 | CHAPTER II. The wigwam and the cabin |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
The arrangements of the party were soon made. Spencer renewed
his offer at the fire to take his part in the watch; and the
Scotchman, Macnab, volunteered his services also; but the offer
of the latter was another reason why that of the former should be
declined. Sparkman was resolute to have everything his own
way; and while James Grayling went out upon his lonely rounds,
he busied himself in cutting bushes and making a sort of tent for
the use of his late commander. Mrs. Grayling and Lucy slept
in a wagon. The Scotchman stretched himself with little effort
before the fire; while Joel Sparkman, wrapping himself up in his
cloak, crouched under the wagon body, with his back resting
partly against one of the wheels. From time to time he rose and
thrust additional brands into the fire, looked up at the night, and
round upon the little encampment, then sunk back to his perch
and stole a few moments, at intervals, of uneasy sleep. The
first two hours of the watch were over, and James Grayling was
relieved. The youth, however, felt in no mood for sleep, and
taking his seat by the fire, he drew from his pocket a little volume
of Easy Reading Lessons, and by the fitful flame of the resinous
light-wood, he prepared, in this rude manner, to make up
for the precious time which his youth had lost of its legitimate
employments, in the stirring events of the preceding seven years
consumed in war. He was surprised at this employment by his
late commander, who, himself sleepless, now emerged from the
bushes and joined Grayling at the fire. The youth had been rather
a favourite with Spencer. They had both been reared in the
same neighbourhood, and the first military achievements of James
had taken place under the eye, and had met the approbation of
his officer. The difference of their ages was just such as to permit
of the warm attachment of the lad without diminishing any
of the reverence which should be felt by the inferior. Grayling
was not more than seventeen, and Spencer was perhaps thirty-four—the
talked of old times and told old stories with the hearty glee and
good-nature of the young. Their mutual inquiries led to the revelation
of their several objects in pursuing the present journey.
Those of James Grayling were scarcely, indeed, to be considered
his own. They were plans and purposes of his uncle, and it
does not concern this narrative that we should know more of their
nature than has already been revealed. But, whatever they were,
they were as freely unfolded to his hearer as if the parties had
been brothers, and Spencer was quite as frank in his revelations
as his companion. He, too, was on his way to Charleston, from
whence he was to take passage for England.
“I am rather in a hurry to reach town,” he said, “as I learn
that the Falmouth packet is preparing to sail for England in a
few days, and I must go in her.'
“For England, major!” exclaimed the youth with unaffected
astonishment.
“Yes, James, for England. But why—what astonishes you?”
“Why, lord!” exclaimed the simple youth, “if they only knew
there, as I do, what a cutting and slashing you did use to make
among their red coats, I reckon they'd hang you to the first
hickory.”
“Oh, no! scarcely,” said the other, with a smile.
“But I reckon you'll change your name, major?” continued
the youth.
“No,” responded Spencer, “if I did that, I should lose the object
of my voyage. You must know, James, that an old relative
has left me a good deal of money in England, and I can only
get it by proving that I am Lionel Spencer; so you see I must
carry my own name, whatever may be the risk.”
“Well, major, you know best; but I do think if they could
only have a guess of what you did among their sodgers at Hobkirk's
and Cowpens, and Eutaw, and a dozen other places, they'd
find some means of hanging you up, peace or no peace. But I
don't see what occasion you have to be going cl'ar away to England
for money, when you've got a sight of your own already.”
“Not so much as you think for,” replied the major, giving an
involuntary and uneasy glance at the Scotchman, who was seemingly
you know, but little money in the country at any time, and I must
get what I want for my expenses when I reach Charleston. I
have just enough to carry me there.”
“Well, now, major, that's mighty strange. I always thought
that you was about the best off of any man in our parts; but if
you're strained so close, I'm thinking, major,—if so be you
wouldn't think me too presumptuous,—you'd better let me lend
you a guinea or so that I've got to spare, and you can pay me
back when you get the English money.”
And the youth fumbled in his bosom for a little cotton wallet,
which, with its limited contents, was displayed in another instant
to the eyes of the officer.
“No, no, James,” said the other, putting back the generous
tribute; “I have quite enough to carry me to Charleston, and
when there I can easily get a supply from the merchants. But I
thank you, my good fellow, for your offer. You are a good fellow,
James, and I will remember you.”
It is needless to pursue the conversation farther. The night
passed away without any alarms, and at dawn of the next day
the whole party was engaged in making preparation for a start.
Mrs. Grayling was soon busy in getting breakfast in readiness.
Major Spencer consented to remain with them until it was over;
but the Scotchman, after returning thanks very civilly for his accommodation
of the night, at once resumed his journey. His
course seemed, like their own, to lie below; but he neither declared
his route nor betrayed the least desire to know that of
Spencer. The latter had no disposition to renew those inquiries
from which the stranger seemed to shrink the night before, and
he accordingly suffered him to depart with a quiet farewell, and
the utterance of a good-natured wish, in which all the parties
joined, that he might have a pleasant journey. When he was
fairly out of sight, Spencer said to Sparkman,
“Had I liked that fellow's looks, nay, had I not positively disliked
them, I should have gone with him. As it is, I will remain
and share your breakfast.”
The repast being over, all parties set forward; but Spencer,
after keeping along with them for a mile, took his leave also.
the high-spirited cavalier; and it was necessary, as he assured
them, that he should reach the city in two nights more. They
parted with many regrets, as truly felt as they were warmly expressed;
and James Grayling never felt the tedium of wagon
travelling to be so severe as throughout the whole of that day
when he separated from his favourite captain. But he was too
stout-hearted a lad to make any complaint; and his dissatisfaction
only showed itself in his unwonted silence, and an over-anxiety,
which his steed seemed to feel in common with himself, to
go rapidly ahead. Thus the day passed and the wayfarers at
its close had made a progress of some twenty miles from sun to
sun. The same precautions marked their encampment this night
as the last, and they rose in better spirits with the next morning,
the dawn of which was very bright and pleasant, and encouraging.
A similar journey of twenty miles brought them to the place
of bivouac as the sun went down; and they prepared as usual
for their securities and supper. They found themselves on the
edge of a very dense forest of pines and scrubby oaks, a portion
of which was swallowed up in a deep bay—so called in the dialect
of the country—a swamp-bottom, the growth of which consisted
of mingled cypresses and bay-trees, with tupola, gum, and
dense thickets of low stunted shrubbery, cane grass, and dwarf
willows, which filled up every interval between the trees, and to
the eye most effectually barred out every human intruder. This
bay was chosen as the background for the camping party. Their
wagon was wheeled into an area on a gently rising ground in
front, under a pleasant shade of oaks and hickories, with a lonely
pine rising loftily in occasional spots among them. Here the
horses were taken out, and James Grayling prepared to kindle
up a fire; but, looking for his axe, it was unaccountably missing,
and after a fruitless search of half an hour, the party came to
the conclusion that it had been left on the spot where they had
slept last night. This was a disaster, and, while they meditated
in what manner to repair it, a negro boy appeared in sight, passing
along the road at their feet, and driving before him a small
herd of cattle. From him they learned that they were only a
mile or two from a farmstead where an axe might be borrowed;
one. He found no difficulty in his quest; and, having obtained
it from the farmer, who was also a tavern-keeper, he casually
asked if Major Spencer had not stayed with him the night before.
He was somewhat surprised when told that he had not.
“There was one man stayed with me last night,” said the farmer,
“but he didn't call himself a major, and didn't much look
like one.”
“He rode a fine sorrel horse,—tall, bright colour, with white
fore foot, didn't he?” asked James.
“No, that he didn't! He rode a powerful black, coal black,
and not a bit of white about him.”
“That was the Scotchman! But I wonder the major didn't
stop with you. He must have rode on. Isn't there another
house near you, below?”
“Not one. There's ne'er a house either above or below for a
matter of fifteen miles. I'm the only man in all that distance
that's living on this road; and I don't think your friend could
have gone below, as I should have seen him pass. I've been all
day out there in that field before your eyes, clearing up the brush.”
| CHAPTER II. The wigwam and the cabin | |