ADVANCE OF ARMY UP JAMES RIVER.--I COMMAND A FLOTILLA OF BOATS UP
NANSIMOND RIVER.--A DARK NIGHT.--SURROUND A HOUSE.--INTERVIEW WITH
MADELINE.--WARNED OF PLAN TO CAPTURE US.--O'DRISCOLL AT HOME.--RAPID
PULL FOR LIBERTY.--MACKEY'S MILLS.--PEOPLE WIDE-AWAKE.--HOT FIRE.--
REGAIN SHIP.
The new year of 1781 commenced with the advance of the whole army, under
General Arnold, up the banks of the James river, protected by three
ships of war--the Charlestown, Bonetta, and Swift. No attack was made
on us; indeed, there was no force of the enemy, it was believed, in the
neighbourhood in any way capable of impeding our progress. That evening
I was again sent for, and, in order to ascertain that important fact, I
was directed to take command of five boats and to proceed up the
Nansimond river. "You will learn, also, what shipping is in the river,"
said my captain; "and, Mr Hurry, you will not forget to see how they
can best be cut out." Having received this brief professional
admonition, I took my departure.
I had the Charon's cutter, the Thames's long-boat, and three other
boats, each commanded by a lieutenant or master's mate. I gave them
all, in the clearest way, their instructions, for I felt that we were
about to engage in an expedition which might prove extremely hazardous,
though but little honour was to be reaped from it. The Nansimond river
is about twenty-five miles long, and generally about half a mile wide;
but in some places, as high up as the west branch, it narrows to about
fifty yards. Not far from the entrance is the town of Nansimond, and
higher up a place called Mackey's Mills. Nearly at the source is a town
or village called Suffolk. This information I had obtained from the
prisoners we had taken on our previous expedition.
Darkness had long settled down before my five boats collected alongside
the Charon. Never was I out in a more pitchy night. Dense clouds
covered the sky, and not a star was visible. On first stepping into my
boat, after leaving the light of the cabin, I could see nothing.
"You all understand what we are to do, gentlemen?" said I to the
officers under me. "Follow closely in my wake. Let not a word be
spoken. If we are discovered and attacked, we are to put about and pull
down the stream; if not, wait till I give the order to return. Shove
off!"
Our oars were muffled, so that not a sound was heard as we pulled away
through the darkness towards the mouth of the Nansimond river. We had a
pilot with us who professed to know the navigation, and we believed that
we could trust him. By degrees my eyes began to grow accustomed to the
darkness, and I could distinguish the outline of the shore. We entered
the river about ten o'clock, and slowly groped our way up the stream,
one boat following the other in line, like a long snake wriggling its
way through the grass. On we pulled. Sharp eyes, indeed, must have
been those which could have discovered us from the shore. But few
lights were streaming from the windows of the houses of Nansimond as we
passed that town. Early hours were kept by the colonists in those
primitive days, and most of the inhabitants had retired to rest--not
aware that an enemy was so close to them, or dreaming of danger. As
long as we continued in the wider part of the river we had no fear of
being detected. However, as our object was to obtain information, I
resolved to land near the first house we could see on the shore. My
plan was then to surround it, keep all the inmates captive, carry them
up the river with us, and land them again on our return, so as to
prevent them from giving notice of our expedition, much in the same way
that we had done on our march to Hampton. The darkness, however, made
this no easy matter, for not the sign of a house could we distinguish on
the shore. Sometimes we pulled towards one bank and sometimes towards
the other, but to no purpose. If houses there were, they must have been
among the trees, and the inhabitants must have gone to bed and
extinguished all their lights. At last I resolved to land, and, with
part of one boat's crew, to explore the country on foot. Grampus,
Rockets, and two other men accompanied me, while the boats pulled slowly
along, ready to come to my assistance should I be surprised. I walked
two or three miles in this way, stumbling along through woods and swamps
and other impediments; but, though we crossed several ploughed fields,
no houses could we discover. At last, from very weariness, I was
compelled to take to the boat again. Several times we landed, but with
the same want of success as at first. We came in time to Mackey's
Mills. I had made up my mind to catch Mr Mackey, at all events, and
make him serve our purpose. Accordingly we landed, and having lighted
our lanterns to save ourselves from tumbling into the mill-dams or
traps, which we supposed would everywhere abound, we surrounded the
buildings, and proceeded to search for the miller and his men; but
neither Mr Mackey nor any of his people were to be found. The mill
appeared to be deserted, so we had our trouble for nothing. Once more
we took to the boats. The river was here, for some distance, very
narrow, but it widened out again as we proceeded upwards. Again and
again we landed, always keeping the most profound silence. I had duly
impressed on the minds of the people the fact that our lives and the
success of the enterprise depended on our so doing. We were all,
however, beginning to get rather vexed at our want of success,
especially as we had no safety-valve in the expression of our feelings.
At times it appeared as if the river flowed through the centre of some
large forest. On either side the tall trees rose up, forming a dark
wall, with the sky overhead and the smooth black current of the river on
which we floated flowing beneath. I trusted that none of the enemy had
discovered us, for I thought to myself, if they have, this is just the
place they will select to attack, and very little chance we shall have,
in that case, of successfully running the gauntlet and getting off
scot-free. However, our business was to push up the river as far as we
could go till we discovered the vessels we were to look for, taking
care, only, that we had time to return before daylight should discover
us to our foes. On we went, till we reached a part of the river called
the West Branch. It appeared to me that the night had become less dark
than at first. Perhaps it was that the banks were freer from trees. We
kept carefully examining either shore. I fancied as we pulled on that I
could distinguish a rough sort of landing-place.
"A house will not be far-off from it," I said to myself, so I gave the
order to pull in for it. My eyes had not deceived me. There was a
regular formal landing-place, and not three hundred yards from it I
thought that I saw a house. Leaving two men in each boat I drew up my
party and gave the order to advance that we might immediately surround
the house, if such, as I suspected, there was. With the same
precautions which we had hitherto used we advanced as rapidly as we
could venture to move towards what I took to be a building. I soon
found that I was not mistaken. The barking of a dog also told me that
the place was inhabited, and at the same time warned us that the inmates
were very likely to be aroused by our approach. I had charged all those
under my command on no account to use violence, whatever might occur,
unless in our own defence, should we be attacked by the enemy.
As we drew near I saw that the house was a large one, and that it had
all the appearance of a gentleman's country seat. We found ourselves
also in a good road leading apparently into the interior. I therefore
called a halt, and, leaving some of the men where we were, I led the
rest round so as closely to surround the premises on the land side. I
also bethought me of placing a guard to watch the approach by the river,
for I thought it very likely that if any one wished to escape there
would be a boat concealed under the banks by which they might effect
their object. While I was making these dispositions the barking of the
dog continued, but as he did not rush out on us I concluded that he was
chained. He had, however, aroused the inmates, for as I passed through
the garden I saw a light in one of the rooms down-stairs and other
lights, passing the windows of the upper storey. From the situation of
the lower room down-stairs I suspected that it must be the drawing-room
or one of the sitting-rooms, and, halting my men under the shadow of a
shrubbery, with directions to remain there till I summoned them, I
approached the window for the purpose of trying if I could see any of
the people within. There were two windows to the room. The blind
before one of them was drawn down, so I went to the other. The lower
shutter to that was also closed, but by standing up on the window-sill I
could look into the room. What was my surprise to see a lady sitting at
a table, on which stood a lamp, with a book in her hand, reading. Her
back was towards me, but from her figure and dress I thought she was
young. What surprised me was to find a lady sitting up at that hour,
for it was now between two and three o'clock in the morning. Something
unusual must, I suspected, be going on in the house. I was afraid that
the sudden appearance of a body of armed men would seriously frighten
the lady, and so I resolved to enter the house alone and take my chance
of meeting with opposition from any man who might be there. A door
opened into the garden. It was not bolted. I lifted the latch and
entered. A light stood in the hall. I was not mistaken as to the
character of the house; it was evidently that of people of fortune. On
my right hand was a door which I conceived led into the room where I had
seen the lady. An impulse I could not resist induced me to open it.
The noise caused by my so doing made the lady turn her head. Her
countenance was very pale and tearful. She looked up at me; her eye
brightened: I sprang forward and threw myself at her feet. Madeline
Carlyon was before me. So astonished and overcome by numberless
conflicting feelings was she that I thought she would have fainted. She
uttered my name in a tone of doubt and hesitation, as if she did not
believe in the reality of what she saw before her. I took her hand and
pressed it to my lips.
"It is I, Madeline, who have never ceased thinking of you since we
parted," I exclaimed,--"one whose only wish has been to find means to
make you his own when the blessings of peace have been restored to our
country--one whose earthly hopes are all centred in you. You are
indulging in no dream--no fancy--I am really and truly before you."
However, I need not repeat all I said on the occasion. I had no great
difficulty in persuading Madeline that I was really before her; but when
she inquired how it was that I came to be there, unwilling indeed I felt
to tell her that I had come in hostile guise. At last, however, I had
to confess the truth.
"Then I understand it all," she exclaimed hurriedly. "Oh, believe me,
you are beset with dangers. I ought not to betray the councils of my
countrymen, and yet I cannot let you fall into the trap which has been
laid for you. Your arrival in the river was immediately known, and a
plan was forthwith formed to cut you off. The whole country has been
for some hours alarmed. My own father heads the force, consisting, I
heard, of more than four hundred men, who are about to take post at
Mackey's Mills to cut off your retreat. Silently as you may have come
up the river, your progress has been, without doubt, closely watched.
Perhaps even now your presence here is known, and anxiety on my father's
account prevented me from retiring to rest, and little did I think who
was in command of the British boats. I knew not even that you were on
the coast. But I must not lose time in talking. What advice can I give
you? Stay, oh, let me consider! The party must already have nearly
reached Mackey's Mills. They will be there before you can possibly pass
that narrow part of the river. Oh, this cruel, cruel war! What ought
to be done? I am sure that my father himself would deeply grieve to
find that stern duty had compelled him to injure you, and yet how could
even I ask him to act otherwise than he will do? I know that I ought
not, as a patriot, to give you the warning that I now do. Let me
collect my thoughts and consider by what plan I can best secure your
safety. It would be useless, I fear, to advise you to deliver
yourselves up as prisoners of war, and thus avoid bloodshed. Yet how
can you escape from the trap into which you have run? You smile and
shake your head. I know--I know. You would say that you must try to
fight your way through a host of rebels rather than yield yourselves
prisoners. Your safety consists in the rapidity of your movements."