[figure description] Page 011.[end figure description]

Aided by his new recruits, Humphries brought his
prisoner to camp with little difficulty. The worthy
serjeant, it is true, did at first offer resistance; he
mouthed and struggled, as the bandages compressed
his mouth, and the ligatures restrained his arms; but
the timely application of hand and foot, which his
captors did not hesitate to employ to compel obedience,
not to speak of the threatening aspect of the dagger,
which the much roused lieutenant held more than
once to his throat, brought him to reason, and counselled
that wholesome resignation to circumstances,
which, though not always easy and pleasant of adoption,
is, at least, on most occasions, well becoming
in him who has few alternatives. He was, therefore,
soon mounted, along with one of the troopers, on
horseback; and in a state of most commendable quietness,
he reached, after an hour's quick riding, the encampment
at Bacon's bridge. There, well secured
with a stout rope, and watched by the guard assigned
for the other prisoners, close in the thick and knotty
wood, which girdled the swamp, we will at present
leave him.

Singleton had well concealed his little squadron in
the same shelter. Like a true partisan, he had omitted
no precautions. His scouts were out in all directions—
men that he could trust—and his sentries
watched both sides of the river. The position which
he had chosen was one established by General Moultrie
in the previous season. It had been vacated
when the brave old warrior was called to league his

[figure description] Page 012.[end figure description]

troops with those of Lincoln, in defence of the city.
The intrenchments and barracks were in good order,
but Singleton studiously avoided their use; and, to
the thoughtless wayfarer passing by the little fort and
the clumsy blockhouse, nothing could possibly have
looked more pacific. The partisan, though immediately
at hand, preferred a less ostentatious position;
and we find Singleton, accordingly, close clustering
with his troop in the deep wood that lay behind it.
Here, for a brief period at least, his lurking-place was
secure, and he only desired it for a few days longer.
Known to the enemy, he could not have held it, even
for a time so limited, but would have been compelled
to rapid flight, or a resort to the deeper shadows and
fastnesses of the swamp. At this point the river
ceased to be navigable even for the common poleboats
of the country; and this was another source of its
security. Filled up by crowding trees—the gloomy
cypresses striding boldly into its very bosom—it slunk
away into shade and silence, winding and broken, after
a brief effort at a concentrated course, into numberless
little bayous and indentures, muddy creeks, stagnating
ponds, miry holes, and a region, throughout, only
pregnable by desperation, and only loved by the fierce
and filthy reptile, the ominous bird, the subtle fox, and
venomous serpent. This region, immediately at hand,
promised a safe place of retreat, for a season, to the
adventurous partisan; and in its gloomy recesses he
well knew that, unless guided by a genuine swamp-sucker,
all Europe might vainly seek to find the little
force, so easily concealed, which he now commanded.

Humphries soon furnished his commander with all
the intelligence he had obtained at Dorchester. He
gave a succinct account of the affair of Mother Blonay,
and her visit to the village—of the movement of Huck
to assail him on the Stonoe—and of the purpose of the
tory to proceed onward, by the indirect route already
mentioned, to join with Tarleton on the Catawba. The
latter particulars had been furnished the lieutenant by

[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]

the two troopers who had joined him. The whole
account determined Singleton to hurry his own movement
to join with Marion. That part of the narrative
of Humphries relating to Mother Blonay, decided the
commander to keep Goggle still a prisoner, as one not
to be trusted. Giving orders, therefore, for his continued
detention, he proceeded to put things in readiness
for the movement of the squad, with nightfall, to
their old and better shelter on the little island in the
Cypress Swamp. This done, Singleton commanded
his horse in readiness, and bidding the boy Lance
Frampton in attendance, despatched him to prepare his
own. To Humphries he now gave charge of the
troop—repeated his orders to move with the dusk to
their old quarters—and, having informed the lieutenant
of the true object of his own adventure, he set forth,
only attended by the boy Frampton, taking an upper
road leading towards the Santee. That object may as
well be told now as ever. Singleton had been for
some time awaiting intelligence of Marion's movement
to Nelson's ferry. A courier had been looked for
daily, since he had left his leader; and as, in these
suspicious times, every precaution in the conveyance
and receipt of intelligence was necessary, it followed
that many difficulties lay in the way of its transmission.
Men met on the highways, to fear, to avoid,
and frequently to fight with one another. They assumed
contrary characters in the presence of the
stranger, and the play at cross-purposes, even among
friends, was the frequent consequence of a misunderstood
position.

There were signs and phrases agreed upon between
Marion and his trusted men, mysterious or unmeaning
to all besides, which Singleton was not permitted to
impart to others. This necessity prompted him forth,
if possible, to meet with the expected courier, bearing
him his orders—having attached the younger Frampton
to his person: he chose him as too young for treason,
and, indeed, he wanted no better companion to
accompany him on his ramble. Setting forth by

[figure description] Page 014.[end figure description]

noonday, he kept boldly along the common Ashley river or
Dorchester road, as, winding in accordance with the
course of the stream, it carried him above and completely
around the spot chosen for his camp in the
Cypress.

They saw but little, for some time, to attract them
in this ramble. They traversed the defile of thick
oaks, which form so large a part of the scenery of that
region; then into the same pine-land track they pushed
their way. Cheerless quite, bald of home and habitation,
they saw nothing throughout the melancholy
waste more imposing than the plodding negro, with
his staff in hand, and with white teeth peering through
his thick, flagging lips, in a sort of deferential smile,
at their approach. Sometimes, touched with the apprehensions
of the time, he too would start away as
he beheld them, and they might see him, as they looked
backward, cautiously watching their progress from
behind the pine-tree, or the crumbling fence. Occasionally
they came to a dwelling in ruins, or burnt—
the cornfield scorched and blackened with the recent
fire, the fences overthrown, and the cows, almost wild,
having free possession, and staring wildly upon them
as they drew nigh.

“And this is war!” said Singleton, musingly. “This
is war—the merciless, the devastating war! Oh, my
country, when wilt thou be free from invasion—when
will thy people come back to these deserted dwellings—
when will the corn flourish green along these stricken
and blasted fields, without danger from the trampling
horse, and the wanton and devouring fire? When—
oh, when?”

He spoke almost unconsciously, but was recalled to
himself, as, wondering at what he heard, the peering
eyes of Lance Frampton, as he rode up beside him,
perused keenly the unusually sad expression of his
countenance. Singleton noted his gaze, and, without
rebuking it, addressed him with a question concerning
his father, who had been missing from the troop ever
since the affair with Travis.

[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]

“Lance, have you heard nothing of your father
since I last asked you about him?”

“Nothing, sir; nothing at all, since we left the
Cypress.”

“You saw him not, then, at our departure?”

“No, sir; but I heard him laugh long after I
missed him from the troop. He couldn't have been
far off, sir, when we came out of the swamp; though
I didn't see him then, and I didn't want to see him.”

“Why not, boy?—your father, too!”

“Why, sir, father is strange sometimes, and then
we never talk to him or trouble him, and he don't want
people to see him then. We always know how he is
when he laughs, and then we go out of his way. We
know he is strange then, for he never laughs any other
time.”

“What do you mean by strange—is he dangerous?”

“Sometimes, sir, he plays dangerous with you.
But it's all in play, for he laughs, and doesn't look in
earnest; but he hurts people then. He once threw me
into the tree when he was so: but it wasn't in earnest—
it is his fun, when he is strange.”

“And where do you think he is—in the swamp?”

“Yes, sir; he loves to be in the swamp.”

“And how long, boy, is it since he became strange?”

“Oh, a very long time, sir; ever since I was a little
child. But he has been much stranger since mother's
death!”

“No wonder! no wonder! That was enough to
make him so—that cruel murder; but we will avenge
it, boy—we will avenge it.”

“Yes, sir; that's what I want to do, as soon as
you'll let me—as soon as I grow tall enough to cut a
man over the head.”

The boy stopped and blushed—half fearing that he
had said too much; but the kindled fire of his eye was
unshadowed, and there was a quiver of his lips, and an
increasing heave of his breast, that did not escape the
keen glance of Singleton. The latter was about to
speak, when suddenly the boy stopped him, bent

[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]

forward upon his horse, and pointing with his finger to an
opening from the roadside, called the attention of his
commander in that direction.

“I'm sure, sir, it's a man—a white man; his back
was to us, sir; he's in there.”

At the word, Singleton drove the spur into his steed,
and the boy followed him. In a moment, he was at
the designated spot, and there, sure enough, even as
his companion had said, in the little break of the
woods, on the hillock's side, a strange man stood before
them.

The person thus surprised now evidently beheld
them for the first time. He had been tightening the
saddle-girth around his horse, that stood quietly cropping
the grass at their approach; and his eyes were
turned over his shoulder, surveying the new-comers.
He hesitated, and his manner had in it something of
precipitation. This was the more evident to Singleton,
as, on their appearance, he began to whistle, and obviously
assumed a degree of composure which he did
not feel. He had been taking his midday repast at the
spring, which trickled from the hillside below them;
and the remains of his meal, consisting of a bit of
dried venison, cold ham, and corn hoecake, were still
open upon the grass, lying on the buckskin wrapper
which contained them. The man was certainly a traveller,
and had ridden far; the condition of his horse
proved that; though his dress and appearance were
those of the plain farmers of the neighbourhood. A
coarse blue homespun coatee, with thin, whity-brown
pantaloons, loosely made, and a quaker hat, in the
riband of which a huge pipe was stuck ostentatiously,
formed his habit. But Singleton saw that the pipe had
never been smoked, and his inference was not favourable
to the traveller, from this circumstance.

Throwing his bridle to Lance Frampton, the partisan
alighted, and approached the stranger, who turned to
meet him. There was quite a show of good-humour
in his countenance, as Singleton drew nigh, and yet
the latter saw his trepidation; and the anxious looks

[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]

which, more than once, he cast upon the stout animal
which had borne him, seemed to say how glad he
would have been to use him in flight, could he possibly
have thought to do so in safety.

“Good-day, my friend, good-day. You have ridden
far,” said Singleton, “and your horse tells it. May I
ask what quarter you come from?”

“Oh yes, to be sure you may, stranger; there's no
harm that I can see in the question, only as it happens
to want an answer. It's no safe matter, now-a-days,
stranger, to tell one's starting and stopping, since, you
see, it mayn't altogether please them that hears.”

There was a half disposition on the part of the
countryman to feel his way, and see how far he could
bully the new-comer, in this equivocal sort of speech.
But he was mistaken in the man before him, and though
he had spoken his evasive reply in a manner meant
to be conciliating while it remained unsatisfactory,
he was soon compelled to see that his questioner was
by no means to be trifled with.

“Safe or not, my friend,” said Singleton, gravely,
“there are some questions that a man must answer,
whether he likes it or no: there is a school proverb
that you must remember, about the bird that can sing
and will not.”

The man turned his tobacco in his jaws, and though
evidently annoyed and disquieted, replied—

“Why, yes, stranger, I reckon I know what you
mean, though I haint had much schooling; three
months one year, and three another, and then three
years without any, don't teach a body every kind of
larning. But the saying you point to I remember well
enough; many's the time I've heard it. `The bird
that wont sing must be made to sing.”'

“I see your memory may be relied upon for other
matters,” said Singleton; “and now, taking care not to
forget the proverb, you will please answer me a few
questions.”

“Well, stranger, I'm willing enough. I'm all over
good-natur, and never fail to git vexed with myself

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

afterward, when the devil drives me to be uncivil to
them that treats me well. Ax your question straight
off-hand, and Peet Larkin is the boy to answer, far as
his larning goes.”

“I am glad, Mr. Larkin, for your own sake, that
you have this temper. You will please to say, now,
where you are from.”

“Well, now, stranger, I'm only come from a little
above—and as you say, I've had a tough ride of it;
but it's a good critter, this here nag of mine, and does
one's heart good to go on him. So, you see, when
I'm on him, I goes it. I hate mightily to creep, terrapin
fashion, in a dogtrot; for you see, stranger, it's a
bad gait, and sickens a short man, though the horse
that travels stands it best of any.”

Singleton had no disposition to interrupt the speaker,
though he saw that he meant to be evasive. He
watched his features attentively, while he spoke, and
when he had done, proceeded in his inquiries.

“From above! but what part? I would know precisely,
Mr. Larkin.”

“Well, now, stranger, as I haint got no secrets, I
'spose I may as well tell you 'xactly as 'tis. I'm from
clear across the Santee; I live 'pon the Santee, or
thereabouts.”

“Indeed! and is it true, as we hear below, that the
wolves have grown troublesome in that quarter?”

“The wolves, stranger? Well, now, that can't be;
for, you see, I come from all about, and nobody that I
seed along the road, or in any settlement, made complaint.
I reckon you aint heard very particular right,
now.”

“It must be the owls, then—yes, it is the owls;
have you seen any of them on your way?”

This question, urged with the utmost gravity by the
partisan, completed the fellow's astonishment. Revolving
the huge lump of tobacco—for such it seemed—
which from the commencement of the dialogue had
been going to and fro between his jaws, it was some

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

seconds before he could recover sufficiently from his
astonishment to reply.

“Owls! God bless me, stranger, but that's a queer
question, anyhow. To be sure there's owls all along
the Santee; you may hear them in the swamp any
time o' night, and an ugly noise they makes all night
long, but nobody thinks o' minding them. They troubles
nobody, and sometimes, when there's going to be
a death in the family, the white owls comes into the
bedroom, and they won't drive 'em out, for you see it's
no use; the sick body will die after that, whether they
drive the owl off or no.”

“Yes, yes—true;” said Singleton musingly, while
watching the other's countenance with a circumspect
regard. He saw that the countryman was not the man
he expected, and he had other suspicions as to his
real character, the more particularly as he perceived
how disquieted the examination and restraint had made
him. After a moment's pause, he proceeded to put a
more direct inquiry.

“Where do you live upon the Santee?”

“Well, now, stranger, I don't know if you'll know
the place when I tell you, seeing it's a little out of the
way of the settlement; but I live close upon the left
hand fork of the White Oak Branch, a leetle above the
road that runs to Williamsburg. I come down that
road when I crossed the Santee.”

“And where did you cross the Santee?”

“At Vance's; I 'spose you know where that is?”

“I do; but why did you not cross at Nelson's—
why go out of your way to Vance's?”

The countryman stammered, hesitated for a moment,
and while he replied, his eye sank beneath the penetrating
glance of Singleton.

“Why, stranger, to say truth, 'cause I feared to
come by Nelson's; I was afeard of the enemy?”

“And whom do you call the enemy?”

“Them that's not a friend to me and my friends;
them's my enemies, stranger, and I reckon them's your
enemies too.”

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

“Perhaps so; but I must first know who they are,
before I say. Speak.”

The mass of tobacco performed a more rapid revolution
before the man replied; and he then did so only
as he saw the hand of Singleton upon the pistol in his
belt.

“Well, stranger, if I must, I must: so, by the enemy
I means the rebels; them that aint friendly to the king's
government—them's the enemy; and there was plenty
to spare of them at the nighest track; the river swamp
at Nelson's was chock full of Marion's men, and there
was no passing; so I took the road across, down by
Wright's Bluff, that lets you into the Vance's ferry
track, and—”

“You stopped at Watson's?”[1]

Singleton put the question affirmatively, and the
other looked surprised; the tobacco was about to be
revolved from the one jaw to its opposite, as had
been the case at almost every interval made between
his sentences, when, quick as lightning, and with a
grasp of steel, Singleton seized him by the throat.
The fellow strove to slip away, but never did finger
more tenaciously gripe the throat of an enemy. The
partisan was a man of immense strength, and the
stranger was short and small. His powers were far
inferior. He strove to struggle, and laboured, but in
vain, to speak. The fingers were too closely compressed,
and still maintaining his hold with more
tenacity than ever, the assailant bore him to earth, and
with his knee firmly upon his breast, in spite of every
effort for release by the man beneath him, he choked
him until his tongue hung out upon his cheek, and his
jaws were sufficiently distended to enable him to secure
the game for which he toiled so desperately. Turning
the bearer of despatches, for the prisoner was such,
upon his side, the silver bullet which contained them
rolled forth upon the grass, and in a moment after
was secured by the ready hands of Lance Frampton.

eaf358v2.n1

[1] At that time one of the chain of military posts which the enemy
had established throughout the country.

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