University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

“By the whiskers of the Grand Turk, I have got the four points
on you, bully Buff! High, low, jack and the game!” exclaimed
Peppercorn.

“You have luck enough to worry out the nine lives of a cat.
That's an end to Backbiter, the best horse 'twixt Pedee and the
Savannah. So, blast me, if I play any more with you! There,
send the cards to hell!” roared out Hugh Habershaw, rising and
throwing the pack into the fire.

It was just at the closing in of night, when a party of ruffianly-looking
men were assembled beneath a spreading chestnut, that
threw forth its aged arms over a small gravelly hillock, in the
depths of the forest that skirted the northern bank of the Pacolet,
within a short distance of Grindall's ford. The spot had all the
qualities of a secret fastness. It was guarded on one side by the
small river, and on the other by a complicated screen of underwood,
consisting principally of those luxuriantly plaited vines which give
so distinct a character to the southern woodland. The shrubbery,
immediately along the bank of the river, was sufficiently open to
enable a horseman to ride through it down to the road which, at
about two hundred paces off, led into the ford.

The group who now occupied this spot consisted of some ten or
twelve men under the command of Hugh Habershaw. Their
appearance was half rustic and half military; some efforts at
soldierly costume were visible in the decoration of an occasional
buck-tail set in the caps of several of the party, and, here and there,
a piece of yellow cloth forming a band for the hat. Some wore
long and ungainly deer-skin pantaloons and moccasins of the same
material; and two or three were indued with coats of coarse hom-spun,
awkwardly garnished with the trimmings of a British

uniform. All were armed, but in the same irregular fashion.
There were rifles to be seen stacked against the trunk of the tree:
most of the men wore swords, which were of different lengths and
sizes; and some of the gang had a horseman's pistol bestowed conspicuously
about their persons. Their horses were attached to the
drooping ends of the boughs of the several trees that hemmed in
the circle, and were ready for service at the first call. A small fire
of brushwood had been kindled near the foot of the chestnut, and
its blaze was sufficiently strong to throw a bright glare over the
motley and ill-looking crew who were assembled near it. They
might well have been taken for a bivouac of banditti of the most
undisciplined and savage class. A small party were broiling
venison at the fire: the greater number, however, were stretched
out upon the ground in idleness, waiting for some expected
summons to action. The two I have first noticed, were seated on
the butt-end of a fallen trunk, immediately within the light of the
fire, and were engaged with a pack of dirty cards, at the then
popular game of “all fours.”

These two personages were altogether different in exterior from
each other. The first of them, known only by the sobriquet of
Peppercorn, was a tall, well-proportioned and active man, neatly
dressed in the uniform of a British dragoon. His countenance
indicated more intelligence than belonged to his companions, and
his manners had the flexible, bold, and careless port that generally
distinguishes a man who has served much in the army,
and become familiar with the varieties of character afforded by
such a career. The second was Hugh Habershaw, the captain of
the gang. He was a bluff, red-visaged, corpulent man, with a face
of gross, unmitigated sensuality. A pale blood-shot eye, which was
expressionless, except in a sinister glance, occasioned by a partial
squint, a small upturned nose, a mouth with thin and compressed
lips inclining downwards at the corners, a double chin, bristling
with a wiry and almost white beard, a low forehead, a bald crown,
and meagre, reddish whiskers, were the ill-favored traits of his
physiognomy. The figure of this person was as uncouth as his countenance.
He was rather below the middle height, and appeared
still shorter by the stoop of his massive round shoulders, by the
ample bulk of his chest, and by the rotundity of his corporation.

In consideration of his rank, as the leader of this vagabond
squadron, he aimed at more military ornament in his dress than
his comrades. A greasy cocked hat, decorated after the fashion
described by Grumio, “with the humor of forty fancies pricked in
it for a feather,” was perched somewhat superciliously upon his
poll, and his body was invested in an old and much abused cloth
coat of London brown, as it was then called, to the ample
shoulders of which had been attached two long, narrow, and
threadbare epaulets of tarnished silver lace. A broad buckskin belt
was girded, by the help of a large brass buckle, around his middle,
on the outside of his coat, and it served as well to suspend a
rusty sabre, as to furnish support to a hunting knife, which was
thrust into it in front. His nether person was rendered conspicuous
by a pair of dingy small-clothes, and long black boots. Close
at the feet of this redoubtable commander lay a fat, surly bull-dog,
whose snarlish temper seemed to have been fostered and promoted
by the peremptory perverseness with which his master
claimed for him all the privileges and indulgencies of a pampered
favorite.

Such were the unattractive exterior and circumstances of
the man who assumed control over the band of ruffians now
assembled.

“I wish you and the cards had been broiled on the devil's gridiron
before I ever saw you!” continued Habershaw, after he had
consigned the pack to the flames. “That such a noble beast as
Backbiter should be whipped out of my hand by the turn of a
rascally card! Hark'ee, you imp of Satan, you have the knack
of winning! your luck, or something else—you understand me—
something else, would win the shirt off my back if I was such a
fool as to play longer with you. I suspect you are a light-fingered
Jack — a light-fingered Jack — d'ye hear that, Master Peppercorn?”

“How now, Bully!” cried Peppercorn; “are you turning boy in
your old days, that you must fall to whining because you have
lost a turn at play? Is every man a rogue since you have set up
the trade? For shame! If I were as hot a fool as you, I would
give you steel in your guts. But come, noble Captain, there's my
hand. This is no time for us to be catching quarrels; we have

other business cut out. As to Backbiter, the rat-tailed and spavined
bone-setter, curse me if I would have him as a gift: a noble
beast! ha, ha, ha! Take him back, man, take him back! he
wasn't worth the cards that won him.”

“Silence, you tailor's bastard! Would you breed a mutiny
in the camp? Look around you: do you expect me to preserve
discipline amongst these wild wood-scourers, with your loud haw-haws
to my very teeth? You make too free, Peppercorn; you
make too free! It wouldn't take much to make me strike; damn
me, there's fighting blood in me, and you know it. When I am
at the head of my men, you must know your distance, sir. Suffice
it, I don't approve of this familiarity to the commander of a squad.
But it is no matter: I let it pass this time. And, hark in your
ear, as you underrate Backbiter, you are a fool, Peppercorn, and
know no more of the points of a good horse than you do of the
ten commandments. Why, blast you, just to punish you, I'll hold
you to the word of a gentleman, and take him back. Now
there's an end of it, and let's have no more talking.”

“Right, noble Captain!” ejaculated Peppercorn, with a free and
swaggering laugh, “right! I will uphold the discipline of the
valiant Hugh Habershaw of the Tiger against all the babblers the
world over. By the God of war, I marvel that Cruger hasn't
forced upon you one of his commissions, before this; the army
would be proud of such a master of tactics.”

“The time will come, Peppercorn; the time will come, and then
I'll teach them the elements of military construction. Mark that
word, Peppercorn, there's meaning in it.”

“Huzza for Captain Tiger of Habershaw — Habershaw of
Tiger, I mean!” cried Peppercorn. “Here's Tiger Habershaw,
my boys! Drink to that.” And saying these words, the dragoon
snatched up a leathern canteen from the ground, and, pouring
out some spirits into the cup, drank them off.

The rest of the crew sprang from the grass, and followed the
example set them by their comrade, roaring out the pledge until
the woods rang with their vociferation.

“Peace! you rapscallions!” screamed the captain. “Have you
so little notion where you are, that you bellow like bulls? Is this
your discipline, when you should be as silent as cats in a kitchen,

hellhound! And you, you coarse-throated devil, Beauty,” he said
as he kicked his dog, that had contributed to the chorus with a
loud sympathetic howl, “you must be breaking the laws of service
guard with your infernal roar, like the other fools of the
pack. Be still, puppy!”

The clamor upon this rebuke ceased, and the bull-dog crouched
again at his master's feet.

“Isn't it time that we were at the ford? Oughtn't our friends
to be near at hand?” inquired Peppercorn.

“Black Jack will give us notice,” replied Habershaw. “Depend
upon him. I have thought of everything like a man that
knows his business. I have sent that rascal up the road, with
orders to feel the enemy; and I'll undertake he'll clink it back
when he once lays eyes on them, as fast as four legs will carry
him. But it is always well to be beforehand, Peppercorn. Learn
that from me: I never in my campaigns knowed any harm done
by being too early. So, Master Orderly, call the roll.”

“Ready, sir; always ready when you command,” answered
Peppercorn. “Shall I call the ragamuffins by their nicknames, or
will you have them handled like christians.”

“On secret service,” said Habershaw, “it is always best to use
them to their nicknames.”

“As when they go horse-stealing, or house-burning, or throat-cutting,”
interrupted Peppercorn.

“Order, sir, no indecencies! do you hear? Go on with your
roll, if you have got it by heart. Be musical, dog!”

“Faith will I, most consummate captain! It is just to my
hand: I'll sing you like a bagpipe. I have learnt the roll-call
handsomely, and can go through it as if it were a song.”

“Begin then: the time is coming when we must move. I
think I hear Black Jack's horse breaking through the bushes
now.”

“Attention, you devil's babies, the whole of you!” shouted
Peppercorn. “Horse and gun, every mother's imp of you!”

In a moment the idlers sprang to their weapons and mounted
their horses.

“Answer to your names,” said the orderly; “and see that you
do it discreetly. Pimple!”

“Here,” answered one of the disorderly crew, with a laugh.

“Silence in the ranks!” cried Habershaw, “or, by the blood of
your bodies, I'll make my whinger acquainted with your hearts!”

“Long Shanks.”

“Here! if you mean me,” said another.

“Good! Black Jack.”

“On patrole,” said the captain.

“Red Mug.”

“At the book,” answered the man in the ranks; and here rose
another laugh.

“Red Mug! do you mind me?” said Habershaw, in a threatening
tone, as his eye squinted fiercely towards the person addressed.

“Platter Breech.”

“I'll stand out against the nickname,” said the person intended
to be designated, whilst the whole squad began to give symptoms
of a mutiny of merriment. “I'll be d—d if I will have it, and
that's as good as if I swore to it. I am not going to be cajoled at
by the whole company.”

“Silence! Blood and butter, you villains!” roared the captain.
“Don't you see that you're in line? How often have I told you
that it's against discipline to chirp above a whisper when you are
drawn out? Take care that I hav'n't to remind you of that again!
Andy Clopper, you will keep the denomination I have set upon
you. Platter Breech is a good soldier-like name, and you shall
die in it, if I bid you. Go on, Orderly—proceed!”

“Marrow Bone.”

“Here!”

“Fire Nose.”

“Fire Nose yourself Mister Disorderly!” replied another refractory
member, sullenly from the ranks.

“Well, let him pass. That's a cross-grained devil,” said the
captain, aside to Peppercorn. “I'll bring that chap into order yet,
the d—d mutineering back hanger! Pass him.”

“Screech Owl.”

“Here!”

“That's a decent, good-natured Screech Owl,” said Peppercorn.
“Clapper Claw! Bow Legs!”

“Both here.”

“They are all here, most comfortable Captain, all good fellows
and true, and as ready to follow you into the belly of an earthquake
as go to supper, it is all the same to them.”

“Let them follow where I lead, Peppercorn; that is all I ask,”
said Habershaw significantly.

“You have forgot one name on your roll, Mister Orderly,” said
he who had been written down by the name of Fire Nose.

“Whose was that?”

“You forgot Captain Moonface Bragger—captain of the squad.”

“Gideon Blake!” shouted Habershaw, with a voice choked by
anger, until it resembled the growl of a mastiff, whilst, at the
same time, he drew his sword half out of the scabbard. “Howsever,
it is very well,” he said, restraining his wrath and permitting
the blade to drop back into its sheath. “Another time, sir. I
have marked you, you limb of a traitor. May all the devils ride
over me if I don't drive a bullet through your brain if you ever
unfringe my discipline again! Yes, you foul-mouthed half-whig, I
have had my suspicions of you before to-day. So look to yourself.
A fine state of things when skunks like you can be setting
up a mutiny in the service! Take care of yourself, sir, you know
me. Now, my lads, to business. Remember the orders I issued
at the Dogwood Spring, this morning. This Whig officer must be
taken dead or alive, and don't be chicken-hearted about it. Give
him the lead—give him the lead! As to the lusty fellow that rides
with him—big Horse Shoe—have a care of him; that's a dog that
bites without barking. But be on the watch that they don't escape
you again. Since we missed them at the spring they have
cost us a hard ride to head them here, so let them pay for it. See
that they are well into the ford before you show yourselves. Wait
for orders from me, and if I fall by the fortune of war, take your
orders from Peppercorn. If by chance we should miss them at
the river, push for Christie's; Wat has taken care that they shall
make for that, to-night. If any of you, by mistake, you understand
me, take them prisoners, bring them back to this spot. Now
you have heard my orders, that's enough. Keep silent and ready.
Mind your discipline. Black Jack is long coming, Orderly; these
fellows must travel slow.”

“I hear him now,” replied Peppercorn.

In the next moment the scout referred to galloped into the
circle. His report was hastily made. It announced that the
travellers were moving leisurely towards the ford, and that not
many minutes could elapse before their arrival. Upon this intelligence
Habershaw immediately marched his troop to the road and
posted them in the cover of the underwood that skirted the river,
at the crossing-place. Here they remained like wild beasts aware
of the approach of their prey, and waiting the moment to spring
upon them when it might be done with the least chance of successful
resistance.

Meantime Butler and Robinson advanced at a wearied pace.
The twilight had so far faded as to be only discernible on the
western sky. The stars were twinkling through the leaves of the
forest, and the light of the firefly spangled the wilderness. The
road might be descried, in the most open parts of the wood, for
some fifty paces ahead; but where the shrubbery was more dense,
it was lost in utter darkness. Our travellers, like most wayfarers
towards the end of the day, rode silently along, seldom exchanging
a word, and anxiously computing the distance which they had
yet to traverse before they reached their appointed place of repose,
A sense of danger, and the necessity for vigilance, on the present
occasion, made them the more silent.

“I thought I heard a wild sort of yell just now—people laughing
a great way off,” said Robinson, “but there's such a hooting
of owls and piping of frogs that I mought have been mistaken.
Halt, Major. Let me listen—there it is again.”

“It is the crying of a panther, sergeant; more than a mile from
us, by my ear.”

“It is mightily like the scream of drunken men,” replied the
sergeant; “and there, too! I thought I heard the clatter of a hoof.”

The travellers again reined up and listened.

“It is more like a deer stalking through the bushes, Galbraith.”

“No,” exclaimed the sergeant, “that's the gallop of a horse
making down the road ahead of us, as sure as you are alive; I
heard the shoe strike a stone. You must have hearn it too.”

“I wouldn't be sure,” answered Butler.

“Look to your pistols, Major, and prime afresh.”

“We seem to have ridden a great way,” said Butler, as he concluded

the inspection of his pistols and now held one of them
ready in his hand. “Can we have lost ourselves? Should we not
have reached the Pacolet before this?”

“I have seen no road that could take us astray,” replied Robinson,
“and, by what we were told just before sundown, I should
guess that we couldn't be far off the ford. We hav'n't then quite
three miles to Christie's. Well, courage, major! supper and bed
were never spoiled by the trouble of getting to them.”

“Wat Adair, I think, directed us to Christie's?” said Butler.

“He did; and I had a mind to propose to you, since we caught
him in a trick this morning, to make for some other house, if such
a thing was possible, or else to spend the night in the woods.”

“Perhaps it would be wise, sergeant; and if you think so still,
I will be ruled by you.”

“If we once got by the river-side where our horses mought
have water, I almost think I should advise a halt there. Although
I have made one observation, Major Butler—that running water is
lean fare for a hungry man. Howsever, it won't hurt us, and if
you say the word we will stop there.”

“Then, sergeant, I do say the word.”

“Isn't that the glimmering of a light yonder in the bushes?”
inquired Horse Shoe, as he turned his gaze in the direction of the
bivouac, “or is it these here lightning bugs that keep so busy
shooting about?”

“I thought I saw the light you speak of, Galbraith; but it has
disappeared.”

“It is there again, major; and I hear the rushing of the river
—we are near the ford. Perhaps this light comes from some
cabin on the bank.”

“God send that it should turn out so, Galbraith! for I am very
weary.”

“There is some devilment going on in these woods, major. I
saw a figure pass in front of the light through the bushes. I
would be willing to swear it was a man on horseback. Perhaps
we have, by chance, fallen on some Tory muster; or, what's not so
likely, they may be friends. I think I will ride forward and
challenge.”

“Better pass unobserved, if you can, sergeant,” interrupted

Butler. “It will not do for us to run the risk of being separated.
Here we are at the river; let us cross, and ride some distance;
then, if any one follow us, we shall be more certain of his design.”

They now cautiously advanced into the river, which, though
rapid, was shallow; and having reached the middle of the stream,
they halted to allow their horses water.

“Captain Peter is as thirsty as a man in a fever,” said Horse
Shoe. “He drinks as if he was laying in for a week. Now,
major, since we are here in the river, look up the stream. Don't
you see, from the image in the water, that there's a fire on the
bank? And there, by my soul! there are men on horseback.
Look towards the light. Spur, and out on the other side! Quick
—quick—they are upon us!”

At the same instant that Horse Shoe spoke, a bullet whistled
close by his ear; and, in the next, six or eight men galloped into
the river, from different points. This was succeeded by a sharp
report of firearms from both parties, and the vigorous charge of
Robinson, followed by Butler, through the array of the assailants.
They gained the opposite bank, and now directed all their efforts
to outrun their pursuers; but in the very crisis of their escape,
Butler's horse, bounding under the prick of the spur, staggered a
few paces from the river and fell dead. A bullet had lodged in a
vital part, and the energy of the brave steed was spent in the effort
to bear his master through the stream. Butler fell beneath the
stricken animal, from whence he was unable to extricate himself.
The sergeant, seeing his comrade's condition, sprang from his horse
and ran to his assistance, and, in the same interval, the ruffian followers
gained the spot and surrounded their prisoners. An
ineffectual struggle ensued over the prostrate horse and rider, in
which Robinson bore down more than one of his adversaries, but
was obliged, at last, to yield to the overwhelming power that
pressed upon him.

“Bury your swords in both of them to the hilts!” shouted
Habershaw; “I don't want to have that work to do to-morrow.”

“Stand off!” cried Gideon Blake, as two or three of the gang
sprang forward to execute their captain's order; “stand off! the
man is on his back, and he shall not be murdered in cold blood;”
and the speaker took a position near Butler, prepared to make

good his resolve. The spirit of Blake had its desired effect, and
the same assailants now turned upon Robinson.

“Hold!” cried Peppercorn, throwing up his sword and warding
off the blows that were aimed by these men at the body of the
sergeant. “Hold, you knaves! this is my prisoner. I will deal
with him to my liking. Would a dozen of you strike one man
when he has surrendered? Back, ye cowards; leave him to me.
How now, old Horse Shoe; are you caught, with your gay master
here? Come, come, we know you both. So yield with a good
grace, lest, peradventure, I might happen to blow out your
brains.”

“Silence, fellows! You carrion crows!” roared Habershaw.
“Remember the discipline I taught you. No disorder, nor confusion,
but take the prisoners, since you hav'n't the heart to strike;
take them to the rendezvous. And do it quietly—do you hear?
Secure the baggage; and about it quickly, you hounds!”

Butler was now lifted from the ground, and, with his companion,
was taken into the custody of Blake and one or two of his
companions, who seemed to share in his desire to prevent the
shedding of blood. The prisoners were each mounted behind one
of the troopers, and in this condition conducted across the river.
The saddle and other equipments were stripped from the major's
dead steed; and Robinson's horse, Captain Peter, was burdened
with the load of two wounded men, whose own horses had escaped
from them in the fray. In this guise the band of freebooters, with
their prisoners and spoils, slowly and confusedly made their way
to the appointed place of re-assembling. In a few moments they
were ranged beneath the chestnut, waiting for orders from their
self-important and vain commander.