University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
THE FLORIDA REFUGEES.

The group assembled in the old cabin of Rhodes, the miller,
was of military, but motley complexion; one of the numerous
bands of irregular troops, half-soldier, half-plunderer, that, for
so long a time, during the last three years of the war of the
Revolution, continued to infest the rural regions of South Carolina.
Their half-savage costume was picturesque enough, if not
uniform; wild, and sufficiently impressive, but not such as would
mark any regular service. The squad consisted of some twenty
persons, all told. Their chief was a stalwart ruffian, well-built,
vigorous, and, no doubt, quite capable of leading boldly, and
with fair success, in any equal struggle, such a force as that
which he commanded. Rude, irregular, untrained, and lawless,
the swarthy outlaws grouped about the lowly cabin where we
find them, were, at least, a fearless gang of blackguards. They
could fight better than pray; could more easily strike than
serve; and, truth to speak, were of a character to render no
command a sinecure, of which they were the subjects. Their
laws readily yielded to their moods; and, in this respect, they
had very little the advantage of their leader. He was a wild,
irregular, licentious savage, like themselves; and was recognised
as a chief only because of his stalwart frame and superior
audacity. His costume somewhat distinguished him from his
followers. He wore the epaulette of a captain — a chapeau
bras — which might have been plucked from the cold brows of
some English officer in some luckless battle-field; a green
plume, which was sufficiently frayed to prove the hard service
of its owner; a green sash, which betrayed its frequent rents

in spite of frequent patchwork. His sword was a stout cimeter-shaped
weapon, which dangled in a plated scabbard, from a
belt of common leather. Beyond these distinctions, which were
not much superior to those worn by one of his lieutenants, there
was nothing much to separate Captain Lem or Lemuel Watkins,
from one of his lieutenants, who enjoyed a similar equipment,
and whose bulk and whiskers were of like dimensions with
those of his superior. Of moral or intellectual authority, our
captain displayed but little. But he practised a savage discipline
of his own, which sometimes suddenly arrested the excesses
of his band, whom long indulgence would naturally bring
into occasional license, in conflict with his patience or his mood.
Beyond this, there was but little discipline among the marauders.

They were not congregated together for the purposes of war.
That was only their pretext. They belonged to that class of
adventurers who were known to the patriots as Florida Refugees.
This implied that they were loyal Americans, who had
emerged from Florida so soon as the British ascendency had
been established in Carolina. The latter province was overrun
by thousands of these marauders, after this event, who had
never before set eyes upon her plains. Florida, it will be kept
in mind, was the usual place of refuge for the loyalists of the
whole South, on the breaking out of the Revolution, and during
the period of whig success; even as Canada afforded a region
of retreat for all of the same class of politicians in the northern
colonies.

War then — the cause of the crown — was simply a pretext
with these marauders. They were nothing less than plunderers
under the sanction of the war. Sometimes they joined themselves
to the regular service, and were employed as scouts and
rangers. But this they found too hard a service. They were
then, really the menials of the regular army, and they revolted
at the servitude; using the connection only when it might be
thought necessary to countenance or shelter their excesses.
They followed a chief, so long as he proved successful, and
shared his spoils freely among them; frequently deposed him;
threw off his rule for that of another; and, sometimes, merged
their independent existence (measurably) in that of superior
bands. But they changed nothing of their nature in the change

of service, and were only so many rude banditti always. This
much will suffice for their morals; of their manners, they shall
report themselves.

A rude cookery was begun soon after their entrance. Two
of the party took this duty upon themselves as if it were their
ordinary occupation: soon, the corn hoe-cakes were browning
before the fire; great slices of bacon were hissing in the frying
pan, and a pot of coffee was set to boil. But, for these comforts
of the kitchen, no one waited. A corpulent jug of whiskey
was already in requisition, and, following the lead of Captain
Lem Watkins, the troopers successively quaffed deeply of its
potent waters.

Then came the supper. They ate, they drank — freely, with
something of the appetite of famishing men. There was little
talk among the party the while, except such as took place with
small groups, who, for this purpose seemingly, occasionally left
the house, and went out into the thicket. There was an influence
at work among them, not depressing exactly, but one of a
sort to make them reserved — perhaps sullen — at all events,
mostly silent. Words were spoken, as if not calling for answer.
Those who spoke, with the hope of amusing the company, or
provoking response, were rarely successful — never, certainly,
in the former object. Occasionally, the chief let fall something
that might have been designed for a jest or a sarcasm; but the
humor did not spread. If honored with a chuckle, it was but
of momentary duration and the result only of some little effort.
It was a lugubrious feast, such as one might be supposed to
make the night before his execution. There was no song over
the supper. The stillness of the group suffered them all distinctly
to hear, at intervals, the protracted whoop of the owl
without, who noted the watches of the night, by becoming signals,
from the ancient millhouse.

It might be seen that one of the party did not eat. It was
observed, finally, by his companions, toward the close of supper.

“How now, Mat Floyd,” said Nat Snell, turning to this
person where he sat aloof in a corner — “what if you air in
trouble? Eat, man, there's no trouble in the pot!”

“Ay, let him eat; loose him awhile and let him eat,” quoth
Captain Watkins; “we don't want to put him on his trial on an

empty stomach. Loose him, Snell, and give him a bite. It
sha'n't be said that we starve a fellow even though we have to
hang him after supper!”

Snell did as he was commanded, and proceeded to undo the
cords which bound the person addressed, taking an opportunity,
as he did so, to whisper in his ear.

“Seize your chance, Mat, and git off if you kin!”

The other sat quiet, stupidly it would seem, rather than
gloomily; and showed no disposition to rise from the floor,
even when loosed from his bonds. He indicated no desire for
supper.

“What! won't he eat?” demanded the captain, with an oath.
“Then let him starve, and be d—d, for a sulky fool, as well
as a treacherous rascal. He was both always. What do I care
if he eats or not!”

“Give him time, captain, to consider,” said the friendly follow
called Snell.

“Ay, and for his prayers too! But the sooner he's about
them the better. Let him have an hour, and then see that he's
roped up for other matters. Only see that he don't slip out.
Put a hitch in the door.”

“It's past hitching,” was the answer, as one of the party
endeavored to fit the unwieldy leaf of the door to the posts in
spite of broken hinges. “There's nara hinge left, and not a
staple to hook to.”

“Well, fix it as you can, and keep an eye on the rascal. See
to him, Snell. You shall be jailer.”

“I'd rather you'd put somebody else that's more spry than
me, cappin. I'm a leetle oneasy in the j'ints with this bloody
rheumatiz,” was the answer.

“Well, you take charge of him, Peterson, and if he's not
safe here, the moment we want him, you take his place, that's
all! Look to it! And now clean off the table, men. We've
got our settlements to make, and square off the business of this
last campaign. I don't want to keep any shares but my own;
and when the paymaster of the squad plays traitor, and makes
off with the chest, I reckon there's few of you that wouldn't
rather keep his own money. It's not so much, the matter that's
left us now to divide. But we'll take our satisfaction, I reckon,

out of one of the rascals. Gather round, all of you, and see if
we do what's right. There, Watts, heave up that portmanteau,
and that sack.”

The portmanteau and sack were laid upon the table, opened
both, and the contents turned out before all eyes. They were
of a character to show what sort of war was that waged by our
forayers. There was money, some few pieces of gold, a considerable
amount in Spanish dollars, and a few handfuls of
crowns, pistareens, and shilling pieces. There were rolls also
of continental money, but these seemed to command little
attention. The more valuable contents of valise and sack,
were trinkets of gold, watches, and plate of various description
— a general assortment of plunder, as yielded to the outlaws,
by the person or the dwelling of the defenceless. How much
blood had been shed in procuring this spoil — how many dying
curses lay upon these ill-gotten treasures — who shall declare?

The division of the spoil was made — how, we shall not say;
but, no doubt, under laws to which all parties had given their
consent. It is not so certain that the division was satisfactory
to all. The several shares were received, most generally, in
profound silence; the captain tendering as he thought proper;
the subordinate receiving what was given without a word. In
some instances, a wish was expressed for gold, rather than silver;
in one case, a watch was desired by one of the parties,
whose share did not amount to the value put upon the article;
and the captain was gracious enough to promise to keep the
watch until his profits should enable the craving man to purchase
his treasure. There were eyes that gloated over articles,
for which they could make no demand, and which they beheld
the amiable captain put aside, with a considerate regard to his
own — which was, of course, the lion's — share! But there was
no expression of discontent. The continental bills, were very
liberally bestowed. In fact, the parties helped themselves at
pleasure; though some few turned from the proffer with open
scorn, refusing to burden themselves with a commodity, which
had depreciated to a value scarcely superior to that of waste
paper.

“A drink all round, fellows,” said the accommodating superior,
when all the shares were distributed.

“That score's all rubbed out, and I hope you're all satisfied!
You'll not say, no one of you, that I don't deal fair and square
with you. If there's a man to say so, let him up, and out with
it, and look me in the face all the time! Out with it at once,
I say, and no afterclaps! I won't understand any man that
wants to open the accounts again to-morrow. I'd answer such
a man with a broadsword wipe, as soon as look at him! So,
out with it now! Is any one dissatisfied, I ask?”

The glance round the circle, and the action which accompanied
this speech, the tones of voice, the whole manner of the
thing, was pretty much such as would be shown by a savage
bulldog, walking off with your meat, and growling, right and
left among the crowd, as he departs! The experience of the
subordinates had been such as naturally prompted them to the
full appreciation of Dogberry's counsel, for the treatment of
refractory persons, offenders against the law. No voice was
raised in doubt of the perfect justice with which Captain Lem
Watkins had made the division of the public treasure.

“Very good!” exclaimed our amiable bulldog, “I want all
my people to be satisfied. Now, I say, let's have that drink
all round. Hand up the whiskey, Fritz. I wish it was Jamaica
for your sakes, fellows. You deserve something better.”

The benevolent wish called for the most amiable echoes, and,
as the party drank to the favorite toast of the captain:—

“Here's to the cow, boys, that never goes dry.”

They almost forgot, in their potations, that any one of them
had the slightest reason to complain. Strong drink is pacification
as well as provocation.

They drank deep, and were comforted — after a fashion!

There was a pause. Captain Watkins was not the person to
relish a pause, or silence, except in such hours as he gave to
sleep.

“And now, fellows,” quoth he, “there is business to be done
— pretty serious business too, as you all know; but, there is
sport, also; and whether we shall go to business or to sport
first, it shall be for you to say! No doubt, some among you
would like to be adding to his wallet by what there is in mine;
and I'm ready! By the powers, I am as willing to lose as win.
You know that, and there are the pictures! Out with them

from the wallet, Peterson, and let them be handy. You shall
play or work, which you please. We must try that traitor to
night, and give him what justice he deserves. But that won't
take us long. `A short horse is soon curried,' and three yards
of rope will halter the longest rascal that ever foundered under
an easy burden. What shall it be — the cards or the trial first?
the old rogue or old sledge?”

“Oh! the trial! Let's have that off our minds before we
think of sport. I want to have a free sperrit when I go to play.
I don't want any trouble in my thought.”

“Right, Hollis! That's just my notion. So, boys, throw
on some fresh lightwood. Let's have a good blaze to see by,
and bring up the prisoner. Put him there, at the foot of the
table, and get round him. We'll have short work of it, I
reckon.”

“Yes, the case is mighty clear. Get up, Mat, and answer for
yourself. Square round, boys, and make room. Let's hear the
captain.”

The culprit was hustled forward. The ropes were again
wound about his wrists, which were tied behind him; and he
stood, at once sullen and anxious, at the foot of the table.
The forayers grouped themselves around him; a hardy, reckless,
unfeeling company, in whose faces you could detect few
traces of sympathy. There was one of them, there might be
two, whose eyes betokened something of pity; the fellow, Snell,
who had whispered the captive to steal off if he could, was one
of these; but he strove naturally to conceal a sympathy which,
if discovered, might only have brought down danger upon his
own head.

The lightwood blazed up brightly, illuminating the apartment.
Captain Lem was accommodated with a seat upon a
high, but rickety bench, one of the legs of which indicated
extreme decrepitude. The captain put on all his gravity, as he
began to state the charges to the culprit and his audience, which
he did in the following language. We omit little but the decorative
blasphemies of the speaker, with whom an oath supplied
the lack of metaphor and figure.

“Hold up your hands, Mat Floyd, and if you hold up your
head at the same time, it will be no worse for you.”

The culprit raised his head promptly, and looked his judge
full in the face. Floyd was a young fellow not more than
twenty-three years of age, small and slight of person, swarthy
of skin, with a dark, scowling and sullen aspect, and keen, but
small black eyes. There was something at once sinister and
savage in his countenance.

“Now, Mat Floyd, you know just as well as we do what we
have against you. You're the brother-in-law of Nat Rhodes —
he married your sister.”

“But he didn't marry me!” answered the other quickly and
savagely.

“Don't be sassy, boy,” said old Snell, interposing — “don't
be sassy; give the cappin good words, and hear him out what
he's got to say.”

“Let him talk, Snell,” said the captain very coolly — “I like
when a fellow talks out on his own trial. It's just ten to one
that he'll let out a leetle more of the truth than will do him
good. Let him talk and answer for himself, just as he thinks
proper. It's the truth we want. — Now, as I was saying, Mat
Floyd, you're brother-in-law to Nat Rhodes, and Nat Rhodes
has just made off with the money portmanteau of the squad.”

“But I hain't run off, and I hain't no money. If that's what
you're after, s'arch me.”

“Search you! as if you'd hide your robberies about you!
But it wasn't any honesty in you, that kept you from running
off. Where were you caught, you scoundrel? Five miles from
camp, and streeking it, fast as your mare could carry you: and
just on the road where he was seen last.”

“I don't see because I was a-riding down, that I was a-running
off,” said the culprit.

“No! But it was a monstrous suspicious circumstance, I'm
thinking. But that's not all. You had a watch — 'twas seen
upon your person, and you afterward gave it to your sister,
Harricane Nell, to keep for you; and that watch belonged to
the squad, and was a part of the stock left in the portmanteau
when Nat Rhodes carried it.”

“Nat gave it to me! 'Twas his watch. He got it himself,
by himself. 'Twa'n't any of the squad's property. 'Twas his
own property.'

“Ah! you say so; but 'twon't serve you, Mat Floyd, though
you were to swear it. We'll let you know that everything we
take belongs to the squad, till it's divided by me, the captain.
Isn't that the law, fellows?”

“Ay! ay! cappin, true as gospel.”

“You hear that, Mat Floyd. The watch was the property
of the squad, and everything, till we had a fair division of
shares. But Nat Rhodes never gave you that watch till he
was making off; and you knew of his going off and never reported;
and your sister, Harricane Nell, knew of it, and his
father, Jeff Rhodes the miller, knew of it, and so did Clem
Wilson, and Barney Gibbes, and John Friday; and they've
gone off with him or after him, and you were gone too, as far
as you could get before we caught you. Now, this was a
conspiracy, do you see, as well as a robbery, and I'll let
you know that conspiracy and robbery together, makes high
treason — high treason! — do you hear? and that's the offence,
Mat Floyd, for which you're up on trial at this awful
moment. So now you hear the charges against you, and the
nature of the offence; and the penalty is death by the rope!
So, even answer for yourself as you can. We've got the proof
here present, to prove what we say: let's know what proof you
have to answer it. Speak out, like a brave fellow, if you can't
like an honest one, and make a clean breast of it, before we
tuck you up.”

“I'm in your hands,” said Floyd boldly, looking full at his
judge, “and I know that you've got the power to do what you
please with me.”

“I rather think we have!” said the captain, “and we'll do
it too!”

“That's as God pleases!”

“Don't be taking God's name in vain, you bloody blasphemer,”
responded the reverent captain — “speak about what
you know.”

“I know that I'm in the hands of a most bloody villain, and
if I am to speak, and to suffer after it, I'll let out all that's on
my mind for the benefit of them that ain't got the soul and the
sperrit to think and to speak out for themselves!”

“Just hear the audacious rebel!” exclaimed the captain, actually

confounded by the recklessness of the speaker. “Just
hear his sauce and insolence!”

“Ay, let them hear, Cappin Watkins. I want them to hear.
There's some of them that would like to say the same thing ef
they darst, and all of 'em that knows it's only the truth that
I'm a-saying. I say, and I say it again, that you're a most
bloody tyrant and villain, and that 'tain't my robbery as you
calls it — which was only a taking of my own — but other things
which you darsn't say out, or charge agin me, that makes you
so hot after taking my life. As for the dividing the treasure,
it's a pretty division of shares that you ever makes. Sich a
division, as, ef justice was done, would put the rope round your
neck instead of mine, and make you answerable for a thousand
more criminalities than you'll ever confess onder the gallows.”

“Will nobody stop the beast's mouth!” roared the captain.

“Shet up, Mat,” said Snell, once more. “Don't provocate
the cappin without needcessity. 'Twill only make the case
worse for you, this talking.”

“No! it kain't! Ef I was to say nothing, he'd hev' my life
jest the same; jest so long as you here, you poor, mean, cowardly
critters, that let yourselves be robbed and cheated with
your eyes open — jest so long as you'd stand by, and see one
man put down — one by one — whenever he happens to stand
up for his own rights along with your'n. 'Tis true, I was
a-making off, bekaise I was only too eager to git out of sich
hands as his'n and your'n! It's true that Nat Rhodes made
off with the money; but 'twas only bekaise 'twas the natural
right of him, and Jeff Rhodes, his father, and Moll Rhodes, his
wife, and Nell, my sister, and my right, and the right of Clem
Wilson, and Barney Gibbes, and John Friday! We tuk but
what was our own; and the rest we hid away, near to you,
meaning to send you word where to look for it; so that every
man might hev' his proper share. And we did conspirate, ef
so be that agreeing together means, conspirating — to do as we
did, and to make off where we could never hev' to do with
sich as you any more! And that's the truth of the matter,
though you never listened to the truth before. So now you've
hearn it, you may jest do the worst you kin. I'm in your
power.”

“That's true, at all events, Mat Floyd,” responded the captain
with unexampled coolness. The company, meanwhile,
maintained a singular silence, if not composure. They did not
seem so much offended by the free speech of their bold companion.
Its truth appealed to their sympathies, though it could
not rouse their courage; and, in all probability, there was a
lurking conviction, in the minds of most of them, that Mat Floyd
was a sort of martyr in the common cause. Besides, heroism,
itself, at such a moment, under such circumstances as those in
which Floyd stood, was well calculated to impress itself even
upon the rough, unscrupulous wretches by which he was surrounded.
It is barely possible that the captain, himself, felt
something of this influence; though it is just as likely that his
forbearance, and the speech with which he answered the culprit,
was dictated quite as much by policy as by admiration.

“Well, Mat Floyd,” resumed the captain, “you've made your
defence, such as it is; and proved the case against yourself, as
well as we could have done it with a hundred witnesses. You've
had your say, and can't complain that we've put bolt and bar
upon your tongue. You've made free enough with me; but
that I don't take into the account at all; for we can settle with
you on other grounds. Only, I'd like to hear, before going farther
with you, if there's any present, as you would seem to
think there is, who has the audacity to think as you do! I am
waiting to hear if there's another person here, who accuses me
of tyranny and injustice! Let him speak! By —! I am
waiting patiently — very d—d patiently! — Only let him
speak!”

And he smote the table with his fist, and his eye glared about
the circle, from face to face, illustrating, somewhat anomalously,
his meekness of mood, and the patience with which he craved
their responses.

The eye of the culprit looked round the circle also, but not
with hope. A smile was on his countenance as he gazed, expressing
only a sullen scorn. He knew them well; and well
knew what would be the effect of their captain's pacific appeal,
upon a gang which lacked all the elements of a proper resistance
to a tyranny which yet revolted them.

“You see, Mat Floyd!” resumed the captain, turning to the

culprit; “there's not an honest man present who is not ready
to give the lie to your assertion.”

“There's not an honest man that dar'st do so, onless he's
hot a'ter h—l's brimstone!” was the retort.

“Silence, you blaspheming rebel, and answer to what I'm
about to ask you! You say that the rightful share of the squad
has been put away hereabouts, somewhere, for us, by the robbers
who have made off with the rest? Now, if we're disposed
to look mercifully on your offences, will you show us the place?”

“Am I free to go and find it?”

“Not exactly! Some of us will go along with you, just to
see that there's no skulking.”

“Nobody shall go with me, if I'm to find it! If you don't
trust me, I don't see why I'm to trust you. I know you too
well, cappin. Give me a two hours' start, and you shall find
it in the cypress hollow, by Dyke's cabin at sunrise to-morrow.
I swear it: and I'll do as I promise.

“Your word for it; and that's a pretty security!”

“Yes, and a cussed sight better than your oath!”

“You lying villain! —”

“Lying! Look you, Cappin Watkins, there's not a man
hyar that don't know you to be the lyingest person that ever
stept in shoeleather; and, jest knowing you as I do, I know
its no more use to be making a bargain with you, or taking a
promise from your mouth, than ef 'twas the old devil himself
that was a-speaking, and now, jest to ease my heart of what
I've got in it, I'll tell the men here, loud enough for the hardest
hearing to onderstand, that if my sister Nelly had only listened
to your imperdent speeches, and hadn't slapped your chops
while you was a making 'em — she and I might ha' got the whole
of the portmanteau of the squad, and I'd never heard a word
of the gold watch that she got, and I'd never ha' been in the
present fix! I say it — agin and agin — that the cappin here
offered her everything in the treasury — yes — ef she'd—”

“Silence, you d—d blasted liar of a traitor and rebel,”
roared the captain, as, stretching across the table, he smote the
speaker in the face with his clenched hand, the blood gushing
from mouth and nostrils at the blow.

In an instant, the culprit, though with both hands bound behind

him, with a wonderful exhibition of muscle, leaped upon
the table, and answered the assault by two formidable kicks of
the foot, heavily shod, which, delivered before the captain could
recover from the forward movement he had made in striking,
hurled him back from the table against the fireplace, his whole
face blacked, bruised, and bloodied, by the sharp and stunning
blows!

The table came down with a crash in the struggle; and, as it
fell, the culprit bounded away toward the door, which he certainly
would have reached, and through which he would probably
have escaped — for there were some present not indisposed
to favor his flight — had not his hands and arms been
securely fastened behind him.

Before he could take a second stride toward the door, however,
a blow of a cudgel from behind, in the hands of one of the
ruffians felled him to the floor, while two or three others sprang
upon him.

All was in confusion for a while. Several were scuffling over
the prostrate man; some shouted aloud — whether in hope, or
fear, we can not say — supposing him gone; and, for a few moments,
all order, all authority was at an end.

Captain Watkins was the first to recover his wits if not his
placidity of look and temper. He recovered his legs with difficulty.

“Have you got him there, fellows?”

“Yes — fast enough,” was the answer.

“You see! but one thing's to be done! It's mutiny, as well
as high treason and robbery! Take him out; to the old millhouse.
We'll have an end of it now! Your cord, Fritz! Out
with him, I say — no poking — no prevarication; and let me
see if there's more than one candidate to-night for the gallows!
Off with him! It's not five minutes he's got to swear by.”

He drew his sabre as he spoke, and waved forward the party.
Three of the fellows grappled with the still prostrate culprit,
raised him up and bade him walk. But he only staggered forward,
with a grasp of a stout ruffian on each shoulder, the whole
party surrounding the three, and the captain following with
ready weapon.