 | CHAPTER III.
A CONFERENCE WITH THE ENEMY. The kinsmen, or, The black riders of Congaree |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
A CONFERENCE WITH THE ENEMY.
Lord Rawdon, in the History of the War in the
Southern Colonies, appears to have been one of the
sternest leaders of the time; as sanguinary in his temper
as Earl Cornwallis, and without any of those impulses
of a better temper, which have secured for the
latter, from one of the American captains, the doubtfully
deserved epithet of the “amiable Cornwallis.” Rawdon
left himself open neither to the lurking irony nor the
obvious flattery of such an epithet. His discipline was
rigid to the last degree; his temper cold and inflexible;
and he seems to have regarded the enemies whom he had
the fortune to conquer as something, which, like the spoil
he won, he might easily dispose of according to the mood
which governed him at the moment; and not under the
direction of any fixed principles or written laws. His
cruelties, open and specious, are on record; but these do
not concern us at this moment; and we must admit that
the King of England had no representative in all the Revolution
who was more constant to his duties or more
resolute in their performance. Lord Rawdon had also
the merit of being a gentleman; a hard, cold, inflexible
soldier,—too free to shed blood, and not politic enough
to do so at the right time and in the right place;—obdurate
in his purpose and unpliant in his feelings—but still
a gentleman: a qualification for his crimes of perhaps
very small intrinsic value, but one which he possessed in
common with very few, among the many with whom he
co-operated during his career in the southern country.
family, it had been, as we have already elsewhere intimated,
the policy of this commander, as well as of him
by whom he had been preceded, to treat the inmates of
the Barony with all indulgence. Their popularity with
the surrounding country, which it was desirable to conciliate,
was a sufficient reason for an indulgence, which, in
the reckless career of the invaders, they had not been
disposed to extend to many; and the time was fast approaching
when, in the declining power of their arms,
their desperation led them to withdraw even this degree
of favour, in the vain hope to coerce the patriotism which
they found it impossible to persuade or seduce. Already
had the tone of British superiority been lowered. They
could no longer maintain themselves in their strongholds;
and, evacuating Camden under the accumulating pressure
of the American forces, Rawdon was even now on his
way to “Ninety-Six,” to protract the hour of its downfall.
This was the last stronghold left them in the interior,
and to delay, not to baffle its assailants, in the work
of conquest, was now the only hope of the British commander.
The political aspects of the time were all unfavourable
to British ascendancy; and the temper of his
lordship underwent a corresponding change with his
changing fortunes. This could be seen by the Middletons,
the moment when he announced himself their
guest, with the air and manner of one who feels all the
changes in his own fortunes, and readily divines the effect
of such change upon his reluctant host. He looked,
though he did not say:—“I know that you receive me
with reluctance—that my presence is hateful to you—
nay, that you perceive and exult in my approaching overthrow,—but,
I still have the power to compel your respect,
and I may yet awaken your fears. You shall
receive me, and seem to be glad to do so.”
But the suspicious mood of Rawdon became quieted,
when, in the gentle and easy deportment of the ladies, he
failed to behold the exulting expression of those sentiments
which he fancied might fill their bosoms. They
were superior to that vulgar sentiment of triumph which
and chilling demeanour. A quiet dignity and a gentle
grace was apparent in the conduct of both, in receiving
the British chief:—and this, in the younger of the two
ladies, was mingled with some little tremulousness—the
result of her consciousness of what had just before taken
place between herself and Clarence Conway—which
Rawdon was not unwilling to ascribe to the agitation
which his own presence must naturally produce in every
youthful mind. This notion pleased his self-complacency,
and made the work of soothing more easy to the ladies;
but they could still perceive that they had assumed, as
enemies, in the recent successes of their countrymen, an
increased importance in his eyes, which lessened his
smiles, and probably increased their dangers;—and they
were soon made to understand this difference in a more
direct and decided manner. Tea, at that time the bane
of the country, though the blessing of the ladies, was the
crowning dish of the evening repast; and this commodity,
though employed simply in compliment to the
Briton, gave Rawdon an opportunity to say something on
the subject of their loyalty, as he sat down the rich bowl
of gold-rimmed China, from which, in that day of a
luxury far more ostentatious than ours, though of far less
general ostentation, the precious beverage was drunk.
“I rejoice to see, ladies, that your patriotism—so I
think you call this flinging away your king and country
—takes counsel of good taste, and does not allow you to
fling away your tea-bowls also. It would have been a
serious trial of faith to your sex to have given up the
Celestial liquor for more than a season.”
The old lady answered smartly, with no small portion
of that spirit which then distinguished the dames of Carolina.
“I cannot accept your compliment to our tastes, my
lord, at the expense of our patriotism. You perceive
that while your lordship drinks tea, we confine ourselves
to such beverage only as our milch cows yield us.
Sometimes we regale ourselves on Indian tea, which is
made of the Cussenna leaf, but this only when our milk
Riders have found their way into our neighbourhood.”
“And their presence, madam, is only another evil consequence
of your patriotism. But surely the whole burden
of this complaint should not fall upon the Black
Riders. There have been such `Riders' as follow Lee
and Sumter in this neighbourhood lately; of whom report
speaks not more favourably; and who probably love
milch cattle quite as well as any body else. Nay, my
fair young mistress,” addressing himself to Flora, “there
is another Rider, black enough in my eyes, but, perhaps,
any thing but black in yours. Ha! you can guess who
I mean by this description; and I will not name him for
your sake, but let me catch him!” and he raised a
threatening finger, while a half smile rested upon his lips.
Flora could not altogether suppress the blush which found
its way to her cheeks, and was as little able to control
the irony that rose at the same time to her lips.
“Ah, my lord, you are too severe upon our poor sex;
but—”
She paused, and the colour heightened upon her cheeks.
“But what?” he asked, seeing her hesitate.
“But what if he catches you, my lord?”
“Flora, Flora!” said the grandmother, with a look
and voice of warning. A momentary gravity overspread
the face of Rawdon, and his severe features, under the
dark shade of his lowering brows, almost startled Flora
with a sentiment of apprehension for her own imprudence;
but the good sense and breeding of his lordship
came to her relief as well as his own.
“Ah, my fair foe,” he said with a smile of good nature,
“still incorrigible—still dangerous. The tongues
of your Carolina ladies inflict deeper wounds than the
swords of your heroes.”
“I would you could think so, my lord.”
“Why, they do,” he answered, “they do.”
“Nay, my lord, I will not contradict you, and yet I
am trying to persuade myself that you will think otherwise
before you come back from `Ninety-Six.”'
“And do you find the task of self-persuasion difficult?
back?”
“Yes, my lord, I hope so—in safety; but with such
opinions as will make you think better of our soldiers,
and, in this reason, find a much farther journey necessary.”
“What, to Charlestown, eh? a forced march back?”
“To England, my lord; to England; at that distance
there will be some chance of our being better friends,
and we shall then resume our tea.”
“But without the duties?” he said laughing.
“Not altogether, my lord. I, for one, feel all the
disposition to be the dutiful friend—if you please the dutiful
child—of England;—but not the subject, not the
slave! Her victim, rather!”
“Ah, my fair Flora, we wish no sacrifice: none of
you, at least. We shall drag no damsel to the altar, unless
it be to one of her own choosing. But in revenge
for this sharp speech of yours, fair lady, may I know
when Colonel Conway was here last; how long since
he has taken his departure, and where I may expect to
find him?”
“He has been here, my lord, I frankly tell you, but
when he left I will not say. You will find him—”
She hesitated as if in meditation, while her large brilliant
eyes shone without a cloud upon her auditor, and
her form seemed to dilate in more than feminine majesty
as she rose to leave the room:—
“Stay, Miss Middleton,” said his lordship, “you
have not told me where I may expect to find Colonel
Conway.”
Her answer was immediate, with flashing eyes, and
fearless accents.
“You may expect to find him, my lord, wherever an
ambush can be laid; whenever a bold soldier may fancy
that his sword can make an enemy feel; or a good blow
can be struck for the liberties of his country.”
“Humph!” exclaimed Rawdon, gravely, though without
displeasure, as Flora left the room. “Your granddaughter,
ever.”
“She is young, my lord, and very enthusiastic, but
though she speaks thus, I'm sure she is quite as unhappy
at this war as any of us. We all wish it well over.”
“That is saying every thing for the right side. To
wish it well over, madam, is simply to wish our king
his own again. But now, that your daughter has withdrawn,
let me remind you, Mrs. Middleton, of the royal
favour to yourself and family—”
“To me, my lord;—to my family!” was the reply of
the venerable lady, with some appearance of astonishment.
“Yes, madam, in the immunity you have so long enjoyed,
when it has been well known to his majesty's
commanders in the South, that your own and the sentiments
of your grand-daughter—your opinions and wishes
—are all unfavourable to his authority.”
“Am I to understand, my lord, that his majesty's officers
are instructed to wage war against the opinions of
the women as well as the swords of the men of Carolina?”
“No, madam, far from it; but those opinions sharpen
those swords—”
“I am proud, my lord, to think, and hear you acknowledge
that such is the case!”
“I had not thought, madam, to have hearkened to this
language from your lips. The protection you have enjoyed—your
immunities from the confiscation which has
usually followed disloyalty, should, I think, have prompted
a degree of gratitude for his majesty's government,
which would have saved his representative from such an
answer.”
“You mistake, my lord, in some important particulars.
My immunities are not due to his majesty's government.
If they are to be spoken of as due anywhere, they must
be ascribed to that sense of manliness in the soldiers of
both sides in this bloody warfare, all of whom, it seems
to me, would have blushed the colour of your scarlet,
Rawdon did blush with vexation at the retort, as he
answered it with a strong effort at gentlemanly composure.
“You have surely mistaken me, Mrs. Middleton. My
purpose was simply to intimate that his majesty's officers
have been at some pains, more than is customary
in a country which has been so completely covered with
contending armies, to preserve from detriment and hurt
your possessions and interests.”
“I confess, my lord, the amount of what you now
say seems to me to differ little from what was said before.
You have forborne to seize my own and my child's
property, though we have been bold enough to think that
you had no right to seize it; and for this you demand
our gratitude. My lord, I understand, though you have
not spoken, the real purpose which you feel unwilling to
declare. I can very well comprehend the difficulties
under which his majesty's arms labour at present. I
know that their supplies are everywhere cut off; and
that they look to what are called `forced loans' to enable
them to prosecute the war.”
“You are well informed, I perceive, madam. Am I
to understand that the rebel Sumter has been recently
your guest?”
“Within ten days, my lord, and my opinions being
such as they are, I placed in his hands, for the use of my
country, the entire plate of the Middleton Barony, and
every jewel of value which belonged to myself and child.
The few spoons which graced our board to-night, and the
bowl in which our children have been baptized from immemorial
time, are all that were kept back from the free
gift which my feelings made to my friends. These, my
lord—”
“Of these, madam, the cause of my king does not
make it necessary that I should deprive you;” replied
Rawdon with a graceful dignity which left nothing to be
complained of. “Your plate would have been important
to us, Mrs. Middleton; and you will do us the justice to
we did not make this requisition until the last hour, and
then only in obedience to necessities which none but ourselves
can comprehend. Believe me, madam, though I
am somewhat disappointed, it is a pain spared me, which
I would have felt, in depriving you of this family treasure.
Nor can I complain, regarding your social attachments
with respect, that you have yielded it to the hands
of those who will make use of it against me. I must do
as well as I can without it. Let me not lose your esteem,
my dear madam, because of my proposition, which
you will also do me the justice to believe was not less
painful than unavoidable.”
The meassage of Watson Gray was received at this
moment, and the venerable old lady disappeared with a
kind courtesy, leaving his lordship free to the interview
with the scout.
“A brave-hearted old woman!” said his lordship, during
the brief interval in which he remained alone. “She
has given a monstrous subsidy to Greene, which will
keep him on his legs awhile, and perhaps trip ours; and
yet I cannot be angry with her. The stock is a good
one;—one would almost wish a mother or a daughter of
such a noble heart and so fearless a temper. Ah, Gray,
I've been looking for you. When did you get over from
the Wateree?”
“I left there yesterday morning. I rode all night, and
had to make more than two turns between the Hills and
the Congaree, to get out of the way of Marion's men,
who seem to me to be thicker than ever. Your lordship's
for Ninety-Six?”
“Yes—can you tell me any thing about it? These
rascally horse of Lee and Conway have, I fear, cut off
all my messengers to Cruger, as they certainly have cut
off every thing, in the shape of intelligence, from me.”
“It's dreadful hard pressed, your lordship, that's all I
know, and that was my knowledge three days ago.”
“I fear I shall be too late,” said Rawdon. “But you
wished to see me on other business. What is it?”
“Does your lordship know that Col. Conway, with all
coming scared him from his roost.”
“Indeed, so lately!” said his lordship. “Then he
cannot even now be far. We must send Major Banks
after him:” and his lordship was about to summon a
messenger.
“If I might venture to counsel your lordship, you will
do nothing to-night. It will be only to send your detachment
into an ambush. This is what Conway expects,
and what he will prepare for.”
“But we cannot suffer him to lie or loiter about our
encampment, we must brush him off at the risk of a
sting.”
“No, your lordship, but a double guard and extra
videttes will serve all necessary purposes, and, with the
dawn, Major Banks can be in motion. Now, however,
Conway is in possession of his own ground, all of which
he knows, while Major Banks will be moving to danger
with a blind across his eyes.”
“You are right:—and what has Conway been doing
here, and where is his brother,—our desperado of the
Congaree?”
“Here, also! within a hundred yards of us.”
“Ha! How is it I have not seen him, then?”
“You will see him shortly, my lord, and in bad condition.
The brothers have met, single handed, and they
have brought the old grudge to a finish, I'm afraid. There
has been a desperate fight between them, and the captain
is very much hurt. It is somewhat doubtful if he ever
gets over it.”
“And the other—the rebel;—has he escaped? goes he
scot free?”
“That I can't tell. I should think not, however, for,
knowing how Ned Morton hates him, and how many
good reasons he has for killing him, he would run all risks
of his own life to make a finish of the other. His condition
makes me think that the other must be hurt; but
his hurts cannot be serious, for he certainly got off.”
“How heard you this, Gray?”
“From that rascally fellow, Bannister, otherwise called
black charger from the Forks of Congaree. The colonel
offered twenty guineas to take the scout alive, and I
thought I had him at one time to-night. But I caught a
Tartar. He gave me a strange trot, and such a shaking
as I shall feel in all my bones for a month to come.”
Here Gray gave a full description of the scene, at
which his lordship's muscles relaxed infinitely; and he
then proceeded to narrate those other details which led
him to the subject of Morton's attendance. On this head
it was necessary to exercise some adroitness. It was no
part of Gray's policy to let Rawdon see that a provincial
scout should presume to suspect the integrity of a royal
officer, and he studiously forbore in consequence, declaring
those suspicions which he felt of Stockton.
“It is important that the connection of Captain Morton
with the Black Riders, should not be suspected while
he lies here wounded. No guard could possibly save
him from the rebels, should they be able to identify his
person. Here he is known as Edward Conway, the
brother of one who is no small favourite with the ladies
of the Barony. This will save him from danger without,
and secure him good attendance within. Miss Middleton,
herself, will, I think, see to that, if on the score of his
connections only. I will provide the guard for Captain
Morton, and you can take with you his troop which is
under the command of Lieutenant Stockton, a brave man
and a good officer. They are pretty strong, and the
greatest daredevils under the sun. You'll get good service
out of them, and will need them too, my lord, if, as
I suspect, you are somewhat short of cavalry.”
“You think rightly, Gray; and your plans are good.
I will leave a surgeon's assistant with Morton, which is
all that I can do; but my own surgeon will see to his
hurts before he goes.”
“Your lordship will be so good as to remember that
Captain Morton is no more than Mr. Conway here.”
“Ay, ay,—but what noise is that below?”
“The captain's body, I reckon. Will your lordship
look at him?”
“Is he sensible—conscious?”
“I think not yet, my lord. He was in a swoon when
I left him, in consequence of loss of blood.”
“It will not need then. I will send Mr. Coppinger to
examine his hurts, and as I am to know nothing about
him, you must take your own course to get him domiciled
among the ladies.”
“That is easily done, your lordship,” said Gray, retiring,
“I have your lordship's permission to make the
necessary arrangements.”
“You have; send me Lieutenant Farrington, who
waits without;” said Rawdon, as the other left the room.
It scarcely need be said that the wily Gray succeeded
in all his present purposes. His opinions were esteemed
to be sufficiently sound by his lordship, to be followed
implicitly. Lieutenant Stockton was relieved from the
care of his captain, and ordered to place himself, with his
whole troop, under the command of Major Banks of the
British cavalry, and the bare intimation of Morton's situation,
to the ladies of the barony, secured for the wounded
man one of the most comfortable chambers in the mansion;
nor did Watson Gray neglect the forlorn and outcast
damsel whom John Bannister had commended to his
care. An adjoining apartment was readily procured for
her in the same spacious dwelling, and the surgeon's aid
was solicited for the poor victim as soon as it had been
bestowed upon her betrayer. We leave Edward Conway
in the same house with Flora Middleton—but as yet
utterly unconscious of her presence and near neighbourhood;—while
we pursue the route taken by his brother.
| CHAPTER III.
A CONFERENCE WITH THE ENEMY. The kinsmen, or, The black riders of Congaree | |