“Now then the turn is mine,” said Lawton deliberately, and levelling his pistol.
“And mine!” shouted a voice, as the weapon was struck from his hand; “can you find nothing to do but to shoot at a man, as if he was a turkey at a Christmas match? By all the devils in hell, ’tis the mad Virginian--fall on my boys, and take him; this is a prize not hoped for.”
Unarmed and surprized as he was, Lawton’s presence of mind did not desert him: he felt he was in the hands of those from whom he was to expect no mercy; and as four of the skinners fell upon him at once, he used his gigantic strength to the utmost. Three of the band grasped him by the neck and arms, with an intent to clog his efforts, and pinion him with ropes. The first of these he threw from him with a violence that sent him against the building, where he lay for a moment stunned with the blow. But the fourth seized his legs, and unable to contend with such odds, the trooper came to the earth, bringing with him both of his assailants. The struggle on the ground was short but terrific;--curses, and the most dreadful imprecations were uttered by the skinners, who in vain called on three more of their band that were gazing on the combat in nerveless horror, to assist in securing their prize. A difficulty of breathing, from one of the combatants, was heard, accompanied by the stifled moanings of a strangled man; and directly one of the group arose on his feet, shaking himself from the wild grasp of the others. Both Wellmere and the servant of Lawton had fled; the former to the stables, and the latter to give the alarm--and all was darkness. The figure that stood erect, sprung into the saddle of the unheeded charger--sparks of fire from the armed feet of the horse, gave light enough to discover the trooper dashing like the wind towards the highway.
“By hell he’s off!” cried the leader, hoarse from rage and exhaustion; “fire!--bring him down--fire, I say, or you’ll be too late.”
The order was obeyed, and one moment of awful suspense followed, in the vain hope of hearing the huge frame of Lawton tumbling from his steed.
“He’d never fall, if you had killed him,” muttered one; “I’ve known them Virg nians sit their horses with two and three balls through them; ay, even after they were dead.”
A freshening of the blast, wafted the tread of a horse down the valley, which, by its speed, gave assurance of a rider governing its motion.
“Them trained horses always stop when the rider falls,” observed one of the gang.
“Then,” cried the leader, striking his musket on the ground in a rage, “the fellow is safe!-- to your business at once. A short half hour will bring down that canting sergeant and the guard upon us. ’Tis lucky if the guns don’t turn them out. Quick, to your posts, and fire the house in the chambers--smoking ruins are good to cover evil deeds.”
“What is to be done with this lump of earth?” cried another, pushing the body that yet lay insensible, where the grasp of Lawton had deprived it of animation, “a little rubbing would bring him too.”
“Let him lie,” said the leader fiercely; “had he been half a man, that dragooning rascal would have been in my power;--enter the house, I say, and fire the chambers--we can’t go amiss here;-- there is plate and money enough to make you all gentlemen--yes, and revenge too.”
The idea of silver in any way was not to be resisted; and, leaving their companion, who began to show faint signs of life, they rushed tumultuously towards the dwelling. Wellmere availed himself of the opportunity, and stealing from the stable with his own charger, was able to gain the highway unnoticed. For an instant he hesitated, whether to ride towards the point where he knew a guard was stationed, and endeavour to rescue the family, or, profiting by his liberty, and the exchange that had been effected by the divine, to seek the royal army. Shame, and the consciousness of guilt, determined him to take the latter course, and he rode towards New-York, stung with the reflection of his own baseness, and harrassed with the apprehension of meeting with an enraged woman, that he had married during his late visit to England, but whose claims, so soon as his passion was sated, he had resolved never willingly to admit. In the tumult and agitation of the moment, the retreat of Lawton and Wellmere was but little noticed, the condition of Mr. Wharton, and the exhaustion that succeeded the excitement of George Singleton, demanding the care and consolation of both the surgeon and the divine. The report of the fire-arms first roused the family to the sense of a new danger, and but a minute elapsed before the leader and one more of the gang entered the room.
“Surrender, you servants of King George,” shouted the leader, presenting his musket to the breast of Sitgreaves, “or I will let a little of your tory blood from your veins.”
“Gently--gently, my friend,” said the surgeon; “you are doubtless more expert in inflicting wounds than in healing them; the weapon that you hold so indiscreetly, is extremely dangerous to animal life.”
“Yield, then, or take its contents,” exclaimed the other.
“Why and wherefore should I yield?--I am a practitioner of medicine, and a non-combatant. The articles of capitulation must be arranged with Captain John Lawton, though yielding I believe is not a subject on which you will find him particularly complying.”
The fellow had by this time taken such a survey of the group, as convinced him that little danger was to be apprehended from resistance, and eager to seize his share of the plunder, he dropped his musket, and was soon busy in arranging divers articles of plate in bags, with the assistance of one of his men, so that it would be in the most convenient situation to accompany them in their retreat. The cottage now presented a most singular spectacle;--the ladies were gathered around Sarah, who yet continued insensible in one of the rooms that had escaped the notice of the marauders. Mr. Wharton sat in a state of perfect imbecility, listening to, but not profiting by, the words of comfort that fell from the lips of the clergyman, who soon became too much terrified with the scene to offer them. Singleton was lying on a sofa, shaking with debility, and inattentive to surrounding objects; while the surgeon was administering restoratives, and looking at the dressings, with a coolness that mocked the tumult. Cæsar, and the attendants of Captain Singleton, had retreated to the wood in the rear of the cottage, and Katy Haynes was flying about the building, busily employed in forming a bundle of valuables, from which, with the most scrupulous honesty, she rejected every article that was not really and truly her own.
But to return to the party at the Four Corners. When the veteran had got his men mounted and under arms, a restless desire to participate in the glory and dangers of the expedition came over the washerwoman. Whether she was impelled to the undertaking by a dread of remaining alone, or a wish to hasten in person to the relief of her favourite, we will not venture to assert; but, as Hollister was unwillingly, giving the orders to wheel and march, the voice of Betty was heard exclaiming--
“Stop a bit, sargeant dear, till two of the boys git out the cart, and I’ll jist ride wid yee--’tis like there’ll be wounded, and it will be mighty convanient to bring them home in.”
Although inwardly much pleased with any cause of delay to a service that he so little relished, Hollister affected some displeasure at the detention, and replied---
“Nothing but a cannon ball can take one of my lads from his charger, and it’s not very likely that we shall have as fair fighting as cannon and musketry, in a business of the evil one’s inventing;-- so Elizabeth, you may go if you will--but the cart will not be wanting.”
“Now sargeant, dear, you lie any way,” said Betty, who was somewhat unduly governed by her potations; “and wasn’t Captain Singleton shot off his horse but tin days gone by?--ay, and Captain Jack himself too; and didn’t he lie on the ground face uppermost and back downwards, looking grim? and didn’t the boys tink him dead, and turn and lave the rig’lars the day?”
“You lie back again,” cried the sergeant fiercely, “and so does any one, who says that we didn’t gain the day.”
“For a bit or so--only I mane for a bit or so,” said the washerwoman; “but Major Dunwoodie turn’d you
, and so you lick’d the rig’lars. But the Captain it was that fell, and I’m thinking that there’s no better rider going; so, sargeant, it’s the cart that will be convanient. Here, two of you, jist hitch the mare to the tills, and it’s no whiskey that you’ll be wanting the morrow; and put the piece of Jinny’s hide under the pad--the baste is never the better for the rough ways of the county Westchester.” The consent of the sergeant being obtained, the equipage of Mrs. Flanagan was soon in readiness to receive its burthen.
“As it is quite uncertain whether we shall be attacked in front or rear,” said Hollister, “five of you shall march in advance, and the remainder shall cover our retreat towards the barrack, should we be pressed. ’Tis an awful moment to a man of little learning, Elizabeth, to command in such a service; for my part, I wish devoutly that one of the officers was here; but my trust is in the Lord.”
“Pooh! man, away wid yee,” said the washerwoman, who had got herself comfortably seated, “the divil a bit of an inimy is there near--march on hurry-skurry, and lit the mare trot, or it’s but little that Captain Jack will thank yee for the help.”
“Although unlearned in matters of communicating with spirits, or laying the dead, Mrs. Flanagan,” said the veteran, “I have not served through the old war, and five years in this, not to know how to guard the baggage.--Doesn’t Washington always cover the baggage? I am not to be told my duty by a camp follower. Fall in as you are ordered, and dress.”
“Well, march, any way,” cried the impatient washerwoman; “the black is there already, and it’s tardy the Captain will think yee.”
“Are you sure that it was a real black man that brought the order?” said the sergeant, dropping in between the platoons, where he could converse with Betty, and was equally at hand to lead either way.
“Nay,” said the washerwoman, “and I’m sure of nothing, dear. But why don’t the boys prick their horses, and jog a trot; the mare is mighty uneasy, and it’s no warm in this cursed valley, riding as much like a funeral party as old rags is to continental.”
“Fairly and softly, aye, and prudently, Mrs. Flanagan,” said the veteran; “it’s not rashness that makes the good officer. If it is a spirit that we have to encounter, it’s more than likely that he’ll make his attack by surprise;--horse are not very powerful in the dark, and I have a character to lose, good woman.”
“Caractur!” echoed Betty, “and is’nt it caractur and life too, that Capt. Jack has to lose?”
“Halt!” cried the sergeant; “what is that lurking near the foot of the rock, on the left?”
“Sure it’s nothing,” said the uneasy washerwoman, “unless it be the matter of Captain Jack’s sowl that’s come to haunt yee, for not being brisker on the march.”
“Betty, ’tis foolishness to talk in such a way. Advance one of you and reconnoitre the spot-- draw swords!--rear rank close to the front!”
“Pshaw!” shouted Betty, “is it a big fool or a big coward that yee are?--jist wheel from the road, boys, and I’ll shove the mare down upon it in the twinkling of an eye--and it’s no ghost that I fear.”
By this time, one of the men had returned, and declared there was nothing to prevent their advancing, and the party continued their march, but with great deliberation and caution.
“Courage and prudence are the jewels of a soldier, Mrs. Flanagan,” said the sergeant; “and without one the other may be said to be good for nothing.”
“Prudence without courage,” cried the other, “is it that, you mane?--and it’s so that I’m thinking myself, sargeant. This baste pulls tight on the reins, any way.”
“Be patient, good woman--hark! what is that?” said Hollister, pricking up his ears at the report of Wellmere’s pistol; “I’ll swear ’tis a pistol, and one from our regiment.--Hark! rear rank close to the front!--Mrs. Flanagan I must leave you.” So saying, having recovered all his faculties, by hearing a martial sound that he understood, he placed himself at the head of his men with an air of military pride, that the darkness prevented the washerwoman from beholding. A volley of musketry now rattled in the night wind, and the sergeant exclaimed--
“March!--quick time!”
The next instant the trampling of a horse was heard coming up the road, at a rate that announced a matter of life or death, and Hollister again halted his party, and rode a short distance in front himself to meet the rider.
“Stand!--who goes there?” shouted Hollister, in the full tones of manly resolution.
“Ha! Hollister, is it you?” cried Lawton, “ever ready and at your post; but where is the guard?”
“At hand, sir, and ready to follow you through thick and thin,” said the veteran, relieved at once from his responsibility, and now eager to be led against his enemy.
“ ’Tis well,” said the trooper, riding up to his men; and speaking a few words of encouragement, he led them down the valley at a rate but little less rapid than his approach. The miserable horse of the sulter was soon distanced, and Betty thus thrown out in the chance, turned to the side of the road, and observed--
“There--it’s no difficult to tell that Captain Jack is wid’em, any way; and it’s the funeral that’s soon over now; and away they go like so many nagur boys to a husking-frolick;--well, I’ll jist hitch the mare to this bit of a fence, and walk down and see the sport, afoot--it’s no rasonable to expose the baste to be hurted.”
Led on by Lawton, the men followed, destitute alike of fear and reflection. Whether it was a party of the refugees, or a detachment from the royal army, that they were to assail, they were profoundly ignorant, but they knew that the officer in advance was distinguished for courage and personal prowess, and these are virtues that are sure to captivate the thoughtless soldiery. On arriving near the gate of the Locusts, the trooper halted his party, and made his arrangements for the assault. Dismounting, he ordered eight of his men to follow his example, and turning to Hollister, said--
“Stand you here, and guard the horses; but if any thing attempts to pass, stop it or cut it down and--” The flames at this moment burst through the dormant windows and cedar roof of the cottage, and a bright light glared on the darkness of the night. “On,” shouted the trooper, “on---give quarters when you have done justice.”
There was a startling fierceness in the voice of the trooper that reached to the heart, even amid the horrors of the cottage. The leader of the skinners dropped his plunder, and for a moment stood in nerveless dread; then rushing to a window, he threw up the sash--at this instant Lawton entered, sabre in hand, into the apartment.
“Die, miscreant!” cried the trooper, cleaving the other marauder to the jaw, but the leader sprang into the lawn, and escaped his vengeance. The shrieks of the appalled females restored Lawton to his presence of mind, and the earnest entreaty of the divine, induced him to attend to the safety of the family. One more of the gang fell in with the dragoons, and met with a similar fate, but the remainder had taken the alarm in season to escape. Occupied with Sarah, neither Miss Singleton nor the ladies of the house, discovered the entrance of the skinners, until the flames were raging around them with a fury that threatened the building with instant destruction. The shrieks of Katy and of the terrified consort of Cæsar, together with the noise and uproar in the adjacent apartment, first roused Miss Peyton and Isabella to a sense of their danger.
“Merciful providence!” exclaimed the alarmed spinster; “there is a dreadful confusion in the house, and there will be bloodshed in consequence of this affair.”
“There are none to fight,” returned Isabella, with a face paler than the other; “Dr. Sitgreaves is very peaceable in his disposition, and surely Capt. Lawton would not forget himself so far.”
“The southern temper is quick and fiery,” continued Miss Peyton; “and your brother, feeble and weak as he is, has looked the whole afternoon, flushed and angry.”
“Good Heaven!” cried Isabella, with difficulty supporting herself on the couch of Sarah; “he is gentle as the lamb by nature, but the li
on is not his equal when roused.”
“We must interfere,” said the spinster; “our presence will quell the tumult, and possibly save the life of a fellow creature.”
Miss Peyton was excited to do that which she conceived was a duty worthy of her sex and nature, and advanced with all the dignity of injured female feeling to the door, followed by Isabella, whose energy had returned, and whose eye, by its sparkling brilliancy, announced a soul equal to its task. The apartment, to which Sarah had been conveyed, was in one of the wings of the building, and communicated with the principal hall of the cottage by a long and usually dark passage. This was now light, and across its termination several figures were noticed, rushing with an impetuosity that prevented an examination of their employment.
“Let us advance,” said the spinster, with a firmness that her face belied: “They surely must respect our sex.”
“They shall,” cried Isabella, taking the lead in the enterprise, and Frances was left alone with her sister. A few minutes were passed in silence by the maid, as she stood earnestly gazing on the pale countenance of Sarah, watching her reviving looks with an anxiety that prevented her observing the absence of her friends, when a loud crash in the upper apartments was succeeded by a bright light that glared through the open door, and made objects as distinct to the eye as if they were placed under a noon day sun. Sarah raised herself on her bed, and staring wildly around, pressed both her hands on her forehead, as if endeavouring to recollect events, and then smiling vacantly on her sister, said--
“This, then, is heaven--and you are one of its bright spirits. Oh! how glorious is its radiance! I had thought the happiness I have lately experienced was too much for earth. But we shall meet again--yes--yes--we will meet again.”
“Sarah! Sarah!” cried Frances, in terror; “my sister--my only sister--Oh! do not smile so horridly: know me or you will break my heart.”
“Hush,” said Sarah, raising her hand for silence; “you may disturb his rest--surely he will follow me to the grave. Think you there can be two wives in the grave? No--no--no--one--one--one--only one.”
The Spy, Volume 2 Page 8