University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

The hiding-place of Marion was admirably chosen in
all respects, whether as regards convenience or security.
It was a high ridge of land, well timbered, narrow and
long, and running almost centrally in the swamp. Two
or three outlets, known only to the partisans, and these,
as we have seen in the one instance already described,
intricate and difficult of access even to the initiated, were
all that it possessed; and here, secure from danger, yet
not remote from its encounter, if circumstances or their
own desires so willed it, the “swamp fox” lay with his
followers during brief intervals of that long strife in
which he contended for his country.

His force was feeble at this period. It consisted
only of the small bands of natives, gathered under local
officers chiefly from the lower country, none of whom
had ever seen what was called regular service. He
had been deserted by all the continentals with the exception
of two, whom he had rescued from their British
captors soon after the battle of Camden; but, though
thus few in number, and feeble in exercise, the partisans,
catching the full spirit of their leader, were never
inactive.

In the camp, while Blonay looked out on all hands
for his particular victim, the stir of preparation was heard
by the overlooking spy. Hurried orders were given,
horses were put in preparation, swords were brandished,
and rifles charged home. Amid all the bustle, there

was still room for jest and merriment. Like boys just
let loose from school, the men playfully gambolled over
the plain,—some leaping, others hurling the bar, and
some, less vigorously minded, busy in all the intricacies
of a game of “old sledge.” But one person alone, of
all the motley assemblage, appeared, on the present occasion,
indisposed to take part in the labours and
amusements going on. He sat aloof upon a log,—his
sword across his thighs, his elbows upon his knees, his
chin upon his palms, and his eyes bent wanderingly
upon the several groups. This was none other than our
ancient friend Porgy. He sat for some time in silence,
and seemed only busy in the adjustment of some vexing
thoughts. At length, calling Tom, the negro, to his
aid, he relaxed from his rigid position, stretched himself
off upon the log, and lay in waiting for the appearance
of the black. The sooty fellow soon answered and
obeyed the summons, and stood before the philosopher.

“Tom, old boy,” said he, as soon as he beheld him,
“Tom, can you tell me what to do for my horse,—
he has an outrageous colic?”

This was pronounced in a tone of infinite concern.
With a sympathetic voice and manner, the black instantly
responded—

“You no say so, Mass Porgy?”

“If I don't, Tom, I don't know what to say. He
certainly has something that looks cursedly like it; and
I've been considering what to do for it, but I'm at a loss.
I am no horse-doctor.”

“Speak Misser Oakenburgher,—him will tell you—
him will gib you somting good for um.”

“To kill the beast? No, no, Tom, that won't do
neither. He must get well without Oakenburgher, or he
dies quietly without physic. But is there nothing, Tom,
which is usually given in such cases? You are the
cook, Tom; and a good cook, Tom, ought to know
what's good for the stomach even of a horse.”

“I see dem gib hoss-drench, make wid whiskey, and
soot, and salt; but whey you guine git salt here for
hoss, and you no hab none for sodger?”

“Where, indeed? The prospect is a sad one—and
you say, Tom, that all the salt is gone that came up last
week from Georgetown?”

“Ebbry scrap ob 'em, mossa,—no hab 'nough to
throw on bird tail if you want to catch 'em. Dis a bad
country, Mass Porgy—no like de old cypress, whey
you can lap up 'nough salt from de swamp to cure you
meat for de year round, and season you hom'ny by looking
at 'em only tree minutes by the sun.”

“And you know nothing, Tom, that will ease the
animal?”

“No, mossa,—I see de buckrah gib drench heap
time, but I nebber ax how he been make.”

“Has Humphries come in yet, Tom?”

“Long time, sir: he gone ober to Wolf Island wid
de major 'bout two hours 'go, and muss be coming back
directly; and, jist I speak, look at 'em, coming yonder,
by de big gum!”

“I see—I see. You may go now, Tom, and see to
your dinner, which you had better get ready as soon as
possible. I feel hungry already, in anticipation of a
journey which I foresee we shall be called upon to
make.”

Tom disappeared, and, rising from his place of repose,
Porgy moved slowly by the several groups, buckling
on his sword as he went, and taking the route upon
which Humphries was approaching. But the philosopher
was not suffered to make his way quietly. A dozen
voices arrested his attention, calling to him on all sides
as he made his appearance, and labouring to secure his
presence among them—

“I say, sergeant—Sergeant Porgy!”

He relaxed as this particular summons met his ear.
It had something official in it. He turned to the speaker,
and, without advancing, replied,

“I hear, I hear, man; do not think me so much deaf
as indifferent. I would not hearken, but that you compel
me to hear; and I will not heed, unless you speak
quickly what you want, though you undo the drum of
my ear by your howling. Speak out and have done
with it, Dick Mason,—your bolt is soon shot, I reckon.”

“Why, sergeant, what's the matter—you're mighty
cross to-day? You haven't seen the sun shine, or not
eaten breakfast, I reckon.”

“Cross!—and well I may be, since here's my nag,
as fine an animal as man would like to cross, racked
with all the spasms of a most infernal colic. What can
I do for him?—tell me that, and I'll listen to you all
day, and sit up all night to answer your nonsense.”

“Give him red pepper tea,” said one.

“Soot and salt,” cried another.

“Gunpowder and rum,” said a third.

“Castor oil,” a fourth.

And each had some suggestion, as much in jest, perhaps,
as in earnest, of his own favourite specific. The
approach of Humphries silenced much of this, and to
him Porgy related his difficulties. The lieutenant coolly
gave directions to one of the soldiers in attendance, and
promised to relieve Porgy of his annoyance on this
subject.

“But, sergeant, you must get yourself in readiness as
soon as possible.”

“Well, Bill, what's to be done now?”

“Fight, my old boy—fight!”

“With whom?”

“The tories.”

“Where?”

“At Baynton's Meadow, where there is to be a
mighty gathering, and where they are to receive arms
from town. We are to have smart work; though, as
they're to have a barbecue and plenty of rum, we shall
find them a more easy bargain.”

“A barbecue, say you? The wretches! They to
have a barbecue, and we compelled to eat—Tom!”

“Sa!”

“What are we to have for dinner to-day, old fellow?”

“Some tripe, sir, and boil acorns, with hom'ny.”

“Tripe, hommony, and boiled acorns; and they are to
have a barbecue. I say, Humphries, there's something
exceedingly unreasonable in such a distribution of the
goods of Providence. But we must spoil them, Bill.
We shall be able to come upon them—shall we not?—
before they shall have touched the meat. I like vastly
to take a first cut at a barbecue,—the nice gravy is
then delicious; but, after a dozen seams have been
made upon it, it imbibes a smoky flavour, and is not
half so agreeable.”

“But your nag, Porgy,—how will you do for him?
He must stay to be physicked.”

“True; but I will get the horse of that fellow that's
sick,—old—what's his name—the German?”

“Feutbeer:—well, he'll carry you safe enough; it
will be for the tories to say if he will bring you back.
But what's this?—ha!”

Humphries started as the two approached the little
hollow in which Tom carried on his preparations for the
humble meal of the squad for which he provided. The
trooper seized a rifle that stood against a tree beside
him, and lifted it instantaneously to his eye. The muzzle
of it rested upon the strange dog that burrowed
amidst the offal strewn about the place, unnoticed by the
busy cook who purveyed for him. Porgy was about
to speak his wonderment at the sudden ferocity of mood
exhibited by his companion, when, motioning him to be
quiet, the trooper lowered the weapon, and called to
John Davis, who was approaching at a little distance.

“Davis,” said he, as the other came near, “do you
know that dog?”

“I do; but where I've seen him I can't say. I think
I know him.”

“And what do you say, Tom?” he said to the negro,
in tones that startled him,—“don't you know that dog?”

“He face is berry familiar, Mass Humphry, but I
loss he recollection for ebber.”

“That is the cur of old Mother Blonay—Goggle's
mother, and the blear-eyed rascal must be in this very
neighbourhood.”

“Do you think so, Bill?” asked Davis.

“Think so!—I know the dog, and why should he be
here if the other were not? It must be so; and we are
hunted. But we shall soon find out. Tom!”

“Sa!”

“Hit the dog a smart stroke suddenly with your stick,
hard enough to scare him off, but not to hurt him much;
and do you move to the edge of the creek, Davis, as
soon as the dog runs off. That scoundrel, his master,
must be in that direction, and we must see for him.”

Thus ordering, he called two of the men, and sent
them on the path directly opposite that taken by Davis,
yet over the same creek. He himself prepared to strike
the creek at a point equidistant from the two; and, as
he advanced, he gave the signal to Tom, who, with
right good-will, laid the flail over the back of the obtrusive
animal, and with a force that sent him howling into
the swamp. He took, as had been expected, the very
path he came, and was soon running upon the log that
partially crossed the creek, and in the direction in which
he had left his master.

But Blonay was not to be caught napping. He had
one chief merit of a scout, and never went within smell
and sound of an enemy's camp without keeping his wits
well about him. He had marked the movement of
Humphries towards his dog,—beheld the rifle uplifted,
and the muzzle pointed at the animal's head,—and readily
divined the motives which induced Humphries to forbear
shooting him, and which finally led him to the
movement subsequently determined upon. With this

consciousness, the Half-Breed at once proceeded to a
change of position. He left the advanced point from
which he had watched the camp, and, running in a
straight line about fifty yards above, turned suddenly
about and kept a forward course in the direction of the
spot at which he had first entered the swamp. But
he did not take these precautions without some doubts
of their adequacy to his concealment. He muttered
his apprehensions of the keen scent of the dog, which
he feared would too quickly find out his track, and lead
his pursuers upon it; and, though he doubted not that
he should be able to get out of the swamp before any
of those after him, he was yet fully aware of the utter
impossibility of escaping them on the high road, should
any of them mount in pursuit. Though a hardy and
fast animal, his pony was quite too small to overcome
spae very rapidly; and the determination of Blonay
was soon made, if he could mislead the dog, to seek
a hiding-place in the swamp, which, from its great extent
and impervious density in many places, he knew
would conceal him, for a time, from any force which the
partisans might send. He hurried on, therefore, taking
the water at every opportunity, and leaving as infrequent
a track as possible behind him. But he fled in vain
from the sagacious and true scent of his dog. From
place to place, true in every change, the cur kept on
after him, giving forth, as he fled, an occasional yelp of
dissatisfaction or chagrin, as much probably on account
of the beating he had received as from not finding his
master.

“Adrat the pup—there's no losing him. Now, if I
had my hand on him, I should knife him, and that's the
only way.”

The Half-Breed thus muttered, as the bark of the dog,
on the new trail which he had made, attested the success
with which he pursued him. Blonay rose upon a
stump, and distinctly beheld the head of Humphries,

though greatly behind, but still pressing on earnestly,
led by the cries of the dog.

“I can hit him now—it's not two hundred yards, and
I've hit a smaller mark than that so fur, before now.”

And, as he spoke, he lifted his rifle, cocked it, and
raised it to his eye, where it rested for a few seconds;
but Humphries was now covered by a tree. The dog
came on, and Blonay distinguished the voices of the pursuers,
and that of Humphries in particular, urging the
chase with words of encouragement. Unseen himself,
he now took a certain aim at the head of the lieutenant;
another moment and he must have fired; but,
just then, he beheld the figure of Davis pressing
through the brush, at a point higher up than the rest,
and seemingly bent on making a circuit, which would
enable him to get between their present position and
the fugitive's only outlet. To merely kill his victim,
and to run the risk of perishing himself, was not the
desire of the Half-Breed. His Indian blood took its
vengeance on safer terms. He slowly uncocked the
rifle, let it fall from his shoulder, and once more set off
in flight, taking now a course parallel with that which he
beheld John Davis pursuing. His object was to reach
the same point; and he could only do so, in good time to
escape, by keeping the direct route upon which he now
found himself.

At this moment his dog came up with him. He was
about to plunge into a puddle of mixed mire and water.
The faithful animal, unconscious of the danger in which
he had involved his master, now leaped fondly upon
him, testifying his joy at finding him by wantonly yelping
at the highest pitch of his voice, and assailing him
with the most uncouth caresses, which added to his annoyance
by impeding his flight. His clamours also
guided the pursuers upon the true path of the fugitive,
and would continue to guide them. The moment was
full of peril, and every thing depended upon his decision.

The savage and ready mood of the Half-Breed did not
long delay in a moment of such necessity. Muttering
to himself in few words his chagrin, he grasped the dog
firmly by the back of his neck, and, as the skin was
tightly drawn upon the throat, with a quick movement of
his hand he passed the keen blade of his knife but once
over it, and thrust the body from him in the ooze. With
a single cry and a brief struggle, the animal lay dead in
the path of the pursuers. Hurriedly sending the knife
back into its sheath, he resumed the rifle which, while he
slew the dog, he had leaned against a cypress; and,
seemingly without compunction, he again set forward.
His flight was now far less desperate, since his pursuers
had no longer the keen faculties of the dog to
scent for them the path, and his clamorous yelp to
guide them upon it; and, with a more perfect steadiness,
Blonay pushed onward until he gained a small,
though impenetrable, cane-brake. This he soon rounded,
and it now lay between him and his enemies. Taking
to the water whenever it came in his way, he left
but few traces of his route behind him; and to find
those, at intervals, necessarily impeded the pursuers.
When at length they reached the pond in which he
had slain his dog, and beheld the body of their guide
before them, they saw that the pursuit was almost hopeless.

“Look here!” exclaimed Humphries to the rest, as
they severally came up to the spot. “Look here! the
skunk, you see, has been mighty hard pushed, and can't
be far off; but there's no great chance of finding him
now. It's like hunting after a needle in a haystack.
So long as we had the dog there was something to go
by, for the beast would find his master through thick and
thin. Goggle knew that; and he's done the only thing
that could have saved him. He's a scout among a thousand—that
same Goggle; and no money, if we had it,
ought to be stinted to git him on our side. But he

knows the difference between guineas and continentals;
and, so long as Proctor pays him well with the one,
he'd be a mighty fool, being what he is, to bother himself
about the other.”

At that moment the shrill sounds of the trumpet came
to them from the camp, and put an end to the pursuit,
as it commanded their presence for other duties.

“There's the trumpet, boys; we must put back.
We can't stop to bother any longer with a single man;
and so little chance, too, of our catching him. We've
got other work. The general, you must know, is gitting
ready for a brush with the tories; and we have permission
to lick them well to-morrow at Baynton's Meadow.
If we do we shall all get rich; for Barsfield, they
say, is to meet them there with a grand supply of shoes
and blankets, muskets and swords, and a thousand other
matters besides, which they've got and we want. We
must git back at once; and yet, boys, it goes against
me to leave this scoundrel in the swamp.”

But there they were compelled to leave him in perfect
security. The Half-Breed reached his pony, which he
mounted at once and proceeded on his return. He had
no reason to be dissatisfied with events. He had tracked
his enemy, though his vengeance was still unsatisfied;
he had found out the secret pass to the rebel camp,
and he estimated highly the value of the discovery.