University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Travis, the faithful coadjutor of the tory Huck,
was on his march into the swamp before daylight. As
Humphries had anticipated, he took the path, if so it
might be called, on which the ambuscade had been
laid for him. He might not have done so, had he
dreamed for an instant of the existence in this quarter
of such a body of men as that now preparing to receive
him. Looking on his object, however, simply as the
arrest of Frampton, and the scouring of the swamp of
such stragglers besides as might have been led for
shelter into its recesses, he adopted the route which
was obviously most accessible, and most likely, therefore,
to be resorted to by the merely skulking discontent.
The half-military eye, looking out for an enemy
in any respect equal, would have either studiously
avoided the ridge over which Travis now presumed to
ride, or would have adopted some better precautions
than he had troubled himself to take. It was naturally
a strong defile, well calculated for an easy defence, as
only a small force could possibly be of use upon it.
But two persons could ride abreast in the prescribed
direction, and then only with great difficulty and by
slow movement; for little gullies and fissures continually
intersected the path, which was circuitous and
winding, and, if not always covered with water and
swamp, quite as difficult to overcome, from its luxuriant
growth of umbrage. Though an old traveller in such
fastnesses, these obstructions were in no sort pleasant
to the leader of the party, who, being a notorious
grumbler, accompanied every step which he took with

a grunting sort of commentary, by way of disapprobation.

“Now, may the devil take these gullies, that go as
deep when you get into them as if they were made for
him. This is a day's chase, and the next time Huck
wants a hunt, he shall seek it himself. I like not this
service. It's little less than a disparagement of the
profession, and speaks not well for an old soldier.”

The leader spoke with feeling, and no little emphasis,
as his steed scrambled up the bank from the slough in
which his legs had been almost fastened, the slimy
ooze of which, left by the now-receding tide, rendering
the effort to release himself a matter of greater difficulty
than usual. The grumbling continued, even after he
had gained the tussock.

“Thou a soldier!” cried one who rode up behind
him, and who spoke in terms of familiarity indicating
close companionship—“thou a soldier, Hunks, indeed!
What should make thee a soldier?”

“Am I not, Clough?” was the reply.

“And wherefore dost thou grumble, then?”

“Wherefore? Because, being a soldier, I am sent
upon any but a soldier's service. A dog might do this
duty—a dog that you had well beaten.”

“And what better service, Hunks, couldst thou have
to keep thee from grumbling? Art thou, now, not a
sorry bear with a sore head, that kindness cannot coax,
and crossing only can keep civil! Send thee on what
service Huck may, it is all the same; thou wilt grumble
at the toil, even when it likes thee best. What wouldst
thou have—what would please thee?”

“By Saint Jupiter, but he might ask, at least! He
might give a man a choice,” responded the other,
gruffly. “It's but a small favour I ask, to be suffered
to choose for myself whether I shall work for my master
on hill or in hole—with a free bit, or hand to hand,
close struggle with a hungry alligator in his wallow.”

“And thou wouldst choose the very service he now
puts thee to. What! do we not all know thee—and
who knows thee better than Huck? He sees thou art

the best man for the swamp; that thy scent is keen
with the bloodhound, thine eye like the hawk's, and
thou art quick for fight as the colonel's bullpup. It is
because he knows thou art fond of this sort of venture
that he puts thee upon it; and what thou grumblest at,
therefore, it will be out of thine own wisdom to show,
even if thou didst wish it, in truth, which I believe
not.”

“It's a dog's life only, this scenting swamps for the
carrion they had better keep—wearing out good legs
and horses, and making soldiers do the duty of a hungry
dog. Rot it, but I'll resist after this! Let them send
others that are younger, and like it better. I'll give it
up—I'll do no more of it.”

“Say so to Huck, and lose command of the scouts—
the best game thou hast ever played at, if the baggage-wagons
speak true,” was the reply. “What! shalt thou
grumble to do what thou art best fitted for? What
wouldst thou be after—what other service would please
thee?”

“Thou mayst see me in a charge yet, Sergeant
Clough,” replied Travis, boastfully, “provided thou
hast blood enough to stop until it's over. When thou
hast seen this, thou wilt ask me no child's questions.
What! because I am good at the swamp, am I therefore
worth nothing on the highway? It were a sorry
soldier that could not take clear track and bush and bog
alike, when the case calls for it, and do good service
in all. But thou shalt see, some day, and grow
wiser.”

“Well, thou dost promise largely, like an old debtor;
but, to my mind, thou art just now where thou shouldst
be—in the swamps; for, truth to speak, thou lovest
them—thou lovest the wallow and the slough—the
thick ooze which the alligator loves, and the dry fern-bank
where he makes his nest; thou lovest the terapin
because of his home, not less than of the good soup
which he gives us; and the ugly moccasin, and the toad,
and the frog—the brown lizard and the green—the
swamp-spider, with its ropy house and bagging black

body—all these are favourites with thee, because thy
spirit craves for thee a home like that which they
abide in.”

“It is a goodly place, with all that company thou
speakest of: the air is pleasant to the sense, and the
noises—there is no music like the concert the frogs
make for thee at sunset.”

“Said I not? Why, man, thou quarrellest with kindness
when thou ravest at Huck for sending thee to the
swamp. Thou wert feverish and impatient this morning
until thou wert fairly in it, with its mud and water
plashing around thee; and now thou art here, with the
trees crowding upon us so thickly that the sun looks
not under them once in the whole year, thou creepest
like a terapin upon thy journey, as if thou didst greatly
fear thou wouldst too quickly get through it; a barren
fear, this, for we see but the beginning: the bog deepens,
and the day grows darker as we go. Thou art
slow, Travis.”

“Saint Jupiter, Master Clough, wouldst thou lead?
Thou art a better swamp-sucker than Ned Travis, and
he born, as I may say, in a bush and cradled in a bog,
and his first breeches, like mother Eve's petticoat,
made out of bulrushes! Go to, friend, and be modest!”

“Ay, when thou art wise, and can go without counsel.
Once more, Travis, but I do think thy snail's pace
were better mended.”

“Teach Goose Creek, would you? Talk not so
loudly, Sergeant Clough, of running through the Cypress,
or the gray-squirrel will look down and laugh.
He's up betimes this morning, and knows more of a
long leap through a broad swamp like this of the Ashley
than comes to thy wisdom. Speak before him with
becoming reverence, for he watches thee from the pine-top
above thee.”

The sergeant, who was an Englishman, looked
upward with due simplicity, and received in his face
the dismembered and decayed branch which the playful
animal threw down, as he leaped away from the tree
they were passing.

“Now, d—n the rebel! That were a hanging matter
for one of Washington's cavalry.”

“Ay, could you catch him!” replied Travis, with a
laugh at the discomfiture of his companion, who busied
himself in freeing his face from the dust of the decayed
branch.

“See what thou gettest for thy stupidity. Think
you gray-jacket knew not all you were saying? He
did: not a word escaped him; and, believe it or not,
his tribe have quite as much understanding as we,
though, to be sure, they have not the same tongue to
make it known. It's a God's truth, now, that squirrel
has been outstanding sentinel for his company, just as
ours watches for us; and look where they go, all around
us, and all in the same direction! See to yon pine,
how full of them! It bends and shakes, big as it is, as
they leap off to the next tree. They are all off, just as
the sentinel gave them notice. Every now and then,
as we drew nigh, he piped up squeak after squeak, and
every one different, as much as to say, `Now they
come—nigher, nigher, nigher!'—and when he thought
it time to move, he tumbled the dry branch into your
open mouth, and made off with his last signals.”

“Pshaw! what nonsense you talk!”

“Nonsense! Saint Jupiter, but it's true as turpentine!
There's no truth, if that be not. Why, man, I go farther:
I do believe, in my conscience, that they understand
arithmetic and navigation. Don't you think he
told his fellows how many we were, and what route
over the water we were going to take? You see they
have taken a different direction altogether.”

“You think I swallow your fool stories?” said
Clough.

“Quite as easy to swallow, and better food than the
branch the squirrel threw thee: but if thou believe not,
I care not. Rot thee, for an infidel, having as little
belief as brains! Thou art worse than Turk or Hebrew,
and should have no water from me wert thou
famishing.”

“Thou canst scarce deny it here,” was the reply, as

the squad, one after the other, struggled through a quagmire
that spread across the path.

“Nor would I here; I am charitable: take thy fill
of what is before thee. But hold up, men; we are on
the broad track. This tussock runs for a hundred yards,
widening to a fork; and I've a mind that you shall
go through the worst part of it, Sergeant Clough, that
you may get more wisdom in swamp-sucking. Close
up, men—up!”

They passed over the broad path in a few moments,
until they reached a point from which ran out another
route, clearly indicated upon the sky, by an opening
through the trees, which let in, for the first time after
their entrance, the unobstructed sunlight.

“To the right now, men—to the right! It's the
worst track, but carries us soonest to the heart of the
swamp, and we can pass it now without swimming:
the waters are going down, and it will not be so bad,
after all.”

“Is it worse, Travis, than what we have passed?”
inquired Clough, rather anxiously.

“Worse!” exclaimed Travis, turning shortly upon
the speaker, with a sneer; “Saint Jupiter! said I not
you should learn swamp-sucking? You'll drink before
you come out. But the water's fresh.”

“Fresh, here in the swamp?”

“Ay, fresh enough—fresh from the sea, unless the
tide's gone clean down. But on; do not fear; it looks
worse than it tastes. On, and follow me close!”

They dashed after their leader as he gave the word,
but their progress was much slower than before.

In the mean while, let us turn our eyes upon the
party in waiting for them. Following the suggestions
of his lieutenant, Humphries, Major Singleton had disposed
of his men at convenient distances for mutual
support along the more accessible ridge which the party
of Travis had originally pursued. The design had
been a good one; for it was not to be supposed that
one who had shown himself so careful in selecting the
least obstructed route, would willingly leave it, in preference

to another, so indirect and difficult of passage
as that upon which Travis had now turned his horse.
The ambuscade had been well laid, and must have
been successful, but for this circumstance. Major
Singleton himself, being in advance, was the first to
perceive this change of movement, which, taking place
just when his anxieties were most aroused, was productive
of an exaggerated degree of disappointment.
He cried out to Humphries, who lurked in a low bush
on the opposite bank, and saw not so readily—

“They leave the track, Humphries! they have turned
off to the right—we are foiled!”

The lieutenant rose from his recumbent position,
and saw the truth of his commander's suggestion. To
effect a change of ambuscade at this moment was hopeless;
and there remained but one mode, and that was,
to persuade them to return to the path from which
they departed. At first, he thought to throw himself
immediately in their way; and, being well known, and
looked upon as loyal by all the dragoons, he thought
he might lure them back by misrepresentations of one
kind or another. This thought he abandoned, however,
as he still desired to keep himself from detection, which
he could not hope, should any of them escape to tell
the story.

“There is but one way, major,” he exclaimed, while
smearing his visage with the mud around him, and
leaping boldly forth on foot upon the broad path—
“there is but one way, sir: keep your men fast, while
I make myself visible to Travis. I will run upon the
bank, and make them hear me. They will follow the
tussock, and, by the time I am in cover, you will have
them between you. The rest of the work is yours.”

He waited not for an answer, but the next instant
was seen by Singleton coursing along the tussock
towards the route taken by Travis. When upon the
highest point, and perceptible to them, he broke a dried
stick, with a sharp, snapping sound, which reached the
quick ear of their leader. Travis turned instantly, and
ordered a halt.

“Hold up, men—hold up a moment! See you nothing
to the left?”

All eyes were turned in the required direction, but
they failed to distinguish any object in particular, other
than belonged to the region.

“Look, Clough, your eyes are younger than mine—
look to the left, beyond the big water-oak, close by the
blasted pine—the very highest point of the tussock we
just left.”

“I see, I see!” cried one of the troopers: “it's a
man.”

“Now I have it! You are right, Wilkins—it's a
man—a stout fellow, and must be Frampton,” cried
Clough; “the very dog we seek.”

“No, 'tis not the man we seek,” was the reply of
Travis, who had been watching intently. “This is a
short stout man, not of more inches than myself; Frampton,
though stout, is tall. But he is our game, be he
who he may. All are outlaws here, and rebels for
the rope. Here, Corporal Dricks, have your string in
readiness: we shall doubtless need a cast of your
office, and the noose should be free for service. Ride
close, and be ready. Ha! he scents—he sees us!
He is on the wing, and we must be quick and cautious.
After him, Clough, to the left—right, Wilkins! Get
upon the tussock, and, if he keeps it, you have him.
Ride, boys! To the left, Clough—to the left! He
can't clear the pond, and we are sure of him!”

Half of the troops dashed after the suspicious person,
who was our acquaintance Humphries; the other half,
slowly returning, re-entered the old trail, and kept their
way towards the flying object and the pursuit. The
lieutenant found no difficulty in misleading his pursuers,
having once drawn them back to their original direction.
They urged the chase hotly upon him, but he knew
his course, and was cool and confident. Doubling
continually through bog and through brier—now behind
this, now under that clump of foliage or brush—he contrived
to boggle them continually in perpetual intricacies,
each more difficult than the other, until he not

only led them into the very thick of the ambuscading
party, still maintaining his original lead upon them, but
he scattered them so far asunder, that mutual assistance
became impossible. It was then that, gathering himself
up for breath along the edge of a bank, he coolly
wiped the moisture from his brows, looking from side
to side, as he heard the splashing in the water or the
rustling in the brush of his bewildered pursuers. He,
meanwhile, fairly concealed from their sight by a thick
cluster of cypresses that rose out of the bay before him,
conceiving the time to have arrived for action, gave the
shrill whistle with which his men were familiar. The
pursuers heard it reverberate all around them from a
dozen echoes of the swamp; they gave back, and
there was a pause in the chase, as if by common consent.
The sound had something supernatural and
chilling in it; and the instinct of each, but a moment
before so hot upon the heels of the outlaw, was now to
regain his starting-place, and recover his security with
his breath. But retreat was not so easy, and prudence
counselled too late. They made the effort, however;
but to succeed was denied them. The word of command
reached their ears in another voice than that of
their own leader, and in the next instant came the sharp
cracking report of the rifle—two, three, four. Travis
went down in the first shot: they beheld his fall distinctly,
as he stood upon the highest point of the ridge,
which was visible for a hundred yards round. For a
moment more, the enemy remained invisible; but Major
Singleton now gave his orders shrilly and coolly—
“Steady, men—in file, open order—trot!” And then
came the rush of the charge, and the stragglers beheld
the flashing sabres dealing with the few troopers who
held the broad ridge of the tussock. The tories fought
well; but the surprise was too sudden, and too little
prepared for, and they fought at disadvantage. Still,
as they remembered the unsparing character of their
own warfare, and were conscious of innumerable outrages,
such as had driven Frampton to outlawry, they
stood their ground bravely enough. Parrying the first
strokes of their assailants, who had every advantage,
they dashed aside from the path, and strove to escape
by plunging in every direction through the swamp.
But with the loss of the ridge, which Singleton with
his few troopers now traversed in all directions, they
lost all chance of extrication. They floundered from
slough to slough, while, dismounting and on foot, the
whigs pursued them. The cry for quarter on all hands
ended the combat, and the survivors were drawn forth
to become prisoners. They threw down their arms
generally, and were spared; one who resisted was cut
down by Davis, who had shown himself a true man in
close contest; and one strove to escape by turning back
upon his path, and plunging on through the swamp in
an opposite direction to that taken by the rest: but
there was an eye upon him, quickened by hate, and a
deadly hostility which nothing could blind—a footstep
which he could not evade. The fugitive was the sanguinary
corporal of Huck—a wretch who always carried
the cord at his saddle-bow for sudden executions,
and enjoyed nothing so well as its employment. His
pursuer was the maniac Frampton. That fierce man
had singled out this one antagonist, and throughout the
brief struggle, in which he bore an active part, had
never once withdrawn his glance from him. But for
this, the wretch might have escaped; and even then,
had not guilt or fear paralyzed his energy or judgment,
his chances might have been good; but he held too
long to his horse, and lost that time, in trying to urge
him along the track he had taken, which on foot might
have availed him more effectually. The animal became
entangled in some water-vines, and before he could get
him free, or even get from his back, the pursuer was
plunging into the swamp, with drawn sword waving
overhead, and but a few paces from him. Leaping
from his steed, which he left struggling, he made for
the opposite bank, and reached it before Frampton had
yet got through the slough. But even this advantage
did not serve him long. Though brave enough, the
corporal seemed at that moment to lack much of his
wonted firmness. Probably he knew the pursuer, had
heard his story, and dreaded his vengeance. It was
not improbable, indeed, that he himself had been one
of those concerned in the assault upon Frampton's wife.
If so, the flight of the one and the concentrated pursuit
of the other were both natural enough. Guilt must
always despair its charm in the presence of the true
avenger. Still, for a moment, there was a show of
spirit. He wheeled, and confronted the pursuer with a
word of defiance; but the moment after, he turned again
in flight. He ran over the tussock upon which both
of them now stood, and, bounding through a pond that lay
in his way, made off for a close cover of cypresses that
grow at a little distance. Should he gain that cover,
his safety would most probably be certain, as he would
then have gained on Frampton, and had long since been
out of reach of the rest. But if the one ran with the
speed of fear, madness gave wings to the other. The
fugitive looked over his shoulder once as he flew, and
he could see in the eye of his pursuer that there
was no pity, but death; and utterly vain must be
his cry for quarter. Perhaps he felt a conviction of
this from a due consciousness of what he had deserved
from his own atrocities. The thought increased his
speed; but, though capable and elastic enough, he could
not escape the man who rushed behind him. Defying
wood, water, and every obstruction, the fierce wretch
pressed close upon the fugitive. The corporal felt the
splashing of the water from his adversary's feet; he
knew that the next moment must be followed by the
whirl of the sabre, and he sank motionless to the ground.
The blow went clean over him; but though it carried
Frampton beyond him, yet he did not fall. The maniac
soon recovered, and confronted the corporal, who now
found it impossible to fly: his hope was in fight only.
But what was his lifted weapon against that of his
opponent, wielded by his superior strength, made terrible
by madness! The sword was dashed aside—
dashed down in the heavy sweeping stroke with which
the other prefaced the conflict.

“Mercy! mercy!” cried the corporal, as he saw that
it was all over. A howl like that of the wolf was the
only response, and the weapon bit through the bone as
the arm was unavailingly thrown up to resist it. The
stricken member hung only by the skin and a part of
the coat-sleeve. The steel was already in the air—

“Mercy, Frampton! have mercy—”

The speech was silenced, as, crushing through bone
and brain, the thick sword dug its way down into the
very eyes of the pleader. The avenger knelt upon the
senseless body, as it lay at his feet, and poured forth
above it a strain of impious thanksgiving to Heaven
for so much granted and gained of the desired vengeance.
His wild, wolfish laugh, at intervals while he
prayed, taught the rest of the party where to look for
him.