Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1963
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THE SOUTH FORK RANGERS
MANLY WADE WELLMAN
Also by MANLY WADE WELLMAN
Raiders of Beaver Lake
Mystery of Lost Valley
The Sleuth Patrol
Haunts of Drowning Creek
Wild Dogs of Drowning Creek
The Last Mammoth
Rebel Mail Runner
Flag on the Levee
Young Squire Morgan
Lights Over Skeleton Ridge
The Ghost Battalion
Ride, Rebels!
Appomattox Road
Third String Center
Rifles at Ramsour’s Mill
Battle for King’s Mountain
Clash on the Catawba
IVES WASHBURN • NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT © 1963 BY MANLY WADE WELLMAN
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
this book, or parts thereof, in any form, except for
the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 63-12143
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
For
FRED B. McCALL
Contents
Foreword
1 Captain Zack Harper
2 The Raid of Seth Mawks
3 The Gay Visitor
4 The Indian Camp
5 Magic Against Magic
6 Alspaye Strikes Again
7 Capture for Capture
8 The Siege of the Harper House
9 Two Flags of Truce
10 A Trade and a Respite
11 The Track of the Enemy
12 Hidden Fortress
13 Deevor Plum Talks
14 Underground
15 The End of Alspaye
16 Report to George Washington
Foreword
THIS is the last book of a series about America’s fight for independence in the Catawba country of North Carolina.
Except for Zack Harper and a few others, the names are those of real people who bore their share in that fight, and the story told here includes many things that actually happened.
The independence won in those desperate days seems destined to last forever, and one reason why it will is that Americans today are as loyal patriots and brave fighters as the Americans who made America a nation.
Manly Wade Wellman Chapel Hill, North Carolina
1 Captain Zack Harper
THERE they stood together in the clouding afternoon of a mild North Carolina February—eighteen American fighting men, with arms in their hands and defiance of British King George in their hearts. They stood in the yard of what had been a magnificent manor of the Catawba country, now falling to ruin among flames set by Tory plunderers. Half of them were from the nearby South Fork settlements, young i sons of farmers in homespun. The other half came from the rough, half-savage mountains to the west and wore buckskins and furs and beaded belts. They had rough manes of hair on their heads and rougher beards on their chins. To one side lay six silent bodies, the Tories of the raiding party who had not succeeded in getting away from the surprise attack. And every patriot’s eyes were turned expectantly on the tall, rugged youngster in their midst, Zack Harper, scout and veteran of half a dozen fierce battles with the British, who had just been chosen the captain of this new ranger band.
“Come, Captain Zack Harper, we wait your orders,” urged Zack’s friend, Enoch Gilmer.
“Aye, Cap’n, say the word and we’ll make it deed,” seconded broad, big-muscled Seth Mawks, chief of the mountain volunteers, and his red beard bristled. “You and me, we settled the question of who’s top wolf of this here pack by a fair wrestle-down, and ye’re best man to command us. By all that’s high and low, I’m next best man and I back ye to the hilt in all ye say or do! ”
Zack shrugged his broad shoulders in his fringed buckskin shirt. His hat was off, and he swept back his long dark hair.
“I thank you, Seth,” he said, trying to gain time. “And you, Enoch. Thanks to all of you. I trust every man to be brave and true. But for custom’s sake, we’ll take an oath here as American soldiers.”
“Oath?” squeaked a tall mountaineer. “Ye mean, a cuss word?”
“No, ye gawk, it’s like fer jury duty or bearing witness,” scolded another.
“What’s today?” inquired Zack.
“Today?” echoed Seth Mawks blankly, and stirred his thick fingers in his untidy red thatch. “Why now, I got it in mind it’s Wednesday or Thursday or some sech matter.”
“Tuesday,” offered Enoch. “The day of the month is February 6, and the year, if you’ve forgotten that, too, is 178!, getting on to the fifth year of America’s independence.”
“February 6, 1781,” repeated Zack. “Remember the date, all. Now, hold up your right hands with me.”
He lifted his own big right hand, and up shot a whole thicket of hands.
“Now,” said Zack, trying to be impressive, “we, and each of us, do solemnly pledge our lives to the cause of American liberty; we swear to abide together as honest men and loyal soldiers, to fight against the British who oppress and lay waste our home country; and particularly to fight the band of Tory thieves and blackguards who follow Captain Robinson Alspaye in this South Fork country.” He paused, summoning up more words. “We engage solemnly to defend the homes and lives of all true friends of liberty, and to fight Alspaye’s skulking band wheresoe’er we find it, and in all ways to uphold the cause of American freedom, until such time as the British are driven from our land.”
Every eye was upon him, every face rapt and attentive.
“And so say we all,” finished Zack. “In God’s name, amen.”
“Amen! Amen!” cried voices around him.
“By the black bear dog of Spillcorn, that there’s an elegant word to swear to,” vowed Seth Mawks. “Couldn’t have said it out better myself, Cap’n Zack. Now we’re sworn in, what next?”
“We must organize,” replied Zack, more confidently. “We’re eighteen in all, and we’ll call ourselves a true military company, in two platoons. Seth, your mountain men shall be one platoon, and you lead it as lieutenant.”
“Yahoo!” whooped Seth. “Hear that, ye ridge-running Western scalp hunters? From now on I’m Lootenant Mawks, and mind ye salute me proper or I’ll scalp the last of ye bald!”
“And you of the South Fork,” went on Zack, looking at his own neighbors, “Cy Cole, Andy Berry, Billy Gilmer, Joe Rhyne, Steve Gallon, Johnny Starrett, you’re the other platoon, and your leader is Enoch Gilmer.”
“Hurrah, for Lieutenant Gilmer!” yelled Cy Cole, and the others cheered in echo.
“Bethink you, Zack,” objected Enoch, “you’ve got Godfrey Prothero here, and he was a captain himself—”
“Captain of British volunteers and withdrawn from that false service,” said Godfrey Prothero, slim and grave in elegant riding coat and polished boots. He glared at the smouldering house. “They burned my home and wounded my father and insulted my sister Grace,” he said. “That quits me of any loyalty to such comrades in arms. But the platoon belongs to Enoch, who’s been a loyal patriot from the first.”
“I’ve another office for you, Godfrey,” said Zack. “You understand accounts, matters of supply and record and report. Will you be second in command and take charge of executive matters? Friends, Captain Prothero ranks next to me for the time being.”
“Uh—” grumbled Seth Mawks, half to himself.
“Next to me,” repeated Zack, “until such time as I may be slain or captured or otherwise unable to lead. Then, and we’ll have fought more than once ere many days are gone, you’ll choose you another head
of the company.”
“Fair enough!” bawled Seth, and there was a chorus of assent.
“I’ll give other orders quickly,” went on Zack. “We’re here to fight and win. But we’ll never do as Alspaye threatens, hang prisoners without reason or trial, and we’ll burn no Tory homes save by order and as honest return for evil done our side. Is it understood?”
“Understood,” said Enoch, and the others agreed.
“Let’s be off on the hunt,” cried Seth Mawks. “I’m hungry for Tory blood.”
“You mountain men shall have your chance to show how you serve the enemy,” Zack told him. “But now, we’d best dig graves for those who lie yonder. Let half of each platoon dig and the other half keep watch. Captain Prothero, if the sheds still stand here at your home, perhaps you’ll help the digging party find spades and picks.”
“Aye, Captain,” replied Godfrey, and saluted flawlessly, then led the men to find tools.
As the digging party worked, Zack sat on a log near the horses. His own fine chestnut charger, Jonah, came and whinnied and poked Zack’s shoulder with an affectionate nose. Zack stroked Jonah’s mane absently as he pondered his situation.
It was not simply that he was captain of the South Fork Rangers. He was not yet twenty years old, yet he had fought hard and well in the war with the British. His scouting had helped bring American victories at Ramsour’s Mill, at King’s Mountain, at the Cowpens down in South Carolina. He had played a useful part during General Greene’s retreat that had drawn Lord Cornwallis to pursue all the way to the Virginia line, many, many marches away from reenforcements and fresh supplies. All these things, well done with steady, cool assurance among dangers and surprises, had helped make Zack Harper a seasoned soldier, and Greene himself had appointed him to raise the ranger company. He did not despair of leading his bold comrades as they should be led.
But that was only part of the matter. His small company’s task in the South Fork country was great. If he could beat Robinson Alspaye, then the greater British host under Cornwallis would face defeat without hope of support. If Zack lost, then Alspaye’s raiders could and would destroy all up and down the South Fork and farther to the west bank of the Catawba, enlisting Tories as well as doubtful-minded settlers in the British service and killing or cowing the patriots.
The South Fork Rangers must win, Zack told himself. His own life could count only as it served his struggling people in their hope for independence. He must be bold as a lion one time, cautious as a fox another. Somehow he would accomplish that.
Cy Cole and one of Seth Mawk’s hairy mountaineers came toward him, escorting a third man in a woolly sheepskin coat. Zack got up from the log. “Who’s this?” he asked.
“ ’Pears like he ain’t ready for burying yet,” said the mountaineer. “We took hold on him, and he wiggled and sat up.”
“Godfrey Prothero knocked him down in the fight,” added Cy.
“But he’s able to walk and talk, eh?” said Zack, surveying the glum prisoner. “How is it with you, fellow?”
“My head aches like a broken tooth,” was the bitter reply.
“I’m past fighting with you. I’ll stand like a lamb among you, if you won’t hang or shoot me.”
“We don’t hang or shoot prisoners for aught but good reason. Tell me now, where’s this hiding place of your Captain Robinson Alspaye?”
“Nay, I won’t say that. True soldier duty is that a prisoner never betrays his friends.”
The mountaineer scowled. “Let me take him off to the side, Cap’n,” he said, “and afore ye count fifty, I’ll have him squealing out any news we want.”
“No,” Zack forbade him. “I’ve said we’ll be fair, and let’s hope it makes Alspaye fair, too. Hark you, prisoner, you are free.”
“Free?” echoed Cy, mystified.
“Aye,” said Zack. “Go seek that Tory burner and bully you call Captain, and give him this message from Zack Harper. If he’ll come into the open and fight us fair, we’ll settle once and for all whether King George or American liberty rules the South Fork. If he chooses to slink and hide, we’ll come search him out. But if he goes on as he has begun, burning and robbing and bringing fear upon the helpless— we’ll give him a double dose of his own medicine, and bitter will it be in his mouth.” He gazed sternly into the man’s eyes. “Do you hear me?”
“Aye, sir, every word.”
“Then begone to you. Your horse and gun we’ll keep, but you are free.”
The man was gone at a clumsy run. Cy chuckled to see him flee, but the mountaineer made an unhappy snap of his tongue against his teeth and clutched his rifle as though he yearned to send a bullet after the departing back.
The burial party had finished its labors, and again Zack summoned the men around him.
“To march and campaign and fight, we must have food and weapons,” he said. “You from the mountains seem to have brought provision, but we others haven’t prepared as yet.”
“And I don’t like this musket I took from a Hessian,” complained John Starrett. “It balances heavily. Would I had my own rifle from home.”
“Then go get it,” Zack bade him. “Go you all, neighbors, and fetch your pet guns and horses, and what powder and food you can find for a week’s adventure or more. Make haste and report back, for it looks at the point of snowing. Enoch, you’re already mounted and furnished to your taste, stay here with Mawks’ platoon to keep a watch for Alspaye.”
The other South Fork men were already hurrying away. Enoch looked a question at Zack, his usually merry face blank with mystification.
“Stay here, you tell me?” he asked. “What about yourself?”
“Godfrey and I will go to my father’s house, to see how matters go forward there, and perhaps get more provision. Here, help me gather up the guns we took from the Tories 5 we’ll store them there as an arsenal. Look for us back in an hour’s time.”
A few flakes of snow settled through the leafless trees as Zack and Godfrey, each carrying several of the captured weapons, rode off across fields for the neighboring farm of Zack’s father, Alan Harper.
2 The Raid of Seth Mawks
THE ride to the Harper place was swiftly accomplished, and Zack and Godfrey found both Alan Harper and John Prothero in the front yard. Mr. Prothero had somewhat rallied from the wound he had suffered earlier that day when his home was raided and set afire. With his bullet- pierced arm bandaged and in a sling, he gave crisp orders to several of his dark-faced servants.
“Fetch the cattle and horses out of those thickets where you hid them,” Zack heard him say, “and start at once on the trail to South Carolina ahead of this coming snowstorm. Herd all stock to my lands on the Tiger River—there, at least, war and plunder seem to have moved away. Grace! Where’s Grace?”
“In here, Father,” came his daughter’s clear voice through the half-open front door. “I am writing to your overseer on the Tiger as you bade me.”
“Good,” said Prothero. “Tell him that he hath full charge there, and that we stay here with my good friend and neighbor, Mr. Alan Harper.” He looked up as Zack and Godfrey rode into the yard. “Ah, happily met again!” he cried. “What news, young men?”
Swiftly they told of how the mountain volunteers had come, how the South Fork Rangers had been organized and how Zack, by throwing Seth Mawks in a wrestling bout, had clinched his captaincy. Both Prothero and the elder Harper applauded, and nodded their grave approval to the simple but steadfast agreement under which the company had organized itself.
“A wise head on your young shoulders, Zack,” said Prothero, “and I hear with pride and pleasure that you are captain. As to your oath of enlistment, I think on what was written at the end of the Declaration of Independence, up yonder in Philadelphia nearly five years gone. You know how it reads?”
“I think so, sir,” replied Zack, pausing to remember. Then he quoted:
“ ‘And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of
Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.’ ”
Solemnly the others heard him—Alan Harper, Prothero and Godfrey.
“I’ve heard that the delegates to the signing of that Declaration are of our nation’s greatest men,” said Prothero. “What they pledged they meant. Their lives—and for the most part they are young in years, and life to the young is sweet; their fortunes—they are men of substance, with much to lose; and their sacred honor—sure they have as much of that as any body of men on earth.”
“My own comrades are but few and simple,” confessed Zack.
“But they, too, have lives, and fortunes of a sort, and their honor is sacred,” his father said. “I take leave to think that such pledges guarantee us our freedom and its fruits at last.”
Zack felt confused and shy at such solemn compliments, and masked his feelings by taking from Jonah’s saddle the sheaf of muskets and the great gathering of powder, horns and bullet pouches gleaned after the flight of Alspaye’s band. Godfrey unslung his own horse’s burden and they bore these things into the house.
Grace sat at a table with Mrs. Harper, writing the last of her father’s letter. At sight of Godfrey and Zack she sprang up with a cry of pleasure, and her blue eyes shone with a warm light as she heard of the South Fork Rangers.
“So now it’s Captain Zack Harper,” she said. “Save us all, Zack, we must be careful in the presence of so high an officer, and make sure to address you with proper respect.”
“Grace, you’ve never addressed me with less respect than I have deserved,” he replied to her rallying, “and I trust you’ll never think with less than kindness of one who himself respects you so greatly.”
“La, hear the boy,” put in Mrs. Harper. “He sounds like a colonel at the least.”
“And with stuffiness enough for a general,” laughed Godfrey, but Grace did not laugh.