University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

With the overruling judgment of a master spirit, Singleton
immediately proceeded to make his arrangements.
To Mellichampe he gave orders to remount his men;
and, leading them around the park, once more gain possession
of the avenue. Here he was to await the result
of the experiment, and to intercept the flight of the tories
when they should be driven out from their fortress by the
progress of the flames. Humphries was commanded to
scatter his riflemen around the mansion, keeping close
watch upon every movement of the garrison within:
while two or three of the men, more experienced in such
matters, were occupied in preparing the combustibles
which were to be fastened to the lighted arrows. Singleton
himself took charge of the bow; and, laying
aside his sword and every weapon which was calculated
to encumber his movement, himself prepared to discharge
the more arduous part of the proposed experiment.
His commands were nearly all instantly and
simultaneously executed. A lively blast of the bugle,

from various quarters of the grounds, gave token of
concerted preparation. Arming himself with the prepared
arrows, the partisan advanced.

“Lie close, men! lie close!” he cried, as he saw
several of them emerging from shelter; “Lie close and
watch the windows. Go back, Lance, and have your
rifle in readiness.”

With these words he advanced quickly but stealthily,
and with a heedful movement, from one tree to another,
until, reaching the inner limit of the park, he looked
down upon the yard immediately around the dwelling,
and saw that from that part he could certainly send his
arrows to the roof. Coolly preparing himself, therefore,
while all behind him were breathlessly watching,
now their commander and now the dwelling, Singleton
fell back for an instant, and closely observed the probable
distance and height of the roof; then advancing to
the tree, and planting his right foot firmly behind him,
he drew the long arrow to the head, until the missiles
which were attached to it grazed against the bended
back of the elastic yew. In another instant, and the
meteor-like shaft went whizzing and kindling through the
air, darting on with a true aim and unvarying flight, until,
to the delight of the watching partisans, it buried itself,
blazing all the while, in the very bosom of the
shingled roof. A long redoubled shout of applause followed
the achievement, and but a few moments had
elapsed when Barsfield became conscious of the new
danger which awaited him.

“Ha!” he cried, as he beheld the position which
Singleton had taken behind the tree, which, however,
only in part concealed him. “Send me a score of bullets
at the rebel, or he will smoke us out like so many
rats. Shoot, men! take good aim, and stop him before
it be too late.”

A dozen muskets poured forth their contents in the
direction of the daring partisan. The bullets flew all

around him where he stood, but he stood unhurt. The
moment after their fire was favourable to another effort;
and, cool and thoughtful, Singleton was soon ready with
a second shaft. Once more the whizzing arrow went
blazing as fiercely and furiously as the first, and aimed
with equal judgment at a different portion of the roof.
Another and another followed in quick succession, in
spite of the successive volleys of musketry which poured
around him from the dwelling. In a little while the
success of the experiment was no longer questionable.

“It burns! it burns!” was the cry from the surrounding
partisans, and the surface of the roof was now
sprinkled with jets of flame, that flickered along the
dry shingles, gathering new bulk with every instant, and
spreading themselves away in thin layers of light, until
the air, agitated into currents by the progress of the
fire, contributed to send it in huge volumes, rolling on
and upward into the sky. Shout upon shout from the
lips of the partisans attested their joy, and congratulated
their successful captain, through whose fearless and
skilful agency the design had been effected. Their
cheering cries, more than any thing besides, announced
to the tories the new dangers of their situation, and the
desperate position in which they stood. Singleton well
conceived what might be their course, and gave his orders
accordingly.

“Riflemen! stand by to watch the scuttle. Look
out for the roof! Mark the scuttle, and shoot closely!”

Ascending to the garret by the aid of a little ladder
which always stood there for such a purpose, Barsfield
himself proceeded to throw open the scuttle, when he
was warned of the watchfulness of the besiegers by the
sharp crack of the rifle and the instantaneous passage
of the bullet through the scuttle door, and just above
his head.

“Too quick, Lance! too quick by half!” cried Singleton
to the precipitate youth, who had fired before the

tory's head had made its appearance. The boy sank
back abashed and mortified. Barsfield, meanwhile, descended
with much greater rapidity than satisfaction, and
the dense smoke rushed down the aperture after him,
filling the chambers with its suffocating and increasing
masses.

“It burns like tinder, and we have no water,” said
Clayton.

“And if we had,” cried Barsfield, fiercely, “who
in the devil's name would apply it under the fire from
those rifles?”

“And what are we to do?” cried one of the subordinates,
imboldened by the near approach of a common
danger; “Shall we stay here to be smoked alive like so
many wild beasts in a hole?”

“Should we not now surrender, Captain Barsfield, if
we can get fair terms of quarter?” was the suggestion
of Clayton.

“What! beg terms of that youngster? Never!”
fiercely responded the tory. “I will perish first!”

“Ay, but we shall all perish with you, and I see no
good reason for that, Captain Barsfield,” was the calmer
speech of Clayton. “We should apply for quarters to
any youngster, rather than be smoked alive.”

“And, if you did apply, would they hear us, think
you? Would they grant us the terms which we have
already refused with insult and disdain. No, no, Lieutenant
Clayton; they would cry `Tarleton's quarters' in
your ears in answer to all your applications, and taunt
you, while your limbs dangled upon yonder oak, with
our own good doings of the same sort.”

“What then? Are we to stay here and perish by a
death so horrid? Shall we not rather sally forth and
fight?”

“Yes! fight them to the last, of course,” was the response
of Barsfield. “There is a mode, and but one
that I can see, of getting out from these difficulties,

I've escaped a worse chance than the present; and,
with a good sword and stout heart, I fear not to escape
from this.”

“Speak, Barsfield, how?” cried Clayton, impatiently.

“Mount our horses and cut our way through the
rebels. They have dismounted and put their horses out
of ready reach; and, if we cut our way through them,
we shall get start enough to keep ahead of them before
they can mount.”

“Ay, ay—a good enough plan, were we mounted;
but the first step that carries us beyond these walls puts
us in the eye of their rifles. How shall we get to our
horses, unless by first exposing ourselves in the piazza?”

“You are but young as a soldier, Lieutenant Clayton,”
was the sarcastic response of the tory captain,
“and have much to learn in the way of war and its
escapes. I will show you how we shall reach the
horses without exposing ourselves, until we rush forth,
armed, and upon their backs, prepared for fight as well
as our enemies. Every man will then be required to
rely upon himself; and, for the hindmost, God help him!
for we may not. Where's Fenwicke?” he concluded,
looking round among the men, whose faces the crowding
smoke was already beginning to obscure.

“Here, sir,” cried the man, coming forward.

“Unsling your axe and throw off your jacket,” cried
the tory, coolly: “shut your mouth, if you please, sir;
you can do nothing so long as you keep it thus ajar. Is
your axe ready?”

“It is, sir,” was the reply; and, under the direction
of Barsfield, the soldier proceeded to tear away the
washboard which fastened down the edges of the floor,
and then to rip up two or three boards of the floor itself—
a duty soon performed by the vigorous axeman. By
this time, however, the smoke had become dense and
almost insupportable; and the moment the aperture was
made in the floor, admitting them to the lower or basement

story, where the horses had been stabled, with a
rapidity that defied all the efforts of their cooler commander,
the tories, huddled upon one another, hurried
and tumbled through, glad to escape from their late predicament,
even with the chances before them of a hopeless
and desperate struggle such as Barsfield had painted
to their eyes. The stern calmness of their leader,
during all this proceeding, was creditable in the highest
degree. He exhibited no hurry—no apprehension,—
none of that precipitate haste which defeats execution,
while it exhibits deficient character. When he got
below, he himself saw that each man had mounted his
proper steed and stood in readiness before he took the
bridle of his own. He then asked if all were ready:
he placed himself in the advance, gave orders to one of
the men to turn the latch, but not to unclose the door—
a duty which he reserved to himself, and then addressed
them in terms of the most encouraging composure.

“Have no fear, men! but each man, as he passes
through the door, will at once strike for the entrance of
the avenue. The brick foundations of the piazza and
the smoke will conceal you for a few moments. I will
go first from this hole, but I will be the last to move.
Lieutenant Clayton will follow me out, but he will lead
the way to the avenue. Follow him; keep cool—keep
straight forward, and only turn when you turn to strike
a foe. Are all ready?”

“Ay, sir, all ready!” was the reply. With the words,
with his own steed behind him, Barsfield, on foot, led
him forth, and was the first to emerge into the light.
He was not instantly perceived by the assailants, such
was the cloud of smoke between them and the dwelling;
but when, one after another, with a fearful rush, each
trooper bounded forth, driving forward with relentless
spur to the avenue in front, then did Singleton, becoming
conscious of their flight, give his orders for pursuit.

“Double quick step, riflemen,—hurry on with you,

and skirt the fence! Your rifles will then cover them
as they fly, and Mellichampe will answer for the rest.
Quick step, men, or you lose the fire!”

The partisans were prompt enough in obeying these
orders, but there had been some miscalculation in the
distance, or the speed of fear had not been taken into
the estimate of those advantages, possessed by the enemy,
for which Singleton believed himself prepared. The
tories were already in the avenue before the riflemen
reached the skirts of the park. Barsfield, bringing up
the rear, his huge form erect, his hand waving defiance,
was the only individual at whom a shot was obtained.
At him several bullets were sped; but there is a something
in the daring indifference of boldness which not
unfrequently deranges the truest aim of an enemy. The
tory was unhurt, yet some of the rifles pointed at his
back were held by the best marksmen of the lower
country.

But a new enemy sprang up in the pathway of the
tory, and the sabre of the impetuous Mellichampe once
more clashed with that of his enemy.

“Ha!—ha!” cried Mellichampe, “you were long in
coming, but I have you now. You are mine at last!”

There was a demoniac delight in the expression of
the youth's countenance as, with these words, he confronted
his foe.

“Stand aside, boy!” was the hoarse reply of the tory,
as, wheeling his horse to the opposite hand of the avenue,
he seemed rather disposed to pass than to encounter
the youth. Mellichampe regarded no other enemy,
and the troop of Barsfield mingled pell-mell in the strife
with the partisans, who were scattered before them up
the avenue. With the sidling movement of Barsfield,
the steed of Mellichampe, under the impetuous direction
of his rider, was wheeled directly across his path, and
the tory saw, at a glance, that the encounter could not
be avoided. Preparing for it, therefore, with all his

energies, he threw aside the weapon of his enemy, and
the swords recoiled from each other in the fierce collision,
as if with an instinct of their own. Again they
bounded and buckled together; and then there was a
momentary pause in the combat, as the weapons crossed
in air, in which the eyes of the inveterate foes glared
upon each other with the thirstful expression of demoniac
hate. Like lightning then, for a few moments, the
opposing blades darted around each combatant's head;
then came the deadly thrust and the heavy blow—the
ready guard, and the swift stroke in return. Though
brave enough in common parlance, there was yet that in
the face of Mellichampe from which the tory seemed
to shrink. The youth had been roused by repeated
wrongs, and maddened by continued disappointments,
which defeated his promised hope of vengeance. The
accumulated venom of a fierce and injured spirit shot
forth from his eye, and gave a dreadful earnestness to
every effort of his arm, so that the inequality of physical
strength between himself and his enemy did not at
first seem so evident. The consciousness of having
wronged the youth, and the moral inferiority which, in
all respects, he felt to him, neutralized in some degree
the natural advantage which the tory possessed of
greater muscle, and the acquired advantage of greater
skill and experience. How else, indeed, could one so
slender as Mellichampe,—his bones not yet hardened to
manhood, and he yet in the gristle of youth,—contend
so long and so equally with a frame so huge as that of
Barsfield? How else, if the heart were not conscious
of right in the one and of wrong in the other, could the
former put aside the weighty blow of his enemy with so
much ease, and respond to it with so much power?
Thrice, in the deadliest stroke, had he foiled the tory,
and now he pressed on him in return.

“It is now for me, villain,” cried the youth, as he
struck the rowel into his steed, and rose upon his stirrups

a moment after, to give point with a downward
stroke at the breast of his enemy, whose steed had sunk,
under the sudden press of his rider's curb, backward
upon his haunches—

“It is now my turn, villain, and my father's blood
clamours for that of his murderer. Have at your heart.
Ha!”

The stroke was descending, and was with difficulty
parried by the sabre of the tory. It was put aside,
however, at the utmost stretch of Barsfield's arm—his
body being writhed round into an unnatural position for
that purpose. The danger was only delayed. In another
moment he felt assured that the stroke of Mellichampe—a
backward stroke—must be repeated, and
that he could not recover his seat in time to ward it
aside; but, ere the youth could effect his object—to
which he had addressed his entire energies, conscious
that he now had the tory at complete advantage—the
forefeet of his horse struck upon the carcass of a slain
soldier, which slipped from under him, yet carrying
him forward, till he stumbled irrecoverably and came
to his knees. The moment was lost; and, in the next,
Barsfield had recovered his seat, from which the force
of Mellichampe's assaults, and the efforts necessary for
his own defence, had half uplifted him. It was his turn
now to press upon his foe. Wheeling his horse suddenly
round, he dealt him a heavy blow upon the shoulder
of his sword-arm, which precipitated the youth to the
earth, while wounding him severely. The tory would
have paused to render his victory more complete; but,
as he looked upon the avenue before him, he saw that he
was isolated. Cutting their way, without pausing for
any particular encounter such as had controlled the
flight of their leader, his men had sped onward; and,
though fighting with the partisans at every step, had yet
succeeded in carrying the fight forward to the entrance.
The tory captain saw that he had no time for delay.

Witherspoon, who had been busily engaged, was now
pressing towards him, closely followed by another; and,
though casting a wistful look upon his prostrate enemy,
as if he longed to make certain his victory, the safety
of his own life depended upon his haste, and was infinitely
more important to him than even the death of so
deadly an enemy as Mellichampe. Even now it was
doubtful what success would attend his endeavour to
pass the scattered partisans who lay in his path; and he
felt that all his energies were required to meet the shock
of Witherspoon, who was fast approaching. While thus
he prepared himself, the shrill clamour of a fresh trumpet
broke suddenly upon his sense, and brought him relief.
It announced the coming of a new force, and the probability
was that it was British. Of this Barsfield, in another
moment, had no doubt, as he saw Witherspoon, no
longer seeking the conflict, rush past him in the direction
of the burning mansion. The woodman had beheld
the steel caps and the blue uniforms of the approaching
force, and at once recognised the formidable
corps, two hundred strong, of the legionary Tarleton.
Barsfield rode on to meet his superior, and explain the situation
of affairs before him. Witherspoon, meanwhile,
leaping from his horse, which he let go free, rushed to
the spot where Mellichampe had fallen.

“Airnest! Airnest, boy!” he cried, as he stooped
down to the insensible body; “Speak to me, Airnest—
speak to me,—it's me, Jack,—it's Thumbscrew, Airnest.
Only say something—only a word—I don't care
what you says, Airnest; but say something. God ha'
mercy! He don't hear!—he can't talk. Airnest!
Airnest!”

A groan met his ears and half relieved him.

“Thank God, it 'taint so bad. He's got life in him
yet; and, if I can only carry him out of the way of the
horses, and let Miss Janet know where to find him—”

Thus speaking, he raised the insensible body in his

arms, and hurried with him towards the ditch, over which
he sought to pass. His aim was to carry the youth into
the thick copse beyond, where he could place him out of
sight of the approaching enemy. But he had overtasked
his own strength, after the severe fatigue and fighting
which he had undergone, and the labour called for more
time than the circumstances of the field would allow.
The advance of Tarleton was too rapid to permit of his
performing the affectionate service which he contemplated
for his friend; and, before he reached the ditch, the
swords of the legion were flashing before his eyes, as
the troop wheeled round a bend in the avenue which
hitherto had concealed him from their sight.

“Gimini! I must leave him. I must put you down,
Airnest! I can't help it, boy! I did the best!”

He spoke to the insensible youth as if he could
hear; and, with a groan that seemed to come from the
bottom of his soul, he laid the body down in the ditch,
where it was partially concealed from sight in the hollow
and by the tufts and bushes which grew along its margin.
Then, with a grim look of despair cast behind
him as he fled, he leaped across the ditch, passed hurriedly
through the copse and bordering foliage, and soon
gained the station at the bottom of the hill, which had
been assigned by Singleton at the commencement of
the fray as the place of general rendezvous.