University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

To the green wood with Harrison and the trader.
We have heard the merry horn responding freely to
that of the former. “You shall see them,” said he to
Granger—“brave fellows and true, and sufficient for my
purpose. I can rely upon Grimstead, the smith, and
his brother, certainly, for I left them but a couple of
hours ago at the smithy. Theirs was the first answer
we heard. I know not from whom comes the second,
but I look for Wat Grayson from that quarter, and
sure enough, he is here. Ha! Grayson, you are true
and in time, as usual. I give you welcome, for I want
your arm.”

“And at your service, captain, to strike deer or enemy,

for fight or labour. Ha! Granger—but you have
forgotten my knife, which I've sorely wanted.”

“It is here, at the Block House, ready for you.”

“Good! Well captain, what's the service now?
I'm ready, you see, and glad that you feel able to count
so free upon Wat Grayson.”

“You shall soon see, Grayson. I wait but for a
few more of the boys, to tell you our work; and in
order not to waste more time, wind your horn, and let
the men come freely.”

The horn was wound, and but a few seconds had
elapsed when a distinct reply from two other quarters
acknowledged the potent summons. In a few moments
the sturdy blacksmith, Grimstead, followed by his
younger brother, burst into the little area, which was
the usual point of assemblage. A moment after, a
bustling little body, known as Dr. Nichols, the only
medical man in that region, also entered the ring,
mounted upon the little ambling pony, or tacky, from
the marsh—a sturdy little animal in much use, though
of repute infinitely below its merits.

“Ha! doctor—our worthy Esculapius—how fares
it? You come in time, for we look to have some bones
for your setting before long,” exclaimed Harrison, addressing
him.

“Captain Harrison,” responded the little professional,
with a most imposing manner, “it gives me
pleasure at any moment to do my country service. I
am proud that my poor ability may be called into exercise,
though I should rather have you invoke my personal
than professional offices.”

“We shall need both, doctor, most probably. We
must first risk our bones before the surgeon may hope
to handle them; and in doing so, have no scruple that
he should risk his along with ours.”

“And wherefore, may I ask, Captain Harrison?”

“Simply, doctor, that he may be taught a due lesson
of sympathy by his own hurts, which shall make
him tender of ours. But we are slow. Who have
we here to count on for a brush?”

“Count on Dick Grimstead, captain, and you may
put down Tom with him, but not as doctors.—I'm not
for the doctoring, captain.”

“Irreverend fellow!” muttered Nichols.

Harrison laughed, and proceeded to enumerate and
arrange his men, who now, with himself and Granger,
amounted to seven. He himself carried pistols, and
the short German rifle already described. The rest
had generally either the clumsy muskets of the time,
or the tomahawk, an instrument almost as formidable,
and certainly quite as necessary in the forests. Some
of them were dressed in the uniform of the “green-jackets,”
the corps which had been raised by Harrison
in the Coosaw war, and which he commanded. Though
ignorant entirely of his character and pursuits, yet his
successful heading of them in that sudden insurrection,
at a moment of great emergency, not less than the free,
affable, and forward manner which characterized him,
had endeared him to them generally; and, unlike the
pastor, they were content with this amount of their
knowledge of one whom they had learned not less to
love than to obey.

Harrison looked round upon his boys, as he called
them, not heeding sundry efforts which Nichols made
to command his attention. Suddenly addressing Grayson,
he asked—

“Where's Murray?”

“Sick, captain—on the flat of his back, or I had
brought him with me. He lies sick at Joe Gibbons'
up by Bates', where he's been running up a new house
for Gibbons.”

“He must come from that, Grayson. It is too far
from the Block House for any of them, and for a sick
man, it will be hopeless, if there should be war. He
is not safe there, Grayson, you must move him.”

“That's impossible, captain. He can't move, he's
down flat with the fever.”

“Then you must bring him off on your shoulders, or
get a cart, for he is not safe where he is. I think so
at least, for the Indians are at work, and we shall, before

very long, have the war-whoop ringing in our ears.
We must clear the borders, or the Yemassees will do
it for us.”

“And I'm ready, captain, as soon as they,” exclaimed
Grayson; “and that's the notion of more than Wat
Grayson. The boys, generally, long for something to
do; and, as we go up the river, the Indians get too monstrous
impudent to be borne with much longer.”

“True, Grayson—but we must wait their pleasure.
I only give you my suspicions, and they amount to
nothing so long as the Yemassees profess peace.”

“Oh, hang their professions, captain, say I. I don't
see why we should wait on them to begin the brush,
seeing it must be begun. There's nothing like a dash
forward, when you see you have to go. That's my
notion; and, say but the word, we'll catch the weazel
asleep when he thinks to catch us. All our boys are
ready for it, and a ring of the horn round Alligator
Swamp will bring a dozen; and by night we could
have Dick Mason, and Spragg, and Baynton, who have
gone up to the new clearing upon the fork of Tuliffinee.”

“It is well,” said Harrison—“well that you should
be ready, but it is for the assembly to make war and
peace,—not for us. We can only provide for our defence
in case of assault, and against it I want to prepare
you, for I greatly apprehend it. But, in the meantime,
I have another job for execution.”

Nichols now finding a favourable moment, in his
usual swelling manner, addressed Harrison and the
company:—

“Captain Harrison, understand me. I protest my
willingness to volunteer in any matter for the good of
the people. It is the part of the true patriot to die for
the people, and I'm willing when the time comes.
Prepare the block, unsheath the sword, and provide
the executioner,—and I, Constantine Maximilian Nichols,
medical doctor, well assured that in my death I
shall save my country, will freely yield up my poor
life, even as the noble Decius of old, for the securing

of so great a blessing for my people. But, captain, it
must be clear to my mind that the necessity is such,
the end to be attained is of so great moment, and the
means to be employed are warranted by the laws, in
letter and in spirit. Speak therefore, captain, the design
before us. Let me hear your purpose—let my
mind examine into its bearings and its tendencies, and
I will then declare myself.”

Harrison, who knew the weak point of the speaker,
with singular composure preserved his gravity, while
the foresters laughed aloud.

“Come with us, Constantine Maximilian—your own
mind shall judge.”

He led the party to the Chief's Bluff, and from the
eminence he pointed out to them at a little distance
below, where lay the boat of the schooner, one of the
seamen rambling upon the land at a little distance from
it, while the other lay in its bottom.

“Now, Constantine,” said he, “behold those men. I
want them secured, bound hand and foot, and kept until
further orders.”

“Show me, Captain Harrison, that the peace of the
country, the lives of my fellow-countrymen, or the liberties
of the people depend upon the measure, and I
am ready to yield up my life in the attainment of your
object. Until you do this, captain, I decline; and
must, furthermore, lift up my voice in adjuration to
those about me, against acting as you counsel, doing
this great wrong to the men whom you have singled
out for bondage, depriving them of their liberties, and
possibly their lives.”

“You are scrupulous, doctor, and we shall have to
do without you. We shall certainly secure those two
men, though we meditate nothing against the liberties
of the people.”

“I shall warn them by my voice of your design
upon them,” was the dogged resolve of the doctor.

“Of God's surety, if you dare, Nichols, I shall tumble
you headlong from the bluff,” sternly responded
Harrison; and the patriot, to whom the declamation was

enough of glory, shrunk back, in little, behind the
rest, with whom the leader found no difficulty. He
proceeded,—

“Those men must be secured—they are but two,
and you are five. They are without arms, so that all
you may look for in the affair, will be a black eye or
bloody nose. This will trouble neither of you much,
though less ready than Constantine Maximilian to die
for the people. Tumble the dogs into the sand and
rope them—but do them no more damage than is
necessary for that.”

“Who are they, captain?” asked Grayson.

“Nay, I know not, but they come from that vessel,
and what she is I know not. One thing is certain,
however, and hence my proceeding: In that vessel
they have safely put away my black fellow, Hector.”

“The devil they have—the kidnappers.”

“Ay have they, and unless I get him out, they will
have him in the Cuba market, and heaven knows how
many more beside him, in twenty days, and we have
no vessel to contend with them. There is but one
way to give them a taste of what they may expect.
You secure these lads, and when you have done so,
bring them to Parson Matthews, sound your horn, and
I shall then do my share of the duty.”

Leaving them to the performance of this task, Harrison
went forward to the cottage of the pastor; while,
headed by Grayson, the whole party, Nichols not excepted,
went down the bluff, and came by a circuitous
route upon the seamen. One of them slept in the boat
and was secured without any difficulty. His opening
eyes found himself closely grappled by a couple of sturdy
woodsmen, and he did not even venture to cry aloud,
warned as he had been against such a measure, by
the judicious elevation of a tomahawk above his head.
The other took to his heels on seeing the capture of
his companion, but stood no manner of chance with
the fleet-footed foresters. He was soon caught, and
Constantine Maximilian Nichols was the most adroit
of the party in bandaging up the arms of both. The

truth is, the doctor was not content with one profession
only. He aimed at popular favour. His speeches
were framed solely with that end, and he accordingly
prated for ever, as is the familiar custom always among
the cunning, about those rights of man for which he
cared but little. He was not judicious in his declamation,
however,—he professed quite too largely; and, in
addition to this misfortune, it grew into a faith among
his neighbours, that, while his forms of speech were
full of bloodshed and sacrifice, the heart of the doctor
was benevolently indifferent to all the circumstances
and the joys of strife. But the prisoners were now
secured, and, under close guard, were marched agreeably
to arrangement, to the cottage of the pastor.