University of Virginia Library

34. CHAPTER XXXIV.
HOW THE GAME MAY BE SNARED AT THE COST OF THE HUNTER.

A little before three o'clock, Major Sinclair crossed the
river in the dug-out, having with him a single companion.
Having secured the boat under the usual cover, the shady
willows that overhung the stream on the edge of the swamp
above the headland of Holly-Dale, the two took their course
through the thickets until they drew near the dwelling. This
they soon approached and entered from the rear, having watched
their moment when the coast seemed quite clear, and kept
themselves under cover of the foliage as long as it sufficed for
concealment. They entered the hall which opened from the
passage-way, and found themselves alone. It was the dining-room
also, and the table was spread, but no person of the family
was present. The ladies were in the chamber of Mrs. Travis,
an apartment opposite the hall, and opening in like manner
from the passage.

Leaving his companion in the hall, Sinclair stepped into the
passage, and had hardly done so when he was met by Bertha.
The countenance of the damsel was full of anxiety.

“Have you seen my father, Willie?”

“No! Is he not here? we are but just landed from the
river. He was to meet us here at three. It is not quite the
hour.”

“He is not here,” answered Bertha, striving to conceal her
uneasiness; “but I hope he will be back in season. He had to
go down to Orangeburg this morning — and — and — he seemed
very much troubled — very uneasy. Oh! if anything has happened
to him.”

“Don't be alarmed. What should happen to him?”

“I don't know. But he himself was apprehensive, and gave

me some commissions to you, some papers — here they are —
in the event of anything happening to prevent his presence.”

“Ah! the papers!— a moment, dear Bertha,” as he took the
papers and read the letter to himself.

“Now excuse me for a moment. These papers are for another,
and the sooner he has them, and examines them, the
better. These will set everything right — set your father fairly
before the country, and make his future course free. One moment,
dear.”

“Come back to me. Mother wants to see and speak with you
in her chamber.”

Sinclair hurried into the hall, and, with a few words, delivered
the papers into the hands of his companion. That person was
soon seated and busied in their examination. Meanwhile, Sinclair
returned to Bertha, and accompanied her to the chamber
where Mrs. Travis awaited them.

He found that good lady calm but very serious.

“Sinclair,” said she, “I fear something has happened to
Captain Travis.”

“I hope not. Why should you fear?”

“He has failed to be back at the hour he appointed. I know
that he was anxious to be here. He had apprehensions, too,
and Inglehardt is as treacherous as a friend as he is venomous
as a foe.”

“I do not see that there is any occasion for alarm. Inglehardt
has every reason to keep on terms with your husband.”

“Yes, so long as my husband will keep on terms with him.
But you know, as well as I do, that Mr. Travis had determined
to break with him.”

“But how should Inglehardt know that?”

“It is possible. He is all cunning. Besides, he has his spies
everywhere, and Mr. Travis mentioned that he had certainly
made one discovery — of which you know — which would certainly
make him suspicious.”

“That is true! But unless he has discovered much more,
the only present result of that discovery must be to make him
more watchful.”

“And, no doubt, he has been so; and to what other discoveries
this watch may have conducted him is the question. It

certainly looks suspicious, that, anxious as Mr. Travis was to
get back in time to meet yourself and friend, and resolving to
do so, he should fail just at this juncture, when his enemy is
most suspicious, most watchful, and has most reason to be so.
Mr. Travis is usually punctual to his word.”

“And yet, my dear Mrs. Travis, a thousand motives, nay
necessities, not involving danger so much as duty and a proper
caution, may have delayed him. He had to put away and to
destroy his papers, had to settle many interests, and small
details before leaving Orangeburg — had to secure property —
for, you are no doubt aware, that our present relations involved
his withdrawal from all affinities with the British. The very
fact that he left these papers with Bertha, to be delivered to
me in the event of his not coming, showed that he himself anticipated
some unavoidable delay, as a probability.”

“Ah! Sinclair, he anticipated something more. He was
very much depressed, and his mind labored with some gloomy
presentiments.”

“And well he might entertain some forebodings. His relations
naturally involve the idea of embarrassment and danger.
But I see not —

Here Bertha interposed:—

“Willie, I heard a horse — horses — I'm sure. Had you not
better go, you and your friend, while you have time? Should
anything have happened to my father, there's danger to you.”

“She is right, Willie. Go! You have the papers! You
will see that justice is done to my husband's object.”

“If Mr. Travis has fallen into Inglehardt's clutches, it is too
late to steal away,” said Sinclair. “If he has arrested Mr.
Travis, be sure that he has environed Holly-Dale with his
rangers.”

“Heavens! Willie, and you speak so coolly!” exclaimed
Bertha.

“Fear nothing! I have striven to prepare for this contingency,
and believe that I am ready. Henry is no doubt on
his way, bringing down the troop of St. Julien, and I have
despatched a trusty messenger to Coulter to bring up his troop
also. They have full instructions in regard to every step that
is to be taken. If Inglehardt is really about us, with his

rangers, he has got himself into a snare. From the moment
when I conceived the possibility of his seeking me here, I
resolved that he should find me, and find me prepared for him.
I have endeavored so to provide as to crush him at a blow.
Let St. Julien and Coulter reach us in season, and we have the
scoundrel in his own meshes. We need but half an hour now.”

“Ah!” — there were steps without — “you will not be allowed
that half hour. There is certainly a tramp of horses, and —
the door opens.”

So it did — the door of the passage — then a footstep was
heard, a light deliberate footstep, the tread measured — and
the person entering was heard to pass into the hall.

Sinclair, with moccasined feet, stepped noiselessly to the window
which looked out upon the court fronting the west. He
came back with a slight smile upon his lips, and in a whisper —

“You are right. There are troopers on the edge of the wood.
Can you find your way to the upper story, Bertha, without
being heard from the hall?”

“Yes! I think so.”

“Go, then, and look up the northwest avenue, note the great
red oak that stands out in the centre of it, and if you discover
a white handkerchief, or anything white gleaming from the
boughs, sing cheerily some verse of one of your little musical
ballads, so that I shall hear.”

All this was said in a whisper. Bertha stole out into the
passage and up the stairway, without waking a single echo.

Voices were heard in the hall. Sinclair stole to the door and
listened. He returned in a moment.

“Do you think, my dear Mrs. Travis, that you can follow
successfully the example of Bertha, and steal up-stairs without
being heard?”

Alas! good Mrs. Travis was a lady of dimensions and bulk.
She shook her head.

“Well,” said he, “bide your time, and on the first sound of
struggle or confusion, make your way up-stairs to Bertha, and
fasten yourselves in. Leave this fellow to me.”

“Who is it, Willie?”

“Inglehardt himself.”

“Ah! and you take it so easily.”

“Yes! I hope to take him easily.”

And Sinclair again stole to the door, stole into the passage
and listened. The old lady could hear the voices from the hall,
which were earnest but not loud. In a moment, Sinclair was
back, and without a word, he snatched up a light coverlet
from the bed, and again disappeared from the apartment. Mrs.
Travis wondered what he should want with such an agent
dealing with such an enemy, and while she wonders, and while
the event is doubtful, let us retrace our steps a moment to some
of the antecedents of the affair.

Not a quarter of an hour before this, Inglehardt, accompanied
by a single trooper, Fry, his orderly, might have been
seen in a little thicket crouching behind the dairy. Hither his
whistle had summoned a young mulatto, a boy of eighteen, to
his presence. This fellow, a servant of Travis, had been long
in the pay of Inglehardt.

“Well, Julius, has he come?”

“Yes, sir; he's in the hall now, a-reading papers.”

“When did he come?”

“I don't know, sir; I was busy cleaning knife behind the
kitchen, and old Molly, the cook, sir — you know old Molly —
she's mighty hard 'pon me—”

“No matter about old Molly.”

“Well, sir, she was a-moving about, and keeping me at the
knives, sir, and I never see when the major come. But when
I gone up-stairs with the knife-box, to put 'em on the table in
the piazza, I cotch a sight of 'em in the hall, sir, a-setting at
the table with papers, a-reading. The room was dark, the
winders most shut in, 'cause of the hot weather.”

“Well, well! he is there?”

“Safe!”

“Nobody else — no troopers?”

“Never see the huff [hoof] of one, sir, 'cept what you fotch.”

“You hear, Fry. Now, work round the house with the troop,
and push in when you hear my bugle, but not a moment before.”

“Where are you going, sir?”

“To the house.”

“What if he makes fight? Sinclair is a powerful, strong
man.”

The other touched the pistols in his belt.

“I shall be able to manage him with these — at all events,
keep him at a distance with them till you can answer my
bugle.”

“Very well, sir — as you please. But we had better make
short work of it, sir — at a dash.”

“No! I have another object. Besides, we have him sure.
With thirty troopers upon him, he can neither fight nor fly with
any hope of safety. Away, now, and be in readiness.”

The orderly disappeared behind the bushes.

“Julius, was your young mistress with him?”

“Not when I look, sir. She been up-stairs in he room I
reckon. But I 'spec' [expect] she's down with 'em now, onless
he gone up to her.”

“Why, scoundrel, you don't mean to say that he goes up to
her chamber?”

“Don't know, sir; but they's mighty loving, when they gits
together,” and the mulatto grinned his own vicious nature as he
spoke. Inglehardt looked at him with an expression of disgust.

“Mighty loving, are they?”

“Oh! there's no saying how sweet they is to one another.”

“We shall dash the sweet with bitter. Go, now, and let me
see you where I told you, and when.”

The boy disappeared. Inglehardt lingered, as if in thought,
though looking around him as if in expectation also. Suddenly
the bushes parted behind him, and the grim, disfigured visage
of Dick of Tophet showed itself.

“Ah! you are there? Well, see that you do your work
effectually; and, hark you, Joel Andrews, no trespassing of
any sort.”

The other grinned only in reply. Inglehardt found it necessary
to rebuke the grin with a stern look and speech.

“Hark you, Dick; — closer — here!”

The fellow drew nigh. Inglehardt, fixing his eyes upon him,
said, in the lowest and sweetest tones:—

“If you disobey the slightest of my injunctions, Joel Andrews,
you shall hang for it. Do you hear? Look me in the
face, and comprehend, if you can, by what you see, that I have
sworn it!”

“Oh! cappin, whet's the use of being oneasy? Don't I
know what to do? Jest you fix the major, and I'll save the
gal, and be as kearful as her own mammy. I'll wrap up my
paws in a silk `Ingy,' whenever I lays hands on her.”

Inglehardt did not exactly relish the tone of his subordinate;
but as for subduing such a ruffian to sober paces, whether of
soldiership or humanity, he well knew that the hope was out
of the question. He could only renew his injunctions as earnestly
as possible, and in those sweet equable tones which all
who knew him well understood, were significant of his sternest
moods, and leave the event to the Fates. They were hurrying
him onward. He had no more time to lose.

Waving his hand expressively to Dick of Tophet, and the
Trailer, who hung back in the bushes, his head just visible
above them, Inglehardt immediately stole away in the direction
of the dwelling, the approach to which prompted his reflections
to return to a channel which had been opened by the
salacious suggestions of the mulatto. The voice of Inglehardt
was half audible as he murmured, going forward somewhat
quickly:—

“I shall surprise him in her arms, no doubt — lipping it sweetly
— turtle-doves of Holly-Dale — little dreaming of what awaits
them! Ha! well, it has been long delayed, but I shall enjoy
my triumph now. Him naught shall save! and her father's
life hangs on her compliance! Proud girl, I shall give you this
day a lesson — teach you how to scorn the pretensions of Richard
Inglehardt!”

It was his footstep that Bertha heard in the piazza, his that
entered the passage — the hall! It was his voice that reached
the ears of the party assembled in the chambers of Mr. Travis.
We see what were his expectations, when he penetrated the
dwelling — what and whom he expected to discover in the hall.
He was somewhat surprised to find a stranger — not the rival
whom he sought.

The stranger sat alone, poring over a pile of written papers.
Inglehardt did not immediately distinguish who he was. Beheld
at some distance — for the stranger was on the opposite
side of the long dining-table — his features and person were
not clearly discernible in the doubtful light of the half-darkened

apartment; but a single glance sufficed to show that he was
not the person whom the intruder sought. He paused for a
moment, apparently at a loss. His own presence did not seem
to be suspected by the stranger, who appeared wholly absorbed
by his papers. He sat calm and grave, noting, with a pencil,
certain points in the manuscripts before him — all of which
were now emptied emptied out of the case which had contained them,
when left by Travis; — with certain additions from the pockets
of their present possessor, they made quite a pile upon the
table.

The stranger was of noble appearance — tall of person, well
formed, and of medium fullness and proportions, neither stout
nor slender. His head was broad and lofty, cheeks firm, chin
full, the jaws marked by breadth and significant of power. His
eyes were large and dark, eager and searching. His mouth,
well-defined, was habitually rigid of compression, giving an idea
of decision, promptness, and great resolution; — tempered, however,
by the frankness and ingenuousness of an ardent temperament,
and a genius at once magnanimous and ambitious. His
hair, combed back, powdered, and tied behind, in the absurd
style common to the gentry of that period, contributed to the
full development of his features, and, perhaps, somewhat tended
to increase the general expression of sternness, almost of severity,
which was the one most natural to his aspect. He was
dressed in black, without uniform or ornament, in the fashion
of the professional people of the time, with ruffles at wrist and
bosom, and a rapier at his side. This weapon, however, as he
sat at the table, was not perceptible to the intruder, who had
every opportunity for examining him. The stranger was too
much absorbed to note his presence, even to hear his footstep.
His mind was full, his imagination busy, his brow clouded with
thought.

After surveying him awhile in silence, the eye of Inglehardt
gradually becoming reconciled to the imperfect light, he smiled
with a grim satisfaction. He had been disappointed, seeking
for his rival, to find a stranger, but that stranger was no common
prey. Could he succeed in capturing him, his fortune was
made. The British commandant could deny him nothing.
And was he not in his hands?

Inglehardt advanced. The stranger looked up.

“Ha! — well! who are you, sir?”

The loyalist captain did not exactly answer the question, as
he replied:—

“I know you, sir — you are John Rutledge, the rebel-governor
of this colony! Sir, you are my prisoner!”

Rutledge laughed.

“Ha! indeed! my good sir, whoever you are, you are a
blockhead. You neither know me — nor yourself. If you
knew either of us, sir, you would know that I am not to be
made prisoner by you!”

Inglehardt's cheek flushed. He could feel the sentiment of
scorn. He, the son of the overseer and grazier, felt the sting
of the sarcasm from the born gentleman. But Inglehardt was
of wonderfully well-balanced temper. A sting never disquieted
him, or deranged his purposes, however much he might feel it.

“Your politeness, sir, will hardly suffice for your safety. I
am satified that you are the rebel Governor, Rutledge, and I
have the honor to be Richard Inglehardt, a poor captain of
loyal rangers. My duty to arrest you is fortunately seconded
by my power. I do not wish to shed your blood. Will you
yield quietly, sir, where you can not resist with safety?”

Rutledge rose, and with one hand proceeded to gather up his
papers, his eye still fixed on that of the loyalist captain. The
other drew a pistol from his pocket.

“Yield! you say? Yield!”

“Ay, sir, it is your only hope of safety. A single blast of
this bugle fills the house with my rangers. They are even
now collected in the court.”

“Yield! why, my good fellow, do you not see that, as the
rebel governor of this state, to yield to you is impossible!
Were the whole army of Rawdon at hand I could not yield!
Don't talk to me of yielding. John Rutledge a prisoner? no,
no! Fall on, if it must be so! The gown against the sword
for once. Cedant armœ toga! I take my auguries from the
poet. He shall be vates for me in the present juncture.”

“Your life shall be safe, sir,” said Inglehardt, “but resistance
is impossible. Once more, I warn you. Yield, sir, and
be assured of good treatment.”

“You have your answer!” said Rutledge, cocking his pistol,
and keeping his eye steadily upon him.

“Your blood be upon your own head!” answered Inglehardt,
raising the bugle to his lips. But, before he could wind it,
Sinclair had thrown the coverlet, taken from Mrs. Travis's bed,
over the head of the loyalist, enveloping head and shoulders
completely; and so suddenly and closely was it drawn, as to
prevent the shout with which he would have brought his
troopers into the house. The next moment, spite of all his
struggles, he was stretched out upon the floor, his head still
muffled.

“A cord, Mrs. Travis,” cried Sinclair to the lady who made
her appearance at the door the next moment, and readily procured
and provided the required article. With knee upon the
breast of the loyalist, Sinclair slipped a knot about his arms
and feet, which put him completely hors-de-combat, then lifting
him up, as if he were an infant, he bore him into the passage,
and thence down the inner steps into the basement, where he
laid him out gently upon the floor.

Never was captive so easily overcome — so simply, so suddenly,
and so unexpectedly to himself. The process was the
only one. The muffling of the head was the only means of
security. Could he have wound his bugle, or shouted, his
troopers would have rushed into the house instantly, and a few
moments only would have been required for the work of destruction.
An ordinary enemy, obeying an impulse, would
have knocked the loyalist down, or tried to do so; the ready
wit of Sinclair found it better to roll him up. This was most
effectually done, and the stifled cries of Inglehardt, with all his
efforts, could not have been audible without the apartment.

Scarcely had our major of dragoons succeeded in this operation,
and in conveying his captive to the basement, when he
heard the cheering voice of Bertha Travis, above-stairs, warbling
snatches of a popular song. He did not wait for more,
but, darting upward to the dining-room, he found Rutledge with
pistols ready, his papers put away in his bosom, and his rapier
drawn.

“Up-stairs now, governor, up-stairs if you please, with Mrs.
Travis, while I secure these doors as quietly as possible. We

need but twenty minutes of respite, and must peril nothing
from stray shot or sudden stroke. We shall gather up all these
rascals with a little patience.”

Such were Sinclair's words — commands.

Rutledge tendered his hand to the lady, in the style of one
of the courtiers of that day, and the two disappeared up-stairs.
Sinclair at once threw the bars into the staples, which secured
the entrances to the house, front and rear; then, as the enemy
might enter the rooms at the windows from the piazzas, he
locked the two doors, opposite each other, which opened into the
passage, and hurried up-stairs also. Here, gliding to one of
the windows he looked out into the court, taking care not to
expose himself.

“Ay, there they are, awaiting the bugle blast of their captain!
Well, they shall now have mine;” and with the words,
our major of dragoons poured out a lively tira-la tira-la, thrice
from his bugle. There was then a rush below to enter; and,
failing to get in the door, some of the troopers were soon heard
clambering in at the windows.

“It will cost them a few minutes,” quoth Sinclair, “to break
down the inner door, and by that time they will have to turn
about for other customers. Ha! do you hear that?”

It was the distant blast of another bugle.

“In five minutes, St. Julien will be here! But they may
give us work to do in that five minutes. Governor, with our
pistols, we must watch the stairs.”