HOW MARION’S MEN LAY IN AMBUSH, AND WHAT CAME OF IT
THIS encounter of Tom Deering with the loyalists at the Foster mansion
made a great stir. Mr. Foster, of course, could no longer remain at his
home, where the British were likely to close in upon him at any time;
so he and Lucy, taking their most valuable possessions, made their
way northward toward Virginia. From this time on, also, the British
commander, Cornwallis, displayed a greater solicitude than ever in the
attempts to capture Marion and disperse his band of horsemen.
The legion of Tarleton and a strong force under Major Wemyss were
set in motion to beat him out of his retreats in the cane-brakes and
swamps. It was Cornwallis’ intention to have these forces cooperate,
but Tarleton was delayed and Wemyss would not wait for him.
Through his young scout Marion was kept posted as to the movements of
the advancing enemy.
“Major Wemyss is in command of the Sixty-third Regiment,” reported Tom,
“and he has with him, also, a large party of Tories, under Clarage.”
“Very good,” said Colonel Marion, briefly. “We must prepare to give
them the reception that is due them.”
Major James, a gallant and skilful officer, was summoned and despatched
with a select body of volunteers to reconnoitre. All the outposts were
called in and, thus united, Marion followed swiftly upon the footsteps
of James.
Accompanying the latter was Tom, Cole, and Nat and David Collins. They
pushed quickly forward among the morasses and sunk-land, under the
great trees hanging with moss and a rank growth of creepers; and at
last Major James gave the word to halt.
“Deering,” said he to Tom, “ride carefully forward. I fancy we are
about to come in touch with the enemy. Take a few of the men with you.”
Tom selected Cole, of course, and the two Collinses. They rode slowly
forward, in Indian file, along a narrow road between two impassable
morasses, alert and cautious, never for a moment forgetting that they
were in the neighborhood of the British.
“I hear,” said Nat Collins, who rode at Tom’s side, “that Clarage took
some prisoners north of this place.”
“Prisoners!” the word always had a peculiar interest for Tom; it set
him thinking of his father, so long in the hands of the British--made
him long for a sight of him again.
“A rich booty came with these prisoners, too, so the report goes,”
continued Nat. “A booty that King George’s treasury will never see, I
suppose.”
“The Tories make this war an excuse for plunder,” said Tom. “A great
many of them are more actuated by a desire to seize upon their
neighbors’ goods, than by longing to serve King George.”
Cole, who rode in front, at this point drew rein upon Dando, and held
up his hand. All halted immediately. From far off in the swamp came a
low, steady sound, a rising and falling that seemed to draw nearer with
each passing moment.
“What is it?” asked David Collins, in a hushed voice.
“It’s like the sound of hoofs,” answered Tom. “Hoof-beats in a swamp,
I’ve noticed, have a strangeness about them that seems uncanny. The
ground is so soft, and the thick growth muffles the sound so. I’ve lain
and listened to them many times in the night; they sound all the more
strange coming through the darkness.”
But he was not sure that this was the same sound; and they became
silent once more and listened attentively. Suddenly a night bird began
to wheel in short circles above the tree-top, and its rasping cries
broke the stillness abruptly.
“We’ll not be able to make sure while that fellow is about,” laughed
Tom. “He seems to object to our presence.”
He dismounted and gave Sultan’s rein to Cole. Kneeling in the narrow
road he pressed his ear to the ground, and kept it there for a long
time. At length he arose.
“Yes, horses,” said he, “and quite a lot of them. They seem to be
coming along the main road, west of here.” He remounted Sultan and
sat silently for a moment. Then he continued, “They are going in the
direction of the ford that crosses the Congaree near Fort Mott. There
is only one reason why a party of the enemy should be heading for Fort
Mott at this time, when they have only started out to seek us.”
“I know,” broke in Nat Collins, “I know what you are thinking. It’s
the Tories, under Clarage, and they are taking the prisoners, which I
spoke of, to the fort for safe keeping.”
“Right,” said Tom, his eyes snapping; “that is exactly what occurred
to me. And, look here, what a pity it is that Major James is not here,
and the rest of his men. The Tories will be forced to pass the ruined
mill that stands back from the west road, a short distance from here.
We could reach that point long before them, judging from the sound of
their horses’ feet, and we could give them a surprise.”
For a moment there was silence; then Nat and David broke forth, at once.
“Let us try it--alone!”
Tom laughed in sheer glee, and cried excitedly,
“Do you mean it?”
“We do,” in a breath.
Tom turned to Cole. The great negro grinned; anything that his young
master thought of doing was always of great interest to Cole, because,
as a rule, what his young master thought it worth while to do usually
contained some spice of excitement. Tom knew what the slave’s grin
expressed as well as though it had been in words.
“Good!” cried he. “We’re all agreed; and we’ll try it alone. It can do
no harm, even if we fail.”
Wheeling their horses they spurred back along the road by which they
had come, until they struck a narrow path branching toward the west.
Galloping through such a swamp as that and along such a narrow, crooked
track, in the darkness, was a most dangerous proceeding; but they were
all young and danger, to their ardent spirits, meant but little.
The old mill of which Tom had spoken lay upon the west road--that is
the road leading to the Congaree;--it was deserted and had fallen into
ruins years before. It was seldom that any one troubled it with his
presence; so it was an ideal spot for a surprise or ambuscade. A sharp
gallop of, perhaps, a quarter of an hour brought our four adventurers
to the old mill. The moon was shining brightly; but the overhanging
trees that surrounded the ruin threw it into a deep shadow. A dense
thicket stretched along the roadside well in this shadow, and it was
behind this that our friends ensconced themselves, after first securing
their horses among the trees.
The hoof-beats of the party advancing along the western road now
sounded distinctly in their ears. There was little wind, but it was
blowing in their direction, and it carried the ringing strokes toward
them when the approaching riders came upon a stony part of the road;
but, as a rule, the sound was thick, dull and heavy, for the ground was
soggy, for the most part, and low.
“Look well to your primings,” spoke Tom, as they crouched behind the
thicket. “And keep your pistols at hand, for we will need a second
volley.”
Nearer and nearer came the riders; the rumble of wheels could, also,
now be distinguished; and soon in the moonlit road they saw about a
dozen horsemen, some riding ahead and some alongside a small train of
four wagons.
“It’s an escort with Clarage’s prisoners, sure enough,” Nat Collins
breathed into Tom Deering’s ear. “See, they have all the plunder in the
wagons, just as they took it.”
The wagons rumbled along slowly, drawn by plodding old plough-horses;
the steeds of the escort champed at their bits and pranced impatiently
at the slowness of the pace.
“Ready,” ordered Tom, in a low, sharp whisper. “I’ll give the word.”
The cavalcade was almost abreast of them when one of the escort called
out, apparently addressing some one in one of the wagons.
“So you thought you would run off up to Virginia, did you, Master
Foster, and give us the slip! Well, it’s a rare good thing that I
fell in with you, or who knows but you might have fallen in with
some dishonest rogues upon the way who might have robbed you of the
valuables contained in your wagons.”
“It’s Clarage, himself,” said Tom, startled. “And his prisoners are
Mr. Foster and his daughter Lucy.” He paused a moment, then leveled
his piece over the top of the thicket, his companions doing likewise.
“Fire,” he cried.
The four leveled rifles were discharged at once; two men fell from
their saddles into the road; another, desperately wounded, clung to his
horse’s neck as it raced madly away along the road.
“Hold your ground,” roared Clarage, his bull-like voice plainly to
be heard above all the confusion. His men had drawn together in a
group, their horses pawing and fighting for their heads against the
tautly-drawn bridles.
“The pistols,” whispered Tom. “Fire!”
The long-barreled pistols, of which each of the swamp-riders carried
two, exploded in their turn; a man and several horses went down;
then the second pistol came into play for a third volley with deadly
results. By this time Clarage and his followers, or what were left
of them, were struck by a panic; the three volleys of shots from the
thicket made it seem as though the ambushment was composed of a great
number of men; so, when the four leaped in a body into the road, their
swords flashing, and Tom turned and called, as though cheering on still
more, “Come on, lads; down with the Tories,” the escort could not be
restrained, but gave rein to their steeds and fled down the road toward
the Congaree with the raging Clarage thundering at their heels at every
bound.
At their flight Tom placed his foot on the hub of a wheel and sprang
into the leading wagon.
“Lucy,” he cried, “Mr. Foster.”
“It’s Mars Tom,” cried Dogberry, who had been driving the wagon, but
who at the first shot had dived under the seat. “It’s Mars Tom, Missy
Lucy. We’s safe again. Ha, ha, ha!”
In a moment Lucy Foster and her father were thanking them for this
timely service. Both were pale and worn-looking, especially Mr. Foster,
who had been greatly disturbed at the attack of the swamp-riders.
“We were on our way north,” explained Mr. Foster, “and were approaching
Fishdam Ferry when we were pounced upon by this man Clarage and his
ruffians. All that I have been able to save is contained in these
wagons; that and our lives, also, would have been lost had you not
appeared just as you did.”
“Oh, when will it all end,” cried poor Lucy, wringing her hands. “It is
dreadful; I shall never forget the scenes I have witnessed in the past
few weeks!”
“Don’t fear,” soothed Tom. “Marion will lend you an escort and see your
father safe on your journey. Meanwhile we had better be on our way
back. Major James will be awaiting us.”
Upon their return to the spot where they had left their party they
found that Major James, upon his own account, had also surprised a
party of the enemy and routed them without loss of a man. So, with Mr.
Foster’s wagons rolling along in the midst of them they made their way
toward the point where they were to meet Marion.