoy the stolen fruit together.”
“Oh! yes, papa! That will be so nice. Won't it make
sissi open her eyes when she hears it?”
“And her ears too, if you sing as loudly as you talk, Lottie.
But look out my child, and see who it is in the back piazza. I
hear a strange voice and footsteps.”
“I don't hear anything, papa.”
“Go, see, little Lottie, and come tell papa.”
The child put down her toys and disappeared in the passage.
Her prattle had not prepared the veteran for the sort of visiter
he was now required to entertain. Scarcely a moment had
elasped when the child ran back, crying aloud:—
“Oh, papa, a strange man, and so ugly!”
“Not so blasted ugly either, little Ninny!” exclaimed Dick
of Tophet, who had followed close behind her, and heard her
speech distinctly. He entered the room speaking, dashed his
cap down upon the table, and threw himself into a chair directly
opposite the cushioned feet of the colonel. The veteran opened
his eyes widely at the apparition.
“How are you, old buck, this warm weather?”
Never was mortal astonishment greater than that of our baron
at this impudent intrusion and speech. Little Lottie disappeared
in terror, flying up stairs. For a moment the colonel
was absolutely speechless. The other resumed:—
“I say, how are you, old buck, this hot weather?”
“Who the devil are you?” demanded Sinclair, finding his
tongue in his increasing indignation.
“The devil himself, if you choose, come to look after his people!
How are you, I say, in this brimstone weather?”
The colonel stretched out his hand to possess himself of his
gold-headed cane, the only weapon near him. His purpose
was apparent in his eye. But the ruffian was too quick for him,
and too watchful. He had only to thrust out his arm, to send
the cane away beyond the old man's reach. It was a heavy
weapon of rosewood, and rolled along smoothly over the mahogany,
until it made a final plunge from the table to the floor.
The fury of the colonel may be conjectured — not easily described.
He made an involuntary effort to rise; but Dick of
Tophet had a formidable ally in that great toe; and a sudden
terrible twinge in the member, at once taught the veteran his
utter helplessness. He roared out:—
“Halloo, there! Benny! Little Peter!”
“You waste the wind, old fellow, that would cool your hominy.
The niggers are all off, you remember, looking for your
son's body.”
“My son's body? My son!—”
“Yes! He that was murdered last night by Pete Blodgit
and Hell-fire Dick, you know. Ha! ha! ha! And you believed
that story, old boy? Well, if it will be any consolation
to you to know, then I'll tell you, that your son's safe for the
present. He's in powerful good hands. We've caught him, the
young rebel, and he's in a close hitch, under a good-sized hickory,
not half a mile off. He is still alive, and kicking; but
whether he'll live another hour, all depends on you! I've
come to see how much ransom you're ready to pay down —
guineas — on the hub! How much gould do you valley his
neck at?”
The father's agonies came back.
“Do you tell me that my son is a prisoner?”
“Fast in a fix — tight as a blacksmith's vice!”
“To whom is he a prisoner?”
“Why, to me and my brother sodgers, to be sure!”
“And who are you?”
“Who am I? That's a pretty question. I thought the very
looks of me was enough to let common people know who I am.
But you don't count yourself among common people, I remember.
You're a great harrystocrat, and can't see and feel as
common people do! Well, I'll teach you who I am; and ef
you won't l'arn it by common word of mouth, I've many other
ways of giving you onderstanding before I'm done with you.
Look at me good, old fellow, and you sees Joel Andrews —
that's my nateral name, you see, that I got from my dad and
the parson; but ef you really wants to know me, as the common
people knows me, then I'm `Hell-fire Dick,' at your
sarvice!”
The outlaw seemed to entertain a certain pride in his fearful
nom de guerre, and his head was uplifted, and his arm
stretched out, with a sort of theatrical dignity, as he concluded.
“And are you that bloody villain?”
“Come! come! no bloody compliments, you old heathen
harrystocrat! Keep a civil tongue in your head! You're
speaking to one of his majesty's off'cers, let me tell you; and,
more than that, as I tell'd you before, your rebel son's neck is
at the eend of my stirrup-leather. So, be as decent as you kin
be, ef you have a mind to his salvation.”
“You in his majesty's service?”
“To be sure — why not? Don't you think I kin cut and
slash as well as Tarleton? and ef you ever seed Huck, you'll
say I'm jest as good-looking a person.”
“In his majesty's commission! — never!”
“Why, you bloody old rebel! do you doubt my word?”
“Rebel! Oh! scoundrel, if I could get at you!” And the
veteran writhed in his chair, from the double pangs of gout and
indignation.
“'Twouldn't help you much, old fellow, ef you could. I
could lay you out with a single wipe. So you needn't git into
a passion, and I don't mean to let you put me in one. I'm as
cool as blazes. You see I've got your rebel son in a hitch —
him and you both, pretty much in the same sort of fix — he to
a hickory, and you to a harm-chair — got you both jest where I
wants you; — and so I kin afford to let your tongue wag a bit.
When you're tired, you kin listen. But don't go too fur and talk
too long; for I hain't got much time to be wasting upon you, and
I ain't the most easy-tempered person in a marching rigiment.
I jest wants you to see your true sitivation, and Willie Sinclair's
sitivation; and then we'll talk about the tarms. For
short then, you're to onderstand, that, ef you wants to get him
out of the rope, you've got one thing to do — pay up — shell
out — ontwist — empty!”
And the outlaw accompanied his speech with suitable action,
showing the process of disbursing from purse and pocket.
The fierce old colonel, “angry to kill,” was yet enough of
the old soldier to discover that he was truly “in a hitch,” as the
ruffian described his own and son's “sitivation.” He was held
faithful staff was taken from his hands — and he was a prisoner
in his chair! His gouty foot kept him in continual anxiety;
for the action of the outlaw brought him, at times, into fearful
propinquity with the diseased member. What was to be done?
Proud as was his stomach, and fierce his courage, his only hope
lay in temporizing with the ruffian, until he could procure succor.
Yet, if it were true that his two faithful negroes were absent
from the plantation, in a fruitless search after a son who
was a prisoner at hand, and threatened with the halter — where
was his hope? The cold sweat broke out in thick drops over
the old man's face. He was in that condition, which Benny described
as one in which he frequently found him — ready to boil
over. But, though ready to boil over, he did not dare to suffer
that operation now; and to keep down the steam of his passion,
at high pressure, required all his strength of soul and body upon
the valve. It was amusing, under the circumstances, to witness
his labored efforts to look and speak with becoming moderation,
if not mildness.
“Hem! and so — you say, sir — that — a — you are a king's
man — an officer in his majesty's service?”
“Ah! your tune changes, does it? You kin be civil of your
tongue when it pleases you! That's always the way with you
overbearing harrystocrats. When you've got the whip-hand
of a body, you're all thunder; but when you're flat on your
backs, you kin lick the hand of a poor man — ay, and wash
his feet for him!”
Oh! how the proud man writhed in his torture of mind and
body! The other proceeded —
“But what's it to you, ef I'm king's or liberty man! I'm
king myself, hyar, jest now; and I hev' your neck, and your
son's neck both, ef I please, in a short halter, under a spreading
limb. And who's to say `stop,' ef I say `swing.' Kain't
you onderstand yit? That's your sitivation. And now, for
your son's ransom. What do you say to that? Fork up
steady!”
The old man recovered his dignity, though he spoke with
bitterness. There was a degree of humiliation, to which
neither his own, nor his son's danger, could bend his soul.
“Verily, what matters it what you are, when I am thus! I
am at any man's mercy! I can neither fight nor fly!”
“That's the hitch! Didn't I say that you were in a fix,
tight as any blacksmith's vice?”
“You call yourself a British officer? It may be so — though
it will be very long before I shall persuade myself that his
majesty trusts his commission to such a person as yourself!”
“Take care, old fellow! Every imperdent speech of yourn,
adds so much to the ransom. Mind what you're saying?”
The colonel simply waved his hand impatiently, and continued:—
“If you are a British officer, and my son is your prisoner,
you have no power upon his life. Take him to the nearest
post, and lodge him in prison. There ends your duty. You
have no right either to hang or ransom.”
“Don't tell me of rights, old Billzebub! My right is hyar,
and hyar!” — touching the pistols and knife at his girdle —
“and these rights, hyar, old fiddlestick, kin take your ears off,
and slit your pipe for you, as easy as talking! You're my
prisoner, too, I'll let you know, you d—d old rebel, and I'll hev'
a ransom out of you for all the family, gal-children and all,
jest the same as for your son, before I let a hair of one of 'em
out of my hands!”
The steam became terribly eager for escape; the valves
could not endure the strain; they yielded.
“Rebel!” roared the colonel, his loyalty irritated beyond
measure. “Rebel! villain!”
“To be sure, and a d—d imperdent one at that! Look you,
old Sinkler, I knows you well, and all your kidney. You're
one of them bloody, proud, heathen harrystocrats, that look
upon a poor man, without edication, as no better than a sort of
two-legged dog, that you kin lay the lash on whenever you
see him lying in the doorway. And your son is jest another
sich a tyrant heathen! And you've had a long swing between
you, living on the fat of the land, and riding roughshod over
poor men's backs. But thar's a great change, thanks to the
king's marcies! and the good time for the poor man's come at
last! — and, now, we've got a-top of the wheel! We've got
the chaince at the good things of this life; and we kin pay off
cane! And I'll make you feel both afore I'm done
with you! I'll hev' you, and all your family, on your marrow-bones
before me, or the rope shall stretch with the weight of
some of you; and them we don't hang to the swinging limb, we
may stretch in some other way! So look you, by the old Satan,
and Billzebub, and all other devils, the blackest that ever come
out of the infarnal pit, I swear that you shall buckle down to
me to-day! Pay up — let's have your gould and silver, and
plate — call down them gal-children — I want to look at 'em
close; — call 'em, I say, and jest you prepare to give up all I
axes, or it's a short cord for you, and no time for grace.”
The boiler burst!
The strain upon it could be borne no longer! With a desperate
effort, the veteran, defying pain, strove to rise. All now
was iron in his face and soul. The energy and courage of fifty
years reanimated him. His eyes, unblinking, were fastened
upon those of the insolent ruffian, with the deadly intensity of
the rattlesnake. Could looks slay, that one glance would have
been fatal to the wretch. The gout was forgotten! He rose
to his feet, and appeared about to throw himself upon the outlaw,
when his limbs failed; and, though his agony forced not
a groan from his bosom, he caught upon the leaf of the table,
and sank back into his chair.
For a moment speechless from pain, he hushed every other
acknowledgment of his sufferings, and recovering himself as
rapidly as possible, with eyes as stern, and voice as firm, as if
he were superior to any torture, he exclaimed —
“Dog! wretch! reptile! I spit upon and defy you!”
And he seconded the speech with the appropriate action. It
was all of which he was capable. Of course, he looked for the
death-stroke in another moment. But his brave soul was unblenching,
and his eye sternly braved that of the executioner,
with all the loathing scorn which belonged to the indignity to
which he had subjected him.
With mixed howl and scream, like that of some wild beast
goaded with spear and fire, the ruffian started to his feet, drew
his knife, and was about to spring upon his victim! But, even
as he leaped, he fell!
There was a slight rush from without — a rustle rather — a
movement so light and rapid as to seem a flash — then a blow
was heard, dull and heavy — and a fall! The outlaw reeled
incontinently backward, sunk hopelessly against the table, bore
it down with him in a general crash, and lay prostrate — the
blood gushing from mouth and ears — stunned and silent upon
the floor!
| CHAPTER XIV.
RANSOM. The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days | |