I rode clear of Levi’s gang, no one raising a hand or attempting to stay me. I ranged myself beside Marion. Levi and his men conferred in low voices, their heads together, their eyes over their shoulders.
Marion turned his back on them while the smith brought out his horse, a beautiful black thoroughbred. I did not wonder that at the sight of it Levi’s greed had been whetted. “I’d have shod him with gold,” Barter said as he held the stirrup, “if I’d known whose he was, Colonel — and a little bit for his own sake. I might have known when I saw him, as he carried no common rider.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Marion said as he settled himself in the saddle. “I won’t offer to pay you.”
“God forbid!” cried the old man.
Marion turned to the five scowling, angry men who still held their ground. Even they were ashamed, I fancy, to back down before one man. “Gentlemen,” he said in a small hard voice. “When I say, Go! I mean, Go.”
“You’re not on the Pee Dee now!” one of the men answered with insolence.
“You can tell that to my men.” he replied. “When they come.”
Far off, breaking the silence of the night, the beat of hoofs came dully to us. Levi heard it, and he turned his horse’s head, and muttered something to his men. “Another day!” he cried aloud —— but only to cover his retreat. Then he and these four brave men moved off with what dignity they might. The beat of hoofs came more loudly, and clearly from the eastward. The five began to trot.
Marion laughed softly. “They are grand folks —— in a tavern!” he said.
A man who has had such an escape as I had had, and whose throat aches as he thinks of the rope that he has evaded, is not at his best as an observer. If he is capable of thought at all, he is prone to think only of himself. But I had heard so much of the partisan leader, whose craft and courage had defied the energy of Tarleton, and whose name was a terror to our people from the Pine Barrier to the ocean, and from the Santee River to the Gadkin, that I could not take my eyes off Marion. His marvellous escapes, the speed of his horse which was a fable through the Carolinas, the stern discipline he maintained, and his humanity to royalists and regulars alike — these things had already made his name famous. Pursued to his haunts in the marshes of the Pee Dee, he issued from them the moment the pressure was relaxed; and while Sumter and Davy and Pickens, all leaders of note, harassed us on our borders, it was Marion who sapped the foundations of our power, cut off our detachments, and harried our friends to the very gates of Charles Town. Tarleton, whom he had evaded a dozen times, called him the Swamp Fox, and grew dull at his name. But Tarleton could bear no rival, friend or foe, and carried into war a spirit far too bitter. For most of us Marion’s exploits, troublesome as they were and rapidly growing dangerous, were a theme of generous interest and admiration.
He saw that I was observing him and probably he was not displeased. But after a moment’s pause, “Are you in pain, sir?” he asked.
“Not more than I can bear,” I replied. “Nor in any that should deter me from acknowledging the service you have rendered me.”
“I am glad it fell out so,” he replied courteously. “Here is Wilmer.”
CHAPTER V
THE SWAMP FOX
Giving the rein to the most intrepid gallantry and in battle exhibiting all the fire and impetuosity of youth, there never was an enemy, who yielded to his valor, who had not cause to admire and eulogize his subsequent humanity. — It would have been as easy to turn the sun from his course as Marion from the path of honor.
GARDEN.
Wilmer rode up to us a minute later, followed by two horsemen, rough wild-looking men, who wore leather caps like their leader’s. When he saw who Marion’s companion was even his aplomb was not equal to the occasion. He stared at me openmouthed. “What diversion is this, Major?” he cried at last. “You here? What in the name of cock-fighting are you doing here?”
“I am afraid Major Craven has considerable ground for complaint,” Marion said, a note of sternness in his voice.
“Which Colonel Marion has removed at risk to himself,” I said politely. “I am afraid that if it had not been for him I should have had no throat to complain with! A man called Levi and four others entered your house an hour ago, Captain Wilmer, and dragged me out, and in spite of all my remonstrances—”
“Were going to hang him,” Marion said grimly. “Fortunately they called at the forge, I was here, and Major Craven appealed to me. I interfered—”
“And they cried ‘King’s Cruse,’ I warrant you!” Wilmer struck in.
“Well, they withdrew the stakes,” Marion said with a ghost of a smile. “They were not a very gallant five. So all is well that ends well — as it has in this case, Wilmer. In this case! But—”
“But what was Con doing?” Wilmer cried turning to me. “That she let them take you out of the house?”
I fancied that the moment he had spoken he would have recalled his words; and acting on an impulse which I did not stay to examine, “She did what she could, I have no doubt,” I answered. “What could she do? Colonel Marion may think little of facing five men—”
“Five corn-stalks!” he interpolated lightly.
“But for a woman it’s another, matter! A very different matter!”
“And yet,” Wilmer said — but I thought that he breathed more freely— “Con is not exactly a boarding-school miss. She’s—”
“She’s my god-daughter for one thing,” Marion said with a smile.
“I should have thought that she could manage a cur like Levi!”
“And four others?” I said. “Come, come!”
He shrugged his shoulders, but I saw that he was relieved by my words. “Well, it’s over now,” he said, “and she will tell us her own tale. I have no doubt that she did what she could. For the rest, I’ll talk to Levi, Colonel, be sure. I am with you, that we have had too much of this. But that can wait. The Major looks shaken and the sooner he’s in bed again the better. Never was a man more unlucky!”
“I am afraid that others have been still more unlucky,” Marion said gravely. And I knew that he referred to some incident unknown to me. “But you are right, let us go. I am anxious to see my god-daughter and almost as anxious to see a pair of sheets for once.”
He said good-night to the old smith and we started. Marion and Wilmer rode ahead, I followed, Marion’s two men brought up the rear. So we retraced the way that I had traveled an hour before in stress of mind and blackness and despair. The night cloaked me in solitude, stilled the fever in my blood, laid its cool touch on my heated brow; and far be it from me to deny that I hastened to render thanks where, above all, thanks were due. I had been long enough in this land of immense distances, of wide rivers and roadless forests — wherein our little army was sometimes lost, as a pitch-fork in a hay-stack — to appreciate the thousand risks that lay between us and home, and to know how little a man could command his own fate, or secure his own life.
Clop, clop, went the horses’ hoofs. The same sound, yet how different to my ears! The croak of frogs, the swish of the wind through the wild mulberries, the murmur of the little rill we crossed — how changed was the note in all! Deep gratitude, a solemn peace set me apart, and hallowed my thoughts. How delicious seemed the darkness, how sweet the night scents — no magnolia on the coast was sweeter! — how fresh the passing air!
But as water finds its level, so, soon or late, a man’s mind returns to its ordinary course. Before we reached the house, short as was the distance, other thoughts, and one in particular, took possession of me. What face would the girl put on what had happened? How would she act? How would she bear herself to them? And to me?
True, I had shielded her as far as lay in my power. I had given way to a passing impulse and had lied; partly in order that her father might not learn the full callousness of her conduct, partly because I wished to see her punished, and I felt sure that no punishment would touch her pride so sharply as the knowledge that I had
been silent and had not deigned to betray her. I wanted to see her punished, but even before revenge came curiosity. How would she bear herself, whether I spoke or were silent? Would she own the truth to her father? Would she own it to Marion of whom, I suspected, she stood in greater awe? And, if she did not, how would she carry it off? How would she look me in the face, whether I spoke, or were silent?
As we drew up to the house the lighted windows still shone on the night, and a troop of dogs, roused by our approach, came barking round us, after the southern fashion. But no one appeared, no one met us; doubtless the white men had ordered the negroes to keep to their quarters. Wilmer, who was the first to reach the ground, helped me to dismount. “But keep behind us a minute,” he said. “We need not give my daughter a fright.”
I assented gladly, hugging myself; I was to see a comedy! I stood back, and Marion and Wilmer mounted the porch and opened the door. Cries of alarm greeted them, but these quickly gave place to exclamations of joy, to cries of “Missie! Missie, he come! Marse Wilmer come!”
I pressed up to the doorway to see what was passing. Mammy Jacks was pounding at the door of an inner room — doubtless her mistress’s. The other women with the vehemence of their race were kissing the Master’s hand and even his clothes. “Steady! Steady!” Wilmer was saying, “Don’t frighten her!” And he raised his voice, “Con, it’s I!” he cried. “All is well, girl. Here’s a visitor to see you!”
She appeared. But I saw at a glance that this was not the same girl who on the night of my arrival had met Wilmer with flying skirts and cries of joy. This girl came out, pale, shrinking, frightened. True, in a breath she was in her father’s arms, she was sobbing in abandonment on his shoulder. But, believe me, in that short interval my desire for vengeance had taken flight; it had vanished at the first sight of her face. The sooner she knew that I was safe, the better! I did not understand her, she was beyond my comprehension, she was still a puzzle. But I knew that she had suffered, and was suffering still.
“There, honey, all’s well, all’s well!” Wilmer said, soothing her. I think that for the time he had completely forgotten me and my affairs. “What is it?
What’s amiss, child? Here’s your god-father — a big man now! Look up, here’s Marion!”
On that I crept away. I felt that I ought not to be looking on. It seemed to be a — well, I gave it no name, but I felt that I had no right to be there, and I went down into the darkness below the veranda, and stood a dozen yards away where I could not hear what passed, or could hear only the one sharp cry that the news of my safety drew from her. Marion’s men had taken the horses round to the cabins, and I was alone. I had the puzzle to amuse me still, if I chose to work upon it; and I had leisure. But it was no longer to my taste and not many minutes passed before Wilmer summoned me.
I had no choice then, I had to go up into the room. But so changed were my feelings in regard to this girl that I loathed the necessity. I was as unwilling to face her, as unwilling to shame her, as if I had been the criminal. I would have given many guineas to be a hundred miles away.
I might have spared my scruples for she was not there, she was not to be seen. Instead, I met the men’s eyes; they glanced at me, then away again. They looked disconcerted. For my part I affected to be dazzled by the light. “It has been a little too much for my daughter,” Wilmer said. “I don’t quite understand what happened,” he continued awkwardly, “but she seems to think, Major — she seems to have got it into her head—”
“It was a shock to Miss Wilmer,” I said. “And no wonder! I am not the steadier for it myself.”
“Just so,” he replied slowly. “Of course. But she’s got an idea that she did not do all—”
“I hope that they did not strike her,” I said.
‘ It was a happy thought. It suggested a state of things, wholly different from that which was in their minds. Wilmer’s face lightened. “What?” he said. “Do you mean that there was any appearance of — of that?”
“A cur like that!” I said contemptuously. “A devil of a fellow in a tavern!” T looked at Marion whose silence and steady gaze embarrassed me. “Or among women!”
“Ah!”
“But you must pardon me,” I said. “I am done. I must lie down or I shall fall down. My shoulder is in Hades. For God’s sake, Wilmer, let me go to bed,” I continued peevishly — and indeed I was at the end of my strength. “You are worse than Levi and company!”
They were puzzled I think. They could not make my story tally with the words that had escaped her. But, thus adjured, they had no choice except to drop the subject, and attend to me. I was helped to bed, Tom was summoned, my shoulder was eased, I was fed. And they no doubt had other and more important things to consider than how to reconcile two accounts of a matter which was at an end and had lost its importance. I heard them talking far into the night. Their voices, subdued to the note of caution, were my lullaby, soothed me to slumber, went murmuring with me into the land of dreams. While they talked of ferries and night attacks, of Greene replacing Gage, of this man’s defection or that man’s persistence, of our weakness here and strength there, of what might be looked for from the northern province and what might be feared in Georgia, I was far away by the Coquet, listening to the music of its waters, soothed by the hum of moorland bees. The vast and troubled ocean that rolled between my home and me was forgotten. Alas, of the many thousands who crossed that ocean with me, how few were ever to return! How few were destined to see the old country again!
Late in the night I awoke and sat up, sweating and listening, my arm throbbing violently. And so it was with me until morning, fatigue imposing sleep, and jarred nerves again snatching me from it. At last I fell into a calmer state, and awoke to find the sun up and Marion standing beside me. His bearing was changed, he was again the leader, watchful, distant, a little punctilious.
“I make no apology for rousing you,” he said. “I have to leave. I have discussed your position with Captain Wilmer and he will be guided by my advice. I could take you north to-day and see that you were conveyed safely to our Headquarters; but you are in no condition to travel. It would be barbarous to suggest it. I propose therefore to leave you here. In a month I or some of my people will be passing, and the opportunity may then serve. In the meantime I must ask you to give me your parole not to escape, while you remain here.”
“Willingly,” I said. “From the present moment, Colonel Marion, until — it is well to be exact?”
“Until I take you into my charge,” he replied rather grimly. “Once in my hands, Major, I will give you leave to escape if you can.”
“Agreed,” I said laughing. “Have you the paper?”
He handed it to me. While he brought the ink to the bedside, I read the form and found it on all fours with what he had said. I signed it as well as I could with my left hand — the exertion was not a slight one. Then, “One moment,” I said, my hand still on the paper, “How am I to be saved from a repetition of yesterday’s outrage?”
“It will not be repeated,” he answered, his face stern. “I have taken steps to secure that.” I handed him the paper. “Very good,” he continued. “That is settled then?”
“No,” I said, “not until I have thanked you for an intervention which saved my life.”
“The good fortune was mine,” he replied courteously. And then with feeling, “Would to God,” he cried, “that I could have saved all as I saved you! There have been dreadful things done, damnable things, sir, in the last week. The things that make war — which between you and me is clean — abominable! And they are as stupid as they are cruel, whether they are done by your people or by mine! They are the things of which we shall both be ashamed some day. For my part,” he continued, “I believe that if the war had been waged on either side, with as much good sense as a Charles Town merchant, Horry or Pinkney, brings to his everyday business, the States would have been conquered or reconciled these twelve months past! Or on the other hand there would not hav
e been one English soldier south of the St. Lawrence to-day!”
I smiled. “My commission only permits me to agree to the first of your alternatives,” I said. “But I owe you a vast deal more than agreement. I won’t say much about it, but if I can ever serve you, I hope, Colonel Marion, that you will command me.”
“I accept the offer,” he said frankly. “Some day perhaps I shall call upon you to make it good.” And then, “You were with General Burgoyne’s force, were you not?”
“I was,” I answered. “I was on his staff, and surrendered with him at Saratoga. I have been — unlucky.”
“Confoundedly unlucky!” he rejoined with feeling. “North and South!”
“Miss Wilmer,” I began impulsively, “seemed to think — ,” and then I stopped. Why had I brought in her name? What folly had led me into mentioning her?
He saw that I paused and he shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to be willing to let it pass. Then he changed his mind, and spoke. “Do you know her story?” he asked. “She lost her mother very unhappily. Mrs. Wilmer was staying for her health at Norfolk in Virginia in’76, when your people bombarded it — an open town, my friend. The poor lady, shelterless and in such clothes as she could snatch up, died later of exposure. My god-daughter was devoted to her, as she is to her father. Women feel these things deeply. Can you wonder?”
“No,” I said gravely. “I don’t wonder. I knew nothing of this.”
“I am sorry to say that that is not all,” he went on. “Her only brother, a lad of eighteen, fell into your hands in the attack on Savannah. He was embarked, with other prisoners, for the West Indies. He has not been heard of since, and whether he is alive or dead, God knows. These things eat into the heart. Do you wonder?”
“No,” I said, earnestly, “I don’t! But in heaven’s name why did they not tell me? I am known to the Commander in Chief, I have some small influence. I could at least make inquiries for them. Do they suppose that after the treatment I have received at Captain Wilmer’s hands —— though it be no more than the laws of war require —— do they suppose that I would not do what I could?”
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 618
