University of Virginia Library

51. CHAPTER LI.
THE NIGHT-MARCH.

Calvert returned in season, as he believed, to his anchorage
in the Stono. The vessel was made fast to the shore. It was
night, bright starlight. Our rover lost not a moment in making
all his preparations for a night-march. He called his lieutenants,
Eccles and Hazard, into his cabin. Thither also, at his bidding,
came Belcher and Franks. The door of the cabin closed, and
all parties seated, Calvert said:—

“Gentlemen, you are probably all aware of the task that is before
us. I have every reason to be assured of a rising of the red
men. I am satisfied almost of the very night which they have
agreed upon. I have made my arrangements accordingly, and at
two points at least I shall be prepared to encounter them. On
this business I shall speed myself. I shall take with me some
fifty of the crew. I shall leave thirty-five with the ship — forty
all told. These will be quite enough for her working, and defence
from any foe whom you will be likely to encounter in these
waters. When I depart, you will haul off from the shore, and
put yourself in cover from the sea, between the islets. There
you will escape notice from ships of size passing along the coast,
while you will be safe from all danger from the savages, unless
they venture, as is hardly likely, to attack you in their canoes.
Not only will they not dare this, while you are in deep water;
but, as I have reason to think, there will be none but their women
left along the shores. The warriors will be busy enough with
the settlements. But this must not make you neglectful. You

will need to watch just as closely as if you had a present foe
threatening you from every quarter. We know not, indeed, but
that the Spaniards have left a large force in periaguas, after the
destruction of the Cardross colony, to penetrate the bays and inlets,
and co-operate with the savages even to Charleston. In that
event, you will be directly in their route. With thirty-five good
men, and in deep water, you will be quite equal to all their periaguas.
I know that you have the strength and courage. It is
for you to show that you have the vigilance and intelligence also.
You are young men both, and the whole future reputation, honor,
and profit, of your lives, may depend upon the independent command
which, for these three or four nights following, I shall trust
to your hands. I hope to be absent no longer. We shall run up,
to-night, as far as the Wappoo entrance, after I have taken on
board a guide who is to meet me here within the hour. Thence,
when I have landed, you will return to this bay, and take your
position as I have counselled. My signal, when I return, shall
be three muskets; and, if at night, three rockets also. The men
whom I leave with you shall be all true men. I shall take with
me all (as far as we know them) of those whom Fowler had seduced,
in the hope that they will feel the need to do good service,
to wipe out old scores of ill conduct.

“And now, gentlemen, there is one thing further. The expedition
upon which I go will necessarily be one of peril. It may
be that I shall never return. In regard to my own fate, I have
contemplated all the results and necessities. Let us now consider
yours. I need not tell you that our present commission, as a privateer,
has been revoked by the king; nay, more: under the malignant
influence of Spain, and his own weakness, he has made
that pursuit a crime which he had once authorized as a duty. It
behooves me, therefore, if possible, to place you in such a condition
as to enable you to return with honor to the service of England,
and to escape all evil consequences from the king's late proclamation.
Take these letters. They are addressed — one to Sir
William Berkeley, my uncle; one to Sir John Colleton, who was
my father's friend; and the third to Sir Edward Berkeley, the
cassique of Kiawah, in this province, who is my brother.”

The young officers both started with surprise. He proceeded,
without heeding their looks of inquiry:—

“These facts, hitherto, were only known to my faithful friend
and servant, Belcher. I do not wish them to be made known
now to any but yourselves, nor until I shall have failed to return.
Should this happen, you will communicate immediately to Sir Edward
Berkeley, if he should be living; for this adventure, which
involves my danger, will in like manner involve his. Should he
perish, then run over to England, without fail, and rely upon these
documents to plead for your safety, and secure your future employment
under the crown. You will carry with you a sufficient
argument besides. You will, of your own free minds, make a
gift of a noble ship, and of a brave crew, and good officers, to the
royal marine. I hold these documents — which contain a full narrative
of our adventures, and a complete statement of our case —
to be ample for your security, though they might not be for mine.
I can do no more. The rest is with you, and in the hands of God!
And now, gentlemen, see to the ship as if she were the apple of
your eye: I must proceed at once in my own preparations. Belcher
will call off, by name, all the marines that are to go with me.
Let ten of them carry muskets, all of them cutlasses and pistols,
and a few tomahawks.”

He dismissed them with an affectionate embrace. Will Hazard,
with tears in his eyes, entreated to accompany him; but Calvert
was firm in his refusal.

“No, my good boy, you are better here. Eccles may need all
the help you can give him; and I feel that I can trust your vigilance,
no less than your skill and honor.”

When they were gone, he had a long conference with Belcher
and Franks, in respect to Zulieme and other subjects of interest.
Neither of them knew that Zulieme had been withdrawn from the
city, and been confided to the custody of the cassique. So far as
she was concerned, Calvert felt himself secure. The only question
was, how she should be got away from Charleston; and it
was arranged that Franks, who was to be left with the ship,
should contrive it, by a midnight expedition, in a boat through
Wappoo. She was then — assuming that Calvert was no more —
to be carried home to the hacienda of her father, on the isthmus.
Briefly, every arrangement was made for each necessity and object
which human forethought could conceive. Old Franks, by-the-way,
did express the suspicion that Zulieme might be imprisoned

for her husband, if suspected; and that the cunning of Sylvester
might lead him even to this. But Calvert dismissed the
suggestion with a —

“Pshaw! — What! the council of the lords-proprietors seize
upon a woman, and on such pretext? Impossible!”

And no more was said. Calvert at once went on with his
preparations. He clad himself in the hunting-shirt and leggins
of the backwoods hunter, with cutlass, pistols, and tomahawk.
Belcher was likewise habited. Similar suits of blue homespun
were provided for all the party, the better for concealment in the
woods. Nothing was allowed to be worn which could attract by
glare or glitter — nothing white, nothing shining. The men were
all ready, and even eager. They always relished a cruise on shore,
even though a battle stood awaiting them in the highway.

In less than an hour, there were certain hoots of the owl, and
certain sounds as from the gong of a night-hawk, that signalled
them from the shore. Then did Calvert know that Ligon had
reached in safety the place of appointment. So it was: the guide
awaited him. He was taken on board, and the little cruiser run
up the Stono to its junction with the Wappoo. Here the party
landed, and the cruiser put about after an hour, the tide then being
at its turning. But Calvert and his company were gone from
sight before the vessel left the place. They were soon buried in
the thick darkness of the night and forest. But Ligon was such
a guide as few could equal in the country, and went forward with
ease and confidence.

He brought little news, but this was interesting. The Indians
were about in small parties, all tending to one or more centres of
gathering. One had attempted entrance at Gowdey's castle by
artifice, but the old sailor was too much for them. He found out
that they were eighteen or twenty in number; but they made no
absolutely hostile demonstration — unwilling, perhaps, by any premature
showing, to put their victims on their guard. But that
they would ultimately attempt the castle, and all other exposed
settlements, there was no doubt. Such was Gowdey's own opinion;
but the old sailor-hunter was, as he deemed, well prepared
for them. Of what was doing in the town, Ligon knew nothing.
He had heard that there was much military stir, and that Florence
O'Sullivan was preparing to build a small castle on the island,

at the entrance of the harbor, which was to carry heavy cannon
against shipping. This was to be held by O'Sullivan himself,
who was a doughty man of arms, a Celt of characteristic courage,
nowise bashful, and by no means wanting in skill and cunning
for deeds of war. Beyond this news, Calvert got little from his
guide.

But we must not linger. The night-march sped. Ligon, the
guide, spite of the darkness, went forward with sufficient boldness;
the whole party moving silently, and in the well-known order
called the “Indian file,” a mode of progress natural to the forester,
where the path is at once single and narrow. It is, indeed, because
of this narrowness of the beaten road in the thickets, that
the red men set their feet down in a right line with the body, the
toes rather turning in than out; and not because of any peculiar
formation of foot or ancle. Dark, indeed, and dense was the forest
through which our party had to march. It lay in the original condition
of Nature; at least of a growth which had been unbroken
for five hundred years. Great oaks, each spanning its half-acre;
gigantic pines, that seemed to rush up into the very heavens;
magnolias, quite as gigantic, and more beautiful from their depth
of green, and the rich varnish of their leaves, now covered with
their great snow-white flowers; and a vast variety, besides, of
other trees, each the noblest of its kind, all now thickly spread
with the green garniture of spring advancing to summer; and
woven together, as by veins and arteries, with enormous vines,
that wound about their boughs, and bound them as in loving embrace
of leaves and blossoms. The atmosphere was thick with
the scent from shrubs and flowers, “too numerous and too humble
to have names.”

It required no ordinary skill to pilot our party through such a
wilderness. But Ligon had learned to thread his way through
this and other like regions, in the darkness as in daylight; so that
he had won the sobriquet, among the Indians themselves, of
“The Horned Owl.” He was an old hunter and scout, though
not yet an old man. He was silent, and cold, and stern, like the
red men; had fought them in various forests, and entertained for
them a mortal hatred, which was due to a history of most bloody
massacre, in which his younger brother, a mere boy, had perished
and lost his scalp. Many, and as bloody revenges, had Ligon

taken for this massacre; and now he never forewent the opportunity
to deal sharp and sudden judgment upon the red-skins. But
of all this history Calvert knew nothing; and perhaps Gowdey, who
had sent him to Calvert, was just as ignorant. All that he knew
was, that Ligon was a scout of the greatest excellence and skill;
and this, in Gowdey's judgment, was being a person of most admirable
virtues.

Leading the way, with Calvert following close, and the whole
company keeping together, though in a long, single line, Ligon
made a rapid progress through the wood, as he well might, turning
neither to one side nor the other. But, at length, as the
night advanced, he beheld a great light, as of a fire shining
through the thickets on the right; and this was at a point nearly
the same distance from Gowdey's castle as from the barony of
Kiawah, and lying somewhat below them, and near the course
which the party had to pursue. The guide stopped them where
they stood.

“Now,” said Ligon, “you must stop here, captain, while I go
and reconn'itre. You must keep the men still.”

This was the custom; and the party of Calvert shrouded themselves
in the woods, well hidden, and mute as mice, while Ligon
went forward. He was gone, perhaps, the most of an hour.
When he came back, he said:—

“Now, captain, we have a good chance at these bloody red-skins!
There 's some thirty of the cussed savages; and they 've
been drinkin' and dancin', as is the way with 'em, when they git
a chance at the liquor, and are in high hope of somethin' better.
They are 'camped on the side of a thick bay, full of water; and
they are, by this time, pretty well rum-fuddled. We 've only got
to fetch a compass round the bay — I 'll show the way how — and
we kin have 'em in a net, and not a fellow go off without losin' a
sculp.”

“Have they any prisoners among 'em?” asked the captain.

“Not as I see,” was the answer.

“Then we will let 'em alone. We have too much at stake now
to risk anything.”

Ligon was discomfited by this reply. Surprise of an enemy
was, to him, an always-pleasant performance. He walked about
a little in a sort of reverie; but anon he spoke:—

“Let me go take another and closer look at 'em, captain. Ef
they have prisoners, I did n't see 'em; but I did n't look for 'em.
It may be they have some prisoners in the thick of the camp.
I 'll take a sharper look, ef you say so.”

“Go!” said Calvert. “If they have prisoners, we must rescue
them at all hazards. But bestir yourself, and waste no more time
than is necessary.”

Ligon set forth again without delay, and was soon out of sight.
He was absent this time quite an hour. He had seen and done
something, during this interval, of which he made no report to
Calvert. But there were no prisoners. Ligon had approached
so nigh, that he could see the whole camp, and was able to hear
the cries of the warriors, but not to distinguish their words.
There were no women among them. But they were very merry,
nevertheless; full of strong waters and sanguinary appetites. The
rum had been asserting itself with no little potency; and, as Ligon
had suggested, it would have been easy to have surprised and destroyed
the whole party, which had no reason to apprehend any
hostile force near them, and was accordingly careless of any
watch. There was merry laughter and jest among them, uncouth
dances, and wild song. Some had stretched themselves out for
sleep, the Jamaica having had its full effect. These were the
older men. The young were still drinking, and gaming with
acorns, a sort of game carried on by guessing, and called in their
tongue “Kerakec-lakee-kee” — “The Cheater,” or “The game that
cheats.” On this game they were betting fox and deer skins. One
young fellow, at length, jumped up from the ground, and flung a
skin, which he had lost, to another opposite. It was his last, yet
he gave it up good-humoredly. Then stretching himself, with
arms aloft, he began to sing the famous “Crow-song” of the Yemassee,
as he walked off from the crowd, approaching the very spot
where Ligon was crouching in watch, and singing as he went:—

Thus singing, the young warrior passed into the thicket, quite out
of sight of his companions, who still kept on their play. You
could hear their voices, dealing in execrations, or exultation
and laughter, as the parties severally won and lost. He drew
nigh to Ligon. The scout quickly detached his couteau de chasse
from his girdle, a heavy and sharp instrument, and stood up close
beside a great oak at the edge of an old path. Here he waited,
while the red man strode on, still singing his catches and bits of
song. Ligon suffered him to pass, then made a single evolution
of his arm; and the young warrior, with a solitary gasp, fell forward
on his face. He sang no more! There was a sound, as of
a heavy body falling upon the dried leaves, that made the players
in the camp lift their ears, look up, and listen. They spoke to
one another; but soon resumed their game, and finally, one by
one, stretched themselves out for sleep. Ligon returned to Calvert
as quietly as when he had gone forth. He reported the red
men to be sleeping, and with no captives. He had nothing more
to communicate.

When the savages awoke next morning, one of their number
was missing. This was the young warrior who had gone forth
into the thickets from the camp, singing the song of the crow.
They wondered a little at his absence. He should not be absent
at such a time, as he was one of their “braves;” and, after a brief
search, they found him, lying along the “path,” about eighty
paces from the camp. He was quite dead, and his scalp gone —
so dexterously taken off, that it might have been the work of an
Indian. He had been slain by a broad knife, with a single, well-directed
thrust, right through the heart. The murderer was
never known. Ligon kept his own counsel. He had no passion
for fame, but was making privately a collection of scalps.

The march proceeded, without further incident. But day
dawned, and the party was still some distance from the barony.
Calvert led his men into a close swamp-cover, where, having first
set watches all about the encampment, they proceeded to take a
very necessary rest, in a dense wilderness, quite impenetrable to
any passing espionage. Here they slept for several hours, and
ate with good appetite at awakening. It was not till night that
the progress was resumed; but, long before midnight, the party
had reached the barony of Kiawah.

Having covered his men temporarily in the woods, Calvert, accompanied

only by Belcher and Ligon, all well armed, approached
the open grounds. The place lay fair in the bright starlight, and
silent as the grave. There were no sentinels. Not even a watch-dog
bayed. A light faintly shone through one of the curtained
windows of the dwelling; but there was no sign of anything stirring.
All was calm and peaceful, as if Massacre were not gliding,
by hourly approaches, with the step and cunning of the tiger, to
the unconscious household. Calvert tried the fastenings of the
house. The bolts were shot, it is true; but they were slight.
From the main dwelling he proceeded to one about a hundred
yards distant. This was a “block,” windowless, and with but a
single door. The fabric was small and square, but lofty.

“This,” said he, “is the armory and magazine. To make it
securely accessible in the event of danger, there should have been
a covered way to it, of pickets, from the dwelling. The pickets
have been begun, but are unfinished; they are useless. An enemy
could cover the space between, and cut off all connection with
the house. You have brought the key, Belcher?”

Belcher produced it — a skeleton or master key, devised cunningly
for the purpose of opening any lock. Calvert was as well
prepared to be a housebreaker as a pirate. Belcher applied the
key; and the lock, which was large enough, was not intricate: its
wards readily yielded. A ship's lamp, which Belcher carried
with him, enabled them to see some fifty stands of arms, good
English muskets, a few cutlasses, a score or two of pistols, and as
many small barrels of gunpowder. There were bullets, also,
ready cast.

“A pretty good armory,” said Calvert. “We must take possession
of it. Go, Ligon, and bring the ten men whom I set aside
with Craig. You see that the walls are pierced for musketry on
all sides. Ten men can keep the house, unless fire shall be used
upon the roof. This is the point of most importance.”

Ligon brought up the men, and they were posted; food was
supplied them, and a means of egress; but they were bade to be
close, and keep unseen.

“Now,” continued Calvert, “we must see to the laborers. They
occupy a building on the other side, some two hundred yards off.
We must put them in condition to make a defence. In all probability,
they have taken no precaution, and sleep with open doors;

but take the key along, Belcher: we must put them in a state of
preparation.”

Sure enough, as Calvert conjectured, some twenty workmen
slept in a building, remote from the mansion as the arsenal, and
with open doors. But their house was a strong block, pierced for
musketry also, where a good defence might be made. Calvert
suddenly appeared among the laborers, rousing them from sleep.

“Who is the chief man among you?” he demanded, as they
started from their beds. There were five, or more, sleeping in
the same chamber. The house consisted of four apartments.
Never were people more surprised. Had the red men been the
visiters, not one of them would have saved his scalp; and Calvert
could not but meditate seriously upon that amiable insanity
of his brother, which, because of his humane theory about the
Indians, had exposed all these people to be butchered in their
sleep.

A sturdy English laborer came forward — strong, well built,
and no doubt courageous — who proclaimed himself the foreman
of the people. His name was Grandison, possibly a descendant
of Sir Charles: such are the reverses of fortune.

Calvert made the danger apparent to him in few words; made
him get his people dressed, and, conducting them to the block-house,
supplied them with the necessary weapons.

“Everything must be kept secret,” said he. “We are to be
prepared simply for whatever happens; all your people — every
quarter of your house. It is pierced, I see, for musketry; and
you will assign each man his weapon. You have a certain number
to each chamber?”

“Yes, sir — ten to two; and six in each of the others.”

“But one half must go to work to-morrow; and they must
carry pistols, well concealed. The other half must be on the
watch, to give their succor at a moment's warning. The red men
may attack to-night or to-morrow. The dawn is a favorite time
with them. Or they may attack at “nooning,” when nobody is
prepared; or they may defer the assault till night. I am sure
that they will be on you some time within the next thirty-six hours.
See that you follow my directions! I am Captain Harry Berkeley,
the brother of your master, the cassique.”

The workmen touched their heads. Calvert continued:—

“I shall be at hand to succor you. I have fifty men within
hearing, all well armed. So, fear nothing, but do your duty, like
good Britons, according to your best manhood; and — one thing
— should you see the red men running, under your fire or ours,
do not seek to pursue! Keep your post. If they are to be pursued,
our foresters, who know the woods, are better at that game
than you. Be prudent. I shall probably see you again. But
put yourselves in readiness now; and, if you sleep, fasten your
doors and windows, and set a watch first, to give you warning,
whatever happens. The night may possibly pass off without
alarm. If so, to-morrow, or to-morrow night, is the time of danger.
But you are warned in season.”

With this, Calvert left the workmen, and, with Belcher, made
his way back to the block-house, where he had already installed
the ten musketeers. Having seen this done, he took possession
of the carriage-house and stables, both log-houses, where in the
loft he established another squad of ten. These were all to lie
perdu, and to wake only at the proper moment. Calvert then
returned to the woods. These he well knew. He had explored
them often enough. His solicitude now was, that the Indians
should not get into the rear of his party; and some time was consumed
in calculating the probabilities with regard to the route and
manner of approach of the red men. He took for granted that
the course of Cussoboe would be from below, and that, fetching a
circuit about the settlement, he would proceed directly to the tree,
in the hollow of which the sheaf of arrows had been deposited.
They would tell their own story; and, no doubt, by their numbers,
embarrass the old warrior. Of course, he would infer his son's
neglect of duty. To place his men in such position as would enable
them to cover the open grounds and buildings, yet keep them
from discovery till the last moment, was Calvert's object, and one
of some difficulty; but the points were finally chosen, after due
consultation with Ligon and Belcher. This and many other matters
having settled, he said to Belcher:—

“I must now seek and see my brother. I leave the charge of
the men to you and Ligon. Keep them from straggling. I shall
be with you before daylight.”

He took the skeleton-key from Belcher, and left him, pursuing
the straight route to the mansion-house.