University of Virginia Library

36. CHAPTER XXXVI.
HOW HENRY TRAVIS FARED IN HIS FIRST BATTLE.

As a matter of course, before the attempt to search the woods
was begun, a thorough inquiry was made among the troopers,
and a search of the grounds immediately about the house instituted,
in order, if possible, to find some clues to the fate of the
boy. But no information was obtained which could be relied
on, or which was in any way valuable. He had been seen by
several persons, but only for a moment; and when the excitement
of the conflict was such that each had his own cause of
anxiety, his own work on hand, and when one impression instantly
dispersed all traces of the preceding. His boyish eagerness
had been noted, his boyish shouts were remembered. But
it was surprising how completely he had been lost sight of by
everybody, in the moment when Sinclair himself lost sight of
him; — the moment when the latter charged up the northwest
avenue, in the final assault upon the only party of the loyalists
who still showed am embodied front. We have seen the fortunate
result of this charge, and need say no more on the subject.
When Sinclair first heard from Bertha that Henry had not appeared,
a full hour had elapsed after the strife was over — this
time being consumed in collecting the prisoners, attending to
the wounded, and making such dispositions as were called for
by the safety of the party, and in the consultation with Rutledge.

Feeling some natural self-reproaches for his momentary forgetfulness
of one so really dear to him as Henry Travis, and
now greatly anxious for his fate, Sinclair hastened his proceedings
for the search, and having made such arrangements as
would tend to the better prosecution of his attempts, he soon
disappeared with his command, meaning himself to lead the

hunt, at all events until the party reached Four-Mile creek;
when it was his purpose, whether successful or not, to press
down with the larger body of his men, by a rapid movement
upon Orangeburg, fulfilling the objects indicated in his conference
with Rutledge. The further search after the boy, if he
was not recovered before reaching that point, was to be left to
Ballou and 'Bram, with half a dozen of the best scouts from
among the dragoons. Nothing more could then be thought of.

Leaving our major of dragoons to this labor, we return to the
field, and resume our narrative of the struggle.

It is for us to supply the deficient knowledge, which now
prompted the search of Sinclair; and to show by what processes
our young friend, Harry Travis, disappeared from the scene
of action. We have the evidence of his presence upon the
field. He came down with the rest, in the rapid charge of
Mazyck, which surprised the loyalists, at the moment when
Lieutenant Fry, and three or four of his followers were breaking
into the house. Those without, sitting their horses carelessly,
or dismounted and strolling about the grounds, were
taken wholly by surprise when the dragoons charged; and being
raw recruits mostly, and totally lacking the coolness and
steadiness of old soldiers, dispersion followed, except in the
small group of ten or a dozen, who, wheeling around the house,
dashed up the avenue, the only opening, which promised them
an unobstructed course for flight. The rest, whether on horse
or a-foot, darted at once for shelter into the lower woods, or
scattered themselves about the grounds, to be run down, and
knocked severally on the head by Mazyck's troopers, some of
whom very naturally addressed themselves to these performances.

Henry Travis, pistols in hand, found himself thus engaged,
along with the rest, almost without a thought. He had heard
the shout of Sinclair, and his own had answered it with an exulting
sense of joyousness; but the major, at that moment, was
on one side of the house, he on the other; Sinclair was dragging
forth the horse of Fry, preparing to charge the only compact
force of the enemy which still kept the field. Henry did not
see him — did not know of the party which had swept up the
avenue. His eyes were sufficiently occupied with the fugitive

figures, on horse or afoot, that were to be seen scattering in
search of cover; and he was led away, by a natural impulse,
which effectually rendered him heedless of any objects, but the
one actually before his eyes.

Now, it will be remembered, that Inglehardt had left Dick
of Tophet and Brunson the Trailer, in cover behind the dairy,
commissioned with the special duty of securing the person of
Bertha Travis, and making off with her to the swamp, irrespective
of any of the proceedings of himself and his troopers. This
was one grand feature of his meditated performances that day,
the next in importance to the one task which he assigned to
himself, of capturing or destroying Sinclair. We have seen the
fruits of his mistake, in supposing that Sinclair was the only
guest at Holly-Dale.

Dick of Tophet and the Trailer were duly impressed with
the importance of the duty confided to their hands, by the
promise of ten guineas — an immense sum in those days — to be
divided between them, in the event of the girl's captivity, and
her safe delivery, in the swamp, into the hands of their employer.
He had his reasons for not undertaking her seizure at
the house in person. His emissaries were instructed that they
were to confine themselves wholly to the one object, and not to
take part in any other performances of the troopers. The rest
of the duties of the day, Inglehardt reserved wholly to himself,
and his lieutenant, Fry, and entertained no misgivings — as
why should he? — of the perfect adequacy, for his objects, of
all his arrangements.

Dick of Tophet and the Trailer, accordingly, having
fastened their horses, along with that of their captain, in a
close patch of the wood, some fifty or sixty yards south of the
settlement, had taken their places of watch in the rear of the
dairy. Here they were conveniently situated for covering the
garden, the kitchen, and, by a sudden dash, compassing the
open ground between these points and the dwelling. But their
position did not suffice to take in any of the grounds above,
either in the north or west. On foot, and sheltered by woods
or fences, they could see nothing of the upper avenue. But
they could hear, and were soon apprized by the blast of the
bugle, which they supposed to be Inglehardt's, and by the

strokes of the axe upon the inner doors of the dwelling, that
there was some resistance to be overcome, the character of
which they could only conjecture. They concluded that Sinclair,
taken in the toils, had barricaded himself in one of the
chambers, and that Inglehardt was forcing his way in. Their
next conclusion was, that, so soon as the strife should be begun
in the house, the females would be forced to leave it, and to fly,
either to the kitchen or the woods. They were to keep themselves
ready for this event and moment. To do this, they
stole into the garden, tearing off the palings sufficiently to obtain
entrance, and passing up, under shelter of the fence all the
while, to that corner of it which stood nearest to the dwelling.
Here, they might have penetrated into the court, by simply opening
the gate of the garden; but any premature exhibition of their
persons might only have defeated their objects; and they finally
crept forward from this point to one of the angles of the garden,
which led obliquely to the lower or southern avenue.
Here the woods approached very closely to the garden. The
thicket of oakwoods, sprinkled with pines, was of some density;
and it was from this point that Inglehardt's troopers had gradually
pressed forward into the open area about the dwelling.
The employment of Fry, within the house — the noise of his
axe, naturally acting upon their anxieties, had led them forward,
and they were grouped carelessly but curiously about the
dwelling, on that side chiefly, from which Fry and his followers
had forced their way into the windows. There was no
enemy to be seen, and, in such cases, raw recruits are apt to
think that none is to be feared. So completely, indeed, did
the place seem to be in the hands of Inglehardt — so entirely
at his mercy — that its situation appealed to the cupidity, even
against caution, of such old soldiers as Dick of Tophet and
the Trailer. The former as he looked out and listened — noting
the eager but careless groups in the foreground, exclaimed to
his companion:—

“Gimini! Gimini! Rafe! there's nice pickings to be had in
that establishment; and we might ax sensibly, who's to git 'em?”

“I reckon; but I don't think that the cappin is a-guine to let
any of us hev' a hack at it; he'll be for keeping it all to himself.”

“I reckon he'll not be able to help it, ef the thing once begins,

and we kin only git a little Jamaica to set the boys fairly
a-fire. I say, Rafe, one of us is enough to take this gal off in
safety, and t'other kin work for both in picking up the little
gould and silver things that's apt to be lying about, jest ready
for the hands, when a family's a leetle in fright and confusion.
The cappin needn't know but that we brought off the gal together.
Eh? What do you say? S'pose you takes the gal
affair upon your hands, while I see to the pickings about the
place, and we'll share honest what we gits together?”

“Ah! Dick, don't I know what sort o' share is guine to come
to me? Don't I know you too well? You ain't a-guine to let
me see or smell a quarter of the things you picks up.”

“Who the h—l says I ain't honest? Look you, Rafe Brunson,
it's not the part of an old friend to make sich insinivations!
A man's charakter for fair dealing with his friends, when the
business is pickings and putting away, is more precious than any
gould and silver; and I'll hev' my fingers in the hair of any
pusson, in mighty short order, that says I takes more than my
rightful share in the incomings of our right honorable profession?”

“Well, don't be putting your fingers into my wool, Dick,
till I gives you occasion. But jest say now, up and down,
you'll give us hafe of what you picks up Dick?”

“Hafe! I didn't say that! But I'll give a rightful share
to the man that's my partner in the business. Hafe's another
thing. It don't stand to reason that he should hev' a full hafe;
bekaise him that takes all the risk, hes a right to all, 'cept what
he chooses to think the other one desarves. Now, you know
that I'm always for the most resk, and I don't vally pistol-shot
or sabre-cut, when it's all that stands a'tween me and a pretty
pickings. But you does. You don't go into a skrimmage with
a whole heart. You're best for trailing and scouting, and I'm
best for fighting; and we shares accordin to a man's natur, and
what his desarvings calls for. Don't I know that when that
house is a gutting, I'll be called upon to draw knife on some of
them troopers? Don't you see that I'll hev to fight, hand to
hand, with the Lord knows who or how many — perhaps a
dozen! And don't you see that I kain't stand to see one of
them chuckleheads carrying off a fine gould watch, or a great
silver basin, or a heavy silver cup, or any precious fine thing

that he don't know the vally of, when small chores would
answer just as well for him; and ef he's obstropulous, and won't
let me manage for him, don't you see, I'll hev' to slip a knife
into his windbag? Now that's the work that you don't love
to do, and that's the very work I'm best up to; and it's hard
work, too; and its mighty dangerous work, Rafe; and it makes
a man so sorry when he has to do it to one of our own people.
No! it stands to reason that the man what takes sich hard
work, and mighty resks on himself, has a rightful share to jist
what he pleases; and has the right to give his partner, jist only
what's proper to his small services. Now, you see, this job of
carrying off the gal, I shares that equal with you. 'Tain't
much to be done, you see. Thar's no fighting, only jest quick
catching and close watching. Well, I got the job, and that's
about the hardest part of it. Well, you takes the gal off, and
we shares equal them ten guineas; and I look to the pickings
of the house, and I shares with you handsome, 'cordin' to my
notions. And that's what I thinks honest dealings with a partner.
But I'll make you say it's honest. Look you, you take
the gal, and you shill hev' six out of the ten guineas. Thar!
that's what I calls handsome. After that, there's no saying till
we sees' the pickings, what I shill give you from the guttings
of the house.”

The Trailer answered this excessive liberality of his associate
with a ghastly grin.

“It's jist like all your dealings, Dick: jist sich a bargain as
the fox drives when he goes a hunting with the cat. But we'll
see. I reckon I kin manage the gal easy enough, and I confess
you air best for a skrimmage, and for finding out where the
good pickings air.”

The superior will of the ruffian, as usual, coerced his companion
into submission.

“Well, now, Rafe, that being fixed and onderstood between
us, 'twill be jest right now to get ready to make a spring. I
don't want any of them lanksided troopers to be much ahead
of me. It's well, prehaps, whar thar's any chaince of a skrimmage,
to send one or two of 'em ahead jist to draw the bullets
of the inimy; but I reckon thar's no bullets hyar to be drawn,
except Sinclair's, and the cappin is more in the way of his, jist

now, than anybody else; and all the scuffle a'tween them will
be over afore we need to put in. So jist you follow me out
through this paling. We'll jist get on the outside, easy to the
house, and easy to the woods. Whenever I goes into a gentleman's
parlor, I likes to keep the door open behind me. Thar
now, a dozen steps, and I gits to the house; hyar now, at my
back, is the woods; and, yonder, about a hundred yards, is the
horses. You see?”

“All right, I reckon! It's a good place I think for ossevation.”

“Good; it's the only place! Here we're ready for jest anything
what happens. But they're mighty slow. Hah! what's
that? a shot! two shots! Willie Sinclair's giving the fellows
his lead! But pistols can't do much in any man's hands with
hafe a dozen fellows on him.”

“There goes another — bang!”

“And another! and thar's a bugle blast.”

“That's not for us! Hello! what's the trouble now? what's
them horses we hears? It's a troop!”

“A rush, by jingoes! A troop of dragoons at full speed,
down the avenue. Gimini! they're St. Julien's men. Hell and
blisters! won't these fellows catch it! Whar's the cappin?
whar's Fry? whar's anybody, to hold up these fellows and
make 'em face about handsome! Grim! I must bring 'em
about, square up to the music, or they'll be smashed to pieces
in a twinkle.”

And Dick of Tophet drew his sabre, and was rushing out to
the area, where the loyalists were beginning confusedly to show
their consciousness of the new danger, when the Trailer caught
his arm, and dragged him back into cover.

“What air you about, Dick?”

“Don't you see?” pulling away from his companion. “These
chaps will be smashed etarnally to pieces, and nobody to show
'em what to do!”

“And kin you help 'em — kin anybody help 'em now?
Don't you see the broadsword is writ on every one of their
necks. They're cotch'd napping, on their haunches, and will
never make a rise. Thar the fellows come with a whoop!”

“Thunder and smoke! I kain't look at it, and do nothing!”
and Dick of Tophet, as he spoke, would have broken away

from the grasp of the Trailer, but that the other held on firmly,
and drew him further back into the thicket, in spite of his
struggles.

“You're a fool, after all, Joel Andrews! You kain't do no
good. You kain't save them fellows! They're gone! Thar!
don't you see! They're melted fairly under the rush. Half
a dozen saddles emptied, and the rest scudding round the house
with the dragoons after them! Hark! thar's another rush!
Hafe of them dashing up the avenue!”

“And the dragoons after them! Who's that? Thunder!
It's Willie Sinclair, himself, as I'm a born sinner! He's in the
saddle! Whar kin the cappin be? Whar's Inglehardt? None
thar but Sinclair! Thar! you hear him shouting! Now,
whar's the fellow, in all that squad, to face about and taste his
broadsword? Oh! ef I only had a good ducking gun to draw
sight on him now, with fifteen pelters in the barrel!”

“Don't stop to talk, Dick. The time for us is gone. No
pickings at that house to-day! Back! they'll see you! Look
at them scattered fellows. They're making for the woods hyar,
and will bring the dragoons upon us. Now's the time to snake
away to the horses. Thar's no chaince, ef we stay. These
fellows kain't hold up; they're too raw; they don't know now
but that thar heads air all off. In! to the thicket, Dick, or
you're a gone coon! The troopers air a-coming,”

And, seizing upon the arm of his reluctant companion, whose
hope of pickings at Holly-Dale, was, for the present, effectually
extinguished by this unexpected visitation, he drew him along
with him into cover, both pushing on beside the rear of the
garden fence, and toward the thicket behind the dairy where
their horses had been fastened.

Dick of Tophet groaned as he went: “Sich a fine chaince
cut up by these bloody rascals! Oh! gimini! thar's no honest
chainces left for a poor fellow in the world!”

“Don't stop to grunt! You hear. They're a-coming.”

The fugitives were dashing, pell-mell, into the woods below,
the cover of the swamp affording them the best prospect of
refuge. The policy of the Trailer was to keep aloof from their
course: “Keep up above a bit — these runaway rascals will
bring the dragoons upon us.”

“Not too high! Thar's the thick where the nags are fastened.”

“Yes, but let us stretch up a leettle and work round it. It's
too open hyar to strike right straight.”

“They're a coming this way! Hark!”

“It's but one horse, I'm a thinking.”

“It's one of our people, perhaps.”

“No! it's a blasted boy! He sees us! The kitten! He's
a whooping at us! Ha! a pistol-shot! Pop! another! A
tree! a tree, Rafe!”

And, verily, the young trooper, for whom Dick of Tophet
and his companion now prepared themselves, was no other than
our missing boy, Henry Travis. His quick eye had detected
the two outlaws, at the very moment when they skulked out of
the foreground, making into the upper woods; while the fugitives
generally struck for the lower thickets, which led directly
to the swamp. While the dragoons dashed after the latter,
Henry, without ever pausing to ask if he was followed, or
accompanied, started off, in a smart canter, in pursuit of the
two. Shouting to them to halt and yield, he emptied his pistols
as he rode — ineffectually — while Devil Dick and the
Trailer, separating, dodged behind several trees, but within
supporting distance of each other.

“The barking puppy. Surrinder to sich as him!” muttered
Dick of Tophet. Then, as the boy came dashing on, he sprang
out from his tree, caught the bridle of the steed in his grasp, and
wheeled the animal right about, backing him among the bushes.
Henry boldly hurled his pistol at his head; but this, though
well-aimed, the assailant dodged with great dexterity; already
had the boy lifted the other pistol, resolutely intending not
again to miss, when a blow from the Trailer behind, knocked
him from his horse, and covered one side of his face with blood.
When the youth became fully conscious, after this stunning
blow, it was because of the smart motion of the horse which
bore him, closely grasped in the arms of his captor, and moving
rapidly through an open pine thicket, which his dulled
faculties — for he was still in a state of stupor from the blow
— failed to recognise as a tract belonging to his father's plantation.