University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

“Stir not—move a foot, and you die!”—were the
brief words of Singleton, as, with foot upon his breast,
he kept the bearer of despatches prostrate upon the
earth. The man saw the peremptory look, the ready
pistol, and he doubted not that the words were sternly
earnest. His struggles ceased with the command, and
handing his cocked pistol to the attentive boy Frampton,
the partisan proceeded to examine the prize which
he had gained. The screw soon yielded up its trust,
and the intelligence was important. The courier
showed symptoms of disquiet, and the foot of his conqueror
was pressed, in consequence, more firmly upon
his bosom.

“Shoot him if he stirs,” said Singleton to the boy, who
looked his readiness to obey the command. The former
then perused the cramped document which the billet
had contained. Its contents were valuable, and greatly
assisted our hero in his own progress. Though from
an enemy, it contained desirable intelligence, and taken
in connection with the verbal narrative which the courier
had given of the presence of Marion's men on the
Santee, it at once determined Singleton to make an
early movement in that quarter. The despatch was
from Lord Rawdon, in command at Camden, to Earl
Cornwallis at Charlestown. It claimed the immediate
attendance of the commander-in-chief in Camden, to
quell discontents, and prepare for the enemy—announcing
the approach of Gates with a formidable army of
seven thousand men. This was the alleged force of
the continentals, an amount greatly exaggerated beyond
the truth, but at this time confidently believed and insisted

upon by both parties in the state. The express
contained, in addition to this highly interesting matter,
the heads of other subjects not less interesting to the
partisan, and scarcely less important to the cause.
It described, in brief, numerous risings in every quarter;
the defection of the militia en masse, under Lyle,
who had carried them over to Sumter; the union of
Sumter with the Waxsaw whigs; and the affairs on the
Catawba, at Williams's and the Rocky Mount: in all of
which the “Game Cock” had handled the enemy severely.
The despatch betrayed great anxiety, and its
contents were of the most stimulating tendency to
Singleton. It now impressed upon him the necessity
of that early movement to join with Marion which he
had already contemplated.

“You may rise, sir,” said the partisan, moving his
heel from the breast of the courier, who had lain quietly
enough but uncomfortably under it.

“You may rise, but you are my prisoner—no words,
but prepare to submit. See to your animal—make no
effort to fly, or I shoot you down on the instant.”

The man rose tamely enough, but sullenly. After a
few moments he found his speech, which was now
more agreeable and less broken than when the bullet
was revolving to and fro in his jaws.

“Well, now, captain, this is mighty hard, now, I do
think. You won't keep me, I reckon, seeing I'm no
fighting man, and haint got any weapons. I'm a non-combatant,
so I am, and I aint free to be taken prisoner.
It's agin the laws, I reckon.”

“Indeed! but we'll see. Mount, sir, and no talking.”

“Well, it's a tough business, and I do think, after all,
that it's only joking with me you are—you're two good
loyalists, now, I'm certain.”

“You mistake, sir, I'm an American—one of Marion's
men, and no traitor. To horse, and no more of
this—no trifling.”

“God help me, captain, but you're not in airnest,
sure? It's no small difficulty, now, this express, and
it's a matter to be well paid for; and if so be you are,

for certain, one of Marion's men, you mought let 'n
have a free pass up, for a smart chance of the guineas.
Afore God, captain, if you'll only clear the road you
shall have one half—”

The pistol was at his head.

“Another word, scoundrel, and I send the bullet
through your scull. Mount, quickly—quickly!”

With the back of his hand he smote the tory upon
his mouth as he spoke, and the fire of insulted patriotism
flashed from his eye, with a threatening brightness
that silenced at once, and most effectually, all farther
solicitations from the bearer of despatches. Reluctantly,
but without farther pause, he got into saddle,
taking the place assigned him by his captor, between
himself and the boy. In this manner they took their
way to the Cypress Swamp, and it was not long before
they were, all three, lodged in its safe and deep recesses.

There we find our almost forgotten friends, the gourmand
and good-natured Porgy, and the attenuated naturalist,
Doctor Oakenburger; the one about to engage in
his favourite vocation, and hurrying the evening meal,
the other sublimely employed in stuffing with moss the
skin of a monstrous “coachwhip,” which, to his great
delight, the morning before, he had been successful
enough to take with a crotch stick, and to kill without
bruising. Carefully skinned, and dried in the shade, the
rich colours and glossy glaze of the reptile had been
well preserved, and now, carefully filled out with the
soft and pliant moss, as it lay across the doctor's lap,
it wore, to the eye of Singleton, a very life-like appearance.
The two came forward to meet and make the
acquaintance of the partisan, whom before they had
not seen. Porgy was highly delighted, for, like most
fat men, he liked company, and preferred always the
presence of a number. “There's no eating alone,”
he would say—“give me enough for a large table, and
enough round it: I can then enjoy myself.” His reception
of Singleton partook of this spirit.

“Major Singleton, I rejoice to see you; just now particularly,

as our supper, such as it is, is almost at hand.
No great variety, sir—nothing much to choose from—
but what of that, sir. There's enough, and what there
is, is good—the very best. Tom, there—our cook, sir
—he will make the very best of it—broils ham the
best of any negro in the southern country, and his hoecake,
sir, is absolutely perfection. He does turn a
griddle with a dexterity that is remarkable. But you
shall see—you shall see for yourself. Here, Tom!”

And rolling up his sleeves, he took the subject of
his eulogy aside, and a moment after the latter was
seen piling his brands and adjusting a rude iron fabric
over the coals, while the corpulent Porgy, with the
most hearty good will for the labour, busily sliced off
sundry huge collops from the convenient shoulder of
bacon that hung suspended from a contiguous tree.
The labours of the gourmand were scarcely congenial
either with the mood of Singleton or the quiet loveliness
of the scene. Evening was fast coming on—all
the swamp was in a deep shadow, save where, like a
wandering but pure spirit, a rose-like effusion, the last
dying but lovely glance from the descending sun rested
flickeringly upon the top of one of the tallest pines
above them. A space between the trees, opening to
the heavens in one little spot alone, showed them a
sprinkling of fleecy white clouds, sleeping quietly
under the sky, their western edges partaking slightly
of the same last parting glance of the sinking orb.
A slight breeze stirred fitfully among the branches; and
the occasional chirp of the nimble sparrow, as it hopped
along on the edge of the island, was the only sound,
other than those made by the hissing fire, and the occasional
orders of Porgy, which came to the ears of
Singleton. He threw himself upon the green bank,
under a tree, on the opposite side of which the boy
Lance had already placed himself, a little behind him.
Suddenly the boy started to his feet. The wild, unearthly
laugh of his father, that eldritch scream which
chilled to the very bones of the hearer, was heard on
the skirts of the island. Looking to the quarter

whence the sound proceeded, they beheld his huge
figure peering from behind a tree—his eyes staring
forth vacantly upon them, while his hands were uplifted
to a stretching branch above him, which he
grasped firmly. He laughed once and again, and Singleton
at length rose, beckoned and called to him.
But he gave no heed to the call, and when the latter
offered to approach him, the maniac moved away rapidly,
with another eldritch laugh, as if he was about to
fly. At this moment the boy came up in sight of his
father, and the wild man seemed to recognise his son.”

“He will come now, sir,” said Lance to Major Singleton;
“he will come now, sir: but we must not seem
to push or to watch him.”

They fell back, accordingly, took their old places
along the bank, and awaited the result of their experiment;
and, as the boy had predicted, the maniac in a
few moments after was beside them. He came forward
with a bounding motion, as if now only accustomed
to an inordinate extent of action, corresponding to the
sleepless impulse and the fierce fever preying upon
his mind. Without a word, but with a perpetually
glancing movement of the eye, which seemed to take
in all objects around, he squatted down quietly beside
his son. He stared for an instant curiously into his
eyes, then extending his hand, his fingers wandered unconsciously
in the long black hair of the boy. The
latter, all the time, with a proper caution, arising from
his previous intimacy with his father's habits, took
care neither to move nor speak. He sat patiently, unmoved,
while the fingers of the maniac played with
his hair, lifted curl after curl with affectionate minuteness,
and wound particular locks about his finger.
Then he stroked down, once or twice, the thick volumes
of hair together; and at length, laughing again more
wildly than ever, he withdrew his hand entirely, and
turning his face from the two, his eyes became fixed
with a strange intensity upon the extended form of the
tory whom Singleton had taken, and who now lay tied
beneath a tree at a little distance. The maniac slowly

rose and moved towards him—walked all around and
examined him in every particular; the prisoner all
the while, with no little anxiety, turning his glance
in every quarter, following the movement of the observer.
The fingers of the maniac were in a motion as
restless—now grasping, and now withdrawn from, the
handle of the unsheathed knife that was stuck in the folds
of a thick red handkerchief, ragged and soiled, which
was strapped about his waist. At length, leaving the
object of his inspection, he approached Singleton, and,
with something more of coherence than usual, and a
singularly calm expression, he proposed an inquiry
about the person whose presence appeared so much
to trouble him.

“He is not a red-coat—not a dragoon?”

“No; a countryman, but a prisoner. He is a bearer
of despatches—a non-combatant.”

The reply of Singleton, which was immediately
made to the maniac, brought forward another party in
the person of Doctor Oakenburger, who now—having
first, with the utmost tenderness, hung his snake over a
limb above him—joined the group.

“A prisoner, and yet a non-combatant, Major Singleton!
Sir, oblige me, and explain. Is that possible?—have
I not heard imperfectly? I too, sir, am a
non-combatant, sir; that was understood, sir, when
Master Humphries first spoke to me in this behalf.
My engagements, sir, required no risk at my hands,
and promised me perfect safety.”

“Is he not safe enough?” was the calm inquiry of
Singleton, as, with a smile, he pointed to the corded
courier, and thus answered the doctor's question. Just
at his ears, in the same moment, the maniac, who, unperceived
by the doctor, had stolen close behind him,
now uttered one of his most appalling screams of laughter;
and the non-combatant did not seek to disguise
the apprehensions which prompted him to a hasty
retreat in the rear of Singleton. The partisan turned
to him, and changing his topic somewhat, inquired—

“You are the doctor, sir? Doctor—”

“Oakenburger, sir; of an old German family of high
descent, and without stain of blood. They came over,
sir, with the Elector.”

In a whisper, Singleton inquired if his skill could
reach the case of Frampton; but the suggestion was
productive of quite too much alarm in the mind of the
adventurer. He seemed nowise desirous of martyrdom
in the prosecution of the healing art; and, when
he found his tongue, in reply to the demand of Singleton,
he gave his opinion in a half-unintelligible jargon,
that the case was confirmed and hopeless. The savage,
in the mean while, had drawn nigher to his son,
one of whose hands he had taken into his own. But
he said nothing all the while; and at length, having
made all arrangements for the evening repast, the
provident Porgy coming forward, announced things in
readiness, and bade them fall to. Singleton then
spoke to the maniac, and endeavoured to persuade him
to the log on which the victuals had been spread, and
around which the others had now gathered; but his
application was entirely unheeded.

“He won't mind all you can say to him, major; we
know him, for he's been several times to eat with us;
that's the way with the creature. But put the meat
before him, and his understanding comes back in a
moment. He knows very well what to do with it.
Ah, Providence has wisely ordained, major, that we
shall lose the knowledge of what's good for the stomach
the last of all. We can forget the loss of fortune,
sir, of the fine house, and goodly plate, and pleasant
tendance—we may even forget the quality and the
faces of our friends; and as for love, that gets out of
our clutches, we don't know how; but, major, I wont
believe that anybody ever yet lost their knowledge of
good living. Once gained, it holds its ground well;
it survives all other knowledge. The belly, major,
will always insist upon so much brains being preserved
in the head, as will maintain unimpaired its own ascendency.”

As the gourmand had said, the meat was no sooner

placed before the maniac, than, seizing it ravenously in
his fingers, he tore and devoured it with a fury that
showed how long had been his previous abstinence.
His appetite was absolutely wolfish; and while he ate,
Singleton watched him with mingled emotions of pity
and disgust. His garments were in tatters about him,
torn by the thick wood in which he had ranged with
as little scruple as the wild beasts whom he now resembled.
His face had been scratched with briers,
and the blood had congealed along the seams upon his
cheek, unremoved and unregarded. His thick, black
hair was matted down upon his forehead, and was
deeply stained with the clayey ooze of the swamp
through which he had been crawling. His eyes beneath
had a fiery restlessness, and glared even around
him with a baleful, comet-like light, which was full of
evil omen. When he had eaten, without a word he
dashed off from the place where he had been seated,
plunged into the creek, and the fainter and fainter
echoes of his wild laugh declared his rapid progress
away into the thick recesses of the neighbouring
cypress. Over these darkness now began to consolidate;
and at length, impatient of farther delay in a
purposed object, Singleton rose from his place, and
gave orders to Lance to get his own and the horse of
his superior in readiness.

“Shall we ride to-night, sir?” inquired the boy.

“Instantly: I shall put you on a new duty to-night,
Lance, and hope that you will perform it well. Speed
now with the horses, for the dark gathers.”

The bosom of the youth thrilled and throbbed with
a new emotion of pleasure, as he heard the promise,
and the feeling gave a degree of elasticity to his
movement, which enabled him to place the steed before
his leader instantaneously.

Singleton sprung the pan of his pistols, renewed the
priming, gave several orders touching the prisoner,
and some parting directions; then leaping into saddle,
bade Lancelot find the track. Porgy waved a blazing
torch over the creek, giving them a brief light at

starting, and the two were soon plunging through the
gloomy pathway, if so, by any stretch of courtesy, it
may be called, and taking a direction which Singleton
thought most likely to give them a meeting with the now
approaching troop under the command of Humphries.