 | CHAPTER XXXIX.
FLIGHT FROM HOLLY-DALE. The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days |  |
39. CHAPTER XXXIX.
FLIGHT FROM HOLLY-DALE.
The plans of the family having been satisfactorily discussed
that afternoon between the two ladies and Sinclair, the latter
gathered the negroes of the plantation together early that night,
and made them a little speech. 'Bram was formally introduced
to them as their friend and guide. They were to travel under
his direction. They were told, as were the Israelites of old,
that the Santee country was the land of milk and honey — or
rather of molasses, corn in abundance, any number of pigs, and
'coon and 'possum beyond any computation. A negro so relishes
a change that he will even forget the charms of a first, for
a second or even a third and fourth wife, and is always prepared
for new lodgings. You can scarcely remove him too
frequently for his own satisfaction. He is a creature of great
levity, steadfast in nothing, except appetite, and feels more fully
than any other people that moral of the vulgar —“Omne ignotum
pro magnifico!” The unknown is to him always a Canaan
of unqualified delights.
The fraternity seemed very well pleased with the prospect as
painted to them by Sinclair, but lest anything should be wanting
in his delineations, 'Bram himself took up the parole, where
his master finished, and discoursed to them after his own fashion
of eloquence.
“Yerry to me, brudderen, and you, my belubbed sisteren, be
so good as to yerry to wha' I hab for say. Buckrah know
someting, but he dun no ebbryting. Maussa, de major, is a bery
sensible gemplemans, but he ain't always know de reasonable
occasions and argymentations for mek de ting clear and comprehensible
to de infections and onderstandings of a regenerate
nigger. Now, you see, 'Bram hab all he maussa sense, da's
he own. De ting wha' he tell you is no mo' dan de massiful
trute: but he's no tell you half ob de good ting and de
pleasure of dat same country 'pon de Santee. 'Bram knows
'em better dan de major know he book. When you git to dat
country you nebber kin dead. For who guine dead so long as
fat pig day run ebbry way onder he eye? You see fat pig dat
run 'bout yer 'pon de Edisto, squeaking as he run, `Come roas'
me — come roas' me?' I ax you, brudderen and sisteren, how
long sense you bin see sich purty critter as dat a running yer
'pon de Edisto?”
Here a grunt and murmur from the crowd.
“Well, you know wha's yer, and you know wha' ain't yer!
But I know wha's a waiting for you 'pon de Santee. Yer, de
sodger, Whig and tory, eat up de pig — nebber le' 'em grow
to running fat; dar, on de Santee, de pig is so plenty dat — dat
he eat up de sodger!”
“Ki! de Lawd ha' massy. Oh! da!”
“It's a trute. De pig dar is so fat and sassy, dat he fair ax
you for eat 'em. He dun no wha' for do wid hese'f. You jis'
hab for knock 'em down as he run for sabe you' se'f. Ef you
don't, you wake up in de morning, and you ain't fin' yourse'f
'tall — only leettle eend o' youse'f — de pig is eat de res'.”
“Ki! de Lawd delibber us! Who ebber yer ob sich country
befo'.”
“It's a trute, my sisteren. But de pig ain't all. De cawn
grow jis' at de bery sight ob de hoe; de chicken crow jis' as
he shak' off de shell; de 'simmon [persimmon] so tick, dat you
kin catch twenty-seben and fifteen 'possum and coon a' night on
de same tree; and der's no eend to sich eatable leettle varmints
as de squirll and rabbit. Dem you knocks ober wid little stick
when you is walking 'bout in de sunset.”
A pause — giving opportunity to the full and fervid expression
of applause.
“An' it's 'p'inted for me, brudderen and sisteren, 'Bram, to
show you de way to dat most blessed splendiferous country ob
meat and molasses. And jis' you follow me — do de ting I tell
you — lie close when I say —`Nigger's, dem dam tory is about;'
and push forward, quick as runner [black snake] when I say,
I carries you safe I tell you, to dat heabben ob a country. Is
you willing, I axes?— brudderen and sisteren, le' me yer from
you. Is you willing to eat pig? Da's de fuss question.”
The acclamatory and affirmative grunt was unanimous.
“Meat and molasses; coon and 'possum; pork and purtatoes;
hog and hom'ny; lightwood a plenty, and de beautifullest and
tickest swamp in de wo'ld. Enty dese is excelling beautiful
tings for sensible nigger?”
The eloquence of 'Bram was irresistible. He supplied all
the deficiencies in the argument of Sinclair.
That night the whole force of the plantation — leaving only
the coachman, cook, and one maid-servant, who were destined
to attend the ladies when they went — disappeared before midnight.
A little covered wagon contained the children, and the
provisions necessary for the support of the whole party along
the route. 'Bram had his instructions. He was to travel only
by night; to lie close in swamp or thicket during the day; to
avoid the great thoroughfares; use neighborhood roads or open
pine woods when he could, and strike for the ferry known as
Nelson's. It was feared that the upper ferries, might be in
possession of the enemy. His route was to be sinuous, and he
was not to hurry forward in the face of any risk. His supply
of provisions was ample for an encampment of ten days. We
need but add, that 'Bram was equal to the task, and knew all
the sinuosities of the country. He was also scout enough to
know how to take cover in season, and he rarely forgot his
precaution. Leaving him to pursue his course according to his
own discretion, Sinclair addressed himself to such duties as
remained to him at Holly-Dale.
The morning after 'Bram's departure, St. Julien rode in with
his troopers. His report showed him to have been busy. He had
dispersed a small gathering of tories at Dean's swamp, securing
a few prisoners, and a score or two of broad swords and rifles.
Coulter, it seems, had had a brush with the black dragoons of Captain
Quash, had cut up a score of them, and in a personal encounter
with Quash, had the satisfaction of cropping off one of his ears,
in a well-intended sabre-stroke at his head. Quash was a negro,
captain of one of the few corps of negroes whom the British had
and scarlet, of forty-five troopers, but though runaways and
ruffians, they were not found very serviceable, being always
more successful in the onslaught upon a hen-roost than upon any
game customers.
The arrival of St. Julien enabled Sinclair to furnish a proper
escort for the ladies in their progress to the Santee. This had
been a subject of some embarrassment with him till this moment,
since the orders of Marion and Rutledge required his own presence
at camp. Great events were ripening, and the necessities
of Greene and his policy, required that he should draw his forces
to a head, in order to a demonstration upon Rawdon, who, it
was now understood, was embarrassed in various ways — was
himself an invalid — with troops exhausted by forced marches
in midsummer, and not a few of them very much indisposed to
the service. The Irish troops at once raw and mutinous, were
a great source of uneasiness and apprehension.
It may be necessary, at this stage of our narrative, and for
the better comprehension of its details in future, to take a brief
survey of the relative condition of the two great warring parties
in the state. We have seen that Rawdon, after relieving the
post of Ninety-Six, has been compelled to abandon it. His
resources did not suffer him to retain a position so remote from
the seaboard, which he could not adequately garrison; and he
well knew that, as soon as he should begin his return to the Lower
Country, the several American forces would again concentrate
about the position, the fall of which would then be inevitable,
and would lose to him a body of troops, which his present exigency
would not suffer him to spare. Accordingly, calling
around him the loyalist chiefs of the precinct, a fierce and hardy
class with numerous followers, he advised them of the necessity
which required that he should abandon the place. This was
equivalent to their abandonment to a fate which their own
provocations well assured them would be a merciless one. The
alternative that remained to them was flight. They recognised
the melancholy necessity, and prepared with their wives and
little ones to depart from their ancient homesteads. To cover
their departure from the American patriots, Rawdon left behind
him one half of his army, from twelve to fifteen hundred men,
with so much courage and ability, defended the post of Ninety-Six.
This force was to follow him as soon as the fugitive people
were prepared for their painful exodus. No long time was
needed for preparation, in fact could not be allowed, since they
had every reason to apprehend the early return of the American
army. Rawdon, meanwhile, set out with a rapidity of movement
which almost threatened the destruction of his army —
fifty of his men falling dead in their tracks, during a five-days'
march, the victims to the terrible heat of the season, and that
degree of fatigue which admitted of no recuperation. His course
once ascertained, his force was such as might be controlled readily
by that of Greene. To escape this danger was one reason for
the rapidity of his march. His further purpose was co-operation,
by a particular day, with Colonel Stewart, who, with a
large detachment and convoy of provisions, was instructed,
marching from Charleston, via Orangeburg, to meet him at
Granby by the third of July. Cruger, meanwhile, was already
on the march from Ninety-Six, and directing his columns for
the route between the Edistos on the way to Orangeburg.
With the first knowledge of the course taken by Rawdon,
Greene's army was put in motion to overtake him. At Winnsborough,
the American general disembarrassed his pursuit of
all unnecessary baggage, of everything that might impede his
progress, and, under the command of General Huger, the army
pressed forward for the Congarees. Greene, himself, with a small
escort of cavalry moving in advance of his army, with special celerity
in the hope of finding the command of Colonel Washington
(cavalry) with which, and other resources, he meditated a special
enterprise against the convoy and re-enforcements designed for
the relief of Rawdon.
The latter, alarmed at these movements, increased the celerity
of his own, and reached Granby two days sooner than he expected,
and accordingly long before Colonel Stewart could
possibly reach the same place. Intercepted letters had apprized
the Americans that Stewart could not make the junction with
his superior at the contemplated time. Meanwhile, the American
cavalry, in which arm the patriots held a vast superiority,
had succeeded in cutting that of the British to pieces, a disaster
than before. Up to the occurrence of this event his policy had
been adopted to establish himself upon the Congaree, circumscribing
his operations in the interior to the space comprised
within the Edisto to the west, and the Congaree and Santee to
the north and east. But, with the loss of his cavalry, the failure
to procure provisions or intelligence — for the forayers of Marion
and Sumter swept all the highways — the audacity of the
American cavalry, the rapid approach of the hostile army, and
by this time advised of the inability of Stewart to meet him at
the time appointed, Lord Rawdon felt that the power was no
longer in his hands which would enable him to choose his own
position. It became necessary that he should press down toward
Orangeburg with all despatch, if he would save his detachments,
or escape the dangers which were accumulating
about himself. His situation was becoming desperate, and the
forced marches which he was required to undertake, in which
so many of his troops succumbed, were necessary to the safety
of his whole force.
To place himself in advance of Rawdon, with all his mounted
men, dart below and strike at Stewart and his convoy, on their
advance from Charleston, was the obvious policy of Greene.
Wanting in cavalry, the British general had no means of arresting
or retarding this progress, for the proper performance
of which Greene proceeded to put all his resources in requisition.
Lee was to hasten to a junction with Washington, and
Sumter and Middleton were to co-operate in the same object —
the destruction of Stewart. It would be curious to the military
student, and highly instructive, to see how these plans, well
conceived as they were, all ultimately failed; and chiefly through
that lack of method and due subordination of the agents and
accessories to the principal, which is the chief vice in militia
and volunteer organizations. Neither Middleton nor Lee joined
Washington, and the latter employed himself, almost unnecessarily,
in front of Rawdon's advance, endeavoring fruitlessly
to retard his march. Sumter was engaged above in an independent
enterprise on the Catawba, and when Washington was
finally diverted from harassing the march of Rawdon, and
sought the co-operation of Marion, the time had passed. But
men, made his appearance at Washington's headquarters with
wonderful promptness. Greene arrived soon after, and taking
command of their united forces, he resolved to lead the enterprise
against Stewart in person. Pressing down the Orangeburg
road, on the sixth of July, he succeeded in passing Rawdon,
and reserving to himself a company of Washington's cavalry,
with which to watch the progress of the British army, he despatched
Marion with his mounted men to the encounter with
Stewart.
This brings us to the period of pause in our story. At the
moment, therefore, when it became necessary for Mrs. Travis
and her daughter to quit Holly-Dale, six separate bodies of
troops, each considerable in number, were approaching the
precinct; the purpose of all being equally concentred in our
little village of Orangeburg. Rawdon and Cruger from above,
each with twelve or fifteen hundred regular troops, the latter
accompanied by a swarm of auxiliary loyalists; Stewart from
below, with a detachment of five hundred, the strength and
utility of which were necessarily curtailed by the encumbrance
of a lengthened convoy; Marion's and Washington's commands;
the main army of the Americans, under Huger, following
close upon the heels of Rawdon; while Pickens, with a
force of mounted gun-men, was equally earnest in pressing upon
the heels of Cruger. These details will sufficiently answer to
show the reader by what influences the action of our dramatis
personæ is liable to be controlled, what are the embarrassments
before them, and what the succoring agencies upon which they
may call, in the moment of exigency. They will also explain
the urgency of that necessity which required Sinclair to make
his way to the camp, subduing his feelings, and foregoing his
own purposes, in obedience to those of the country.
It was with no pleasant emotions that he prepared to depart
from the pleasant homestead which still contained for him so
many precious associations. Love — and, dragoon as he was,
he was by no means insensible to the tenderest infirmities of
that all-subjugating passion; — apprehension — for how could
he anticipate the events which were to occur, of annoyance
or positive danger, accompanying the doubtful progress of his
anxiety for the loss and absence of Henry Travis, of whose
fate nothing could be known — these were sufficient to afflict
and render our major of dragoons unhappy, without even
glancing at the minor cares and embarrassments which yet
taxed his mind and increased his apprehensions — as, for example,
the progress of the negroes of Travis, under the guidance
of Abram. True, Abram was faithful, and shrewd beyond the
usual capacity and virtues of his race; but, though a good
scout, he was a poor soldier, and the only calculations which
could be predicated of this trust must rest wholly on the natural
cunning of the fellow, his fidelity, and perfect knowledge of the
woods.
Sinclair, of course, used all his resources and exercised all
his forethought in order to meet the various duties before him.
His fiancee and her mother he intrusted to the charge of one
whom he knew to be a brave and good soldier and a noble gentleman;
in respect to Henry Travis, Jim Ballou, the best scout
in the service, was upon his trail; and he had no reason to doubt
that 'Bram could worm his way across the country, so as to
escape the troops of Stewart on the one hand and the forces of
Rawdon on the other. These were the chief dangers that
threatened to cross his path. Of outlying parties of the tories
he had little fear whenever the main armies were in the precinct.
On such occasions the forayers usually disappeared, or
melted away, and became merged in the greater masses; as is
the case usually with outsiders, or third parties in politics,
when an election (which is a battle) approaches. At all events,
whether satisfied with his arrangements or not, Sinclair was
compelled to be content with what had been done, and, having
given his last instructions to St. Julien, to prepare for his own
hurried departure for camp. A select troop of twenty-five
men was left with St. Julien, while the residue, somewhat
swollen by recruits from the troop of Inglehardt, he reserved
for his own command.
It was a trying moment, that which called for the departure
of Sinclair from Holly-Dale. Bertha Travis was a damsel of
great strength of character, great serenity of mood, calm, patient,
resolute, yet loving and docile. She inherited these virtues
sorrows, yet felt them so much the more acutely. They had
surely sufficient cause to mourn. In how few hours had their
home of pleasantness and peace been changed to one of anxiety,
grief, and apprehension. Sinclair could feel for them. Perhaps,
of all three, he showed the most despondency at parting.
The first burst of grief over, the mother grew to hope. Her
prayer now was for performance. Could she be doing now —
could she engage in the search after her son — an idea that
more than once agitated her brain — she would have been easier
in spirit. As it was, she could only implore Sinclair to activity,
and he — he could only promise, with, possibly, so many mental
reservations, none of which he dared to express — that the
promise might well be regarded as a dream. But he did promise,
and with the full purpose to perform. He was no laggard,
no sham of a man; but earnest, daring, resolute. Be sure that
he will attempt — do if possible — much more than he ever
promises.
And Bertha? Oh! how calmly, sweetly, resignedly, she
murmured her farewell upon his shoulder — in his very bosom.
It might be the last. Poor Bertha! She too thought to be
doing. Oh! if she were but a man! Yet the thought as she
looked upon Sinclair, seemed something worse than an absurdity.
Yet she schooled it into a subdued desire to be with him
— to see him perform the tasks of manhood — strike for her
brother — rescue the dear boy from the enemy — from his miserable
captivity. It was the prime source and secret of her
strength and calmness, that she never once doubted he would
do this. Oh! that precious faith of the loving young heart that
confides so much in the being whom it loves — that believes him
equal to all emergencies — that finds heroism in his look and
gesture, and, in every period has no doubt that the world possesses
at least one demigod.
How silent, sad, precious sweet, was their parting, as Sinclair
rode off with his troop at break of day.
“Willie,” was the murmur of the dear girl, “oh! Willie,
remember my poor mother. She looks to you.”
“I will never forget her.”
The last words of the mother:—
“Willie Sinclair, bring me back my boy — my boy!”
They rang in the ears of our major of dragoons at every step
which increased the distance between him and Holly-Dale.
And he was gone — gone from sight — and then, in the solitude
of her chamber, Bertha Travis shed bitter, bitter tears. It
was only with his departure that she grew hopeless. But the
mother's hopes seemed to grow with his absence.
“He will bring Henry back,” she murmured to Bertha, in
the lowest tones, as if she feared that the walls would hear and
interpose.
The next day, in the stately family carriage, drawn by four
stout blooded bays, and driven by Cato, of great frame and
bulk, and singular in the possession of one eye only, Mrs.
Travis, her daughter and maid, took their departure from Holly-Dale,
under the escort of St. Julien. We must not at present
think to note their course, or follow their fortunes. This concern
will employ us possibly hereafter. Meanwhile, even then,
the advance of Cruger, consisting of mounted loyalists, hungry
and sullen, was entering the territory lying between the two
Edistos, and pressing down toward Orangeburg. That day,
old Kit Rowe carried off the chattels which he had purchased,
under secret articles. Three nights afterward Holly-Dale was
in ashes. So much for the tender mercies of the tories.
| CHAPTER XXXIX.
FLIGHT FROM HOLLY-DALE. The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days | |