WILD NAT, THE TROOPER;
OR,
THE CEDAR SWAMP BRIGADE.
BY WILLIAM R. EYSTER.
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
BEADLE AND ADAMS,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. CATHERINE VALE. 9
II. THE TORY SPY. 14
III. GOING OUT TO SHEAR, AND RETURNING SHORN. 19
IV. THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. 29
V. CEDAR SWAMP. 34
VI. HOT WORK AHEAD. 38
VII. THE ASSAULT UPON THE BARN AT BLACK RUN. 46
VIII. TIMOTHY TURNER AFTER HIS GAME. 50
IX. THE CONSUMMATION OF THE CRIME. 54
X. AN UNWELCOME RECOGNITION. 64
XI. THE CAPTOR AND THE CAPTIVE. 70
XII. IN PERILOUS CIRCUMSTANCES. 76
XIII. FOILED. 82
XIV. THE HAPPY CONSUMMATION. 93
WILD NAT, THE TROOPER;
OR,
THE CEDAR SWAMP BRIGADE.
CHAPTER I.
CATHERINE VALE.
There was a time in the history of our country when the stoutest
hearts were filled with despair. The defeat of General Gates,
followed by the overrunning of the Carolinas, the treachery of
Benedict Arnold, and the general bad condition of our army, did not,
certainly, tend to cheer those thousands of noble souls earnestly
praying for the success of the American cause. It is of that period,
of that darkest hour, which precedes the day, that we purpose to
write.
Toward the close of a long, disagreeable day, two women sat by
the fireside of a dwelling some fifteen or eighteen miles from
Charleston. The two presented a contrast, indeed, even though their
features were alike. One was an elderly woman, with hair sprinkled
with threads of gray, though she yet retained much of her early
beauty. The other was a young girl, whose age could not have exceeded
nineteen. Although not absolutely beautiful, there was that about
her which made her fascinating. With features finely molded, and
a graceful carriage, her figure was a model of physical grace and
perfectness. Her hair was of that golden hue, so seldom seen save in
poet’s dreams. Her voice was as musical and clear as the notes of a
flute. Not in all that land of fair women could be found a more truly
lovable woman than Catherine Vale.
Catherine and her mother were conversing earnestly together.
“It is not for me, Kate, to judge of the heart of a man; to say that
this one is to be trusted, and that one not, without an acquaintance
of longer standing than that between myself and young Ernshaw.
Without having heard that he was vicious, it has often been told
me that he was of unsettled disposition; that he is known to the
neighbors as ‘Wild Nat.’ Such a name would never have been given a
man of reliable and good character.”
“Whatever you advise, mother, that will I do; for your wish is law,
with me.”
“Do not speak of law, Kate; all I do is for your own happiness. If I
thought you would be happy with Nat Ernshaw, I would advise you to
receive his addresses; as it is, I say _wait_. Be not too hasty, for
time and circumstances will do much to place all things in their true
light.”
“I will, mother; I will try him, and prove the strength of his
affection. These are perilous times, and times, too, that bring
out the good in a man’s character, if there is any good in it; and
something _may_ happen which will give you more favorable impressions
of Nat Ernshaw, than you appear to entertain now.”
Catherine turned away and busied herself with her household duties.
Mrs. Vale gazed with pride upon her daughter, and sorrowfully
murmured, “It would be a sad thing for my dear child to throw herself
away on such a fellow as ‘Wild Nat.’”
Mrs. Vale’s husband had been dead some fifteen years. He left her the
legacy of two fair children, upon whom all her hopes were centered.
The son had now grown to be the hardy man of two-and-twenty, and
Kate, the belle of the region, had, for several years, been among the
young women sought for by the beaux of the country.
Nat Ernshaw had been on intimate terms with the family for some
years, and had long cherished a feeling of great regard for Kate.
He had an unpleasant reputation, however, among the more staid in
the neighborhood. Not that he was absolutely vicious, or wedded to
habits of dissipation, for he was neither; but he had a number of,
to say the least, negative qualities, which made that prudent and
self-pious class, who have the morals of every community in their
keeping, predict that he would never come to any good. Catherine
was slow, however, to credit either the reports of the busy-bodies,
or the prophecies of the elder ones, for she had a woman’s subtle
intuitions, sharpened by a cool, clear judgment, and she was fully
conscious of all the lights and shades in Nat’s not well-defined
character. That he was one of those who let their good qualities
remain latent until called out by some important crisis, she
perfectly realized; and she had full faith in the future. The word
“wait” had no terrors in it. She therefore resolved to abide by her
promise; but, like an upright, conscientious girl that she was, she
also resolved that Nathaniel should know how she felt toward him; if
he could satisfy Mrs. Vale, and prove his affection real, and his
character above reproach, she would have no objection to receive him
as her accepted lover, and future husband.
The frugal meal was at last ready. Catherine moved toward the
door, but before she reached it, the latch was raised, and a tall,
straight, well-featured young man entered.
“Sit down, John; Kate was just going to call you to supper.”
“All right, mother; I feel hungry enough; and, after awhile, I want
to go over to Squire Stoddart’s. I will be back early, though. I
guess you and Kate will not be afraid to be left alone for a little
while.”
Mrs. Vale smiled as she answered, “I think not; but, John, it seems
to me that you want to see Squire Stoddart rather often. What has he
got that is so attractive? Can’t you enlighten us?”
“Certainly, mother, if you will tell me that you are really ignorant,
and ask for the sole purpose of finding out what it is, and not to
plague me.”
“I can’t say that; so I suppose we will scarcely get the requested
information from you. Mary Stoddart is a fine girl, John; and, if the
country ever gets settled down, I would have no objection to calling
her daughter; but, now-a-days, marrying and giving in marriage, are
things which had best be deferred.”
“If we wait till the country gets settled, I am afraid we will all be
old and gray-headed. I am not one of those who believe in deferring
to some future time what can be done now; and as soon as Mary
will consent, you shall call her daughter. I know you will have no
objections.”
Running on in this manner, the three kept up the conversation until
the meal was over; then John, after finishing up his evening’s work,
wended his way in the direction of Mr. Stoddart’s.
Hardly half an hour had elapsed, when the sound of a horse, coming
at a full gallop along the road, was heard. The traveler, whoever he
was, reined in at the widow’s door. Dismounting, he tied his horse to
a tree. To the surprise of Mrs. Vale, who had answered the knock, the
person was none other than Nat Ernshaw. She greeted him kindly:
“Come in, Nathaniel; come in. We have seen no one who could give
us any news for over a week; and, as you seem to have come from
Charleston, you can tell us what is going on.”
“I am ready enough to come in; but as for giving you any news of
what is going on in Charleston, it is something I am unable to do. I
haven’t seen the inside of the place for three or four weeks, and I
don’t expect to see it until these Britishers are driven out.”
The good dame closed the door as he entered, and motioned him to a
seat.
“I’m much obliged to you, Mrs. Vale; but, to tell the truth, I hardly
have time to sit down. I called to see John, and have a few minutes’
talk with him. If you could tell me where I can find him I will look
for him, as I see he is not in the house.”
“What do you want of him, Nat? I am afraid you want to lead him into
some mischief.”
“I can not say whether you will call it mischief or not; I am willing
to tell you what I wish to do, and I think you will approve of it.
These are stirring times, Mrs. Vale, and it’s the duty of every one
to do something for the country. The wolf is at our doors, and it’s
our duty to drive him away. A number of us are about organizing a
troop to fight for our homes and liberty. I know that you and John
believe, as I do, that the colonies are in the right; and I came over
to-night to see if I could not get John to join us. Every one is
joining one side or the other; and, unless we make a vigorous stand
_now_, it will soon be too late.”
“Nathaniel,” said the widow, “you know that John is the main support
of my old age; that he and Catherine are all that keeps me here. Were
they gone, I would not wish for life. Is not the cause of freedom
hopeless? Have not our countrymen been beaten at all points? Is there
a chance of success left to hang a single hope on? What good, then,
will it do for John to risk his life for the sake of continuing a
little longer a struggle which must soon end disastrously?”
“‘While there is life there is hope,’ as the doctors say, Mrs. Vale.
You speak truly, when you say the case is desperate; but that it
is hopeless, I deny. While there remains a thousand swords and a
thousand stout arms to wield them--while there are a thousand brave
hearts that pant for liberty, and liberty only, the cause of American
Independence will not be given up without a last grand struggle. We
_must_ be successful; and, though our lives are given to establish
the nationality of the colonies, the sacrifice must not be grudged.”
“Nathaniel Ernshaw, you speak like a patriot, and you must feel like
one. I but tried you when I spoke of our cause as hopeless. John is
anxious to go to the fray; but his love for me has kept him at home.
He shall be kept here no longer. Count on him as one of the company,
and, if he falls fighting for liberty and his country, think not I
will ever reproach you for having asked him to enter the paths of
danger.”
“I thought you would feel so, and I believe John is as enthusiastic
as yourself; but his love for you had kept him from joining the army,
knowing that, at any moment, he might be ordered away from you. Now
the case is different. The foe is in our midst. We can see them from
our own door-steps, and we _must_ battle for the defence of our
firesides.”
At this moment, Catherine, who had been in the other room, entered.
With a pleasant “Good evening,” she shook hands, and, taking a seat,
she resumed the knitting which she had relinquished to prepare supper.
From a discussion of the state of the country, Nathaniel turned to
talk of other matters, spoke of what was going on about them, and
thus passed a pleasant half-hour. Finally, he rose from his seat,
remarking:
“To tell the truth, I _must_ leave now, although I should love well
enough to stay here a little while longer. If I was certain that John
would be home soon, I should wait for him: but, as it is, I think
I shall ride over to Squire Stoddart’s--where I take it he is--and
have a few words with him. It is important that I speak about the
organization now, as we will hold a meeting to-morrow night.”
Catherine accompanied the young man to the door, and remained talking
with him for some time. When she returned, the color had risen in her
face, but she quietly took her seat, while the clattering along the
road told that Nat was making all possible speed in the direction of
the squire’s.