[figure description] Page 495.[end figure description]

The British army was able to repel the mounted men of
Marion — to compel them to maintain a respectful distance —
but not to drive them off. It was with a sore and angry spirit
that Lord Rawdon beheld the squadron of the partisans hovering
on front and flank, eagerly watching for the opportunity to
swoop down and cut off stragglers, and carry off baggage-wagons.
And he could do nothing, wanting cavalry. His flanks, and
front, and rear, were closely watched by his musketry, and at
a measured pace, drooping forward, in depression and exhaustion,
he moved on in order of battle, momently expecting its
shock from the army of Greene.

“Heavens!” said Marion to his officers, as he watched the
progress of the foe with the eager appetite of the hawk. “If
our infantry were but present! How we should cut them up.
They are ready to drop with exhaustion. It is our presence
only that keeps them up.”

Such was the case! Never was army so broken in spirit, by
the terribly exhausting effects of a forced march in midsummer,
and by the dispiriting and demoralizing effect of such a situation,
lacking in the one arm, that of cavalry, which alone, against
such a force as that of Marion, could protect them from insult.

And, staggering forward, the British army slowly worked
along, as compact in mass as it could be made, with bristles
every side presented, not daring to pause, not daring to hurry,
with those keen sabres, and eager horsemen skirting and sweeping
all about them, watchful of the opportunity to swoop and
strike!

But, suddenly, they send up a cheer. Bugles were heard in
front, the drums were rolling of approaching forces from below.

[figure description] Page 496.[end figure description]

Stewart had marched from Orangeburg with his regiment of
buffs and the cavalry of Coffin, for the relief of his superior.
As the two bodies drew near to a junction, the bugles of Marion
sounded, and his mounted men seemed to melt away in the
woods between them, passing out of sight, and upward, to the
road crossing the Caw-caw, the one which St. Julien was compelled
to avoid, in consequence of the report of his scouts.
Coffin's cavalry made a demonstration upon the rear of our partisans,
seconded by the squad of Fitzgerald, but they were
roughly handled in the brief collision, and fell back upon their
columns of infantry.

Marion drew rein just above the crossing of the Caw-caw.
He could dispute this passage. But the British were in no condition
to pursue. No sooner had the junction of the two commands
been effected, than they pressed on for Orangeburg, in
no temper for conflict; and as soon as they had gone into quarters,
the scouts of Marion were all about the place. Their
allies within it were not idle; and the parties, singly, stole in
and out during the day and night, under cover of the swamps
of Edisto.

That very day Marion sent a despatch to Greene, of which
we need quote but a single sentence:—

“They are neither able to fight nor fly. They are in a state
of utter exhaustion, too fatigued to move. The report is that
three regiments were going to lay down their arms to-day, and
they will certainly do so, if required again to march. They
have no notion that any force is near them except mine. Let
the army come on before they can recover. We have them in
a trap. One vigorous effort may close the war. Their Irish
troops need but few arguments to turn their bayonets against
their masters.”

And Greene eagerly prepared to adopt this counsel, issuing
his orders instantly for the concentration of all his forces about
Orangeburg, except that single command under Pickens, which
was following closely upon the footsteps of Cruger and his loyalists,
harassing them, whenever possible, on their retreat.

But we are not to suppose that St. Julien suffered all these
proceedings of the army to continue, without giving any heed
to the condition of the travelling party whom he had secreted

[figure description] Page 497.[end figure description]

in the woods. While the actual pressure continued of the fight
with the cavalry of Fitzgerald, and subsequently, while Marion
hovered about the British army, and up to the moment when
its junction with Stewart forbade any further hope of a successful
demonstration upon it, there was no escape for the little
command which St. Julien led. There had been, in fact, no
time for any explanation with his superior, until the moment
when, crossing the Caw-caw, they had driven back the cavalry
of Coffin. Then it was that St. Julien had an opportunity of
communicating with Sinclair, to whom he revealed the particulars
of his progress. Meanwhile hours had passed. The day
was now late in the afternoon.

“Good heavens, Peyre, what a tedious time they must have
had of it, and where shall we be able to get them to, to-night?”

“Nay, let that be the after-thought. We must be content to
recover them first and relieve their anxiety. Get leave for
me at once, unless you desire to go yourself.”

“We shall both go. I will see the general for a moment.”

And to Marion he went. The latter did not hear him out.

“To be sure, Sinclair; relieve the ladies as soon as possible.
What a time they have had of it. But, bring them along with
you. They can find the way up to Herrisperger's to-night, and
to-morrow you can send them directly across the country to the
Congaree. Do not delay, remember. We can not spare you—
can spare nobody now for any length of time. To-morrow
we may have work. Remember, the wishes of the ladies must
give way to our necessities. They must come with you. I
can not spare you to go with them. Take St. Julien's troop.
They will suffice.”

And Sinclair, with St. Julien, started off at a smart canter,
without heeding the laggard, limping movement of their steeds.
They talked as they rode, compared notes, reported mutual
progress, and without loss of time, made their calculations and
arrangements for the future. It was arranged that Mrs. Travis
and Bertha would need no escort the next day, taking the
upper route to the Congaree, in a progress over a region which
the patriots almost wholly covered, now that Rawdon's force
was withdrawn from it. They were, at all events, compelled to
see that no escort from the army could now be accorded to their

[figure description] Page 498.[end figure description]

wishes. Of course, there was something said of Mr. Travis
and Henry, and some speculations as to the mode of seeking
and recovering them; but this was necessarily a matter of more
remote consideration. For the ladies now.

And so scheming and arranging, they at length reached the
spot where the carriage had sought harborage, and where
Bertha had been counselled how, and with what ingredients, to
fashion her bouquet.

“This is the place. Here they put in, you see,” said St.
Julien, and he led the way.

The carriage-wheels were followed deep into the woods, as
deeply as it could go. Here they came to a halt. Their visages
grew blank. St. Julien picked up a bouquet of wild flowers,
very rich, fashioned very much after his directions. Sinclair
found a handkerchief, with Bertha's initials in the corner.
Cato's hat was also upon the ground. But carriage, ladies,
Cato — all were gone!

“Good heavens, Peyre! what can this mean? What has
become of them?”

“Let us look about, Willie.”

Trembling like a leaf in the winds of autumn, with the
agitating apprehensions of his soul, Willie Sinclair leaped from
his steed, and examined the ground more closely. So did St.
Julien. The troopers, meanwhile, coursed about in search also.
At length, sickening as he spoke, Sinclair stooping, sank upon
his knees, and cried out, in voice at once hoarse and feeble:—

“Peyre! Peyre! Is it blood?”

He pointed as he spoke to a dark crimson puddle at his
feet.

“It is blood!” answered St. Julien in husky tones, and he
shuddered with terrible fancies as he spoke.

“Oh, God! be merciful!” murmured the strong man, as he
gazed into the puddle, as if seeking to discover, from its quality,
from whose heart it had issued. There were drops of the same
dark hue scattered freely about. All was clotted, hard, and
drying rapidly.

“Get up, Willie! Arouse you! We must try and find the
track of the carriage, and follow it. They are gone from
hence.”

[figure description] Page 499.[end figure description]

“Oh! Peyre! Peyre! Why did you leave them for a moment?”

“Do not reproach me, Willie; let us be men now. Let us
search. Let us follow!”

For a few moments, Sinclair gave full way to his grief, in a
wild burst of reproach and anguish.

“You were my friend, Peyre — my more than brother. I
trusted you with the woman whom I had planted in my heart,
and you have left her to be murdered.”

“I will recover her, Willie Sinclair, or perish myself. She
is not murdered! Who would murder her? What motive?”

“The blood! the blood!” shrieked, rather than spoke, the
strong but suffering man.

“It is not hers! My life on it, it is not hers!” was the
stern and confident reply of St. Julien. “But we must waste
no time — lose no opportunity in the indulgence of our weakness.
Let us look farther. Let us see if we can not track the
carriage.”

Sinclair aroused himself with a prodigious effort.

They searched. They found the place where the vehicle had
been wheeled about — had been drawn into the road again,
some fifty yards from where it had entered — traced its track
into the old furrows of the road, and there it merged in with
others so as to become indistinguishable. It had evidently
pursued, for awhile, a due northerly direction.

To dash ahead, to review the crossing at the old mill-seat
where St. Julien had surprised the tories under Watkins, to
stretch on a few miles farther to another crossing, at another
abandoned mill-seat, was the work of comparatively little time.
Here they fancied they again found traces of the carriage-wheels.
They were mistaken; but of this hereafter.

“They have crossed here into the Granby road,” said St.
Julien.

“It is more than probable. Let us push after them,” said
Sinclair; we can surely overtake them. In that heavy carriage
they can move but slowly.”

“Willie, let me prosecute the search. Give me but ten men,
and do you hurry back to camp, and obtain my excuse from
Marion.”

[figure description] Page 500.[end figure description]

“And why should you pursue the search and not me? What
is Bertha Travis to you? No! Peyre; do you go back to the
general, and state the facts. Leave me the ten men.”

“But, Willie, remember your responsibility. You command
a battalion. I can be better spared.”

“Do as I tell you, Peyre!”

“Willie, we are on the eve of a battle! You must not be
absent. You heard what the general said.”

“You talk as if I should be suspected of skulking from
battle.”

“I talk as I should to my brother.”

“What! you would peril your reputation for mine! Is that
it? Do I not know, that your absence at such a moment is as
fearful a trial for you as for me, Peyre? No! no! my brother!
The discredit is equal with both of us, if any there be, and
mine is the chief stake in this pursuit — mine is the loss and
danger which alone could justify absence, at such a time, from
the army. Go you back. Tell the general the simple truth.
You shall peril nothing of reputation for me, Peyre, and, mortifying
as it will be to me to be absent, yet I dare not, even at
the peril of my reputation, consent that Bertha Travis should
be exposed to danger and insult, when a bold effort of mine
might save her.”

“Let me seek and save her, dear Willie; it is almost a right.
It was I that lost her.”

“No, Peyre! you must return. I was unjust to you. You
could not have done otherwise than you did. Back with you,
with all speed, and tell the whole affair to Marion. He will do
me justice. I will push the pursuit to-night — to-morrow I
will be back to camp by midnight. In that time, should I
fail to overtake her, I shall know that I have taken the wrong
track. Here, it seems to be sufficiently marked to warrant my
taking it. I will do all that I can that I may not suffer future
self-reproach for supineness and timidity now.”

We shall understand the generous impulses of these young men,
when we remember how much a military reputation depends
upon the prompt recognition of the claims of duty, over all other
considerations, no matter of what sort, when armies are about
to be pitched for battle. Sinclair was the military superior of

[figure description] Page 501.[end figure description]

St. Julien. He was the elder also. His was the loss in the
abduction of Bertha. All things, all arguments concurred in
compelling the submission of the subordinate. But it was with
great reluctance that he tore himself away, leaving to Willie
Sinclair the task of pursuing the farther search, with the ten
troopers, after his mistress and her mother.

And the two rode different ways.

“Blood! blood! Oh! God! if it should be hers!”

And murmuring thus ever as he went, Willie Sinclair dashed
away on the supposed tracks of the fugitives, crossed the Caw-caw
at the old mill-seat, and coursed up the road which led to
Granby.

And as St. Julien rode back to camp, his subject of musing
was that speaking, yet unintelligible blood, proof also — proof
of crime and violence and suffering! but whose? — proof of suffering—
but not of the victim! That terrible doubt. The
agony of it to both.

“It is not hers! not hers! No! no! of that I am sure.
Who would stab or murder that young creature? or her mother?
Why! with what purpose? To what end? No! If anybody,
it is poor old Cato that has been slain! The good old
fellow has undertaken to defend his mistress, and has been
butchered.

“But who are the murderers? Where could they spring
from?”

St. Julien was soon bewildered in the mazes of his own conjecture.
The natural suggestion was that of the interposition
of some strolling body of tories, small squads of whom were
everywhere scattered about the country, engaged in all outlawed
practices, and bent wholly on private revenge, and indiscriminate
plunder. The thought that Bertha Travis and her
mother, had fallen into such hands, though not calculated to
produce any serious apprehensions for their lives — for women
are not usually victims to violence in the south — was yet very
far from a grateful or assuring one. There were crimes to
which even that of murder might wear a comparatively innocent
complexion.

But we need not trouble ourselves with the musings of St.
Julien. He reached Marion after dark, and made his report.

[figure description] Page 502.[end figure description]

The swamp-fox was one of the most indulgent of commanders
in the case of such of his officers as he knew to be faithful and
honorable. In respect to Sinclair and St. Julien, he was very
well assured that neither of them had the slightest disposition
to skulk from duty. The case of Sinclair he felt to be one to
justify a more decided departure from orders than the one
for which St. Julien apologized. Marion was not only no Martinet,
but he was perhaps a little disposed to regard the regular
service as quite too exacting, and as not sufficiently recognising
the claims of humanity. But for the crisis in army affairs,
which was generally supposed to be pending — but that he
hoped to see the main army brought into the field in twenty-four
hours, and Rawdon forced to the final arbitrament of the
sword in that space of time — he would have suffered St. Julien
to depart, with all his command, in support of his friend. It
was with a feeling of great uneasiness that he resolved not to
do so; and with some misgivings, when he threw himself down
beneath his tree that night, whether he had not been a little
too exacting, in not tendering him the leave of absence, with
his troop, which might better enable Sinclair to recover his
mistress.

Meanwhile, our major of dragoons crossed the Caw-caw and
pressed northward. He rode till night, sometimes fancying
that he had recovered the tracks of the carriage, but much wondering
at its rapid progress. He camped at night in a thicket
near the trail, which he could no longer pursue in the darkness,
and resumed the chase with the dawn. He rode half the day,
but rode in vain. He had watched the road narrowly; looked
heedfully at every cross-road and turn-out; searched or inquired
at every house or hovel; saw nothing; heard nothing;
and, at the close of another day, was compelled to feel that he
had lost all traces of the fugitives.

Marion, meanwhile, with his brigade of mounted men, had
recrossed the Caw-caw, and taken post on the north side of the
creek which crosses the old Orangeburg road to Granby, four
miles above the village. Here he awaited the approach of
Greene, maintaining, all the while, a vigilant watch upon his
enemy in Orangeburg. His cavalry was in such strength,
compared to that of Rawdon, that his parties approached the

[figure description] Page 503.[end figure description]

village, and swept audaciously around it without challenge or
pursuit.

On the 10th of July, Greene had collected together most of
his detachments, and, reinforced by Sumter with his brigade, and
some small parties of militia, he marched down to give his enemy
battle. After he had joined Marion, it was found that the
whole American army numbered a little over two thousand
men; but of these only eight hundred were infantry. The
force of Rawdon, including Stewart's command, was about sixteen
hundred disciplined men, and perhaps two hundred supernumeraries
upon whom no reliance could be placed. With so
small a force of infantry, in proportion to his cavalry, Greene
could not have encountered Rawdon in a pitched battle, unless
with some peculiar advantage of position; while Rawdon, having
no cavalry, could venture upon no enterprises which might
remove him from his covered position. In artillery the two
armies were nearly equal.

At the point where Marion (and afterward Greene) took post,
only four miles from Rawdon's garrison, the fact of doing so
was an invitation to battle. To take ground within eight or
ten miles of an enemy's position is a military challenge. But
Rawdon surveyed his antagonist from his sheltered places, with
a grim sort of contempt, taking no notice apparently of the indignity
offered him. Nothing would have better pleased this
gentleman than to march out, as he had done at Camden, and
give his ancient opponent battle. But he had too much at stake
to peril anything for the present, and he preferred waiting until
the arrival of Cruger from Ninety-Six should give him such a
preponderating force as would make the issue almost certain to
be successful. His hope was that Greene, pleased with the
mortifying position in which his presence placed the British
army, would linger in the neighborhood sufficiently long to enable
him to realize the junction with Cruger. He took no occasion
therefore to show disquiet, or to beat up the American
quarters. He made no sorties; he attempted no negotiations.
Still he was uneasy. The Americans had cut off his resources.
He was for the time isolated. The parties of Marion swept
round him hourly, and the only outlet left him was by the
bridge over the Edisto and into the forks between the two

[figure description] Page 504.[end figure description]

branches of that stream, which his batteries covered. And this
was a region which was now almost reduced to barrenness.

Greene dreaded the appearance of Cruger quite as greatly
as Rawdon desired it. He knew that the junction of the two
would increase the force of Rawdon to nearly or quite three
thousand men, and those whom Cruger brought with him were
veterans, and not, like the new Irish regiments of Rawdon, of
uncertain fidelity. He determined, therefore, if possible, to anticipate
the approach of Cruger, by forcing Rawdon to battle.

We have already described the position of Orangeburg, but
it may be necessary in this place, to state that, lying on the
east bank of the North Edisto, the river so winds about it as to
cover one half of its circumference. To the north and south
are swamps and ravines, which not only forbid the free use of
cavalry — in which so much of Greene's strength consisted —
but these swamps and ravines make so near an approach to
each other, as to leave, on the east side, but a narrow isthmus,
uneven and broken, upon which an assailant could operate.
The jail, a strong brick building of two stories, was a good
substitute for a redoubt, and this building with others contiguous,
commanded the approach. All of these Rawdon occupied.
The crown of the hill, on which this building stood, was sufficiently
spacious for the formation and manœuvres of the whole
British army. To these chief defences, when you add the
houses and fences of the town, it will be seen that, against a
force consisting chiefly of mounted militia, the place was one of
considerable strength.

Greene's reconnoissances, which put him in possession of these
facts, compelled him to hesitate in his first resolution of forcing
the British general to battle. A conference with his officers —
not exactly a council of war — followed, which resulted, as
usual in such cases, in the adoption of the safer policy; we are
not prepared to say the wiser one. The Americans, for the
moment, were in high spirits, the British depressed by fatigue,
and vexed with discontent. The impediments of the ground
were not such as, in the present state of military science, would
be called strong. The houses occupied by Rawdon, with the
exception of the jail, were wood. The eminence they occupied
was exceedingly slight and of gradual rise. The

[figure description] Page 505.[end figure description]

approaches might be made on several quarters, and artillery might
have been successfully employed upon the jail.

No doubt the true reason why the assault was not made, is
to be found in the American want of infantry and the proper
arms and implements. With a thousand bayonets, supported
by artillery, and accompanied by a cloud of riflemen, there is
no question that the natural defences of the place would have
been wholly disregarded and easily overcome. Even with the
force he had, were they well supplied with rations, Greene
might have made a successful demonstration. But a few ounces
of rice, and two ounces of lean beef, per diem, to a man who is
expected to charge up a rising ground in the face of a well-appointed
garrison, offer but small incentives to valiant enterprise.

Contenting himself with marching before, and in sight of
Rawdon's position, with his whole army, on the 12th, Greene
then drew off his forces. He had put a military insult upon
his enemy, and there is always some satisfaction in that achievement,
to both regulars and militia. He drew back to his camp
that night, and before morning was advised by his scouting
parties of the progress downward of Cruger's division. In another
day he might be expected to arrive. It became necessary
to prepare for early removal, since there could be no question
but that Rawdon, as soon as the junction could be made
with Cruger, would march out, and with a force with which the
Americans could hardly hope to contend. We may mention,
in addition, that Greene's marches had not been made without
considerable exhaustion to his own troops. His infantry needed
rest. It was rapidly succumbing to fatigue, the want of
proper food and the terrible severity of the climate. But a
good supper on the Edisto was necessary to fit them for further
fatigues, and for this the camp-kettles were put in requisition at
a very early hour. What sort of supper was to be had, and
where it was to come from, were questions that exercised the
conjectural ingenuity of all parties to a far greater extent than
did the future prospects and possibilities of the war!

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