University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
A WITNESS SILENCED.

The business of the two had reached its close before
the return of Darcy with the British guard which he had
released. Some other matters were adjusted between
them, and Lieutenant Stockton was, at length, permitted
to depart; while Watson Gray, at the same moment,
received from Darcy the still half drunken soldiery. It
may be supposed that neither Stockton nor Darcy was
altogether so well satisfied with the result of their expedition.
The game was fairly in their hands; but the
precipitation of Stockton, arising from a too great feeling
of security and a desire to exult over his threatened
victim, led to that exposure of his own person of which
Watson Gray so readily availed himself. The reproaches
of the subordinate were not spared.

“But it comes to the same thing,” said Stockton.
“He is still ours. He is pledged to appear at the trial.”

“Ay, but suppose he does not come?”

“Then the delay follows, and no worse evil. We
have men enough surely to pull the old house about his
ears.”

“With the loss of half of them! A dear bargain,”
replied the dissatisfied lieutenant.

“Not so bad either. We can starve them out in three
days. But there's no fear that Gray will not keep his
word. They will come to the trial. They flatter themselves
that we shall see nothing of Isaac Muggs, whom
they've sent away, and I told them of no other witness
than Brydone. I said nothing of that skulk, Joe Tanner.
He and Brydone are enough, and knowing the absence
of Muggs, they'll come boldly on the ground, and walk
headlong into the trap we've set for them.”

“It's well you've had that caution, Stockton; for, of
a truth, you have so far played your cards most rashly.
We've got desperate men to deal with, and that Watson

Gray has a head that's equal to any other half dozen in
my acquaintance. There was another matter that your
proceeding spoiled.”

“What was that?”

“The gutting of the house.”

“Oh! that follows of course.”

“A bird in the hand, you know. They may have
time now to hide the valuables.”

“It will be a close hole that our boys can't creep into.
Where they've gone we can follow. But there's no
doubt, Darcy, that I've given up one chance which befriended
us. It's only putting off for to-morrow what
might have been done to-day. Our appetite will be only
so much the keener for the delay. Did you see Miss
Middleton?”

“Ay—did I not!” replied Darcy. “Look you, Stockton,
I stipulate for her. You must not think to swallow
all—rank, revenge, riches—and still yearn for beauty.
She must go to my share of the booty.”

“Yours! Pooh, Darcy, what should give you an
amorous tooth? Don't think of it, my good fellow.
I've set my mind upon her. It's a part of my revenge.
She's the game that's turned Ned Morton's head—it was
to disgrace him before her that made me blunder—and
unless I show him that she too is at my mercy, my
triumph will be only half complete.”

Darcy muttered something about the “lion's share,”
and his muttering reminded Stockton that he was too
valuable an assistant to be trifled with.

“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, “let us not squabble about
a woman. I don't care a shilling about her. But she's
common stock, you know. It must be according to the
will of the troop.”

We forbear listening to other heads of their private
arrangements. They proceeded to rejoin their men and
to see about the disposition of their sentinels, in secrecy,
along the banks of the river, wherever they thought it
probable that a boat would effect a landing. They did
not bestow a very close watch along the land side, or in
the immediate neighbourhood of the house, for they well
knew that Morton could not escape, in his present condition

of feebleness, by any but a water conveyance.
He was their chief object, and they regarded his fate as
now unavoidable.

The safety of the landlord, Muggs, it has been already
seen, was secured by the persevering and sleepless efforts
of his new comrade, John Bannister. When the latter
had swam the river, and joined him on the other side,
the two laid themselves quietly down to sleep in a place
of security, having resolved to get up at an early hour,
before dawn, and, urging their boat up stream with united
paddles, keep on the same side of the river until they
could, without detection, cross to that on which the
enemy lay. Their aim was to reach a point above the
usual landing places of the barony, and out of the reach,
accordingly, of the line of sentinels, each of which John
Bannister had beheld where he was placed. The worthy
scout was resolved to do all that he might, at any risk,
for the safety of Flora; and for her rescue from the ruthless
villains by whom her house was surrounded. He
did not conjecture the state of affairs between the former
captain of the Black Riders and his troop; and did not
fancy that there was any cause of apprehension for the
fate of Edward Conway, though such a conviction would
have given him but little uneasiness. At the appointed
hour he awakened his companion, struck a light, reloaded
his rifle, the flint of which he carefully examined;
and, having put himself and Muggs in as good condition
for a conflict as possible, he shoved his canoe up the
stream. The work was hard, but they achieved it. They
plied their paddles vigorously, until they were enabled,
with the help of the current, to round the jutting headland
where slept the remains of Mary Clarkson. They
had scarcely pulled into shore when they were startled
by the sudden rising of a human figure from the earth,
out of the bosom of which, and almost at their feet, he
seemed to emerge. Bannister pushed back from the
shore, but the friendly voice of Jake Clarkson reassured
him. He had effected his escape, in the general drunkenness
of the soldiery, though how that had been brought
about the could tell but little. Those who had drugged
their cups had evidently confounded him with the rest,

for they furnished him with a portion of the potent beverage
also. Of this he drank nothing, and the consequence
of his sobriety was his successful effort to escape. In the
darkness he had been enabled to feel his way to the spot
where his daughter slept. He could give no farther explanation;
nor did Bannister annoy him on the subject.
He was content with the acquisition of a stout fellow,
whose aim was deadly, and who had contrived to secure
his rifle from loss in all his several mischances. That
he still carried upon his arm, and Bannister contented
himself with instructing him to get it in readiness.

“See to the flint and priming, daddy Jake, for the
time's a-coming when I wouldn't have you miss fire for
the best pole-boat on the Congaree.”

If there was toil among these honest fellows, and
among the outlaws in the neighbourhood of whose camp
they were hovering, there was toil and anxiety also in
the dwelling, to which, though with different feelings,
the eyes of both these parties were directed. Sleepless
and prayerful were the hours which the fair ladies of the
mansion passed after that wild and fearful interruption
which they experienced in the progress of the evening
meal. But, in the chamber of Edward Morton, a more
stern and immovable sentiment of apprehension prevailed
to increase the gloom of his midnight watch, and to
darken the aspects of the two who sat there in solemn
conference. Watson Gray, though he naturally strove
to infuse a feeling of confidence into the mind of his
superior, could not, nevertheless, entirely divest his
thoughts of the sombre tinge which they necessarily
took from his feelings, in considering the events which
the coming day was to bring forth. There was something
excessively humbling to a man like Edward Morton
in the idea of ever being tried for treachery by those
whom he had so often led;—and to be placed for judgment
before one whom he so heartily despised as Stockton,
was no small part of the annoyance. The assurances
which Watson Gray gave him did not touch this part of
his disquietude. The simple conviction of his ultimate
release could not materially lessen the pang which he

felt at what he conceived to be the disgrace of such a
situation.

“Life or death, Gray,” he said, “is after all a trifling
matter. I have the one here;” touching the hilt of a
dirk which he had just placed within his bosom, “or
here,” and his fingers rested on the handle of the pistol
which lay beside him on the bed. “Either of these will
secure me from the indignity which this base scoundrel
would delight to fasten upon me; and, as for life, I believe
I love it no more than any other soldier who knows
the condition of the game he plays and the value of the
stake he lays down. But, to be hauled up and called to
answer to such a scamp, for such a crime, is, really, a
most shocking necessity. Can't we mend the matter no
way? Can't we tamper with some of the men? There
are a few whom you could manage. There's Butts, both
the Maybins, Joe Sutton, Peters, and half a dozen more
that were always devoted to me, though, perhaps, among
the more timid of the herd. If you could manage these;
if you could persuade them to join us here, with your
bull-head British allies, we should be able to make fight,
and finish the copartnership in that manlier way. By
Heaven, I'm stirred up with the notion! You must try
it! I shall be strong enough for any thing when the
time comes; and I feel, that in actual conflict with that
villain Stockton, I could not help but hew him to pieces.
Bring us to this point, Gray! Work, work, man, if you
love me! If your wits sleep, wake them. Now or
never! Let them save me from this d—nable situation
and bitter shame.”

The confederate shook his head despondingly.

“No doubt if we could get at these fellows, or any
half dozen in the troop, they might be bought over or
persuaded in some way to desert to us;—but, do you
not see that the difficulty is in getting at them? Were I
to venture among them I should be served just as I served
Stockton to-night. I should be hampered hand and foot,
with no such chance of making terms of escape as he
had. No, captain, I see no way to avoid the trial. You
must make up your mind to that. But, I don't see that
you will have any thing more to apprehend. Muggs is

out of the way, and won't be back for three days. He's
safe. One witness is not enough, and as for Brydone—”

“D—n him! D—n him! The double-dyed traitor!
And he was paid so well too!”

“That was the mistake, I'm thinking. He got too
much for that last business. He considered it the last
job you'd ever give him, and he immediately cast about
for a new employer. He's got him, but I do not think
he'll keep him long.”

“May they cut each other's throats!” was the devout
prayer of the outlaw, to which Gray responded with a
deliberate

“Amen!”

What was farther said, between the two, that night,
was of the same temper and concerned the same business.
Their hopes and fears, plans and purposes, so far as
Watson Gray deemed it essential that his principal
should know them, underwent, as it was natural they
should, a prolonged examination. But Gray felt that the
outlaw would need all his strength for whatever events
might follow, and determined, therefore, upon leaving
him to repose. Besides, he had some schemes working
in his mind, which he did not declare to his principal,
and which it was necessary that he should discuss entirely
to himself. He had already taken care that his
score of men, by this time quite sobered, should be
strictly cautioned on the subject of their watch for the
night, and so placed, within the dwelling, as to baffle any
attempt at surprise or assault from without. The soldiers
did not now need much exhortation to vigilance. They
had already had some taste of the fruits of their misbehaviour,
as in their beastly incapability of resentment,
the outlaws had amused themselves with a rough pastime
at their expense, in which cuffs and kicks were the most
gentle courtesies to which the victims were subjected.
This done, Gray summoned the surgeon, Hillhouse, to a
brief conference, and assigned to him certain duties of
the watch also. Though a frivolous, foolish person, he
was temperate, and the chief object of Gray was to keep
the soldiers from any excess during an absence which, it
seems, he meditated, but which he did not declare to

them. It was only necessary to intimate to Mr. Hillhouse
what havoc the Black Riders would make, if they
could once lay hands upon his variegated wardrobe, to
secure all the future vigilance of that gentleman. All
matters being arranged to his satisfaction, he stole forth
at midnight from the mansion, none knowing and none
suspecting his departure; and, with the practised arts of
a veteran scout, he contrived to take from the stables the
fleetest horse which they contained. Him he led, as
quietly as he could, into the woods which lay to the
west, and remote equally from the encampment and sentinels
of the Black Riders. Their watch was maintained,
with strictness, only on the river side; and, uninterrupted,
Gray soon succeeded in placing himself in full cover of
the forests, and out of the neighbourhood of the enemy's
sentinels. He kept within the cover of the woods only
so long as sufficed for safety; then, hurrying into the
main road, he pursued his way down the country, at a
rapid canter.

The object of Watson Gray, in part, may be conjectured,
by a recurrence to that portion of the dialogue
which he had with Stockton, in which the latter accounted
for the absence of Brydone, the most important witness,
whom he could array against the fidelity of Captain Morton.
He determined to go forth, meet Brydone, and bribe,
or dissuade him from his meditated treachery. He had,
if the reader will remember, wormed out of the less
acute and subtle Stockton, the cause of Brydone's absence;
the route which he would take, and the probable
time of his arrival in the morning. To keep him back
from the approaching trial he believed to be more important
than he allowed to appear to Morton. He knew that
their enemies would not be able to secure the testimony
of Muggs, the landlord, within the allotted time; even if
they succeeded, finally, in securing his person;—and he
did not doubt that Stockton was prepared with some
other witness, of whom he said nothing, in order the
more effectually to delude the defendant into the field.
This was, indeed, the case, as we have already seen from
the conference between Stockton and his more subtle
confederate, Darcy.

“At all events,” solioquized the scout, “at all events,
it will be the safe policy to keep Brydone out of the way.
I must send him on another journey. He sleeps at Martin's
tavern. Let me see:—Martin's is but fourteen
miles. He can ride that at a dog-trot in three hours. He
will probably start at daylight, and calculate to take his
breakfast at the barony. That is Stockton's calculation.
I must baffle them. Brydone must put off eating that
breakfast.”

Watson Gray did not continue his horse at the same
pace at which he started. He drew up, after the first
five miles, and suffered him to trot and walk alternately.
He had not gone more than seven, when day broke upon
the forests, and the keen eyes of the scout were then set
to their best uses, as he surveyed the road upon which
he travelled. By the time the sun rose he had gone
quite as far as he intended. It was not a part of his
policy to be seen at Martin's tavern; or seen at all, by
any one, who might reveal the fact hereafter that he had
gone upon the same road over which Brydone was expected.
No man was better able to foresee, and provide
against all contingencies, than Watson Gray. His every
step was the result of a close calculation of its probable
effects for good and evil. He quietly turned into the
woods, when he had reached a thicket which promised
him sufficient concealment for his purposes. Here he
re-examined his pistols, which were loaded, each, with a
brace of bullets. He stirred the priming with his finger,
rasped the flints slightly with the horn handle of his
knife, and adjusted the weapons in his belt for convenient
use. He did not dismount from his saddle, but took care
to place himself in such a position, on the upper edge of
the thicket, as to remain unseen from below; while, at
the same time, the path was so unobstructed from above
as to permit him to emerge suddenly, without obstruction
from the undergrowth, at any moment, into the main
track. In this position he was compelled to wait something
longer than he had expected. But Watson Gray,
in the way of business, was as patient as the grave. He
was never troubled with that fidgety peevishness which
afflicts small people, and puts them into a fever, unless

the winds rise from the right quarter at the very moment
when they are desired to blow. He could wait, not only
without complaint or querulousness; but, he prepared
himself to wait, just as certainly as to perform. To suffer
and to endure, he had sufficient common sense philosophy
to perceive, was equally the allotment of life. On
this occasion, he waited fully two hours, with no greater
sign of discontent, than could be conjectured from his occasionally
transferring his right and then his left leg from
the stirrup to the pommel of his saddle, simply to rest the
members, as they happened to be more or less stiffened
by the want of exercise. All the while, his eyes keenly
pierced the thicket below him, and his ears pricked up
like his steed's, which he also cautiously watched, with
the habitual readiness of a practised woodman. At length
the tedium of his situation was relieved. The tramp of a
horse was heard at a small distance, and as the traveller
came up to the thicket, Watson Gray quietly rode out beside
him.

“Ha! Watson Gray!” exclaimed the new comer, who
was the person expected.

“The same, Joe Brydone,” was the answer of Gray,
in tones which were gentle, quiet, and evidently intended
to soothe the alarm of the other, which was clearly conveyed
in his faltering accents, and in the sudden movement
of his bridle hand, which made his steed shy off to
the opposite side of the road. If his object was flight, it
did not promise to be successful, for the powerful and
fleet animal bestrode by Gray left him no hope to escape
by running from his unwelcome companion. This he
soon saw, and, encouraged perhaps by the friendly accents
of Gray's voice, was content to keep on with him
at the same pace which he was pursuing when they encountered.
But his looks betrayed his disquiet. He
had all the misgivings of the conscious traitor, apprehensive
for his treasonable secret. On this head Gray did
not leave him very long in doubt.

“I've been looking for you, Brydone.”

“Ah! why,—what's the matter.”

“Yes!—you're expected at the barony.”

“I know:—I'm on my way there now.”

“Ned Morton expects you!”

“Who: the Captain?” with some surprise.

“Yes! a base charge is made against him by that
scoundrel Stockton, and he wants you to disprove it.”

“What's that?” demanded the other.

“Why, neither more nor less, than that the Captain
has been making preparations to desert the troop, in violation
of his oath.”

“Well, but Gray, that's the truth, you know;” said
Brydone with more confidence.

“How! I know!—I know nothing about it.”

“Why, yes you do. Didn't you send me yourself to
Isaac Muggs, and tell me what to say and do?”

“Brydone, you're foolish. If I sent you, didn't I pay
you for going; and isn't it a part of our business that you
should keep the secret if you keep the money? You
got paid for going, and got paid for keeping the secret;
and now we expect you to go up and prove this fellow
Stockton to be a liar and an ass.”

“I can't do it, Gray,” said the other, doggedly.

“And why not? There are more guineas to be got
where the last came from.”

“I don't know that,” was the reply.

“But you shall see. I promise you twenty guineas, if
you will swear to the truth, as I tell it to you, on this trial.”

“I can't, Gray. I've told the truth already to Captain
Stockton, and to more than him.”

“But you were under a mistake, Brydone, my good
fellow. Don't be foolish now. You will only be making
a lasting enemy of Captain Morton, who has always
been your friend, and who will never forget your treachery,
if you appear in this business against him.”

“His enmity won't count for much when they've tried
him, Gray. He must swing.”

“But mine will count for something. Would you be
making an enemy of me, also? If you go forward and
swear against him, you swear against me too.”

“I can't help it—it's the truth.”

“But where's the necessity of telling the truth at this
time of day? What's the use of beginning a new business
so late in life? You've told Stockton, it seems; go

forwards then, and downface him that you never told him
a word on the subject, and I will be your security for
twenty guineas.”

“I can't;—I told Lieutenant Darcy also, and several
others.”

“Ah! that's bad—that's very bad. My dear Brydone,
that's unfortunate for all of us.”

“I don't see how its unfortunate for more than him;”
said Brydone, with recovered coolness.

“Why yes, it's a loss to you; a loss of money, and,
perhaps, something as valuable. But there's yet a way
how you may mend it, and prevent the loss. You shall
have the twenty guineas, if you'll just take the back
track down the country, and be gone for five days. I
don't care where you go, or what you do in the mean
time, so that you don't come within twenty miles of the
barony.”

“I can't think of it,” said the other obstinately.

Watson Gray regarded him earnestly, for a few moments,
before he continued.

“How a fellow of good sense will sometimes trifle
with his good fortune, and risk every thing on a blind
chance. Joe Brydone, what's got into you, that you
can't see the road that's safest and most profitable?”

“Perhaps I do;” replied the other with a grin of the
coolest self-complaisance.

He was answered by a smile of Gray, one of that
sinister kind which an observing man would shudder
to behold in the countenance of a dark, determined one.

“Brydone,” he said, “let me give you some counsel,
—the last, perhaps, I shall ever give you. You're in
the way of danger if you go to the barony. There
will be hot fighting there to-day. Captain Morton's
friends won't stand by and see him swing, to please a
cowardly scamp like Stockton. You can save yourself
all risk, and a good share of money besides, by taking
the twenty guineas, and riding down the road.”

“Ah, ha! Gray!—but what would be my share at
the gutting of the barony?”

“The share of a fool, perhaps, whose fingers are
made use of to take the nuts from the fire.”

“No more fool than yourself, Watson Gray; and let
me tell you to look to yourself as well as the Captain.
There's more halters than one in preparation.”

“Ah! do you say so?” replied Gray, coolly, as the
other jerked up the bridle of his horse, and prepared to
ride forward.

“Yes! and I warn you that you had better take the
road down the country, rather than me. Your chance
isn't so much better than that of Ned Morton, that you
can stand by and see him hoisted, without running a
narrow chance of getting your own neck in the noose.
Now, take my word, you've given me what you call
good advice; I'll give you some in return. Do just
what you wanted me to do. Turn your horse's head,
and ride down the country, and don't trust yourself
within a day's ride of the barony. By hard pushing
you'll get to Martin's in time for breakfast, while I'll ride
for'ad and take mine at the barony.”

“You are very considerate, Joe—very. But I don't
despair of convincing you, by the sight of the twenty
guineas. Gold is so lovely a metal, that a handful of it
persuades where all human argument will fail; and I
think, that, by giving you a sufficient share of it to carry,
you will stop long enough, before you go on with this
cruel business. You certainly can't find any pleasure
in seeing your old friends hung; and when it's to your
interest, too, that they should escape, it must be the
worst sort of madness in you to go forward.”

“You may put it up. I won't look. I tell you what,
Watson Gray, I know very well what's locked up in
Middleton barony. I should be a pretty fool to take
twenty guineas, when I can get two hundred.”

Meantime, under the pretence of taking the money
from his bosom, Gray had taken a pistol from his belt.
This he held in readiness, and within a couple of feet
from the head of Brydone. The latter had pushed his
horse a little in the advance, while Gray had naturally
kept his steed in, while extricating the pistol.

“Be persuaded, Brydone:” continued Gray, with all
the gentleness of one who was simply bent to conciliate,

“only cast your eyes round upon this metal, and you
will be convinced. It is a sight which usually proves
very convincing.”

But the fellow doggedly refused to turn his head,
which he continued to shake negatively.

“No! no!” he answered, “it can't convince me,
Watson Gray. You needn't to pull out your purse and
waste your words. Put up your money. I should be
a blasted fool to give up my chance at Middleton
barony, and Ned Morton's share, for so poor a sum as
twenty guineas.”

“Fool!” exclaimed Gray, “then die in your folly!
Take lead, since gold won't suit you;” and with the
words, he pulled trigger, and drove a brace of bullets
through the skull of his wilful companion. Brydone
tumbled from his horse without a groan.

“I would have saved the ass if he would have let
me,” said Gray, dismounting leisurely; and, fastening
his own and the horse of the murdered man in the
thicket, he proceeded to lift the carcass upon his
shoulder. He carried it into the deepest part of the
woods, a hundred yards or more from the road side,
and, having first emptied the pockets, he cast it down
into the channel of a little creek, the watery ooze of
which did not suffice to cover it. The face was down-wards,
but the back of his head, mangled and shattered
by the bullets, remained upward and visible through
the water. From the garments of Brydone he gleaned
an amount in gold almost as great as that which he had
tendered him; and, with characteristic philosophy, he
thus soliloquized while he counted it over and transferred
it to his own pockets.

“A clear loss of forty guineas to the foolish fellow.
This is all the work of avarice. Now, if his heart hadn't
been set upon gutting the barony, he'd have seen the
reason of every thing I said to him. He'd have seen that
it was a short matter of life and death between us. Him
or me! Me or him! Turn it which way you will, like
`96,'[1] it's still the same. I don't like to use bullets

when other arguments will do: but 'twas meant to be
so. He wasn't to listen to arguments this time, and I
was to shoot him. He was a good runner, and that's
as much as could be said of him; but a most conceited
fool! Well, our reckoning's over. He's got his pay
and discharge, and Stockton's lost his witness. I was
fearful I'd have to shoot him, when I set out. The
foolish fellow! He wouldn't have believed it if I had
told him. With such a person feeling is the only sort
of believing; a bullet's the only thing to convince a hard
head. He's got it, and no more can be said.”