University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII
ONCE MORE AT MUDDICOAT CASTLE.

Inglehardt was disquieted by this adventure. Had Ballou,
that inveterate and skilful scout, found out the secret avenue
to the recesses of Muddicoat Castle? It was a question to
alarm the loyalist for the safety of his prisoners, for Ballou was
but the avant courier of Willie Sinclair's dragoons. It now
became necessary to push Captain Travis to the uttermost, by
goading the fears of the father to the sacrifice of the daughter
for the son. Inglehardt found Dick of Tophet at camp, and all
things apparently in good order. With their usual precaution,
leaving the camp in charge of the first lieutenant, Lundiford, he
and Andrews made their way to the recesses of the swamp, and
an interview soon followed between our two captains, the captor
and captive. The first words of Inglehardt brought their issues
to a point.

“Well, Captain Travis, have you grown more reasonable?
Will you write to your daughter? Will you command her to
fulfil your pledges? Will you tell her that your own, and your
son's safety depend upon it?”

To this the answer was indirect.

“Where is my son? Why am I not suffered to see him?”

“It is hardly my policy to grant your wishes, Captain Travis,
since you yield to none of mine. But you shall see your son.
I trust the interview will be more influential to persuade you to
your duty, than my arguments and entreaties have been.”

“Your arguments! Your entreaties! They are stings and
poisons! But let me see my son.”

Inglehardt motioned to Dick of Tophet, who disappeared

promptly, and proceeded to the prison of Henry Travis. He
whispered the boy as he led him forth:—

“Don't be scary! It'll all come right in the eend. Only
look as down-hearted as you kin!”

And the boy was brought into the presence of the father.
As the old man beheld him — his wan cheeks, his drooping eyes,
and utterly wo-begone aspect — thin, emaciated even — filled
him with horror! He burst into a torrent of bitter tears, while
the boy threw his arms about his neck.

By this time, Travis well conceived the game that Inglehardt
was playing. He well conceived that the latter had no purpose
to destroy the boy, and that he was only seeking so to distress
and torture both parties, as to compel the acquiescence of the
father to his demands.

But the natural fear of Travis was, that the boy would succumb
under the severe privations to which he was subjected;
and, certainly, the appearance of Henry was such as to justify
this apprehension. When the father remembered the noble and
fearless spirit of the youth; his well-developed form; his eagle
eye, always bright with impulse and ardent emotion;— and
contrasted the grateful picture of the past, with the lean, cadaverous,
wretched aspect of the boy now, he again burst into a
passion of grief, which poured itself forth in a torrent of reproaches
to the jailer, and of almost childlike sobbing sympathies
to the son. He renewed his prayer to his tyrant; repeated
his denunciations, and was only answered with derision.

“I have not resolved idly, Captain Travis,” said Inglehardt,
throwing off all masks, “your son is in my power as well as
yourself. I have shown you the only conditions upon which you
can procure your own or his safety. I will not answer for the
consequences of your obstinacy. There is the paper. Sign it;
and, when it realizes, for me, the objects upon which I insist,
you are free — he is free! I demand of you nothing unreasonable.
I require compliance only with your own deliberate engagements.
You pledged me the hand of your daughter. I
demand that you keep your pledges. His fate and yours, both,
depend on your doing so!”

“Better die! my father!” murmured Henry Travis, in the
old man's ears.

“Ay, better die!” exclaimed the father, “than doom another
child to worse than death!”

“Be it death, then! Since you so resolve,” said Inglehardt,
slowly, sternly, coldly, “death on the gallows to the one —
and —”

Here he paused, and motioned with his hand. At this signal,
Dick of Tophet took the youth away, while the father buried
his face in the straw of his couch, and sobbed pitifully, like an
infant, in his passion.

“Hear me,” said Inglehardt, when the father and himself
were alone together. “Hear me, Captain Travis, in order that
you may open your eyes to a deeper necessity in these our
relations, than is yet apparent to your senses. I see what is
your hope, and what are your calculations. You rightly conceive
my purpose, to compel your own and daughter's consent
to my wishes, through your fears for the safety of your son.
You see to what extent I have already carried out my purpose.
You see the condition of the boy. But you fancy that I will
not press this purpose to extremes. You do not yet conceive of
what I am capable when baffled! You will find that I will not
suffer myself to be baffled! that, though you may deny the
gratification of one of my passions, there are others which can
feed fat on your sufferings! Can you not conceive of a passion
fiercer than love, which shall take its place in my bosom,
and even sacrifice the most precious of its objects rather than
go without gratification! I can revenge myself for any disappointments!
I can destroy this boy by the most terrible tortures,
beneath your eyes, and reserve you, at last, for the degradation
of the gallows! All this I can do, and will do, whenever
I shall tire of this tedious practice upon your obstinacy.
Obduracy shall contend with obstinacy; and, though you may
save your daughter from my arms, yet shall you neither save
your son from torture, nor yourself from an ignominious death!”

And all this was said in subdued and even gentle tones, without
any show of passion.

“Fiend! devil! cold-blooded torturer from hell! why have
you not come with hoofs, and horns, and tail, that the world
may know you what you are?”

“Softly, and a word more. Your daughter, too, shall not

escape me. Already, the arms of his majesty have passed up
to Murray's ferry, east of the Santee, and I know now the
place of your daughter's refuge. Ha! do you feel me now?
She is with her mother, at your sister's, at Mrs. Baynard's.
She shall be torn thence. And you may well pray that I shall
succeed in this object; since, then I shall have no further motive
for keeping you and your son in bonds. Meditate on this. You
may anticipate what must happen, and save the boy from what
he must still endure, until my triumph is made certain.”

Something of this, as we know, was Inglehardt's mere invention,
the fruit of his conjecture only. He did not wait for any
answer to this speech, but left the prisoner to brood upon it —
left the dungeon, and was no more seen by Travis that night.

“He lies!” said Travis, hoarsely, to himself, but with a shuddering
doubt even while he spoke. “The British dare not venture
up the Santee on the east. No, no! He but lies to terrify
me. Yet, oh, my daughter! oh, my son! what tortures must
ye both bear for the errors of your father! — and in the hands
of this hellish monster! Oh, God of heaven! hast thou no sudden
bolt, to speed in thy mercy, striking down this wretch? ay,
send it — speed it — though the same fiery shaft shall make me
its victim also!”

We leave him to all the horrors of his thoughts — supported
only by the virtuous resolution to brave all danger, for himself
and for his son, rather than sacrifice his daughter to the passions
of one so terribly fiendish.

Inglehardt did not leave the swamp without duly considering
the dangers which seemed to threaten its securities from the
presence, in the neighborhood, of such a scout as Ballou. He
conferred on the subject with Dick of Tophet, and concluded to
leave him with a small command of ten men, to range about the
precincts. In the event of any attempt to force the retreat,
these ten men could maintain it against thrice or even four
times their number. The place was one which might be easily
made defensible. To Brunson he renewed his private instructions
with regard to the prisoners. We may readily conceive
their purport. With the dawn of the next day he took his departure,
leaving Dick of Tophet in camp with his ten men.

The privilege of scouting was one of those which Dick of

Tophet valued above all others. It was one calculated greatly
to increase his “chainces,” to use his own choice phraseology.
We may have an opportunity, shortly, to see him busy at their
exercise. Among his ten men were some new recruits, including
the scapegrace, Mat Floyd. That night, watching her
chance, Nelly again obtained an interview with her brother,
coming upon him while he was on his post of watch. Dick of
Tophet, meanwhile, had again made his way into the fastnesses
of Muddicoat.

“What does you come for, Nelly?” demanded Mat Floyd of
his sister. “You knows I kaint and won't listen to you. It's
no use, I tell you. You needn't talk to me any more of that
hanging business, sence, you see, I'm in no danger now. I'm
rigilarly 'listed into the king's army, and ef so be I'm taken
prisoner, they kaint hang me. I'm jest a prisoner-of-war, you
see.”

“Oh, Mat,” said the girl, very solemnly, “I'm sure, your being
enlisted gives you no securities; for still I see the danger
that threatens you, of that very death! It has come to me
more than once since I have spoken with you; and it grows
clearer and clearer to my sight every time. I have seen them
haling you to the gallows — I have seen you striving to break
away — have heard your very cries, I tell you; and I feel more
than ever certain that such will be your doom, unless you escape
from your present connections. You are under a very bad man,
this Joel Andrews.”

“Do you know what's his other name?” the youth asked
eagerly.

“Yes, I have heard it; and that alone should be enough to
make you dread the danger of which I tell you. He will lead
you to his own sins — he will conduct you to his own fate!”

“Psho! the devil ain't quite so black as people say he is,”
answered the youth, repeating unwittingly a proverb. “But,
do you say that Hell-fire Dick's to be hung too? Have you
seen him a-hanging in your visions?”

“I know not that. I have not seen it. But such deeds as
he has done, may well lead to such a fate.”

“Oh, that's the way you come to dream of me a-hanging!
For it's all a dream, Nelly: one of your crazy dreams, I reckon.”

“Oh, Mat, Mat! do not speak to me thus!”

“Look you, Nelly — be off! You mustn't come to bother me
when I'm on duty. And you mustn't be trying to skear me as
you does. Sometimes, I'm a-dreaming about the hanging myself;
and it's all bekaise of your putting the nonsense in my
head. Well, when I thinks of it, I knows thyar's no danger;
for you see, as I tell'd you, I'm rigilarly 'listed; and that's good
reason why I mustn't desart: for that's hanging, you know;
and ef I minded you, I might come to the gallows by the very
nighest cut, and jest because I listen to you. So be off, and
don't bother me any more with your craziness.”

“Mat, I am not crazy!”

“Well, you're foolish! But, be off! I hear a noise. It's
the guard!”

“One moment, Mat. I have seen one thing to notice, in the
terrible vision of your fate — one thing that I never noticed
when it came to me before. You will fall into the hands of
troopers in a green uniform; and it's an officer in green, that I
see ordering you to the gallows!”

“In green, you say? But, be off! I hear the guard!”

And she sped silently away into the deep thickets; while, as
the relief came upon the ground, instead of the proper challenge,
Mat Floyd cried out, “In green!”

The meditations of Nelly Floyd in her woodland covert, lonely
and desolate as was her life, were of a pure and refining sorrow;
but they were nevertheless a sorrow. Of their type and
character we may reasonably conjecture from what we know
of hers. But the subject which most distressed her soul was
that of the vision which presented itself so repeatedly to her
eyes, or her imagination, and of which the impression was evidently
deepening. There is no doubt that she fully believed
that she beheld this vision. It was no choice invention, meant
to scare the offender from his evil practice. It may have been
the natural conjuration of her thought, colored and strengthened
by the vivifying force of the imagination; for she was a creature
of imagination all compact — so sublimed by the influence
that she was totally unconscious of any arts. Her soul rayed
out, in its sweet and naked simplicity, not only unconscious of
all convention but superior entirely to its commands. Her

mode of life ministered to the imaginative mood. She did not
live much among human beings. She lived apart, and found
her chief communion in strange aspects which naturally came
to supply the lack of human associates. She became spiritualized
in her sole communion with the woods by day, and with
the stars by night. Her very fancies thus became positive existences
to her mind. When, in connection with this fact, we
note her capacity to observe, how perpetually she moved about
the forests, in pursuit of her brother, no matter what his change
of place or associates, it is not a matter of wonder that she
should pick up a great deal of intelligence of actual things and
persons. It is just possible that this knowledge, thus acquired,
was worked up by her imagination as so much raw material,
fused with her fancies; and hence her so-esteemed visions,
which, from the nature of things, and according to reasonable
probabilities, might very well be verified. Nothing, for example,
would be more probable than that the practices of her
brother should conduct him to the gallows. But it was Nelly's
own subject of wonder, that the event was always, as it were
scenically painted, in detail, before her eyes. This painting
as we have said, had recently become deepened in color, and
strengthened in detail. She has been able to say to her brother
— “Your executioners wear a green uniform.” She has even
counted their numbers. She has seen their faces. She could
describe the very spot where the tragedy will take place. But
one aspect seems to elude her — that of the officer who commands
the party.

“Why, oh, why,” she murmured to herself — “why can not
I see his face? But I shall see it yet. Every night it grows
clearer. Every time it comes, I see something more. Green
uniforms! — I don't recollect to have seen any green uniforms
in either of the armies; but I have never seen whole armies.
The Americans are blue mostly, and the British are red. Perhaps
the French wear green uniforms. I never saw any of
them. Oh, it is so bewildering — and my poor brain, how it
throbs!”

And then she sank upon her knees in prayer, and spread the
rushes of her couch, and laid herself meekly down without fear;
and, with crossed hands, looked up to heaven, and closed her

eyes in sleep, even while watching the slow marches along the
blue waste of the sadly-shining stars.

While Nelly Floyd was thus sleeping, innocently and lonely,
in the forests, Dick of Tophet had made his way from camp to
the recesses of Muddicoat Castle. Here he indulged in a famous
carouse with Rafe Brunson and Pete Blodgit. They gamed, and
drank, and supped, and Dick contrived to lay his boon companions
under the table, without becoming seriously muddled himself.
This achievement done, he quietly passed his fingers into
Brunson's pocket, and possessed himself of the key to young
Travis's dungeon. He did not scruple to arouse the boy, and,
lighting a fire of pine-knots, he good-humoredly said to the prisoner:—

“Now, my young sodger, I wants you to gut this book for me,
and tell me, pretick'lar, about that skrimmage among them
double-jinted giants. I wants to see how Cappin Pilgrim sarcumvented
them bloody, big-boned inimies.”

And he pulled the book from his bosom, and the boy read for
him for a couple of hours, when Dick yawned fearfully, and
Henry naturally construed this to signify that the “gutting”
had been sufficient for the night. Dick assented, when he proposed
to stop, and taking the book, restored it carefully to his
bosom. He then said:—

“Young sodger, I'm mighty sorry to see you in sich a fix,
and I kaint help you out of it. Now, does you see how the
matter stands 'twixt your daddy and the cappin? I reckon
you does. Now, why don't your daddy let the cappin hev your
sister?”

“What! my sister marry such a cold-blooded heartless monster,
who tortures her father and her brother, to win her affections?
Never! never!”

“Well, it's true, the cappin is a mighty cold and hard man,
and all h—l when he takes that way; but it's only bekaise he
kain't hev his own way. Ef he could hev his own way, now, I
reckon he'd be jest as good a husband as the gal could git.
Why, do you think, when once he's married, that he'll show
any of his brimstone like he does now? Not a bit of it! He'll
be as sweet-tempered a husband as a woman ever hed, always
supposing that she's got the sense to let him hev his own way,

which it's only right and nateral he should hev. Now, my
sodger boy, I wants to see you out of this fix, and on free legs
agin. I do! I likes you, though I kain't say I has much liking
for that daddy of yourn. He worked a bullet hole in my ear
that kaint hold a ring, even ef 'twas made out of the gould itself.
But you I likes, and ef you'll jest take my advice, you'll
be after argufying it with your daddy, and gitting him to say
`yis,' to all the cappin axes. The cappin ain't a hard man with
anybody that let's him hev his own way; and I reckon he'll
make as good a husband for the gal, as she'll find 'twixt here
and huckleberry heaven — which is a mighty long way off, you
know. And I'm a thinking that arter all, thar's no sich great
difference 'mongst men — so far as the woman has any right to
know. Ef a man's young and wicked, why he'll hev the longer
time to git good in; and ef the wife's sinsible of her rights and
desarvings, she has only to let her husband hev his own way,
and then she kin do jest as she pleases. Now, do you be thinking
it over, my young sodger, and see what you kin make of it.
I don't want to see you in this fix. It's a hitch for me. I'd
like to help you out of it, but kaint. But, somehow, I'll try to
do a leetle toward helping you, so that you shaint go down by
the run, ef a leetle hog and hominy kin keep you up. Thar
now! I've said jest as much as I mean to say, and we'll quit.
Make your biscuits last as long as you kin, and I'll try to give
you another lift when they're out. So go to sleep now.”

Without waiting for any answer, Dick of Tophet disappeared.
With the dawn of the next day he sallied forth with
his party from camp, and gave the woods a thorough scouring;
but Nelly Floyd was on the alert, and no more to be caught by
Devil Dick than by scout Ballou. That night, Dick coursed a
few miles below. The next day, he again scoured the precinct,
having been properly warned of the danger from Ballou's proximity.
He found nothing. Three days may have passed in
this manner, scouting by day, card-playing and drinking by
night; with another reading of Pilgrim's Progress, and a chat
with Henry, to whom he conveyed a few more biscuit, but with
the injunction to eat but three a day.

His visits at Muddicoat were seriously hurtful to the morals
of that place. He won all the money of Brunson, and did not

disdain that of Pete Blodgit. The allowance which Inglehardt
made to these parties was liberal enough; but to those with
whom a habit of “picking and stealing” has created an inordinate
appetite, this compensation was utterly inadequate. Brunson
growled, and, if Pete Blodgit did not growl openly, his
mother did. Whatever his earnings she now got none of them.
One night she kept awake, waiting the return of her hopeful
son from the drinking and gaming bout at Brunson's. He came
in at a late hour, somewhat fuddled, but rather more furious
than fuddled. He had lost every copper of money.

“You Pete,” screamed out his respectable mammy — “you
Pete; come hyar! I wants to talk with you.”

“Well, what's it, mother?”

“What keeps you out so late, whenever Devil Dick comes
hyar?”

The fellow was just drunk enough to be audacious.

“Drink and gambling, I reckon.”

“Drink and gambling, you varmint! And whar do you git
the money to gamble?”

“Oh! I gits credit!”

“Has the cappin paid you the last 'lowance.”

“Not a copper!”

“Oh! that I should hev a son to do nothing but lie to his
mother!”

“And you larned me nothing better!” was the terrible reply.

“I larned you? Oh! sarpent! A'ter a while you'll be saying,
and swaring too, that I hain't given you a vartuous edication
and example.”

“And ef I did, 'twould be the truth, mother, though I said
it by haccident only.”

“Oh! varmint! But the cappin has paid you, and in gould
too. Devil Dick says so.”

“Well, ef he says so, look to him for it. He's got it all!
He's dreaned me!”

“And ain't you a bloody fool to play kairds with the devil.”

“I must be a-doing something. Hyar, a man kin neither lie,
nor steal, nor cheat, nor buy, nor sell! It's a h—l of a place,
mother, and I don't kear how soon I git shet of it!”

“Nor I! Them's the only sensible words, you've said. You

don't airn nothing. You gits your pay — and what's that?
Why, it ain't a speck, to the airnings we had when we was at
Willie Sinclair's.”

“Yet you wa'n't easy when you was thar! You was always
for gitting off somewhar else; always a-growling!”

“Oh! sarpent; but that was only bekaise you was a-keeping
sich bad company. But, look you, hinny” — she began to wheedle
— “thar's a way to be a-doing something. We ain't a-gitting
anything much out of this Cappin Inglehardt; though the
pay's rigilar enough, ef you wouldn't waste it. Now, I hear
'em talk, that this Cappin Travis is a mighty rich man. Kaint
we be doing something with him? He'd pay, mighty heavy,
I reckon, to git out of his fix — he and his son.”

“Hush up, mammy, who knows who's a-listening? Shet up
now. We'll talk about the matter to-morrow. I hain't got the
head now for close calkilation.”

And there the conversation ended for the present. The next
night, the old woman intercepted Dick of Tophet, on his way
to the dungeon of Henry Travis. He was entreated to her
bedside, whither he went reluctantly; for she was never a favorite
of our Satan, though, no doubt, on the best of terms with
his master. She knew this, and began to wheedle him.

“Oh! none of that, old woman!” said he. “I'm a man.
Talk out. Empty your bile. Who do you want to roast?
How big's your swallow. Say out what you want to say.”

“Well,” said she, “you was always a cantankerous pussen.
But, I've got something to tell you that I reckon you'll find it
best to hear. I see what the cappin's about. He's a-starving
this boy, and his daddy, jest, you see, that he may say they
died nateral! But it's a slow way. Now, the thing kin be
done easy enough and a mighty deal quicker. Hyar! do you
look at that.”

She showed some weeds, dried.

“Well, what of that?”

“Why now, do you see, ef we but mixes a pinch of them
yairbs in what they eats, or what they drinks, they dies jest
as naterally as if the doctors did it!”

For a moment, Dick regarded the old hag in silence, then,
with a burst, he cried:—

“And what does you see in my face, you old Satan, you old
mother of fifty devils, to make you think I would feed a pris'ner
on pizon! I've killed many a man, but 'twas always in fair
fight. I've killed a woman too, but that was in a fight, when I
couldn't git off from it. And that's the heaviest load on my
conscience a'ter all! But to pizon a pris'ner! Pizon a human!
Pizon even an inimy! H—l! you've l'arned your lessons, old
woman, in sich a school as beats me hollow! Now, look you,
so sure as my name's Joel Andrews — or Hell-fire Dick — which
you please — jest so sure as I hear of this boy dying of his captivation
hyar, I'll hev you strung up for pizoning him! I'll
do it, ef all the devils was agin it!”

He seized the dried plants from her grasp — “I've hafe a
mind to ram 'em down your infarnal old throat!” He flung the
weeds into the fire, then, with the brief words:—“Ricollect
now! You shall hang ef that boy dies in his captivation!
I've sworn it by all the devils! And I'll keep my oath!”

Such was his excitement that, instead of going to the boy, as
he intended, he went off to Brunson.

“Look you, Rafe,” said he, “keep a sharp eye on that ole
woman and her limping son. They're a'ter mischief. That's
all.” Brunson could git no further explanation from him.
“Look to 'em — a sharp eye — that's all!”

“Look to 'em!” said Brunson. “Look you, Dick, I'm mighty
tired of this sort of life!”

“I reckon'd you'd be.”

“But is it never guine to eend? I'd sooner cut and run, than
stand to it much longer. Thar's no chaince here of getting a
leetle ahead. I'm a longing to be out on a scout, preticklarly
when I hear that Jim Ballou's about.”

“Never you mind Jim Ballou. Hold it out. Ef the cappin
gits things as he wants 'em, he'll fill your pockets, and mine
too. 'Nough said! Look to that old hag and her whelp. Eat
no porridge of their cooking, and clap the hooks on em, the
moment they begin to twist suspicious in the harness.”

“A pretty fix they're all in!” quoth Dick, as he left the
swamp. “What the devil made that ole woman say `pizin' to
me, 'stead of Rafe Brunson? Does I look more like a Philistian

savage, and a heathen Turk than him? The rheumatic
ole varmint!”

Certainly the dangers to Travis and his son seem to grow.
Dick, changing his purposes, left the swamp that night. The
next morning he took a progress down the country, where he
found Griffith in a new location, and heard a variety of news
— matters relating to the war — the particulars of which we
know already. There was a sort of partnership existing between
Griffith and Dick of Tophet. The former was a kind
of pilot-fish to the latter. He had established himself in a snug
hiding-place in the swamp, about five miles, equi-distant, from
Wantoot, and Pooshee. Here, his propinquity was unsuspected,
except among those whose policy it was to keep it secret.
Griffith entertained the scouting parties of the British, and
helped off deserters, whenever they wished to run. He did
not encourage them in this practice; but he freely exchanged
his rum and tobacco for muskets, shot and powder, which always
found a market. It is surprising how readily such an establishment
becomes known to those who patronize it. Advertising
is quite unnecessary; the dragoon, scouting, ranger, rifle, foray
service, always find out such a place of refuge by instinct; and
Griffith, though only recently established in his new domain,
was already in receipt of a considerable custom; much to the
detriment of the British posts, Pooshee, Wantoot, and Monck's
Corner, the commandants at which places, scarcely yet warm in
their seats, did not suspect the near neighborhood of an influence
so hostile. Of course, Griffith and Dick of Tophet communicated
their several facts only when closeted together. But
men pursuing such a life are apt to be as singularly indiscreet, at
times, as they are habitually cautious. As they are apt to drink
and game, so the most circumspect will blab. Their secret
conference over, the leaders suffered their followers to take a
share in their revels. Dick's pride, as a British officer, did not
prevent him from winning the pay and profits of his men.
Accordingly, we find the whole gang busy at midnight in a wild
carouse, in which songs and shouts, and terrible stoups of liquor,
were employed to relieve “seven-up,” and other gambling games.
The dice, by-the-way, sometimes spelled the cards; and two or
three ancients, of a school sinking, even then, into contempt,

were losing pennies and shillings at draughts and domino.
Griffith, obeying the apostle after a fashion of his own, was in
turn, all things to all men. But, even as the games went on,
and the liquor circulated, the two principals suffered themselves
to talk incidentally over more serious affairs.

“Did you hear of old Sinclair's scrape?” said Griffith to
Dick of Tophet. “He was pushing for Charleston, and got to
Coates just at the time when old Swamp-Fox was whisking his
brush into his face. Coates heeled it down to Quinby, and Fox
after him. Coates thought to steal a march upon old Fox, and
had the start some five hours. Old Sinclair went along with
him. But, when Fox got up with Coates, the brush got too
warm for the Cherokee baron. So he turned about for home.
He had his gals with him in the carriage — he himself, was lame
as a duck and sick as a chicken with the pip. He hadn't got
up to my old quarters, when half a dozen fellows popt out upon
him from the bushes, cut out his horses from the carriage, and
made off with 'em.”

“And how did the bloody old harrystocrat git home?”

“I'm not sure he's got home yit. There was a niggar along
here, three days ago, of old Burdell, who said that a carriage
with two ladies took up the old codger and his gals, and went
off to some house nearabouts — the first house — and that old
Sinclair couldn't lift a leg.”

“The old heathen harrystocrat. I hope he mayn't raise
another. And this was near about your old quarters?”

“Not two miles off.”

“Hem! And so — stop thar, boy. The kaird's down, and I
mean to kiver it. No lifting. And so —” and he looked significantly
at Griffith.

“And so—” answered the other — and both, as by one consent,
dropped the subject.

“You've hearn tell of Sam Peter Adair, I reckon?” said
Griffith.

“Don't ricollect that I ever did.”

“Well, Sam went off to the West Indies, and he's got back,
they say, rich as a Jew, with a mortal death in his liver, or
lights, or belly somewhere. Where he's got the distemper I don't
know; but he's got a wife; and they do say he'll die of it.”

“What! the wife?”

“Well, perhaps, or the distemper — one. But he's got back
hyar, they say, to-day; and the old fool's brought back a heap
of gould and silver. Why, they do say he's got silver plate
enough, cups and bowls, and spoons and what not, to kiver a
a church, and build a chimbly to it, all out of silver. He's a
good friend to the king, and he gives parties to the young ossifers
from Watboo, and Wantoot, and Monck's Corner, every
now and then; and its rare drinking, though Death — and may
be the devil — is a standing over the shoulder, and making all
sorts of mouths at the glass. You hevn't hearn of Sam Peter
Adair?”

“Not till now. And he's a living hereabouts you say?”

“Not three miles from Pooshee — an old house that use to
b'long to one of the Devaux, and he's to keep thar tell the
weether gits cold enough for him to push for Florida, where I
reckon he'll make a die of it.”

“And he's thar, eh? And so—”

And Griffith and Devil-Dick both paused judiciously.

But enough had been said, both for their information and
that of others. There were greedy dogs in Dick of Tophet's
gang — more greedy and venturous than he had ever dreamed
them to be. They had heard, and brooded over the information
as quietly as their leader. The night was consumed in debauchery.
In the morning Dick took his departure, but not before
he had some significant words with Griffith. Then he bade the
bugle blow, and started upward in a trot, making his way, with
all his party, to the old haunt of Griffith, but a few miles from
the Widow Avinger, where we once before found him at his
revels. There he quartered his party, with strict orders not to
quit, while he went forth on a little scouting expedition of his
own.