University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
FINESSE.—CAPTIVITY.

Edward Morton bestowed upon his second officer
but a single glance, beneath which his eye fell and his
sould became troubled. That glance was one of equal
scorn and suspicion. It led the treacherous subordinate,
with the natural tendency of a guilty conscience, to apprehend
that all his machinations had been discovered;
that some creature of his trust had proved treacherous,
and that he stood in the presence of one who had come
with the full purpose of vengeance and of punishment.
But, though secure as yet in this respect, Lieutenant
Stockton was not equally so in others, scarcely of less
consequence. He had neglected, even if he had not betrayed,
his trust. He had kept aloof from the place of
danger, when his aid was required, and left his captain
to all those risks—one of which has been already intimated
to the reader—which naturally followed a duty of
great and peculiar exposure, to which the latter had devoted
himself. Even when this risk had been taken, and
the dangers incurred, he had either forborne that search
after his superior, or had so pursued it, as to render his
efforts almost ineffectual. He had undertaken the toils
of villany without reaping any of its pleasant fruits.
The return of his superior, as it were, from the grave,
left him utterly discomfited. His rewards were as far off
as ever from his hopes; and, to his fears, his punishments
were at hand. His apprehensions were not wholly
without foundation. So soon as the chief of the Black
Riders could relieve himself from the oppressive congratulations
which encountered his safe restoration to his

troop, he turned upon the lieutenant, and with an indignation
more just than prudent declared his disapprobation
of his conduct.

“I know not, Lieutenant Stockton, how you propose
to satisfy Lord Rawdon for your failure to bring your
men to Dukes' as I ordered you; but I shall certainly
report to him your neglect in such language as shall
speak my own opinion of it, however it may influence
his. The consequences of your misconduct are scarcely
to be computed. You involved me individually in an
unnecessary risk of life; and lost a happy opportunity of
striking one of the best blows in the cause of his majesty
which has been stricken this campaign. The whole
troop of the rebel Butler was in our hands—they must
have been annihilated but for your neglect—a neglect too,
which is wholly unaccountable, as I myself had prescribed
every step in your progress, and waited for your coming
with every confidence in the result.”

“I did not know, sir, that there was any prospect of
doing any thing below here, and I heard of a convoy on
the road to General Greene.—”

“Even that will not answer, Lieutenant Stockton.
You were under orders for one duty, and presumed too
greatly on your own judgment when you took the liberty
of making a different disposition of the troop left to your
guidance. You little dream, sir, how nigh you were to
ruin. But a single hour saved you from falling in with
all Sumter's command, and putting an end for ever to
your short-lived authority. And yet, sir, you are ambitious
of sole command. You have your emissaries among
the troop urging your fitness to lead them; as if such
proofs were ever necessary to those who truly deserve
them. Your emissaries, sir, little know our men. It is
enough for them to know that you left your leader in the
hands of his enemies, at a time when all his risks were
incurred for their safety and your own.”

“I have no emissaries, sir, for any such purpose;”
replied the subordinate sulkily; his temper evidently
rising from the unpleasant exposure which was making
before those who had only recently been so well tutored

in his superior capacities. “You do me injustice, sir—
you have a prejudice against me. For—”

“Prejudice, and against you, sir!” was the scornful
interruption of the chief. “No more, sir; I will not
hear you farther. You shall have the privilege of being
heard by those against whom you can urge no such imputations.
Your defence shall be made before a court
martial. Yield up your sword, sir, to Mr. Barton.”

The eye of the lieutenant, at this mortifying moment,
caught that of the maimed veteran Muggs; and the exulting
satisfaction which was expressed by the latter was
too much for his firmness. He drew the sword, but
instead of tendering the hilt to the junior officer who had
been commanded to receive it, confronted him with the
point, exclaiming desperately—

“My life first! I will not be disgraced before the
men!”

“Your life, then!” was the fierce exclamation of Morton,
spoken with instant promptness, as he hurled the
pistol with which Clarence Conway had provided him,
full in the face of the insubordinate. At that same moment,
the scarcely less rapid movement of Muggs, enabled
him to grasp the offender about the body with his single
arm. The blow of the pistol took effect, and the lieutenant
would have been as completely prostrated, as he
was stunned by it, had it not been for the supporting
grasp of the landlord, which kept him from instantly
falling. The blood streamed from his mouth and nostrils—half
conscious only he strove to advance, and his
sword was partially lifted as if to maintain with violence
the desperate position which he had taken, but, by this
time, a dozen ready hands were about him. The weapon
was wrested from his hold, and the wounded man
thrust down upon the floor of the hovel, where he was
held by the heavy knee of more than one of the dragoons,
while others were found equally prompt to bind his arms.
They were all willing to second the proceedings, however
fearful, of a chief whose determination of character
they well knew, and against whom they also felt they
had themselves somewhat offended, in the ready acquiescence
which most of them had given to the persuasive

arguments and entreaties of Darcy. This latter person
had now no reverence to display for the man in whose
cause he had been only too officious. He was one of
those moral vanes which obey the wind of circumstances,
and acquire that flexibility of habit, which,
after a little while, leaves it impossible to make them
fixed. He did not, it is true, join in the clamour against
his late ally; but he kept sufficiently aloof from any display
of sympathy. His own selfish fears counselled him
to forbearance, and he was not ambitious of the crown of
martyrdom in the cause of any principle so purely abstract
as that of friendship. To him, the chief of the Black
Riders gave but a single look, which sufficiently informed
him that his character was known and his conduct more
than suspected. The look of his superior had yet another
meaning, and that was one of unmitigated contempt.
Unlike the lieutenant, Darcy was sufficiently prudent,
however, not to display by glance, word, or action, the
anger which he felt. He wisely subdued the resentment
in his heart, preferring to leave to time the work of retribution.
But he did not, any more than Stockton, forego
his desire for ultimate revenge. He was one of those
who could wait, and whose patience, like that of the long
unsatisfied creditor, served only to increase, by the usual
interest process, the gross amount of satisfaction which
must finally ensue. It was not now for the first time
that he was compelled to experience the scorn of their
mutual superior. It may be stated, in this place, that
the alliance between Stockton and himself was quite as
much the result of their equal sense of injury at the
hands of Morton, as because of any real sympathy between
the parties.

“Take this man hence,” was the command of Morton,
turning once more his eyes upon the prostrate Stockton.
“Take him hence, Sergeant Fisher—see him well bestowed—have
his wants attended to, but see, above all
things, that he escape not. He has gone too far in his
folly to be trusted much longer with himself, till we are
done with him entirely. This, I trust, will soon be the
case.”

This order gave such a degree of satisfaction to the

landlord, Muggs, that he found it impossible to conceal
his delight. A roar of pleasure burst from his lips.

“Ho! ho! ho!—I thought so.—I knew it must
come to this. I thought it a blasted bad sign from the
beginning, when he was so willing to believe the cappin
was turned into small meat, and the choppings not to be
come at. There's more of them sort of hawks in these
parts, cappin, if 'twas worth any white man's while to
look after them.”

The last sentence was spoken with particular reference
to Ensign Darcy, and the eyes of the stout landlord were
fixed upon that person with an expression of equal
triumph and threatening, but neither Darcy nor Morton
thought it advisable to perceive the occult signification
of his glance. The occupations of the latter, meanwhile,
did not cease with the act of summary authority which
we have witnessed. He called up to him an individual
from his troop whose form and features somewhat
resembled his own—whose general intelligence might
easily be conjectured from his features, and whose
promptness seemed to justify the special notice of his
captain. This person he addressed as Ben Williams—
a person whom the landlord, Muggs, had designated, in a
previous chapter, as the most fitting to succeed their
missing leader in the event of his loss. That Morton
himself entertained some such opinion, the course of
events will show.

“Williams,” he said, after the removal of Stockton
had been effected—“there is a game to play in which
you must be chief actor. It is necessary that you
should take my place, and seem for a while to be the
leader of the Black Riders. The motive for this will
be explained to you in time. Nay, more, it is necessary
that I should seem your prisoner. You will probably
soon have a prisoner in fact, in whose sight I would also
occupy the same situation. Do with me then as one.—
Hark!—That is even now the signal!—They will soon
be here. Muggs, bar the entrance for a while, until
every thing is ready. Now, Williams, be quick; pass
your lines about my arms and bind me securely. Let

one or more of your men watch me with pistols cocked,
and show, all of you, the appearance of persons who
have just made an important capture. I will tell you
more hereafter.”

The subordinate was too well accustomed to operations
of the kind suggested, to offer any unnecessary
scruple, or to need more precise directions. The outlaw
was bound accordingly; placed, as he desired, upon a
bulk that stood in a corner of the wigwam, while two
black-faced troopers kept watch beside him. The signal
was repeated from without; the parties, from the sound,
being evidently close at hand. The chief of the outlaws
whispered in the ear of his subordinate such farther instructions
as were essential to his object.

“Keep me in this situation, in connexion with the
prisoner—should he be brought—for the space of an
hour. Let us be left alone for that space of time. Let
us then be separated, while you come to me in private.
We shall then be better able to determine for the
future.”

The hurried preparations being completed, the chief,
now seemingly a closely watched and strongly guarded
prisoner, gave orders to throw open the entrance, and
subdued his features to the expression of a well-grounded
dissatisfaction with a situation equally unapprehended
and painful.

The capture of Clarence Conway was not such an
easy matter. It will be remembered that when he separated
from his brother, under the influence of feelings of
a most exciting nature, he had given his horse a free
spur, and dashed forward at full speed to regain his place
of safety in the swamp. The rapidity of his start, had
he continued at the same pace, would have secured him
against pursuit. But, as his blood cooled, and his reflective
mood assumed the ascendancy, his speed was
necessarily lessened; and by the time that his treacherous
kinsman was enabled to send the troopers in pursuit,
his horse was suffered quietly to pick his way forward,
in a gait most suited to his own sense of comfort. The
consequence was inevitable. The pursuers gained

rapidly upon him, and owing to the noise occasioned by
the rain pattering heavily upon the leaves about him, he
did not hear the sound of their horses' feet, until escape
became difficult. At the same moment he discovered a
horseman on either hand, while two others came close
upon him in the rear. Their habits, the intentness of
their pursuit, at once convinced him that they were enemies;
and with just enough of the sense of danger to
make him act decisively, the fearless partisan drew forth
his pistol, cocked it without making any unnecessary
display, and, at the same time, drove the rowel into the
flanks of his steed. A keen eye sent forward upon the
path which he was pursuing, enabled him to see that it
was too closely covered with woods to allow him to continue
much farther his present rate of flight, and, with
characteristic boldness, he resolved to turn his course to
the right, where the path was less covered with undergrowth,
and on which his encounter would be with a
single enemy only. The conflict with him he sanguinely
trusted might be ended before the others could come up.
The action, with such a temperament as that of Clarence
Conway, was simultaneous with the thought; and a few
moments brought him upon the one opponent, while his
sudden change of direction, served, for a brief space, to
throw the others out. The trooper, whom he thus singled
out for the struggle, was a man of coolness and courage,
but one scarcely so strong of limb, or so well exercised
in conflict, as the partisan. He readily comprehended
the purpose of the latter, and his own resolution was
taken to avoid the fight, if he could, and yet maintain his
relative position, during the pursuit, with the enemy he
chased. To dash aside from the track, yet to push forward
at the same time, was his design; at all events, to
keep out of pistol shot himself, yet to be able, at any moment,
to bring his opponent within it. Such a policy,
by delaying the flight of the latter, until the whole party
should come up, would render the capture inevitable.
But he was not suffered to pursue this game at his own
pleasure. The moment he swerved from the track,
Conway dashed after him with increased earnestness,
taking particular care to keep himself, meanwhile, between
the individual and his friends. In this way he seemed
to drive the other before him, and, as his own speed was
necessarily increased under these circumstances, the
man thus insulated became anxious about his position,
and desirous to return. In a mutual struggle of this sort,
the event depended upon the comparative ability of the
two horses, and the adroitness, as horsemen, of the several
riders. In both respects the advantage was with
Conway; and he might have controlled every movement
of his enemy, but for the proximity of those who
were now pressing on behind him. The moment became
one of increasing anxiety. They were approaching
rapidly nigher, and the disparity of force in their
favour was too considerable to leave him a single hope
of a successful issue should he be forced to an actual
encounter. The wits of the partisan were all put into
activity. He soon saw that he must drive the individual
before him entirely out of his path, or be forced to stand
at bay against an attack in which defence was hopeless.
His resolve was instantaneous; and, reasonably calculating
against the probability of any pistol shot from
either taking effect while under rapid flight, and through
the misty rain then driving into their mutual faces, he
resolved to run down his enemy by the sheer physical
powers of his horse, in defiance of the latter's weapon
and without seeking to use his own. He braced himself
up for this exertion, and timed his movement fortunately,
at a moment when, a dense thicket presenting itself
immediately in the way of the man before him, rendered
necessary a change in the direction of his flight. His
reckless and sudden plunge forward discomposed the
enemy, who found the partisan on his haunches at a time
when to turn his steed became equally necessary and
difficult. To wheel aside from the thicket was the
instinctive movement of the horse himself, who naturally
inclined to the more open path; but just under these
circumstances, in his agitation, the trooper endeavoured
to incline his bridle hand to the opposite side, in order
that he might employ his weapon. The conflict between
his steed's instinct and his own, rendered his aim ineffectual.
His pistol was emptied, but in vain; and the rush
of Conway's horse immediately followed. The shock
of conflict with the more powerful animal, precipitated
the trooper, horse and man, to the earth, and the buoyant
partisan went over him with the rapidity of a wind-current.
A joyous shout attested his consciousness of
safety—the outpourings of a spirit to which rapid action
was always a delight, and strife itself nothing more than
the exercise of faculties which seemed to have been expressly
adapted for all its issues of agility and strength.
Secure of safety, Conway dashed onwards, without an
apprehension, and in a moment after had shared the fortune
of him he had just overthrown. A sudden descent
of one of the Wateree hills was immediately before him,
and in the increasing dimness of the twilight, and under
the rapidity of his flight, he did not observe that its declivity
of yellow clay had been freshly washed into a
gulley. His horse plunged forward upon the deceptive
and miry surface, and lost his footing. A series of
ineffectual plunges which he made to recover, brought
him to the foot of the hill, where he lay half stunned
and shivering. His girth had broken in the violent
muscular efforts which he made to arrest his fall, and
his rider, in spite of every exertion of skill and strength,
was thrown forwards, and fell, though with little injury,
upon the yellow clay below. He had barely time to
recover his feet, but not his horse, when the pursuers
were upon him. Resistance, under existing circumstances,
would have been worse than useless; and with
feelings of mortification, much better imagined than described,
he yielded himself, with the best possible grace,
to the hands of his captors.