University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

Let us back to the woods and their wild inhabitants.
We have seen the success of the woodman in dissuading
his young companion from the idle and rash demonstration
which he sought to make upon the person of the
tory captain. Prevented from any attempt upon the
life of Barsfield, Mellichampe nevertheless determined
upon watching his footsteps. In this design he was

readily seconded by Witherspoon. This, indeed, was a
duty with them both. They were then playing the part
of scouts to Marion. Taking their way on foot, immediately
after their enemies, they kept the cover of the
forest, with the caution of experienced woodmen, venturing
only now and then upon the skirts of the road, in
such contiguity as to enable them to command a full
view, for some distance on either hand, of every thing
that took place upon it. Familiar with the neighbourhood,
they availed themselves of each by-way and footpath
to shorten the distance; and thus, gaining ground
at every step, they were readily and soon enabled to
come in sight of the persons they pursued.

The fierce spirit of the youthful Mellichampe could
scarcely be restrained by a wholesome prudence, while
he saw, at moments, through the leaves, the person of
his enemy. It was with no small increase of vexation,
when they came in sight of Piney Grove, that he saw
the troop of the tory turning into the avenue. Could he
have listened to the dialogue between the tory captain
and his lieutenant at this time, his fury would scarce
have been restrainable. It would have been a far more
difficult matter for his companion then to have kept him
from his meditated rashness. A passing remark of
Thumbscrew, as the course of Barsfield grew obvious,
seemed to add new fuel to the fire already burning in
his bosom.

“So-ho! he's for Piney Grove to-night! Well, Airnest,
that knocks up your business. There's no gitting
to see Miss Janet while Barsfield's there, I reckon.”

“And why not?” was the fierce demand?—“why
not? I will see her to-night, by Heaven! though I die
for it. I have promised her, and God help me as I
shall keep that, and every promise that I have made, or
shall ever make, to her. Do you think, Thumbscrew,
that I fear this scoundrel? Do you think that I would
not the rather go, if I thought that it was possible to encounter

him alone? I have prayed for such a chance,
and I would pray for it now, even were the odds more
numerously against me.”

“Don't be rash, Airnest—don't be headstrong and
contrary, boy. It'll be mighty onwise and redic'lous
for you to go to Piney Grove to-night, though you did
make a promise: there's no use for it; and it's like
going into the lion's den, as a body may say. Barsfield,
you may be sure, will put out his sentries; and them
tories, like the smallpox they have in Charleston now,
are mighty catching. You can't go there with any
chance of clearing the bush; and if that chap gets you
in his gripe, it'll go monstrous hard with you. He
knows you've got no reason to love him; and he's
hearn, long ago, how you've swore agin him; and he'd
like nothing better now, do you see, than to set finger
upon you. You can't think how pleasant it would make
him feel to put a grape-vine round your neck: so, you
must keep quiet, and not think of seeing Miss Janet
to-night.”

“But I must and will think of it. I will see her at
every hazard, and you need say nothing more on the
subject, Thumbscrew, unless you change very greatly
the burden of what you say. This caution—caution—
caution—nothing but caution—is the dullest music: it
sickens me to the soul. You are too careful of me, by
half, Thumbscrew; I can't move but you follow and
counsel me—striving to guard me against a thousand
dangers and difficulties which nobody ever dreams of
but yourself.”

“That's because I loves you, Airnest, much better
than anybody else, and much better, when the truth's
spoken, than you loves yourself,” replied the woodman,
affectionately putting his arms around the neck of his
youthful companion: “I loves you, Airnest, and I
watches you like an old hen that's got but one chicken
left, and I clucks and scratches twice as much for that

very reason. If there was a dozen to look after, now,
the case would be different; I wouldn't make half the
fuss that I make about the one; but, you see, when it
so happens that the things a man's got to love gits fewer
and smaller, they gits more valuable, Airnest, in his
sight; for he knows mighty well, if he loses them, that
he's jist like an old bird that comes back to the tree
when the blossoms and the flowers have all dropped off
and are rotting under it. It's mighty nigh to winter in
his heart then, Airnest—mighty nigh—and the sooner
he begins to look out for a place to sleep in, the wiser
man you may take him to be. But, Airnest, 'taint altogither
that I loves you so that makes me agin your
going to-night to see the gal—”

“Stop, Thumbscrew, if you please,” were the words
of interruption sternly uttered by the youth; “you will
change your mode of speech in speaking of Miss Berkeley,
and, when you refer to her in my hearing, you will
please do so with becoming respect.”

“Swounds, Airnest, don't I respect her? Don't
you know that I respects her? Don't I love her, I ax
you, a-most as much as I loves you? and wouldn't I
do any thing for you both, that wasn't a mean, cowardly
thing? You know I doesn't mean to be disrespectful
in what I says consarning her; and you mustn't talk
so as if you thought I did. I says I'm agin your going
to see her, or anybody at Piney Grove, not because it's
you that's going, but because I wouldn't have anybody go,
that b'longs to Marion's men, into the clutches of them
there thieves and murderers. It'll be as much as your
neck's worth to go there, for Barsfield is something of
a sodger, and will be sure to put out scouts and sentries
all round the house. If he don't he's no better than a
nigger, and desarves to be cashiered.”

“Danger or no danger, Thumbscrew, I'll go to Piney
Grove this night, as I have promised. You may spare
yourself all farther exhortation: I keep my word, though
death be in the way.”

“Well, now, Airnest, that's what I call pervarsion and
mere foolishness. She won't look for you, Airnest.
She's a lady of sense and understanding, and won't so
much as dream to see you after Barsfield's coming.”

“Say no more,” said the youth, decisively; “I will
go. Let us now return to our horses, and you can then
go on to Broom Hollow, where I'll meet you by midnight.”

The youth turned away while speaking, and the woodman
followed him, though slowly, and with looks of
deepest concern.

“You wants to see her, Airnest, that's it—it ain't so
much because you promised, as because you wants to
keep your promise. Ah, Airnest, this love in you
young people—it ain't sensible, and I say it ain't strong
and lasting. No love is strong and lasting if it ain't
sensible. This what you has now is only a sulky autumn
fever, Airnest; it'll burn like old vengeance for a
month or so, and everybody that don't know any thing
about it might reckon it hot enough to set the woods
a-fire; but it goes off monstrous quick after that, for you
see it burns its substance all away, and then comes on
the shaking ague, and it sticks to you, God only knows,
there's no telling how long!”

The youth smiled, not less at the earnestness of his
companion's manner, than at the grotesqueness of his
comparisons. He contented himself, as they pursued
their way back to the cover which they had left, by insisting
upon the superior nature of his affection to that
which he had described.

“Not so with me, Thumbscrew; I know myself
too well; and, if I did not, I certainly know Janet too
well ever to love her less than now, unless some
change of which I dream not, and which I believe impossible—some
strange change—shall come over both
of us. But no more of this; let us see to our horses,
and with the dark you can go on to Broom Hollow,

where I will seek you as soon after I leave `Piney
Grove' as I can.”

The woodman shook his head and muttered to himself,
with an air not less of decision than of dissent. If
his companion was fixed in his determination, Thumbscrew
was not less resolved in his; but of this he said
nothing. Quietly enough, and with the composure and
intimacy of two relying friends, they sought out their retreat,
behind which, some hundred yards, a close bay
gave shelter to their horses—two noble animals, well caparisoned,
which bounded away beneath them with a
free step and a graceful movement, though the darkness
already covered the highway, making the path doubtful,
if not dangerous, in some places, to riders less experienced
and bold than themselves. They retraced the
ground which they had just left, and when they had reached
the avenue leading to “Piney Grove” they sunk into
the contiguous woods, and there Mellichampe, alighting,
prepared himself for that visit to his mistress from which
his comrade had so earnestly endeavoured to dissuade
him. Nor did he now forbear his solicitations to the
same effect. He urged his objections more gently, yet
with his former earnestness, only to meet with the same
stern decision.

“Well, now, Airnest,” said the faithful woodman,
“sence you're bent to go, like a wilful fox that's still
got a tail worth docking, suppose you let me go along
with you? You'd better, now; I can keep watch—”

“Pshaw! Thumbscrew, what nonsense! I need no
watch, and certainly would not permit your presence at
such a time. You know I go to meet with a lady.”

“Swounds, Airnest! but she sha'n't see me.”

“Why, man, of what do you speak? Would you
have me guilty of a meanness, Thumbscrew?”

“Dang it, Airnest! I see it's no use to talk. You're
on your high horse to-day, and nobody can take you
down. I'll leave you; but, Airnest, boy, keep a bright

look-out, and stick to the bush close as a blind 'possum
that's lame of a fore-paw. You're going among sharp
woodmen, them same tories; and they'll give you a
hard drive if they once sets foot on your trail. When
do you say you'll come?”

“About midnight—but don't wait for me. Go to
sleep, old fellow, for I know you need it.”

“Good-by, Airnest! God bless you!”

“Good-by.”

“And, Airnest—”

“What now, Thumby?”

Keep snug, that's all, and don't burn daylight—that's
to say, don't waste time. Good-by.”

The youth, leaving his horse carefully concealed and
fastened in a well-chosen spot, hurriedly plunged forward
into the woods with a precipitation seemingly intended
to free him from the anxieties of his companion, who
watched his progress for a few moments as he divided
the bushes in his flight. Thumbscrew looked after him
with all the concern of a parent in a time of trying
emergency. He shook his head apprehensively, as,
leading his own steed forth towards the highway, he
seemed to prepare for his departure in the direction assigned
him. He had scarcely reached the road, however,
when the approach of a driving horseman struck
his senses and arrested his progress. The scout drew
back instantly into the cover of the bush, and, placing
himself in a position which would enable him to retreat
at advantage, should the horseman prove other than he
wished, he whistled thrice in a manner peculiar to the
men of Marion. He was instantly answered in the
same manner by the horseman, who drew up his steed
with the exchange of signals. Thumbscrew at once
emerged from the copse, and was addressed by the
stranger in a dialect adopted among the partisans for
greater security. Thumbscrew replied by what would
seem a question.

“Owls abroad?”

“Owls at home!” was the immediate response of
the stranger, by which the calling in of the scouts to the
main body was at once signified to his comrade. He
continued, as they approached each other—

“What owl hoots?”

“Thumbscrew,” was the reply of Witherspoon, giving
the familiar name by which his companions generally
knew him.

“Ah, Witherspoon,” said the other, who proved to be
Humphries, “is that you?”

“A piece of me—I ain't altogether myself, seeing
that I ain't in a good humour quite.”

“Well, stir up, for you're wanted. The boys have
work on hand, and the `fox' has got news of a tory
gathering, so he's gone to drinking vinegar, and that's
sign enough to show us that we must have a brush.
Major Singleton has ordered in our squad, and looks
out for a squall. So there's news for you.”

“I reckon I've got quite as much, Humphries, to give
you back for it in return. What would you say, now, if
I tell you that Barsfield is here, within five hundred
yards of us, with a smart company of red-jackets, and
two big wagons of baggage?”

“No!”

“But I say yes!” and the scout then proceeded to
inform his comrade of those matters in reference to
Barsfield's arrival at Piney Grove with which the reader
has been already made acquainted.

Humphries listened attentively, then exclaimed—

“I see it, Thumby; Barsfield is to meet these same
tories, and probably take the lead of them. We heard
from a boy that they were to gather, but he could not
say who was to command 'em; and the general thought
he could dash in among 'em before they could get arms
and ammunition for a start. He'll have more work
now than he thought for.”

“Well, and where are you bent now, Humphries?—
ain't you going back with this news I tell you?”

“Yes, to be sure; but you must go in yourself at
once. I am pushing on for Davis, and Baxter, and little
Gwinn: they are all out on your line. We want all
the muzzles we can muster. Where's Mister Mellichampe?”

The scout answered this question gloomily, as he told
of the adventurous movement of the youth in visiting
the “Piney Grove” while it was in the possession of the
enemy, and of his own urgent entreaties to prevent it.

“It's an ugly risk he's taking,” said Humphries;
“but what can you do—you can't help it now?”

“Why, yes, I think I can,” said the other, quickly.
“I can't find it in my heart to leave the boy in the hands
of them Philistines, and so, you see, Humphries, soon
as I can hide my horse in the hollow, I'm going back
after him. I won't let him see me, for he's mighty
ticklish and passionate, and may get in a bad humour;
but I can keep close on his skirts and say nothing—
only, if harm comes, I can lend him a helping hand, you
see, when he don't look for it.”

“Well, you've little time, and, soon as you let him
know that he's wanted, you must both push off for the
swamp. There's a branch broke across the road at
`My Lady's Fancy,'—the butt-end points to the right
track; and, on the same line, after you get into the bush,
you'll see another broken branch just before you,—go
to the bush-end, and keep ahead—that'll lead you down
to the first sentry, and that's McDonald, I think. But
the two branches ain't thirty yards from each other; so
that, if the one in the road should be changed by anybody,
you'll only have to look round in the woods till
you find the other.”

Having given these directions, he stooped and whispered
the camp passward for the night in the ears of his
attentive comrade—

“Moultrie!”

Putting spurs to his steed, in another instant he had
left the place of conference far behind him. Thumbscrew,
then, returning to the wood, carefully placed his
horse in hiding, and proceeded, according to the silent
determination which he had made, upon the path taken
by his young companion. He was soon in the thicket
adjoining the plantation, and resolute to do his best to
save the youth, over whom he kept a watch so paternal,
from any of the evil consequences which he feared
might follow from his rashness.