University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.
A REPRIEVE FROM THE GALLOWS.

The sturdy boatman of the Congaree was in no ways
daunted when dragged into that imposing presence. On
the contrary, his person seemed to have risen in elevation
and acquired new erectness, in defiance of the cords
which secured his arms, and in spite of an evident halt
in his walk, the consequence of some injury which he
had probably sustained in the melée which had just taken
place. An easy but not offensive smile was upon his
countenance as he entered, and though erect and manly,
there was nothing insolent or ostentatious in his carriage.
He bowed his head respectfully, first to his lordship and
then to the surrounding officers, and having advanced almost
to the centre of the room, he paused in waiting and
without a word. Rawdon surveyed his person with little
interest, and was evidently annoyed by the cool deliberateness
and conscious dignity of the woodman's bearing.

“Who are you, fellow?” he demanded.

“My name's John Bannister, your lordship. I'm a
sort of scouting serjeant, when I'm in the woods, for Col.
Conway's rigiment; but with my hands hitched behind
me, jest now, I don't feel as if I was any body.”

“Your master—where is he now?” demanded his
lordship.

“Well, your lordship, if I've rightly larned my chatechism,
he's looking down upon us now, and listening to
every word that's said.”

“See to the doors and windows,” exclaimed Rawdon
hastily, as he put his hand upon his sword, while his

flashing eyes turned to the windows of the apartment:—
“who knows but we may have another visit from this
audacious rebel. He has had every encouragement to
come again.”

A silent chuckle of the scout attested his satisfaction
at the mistake into which he had led his captor, in consequence
of his peculiar modes of speech and thinking.

“What does the fellow mean by this insolence?
Speak, sirrah, ere I send you to the halbrid.”

“And if your lordship did, I reckon I should speak
pretty much as I do now. Your lordship asked me where
my master is; and as I know no master but God Almighty,
I reckon I answered no more than rightly,
when I said he was looking, jest this very moment, in
upon our proceedings. By the chatechis' I was always
taught that he was pretty much here, there, and every
where;—a sort of scout for the whole univarse, that didn't
want for any sleep, and never made a false count of the
number set out agin him—”

“Is the fellow mad?” demanded Rawdon, with impatience,
interrupting the woodman, who seemed very well
disposed to expatiate longer upon this copious subject;
“who knows any thing of this fellow?”

“I do, your lordship,” whispered Watson Gray, but
in tones that reached the ears of Bannister. “He's the
same person that I told you of to-night—he's the famous
scout that Col. Cruger offered twenty guineas for, for
stealing his horse.”

The last words awakened all Bannister's indignation,
which he expressed without heeding the presence in
which he stood.

“Look you, Watson Gray,” said he, “that's not so
genteel, all things considerin'; and I'll look to you to answer
it some day. The horse was a fair prize, taken
from the enemy's quarters at the risk of my neck—”

“That risk is not over, scoundrel; and that you may
be made justly sensible of it, let the provost take him
hence to a tree, at once. We shall save Cruger his
twenty guineas.”

Here Watson Gray again whispered in the ears of his
lordship.

“Ah, true,” said the latter: then, addressing Bannister,
he asked in accents of unusual mildness,

“Are you willing to save your life, my good fellow?
Speak quickly, for we have little time to waste, and you
have none to spare.”

“Well, I reckon, your lordship, as I'm a good fellow,
I oughtn't to be afeard either to live or to die; though if the
choice is given me, living's my preference at this present.
I might have a different choice next week, or even
to-morrow, for any thing I know just now.”

“Too many words by half, sirrah. Hear me: you
can save your life by proving yourself honest for once in
it. Speak the truth to all the questions I ask you, and
no prevarication.”

“I'll try, your lordship,” said the scout quietly, as he
turned a huge quid of tobacco in his mouth and voided it
behind him on the floor, with a coolness which did not
lessen his lordship's indignation.

“How many men were with your Colonel in this assault
to-night?”

“Well, about thirty men, I reckon, which wa'nt more
than half his force. T'other half played with the sentinels
along the woods above.”

“Thirty men! Was ever heard the like. Thirty
men to beat up the quarters of a British General, and
ride over his whole army.”

“There's more, I reckon, your lordship,” said Gray,
in a whisper, “Col. Conway sometimes has a whole regiment,
and I've seldom known him with less than a
hundred.”

“Hark ye, fellow, if you are found in a falsehood,
that instant I send you to the gallows;” exclaimed Rawdon
sternly, addressing the scout.

“And if your lordship believes a man that does his
talking in a whisper, in preference to him that speaks
out, its likely you'll send all your prisoners there. It's
no use for me to tell you the truth, when there's a man
behind you that's been known on the Congaree ever since
I was knee high to a splinter, to be a born liar, to undo
all I say. If you believe him you can't believe me,

though to speak a truth that there's no denying, I ain't
very willing to tell your lordship any thing about the
consarns of the troop. I'm dub'ous if that ain't treasonable.”

“You are very scrupulous all at once, my fine fellow
—but, whether you are believed or not, we shall still
hear what you have to say. Does the garrison at `Ninety-Six'
hold out?”

“I reckon not now. It did yesterday morning, but
'twas mighty hard pushed then, and as we caught all
your messengers, and got all your letters to Col. Cruger,
I'm thinking he's given in, seeing there was no sort of
chance of your lordship's coming.”

“Damnation! I sent two messengers since Sunday.”

“I reckon your lordship's count ain't altogether right;
for I myself caught three. I choked one chap till he
emptied his throat of a mighty small scrap of intelligence
that he had curled up like a piece of honest pigtail in
his jaws; and we physicked another before he surrendered
the screw-bullet that he swallowed. The third
one gin up his paper like a good fellow, j'ined our troop,
and helped us powerful well in the little brush we made
in the avenue to-night. He's a big fellow, a Dutchman
by birth, that come out of the forks of Edisto. His
name's a mighty hard one to spell, and I can't say that I
altogether remember it; but he showed us five guineas
that your lordship gave him to go to `Ninety-Six,' and I
reckon he'd ha' gone, if we hadn't caught him. He
fou't powerful well to-night, for I watched him.”

John Bannister was evidently not the person from
whom much intelligence could be extracted, and every
word which he uttered seemed to be peculiarly chosen to
mortify his captors. Not that the worthy scout had any
such intention, for he well knew the danger to himself of
any such proceeding; and, as we have said before, his
manner, though loftier than usual, was unobtrusive, and
certainly never intended any thing like insolence. His
free speech came from his frank nature, which poured
forth the honest feelings of his mind without much restraint,
and utterly regardless of the situation in which he

stood. He was just sufficiently cautious to baffle his examiners
on every subject, the truth of which might affect
unfavourably the troop and the service in which it
was engaged. Rawdon soon discerned the character of
the person with whom he had to deal; and provoked beyond
patience by the annoying detail the scout had given
of the capture of his three messengers, he thus, summarily,
cut short the conference.

“You are a good scout, John Bannister, and your loss,
I have no doubt, will be severely felt by your leader.
Provost, take him to the end of the lane, give him three
minutes for prayer, and then hang him to the tallest tree
in front of the avenue. Let him hang till daylight, that
the Irish regiments may see and take warning from the
spectacle. It may cure a few of them of the disease of
desertion, which is so apt to afflict so many. Go, my
good Bannister, my provost will see to your remaining
wants. I think your Colonel will feel your loss very
much.”

“I'm jest now of the same opinion, your lordship,”
replied the scout composedly, “but I'm not thinking he's
so nigh losing me altogether. I don't think my neck in
so much danger yet, because I reckon your lordship won't
be so rash—”

“Away with him—take him hence, as I bid ye;” was
the stern and conclusive command of the British general,
to whose haughty mind the sang froid of Bannister was
eminently insulting.

“I would jest like to let your lordship know before I
leave you—” was the beginning of another speech
of Bannister, which the angry gesture of Rawdon did
not suffer him to finish. The provost and his attendants
seized on the prisoner in obedience to the lifted finger of
his lordship, and they were about to hurry him, still
speaking, from the apartment, when they were stopped
at the door by the sudden entrance of Flora Middleton.

“Stay!” she exclaimed, addressing the officer, “stay,
till I have spoken with his lordship.”

Rawdon started back at beholding her, and could not
refrain from expressing his surprise at her presence.

“At this time of the night, Miss Middleton, and here!”

“Very improper conduct, your lordship would intimate,
for a young lady; but the circumstances must excuse
the proceeding. I come to you, sir, in behalf of
this poor man, who is your prisoner, and whom I understand
you are about to execute, in violation of the laws
of humanity, and as I believe, the laws of war.”

His lordship was evidently annoyed.

“You have chosen a very unnecessary labour, Miss
Middleton, and pardon me if I think a very unbecoming
one.”

“Nay, pardon me, my lord, but I cannot think that
my interposition to save life, and to prevent murder, can
properly be called an unbecoming one.”

“Murder!” muttered his lordship through his closed
teeth, while, as if to prevent his frowns from addressing
themselves to the fair intruder, he was compelled to avert
his face.

“Yes, my lord, murder; for I know this man to be as
worthy and honest a citizen as ever lived on the Congaree.
He has always been my friend and the friend of the
family. He has never avowed his loyalty to the king—
never taken protection—but, from the first, has been in
arms either under Pickens or Sumter, in opposition to
his majesty. The fate of war throws him into your
hands—”

“And he must abide it, lady. He has been such a
consistent rebel, according to your own showing, that he
well deserves his fate. Provost, do your duty!”

“My lord, my lord, can it be that you will not grant
my prayer—that you will not spare him?”

“It would give me pleasure to grant any application
to one so fair and friendly, but—”

“Oh, deal not in this vain language at such a time, my
lord. Do not this great wrong! Let not your military
pride seduce you into an inhumanity which you will remember
in after days with dread and sorrow. Already
they charge you with blood wantonly shed at Camden—
too much blood—the blood of the old and young—of the
gray-headed man and the beardless boy, alike—but, I believe

it not, my lord;—no! no!—turn not away from
me in anger—I believe it not—I would not wish to believe
it.”

“Too much, too much!” murmured Majoribanks, as
he regarded the fair speaker, and saw the dark spot turn
to crimson on the brow of the stern and savage captain.
He well perceived, whatever might have been his hopes
of her pleading before, that her last allusion to the Camden
massacres had spoiled the effect of all.

“Your entreaty is in vain, Miss Middleton. The man
is doomed. He shall be an example to warn others
against shooting down sentinels at midnight.”

“No! no! Be not inflexible—spare him; on my
knees, I implore you, my lord. I have known him long,
and always worthily;—he is my friend and a noble-hearted
creature. Send not such to the gallows—send
the ruffian, the murderer, the spy—but not a worthy man
like this.”

“Rise, Miss Middleton,—I should be sorry to see you
kneel, without succeeding in your prayers, either to God
or mortal.”

“You grant it then!” she exclaimed eagerly, as he
raised her from the floor.

“Impossible! The man must die.”

She recoiled from his hands, regarded him with a silent
but searching expression of eye, then turned to the
spot where John Bannister stood. The worthy scout no
longer remained unmoved. Her interposition had softened
the poor fellow, whom the threatening danger from
his foes had only strengthened and made inflexible and
firm. He now met her glance of bitterness and grief,
while a smile mingled sweetly upon his face with the
big tear which was swelling in his eye.

“God bless you, my dear Miss Flora,—you're an
angel, if ever there was one on such a place as airth; and
I'm jest now thankful to God for putting me in this fix,
if it's only that I might know how airnestly and sweetly
he could send his angel to plead in favour of a rough old
Congaree boatman like me. But don't you be scared,
for they can't do me any hurt after all; and if his lordship

had only listened to me a leetle while longer at first,
he'd ha' been able to have said the handsome thing,
and consented to all you axed him. Look here, my lord,
'twont do to hang me, unless you'd like to lose a better
man in the bargain.”

A look of inquiry was all that his lordship deigned the
speaker, who, turning to the provost, begged him to take
his grasp from his shoulder.

“I can't run, you see, if I wanted to, and somehow I
never could talk to my own liking, when I had the feel
of an enemy's hand upon me.”

“Speak up, fellow,” said Majoribanks, who saw the
increasing vexation of Rawdon, “and tell his lordship
what you mean.”

“Well, the long and short of the matter's this, your
lordship. If you look at your roll, I reckon you'll find a
handsome young captain, or mou't-be a major, among
your missing. I made him a prisoner myself, at the head
of the avenue, on the very first charge to-night, and I
know they've got him safe among my people; and his
neck must be a sort of make-weight agin mine. I ain't of
much count any how, but the `Congaree Blues' has a sort
of liking for me, and they can find any quantity of rope
and tree when there's a need for it. If you hang me,
they'll hang him, and your lordship can tell best whether
he's worth looking after or not. It's a thing for calculation
only.”

“Is this the case? Is there any officer missing?” demanded
Rawdon, with a tone of suppressed but bitter
feeling.

“Two, your lordship,” replied the lieutenant of the
night—“Major Penfield and Captain Withers.”

“They should hang! They deserve it!” exclaimed
Rawdon; but an audible murmur from the bottom of the
hall, warned him of the danger of trying experiments
upon the temper of troops who had just effected a painful
forced march, and had before them a continuation of the
same, and even sterner duties.

“Take the prisoner away, and let him be well guarded,”
said his lordship. Flora Middleton, relieved by this

order, gave but a single glance of satisfaction to the
woodman, as she glided out of the apartment.

With the dawn of day, the British army was under
arms, and preparing to depart. Flora Middleton, who
had enjoyed no rest during the night, and had felt no desire
for it, under the numerous anxieties and painful feelings
which filled her heart, took her station in the balcony,
where she could witness all their movements; and no
more imposing array had ever gratified her eyes. Lord
Rawdon was then in command of the very êlite of the
British army. The hardy and well-tried provincial loyalists
formed the nucleus of the efficient force of near
three thousand men, which he commanded; and these,
many of them, well mounted, and employed as dragoons
and riflemen at pleasure, were, in reality, the chief reliance
of his government. The Hessians had been well
thinned by the harassing warfare of two seasons; and
were neither numerous nor daring; but nothing could exceed
the splendid appearance of the principal force which
he brought with him from Charlestown, consisting of
three full regiments, fresh from Ireland, with all the glow
of European health upon their cheeks, full-framed, strong
and active; martial in their carriage, bold in action, and
quite as full of vivacity as courage. Flora Middleton beheld
them as they marched forward beneath her eyes,
with mingling sentiments of pity and admiration. Poor
fellows! They were destined to be terribly thinned and
humbled by the sabre of the cavalry, the deadly aim of
the rifle, and that more crushing enemy of all, the pestilential
malaria of the southern swamps. How many of
that glowing and numerous cavalcade were destined to
leave their bones along the banks of the Wateree and
Santee, in their long and arduous marchings and counter-marchings,
and in the painful and perilous flight which
followed to the Eutaws, and from the Eutaws to Charlestown.
On this flight, scarce two months after, fifty of
these brave fellows dropped down, dead, in the ranks, in
a single day; the victims of fatigue, heat, and a climate
which mocked equally their muscle, their courage, and
vivacity; and which not even the natives at that season

could withstand. The brave and generous Majoribanks
himself—the most honourable and valiant of enemies—
little did Flora Middleton fancy, as he passed his sword-point
to the earth in courteous salute, and smiled his
farewell, while marching at the head of his battalion beneath
the balcony, that he too was one of those who
should find his grave along the highways of Carolina, immediately
after the ablest of his achievements at Eutaw,
where to him, in particular, is due the rescue of the
British Lion from the claws of the now triumphant
Eagle.