University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

To one familar with the dense swamps that skirt the rivers
through the alluvial bottom lands of the South, there will be no
difficulty in comprehending the fact that a fugitive may find
temporary security within half a mile of his enemy, even where
his pursuers hunt for him in numbers. Thus it happened that,
in taking to the river, our little corporal's guard of patriots, under
the direction of Elijah Fields, the worthy preacher, swimming
their horses round a point of land on the opposite shore,
sought shelter but a little distance below “Bear island,” in a
similar tract of swamp and forest, and almost within rifleshot of
their late retreat. They had no fear that their enemy would
attempt, at that late hour, and after the long fatigue of their
recent march and search, to cross the river in pursuit of them;
and had they been wild enough to do so, it was equally easy to
hide from search, or to fly from pursuit. Dunbar felt all this as
sensibly as the fugitives; and, with the conviction of his entire
failure at “Bear Castle,” he gave up the game for the present.
Meanwhile, the little bark of Frederica Sabb made its way down
the river. She made her calculations on a just estimate of the
probabilities in the situation of Coulter's party, and was not deceived.
As the boat swept over to the opposite shore, after
rounding the point of land that lay between it and “Bear Castle,”
it was hailed by Fields, for whom Brough had ready answer.
Some delay, the fruit of a proper caution, took place before our
fugitives were properly sensible of the character of the stranger;
but the result was, that, with returning consciousness, Richard
Coulter found himself once more in safety with his friends; and,
a still more precious satisfaction, attended by the woman of his
heart. It was not long before all the adventures of Frederica
were in his possession, and his spirit became newly strengthened
for conflict and endurance by such proofs of a more than feminine
attachment which the brave young girl had shown. Let us leave
the little party for a season, while we return with the captain of
loyalists to the farmstead of old Frederick Sabb.

Here Mat Dunbar had again taken up his quarters as before,
but with a difference. Thoroughly enraged at his disappointment,
and at the discovery that Frederica had disappeared — a fact
which produced as much disquiet in the minds of her parents, as
vexation to her tory lover; and easily guessing at all of the steps
which she had taken, and of her object; he no longer imposed
any restraints upon his native brutality of temper, which, while
he had any hope of winning her affections, he had been at some
pains to do. His present policy seemed to be to influence her
fears. To reach her heart, or force her inclinations, through the
dangers of her parents, was now his object. Unfortunately, the
lax discipline of the British authority, in Carolina particularly,
in behalf of their own followers, enabled him to do much toward
this object, and without peril to himself. He had anticipated
the position in which he now found himself, and had provided
against it. He had obtained from Col. Nesbitt Balfour, the military
commandant of Charleston, a grant of the entire farmstead
of old Sabb — the non-committalism of the old Dutchman never
having enabled him to satisfy the British authorities that he was
a person deserving their protection. Of the services and loyalty
of Dunbar, on the contrary, they were in possession of daily evidence.
It was with indescribable consternation that old Sabb
looked upon the massive parchment — sealed, signed, and made
authoritative by stately phrases and mysterious words, of the purport
of which he could only conjecture — with which the fierce
Dunbar denounced him as a traitor to the king, and expelled him
from his own freehold.

“Oh! mein Gott!” was his exclamation. “And did the goot
king Tshorge make dat baber? And has de goot king Tshorge
take away my grants?”

The only answer to this pitiful appeal, vouchsafed him by the
captain of loyalists, was a brutal oath, as he smote the document
fiercely with his hand and forbade all further inquiry. It may
have been with some regard to the probability of his future marriage
— in spite of all — with the old Dutchman's daughter, that
he permitted him, with his wife, to occupy an old log-house
which stood upon the estate. He established himself within the
dwelling-house, which he occupied as a garrisoned post with all
his soldiers. Here he ruled as a sovereign. The proceeds of

the farm were yielded to him, the miserable pittance excepted
which he suffered to go to the support of the old couple. Sabb
had a few slaves, who were now taught to recognise Dunbar as
their master. They did not serve him long. Three of them
escaped to the woods the night succeeding the tory's usurpation,
and but two remained in his keeping, rather, perhaps, through
the vigilance of his sentinels, and their own fears, than because
of any love which they entertained for their new custodian.
Both of these were women, and one of them no less a person
than the consort of Brough, the African. Mrs. Brough — or, as we
had better call her — she will understand us better — Mimy (the
diminutive of Jemima), was particularly watched, as through her
it was hoped to get some clue to her husband, whose treachery,
it was the bitter resolution of our tory captain to punish, as soon
as he had the power, with exemplary tortures. Brough had some
suspicions of his design, which it was no part of his policy to
assist; but this did not discourage him from an adventure which
brought him again very nearly into contact with his enemy. He
determined to visit his wife by stealth, relying upon his knowledge
of the woods, his own caution, and the thousand little arts
with which his race usually takes advantage of the carelessness,
the indifference, or the ignorance of its superior. His wife, he
well knew, conscious of his straits, would afford him assistance
in various ways. He succeeded in seeing her just before the
dawn of day one morning, and from her discovered the whole
situation of affairs at the farmstead. This came to him with
many exaggerations; particularly when Mimy described the
treatment to which old Sabb and his wife had been subjected.
His tale did not lose any of its facts or dimensions, when carried
by Brough to the fugitives in the swamp forests of Edisto. The
news was of a character to overwhelm the affectionate and dutiful
heart of Frederica Sabb. She instantly felt the necessity before
her, and prepared herself to encounter it. Nine days and nights
had she spent in the forest retreats of her lover. Every tenderness
and forbearance had been shown her. Nothing had taken
place to outrage the delicacy of the female heart; and pure
thoughts in her mind had kept her free from any annoying
doubts about the propriety of her situation. A leafy screen from
the sun, a sylvan bower, of broad branches and thickly-thatched
leaves, had been prepared for her couch at night; and, in one
contiguous, lay her wounded lover. His situation had amply
reconciled her to her own. His wound was neither deep nor
dangerous. He had bled copiously, and swooned rather in consequence
of loss of blood than from the severity of his pains.
But the hands of Elijah Field — a rough but not wholly inexperienced
surgeon—had bound up his hurts; which were thus permitted
to heal from the first intention. The patient was not slow
to improve, though so precious sweet had been his attendance —
Frederica herself, like the damsels of the feudal ages, assisting
to dress his wound, and so tender him with sweetest nursing, that
he felt almost sorry at the improvement which, while lessening
his cares, lessened her anxieties. Our space will not suffer us to
dwell upon the delicious scenes of peace and love which the two
enjoyed together in these few brief days of mutual dependence.
They comprised an age of immeasurable felicity, and brought
the two together in bonds of sympathy, which, however large
had been their love before, now rendered the passion more than
ever at home and triumphant in their mutual hearts. But, with
the tidings of the situation in which her parents suffered, and the
evident improvement of her lover, the maiden found it necessary
to depart from her place of hiding — that sweet security of
shade, such as the fancy of youth always dreams of, but which
it is the lot of very few to realize. She took her resolution
promptly.

“I must leave you, Richard. I must go home to my poor
mother, now that she is homeless.”

He would, if he could, have dissuaded her from venturing herself
within the reach of one so reckless and brutal as Mat Dunbar.
But his sense of right seconded her resolution, and though
he expressed doubts and misgivings, and betrayed his uneasiness
and anxiety, he had no arguments to offer against her purpose.
She heard him with a sweet smile, and when he had finished,
she said: —

“But I will give you one security, dear Richard, before we
part, if you will suffer me. You would have married me more
than a year ago; but as I knew my father's situation, his preferences,
and his dangers, I refused to do so until the war was
over. It has not helped him that I refused you then. I don't

see that it will hurt him if I marry you now; and there is something
in the life we have spent together the last few days, that
tells me we ought to be married, Richard.”

This was spoken with the sweetest possible blush upon her
cheeks.

“Do you consent, then, dear Frederica?” demanded the enraptured
lover.

She put her hand into his own; he carried it to his lips, then
drew her down to him where he lay upon his leafy couch, and
repeated the same liberty with hers. His shout, in another
moment, summoned Elijah Field to his side. The business in
prospect was soon explained. Our good parson readily concurred
in the propriety of the proceeding. The inhabitants of the
little camp of refuge were soon brought together, Brough placing
himself directly behind his young mistress. The white teeth of
the old African grinned his approbation; the favoring skies
looked down upon it, soft in the dreamy twilight of the evening
sunset; and there, in the natural temple of the forest — none
surely ever prouder or more appropriate — with columns of gigantic
pine and cypress, and a Gothic luxuriance of vine, and leaf,
and flower, wrapping shaft, and cornice, capital and shrine, our
two lovers were united before God — our excellent preacher
never having a more solemn or grateful sense of the ceremony,
and never having been more sweetly impressive in his manner
of performing it. It did not impair the validity of the marriage
that Brough honored it, as he would probably have done his
own, by dancing Juba, for a full hour after it was over, to his
own satisfaction at least, and in the absence of all other witnesses.
Perhaps, of all his little world, there were none whom the
old negro loved quite so much, white or black, as his young
mistress and her youthful husband. With the midnight, Frederica
left the camp of refuge under the conduct of Elijah Fields.
They departed in the boat, the preacher pulling up stream —
no easy work against a current of four knots — with a vigorous
arm, which, after a tedious space, brought him to the landing
opposite old Sabb's farm. Here Frederica landed, and the dawn
of day found her standing in front of the old log-house which
had been assigned her parents, and a captive in the strict custody
of the tory sentries.