"There are, as high up as Suffolk, several vessels--a ship, a sloop, and
a brig. Let it be known by any people whom you can fall in with that
you are aware of this fact, and it will naturally be supposed that you
have gone up the river to bring them off or to destroy them. The plan
was to detain you by various stratagems in the river till daylight, when
it was expected that you would easily be cut off and destroyed if you
should attempt to fight your way through the crowds of riflemen lining
each bank of the river, or otherwise that you would be compelled to give
yourselves up as prisoners. I fear me much, I repeat, that this latter
course you will not follow--I know you will not. Then you have only
your speed on which to rely. You will have to run a terrible gauntlet
between well-practised sharpshooters. Start without a moment's delay.
The militia will, I fear, have reached Mackey's Mills before you can get
there; but if, as I hope, they will believe that you have gone up the
stream, they may not be on the watch for you, and you may push by
without being perceived."
Such was the tenor of the words the agitated and alarmed girl poured
out. I felt sure that I could follow no better plan than the one she
suggested. Still it was heart-breaking thus to leave her. I have not
intruded any part of our conversation on my readers relating more
especially to ourselves. She had said all that I could wish to assure
me that her heart was still mine, and I had poured out my own
long-pent-up feelings into her ears. I had been sitting by her side.
She started. A sound was heard in the house--scuffling of feet--a loud
scream--people running here and there. The dog barked loudly outside.
Two black girls rushed into the room.
"Oh, missie, missie! murder, murder! thieves, thieves!" they cried out.
"Dey be here--dey be everywhere!"
Just then they caught sight of me. Instead of screaming, they stood as
if petrified. At last, pointing at me, they exclaimed, "Oh, missie, who
dat?"
The question was a difficult one to answer, but Madeline showed her
presence of mind by replying calmly--
"A friend who little expected to find me here, but he will take care
that no harm happens to any one in this house. We may be thankful that
he and his followers are here to protect us. Now go and tell the rest
of the people who remain in the house that they must not be alarmed.
Let them assemble in the hall. I will go and speak to them after I have
seen Mrs Elbank and Miss Porter. Go--run! Be good girls, and do as I
tell you."
The quick, firm manner with which she spoke had a wonderful effect on
the negresses, and instinctively off they ran, perfectly satisfied, to
obey her orders. She explained, briefly, that Mrs Elbank was an old
lady, the owner of the house where she and her father were staying.
As soon as the girls had disappeared she took my hand with perfect
frankness and maiden modesty, while she looked up into my face with an
expression which showed me the true feelings of her heart.
"Farewell, farewell!" she exclaimed. "Let me entreat you not to remain
a moment longer. Every instant's delay may produce danger, and, too
probably, bloodshed. Should, by any chance, the militia discover that
you are here, they would come back with an overwhelming force and cut
you off. Go--oh, go!"
As she spoke these words her feelings overcame her and her sobs choked
her utterance. I would have given worlds to have been able to stay and
comfort her. I did all I could. I took her in my arms and imprinted a
kiss on her brow. It might be the last, but I dared not think so. No,
I felt that we should meet again. "I obey you now, dearest," I cried,
in a tone intended to reassure her. "Fear not, I shall escape the
danger you dread, and I will return perhaps before long."
I added some solemn words of comfort, and then I rushed from the room
and hurried into the garden where I had left my men. I found from them
that O'Driscoll had captured an old negro servant, who, hearing the dog
bark, had come out to see what was the matter, and that, conducted by
him, he had entered the house where he now was. This accounted for the
disturbance I had heard. I accordingly went back to the front door,
which was obligingly opened by our friend the negro, who seemed by his
manner to have long-expected me. With many bows he led me into a
handsome dining-hall, when what was my surprise to find O'Driscoll and
another officer seated at a table with an abundance of viands spread
before them, and wine of various sorts sparkling in decanters by their
side.
"Really, these rebels treat us very well," said O'Driscoll as I entered.
"When we caught that old gentleman he told us that supper was all
ready, and that he had been ordered to invite us in to partake of it,
and to beg us to remain as long as we felt inclined."
"I do not doubt it, Mr O'Driscoll," I answered sternly. "But, sir, we
have duties to perform, and our orders were to proceed up the river as
far as we could go. Now I have discovered that there are several
vessels at Suffolk, four miles above this. We must go and try to cut
them out. Thank the owners of the house for their hospitality, but we
cannot stay to benefit by it," said I to the negro, giving him a dollar.
"Keep that for yourself, and remember that all Englishmen are not
cannibals and savages."
Having directed O'Driscoll to call in the rest of the other parties
guarding the approaches to the house, we quickly assembled at the
rendezvous I had appointed outside the gates, whence we set off as fast
as we could for the boats. I could not help having some dread lest they
should have been attacked during our absence, and if so, I knew that we
should at once be made prisoners. I did not, however, express my fears
to any one. The way to the boats appeared very long. I thought more
than once that we must have mistaken our road. Great was my relief
therefore, when I found that we had at length reached the spot where
they lay concealed. I now called the other lieutenants round me, and
briefly explained to them the information I had obtained. I did not
think it necessary to say whence I had obtained it. They unanimously
concurred with me that we had done all that could be required of us, and
that our only proper course was at once to proceed down the river, and
to endeavour to pass our enemies before they could expect us, or were
prepared to impede our progress.
"Well, gentlemen, to our boats without delay," I said--not speaking,
however, above a whisper, for I thought it very likely that we might
have listeners in ambush. "Rapidly and silently, like Indians on a war
trail, let us make the best of our way down the stream. If any boat is
disabled, let the one ahead of her take her in tow. If fired at, do not
attempt to fire in return, but pull away for our lives. Now shove off."
Away we went. I took the lead, keeping the centre of the river.
Strange as it may appear, I thought much more of the meeting I had just
had with Madeline, of all she had said to me, and of all I had said to
her, or wished that I had said, than of the terrific danger to which we
were exposed. I use the word advisedly. Let any one fancy what it
would be to pass down a channel fifty yards wide, each bank being lined
with four hundred, or, for what I could tell, twice that number of
sharpshooters. The latter hours of the night continued as dark as had
been the earlier part; there was a slight rain, or rather mist, which
increased the obscurity, while the wind had got up, and its low moaning
among the trees assisted to conceal the sound made by the boats as they
clove their way through the water. We had also come up with the flood;
the tide had now turned, and there was a strong current which much
assisted our progress. These circumstances gave me hopes that we might
yet successfully run the gauntlet of our enemies. There was another
circumstance to be dreaded, which might prove fatal to us. Should the
enemy have time to collect any boats and attack us on the river, we
could scarcely hope to cut our way past them as well as the riflemen on
shore. When any great danger is to be incurred, it is a great relief to
be able to speak. This was now denied us, and each man was left to his
own thoughts. Mine, I may say, were not gloomy--very far from it.
Sometimes they were bright and almost joyous. On we went. When I
brought my thoughts back to the present, I could not help feeling that
any moment we might see the flashes of a hundred rifles, and hear their
sharp cracks as they opened on us. We had got to the southern end of
the West Branch, but, as yet, not a sound from the shore had been heard.
We were approaching the narrow reach, on the banks of which Mackey's
Mill is situated. Most of us, I believe, felt an inclination to hold
our breath as we pulled on. The current here was very strong. I kept
as nearly as I could in the centre, the other boats following. I could
just distinguish the dark outline of the building we had before visited
against the sky ahead of us, when a voice, I knew not whence it came,
shouted, "There they are! Fire!"
In an instant the whole line of the shore burst into flame--rapidly
sounded the cracks of the rifles, and thickly about our heads flew the
bullets. At that moment I thought I saw a canoe dart away down the
river, and I doubted not that our enemies had stationed her there to
watch for us. Thicker and thicker came the leaden shower, several shots
going through the boats' sides, though as yet no one was hit. Still I
had no notion of giving in. "Now, my lads, give way for your lives!" I
exclaimed in a loud whisper. "Many a man has passed through hotter fire
than this unscathed."
I scarcely think I was speaking the truth when I said this. So dark was
it, however, that I did not believe that we could be seen from the
shore, though the flashes of the firearms lighted up the dark woods, the
red-brick mill and its out-houses, and threw a lurid glare over the
whirling current as it hurried by its overhanging banks, while ever and
anon we could clearly distinguish the glancing arms and the figures of
our enemies as they stood drawn up along the banks, pouring their fire
down upon us.
On we pulled, silently as ever, and as fast as the men could lay their
backs to the oars. We were, however, I knew too well, only at the
commencement of the narrow passage, and I could not tell what opposition
we might have to encounter before we got through it. My boat was light,
and pulled easily, but some of the other boats were very slow--the
Thames's long-boat especially--and rowed very heavily, and I kept
anxiously turning round to ascertain that they were following me. For
some time I could count them, one after the other in line, coming up
after me. Then I turned my eyes on the banks of the river. By some
means our enemies calculated our downward progress with great accuracy
if they did not see us, for, while some were blazing away, I could see
other bodies hurrying along the side of the river, to be ready, I
doubted not, to attack us as we came down; some were on foot, but others
were on horseback, who had much the advantage of us in speed. At last I
found that I was getting ahead of the other boats, so I had to slacken
my speed till the next boat came up to me. It was the Charon's cutter,
commanded by Mr Bruton. When I looked back I found that the Thames's
long-boat was nowhere to be seen. Bruton said she had only just dropped
astern, so begged leave to go and tow her up. This I allowed him to do,
telling him that I would remain till he and the other boats came up. I
began to fear, however, that the missing boat might have been cut off.
Away dashed the gallant fellows after her. Whatever might happen, I
resolved not to attempt to escape myself unless I could bring off the
rest of the boats or the survivors of their people with me, though, from
the fastness of my own boat, I might possibly have effected that object.
My men behaved admirably, though exposed to so hot a fire; not a murmur
escaped them at the delay, while they lay on their oars waiting for the
appearance of the missing boat. The other two boats I saw coming on,
and they soon caught me up. Great was my relief to see Bruton, with the
Thames's boat in tow, at the same time emerge from the darkness. Then,
once more, away we all went together down the stream.
I own myself that, under other circumstances, I should have very much
liked to have had a shot at our pertinacious foes, and I have no doubt
so would my followers, but the knowledge that Madeline's father was
among them restrained my arm, and I felt a curious satisfaction in being
fired at without attempting to injure my assailants in return, and that
I might hereafter be able to assure him that I had not knowingly lifted
my hand against him.
We were not long about doing what I have been describing. Had we, I do
not believe one of us would have escaped the leaden shower rattling
through the air and splashing up the water on every side, literally
wetting our faces. I could already feel several holes in the side of my
boat close to me; then there was a deep groan of suppressed pain, but no
one ceased rowing. On we went. A sharp cry from one of the boats
astern of me showed me too clearly that another of my people was
wounded. Still the boats dashed on with unabated speed. This success
made me hope that we might still escape. We had passed, I thought, the
greater part of the narrow portion of the river. I had not much fear,
when we could reach the wider parts, that we should get through unless
attacked, as I have said, by a flotilla of boats.
Never did I hear such a rattle or cracking of rifles as the four or five
hundred militia and irregulars kept up on us. However, there was
nothing derogatory to their character as marksmen that they had hitherto
done so little execution, for had they been the best sharpshooters in
the world, their science would have availed them nothing through the
pitchy darkness which happily enveloped us.
At length I fancied that I could distinguish the stream widening away
before us, and, judging from the flashes of the fire-arms, the banks
were much farther apart than before. I was not mistaken. With a
satisfaction I can scarcely express I saw that all our boats had come
through, but still the enemy kept up a hot fire astern of us into empty
space, evidently not knowing where we were. My men seemed inclined to
shout when they found themselves in the wide reach of the river, but I
restrained them, not knowing what enemies might be lurking about near us
on the water. Then we continued pulling steadily on, till here and
there I saw a light gleaming on the shore, which I calculated must come
from the town of Nansimond. If a flotilla of boats were on the watch
for us, I thought that we should probably here encounter them--not that
I any longer despaired of escaping from them, even should they attack
us. I had directed the officers not to attempt to retaliate unless
actually boarded, but to employ all their energies in making their
escape. This was, of course, the wisest policy.
On we went. The town was passed. No boats appeared. We were
approaching the mouth of the river. Daylight was now breaking. I was
only too thankful that we had not delayed till then to make our way down
the river. Either we should all have been taken prisoners, or few if
any of us would have survived the murderous fire to which we should have
been exposed. At length we emerged from the river and finally arrived
on board the Charon at about ten in the morning with only two people
wounded, though the upper works of our boats were riddled like sieves.
Thus ended an expedition fraught with so much personal interest to me.
We all also gained credit for our exploit. We had completely performed
the duty for which we had been sent, having made ourselves thoroughly
acquainted with the river, and ascertained that it would be impossible
to cut out the vessels which had run up to Suffolk unless a very strong
force, if not the whole army, was to proceed up for that purpose. More
and more as I thought over what had occurred did I pray that the war
might soon cease, and that, if Englishmen must be fighting, they might
not be called on to cross their swords with their relatives and friends.