University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

The stirring tones of the trumpet, a long and lively
peal, resounded through the swamp. Its summons was
never unheeded by the men of Marion. They gathered
on all hands, and from every quarter of its comprehensive

recesses. From the hummock where they slept,
from the lakelet where they fished, from the green where
they leaped the frog, hurled the bar, or wrestled in emulous
sport, and in all the buoyancy of full life and
conscious strength. They were soon thick around the
person of the partisan, and nothing for some time could
be heard but the busy hum, the mingling voices of the
crowd, in all the confusion of that sort of preparation
and bustle which usually precedes the long march and
anticipated conflict. But the quick, sharp, yet low tones
of the “swamp fox” soon reduced to silence the commotion,
and brought to symmetry and order all that was
confusion before. His words were powerful, as they
were uttered in a voice of unquestionable command, and
with that unhesitating decision which, as it commands
respect from the foe, is always sure to secure confidence
in the follower. Strange, that in domestic life, and in
moments of irresponsible and unexciting calm, usually
distinguished by a halting and ungraceful hesitation of
manner, which materially took from the dignity of his
deportment, it was far otherwise when he came to command
and in the hour of collision. He possessed a
wonderful elasticity of character, which was never so apparent
as when in the time of danger. At such periods
there was a lively play of expression in his countenance,
denoting a cool and fearless spirit. His manner now
was marked by this elasticity; and, instead of anticipated
battle, one might have imagined that he was about to
promise to his men the relaxation and the delights of a
festival. But the sagacious among them knew better.
They had seen him drinking vinegar and water—his favourite
beverage—in greater quantities than usual; and
they knew, from old experience, that a rapid march and
a fierce struggle were at hand.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Marion, seeing his officers
and favourite men all around him, “if you are as tired
of the swamp as I am, you will rejoice at the news I
bring you. We are now to leave it.”

“Whither now, general?” asked Horry.

“Ah, that indeed is the question. We must leave it
first. That, gentlemen, is the requisition of our old friend,
Captain Barsfield, of his majesty's loyalists, who is now
mustering in force around us. He has instructions
to set dog upon dog, and hunt us out with our hounds
of neighbours—the tories. It is for you to say whether
we shall stand and wait their coming, or give them the
trouble of hunting the empty swamp after us. I am for
leaving them the ground, and looking out for other quarters
and a better business.”

Cries of “No—no—let us meet them—let us not fly
from any tory,” were heard on all hands; and Horry,
Singleton, and sundry others of the most favoured officers,
seriously interposed with suggestions of their
strength, and the ability and willingness of the men to
fight. The partisan smiled pleasantly as he listened to
their suggestions.

“You mistake me somewhat, gentlemen,” was his
quiet and general reply; “you mistake me much; and I
rejoice that you do so, as I am now so much the better
satisfied that your views and feelings accord with my
own. To leave the swamp does not mean to fly from
the enemy. Oh, no. I propose, on the contrary, that
we should leave the swamp in order to seek the enemy
before he shall be altogether ready for us. Why should
we wait until he has brought his men together?—why
wait until the tories from Waccamaw come in to swell the
number of our own rascals from Williamsburg?—and
why, of all things, wait until Captain Barsfield brings
his baggage-wagons with supplies to glut these greedy
wretches who expect them? I see no reason for this.”

“No—no, general,” was the response; “we are ready
for them—we need not wait.”

“Very well, gentlemen, as you say—we need not
wait; and, supposing that such would be your determination,
I have already completed my arrangements for

departure. We shall move off with midnight, and it is
expected, gentlemen, that you so speed in your duties
as to suffer no delay after that period in your departure.
Colonel Horry will have his squad in readiness to move
with me upon Baynton's Meadow, where we must take
post before the tories. The route and general orders he
will find in this paper. Singleton—”

The chief led the young officer aside.

“Singleton, I have special work for you, which calls
for all your activity. Take your whole corps of riflemen,
and select your horses. Leave to Captain Melton
all those of your men who are most cumbrous or may
least be relied upon. The duty is too important to be
intrusted to clumsy fingers.”

Singleton bowed, and Marion continued:—

“Proceed up the river road to Brook's Mills, and secure
the detachment which Watson had placed there.
Let none of them escape, if you can, to carry news
across the river. Let your return be by daylight, and
then take the road towards Berkeley's place, where
Barsfield has found lodgings. He will move to-morrow,
with the sun, on the route to Baynton's Meadow. He
must be met and beaten at all hazards. I will despatch
Captain Melton with thirty men for this purpose; and, in
order to make certain, as soon as you have surprised
the guard at Brooks', you will push down towards Berkeley's,
Kaddipah, or in whatever quarter Barsfield may
go. Melton probably will do the business; but, as it
will be in your subsequent route, you may as well prepare
to co-operate with him, should you be in season.
We must keep Barsfield from joining these tories, upon
whom I shall most probably fall by mid-day. This you
will find a difficult matter, as Barsfield fights well, and is
something of a soldier. You must surprise him if you
can. This done, you will proceed to scour the upper
road, with as much rapidity as comports with caution.
The scouts bring me word of a corps in that quarter,

which can be no other than Tarleton's. This scrawl
too comes from that dear old granny, Mother Dyson,
who lives near Monk's Corner. Hear what the good old
creature says—

“Quite a characteristic epistle, Singleton, and from
as true a patriot as ever lived—that same old Betsy
Dyson. These troops must be Tarleton's, and I doubt
not that he moves with the entire legion. He has
pledged himself to Cornwallis to force me to a fight, and
he comes to redeem his pledge. This we must avoid,
and we must therefore hurry to put these tories out of
the way before they can co-operate with the legion. I
will see to them. When you have done with Barsfield,
should Melton not have struck before you reach him,
you will take the upper track until you find Tarleton.
But you are to risk nothing—we cannot hope to fight him
with our whole force, and you must risk nothing with
your little squad. You must only hang about him, secure
intelligence of all his movements, and, where opportunities
occur, obstruct his steps, and cut off such

of his detachments as come in your reach. You can
worry the advance, and throw them back upon the foot,
for their horses will not hold a leg with the meanest
of your troop. We want time, and this will give it us
—and none of these risks should be taken unless you
encounter the legion before sunset to-morrow. After
that, you are simply to watch and report their movements.
Should I succeed in the attack at Baynton's to-morrow,
you will find me at the ferry at midnight.
Should you not, take it as proof of my failure, and look
for me at Snow's Island.”

A few other minor suggestions completed Singleton's
commission, and Marion proceeded in like manner to
detail to every officer, intrusted with command, the duties
which were before him. With Colonel Horry's squad,
he took to himself the task of routing the tories at Baynton's
Meadow. Twenty men, under Captain James, he
despatched to waylay the road leading from Waccamaw,
over which another small body of tories was expected to
pass; and this done, the rest of the day was devoted by
all parties to preparations for the movement of the night.

Promptness was one of the first principles in Marion's
warfare. With the approach of evening, the several
corps prepared for their departure. Saddles were taken
from the trees, on whose branches they had hung suspended
all around the camp—steeds were brought forward
from the little recesses where they browsed upon
the luxuriant cane-tops—swords waved in the declining
sunset, bugles sounded from each selected station, where
it had been the habit for the several squads to congregate,
and, as the sun went redly down behind the thick forest,
the camp was soon clear of all the active life which it
possessed before. All who were able were away on
their several duties; and but a few, the invalids and supernumeraries
alone, remained to take charge of themselves
and the furniture of the encampment.

Meanwhile, leaving the camp of the partisans, let us

return to Blonay. Relieved from the hot pursuit which
had been urged after him, he relaxed in the rapidity of
his movements, and made his way with more composure
out of the swamp. He had not slain his enemy, it is
true; but he had been quite as successful in discovering
the place of his retreat as his most sanguine hopes had
predicted. He had not merely seen his particular foe,
and found out his hiding-place, but he had discovered
the passage to one of those secret haunts of the
“swamp fox,” the knowledge of which, he doubted
not, would bring him a handsome reward from the British
officers, to whom Marion was becoming, daily, more
and more an object of hostile consideration. Satisfied,
therefore, with the result of his expedition, though lamenting
the unavoidable sacrifice which he had made of
his dog—his last friend, his only companion—he at once
took his way back to “Piney Grove,” where he hoped
to meet with Barsfield. It was not long before he stood
before the tory, who led him away at once into the
woods, anxious, from his intense hate to Mellichampe,
to learn how far the Half-Breed had been successful in
his search.

“Well, what have you done?—what have you seen?
Have you found the trail, Blonay? Have you discovered
the hiding-place of this reptile—these reptiles?”

“Well, cappin, there's no saying for certain, when
you're upon the trail of a good woodman. He's everywhere,
and then agin he's nowhere. Sometimes he's in
one place, sometimes in another; and sometimes it ain't
three minutes difference that he don't have a change.
Now the `swamp fox' is famous for drawing stakes,
and going there's no telling where.”

“True, true, I know all that. But it's for a good
scout to find him out, and track him through all his
changes. Now, what have you done in your search?
You have seen your enemy, have you not? Where have
you left him?—and, above all, have you seen the boy—

he whom, of all others, I would have you see? What
of Mellichampe?”

“I seed him, cappin, but mighty far off—I know'd
him from what you tell'd me—I can't be mistaken.”

“Well!”

“But, cappin, there's a mighty heap of men with
Marion—more than a hundred.”

“Impossible! you dream!” responded the tory, in
astonishment.

“It's a gospel truth, sir, and they looked quite sprigh;
and the trumpet blowed, and there was a great gathering.
They had a fine chance of horses, too—some of
the finest I ever laid eyes on.”

“Ha, indeed! This will be work for Tarleton, who
must now be at hand. From Monk's Corner to Smoot's,
thirty miles—then here—he should be here to-morrow
noon, and I must hurry with the dawn for Baynton's—
yes—it must be at daylight.”

The tory thus muttered to himself, and the Half-Breed
duly treasured up every syllable. The speaker
proceeded again, addressing his companion—

“'Tis well—you have managed handsomely, Blonay;
but you have not yet said where the gathering took place.
Tell me the route you took, and give me a full description
of the spot itself, and all particulars of your adventure.”

But the Half-Breed, though exhorted thus, was in no
haste to yield any particulars to Barsfield. The casual
reference to Tarleton's approach, which had fallen from
the tory's lips in his brief soliloquy, had determined
Blonay to keep his secret for one who would most probably
pay him better; and, though he replied to, he
certainly did not answer, the question of his present employer.

“Well, now, cappin, there's no telling how to find the
place I went to. There's so many crooks and turns—
so many ins and outs—so many ups and downs, that it's

all useless to talk about it. It's only nose and eye that
can track it out for you; for, besides that I don't know
the names of any places in these parts, I could only find
it myself by putting my foot along the track, and taking
hold of the bushes which I broke myself. I could tell
you that you must take the road back to the left, then
strike across the old field to the right, then you come to
a little bay, and you go round that till you fall into a little
path, that leads you into the thick wood; then you
keep a little to the left agin, and you go on in this way
a full quarter before you come out into a valley; then—”

“Enough, enough—such a direction would baffle the
best scout along the Santee. We must even trust to
your own eyes and feet when the time comes to hunt
these reptiles, and I trust that your memory will not fail
you then.”

“Never fear, cappin,” responded the other, agreeably
satisfied to be let off so easily from a more precise description
of the route which he had taken. It is probable
that, with a greater force than that which he commanded,
and which was entirely inadequate to any such
enterprise, Barsfield, solicitous of distinction, and seeking
after his foe, would have compelled the guidance of
Blonay, and gone himself after the “swamp fox.” As
matters stood, however, he determined to pursue his old
bent, and seeking his tories at Baynton's Meadow, leave
to the fierce Tarleton the honour of hunting out the wily
Marion.