WILD NAT, THE TROOPER; OR, THE CEDAR SWAMP BRIGADE.

BY WILLIAM R. EYSTER.

NEW YORK: BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

CHAPTER I. CATHERINE VALE.

There was a time in the history of our country when the stoutest hearts were filled with despair. The defeat of General Gates, followed by the overrunning of the Carolinas, the treachery of Benedict Arnold, and the general bad condition of our army, did not, certainly, tend to cheer those thousands of noble souls earnestly praying for the success of the American cause. It is of that period, of that darkest hour, which precedes the day, that we purpose to write.

Toward the close of a long, disagreeable day, two women sat by the fireside of a dwelling some fifteen or eighteen miles from Charleston. The two presented a contrast, indeed, even though their features were alike. One was an elderly woman, with hair sprinkled with threads of gray, though she yet retained much of her early beauty. The other was a young girl, whose age could not have exceeded nineteen. Although not absolutely beautiful, there was that about her which made her fascinating. With features finely molded, and a graceful carriage, her figure was a model of physical grace and perfectness. Her hair was of that golden hue, so seldom seen save in poet’s dreams. Her voice was as musical and clear as the notes of a flute. Not in all that land of fair women could be found a more truly lovable woman than Catherine Vale.

Catherine and her mother were conversing earnestly together.

[10]

“It is not for me, Kate, to judge of the heart of a man; to say that this one is to be trusted, and that one not, without an acquaintance of longer standing than that between myself and young Ernshaw. Without having heard that he was vicious, it has often been told me that he was of unsettled disposition; that he is known to the neighbors as ‘Wild Nat.’ Such a name would never have been given a man of reliable and good character.”

“Whatever you advise, mother, that will I do; for your wish is law, with me.”

“Do not speak of law, Kate; all I do is for your own happiness. If I thought you would be happy with Nat Ernshaw, I would advise you to receive his addresses; as it is, I say wait. Be not too hasty, for time and circumstances will do much to place all things in their true light.”

“I will, mother; I will try him, and prove the strength of his affection. These are perilous times, and times, too, that bring out the good in a man’s character, if there is any good in it; and something may happen which will give you more favorable impressions of Nat Ernshaw, than you appear to entertain now.”

Catherine turned away and busied herself with her household duties. Mrs. Vale gazed with pride upon her daughter, and sorrowfully murmured, “It would be a sad thing for my dear child to throw herself away on such a fellow as ‘Wild Nat.’”

Mrs. Vale’s husband had been dead some fifteen years. He left her the legacy of two fair children, upon whom all her hopes were centered. The son had now grown to be the hardy man of two-and-twenty, and Kate, the belle of the region, had, for several years, been among the young women sought for by the beaux of the country.

Nat Ernshaw had been on intimate terms with the family for some years, and had long cherished a feeling of great regard for Kate. He had an unpleasant reputation, however, among the more staid in the neighborhood. Not that he was absolutely vicious, or wedded to habits of dissipation, for he was neither; but he had a number of, to say the least, negative qualities, which made that prudent and self-pious class, who have the morals of every community in their keeping,[11] predict that he would never come to any good. Catherine was slow, however, to credit either the reports of the busy-bodies, or the prophecies of the elder ones, for she had a woman’s subtle intuitions, sharpened by a cool, clear judgment, and she was fully conscious of all the lights and shades in Nat’s not well-defined character. That he was one of those who let their good qualities remain latent until called out by some important crisis, she perfectly realized; and she had full faith in the future. The word “wait” had no terrors in it. She therefore resolved to abide by her promise; but, like an upright,

conscientious girl that she was, she also resolved that Nathaniel should know how she felt toward him; if he could satisfy Mrs. Vale, and prove his affection real, and his character above reproach, she would have no objection to receive him as her accepted lover, and future husband.

The frugal meal was at last ready. Catherine moved toward the door, but before she reached it, the latch was raised, and a tall, straight, well-featured young man entered.

“Sit down, John; Kate was just going to call you to supper.”

“All right, mother; I feel hungry enough; and, after awhile, I want to go over to Squire Stoddart’s. I will be back early, though. I guess you and Kate will not be afraid to be left alone for a little while.”

Mrs. Vale smiled as she answered, “I think not; but, John, it seems to me that you want to see Squire Stoddart rather often. What has he got that is so attractive? Can’t you enlighten us?”

“Certainly, mother, if you will tell me that you are really ignorant, and ask for the sole purpose of finding out what it is, and not to plague me.”

“I can’t say that; so I suppose we will scarcely get the requested information from you. Mary Stoddart is a fine girl, John; and, if the country ever gets settled down, I would have no objection to calling her daughter; but, now-a-days, marrying and giving in marriage, are things which had best be deferred.”

“If we wait till the country gets settled, I am afraid we will all be old and gray-headed. I am not one of those who believe in deferring to some future time what can be done[12] now; and as soon as Mary will consent, you shall call her daughter. I know you will have no objections.”

Running on in this manner, the three kept up the conversation until the meal was over; then John, after finishing up his evening’s work, wended his way in the direction of Mr. Stoddart’s.

Hardly half an hour had elapsed, when the sound of a horse, coming at a full gallop along the road, was heard. The traveler, whoever he was, reined in at the widow’s door. Dismounting, he tied his horse to a tree. To the surprise of Mrs. Vale, who had answered the knock, the person was none other than Nat Ernshaw. She greeted him kindly:

“Come in, Nathaniel; come in. We have seen no one who could give us any news for over a week; and, as you seem to have come from Charleston, you can tell us what is going on.”

“I am ready enough to come in; but as for giving you any news of what is going on in Charleston, it is something I am unable to do. I haven’t seen the inside of the place for three or four weeks, and I don’t expect to see it until these Britishers are driven out.”

The good dame closed the door as he entered, and motioned him to a seat.

“I’m much obliged to you, Mrs. Vale; but, to tell the truth, I hardly have time to sit down. I called to see John, and have a few minutes’ talk with him. If you could tell me where I can find him I will look for him, as I see he is not in the house.”

“What do you want of him, Nat? I am afraid you want to lead him into some mischief.”

“I can not say whether you will call it mischief or not; I am willing to tell you what I wish to do, and I think you will approve of it. These are stirring times, Mrs. Vale, and it’s the duty of every one to do something for the country. The wolf is at our doors, and it’s our duty to drive him away. A number of us are about organizing a troop to fight for our homes and liberty. I know that you and John believe, as I do, that the colonies are in the right; and I came over to-night to see if I could not get John to join us. Every one is joining one side or the other; and, unless we make a vigorous stand now, it will soon be too late.”

[13]

“Nathaniel,” said the widow, “you know that John is the main support of my old age; that he and Catherine are all that keeps me here. Were they gone, I would not wish for life. Is not the cause of freedom hopeless? Have not our countrymen been beaten at all points? Is there a chance of success left to hang a single hope on? What good, then, will it do for John to risk his life for the sake of continuing a little longer a struggle which must soon end disastrously?”

“‘While there is life there is hope,’ as the doctors say, Mrs. Vale. You speak truly, when you say the case is desperate; but that it is hopeless, I deny. While there remains a thousand swords and a thousand stout arms to wield them—while there are a thousand brave hearts that pant for liberty, and liberty only, the cause of American Independence will not be given up without a last grand struggle. We must be successful; and, though our lives are given to establish the nationality of the colonies, the sacrifice must not be grudged.”

“Nathaniel Ernshaw, you speak like a patriot, and you must feel like one. I but tried you when I spoke of our cause as hopeless. John is anxious to go to the fray; but his love for me has kept him at home. He shall be kept here no longer. Count on him as one of the company, and, if he falls fighting for liberty and his country, think not I will ever reproach you for having asked him to enter the paths of danger.”

“I thought you would feel so, and I believe John is as enthusiastic as yourself; but his love for you had kept him from joining the army, knowing that, at any moment, he might be ordered away from you. Now the case is different. The foe is in our midst. We can see them from our own door-steps, and we must battle for the defence of our firesides.”

At this moment, Catherine, who had been in the other room, entered. With a pleasant “Good evening,” she shook hands, and, taking a seat, she resumed the knitting which she had relinquished to prepare supper.

From a discussion of the state of the country, Nathaniel turned to talk of other matters, spoke of what was going on about them, and thus passed a pleasant half-hour. Finally, he rose from his seat, remarking:

“To tell the truth, I must leave now, although I should[14] love well enough to stay here a little while longer. If I was certain that John would be home soon, I should wait for him: but, as it is, I think I shall ride over to Squire Stoddart’s—where I take it he is—and have a few words with him. It is important that I speak about the organization now, as we will hold a meeting to-morrow night.”

Catherine accompanied the young man to the door, and remained talking with him for some time. When she returned, the color had risen in her face, but she quietly took her seat, while the clattering along the road told that Nat was making all possible speed in the direction of the squire’s.

CHAPTER II. THE TORY SPY.

No man is so base as he who deliberately takes up arms against his own country. Such a one is fit for any deed, however mean, cowardly, or wicked. Unfortunately, traitors have been found in every country, in all times; nor were they wanting during the American Revolution. While there were a number of honorable men who, believing that the colonies were wrong in revolting from the king, did not take up arms against them, on the other hand there were numbers of base, sordid wretches, who were willing to cling to any side so that it was the strongest—to support any cause so that it was one which promised them booty. Such a one was Timothy Turner, who followed the fortunes of the British, who was devoted to their interests, who had, in short, sold to them his very soul and body for paltry gold.

Although the character of this young man was not fully known, yet suspicion rested upon him, and the Whigs had formed unfavorable conclusions which were not long wanting a justification. He lived in a small cabin, about half or three-quarters of a mile from Mr. Stoddart’s; and, though ostensibly he supported himself by tilling a small patch of ground, yet the dullest mind must have perceived that a support from such a spot was simply an impossibility.

[15]

On this night, Timothy Turner was wending his way home from a tavern which stood on the road about three-quarters of a mile from his house. As he turned from the door, he thought he heard the sounds of a rapidly approaching horseman. Pausing for a moment, to see whether his ears did not deceive him, he discovered the dusky figure of the rider. As he passed the tavern, and by the light which streamed from the door, Turner caught sight of the man. It was Nathaniel Ernshaw.

“Ha! curse him, what is he doing, riding about at this time of night? It’s no good Wild Nat is after; blast him, if I could but lay my hands on his carcass, I would show him a touch of my nature. If ever I get the chance, he shall pay dear for what he has done.”

The ruffian kept on his journey down the road, straining his eyes to follow the fast-flitting figure before him. When Ernshaw came to the lane which led in to Mr. Stoddart’s dwelling, he reined in his horse, and, dismounting, threw open the gate. Turner, who had followed as closely as possible, on seeing the direction of Nat’s errand, stealthily drew near to the spot.

Nathaniel drew up to the house, and knocked on the door. The knocking brought a middle-aged man to the door. Holding a candle above his head, he took a careful survey of the visitor.

“Why, Nat, is it you?” said the squire. “What brings you here at this time of night? Come in.”

“No, I thank you, squire. For once in my life I have business to attend to. I was over to see John Vale, but found that he was not home. If he is here I wish you would ask him to step to the door for a few minutes. I have something important to say to him.”

“Well, he’s here, sure enough; and if you won’t come in, why I will have to send him out—that is, if he is willing.”

The old squire then entered the house again, to make Nat’s requisition known to the son of his neighbor. Timothy Turner had, in the mean time, approached to within hearing distance, and now stood ready to note every word that was uttered. He scented gold and revenge in the issue of that interview.

John Vale soon made his appearance. The two young men shook each other cordially by the hand. The conversation[16] which ensued it is unnecessary to detail. Every word of it was overheard by the spy. When, at length, John expressed his determination of joining the company which his friend was raising, Turner rubbed his hands in high glee, as he muttered to himself:

“You shall find out, Mr. John Vale, and you, Mr. Nathaniel Ernshaw, that Timothy Turner is not the proper man to slight. This intelligence is worth ten golden guineas to me, and the revenge besides.”

“As my mother approves of it, I’m with you, Nat. When and where do we meet? Let me know the rendezvous, and trust me but I’ll be there.”

“There was some talk,” replied Nat, “of meeting in the swamp, but that is too far for the most of us. So that is out of the question; but you know Clingman’s mills and the pine woods that run back from the creek. If you enter the woods by the path immediately opposite the mill, you will find a small clearing. That is the spot. Be on hand by ten o’clock to-morrow night, and I promise you that your eyes will be gladdened by the sight of thirty young men, all good, stout patriots—ready, if need be, to die for their country.”

“And I can assure you,” said Turner, to himself, “that you’ll see the greater part of them do so, unless something very unexpected prevents it.”

“You can depend on me, Nat,” said John. Again shaking hands, Ernshaw mounted his horse, and galloped away.

Turner waited until the clatter had died away, and then silently hastened in the direction of his dwelling. Arriving there, he sought the shed which covered his horse. Hurriedly saddling the beast, he rode off toward the city of Charleston, twenty miles distant.

Gen. Clinton, the military commander in Charleston, had scarcely arisen, on the following morning, when his servant announced a man waiting to speak with him.

“Who is he?” was the general’s inquiry.

“He says that his name is Turner—that he rode twenty miles last night to bring you an important piece of news.”

“Turner? Then I think I know the man. He is one of those tory hounds we find it necessary to use. I’ll vouch for it, he is planning some piece of rascality. Admit him.”

[17]

The servant retired and returned with Turner. Gen. Clinton surveyed the fellow for a moment, then addressed him rather sharply:

“How now, sir? What have you to say? It should be something of importance to cause you to journey so far and fast.”

“It is of importance,” rejoined Turner. “I heard at a late hour, last night, of a meeting of rebels which is to take place this night. There will be thirty or forty of them, and their purpose is to form a brigade to act with Marion, Sumpter and others. I know the names of but two; but, if the rest of the men are as good as they, the band may do much injury to the king’s cause.”

“What are the names of these two of whom you speak?”

“Nathaniel Ernshaw and John Vale—two most desperate men, and fit to do any thing against the followers of the king.”

“Ernshaw? I have heard that name before—where, I can not say. This thing shall be attended to. I will see that measures are taken to cut them off; but where is this meeting to be held?”

“About twenty miles from here there is a building called Clingman’s mill. In a wood immediately behind this the rebels are to assemble. I will lead any troops which you may send to the spot.”

“How many of them did you say that there would be?”

“Between thirty and forty. Whether they will be armed or not, I can not say, but I do not think they will be. Some of them may have their rifles, but I have no doubt fifty of your men could take the whole of them alive.”

“Be in readiness, then, to act as guide. Or stay; I will see you again this morning. Come an hour before noon. If your intelligence proves correct you shall receive a suitable reward.”

Gen. Clinton rang the bell for his servant to show the tory out. The man who performed this duty was a negro whom Gen. Clinton had received into his service since his arrival in Charleston. He was an intelligent-looking black, who had ingratiated himself into favor, and now seemed to be almost a necessity with the general.

As Sampson opened the door for the exit of Turner, he[18] shrugged his shoulders in a manner which told that it was displeasing to him to be compelled to do any service for such a man. Hardly had the body of the tory crossed the threshold ere the door was violently closed behind him. The black returned to his master, and busied himself preparing for his master’s breakfast. Having partaken of this meal, Gen. Clinton left the house, turning his footsteps in the direction of a dwelling inhabited by a rich and influential tory.

Sampson passed quickly out by the back door, and, crossing the garden, emerged from it into the street. Walking rapidly along for some squares, he at length turned into a somewhat obscure alley. A few steps brought him to the front of an humble-looking dwelling, at whose door he gave a few taps. His summons was quickly answered, and a middle-aged woman threw open the door.

“Is it you, Sampson?” said she. “What brings you here at this time of day? Any thing important?”

“I guess mebbe it is. Whar is Simon? I got suthin’ to tell ’m.”

“Simon is here, if you would see him; so come in.”