University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.
THE FORAY OF THE PARTISANS.

“Is she gone?” demanded the veteran, half striving to raise
himself from his cushions and look forth.

“Yes — already out of sight.”

“Heavens! what a creature! So strange, so wild, so inscrutable,
and yet so sweet and gentle. And to think that she
wanders about these woods — without a protector — half the
time without a shelter. But can we believe that, Carrie? Is it
possible?”

“I do not doubt it. What we have seen of her, leads me to
think her perfectly truthful. And what we have heard from
others would seem to confirm the statement.”

“But is there not some touch of insanity about her? I have
had the impression, more than once, while talking with her.”

“I hardly think so, now. At first, when she was brought to
the barony, I was startled at much that was strange and unusual
in her words and conduct; but I soon found that this
arose simply from her being so utterly unsophisticated. I found,
upon examination, that all she said and did, however uncommon
in society, was in perfect sympathy with humanity, and the
most natural laws of thought. She is evidently a strangely-gifted
being, who as certainly knows little or nothing of her own gifts.
She is entirely without pretension.”

“I am loath to leave her in these woods. I'm afraid, Carrie,
we were not sufficiently urgent in the attempt to persuade her
to go with us. Hark ye, Little Peter, ride after that young
woman, and beg her to come back for a moment.”

“Ki, maussa!” exclaimed Peter, almost aghast, “you 'speck

me for catch Harricane Nell — me, on dis great bony critter, and
Nelly on de pony who's got wing to he foot?”

“Harricane Nell! What the d—l does he mean by that?”

“It is her nickname, it appears, among those who know her
intimately.”

“And why do they call her so? Is she passionate or quarrelsome?”

“No! Only, I suspect, because she is as impulsive as the
wind, going and coming as she listeth, and without any premonition.”

“Well, sirrah!” to Little Peter, “can't you overtake her
easily, on that great long-legged animal you bestride?”

“Lor' bless you maussa, 'tain't in beas' like dis to catch dat
swallow ob a hoss dat Harricane Nelly is a riding. Why,
maussa, dat little critter goes like a streak, and nebber leffs de
track behin' 'em! Dar's no catching de gal, onless she's willing
for le' you catch 'em.”

“Well, we've no time for a chase! Drive on, Sam. Yet I
would cheerfully give a hundred guineas down, to be sure that
she should be in good keeping, and under a good roof henceforward.
Certainly, a most interesting creature! And as
graceful and gentle as she is strange and wild! What a singular
union, Carrie, of masculine courage and directness, with girlish
simplicity and modesty! And this union appears equally in
form and figure, face and expression, as in action. What a
spiritual look her eye gives forth — so meek, yet so wild — so
simple, yet so positive and searching. And she talks well —
wonderfully well! Where did she pick it up?”

Carrie reminded him that Nelly had been the protegé of
Lady Nelson.

“True, and that will account for the propriety of her language;
but not for tone and tenor. Books and schooling afford
neither of these; they are native. She drinks them from skies
and zephyrs, and natural fountains in the woods. She — but
why the devil, Sam, don't you drive on? What are you
dreaming about, man?”

Sam had been actually drowsing.

“I jes' been wait for you done talk, maussa,” he answered
confusedly, rousing himself with a start.

“Oh? and you fancy yourself bound to listen to what I say,
eh? I am talking for your special benefit, am I? Or do you
suppose, my good fellow, that the motion of my tongue will
stop when your nags begin theirs? Put the whip to them, you
drowsy old rascal, or I'll stop the first scouting ragamuffins of
Marion I see, and beg them to take your scalp off, and the ears
along with it! Whip up, I say! We are wasting more sunshine
than you ever swallowed in all your sleeps.”

And Sam whipped up his horses, and the progress was resumed;
the lumbering coach of state wheeling slowly forward,
along the monotonous route, through a gloomy range of silent
thicket; and, for the present, bearing our veteran baron and
his fair daughters from our sight.

Leaving them to this progress, with all its uncertainties, we
must bestow our attention now, upon other parties to our drama,
from whom it has been somewhat too long withheld.

Up to this period the disorderly groups at Griffith's, and the
frequent appearance of doubtful squads, have kept Mrs. Travis
and Bertha still the guests of the excellent widow, Avinger.
But 'Bram, who has been constant upon his watch, at length
reports the wigwam of Griffith to be closed. There are no
more loiterers to be seen. Next, he hears of the passage downward
of Lord Edward Fitzgerald and his escort, and, finally,
he picks up the intelligence of the passage, also, of his own
master's father, the lordly baron of Sinclair, in his coach of
state, with the young ladies, and without any escort. The
augury is such as to encourage him in the opinion, that the party
may resume their own journey without any impediment. He
wastes no time in communicating his opinions, first, and his
facts afterward, to the ladies themselves, and they eagerly
snatch at the opportunity of escaping from a durance, in which,
however kindlily they have been entertained, they have still
felt the painful constraint and uncertainty of their situation.
They declare their purpose, to their hostess who would fain
persuade their longer stay. She refuses all tender of compensation,
and begs to see them again as friends, should fortune
again afford them the opportunity of paying her a visit. They
promise her cheerfully; and after the warmest and most proper

fashion, they declare their gratitude, and take their leave,
carrying with them the widow's blessing on their way.

Thus, then, in this most capricious history, we find all our
parties once more at sea — that is, upon the road — the world
before them, and 'Bram their guide in the absence of any more
imposing personage. He travelled as outrider — keeping a good
half mile ahead of the carriage, in order seasonably to prepare
for the approach of bad company, should any show itself.

Meanwhile, what of Willie Sinclair and his brother-in-arms,
Peyre St. Julien? We are not to suppose them idle — not to
suppose that they have suffered any diminution of interest in
the fortunes of the Travis family. But, hitherto, they have
been singularly fated to miss all the clues that might have conducted
to the secret dens of Inglehardt, and the temporary
hiding-place of his wife and daughter. Ballou, as we have seen,
has been working his way into the precincts of the one set of
captives, yet has been bewildered and baffled upon the very
threshold of discovery. We have seen him pursuing the trail
of Nelly Floyd's pony, which, in this particular instance, has
really carried him farther from his game, though still in close
proximity with those who had ensnared it. During this time,
Sinclair, with the troop of St. Julien, has been scouting, driving
and sometimes fighting, whenever the opportunity has been
afforded him: first along the Four-Holes, then crossing its
bridge, and alternately in concert with the Hamptons (Harry
and Wade), Lee, and Taylor, down to the margin of Ashley
river. When operating with either of these leaders, his command
has necessarily been subordinate. To report their progress,
will, accordingly be, in some degree, to exhibit his; since, except
on occasions when he was tempted to turn aside, in the hopes
of finding clues to his fugitives — a privilege which had been
secured to him especially by Rutledge — he found it equally his
duty and his policy to avail himself of such opportunities of
search, as their progresses might afford; and here it occurs, as
particularly proper, to arrest our own narrative for a brief space,
in order the better to exhibit the general progress of the foray
in this section of the country. It connects very naturally with
the thread of our story, and the proper comprehension of the
latter may, indeed, somewhat depend upon a knowledge of the

events in the progress of the former. We shall be as brief,
however, in this episode, as possible, though it is one upon
which we might well be tempted to dilate.

It will be remembered that, on the withdrawal of Greene and
his regulars from the field, during the dog-days, to the salubrious
ranges of the hills of Santee, it was assigned to Sumter, having
under him the several bodies of mounted men led by Marion,
Lee, the Hamptons, Taylor, Maham, Lacy, and other well-known
partisans, to make an incursion into the lower country, striking
at the enemy, at every post or point where he should be found,
between his main camp, at Orangeburg, and the garrison of
Charleston; these two places being the only supposed unassailable
positions, which the British continued to hold. We
have been told, already, what was the force which Sumter commanded
in this foray, and how distributed.

It happened, unfortunately, for the full attainment of the
objects of this expedition, that Sumter was, in some degree,
diverted from his main design, by the receipt of intelligence,
which led him to send off a detachment of three hundred men,
to strike at a reported force of the enemy at Murray's ferry.
The intelligence was probably correct in the first instance; but,
if so, the British had left the place before Sumter's detachment
could reach it. Some time was lost by this diversion from the
main object of the expedition, which required that the movement
should be so sudden as to prevent the enemy from receiving
re-inforcements from the city, or withdrawing to its securities.
The result was to baffle one of the chief enterprises
which the foray contemplated. But of this hereafter. We
may add, however, that the eccentric movement operated, in
some degree, upon the conduct of the parties to our story;
which, but for this, might have reached other conclusions, and
at an earlier date, than these to which they are destined now.

Meanwhile, however, the various detached parties of Sumter,
striking out each in a different direction, proceeded with zeal
and energy to the fulfilment of the tasks assigned them. While
Sumter himself was pursuing the Congaree road leading down to
the south of that river, and toward the east side of Cooper river,
Lee with his legion carried Dorchester, the garrison of which,
reduced by drafts from Orangeburg, and defective in morale —

in consequence of a terrible mutiny which had just taken place,
in which more than a hundred men were put hors de combat —
was in no condition for defence, and fled precipitately at the
first appearance of the Americans. Lee found large booty in
this place, of horses, stores, and fixed ammunition. Henry
Hampton, at the same time, captured and held the post at the
Four-Holes bridge. Maham, at the head of one of Marion's
detachments, passing the heads of Cooper river and Watboo
creek, penetrated to the east of Biggin church — having for his
object the destruction of the bridge over the Watboo, in order
to obstruct the retreat of the British garrison at Biggin church;
that sanctuary having been converted into a fortress. Wade
Hampton, meanwhile, pressing below the British cordon also,
passed on to the east of Dorchester, by the Wassamasaw road
to Goose-creek bridge, destroying the post at that place, and
cutting off the communication between Dorchester and Monck's
Corner.

When we mention that the several routes thus taken covered
the different roads communicating with the metropolis, the reader
will readily conceive the important uses of the expedition in
isolating the various scattered posts of the enemy, and thus
leaving them at the mercy of their enterprising antagonists.
So completely, thus far, was the object attained, that Wade
Hampton, becoming impatient of delay at Goose-creek bridge
— having waited vainly for Lee's approach from Dorchester, in
order to effect a junction — dashed boldly, at the head of his
own dragoons, down the road to Charleston itself, sweeping
away and destroying every obstacle in his path. A British
patrol of dragoons, and the detachment posted at the quarter-house,
within six miles of the city, were thus destroyed or captured;
and, knowing the feebleness of the Charleston garrison
in cavalry, Hampton stretched forward with an audacity which
was fully justified by the event, making his way down toward
the metropolis, apparently with the headlong determination of
one resolved on its capture with his own hands. He thus continued
until the two rivers, Ashley and Cooper, opened on his
sight at the same moment, the walls and steeples of the city
swelling up between, while the harbor spread away to the east,
the ships-of-war lying at anchor, and the galleys roving to and

fro, wholly unconscious of danger. Had he been followed
closely by the army of Greene, at that moment, the citizens
would have risen, and the garrison would have been crushed.
Gallantly charging down through that grand avenue of oaks,
which was once second in venerable beauty to no other in the
world — which formed the main approach to the city — as boldly
as if a conquering army did follow at his heels, our colonel
of dragoons threw the whole garrison into sudden consternation.
They had received no intimation of his approach. Their outposts
had all been surprised and captured. Their patrols had
suffered the same fate, and the celerity of Hampton's movement
allowed no opportunity for the communication of intelligence
casually. He was naturally assumed, by the garrison, to be only
the avant courier, preceding the entire army of Greene; and the
city was in no condition for the reception of such a visiter. The
old walls had become dilapidated — had been partly pulled
down to make way for new ones, which were yet in an unfinished
state. The garrison had been reduced, the chief force
lying at Orangeburg. Many of the troops were raw, others unruly;
and, for some time past, Balfour the commandant had
conceived considerable cause for suspicion of insurrection among
the patriotic portion of the inhabitants. These began to meet
and whisper, and put their houses in order; and, in brief, there
was good reason for consternation in the garrison. The alarm-gun
was fired; the alarm-bells were rung; there was hot spurring
of aides-de-camp, a wild rush of artillery and horse, hasty
buckling on of armor, and loud clamors of drum and trumpet.
It was, indeed, a very pretty alarm for the occasion, and the
season of the year; and Hampton might congratulate himself
upon giving the British garrison a very unpleasant scare, if he
did nothing more serious.

The lines were hastily manned; the cannon were made to
belch forth their thunders at the audacious little squadron; and
the garrison, man and boy, under arms everywhere, looked anxiously
forth, from loophole and turret, for the appearance of
those massed legions of the rebels who were supposed to be
pressing forward in the rear, and for the encounter with which,
in any force, the commandant at Charleston was never more
inadequately prepared than at that moment.

He was, of course, very soon relieved of his terrors. Greene's
army, at the same moment, was hardly equal to a march of three
leagues. Sick, half naked, wanting in arms, munitions, and
numbers, they had no sort of morale for any enterprise. Hampton,
contemplating nothing more than insult and bravado, and
an hour's enjoyment of the sea-breezes in July, wheeled about
after he had sufficiently satisfied these objects. He carried off
with him some fifty prisoners, and a few gallant knights, whom
he picked up, with steel gloves, en route. Lee, passing over the
same route the next day, found it barren. His “Memoirs” omit
to state the fact — which greatly annoyed him at the time —
that Hampton had anticipated him, and had thus left nothing in
the field for another gleaner.

These duties done, the several parties moved on to unite
themselves with the main body under Sumter. The object of
Sumter, at this moment, was the British post at Biggin. Biggin
church was a strong brick building, which art had improved for
military purposes. It is about a mile from Monck's Corner,
where the British had a redoubt also. The church at Biggin
covered the bridge across Watboo creek, and secured the retreat
on that route (the eastern) from Monck's Corner. At this
latter place, there is a choice of three roads to the city; and, at
Biggin, you are on an arm of Cooper river, the navigation of
which is unimpeded for small craft to the city and the coast, a
distance of little more than thirty miles.

We have seen that, in order to cut off the retreat of the Biggin
garrison by the eastern route, Maham was despatched to
destroy the bridge over the Watboo. But the ill consequences
of the delay to which Sumter had been subjected, by the diversion
of a large portion of his command for the destruction of a
reported force at Murray's ferry, were now to be ascertained.
Colonel Coates, who held the post at Biggin, had succeeded in
receiving reinforcements from the city. In all probability, this
reported force at Murray's ferry had suddenly been recalled to
meet the threatening danger. Hampton and Lee had sufficiently
alarmed the garrison at Charleston. The sense of peril
had led to the immediate strengthening of the force at Biggin,
which, before Sumter could reach the ground, was increased to
five hundred well-disciplined infantry, some two hundred horse,

and a piece of artillery. We are to suppose, also, that there
were loyalist auxiliaries swelling the command, though of these
the British made no returns. With a body of regular troops,
eight or nine hundred in number, in a strong position, a brick
fortress, garnished by artillery, and seconded by nearly two
hundred cavalry, opposed to him, it was now the necessity of
Sumter to move with as much caution as celerity. His whole
force consisted of but a thousand men, including the legion of
Lee; and, like his opponent, he had but one field-piece. He
had really no infantry. Upon occasion, the mounted men of
Marion served in this capacity, but were rarely armed with the
proper weapons for the service. Rifles and shot-guns, though
very formidable under cover in the woods, were of but small
service in the proper duties of the regular foot-soldier, which
requires the crossing of the steel, as the ultimate test of the
strength of opposing battalions.

Maham, with his detachment, had made a demonstration upon
the bridge at the Watboo, but was overawed by the superior
strength of Coates. Accordingly, Sumter despatched Colonel
Horry to the support of Maham; and the former, ranking Maham,
proceeded to the destruction of the bridge. The British
cavalry engaged them with an air of confidence, which was not
sustained by the issue. The troops of Horry encountered them
with a degree of impetuosity from which they recoiled. The
mounted riflemen of Lacy, who had a command in the detachment,
broke through the British ranks, and, after a short but
sanguinary passage, the whole party was dispersed. But the
flight of the enemy's cavalry was a sufficient intimation to
Colonel Coates of the necessity for bringing a larger force
into the field. He did so, and arrested the attempt upon the
bridge. Horry, in turn, was compelled to retire before the British
regulars, particularly as they appeared in such force as to
persuade Sumter that their whole army was at hand, advancing
to a general engagement.

In this belief, and that Coates had marched out to give him
battle, the American partisan withdrew to a defile in the rear of
his then position, and quietly prepared to receive the attack. It
was a proper prudence, perhaps, but of unfortunate result.

Coates had no purpose of battle. The ruse deceived the
American general. The design of the British colonel, was to
gain time — to waste the day — and retreat under cover of the
night. Such a resolution, by a British colonel, at the head of
such a force of regulars, opposed to an army, scarcely superior
in numbers to his own, and of inferior arms of service, was, of
itself, ominous of the declining morale of the British. It was
certainly such a determination as Sumter had no reason to anticipate.
Never doubting the desire of his enemies for battle, he
waited for the advance of Coates, but in vain. The demonstrations
were kept up by the British colonel, throughout the
day, with considerable ingenuity. There was evermore a movement
in progress, and in sight of Sumter's reconnoitring parties,
which promised the issue. Never were preparations for battle
more ostentatious, or to so little purpose. The heads of columns
were constantly to be seen, advancing, and halted — in readiness
for further advance, and only waiting for the word. Beguiled
with these appearances, and persuaded that the event might be
momently expected, Sumter beheld the day wearing away in
vain, and night coming on. Of course, nothing more was to be
done until the next sunrise. Sumter bivouacked in the position
in which he had waited for his enemy. The British retired
with becoming deliberation to their post and quarters.

It was just about this time that our veteran baron of Sinclair
drove into the British encampment, where everything was in
confusion. One of the first objects that arrested his attention,
alarmed him for the safety of his sable attendant, Little Peter.
This was the spectacle of a slave-gang of thirty-two negroes,
chained in pairs, and driven, by an escort of soldiers, through
the woods as secretly as possible, to a guard sloop which lay in
the river, in the hold of which they were to find their way to
the city, and thence to the West Indies.—“Peter,” cried the
old man, “do you see that? Begone, boy. Home as fast as
you can; or they will put your arms into bracelets also, and
carry you to the Jamaica Paradise.” And so Little Peter was
sent off; our colonel naturally supposing that he should no
longer need his services in his farther progress to the city.
A moment after, he was relieved and gratified by the appearance
of Lord Edward Fitzgerald.