HOT WORK AHEAD.
Two weeks have elapsed since the time when Nat Ernshaw first formally
enrolled the names of the volunteers, who wished to fight under
the continental banner. During that two weeks they have not been
altogether idle, for, in addition to the discomfiture of the troop
of dragoons, they had attacked and dispersed some fifteen or twenty
tories who had assembled at a spot about nine miles from the swamp.
It may, at first, seem strange that the Americans did not make
an attack upon the detachment of soldiers which had, for over a
fortnight, been holding, as a barrack, the houses of Tappan and
Phillips. No doubt they would have been willing enough to attempt an
expulsion, had there been a probability of success. Nat considered
that his force of thirty-five or forty men would hardly be able to
cope with fifty or sixty, unless the larger party could be taken by
surprise. Though a scout had been for days watching the houses, it so
far seemed as though nothing could be done.
It was late in the evening, and the sun’s last lingering rays had
long since ceased to tinge the western horizon, when the majority of
the patriot soldiers were already “turned in,” that Capt. Ernshaw
was startled by hearing the low, long-drawn whistle of the sentinel
stationed at the outskirts of the swamp.
The signal implied that something important was to be communicated.
Thrusting a pistol in his belt, Ernshaw left the hut and traversed
the--by no means safe--path that led to the willow-trees under which
the sentinel was stationed.
As he neared the spot, it could be seen that the guard had left his
place of concealment, and was engaged in talking with a young lad.
The boy, who was mounted on a speedy-looking roan mare, had evidently
ridden far and fast.
“Why, Simon, is that you?” queried Ernshaw, as he shook the boy
by the hand. “What has brought you away out here in such a hurry?
Something important, I’ll be bound.”
Simon nodded a recognition as he handed a letter to the captain,
saying: “I should think it must be important, for father told me to
ride as though my life was on it. Sampson was down at our house this
morning, and, after he had left, father wrote this letter. I guess
you’ll have pretty hard work to read it, for he was in a hurry.”
“Follow me into the camp,” said Ernshaw; “but be sure you don’t turn
aside on the way. The bog is deep enough to swallow up a hundred as
good horses as that gallant roan of yours, and I should be sorry to
see her floundering there after doing us such good service.”
“Never mind, Mister Nat. I guess I know the path nearly as well
as you do. Before father moved to Charleston we lived about
three-quarters of a mile from here, and there’s many a time that I
went to gather berries in Cedar Swamp.”
“Come on, then, for I am impatient to read this letter.”
The letter, though hastily scrawled by one whose hands were stiffened
with many a day’s hard labor, was sufficiently legible to be read
by Nat. He found that it contained important news indeed. It ran as
follows:
FRIEND NAT:--Keep your eyes open, for Clinton is going to give
you a brush. Turner was over here yesterday, and the general has
determined to send out a force of a hundred men for your capture.
There’s to be a tory meeting on Black Run to-morrow evening, and
there’ll be thirty-five of the traitors present. I guess you know
what to do. They will be well armed, so you may expect some hard
knocks. Ben Graham is at the bottom of it, and the meeting will be
in his barn. You know the spot. Success to the good cause!
SIMON.
For some minutes Nat did not speak. The distance from Cedar Swamp
to the Black Run spoken of in the letter was but little, if any,
over seven miles, and every man in the brigade was well acquainted
with the road. There was no necessity for immediate action, as the
distance could be got over, on the following day, from sunset till
ten o’clock.
“Well, Simon, you are our good genius,” said Nat. “The intelligence
you bring is important enough, and you can tell your father he may
rest assured that I will act upon it. Gen. Clinton will find that the
best hundred men in the British army would be insufficient to effect
our capture; and, as for the tories of Black Run, all I have to say
is, that if there are not a few unwelcome guests intruding upon
their meeting before it comes to a close, it will be because there
are no true patriots left in the Carolinas. Will you remain with us
to-night?”
“I guess I had better. You see the roan can stand as hard a pelt as
most horses, but it will not do to work her too hard. She has got
over near thirty miles to-day, and thirty more would be a little too
much.”
“You are right, Simon; turn in with us. Accommodations are rather
poor, but I think you can stand it.”
“If I stay to-night, I am afraid you will have to keep me to-morrow,
too. The Britishers are on the road, and stopped me as I was coming
down, but I trumped up a pretty long story for them. If they see me
again, they may stick a little closer.”
“Never mind that. You are welcome to stay as long as you choose,
provided you are willing to brave our hardships and dangers. You
shall always be welcome. For to-night you must share my bed, such as
it is.”
Wearied with his long ride, the young patriot needed no second
urging. He was soon fast asleep. Early in the following morning
the whole brigade was, as usual, up and astir. Simon’s mysterious
appearance created some surprise, for the arrival of the previous
night had not been spoken of by the sentinel; but when it was hinted
that he brought important intelligence, which would doubtless bring
them face to face with the enemy again, considerable enthusiasm was
manifested, and two or three of the more immediate acquaintances of
the blacksmith’s son, assumed the pleasant task of “pumping” him.
Their success in this undertaking was by no means equal to their
perseverance.
After an hour of ungratified curiosity had passed, the men were
drawn up by command of Ernshaw, who stated that he had something to
communicate, which, doubtless, they would be glad to hear.
“From a devoted friend of liberty,” said Nat, “residing in
Charleston, I have just received a message. There is to be a meeting
of tories held to-night at Ben Graham’s, on Black Run. From what I
hear, I think it is their intention to assist the British troops in
attempting our capture. Of course you know what I would wish to do;
are you all with me?”
“All!” was the answer, given in a single breath.
“Then hold yourselves in readiness to march at sunset, in the
direction of Graham’s. We will strike such a blow as will make these
scoundrels, who would make a profit on the blood of their countrymen,
at least a deal more cautious how they attempt to carry on their
trade within reach of the strong arms of American freemen. Look well
to your arms, boys; nerve your hearts for a determined struggle, and
to-night we will strike again for liberty.”
During the day there was a bustle among the men of the brigade, that
told the British prisoners, confined within the recesses of the
swamp, that something of more than ordinary importance was about to
take place. Swords were brightened and sharpened, cartridges were
made, and a look, which spake of eager impatience, was worn by all.
As night flung her shadow on all, Nat Ernshaw’s brigade rode out into
the darkness, and the confines of Cedar Swamp were untenanted save by
the dozen English prisoners and the five patriots left to guard them.
For a time the noise of footsteps came faintly to their listening
ears; then all was silence.
* * * * *
Let us return to Captain Preston and his schemes. With their plot and
counterplot, they enter into the thread of our story to color it all.
The _gallant_ Briton was hastily pacing the room. His face, flushed
as if with anger, wore a well-settled scowl. Half an hour before he
had returned from one of his afternoon excursions at such a pace that
one might think forty troopers were close behind in hot pursuit.
Casting his bridle to a soldier in waiting, Preston strode away to
his room. Once there, he cast his chapeau upon the bed, and began his
hasty walk, in which, however, he was interrupted by a knock on the
door. In none of the best of humors he said, “Come in!” The summons
was obeyed by a young man whom Reginald knew as an aid-de-camp of
Gen. Clinton. In his hand he bore a folded paper.
The young men bowed to each other, and then the stranger said, at
the same time handing the paper which he bore, “I was commissioned
by Gen. Clinton to bring you these instructions. You are to follow
them to the letter, and he hopes that you may be enabled to do good
service to your country.”
In his present mood Reginald felt in no humor for interruption.
Unfolding the paper, he hastily read its contents. He was informed
that, in conjunction with a score of light dragoons, who would be
sent to aid him, he would soon have the opportunity of crossing
swords with the man who, above all others, he now hated--John Vale.
Under the guidance of Timothy Turner, Cedar Swamp was to be invaded;
for Gen. Clinton had learned that Nat Ernshaw’s brigade was there
ensconced.
“Do you intend to return to Charleston?” inquired Preston, turning to
the aid-de-camp.
“Immediately. Such were my orders.”
“Then you will inform Gen. Clinton that I hold myself in readiness
to obey his orders; and, so soon as the reinforcements of which he
speaks--though I see no real necessity for them--shall arrive, I
will proceed to attack the rebels. Tell him, from me, that I desire
something of the kind--some more stirring life; for this inactive
state of affairs is enough to drive a man crazy.”
“I will say this to him,” answered the young man, and bowed himself
out of the room.
When the messenger had departed, Reginald resumed his walk, all the
while muttering to himself.
“Too bad! too bad!” burst from his lips. “This rebel beauty has
twined herself about my heart until I--I, who could pass through all
the gayeties of London life with a heart untouched--am almost her
slave! By all that’s holy and unholy, she shall not triumph thus!
I’ll make her come down on her knees and beg--ay, beg in vain--for
that which I have so freely offered her. By heavens! it makes my
blood boil when I think of it. She, with her soft, baby face wearing
a smile of contempt--I, like a school-boy, kneeling at her feet,
asking her for her love! She shall learn what it is to scorn one who
has the will and the power to return revenge for scorn, and bring
tears for laughter.”
Catherine Vale it was who brought that scowl to Reginald’s brow, who
drove him up and down the room, like one possessed. That afternoon,
standing under the shadow of the great pear-tree which stood behind
the house, he had offered his love, had lain open his heart, and was
rejected with a firmness which had something of scorn in it.
“Useless, sir!” said Catherine. “No arguments which you can offer may
avail to change my determination. I had partially foreseen some such
result, yet did not know how I could avoid it. If your professions
are sincere, I thank you for the honor which you have conferred upon
me. At the same time, I suppose you see the impropriety of your
continuing your visits. Once for all, I bid you good-by.”
She held out her hand. The captain endeavored to detain it, but the
ever-present Lion came between them rather menacingly to the lover.
He flung the hand from him, hastily mounted his horse, and rode away.
Catherine had a foreboding of evil to come from that rejection. She
saw the black cloud, for now she read the heart of the man clearly,
truthfully.
Turner now was with the English. To him Reginald naturally turned as
a fit instrument to work out his will. At his command, Timothy made
his appearance. Soon they were busied with the details of a plan,
which even the traitor tory hesitated at first to engage in. But a
man who can betray his country for gold will not hesitate long, even
where a maiden’s honor is pitted against the base courage of the
unscrupulous villain.
“Beware, Turner, of ever breathing a syllable, to a living soul, of
aught concerning which I have spoken or shall speak. You know my
wish. Now, will you act?”
“Whenever you can show me that it is to my _interest_ to follow your
lead, then I will do what you command,” said the tory, with a slow
but distinct, determined utterance.
“It shall be to your interest, if by interest you refer to your
reward in gold. I am not the kind of man to see friends of mine go
unrewarded. Will you promise secrecy and obedience? If so, here is a
foretaste of what you may expect.” Preston dangled before the eyes
of the base wretch a purse well filled with gold.
“While you give gold I will give service,” said Turner. “When you
find me shrinking at _any_ piece of work where there is money to be
made, then just shoot me. I ain’t fit to live.”
The Briton smiled in real satisfaction, as he noted how eager was the
thirst for gold in the heart of the scoundrel before him. With gold
he could lead him anywhere, even to the very gates of death. He had
found his man!
“Take this purse,” continued Preston; “and now listen to what I say.
You have, I suppose, a pretty good idea already of what it is; hear
these particulars. This Kate Vale must be abducted, but it must
be done in such a manner that none of the blame can rest on _me_.
Persons may suspect, but they must have _no proof_ on which to hang
their suspicions.”
“Well, what else.”
“Return to the city and search out a private in Hyde’s company. The
fellow’s name is Blanchard. You can easily find him, for he passes
all his time, when not on duty, in a small tavern in the lower part
of the city, kept by one James Fagan. After finding him, explain
the state of affairs, and lay your heads together. If you two can
not abduct the woman between you, I would not give much for your
services.”
“Is Blanchard entirely and devotedly in your confidence?” queried
Turner. This asking him to assist in the abduction of an honest
woman, whose only crime was her not being able to appreciate the good
qualities of a British officer, was a matter which required every
caution.
“Fully. He was in my service before he enlisted, and you need not be
afraid of his betraying you. Tom Blanchard may be a villain, but he
is one who will never stoop to betraying a confidence, or turning on
a friend.”
“Then that is all I wished to know. I suppose you want the thing done
as soon as possible; so, without waiting any longer, I am off for
Charleston. As it will cost considerable, I suppose this purse is
only for expenses; our reward is to come afterwards.”
“Yes, yes; leave now. Do your _best_, and if you succeed you shall be
fully paid for your time and trouble.”
When the base creature left the room, a smile of disgust rose to the
face of the captain. Though he was willing to use the tool which so
readily yielded to his wishes, Reginald most heartily despised him.
These thoughts, however, were soon chased away, for he had other
things to consider. This abduction of Catherine Vale was not the only
scheme in view. He earnestly wished to effect the death of his other
cousin, John Vale.
Not, to be sure, by assassination, but rather by the fortune of
war; in the field, with sword in hand, or on the scaffold as a
rebel--either of these modes would be justifiable slaying. The sister
to be abducted, ruined; the brother to be murdered; the mother to
die of a broken heart; when these things are consummated, perchance
there may be a truly legal claim upon a certain not-to-be-despised
fortune, which these three alive would be pretty sure to keep him
from. All should be done, and the “fortunes of war” would bear the
whole responsibility.