University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

“Tom, take that back to the major; he wants a new
supply by this time, I reckon, and if he does not, he
ought to.”

The calabash of Porgy was empty as he gave this
order. The desire to replenish it, stimulated his politeness,
and taught him to recollect his neighbours.
Tom did as he was ordered; and the gourmand, meanwhile,
picked his teeth with a straw, and waited impatiently
for the return of his messenger with the residue

of the dish. He had succeeded, as he thought to admiration,
in compounding it; and he was complacency
itself, even to Doctor Oakenburg, whom he regarded
with no favour in general. The doctor, however, had
much conciliated him by taking some of the hash on
trial; and this concession saved him otherwise from
much severe animadversion; although the forbearance
of Porgy was bitterly tried when he beheld the hash
scarcely touched before the naturalist, who was at the
same time industriously employed upon certain bits of
fried eel, to which he gave a manifest preference.
Porgy, Oakenburg, Wilkins, and one other, surrounded
the same log. The other troopers were squatting in
similar groups over the island; and Singleton, with
Lance, Humphries, and Davis, were all under
their old tree, at a distance from the rest. The latter
had made his peace with Singleton, to whom he had
told honestly the whole story of the last night's adventure
with Sergeant Hastings, and of his murder by the
maniac Frampton. He had done wrong, acknowledged
honestly his error, and it called for no particular eloquence
or argument, under these circumstances, to procure
his pardon from Singleton. The four persons
named, formed the mess that day together; and, if
not to Singleton, the new supply from Porgy's table
was acceptable to more than one of the party. When
the dish was returned to Porgy, his proceeding was
exquisitely true to propriety: loving the commodity as
he did, and particularly anxious to renew his attack
upon it, he yet omitted none of his customary politeness.

“There, Tom, that will do: put it down now—it
will stand alone. Did the major help himself?”

“He no take any more, Mass Porgy; he hab
'nough—so he tell me: but Mass Homphry, him take
some, and Mass Dabis, he help hese'f too.”

“Humph! The major took none, you say? Strange!
Did he look sick, Tom?”

“No, sa. He talk berry well.”

“Strange! Pardon me, Mr. Wilkins—pardon me;

shall I have the pleasure to lay this in your calabash?
—only a spoonful, sir; you can't refuse—do you no
hurt. Doctor Oakenburg, let me beg you, sir, not to
defile your lips with that fry any longer: don't think
of eel, sir, I implore you, when you can get terrapin.”

“I thank you, Master Porgy—I thank you very
much; but, as you will see, I have not yet consumed
that which you have already given me.”

“And why the d—l don't you? My dear sir, it's
shocking that you should waste time so imprudently.
To delay a pleasure is to destroy a pleasure, provided
the pleasure is ready to your hands. And then, sir,
the appetite grows vitiated, and the taste dreadfully
equivocal after eating fry. The finest delicacy in the
world will suffer from such contact. Let me beg you,
then, throw it aside. Here, Tom, take Oakenburg's
calabash there—throw the fry to the dog, and wash the
gourd clean, boy, when you have done so. Be quick,
now, old fellow.”

“Nay, nay, Master Porgy,” was Oakenburg's reply,
resisting the negro; “I am pleased with this eel, which
is considerately done to my liking. It is a dish I particularly
affect.”

Porgy compressed his lips, and looked on him
gravely and sternly, while spooning some of the hash
into his own calabash, and muttering all the while.

“Stand back, Tom, and don't bother me. A man
prefer the d—d gaunt eel to terrapin! Doctor Oakenburg,
where do you expect to go when you die? I
ask the question from a belief—rather staggered, I
must confess, by recent circumstances—that you really
have something of a soul left. You once had, doubtless.”

The manner in which the question was put, not less
than the question itself, seemed to startle the naturalist
not a little. His answer was broken and confused.

“Really, I must confess I don't know, Mr. Porgy;
but I trust in some place of perfect security.”

“That may all be, sir; and could I have the appropriation
of your person, I should doom you to be thrust

into an eelskin. One thing be assured of, wherever
you do go—if there be any thing like justice meted
out to you hereafter, you will have scant fare and d—d
bad living. Prefer eel to terrapin! Tom!”

“Sa!”

“Bring me a calabash of water, and hand the jug.
Prefer eel to terrapin! Mr. Wilkins you have not
finished? come, sir, it isn't every day that happiness
comes into camp and begs one to help himself. It
isn't always we catch terrapin like these, and sit down
to such a compound. No more? Well, I too have
done, this little morsel excepted. These eggs are fine
—what a flavour, and how rich! Tom, take it away
now.”

“Ki, Mass Porgy, you no leff any egg.”

“No eggs!” cried the gourmand; “why, what the
deuse do you call that, and that, and that?” stirring
them over with the spoon as he spoke. “Bless me, I
did not think there were half so many. Stop, Tom, I
will but take a couple more, and then—there—that will
do—you may take the rest.”

The negro hurried away with his prize, dreading
that Porgy would make new discoveries; while that
worthy, seasoning his calabash of water with a moderate
dash of Jamaica from the jug beside him, concluded
the repast to which he had annexed so much
importance.

“So much is secure of life!” he exclaimed, when
he had done; “I am satisfied—I have lived to-day,
and nothing can deprive me of the 22d June, in the
year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and
eighty, enjoyed in the Cypress Swamp. The day is
completed: it should always close with the dinner
hour. It is then secure—we cannot be deprived of it:
it is recorded in the history of hopes realized, and of
feelings properly felt. And, hark! the major seems
to think with me, since the tin-horn rumbles up for a
start. Wilkins—old fellow—if you'll give me a helping
hand in putting the tackle upon my nag, you'll
serve me much more seasonably than I can well mention.

Tom, boy, hurry there, and don't forget to unsling
that ham-bone: needn't mind the calabashes; we
can get them along the road. You're not going to carry
that snake, Doctor Oakenburg, are you? Great Heavens!
what a reptile taste that fellow has! Ha, Lance,
boy, is that you? You've horse and all ready. Well,
you can lend me a hand then in bringing up these
matters—there, that belt, boy, which lies on the log.
A ligature about the waist strengthens one greatly in a
long journey. Ah, Humphries, you're in a hurry, I
see.”

Thus, with a word to everybody, Porgy commenced
his preparation for the journey upon which Humphries
now came among them to urge a decent degree of
speed. In an hour, and all were ready—the partisans
and their prisoners, not forgetting the negro Tom and
his dog, a mean looking cur significantly called Slink.
And never was there a more appropriate epithet; he
was a shamefaced, creeping creature, all skin and
bone, smeared over with the smoke of the ashes in
which he lay every night, with a habit probably
borrowed from his sable owner; and such was the
meanness of his spirit, that having from immemorial
time neglected the due elevation of his tail, he now
seemed to have lost all sense, and, indeed, all capacity
for the achievement. The unfortunate pendent member
hung continually down between his legs, and
seemed every day to grow more and more despicably
fond of earth.

Sending out his scouts in advance, Singleton led his
cavalcade out of the swamp. Aiming to make the
Nelson's ferry road as soon as possible, he struck
directly across the country under the guidance of
Humphries and Davis, both of whom knew well, and
availed themselves on this journey of all the neighbourhood
roads. They travelled but slowly, however,
and had made no great progress in their course, when
night came down upon them. With the approach of
darkness, Singleton ordered a halt, and an encampment
was formed in a thick wood to which they in

clined, out of sight and hearing from the road. Here,
without building fires, they took a brief rest until the
moon rose, when the troop was aroused, and again set
forth on its upward journey. With the dawn of day,
they found themselves, according to the estimate of
Davis, within a few miles only of the ferry road. A
little more precaution was necessary now. The
scouts were doubled, and the troop entered the road an
hour or so after sunrise, without meeting with any
interruption or object worthy their attention. In this
manner they proceeded for some hours, seeing no
human being; and the whole route marked only by
the devastating proofs of war, which were thick on
every side of them. The broken fences, the shattered
or half-consumed dwelling, the unplanted and unploughed
fields, all in desertion, spoke fearfully for its
attributes and presence. But, suddenly, the scouts
were met towards noon by a countryman, his wife, and
two children, flying from a foe. It was difficult to
convince them that they had not fallen in with another;
and they told their story, accordingly, in fear and
trembling. They told of a tory named Amos Gaskens,
a notorious wretch before the war, who had raised a
party and had been devastating the neighbouring country
throughout St. Stephens and St. Johns, Berkley.[1] His
numbers were increasing, and he stopped at no excesses.
On most of the plantations through which he
had gone, every house was burned to the ground, the
stock wantonly shot, the people plundered, and either
murdered, forced to follow their captors, or compelled
to fly to places of resort and refuge the most wild and
deplorable. The little family they had encountered
had been thus dispossessed; and they had only saved
their lives by a timely notice, which a friend among
the tories had given them of their approach. They
insisted that Gaskens could not be many miles off,
and would certainly meet them before noon, as he was
on his way to Charlestown with his prisoners and for
his reward.

Singleton determined to prepare for him a warm
reception, and having ascertained that the force under
Gaskens fully doubled his own, he laid his plans to
neutralize this superiority by the employment of the
usual cunning of the partisan. According to the account
of the flying countryman, there was a beautiful
little spring some three miles higher, not more than a
stone's throw from the roadside; this was the only
good drinking water for some distance, and, as it was
well known to wayfarers, it was concluded that Gaskens
would make use of it as a place of rest and refreshment.
Here, Singleton determined to place his
ambuscade; and as it was necessary to reach it some
time in advance of his enemy, he pushed his horse
forward at a quicker pace, and commanded his troop
to follow closely. They reached the spot in time, and
gliding out of the road, were soon in possession of the
desired station.

The spring was one of those quiet waters that trickle
along the hollow which they have formed, and with
so gentle a murmur, that, though but a brief distance
from the road, no passing ear, however acute, could possibly
have detected its prattling invitation. The water
was cool and refreshing; the overhanging trees gave
it a pleasant and fitting shelter, which scarcely rendered
necessary the small wooden shed which had
been built above it by some one of the considerate
dwellers in the neighbourhood. War, in its violence,
however destructive else, had spared, with a becoming
reverence, the fountain and the little roof above it.
The whole spot was exceedingly pretty; wild vines
and florid grapes clustered over it; a little clump of
wild-flowers grew just at its porch; while a fine large
oak, standing on the brow of the little hill at the bottom
of which the fountain had its source, took the
entire area into its sheltering embrace. The wild
jessamine, and the thousand flaunting blossoms of the
southern forests, grew profusely about the place; and
in that hour of general repose in Carolina during the

summer months—the hour of noon—when all nature
is languid; when the bird hushes his fitful note, or only
when man and beast, reptile and insect, alike, seek for
the shade and pant drowsily beneath its shelter—this
little hollow of the woods, and the clear stream swelling
over the little basin around which its dwelling-place
had been formed, and trickling away in a prattling
murmur that discoursed twin harmonies to the
sluggish breeze that shook at intervals the tree above
it, seemed eminently a scene chosen for gentle spirits,
and a purpose grateful to the softest delicacies of humanity.
Yet was its sacred and sweet repose about to
be invaded. War had prepared his weapon and lay
waiting in the shade.

Singleton now proceeded to his preparations for the
due reception of Gaskens and his tories. The troopers
and the prisoners were at once dismounted; the
latter, with the horses, were escorted to a sufficient
distance in the wood, beyond the reach of the strife,
and where they could convey no intimation by their
voices to the approaching enemy. Here a guard was
put over them, with instructions to cut down the first
individual who should show the slightest symptom of
a disposition to cry out or to fly. A command, otherwise
so sanguinary, was necessary, however, in the
circumstances. This done, Singleton despatched his
scouts, headed by Humphries, whose adroitness he
well knew, on the road leading to the enemy; they
were to bring him intelligence without suffering themselves
to be seen. he next proceeded to his own immediate
disposition of force for the hot controversy,
and approved himself a good disciple of the Swamp
Fox in the arrangement. The ambush was formed on
two sides of the spring, the men being so placed as
to possess the advantages of the cross-fire without being
themselves exposed to the slightest danger from their
mutual weapons. All approach to the waters was
thus commanded, and Singleton, trusting to the advantages

obtained from the surprise and the first fire, instructed
his men to follow him in the charge which he
contemplated making, immediately after the discharge
of their pieces. In the way of exhortation he had
but few words; he resembled Marion in that respect,
also: but those words were highly stimulating—

“Men, I have the utmost confidence in you; you
are no cowards, and I am sure will do your duty. I
do not call upon you to destroy men, but monsters;
not countrymen, but those who have no country—who
have only known their country, to rend her bowels and
prey upon her vitals. You will only spare them when
they are down—when they cry, enough. There must
be no `Tarleton's Quarter,' mind you; the soldier
that strikes a man who has once submitted, shall be
hung up immediately after; for though they be brutes
and monsters now, yet even the brute has a claim
upon man's mercy when he has once submitted to be
tamed. Go, now, men, each to his place, and wait
the signal; I will give it at the proper moment myself.
It shall be but one word, and when you hear me
say, `now!' let each rifle have its mark in an armed
tory. Shoot none that have not weapons in their
hands—remember that; and when you sally out, as
you will, immediately after the discharge and while
they are in confusion, let the same rule be observed.
Strike none that have not arms—none that do not offer
us resistance. Enough, now; the brave soldier needs
no long exhortation. The soldier who fights his
country's battles has her voice at his heart, pleading
for her rescue and relief. Remember the burnt dwellings
of your country—their murdered and maltreated
inhabitants—their desolate fields—their starving children—and
then strike home. Your country is worth
fighting for, and he who dies in the cause of his country,
dies in the cause of man: he will not be forgotten.
Go, and remember the word.”

There was no shout, no hurra, but eyes were bent
upon the ground, lips knit closely in solemn determination;

and Singleton saw at a glance that his men
were to be relied on.

“They will do,” he muttered to himself, as, seeing
them all properly sheltered, he threw himself at the
foot of a tree, a little removed from the rest, and only
accompanied by the boy Lance Frampton. We have
seen the increasing intimacy between the lad and his
commander; an intimacy encouraged by the latter, and
earnestly insisted upon by the boy. He studiously
kept near the person of the partisan, listened to every
word he uttered, watched every movement, and carefully
analyzed, so far as his immature capacities would
admit, every feeling and thought of his superior.
From this earnest and close contemplation of the one
object, the boy grew to be exclusive in his regards,
and slighted every other. Singleton became one and
the same with his mind's ideal, and a lively imagination,
and warm sensibilities, identified his captain, in
his thought, with his only notion of a genuine hero.
The more he studied him, the more complete was the
resemblance. The lofty, symmetrical, strong person—
the high but easy carriage—the grace of movement
and attitude—the studious delicacy of speech, mingled,
at the same time, with that simple adherence to propriety,
which describes genuine manliness, were all
attributes of Singleton, and all obvious enough to his
admirer.

“How I wish I was like him!” said the boy to himself,
as he looked where Singleton's form lay before
him under the tree. “If I was only sure that I could
fight like him, and not feel afraid, when the time
comes! Oh! how I wish it was over!”

Had the words been uttered loud enough to be
heard by the partisan, the mood of the boy would have
been better understood by his commander than it was,
when the latter heard the deep sigh which followed
them. Singleton turned to look upon him, as he heard
it, and could not avoid being struck with the manifest
dejection in every feature of his countenance. He

thought it might arise from the loneliness of his situation,
his recent loss of a tender mother, and the distressing
condition of his father, of whom they had
seen nothing since their departure from the swamp.
True, the brother of Lance was along with them, but
there was little sympathy between the two. The
elder youth was dull and unobservant, while the other
was thoughtful and acute. They had little intercourse
beyond an occasional word of question and reply; and
even then, the intimacy and relationship seemed imperfect.
These things might, and must necessarily
produce in the boy's mind a sufficient feeling of his
desolation, and hence, in Singleton's thought, his depression
seemed natural enough. But when the sigh
was repeated, and the face, even under the partisan's
glance, wore the same expression, he could not help
addressing him on the subject—

“Why, how now, boy—what's the matter? Cheer
up, cheer up, and get ready to do something like a
man. Know you not we're on the eve of battle?”

“Oh, sir, I can't cheer up,” was the half-inarticulate
reply, as the emotion of the boy vividly increased,
and a tear was seen to gather in his eyes. So much
emotion was unusual in one whose mood was that of
elastic enthusiasm; and the pallid cheek and downcast
look stimulated anew the anxiety of the partisan.
He repeated his question curiously, and at the same
time arising from his place of rest, he came round to
where the boy had now also arisen.

“What's the matter with you, boy—what troubles
you—are you sick?”

“Oh, no, sir—no, sir—I'm not sick—I'm very well
—but, sir—”

“But what?”

“Only, sir, I've never been in a battle before—never
to fight with men, sir.”

“Well! And what of that, boy—what mean you?
Speak!”

The brow of Singleton darkened slightly, as he witnessed

the trepidation of his companion. The frown,
when the boy beheld it, had the natural effect of contributing
to the increase of his confusion.

“Oh, sir, only that I'm so afraid—”

“Afraid, boy!” exclaimed Singleton, sternly, interrupting
the speaker—“afraid! Then get you back to
the horses—get away at once from sight, and let not
the men look upon you—begone—away!”

The cheek of the boy glowed like crimson, his eye
flashed a fire-like indignation, his head was erect on
the instant, and his whole figure rose with an expression
of pride and firmness, which showed the partisan
that he had done him injustice. The change was
quite as unexpected as it was pleasant to Singleton;
and he looked accordingly, as he listened to the reply
of the boy, whose speech was now unbroken.

“No, sir—you wrong me—I'm not afraid of the
enemy—that's not it, sir. I'm not afraid to fight, sir;
but—”

“But what, Lance—of what then are you afraid?”

“Oh, sir, I'm afraid I shan't fight as I want to fight.
I'm afraid, sir, I won't have the heart to shoot a man,
though I know he will shoot me if he can. It's so
strange, sir, to shoot at a true-and-true man—so very
strange, sir, that I'm afraid I'll tremble when the time
comes, and not shoot till it's too late.”

“And what then—how would you help that, boy?
You must make up your mind to do it, or keep out of
the way.”

“Why, sir, if I could only see you all the time—if
I could only hear you speak to me in particular, and
tell me by name when to shoot, I think, sir, I could do
it then well enough; but to shoot at a man—I'm so
afraid I'd tremble, and wait too long, unless you'd be
so good as to tell me when.”

Singleton smiled thoughtfully, as he listened to the
confused workings of a good mind, finding itself in a
novel position, ignorant of the true standard for its
guidance, and referring to another on which it was most
accustomed, or at least most willing, to depend. The

boy laboured under one of those doubts which so commonly
beset and annoy the ambitious nature, solicitous
of doing greatly, with an ideal of achievement, drawn
before the sight by the imagination, and making a picture
too imposing for the quiet contemplation. He
was troubled, as even the highest courage and boldest
genius will sometimes become, with enfeebling doubts
of his own capacity, even to do tolerably what he
desires to do well. He trembled to believe that he
should fall short of that measure of achievement which
his mind had made his standard, and at which he
aimed. Fortunately for him, Singleton was sufficiently
aware of the distinction between doubts and
misgivings so honourable and so natural, and those
which spring from imbecile purpose and an originally
shrinking spirit. He spoke to the boy kindly, assured
him of his confidence, encouraged him to a
better reliance upon his own powers; and, knowing
well that nothing so soon brings out the naturally
sturdy spirit as the quantity of pressure and provocation
upon it, he rather strove to impress upon him a
higher notion of the severity and trial of the conflict
now before him. In proportion to the quantity of
labour required at his hands, did his spirit rise to overcome
it; and Singleton, after a few moments' conversation
with him, had the satisfaction to see his
countenance brighten up, while his eye flashed enthusiasm,
and his soul grew earnest for the strife.

“You shall have a place under my own eye: and
mark me, Lance, that eye will be upon you. I will
give you a distinct duty to perform, and trust that it
will be done well.”

“I'll try, sir,” was the modest answer, though his
doubts of his own capacity were sensibly decreasing.
The time was at hand, however, which was to bring
his courage into exercise and trial, and to put to the
test that strength of mind which he had been so disposed
to underrate. One of the scouts charged with
the intelligence by Humphries now came in, bringing
tidings of the tories. They were computed to amount

to eighty men; but of this the scouts could not be certain,
as, in obedience to the orders of his commander,
Humphries had not ventured so nigh as to expose himself.
He computed the prisoners in their charge, men,
women, and children, to be quite as numerous. Singleton,
on the receipt of this intelligence, looked closely
to the preparations which he had made for their reception,
saw that his men were all in their places,
and went the rounds, addressing them individually in
encouragement and exhortation. This done, he took
the young beginner, Lance Frampton, aside, and leading
him to the shelter of a thick bush at the head of
the little hillock, he bade him keep that position in
which he placed him, throughout all the events of the
contest. This position commanded a view of the whole
scene likely to be the theatre of conflict. The partisan
bade him survey it closely.

“There is the spring, boy—there—in short rifle
distance. How far do you call it?”

“Thirty yards, sir.”

“Are you a sure shot at that distance?”

“Dead sure, sir;” and he raised the rifle to his eye,
which Singleton handed him.

“Your hand trembles, boy.”

“Yes, sir; but I'm not afraid; I'm only anxious to
begin.”

“Keep cool; there's no hurry, but time enough.
Throw off your jacket—give me your rifle. There
—now roll up your sleeve, and go down to the spring—
plunge your arms up to their pits into the cool water
a dozen times, until I call you. Go.”

The boy went; and before he returned, Humphries
rode in with accounts of the near approximation of
Gaskens and his tories. Singleton called up his pupil
from the spring, and continued his directions.

“Take your place here, by the end of the log;
don't mind your jacket—better off than on. Our men
you see ranged on either side of you. They can see
you as easily as you can see them.” This sentence
was emphatically uttered, while the piercing glance of

Singleton was riveted upon the now unfaltering countenance
of the boy. “Below you is the spring, and
in that shade the tories will most probably come to a
halt. They will scarcely put their prisoners under
cover, for fear they should escape; and they will be
likely to remain at the opening there to your left—
there, just by those tallow bushes. Now, observe: I
am about to trust to you to commence the affair.
Upon you, and your rifle shot, I depend greatly. Don't
raise it yet: let it rest in the hollow of your arm until
you are ready to pull trigger, which you will do the
moment you hear me say, `now!' I will not be far
from you, and will say it sufficiently loud for you to
hear. The moment you hear me, lift your piece, and
be sure to shoot the man, whoever he may be, that
may happen to stand upon the rise of the hill, just
above the spring, and under the great oak that hangs
over it. It is most probable that it will be Gaskens
himself, the captain of the tories. But no matter who
he is, shoot him: aim for the man that stands on the
hillock, and you must hit an enemy. You will have
but a single fire, as our men will follow your lead, and
in the next moment we shall charge. When you see
us do so, slip round by the tallow bushes, and cut loose
the ropes that tie the prisoners. These are your
duties; and remember, boy, I shall see all your movements.
I shall look to you, and you only, until the affair
commences. Be in no hurry, but keep cool:
wait for the word, and don't even lift your rifle until
you hear me utter it. Remember, you have a duty to
perform to yourself and country, in whose cause your
life to-day begins.”

The boy put his hand upon his heart, bowed his
head, and made no other reply; but his eye glistened
with pride; and as the partisan moved away, he
grapsed his rifle, threw his right foot back a pace, as
if to feel his position, then, sinking quietly behind the
bush, prepared himself as firmly for the contest as if
he had been a veteran of sixty.