University of Virginia Library

39. CHAPTER XXXIX.
HOW NELLY FLOYD SPED TO SAVE HER BROTHER.

We need here a little historical résume. We have seen that
Colonel Stewart — or, as we should now call him, General Stewart,
having the command of all the active British operations in
Carolina after the departure of Lord Rawdon — had pushed up
to the banks of the Congaree, and, almost as promptly, wheeled
about and pressed down, with all his army, to the low country.
Meanwhile, the Americans were watching him closely. Colonel
Washington was detached down the country also, along the
Santee; Lee upward, along the north bank of the Congaree;
the latter, to co-operate with Colonel Henderson, then in command
of Sumter's brigade, at Fridig's ferry: the former, to
strike at the enemy's communications with Charleston, and co-operate
with Marion and Maham, in covering the Lower Santee.
Colonel Harden, as already reported, with his mounted militia,
was seeking to straiten the British beyond the Edisto, and
along the heads of tide water in that region. Most of these
bodies were mounted men, and, as Greene himself testifies,
“never excelled for enterprise in the world.”

We have not deemed it necessary to report the numerous
small adventures in which they were perpetually and almost
always successfully engaged. We have rather sought, by the
exhibition of a few instances, to give a general idea of their
spirit, enterprise and vigilance, than to furnish a perfect chronicle
of their doings. We may state, however, that, in this very
progress, Washington cut up two distinct bodies of the British
light horse, making some fifty prisoners; while Lee, crossing

the Congaree with his cavalry only, penetrated between the
main body of the enemy, and the garrison which he had left at
Orangeburg, and, almost in sight of the latter place, drove in,
dispersed, cut to pieces, or captured, several of their foraging
and communicating parties. On one of these occasions, our
Captain Inglehardt suffered some rough handling, lost five of
his troopers, and made a narrow escape with the rest.

The audacity of the American cavalry was now such, and
their activity and vigilance so great, that, unless under protection
of large detachments, the convoys of the British were invariably
captured. Stewart was thus compelled to seek all his supplies
from below, and, through the several posts which formed a
chain of connection from Charleston to Orangeburg.

But, even these failed to afford the necessary cover for his
parties; and his departure from Orangeburg, and the subsequent
withdrawal of the garrison from that post, had become a necessity.
It had become essential to the safety of the lower posts
themselves, watched as they were, by Marion, Maham, and
Washington, that the main British army should concentrate, at
some point considerably below Orangeburg, whence it might
send out succor promptly to the relief of any garrison which
the activity of the partisans should straiten. By forced
marches, as we have shown, Stewart hurried from the Congaree
downward, and took position at Eutaw Springs, at a plantation,
the brick dwelling of which might be put to use as a fortress.
His estimated strength we have given in a previous chapter.
He was able to concentrate, at this point, if he thought proper,
at least three thousand men. We now know, from the official
returns of the British army, that the number of troops which
they had in Carolina, on the 1st of September, 1781 — this
very time — was 9,775, and these were nearly all veteran regiments
— enough, it would seem, to keep in subjection, and
effectually crush, if properly directed, any force which the
Americans had within the state, or any which, in their present
condition, they could raise or equip. That Stewart might have
accumulated from three to five thousand men at Eutaw, we have
no question; and but for the fear of the consequences of drawing
too greatly upon the strength of the garrison at Charleston
— which constituted his only great base of operations — he

would probably have so strengthened himself at Eutaw, as
would have discouraged effectually all the attempts of the
Americans upon that position. That he had between twenty-five
hundred and three thousand men under arms at that place
is now beyond all question. His great deficiency was in cavalry.
His only regular force, of this sort, consisted of something less
than one hundred men, led by Captain Coffin, an officer of
ability and spirit. His irregular horse was more numerous,
consisting of mounted loyalists, some half a dozen or more
bands, such as that led by our Captain Inglehardt, to whom the
business of convoying and foraging was usually confided.

But, even laboring under this deficiency of cavalry, Stewart
felt himself quite secure at Eutaw. His position might be
rendered one of great strength, and he was fully conscious of
his superiority in numbers, in training, and in all the materiel
of war, in which the Americans were notoriously deficient.
He, accordingly, seated himself at Eutaw with a serene and
well-satisfied composure, which, perhaps, rendered him somewhat
neglectful of proper military precautions.

The Eutaw spring is situated in the upper edge of the present
district of Charleston, not far distant from Nelson's ferry.
The waters gush up through an opening in the earth of small
diameter, and immediately form a pretty basin, a hundred and
fifty paces round, transparent, and only a few feet deep. From
this basin the waters glide through a subterraneous passage of
limestone, and, at a distance of a hundred paces, boil up, and
reappear through a variety of passages which unite to form
the Eutaw creek. The creek is a bold one, having high banks,
which, at this period, were well-wooded, forming an almost
impenetrable cover of tree and shrub, sapling and brushwood.
From the dwelling-house, which was of brick, and two stories
in height, there ran a garden, down to the bank, enclosed with
palisades. The main building, which commanded the fields on
every side, was surrounded with various offices of wood, and
farm-buildings — one of them a barn of considerable size — all
of which were convertible to use, for defence, in a moment of
emergency. The place was well-selected for Stewart's purposes.

But we must not anticipate. The British army has not yet

quite reached this place of refuge; and Nelly Floyd is rapidly
speeding downward, several miles in advance of their columns.
She has a long ride before her, and her impatience and anxiety,
which were increased fearfully at every step in her progress,
prompted her to put her little beast to the utmost uses of her
legs. She entreats her, as she goes, with a voice of tenderness
and earnestness, which, however, does not prevent her from the
occasional application of the twig of hickory which she carries
in her hand. She speaks to her, as if she understood fully
every syllable of argument and entreaty, and pats the neck,
which, a moment before, she has irritated with her whip.

“Do now, dear Aggy, go a little faster! You are so slow to-day
— and we have lost so much time already. That bad man,
to ride over us, and thrust you down, and make me a prisoner!
What right had he to make me a prisoner? What right had
those officers to keep me answering their foolish questions?
Oh, Aggy! we've lost more than three hours. We shall be too
late — too late!”

And Aggy's little trot became faster. It was surprising how
the creature compassed the ground, never once stopping to walk,
but keeping up the rapid gait with which she started, apparently
without fatigue, certainly without cessation. But her
rider was by no means satisfied.

“Oh! that I had wings! I shall be too late! Poor Mat!
I warned him, all I could. I saw it from the first. Oh! that
bad company! That first false, false step! Why did I counsel
him to keep away from the Americans! Why did I not speak
to him in time before he got into the snares of that wicked old
man, Rhodes! Oh! that Molly Floyd had never seen one of
that Rhodes family! All wicked; all murderers and robbers
from the first!

“It is all my fault! Why did I leave him that night at
Griffith's, and go to sleep, when I could not know what was to
happen — before I found out that they were going to send him
below! And how stupid it was to follow that wicked crew,
half a day, without finding out that Mat wasn't among them.
It is all my sleep and stupidity. Oh, me! if anything happens
to him, I shall never sleep again.

“And it will happen to him, unless I can get there in time!

I have seen it again, this very day, that terrible picture! This
time, I have seen him on the fatal gallows! Ah! God of
mercy, let it not be so! — but I have seen it! Let me be in
time! Hark! It is his voice, I hear him! He cries to me!
He says: `Save me, Nelly, my sister! Come to me, Nelly,
before I die!' Yes, I will come, Matty, I will! Oh, little
Aggy! how slowly you do go!”

And she smote the little beast, this time, sharply, heavily,
with all the weight of her arm. And she rode on confidently,
not heeding her course, though she had never, in all probability,
trodden the route before. How did she know it now?
What were her sources of information? How had she learned
where Mat Floyd was, and in what danger? Had she heard
from the lips of others; or does she derive her information
solely from those dreams, those visions, which she asserted
and believed herself to see? Who shall tell? She, herself,
tells us nothing more than we have heard. It is only: “I have
seen it! Oh! the horror! The doom is come at last! It is
all clearer, fuller, more terrible than ever!”

And she never seemed to ask herself how she was to save
the wretched youth, even if she should arrive in season. On
this subject she seemed not to reflect at all. Her only object
was to reach the scene of trial and of dread, and all the rest
seemed easy. To this one end, her whole effort was addressed.
This employed all her thought. The entire mind seemed intensely
concentrated on the single point, and, perhaps, fortunately;
for how, if she had asked herself the next question —
how shall I save him, now that I am here? save him from the
consequences of his crime — the robbery, if not the murder of
the Adairs — for of the latter crime he declared himself guiltless
— save him from the terrible weight of circumstantial evidence,
and from the stern judgment of the military tribunal
before which he is tried? — how should she have answered!
It may be that she had resources in reserve, of which we have
no knowledge; but the probabilities are, that she had none,
but her tears and eloquence, prayers and pleadings; and that,
in her sanguine eagerness to reach the scene, she entirely overlooked
the rest. It was, no doubt, a providential relief to her
brain, that such was the case. She could not well have answered
or endured the further inquiry.

But, as she rode, as fast as her little beast could be made to
go, stopping never, and impatient always when Aggy seemed
disposed to economize his little legs.

“Oh! go on, Aggy, you shall have a long rest to-night!”

And so, for more than twenty miles, she sped, right on, not
even pausing to drink at the brooklet as it ran across her path.
She had ate nothing all day; and, with the exception of the
brief period in which she had been detained by Sinclair, she
had been all day in rapid motion upon the road. She was now
nearing her journey's end, aud her excitement vividly increased
with her weariness. The excitement alone sustained her. But
it wrought terribly upon her soul as well as countenance. She
was haggard with fear and weakness. She momently cried
aloud her agonies.

“Oh! I shall be too late — too late! I see it all! — ah!” —
with a fearful shriek — “He calls me again — again! He cries
out in his agonies. Yes — a moment — only a moment, Mattie,
and I will come! I am coming fast — I am riding hard. I
will soon be with you. Wait, oh! wait. I am coming
fast!”

And, thus shrieking, as if she heard and saw — as if he, the
victim, could also hear and see — she threw out her hands before
her, while her eyes seemed about to leap from their sockets in
the effort to overcome the weary space that lay between. It
was now approaching sunset, and she was within a mile of the
homestead of Devaux, in which the Adairs had been murdered.
And it was there, even there, that the awful tragedy of justice
was to be enacted. A military tribunal had already sat in judgment
upon the miserable prisoner. He had denied all share in
the murder, but admitted his participation in the robbery. But
his own pleas could avail nothing. The court found him guilty
and doomed him to die upon the gallows, in front of the dwelling
where the crime had been committed. So shocking had
been the transaction, so intimate had been the British officers
with the poor, old, weak, vain, but hospitable victims, that the
judgment and execution were equally hurried. The trial had
taken place in the very chamber where the murder had been
done; and from the court to the gallows there was but a step!
The culprit doggedly heard his doom in silence. When asked

what he had to say — why he should not die for the crime — he
answered:—

“What kin I say? I tell'd you all a'ready. I did not kill the
old people. I didn't strike either of 'em a blow. 'Twas Gus
Clayton did it. I wasn't consenting to it no how; and ef you
hangs me for the doings of another man, it's murder, I reckon.
I'm willing to swear upon the Holy Book, that I never struck
either on 'em a blow.”

Of course, he shared the offence. It needed no argument on
this subject, even if they admitted the truth of the fellow's statement.
It made no impression upon the court. There was no
voice of dissent from his doom, and he was led out in five minutes
after sentence to execution. When he saw the gallows, he
said, with a hoarse sort of chuckle:—

“You've been mighty quick about it.”

There was no answer. His tone changed slightly.

“But you ain't guine to hang me right away! You'll give
me time to considerate a bit — a few days, cappin — jest a few
days. You ain't guine to turn a man out into the dark, and
never let him say his prayers.”

“Say them quickly. You have but ten minutes allowed
you.”

“Only ten minutes. Lord God, have mercy. You give a
man only ten minutes, and he a great sinner. Oh! cappin, you
don't know what a great sinner I 'em.”

“I can believe it,” was the reply.

“Oh! then be marciful and give me time, jest three days or
so, that I may pray for marcy for my sins.”

“You must do all this in ten minutes,” said the officer taking
out his watch.”

“Oh! Jesus! It's jest what Nelly said. It's a cappin in a
green uniform. Oh! Lord, ef I had only hearn to Nelly. And
hyar I am, tied up like a bear to a tree, and no doing nothing!
Oh! cappin, won't you just let 'em ontie my arms. This rope
does so cut into the flesh.”

“Relieve him, if it needs,” said the young officer to one of
the soldiers. “But, my poor fellow, such a pain must be small
— you should scarcely feel it, with your life forfeit, and to be
lost so soon.”

“Ah! but I does feel it! Ef I'm to die, I want to die as
easy as I kin. The rope hurts me mightily.”

The officer seemed to commiserate the fellow's condition —
was, perhaps, unused to the painful duty before him. He averted
his face from the spectacle. Meanwhile the soldier was busy
about the cords which bound the prisoner.

“But he ain't ontied me!” cried the criminal.

“No! but I eased the tightness,” answered the soldier.

“But kaint you ontie me? I hain't got no weapons. What's
to be afeard of?”

Had the miserable creature a hope? He had, indeed, no
weapon. The knife which was to save him from the rope was
no longer within his gripe. He, possibly, relied upon his wiry
muscle, and great agility — we have seen it exercised once before
when he was in a similar strait — should he obtain the freedom
of his arms — in the desperate use of his heels, when the
chance was that they would have shot him before he could be
taken. And they might miss their aim, and he might gain
the wood. Such was probably his hope. But, perhaps, suspecting
the criminal's purpose, the young officer now said
sternly:—

“No, sir; you can not be untied. Waste no time. It is
precious to you now. Call upon God with all your might, and
all your heart.”

“Ef you could get me a parson! You won't hang me without
a parson, to help me a-praying?”

“Your demand is impossible. There is no clergyman here.
You must do for yourself all that you can. Pray! repent! for
you have but three minutes left.”

“Three minutes! Lord God, ha' marcy! But three minutes
and I'm to be a dead man. I won't. I won't go to the gallows.
You may chop me to pieces but I won't go! It's a shame to
hang a man dead, in three minutes.”

“We'll do for you in less time than that,” said the provostmarshal,
who was an old soldier, and had done much of this
sort of business — giving the sign to a couple of stalwart assistants.
The officer put back his watch into his pocket. In an
instant they seized the criminal and haled him away. He
fought like a wild beast, plunging, butting, and tossing from

side to side. It required the strength of two or three other
soldiers to subdue and bear him away to the gallows foot, and
lift him into the cart which stood below it. The rope was adjusted
in spite of his struggles. The executioner mounted the
ladder and arranged it. All was ready. They but waited for
the signal. Then, for the first time, the prisoner seemed to be
fully conscious that every chance of safety and escape was cut
away.

“Lord God have mercy! Don't! don't yet! O Lord, have
mercy! Look out, ef you don't see somebody coming. Somebody's
coming, I tell you. Don't! Oh, Nelly, whar kin you
be, now, when I wants you — now, when the time's come you
said? Come and help me, Nelly; come and save me, gal, ef
you ever did love — ah! ah!—”

And the sounds ceased in a horrid gurgle. The cart had
passed from beneath the wretched criminal, and he hung writhing
miserably in the air.

A mile away, those last words seemed to reach the ears of
Nelly Floyd! She cried out, at that very instant: “I am
coming, Mat — I am coming! O Father of mercies, help me to
get to him in time!”

And poor little Aggy was made to keep to her paces; and,
in less than twenty minutes after, the girl was upon the scene,
her horse barely bringing her to the spot, then staggering forward,
and stumbling with both knees to the ground.

Nelly was off from her back in the same moment, and standing
upon the earth herself, staggering blindly forward to the
group of officers and soldiers upon the hill. She seemed to be
blinded, feeling her way forward confusedly with her arms
and hands extended, while tottering up toward the group.
Suddenly, she looked up — caught a sight of the gallows —
of the victim, whose agonies were all over — and, with a wild
shriek, she darted forward to the officer in command, crying
out:—

“Take him down! — oh, take him down! — Oh, sir, be
merciful to me! Spare him! — Let him live! — He is my
brother!”

“It is too late, my poor girl! He is dead!”

“Who speaks?” she cried, more wildly than ever. The

officer turned his glance full upon her — and their eyes
met!

“Sherrod Nelson!” — with a piercing shriek — cried the
unhappy girl — “oh, Sherrod Nelson, you have hung my
brother!”

And, with arms extended, she fell prostrate at his feet upon
her face. She was insensible.