 | CHAPTER XXIII.
SCOUT AGAINST SCOUT — TAKING TRAIL. The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days |  |
23. CHAPTER XXIII.
SCOUT AGAINST SCOUT — TAKING TRAIL.
Between brother and sister, so really kindred and truly
affectionate as Willie and Carrie Sinclair, we may readily conceive
that the parting was as difficult as it was tender. But it
was at last effected, and Willie laid himself down to slumber.
He needed sleep and felt weariness, and was just dropping into
that dreamy condition of mind, which promises a sleep equally
serene and refreshing, when he heard a door open below, a rustling
in the passage to his chamber, and then the chamber-door
itself, as it turned with a creak upon its hinges. He raised himself
up at the moment, and in another second he found 'Bram
at his side, fresh from that famous castle in the “Four-Hole
Swamp,” where we had the pleasure first to introduce the stalwart
and faithful slave to the knowledge of our readers.
“Ha, 'Bram! You are late! All right?”
“All right as he kin be, Mass Willie. I bin keep late, you
see, sence dat fellow, Jim Ballou, bin git drunk on de road.
He hab bottle in he pocket, Mass Willie, and nebber 'top drink
tell he finish 'em; all he se'f, 'cepting one sup he gee to me.”
“And where's Ballou now?”
“He's down stairs; he da wait for you to call 'em. I no bring
'em up, for 'sturb you in you sleeping, and mek' noise, wid he
cowbelly shoes; and besides he ain't quite git over he drunk yit.”
“Did he bring in any papers?”
“Yes, he git 'em! I wants 'em to gee me; I fear'd he will
loss 'em; but he say, `No truss 'em to you, nigger.' No truss
'em to me! an' he so drunk all day, he kain't truss hese'f.”
“Bring him up here, 'Bram.”
Jim Ballou made his appearance a few moments after. He
was a well-made, large, vigorous fellow, with an ingenuous,
open countenance, frank and fair, but now flushed with the
signs of frequent intemperance. He was now only half sober,
of his own entire competence and importance. Like most
persons of sanguine temperament, possessed of strength and
courage — and, we may add, conscious of his own fidelity — he
was apt to be a little impudent when under the influence of
liquor. His first entrance into the chamber would have satisfied
Willie Sinclair of his condition, without rendering necessary
the report of the slave, which was also entirely to be relied on.
Sinclair, accordingly, received him with great gravity, sitting
on the side of the bed.
“Have you brought the papers, Ballou?”
“That I have, major; they're all safe; but I've had work,
riding and fasting,” giving the papers as he spoke.
“And drinking, Ballou?”
“Yes, indeed, major, you may say that. If 'twan't for a sup
or two, now and then, at the bottle, a poor fellow would break
down in the hard riding I've got to do.”
“You seem to suffer from it, Ballou; and I am to suppose
you do, since you complain of it.”
“Oh, deuce take the complaint, major! I'm not given to
complainings, though the work is mighty hard I have to do.
Yet, I gits on; and, as I takes a breeze now and then, I contrives
to keep up. I'm good for a frolic, major, whenever there's
a chaince.”
The major only gave the scout a glance of the eye, and then
proceeded to examine the papers which he brought. This he
did with earnestness and deliberation. Meanwhile, Ballou
strode across the chamber, with a whistle, picked up and examined
the alabaster ornaments upon the mantlepiece, upset a
vase of flowers, awkwardly replaced them, still whistling, rolled
over to the window, and stretched his head out for the enjoyment
of the moonlight. Sinclair followed him for a moment
with his eye.
“Ballou!” he called.
“Yes, major! Here we are. Are them papers all right,
major?”
“Right! You saw General Marion?”
“Yes, sir, the `Fox' is right and lively. He gin me a full
half-hour's talk.”
“I hope you were sober, sir, while he did so.”
“As a judge, sir! Oh! yes — couldn't be otherwise, sir; at
that time hadn't drank a thimbleful of the element. Saw the
Fox, sir, as I say, and we talked a while; saw Colonel Maham
too, sir — had a talk with him. Colonel Singleton had something
to say, sir — not much, but he's a gentleman, sir — what
he had to say was very sensible, and quite elegant. But didn't
get the first nip of the element from either of the gentlemen.”
“And where are they now, Ballou?”
“Well, sir, taking all things into 'count — what they said,
and what I suppose they had to do — they are now opposite to
Cave Hall. They talked of pushing upward, off-hand, sir, and
with a breezy spur. Colonel Singleton told me to tell you that
the boats would be ready at your landing to-morrow, and that
you must not delay them.”
“Did you have to go down to Nelson's?”
“Yes, major. That was a devil of a ride — a day of it — and
a mighty lean supper to sleep upon.”
“Any report from that quarter, sir?”
“All quiet, I believe, sir?” I got from some niggers that
there had been a small party of tory gentlemen at Wantoot, a
day or two ago, but they went off to the South somewhere.”
The answers were given with tolerable clearness. There
was some rambling talk on the part of the scout — for such was
Jim Ballou, and one of the best in the service, when sober —
but we have condensed the substance of his replies into the
briefest language. This rambling of the speaker, with a little
too much of the dashing in his tones and manner, which Sinclair
thought quite too familiar and obtrusive, were now to find
their commentary.
“Ballou, you have been drinking.”
“No denying the insinuation, major. It's my little infirmity,
sir. But, drunk or sober, I know my duty, sir, and I do it, sir
— I do it.”
“You may think so, Ballou, but you will find few persons of
the same opinion. I certainly can not trust a man, whom, at
any moment, a bottle of rum or whiskey may seduce — who, no
matter what the business in hand, the peril to himself or others,
the importance of his trusts, or the necessity of having all his
temptations!”
“Severe, major — rather. Severe, I may say! I'm a sinner,
in that way, sir, I admit — but I never neglect my duty,
major! — never!”
“I do not know that! — I do not believe it! No man who
puts it out of his own power to control his physical and mental
energies, and to use them at a moment's warning, but must,
some time or other, neglect his duties! I know that you have
neglected yours! You should have met me last evening at
'Bram's castle.”
“I tried, sir, but I couldn't. The thing was decidedly impossible,
major — not to be done — not to be done! Couldn't
do it — couldn't!”
“Not so, sir — you could! You were drinking yesterday as
well as to-day. More, sir, your indiscretion has done mischief!
You have suffered yourself to be seen — nay, followed, into the
swamp — so that Hell-fire Dick, and some of his gang, are possessed
of all the clues to that place of refuge.”
The fellow was startled and humbled. His tones and manner
changed. He grew quite sober on the instant. He knew
— none better — how important to the party was the secret of
their hiding-places.
“Oh! Major Willie, tell me, it ain't so. You're just trying
to scare me — that you are — to scare me—”
“It is so, Ballou, and we are no longer secure in a refuge
which would have been particularly important at this juncture,
if the knowledge had been confined to ourselves. Look at that
paper. I took it this day from the pocket of Hell-fire Dick!”
“What! you had him in your hands? — Devil Dick in your
hands?”
“Read the paper.”
The scout read and struck his head with his hands.
“It's true, sir! It's true! I've been a fool and a beast, sir.
It's clear that Hell-fire Dick followed me to the swamp. But
you have him — you have hung him, sir — he was outlawed,
you know. You hung him of course — heels free — head on
one side — you hung him!”
“He has escaped! and no doubt remembers the route to the
more: he had with him a party of four others, all of whom are
probably possessed of the same secret.”
“Who are they, sir?” asked the scout quickly.
“Sam Brydone—”
“Ah! Skin-the-Serpent, as they calls him.”
“Ralph Brunson—”
“He's the `Trailer,' and a mighty good scout, but a great rascal.
And, sir — he gets drunk too.”
“Does that improve his quality as a scout?”
“Oh! no, sir; but, may be, it will give me a better chance
at him!”
The scout did not see how fatal was the admission that he
thus made. Sinclair quietly remarked—
“And he, possibly, congratulates himself upon the advantage
which a like habit in you will afford to him. Drunkenness,
you see, is no merit in a scout.”
“I'm afraid, sir, that's a true notion — a true notion.”
“The other fellows were Joe Best and Pete Blodgit.”
“What sir — our Pete!”
“Yes: Best will not trouble us. He was hung, yesterday,
by the dragoons, as an outlaw, after being severely wounded.
Blodgit is a person to be watched rather than feared. There
may be others to whom Hell-fire Dick has imparted his discovery;
but two of those I have mentioned were probably with
him when he made it. They were with him just afterward.
And now, sir, you see what is due to your drunkenness. For
this offence I will not punish you, but I can no longer trust
you, Ballou.”
“Oh! sir — major — you call that no punishment — no punishment
— to me, sir, Jim Ballou — to me!”
“It was the penalty, well known to you, of such an offence
as yours, yet you have not feared it, Ballou. I am unwilling
to risk being placed in a relation with you in which I may have
to punish you; for I can not forget that we have known each
other in boyhood; and I prefer to dismiss you from my service.”
“Dismiss me from your service — me, Jim Ballou! Oh! no!
major, you can't do that. I can't be dismissed. I'm your man,
man. Can't be dismissed, sir — stick to you right and left,
for'ad and backward, sir — just like your right hand, sir — like
your dog, sir — like your nigger, major — like your nigger.”
“No, Ballou; we must part.”
“Psho, major — but you must be jesting. It's unpleasant
jesting, sir, between old friends, Dismiss me! God bless me!
What a notion — all a notion, sir. Why, Willie Sinclair, 'twas
Jim Ballou that first taught you to cross a horse.”
“I'm sorry, Ballou — sorry enough — but I can't trust you
any more.”
“What! and only for a little familiarity with the jug — jug!
with the jug — an innocent jug — a bottle, sir, not a jug. Jugs
of Jamaica are not to be had every day. A mere innocent familiarity
with a bottle — a black bottle of Jamaica. No, no!
Major Willie, you can't do it. The thing won't be done. Dismiss
me from your service! I won't swear, major, but I'll take
a celestial oath upon it, that the thing can't be done — won't be
done, sir — won't suffer itself to be done.”
“It must be done.” More seriously.
“And only for that little familiarity with the bottle. Why,
major, the bottle rather helps my ability. It does, sir. A
touch of the element, sir, always gives me a sort of life to be up
and doing, just as if I had a pair of wings, sir — makes me fly,
sir, makes me fly.”
“You shall fly no more for me, Ballou, under its inspirations.”
“Come, come, major! stop that now. It makes me feel uneasy,
sir — it does. I know, sir, that I'm a fool, sir — easy to
be persuaded, sir, when the liquor speaks; but what then?
Aint I here — aint the papers, there — aint the duty done.”
“Yes! and as I have shown you, it is sometimes overdone;
and I owe it to the cause in which I am engaged, to peril none
of its secrets in the hands of a man who can not resist the miserable
temptation of the bottle. I am sorry to part with you,
Ballou; no one better knows your ability than I do; — and I
know you to be a true friend of your country; — more, sir, I
have loved you as one associated with all my childish sports
and exercises; but we must part. You can take service in the
trusts.”
“Oh! Willie Sinclair! Are you serious now?” and the fellow's
voice trembled.
“I am, Ballou — as serious as I ever was in all my life. Serious
and sorry! Sorry to lose you — sorry for yourself. Sorry
that one of our best scouts should be lost to our service, where
he might serve us best if he would.”
The tears gushed from the fellow's eyes, and he fell upon
his knees in great agitation. His voice was husky with emotion,
as he cried: —
“Pardon me this once, major — Willie Sinclair — pardon me
this once, and I will swear. Only hear me swear — `Lord
God have mercy and give me strength as I swear by my eternal
safety, never, of my free will, to taste another drop of the
infernal liquor!' — There, major — there!”
“An awful oath, Ballou. Rise up, my poor fellow.”
“It's made, Major Willie. It's made. Oh! Major Willie,
won't you trust me now?”
“God forbid that I should discourage your efforts for self-recovery.
I will trust you, Ballou — see that you do not forget
your vow.”
“God help and strengthen me to keep it! and I will keep it,
Willie Sinclair — as a man that calls upon God to look and
watch his proceedings. I'm a man, and strong enough for that,
or I'm carrion, and only fit for the buzzards.”
“It is a solemn covenant, Ballou, that you have made with
God—”
“And you! I know — I mean it to be solemn! I love liquor,
and I've been easy to be led off by the temptation. But I've
sworn! and now, major, try me. Set me at work — try me
with a hard service; — I want to be up and doing.”
“Conquer yourself, Ballou, and I will take you to my heart
for ever. You are a noble and faithful fellow, and only free
yourself from this dangerous habit, and you are worthy of any
man's friendship. Rise, my friend, rise. Believe me, I felt as
much pain at the thought of parting with you, as I ever felt on
any occasion in my life.”
The fellow rose from the floor, brushed the tears hastily from
his eyes, and sobbed:—
“Try me again, major — try me, Willie Sinclair — and let
me make myself respectable again. I want to be at work!”
“You must go now, Ballou, and snatch a few hours of sleep.
Rest yourself at all events, as well as you can. With the morning
you shall have work — the very sort that you require.”
“What is it, major? Tell me now that I may think over it
to-night. I do all my thinking at night when I'm a-bed — I
do.”
“It is to take the trial of Devil Dick, and his companions,
the Trailer and the Serpent. They are, no doubt, all herded
together in the Santee swamp; and too near us to suffer us to
sleep quietly. Our dragoons may rout them out to-morrow,
as they have work to do in that quarter — in the very neighborhood,
probably, where they all harbor. Our men will hardly
find them, as they will have something better to do than to seek
them. They will skulk rather than fly, for I feel sure that their
aim is the sacking of the Barony. They know the range as
well as you and I, and will hang about us, and lie snug till we
are off. Then they will probably up and follow; take the road
after us, or make a second attempt on the Barony. Now, do
you see what is the work which you might make profitable?”
“I think I do! I do!”
“We must try and cut off these rascals, if we can do so without
turning directly upon them. It is the work of a scout,
rather than of a regiment. But it is not so essential to cut them
off, as to cover ourselves. Ballou, I feel that I can trust your
honor and fidelity, much more than I can your strength and
sobriety. I wish you to cover me. To-morrow, I separate
from the dragoons. I go alone, in disguise, within the precincts
of an enemy's post.”
“You're not going to Orangeburg, major, are you?”
“I am — there and the neighborhood.”
“Do you know that Inglehardt is certainly there; and he is
about as cold, as cunning, and as venomous as a snake in August.”
“I know all that! Know him well. But is his command
there?”
“That I don't learn. But he was seen there only three days
ago.”
“But his mere presence does not make the place a British
post.”
“No, sir; but it is pretty much under British influence.”
“I know that too; know exactly what I have to fear, and
upon whom I may rely; and I have reason to believe that you
are right when you report Inglehardt to be there or in the
neighborhood. But the visit must be made. I have much to
do there, and must see the commissary Travis.”
“Don't trust him, major. Didn't 'Bram tell you? He's another
snake — a snake!”
“I know more than 'Bram does, and I know Travis. Enough!
The matter that I wish you to see to is this:—these outlaws
are, no doubt, so harbored in the swamp that, as we can not
seek for and push them, they will be able to see all our operations.
Now, I must separate from the dragoons. These outlaws
may detect the movement or not. If they do, seeing me
alone, and in disguise, they will be apt to follow, just as the dogs
take after the wounded buck, letting the herd run as they please.
I shall have the start of them, but as I shall ride at my leisure,
and have occasion to stop here and there, they can readily overhaul
me, and my notion is —”
“Ah! I see, sir,— you wish me to take your trail also — your
trail?”
“Exactly! 'Bram will have a similar duty; both of you will
be armed. Where one fails to make a point, the other may be
more successful; you can operate together, and both with me,
in any event which needs our united strength; and finally,
after you have safely covered me to Orangeburg, you will get
a dug-out, and keep it hidden in the river swamp just below the
landing at Holly-Dale.”
“Travis's place, in the Fork?”
“Yes!—Now, Jim Ballou, you see the duty that requires to
be done, and can readily determine for yourself how it should
be done. I can teach you nothing as a scout. 'Bram is also
good at the business. Have an understanding with him to-night,
but, of course, you will work on separate tracks. Prescribe
your plan, and he will follow it. I leave the procedure wholly to
from whom. I must say to you, however, that `Hell-fire Dick'
has got an increase of force, and may now number four or five,
instead of two or three. But these fellows rarely keep all together,
long. The division of the plunder commonly scatters them.
Remember, however, should you succeed in surprising them,
and destroying them, of course, you are still to pursue my track.
There may be many such parties on the route, and I shall want
you above. One of my scouts reports a small gang of seven,
led by Cooper, the fellow who was supposed to have been left
for dead by our Travis and Duesto, yet got off to the enemy
though handcuffed to a dead man.”
“I know! I know! Pendarvis was killed outright. I remember
all about it — all! — and a bolder and blacker villain than
Cooper don't trouble the country — Don't!”
“He has been seen within eight days again upon the Belleville
road, as leader of a party of six. He had with him two
of the Claytons of St. Mathew's— a little red-headed fellow,
named Jones, and one Paul Sturner. A week before that his
party was twice the number, and he was nearly run down by
Captain Rumph's squad. Lieutenant Wannamaker was so
close as to make a cut at him and wound the quarters of his
horse. But he got off with the loss of two of his party, who
were cut down by the troopers. He is a scoundrel of wonderful
energies and endurance, and I have reason to think would be
especially pleased to find me in his meshes. At all events, there
will be enough to tax all your vigilance, even if you succeed in
throwing out or destroying this Hell-fire Dick and his party.
Am I fully understood, Ballou?”
“Yes, Major Willie—and you will fully trust me? You will!”
“I will! Bring up 'Bram that I may give him his lesson in
your presence.”
We need not pursue this conference further. Enough that
all the parties received their instructions, and retired for the
night. At dawn, the grounds were empty — Willie Sinclair,
Peyre St. Julien, the dragoons — all were gone; but the wakeful
eyes of Carrie Sinclair had witnessed their departure, and
her waving hands and murmured prayer had blessed their
progress.
What was that progress? We must report it briefly. It was
to carry off all the cattle, stock of every kind, grain and forage,
that could be gleaned from the plantations along the Santee in
this particular precinct. The boats of Marion were waiting —
from morning to night the dragoons were busy; and corn and
fodder, and cattle, which had been hitherto left to the doubtful
charge of Master Pete Blodgit, were withdrawn from his to a
safer keeping. Blodgit, himself, kept out of the way in the
woods, while Sinclair and the dragoons were on the place. He
had found a hiding-place with the outlaws, leaving his mother
to propitiate the anger of their late patron. She whined at
him for pity, and his mercy allowed her to remain in the cottage,
the shelter of which her criminal hypocrisy had so completely
forfeited. It was at sunset, and when the day's work
was nearly done, that Sinclair and St. Julien met in conference.
A harsher duty awaited the latter and found him reluctant.
“You are now, Peyre, to carry off all the stock, except brood-hogs,
and cows with calves, from the Sinclair Barony.”
“How, Willie, can I do that?”
“It must be done, Peyre; you can not distinguish between
whigs and loyalists, and favor the latter. It must be done.
We must leave neither hair nor hide to the enemy. But you
need not be seen in the business. I have prepared Benny
Bowlegs, the driver, for what he has to expect and to do, and
he is ready to father the offence upon the tories. You will,
however, give him an acknowledgment of what you take, and
he will convey it to my sister. Your paper will establish a
claim upon government, should it ever reach security and permanence.
One more matter. I fear for the safety of the
Barony. You will leave a corporal's guard on the place —
known only to Benny — in close shelter in the swamp. He
will provision it. Instruct your officer to be ready at call, to
defend or protect the family from these marauders. They will
hardly need to stay a week. With the rest of your command,
this duty done — and that should be in two days more — then,
giving a wide berth to Orangeburg, sweep up by Rumph's at
Turkey hill, and cross the North Edisto at Shilling's; put yourself
in the thickets by Bull-fight pond, and wait my message,
either by Ballou or 'Bram. Of course, you will have your scouts
It is possible that I may have some trouble, as I have certainly
some risks at Orangeburg and the neighborhood, for my time
will be divided between Travis's plantation and the village.
Above all, have two or three expert fellows for ever with an eye
on Travis's. If Inglehardt be about, the utmost vigilance is
necessary.”
Fully understanding each other, the major parted with
his friend at nightfall. He went alone, still in the disguise of
a backwoodsman, and with hair and beard not his own. His
pistols were at hand, and he wore a plain basket-hilted cut-and-thrust
at his side — a weapon in the use of which he excelled
— having taken lessons from the Italian, Baldachezzo, who, a
little while before the war, had been a famous teacher of the
young gentry of the Carolinas. Sinclair sped away with confidence
and with seeming security; and so, at the same time, did
St. Julien with his troop, pushing down to the river some six
miles off, where one party crossed with the boats and forage, and
the other bivouacked in the swamp.
Night had fallen. The woods were silent. For three miles
from the cottage of Blodgit, on either hand, they showed no
signs of life for several hours. But there was life, nevertheless,
human life, wakeful, watchful, and close harboring within the
immediate precincts of the cottage. Blodgit, we may mention,
had not shown himself to any one of the foragers; and, this,
perhaps, had tended somewhat to make his mother's plea to Sinclair
successful. He had left the Barony with the full purpose
of expelling the wretched old woman, taking from her the negro-girl
whom his sister had lent her, and burning the hovel to
the ground. But he had relented in his sterner purpose, as
he beheld the miserable condition of the beldam. Her real
poverty and wretchedness saved her from the proper punishment
of her guilt. He gave her fifty bushels of corn for her
own support, leaving it to her son, who had the fruitful abilities
of the rogue, to provide her with the bacon which he knew he
could always find. He left nothing for him, and unless he used
the corn allotted for his mother, there was no provision made
for his own horse or any other.
But after a few hours had elapsed from the departure of the
in concealing thickets, though apart, within a quarter of a mile
of the cottage, were saluted with the faint blasts of a common
horn. They pricked up their ears as they heard, and each
prepared, after the manner of the scout, to make himself
acquainted with the source of signal. Ballou was now on his
good behavior. A double duty was in fact before him. He
was to approve himself capable of abstinence, a virtue which
he had not before affected; and to exercise his best scouting capacities,
for which his credit was already great. Except Jack
Bannister of the Congarees, a noble yeoman of the whig side,
and one Watson Gray, a tory, Jim Ballou was the most famous
scout of all the Santee region. That any exception could be
made, in conferring this rank upon him, had been due to his
former sottishness. He was now to recover ground, and reassert
his superior merits. He determined, accordingly, to employ
all his energies, and not mistake a single point in the game.
The first step, he felt when he heard the horn and the replies
to it, which followed shortly after, had been successfully taken.
All the sounds that reached him were from below — none were
from the rear — no enemy lay behind him, and he could thus
advance in security. To feel his way safely forward, is the
great necessity for a scout. This he can only do when assured
that he is not followed. His game is to take the trail after others;
and, lying perdu, Ballou waited for other signals.
These were soon repeated, and this time from the direction
of Blodgit's cottage. They were answered more distinctly from
below — three several blasts. Between the woods which he and
'Bram occupied, and those whence the signals came, there ran
a broad wagon-trace down to the river's landing. This trace
intersected the main road within a few yards of the spot where
the cottage stood. A third blast, more lively and thrice repeated,
from this latter precinct, called for further replies, which Ballou
was pleased to perceive were much nearer at hand. He felt
that he should soon be enabled to pick his way out, and, perhaps,
be permitted to see, himself unseen, the parties who found
it thus necessary to commune together. Let us approach the
place of meeting also.
Among the oaks directly in front of his cottage, stood Pete
had helped to ruin him; he owed them no love; but he was a
wretched dependant upon others for protection, and he had cut
himself off from better associates. With the exception of the
small amount in Spanish milled dollars, which he had succeeded
in withholding from Willie Sinclair, at their late settlement,
and which his mother held with the tenacious fingers of avarice,
he had not a single sixpence. The means of farther gains,
from the same source, had been swept away that day by the
foragers — he had seen the whole procedure from a familiar
place of concealment; and Dick of Tophet, his ally, had torn
away his horse with violence. He was in no mood to love
those who had thus caused him to lose, and had besides robbed
him; but he had no alternative. Cut off from the succor of
the good, the weak who are also vicious have no refuge but with
the wicked! The milk of Blodgit's bosom was soured and embittered;
but his blood was too feeble in its rush to suffer him
to show the hate and vexation which he felt. He had — to use
his own expressive phraseology — “to grin and bear it!”
He was not long alone, being soon joined by the Trailer,
Ralph Brunson. His nom de guerre, we may remark, was due
also to his good reputation as a scout. He was considered a
sure trailer, though held to be somewhat slow. The qualities
of men and dogs are graduated and qualified in like manner.
The Trailer came on foot, as did the others subsequently.
They had hidden their horses in the woods.
“Nobody yit up but me, Pete?”
“You're the first. But I reckon it's the Sarpent that will be
next. He was more up upon the hill. The farthest horn must
ha' been Devil Dick's.”
“Yes, and he'll git here slow; for his scalds ain't any the
better for his hard run to-day.”
“I'm afear'd he's a'most knocked up my critter.”
“Well, you needn't care about that, sence thyars no chaince
that you'll ever git her agin, onless Dick happens to see that
he kin cross a better. He won't keep your'n a bit longer than
that.”
“It's mighty hard that I should lose my critter, and me a
lame pusson too.”
“Oh! Lord, ef that was the only hardhsip that one had to
grin under, the world would be a comfortable one enough for a
poor man. But I reckon Sinclair's carried off everything from
you; I cotched a sight or two of the transaction that made me
jubous that you'd have nothing left better than acorns and pine-tops
for man and beast.”
“And you're right! He's swept off corn and fodder, hogs
and cattle, everything he could carry, and whar the bread and
meat is to come from the Lord only kin tell.”
“It's mighty hard and cruel that a poor man should be
robbed of all his airnings and support.”
“And he a lame pusson too, and with a poor old sick mother,
with the rheumatiz so bad that it would be a God's marcy
ef she was safe in the ground.”
“Yes, it's mighty hard, Pete. A poor man has no chaince
with these rich harrystocrats, as Devil Dick calls 'em.”
And the two very soon succeeded in persuading themselves,
and one another, that the whole world was leagued in the cruel
purpose to destroy them and starve them out, and rob them of
their rights and all the bounties of earth and heaven. It is curious
with what grateful logic the scoundrel will convince himself
that he is a victim to the grossest wrongs on the part of the
villanously virtuous. But the dialogue was at length arrested
by the arrival of Brydone “the Serpent,” and, after a while,
Devil Dick himself appeared, accompanied by Jack Halliday,
who was slightly wounded.
“Let's get in to your hole, Pete Blodgit,” cried Dick of Tophet.
“I'm a wanting help from the hands of your blessed
mammy, who loves me as the devil loves the angel Gabriel.
My back is all in a blister; and my ankles and wrists in a blaze.
Lord! I could have wished almost that I had been hung up
sooner than suffer from this fire all over. Come, open, Pete; I
must git some salves and 'intments on my back, and I must
have a shirt and jacket.”
Dick ruled, and they entered the house together. They
found Mother Blodgit, by the fire, rocking to and fro sulkily,
and somewhat in the way. She was evidently not pleased with
the turn which affairs had taken, though as yet she did not
know the worst. Her little negro had reported the removal by
too, a sharp and stern lesson from the lips of Sinclair, to which
she could oppose no answer; and he had forborne to tell her all he
knew. He had, however, shown her that he was aware of the
Spanish dollars in her possession, but had concluded by bestowing
them upon her;—a degree of generosity for which she professed
herself thankful, though she cursed him in her heart
while speaking. The poor, when vicious, are usually ungrateful;
and a single boon withheld makes them forgetful of the
thousand favors which have been previously bestowed upon
them. But, as yet, she did not know that her son was horseless
— that he had been robbed of his beast by the very outlaw
who had helped to ruin him, and for whom he had done
and sacrificed so much. Had she known, she would scarcely
have found the desired ointments for the scorched back of Devil
Dick — would scarcely have suffered her son to bestow upon
the ruffian one of his best shirts and jackets. As it was, she
suffered these sacrifices unwillingly; and brought forth her oils
and ointments, without blessing or consecrating them lovingly
to the work of healing. We need not detail the processes by
which Dick of Tophet was rendered easier in the flesh, and
habited anew in comfortable garments. The service was rendered
after a fashion; and, cursing and crying alternately, as
she saw the jug of Jamaica brought out from its covert, the old
woman withdrew to her chamber, whence her grunts arose
occasionally to relieve the monotony of the conversation, which
took place among the outlaws.
Once more at ease, unpursued, and with strong drink before
them, the goodly company began to go over the proceedings of
the day. We, who know pretty much what these were, need
not follow them in their commentary. We shall only note such
portions of their dialogue as may be suggestive of the clues
to such portions of this true history as are not yet in our
hands.
“Well, they've carried off all your corn and fodder, hogs and
cattle, Pete, and by this time they have 'em all across the river.
The Sarpent tells me that Stuttering Peter [Horry] has been
doing the same business below, as fur down as Nelson's. Now,
the question is, what does this mean? To my thinking it means
time.”
“You think so, Dick?”
“I'm pretty sure of it. But I don't see what we're to lose
by that, for there's always good pickings about the country,
when the armies are a-coming together. Thar's always so
many rich folks flying with their families, and leaving everything
behind them. Now, I'm jest a-waiting to see old Sinclair
drivin' off from that Bairony. He'll not be able to carry
off everything, not by hafe, and ef I don't gut it, and gut him
too, and his d—d eternal son, the major, at the first chaince,
then there's no sense in calling me `Hell-fire Dick' any
longer.”
“Well, how are we to do now?”
“Thar's nothing to be done, jest now, while Willie Sinclair's
down at the Bairony, and with such a lot of dragoons.”
“But them dragoons, I reckon, will cross the river, as soon
as they've swept the plantations on this side. They're pretty
quick at the work, and clean out a farm in mighty short
order. 'Twon't be two days, I reckon, before they'll finish
that job.”
“Air we safe hyar now, where we air?” said Dick.
“I reckon,” said the Trailer. “I trailed St. Julien and his
dragoons down to the river. They've got off hafe of them, and
t'other hafe has fires lighted, and are camped for the night.
Some of them air in the boats. They're now a good six miles
off, and mighty tired. But, look you, Willie Sinclair ain't with
the dragoons.”
“How! not with the dragoons? Why, how's that, when
he's been with 'em all day, directing and giving orders, and
pushing after men and boats, and working jest as hard as
any.”
“I know that; but he worn't with them when the dragoons
marched down to the river, at sunset. I was in a `harricane
thick,' on the butt eend of an almighty big tree, and safe kivered,
and I could see every man as he filed down across the sandy
run. Willie Sinclair worn't with 'em, I tell you.”
“Then he's gone back to the Bairony! I wonder ef he took
any of the dragoons with him?”
“I reckon not! I didn't count 'em, but I didn't miss any.
Ef he took any, it couldn't be more than two or three. But I
don't think he took any.”
“Ef so, now would be the time to make a dash at the Bairony.
They wouldn't look for us to-night.”
“No? But after the work we've had, which of us is good for
anything like a dash.”
“Ah! Ef 'tworn't for this cussed scalding that I've got,”
groaned Dick of Tophet, writhing in his seat, “I'd show you
how to make a dash. But you're right. Nothing's to be done
to-night. We must git some sleep and some strength; and first
for the strength, Blodgit, we must get some supper.”
“I don't know whar you're to git it. I reckon thar's nothing
better than dry meal in the house.”
“Find something better, Pete, or we'll make a meal of you.
Be stirring. I'm a famishing varmint.”
Dick of Tophet was a person with whom Blodgit did not dare
to trifle, and he proceeded in the search for something which
would pacify the “varmint.” At that moment the sounds of a
horse's tread, at full gallop, were heard. It startled other ears
than those of the outlaws, and Ballou and 'Bram, our two scouts,
who had been peering with all their eyes through the logs of
the cottage, were fain to steal off silently into the bushes, which
they did in safety. A few moments after, the horseman thundered
at the door. To the demand “Who's that?” the answer
was prompt — “Eyes right!” — a pass-phrase evidently which
had been previously agreed on. “It is Ben Nelson,” said the
Trailer, and the door was opened to the new-comer.
“Well, whar have you been, all this time, I wonder! We
had a'most 'gin you up for lost.”
“I wasn't lost, but took the road, which was pretty nigh to
me, when the dragoons made the dash.”
The account of the fellow, explaining his escape, was a confused
one. It was felt to be so by the party.
“The fact is,” said Devil Dick, “you got scared a little
sooner, Ben Nelson, than anybody else. But the scare seems
to have helped you to a safe road. What hev you to report?”
“Why, nothing much.”
“Whar did you hide?”
“Across the road, in a thick bay a leetle this side of the clay
hill.”
“I know the place.”
“I fastened the horse in the hollow, and creeped out to the
roadside when the sun was a-setting; but nothing was to be seed
except one man in a common homespun hunting-shirt. He rode
by, and he had an uncommon fine beast.”
“Ha! what sort of beast?”
“Powerful, strong, and big, a most glorious black, black
without a spot.”
“Yes, a blaze on his right shoulder.”
“Mout be! I couldn't see on that side, he guine up, and I
on the left side of the road.”
“It is Willie Sinclair, by the powers, and he goes alone!
He's for the Bairony, or further on. We must see in the morning.
I'm the man to take that scent! Now, look you, boys,
here's the way the cat must jump. We must gut that Bairony.
Now's the time, I reckon, when these fellows of St. Julien are
crossing to t'other side, and before the two armies gits down. It's
a bad sign for us, I'm a thinking, them two armies coming down.
It's a sign that Lord Rawdon ain't able to hold his hand with
Greene. We must be making our market while we kin. I'm
for gutting that Bairony; but I'm for taking the trail of Willie
Sinclair at all resks. I owe him a knife,” and Dick of Tophet
displayed the carving-knife which he had caught up in his moment
of flight. “Two or three of you, must scout day and night
about the Bairony till you find the coast is clear — then put in
and pull out. We'll be ready, I reckon, when the time comes.
You, `Skin-the-Serpent,' with Jack Halliday and Ben Nelson
can take this business on your shoulders. The `Trailer' and
me will take after Willie Sinclair. I kin guess jist whar he's a
guine. He's guine to sneak after old Travis's da'ter at Holly-Dale.
He's been after her before. Ef 't ain't for that, what
would he be in a disguise about?—in a homespun split shirt,
and not in his uniform; and then with his great beard and
whiskers which don't belong to his face at all. He's after that
gal, mark what I'm a-saying.”
“But what's it to us ef he is? What kin we git by taking
trail of him?”
“I kin git my revenge out of his heart's blood!” answered
Dick of Tophet fiercely; “but something more. What's he
done with them hundred guineas that he tuk from poor Pete
Blodgit? I reckon he's got hafe of 'em in his belt, and to'ther
hafe he's left at the Bairony. So, you see, ef we plays out
trumps, we stands a chaince, all of us, of picking up goulden
stakes.”
Dick the Devil, was apt to verify his proper claim to the
title, by finally forcing his own will upon those with whom he
associated. It was settled that, with the dawn, the party should
divide, as he had indicated. The proceedings of both divisions
were arranged at the sitting. It is needless to say that the ears
of Ballou and 'Bram, drank in all the particulars of the arrangement,
since the outlaws, apprehending no listeners, spoke
in their ordinary tones of voice. Our scouts listened and watched
to the last moment, when, after supping, and repeatedly drinking,
the conspirators stretched themselves out upon the floor;
satisfied that they were in no danger themselves, and with their
horses hidden in the thicket. But hours had flitted by with
noiseless rapidity before this was the case — the night was
waning toward day — the moon was down — the stars wheeling
more rapidly from sight. The cool breezes of the morning were
beginning to sough and swell through the forest. Ballou and
'Bram, weary with the protracted watch of day and night, turned
away from the hovel and slowly passed into cover. Not a word
was spoken between them till they had left the cottage half a
mile behind them. Then Ballou said:—
“'Bram, it's mighty hard that we should leave those scamps
to a quiet sleep; but it's too late now to get down to the dragoons
and bring any of them up; and I am scarcely able to lift
one leg after another —scarcely — one after another.”
“An' dis nigger ain't able to lift he body on he legs! I mus'
hab res', Jim Ballou — I mus' hab my sleep.”
“It's a good six miles to the river — then we'd have to hunt
up the camp, for they hide close, and then — why 't would be
broad daylight long before we could get back — broad daylight.
'Bram, one good common sense rule for a good scout is never to
break down. We must let these fellows have their chance —
let 'em have their chance.”
“Da's jest wha' I was t'inking — let de dibbil hab he swing,
tell we can jest put out han' and grab 'em.”
“Ay, till we can make him swing — make him swing. But
here I lie for the present. Let's have your bag, 'Bram, and see
if we can't eat a little — only a little. That hambone has something
on it still — something still!”
“Mighty close de knuckle, I tells you,” answered 'Bram,
bringing forth the remnants from their dinner.
“'Bram,” said Ballou, eating vigorously, and speaking with
a mouthfull — “to-morrow, by peep of day, you must go down to
the camp, and let Captain St. Julien know what we heard about
the attack on the Barony. He can trap those three fellows if
he pleases — if he pleases;—and he does please, I'm pretty
sure! Meanwhile, I'll take the trail after Devil Dick. You
can take a short cut through the woods and join me above;
I'll break a green bush and throw it, with the stem down the
road, every now and then, so that you'll know whether I've
passed or not — passed or not! You hear?”
“I yer.”
“Very good! But to-night we must separate. Your horse
is already in the right place, as you're to canter down to the
river, but I must put mine on t'other side of the main road,
above, so that I may get a good look at them as they pass. I'll
hide the horse deep, so that they can't hear him whinny
— whinny — and I'll sleep within ear-shot of the road myself.”
“But lie close, Jim Ballou.”
“To be sure! I shan't be in their way, and that's the reason
I shall cross the road to-night. If I were to hide in these
thickets, why, they might cut through and come upon me, and
that wouldn't be so pleasant — not so pleasant, 'Bram.”
“Mighty onpleasant!”
“'Bram! I've sworn a most stupendous oath!”
“Ki! wha' for you do sich t'ing?”
“Against the flesh and the devil, 'Bram. I had to swear to
make myself strong, and I'll keep that oath too, 'Bram — though
it's against a good spirit. Did you notice, 'Bram, how these
fellows swallowed down that rum. Do you think they relished
it!—relished it, 'Bram?”
“Don't 'tink 'bout it, Ballou. I knows dey relishes um better
dan dey own souls.”
“I'm afraid, 'Bram, I do too. I wished for some of that
Jamaica, 'Bram — wish for it now. But I wouldn't touch a drop
of it, 'Bram, to save you from the gallows — from the gallows,
'Bram!”
“Ki! you swear 'gin de rum, Ballou!”
“As if it were the devil himself, 'Bram!”
“Nebber git me to swear sich foolish oat' as dat. Rum is
good for de healt' and sperrit ob black pusson.”
“It will carry you to hell, 'Bram.”
“But in a mos' heabbenly way, Ballou.”
“Ah! don't I know it, and isn't that the devil's secret,
'Bram — the very devil's secret? But we must part, old fellow
— part. You must be off at day-peep. Can you wake?”
“Kin wake whenebber I please, when I aint been 'tosticated
de night before.”
“Ah! you see how the devil works through rum. But I've
sworn against it — sworn — it is an oath, 'Bram. And I swear
again. Be a witness. Every witness I have helps my
strength.”
And he knelt upon the turf, crossed his hands, and repeated
the oath he made before Sinclair.
“Look yer, Mass Jim Ballou, tek' care ob you'se'f now. I
tell you, man — dis is de night-time, pass de middle o' de night
— getting on to day mighty fast, and der's anoder one a-hearing
you, 'sides 'Bram.”
“Who?”
“De bressed Lord God, dat's jest now a-looking out 'pon
we two poor sinners from Heabben.”
“It is true — true! God is my witness!” said Ballou, in
tones as solemn as those of the negro.
“'Member now, man,” said 'Bram — “'member now! — ef
you breaks dat oat'!”
“God help me! — good night, 'Bram.”
| CHAPTER XXIII.
SCOUT AGAINST SCOUT — TAKING TRAIL. The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days | |