besieging army had been at work before the fort, and in three days more
all their arrangements would have been completed and the post have
fallen into their hands. It was therefore deeply mortifying and
dispiriting to be forced to retire, just as success was about crowning
their efforts. But far-seeing, prudent, and looking more to future
results than present triumphs, General Greene, on the 19th, commenced
retreating toward the Saluda, which river he passed in safety, and
moved forward with all possible despatch for the Enoree. Before his
rear-guard had left the south side of this river, the van of Lord
Rawdon's army appeared in pursuit. But the British commander hesitated
to make an attack upon Greene's cavalry, which was under the command of
Lee and Colonel Washington, and was a brave, well-disciplined, and
superior troop, and so permitted them to pass the Enoree unmolested.
While Lord Rawdon paused at this point, undetermined which course to
pursue, General Greene moved on toward the Broad River, where he halted
and made his encampment.
Such was the aspect of affairs at the time our story begins--a story of
woman's self-devotion and heroism. Near the place where General Greene
had halted with his weary and disheartened troops, stood the
unpretending residence of a country farmer in moderate circumstances.
His name was Geiger. He was a true friend of the American cause, and,
but for ill health, that rendered him unable to endure the fatigues of
the camp, would have been under arms in defence of his country. The
deep interest felt in the cause of liberty by Geiger, made him ever on
the alert for information touching the progress of affairs in his
State, and the freedom with which he expressed his opinions created him
hosts of enemies among the evil-minded tories with whom he was
surrounded. Geiger had an only daughter, eighteen years of age, who was
imbued with her father's spirit.
"If I were only a man!" she would often say, when intelligence came of
British or tory outrages, or when news was brought of some reverse to
the American arms. "If I were only a man! that I could fight for my
country."
On the third day of General Greene's encampment near the residence of
Geiger, a neighbour dropped in.
"What news?" asked the farmer.
"Lord Rawdon has determined to abandon the fort at Ninety-Six."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. General Greene received the information this morning. Rawdon has
despatched intelligence to Colonel Stuart to advance with his regiment
from Charleston to Friday's Ferry on the Congaree, where he will join
him immediately. He leaves Cruger at Ninety-Six, who is to move, as
soon as possible, with his bloody tory recruits and their property, and
take a route that will put the Edisto between him and our forces.
Moving down the southern bank of this river to Orangeburg, he will
thence make a junction with Rawdon at Friday's Ferry."
"Then they will divide their force?" said Geiger eagerly.
"Yes."
"And giving Greene an advantage by which he will not be slow to profit.
Cruger will not be a day on the march before our general will make his
acquaintance."
"No," replied the neighbour. "If I heard aright, it is General Greene's
intention to pursue Rawdon, and strike a more decisive blow."
"Why did he not encounter him at the Saluda, when the opportunity
offered?"
"General Sumter was not with him."
"Nor is he now."
"And, I fear, will not join him, as he so much desires."
"For what reason?" inquired Geiger.
"He finds no one willing to become bearer of despatches. The country
between this and Sumter's station on the Wateree, is full of the
enemies of our cause--blood-thirsty tories, elated by the defeat of our
arms at Ninety-Six--who will to a certainty murder any man who
undertakes the journey. I would not go on the mission for my weight in
gold."
"And can no man be found to risk his life for his country, even on so
perilous a service?" said the farmer in a tone of surprise, not
unmingled with mortification.
"None. The effort to reach Sumter would be fruitless. The bravest man
will hesitate to throw his life away."
"God protects those who devote themselves to the good of their country,"
said Geiger. "If I could bear the fatigue of the journey, I would not
shrink from the service an instant."
"You would commit an act of folly."
"No--of true devotion to my country," replied the farmer warmly. "But,"
he added in a saddened voice, "what boots it that I am willing for the
task. These feeble limbs refuse to bear me on the journey."
Emily Geiger, the daughter, heard all this with feelings of intense
interest; and as she had often said before, so she said now, in the
silence of her spirit: "Oh that I were a man!" But she was simply a
young and tender girl, and her patriotic heart could only throb with
noble feelings, while her hands were not able to strike a blow for her
country.
"If I were only a man!" murmured the young girl again and again, as she
mused on what she had heard, long after the neighbour had departed.
In the mean time, General Greene, who had heard through messengers from
Colonel Lee of the proposed abandonment of Ninety-six, and the division
of the British and tory forces, was making preparations to retrace his
steps, and strike, if possible, a decisive blow against Lord Rawdon. In
order to make certain of victory, it was necessary to inform Sumter of
his designs, and effect a junction with him before attacking the enemy.
But, thus far, no one offered to perform the dangerous service.
On the morning of the day upon which the army was to commence retracing
its steps, General Greene sat in his tent lost in deep thought. Since
taking command of the southern army, he had been struggling at every
disadvantage with a powerful enemy, whose disciplined troops were daily
strengthened by citizens of the country, lost to every feeling of true
patriotism; and now, having weakened that enemy, he felt eager to
strike a blow that would destroy him. But, with the force that he could
command, it was yet a doubtful question whether an engagement would
result in victory to the American arms. If he could effect a junction
with Sumter before Lord Rawdon reached Friday's Ferry on the Congaree,
he had great hopes of success. But the great difficulty was to get a
messenger to Sumter, who was distant between one and two hundred miles.
While the general was pondering these things, an officer entered and
said--
"A young country girl is before the tent, and wishes to speak with
you."
"Tell her to come in," replied the general.
The officer withdrew, and in a few moments reappeared in company with a
young girl, dressed in a closely fitting habit, carrying a small whip
in her hand. She curtsied respectfully as she entered.
The general arose as the maiden stepped inside of his tent, and
returned her salutation.
"General Greene?" inquired the fair stranger.
The officer bowed.
"I have been told," said the visitor, the colour deepening in her face,
"that you are in want of a bearer of despatches to General Sumter."
"I am," replied the general. "But I find no one courageous enough to
undertake the perilous mission."
"Send me," said the maiden. And she drew her slight form upward
proudly.
"Send you!" exclaimed the general, taken by surprise. "You? Oh no,
child! I could not do that. It is a journey from which brave men hold
back."
"I am not a brave man. I am only a woman. But I will go."
"Touched by such an unlooked-for incident, General Greene, after
pausing for some moments, said--
"Will you go on this journey alone?"
"Give me a fleet horse, and I will bear your message safely."
"Alone?"
"Alone."
[Illustration: GENERAL GREENE AND MISS GEIGER. Page 72.]
"What is your name?" inquired the officer, after another thoughtful
pause.
"Emily Geiger."
"Is your father living?"
"Yes."
"Have you his consent?"
"He knows nothing of my intention. But he loves his country, and, but
for ill health, would be now bearing arms against their enemies. His
heart is with the good cause, though his arm is powerless. His head
must approve the act, though his heart might fail him were I to ask his
consent. But it is not for you, general, to hesitate. Heaven has sent
you a messenger, and you dare not refuse to accept the proffered
service when so much is at stake."
"Noble girl!" said the general, with emotion, "you shall go. And may
God speed you and protect you on your journey."
"He will!" murmured the intrepid girl, in a low voice.
"Order a swift, but well-trained and gentle horse to be saddled
immediately," said Greene to the officer who had conducted the maiden
into his presence.
The officer retired, and Emily seated herself while the general wrote a
hasty despatch for Sumter. This, after it was completed, he read over
to her twice, in order that, if compelled to destroy it, she might yet
deliver the message verbally, and then asked her to repeat to him its
contents. She did so accurately. He then gave her minute directions
with regard to the journey, with instructions how to act in case she
was intercepted by the soldiers of Lord Rawdon, to all of which she
listened with deep attention.
"And now, my good girl," said the general, with an emotion that he
could not conceal, as he handed her the despatch, "I commit to your
care this important message. Every thing depends on its safe delivery.
Here is money for your expenses on the journey," and he reached her a
purse. But Emily drew back, saying--
"I have money in my pocket. Keep what you have. You will need it, and
more, for your country."
At this point, the officer re-entered the tent, and announced that the
horse was ready.
"And so am I," said Emily, as she stepped out into the open air.
Already a whisper of what was going on in the general's quarters had
passed through the camp, and many officers and men had gathered before
his tent to see the noble-minded girl as she came forth to start upon
her dangerous journey.
There was no sign of fear about the fair young maiden, as she placed
her foot in the hand of an officer and sprang upon the saddle. Her face
was calm, her eyes slightly elevated, and her lips gently compressed
with resolution. General Greene stood near her. He extended his hand as
soon as she had firmly seated herself and grasped the reins of the
noble animal upon which she was mounted.
"_God speed you on your journey, and may heaven and your country reward
you_," said he, as he held her hand tightly. Then, as if impelled by a
sudden emotion, he pressed the fair hand to his lips, and turning away
sought the seclusion of his tent, deeply moved by so unexpected and
touching an instance of heroism in one who was little more than a
child. As he did so, the officer, who had until now held the horse by
the bridle, released his grasp, and Emily, touching her rein, spoke to
the animal upon which she was mounted. Obeying the word instantly he
sprang away, bearing the fair young courier from the camp, and moved
rapidly in a south-westerly direction. Officers and men gazed after
her, but no wild shout of admiration went up to the skies. On some
minds pressed, painfully, thoughts of the peril that lay in the path of
the brave girl; others, rebuked by her noble self-devotion, retired to
their tents and refrained from communion with their fellows on the
subject that engrossed every thought; while others lost all present
enthusiasm in their anxiety for the success of the mission.
About five miles from the encampment of General Greene, lived one of
the most active and bitter tories in all South Carolina. His name was
Loire. He was ever on the alert for information, and had risked much in
his efforts to give intelligence to the enemy. Two of his sons were
under arms at Ninety-Six, on the British side, and he had himself
served against his country at Camden. Since the encampment of General
Greene in his neighbourhood, Loire had been daily in communication with
spies who were kept hovering in his vicinity, in order to pick up
information that might be of importance to the British.
Some four hours after Emily Geiger had started on her journey, one of
Loire's spies reached the house of his employer.
"What news?" asked the tory, who saw, by the man's countenance, that he
had something of importance to communicate.
"The rebel Greene has found a messenger to carry his despatch to
Sumter."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes; and she has been on her journey some four or five hours."
"She?"
"Yes. That girl of Geiger's went to the camp this morning and
volunteered for the service."
"The ----!" But we will not stain our pages with a record of the
profane and brutal words that fell from the lips of the tory.
"She has the swiftest horse in the camp," said the man, "and unless
instant pursuit is given, she will soon be out of our reach."
With a bitter oath, Loire swore that she should never reach the camp of
Sumter.
"Take Vulcan," said he in a quick, energetic voice, "and kill him but
what you overtake the huzzy, between this and Morgan's Range."
"She has nearly five hours' start," replied the man.
"But you must make two miles to her one."
"Even then she will be most likely ahead of the Range ere I can reach
there."
"Very well. In that case you must start Bill Mink after her, with a
fresh horse. I will give you a letter, which you will place in his
hands should you fail to overtake the girl."
With these instructions, the man started in pursuit. He was mounted on
a large, strong horse, who bore his rider as lightly as if he had been
a child.
In the mean time, Emily, who had received minute information in regard
to her journey, and who was, moreover, no stranger to the way, having
been twice to Camden, struck boldly into the dense forest through which
she was to pass, and moved along a bridle track at as swift a pace as
the animal she rode could bear without too great fatigue. The
importance of the work upon which she had entered, and the enthusiasm
with which it inspired her, kept her heart above the influence of fear.
No event of moment happened to her during the first day of her journey.
In passing a small settlement known as Morgan's Range, which she did at
about four o'clock in the afternoon, she took the precaution to sweep
around it in a wide circle, as some of the most active and evil-minded
tories in the state resided in that neighbourhood. Successful in making
this circuit, she resumed the road upon which her course lay, still
urging forward her faithful animal, which, though much fatigued by the
rapidity of his journey, obeyed the word of his rider, as if he
comprehended the importance of the message she bore.
Gradually, now, the day declined, and, as the deep shadows mingled more
and more with each other, a feeling of loneliness, not before
experienced, came over the mind of Emily, and her eyes were cast about
more warily, as if she feared the approach of danger. The house at
which she had proposed to spend the night was still ten miles, if not
more, in advance, and as the shades of evening began to gather around,
the hope of reaching this resting-place was abandoned; for there being
no moon, there was danger of her losing her way in the darkness. This
conviction was so strong, that Emily turned her horse's head in the
direction of the first farmyard that came in view after the sun had
fallen below the horizon. As she rode up to the door, she was met by a
man, who, accosting her kindly, asked where she was from and how far
she was going.
"I hoped to reach Elwood's to-night," replied Emily. "How far away is
it?"
"Over ten miles--and the road is bad and lonely," said the man, whose
wife had by this time joined him. "You had better get down and stay
with us 'till morning."
"If you will give me that privilege," returned the maiden, "I shall
feel greatly obliged."
The man promptly offered his hand to assist Emily to dismount, and
while he led her tired horse away, his wife invited her to enter the
house.
"Have you come far?" inquired the woman, as she untied Emily's bonnet
strings, looking very earnestly in her face as she spoke.
Emily knew not whether she were among the friends or the enemies of the
American cause, and her answer was, therefore, brief and evasive.
"Your horse looked very tired. You must have ridden him a long
distance.
"I rode fast," said Emily. "But still, I have not been able to reach
the place for which I started this morning."
"It's hardly safe for a young girl like you to take such a long journey
alone, in these troublesome times."
"I'm not afraid. No one will harm me," said Emily, forcing a smile.
"I'm not so certain of that, child. It's only a day or two since Greene
passed here in full retreat, and no doubt, there are many straggling
vagabonds from his army roaming around, whom it would not be safe for
one like you to meet."
As the woman said this, a chill went over the frame of the young girl,
for, in the tone of her voice and expression of her face, she read an
unfriendliness to the cause that was so dear to her heart. She did not
venture a reply.
"Might I ask your name?" said the woman, breaking in upon the anxious
thoughts that were beginning to pass through her mind.
Emily reflected hurriedly, before replying, and then answered,
"Gieger."
The quick conclusion to which she came was, that, in all probability,
the woman did not know any thing about her father as favouring the whig
cause; but, even if she did, a suspicion of the errand upon which she
was going was not likely to cross either her own mind or that of her
husband.
"Not John Geiger's daughter!" exclaimed the woman.
Emily forced an indifferent smile and replied--
"Yes."
"I've heard of him often enough as a bitter enemy to the royalists. Is
it possible you have ridden all the way from home to-day?"
Before Emily replied, the husband of the woman came in.
"Would you think it," said the latter, "this is John's Geiger's
daughter, of whom we have so often heard."
"Indeed! Well, if she were the daughter of my bitterest enemy, she
should have food and shelter to-night. No wonder your horse is tired,"
he added, addressing Emily, "if you have ridden from home to-day. And,
no doubt, you are yourself hungry as well as tired; so wife, if it is
all ready, suppose we have supper."
The movement to the supper-table gave Emily time for reflection and
self-possession. No more pointed questions were asked her during the
meal; and after it was completed, she said to the woman that she felt
much fatigued, and, if she would permit her to do so, would retire for
the night.
The young girl's reflections were by no means pleasant when alone. She
thought seriously of the position in which she was placed. Her father
was known as an active whig; and she was in the house of a tory, who
might suspect her errand and prevent its consummation. After retiring
to bed, she mused for a long time as to the course to be taken, in case
efforts were made to detain her, when, overwearied nature, claiming its
due repose, locked all her senses in sleep.
Nearly two hours after Emily had gone to her chamber, and just as the
man and woman who had given her a shelter for the night, were about
retiring, the sound of a horse's feet were heard rapidly approaching
the house. On going to the door, a young man rode up and called out in
a familiar way--
"Hallo, Preston! Have you seen anything of a stray young girl in these
parts?"
"Bill Mink!" returned the farmer. "What in the world brings you here at
this time of night?"
"On a fool's errand, it may be. I received a letter from Loire, about
an hour ago, stating that Geiger's daughter had volunteered to carry
important despatches to General Sumter; that she had been on the
journey some hours; and that I must overhaul her at the risk of every
thing."
"It isn't possible!" said the wife of the man called Preston.
"It is, though; and it strikes me that she must be a confounded clever
girl."
"It strikes me so, too," returned Preston. "But I rather think your
errand will be that of a fool, if you go any farther tonight."
"Have you seen any thing of the jade?" asked Mink in a decided tone.
"Well, perhaps I have," returned Preston, lowering his voice.
"Aha!" ejaculated Mink, throwing himself from his horse. "So I have got
on the right track. She is here?"
"I did not say so."
"No matter. It is all the same," and, hitching his horse to the fence,
the young man entered the house with the familiarity of an old
acquaintance.
The sound of the horse's feet, as Mink came dashing up to the house,
awakened Emily. The room she occupied being on the ground-floor, and
the window raised to admit the cool air, she heard every word that
passed. It may well be supposed that her heart sank in her bosom. For a
long time after the new-comer entered, she heard the murmur of voices.
Then some one went out, and the horse was led away to the stable. It
was clear that the individual in search of her had concluded to pass
the night there, and secure her in the morning.
The intrepid girl now bent all her thoughts on the possibility of
making an escape. An hour she lay, with her heart almost fluttering in
her bosom, listening intently to every sound that was made by those who
were around her. At length all became still. Preston and his wife, as
well as the new-comer, had retired to rest, and the heavy slumber into
which both the men had fallen was made soon apparent by their heavy
breathing.
Noiselessly leaving her bed, Emily put on her clothes in haste, and
pushed aside the curtain that had been drawn before the window. Through
the distant treetops she saw the newly-risen moon shining feebly. As
she stood, leaning out of the window, listening eagerly, and debating
the question whether she should venture forth in the silent midnight, a
large house-dog, who was on the watch while his master slept, came up,
and laying his great head upon the window-sill, looked into her face.
Emily patted him, and the dog wagged his tail, seeming much pleased
with the notice.
No longer hesitating, the girl sprang lightly from the window, and,
accompanied by the dog, moved noiselessly in the direction of the
stable. Here she was for some time at a loss to determine which of the
half-dozen horses it contained had borne her thus far on her journey;
and it was equally hard to find, in the dark, the bridle and saddle for
which she sought. But all these difficulties were at length surmounted,
and she led forth the obedient animal. Making as wide a circuit from
the house as possible, Emily succeeded in gaining the road without
awakening any one. Up to this time, the dog had kept closely by her
side; but, when she mounted the horse and moved away, he stood looking
at her until she passed out of sight, and then returned to his post at
the farmhouse.
[Illustration: ESCAPE FROM THE HOUSE OF PRESTON, THE TORY. Page 88.]
The danger she had left behind made Emily almost insensible to the
loneliness of her situation; and the joy she felt at her escape
scarcely left room for fear in her heart. Day had hardly begun to
break, when she reached the house of an old friend of her father's,
where she had intended to pass the night. To him she confided the
nature of her journey, and told of the narrow escape she had made. A
hasty meal was provided for her, and, ere the sun passed above the
horizon, mounted on a strong and fresh horse, she was sweeping away on
her journey. A letter from this friend to a staunch whig, residing
twenty miles distant, procured her another horse.
More than two-thirds of the distance she had to go was safely passed
over ere the sun went down again, and she was riding along, with some
doubt as to where she would rest for the night, when three men, dressed
in the British uniform, came suddenly in view, directly ahead of her.
To turn and go back would be of no avail. So she rode on, endeavouring
to keep a brave heart. On coming up to her, the soldiers reined up
their horses, and addressed her with rude familiarity. She made no
reply, but endeavoured to pass on, when one of them laid hold of her
bridle. Escape being hopeless, Emily answered the questions asked of
her in such a way as she deemed prudent. Not satisfied with the account
she gave of herself, they told her that Lord Rawdon was encamped about
a mile distant, and that she must go before him, as it was plain she
was a rebel, and most probably a spy.
On being brought into the presence of the British officer, Emily was
interrogated closely as to where she had come from, whither she was
going, and the nature of her errand. She would not utter a direct
falsehood, and her answers, being evasive, only created stronger
suspicions against her in the mind of Lord Rawdon.
"We'll find a way to the truth!" he at length exclaimed impatiently,
after trying in vain to get some satisfactory statement from the
firm-hearted girl, who did not once lose her presence of mind during
the trying interview. "Take her over to my quarters at the farm-house,
and see that she don't escape you."