Let us now retrace our steps and follow those of Richard Coulter and his
party. We have seen what has been the progress of Elijah Fields. The
route which he pursued was considerably longer than that of his
comrades; but the difference of time was fully equalized by the superior
and embarrassing caution which they were compelled to exercise. The
result was to bring them to the common centre at nearly the same moment,
though the policy of Coulter required a different course of conduct from
that of Fields. Long before he reached the neighborhood of old Sabb’s
farm, he had compelled his troopers to dismount, and hide their horses
in the forest. They then made their way forward on foot. Richard Coulter
was expert in all the arts of the partisan. Though eager to grapple with
his enemy, and impatient to ascertain and arrest the dangers of his
lovely wife, he yet made his approaches with a proper caution. The
denseness of the forest route enabled him easily to do so, and making a
considerable circuit, he drew nigh to the upper part of the farmstead,
in which stood the obscure out-house, which, when Dunbar had taken
possession of the mansion, he assigned to the aged couple. This he found
deserted. He little dreamed for what reason, or in what particular
emergency the old Dutchman stood at that very moment. Making another
circuit, he came upon a copse, in which four of Dunbar’s troopers were
grouped together in a state of fancied security. Their horses were
fastened in the woods, and they lay upon the ground, greedily interested
with a pack of greasy cards, which had gone through the campaign. The
favorite game of that day was _Old Sledge_, or _All Fours_, or _Seven
Up_; by all of which names it was indiscriminately known. Poker, and
Brag, and Loo, and Monte, and _Vingt’un_, were then unknown in that
region. These are all modern innovations, in the substitution of which
good morals have made few gains. Dragoons, in all countries, are
notoriously sad fellows, famous for swearing and gambling. Those of
Dunbar were no exception to the rule. Our tory captain freely indulged
them in the practice. He himself played with them when the humor suited.
The four upon whom Coulter came were not on duty, though they wore their
swords. Their holsters lay with their saddles across a neighboring log,
not far off, but not immediately within reach. Coulter saw his
opportunity; the temptation was great; but these were not exactly his
prey—not yet, at all events. To place one man, well armed with rifle
and pair of pistols, in a situation to cover the group at any moment,
and between them and the farmstead, was his plan; and this done, he
proceeded on his way. His policy was to make his first blow at the head
of the enemy—his very citadel—trusting somewhat to the scattered
condition of the party, and the natural effect of such an alarm to
scatter them the more. All this was managed with great prudence, and
with two more of his men set to watch over two other groups of the
dragoons, he pushed forward with the remaining four until he reached the
verge of the wood, just where it opened upon the settlement. Here he had
a full view of the spectacle—his own party unseen—and the prospect was
such as to compel his instant feeling of the necessity of early action.
It was at the moment which exhibited old Sabb in the hands of the
provost, his hands tied behind him, and the rope about his neck. Clymes,
the lieutenant of Dunbar, with drawn sword, was pacing between the
victim and the house. The old Dutchman stood between two subordinates,
waiting for the signal, while his wife, little dreaming of the scene in
progress, was kept out of sight at the bottom of the garden. Clymes and
the provost were at once marked out for the doom of the rifle, and the
_beads_ of two select shots were kept ready, and leveled at their heads.
But Dunbar must be the first victim—and where was he? Of the scene in
the house Coulter had not yet any inkling. But suddenly he beheld
Frederica at the window. He heard her shriek, and beheld her, as he
thought, drawn away from the spot. His excitement growing almost to
frenzy at this moment, he was about to give the signal, and follow the
first discharge of his rifles with a rush, when suddenly he saw his
associate, Elijah Fields, turn the corner of the house, and enter it
through the piazza. This enabled him to pause, and prevented a premature
development of his game. He waited for those events which it is not
denied that we shall see. Let us then return to the interior.
We must not forget the startling words with which Elijah Fields
interrupted the forced marriage of Frederica with her brutal persecutor.
“The girl is already married.”
Dunbar, still supporting her now quite lifeless in his arms, looked up
at the intruder in equal fury and surprise.
“Ha, villain!” was the exclamation of Dunbar, “you are here?”
“No villain, Captain Dunbar, but a servant of the Most High God!”
“Servant of the devil, rather! What brings you here—and what is it you
say?”
“I say that Frederica Sabb is already married, and her husband living!”
“Liar, that you are, you shall swing for this insolence.”
“I am no liar. I say that the girl is married, and I witnessed the
ceremony.”
“You did, did you?” was the speech of Dunbar, with a tremendous effort
of coolness, laying down the still lifeless form of Frederica as he
spoke; “and perhaps you performed the ceremony also, oh, worthy servant
of the Most High!”
“It was my lot to do so.”
“Grateful lot! And pray with whom did you unite the damsel?”
“With Richard Coulter, captain in the service of the State of South
Carolina.”
Though undoubtedly anticipating this very answer, Dunbar echoed the
annunciation with a fearful shriek, as, drawing his sword at the same
moment, he rushed upon the speaker. But his rage blinded him; and Elijah
Fields was one of the coolest of all mortals, particularly when greatly
excited. He met the assault of Dunbar with a fearful buffet of his fist,
which at once felled the assailant; but he rose in a moment, and with a
yell of fury he grappled with the preacher. They fell together, the
latter uppermost, and rolling his antagonist into the fire-place, where
he was at once half buried among the embers, and in a cloud of ashes. In
the struggle, however, Dunbar contrived to extricate a pistol from his
belt, and to fire it. Fields struggled up from his embrace, but a
torrent of blood poured from his side as he did so. He rushed toward the
window, grasped the sill in his hands, then yielded his hold, and sunk
down upon the floor, losing his consciousness in an uproar of shots and
shouts from without. In the next moment the swords of Coulter and Dunbar
were crossed over his prostrate body. The struggle was short and fierce.
It had nearly terminated fatally to Coulter, on his discovering the
still insensible form of Frederica in his way. In the endeavor to avoid
trampling upon her, he afforded an advantage to his enemy, which nothing
prevented him from employing to the utmost but the ashes with which his
eyes were still half blinded. As it was, he inflicted a severe cut upon
the shoulder of the partisan, which rendered his left arm temporarily
useless. But the latter recovered himself instantly. His blood was in
fearful violence. He raged like a _Birserker_ of the
Northmen—absolutely mocked the danger of his antagonist’s
weapon—thrust him back against the side of the house, and hewing him
almost down with one terrible blow upon the shoulder, with a mighty
thrust immediately after, he absolutely speared him against the wall,
the weapon passing through his body, and into the logs behind. For a
moment the eyes of the two glared deathfully upon each other. The sword
of Dunbar was still uplifted, and he seemed about to strike, when
suddenly the arm sunk powerless—the weapon fell from the nerveless
grasp—the eyes became fixed and glassy, even while gazing with tiger
appetite into those of the enemy—and, with a hoarse and stifling cry,
the captain of loyalists fell forward upon his conqueror, snapping, like
so much glass, the sword that was still fastened in his body.