University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.
THE HELL-FIRE DICKS.

We have seen that Willie Sinclair had his doubts respecting
the virtue of the good people inhabiting the cottage, though he
could not exactly conjecture in what particular mode it was
destined to be exercised in respect to himself. His precautions,
however, were so taken as measurably to prepare him for any
of the peculiar processes of Master Blodgit. Scarcely had the
latter disappeared with his light into the cottage, than our hero
proceeded to his preparations.

The first step was to put his good steed into harness. Nimrod
was not quite satisfied with the performance, but he was
docile; and only showed his dissatisfaction by a more rapid
demonstration upon the ears of corn still remaining unmunched
in the trough. He sought thus to provide against the necessity
of soon departing from pleasant pastures; — a lesson of forethought
which the war-horse and soldier acquire with singular
and equal aptitude; and, while his master clapped on saddle-cloth
and saddle, he buried his head deep in the trough, with a
dogged resolution to keep it there just as long — as he was permitted.
He did not exactly anticipate the sort of duty he was
to perform, or the burden he was to carry; but he had old experiences
of the rough usages of war; and he was one of those
philosophical horses that always prepare for the worst, and
meekly resign themselves to what they can not resist. — Not
that he was a beast wanting in spirit! See him on a charge,
and there could be no doubt about his blood. But your generous
bloods are always most gentle; and docility is one of the
best proofs of the longest-lived courage, whether in man or
beast.

Sinclair patted Nimrod's shoulders affectionately, and left him
saddled and bridled, but unbitted, still munching with head in

the trough. The trooper next went above, and brought down
from the loft the sack of powder, the muskets and bullets, which
Blodgit had stored away. The performance, carried on entirely
in the dark, was necessarily a somewhat slow one: but Sinclair
knew the precincts well; and, being equally cool and prompt,
he contrived to do the work in the least possible period of time.
The powder, alone, did he strap upon the steed. The muskets
and bullets he carried forth — using his pass-key to emerge
from the stable — into the contiguous woods, some two hundred
yards from the stable, where he hid them in the hollow of a
tree; — the route to which he pursued with little difficulty —
like one accustomed — in spite of the darkness which hung
heavily over the scene. A few handfuls of the bullets, alone,
did he sling upon the crupper of his horse.

“What with my weight, Nim,” quoth he, addressing his
steed — “a round hundred and fifty at least — this goodly pouch
of guineas, some twenty weight of powder, and a few pounds
of ball, you have something to carry besides your provender,
old fellow! — but two hours will suffice — two hours.”

And he stroked the mane of the beast affectionately, slipped
the bridle over his neck, now bitted him, and satisfied himself,
by a nice examination, that his preparations were all complete.
This done, he stole forth once more from the stable, and took
his course toward the dwelling of Blodgit and his dam. All
seemed to be quiet in that quarter, and, whether it was that
Blodgit had concealed his light, or extinguished it, no gleam
was apparent through the crevices of the cabin. Satisfied now
that he might bring out his horse in safety, Sinclair returned
to the stable and did so.

The beast offered no objections, and did not even exhibit the
reluctance which we are very sure he felt. His master did not
mount, but led the animal, with shortened rein, around the stable;
then struck for the woods above, by a course which carried
him as far as possible from the house. His object was to gain
the road without alarming the senses of the overseer.

He had proceeded, in this cautious manner, about a hundred
yards, when he fancied that he heard a cry, and a sound of
voices, brought up by the night wind.

He paused to listen. The rain had ceased to fall, the wind

was freshening, a few stars began to peep out, through certain
rents, here and there, in the “blanket of the dark,” and the
prospect was that of a clear morning. Still, the atmosphere
was sufficiently damp to form a good medium for the transmission
of sound, and the rising breeze favored the conveyance.
The cries were repeated; and Sinclair was now satisfied that
they issued from human throats.

He hurried his steed onward, still leading him, until he had
increased the space between himself and Blodgit's wigwam to
some three hundred yards; then, hiding the animal in a thick
bit of wood, not more that fifty yards from the roadside, he
coolly took his way back alone toward the cottage, to which
the sounds continued to approach from below. They proved
to be the shouts of men, doubtless half drunk, who, as they
rode, shrieked and yelled like mad; — and the heavy tramp of
their horses could be heard mingling with their cries.

The quick, intelligent mind of Sinclair readily conceived the
approaching parties to belong to that gang of idle, and, no
doubt, outlawed persons, of whom good Mrs. Blodgit had unwittingly
revealed her son's knowledge; and the major of dragoons
silently congratulated himself on having so seasonably left the
stable. But he did not, for this, conceive the necessity of immediate
flight. On the contrary, it became a good soldierly policy,
just at this juncture, to see who these people were. He relied
for his security on his own precautions; — on the fact that he
could not be tracked during the darkness, and with so much
water on the ground. Besides, not being supposed by Blodgit
to have left the stable, he held a position of great vantage, which
made large odds in his favor, in the event of that worthy designing
any evil against him. Accordingly, he continued to press on
toward the cottage, keeping his person covered, wherever he
could, by the trees — of each of which he seemed to possess an
individual knowledge. He finally made his way so closely to
the cabin that a few steps, at any moment, would bring him to
any quarter of it.

It was just at this moment, that Pete Blodgit, having worked
up his courage to the striking, or rather to the sticking point,
under the counsels of his virtuous dam, was preparing to go
forth, pistols at girdle and knife in hand, in the direction of the

stable. But Pete's courage was not of a very certain quality.
He had reached the door of his wigwam, and opened it, when
his ears were saluted by the distant shoutings which had
startled Sinclair.

“What can that be?” he muttered, instinctively reclosing
the door. Another shout, more distinct, showed the cries to be
approaching.

“It's `Hell-fire Dick,' by the pipers, and I reckon he's got
Skin-the-Sarpent and Yallow Janders along with him.”

The shouts now reached his mother's ears.

“Pete! Pete!” she cried, “there's your fellows, now, and
they're just come in time to spile your sport. May the devil
take 'em who sent 'em!”

“To spile it! — no, indeed! They've come to help! I
reckon Willie Sinclair kain't git off from the gripe of Hell-fire
Dick.”

The cowardly heart of Pete Blodgit, which had begun to
shrink already at the thought of the encounter he might have
with Sinclair, suggested to him an alliance with the ruffian he
had named, for the better execution of the task which he himself
feared to perform. But the shrewder avarice of the old
woman conceived, in a moment, all the dangers of such an
alliance.

“You're a born fool, Pete Blodgit, ef ever there was one!
and when `Hell-fire Dick' settles with Willie Sinclair, who's
guine to make Hell-fire Dick settle with you? Do you reckon
on him giving up any of the gould to you, ef so be he does all
the work?”

“But I ain't guine to let him do all! I'll git him to help
me, and I'll let him have a share.”

“What sort o' share will he give you? A guinea out of the
hundred! No! no! Pete: — you don't want no help to settle a
sleeping man! Snake it yourself, Pete; and don't ax for any
help. Don't let Hell-fire Dick and the other fellows know that
Willie Sinclair is here. Git 'em off as soon as you kin, and then
do it all by yourself. Give 'em the rum that they're a coming
after; for I know you've got a kag, though you did swear to
the major that you hadn't a drop—

“And I hadn't for him!”

“Right enough! He warn't the person to be told what you
hed. Let these chaps hev' the liquor, and say nothing about
the cost; and ax 'em for no money, and hide the cards out o'
sight, and don't offer to play; but jist you git 'em off as soon
as you kin, and hurry to the business by your one self. Ef you
kin git your own heart strong for it, Pete, the work is easy
enough. But you're so mean-sperited. You've no more heart
for anything than a possum. Oh! ef I was a man! — or ef I
wasn't jist the same as tied down to the floor by this cussed
rheumatiz, I'd never let one of them gould guineas go out of
that fodder loft, 'cept with my consenting.”

The shouting visiters were now at the entrance. The virtuous
couple were silent, waiting the summons for admission. Three
or four horses galloped heavily up to the wigwam, and with
shout, and whoop, and yell, and halloo, Hell-fire Dick smote
upon the door.

“Hello, in thar, Pete Blodgit! Up with you, my yaller
chicken, and let's see ef you've got over the pip yit! Open to
the sky-scrapers, and the bouncing wild cats; and hear 'em
scream to beat all nater! Whoo! whoo! whoo! —

“We are the beautiful sinners of salvation, and don't care for
the man that prays. Let's in, Pete! Open, little fellow, or
we'll make your clapboards fly! 'Twon't take much to give
your cabin a slant! What 'say, boys — won't a back-and-rush
of the nags do it? Whoo! whoo! open, I say!”

And bang, bang, upon the door, went the repeated blows
from whip and bludgeon; a perfect storm-chorus of shout and
song, and oath and “hellaballoo,” echoing the glib speech of
the fiery leader of the gang.

“Hello, out thar! What's the mischief? Who's to come
in?” was the response of Pete from the house, spoken drawlingly,
with several yawns between, as if he had been roused from
sleep.

“Open to the devil and all his imps!” was the yell. “He's
come a'ter you at last! You've had a honey time, my chicken!

Time's up! Hev' to go, lad. No git off now. Hell's
hot! Don't keep your master waiting! Open, I say! Whoo!
whoo! whoop! Hurrah for old Horny!”

And Pete was fain to undo the door in short order, to save it
from the blows which thundered upon it, and threatened to drive
it from bolt and hinges. Scarcely had the valves parted, Blodgit
showing himself at the entrance, when his shoulders were
saluted with a smart stroke of Hell-fire Dick's whip, laid on with
unction, once, twice, thrice!

“The devil smacks sweet and close, Honey Pete,” cried the
desperado, as he flung himself recklessly from his horse into the
hall; never once heeding the angry cry which Blodgit gave
under his sharp infliction. Three other fellows followed the
example of their leader, darting in with shout and scream, and
flinging their bridles to the victim.

“Hitch 'em, Pete; or, better take 'em to the stable, and fling
'em down some fodder. We'll make a short night of it with you.
Hitch 'em first to a swinging limb, and let's have some Jamaica
to take the taste of this all-fired rainwater out of our skins.
Be spry now, my chicken, and don't keep a gentleman devil
a-waiting on your tarrapin motions.”

The old woman groaned aloud from within — groaned to
make them hear.

“What the blazes does the old woman grunt about! Hello,
in thar, mammy! what's the trouble in your intrails, that you
give out so tremenjus?”

“Trouble enough, you rapscallions, when such tear-devils
as you comes about one's house. I wish you was all in the bottom
of the infarnal pit where you're bound for. Git along with
you now, and leave a poor sick body in peace, won't you?
Thar's no rum here, I tell you; thar's nothing here to make
you stay.”

“En' I'd like to see what there is to make us go!” growled
back one of the ruffians, whom they knew by the nom de guerre
of “Skin-the-Serpent.” — “Shet up, most respectable old lady,
and no matter what you do, don't forgit to go decent. A civil
tongue in your head will be all the better of a sick woman. As
for no rum, we'll see that Pete Blodgit looks jest where he
knows to find it!”

“Ef he don't, we'll find him wanting!”

“Yes, indeed! and whar' will he be then? We know a trick
or two, old lady, to convart your son into a puncheon, and
make the red liquor run from him as free as water from the
cloud. Ho! Pete, gi's another candle here. Thar's no seeing
how beautiful you air, by this cussed spitting dip. Whoop!
Hoss, be spry ef you wouldn't hev' another devil's smack jest
on the shoulders whar' it's already raw.”

Blodgit obeyed in all things like a beaten hound. He knew
his masters. They knew their slave. They drove him hither
and thither, finding him ceaseless employment, until they were
fully engaged upon the rum, which, by this time, he had paraded
upon the table.

Around this each ruffian took his place. Tin cups formed
their only drinking vessels. The rum was scarcely mingled
with water, dashed only, as it were, apologetically. The two
tallow-candles, which smoked and spate, rather than burned
upon the board, enable us sufficiently to survey the group
which better lights might only have shown to be too hideous
for inspection.

“Hell-fire Dick” — he had lost the proprietorship of any more
Christian name — presided; his visage, scarred and savage, fully
justifying the title which he bore. His eyes were great and
rolling, owl-like, in a broad but degraded forehead. The black
hair came down over cheeks and neck, worn long to conceal
some horrid scars. His lips had been split by stroke of sabre.
His teeth projected, very white, like enormous spades. They
were his pride; and he claimed to be as powerful in the gripe
of his jaw, as in that of the fist. He was a stout and swarthy
giant — short, thick, with bull-dog figure and figure-head — and
a neck, as he himself was apt to boast, quite too short for a
rope. Yet, the monster wore a signet-ring — whence got,
Heaven knows, garnished with skull and cross-bones for crest.
It became his deeds. He was one of those scoundrel-pirates of
the land — like the pirates of the sea, in a previous century —
who exulted only in the terrors they inspired. He was a notorious
outlaw, one of the few surviving Scophilities—a banditti,
which, at the opening of the revolutionary discontents in Carolina,
had carried crime and terror to many a happy homestead.

It would be useless to inquire after the birthplace of such a
monster. The earth always breeds such in seasons of civil
war. The first we hear of Joel Andrews — afterward “Hell-fire
Dick” — was in Florida. He passed thence through
Georgia to Carolina — was driven out as an outlaw — sought
refuge again in Florida, and returned to Carolina, as a loving
loyalist, as soon as the British arms had acquired the ascendency
in that province.

Sam. Brydone, alias “Skin-the-Serpent,” “Rafe Brunson,”
or “The Trailer,” and “Joe Best,” were the three companions
of “Hell-fire Dick.” They were creatures of the same kidney,
though of humbler rank as rascals. They never refused to follow
where Dick led; but they were not the persons to lead
while he was to be found. Still, it would be doing great wrong
to their abilities to say, that, were he lost to the fraternity, each
of them would not be possessed of the necessary faculty to carry
on the enterprising business in which they commonly engaged
— not to fight exactly, but to gather spoils from those who did,
was their vocation. They were the vultures in the track of
armies — the jackals in the wake of the lion! They were
quite free to fight, nevertheless; but never for mere fun.
Theirs was a tolerably cool calculation of what was to come of
it, before they crossed steel, or lifted rifle. Now, we may say,
their purpose, in the visit to Pete Blodgit, was a mere carouse;
to drink, game, swear, sing, howl, or shout away the hours —
nothing more. They were, just at this moment, in their most
amiable phase. In seeking Pete Blodgit's wigwam, they anticipated
nothing more than a night of debauchery; the worthy
Pete, who, on several scores, enjoyed a sort of virtuous immunity
with both parties, using his reputation as an innocent man, in
driving various pretty little practices, for debauching the troops
of both armies, and plucking what pigeons, of either side, he
could safely manage. He contrived to get supplies of rum and
sugar — lemons occasionally — from Charleston, by the heads
of Cooper river; and had certain comely associates, in the garrison,
who wore, without openly discrediting, the British epaulette.

Sinclair surveyed this group of scoundrels, at his ease, through
the crevices of the cabin. He had some previous knowledge of

all of them. They had become notorious enough, along the Santee
and Edisto, for the worst crimes in the calendar; and had
been outlawed, under various names, by both Marion and Sumter.
These partisans had posted them along the wayside, upon
blazes of the trees, authorizing all good citizens to arrest, and
bring them to camp as felons, and to put them to death if they
resisted. While the armies lay below, and were in force along
the regions named, these obscene birds kept close in sundry
hiding-places. The swamp gave them a refuge quite as secure
as it afforded to the patriots. The diversion, to the upper
country, of the forces of the patriots and British, had given the
outlaws temporary freedom. They were now making full use
of their brief immunity, and had already shown themselves
in various places, which were by no means prepared for
them, enacting crime, and inspiring terror, where they came.
The traveller butchered by day, the farmhouse fired by night;
— these deeds suddenly shocked and terrified the quiet precincts,
which, in the diversion of the war from the lower to the
upper country, had forgotten some of their precautions.

The sterner passions of Willie Sinclair grew fearfully aroused
as he looked in upon the savage group.

“Would to God I had but half a dozen of my troopers here
at this moment!” was his soliloquy, muttered through his
clenched teeth. “How freely would I deliver every mother's
son of them to the swinging limb! It is well that I moved so
promptly. In that stable-loft, they would have fired it over my
head rather than suffer my escape. I could have slain one or
more of them no doubt. But I must have perished — burned
alive or butchered — as I sallied forth. Thank God, we have
the open woods for it if there is to be any trouble; and I have
the track of them! But something may be done to increase
my securities.”

Thus saying, the major of dragoons, as if confirmed in a previously-meditated
purpose, moved confidently round to the
front of the cottage, and made his way to the tree, to the
branches of which Pete Blodgit had fastened the horses of the
outlaws. Here he drew from his belt a large and sharp knife,
with which he smote off one of the stirrups from each saddle.
He then slipped the bridle of each steed, and set the animals

free, taking the bridles off with him to a thick patch of brush
and briers, into which he thrust them all, completely out of
sight.

“They'll have work to pick up the horses, and something
more to follow with fleet spur. That they will try to pursue, I
nothing question. This rascal, Blodgit, will reveal all. He
will desire their help, and, to procure it, will report the gold in
my possession. The temptation will be too great for them to
resist. They are now sufficiently audacious, and have no notion
that we have any troop below. Still less do they dream
of my own squadron upon the Santee, and of the troop of
Peyre St. Julien, at Leasuck. Were my own boys but five
miles nearer; but they will surely be at the Barony by noon
to-morrow. Let them pursue, the scoundrels! — they can't
well get ahead of me, unless the devil helps them; and I can
maintain the Barony against so small a party until help shall
arrive.”

From brief muttered soliloquies like these, we may gather
the essential clues to the relations of the several parties. Sinclair
moved away as he spoke, gave one more look at the outlaws
at their carousals, then sped off, with steps at once firm
and cautious, to the spot where he had fastened his horse.
Mounting, he turned the beast out of the woods into the main
road, leading upward, and went forward at a moderate trot, as
if unapprehensive of the dogs of danger at his heels.

He had calculated the chances fairly. He was not a moment
too soon upon the road.