University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

It was not long before Singleton reached the tavern,
which he now found crowded. The villagers of
all conditions and politics had there assembled, either
to mutter over their doubts or discontents, or to gather
counsel for their course in future, from the many, wiser
than themselves, in their own predicament. There,
also, came the true loyalist, certain to find deference
and favour from the many around him, not so happy or
so secure as himself in the confidence of the existing
powers. The group was motley enough, and the moods
at work among them not less so. Some had already
determined upon submission,—some of the weak—the
time-serving—such as every old community will be
found to furnish, where indolent habits, which have become
inveterate, forbid all sort of independence. Some
fluctuated, and knew not what to do, or even what to
think. But there were others, Singleton imagined,
as he looked into their grave, sullen features, full of
thought and pregnant with determination, who felt nothing
so strongly as the sense of injustice, and the rebeldaring
which calls for defiance at every hazard. “Vengeance!
my men!” he muttered to himself, as, passing
full into the apartment, he became at once visible to
the group. The old landlord himself was the first person
who confronted him after that familiar fashion which
had already had its rebuke from the same quarter.

“Ah, captain! (the brow of Singleton darkened)—
squire I mean—I ask pardon, squire; but here, where

every man is a captain, or a colonel, or something, it
comes easy to say so to all, and is not often amiss. No
offence, squire—it's use, only, and I mean no harm.”

“Enough, enough! good Master Landlord! Least
said, soonest mended. Shall we soon have supper?”

The ready publican turned to the inner door of
the apartment and put the same question to his daughter,
the fair Bella; then, without waiting for her reply,
informed the inquirer that many minutes would not
elapse before it would be on table.

“Six o'clock's the time of day for supper, squire—
six for supper—one for dinner—eight for breakfast—
punctual to the stroke, and no waiting. Heh! what's
that you say, Master Dickenson?—what's that about
Frampton?”

Humphries turned to one of the villagers whose remarks
had partially met his ear, and who had just entered
the apartment. The person so addressed came
forward; a thin-jawed, sallow countryman, whose eyes
were big with the intelligence he brought, and who
seemed anxious that a well-dressed and goodly-looking
stranger like Singleton should have the benefit of his
burden.

“Why, gentlemen, the matter with Frampton's strange
enough. You all know he's been out several days, close
in the swamp. He had a fight, stranger, you see, with
one of Huck's dragoons; and he licked the dragoon, for
all the world, as if he'd a licked him out of his skin.
Now the dragoon's a strong fellow enough; but Frampton's
a horse, and if ever he mounts you the game is
up, for there's no stopping him when he gets his hand
in. So, as I tell you, the dragoon stood a mighty slim
chance. He first brought him down with a backhanded
wipe, that came over his cheek for all the world like
the slap of a water-wheel—”

“Yes, yes, we all heard that; but what was it all
about, Dickenson?—we don't know that, yet,” cried
one of the group which had now formed around the
speaker.

“Why, that's soon told. The dragoon went to Frampton's

house when he was in the swamp, and made free
with what he wanted. Big Barney, his elder son,
went off in the mean while to his daddy, and off he
came full tilt, with Lance his youngest lad along with
him. You know Lance, or Lancelot, a smart chap of
sixteen: you've seed him often enough.”

“Yes, yes, we know him.”

“Well, as I tell you, the old man and his two boys
came full tilt to the house, and 'twas a God's mercy
they came in time, for the doings of the dragoon was
too ridiculous for any decent body to put up with,
and the old colt could'nt stand it no how; so, as I tell
you, he put it to him in short order. He first gave him
a backhanded wipe, which flattened him, I tell you;
and when the sodger tried to get up, he put it to him
again so that it was easier for him to lie down than
to stand up; and lie down he did, without a word, till
the other dragoons tuk him up. They came a few
minutes after, and the old man and the youngest boy
Lance had a narrow chance and a smart run for it.
They heard the troops coming down the lane, and they
took to the bush. The sodgers tried hard to catch
them, but it aint easy to hook a Goose-Creeker when
he's on trail for the swamp, and splashing after the
hogs along a tussock. So they got safe into the Cypress,
and the dragoons had nothing better to do than
go back to the house. Well, they made Frampton's
old woman stand all sorts of treatment, and that too bad
to find names for. They beat her too, and she as
heavy as she could go. Well, then, she died night
afore last, as might be expected; and now the wonder
is, what's become of her body. They laid her out; and
the old granny that watched her only went into the
kitchen for a little while, and when she came back the
body was gone. She looked out of the window, and
sure enough she sees a man going over the rail with a
bundle all in white on his shoulder. And the man
looked, so she swears, for all the world like old Frampton
himself. Nobody knows any thing more about it;
and what I heard is jist now what I tell you”

The man had narrated truly what he had heard; and
what, in reality, with little exaggeration, was the truth.
The company had listened to one of those stories of brutality,
which—in the fierce civil warfare of the South,
when neighbours were arrayed against one another, and
when, on one side, negroes and Indians formed allies,
contributing, by their lighter sense of humanity, additional
forms of terror to the sanguinary warfare pursued
at that period—were of almost daily occurrence. Huck,
the infamous tory captain, of whom we have already
obtained a slight glimpse in the progress of our narrative,
was himself of a character well fitted, by his habitual
cunning and gross want of all the softening influences
of humanity, to give countenance, and even example,
to crimes of this nature. His dragoons, though
few as yet in number, and employed only on marauding
excursions calling for small parties, had already
become notorious for their outrages of this description.
Indeed, they found impunity in this circumstance.
In regular warfare, under the controlling presence of
crowds, the responsibility of his men, apart from what
they owed or yielded to himself, would have bound
them certainly in some greater restraints; although, to
their shame be it said, the British generals in the
South, when mortified by defeat and vexed by unexpected
resistance, were themselves not always more
tenacious of propriety than the tory Huck. The sanguinary
orders of Cornwallis, commanding the coldblooded
execution of hundreds, are on record, in melancholy
attestation to this day of the atrocities committed
by the one, and the persecutions borne by the other
party, during that memorable conflict.

It could easily be seen what was the general feeling
during this recital, and yet that feeling was unspoken.
Some few shook their heads very gravely, and a few,
more daring yet, ventured to say, that “it was very bad,
very bad indeed—very shocking!”

“What's very bad, friends? what is it you speak of
as so shocking?” was the demand of one just entering.
The crowd started back, and Huck himself stood among

them. He repeated his inquiry, and with a manner that
left it doubtful whether he really desired to know what
had been the subject of their remarks, or whether, having
heard, he wished to compel some of them to the
honest utterance of their sentiments upon it. Singleton,
who had listened with a duly-excited spirit to the
narrative of the countryman, now advanced deliberately
towards the new-comer, whom he addressed as in answer
to his question—

“Why, sir, it is bad, very bad indeed, the treatment
received, as I learn, by one of his majesty's dragoons, at
the hands of some impudent rebel a few nights ago. You
know, sir, to what I allude. You have heard, doubtless.”

The bold, confident manner of the speaker was sufficiently
imposing to satisfy all around of his loyalty.
Huck seemed completely surprised, and replied freely
and with confidence—

“Ay, you mean the affair of that scoundrel, Frampton.
Yes, I know all about it; but we're on his trail, and shall
soon make him sweat for his audacity, the blasted rebel.”

“Do you know that his wife died?” asked one of
the countrymen, in a tone subdued to one of simple
and inexpressive inquiry.

“No—and don't care very greatly. It's a bad breed,
and the misfortune is, there's quite too many of them.
But we'll thin them soon, and easily, by God! and the
land shall be rid of the reptiles.”

“Yes, captain, we think alike,” said Singleton, familiarly—“we
think alike on that subject. Something
must be done, and in time, or there will be no comfortable
moving for a loyalist, whether in swamp
or highway. They have it in their power to do mischief
if not taken care of in time. It is certainly our
policy to prevent our men from being ill-treated by
them, and to do this, they must be taken in hand early.
Rebellion grows like nut-grass when it once takes root,
and runs faster than you can find it. It should be seen to.”

“That is my thought already, and accordingly I have
a good dog on trail of this lark, Frampton, and hope
soon to have him in. He cannot escape Travis, my

lieutenant, who is now after him, and who knows the
swamp as well as himself. They're both from Goose
Creek, and so let dog eat dog.”

“You have sent Travis after him, then, captain?”
inquired a slow and deliberate voice at Huck's elbow.
Singleton turned at the same moment with the person
addressed, recognising in the speaker his own lieutenant,
the younger Humphries, who had got back to the
tavern almost as soon as himself. Humphries, of whose
Americanism we can have no sort of question, had yet
managed adroitly, and what with his own cunning and
his father's established loyalty, he was enabled, not only
to pass without suspicion, but actually to impress the
tories with a favourable opinion of his good feeling for
the British cause. This was one of those artifices
which the necessities of the times imposed upon most
men, and for which they gave a sufficient moral sanction.

“Ah, Bill, my boy,” said Huck, turning as to an old
acquaintance, “is that you!—why, where have you
been?—haven't seen you for an age, and didn't well
know what had become of you—thought you might
have gone into the swamps too with the skulking rebels.”

“So I have,” replied the other calmly—“not with
the rebels, though. I see none of them to go with—but
I have been skirting the Cypress for some time, gathering
what pigs the alligators found no use for. Pigs and
poultry are the rebels I look after. You may judge of
my success by their bawling.”

In confirmation of what Humphries had said, at that
moment the collection of tied pigs with which his cart
had been piled, and the tethered chickens undergoing
transfer to a more fixed dwelling, and tumbled from the
mass where they had quietly but confusedly lain for
an hour or two before, sent up a most piteous pleading,
which, for the time, effectually silenced the speakers
within. A moment's pause obtained, Humphries reverted,
though indirectly, to the question which he had
put to the tory captain touching the pursuit of Frampton

by Travis; and, without exciting his suspicion
by a positive inquiry, strove to obtain information.

“Travis will find Frampton if he chooses,—he knows
the swamp quite as well—and a lean dog for a long
chase, you know,—that is, if you have given him men
enough.”

“I gave him all he wanted: ten, he said, would answer:
he could have had more. He'll catch him, or
I'm mistaken.”

“Yes, if he strikes a good route. The old paths
are washed now by the freshet, and he may find it hard
to keep track. Now, the best path for him to take,
captain, would have been up over Terrapin Bridge by
Turkey Town. That will bring him right into the heart
of the swamp, where it's most likely Frampton hides.”

“Terrapin Bridge—Turkey Town,” said the other,
seeming to muse. “No, he said nothing of these
places: he spoke of—”

“Droze's old field,” exclaimed Humphries, somewhat
eagerly.

“Yes, that's the name; he goes that route; and I
remember he spoke of another, where he said the waters
were too high.”

“Ay—and does he think to find Frampton on the
skirts?—and then, what a round-about way by Droze's!
eh! neighbours?—he can't be there before midnight.
But, of course, he went there in time,” said Humphries,
insinuating the question.

“Only two hours gone,” replied the other, giving the
desired intelligence; “but he won't do more than stretch
to the swamp to-night. He wants to be ready to make
a dash with the daylight upon them, when he hopes to
find the fellow not yet out of his nest.”

Humphries looked approvingly as he heard the plan,
and he exchanged glances of intelligence at intervals
with Singleton, who listened attentively to this dialogue,
which had wormed out the secret of one of those
little adventures of Huck's party, in which his command
was most generally employed. The look of Singleton
spoke clearly to Humphries his desire of the

strife; and the other, with a due correspondence of
feeling, was yet prudent enough to control its expression
in his features. In the mean time, Huck, who
had long been desirous of securing Humphries for his
troop, now pressed the latter more earnestly than ever
upon that subject. Taking him aside, he detailed to
him in an under-tone the thousand advantages of profit
and position which must result to him from coming out
in arms for his majesty, and in his, Captain Huck's,
particular command of cavalry. It was amusing to
observe how much stronger became his anxiety whenever
his eye rested upon the form of Singleton, whom
he now regarded in the light of a rival leader. The eye
of young Humphries also, glanced frequently in the
same direction, as, from a previous knowledge of the
character of Singleton, he felt how impatient he would
be until he could make the attack which he saw he
contemplated upon the marauding party which had
been sent out under Travis. It was in such little adventures
that the partisan warfare of Carolina had its
origin.

Humphries, closely pressed by Huck, had yet ingenuity
enough to evade his application without offending
his pride or alarming his suspicions. He made
sundry excuses simply as to time, leaving the tory to
infer that in the end the recruit would certainly be his.

“You will soon have to come out, Bill, my boy; and
dang it, but there's no better chance than you have in
my troop. You shall be my right-hand man, for I
know you, old fellow—and blast me, but I'd sooner
trust you than any chap of the corps. I may as well
put you down.”

“No, not yet: I'll be ready to answer you soon, and
I can easily make my preparations. You have arms
a-plenty?”

“Soon shall have. Three wagons are on their way
from Charlestown with sabres and pistols especially
for us.”

“I shall, no doubt, want some of them, and you shall

then hear from me. There is time enough in all next
week.”

“Yes; but be quick about it, or there will be no
picking; and then you have but twenty days, remember.
The proclamation gives but twenty days, and
then Cornwallis has sworn to treat as rebels, with the
utmost severity of the law, all those who are not in
arms for his majesty—just the same as if they had
fought against him. See, I have it here.”

He took from his pocket the proclamation, and with
it a private order, which was issued by the commander-in-chief
to all the subordinate commands, giving directions
for the utmost severity, and prescribing the mode
of punishment for the refractory, nearly in the language
and to the full effect of Huck's representations. Humphries
looked grave enough at these crowding evidences,
but resisted, by well-urged evasions, the exhortations
of the tempter. The tory captain was compelled
to rest satisfied for the present, assured that he
had held forth especial inducements to the countryman
which must give his troop a preference in his eye over
any claims that might be set up by the rival recruiting
officer, as he considered Singleton. With a hearty
shake of the hand, and a few parting words in whisper
to his companion, he left the hotel to make his way—a
subtle sycophant with his superiors—to the presence
of Colonel Proctor of the Dorchester garrison, from
whom he had received his commission.

Singleton, while this episode of Humphries and the
tory had been going on, employed himself in occasional
conversation with the landlord and sundry of
the villagers in another end of the apartment. In this
conversation, though studiously selecting topics of a nature
not to startle or offend the fears or the prejudices
of any, he contrived, with no little ingenuity, to bring
about, every now and then, occasional expressions of
their feelings and opinions. He saw, from these few
and brief evidences, that their feelings were not with
their rulers—that they subscribed, simply, to a hard necessity,
and would readily seek the means of relief, did

they know where to find it. He himself took care,
while he uttered nothing which could be construed into
an offence against loyalty, to frame what he did say in
such a guise that it must have touched and ministered
largely to the existing provocations. He could see
this in the burning indignation strong in every countenance,
as he dwelt upon the imperative necessity they
were now under of taking up arms in obedience to the
proclamation. His urging of this topic was, like that
of Huck, ostensibly the obtaining of recruits for his
contemplated troop. His policy was one frequently
acted upon in that strange warfare, in which the tories,
when defeated, found few conscientious scruples to restrain
them from falling into the ranks and becoming
good soldiers along with their conquerors. Such devices
as that which he now aimed to practise were
freely resorted to; and the case was not uncommon of
a troop thus formed under the eye of the enemy, and,
in his belief, to do the battles of the monarch, moving
off, en masse, the first opportunity, and joining with
their fellow-countrymen, as well in flight as in victory.
Such, however, was scarcely now the object of the
stranger he simply desired that his loyalty might pass
unquestioned; and he put on a habit, therefore, as a disguise,
which but too many natives wore with far less scruple,
and perhaps with some show of grace. It may be
said, as highly gratifying to Singleton, that in the character
thus assumed he made no converts.

But the bell for supper was now ringing, and taking
his way with the rest, he passed into the inner apartment.
Bella Humphries presided, her brother taking
a seat at the other end of the table, and ministering to
the guests in that quarter. Singleton was assigned a
seat, possibly by way of distinction, close to the
maiden, who smiled graciously at his approach. Still
she looked not so well satisfied. Neither of her squires
was present, and her eye wandered from side to side
among her unattractive countrymen at the table, resting
at last, as with a dernier hope, upon the manly but
handsome face and person of our adventurer. While she

did so, he had an opportunity of scanning her features
more narrowly. She was very girlish, certainly very
youthful, in appearance, and her face was decidedly
handsome. He saw, at a glance, that she was incapable
of any of that settled and solemn feeling which
belongs to love, and which can only exist along with
a strongly-marked character and truly elevated sentiments.
Her desire was that of display, and conquest
made the chief agent to this end. It mattered not how
doubtful was the character of her captives, so that they
were numerous; and Singleton felt assured that his
simple Goose Creek convert, Davis, but for the red
coat and the command, stood quite as good a chance
in the maiden's heart as the more formidable sergeant.
How long he would have watched the features which
seemed not unwilling to attract his eye, we may not
say; but his gaze was at length disturbed by the entrance
of Davis, who, taking his seat at the opposite
corner of the table, now appeared in a better and a more
conciliating humour. He addressed some country
compliment to Bella, which she was not displeased to
listen to, as she was perfectly satisfied to have a
swain, no matter who, in the absence of the greater
favourite. She answered some few remarks of Singleton
and Davis with a pretty, childish simplicity, which
showed that, after all, the misfortune of the girl was
only a deficiency in the more interesting points of character,
and not the presence of an improper or a wanton
capriciousness of feeling.

Meantime the supping proceeded, and towards its
conclusion, Humphries the brother, giving Davis a
look and a sign, which the latter seemed to comprehend,
left the apartment. Davis followed him; and
they were gone about a quarter of an hour, which time
had been spent by Singleton in a lively chat with
the girl, when, through the window, he saw the face of
a man, and the motion of a hand which beckoned him.
In a moment after the person was gone; and suffering
some few seconds to elapse, he also rose and obeyed
the signal. He took his way into the yard, and under

the shadow of a tree, at a little distance from the house,
distinguished the person of Humphries. Singleton at
once approached him—the other motioned silence,
seeing him about to speak, and led him to the stable,
where all was perfectly in shadow.

“We are safe now,” said he. Singleton immediately
addressed him, and with some show of impatience, on
a subject which had much employed his thoughts during
the past hour.

“Humphries, say, can we not strike at that fellow
Tracy? Is it possible to do any thing with his detachment?”

“Travis, not Tracy, major,” replied the other. “It
is possible, sir; and there is a strong chance of our
success if we manage well, and if so be you can postpone
going to `The Oaks' to-night.”

“True,” said the other; “I should like very much
to go, but this movement of Tracy—or Travis, you
say—gives us a good beginning, which we ought on no
account to miss. Besides, we should put your men on
their guard—are they not in danger?”

“Not if they watch well; but there's no answering
for new hands. They must have practice before they
can learn, and down here they've had but little yet.
They're not like your Santee boys I've heard you
tell of.”

“Willing soon will! But let us move. I'll say no
more of `The Oaks' to-night at least. We can move
there to-morrow. Of course you lead the route, for I
know nothing about it.”

“Trust to me; and, major, go back to the house
quietly. Wait till you hear my whistle three times—
thus. It's an old signal, which you'll have to learn
hore, as our little squad all knows it, and knows nothing
else by way of music. Meantime I'll get things in readiness,
and set Davis to carry out the horses to the bush.”

“Is he bent to go with us?” was Singleton's question.

“True as steel. A little weak o' heart, sir, about
that foolish girl—but that's all the better, for it makes
him hate the British the more. Here he comes. You

had better go now, major, and let us be as little seen
together as may be. You'll mind the whistle—thus,
three times;” and in a low tone Humphries gave him
the signal. Singleton went towards the house, in the
shadow of which he was soon lost from sight, while
Humphries and Davis proceeded to the farther arrangements.

It was not long before these were completed, and
with a rush of pleasure to his heart, Major Singleton
heard the thrice-uttered note—the signal agreed upon
—directly beneath his chamber window. He rose at
the sound, and silently descending the stairs, passed
through the hall, where, in something like uncomfortable
solitude, the fair Bella sat alone. She looked up
as she heard his footsteps, and the gracious smile
which her lips put on, was an invitation to make himself
happy in a seat beside her. But he resisted the
blandishment, and lifting his hat as he passed, with
a smile in return, he soon disappeared from her presence,
and joined the two who awaited him. All was
ready for departure, but Davis craved a few minutes'
indulgence to return to the house.

“Why, what should carry you back, Davis?” asked
Humphries, peevishly.

“Nothing, Bill; but I must—I will go,” said the
other.

“I see, I see: you will be as foolish as ever,” exclaimed
the former, as the lover moved away. “The
poor fellow's half mad after my sister, major, and she,
you see, don't care a straw about him. She happened
to smile on him at supper-table, and he takes it for
granted he's in a fair way. We must wait for him, I
suppose; and if I know Bella, he won't keep us long.”

Meanwhile, the seat beside her, which her smile had
beckoned Major Singleton to occupy, had been comfortably
filled by Davis. The girl was not displeased to
see him: she was lonesome, wanted company, and
liked, as all other coquettes do, to have continually in
her presence some one or other of the various trophies
of her conquest—she cared not materially which. Her

graciousness softened very greatly the moody spirit of
her swain, so that he half-repented of that rashness
which was about to place him in a position calculated,
under every probability, to wrest him, for a time
at least, from the enjoyment of that society which
he so much coveted. Her gentleness, her good-nature,
her smiles—so very unfrequent to him for so long a
time—almost turned his brain, and his professions of
love grew passionate, and he himself almost eloquent
in their utterance. Surely, there is no tyranny like
that of love, since it puts us so completely in subjection
to the character which deliberate reason must despise.
In the midst of his pleading, and while she regarded
him with her most gracious smile, the voice of the obtrusive
Sergeant Hastings was heard in the tap-room,
and the sweet passages of love were at once over between
the couple. “As rocks that have been rent
asunder” was their new position. The maiden drew
her chair a foot back from its place, and when Davis
looked into her face, and beheld the corresponding
change in its expression, he rose up, with a bitter curse
in his throat, which he was nevertheless too well-behaved
to utter. He wanted no better evidence of
her heartlessness, and with a look which said what
his tongue could not have spoken, he seemed to warn
her that he was lost to her for ever. His determination
was at length complete, and rapidly passing the luckier
sergeant, who now entered the apartment, he was soon
again in company with the two he had left in waiting.
Humphries smiled as he saw the desperate manner of
his comrade, but nothing was said, and the three together
made their way on foot, till, leaving the village,
they entered the forest to the right, and found the clump
of trees to which their horses had been fastened. In a
moment they were mounted and speeding with the
wind towards the close and scarcely penetrable estuary
known as the Cypress Swamp, and forming a spacious
reservoir for the Ashley, from which, by little and
little, widening as it goes, it expands at length, a few
miles below, into a noble and navigable river.