University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
NEW SIGNS IN THE SKY.

But the slumbers of our dragoon were slight and soon broken.
Very brief was the respite which Willie Sinclair had seized
from the necessities of war, in which to visit the old familiar
places of his childhood, and once more to embrace the sisters of
his love. It was, of course, a great qualification of his happiness
that he was not permitted to approach his father; as the
reader will have already inferred, from our hurried sketching,
he was, in great degree, an outcast from the affections of the old
man. Not that the terms between them had produced the formal
banishment of the son; but that they were of such a nature,
as to embitter their interviews when they met, with such sharp
and biting controversies, as made it prudent for the young man
to keep aloof. For months they had not met.

The father, a devoted loyalist, was naturally aroused to
extremest anger, because of his son's active alliance with
the cause of the American patriots. That he had had frequent
successes, and had been honored with rapid promotion,
in consequence, was rather an aggravation of his offence than
an appeal to the paternal amour propre. When he heard of
him, as he did occasionally, it was always to provoke his ire,
no matter what the tidings. The report of his son's valor and
ability, however grateful it might be in itself, was by no means a
subject of exultation, when these qualities were exercised against
the sovereign, for whose authority the old man entertained an
almost religious reverence. But, even this cause of anger, sufficient
in itself, was increased by another, in the misplaced affections
of the young man. Colonel Sinclair was a natural
aristocrat. His conventional world had confirmed the despotic
character of his mind, and trained him to regard the family connections

as involving a degree of scrupulosity, which forbade
entirely the possibility of unequal alliances. Blood was always,
with him, a chief consideration in the affairs of the affections;
but he made the conditions of blood to depend, as is the too
common error with all such persons, upon genealogical proofs
merely;— never once recognising that beautiful property in
Nature, by which she is continually repairing exhausted fountains,
by turning in upon them new streams, from sources of
strength and virtue, which have not hitherto been known. The
repair of broken cisterns from vulgar clays, is, in fact, one of
her great remedial processes, for the regeneration and the saving
of decaying stocks. But Col. Sinclair was not a philosopher,
and between his passion and his pride, he was not in a mood
to acknowledge the force of any argument which told in behalf
of a son who had already offended both. He had then, as we
have seen, cut himself off, temporarily, from the gratification of
that precious human feeling, which might have gathered new
life from, and yielded new delights in return for, the embrace
with an heir who had sufficiently shown, to the eyes of all other
persons, that the family name was destined to receive new distinction,
and not discredit, from his performances. The old man
sate lonely, therefore; brooding sadly, in a still continued struggle
between his wounded pride, and the only half-hidden, but
fond affection, which lay warm and watchful about his heart.
His was the self-torturing sort of nature which perpetually exercises
itself in irritating its own hurts of mind or body.

It is not to be denied that Willie Sinclair had that morning
found a grateful proof of this lurking sentiment of love, on the
old man's part, in the agony which he betrayed when first told
of his son's danger and possible death. He enjoyed, in that
spectacle, renewed securities in behalf of that parental affection
which no son had ever valued more; and, with his own heart
bounding with gratitude, and his own eyes overflowing with
tears, it must be forgiven to him that he joyed in the old man's
burst of anguish which spoke much more truly the feelings in
his bosom than the words which ordinarily fell from his tongue.

“He loves me still — his heart is in the right place!” the
youth said to his sister when they were alone together in her
chamber.

“Oh! yes! I felt, all the while, Willie, that it must be so,
in spite of all his violent speeches. Though, really, it was sometimes
terrible to hear him. It was his gout, I suspect, that made
him so bitter of speech; and the visit of Captain Travis took
place, unhappily, just when he was most suffering. He has besides
some very strong prejudices against that person.”

“He has reason for them. He knows the weaknesses and errors
of Captain Travis, whose passion is a love of money, as that
of my father is family pride. I am sorry to admit that, in the
indulgence of this passion, Captain Travis has not always shown
himself scrupulous of propriety. It is the knowledge of some
of his mal-practices, while on the Cherokee expedition, that
makes my father hold him in such scorn. But Bertha will reconcile
him, when he comes to know her. She is one of the
purest of living creatures, and with so much power too — such
thought as well as purity — such strength as well as grace and
beauty — that I feel sure of her influence over him, as soon as
she has the opportunity allowed her of acting upon his sense of
truth and justice. She will disarm him, I am very sure.”

“Yes,” said Carrie, with a brightening face, taking her
brother's hand, “for, Willie, with all his prejudices, father is
just in the end — only give him time and all will be right.”

“Yet he has tried me very severely, Carrie,” responded the
brother very gravely.

“Ah! Willie, he has tried himself still more; and you,
brother, you, too, have tried him! Think of his loyalty—that he
has borne the king's commission — how he prided himself upon
it, and how keenly he must feel the course you have pursued in
taking up with the liberty party. And then, think of the trial
to his social pride when he heard of this engagement with
Bertha Travis. It seemed to him, Willie, as if you were trying
all ways to crush and mortify him.”

“Ah, Carrie, you are right to teach me that the argument
has two faces. It has been so natural and easy to think, all
the while, that I was the one whom he sought to crush and
humble.”

“But you must think so no more, Willie. You see, now,
what are his real feelings. Give him time, I do not despair of
seeing him as fond of your Bertha, as you are yourself; if”—

here she smiled and pressed his hand — “if, indeed, she answers
the description you give of her.”

“What! you fancy my painting that of a self-deluded lover?”

“A little!”

“And I the most matter-of-fact person in the world; cool,
cautious, calculating, with no more fancy than a plough-horse.”

“I suppose a plough-horse has his fancies, when out of the
traces, and after an hour's browsing in pleasant pastures. I give
you an equal degree of credit. I suppose, could he speak, he
would indulge in superlatives about his elysium — nay, no more
protestations! Enough, Willie, that she is your favorite. That
is enough to make her mine — to make me believe very much
as you desire.”

“Well, I hope for an early opportunity to enable you to
judge for yourself. You will, all of you, in all probability, be
compelled to cross the river and retreat to the hills of Santee.
The war will soon approach this quarter. Rawdon is on his
retreat. Greene will press upon his heels. Orangeburg must
be one of the places which he will seek to hold, at all hazards,
— for a time, at all events — and there will then be no possibility
to escape a battle. You will have to remove from this
neighborhood, which will then be covered with the troops of both
parties in turn. Captain Travis will be under a like necessity
of getting his family out of the way; and, unless he is more
deeply committed to the British than I believe, you will probably
meet on the hills.”

“Do you suppose father will leave the Barony because of
this approach of war? He will spurn the idea. It will be
difficult to persuade him that he will not find perfect safety
under the British Lion.”

“We must teach him the absurdity of such a notion now —
and we can. The day of his perfect faith in British prowess is
pretty much gone by. He can not deceive himself much longer
as to the result of this struggle.”

“Ah! I don't see that! He will not see it! He does not
believe your assurances, or that of your party; and the British
maintain appearances well. When Lord Rawdon was here last,
and father expressed his anxieties in respect to the successes of
Marion and Sumter, my lord laughed at them; spoke of them

with perfect contempt; insisted upon them as gross exaggerations,—the
small performances of a petty outlawry which would
be crushed at once, were they not almost too insignificant for
attention.”

“And my father believed him?”

“He could not less. He desired to believe him; and his
lordship seemed to be of unquestionable authority. The raising
of the siege of Ninety-Six confirms him in the belief.”

“He knows not then of the British abandonment of the post
as soon as Greene was driven off. He will yet see fearful proofs
of the fruits of this abandonment. Under the escort of Cruger,
more than two thousand of the wretched loyalists, men,
women, and children, their entire families, are on their way to
the seaboard. The British are no longer able to protect them
in their homes. Post after post is thus abandoned; and soon,
the same future awaits the post at Orangeburg. Soon, the
British army will be confined to Charleston, and they are destined
to be driven thence as certainly.”

“Not if they receive new regiments from Europe! Upon
this my father counts. It was Lord Rawdon's assurance that
there should be no lack of troops.”

“An idle one. The British exchequer is exhausted. The
British nation is prepared to refuse all further subsidies. They
can obtain no more troops from Germany. They can no
longer pay them if they could get them. Their best hope lay
in the strength of the loyalists. The game was to make one
half of the people fight the other half; but this hope is failing
fast. Their only resource, for new regiments, is Ireland, and
the Irish desert their ranks almost as soon as they take the
field. Rawdon can no longer yield his confidence to his own
regiments. The fate of the war is inevitable. It needs only
that we should avoid a general engagement. If we can prolong
the struggle for six months, and avoid all serious disaster
in the meanwhile, we triumph.”

We must not omit to mention, that Carrie Sinclair was, herself,
no moderate rebel. She sided fully with her brother in
his principles and hopes. Her feminine nature could not exactly
feel his confidence, however; and her father's prejudices
and passions served to prevent her from any unnecessary display

of her sympathies. That her lover wore the patriot colors,
was perhaps an additional reason for the faith which she entertained
in the cause of liberty. She was a willing listener to her
brother. Her soul was an ardent one, and she lent an eager ear
to his narratives of the struggle in sundry places. He brought
down the progress of the war to the present moment, for her
satisfaction; and she soon learned to feel all his confidence.
That she was gentle and submissive when with him — and with
her father — that she could sympathize with the one, and forbear
silently with the other, were only in proof of her filial
and sisterly affections. In some degree, she partook of the
courage of her race; and she loved, much more than she could
excuse to herself, the exciting story of the wild struggle, the
gallant charge, the audacious adventure, and the wild attack.
So earnestly engaged were the two in these narratives, that the
signals of Little Peter, at the chamber-door, were thrice repeated,
before they gave ear to his desire to communicate with
them. When he was admitted, he said:—

“Benny Bowlegs, Mass Willie — bin sen' me. He da look
out. He say 'trange looking pusson is a-coming! He pull
down de rye fiel' fence; he da come round by de garden. He
hab big bone black hoss, and he 'tan [stands] close in de tick,
at de bottom ob de garden, as ef he bin da look out for see
wha's a doing yer. Benny say you must keep close. He da
watch de pusson and will nebber leff 'em out ob sight.”

“Where's Benny?”

“He da follow close on de track ob de 'trange pusson, cubbering
hese'f in de tick [thicket] for watch 'em.”

“Very good. Keep close, Peter, and don't let yourself be
seen, unless the stranger comes up to the house. Should he
want to see my father, admit him, but don't be out of reach and
hearing. The fellow's coming in on the rear is suspicious!
Can it be one of these rascals? Hardly! He would hardly
venture thus! What can be the fellow's policy? If Blodgit
has reported me absent, they would certainly seek for me below.
If I am supposed to be here, one of them, alone, would
hardly make the venture. You did not see the fellow, yourself,
Peter?”

“Nebber sh'um [see him] maussa. Benny sh'um, and tell

me. He da hide in de t'ick, bottom ob de garden. Benny hide
in de t'ick behin' em, for see wha' he guine do. Arter Benny
tell me, den he gone for hide.”

“Very well! keep about the house, and see what the fellow
wants, should he approach. I will be on the alert, and keep as
close as possible. All right! Go now!”

Peter disappeared.

“Who can it be?” said Carrie, uneasily.

“As it is but a single man,” answered Willie, “there can be
no cause for uneasiness. Still, if it be one of these outlaws,
they may have some deeper schemes in agitation than I can at
present conceive. If I could get a glimpse of the fellow, on his
approach, it might give me a clue to his purpose.”

And he rose, and looked at the priming of his pistols.

“He is making his way from the rear. I'll tell you what,
Carrie, I'll steal through the passage down the private stairs,
and conceal myself in the pantry. That will enable me to look
out upon the rear, unseen. Do you go first, and see if the coast
is clear. It will not do to meet my father now!”

This was done; the moment for descending the stairs was
propitious — Colonel Sinclair still brooded in the breakfast
room, with little Lottie, playing with her doll, before his eyes
— and Willie stole down the private stairway into the pantry,
through the sheltering blinds of which he could note all the
approaches in the rear of the dwelling, yet remain unseen
himself. Here Carrie left him, proceeding to the breakfast-room,
whence she would have persuaded little Lottie off to her
lessons; but the old man raised his eyes, and mildly said: —

“Leave her for a while, Carrie. It does me good to see her
play, and hear her prattle. An hour hence will serve every
purpose.”

Carrie was very anxious to get Lottie up stairs, and out of the
way of danger, but her argument failed with the old man, and
she did not venture to declare the apprehensions which she
entertained. She rejoined Willie, and he pacified her uneasiness.

“Do not feel troubled, Carrie. I shall not fail you, you
know. If there is any danger, Lottie may be sent out of the
way at any moment. This fellow, whoever he is, may be approaching

on some such mission as that of Blodgit. At all
events, there is but one of them, and I fancy I shall be quite
enough to manage him.”

“But why let him approach at all, Willie? Why not show
yourself armed — all the muskets are here, you know, and
father's rifle hangs in the hall — and warn him off at the muzzle
of your gun?”

“You forget, Carrie, that my purpose is concealment for the
present. Besides, if I show myself at door or window, who
knows what rifle-shots I may draw. The dwelling may be
reached from the forest-cover by a good rifle; and the fellow,
who comes alone, is probably protected in his progress by good
marksmen. No! no! It is best and safest to let the one rascal
come and empty his budget. We may get something out
of him which it will be useful to know. My game is to get intelligence.
I have been doing this very business, day and
night, for Marion, for the last three weeks, and there is much
which I would learn of this neighborhood and Orangeburg,
which I could not get from a better source than this promises
to be. Don't you become fidgety, now. Come, you are a brave
girl, and you must exert yourself to keep quiet. Benny Bowlegs
knows his business, and will come to my succor should he
be needed. See here, my horn is ready to sound for him; and
Little Peter is sufficiently watchful of Benny to play his part
manfully. All's safe, believe me; only, as I must hold myself
as much from sight as possible, it will not do to let this fellow
suspect my presence. We must wait events. Be sure, however,
that, so soon as it becomes necessary, I shall make my
appearance. To lie quiet now is the best way to get these rascals
into my power.”

“But what do you want with them? Why not scare them
off?”

“Ah! you are not yet a soldier! You can't scare these fellows
off! If I did so now, they would be upon you as soon as
I disappear. No! no! Better take them, and pare off their
claws. They are giving us an opportunity to do so; and only
because they take for granted that I am now skulking in yonder
forest. Shall I balk them? No! no! Carrie! I hope to
bag every rascal of the gang before nightfall!”

This language encouraged the sister; and she hurried up to
her chamber, from the window of which she kept watch upon
the approach along the avenue, according to her brother's instructions.

Willie Sinclair never for a moment left his own place of
watch. But he was not kept long in expectation. The outlaw
made his appearance, emerging from the rear of the garden.
Sinclair recognised him in a moment.

“The audacious scoundrel!” he muttered. “It is just the
character of the wretch! I see! He knows how feeble my
father is. Blodgit has told him all; and he supposes me to be
below. He comes with open eyes, in broad daylight, and into
the trap. Wolf! It shall be a dead-fall!”

And, with the utmost coolness, Sinclair disposed his pistols
upon the table, cocked and ready; and drew his sabre so gently
as that no sounds should reach his father's senses in the adjoining
room. The naked weapon he leaned up in the corner, convenient
to the grasp, should he need to dart through the door
separating the two apartments. This was ajar — just wide
enough to admit of a hand — and could be thrown open, without
noise, in a moment. He took off his spurs, and laid them carefully
aside. His moccasined feet gave forth no sound. Opening
the bosom of his hunting-shirt, he felt for the handle of his
couteau de chasse, and satisfied himself that it lay easy to his
grasp. These things done, he composed himself quietly, to
wait the progress of events. He was too old a soldier to
endeavor to precipitate them. He resumed his watch at the
window-blind, and noted the deliberate progress of the outlaw,
as he rode up to a tree, dismounted, flung his bridle over a
swinging limb, and marched boldly and heavily up the back
stairway into the great passage of the dwelling.

It would have been quite easy for Sinclair to have shot him
down at any moment, on this progress; but Willie did not delight
in deliberate bloodshed. He would have felt a degree of
shame at such a procedure. Besides, though an outlaw, Dick
of Tophet might now design no evil. At all events, there was
sufficient time to ascertain his purposes; and these purposes it
was quite important that our major should learn. There was
yet another consideration. To act, in any way decisively, in

the business, without suffering the felon hands of the outlaw to
be seen, was to involve himself more deeply with his father.
Dick was ostensibly a king's man, and Colonel Sinclair would
require some very certain evidence before he would believe
him capable of designing evil to himself or family. The good
old man fancied that every professing loyalist entertained the
same reverence for regal authority which filled his own bosom.

All these thoughts passed through Willie Sinclair's mind as
the outlaw approached; but he smiled to himself as he said: —

“But he will soon grow wiser! Hell-fire Dick, believing
himself secure, will not long delay to show his true colors. I
have a long score with the scoundrel. It will go hard with me,
but I pay him off to-day!”