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The moment she had disappeared from the kitchen, the negro
was taken forth by the captain of loyalists, who by this time
had surrounded himself with nearly all his band. A single soldier
had been stationed by Clymes between the house and
kitchen, in order to arrest the approach of any of the whites from
the former to the scene where Brough was about to undergo a certain
painful ordeal. The stout old African, doggedly, with a
single shake of his head, obeyed his captors, as they ordered
him to a neighboring wood — a small copse of scrubby oaks, that
lay between the settlement and the swamp forest along the river.
Here, without delay, Brough was commanded, on pain of rope
and hickory, to deliver up the secret of Richard Coulter's hiding-place.
But the old fellow had promised to be faithful. He
stubbornly refused to know or to reveal anything. The scene
which followed is one that we do not care to describe in detail.
The reader must imagine its particulars. Let it suffice that the
poor old creature was haltered by the neck, and drawn up repeatedly
to the swinging limb of a tree, until the moral nature,
feeble at least, and overawed by the terrors of the last mortal
agony, surrendered in despair. Brough consented to conduct the
party to the hiding-place of Richard Coulter.

The savage nature of Matthew Dunbar was now in full exercise.

“Boot and saddle!” was the cry; and, with the negro, both
arms pinioned, and running at the head of one of the dragoon's
horses, leashed to the stirrup-leather, and in constant danger,
should he be found tripping, of a sudden sabre cut, the whole
party, with two exceptions, made their way down the country,
and under the guidance of the African. Two of the soldiers had
been placed in watch upon the premises, with instructions, however,
to keep from sight, and not suffer their proximity to be
suspected. But the suspicion of such an arrangement in existence
was now natural enough to a mind, like that of Frederica
Sabb, made wary by her recent misfortune. She was soon apprized
of the departure of the loyalist troop. She was soon
taught to fear from the weakness of poor Brough. What was

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to be done? Was her lover to be caught in the toils? Was
she to become indirectly the agent of his destruction? She determined
at all events to forego no effort by which to effect his
escape. She was a girl of quick wit and prompt expedients.
No longer exposing herself in her white cotton garments, she
wrapped herself closely up in the great brown overcoat of her
father, which buried her person from head to foot. She stole
forth from the front entrance with cautious footsteps, employing
tree and shrub for her shelter whenever they offered. In this
way she moved forward to a spot inclining to the river, but
taking an upward route, one which she naturally concluded had
been left without a guard. But her objects required finally that
she should change her course, and take the downward path, as
soon as she could persuade herself that her progress was fairly
under cover. Still she knew not but that she was seen, and
perhaps followed, as well as watched. The spy might arrest
her at the very moment when she was most hopeful of her
object. How to guard against this danger? How to attain the
necessary security? The question was no sooner formed than
answered. Her way lay through a wilderness of leaves. The
silent droppings from the trees for many years had accumulated
around her, and their constant crinkling beneath her tread,
drawing her notice to this source of fear, suggested to her the
means of safety. There had not been a rain for many weeks.
The earth was parched with thirst, The drought had driven
the sap from shrub and plant; and just below, on the very route
taken by the pursuing party, a natural meadow, a long, thin
strip, the seat of a bayou or lake long since dried up, was covered
with a rank forest of broom-grass, parched and dried by
the sun. The wind was fresh, and driving right below. To
one familiar with the effect of firing the woods in a southern
country under such circumstances, the idea which possessed the
mind of our heroine was almost intuitive. She immediately stole
back to the house, her eagerness finding wings, which, however,
did not betray her caution. The sentinels of Dunbar kept easy
watch, but she had not been unseen. The cool, deliberate tory
had more than once fitted his finger to the trigger of his horseman's
pistol, as he beheld the approach toward him of the shrouded
figure. But he was not disposed to show himself, or to give

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the alarm before he could detect the objects of his unknown visiter.
Her return to the house was not beheld. He had lost
sight of her in the woods, and fancied her still to be in the neighborhood.
Unable to recover his clue, he still maintained his
position waiting events.

It was not long before she reappeared upon the scene. He
did not see the figure, until it crossed an open space, on his right,
in the direction of the river. He saw it stoop to the earth, and
he then bounded forward. His haste was injurious to his objects.
He fell over the prostrate trunk of a pine, which had
been thrown down for ranging timber only a few days before,
and lay dark, with all its bark upon it, in the thick cover of the
grass. His pistol went off in his fall, and before he could recover
his feet, he was confounded to find himself threatened by a
rapid rushing forest of flame, setting directly toward him. For
a moment, the sudden blaze blinded him, and when he opened
his eyes fully upon surrounding objects, he saw nothing human—
nothing but the great dark shafts of pine, beneath which the
fire was rushing with the roar and volume of swollen billows of
the sea, breaking upon the shore which they promise to engulf.
To save himself, to oppose fire to fire, or pass boldly through
the flame where it burned most feebly, was now a first necessity;
and we leave him to extricate himself as he may, while we follow
the progress of Frederica Sabb. The flame which she had
kindled in the dry grass and leaves, from the little old stablelantern
of the cottage, concealed beneath the great-coat of her
father, had sufficed as a perfect cover to her movements. The
fire swept below, and in the direction of the tory sentinels. The
advance of the one, she had perceived, in the moment when she
was communicating the blazing candle to the furze. She fancied
she was shot when she heard the report of the pistol; but
pressing her hand to her heart, the lantern still in her grasp, she
darted headlong forward by one of the paths leading directly to
the river. The fire was now raging over all the tract between
her and the tory sentries. Soon, she descended from the pine
ridge, and passed into the low flat land, strewed with gray cypresses,
with their thousand knees, or abutments. The swamp
was nearly dry. She found her way along a well-known path
to the river, and from beneath a clump of shrouding willows,

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drew forth a little dug-out, the well-known cypress canoe of the
country. This was a small egg shell-like structure, scarcely
capable of holding two persons, which she was well accustomed
to manage. At once she pushed boldly out into the broad stream,
whose sweet rippling flow, a continuous and gentle murmur, was
strangely broken by the intense roar and crackling of the fire
as it swept the broad track of stubble, dry grass and leaves,
which lay in its path. The lurid shadows sometimes passed
over the surface of the stream, but naturally contributed to increase
her shelter. With a prayer that was inaudible to herself,
she invoked Heaven's mercy on her enterprise, as, with a strong
arm, familiar in this exercise, she plied from side to side the little
paddle which, with the favoring currents of the river, soon
carried her down toward the bit of swamp forest where her lover
found his refuge. The spot was well known to the maiden,
though we must do her the justice to say she would never have
sought for Richard Coulter in its depths, but in an emergency
like the present. It was known as “Bear Castle,” a close thicket
covering a sort of promontory, three fourths of which was encircled
by the river, while the remaining quarter was a deep
swamp, through which, at high water, a streamlet forced its way,
converting the promontory into an islet. It was unfortunate for
Coulter and his party that, at this season the river was much
lower than usual, and the swamp offered no security on the land
side, unless from the denseness of the forest vegetation. It
might now be passed dry shod.

The distance from “Bear Castle” to the farmstead of old
Frederick Sabb, was, by land, but four or five miles. By water
it was fully ten. If, therefore, the stream favored the progress
of our heroine, the difference against Dunbar and his tories was
more than equalled by the shorter route before him, and the
start which he had made in advance of Frederica. But Brough
was no willing guide. He opposed frequent difficulties to the
distasteful progress, and, as they neared the spot, Dunbar found
it necessary to make a second application of the halter before
the good old negro could be got forward. The love of life, the
fear of death, proved superior to his loyalty.

Brough could have borne any quantity of flogging — nay, he
could, perhaps, have perished under the scourge without

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confessing, but his courage failed, when the danger was that of being
launched into eternity. A shorter process than the cord or
swinging limb would not have found him so pliant. With a
choking groan he promised to submit, and, with heart swollen
almost to bursting, he led the route, off from the main road now,
and through the sinuous little foot-paths which conducted to the
place of refuge of our patriots.

It was at this point, having ascertained what space lay between
him and his enemy, that Dunbar dismounted his troopers.
The horses were left with a guard, while the rest of his men,
under his personal lead, made their further progress on foot.
His object was a surprise. He designed that the negro should
give the “usual” signal with which he had been taught to approach
the camp of the fugitive; and this signal — a shrill whistle,
three times sounded, with a certain measured pause between
each utterance — was to be given when the swamp was entered
over which the river, in high stages of the water, made its breach.
These instructions were all rigidly followed. Poor Brough, with
the rope about his neck, and the provost ready to fling the other
end of the cord over the convenient arm of a huge sycamore
under which they stood, was incapable of resistance. But his
strength was not equal to his submission. His whistle was but
feebly sounded. His heart failed him and his voice; and a repeated
contraction of the cord, in the hands of the provost, was
found essential to make him repeat the effort, and give more
volume to his voice. In the meanwhile, Dunbar cautiously
pushed his men forward. They passed through great hollows,
where, at full water, the alligator wallowed; where the whooping
crane sought his prey at nightfall; where the fox slept in
safety, and the wild-cat in a favorite domain. “Bear Castle”
was the fortress of many fugitives. Aged cypresses lay like the
foundations of ancient walls along the path, and great thorny
vines, and flaming, flowery creepers flaunted their broad streamers
in the faces of the midnight gropers through their solitudes.
The route would have been almost impassable during the day
for men on horseback; it was a tedious and toilsome progress
by night for men on foot. But Dunbar, nothing doubting of
the proximity of his enemy, went forward with an eagerness
which only did not forget its caution.

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