THE ASSAULT UPON THE BARN AT BLACK RUN.
Ben Graham was by no means a man of small importance, as one might
suppose from the manner in which he was spoken of in the letter which
Nat Ernshaw had received. On the contrary, he was a man well-off in
every respect, being wealthy, and, in spite of his manners,--which,
as a general matter, were by no means worthy of imitation,--was
possessed of influence among the farmers who lived in contiguity with
Black Run.
Though suspected long since by Ernshaw with having a greater
love for the British than was to be desired by an American-born
citizen, yet he had never any reasonable amount of proof to justify
him in denouncing Graham as a tory. Now, although Hunt might be
mistaken,--which was very improbable,--the predilections of the
wealthy planter were about to be determined with a certainty.
When the shadow of night had fairly clouded over all, the first of
the tories made his appearance in front of Graham’s house. Each one
to be admitted into the tory council was intrusted with a secret sign
and password. With these this first-comer was acquainted; so Ben, who
was enjoying the night, and apparently taking his ease, sitting on
his porch, invited the man to take a seat.
Soon two others made their appearance, each giving the mysterious
password. All three were directed to go to the old barn, where Ben
would meet them so soon as their number was complete.
In the course of half an hour thirty men were congregated in the old
barn, when Ben appeared, bearing a lantern, and bringing with him
three more men. It did not take the meeting long to organize, for
every one was in a hurry to learn what precise advantage it would be
to them to be members of the tory regiment.
When at last, Ben Graham stated the case, the whole secret was told
in one word--_plunder_. Plunder from the whigs whatsoever there was
to plunder, whether money, lands, or life. Chosen from a circuit
of a number of miles, as men, devoid of principle, but full of the
lust for money, these fellows were just the creatures to be moved by
the mind and judgment of Ben Graham--for that gentleman, of course,
intended for himself the honors of a captaincy.
Four dimly-burning stable-lanterns cast but a weak and fitful light
over the large company assembled in that old barn. The room, though
in reality well paved and dry, seemed damp and gloomy. All outside
openings had been carefully boarded up, so that no unobserved
listener might see the gathering or catch some unguarded speech.
It was, in truth, a picturesque scene,--these thirty men, all
crime-stamped, as the majority of them were, standing around a huge
box--through the dim light looking like an altar, and the men like
devotees to some strange shrine--and bending their gaze fixedly upon
the stern countenance of the self-elected leader. Bold, unscrupulous,
fond of adventure, without a thought for the right of the question,
Graham was the sort of man to lead such a horde of villains.
A half-hour slipped away. The opinions of the men had been taken, and
Graham elected, with all due formality, captain. Anxious to assume
his new dignity in a manner suitable at once to it and to himself,
Captain Ben proceeded to make a speech:--
“I know most of you have your rifles, but there are some who are
without weapons, and, what is worse, not meaning any offence, without
money to buy any. The king is particularly careful that such men
shall be enabled to do their duty; and so this box, here, contains
about a dozen rifles,--for I thought we’d need that many,--and swords
and daggers enough to go around the whole party. If one of you will
hand me an ax, I will open the box and show you the gift of the king.”
An ax made its appearance. A few vigorous strokes removed the top
of the box, disclosing the arms of which Graham had spoken. With
exclamations of pleasure the men crowded around the box, handling the
weapons, and praising their leader for thus procuring the “tools”
for those who were without them.
Nat Ernshaw’s men had been at no pains to heat their gallant steeds.
The meeting had been some time in session ere the brigade arrived in
sight of the old barn. There was no sign of any person being within
that dark, deserted-looking stone pile.
“By heavens!” whispered one, “I believe that for once we are
out,--that we have been fooled, and that the sooner we get back to
the swamp the better.”
“Pooh!” answered the one addressed; “you had better reserve your
opinions for to-morrow morning, then, if you are alive, you are
welcome to pass what judgment you choose upon the object of this
expedition. I’ll wager you three to one it’s not a wild-goose chase.”
“Perhaps!”
“No perhaps about it. Mark my words, we will have some sharp work
to-night. Any thing that comes from Simon the blacksmith is reliable
information.”
“Hush,” said one who rode beside the last speaker. “The captain wants
us to draw up close and listen to his commands. He has laid out his
plan I guess, and is going to explain to us.”
Wild Nat had laid out his plans and did explain them.
As Ben Graham was forcing off the lid from the box of arms, Nat was
approaching the house with a force of forty dismounted troopers.
A sentinel had been placed on the outside of the barn, with
directions to stand in the shadow. Leaving his men, Nat quietly stole
around the corner of the barn, looking for the sentinel. When at
length his eye rested upon the indistinctly defined shadow of the
tory, he threw himself at full length upon the ground and stealthily
crawled toward the spot upon which the man was stationed.
John Vale peered cautiously around the corner and watched the
progress of his friend. He saw the sentinel suddenly start and lean
forward, then a figure leapt up and struck down the man. A low
whistle announced to Vale that the coast was clear.
Ben Graham cast a glance of pride upon the stalwart villains whom
he was to command. They gave a shout when they saw the steel, and
pressed forward to look within the box.
An answering shout! Was it the echo that pealed through the room, or
did they hear that cheer only in imagination? The tories looked at
one another with astonishment and fear pictured upon each countenance.
“We are betrayed!” sang out one nearest the door. “Fly, for the
rebels are coming!”
A sort of hurried movement was made; then all stood still again, to
wait for what was to come. The suspense did not endure long, for with
a crash the door flew open, and on the threshold, with a torch in one
hand, a bright gleaming sword in the other, stood Nat Ernshaw, while
a swarm of faces showed dark behind him.
“Surrender, you tory dogs!” shouted Nat. “Surrender. Show them your
strength, boys. At them!”
The patriots rushed into the room, and were met by those who now were
fighting for life. The contest was therefore one of desperation.
Notwithstanding the patriots were in the majority, victory was by no
means an easy thing to obtain.
The American’s torches had been dropped, and the conflict was waged
by the light of the four lanterns which hung from the roof of the
vault. Graham watched the conduct of his men with a critical eye,
even while he was crossing blades with a furious “rebel.” The man was
ignorant of the science, while Ben was a master of it; consequently,
the tory gave his antagonist a severe wound in the arm. The smoke
of a score of pistols wrapped the greater part of the scene in
obscurity, but the groans of the wounded told that the contest had
not been bloodless. One of the lamps had been extinguished by a
chance shot; two others hung close together and gave just enough
light for Ben to perceive that his men were being slowly but surely
driven back.
With all his power the tory captain hurled a heavy horse-pistol which
he held in his hand. The weapon struck the lanterns, and effectually
extinguished their light. “Retreat, boys!” he shouted. “Retreat!” and
he dashed away, followed by his men.
A huge oaken door was at the end of the room. Beyond this a passage
led to a spring-house eight or ten yards from the barn. Along this
passage, with swift steps, part of the tories flew; while some dozen
or so, unable to shake off their assailants, still sought to make
good their resistance.
The door of the spring-house was burst open, and Graham rushed out,
followed by fifteen or sixteen of his fellows; without pausing to see
if they were pursued, they made the best of their way to the woods,
but fifty rods away.
Nat Ernshaw had dispersed the tories. At a loss of but three men
killed, and several severely wounded, he had disposed of thirty
desperate plotters against society and the liberties of his country.