ESCAVE OF THE PRISONERS,

 
KING’S MAN:

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA

IN
¢ REVOLUTIONARY TIMES.
“
‘ BY: 3A;; 35 DUGANNE,
’ AUTHOR OF “TDE FRENCH CAPTIVES,” ‘PEON PRINCE,” ETC.
é
Rondon:

BEADLE AND COMPANY,

44, PATERNOSTER ROW.

 
LONDON :

PRINTED BY CLAYTON AND CO.)

17, BOUVERIE STREET.

 
  

THE KING’S MAN:
A Tule of

SOUTH CAROLINA IN REVOLUTIONARY TIMES. ©

 

CHAPTER I,
THE PATRIOT’S BRIDAL.

So did they
Their altar build for liberty that day.—T, H. Crnivers. *
On a June evening, in the year 1776, there was a brilliant
assemblage at the mansion of John Riviere, merchant of
Charleston, 8. C., to witness the marriage of his niece, Louise
Arnoult, with her cousin, his only son, Ernest Riviere.

Old gentlemen were present, shining in bravery of court
costume recalling splendours of the second George’s reign ; with
flowing white wigs, and vests of crimson—the latter colour
destined to fall from colonial favour. Old ladies stood erect in
stiff brocades and towering head-gear—thcir high-heeled shoes
glittering with diamond buckles. Young gallants sported
powdered ringlets and delicate ruffles, their coats heavy with
embroidery, and their spotless small-clothes of buff and azure
elaborately worked with gold and silver threads.

While waxen lights shone brightly, and music sounded
through the spacious saloons, and the perfume of surrounding
gardens was wafted into jalousied casements, the guests dis-
posed themselves into groups, awaiting the bridal ceremony.
Two young men, walking apart on a balcony, conversed in a
low tone, while apparently observing the animated scene.

“T tell you, Yancey,” cried the elder of the pair, “that I
will yet be even with them all! Ay !”—he seemed to hiss rather
than mutter—* though our fair cousin’s hand and wealth are

 
  

   

 
    

6 THE KING’S MAN:

his, not mine, I will yet be winner in the game,——!” The
sentence closed with an oath that grated harshly on that scene,
though uttered only in a whisper.

“You've got the right pluck, Atnee,” returned the other
young man; “I said you would carry off your disappointment
like a buck, you know! The woman’s but a woman, and as
for the property, who knows what it will be worth to him,
when our turn comes—eh, Atnee ?”

“Hush! But you are right, Yancey! and our turn will come
before another night. Curse it! why could not this mummery
have been delayed ?”

“Do you think, Atnee, that there will be a fight ?”

“Doubtless; and ’tis for that reason old Riviere consented
to the wedding being performed this evening. Our gallant
bridegroom will pass from the arms of love to the arms of—”

“ Death, perhaps!” added Yancey, filling up his companion’s
pause, as he looked him in the face.

“ There'd be one less rebel for King George to hang,” mut-
terred Atnee, cynically. ‘ We shall have our hands full with
these popinjays when the king gets his own again.”

“ Poor devils !” rejoined his friend, “ they're to be pitied, in
any case; for if the rebellion could succeed, these new-fangled
notions of freedom would end in the loss of all their two-leg-
ged property, you know.”

“No doubt of that, Yancey! If the puritan Vandals ever
get southward, we might have a rump-parliament liberating
every black in Carolina.”

“ And a Yankee conventicle on every plantation, perhaps.
Roundheads against cavaliers,” said Yancey, laughing.

“ Exactly—the old quarrel!” rejoined Atnee. Their non-
sense about freedom is only the psalm-smitten fanaticism of
more than a century ago, and honestly come by at that; for
their fathers fought against ours at Naseby and Worcester.
Shame that any Southern cavalier should league with drivel-
lers of Massachusetts Bay !”

“ Ay!” muttered Atnee, with a malediction. “These French
have rebel blood in them, and ’tis their example that disgraces
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 7

Carolina! We shall let out some of that French blood ere
long, Yancey.”

“ Your uncle and cousin Ernest are true Huguenots, Atnee.”

« And need bloodletting, too,” muttered the young man, with
a significant scowl. “But, look! the priest is here, and I must
act my part in the farce, as well asothers! You shall see Yan-
cey, how gallant a groomsman your discarded lover can make!”

Speaking thus the young man turned from his confidant,
and advanced lightly into the centre of a throng that now
gathered in the main saloon. With handsome face arrayed in
smiles, and graceful figure bowing to friends on either hand,
as he placed himself beside the radiant bridegroom, Robert
Atnee would never have been taken for a discarded lover, nor
suspected to be, what in truth he was, one of the deepest-
plotting Tories in Carolina.

Clad in sacred robes, his wide-flowing surplice depending
nearly to the floor, the reverend gentleman now raised his
hands and eyes, inyoking a blessing upon the nuptials he was
about to solemnize. On his left stood Ernest Riviere, his
slight but well-knit figure attired in a suit of light blue, worked
with a border of silver vines, and lined with fawn-coloured
satin. His square-toed shoes glittered with brilliants. Dia-
monds clasped his vest, and shone upon his knees, contrasting
strongly with the plain black scabbard of his dress-sword, the
only ornament of which was a ruby,gleaming upon its pommel.

Near Ernest was his father, and: his cousin, Robert Atnee,
and at his side stood Louise, her heart audibly beating, as she
felt the assuring pressure of his hand. She wore a dress of
white satin, ruffled with point laces, through which her arms
and neck appeared like alabaster. Clusters of pearls were netted
in her dark braids of hair, and glistened also among the ring-
lets that fell in profusion around her polished throat. A neck-
lace of similar gems, interspersed with sapphires, sustained a
small cross of gold, and an aigrette of diamonds clasped her
girdle, confining the full richness of the bridal robes. Just in
her nineteenth year, this young girl united a charming sim.
plicity with all the grace of early womanhood—that season of

 

 
     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
   

THE KING’S MAN:

sunshine when the heart uncloses, flower-like, to drink sweet-
ness from all impressions and surroundings. She was of medium
height, her figure slight but modelled with the waving symmetry
that we admire in painting or statuary. Her features were
calmly expressive, and to a careless observer might indicate too
quiet a temperament; but one who looked into her large black
eyes, of earnest depth, or marked the thoughtful breadth of
her placid forehead, would feel that, gentle as she appeared,
her nature was capable of courage and endurance.

It was, as has been said, a June evening, laden with balm
and perfume. The skies, seen through lattice and embowering
pines, were thick with stars, and no presage of storm, or shadow
of uprising cloud, interposed to mar the beauty and promise of
that quiet night, when Louise and Ernest laid their hands
together, pronouncing the solemn words which made them
one.

But scarcely had the wedding ring—emblem of endless love
and constancy—been placed on the bride’s taper finger, when
a sudden sound, like thunder breaking through the calm
atmosphere, startled every guest with its significant vibration.
Tt was the roar of cannon booming and reverberating in sullen
distinctness. Many a cheek became pale at the moment, and
many hearts stood still, as old and young exchanged glances of
import, and a murmur ran from lip to lip:

“The British !”

Ernest Riviere supported the form of his bride, who clung
to him convulsively.

“Courage, dearest! remember you are a soldier’s wife!” he
murmured, pressing a kiss upon her forehead.

“ Wife!” The sweet, strange word recalled Louise to con-
sciousness of her new relationship.

“Tis the enemy’s first gun,” said the merchant Riviere.
“’Tis the haughty summons of King George cast at us from
the cannon’s mouth.”

Ernest Riviere heard the words of his patriot father, and felt
a Huguenot spirit burning within his own bosom. Another
crash, “sounding nearer than the previous one, — the house-

 
 

—*

 

   

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 9

walls, and was multiplied by a hundred echoes through the
streets of Charleston. “All remained silent but the bridegroom,
who lifted his arm, and, as if replying to his sire’s last remark,
exclaimed :

“ That is the first gun from Sullivan’s Island—the defiant
answer of Liberty to the insulting mandate of her foe!”

At this moment, a quick tread was heard beyond a circle of
ebony faces and white teeth which had crowded the open doors
of the saloon. The sable janitors made way for the passage of
a figure that seemed greatly out of place in that scene of love
and peacefulness ; for it was that of an armed man, whose iron-
shod boots clattered harshly on the threshold, while his heavy
sabre rattled as he advanced further. He paused in front of
the bride and bridegroom, and taking no notice of clergyman,
host, or wondering guests, drew out a letter from his gauntlet,
and, making a military salute, presented the missive to Ernest
Riviere, who hastily tore it open.

“Tis from ” Old John Riviere pronounced these two
words, and remained breathless, awaiting his son’s perusal of
the paper.

“From Colonel Moultrie,” responded the bridegroom, in a
lower tone; “I am summoned to the fort!”

Louise, gazing up bewildered, with cheeks grown pallid and
lips parted in terror, felt her strength suddenly deserting her,
and, with a faint moan, sank upon her husband's heart. Sup-
porting her with one arm, the young man dismissed the ill-
omened messenger by a motion of the hand. “ Say to Colonel
Moultrie, I will attend,” he said, in a firm voice.

“ At once, Captain?” responded the soldier, with another
military salute.

“ At once,” repeated the bridegroom, clasping his insensible
wife to his throbbing heart, while a dozen sympathizing
women crowded near to assist her.

And now, pealing from church-towers, was heard the sound
of alarm-bells. Then followed quick beats of drums, and the
note of a single trumpet; presently, the clatter of horse-hoofs
in the streets, ze

 

  
 

10 THE KING'S MAN:

Ernest Riviere heard three calls of the trumpet ere his bride’s
eyes opened under his misty gaze. The last peal seemed to
rouse her from stupor. She flung her arms around the neck
of him she held dearest upon earth, and sobbed for a moment
with agonized emotion. Then, controlling her grief, and fixing
a glance, lit with high enthusiasm, upon the troubled face of her
husband, she murmured, ‘‘Go—Ernest—beloved! your country
calls you!” and fell back into her uncle’s outstretched arms.

Ernest pressed one kiss on. his wife's lips, as another trumpet
call sounded from a distance. The next moment he was gone.
Those who listened heard the clatter of a horse’s hoofs beneath
the balcony, and then, receding into the distance, Robert Atnee
and his friend Yancey looked out into the still starlight, and
the former whispered : “ He rides to his death.”

“TJ think so,” answered the other, if Moultrie be fool
enough to defend Sullivan’s Island.”

CHAPTER Ii.
THE DEFENDERS OF CHARLESTON.
The names of those whose swords have won,
Redeemed the green sod where they lie,
Transmitted still from sire to son,
From heart to heart, can never die! —G. Hu.

Howrs before the bridal and separation of Ernest Riviere and
his cousin Louise, a score of anxious-featured men were assem-
bled on a point of land between the town of Charleston and a
stretch of marsh and sandy beach terminating at an insulated
projection below, called Sullivan’s Island. From the slight
elevation which this party occupied, a view could be obtained
of the wide sweep of channel that extended to the harbour bar,
where two confluent rivers formed the roadstead of Charleston.

Sullivan’s Island, comprising about three miles of sandy soil,
overrun with palmetto thickets and dense growths of myrtle
and yellow jasmin, constituted a natural barrier against the
ocean at the opening of Charleston Bay. Lying at the mouth

~~?

Oy

ee
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 11

of an estuary into which the two rivers, Ashley and Cooper,
mingle their tides, this island commands on one side the whole
channel entrance, and on the other is separated from the main-
land by a long, narrow strip of shoal and marshy water. On
its seaward extremity, at the time of our story’s opening, a
rough fortification of spiked palmettos and other hastily-col-
lected materials was in process of erection by numbers of pa-
triotic volunteers ; boats were plying between the island and
shores above, conveying soldiers and supplies ; and every effort
was apparent on the part of Charleston’s defenders to make
ready for a vigorous resistance to the approaching British fleet.

The foremost figure of the group, to which allusion has been
made as gathered on the main shore aboye Sullivan’s Island,
was a man of at least forty years of age, who stood upon the
edge of the bank, watchful of the coming and going of a line
of flat-boats and light barges engaged in the transportation of
military munitions. His features wore a bluff, good-humoured
expression, and an air of soldierly promptitude marked his mien
and figure. His hair, thick and long, fell back from an expan-
sive forehead, in a mass upon his shoulders. T'irm lip-muscles
and fixed eye evinced a determined spirit and self-reliant cha-
racter, while a nonchalance that appeared natural relieved his
manner of all assumption of sternness. This marked individual
was Colonel William Moultrie, afterwardsa major-general in the
patriot service, and immortal in history as the heroic defender
of the fortified position which to this day bears his name.

A few paces behind Moultrie stood a man about the Colonel’s
age, but in physical appearance quite unlike that robust per-
sonage. He was low in stature, spare of limb, and sallow in
complexion, but his frame had evidently been hardened by
endurance and exercise: His eyes were quick and piercing,
his forehead marked by lines of thoughtful experience. This
man was Francis Marion, a Ranger Captain during the Indian
wars, and a Major in Colonel Moultrie’s regiment.

The moon moved placidly amid her host of starry attendants,
casting floods of silver upon the river-banks and placid waters
between them. Charleston reposed in great beauty, aboye all

 
  

THE KING’S MAN:

bustle of transportation and warlike preparation. Detached
mansions, white-walled and picturesque, contrasted pleasantly
with the green darkness of surrounding groves and gardens.
A palmetto wilderness filled the background, like a frame
inclosing some pictured landscape.

Far down, beyond the fortified island, the British fleet could
be descried, it having just succeeded in effecting an entrance
over the sandy bars that intersected the channel between the
fortified island and another insulation immediately opposite.
The passage on which the hostile ships had entered was narrow
and shallow at low tide, and moreover ran closely parallel with
a hard sandy beach, that marked the line of Sullivan’s Island.
On this sandy beach, the rampart of palmetto logs, called a
fort, seemed hardly yet in condition to sustain a single broad-
side from the British squadron.

Such was the position of Charleston, and the danger menac-
ing her brave defenders, on the evening of June 27,1776. The
fleet gathered at her harbour’s mouth numbered more than fifty
sail, comprising vessels of war, transports, and attendant craft.
Two fifty-gun ships and four frigates anchored in front of the
palmetto fort, and several thousand regular soldiers were landed
from transports upon the long island that lay toward the ocean
opposite that called Sullivan’s. At daybreak, a combined at-
tack by land-forees in boats, and cannonading from the ships,
was expected by the Americans, and they made ready, in their
humble way, to withstand it.

Then it was that a summons from the British Admiral,
launched from a cannon’s mouth, was answered by that lowly
battery which dared to dispute his advance. Scarcely had the
echoes of those opening voices of conflict died in the far-away
forests, when the quick ears of Marion and Moultrie caught
the tramp of horses sounding at some distance, approaching
from the town. They both turned toward General Gadsden,
who nodded significantly, remarking :

“Tt-is Lee!”’

“ Ay, ’tis Lee,” said Marion. “He has heard the lion’s
roar, and the watch-dog’s bark in answer.”

»

 

 

 
   
 

2

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 13

Moultrie smiled, aid said:

“ That dog will bite as well as bark Francis, let the General
doubt as he may.”

He spoke thus in allusion to an opinion that General Lee
was believed to entertain, to the effect that no stand could be
made against an assault of British war-ships.

Several new figures now collected about the principal per-
sons. Near Major Marion was a man of fine proportions and
courageous presence, who leaned upon his rifle, looking down-
ward to the palmetto fort. He wore the frock and leggings
of a ranger, and his manly features were shaded by a tasselled
foraging cap. Beside him stood a square-built negto lad,
about fifteen years old, with an intelligent countenance, who
attentively surveyed the white-sailed vessels that crowded the
harbour’s mouth.

“Tis sartain sure, Massa Jasper,” remarked the black boy,
addressing the ranger, “ dose ships is gettin’ in a trap dat dey
won’t get out of, de Lord willin’.”

The soldier turned his eyes from the fort to the flect, but
made no reply to his sable companion.

“ Look dar,” persisted the negro, rubbing his hands; “ dem
boats is landin’ Britishers on de Long Hole, and de Long Hole
is right under de Sullivan guns. Look dar, Massa Jasper!
Jes’ you see, Massa Jasper!”

“T see,” responded the soldier. “The British troops are
disembarking on yonder island, or ‘ Long Hole, as you call it.
But you forget, Cesar, the ships are between them’and our fort.”

“No matter for dat,” cried the black, shaking his woolly
head. “Dem ships look mighty grand, but Massa Colonel
Moultrie, he poke fire into ’em, sartain sure, sar.”

“ But, Coesar,” said the ranger, “don’t you know that the
ships earry heavy metal, and that we can only keep them from
landing by fighting hard behind our palmetto logs ?”

“Ob course, ob course, sar, I knows dat,” cried Cesar.
“But never mind de heaby metal, Massa Jasper. Colonel
Moultrie, gib ’em hot shot, sartain sure, sar.”

“Pooh, pooh, nigger,” interrupted a harsh yoice. “'The

.

 
 

14 THE KING’S MAN:

enemy’s first broadside will knock that miserable mud-wall
to pieces.” :

Sergeant Jasper, the ranger, and Cwsar, his colloquist,
looked up surprised, and beheld a grim, scarred face close by.
_ Both were about to reply somewhat roughly, when a move-
ment of Colonet Moultrie, who had heard the man’s speech,
anticipated their own.

“What!” he cried, bending a searching look. upon the
fellow who had uttered the disparaging remark. . “ You think
they will knock our ramparts to pieces? Well, sir, we shall
be behind the ruins, and prevent a landing by our bodies.”

Marion’s eyes glistened, and his sallow cheeks flushed, as
this Spartan: declaration fell from his senior officer’s lips.
Jasper lifted his rifle, and brought the stock hard down upon
the sward with a ringing emphasis. Cvesar, the negro, who
was Moultrie’s own servant, vented his satisfaction in a cha-
vacteristic half-yell :—

“ Hah-yah!” he cried, “dar’s de way—dar’s de way we
sarve ’em out—for sartain.”

The man thus rebuked averted his scarred face, and turned
away just as a near beat of hoofs upon the bank announced the
arrival of General Lee, who, leaping from his horse, grasped
the outstretched hand of Colonel Moultrie.

“ Colonel Moultrie, that fort can never be successfully de-
fended,” were the first words of General Lee, after he had
shaken hands. “You will be assaulted at daybreak by the
entire British fleet, and have nothing to oppose but a pile of
palmetto-logs.”

Moultrie’s eyes flashed. “ You forget, General,” he cried,
“ my men will be behind those logs.”

“Still, I counsel the immediate abandonment of yonder
island defence,’ rejoined Lee. “ Recollect, sir, we haye to
deal with fresh and veteran troops, backed by the cannon of
a well-manned squadron.” ‘

« But you would not counsel retreat, General ?” interposed
Gadsden.

“ No, sir!” cried the impetuous congress officer. “It is my
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

purpose to oppose their entry to the city with all the forces at
my command; and to fight, sir, while a man remains at my
side; but I hold it madness to attempt the defence of yonder
fort.”

“Tact under orders from Governor Rutledge,” said Moul-
trie, quietly, “and those orders are to prevent the enemy from
passing Sullivan’s Island.”

“Very well, sir!” said Lee, in a chafed tone, and turning
away, “I dispute not Governor Rutledge’s authority, though
it conflicts with my judgment. I shall prepare, Colonel Moul-
trie, to cover your retreat.”

Moultrie inclined his head, with unruffled composure of
countenance, and then advanced to meet a troop of horse that
approached at a gallop. Among the foremost riders the chief
recognized young Captain Pinckney, destined to become like
himself, a Major-General of the Continental army, with Ernest
Riviere and some thirty other youthful volunteers. Riviere
had exchanged his wedding-coat for a military frock, the uni-
form of Moultrie’s command, but still wore his white small-
clothes and embroidered waistcoat. Sabre and pistols were
buckled beneath a blue sash, that had been worked with silver
thread by Louise Arnoult, and inscribed with the motto,
“Love and our Country.”

In a brief space all who were destined for Sullivan’s Island
took their places in flat boats, bidding adieu to comrades who
remained at Fort Johnson and the camp of General Lee.

“When you are forced to give way, Colonel, I shall hasten
to protect you,” were the last words of that General, in ac-

knowledging Moultrie’s parting salute.

“Thank you, sir, if we need assistance,” was Moultrie’s re-
joinder, in embarking, with Marion, Pinckney, and Riviere, in
the last boat which left the bank.

General Lee rode away at the head of his staff, and none
remained at_the landing, save a few straggling citizens and

servants in charge of the horses.

 

  
 

16 THE KING’S MAN:

CHAPTER Il.
THE ROGUES’ INTERVIEW.

Is there no chill upon the warm, fresh current of thy heart ?
Do not thy red lips blanch with fear, or pulse convulsive start,?
F. W. Fis.

AMONG those who watched the embarkation of soldiers for
the fortified island, the reader will recollect that individual
who had obtruded his scarred face and unwelcome opinion
upon the colloquy of Sergeant Jasper and the negro Cresar, and
had received a signal rebuke from Colonel Moultrie himself.
This ill-featured man lingered by the river-side for some mo-
ments after the last bateaw departed from the upper beach.

He was apparently of middle age, strong-limbed, and of
muscular development in chest and throat, and had, without
deubt, undergone years of exposure and danger. His com-
plexion was that of bronzed hue, which results’ from constant
contact with elemental changes. Boots and breeches clothed
his nether limbs, and a slouched mariner’s hat and jacket of
frieze concealed his upper proportions.

After satisfying what might or might not have been a mo-
tiveless curiosity, this man turned from the beach, and walked
slowly toward the town—many quivering lips and tearful eyes
being averted from his unsympathizing gaze, as he passed
groups of citizens on the starlit bank, Reaching the streets
inhabited by the seafaring population, he paused, near the
viver’s bank, at the last of a number of low, weather-beaten
huts, which straggled along the water-front. The tenements
appeared lonesome, for the embarkation of troops at a point
below had attracted the residents of this squalid neighbour-
hoed, in common with denizens of more refined purliens. Some
few disconsolate-looking females were creeping homeward, after
parting from husbands or sons at the lower beach, but the
general aspect of the locality was gloomy and deserted.

Matthew Blake opened the door of his hovel, that abutted
on a point of land sheltered by a high wooded bank, round

peers

ea
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——wF

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A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

which the river swept in an abrupt curve; so that, in fact, the
dwelling occupied a small promontory jutting into the stream.
Entering, the man stood in a single room, which was far from
being so uncomfortable as the forbidding exterior might have
indicated. Its single window was, it is true, half obscured
by articles of ragged clothing inserted in broken panes; its
rafters were black with smoke, and discoloured by rain that
had penetrated the ruinous roof. But there was, nevertheless,
an air of rude comfort, joined with neatness, that could hardly
have been looked for in the abode of one like Matthew Blake.
Over the rough flooring was spread a fragment of carpet, anti-
quated in pattern, and nearly threadbare, but of a costly
fabric. Near the door was a ship’s locker, entire, with
mahogany facings, carved intricately, and bearing tarnished
patches of gilding; and in a corner of the apartment was
another nautical relic sufficiently curious.

This was a merchant-ship’s caboose, once a fixture of some
East Indiaman, as was evident from the royal crown and
“ Company’s” arms, which yet appeared in faded colours on its
mouldings. It now served the purpose of a bedstead, its front
being draped with discoloured erimson cloth, looped over a bar
of gilt wood, Between the curtain-folds appeared a small
bed, gaily adorned with bunting.

The remaining furniture of the apartment was homely enough.
A ship’s cooking-stove, with a rusty pipe, some stools, and a
deal table, with a coarse canyass hammeck, swinging from the
rafters, composed its details.. The caboose was the only object
calculated to attract a visitor’s glance.

Softly closing the door of the hut behind him, the scarred
man moved on tiptoe across the floor, and, pausing before the
caboose, drew ‘aside its hangings, disclosing an occupant of
the ‘small couch—a female child, beautiful as a cherub, and
wrapped in profound sleep, As he did so, a remarkable
change came over the man’s countenance. The sneer left his
lip, the scowl vanished from his dark brow, and he seemed to
hush his breathing as he bent over the slumberer. Under the
light of a swinging lamp which hung from the ceiling there
 

18 THE KING’S MAN:

appeared a moist light in his eyes, as if a tear struggled up
from their hard corners. Silently gazing, and then softly
dropping the curtain, he was turning away from the bed, when
‘a thin, pale hand parted the drapery, and again discovered the
young child.

In the faint glow of a solitary lamp, the contrast between
the two occupants of that hut was an extreme one. The man’s
massive form, with his shaggy hair massed on his broad shoul-
ders, appeared almost gigantic; while the child, delicately
moulded and of scarce five summers, possessed that unearthly
loveliness which conveys an indefinable impression that it has
no affinity with mortal things. Over her forehead, clear as
light itself, a cluster of golden ringlets hung moist and soft,
and clung around her pure white neck. It was a wonder of
wonders how so gentle a child could be kin to the uncouth
figure to whom she stretched out her baby hands.

The man stooped to kiss the lips upturned to his own, and
laid his hand tenderly as he might on her silken hair. The
child raised her eyes, of a soft, dark hazel hue, and fixed them
lovingly on his face, but her lips murmured no greeting.

For this beautiful child was a Mute!

The illumination of her innocent soul radiated from forehead
and eyes, but her affections were voiceless.

Nevertheless, there was strange eloquence in the dumb
twining of the little arms about that fierce man’s neck, and in
the close pressure that he imprinted on her lips, as if he were
stamping with a kiss the sole treasure of his existence.

And in the smoothing of her pillow, as the child feli back
on her curious couch; and in the look with which he regarded
her sweet face, as she lapsed once more to quiet slumber ; there
was more revealed of the man’s heart than Matthew Blake
would have let the world see.

But, dashing his hand across his eyes, they became hard
again, and he closed the caboose curtain, as if to shut himself
away from another life, and be himself once more.

Matthew Blake took from a shelf an‘iron candlestick, with a
bit of candle in the socket, which he lit at the pendent lamp.
 

  

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

Stooping, then, he doubled back one corner of the loose carpet-
ing which covered the floor of his hut, and proceeded to lift a
portion of the plank flooring. This effected, a narrow passage
presented itself, into which he was about to descend, when a
low knock at the hovel-door caused him to start hastily back,
restore the planking, and adjust the carpet in its former place.

Muttering discontentedly, as he replaced his candlestick and
unbolted the hovel-door, the scarred man demanded grufily
who wanted him outside, and was answered by a low voice,
and the hasty entrance of a visitor muffled in a cloak.

“Hush, she sleeps, wake her not!” muttered the host.
“ What errand now, Master Atnee ?”

“ Business, Matt,” responded the other, throwing back his
mantle collar, and disclosing a face both younger and hand-
somer than that of the scarred man.

“If it be your business, we'll talk about it elsewhere,”
muttered the latter, with a motion of his head toward the
caboose. “ Your secrets are not such as bring good dreams to
sleepers.”

“Ha! ha! Matt,” laughed the visitor, “do you fear that
deaf and dumb baby will overhear us ?”

« Whatever I fear, I’ll go elsewhere to talk of ps business,
Master Atnee,” returned the man, doggedly ; to which the
visitor rejoined, “ Very well, Matt, as you will;” and turned
at once to the hovel-threshold.

Locking the crazy front door of his hovel, the scarred man
then followed his conductor in silence through the silent streets,
under obscurity of trees and house-walls, till they approached
that quarter of Charleston in which were situated many ancient
mansions, built by early settlers of the colony. Turning from
the main road toward one of these, the two wound their way
through an avenue of shubbery, till they gained a rear build-
ing; bad the younger pedestrian quickly led the way to a door
which admitted them into a lighted apartment.

“Here we can be both at home, without scruples on the
score of innocence,” remarked the young man, in a sneering
tone, as he proceeded to divest himself of hat and mantle, dis-

 

  
 

 

 

20 THE KINGS MAN:

covering thereby the figure of a man about thirty years of age,
with handsome though haughty features, and an air of high
breeding. Clad in a costly suit, finely ruffled, he seemed to
have just left some gay assembly. His hair was powdered and
curled, and fragments of a white rose clung to one of the
embroidered button-holes of his silken vest; while flushed
cheeks and somewhat glassy eyes betrayed some recent indul-
gence in wine.

“Tm dry as a redskin, Master Atnee,” was the response of
Matt Blake to the young gentleman’s remark, on entering ;
whereupon the latter pointed to a case of liquors which stood
on a table near by. The guest at once seated himself, and
proceeded to inspect the square bottles, and to pour from the
contents of one of them, which revealed the pungent odour of
Jamaica spirits to his well-pleased olfactories.. The host,
meantime, threw himself in another arm-chair, and appeared
to await impatiently the deliberate motions of his thirsty guest.

The apartment wherein the two were met was a small
chamber, apparently a detached building from the mansion to
which it appertained. In fact, it formed a connexion between
the dwelling-house and a stack of outhouses, containing stables
and other offices belonging to the owner of the place. . Its
single window was barred and closely curtained, but the
arched ceiling was pierced by orifices. communicating with the
outer air, and sufficiently ventilated the interior, which had
otherwise been too confined. Little furniture was noticeable,
beyond table and chairs, though a variety of weapons, imple-
ments of hunting, and articles of clothing hung about the
walls. A double-barrelled gun crossed a couple of rifles, just
above the fireplace, and that aperture itself was filled with
saddles, bridles, a game-bag, and several knapsacks. On one
extremity of the table stood an ebony writing desk, and the
remainder of its surface, saving that portion containing drink-
ing vessels, was: piled with a heterogeneous collection of mili-
tary and naval uniforms, hunting-coats, waggoners’ frocks, and
the like, while a complete aboriginal wardrobe, comprising
head-gear, wampum, feathers, and meecessins, presented an
 

  

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA,

outfit suitable to any copper-coloured Apollo. Interspersed
with these things, were maps, drafts and plans of roads or -
military works, together with pistols, daggers, and other offen-
sive armour—a reckless confusion characterizing all, so that
they resembled mostly the paraphernalia of some vagrant
Thespian’s impromptu dressing-room.

Taking no notice, however, of the disorder around him, the
scarred man leisurely filled his glass with rum, and swallowed
the fiery beverage at a draught. Then, pushing the flask and
glass toward his host, he said, with a smack of his lips, “ That
was for thirst! I'll drink presently to your health, Master
Atnee.”

“Drink, in the devil’s name,” responded. the other, curtly ;
“and then be good enough to give me your attention.”

“Tn the devil’s name I'll do nothing, Master Robert Atnee,”
returned the other. ‘But in the name, and for the sake of
this good Jamaica rum, that I now drink your health in, I’ll
listen to anything you have to say.” So saying; the scarred
man refilled his glass and raised it to his lips.

“Stop, Matthew,” interposed the host, “you shall drink no
more till you and I have a few words together. Nay,” he
added, observing the other’s forehead contracting sullenly,
‘there'll be time to dispute by and by, and I'll join you in a
dozen glasses, Matt. But at the present moment put down
that liquor and listen to me.”

The young man spoke in the tone of one accustomed to
exact obedience, and the scarred individual responded by
setting down his untasted second glass.

« Well, Master Robert—what would you?” he asked, grufily.

“Listen, Matt; you know that Moultrie and the rest have
gone to their mud-castle ?”

“T saw the last of their flat-boat squadron, and doubtless
the last of the popinjays themselves.”

“And, my cousin was among the volunteers. You know
that, Matt ?”

“The fool, Riviere, who leaves his bride on her wedding-
night, to lend his body as a merlon for a log-fort. Ay, Master

 

  
 

 

32 THE KING’S MAN:

Atnee, I saw your patriotic dunce of a cousin in the boat with
his Colonel and the ranger Marion.”

Master Robert Atnee leaned back in his arm-chair, and
shading his face with one white hand, appeared to regard his
companion through the parted fingers. The guest returned this
scrutiny by a sidelong glance, which perused the young man’s
face. The features of Robert Atnee were regular, and might
perhaps be termed classic. His forehead was clear and high,
his skin transparently fair, with blue veins distinctly traceable,
His eyes were blue, his lips full, and curved usually with a
haughty expression, which, with firmly-cut nostrils, imparted
an almost disdainful air to his whole countenance. Redundant
ringlets, silky and soft, fell like gold about his shoulders, as if
scorning the powder and ointments wherewith fashion had
burdened them. Altogether, the person of Atnee was one
which woman might look upon with interest, if not with love.

“ You were present at your cousin’s wedding, I doubt not,
Master Atnee,” remarked the scarred man. “I saw a crowd
of gallants and ladies through the hall-casements, as I passed
down to the beach.”

“T was there,” replied Atnee ; “and ’tis of this I must talk
to you. The accursed marriage is over, and Riviere calls the
girl his wife.”

“Tis a pity she preferred not a loyal king’s man,” said the
guest. “This rebel Riviere must lose his head ere long,
though he survives to-morrow’s work, which I venture to say
will be of the hottest. Now, had the damsel chosen her other
cousin—yourself, Master Atnee, who have sense enough to
serve the strongest side—she had done a wise act, and——”

“ Peace, Matthew Blake!” exclaimed Atnee. “I asked not
your opinion as to my cousin’s choice. Suffice it, she is the
wife of Ernest Riviere, and as such, Matt, do you hear me? I
hate her, as I once loved her. Come, drink, and then listen !”

The young man hurriedly filled his glass, and his com-
panion, well pleased, grasped his own unfinished goblet. The
two vessels clinked together, and Atnee drank and replaced
his own upon the table. The scarred man sipped slowly, and

 
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 23

remarked; “I am ready to hear what you have to say, Master
Atnee.”

“You are sure, Matt, that Rivicre has gone to Sullivan’s
Island ?”

“ Tf a man’s eyes can make sure, I saw him embark. He 1s
long since there, with his fellow-yolunteers, who will have a fine
game of shuttle at daybreak, with Sir Peter's bombketches.”

“ Matthew Blake,” said the host slowly, “ Riviere must never
come back, from Sullivan’s Island.”

“That is to say, alive,” suggested the man, with a keen
glance at his companion.

“You are right, Matt. He must never come back alive to
claim his bride and fortune,” cried the other, quickly.

‘ His bride and fortune, eh, Master Atnee?”’

“T said so, Matt, and you shall hear all, that you may learn
your own interest, as well as mine; yesterday, could I haye
wedded my cousin, Louise Arnoult, this dunce, Riviere, might
have gone his way, and no bad blood would have been, between
us. To-night, and henceforth, he is my foe, and stands be-
tween me and my right. He must die!”

“ And you marry his widow ; is it so, Master Atnee ?”

“Marry!” exclaimed the young man, bitterly. ‘No, Matt
Blake; ’tis my inheritance that I must win back, though a
hundred craving cousins die in my path to it. Know you
what dowry my cousin Arnoult brings to her rebel lover?”

“Doubtless, her father, your uncle, left her well portant:
Master Robert.”

' He left her wealth which should have fallen to me,”
answered Atnee; “wealth that my mother, his own sister, had
yielded to him, when she espoused my father. It constituted
the foundation of a large fortune, which he afterward amassed
by traffic. Yet: his will allowed the chit, Louise, to inherit all,
provided she married her cousin Ernest, the son of old John
Riviere.”

“You cousin outgeneraled you, and gained the heiress,’
said Matthew Blake, with a laugh.

“ Hear me out, Blake,” said the host, impatiently. ‘“ There

 

  
  

   

  

24 THE KING’S MAN:
was a contingency provided for, a contingency which may
occur.” He paused, fixing his pale blue eyes upon Blake's
countenance. “In case the married cousins die without
children, then the property reverts to our branch of the
family, through Robert Atnee, its surviving representative.”

“ Ah,” eried the other, quickly. I perceive your meaning,
Master Atnee. And this contingency—”

* T intend to ensure, through your assistance, Matt,” eried
the young man, a fiery gleam lighting up his calm blue eyes.

There was silence for a few moments between the two men. ~
Each watched the other’s face with covert glances, though
both were apparently absorbed in thought. The scarred man
was the first to ask, in a muttered tone,—

“ What would you do, Master Atnee 2”

“To-morrow will be a bloody day on yonder island,” re-
sponded the other, significantly. ‘‘ Many will fall behind
those mud-ramparts that they call a fort.”

“Tis very likely,” said Blake.

“ But ’tis possible Riviere may escape, while a hundred fall
around him ; is it not so, Matt 2”

“ That’s the chance of war, Master Atnee.”

“ You must prevent such a chance.”

‘‘ How am I to prevent it, Master Atnee 2”

“ Do you pretend not to understand me? Riviere must die
upon Sullivan’s Island, A quick eye and ready hand can find
many opportunities in the heat of action.”

“Tt might be done,” said the scarred man, pouring out
another glass of the potent Jamaica. ‘And, moreover, the
man who did the deed might not live to tell the tale.”

“You have risked life before now, for less than you will
earn for this service in a friend’s behalf, Matt Blake. Come
to me to-morrow night with assurance that Riviere is out of
my way, and as an earnest of the future, you shall have a
thousand pounds.”

The mention of this large sum of money caused Blake’s

eyes to glisten, and he leaned his head upon his hands, in
renewed reflection,
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 25

“?Tis a round sum, Master Atnee; and your cousin is a
rebel, who fights with a halter about his neck. What if he
should not die? When the king regains the province, your
cousin’s lands must all be forfeited, and your interest with the
royal commissioners—”

“JThave thought of that, Blake. It may be true, as you
say, that lands of rebels will become forfeit ; but how know I
that some intriguer shall not bid higher than myself for them?
Besides, the’king is not’ yet in possession, and the rebels are.
You forget, that now I pass for as staunch a patriot as any
rebel of them all. No, no, Matt. I trust no hazard; I play
with loaded dice.”

The scarred man regarded his companion with a mixed
expression of admiration and suspicion upon his dark coun-
tenance. “ You are willing to pay a high price to ensure the
contingency of which you spoke, and—Haye you considered
that the lady, your fair cousin, may be inclined to accept you
as a second lord, rather than lose her goodly fortune ?”

There was a perceptible sneer in Blake’s tone, which his
employer did not relish. “What is that to you, Matt?” he
demanded, quickly. “I asked not your counsel or aid regard-
ing her.”

“Oh, I forget myself,” returned Matthew Blake, with a
bitter laugh. “ You are the gentleman; I am the scoundrel.
*Tis you who plan; I am but the tool to execute.”.

“Well, well; say no more, Matt,” cried the young man.
“We know one another, and have no need to quarrel. The
fool Riviere stands between me and fortune. You haye served
me more than one good turn already, Matthew—”

“For which you have paid me,” interrupted the scarred man.

“ Certainly, Matt; and, when this business is accomplished,
your fortune, as well as mine, may be made. Come, Matthew
Blake, you know the thing can be done securely.”

Blake mused a moment.

“A man might be pistoled in the smoke of a cannon,” he
said, slowly.

‘The yery plan, Matt, the very plan,” repeated his employer,

 
 

26 THE KING’S MAN:

with a quivering voice.“ To-morrow, during the fight, in the
dense smoke of a gun. ‘The plan is a notable one.”

Again Matthew Blake leaned his head upon his broad palm,
and appeared to muse; then, looking up:

“Tis a risk, ’tis a risk,” he said. “I cannot do it, Master
Atnee.”

“A risk! You have encountered risks ere this.”

“ Ay;, but I care not to lie all day under broadsides of a
British fleet. The cannon-balls will riddle yonder island; and,
as every bullet must have its’ billet, who knows but Matthew
Blake’s leaden pill might be rammed hard’ down in the throat
of Sir Peter’s bull-dogs ?”

Robert Atnee darted a wrathful look ‘at his companion,
which that individual met with a stolid stare.

“Are you going to show the white feather, Matt ?” asked
the Tory, in a husky voice.

“Running my neck in a noose, as a matter of business, is
one thing,” said the bravo. “I know what I’m about, and
take my chances. But, if I.go to that mud-fort, ’tis a dozen
to one that I never come out of it.”

“Tut, Matt—you are no coward, man.”

“ Coward or not, I’ve that at home, Master Atnee, which you
cannot give. So, I’ll wait for the next hang-dog job you have
in store, and let some other good comrade earn the thousand
pounds.” 6

With these words, Matthew Blake rose from his seat, and
stood with slouched hat in hand, returning’ the fixed gaze of
his host, who had also risen. ’

“ You'll not undertake this, Blake? You fear—”

“No matter what I fear; I’ll not go behind the logs’ of
Sullivan’s Island.”

“And yet you said, Matt, how easy to discharge’ a ‘pistol,
while smoke rolled around.” r

* What I said I said, Master Robert; but no log-ramparts
and mud-bastions betwixt Matt Blake and British broadsides.
Good night, Master Atnee.”

“Stay! Villain that you are, Matt, there is some design in
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 27

this refusal! You would betray me! You play a double
game!”

“Trisk not my life in that cursed fort, for any man’s gold
or promises,” returned the bravo, evasively.

“Dog, you are treacherous! but you leave not this house
till I have done with you!” cried the young Tory, rising
angrily from the table ; for the dogged refusal of the scarred
man, who had long been an instrument in his hands, ready to
perform the most. desperate service, was quite unexpected.
But, Matthew Blake had already shot back the bolt that
fastened the door by which he had entered.

“‘Good-night, Master Robert,” he said. ‘ You may finish
the Jamaica at your leisure.”

The scarred man then. sprang forth into the aaiaiaes that
encompassed the outbuildings.

 

CHAPTER IV.
ROBERT ATNEE’S SLAVES.

All that flesh doth cover
Are but slaves sold over
To the master, Time,—Mitngs.

CoNFOUNDED by the obstinacy of his confederate, and the
latter’s abrupt retreat, the Tory did not.regain his presence of
mind till Blake was safely away. He then repented. his folly
in allowing vexation to hurry him into anger, and, rebolting
the closed door, remained in an attitude to reflection.

“Some motive is at the bottom of Matt’s refusal of a thou-
sand pounds,” he muttered. “’Tis not cowardice in jim; and
as for treachery, what can he gain by betrayal of the king’s
cause on the very eve of our triumph? Nevertheless, I must
secure him—TI must secure him. Ha! I have it!”

Atnee resumed his seat, and appeared to ponder deeply.
His curled locks struggled between his white fingers, and were
lifted from his forehead, fair as a woman’s, But, had an eye

 
  

   

 
    

28 THE KING’S MAN:

been near to mark the various shades which darkened his
features, the transitions of expression, from that of suspicion
or fear to hatred and malignant resolution, it would have seen
how strong passions can run riot beneath the heartless beauty
of outer seeming. Rising abruptly at length, and clinching
his fist above his head, he exclaimed, in a husky tone:

“ Riviere must not escape! Matt Blake shall not desert me
at this pinch! My proud cousin Louise shall never triumph
in her minion’s return!”

Uttering these words, the Tory began to divest himself
hastily of his fashionable attire, exchanging velvet garments
for a complete suit of the regimental uniform then used by
the provincial militia in the Carolinas, and fixing on his lapels
a knot of blue ribbons, worn by Whigs to distinguish their
sentiments on occasions of public demonstration. Placing a
three-cornered hat upon his head, and buckling a sword-belt
around him, he left the room by another door, opposite the
one through which his late visitor had been admitted, and
emerged into an obscure passage, which he followed till
obstructed by another door. This he opened, with a key that
he carried, and entered upon a wide hall, terminating in a
spiral staircase. Ascending this to the floor above, the Tory
presently reached another passage which led to a spacious
gallery, furnished sumptuously in the style of that period.
Massive chairs of black walnut, mirrors heavy with gilded
carvings, and paintings in oval frames, were the objects ealeu-
lated to strike a stranger’s attention on entering; and the
pietures—principally of cavaliers and ladies—bore a general
likeness to one another to confirm the observer that they were
ancestral representatives of some ancient colonial family.” The
windows were open, but the cool night-air was permitted to
enter through network curtains wrought in various shades
and patterns. Waxen candles burned upon an antique
table near one of the windows; and seated near were two
females, who rose as Robert Atnee abruptly strode into the
apartment.
 

  

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

Robert Atnee was an orphan like his cousin, Louise Arnoult,
and in point of worldly possessions had, a few years previous,
equalled the heiress of his uncle’s wealth. But ten years of
dissipation, during long sojournings in European capitals, had
been sufficient to squander the greater portion of his own
inheritance; so that, at thirty, the spendthrift found himself
narrowed in income to an annoying degree. The yearly rents
accruing to entailed property in the province, though not of
large amount, might still have’ been ample to meet the wants
of a less extravagant liver. But from his early youth, and
even: before the demise of an indulgent, mother, his last sur-
viving parent, Robert Atnee had been his own master, and, as
a consequence, badly served. At the present time, though not
pecuniarily inyolyed, he reflected ruefully upon that. prospect
in the future; and, being both artful and unprincipled,
neglected no opportunities that offered reparation to his
wilfully shattered fortunes.

Such was Robert Atnee at the time he was introduced to
the reader. Ambitious, but calculating, he had taken no
prominent part among those who contended for king or
colonies in the struggle now going on in his native proyince.
He concealed his predilections, which were all on the mother
country’s side, and shrewdly temporized with the prevailing
Whig spirit, by mingling with patriots, and contributing, in
some measure, to the funds raised for provincial defence, At
the same time, doubting not that British force must soon crush
the rebellion, he maintained a sccret, correspondence with royal
officials, both in Carolina and Virginia, and devoted himself
covertly to the enemy’s seryice, by keeping watch upon and
disclosing the patriotic counsels of unsuspecting Whigs.

Such men as Robert Atnee were the most dangerous foes
that lovers of liberty were called upon to contend against.
They inspired confidence which they continually betrayed. .
Many, indeed, of these secret traitors pursued their machina-
tions throughout the entire war, and, after its termination,
contrived to conceal the fact of their ever haying been other
than true, self-sacrificing patriots.

 

  
 

380 THE KING’S MAN:

Unscrupulous, however, as Atnee was in the means to which
he resorted—as has been seen by his proposition to Matthew
Blake—still his ulterior schemes were subordinate to powerful
ambition. He looked forward to opportunities for rendering
himself of no small importance as a royal agent in repressing
colonial sedition, and sought in his traitorous correspondence,
not only to magnify his devotion to British interests, but. to
enlarge upon the risks which he incurred should his adherence
to King George be discovered by the Whigs. In this way he
doubted not that he could create powerful regard among those
whom he appeared to serve disinterestedly ; and such regard
he resolved should be turned to his ultimate personal advance-
ment. We will now pass from the Tory’s character and revert
to his presence, and to the females who rose to greet. his
entrance in the pictured gallery.

The elder of the the two women was a negress; the younger
of African extraction, but with few characteristics of the race,
and both were slaves belonging to Robert Atnee’s household.
The negress had been a house-servant in days long anterior to
her present master’s birth, and had attended him during in-
fancy and earliest childhood. The girl was her grandchild,
now sixteen years of age, gracefully formed, and with searcely
a negro trait save her complexion, which was only a shade
darker than that usually belonging to brunettes of a Southern
clime. Large, slumberous eyes, fringed with heavy. lashes,
small, finely-shaped mouth, and teeth-like pearls, were features
of attraction, indeed, which many pure-blooded dames might
envy; and the brown sun-tint that flushed through her trans-
parent skin, illumined them all with a warm life that Euro-
pean veins could never quicken into such rich expression.
The girl was clad in white, and wore no ornaments but a broad
gold ring on her fore-finger.

When Atnee crossed the gallery threshold, his young slave
sat with her grandam near the open casement, through which
a balmy breeze arose from gardens beneath. She was busy
embroidering a military. sash; her head bent slightly, dis-
closing the turn of a polished neck. Rising to acknowledge

~o--—
“e

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 31

the master’s presence, her eyes remained downcast, but her
shoulders, and all that was visible of her face, became suffused
with crimson.

* Well, mother Gattan,” said the young Tory, advancing to
the table, and addressing the old woman, without notice of
her grandchild, “I come to talk with you, good ma bonne, my
good nurse.”

The negress courtesied, wheeling forward a large arm-chair
with officious attention, and remaining standing like her com-
panion, till theix master threw himself upon the cushions.
This old woman was evidently of no inferior type of the Afri-
ean race. She did not possess the disagreeable lineaments,
noticeable in Congolese or Guinea tribes. Her colour, indeed,
partook of that olive shade which marks the Mauritanian
race; and doubtless she belonged to some branch of those
numerous mixed families inhabiting the upper regions of
Ethiopia, upon the borders of Fezzan. In fact, it was a cus-
tomary boast of Marguerite, or Gattan, as she was familiarly
called, that her fathers had been princes, and made war against
white men. Whatever her origin, it was known that she had
been brought to America, in youth, and that she retained
memories of superstitious teachings, and still practised cere-
monials that were obviously of Mohammedan association. She
was accustomed to mutter her prayers at sunrise, looking east-
ward, and to cherish a belief in the efficiency of ablutions,
which was certainly a virtue in her domestic position. But,
there:was likewise much in the old slave's character to back
her claims to superior birthright; a haughtiness at times, and
a spirit in her bright black eyes, which{suited the/ill station of
a menial. Her figure, too, erect in age, as it had probably
been stately in youth, would have furnished evidence of noble
blood, if coupled with the Saxon rose or Celtic lily in cheek
and brow. ;

“Shall Filippa remain ?” asked the old nurse, glancing at her
grand-daughter, whose eyes were riveted upon her embroidery.

“No; let her go,” said Atnee, in response ; and, with a wave of
her hand the grandam dismissed the girl, who, with still down-

 
  

32 THE KING’S MAN:

cast eyelashes, courtesied to her master, and glided noise-
lessly from the gallery.

“ How old is Filippa?” asked the master, with a careless
glance after her retreating figure. The negress pondered a
moment, and then answered :

“ Sixteen years, Master Robert.”

No clipping of syllables, such as made up the usual patois of
her class, was apparent in the old slave’s speech, though her
voice faltered somewhat in replying to her master.

“A tall child for her age,” remarked Atnee. “I was asked
to sell her, yesterday, Gattan.” As he said this, the master
noticed that the old woman’s countenance fell visibly. “ But,”
he continued, with emphasis, a smile wreathing his handsome
mouth, “I refused a large sum—a very large sum for our
Filippa.”

The negress clasped her hands together, and pressed them
to her breast. There was more significance in this mute mani-
festation of feeling than could have been conveyed bya thousand
words. “ Master—master!” it seemed to say, “ you will not
ask Gattan to part with her grandchild ?”

“T do not forget, nurse Gattan, that you saved my life,” re-
sumed Atnee. “’Iwas you who cared for me when every one
—even-my own mother—fled from my bedside.” The Tory
alluded to a contagious fever that had nearly terminated his
existence in childhood, and from which he had recovered only
through the untiring devotion of his slave attendant. “So,
ma bonne, I must ask your advice in this matter; though, in
sooth, our little Filippa would bring a round sum—a very
round sum, Gattan.”

“ Master Robert!” cried the negress, her eyes filling with
tears, as she regarded the young man’s countenance, so fair and

. apparently truthful. A sob choked all further speech, where-

upon Atnee lowered his voice to a whisper,—

“ Gattan,” he said, “the cousins are wedded! My mother’s
wealth, that should be mine, goes henceforth to smooth-faced
Ernest Riviere.”

“They are wedded, Master Robert ?” repeated the slaye=

    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 

 

    
 

|
|

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 33

nurse. “Ah! had your mother lived, Master Arnoult would
have never forgotten you.”

“Twas my mother’s fortune which enabled him to amass
the wealth he left behind,” said Atnee, bitterly. ‘ What
right had he to leave his sister’s child a beggar?”

Gattan started, “Who is a beggar, Master Robert?” she
asked, quickly.

“Who?” echoed the Tory, with a passionate start. “1,
your master—the heir of rich old Marmaduke Atnee—I sit
here this night, a beggar, almost, at my prime of life.” He
paused and struck his forehead, while Gattan regarded him
with a look of amazement. “Ay! look at me, ma bonne,’ he
continued, vehemently, casting back the curls from his pale
brow, with a hollow laugh. “ You do not know how I have
flung away hoards of gold, and scattered broad acres in dust.
But I say to you now, that pleasure-secking and dice-rattling
have played ducks and drakes with your old master’s wealth,
and his son’s inheritance.”

Making this confession with reckless tone and manner,
Robert Atnee threw himself back on the cushions, and watched
the effect of his words on Gattan, who had listened with
speechless anxiety, clasping her withered hands together. The
negress remained with fixed attention for some moments ere
she broke the silence,

“ Master Robert—dear Master Robert,” she exclaimed, “ is
all lost? Master Marmaduke’s property gone—all gone?”

The accents of real affection in which these simple words
were uttered, caused a smile to flit on the Tory’s lips; and he
replied, quickly,-—

“ As for that, Gattan, I hardly think we're quite so desti-
tute. We have Laurelwood and our town-house left, ma bonne.
Tam not exactly a beggar, but money is confoundedly scarce
these times, or I should never think of selling Filippa.”

The old negress rose, with her hands still clasped, and
Stretched them toward her master :

‘Oh, master! dear master!” she cried, in a husky voice,
“Tf Filippa must be sold, Gattan will die.”

9

 
 

34 THE KING’S MAN!

Atnee regarded his slave for a moment with a stealthy
glance, and then muttered impatiently,—* Well, well, Gattan,
never mind, she’s not sold yet.” He turned and abruptly left
the gallery.

The negress remained as if in stupor, till the light pressure
of her grand-daughter’s hand aroused her—* Quick, mother—I
must follow Master Robert,” whispered the quadroon, hurriedly.
And drawing the old woman after her, the girl opened a nar-
row door, near the stable, and disappeared into an inner apart-
ment, whence she presently emerged entirely metamorphosed.

Instead of the white dress she had worn, the quadroon had
donned a masculine frock, and appeared to be a handsome lad
of twelve years. The frock was blue, and beneath she wore
trousers of cotton jean. Slippers and a scull-cap completed
the ensemble of a sprightly boy. Thrusting a pistol in her coat
bosom, she kissed the old woman, and turned to depart.

“Take care, Filippa, of the ring.”

“Never fear, mother,” answered the quadroon, lifting her
finger with the gold circlet toher lips. “A slave’s last friend
is in it, you know,” she murmured, significantly, and then
darted away.

When Gattan was alone again, she clasped her withered
hands together, and wrung them up and down. “ Poor Filippa
—poor baby,” she murmured. She loves, and she isa slave!
God help her! The ring may indeed be her last friend, poor
child.”

 

CHAPTER -Y.
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE,
Oh ! how will sin engender sin.—CoLman.

Tur disguised Filippa emerged from Atnee’s house, tray-
versed the star-lit avenue that skirted it, and hurried on, till
at a turn of the highway, she caught a glimpse of her young
master’s figure at a distanee. With a joyful exclamation, she
quickened her steps.
-

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 35

The Tory pursued his way, unconscious that he was followed
so closely, and in the space of half an hour reached the out-
posts of Lee’s camp. Answering the challenge of a sentinel, -
he penetrated a piece of woods, where he was soon after joined
by a man who wore a uniform of the patriot service.

* Punctual!”’ was Atnee’s brief salutation, to which the sol-
dier replied, in an agitated voice :

‘Ym running a heap o’ danger, Captain.”

“Hush! no more than your betters do,” rejoined Atnee.
“ What have you learned new, sir?”

“That the General opposes Moultrie, and thinks he’ll be
defeated.”

“«T knew that hours ago, Samuel Pappett. You are behind
the age, my good fellow.”

“All I know,” said the other, sullenly, ‘the General has

just issued orders to our raw recruits to hold themselves ready

to cover Moultrie’s retreat.”

“Pish!” cried Atnee, impatiently. ‘* What papers have you?”

* Here is a letter from General Washington that our General
mislaid, and a map of the Floridas, with some plans about an
expedition, that I found in his orderly’s pocket.”

Atnee snatched the documents from-his emissary’s hand,
and thrust them into his bosom.

‘7 hope you'll not forget to mention me to Sir Henry when
he lands. Indeed, sir, this business is dangerous, and——”

“‘ Never fear, sir. You shall be mentioned.”

* Because you know, Captain, I’m risking my life.”

‘“‘T know your sacrifices, Samuel Pappett,” returned Atnee,
“and your fidelity to the cause that pays best.”

“That's hard, Captain; I’m a loyal king’s man, and, if I
am found in the rebel camp by Sir Henry, you know——”

“Tl see to that, sir; and, as I want your assistance out-
side, I'll obtain you a furlough to-night.”

“Oh, thank you, Captain!” cried the spy.

“Now, go to your quarters, Pappett; I have a visit to make
to some officers.”

Waying his haud abruptly, Robert Atnee passed on through

 
 

36. THE KING’S MAN:

the clump of woods, and the spy slunk off in another direction.
Immediately afterward, another man, clad like Pappett in the
patriot uniform, crept from under some brushwood that had af-
forded him concealment, and turned toward the sentinel’s post,

“What luck, Tom Irvins?” asked the sentry, recognizing
his fellow-soldier. ‘Did you discover anything ?”

“That sneaking Pappett has given the other man some pa-
pers, but they conversed too low to be overheard. I’m bound
to have those docyments, howsomever, before I sleep to-night.”

‘* Will you give information to the Colonel ?”

“ And get snubbed for my pains?” quoth the soldier. ‘“ No,
sir; Pll find the fox-trap before 1am a dorg. If Pappett’s
playin’ possum in the camp, them papers ’ll tell the story, and
them papers I’m gwine to have afore bedtime. If the papers
turn out all right and patriotic, Tom Irvins is a jackanapes.
Tom Irvins will be court-martialled as a meddler; but, if they
be all wrong, then Tom Irvins has started the right trail pre-
cisely. Now I’m gwine down to the creek to play Ingin.”

“Lie in ambush, eh, Tom?”

“ Precisely.”

*Countersign, Tom.”

“T’ve got it—all right, comrade,”’ answered the continental,
whispering the word ; and then, passing the outpost, he saun-
tered leisurely down the road, which, skirting a wooded bank,
lay half in moonlight and half in shadow.

But he had not proceeded far ere he was himself followed by
another figure. It was that of the disguised quadroon, Filippa,
who, having concealed herself near the sentry, had heard a
portion of his conversation with Tom Irvins, and, watchful for
her7master’s safety, resolved to track the soldier on his path.

The creek of which Irvins had spoken, spanned by a narrow
bridge, crossed the wood about a quarter of a mile from the
outposts; and, selecting a spot for his hiding-place near the
bridge-head, the patriot soldier awaited the return of Atnee;
while, concealing herself at the edge of a palmetto thicket,
the Tory’s slave overlooked the ambuscade.

An hour passed, and Robert Atnee appeared, followed by
A TALE OF SOULH CAROLINA. 37

the spy Pappet, The two passed closely by the thicket which
sheltered Filippa, and the next moment veached the creek.
Presently, a short cry broke the stillness of the night, and the
figure of a man darted swiftly across the bridge. Filippa saw
that it was the spy, and, darting forward, beheld her master
struggling with the soldier who had waylaid him. Both stood
upon the frail bridge, striving for the mastery; but it was
apparent that Atnee was no match for his antagonist. Yilippa,
reaching them, heard her master’s gasping voice: “ What do
you want?” cried the Tory, whose neck was tightly compressed
by the soldier’s strong arms. ‘ Would you murder me ?”

“Submit quietly, or you may force me to do that,” replied
the man, sternly; and, with a sudden effort, he threw Atnee
upon his back. :

“Let me go—I have money! my purse—my watch.”

«You infernal Tory! do you take me for a footpad? No,
sir! you are my prisoner, and must go to the camp, with those
papers that the rascal Pappett stole for you. I’ve a mind to
cast you into the creek for that speech of yours, for Pma
Whig, and not to be bribed, my good sir.”

While uttering these words, Tom Irvins had placed his knee
upon, the prostrate man’s breast, and was drawing a stout cord
from his pocket wherewith to pinion his prisonor’s arms. At this
juncture, a stealthy footstep upon the bridge caused him to turn
his head, but the alarm was too late. Filippa’s pistol, pressed
against his breast, was the next moment discharged, and the
patriot soldier toppled heavily from the log-bridge into the
dark water below. Robert Atnee was saved, and sprung to his
feet, while yet the reverberations of the pistol-shot were ringing
in the woods. He caught one glimpse of a boyish figure dart-
ing down the road, and disappearing in the shadows; then,
dashing the hair from his eyes, he reeled to the bridge-edge,
and peered down into the creck. A struggling sound and
choked groan arose therefrom, and presently all was still.

‘*He will tell no tales,” muttered the Tory. “By the fiend!
*twas a narrow chance. Curses light on that treacherous
Pappett : ’twas no shot of his that came so opportune.”

 
    

   

THE KING’S MAN:

Thus communing with himself, the Tory hastened on, appre-
hensive that the pistol-shot might have alarmed the neigh-
bouring outposts. Approaching the city streets, he overtook
his late comrade Pappett, cowering by the roadside.

“Cowardly knave!” he exclaimed ; ‘you deserted me.”

‘‘ Forgive, Master Atnee,” gasped the spy, who yet shook
with fright. I was not master of myself, for that devil of a
ranger, Tom Irvins, has long watched me; so that when——”

“A truce with your explanations, now, sir,’ said Atnee,
contemptuously. ‘‘ Your devil of a ranger will trouble us no
more. But, if you attempt another desertion like this, you
lilly-livered varlet, I promise that you’lllie cold as he does.
Now, sir, to the business amas eae to do; but beware of show-
ing the white feather again.’

Atnee strode forward, and Pappett trod mechanically in
his footsteps, till they gained a curve of the river-street where
stood that collection of hovels before described as the quar-
ter where resided Matthew Blake. The hous had now
advanced beyond midnight, and the city was wrapped in
silence, though probably few eyes were closed this night in’
sleep. The Tory stopped before Blake’s hut, and beckoned
to his companion to approach, and peer through the chinks of
a broken shutter, that permitted a glimpse of the interior, dis-
covering the curtained caboose, lit by the swinging lamp.

“The child is in that cot,’ whispered Atnee. ‘ You haye
but to effect an entrance andsnatch her from under the cur-
tain. Being deaf and dumb, she can neither hear nor give
an alarm, as you carry her off.”

“ The shutter—is it fast ?’? responded the spy, applying his
hand to the frail casement, which nearly yielded to his first
pressure.

‘ But—if the ruffian, as you say he is—if he should return,”
faltered Pappett. ’

«Am I not here to apprise you?”

“ But if he brings others—if he should come on us unawares,”
cried the spy, hesitatingly.

‘Will you never have done with your cowardly ifs, sir ?
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 39

The man will not trouble us, for I know his habits and that
he seldom returns before day-break. Are you resolved to
thwart me, sir?”

“J will do your will, Master Atnee. I did not refuse,”
murmured the spy, as he noiselessly drew away the shutter-
hasp from its rotten socket, and exposed the shattered win-
dow, stuffed with rags.

“Stay. Have you an ague-fit, man, that your teeth ¢chat-
ter thus? Stand back here—TI will enter myself. But if your
cowardly heart leads to another desertion like the last, I swear,
Samuel Pappett, that your reward from Sir Henry, when he
lands, shall be a hempen-knot tied by the provost-marshal.”

With this whispered threat, Atnee thrust his timid accom-
plice aside, and tearing out the rubbish from a broken pane,
quickly sueceeded in raising the narrow window sufficiently
to enable his hand to reach the key that secured the hovel-
door. Bidding Pappett to keep watch outside, he then boldly
entered the single apartment.

It presented the features already familiar to the reader; and
Atnee, who was no stranger there, glided at once to the
caboose to pursue his design of abducting the bravo’s child.
But ere he laid his hand upon the curtain, a hurried glance
about him caused the intruder to pause suddenly in his design.
He discovered the carpet-straps rolled together ina heap, and a
dark aperture gaping like a grave in the flooring beyond.
Startled at the sight, he paused a moment, irresolute; then
recalling his self-possession, drew near, and discovered a nar-
~ row flight of steps descending apparently to some vault below
the hovel. Peering into the opening, he caught a glimpse of
light struggling through the darkness below, and suspected
that Matt Blake was engaged in some nocturnal operation,
which he determined should have, if possible, a witness. Act-
ing on this thought, the Tory cautiously descended the mil-
dewed steps, his feet slipping on a bed of clay beneath, and
entered a narrow excavation that appeared to slope upward.
Steadying his footing, by stretching out his hands to the
clammy sides of this passage, he crawled forward through a

 
 

40 THE KING’S MAN:

wider gap, which opencd upon a cavernous vault, damp and
chilly. He divined at once that this subterranean chamber
was under the wooded bank which, as before said, intervened
between Blake's hut and the river, that here curved abruptly.

But the Tory’s interest became riveted the next moment by
another discovery. He saw Matt Blake kneeling on the ground,
apparently absorbed in the contemplation of a small, iron-
bound oaken chest, which was open before him. The chest
was full of gold coins, trinkets, and jewels, which, in the rays
of a candle glimmering beside it, flashed with dazzling splen-
dour. Rich necklaces of diamonds and pearls, brooches, rings,
and pendents, watches, jewellers’ miniatures, and even wedges
of solid gold, were mingled promiscuously in such profu-
sion, that the spendthrift Atnee, in surveying them, felt his
breath grow short with eager admiration. Matt Blake
crouched over the whole like one of those fabled gnomes
which are said to guard the buried treasures of earth; and as
he handled the ornaments with gloating fondness, his’ hearse
voice syllabled monotonously his passing thoughts.

“ Ha, ha!” muttered the man, “this is the stuff that rules
both Whigs and king’s men. What would King George him-
self be without it, and where would be yon Congress troops,
with no dollars to pay for their patriotism ?” Hesmiled grimly
as he held up a costly necklacedin the candle’s rays. “ Ay,
ay,” he went.on, “ye’re shining as if there was no blood on
ye; and yet I saw ye once onia neck as svhite as Alice’s.”

Matt Blake’s features contracted: as the memory of some past
crime smote him for a moment,» Dropping the necklace, he
held up a diamond ving, that sparkled like an eye in the dark-
ness. ‘A delicate finger wore ye once,” he-said; “a proud
lady kissed ye, and plead for her love-token, and vowed she’d
neyer part with it. Sure enough, she kept it till the breath
left her fair body, and now it’s Alice’s—Alice’s.”

The bravo’s hard face softened, and his harsh voice trembled
in pronouncing the name of that unconscious child, whom he
he had left in innocent slumber. ‘“’Twas for her,” he muttered,
with an oath, “ and she shall never know how she comes by
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 41

them. ’Twas for her mother I trod the bloody deck, and nailed
my black flag to the masthead, till I lost her—lost the only
one that ever cared for Matt Blake, the buccaneer; and now
her child shall have all. Alice will remember Matt when he’s
past praying for. Poor dumb chick !—poor dumb chick !””

The wretch hid his face with his hands, and a tear stole
between his fingers, dimming tho jewel that he held. His back
was turned to the cave entrance, where cowered the concealed
Tory; but the latter could perceive the man’s heavy frame
shake with emotion. A sudden thought crossed the mind of
Robert Atnee—a thought of the case with which a single blow
or shot might secure the possession of that, the pirate’s ill-
gotten hoard; but the next instant a movement of Blake to
close his oaken casket caused the Tory to shrink back into the
narrow passage. He lingered, however, till he belield_ the
bravo lock and double lock the box, and thrust it far into a
crevice of the clay wall; then, with noiseless es he re-
traced his steps to the hovel.

Pappett, the spy, obedient to his patron, had taken his post
as sentinel outside, and being, as we have said, a coward of
the first water, but cunning withal to a remarkable degree, he
ensconced himself in the bush-coyered bank which joined the
hut, in order at once to overlook the moonlit street and river-
bank, and to screen himself from any casual observation.

But he had scarcely secured his'position among the thick
leaves, when he became aware of a phenomenon which caused
the perspiration to ooze in large drops from his trembling body.
This was a faint, greenish light, apparently emanating from
the bank itself, a few feet from the spot where he had fixed
himself. It was dim and flickering, but distinct enough to
infuse Pappett with vague apprehensions. By degrees, how-
ever, observing no augmentation of the light, the spy grew
venturesome, and ascertained that it proceeded from a small
fissure in the bank, overhanging the water’s edge—a fissure
searcely broader than his hand’s width, but evidently connect-
ing either with a hollow in the hillock or the interior of the
hut which he was guarding. This discoyery caused Pappett

 
 

42 THE KING’S MAN:

new alarm, and some minutes elapsed before he could muster
courage to remove a tangled mass of undergrowth sufficiently
to admit of his head being depressed toward the opening. The
clammy earth, in contact with his forehead, sent a chill through
the man’s blood, but, at this moment, a clinking sound, as. of
gold, awakened all his faculties. Curiosity and avarice were
both stimulated, and Pappett began to scoop away the dirt, in
order to widen the crevice. The light glimmered more steadily,
and, in a moment more, the eager spy was able to discern a
cave below, in which the figure of a man appeared, kneeling
beside a box of glittering treasures. A dazzling array of jewels
and money heaped together flashed on Pappett’s sight, with a
splendour that almost deprived him of his senses. His brain
swam, and, for a moment, he lost the power of vision. Reco-
vering instantly, he saw the man below in the act of closing the
box, and pushing it far into a recess of the clay wall. Next
moment, all was dark in the cave, and he heard his own name
called from the hovel-door: “Pappett—villain! where areyou?”

The spy recognized Atnee’s voice, and emerged from his covert
in time to see his employer dart from the hut, and dash along
the street, bearing a burden enveloped in his mantle.

CHAPTER VI.
THE OUTLAW’S CHILD,
A rude, dark, stormy man was he,
His passions like his deeds were wild;
But yet he loved that stricken child.—B, Asue.

“ ALIcE! Alice! my child! my child!”

The utterance of these words sounded like a shriek in Matt
Blake’s mouth, as he discovered the loss of his child. Return-
ing from the cave, unsuspicious of what had taken place during
his absence, he had busied himself for some moments in re-
placing the plank and carpet of his flooring, and making ready
for the night’s rest in his solitary hammock. It was not till a
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTIT CAROLINA, . 43

half hour, at least, had gone by, that he lifted the curtain of the
caboose, in order to kiss, as usual, his slumbering child. The
derangement of the bed-clothes, the absence of his little one,
struck the father, at first, with a blank amazement, which was
speedily succeeded by horror and fury. He ran around the room
like a wild man, paused at the spot where he had removed the
plank, as if fearful the child might have fallen into the gap
during his absence; then, suddenly dashing to the door, he dis-
covered that, though once closed, ashe had left it, the key-bolt
had been shot back; and a single glance at the open window-
shutter showed how the abductor had gained entrance.

Then it was that, with a ery more like the how] of a tigress
robbed of her young, than of a human being, the bravo called
on his child’s name, and, throwing himself on his knees beside
the caboose, bowed on its pillow, clasping that inanimate
object, as he repeated, “ Alice! my child! my child!”

It was indeed a powerful love that this bad man cherished
for-his helpless offspring ; a love, intertwined, as it were, with
every fibre of his heart; the same species of affection that a
wild animalentertains for its young, changing not the furious
instincts of its kind, but only intensifying their natural pur-
poses. Matt Blake arose from his knees with sullen scowl
and gleaming eye, and, opening an old chest, took from it a
brace of pistols, which he sat himself down to load. This
done, he deposited them in a pocket of his rough coat, and with
them concealed a broad-bladed knife sheathed with leather.
Then, turning a last moody look ‘at the deserted caboose, he
crossed his threshold, locked the door mechanically, and strode
gloomily through the silent streets, directing his course toward
the house of Robert Atnee. Passing to the rear of the Tory’s
mansion, he gained the private door and knocked loudly. It
was opened at once by Atnee, whose smooth smile grected him,
as he entered in surly silence.

“Well, Matt, you look wild,” said the Tory, closing and
bolting the door. “ But you have come to renew good fellow-
ship, I doubt not; so sit man, and fill up a goblet.”

Matt Blake did indeed step to the table and clutch a glass,

 

  
 

44 THE KING'S MAN:

which he filled with the crimson spirit. But, instead of
drinking, he dashed its contents to the floor.

“So may blood run between us!” cried the bravo, “till you
give me back my child.”

The Tory’s handsome face blanched for a moment, as the
eyes of Blake, burning like coals of fire, were fixed upon his
own; but he had calculated his course, and knew the man
with whom he had to deal. ‘Therefore, he answered with a
renewed smile, and cried:

“Tut, tut, Matt; you were not wont to spill good liquor
thus—”

“T want no rum, Atnee; I want blood—your blood, and
Tl have it.”

Answering thus, the bravo sprang upon the Tory, and
grasped his neckcloth with a grip like iron, bearing him back-
ward, till he reeled to the floor.

“ Matt! Matt!” gasped the Tory, “would you kill me?”

“My child! Alice! my child!” replied Blake, in a terrible
tone. “ Robber and kidnapper, give me back my Alice.”

He drew the broad-bladed knife from its scabbai‘d, and
lifted it over Atnee’s breast, which was pressed by his knee.

“ Ay, Master Atnee; as there is a hell for both of us, T will
murder you, if you give me not back my child.”

“ Matt Blake, you are mad. Release me,” cried the Tory,
making ineffectual struggles to rise, his neck compressed by
the bravo’s gripe almost to strangulation.

“You have solén my child, to get me in your power; to
force me to work your will on Riviere. But T'll slay you like
a dog, if you give her not back.”

Blake hissed’ these words between his teeth, ashe lifted the
knife fora blow, and Robert Atnee, writhing under his burning
eves, almost gave himself up for lost. But the Tory’s presence
of mind did not desert him. Suddenly relaxing his limbs, and
letting his head sink heavily; he murmured :

“ Kill me, Matt Blake, and never behold your child again!”

Thus speaking, he fell supinely on the floor, as if incapable
of further resistance. The impending blow of his antagonist

     

s3

 
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA, 48

descended not, and Matt Blake appeared to hesitate, Atnee’s
submission diseoncerted him. Supposing her abductor slain,
would that restore the child? He withdrew his hand from
the young man’s throat.

“ Get up, Master Atnee,” he muttered, savagely, “and an-
swer me like a man.”

The Tory had calculated the effect of his stratagem, though
it was indeed a forlorn hope. He arose with reeling brain,
and seizing his own untasted spirits, swallowed a few mouth-
fuls to moisten his dry throat. Blake watched him gloomily.

“Well, Matt,” said the young man, as he adjusted his neck-
cloth and wiped his forehead, “now that you are no longer
frantic, perhaps we can understand one another. What has
happened to you?”

“Do you ask, Robert Atnee?” demanded the father, quite
crazy with suppressed fury, at observing the other’s composure.
And he muttered between his teeth: “Oh, you deep villain!”

* Matt Blake, I sympathize with you, and promise to aid
you to the best of my ability in recovering your child, if you,
in return, promise to keep your fingers off my throat, and——-”

“ Where is she? Atnee, devil!—I know not what to call
you—where is my Alice? ”

* You have scratched my neck, and torn my frill shockingly,
Matt,” returned the Tory, ‘ Nevertheless, I bear no malice,
and, if you take eare of my cousin, in the fort to-morrow,
there’ll be no harm come to your Alice, I give yon a gentle-
man’s word on it.”

“ And if I refuse?”

“ Then,” answered the young man, with a look of cold deter-
mination, “I believe your child lost to you beyond recovery,”

«“ Atnee, PU——”

The bravo appeared about to spring again wpon his prey,
but the other only rejoined:

* Matt, you know me. Had I died five minutes sinee, you
would never have beheld your Alice in this breathing world
again.”

A shudder shook the outlaw, as he heard these words, and

 
     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
    
 

  

   

46 THE KING'S MAN:

marked the expression of Atnee’s features. Seating himself
again, he poured out a glass of spirits, and said, as he drank it:

“T’l drink with you, Master Atnee; I’ll do your devil's work
once more; and, if I wronged you, I’m sorry. But—” he
paused, with the glass at his lips, and muttered in measured
tones with a terrible oath: “if you deceive me or harm: that
child, I’ll have your heart’s blood, Atnee, wherever you are.”

The Tory’s bold eye fell before the fiercer glow that shot
from beneath Matt Blake’s brows. But he mastered his
uneasiness, and streched out his hand to his confederate : “ Let
us be friends again, Matt,” he said, coaxingly; ‘‘ you and I
ought never to part in anger. All shall be well between us,
when you come back.”

Blake took his employer’s hand, and drank his liquor at a
gulp. But the scowl left not his brow for a moment; nor-did
he return Atnee’s smile. He went out into the night again, to
seek the fort at Sullivan’s Island, and to earn a thousand
pounds:for the deed he was to do; but he hated Robert Atnee
more than him who was to be his victim.

CHAPTER VIf:
SULLIVAN’S ISLAND, 1776.

The flash, the smoke, the artillery roar,

The answering volley, from front and rear;
The wounded, slain, the bloody gore,

Yet not a thought of fear.—S. W. Dewey.

DAYBREAK glimmered in grey light over the harbour and
city of Charleston. The river-mist rose slowly from the
surface of the water, and under a glowing sunrise, the fleet
of Admiral Sir Peter Parker displayed its bunting, as it
advanced to battle. It was an imposing spectacle; for nearly
fifty vessels, comprising nine ships of the line, and forty trans-
ports, ranged up the channel, with their canvass set to the soft
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 47

breeze; and the first sunbeams, slanting on them, made all
these sails appear like wings of fire.

Moultrie, on Sullivan’s Island, foresaw that if the engage-
ment should be protracted, his small store of ammunition
must be exhausted before its termination. Like Putnam at
Bunker Hill, he resolved that every shot should tell; and his
feeble armament was therefore mounted in such a position
that it commanded diagonally the advancing vessels, while
the powder (scarcely five thousand pounds altogether) was
distributed in due proportions to the guns, under the care of
his own regimental officers.

The fort-defenders of the city could cast their eyes to the
left, and see the housetops covering their own firesides, crowded
with those dearer to them than life. They needed no more
inspiring spectacle to nerve them for conflict.

The river-fogs disappeared, and a hot June sun began to
shed its scorching rays. Moultrie moved up and down along
the defences, smoking his short pipe, and encouraging the
soldiers. Marion, silent and thoughtful, moved about, ex-
changing glances with his old comrades of the Indian war—
glances which meant volumes to those brave men.

“We have hot work, and a long day before us, Captain,”
observed Moultrie, to young Riviere, who was pointing an
English cighteen-pounder at the hull of the enemy’s flag-ship;
“but we must try to keep cool.” Saying this, the Colonel
emitted a great puff of smoke.

“The foe will find the work as hot, doubtless,” answered
Riviere, “and the day as long, if our powder holds out, sir.”

“ Our powder! it must be husbanded,” said Moultrie. “T
see, Captain, you understand the business, by the bearing of
your gun. That’s right, my young soldier! Look to the
Commodore! look to the two-deckers! and we'll soon have
them all between wind and water !”

“Took to the Commodore! look to the two-deckers!” ran
in a murmur along the intrenchments, and the young officers
of guns began to take ranges of the battle-ships. Moultrie
smiled, and said; “No fear of men like these!” Then turning

 
 

48 THE KING’S MAN:

to meet Major Marion, who approached, followed by Jasper,
and another athletic figure: “Who is this?” he asked,
sharply, apparently recognizing the last of the three.

«A new volunteer, who finds small favour in the eyes of my
brave Jasper, however.” So saying, the Major pointed to
Matthew Blake, whose face had already been recalled by the
commander as that of the man who had ridiculed the project
of defending Sullivan’s Island.

“So it appears, sir, you have altered your mind as regards
eur log-ramparts,” said Moultrie, scanning the volunteer’s
features.

“Whether I -have or have not,” answered the bravo, care-
lessly, “T am here to do my duty in defending them—that is,
if you deem me good enough for a target, Colonel !”

“ We want men who can make targets of Britishers!” eried
Sergeant Jasper.

“TI can point a piece as true as any’ man on the island,”
rejoinett Blake, scowling at the sergeant; and as he'spoke, a
gun from the Admiral’s ship boomed heavily, and two frigates
let go their anchors, and ranged abreast of the fortifications.

“ Answer that shot, if you can point a oun, sir,” said Moul-
trie to the man; “tis the signal for battle.”

* I-beg, sir, you will let me point the gun—” began Captain
Riviere ; but the bravo had already swung the heavy carriage
about with one hand, while with the other he seized a match,
and, stooping at the breech, sighted the piece with a rapid
glance. Next moment smoke and flame belched from the
cannon, and Matt Blake, with a dry laugh, cried,—

“ Follow that, if you like !”

‘The smoke clearing, discovered the shot ricochetting’ over
the waves which an easterly wind was blowing high. ‘It
struck the flag-ship Bristol fair in the hull, and scattered
splinters in all directions from her planks.

A loud huzza vose from the American lines, and Moultrie
puffed rapidly.

“ Well done,” he said, “’tis a good omen! Now, men, to
your stations all; and for you, sir,” he added, addressing
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 49

Blake, “if Captain Riviere likes you to assist in working his
gun, remain with him.”

“ With all my heart,” said Riviere; “I shall be glad of so
braye a fellow.”

Blake's lip eurled ; but the battle had now begun in earnest,
and.he speedily found work to do. From the ports of six
frigates in the channel a tremendous burst of flame issued
incessantly. The fort replied by volleys of small-arms and
dowble-shotted’ cannon. Dense volumes of smoke wreathed
over the water, and soared in white columns. The waves
swelled, the beaches rocked under successive explosivns.
Heavy broadsides from the vessels occasionally lifted the
clouds, permitting a momentary view of some swaying hull,
which at once became a mark for Mouiltrie’s guns.

About.a mile below the immediate theatre of conflict, Sir
Henry Clinton attempted a landing of regular troops to attack
Sullivan’s Island by boats; but the scheme failed of completion;
while, in taking their positions for a general attack, three
frigates ran aground below the island, and lost all opportunity
of testing their metal.

Meantime the sun rose toward noon; the heat of battle
intensified by its scorching rays: The Americans, all grimed
with powder, tore off their shirts, and fought wholly naked.
The smoke-clouds rolled inland, and concealed the city; but
the defenders knew that their friends were behind: that dread-
ful curtain, listening to the din of the engagement.

Moultrie, calm amid the dizzy scene, smoked his pipe while
inspecting his defenses, the bombs and. balls falling unheeded
about him. His courage became infectious; every man grew
to be a hero at his gun. Marion’s post was at an extremity
of the fort, weakly defended by the hastily-constructed works.
Surrounded by his rangers of the old wars, he pointed the
guns, served out ammunition, and cheered the men toctheir
duty. Sergeant Jasper, fighting near him, was so blackened
and burned with sweat and powder as to be hardly distin-
guishable from the negro Cesar, who was active under him,
and who kept up a fire of dry remarks, and displayed his

 
 

 

50 THE KING’S MAN:

white teeth, as if there was not the remotest danger of their
being knocked down his throat by a cannon-shot.

“Ky!” he yelled, as a rift in the smoke discovered the three
British vessels fast among shoals, and with distress-signals
flying. “Ky! Mauss’ Jasper! we is pokin’ fire into ’em!”

“ Heah, you nigger! Look out for my jacket,” cried a fine-
limbed young soldier, who was holding a match, as Marion
sighted his gun. He pointed, in speaking, to a blue coat, the
uniform of his regiment, which was sliding from a merlon,
where he had carelessly thrown it. .

“Me hab him, Mauss’ McDaniel!” cried Cesar, swinging
himself about, and stretching out his hand to catch the gar-
ment; but ere he reached it, a cannon-ball came whizzing
through the air with its strange, singing noise, and striking
squarely under the collar of the coat, lifted it bodily.from the
merlon, and bore it over the heads of the soldiers. Cesar fell
back, as if struck himself, his open mouth and dilated eyes
expressing the most ludicrous alarm; but the coat sailed on,
like a long swallow-tailed bird; while the soldiers along the
whole western breastwork desisted with common consent from
work, and broke out into one of the liveliest and merriest
laughs that ever made the welkin ring. There, in the midst
of deadly strife, with the roaring of three hundred cannon
around them, those gallant fellows laughed as freely as if on a
piazza at Charleston.

“ Cresar! you black rascal! why didn’t you stop that ball?”
exclaimed the owner of the coat, shaking his fist in a humor-
ous, way at the negro,

“Ky!” cried the black, recovering by degrees from his
consternation, —“ hi-yi! what a shot that was, for sartain!
Might ha’ kerried off dis yer chile, Mauss’ McDaniel, jis’ like
de jacket! Oh, golly; look dah! look dah, mauss’—look at
de coat, will ye?” ~

The soldier followed the negro’s glance with his own, and
beheld his coat lodged in the branches of a live oak tree, in the
rear of the fort.

“No harm’s done,” remarked he to Jasper, as he handed him
    

    

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

his watch, and stooped to drink from a bucket beneath him.
“The jacket has only changed pegs, you see. Howsomever,
Cesar, you look out for those thieving cannon balls, or they
may make love to it altogether !”

“Me look out for dat, Mauss’ McDaniel.”

« And be off now, you rascal, and get another supply of
Jamaica,” cried Jasper, kicking over the pail, which McDaniel’s
last draught had emptied.

“And say to the Colonel that we like it strong and sweet,”
quoth Marion, with a grim smile. “ Poor fellows, they are in
a furnace,” he added, glancing at the gunners.

« And look you, Crsar,” said McDaniel, as the black passed
him, “see that you fetch my coat from yon live oak. It’s a
new one, and belongs to the State.”

“ Yes,” cried the negro. “Dem cannon-balls is most too
bad, dey is, massa; they doesn’t ’spect de State nor de
sojers.”

So saying, and burdened with his double commission, Caesar
started. off for head-quarters, where Colonel Moultrie, pipe in
mouth, was superintending the mixing of a huge tub of “grog,”
composed of Jamaica spirits and water, sweetened with sugar
sap. ‘The brave commander sat under the sweltering sun, en-
deayouring to “keep cool” under its heat, and patient under
agonizing twinges of the gout, which had attacked him in the
morning. Nobody could detect any expression save one of
good humour, save when some spasm of pain forced an involun-
tary exclamation.

“Well, Cesar, you're after more grog, are you? What
were you all shouting like mad for, a few moments since ?”

‘Golly, Mauss’ Kurnel, wish you’d a-seen it,” chuckled the
black, putting down the bucket. “ Dat ar’ Sergeant McDaniel’s
sojer-coat, she got tuk up by de skarts, and off she fly, wid a
cannon-ball in bofe pockets. Dah she is, Mauss’ Moultrie in
yonder oak.”

The commander joined with those around him a hearty laugh
at Cresar’s detail; and then, ordering his bucket to be re-
plenished, proceeded in his pleasant way to overlook the manu-
 

 

62 THE KING’S MAN:

facture of the fragrant beverage, at the same time giving kindly
orders to the men at his black-muzzled twenty-fours, who had
sustained the heat of the action. Czesar, burdened with his
bucket of grog, set out on his return to Marion’s post; but
recollecting Sergeant McDaniel’s orders to regain his coat, he
proceeded by a trifling detour to gain the oak tree at the rear
of the fort, which had arrested the marauding cannon-ball in
the act of petty larceny. At this stage of the engagement the
firing on both sides was extremely severe—a cannonade being
kept up by the two fifty-gun ships, which, with springs on
their cables, rode opposite the fort, supported by four heavily
mounted frigates and the bomb-ketch Zhwnderer, with her
blazing shells. A continuous shower of missiles fell into the
swampy soil, and upon the myrtle and Palmetto trees which
grew on Sullivan’s Island. Across the rear of the fort a strip
of solid land led to the live oak trees, on one of which
MeDaniel’s coat was hanging, and thither Caesar picked his
way, carefully balancing his bucket of grog, and unterrified by
the hail of balls on every side. As he went, he exchanged
repartees with the soldiers who were breathing themselves at
intervals away from the ramparts.

“'lake care of the bomb-shells, smutty-face,’ cautioned a
half-naked rifleman, who was cutting a palmetto-stick. to re-
place a ramrod which had been carried from his hand by a
chain-shot,

“And take care of that grog, even though you kick the
bucket,” remarked another wild fellow, as he munched a
quartern loaf.

“ Hi-yi,” returned Cvesar, “nebber you fear. Dis yer sojer-
chile knows de bark of Johnny Bulldog.”

“Took out, Sambo; you'll get the headache!” exclaimed
another, as the heavy shell appeared in the air, curving through
the smoke with a lurid light.

Cesar glanced upward and beheld the terrible missile hoyer-
ing just above him, and apparently ready to surge upon his
skull. “Ky,” he yelled, springing to the right, and imme-
diately sank to his waist in the black mud of the swamp. The

”
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA, 09

bomb-sheli at the instant erfished down, burying itself! in the
moist ooze, within half a dozen feet of him.

“ Dat fire is put out, sartain,” spluttered Cysar, struggling
to regain his footing on terra firma, and holding his bueket at
arm’s-length, so that he lost scarcely a gill of its contents.

“You've had a narrow escape, darkey,” remarked the sol-
dier, who had been munching his bread. “Now give mea
mug of grog, and I’ll help you out again.”

Cwesar returned to quarters without McDaniel’s coat, but
with a coat of black mud on his own sable body, which soon
became baked like a crust under the sunbeams. Meantime
the battle raged, and the exhausted cannoneers, after refreshing
themselves with the spirits, ranged their guns upon the Ad-
miral’s ship, which had swung about, presenting her stern to
the fort.

“Look to the Commodore,” cried Marion.

The order was answered by flaming jets and an explosion that
shook the island. Then rose a shout from the fort’s defenders,
and then followed an unbroken silence for five minutes. It was
during this interval that the last round of powder wasserved out
on the island, and a despatch sent to Governor Rutledge for
more. ‘The British, listening for the fort’s fire, and hearing it
not, supposed they were about to surrender, and the flcet’s crews
began to cheer loudly, in anticipation of triumph. But they
reckoned prematurely; for again came a rush of flame and
crashing shot from the whole fortified line, dealing devastation
through the ships. Their cheers were hushed, and they manned
their guns again, answering with the united metal of five
broadsides, earth and water reeking under the tremendous
explosion. The battle-smokes were uplifted, and the ‘sun’s
rays shone through them, as through a canopy of yellow gauze.

Marion pointed to the banner of the fort, which was waving
in the breeze. Sergeatit Jasper lifted his arms to it, and
McDaniel, springing forward, raised his blue cap and cheered
londly; but at that moment another iron storm swept from
the fleet. McDaniel’s manly breast was before an embrasure,
and, as he waved his cap in honour of the flag of liberty, a

 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

 

 

     

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THE KING’S MAN:

cannon-shot stretched him dying*before his comrades. Jasper
was kneeling by his side in a second, and Marion grasped his
hand. The poor fellow’s nostrils were gushing blood. He
strove to rise, but his strength failed, and he fell into the arms
of his comrades.

“T die,” he murmured, as they were bearing him away, his
eyes shining with the last fires of patriotism. “I die, comrades,
but you will fight on, for liberty and our country.”

At this moment a low murmur ran through the line, and all
eyes were turned, as if instinctively, toward the flag. It hung
apparently by a splinter, trembling and ready to fall. A
cannon-ball had shattered the staff, and the next instant it
swayed and fell over the rampart, upon the low beach beyond
them. The hearts of the defenders sank, while an exulting
shout arose once more from the enemy.

But Jasper saw the flag fall, and had already leaped upon
the breastwork. His right hand was lifted, as if in appeal to
heaven, and then waving it to his countrymen, he plunged
over the wall to the sands below.’ A crashing broadside from
the fleet daunted him not. A furious shower of shells and
balls, ploughing the beaches stayed not his course. He passed
along the entire front of the batteries, to reach the fallen
banner. Then, while four hundred hearts above him stood
still in breathless suspense, he knelt and disengaged the flag
from the shattered staff.

This brave man seemed to bear a charmed life, for not a
shot struck him of the hundreds raining around. He called
for a sponge-staff to be thrown from the ramparts, and there,
kneeling on the beach, fastened upon it the rescued banner.
Then, waving it over his head, Jasper mounted the wall, and
planted once more over his applauding comrades the flag of
their free America.

Clouded were the eyes that saw the flag fall, and heavy the
souls that sank with it. But such a mighty shout arose from
Sullivan’s Island when the bright folds flashed again in the
sunlight, as never could be overpowered by the roar of artil-
lery. That shout was the American hurrah. Working at the

 
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

battery under his charge, Captain Riviere gallantly sustained
his, part in the battle; bearing himself more like a trained
warrior than as one who had doffed his bridal garments for
those of a soldier. His yoice echoed cheerily the orders to
“fire at the double-deckers,” and “rake the flag-ship,” and the
brave men. around him, who were nearly fainting under the
sultry heat, caught his inspiring glance, and braced themselves
anew for conflict.

Matt Blake, at one of the guns, watched his young officer
with covert looks; until gradually, as the fight deepened, he
seemed to become imbued with its spirit, and obeyed with
alacrity the commands of his superior, even to a loud response,
when the wild hurrah of cheers broke forth. The man lacked
not bravery, and the bull-dog determination of the defence
suited his stubborn nature; so that he whirled the gun-
carriages about, as if they were no more than playthings, and
exposed himself at. the embrasures with a recklessness that
. appeared to mock at danger.

The thoughts of the two men—Riviere and Blake—were
akin in sentiment at times; for the one recalled his gentle
bride, while the memory of a cherished child tugged at the
other's fierce heart.

Meantime, the combat raged on; the cannon-peals shaking
earth and waye, the smoke-clouds enveloping ships and forts
in a sulphurous fire. At intervals, as Captain Riviere looked
toward Blake’s gun, he met the bravo’s eye, which suddenly
fell; and at times, also, Blake felt under his flannel sleeve a
small French pistol, which he had loaded to the muzzle. On
such occasions the man would mutter: “ He’s a braye youth,
but his life is not worth a thousand pounds to me! Not yet,
though, not yet!” And then he would whirl his cannon, and
send its contents tearing over the water.

Once, when a great broadside crashed from the British,
Matt Blake felt himself suddenly grasped around the waist,
and drawn violently from his gun.. As he looked up savagely,
to discover his assailant, he saw that it was Captain Riviere,
and at the same instant he beheld a cannon-ball strike the

 

  
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
    
  
 
 
    
  
 
  
     

 

36 THE KING'S MAN:
piece, and shutter its trunnion. The quick eye of his young
officer had marked the missile’s approach, and his ready hand
interposed to save the gunner’s life. Blake’s frame quivered
through every fibre, and in his agitation the concealed pistol
dropped and exploded at his feet.

“Take care,my man!” cried Riviere. “ We cannot spare
you yet.”

“Te has saved my life,” muttered the bravo, “and I have
lost my thousand pounds.”

Again the batteries roared, belching out their storms of iron:
But Matt Blake shouted no more. He wheeled his gun,'and
applied the match mechanically, maintaining a sullen silence
throughout the changing fortunes of the fray. Those near him
noticed that he drank oftener from the rum-bucket, though
the liquor appeared to have little effect upon him; but none

_ could know what a fierce struggle was going on in the bravo’s

mind ; none could see how the blood shrank within him when
Ernest Riviere brushed him occasionally at the gun.

“Tush !” muttered the outlaw. “What recks this popin-
jay that he saved my miserable carcass, but that I am one
more for the work he is at. “T'was a whim that diverted him;
he would have kicked some dog aside to save the cur’s skin,
doubtless. But,” he added; with an oath, “I can’t take the
boy’s life here—not here.”

Thas soliloquized the bravo, as he doggedly served his gun.
Balefully flashed the lurid glare of that broadside which swept
away Sergeant McDaniel; crashing came that cannon-ball
which severed the flagstaff. But Blake went on with his
work, unheedingly, till the powder gave out, and the fort fire
slackened from lack of it. Then, while triumphant cheers
arose from the British, the outlaw only drank again and again,
and leaned moodily against the parapet, till Marion and a
dozen gallant men had run a gauntlet of broadsides, and brought
back more ammunition fram an armed sloop in the river.

Another even approached. The sun sank behind the city.
‘Twilight came and darkness, and then the stars climbed over
the scene of strife. But the fire of the fort was kept up

   
    

    

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

incessantly, till, as the hours passed, one after another of the
British war-vessels dvew off from her anchorage, and at length
the signal-lanterns of retreat swung from the Admiral’s peak.
Moultrie took a long whiff of his pipe, and said:

“T think we have driven them at last.”

“ Yonder,” said Marion, “are some disabled craft that might
be reached.” He pointed, in speaking, to the three vessels
grounded on the shoals, one of which, the Acteon, lay high
upon the rocks. “ With your leave, Colonel, I will take a few
men, and reconnoitre them.”

* God be with you, Major, go!” returned Moultrie; and in a
few moments the brave partisan had selected a small detach-
ment, and was pulling, in a boat, for the stranded frigate,
which had been already abandoned by her crew. Foremost
among the volunteers was Captain Riviere, and, as he sprang,
with Marion, on the Acteon’s decks, he saw close behind him the
countenance of the gunner whose life he had saved. At this
moment, the British fleet was making all sail out of the —

“Let us give them a parting salute from their own guns,”
muttered the bravo. “I doubt they are still loaded.”

“Well thought of,” cried Major Marion; and the word
being given, a last broadside from the Acteon’s pieces crashed
after her consorts, scattering death and terror among their
crews. The battle of Sullivan’s Island was finished, and the
British beaten. ‘The cowed and crippled lion slunk away
before a log-fort, manned by four hundred militiamen.

“Now to the boats!” commanded Major Marion. “This
ship is afire, and may blow up in a moment.”

The Americans lost no time in obeying this otder, but
crowded over the bulwarks to their boats; for the water, no
longer illumined by flashes of artillery, had become dark
around the doomed frigate. It was at this moment, when
Captain Riviere was awaiting till the last man had safely
descended; that he felt himself struck suddenly from behind,
and, toppling forward, felt some one rushing by. Instinetively
he grappled the object, but too late to regain his footing. He
fell heavily over the Acteon’s quarter, dragging with him a
  

08 TNE KING’S MAN:

heavy body, which he clutched with a désperate grasp. A
dull plunge and smothered cry, and Riviere and the object he
held sank in the deep waters.

“ Away! push off! The fire is near. the magazine! We'll
all be blown up!” were the confused shouts that rose from
the boat. “Pull away,” they cried, “ or we are lost!”

The boat shot out into the stream, away from the Acteon’s
dark shadow. Suddenly, along her decks, and up her rigging,
forked flames darted, while a fierce light flashed from stem to
stern. Then she blew up, her scattered fragments falling in
showers on land and river.

The boat containing Marion and his men was rowed slowly
back to the fort ; but a gloom hung over all its crew. Captain
Riviere, the brave volunteer Captain, came not back from the
doomed Acteon. Neither he nor the dark gunner returned to
Charleston, when the joy-bells of triumph rang out, to weleome
the defenders of Sullivan’s Island.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE DUMMY.

A weed flung by ;

A withered floweret, plucked to die—Anon.

On the bank of a small river, near the borders of South
Carolina and Georgia, stood, in 1778, an old house, which
during the Indian wars preceding the Revolution, had been a
sort of stronghold against marauding Cherokees. Its buttressed
walls and loop-hole windows had defended the interior from
more than one savage attack in the past, and gave promise of
good service in the future. A growth of woods along the
river, and behind the plantation appurtenant to this dwelling,
formed a natural bulwark, inclosing out-houses occupied by the
servants of the castle; and the wide avenue of oaks led from
the front door to a highway about a quarter of a mile distant:

     
  
 
 
   
   
    
  
   
   
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
    
  
 

  
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTIT CAROLINA.

The river-banks were grown with thickets and dense under-
brush on all sides, which afforded cover. for game close to th®
house and its detached huts. It offered cover, too, on a sultry
evening, in the autumn of 1778, for a troop. of some twoscore
partisans, whose horses were picketed under the trees. They
were a rough company, clad in buckskin and fustian, and
armed with a variety of weapons; and the lack of discipline
among them showed that they belonged to the irregular
soldiery who, at this period, waged bitter strife on the marshes
of Carolina.

The members of this motley band were scattered in all
directions ; some ranging among the negro-quarters, bantering
the wenches, others seated or lying on the sward, and others
drinking and smoking in groups.. In front of one of the huts
sat a swart-browed man, whose slouched felt hat nearly hid
his features, and whose heavy frame was encased in a garb
half nautical and half military, consisting of a sailor's pea-coat,
with anchor buttons and yellow soldier’s breeches, much the
dirtier for long wear. A pair of dragoon’s pistols, and a for-
midable hunting-knife in his belt, gave a fierce look to this
personage, which seemed to impress with great reverence a
negro who stood near.

“Squire Atnee’s plantation! umph!” quoth the trooper,
emitting a puff of tobacco-smoke from his bearded mouth.
“ You lazy dogs have a good master, I hear.”

“Dar’s no fa’ut to find wi’ Mauss’,” answered the negro.
“ Mauss’ nebber work nigga mon’trous hard.”

“Not a big family to have much work to do up there, I
fancy,’ said the partisan, jerking his head in the direction of
the dwelling-house, whose chimneys could be discerned over
the thick grove surrounding it.

“Ky!” exclaimed the black. “ Reckin Mauss’ Bob’s family
is Mauss’ Bob hisself. Dar’ ain’t no heap o’white folks ’round
dis yer place.”

“Eh, Snowball? Does your master live alone ?”

“ Mauss’ Bob live anywhar’ he please, sah,” answered the
negro, Har’ to-day, yar to-morrow—dat’s Mauss’ Bob. Ole

 

 
 
     

  

60

 

THE KING’S MAN:

   
  
   
  
    
  
  
    
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

Gattan take keer ob de house, and dav’s a couple o’ ole darkies
to cl’ar ’way de chores. We is ficld niggars, down yer, we is.”

“ But where’s your master’s wife?”

“Ky! Mauss’ Bob he got no wife.”

* But he’s got a child, Snowball. I’ve heard tell he had a
little daughter deaf and dumb. Didn't he bring her from
Charleston, eh? ”

The partisan, in asking this question, removed his pipe from
his mouth, and regarded the negro with a sharp look. But
the black suddenly broke into a loud laugh.

“Ky!” he exclaimed. “Is dat yar dummy Mauss’ Bob’s
darter’? *Spec’s Mauss’ keer a heap for his own flesh an’
blood, den.”

“Then the child is here?” cried the partisan, grasping the
| negro’s arms, and speaking in a husky voice.

Hy “De dummy, sah?” :

‘i “Yes, Snowball, what about the dummy ?”

i *“ A’most done gone, Mauss’ ranger,” replied the negro,
shaking his head. “Dar’s no chance for poor dummy, Aunty
Phyllis says.”

“Black scoundrel! what do you mean? Where's the child
—the child, I say?” rejoined the trooper, in savage, though
suppressed tones. ‘What do you mean by saying there’s no
chance for her ?”

: “Kase Aunty Phyllis says dat dummy’s sartain to die ‘fore
sundown. Loy’ bress us, is Mauss’ ranger got de shakes ?””

The negro stared at the partisan, who appeared to. be
shivering, as if suddenly seized by an ague-fit, and whose white
lips mumbled some sounds which were slowly shaped into words.

“Want to see de dummy, sah? Bress de Lor’, she’s over
yonder, at Aunty Phyllis’ cabin, in de swamp,” answered the
black. ‘ Foller along, Mauss’ ranger, I’s jest gwine dar.”

The white man motioned with his hand, and the negro pre-
ceded him, across a corner of the clearing, and down a narrow
pathway through the thick woodland, till they reached some
marshy ground bordering the river. Here stood a weather-
beaten hovel, surrounded by the customary small garden-path.

San a SEEDS DA
.
A 'TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA, . 61

A negress, whose age might have been a century, so shrivelled
and decrepit she seemed, sat at the open hut-door ; and to this
crone the field-negro addressed an inquiry concerning “the
dummy.” But, before she could respond, the partisan had
pushed roughly over her threshold, and at the same moment
uttered a loud ery.

“ What de debble dat?” cried the negro, running past Aunt
Phyllis, to follow the white intruder, and to discover him
kneeling on the clay floor of the hut, his hands clenched in his
shaggy hair, his teeth set, and his eyes fixed in a glassy stare
upon some object before him. 'The negro did not require to be
told that this object was “the dummy.”

A female child, about eight years old, lay on a mattress of
coarse hemp, half covered with dirty cotton cloth. Her face,
delicately fair, was pinched, as from long sickness, and her
neck and arms were worn to mere bone and transparent skin.
The impress of suffering appeared stamped on every lineament,
save only the eyes, which were large and brilliant, and full at
this moment of joyful recognition. Her thin fingers were
locked together, and lifted toward the white man kneeling
beside her pallet. Her lips emitted a strange guttural sound.

“ Bress de Lord,” ejaculated the field-negro, pausing in
astonishment, as he encountered this scene, and immediately
afterward beheld the partisan throw himself forward, to clasp
the young girl in his arms, and lift her tenderly to his breast,
kissing her repeatedly, while heavy tears dropped from his
eyes upon her pale checks. Turning to the crone who had
hobbled forward on her stick, the slave whispered in a low voice:

“ Aunty Phyllis—maybe’s de angel ob def come to car’ poor
dummy off.”

The old woman took no notice of her fellow-African’s re-
mark, but waited quictly a few moments while the white man
continued to embrace the child, and the child uttered its low
brooding, like the cooing of a dove. Presently, however, her
eye caught the little one’s, and, hobbling forward, she laid her
hand upon the stranger’s arm.

“Dat chile’s out o’ breff, massa sojer,”’ said she, softly.

 
  

 

THE KING’S MAN:

“ Please let de darlin’ talk to Aunty Phyllis. Dummy knows
Aunty Phyllis.”

The sick child lifted her weak clasp from the rough man’s
bearded throat, and began to make feeble motions with her
small fingers. Aunt Phyllis dropped her cane, and, raising
both of her shrivelled hands, replied by similar signs. Thus,
during several moments, a pantomime went on between the two
——the negress nodding and shaking her withered head, the

child languidly shaping speech upon her fingers, in the rude

language of the deaf and dumb.
Thus Aunt Phyllis learned that the mute waif. of her cabin

- was the daughter of that fieree man who held her in his arms,

and in return, she related to the partisan how the child had
been brought to the plantation two years before, by her mas-
ter’s nurse, Gattan, and had been thrown into the charge of
Aunt Phyllis, as a helpless “ dummy,” to perish or survive as
nature might determine; how she had taught the little one
rude signs, and learned to interpret its wants; but how month
by month, it had pined and grieved as if for something lost,
till it dwindled to a shadow, “refused its food, forgot its play,”
and sank so low that death’s door now seemed open for, its
passage to a world where suffering is no more.

The rough, dark man, the wondering field negro, the with-
ered old woman leaning on her stick, and the beautiful mute,
pallid and ghost-like, were strange contrasts, in that hut, when
the sunset beams slanted through surrounding tree-tops, robing
them with warm light. Matthew Blake, brayo, pirate, mur-
derer, kissed his dying child again, and laid her to sleep on
the coarse pallet—kissed her tenderly, parting the damp curls
on her forehead ; then, charging the negress Phyllis and her
fellow-black, that they should speak no word of his visit to
any mortal, and giving to each a broad piece of silver, to
ensure their silence, he went out to the camp of his comrades
again, with a new purpose in his stormy soul.

  
    
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

_———_— >

  
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 65

CHAPTER IX.
LAURELWOOD HOUSE.

Embowered in woods,
Deep in a sylvan vale.—Tus Furenns.

Tn what manner Matthew Blake escaped from a watery
grave when the frigate Acteon blew up in Charleston harbour,
will be explained at the proper time. Let it now suftice that
he found himself a trooper in a Tory band, after having served
nearly twenty months as a sailor, on board the British fleet in
American waters.

Meanwhile his employer, Robert Atnce, had pursued his
career in other quarters. The repulse of Admiral Parker, an
event which filled every patriot heart with joy, was to the
Tory a bitter mortification, and the more so, that it was speed-
ily followed by an accusation against himself, founded on
alleged complicity with the enemy. He did not wait to con-
front the charge, but departing from Charleston with all pos-
sible alacrity, retired to his plantation on the borders of
Georgia, there to watch more safely the progress of events.

Meantime, when joy-bells pealed, and Moultrie’s brave
soldiers marched proudly through Charleston’s streets, the
multitude greeting them with cheers and shouts, there was one
household, at least, which could not mingle in the general
jubilee. The little band of volunteers, on whose roll the name
of Ernest Riviere was inscribed, bore a a shrouded flag in their
midst; and, when it passed the house of old John Riviere,
there was silence, and the slow step of a funeral march, to tell
of one who came not with his comrades.

What would have been the horror of those brave men had
they suspected the foul treachery which had deprived them of
a friend and brother; or divined that one who had plotted
the murder of Ernest Rivieve was one of his own kin and
country? Neither the arch-conspirator nor his instrument

 
  

  

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
    

 

THE KING’S MAN?

could be arraigned, and the name of the missing patriot, like
that of the fugitive, soon ceased to be spoken in Charleston.

Robert Atnee, though forced to forego the advantage which
British suecess might have ensured to him, yet exulted in the
certainty that both Riviere and Matt Blake had perished by
the sudden explosion of the Acicon, on whose decks. the two
had been last scen together. Heneeforth, he deemed himself
secure from the discovery of certain dark transactions, whereof
Blake was the confidant, and, feeling no further interest in the
bravo’s unfortunate child, which he had taken with him. to
Laurelwood, he soon abandoned its helplessness to the tender
mercies of a negro household... The interposition of Aunt
Phyllis alone secured her poor “ dummy” from entire neglect,
and so it happened, as we have seen, that the brayo’s innocent
offspring survived. to receive once more the embraces, of her
outlawed father.

Matthew Blake needed not. the recital of Aunt Phyllis to
divine at once what might have been the fate of his child,
abandoned by Atnee as a dumb plaything for his slaves. Since
that fatal night before the battle, when Alice was torn from
her couch, the bravo had. lived only on the hope of regaining
his lost darling. Through long watehes at sea, her pale face
was always before him, and, after many fruitless attempts be
had made his cseape from the flect, and joined a band of
marauding Tories, for the single purpose of searching out the
treacherous Atnee, in whose charge he believed his little one
tobe. After tracking the abductor during four months, he: at
length discovered his treasure, and we shall now follow him
to the house of Robert Atnee, who, at the same heur, was
preparing plots with new confederates,

The sun had disappeared, and the woods were in twilight,
when Matthew Blake left the hovel of Aunty Phyllis, and
proceeded to one of the huts before which he had. picketed his
horse. Entering this, he remained a few moments, and then
emerged, having exchanged his pea-coat for a waggoner’s
frock, and left both pistols and sabre with his horse’s rnde
equipments in the hut. .

  
 
 

 
 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 65

The bravo’s appearance was much changed by the alteration
of his dress, and the evening shadows, now closing in, enabled
him to glide, without being observed, from the boisterous neigh-
bourhood of the Tory camp, and reach a high hedge of shrubbery
which surrounded the mansion-house. Here, skulking under the
balcony foliage, and favoured by the dusk, he could peer into
the open casements, and observe all who entered the dwelling.

When lights began to appear, the bravo saw the old negress
Gattan and her grandchild, Filippa, passing and repassing
within, arranging a table in one of the rooms overhanging the
baleony. He resolved if possible to gain this room and hide
himself in one of the recesses, of which there were many, on
all sides. Climbing the trellis, and crouching under its vines,
he soon projected a mode of concealment.

The windows of the supper-room were hung with velvet
and thin muslin, depending in folds to the floor. The curtains,
at first view, appeared to offer a safe cover, but Matt Blake
reflected that the evening air might render it desirable that
they should be drawn close, in which case, concealment would
be impracticable. He decided, therefore, on another retreat,
The wide fireplace was filled with summer plants, in square
wooden boxes, covering its capacious hearth. The branches
of these house-flowers spread upward, over the mantle, forming
a parlour-conservatory, admirably adapted for screening any
one behind; and it was to Blake but a moment’s work to
enseonce himself in the chimney recess, without disturbing
the appearance of a single leaf. Thus, curtained by flowers
and foliage, he could observe whatever transpired in the
supper-room.

For some moments after the bravo had taken his position,
the apartment remained silent and tenantless, though bril-
liantly illuminated by the lights of a candelabra on the table.
Then the clatter of horses’ hoofs without, and presently the .
sound of voices, announced to Blake that some one was ap-
proaching. His heart beat quickly, in recognizing Robert
Atnee as one of two persons, who, booted and spurred, now
clattered into the apartment,

 
 

66 YHE KING’S MAN?

The Tory was clad in a brown riding-suit, and armed with
swords and pistols, which he presently threw upon a sideboard.
His companion was recognized by Blake as the Captain of the
troop of Tory partisans, of which he himself was a member,
and which was quartered at this hour on the plantation.
Imitating his host, this man unbuckled a heavy sword, and
laid it across one of the old-fashioned arm-chairs drawn up
near the table.

“Captain Richard Yancey, sit and: eat!” eried Atnee, in a
gay tone. “If our ride has sharpened your appetite as ‘it has
mine, we shall do old Gattan’s frugal fare some honour.”

“Gad, Atnee, I’m wolfish, I’ promise ye,” responded» the
partisan Captain, whose square jaws, yellow eyes, and sensual
lips denoted a temperament not averse to animal'comforts;’and
who, without ceremony, threw himself into :an arm-chairand
drew it up to the table. Gattan, the housekeeper, here made
her appearance, followed by a brace of elderly negresses with
smoking dishes, and the two companions were soon engaged in
discussing what was liberally set before them.

“Gad, Atnee, you’ve a paradise of a place here! What a
deuced comfortable thing to be rich, eh? Here am I chasing
round after rebels, from Dan to Beersheba, with no pay,'and
only a chance of plunder now and then.”

“Pay and plunder will come in good time, Captain. “Let
the king get Charleston again, and you'll come infor your
share never fear. His Majesty's forces will ‘soon’ overrun
Georgia.”

“'There’s that ranger Marion and his ragged devils stirring
up trouble again. Zounds, Atnee, ‘twill take a bigger army
than Prevost’s to keep the cursed bottoms from sprouting rebels
as they do cotton-pods. There’s only one way to get on with
’em, Atnee. Hang all, and quarter nobody. But at present
that’s inconvenient, you know.”

“T trust our unhappy South Carolina will soon return ‘to her
allegiance to good King George, Captain Yancy,” said Atnee.
“Let us drink his Majesty’s health, and confusion to: the
Yankee Lincoln and his northern ragamuffins.”

—_ ——
,
,

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 67

‘Tis true, then, that Lincoln is coming here? But he'll
not. catch Prevost: asleep like Burgoyne, eh ?”

“T fancy not,” rejoined Atnee, with a laugh. “ We'll hang
him and his eae as long as the Carolinas grow trees for
the purpose.’

That'll be eomfortable—Gad, it will, Atnee,” cr ried the Tory
Captain, clinking his wine glass. ‘ But, dang it, man,” he
continued, lowering his voice, ane away those nigger hogs,
and let’s have the yaller lady up.”

“ First talk of my business, Captain,” said the host, with a
slight sneer, as he motioned Gattan and the other sable atten-
dants to leave the room. Meantime, the concealed bravo held
his breath to listen.

“All right, Atnec, business first, pleasure afterward,” quoth
the trooper, pouring out his wine. “We understand matters,
you know. I’m yours, till death do us part, as the parson says,
you know.”

“You told me that old John Riviere and his daughter had
already set out from Charleston, and are now on the road to
Beaufort.”

‘©That’sit, Atnee—slow coaches, change of air for the young
lady—doctor’s prescription, seashore, you know.”

« And you are sure they can be intercepted, Captain ? ”

“ Before forty-eight hours pass, they'll strike the Hill Fork,
and there Vl bag them, like partridges, sir—provided we
agree on:terms, you know,” answered the trooper, replenishing
his glass, and filling that of his host; after which he held the
decanter up to the light, pretending to scrutinize it. “Gad,
that’s good stuff of yours, Atnee,” he continued ; « let’s drink
tomy brown beauty, Filippa.”

Atnee drank carelessly, eyeing the trooper’s inflamed coun-
tenance. “ Yancy,” he said, abruptly, and in a measured voice ;

you shall haye the girl, but, by Jove, you must treat her well.”

“Oh, never you mind, Bob Atnee, when there’s a woman
concerned,” returned the partisan, with a leer, “ I’m tender as
alamb, Atnee. What’s that the poet says? ‘Lion in war,
lamb in peace,’ eh, you know.”

 
 

68 THE KING’s MAN!

“ This girl has been raised a lady, Yancey. She's proud and
high-strung, and more than that, I promised never to sell her.’

“Promised who?”

“Old Gattan, her grandmother, who saved my life once.”

“That high-stepping old jade, eh? Oh, bother your promise.
You want Riviere’s widow, and I must have your brown chattel.
Say the word, and the bargain’s made—wench for wench.”

“ Filippa shall be yours, Yancey ; but Gattan must not know
that I consent to it. To-morrow, when I accompany you, the
girl shall go with us on horseback, under the pretence that her
attendance is required for the lady. If you find means to earry
her off while I secure my prize, of course I cannot prevent it.
Do you comprehend the romance, Yancey ?”

“Perfectly,” rejoined the Captain. “Give me you, Atnee
for plotting at any time. And now, haye her up here fora
bit, eh, Atnee ?”

The host pulled a bell-cord, and summoned the quadroon
girl, who came, in company with Gattan. Filippa approached
the table, but her eye fell on encountering the trooper’s bold
gaze.

“The gentleman is a soldier of the king, and our good friend,
Filippa,” said her master. “ He desires you to take a glass of
wine with him.”

“Philippa is not well to-night,” interposed the old negress,
observing that her grand-daughter shrank from the table.

“Nay, ’tis to my health Gattan,” responded Atnee, with a
covert glance at his young slave. The poor girl started, and
held out her hand for the glass which Atnee filled) for her.
Captain Yancey filled his own, never ceasing to regard her
with admiring stare.

“Now, my brown beauty, hip—to your master’s health, and
may you love him to distraction !””

Filippa had lifted the glass to her lips, but, the trooper’s
words caused her to tremble so ——- that the wine was
spilled plentifully.

“ Here touch my glass with — cherry lips, my brown
beauty,” cried the Captain, rising unsteadily, for the fumes of
  

  

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 69

intoxication were mounting to his thick brain. But Robert
Antee laid his hand upon him.

“T fear the girl is not well. Gattan, let Filippa retire with
you—the Captain will excuse her to-night.”

He squeezed the trooper’s arm, pressing him back to his
chair, while the negress hastened with her grandchild from
the apartment.

*Deuced shame. Gad, Atnee, what right haye you?—
Brown beauty’s my property, you know.”

“Not yet,” said the Tory, significantly. ‘Come, my brave
Captain, we have work to-morrow. Let us drink our night-
caps.”

Atnee filled again as he spoke, and drank with the Captain,
who was fast becoming bewildered, and who ludicrously ac-
cepted the attentions of an attendant, summoned to conduct
him to his chamber. The Tory bade good night to his guest,
apd was once more, as he thought, alone.

* This besotted marauder,” he muttered, “should never have
the girl, if he were not, as he is, so necessary. But Louise
Riviere must’ be mine, or her death secure me the reversion of
my uncle’s property. For such a stake, what is a slave girl to
me? .Ldoubt she loves me, in her wild way, and I must stipu-
late that this brute Yancey shall treat her well. But Louise
and old Riviere, they must not escape me.” Robert Atnee
filled another glass of wine. ‘“ To-morrow night,” he resumed,
“to-morrow night, Ishall turn the tables on them.” He began
to drink slowly; and at this moment the bravo, Matthew
Blake, putting aside the flowers that concealed him, emerged
from the fireplace, and stood at the back of his foe. Robert
Atnee sipped his wine, but ere the glass was drained, an iron
grasp was on his throat, and a dagger gleamed before his
startled eyes.

“Ha! ha! Master Atnee,” laughed Matthew Blake.

The tone of that remembered name caused Atnee’s blood
to congeal, as, struggling to eseape, he gasped for breath essay-
ing to cry out, but in yain. His enemy’s fingers were like a
vice, E

,

 

 

   
   

  

70 THE KING’S MAN:

“T have come for my child, d’ye hear, Robert Atnee ?—for
my Alice, whom you stole from her bed. I swore, when we
parted, that my revenge would follow you, if you paltered
with me. Robber! I know that my child is here; and you—
you shall die!”

Atnee struggled, but uselessly. The strong-armed man
lifted him from the chair, bending back his head, and poised
the weapon that he held for a fatal blow. But, ere it could
fall, a white figure glided silently over the carpet, and inter-
posed under the impending arm. Matthew Blake saw no face
—it was hidden upon the Tory’s bosom; but the white robe,
the woman’s form, unnerved «him for an instant, and in the
next he felt the sharp chill of steel thrill through his side.
The woman had stabbed him, uttering a loud shriek.

Matt Blake heard the sound of coming feet, felt the blood
trickling from his wound, and staggered back, his dagger fall-
ing to the floor. Then, turning with a superstitious dread,
and rushing to the window, he flung himself over the baleony.
His brain was dizzy, and, as he fled through the dark avenue,
he drew from his side, where it had been struck a long, thin
stiletto.

Meantime, the Tory lay insensible on his arm-chair, where
he had sunk, half strangled, when Blake released his hold.
Overcome with pain and terror, he knew not: that he Swas
saved.

But as he lay, with closed eyes and discoloured features,
under the glare of the candelabra, Filippa, the’ quadroon, bent
oyer him, pressing her lips to his pallid forehead, while ‘her
brow, cheeks, and neck were crimson with burning blood.

Again had Filippa preserved her master’s life. And now,
as the negress Gattan entered, the quadroon pressed her finger
on her lips and glided away as she came, like a spirit.

   
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

CHAPTER X.
THE CHILD'S GRAVE.
I will not pause—I will not tire,
Till vengeance slake my righteous ire.—TAYLOR.

Moryineé. broke over Laurelwood Honse, and the smiling
landscape that encompassed it. The air grew fragrant with
the scents of flowers, the skies golden with sunshine, and
everything in nature seemed blessed and beautiful.

«But to Robert Atnee, hastening to consummate his vil-
lanies, and to the wretched Matthew Blake, baulked of his
reyenge, the morning might as well have been barren of both
perfume, and brightness. The Tory and his partisan’ con-
federate, Yancey, were early on the road, and had left the
plantation far behind them, ere the sun was two hours high.
But it was near the noontide before the negress, Aunt Phyllis,
seated at her hut-door, beheld a staggering form emerge from
the swamp wood into the clearing, and reel toward her, with
extended hands, in one of which was clutched a bloody wea-
pon. She tottered to her feet, and essayed to ery aloud for
help, but, fright paralyzed her tongue, and she could only
sink back again, crouching beside her threshold.

Little, however, had she to fear from the wretched being,
who, with unsteady motion and wandering eyes, approached
and sunk on the sward before her hovel. It was Matthew
Blake; but how changed from the fierce trooper who had found
his child under her roof the evening previous! The man’s
large frame was now weak as a child from loss of blood, and
his mind was equally enfeebled by the effects of delirium,
During more than a dozen hours, since his abortive attack
upon Atnee, the bravo had lain, through darkness and light,
at the foot of a cypress-tree in the swamp, where he had
fallen exhausted, after his flight from the mansion. The
stiletto with which Filippa stabbed him had pierced deeply,

 

  
 

72 THE KING’S MAN:

though not vitally, and oecasioned a slow bleeding coupled
with fever. No human eye had watched, no human hand
soothed the paroxysm which had afflicted the wretched man
during all his hours of agony. Alone he had wrestled with
pain, till the loss of blood reduced his fever, and left him
barely strength to gain the hut of Aunty Phyllis, with one
thought absorbing his miserable heart, and informing’ his
misty intelligence—the thought of his dumb child, Alice.

Alice! Her name had ever softened Blake’s indurated nature,
and illumined his dark soul with glimmerings of humanity
and love. It recalled his scattered senses, and drew his stag-
gering steps to the crone’s hovel; and he breathed it as he
sank before the door-sill. Aunt Phyllis quickly saw the man’s
condition, and conceiving that he must have been wounded
in some recent mélée, hastened to render her assistance. She
staunched and bound his still bleeding wound, and, hobbling
into the hut, returned with a cup of rum and sugared water,
which she forced between his compressed lips. In a few
moments, he revived, and, with returning consciousness, asked
concerning his child. Aunt Phyllis shook her head ; and the
wretched father struggled with difficulty to his’ feet, and
entered the hut with her.

The dumb girl lay upon her pallet, near the single window,
shaded with thick vines, through which the sunshine could
not glare; but the day was a sultry one, and the child seemed
to be labouring for air, her breath coming quick and short.
Her eyes were closed, her face pallid as marble and damp
with heavy perspiration. Matthew Blake threw himself
beside the bed, and, with 2 wild look gazed upon his dying
child, for she was indeed passing away. Another form at
this moment darkened the narrow doorway ; it was that of
the field negro who had, the night before, conducted’ the
trooper to the hovel.

“Ts ye heerd about Mauss’ ” the black was beginning
a sentence, when he caught sight of the bravo cowering over
his child, and at once became mute, and crept softly toward
the crone, whose shrivelled form was doubled upon her staff.

 
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA, 73

Aunt Phyllis shook her head significantly, and. the two
remained silent, regarding the father and his child.

The southern sun rode high, and its beams fell vertically
upon the low swamp dwelling. Matthew Blake’s fever was
gone, but more than physical torture racked his wretched
soul. He groyelled on the clay floor of the hut, sobbing
aloud, and writhing till the blood streamed again from his
wounded side. Then he would become less violent, and bow
over his child, wringing his hands, and laying his bearded
face beside her white cheek. But at last, as all mortal things
end, so ended the dumb one’s suffering existence. Her eyes
sought those of her father, with a parting look of love, her
blue lips feebly moved for a last kiss, and Matt Blake’s dar-
ling was freed from pain for ever.

Neither Aunty Phyllis nor her fellow-slave cared to disturb
the deathlike swoon into which the trooper sank after his
last embrace of the child. He lay stretched upon the ground,
cold and pale, with jaws rigidly set, and only a stertorous
breathing at intervals denoting that he lived. The two blacks
busied. themselves in preparing the body for burial, a task
that required indeed but little labour ; and it was not till the
frail remains of beauty had been swathed and laid out ona
new cotton cloth, that the rough father again awoke to a rea-
lization of his loss. When he did, it was to exhibit no more
violence of grief; but he eagerly grasped the cup of. rum
which was proffcred to him, and drained its contents at a
gulp. Thus stimulated, he looked, with dry eyes and a scowl-
ing brow, on the shiny face of his dead, and moodily replied
to Aunt Phyllis’s questions concerning her burial. Meantime,
the field-hands had carried the news of ‘“‘dummy’s death” to
the negro quarters, and a crowd of blacks scon appeared at
the hut-door, eager to look upon the white child’s face ere it
should be covered away for ever, ;

Matt Blake, sitting at the bedside, in gloomy apathy,
regarded not the intruders, nor listened to their low whispers,
He only nodded when Aunty Phyllis spoke to him, and watched
vacantly what she did, And when, at sunset, the negra

 
  

THE KING'S MAN:

brought ina rude pine coffin, and when, at a later hour; a
sombre. procession went out, under the moonlight, and with
torches, and traversed the dark swamp-forest, bearing the dead
child, Matthew Blake walked, like one in his sleep, with head
bowed, to the plantation burial-place, and saw, without a word,
the clay cast upon all he had loved during years of his dark life.

But when, after tue burtal, the pitying. blacks would have
led him away, he shook them off, and threw himself prostrate
upon the new graye. ‘Leave me!” he cried, hoaxsely, to
Aunt Phyllis. ‘Go your ways, and let me be alone!”

The negress departed, and Matt Blake remained upon the
fresh earth that covered the dust of Alice. The burial-place
was at the end of the swamp, where the ground sloped from
a ridge to the river near a fording-place. Tall trunks of pal-
mettoes were scattered here and there, and there was.a grave
upon the highest part of the land, within which were several
white tomb-stones, marking the resting-place of white masters,
while the undistinguished grayes of bondmen occupied the
swamp-land below. The dumb child had been Jaid.on the
exposed hillock-side, and upon it, and on Blake’s form, the
bright moonlight fell gloriously. But he, wretched, man,
recked not of heaven or earth, as he tore his hair, and gnashed
his teeth, calling upon the name of his lost one. _ Still prone
on the clay he kept his vigils, and so was found by the field-
negro and another black, who returned, after some hours, with
food and a flask of rum, sent by the compassionate Phyllis.

* Mauss’ ranger mus’ eat a bit,” said the slave. “Dis yer
bacon and sweet ’tater is mighty good, Mauss’, and dars a drop
o suthin’ that’s raal. Drink it Mauss’, it’ll do ye good.’

Blake seized the flask, and speed. § it to his lips, and
ravenously devoured the viands.

“ T is takin’ keer o’ Mauss’s pony,” continued the black,
“ Poor critter might ha’ done starved to def—”

‘“‘ My horse!” cried the trooper, ‘ah! where is he—and the
band?”

“‘ Done gone, Mauss’—all rode clean away, ‘long wi’ Mauss’
Robert and de Cap'n.’

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
   
   
 
 
 
    
2 :
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 75

Blake pressed his hands to his forehead, and appeared to
ponder'a moment; then, with a fierce abruptness, he cried,

‘© Bring: me the mare—I must be off from this.”

ofSIs you strong enough to ride, Mauss’ ranger?”

‘Bring me the mare,” repeated Blake, and’ rum—do' you
hear?—another flask of the spirits. 'There’s money for you.”

He thrust his hand tinder his waggoner’s frock, and, draw-
ingvout a pouch, took from it a couple of silver dollars, and
handed:them to the black. Then, turning his head, he threw
himself back upon the grave. The blacks withdrew, terrified
at his strange demeanour.

A-‘sudden image had entered into the man’s breast, with
the mention by the negro of his horse. The form of Robert
Atnée riding, as he had overheard him "plot, to waylay the
merchant Riviere and his niece, presented itself vividly to his
heated fancy, and he resolved at the moment, to pursue and
carry out his purpose of revenge upon his enemy. Once in
possession of his brain, this desperate project overmastered all
other impulses. No sooner had the negro disappeared than
herose ‘to his feet, and began to examine the bandages which
confined his wounded side. His repeated draughts of spirits
had lent artificial vigour to his iron frame.

‘While thus occupied, the trooper heard a sound in the dis-
tanée, which his quick ear recognized as the clatter of horses’
hoofs, and, in a few moments, he beheld a dozen riders ap-
proaching by the river road, which diverged, near the swamp
cemetery, at a fording-place. From his position, on the hill-
side; Blake could see them descend to the shallow water, and
cast their bridles loose, to permit the horses to drink. The
moonlight irradiated all objects, and threw the figures of men
and steeds into strong relief; and he saw that they were not
his own comrades of Yancey’s troop, though clad much like
them, in the rough garments of hunters and woodsmen.
“ They must be rebel scouts,’ muttered the partisan. “I heard
they were out on the borders. What care I for rebels or
king’s men ? My enemy is Atnee.”

As the man said this to himself, he heard the noise of hoofs

 
 

  

76 THE KING'S MAN!

on the woodland sward, and immediately afterward the negro
appeared, riding from the swamp-wood, out into the moonlight
among the graves. He recognized his own mare, and at the
same instant became aware that the sound of her feet had
reached the horsemen at the pond; for there was an instanta-
neous movement of the whole into line upon the river-bank.
Matthew Blake at once decided on his course; and no sooner
did the negro dismount at his side, than he leaned upon him
and clambered to the saddle. Then, bidding the black an
abrupt “good night,” he galloped down the hillock toward
the pond, and was soon in front of the strange horsemen.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” was the saluta-
tion which Blake received, as he pulled up his mare, and
lifted his haggard eyes to him who appeared to be the leader
of the troop. The bravo started, both at the voice and coun-
tenance which confronted him.

“Ha!” he muttered, involuntarily, “’tis the ranger, Jasper.”

“ And I know your face,” quickly responded the other.
“Tt is pale now, but I have seen it grimed with powder-
smoke, You were at Sullivan’s Island—a gunner.”

‘J was'a volunteer gunner in that log-fort affair,” rejoined
Blake, “and paid dear enough for it afterward. But’tisa
long story, sir, and will do for the morrow. At present, if it
be agreeable, I’m a volunteer at your service.” Blake said
this in an off-hand way, at the same time narrowly observing
the ranger, whose reminiscences of Sullivan’s Island he cared
not to recall too vividly.

‘Tf you be a true man,” replied the bluff Sergeant, “I will
talk of that matter as we push on, Ifyou be spy or traitor,
God help you.” So saying, Jasper turned his horse’s head to
the ford, and the troop rode forward, under a full moon that
silvered all things with its light. Matt Blake turned in his
saddle on gaining the opposite bank, and cast a parting look
on the hill-side where he had hidden away the treasure of his
dark life. Then, dashing his hand across his brow, he mut-
tered a curse, coupled with the name of Robert Atnee, and
spurred on at the side of his new leader.

 

 
 
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

a

-~I

CHAPTER XI.
THE FOREST AMBUSH.

With foot to foot, and steel to-steel,
They met and waged their frequent war,
Till all the green turf ran with gore—MArMoray.

MANY hours after the meeting of Matt Blake with Jasper,
the ranger, these two new allies might have been discovered,
had they not studiously sought concealment, halting, rein to
rein, in a thick woody covert, curtained from the highway by
a pendent growth of foliage. Their steeds were drawn up
immoveable in a wide fissure of the bank, above which hung
the branches of a gnarled sycamore, overrun with parasitic
vines, that completely veiled the figures of horses and riders.
Behind, in the forest-recesses, were the remainder of Jasper’s ~
small troop, alike motionless in the green shadows.

From the elevated position which they had secured, our
hidden horsemen could command the highway on cither side,
and trace its sinuous course in ascents and descents, at inter-
vals for several miles, though it was lost, here and there, in
long stretches of woodland.

‘* Our short course across the country, and the speed of our
ride, ought to have gained us a good day’s march, comrade,”
said Jasper to his dark-browned associate. ‘Yet, here are
we, at the Hill Fork, with no signs of your marauders as yet.
How is that comrade?” And the Sergeant’s sharp eye flashed
on Matt Blake, as if it would penetrate his thoughts. But the
outlaw scarcely lifted his own glance, as he replicd moodily :

“ We are here, at the Hill Fork, sure enough; and we have
gained, as you say, aday’s march. Well, let us bide here.”

“Very good; but I neither see nor hear aught, to right or
left——”

‘* My eyes are older than yours, Sergeant; nevertheless, I
can tell two clouds of dust from two clouds in the heayens.”

 

 
   
 

    

THE KING’S MAN:

Saying this, Blake jerked his hand to the right and left, and
Jasper exclaimed at once:

“You're right, comrade, and I ask your pardon for what I
said just now. There are clouds of dust rising over yon valley,
and to the left of the forest yonder.”

‘Ay, whoever they be that make them, we shall find all
face to face not far from this ambush of ours,” rejoined the
bravo. “The valley just below us here will ring with hoofs
ere an hour go by.”

“You are right; they must meet in yon hollow,” returned
Jasper, ‘and a notable angle for sorti¢ is this Hill Fork, com-
rade.”

The two watchers became silent, each intent’ on following
the movements of those wreaths of white dust which were at
first hardly discernible in the distance, but presently grew more
palpable, as they approached one another. Sergeant Jasper,
to whom Matt Blake had communicated all that he had learned,
regarding the contemplated foray of Captain Yancey, ‘now
perceived that the celerity with which his own men had tra-
versed the defiles they had taken since day-break, must ‘have
placed them in advance of the Tory troopers, who had skirted
the hills ina route of double the length. He was thus gratified
in finding himself able to take a post between the king’s men
_ and their anticipated victims; a situation which promised the
_ bold partisan an opportunity of interposing at the right mo-
ment, and perhaps defeating ths nefarious'schemes in progi‘ess.

Tt was not long before the approaching cavalcades could be
distinguished fairly, as they crossed the more exposed portions
_ of highway, between patches of woodland. ‘Their’ ‘¢ouvse,
being around the low-hill skirts, prevented either from dis-
covering the other, while both coutinued under scrutiny of’the
concealed rangers above them. As they approached, Jasper
saw that the force with which he must contend was at Jeast
double his own, while that of the party which Yancey waylaid
consisted of only four mounted men, and a carriage drawn’ by
two horses.

“Tn that coach, probably, is the poor lady whom they seek
    

   

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 79

to kidnap, comrade,” remarked the ranger; ‘and her father,
it is likely, rides with her; for those in saddle are all black, if
my eyes can be depended on.’

“The merchant’s servants, I doubt,” answered Blake. ‘But
see! the troopers have entered the wood to the right of us, in
the hollow. Think you they’ll halt where they are till yon
slow-dragging coach creeps round to them?”

“ Hist! lie close!” was the ranger’s rejoinder; and at that
moment the sound of a horse’s hoofs galloping below them,
struck upon the ears of both. Presently, the gallop subsided
to a slower pace, and in a few moments they heard the snort
of a steed on the road, from which they were hidden by the
thick vines. Peering out, they beheld a rough looking horse-
man, whom Matt Blake at once recognized as a late comrade
of his own in Yancey’s partisan band. This man drew rein at
the brow of the hill, immediately in front of the cloyen bluff
which concealed the ranger, and appeared to discover the ap-
proaching travelling coach at once, for he uttered an exclama-
tion, turned his horse’s head, and clattered back as he had come.

‘‘ Thank you, master scout, for giving us just the bit of
notice we wanted,” said Jasper, with a smile, as he heard the
hoof-beats die away. ‘ And now, comrades, let us make ready
for our work.’’. So saying, the brave ranger touched his
horse’s.rein softly, and the trained animal cautiously moved
into the wood.. Matt Blake followed, and as he rode up,
Jasper stretched out his hand to him, saying:

‘*T ask your pardon, for misdoubting you somewhat. this
morning. There’s my hand, as a true comrade in the fight, and
when that’s over, you shall tell me what you like about your-
self.”

The outlaw took the offered hand, but no smile lit up his
dark face, as, in response to the honest ranger, he muttered:

‘<T care not how hard and desperate the fight may be,” and
then rode on in silence.

The dozen rangers under Jasper’s command stood each at
his horse’s head, bridle in hand, while their steeds cropped the
sward, A few words from their leader sufficed to disclose his
 

80 THE KING'S MAN:

plan, and then the rangers moved slowly through the intrica-
cies of the wood, passing its declivities by narrow paths, each
horse led cautiously. An hour was consumed in this descent,
before they reached the valley plateau, and became aware that
they were in proximity to a larger wood, wherein Yancey’s
troopers had halted, to await the arrival of their prey.

It was in good time that Jasper and his men were come, for
the lumbering carriage was already creaking down the narrow
road that bordered the woodlands, and, ere they were fairly in
the saddle, shouts and cries reached their ears, announcing the
attack. The Sergeant and Matt Blake spurred forward, and
in a brief space came in sight of the highway, while a succes-
sion of sharp shots were startling the echoes of the forest.

The coach had been stopped and surrounded. A dozen of
the marauders were engaged in mastering the black servants,
others held the horses, while others were grappling with an
aged man, who, with a pistol in either hand, stood by the
coach-door, out of which he had apparently sprung to defend
it. Robert Atnee was in the act of dismounting, while’a negro
servant held his bridle, and Yancey, reigning his steed close
by, had seized the bridle of another horse, whereon was the
quadroon, Filippa, apparently bewildered by the scene. At
least a score of the Tory’s troops were drawn up in line at the
wood openings, and seemingly taking no part in the fray. One
glance was enough for Sergeant Jasper—to reveal to him all,
He whistled shrilly to his men, and, with brandished sabre,
dashed, at their head, across the highway.
| It was:a gallant charge, and, in amoment, there wasa mélé.

' The onset was directed upon the troopers who were drawn up
in saddle, and half a dozen of these were cloven to the ground
jn an instant. Wheeling rapidly, the patriot rangers turned
upon the broken line, and, after unhorsing a few more, found
themselves engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict with the entire
troop of Tories, rallying under their Captain.

Matthow Blake’s oyo had singled out Atnes, and, after the
_ first aweop upon tho marauders, he turned to confront the Tory,
- whavemalned on foot beside the carriage, Though still feeble
are ee

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 81

from his wound, he aimed a deadly blow at his enemy, who par-
ried it with his own blade, and then darted behind the massive
coach.

“Coward! Atnee! you escape not thus,” yelled Matt Blake,
wheeling his horse around, in pursuit. But, at this juncture,
the negro, who held the bridle of Atnee’s horse, fired a shot
at the brayo’s steed, which brought him to his haunches, and
Blake rolled heavily from his seat. The next moment, he
heard Atnee’s voice from the coach-box: “ Quick, Juniper!
the reins! the reins!”

Matt Blake, disengaging himself from the stirrups, strug-
gled to his feet, in time to behold the carriage rolling away,
his enemy, Atnee, lashing the frightened horses to the top of
their speed, while curbing them with a firm grasp of the
reins, Gnashing his teeth with rage, the outlaw turned on
the black, Juniper, who had rendered Atnee such timely aid,
and who was. now in the act of mounting his master’s horse,
to follow him. A fierce blow of his sabre stretched the negro.
at his feet, and, the next moment, Blake was in the saddle
again.

But it was vain to think of pursuing the carriage. A fierce
battle confronted him on all sides. More than half of Yancey’s
troop had fallen, but the remainder were fighting desperately,
and five of Jasper’s rangers lay dead on the highway. The
dusky hollow in which they fought resounded with frightful
cries, pistol-shots, and sabre-strokes. Blake found himself
in a contest with three of his former comrades, and beheld
his late Captain at a little distance, engaged with Filippa, the
quadroon, who struggled in his grasp like a lioness, while he
endeavoured to manage both her and the restless animal on
which she was mounted.

The: rumbling of the eoach-wheels echoed through the
woods, and then suddenly ceased. Sergeant Jasper’s voice
was heard, enconraging the remnant of his little band, and,
immediately afterwards, half a dozen red-coated horsemen
appeared, advancing from the direction in which the carriags
had disappeared, The Tory partisans set up a lond shout,

 
  

   

  

82 THE KING’S MAN:
and Jasper whistled to his men. Matt Blake, hard pressed
by the marauders, saw his only chance was in flight, for he
recognized the uniform of the new comers as that of British
regulars, belonging, probably, to the troops of Provost, then on
the borders. Spurring the horse which he bestrode, a few
leaps placed him on the main road, and he galloped wildly
away, his speed increased by the clatter of pursuing troops.

It was near sunset, and shadows crept up from the valleys -
and woodlands, announcing speedy twilight. ‘The noise of
battle grew fainter, but Matthew Blake could hear the hoofs
continually following him. Thus he galloped for several
miles, still descending into shadows, when suddenly the report
of a pistol, accompanied by the shrill ery of a woman, caused
him to check his steed andlook behind. Scarcely two hun-
dred yards behind, he saw the quadroon, Filippa, with Yancey,
the Tory, riding closely after her. The smoke of a pistol
which she had just fired circled over the girl, and Yancey’s
arm was just descending upon her head. The next moment,
she fell from her saddle, and her horse galloped wildly past.

‘A dastard blow,” muttered Blake, with an oath, as he
drove his spurred heel into the flanks of his steed, which,
with one bound, brought him in front of the Tory leader.
But, before he could lift his hand to strike, as he intended,
Yancey swayed in his saddle and toppled off, his feet entan-
gled in his stirrups, Thus dragged upon the dusty road, he
swept by in a moment, and Matt Blake found himself alone,
on the darkening road, with the prostrate form of Filippa
lying under his horse's feet.

“ Is she dead or alive?” muttered the outlaw, as he threw
himself from his horse, and bent over the white-robed girl.
She had fallen on her back, and her face, half turned, was
covered with blood, which flowed from a wound inflicted by
the heavy sword-hilt of Captain Yancey. Blake placed. his
hand on her pulse, and found that it yet fluttered; then,
exerting himself for the effort, he lifted her across the saddle
of his horse, and thus sustaining her, directed his course from
the road, into the deepening gloom of the forest, His quick
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 83
ear caught the sound of a not distant waterfall, and with
cautious march he proceeded toward it.

It was a mountain torrent, precipitated with incessant roar
from the heights of the Hill Fork, over almost perpendicular
shelves. Behind it the mountain was cloven, and, on either
side, the rocky walls were overgrown with mosses and ever-
greens. Blake speedily found a soft’ moss-grown bank,
whereon he deposited his insensible charge, and, with water
from the cataract, and a few drops from his canteen, soon
brought her to consciousness again. But he almost eursed
himself for his officiousness, when he heard the first words
shaped by her lips.

“ Master Robert—thank God—I have saved you, eee
Master Robert !”

“Ay!” muttered Blake, between his teeth. “She is think-
al hat”’

The short laugh sounded strange enough, in that dim place,
with searce light enough to disclose the face of either man or
woman.

« Hist!’ whispered the outlaw to Filippa; “be quiet, till
you are stronger! Take another sup of the spirits, child.”

“Where am I?” murmured the girl, feebly. “ Master
Robert! Master Robert !”’

«Tis no use calling him; he’s far away,” cried Blake.
« Bat you are safe, wench, for all that; safer than with the
mastér who sold you.”

“$old! sold!” repeated Filippa, with a shuddering moan.
“Who is sold?” She attempted to lift her head, but satik
back feebly.

‘No matter now, wench; take another sup, and lie still,
till: I ‘wash and bandage that head of yours. ’Twas a savage
blow, and might have killed you. Lie still, now!” :

Thus, roughly performing the part of a nurse, (how differ-
ent had been his wont with another helpless one !) Matthew
Blake ‘brought water from the fall, and cleansed the blood:
from Filippa’s glossy hair—contriving to stop the effusion
with healing leayes and a portion of his frock, which ‘had

                                             

 

  
       
  
    
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

84

 

THE KING'S MAN:

served for his own bandages the night previous. ‘Then, after
picketing his horse, and making up a rude bed for the quadroon
under the shelving rocks, he went out and sat under the rear
of the cataract, with his head buried in his hands, to think
upon his dead Alice.

. CHAPTER XII.

ROBERT ATNEE’S SCHEMES. |

Full well he knew each mode of guile,
Each subtle snare, each specious wile.—SPENCE.

GATTAN, the negress left in charge of Laurelwood mansion,
gazed anxiously after the cavaleade which had passed out of
the shaded park to the highway. Many forebodings had the
crone that her master was intent on matters which might
bring no good to herself and Filippa; for the scene in Robert
Atnee’s saloon, the night previous, when the quadroon was
summoned to drink wine with a brutal guest, had not failed to
impress her grandmother with a suspicion that some under-
standing concerning the young slave existed between the Tory
and Yancey, the trooper. But she had breathed no word of
doubt to Filippa; for she knew that the quadroon’s soul was
devoted to her master, and that the poor girl would resent a
syllable spoken in doubt of him as a crime worse than treason
to the king.

To Gattan, indeed, the strange passion of her grandchild
had been long known, as well as the incessant watchfulness
of Filippa over Atnee, which had twice interposed to rescue
him from deadly jeopardy. ‘She knew, too, that Atnee was
aware of his slave’s devotion, and that he could not but sus-
pect, though he had never avowed it, the instrumentality of
Filippa in saving his life; but the old woman was quite
unequal to a comprehension of her owner’s cold selfishness of
nature, which made him the unscrupulous villain that he was.
To her he had always been the “Master Robert” who had
A TALE OF SOULH CAROLINA, 85

nestled in her bosom in infancy, and whose boyhood. and
youth she had gloried in. ‘The hard, calculating, plotting
Tory had ever veiled his real. character in her presence; and
it was not marvellous, then, if she reposed implicit confidence
in the promise he had long since made to her, that Filippa
should neyer be parted from her, to go among strangers.

Gattan, nevertheless, was not blind. She remembered how
Atnee had spoken; on more than one occasion of late years,
concerning his declining fortunes, and of the expense of main-
taining his mansion at Laurelwood. She trembled to think
that Filippa might yet be sold, though never venturing to hint
a possibility of it to the quadroon herself. But, when Robert
Atnee set out that morning, with the troop of Captain Yancey,
and when Filippa, who was accompany him “ to meet a lady,”
as the master assured them, mounted a horse, and followed
with the Tory’s body-servant, Juniper, old Gattan’s brain was
filled with vague and troubled surmisings.

Poor Gattan! she had reason to recall her doubts and fore-
bodings when, on the third morning, the wheels of a carriage
rolled into Laurelwood gates, and her master presented him-
self in the drawing-room, bearing in his arms the form of a
lady, pale and insensible, whom he placed in her charge with
a few hurried commands. Filippa came not back with him
nor the valet Juniper, and to her inquiries concerning the
quadroon, she obtained only evasive replies, which were worse
than certainties of the young slave’s loss.

But Robert Atnee, moody and fitful, took little heed of
Gattan’s anxiety. He gave directions at once to an old negro,
his farm-overseer, to take charge of the plantation, during a
long journey which he was about to make, ordered trunks and
portmanteaus of his own to be packed, and announced his
intention to set off immediately for the seaboard. But, dis-
simulating to the last, he assured Gattan that Filippa would
shortly return, and in the meantime, and until she should hear
from him, the household affairs were to be conducted as had
been usual during his absences from the estate. At daybreak,
the morning succeeding his return, Robert Atnee again set

 
 

 

86 TUE KING’S MAN!

out; with the same carriage which he had brought, but with
attendants selected from his:most valued slaves.

Meanwhile, Gattan had learned but little from the lady con-
fided to her care, and whom she knew as her master’s cousin
Louise.» Enfeebled by previous illness, the bereaved wife of
Ernest Riviere had lost all consciousness, at the moment when
the marauders stopped the carriage, and her uncle sprang out
to defend her ; and when her senses returned, it was to’ find
herself in company with Robert Atnec, whom she had not
encountered since the night of her bridal, two years before.
The crafty Tory played his part well. He represented himself
as her rescuer from the Tories, and avowed his resolution to
protect her, till the whereabouts of her uncle could be ascer-
tained. A plausible story of arresting her carriage, as it was
dragged furiously by runaway horses, sufficed to account for
his presence, and he offered the shelter of Laurelwood, and an
escort to Beaufort as speedily as possible. Louise was com-
pletely deluded, and though filled with misgivings regarding
her uncle, ccnfided in the promises of her cousin Robert, that
eyery exertion should be at once made to discover him.

The insidious Tory already began to exult in his influence
over the widowed mourner, whose beauty, though softened by
sorrow, recalled his passion of former years. “But Atnce’s
ulterior object was a more powerful one. He had matured in his
mind a scheme which was yet, as he trusted, to place him in
possession not only of Louise, but of her fortune. He well
knew that the king’s forces were concentrating for the capture
of Savannah and Charleston, as they had already overrun
Georgia and the seaboard; and when the sway of Britain
should be established, he doubted not that his claims to’ the
forfeited estates of his cousin could easily be made good, and a
union with Louise insure for him the undisturbed possession of
them: Louise was now in his power, and unsuspicious of ‘his
motives; and he hoped with specious reasonings to reconcile
her ere long to all his purposes.

* Riviere is out of the way,” muttered the plotting Tory, as
he mentally revolved his projects; “her uncle will be power-
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 87

less to protect her; and she is but a woman, after all. A few
months in the West Indies, till affairs are settled here once
more ; and then, Robert Atnee, your star will rise.”

So mused the master of Laurelwood, as he placed Louise
Riviere again in her carriage, and with courtly gallantry
placed himself opposite to her, for their journey, as the de-
ceived lady believed, to her friends in Beaufort. The coach
passed from the park, and out to the highway, and Gattan,
the housekeeper, was once more left in charge of the mansion.

Not long, however, was the negress to remain alone, for
Filippa returned that evening, worn out, as if with suffering.
She was escorted by a dark and travel-stained man, who had,
as she ayerred, preserved her life. . But how changed had the
quadroon become during her brief absence. She only smiled
faintly, when Gattan threw herself upon her breast in half-
frantic weleome—smiled, and then kissed the plain gold ring
which always gleamed on her left hand. The man who came
with her was moody and silent, and stayed but to partake of
some refreshments, then abruptly took his leave.

The next day Laurelwood resumed its routine, as far as the
field-servants, under the overseer, were concerned. But Gattan,
the housekeeper, remained for hours shut up with Filippa;
and the two, when they went about again, appeared no longer
the same as before. The old woman grew feebler, and the
quadroon, seldom spoke and never smiled. Juniper, the black
body-servant of Robert Atnee, returned shortly afterward,
disabled by a sword-cut, and his story went over the planta-
tion, that Captain Yancey and his troopers had been engaged
in a great fight. This was all that transpired at Laurelwood
concerning the ambuscade of the Hill Fork.

Weeks passed on. Filippa’s changed demeanour continued,
her health manifestly declining. The strange man who had
brought her back, was seen, from time to time, by negroes: of
the estate, and it was thought that Aunty Phyllis and some
of the field-blacks knew more about him than they chose to
disclose. He was sometimes seen in Aunty Phyllis’ cabin, but
oftener might be encountered in the swamp-woods near the

 

  
    

   

THE KING’S

plantation burial-ground. Stories were told of his having
been seen lying on the new grave, under which “dummy ”
had been buried, and it was said he had made a dwelling for
himself in a cave hard by, where the river skirted a high bank.
Meanwhile, Robert Atnee remained absent, and no one heard
from him.

CHAPTER XTITI.
ST. AUGUSTINE CASTLE,
The prisoner, clanking his iron chain.—MAnneErs.

Wit reeling ‘senses, and a numbing pain in his side,
Ernest Riviere rose to the water's surface, after falling from
the Acteon’s gangway. He had lost his grip of the man who
had struck him, and whom he had dragged overboard in his
descent; but as he drew breath, on emerging from beneath
the waves, the heavens became suddenly illuminated, the
waters boiled as a caldron, and a column of flame shot Up,
like a voleanic eruption. In the momentary glare he beheld
a human face’ rise near him, and recognized the dark linea-
ments of that gunner at Suilivan’s Island, whose life he had
saved during the battle. But the next instant a chasm opened
in the irabeire; and he felt himself drawn under, as in a whirl-
pool, When he again tose, it was to find himself in the midst
of a mass of spars and timbers, the floating débris of the Acteon.
He clutched instinctively at a large frdoment of wood, and at
the same instant beheld it grasped by another hend, and was
once more face to face with the cannoneer.

The'two men were almost in contact, as they clung to the
timber, though the darkness which had succeeded the glare
of the burning vessel prevented them from distinguishing one
anether’s fortnr és. But Ernest Riviere, as he felt the man’s
gasping breath so iiear, could not help exclaiming,-—

“Comrade, why have you sought my life? I never saw
you before yesterday,”
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 89

“You saved my life, curse, you!” muttered the other,
sayagely. ‘“ Why did you not let the ball do its errand ?”

“ Unhappy man, I haye never injured you,” said Riviere,
“ May God forgive you, and save us both!”

“ Offer that prayer for your cousin, Robert Atnee,” rejoined
the gunner, savagely. ‘‘ He pays—I stab!”

Riviere, appalled at the bitter cynicism of the gunner, would
have responded, but he felt the plank to which he was clinging
suddenly pushed violently, and the man who had spoken was
no longer with him. _ Immediately afterward, his narrow
support encountered resistance, and, running against the sides
of a line-of-battle-ship, which was slowly swinging from her
moorings into the rapid stream; he heard the cheery cries of
men working the capstan far above, and, lifting himself out of
the water, he raised his yoice in a shrill ery for help.

Meantime, though Riviere saw him not, the gunner, who
had left his hold of the plank, was swimming vigorously
toward the lanterns of a tender which lay at a short distance,
and reaching its bow-quarter, soon contrived to make himself
heard by the look-out.

Not so easily did Ernest Riviere cause his voice to be heard
oyer the din aboye him, and he felt the strong current bearing
the plank which he grappled away from all hope of assistance.
Once more, however, he desperately shouted, and was this
time answered by a gruff “ay! ay!” from the vessel. - Then
all consciousness deserted him, till he awoke to sensibility in
the cockpit of Admiral Parker’s flag-ship, in the midst of
wounded and dying sailors, the victims of that day’s dreadful
business.

Bruised and sore, from contact with the Acteon’s floating
remains, Riviere was compelled, during some days, to witness
the sufferings of poor wretches, writhing under the surgeon’s
hands around him. When removed, at last, and questioned by
his captors, the young patriot made no secret of his share in
the conflict of Sullivan’s Island; and the result was that he
was required to take the oath of allegiance to England, or take
the consequences of his contumacy.

 
90 THE KING’s MAN:

“TI submit, as a prisoner of war,” was his reply.

“ Rebels must be regarded as traitors, and can not hope to
be recognized as prisoners of war,” returned the Lieutenant.

And he was at once confined on the prisoner’s deck, whence,
in a few days, he was transferred toa tender, and conveyed,
with other captives, to the castle of St. Augustine, in Florida.

Severe and abrupt was the change of life to which the
young Carolinian soon found himself subjected. Immured in
close, hot dungeons by night, and forced to labour on the for-
tifications by day, in lifting huge stones, and wheeling hand-
barrows of sand, he realized those long and dreadful hardships
which British tyranny made familiar to its victims.

The labourers were chained in couples to drag logs, and
Riviere found himself fettered with a fine, soldierly man,
whose gaunt limbs and broad shoulders, denoted great bodily
strength, though his features were worn thin, like one oyver-
worked and scantily fed. The two toiled and slept together,
their skins blistering under the fierce suns, their blood chilled
by the night damps.. They had brt one consolation in their
misery, the knowledge that they were both countrymen and
Carolinians.

So. passed the weary months, for more than two years;
Riviere’s skin became bronzed, like that of his old comrade,
and a heayy beard covered his youthful face. They had long
since rehearsed their mutual story; but the Captain never
wearied of listening to his honest, yoke-fellow, Tom Irvins,
the ranger.

“By the Continental Congress!” the latter would say—-his
favourite form of adjuration—“ this wheeling stones, Cap'n, is
wearing to soul and body. Faith, sir, if it wasn’t for you, ld
escape or be shot by the sentinel.” 4

* Most likely the latter would be your fate, my braye Tom,”
the, young man would quietly reply. “’Tis not so easy to
escape, I fancy, with a sentry’s bayonet at eyery angle.”

“I wish Lhad the butt of a bayonet in my grip, and this
chain off, for a few moments, I’d do the business for three
Britishers, or my name’s not Tom Irvins.”

   

 
   
   

    

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 91

“And be stretched on yonder sands with a dozen bullet-
holes through you, poor fellow,” rejoined Riviere. “No, my
friend, let-us wait a while longer yet. Our deliverance will
come, in good season.”

“ By the Continental Congress, Captain, you give me some
hope; but here we’ye been nearly seven hundred days, as ’¥e
notched on the rampart, yonder.”

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a cannon
at the harbour’s mouth and ‘soon after, the sails ofa vessel
appeared in the offing.

“More prisoners,” cried Irvins, dashing’ his “brown hand
over his eyes) “God help our poor countrymen. Are they
still fighting, I wonder ?”

“ Ay,” answered Riviere, “ and they will fight while a Brit-
ish hireling insults their free soil. We shall yet, Tom, behold
our flag triumphant.”

“God grant your words ‘be trne, Captain,” rejoined ‘the
ranger ; and they went on with their toil, in silence, till the
hour for partaking of their meager noon-meal arrived, and they
were marched to the barracks. After dinner, it became evi-
dent that the ranger’s surmise concerning the arrival'of ‘pris-
oners was'correct ; for a new gang of unfortunates appeared in
charge of soldiers. Captain Riviere, with his comrade, drew
near to the foremost, and the brave young man ‘almost swooned
in encountering him. “He leaped forward, dragging Irvius by
his chain; ‘and fell prostrate before the prisoner he had recog
nized. “Father!” he gasped, stretching out his hands—
“ Father !—father !” and the captive, in return, uttered a low
ery; and sunk beside him, murmuring: “ Ernest, my son!
my son!”

Tt was John Riviere, the merchant, who, captured by the
British regula rs after the attack of Yancey’s marauders on his
carriage, had been carried to the coast, and thence conveyed to
a transport bound for St. Augustine with prisoners. Here,
after two years, the father and son found themselves united in
chains, and to John Riviere his lost boy was as one risen
from the dead. ‘The meeting nearly overcame the old mer-

  
    

 

THE KING’S MAN:

chant, whose health had been already enfeebled by his con-
finement, and a’sympathizing surgeon procured an order. for
him to rest a day, with his recovered son to attend upon him.

But the joy of their union was saddened by that which old
Riviere was obliged to relate concerning Louise, the wife of
Ernest. Since the moment when he sprang from the carriage,
to defend her, the merchant had seen no more of his daughter-
in-law. Struck down in the road, he awoke to find himself in
the hands of enemies, and to bewail the loss of all he loved.

And, when Ernest Riviere resumed once more his» daily
labour on the works with his father, whose tasks he joyfully
lightened, and with Irvins, his long-familiar comrade, the toil
he endured was as nothing to the anxiety of his brain, contin-
ually dwelling on the dangers to which Louise must be exposed,
alone and in the power of enemies, or wandering he knew not
where. Thus wore on the doubly-tedious days and weeks
of imprisonment, vainly whiled by mutual interchange of
thoughts. fi

“Tom, my braye fellow,” said the Captain one evening, as
the captives, with pick and sledges, were engaged in fitting
large stones in battered portions of the ancient wall, “let my
father hear how you were captured. ’Twill take us back to
home awhile.”

As Riviere said this, he heard a sob near him, from an old
man, one of the new prisoners, who had been fastened to ‘his
fellow by a eross-fetter. The two aged prisoners were shovel-
ling sand from a barrow. A frail-looking boy, the son of this
other captive, was assisting them.

“Well, Captain,” replied Irvins, “perhaps your father
mought like to hear about it; but hang me if I can think on
home and old matters without getting all a-fire agin the
Britishers and Tories. Howsomever, it’s a short story.” So
prefacing, the ranger began his relation :

* You see, Captain, I’d all along suspicioned that cousin o’
yours, Robert Atnee, was a smooth-tongued Tory, under cover.
So I set myself to watch when he came to camp (like an old
ranger knows how, Captain). Well, about that time a fellow

  
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA, 93

jined us named Pappett—as outrageous a scamp as a chap of
his size ever was. He used to keep a groggery on the river,
and he was a precious coward, too; so I knew he neyer ’listed
to fight, and as for pay, you know, Cap’n, there was precious
small chance of that under Congress officers. In consequence,
Captain, I knew that Pappett must ha’ jined us for some bad
purpose; and mighty soon, I found out he was colloquying
with your cousin Atnee, and that the two Tories were scheming
to tote off all our General’s plans to the Britishers. I suspi-
cioned all that, and determined to make sure. But I kept
dark, Captain, till the night Sullivan’s Island was reinforced,
and I expected to go there ; but I heerd Pappett was going to
get leave, and I dogged him to an old oak-tree, where he met
Atnee, and handed him some docyments. Off they went
together, then, and as luck would have it, I followed, intending
by hook or crook, to overhaul the Tory, and make him deliver
the papers. But that was the time the Tory got off, and poor
Tom Irvins suffered. I gripped the fellow hard enough,
but the devil took keer of him, and I found myself
pitched into the mouth of Smith’s Creek, with a bullet in
my shoulder.”

The ranger rubbed his arm, as if the shot were there still,
and Riviere remarked :

“So you were between drowning and dying by a shot, that
time.”

* Precisely, Captain ; and it was a predicament, I assure
you; for the water was deep, the banks were slippery, and my
left arm was good for nothing. Howsomever, I struck out
with my right, and kept myself floating on the current, and
drifting down the channel, past town and fort, and getting to
sea rapidly, when, all at once, I heerd oars. ‘Boat,’ says. I,
and boat it was, and a British boat at that, cruising up to
reconnoitre our works; but it saved my breath, and so I’ye
got nothing to say agin it.”

“And they took you aboard the fleet, to make you fight
your own neighbours—eh, Tom ?”

* You better believe, Captain, they tried to make me ‘list for

 

  
   

 

94 THE KING’S MAN:

 

King George; but they found I wasn’t the stuff they make
Tories out of, so they pitched me into a tender, and here I am,
yoked like a pet-lamb, to you, Captain Riviere.”

By the time Tom Irvins had concluded his recital, the sunset
gun boomed, and the guard approached to release the captives
from their log-chains, and march them, to, their, supper and
cells... Riviere and the ranger, walked, erect, though the day’s
toils had been severe. Old Riviere appeared weary and dis-
pirited; but the aged man, his yoke-fellow, was pitiably weak,
tottering along with one hand on the shoulder of his. scarcely
less feeble boy. His thin grey hairs were wet. with huge
drops of sweat.

At the doors of theiv cells the captives received their black
bread and some beer, diluted with brackish water. They were
then. locked in to eat their bitter meals in darkness, after
whieh they could lie down when they liked.on the damp, straw
which was there laid.

Ernest Riviere had petitioned to be allowed. to share, acell
with his father, but no response had been vouchsafed to his
request. as-yet, and he found himself again, with Tom Evans,
in the narrow dungeon, under the fortress, which, they. had
occupied together during nearly the whole period of their im-
prisonment.. The only light. that. penetrated it was. admitted
through a slit in walls of immense. thickness—a few feeble
rays, never sufficient to disperse the gloom.

Riviere and Evans divided their. loat, and. were.cating in
silence, when the ranger uttered an exclamation :

“ By the Continental Congress,” he cried, “ they’re making
their bread out of goose-feathers, I reckon!” And he held up
the tube of a quill, which the ranger had drawn from his
portion of the loaf.

“ Let me look, Tom!” cried his comrade, and, taking the*quill
he scrutinized it carefully... “Tom,” he said, lowering his
voice to a whisper, “this quill is intended for us—there’s a
paper inside of it.”

“ What, Captain ?”
Courage, Tom! T think we have friends in the garrison;

  

  
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 95

for I have already exchanged glances with one of our guards.
Now, if I could only manage to read this scrap wt

“Put it close to the light,” said Evans; “your eyes gre
sharp, Captain.”

Riviere drew out a twisted slip of paper from the hollow of
the quill, and opening it close to the aperture that admitted
them light, contrived to read what was in substance the fol-
lowing :

«Strr—Your father was a merchant of Charleston, and T
owe him a good turn. Four pledged comrades relieve guard
with the writer of this’ same, to-morrow evening. We shall
have a boat under the wall; and, when we strike off your log,
jist you make for the boat, and we'll dhrive ye intil it. To-
morrow night or never—courage, and all’s well! A FRIEND.”
> “What think you, Captain—is it a decoy?” asked the ranger.

“Why should they wish to decoy us? No, Tom, I think
we have friends; but ’tis a desperate undertaking, to escape
under the guns of the fort.”

* But there’s not a vessel in the harbour, you know, Captain.”

“That is true, Tom. Doubtless this emboldens them. Shall
we attempt it?”

“Liberty or death, Captain,” rejoined the ranger.

“Tis desperate—but, Tom, I will ask my father.”

The two comrades threw themselves on the straw ; but there
was little slumber for either that night. The thought of
liberty kept them wakeful. 4

 

CHAPTER XIV.
THE ESCAPE.

Oh, Liberty ! can man resign thee ;
Once having felt thy glorious flame ?—Marseillaise.
THE morrow dawned, and St. Augustine’s castle prisoners
were marched out as usual, in couples, to their toil—again to
stoop over huge stones, wield picks and crows, and trundle

 
    

   

THE KING’S MAN:

heavy barrows. ‘The sun rose over the fort, and so passed the
morning.

Meantime, Captain Riviere communicated with his father,
and the old merchant, already drooping under captivity,
declared that to him death, in the attempt to escape, were
preferable to existence as a prisoner. The young man felt his
breast alternately swayed by hopes and apprehensions, for he
could not but foresee the fearful risks which must attend the
undertaking he contemplated; nevertheless, the fear of his
father dying in a dungeon, and the thought that his wife was
now left without 4 protector, combined to inspire him with
resolution to attempt escaping. Tom Evans heard his deter-
mination with satisfaction. The ranger was devoid of fear,
and responded at once.

“Sink or swim, Captain, I’m with you.” But, presently
his honest countenance fell. “Look here!” said he, with a
glance toward the old prisoner who was chained with his
feeble boy to the same log that confined the merchant Riviere.
“ What are we to do with them poor chaps? Not give them
the slip, I reckon ?”

“T fear there is no provision for their escape with us,”
answered Riviere.

“ By the Continental Congress, we can’t leave’em here, Cap-
tain. Better let the old boy and his son go with you and your
father, Captain, and Tom Evans can rough it out here awhile,
V’ll be bound. But that old chap and his son both will die if
they stay here; that’s a fact, sir.”

“Tom, you must go with me, and the boat may not be large
enough for more thai ai?

“No,. Captain; I'll take my chance with the Britishers a
spell longer, if so be we can’t all get off. You must go, be-
cause your father would die without you, and you've got a
sweet wife at home to look after; and I’m nothing but an old
Indian scout, with an old mother at home. TI’ll stay, and keep
up courage, thinking you'll come back with Marion or Moultrie,
and blow the infernal castle sky high before long. That’s if,
Captain, precisely.”
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. SF

“No, Tom, we'll all go; Let us speak to the cld man and
his son at once.”

The two captives heard the proposition with different emo-
tions. The boy almost wept with new hope, and his slight
frame straightened, as if capable of renewed hardship. His
father’s cheek flushed slightly, but speedily became pale again.
Tom Evans was puzzled at his apparent apathy.

“ What’s up, old gentleman?” cried he; “don’t you want
to get out of this blessed old rat-trap ?.”

“Useless!” murmured the captive, shaking his head, de-
spondingly. The place is guarded day and night at every
point. No, we can never escape.”

“But you can try,” demanded Tom, dogmatically.

“ Father,” said the captive son, “we can die but once. Better
to die in escaping, than be murdered here.”

“The lad’s right; precisely,” said the ranger. ‘« Where’s the
good in living like niggers. I say go, if we're shot for it.”

“ And we may escape, father,” pleaded the boy:

“Precisely,” continued Tom. Nothing ventur’d, nothing
gained.”

“Father, let us venture—let us attempt an escape,” mur-
mured the youth. ‘Here we will die—we will both die!”

The aged man trembled violently, as he cast a look of un-
speakable affection on his child.

“T will do whatever you wish, my boy,” he whispered. “You
are all to me in this world.” >

Tom Irvins turned his head, for his eyes had grown misty.
He had heard already that his father had beheld his roof-tree
fired by British soldiers, and the mother of his boy murdered
before him by Indian sayagés. The wrong had broken his
spirit, and left his life hanging only on his love for this youth.

The sunset gun was now heard, and the corporal’s guard
approached with measured stops. Once more the prisonets
felt their manacles drop on the heavy logs to which they were
fastened; and then Captain Riviere and the eorporal; an Trish-
man, exchanged glances of intelligence.

“Now,” whispered the soldier.

 
 

98 THE KING'S MAN:

“Now,” echoed Tom, the ranger. And away, along the
rampart line, toward a point indicated by the corporal’s hand,
the fugitive prisoners ran swiftly, with the guard in apparent
pursuit. As yet they made no noise, and their flight was
unnoticed. Riviere, grasping his father’s hand, felt his heart
swell, as he crossed the sandy interval. Behind him pressed
the youth, with his feeble parent, both inspired with new
strength, in the hope of obtaining liberty. Soon they gained
the sea-wall, and then threw themselves on their faces. The
boat rocked beneath on the water, and in a moment Tom Irvins
leaped into it and seized an oar. Riviere followed, with the
ierchant, and the other persons came next, with the British
corporal close behind them.

*“ Come on!” cried Riviere. “Freedom or death now, brave
comrades !”

“I’m with you, my boys,” responded the Irishman, spring-
ing over the gunwale. Two soldiers followed him; two
paused on the wall.

“In!” exclaimed the corporal. But the two hesitated and
drew back.

“Then, if your're faint-hearted, hand over yer guns,” cried
the determined leader; and, in an instant he leaped back, and
seized a musket from one of them. The other fired his piece
in the air and fled; and immediately afterwards a musket re-
port was heard on the rampart above, where walked a sentinel.
The flight was discovered, and there was nothing left but to
row for their lives.

“ Away, men!” shouted the corporal, regaining the boat.
“ Pull, pull, ye devils, or we're all dead men.”

The fugitives needed no second order. They bent upon
their oars, and drove the light bark quivering into the channel,
while behind them rattled a discharge of bullets, and the roll
of a drum in the castle. Away flew -the boat, springing
through rapids, toward the harbour’s mouth; and, as the men
strained to their work, each wide sweep of the oars caused her
to leap as it were from the water, while a current setting
swiftly seaward, accelerated its speed.

 
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 99

“Pull now, my boys, for your life and liberty. Look at the
blackguards chasing us. But niyer mind the bullets; now pull!”

As the brave corporal spoke, a shower of lead fell around,
and a body of soldiers were seen embarking to pursue them.
As yet, they were inside of the battery’s range, but would
soon reach a point commanded by all the seaward armament
of the fort. Atthis juncture, a moaning swell was heard on
the surface of the water, becoming louder near the harbour’s
entrance. At the same time, a great cloud rese from the
horizon, spreading over the rising waves with pall-like black-
ness. | Mounting higher, it seemed to swallow the twilight;
and the men knew that it foreboded one of the sudden storms
which rage so terribly on the coast of the Floridas.

“We are in range of the guns—the grape battery,” cried
one of the British deserters, in a frightened tone.

“Never you fear,” replied the bold corporal. “If they
scatter grape or canister, they'll be after hitting their friends,
I'm thinking.” He pointed to the pursuing boats, which,
though somewhat scattered, were all exposed like their own
frail craft on the castle guns.

“ Pull away !” again shouted the corporal. ‘* Never mind the
grape-shot till it hits ye, my lads.”

The twilight. was disappearing—the bleak cloud extended
its. shadow ;-but the pursuing boats were gaining rapidly, and
the runaways could hear behind them a summons to surrender.
But no thought had they now but to escape or perish.

“Pull!” cried the corporal, in deeper tones, and his comrades
swept their oars unfalteringly. The foremost of the British
boats was now within musket-shot, and her officer was heard
again commanding a surrender.

* Bring to, or I’ll shoot you!” he shouted. They returned no
answer, but pulled harder. Then came a volley of musketry,
followed by a cry of anguish. Ernest Riviere, supporting his
father, and grasping the boat’s tiller, felt that ery penetrating
his soul; for it was the voice of the feeble old captive who had
accompanied them; and who now strained to his bosom the
bloody form of his young son.

 
 

 

100 THE KING’S MAN:

The last gleam of light rested on the waters, and upon the
desolate, grey-headed old man, who had sunk to the bottom of
the boat, holding the boy in his arms. The youth’s eyes were
upturned to his sire’s face, and he pressed his delicate hand
against his side, where a dark stream was pouring fast.

“ Father—we are—free/” murmured the boy, with a last
effort, and then sank back gently and was dead; with a smile
of peace upon his lips, as if indeed he were free for eyer.

The corporal glanced in. the boat’s wake toward their exult-
ing pursuers, and dropping his oar, seized a musket.

‘“T’ve no heart to kill me ould comrades,” he muttered, as
he raised the piece to his shoulder ; * but I’ll shoot that officer,
as I am a living man.” He fired as he spoke, and the British
lieutenant fell back at the tiller, which he was holding.

That shot was the salvation of the fugitives; for the pur-
suing boat, losing the guidance of her rudder, spun around in
the rapids, and became presently unmanageable.

«Pull, my lads, pull!’ cried the corporal.

And as he grasped his oar again, a heayy roll was heard on
the waters, mocking the feeble artillery of man. It was the
thunder crashing from the oyerhanging cloud, like ten thou-
sand cannons, and shaking the ocean under its reverberations.
The frail boat rose and quivered like spray upon the billows,
then plunged forward like a greyhound, out of the black
mouth of the harbour, to the wide Atlantic ocean.

 

CHAPTER XY.
THE OCEAN TORTURE.

Water, water, everywhere,
Yet never a drop to drink.—CorLEriper.

A sToRM upon the Florida coast is a battle of all the ele-
ments. Fire, air, earth and water, meet and dispute for the
mastery of man. Terrible reefs and headlands hurl back the
wind-ridden waves, and the black sky swoops down to belch
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. . 101

out flame and thunder. Such a tempest encompassed that frail
boat, freighted with death and life, which was swept out into
the open sea, with its puny human pursuers left far behind in
contest with the billows. The escaped prisoners were safe from
the rage of man, but furious nature was still in their pathway.

The corporal. and Tom Irvins, with the two other rowers,
drew in their useless oars, and, clinging to the gunwales,
suffered the boat to drift before the gale. Riviere grasped the
tiller, endeavouring to keep the prow seaward; at the same
time that he sought to shelter his feeble father from the gusty
spray that rose in drenching clouds on either hand. ‘The
darkness became so dense that no one could see another face,
and there was no word spoken by any one.

In the bottom of the boat, the old prisoner, whose son had
been shot, lay like one dead, embracing his murdered boy—
his arm wound about the cold neck, his lips pressing the pallid
forehead. Neither wind nor waye, nor the roar of thunders
seemed to disturb him; his numbed senses could realize but
one sound, the death-shot that had made him childless.

Thus, during the long hours, the fugitives clung to their
frail bark, praying, yet scarcely daring to hope, till the morn-
ing dawned, and by degrees the storm abated. Land was no
longer to be seen, and how far they had drifted it was impos-
sible to surmise. All around was a wide stretch of ocean,
glistening under the first glimmerings of day. Not a speck
of land nor ship in the distance was to be descried, in all the
watery desert.

As the sun rose above the horizon, the men began to look
one another vacantly in the face, and their glances fell upon the
desolate old man at their feet, clinging to his bloody burden.

“Murther! but this is dreadful,” muttered the Ivish corporal.

“But, we are, at least, free—all of us,” responded Riviere,
in as steady a voice as he could assume.

“ Ay, and we must be men, and not give up,” eried the
corporal, suddenly rousing himself. “What d’ye say, b’ys?
"Tis thrue, we've nayther chart nor compass, but we've the
sun to steer by, and the coast can niver be far distant, ’'m

 
  

 

   
 

102 THE KING’S MAN:

bould to hope. ‘So’ let’s' pull stoutly, sou’-easterly; and we'll
make land before we think of it, b’ys.”

The man who had pulled with the speaker laid hold of ‘his
oar; but his strength was unequal to the effort of wielding it.

“Tm beat out, Corporal Nevens,” he said.

“Let’s have a bit and a sup,” rejoined the corporal. “ Come,
men, our biscuits will need no salt this bout.”

The three deserters then produced from under ‘their wet
jackets a scanty store of provisions, three hard biscuits apiece ;
to which the corporal added a canteen of rum.

“We've got seven, mouths, so we must make seven morsels,”
said Nevens; “and a sip of the liquor for each. What say
you, sir?” he asked, addressing Captain Riviere, who was
supporting the head of his father.

The corporal’s cheering voice and manner inspired: his com~
rades with hope. Riviere nodded in assent to his proposition,

| and a single biscuit was divided into seven equal shares.

Meantime, the boat tossed pon the rough waves, and the

_ chill spray beat over its low gunwales. ‘The sun was an hour

high, and its wandering beams were welcomed by the shiver-
ing fugitives, as they partook of the ship-bread. As yet; the
old man at their feet had not lifted his head from the corpse,
nor glanced once at the others. He cowered, as he’had fallen
forward, with his boy, to the boat’s bottom, his arms locked
about the body, and, save for a shivering gasp, at “intervals,
might have seemed to be dead himself,

Riviere bent over, and whispered to the corporal.

“ The poor youth must be buried.”

“There’s a bit of sacking in the bows,” ‘responded the
Trishman, “We might wrap the poor lad in it, and say the
funeral sarvice over him, six; if so be you recollect it, sir. I’m
afeared I don’t, more shame for me.”

“We can at least say a prayer,” said Riviere, solemnly.
“ Will you speak to the old man ?”

Corporal Nevens touched the father lightly, and gently
signified his desire ; but the bereaved man looked up fiercely,
and drew the body closer to his breast.

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 103

“The sun is getting high,’ here interposed Riviere; “by
noon the heat will be intense, and the body cannot then remain
near us.”

“The Captain speaks truth,” now spoke,Tom Irvins, who
was at one of the oars. -“* We must let the lad into the:deep.
And ’tis better, old comrade,” he continued, laying a hand
upon the unhappy parent’s shoulder, “better for the child to
be there than) in a dungeon; he said, with his, last whisper,
“you know, he was free!”

The word “ free,” which had: been the last on his. boy’s lips,
caused the desolate man to break forth in more natural grief.
“He's free!” he. eried....“ Yes, my boy is free! .Oh, God!”
And a torrent. of tears gushed from his eyes over the dead
one’s face. The sympathizing men around participated in his
sorrow, as they looked upon the youth’s,.white. forehead, his
soft brown hair hanging damp and heayy, and his eyes veiled
by their long lashes.

“His soul is free, indeed,’ murmured Riviere. . “ Would
that we were all secure and. happy as this child!”

The old man’s tears were a relief to his half-crazed. brain.
Presently, he raised himself on his knees, and, covering: his
features with his attenuated fingers, appeared to pray with
inward fervour, for a few moments; then, turning to Riviere,
said, in a measured. voice :

* Bury your dead !”

The young patriot felt his heart smitten by the words, for
he reflected that but for him the boy and his sire would not
have shared their flight. Tom Irvins marked, the shadow on
his Captain’s forehead, and quickly whispered :

“Not your fault, sir; ‘twasI that tempted the poor lad,
And I don’t regret it. No, thank God! He’s free, and better
off than we are.”

“ Ay,” added Corporal Nevens. “ Who can say what will
become of each and all of us? or, more betoken, what that
lad has escaped? Who knows ?”

No more was said, save a prayer, which Riviere offered, as
the body, wound in a strip of canyass, and made. fast: to a heavy

  

 
104 THE KING’S MAN!

   
  
   
  
   
   
 
    
  

musket, was committed to the sea. The father wept no more,
but sat silently in the bows, his arms folded, his eyes closed.
The sunbeams fell upon his grey hairs, but he took no heed;
all that had warmed his withered heart was now cold.

At noon, another biscuit was divided, and a share proffered
to. the'old man, but he quietly put it away. The flask of
spirits’ was placed to his lips, only to moisten the parched
skin. He would not drink. But his solitary fragment was
laid by, while the men consumed their own scanty portions,
| and wet their mouths with asup of liquor. This was the last
| of the second biscuit.

They now began to sink under the extreme heat; for the
_ sun hung over them like a ball of fire: They had laboured at
| the oars since day-break, but could yet distinguish no land;
| and as their cnergies became exhausted, the hope of gaining

the coast grew feeble. It was evident that the gale had blown
them into the channel of the Gulf Stream, and, after taking
counsel with each other, they decided that it was better to
remain in the current, which ran at the rate of four miles an
hour, taking a northerly course, in which it was likely they
might encounter some vessel.

But the night approached; and long hours of cloudy-dark-
ness transpired, bringing heavy chills, to sueceed the torrid
heats by day. Next morning they divided another biscuit;
and contrived to rig up, with the muskets and their jackets,
a sort of screen to shelter them from the direct rays of the
sun; but this could not prevent the excessive heat from
parching their tongues and throats. At first they had talked .
to cheer one another; andCorporal Nevens had told his story,
and recalled to the elder Riviere, how, years before, a poor
private soldier, in the garrison at Charleston, had been sen-
tenced to the lash for some trival breach of discipline, and
had been pardoned through the interposition of the good
merchant; who, being on a visit to the commandant,’ cont
miserated the poor soldier, and begged his release. ‘?Tywas
yourself saved me from the lash, sir,” cried the corporal, “ and
T have never forgot it. So here we are together, sir.”

 

a

i
i |

SSS
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 105

But as the hours dragged on, the conyersation of the fugi-
tives dropped altogether, and they only looked in each other's
faces, endeayouring to exchange sickly smiles—all. except the
childless old man. He never moved. from the bows of the
boat, nor seemed to. heed the sun or chill. And so another
day wore away, and no land nor a sail could be discerned. At
evening a breeze arose, as they divided their fourth biscuit ;
and after a while the moon arose, shedding her silyer beams,
which had been veiled during the preceding nights.

They even slept at. intervals, but with uneasy dreams, from
which they started sometimes, with stifled cries. Fatigue and
thirst were breaking them down, and it was noticeable that
the men. of powerful frames, Irvins, Corporal Nevins, and one
of the privates, suffered more that Riviere and his father, and
the other private, a delicate man. The corporal’s weak fingers
trembled as he parted the fifth biscuit at daylight. Blithe-
hearted Tom Irvins smiled faintly, and tottered as he received
his share. The old man still refused his fragment of the |
bread, nor would even taste the small remnant of spirits,
though Riviere held it repeatedly to his lips.

The third day was one of horror. The red. sun seemed to
rain fire upon them, scorching marrow and blood. They looked
fiercely at each other, and read in their dry eyes what no tongue
could, speak-—the thirst. for waTER! Thirst! terrible thirst!
the torture of the doomed in another world; the fire unquenched;
the undying worm, gnawing and never appeased.

And still neither land loomed, nor a sail appeared.

When night came, the remaining bread was divided, and
they ate the last morsel, and drained the last drops from the
canteen, hardly expecting or caring for the next day. But
hunger and thirst remained with them, and when another day:
dawned, and the sun rose high, and the heats beat on them,
they were all starving men. Happily, one was delirious. The
childless old man, who had refused to eat, and yet survived,
was lying in the bottom of the boat, talking about his boy,
and calling him pet names. “ We'll be happy, my Neddy,” he
murmured, “We'll escape and go back to your mother.” And

 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
 
  
 
 
 
  

 

i

i} 106

  

THE KING'S MAN:

 

he kissed the phantom of his crazed fancy, and patted the
cheek, and parted the brown hair of his shadowy beloved one.

When the fifth day came, there was a strange glare in the
eyes of all, and the two privates mumbled together, and whis-
pered to the corporal, and Nevens spoke to Riviere, and after-
ward bent over the old man at his feet, to see if he was dead
yet, for his comrades had spoken about that to him. For the
first time since his son was buried, the bereaved’ father raised
himself and spoke; and his voice, though he had ‘not eaten
during four days, was stronger than that of Corporal Nevens.

-He looked at the two soldiers, and at Nevens, and at Ernest

Riviere, who supported his father in his arms, and muttered:

“To you want one to die for the rest? Let us cast lots,
then.”

The five men shuddered, but in more than one pair of eyes
the cannibal already glittered. Life was sweet, and hunger
and thirst were more potent than humanity.

* Let us begin.”

Seven threads of different lengths were separated from a
soldier’s jacket, and were then. knotted together in a ball, with
seven ends protruding. Each man clutched one of the fatal
threads.

He who drew the shortest must die for the others.

Slowly the knotted ball was unwound by Corporal Nevens.
One by one the threads separated. \'Then the cannibals mea-
sured the threads. That which Ernest Riviere held was the
shortest. He had drawn the lot to die!

“Tam ready,” said the young-Captam. “Father, may God
preserve you!”

“No, no, Ernest!” the old merchant feebly articulated,
let us“all die together! Let us——” He sank back, speech-
less and apparently dying.

And then it was seen that the eyes of the other father in
that doomed boat were glittering as with triumph; as if he
thought his boy’s death was to be avenged.

“Tam ready, comrades, God forgive us!” murmured Ernest
Riviere.

 

  
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 107

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 

But Tom Irvins, the ranger, feebly lifted his hand, and
gasped for utterance. “Je, Captain!” he articulated. “ Me!
I—I'll die!” and then fell back exhausted.

Riyiere bared his breast, saying, “I have drawn the death-
lot—I, am ready to die,”

As yet. no one stirred, but every eye glanced again over the
waste of waters, in the desperate hope that a sail might appear.
But naught was to be seen on any side; and presently the old
man spoke, up :

“T haye the knife!” he ejaculated, sharply; and raised in
his hand the knife which had divided the biscuit. “Iam the
priest!” he added, with a hollow laugh, while Riviere bent
forward, presenting his bosom to the stroke “ Away!” cried
the maniac old man. “I am the priest and the victim!”
And in a moment the knife which he brandished was sheathed
in his own withered breast. He fell to the bottom of the
boat, and his last words gushed with a stream of blood from his
lips, “ Neddy, we are free!”

CHAPTER XYI.
THE BOAT ON THE OCEAN.
O’er the blue waters of the boundless sea.—Brron.

Tue little brig Ranger, as staunch a privateer as ever dis-
played the Stars and Stripes at her mast-head, commanded by
a gallant Captain, and manned by a brave crew, was cruising
on the coast of North America, and picking up stray merchant-
men bound for H. B. M. West India possessions, when the
look-out suddenly gave the announcement :

‘Sail, ho!”

‘“ Ay, ay!” responded the First Lieutenant, from the quar-
ter-deck. ‘“ Where away?”

‘* A boat, sir, on the larboard quarter—an open boat, sir.”

  
  

 

 

   
   

 

108 THE KING’S MAN:

“T see—and full of men,” cried the officer, as he looked
through his spy-glass. ‘‘Alter her course a point,” he con-
tinued, addressing the man at the wheel. And in a few
moments the Ranger was bearing down upon a dark object
tossed upon the waters which, on a nearer view, appeared, as
supposed, to be a boat filled with men. But to the loud hail
of the foretopman no answer was returned.

‘Can they be all dead, Mr, Forester ?” said Captain Wal-
lings, the Ranger’s skipper, approaching his First Lieutenant.

‘*T think I can see a moyement, sir,’’ answered the officer.
‘“‘ Ay, they are making faint signals. Man the pinnace, there,
and pull off to them—liyely there!”

The ready arms of a half-dozen stalwart seamen sent’ the
pinnace skimming over the waves, till it ranged alongside of
the drifting boat, and a dismal spectacle was presented to their
gaze.

4 Before them lay three lifeless bodies festering under the

_sun’s rays. Two of them were clothed in British regimentals,
_ and the other, which had been mutilated, was that of a grey-
_ haived man. Four persons survived, lying together, under a
| ragged canopy of garments, in the boat’s quarter; and one was

_ able to move his hand to them, ere he sank back exhausted.

The privateersmen made fast to the boat, and towed it to
the Ranger. Then, carefully and tenderly, the four fugitives
from St. Augustine were lifted to the vessel’s deck, and con-
veyed to her.cabin, It appeared as if the last sparks of life
_ were trembling in their emaciated frames, tilla sponge moist-
_ ened with spirits, and placed to their mouths, recalled more
| animaticn, and gave the ship's doctor some hopes of their re-
covery. But his utmost skill was taxed; and many hours
-passed before he ventured to pronounce them beyond the dan-
ger of immediate dissolution.

Riviere and his father, strange as it seemed, grew better,
before either Irvins or the British corporal. The two privates
had died raving, after satisfying their cannibal cravings, and
the survivors had resigned themselves to starvation, when
Providence interposed for their relief. In a few days, how-

   
 

  
   
 

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 109

 

ever, under the humane care of their preservers, all were able
to thank Heaven for renewed strength, and Riviere recounted
to Captain Wallings and his Lieutenant their story of captivity
and suffering. The brave seamen shuddered at the details,
while they congratulated their countrymen’ on their double
escape.

‘And this British corporal—he is a determined fellow,”
said Captain Wallings.

“Brave and resolute, sir; and I shall never forget his
devotion, nor that of my friend Irvins.”

Weeks passed, however, before the rescued captives were
restored to full strength. Meanwhile, the privateer cruised
up and down, before light gales, till, one morning, the ery of
‘A sail!’ was heard, and a vessel was sighted upon the
weather-beam, which was soon made out tobe a large brig,
with all sails set.

« We are off the capes now,” said Captain Wallings, “and
I think yon craft must be a merchantman, bound for the
Bahamas.”

“ Tf she be a merchantman, sir,” replied the First Lieutenant,
whose glass was at his eye, “ she has, nevertheless, half a
dozen mouths to speak us with.”

“ Armed, Mr. Forester? ”

“Yes, sir; with at least our own metal,” answered th
second officer. “Doubtless a letter-of-marque, as she is
merchant-rigged.”

The war-drum beat to quarters, and the men piped aft by
the boatswain, when a few words from Captain Wallings sent
them with alacrity to the guns. In a brief space the decks
were cleared for action, and, a smart breeze springing, the
privateer was soon able to overhaul the strange sail.

“There goes a fun!” cried Mr. Forester; “and there’s the
bloody flag of King George running up.”

“ Lay alongside, at once!” cried the Captain’s cheery voices
“ Board, and carry her, Mr. Forester !”’

It had been late in the day when the chase began, and the
sun was descending to the ocean’s rim when the two vessels

 

 

  
 
 

 

THE KING'S MAN:

ranged yard-arm to yard-arm, flaunting the respective flags of
England and America defiantly at their mastheads. Tmme-
diately the conflict began, with an exchange of broadsides,
mingled with the wild cheer of Britons and the wilder Yankee
hurrah. The grappling irons were then thrown, and Captain
Wallings’ bold crew swarmed over the enemy’s bulwarks.

At once took place a hand-to-hand conflict, such as was
frequent in the fierce encounters of privateers in those days
—the combatants grappling, discharging their pistols, and
engaging with cutlasses and boarding-pikes, in deadly strife,
for the mastery. The letter-of-marque’s crew, though unpre-
pared for the sudden boarding attack of the privateersman,
nevertheless defended their vessel gallantly, and almost
repulsed the first onset. Again the Americans advaneed,
once thore to be hurled’ back on their own decks, and yet a
third time to return raging to the battle.

“ Away, boarders, away! Men of the States, give not an
inch this time!” cried Captain Wallings.

“ Forward, to repel boarders!” shouted the British skipper,
inreply. “ Sweep the Yankees from your-deck, hearts of oak!”

But the Yankees had made up their minds, this time, to
remain, though they had underrated the force of their enemy
greatly; and, after a few minutes of fierce rivalry, the Britons
retreated, step by step, on the slippery decks.

“ Now, boys, one rush for the Continental Congress !” cried
Tom Irvins, the ranger, who fought at the right hand of
Captain Wallings. At the same instant, Ernest Riviere
dashed forward at the head of a reserve gang, and crossed his
cutlass with that of a foeman. But the young American
started, in surprise, to behold in his antagonist the form:and
face of Robert Atnec, his cousin.

Instantly the recollection of that felon-blow he had received
on board the Acteon, and the dark words of the assassin ere
he sank, were recalled to the memory of Riviere, and he well-
nigh dropped his arm in horror. But the recognition was as
sudden on the part of his felon cousin. Robert Atnee started
back, as if struck by a bullet. His eyes glared from their

  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
  
   
  

 

A TALE OF SOULH CAROLINA. 111

sockets. There, before him, with sword. uplifted, stood him
whom he-had. believed buried fathoms deep beneath the sea.
He gasped, and felt his hanger sinking from his relaxed grasp;
then, overcome with terror, he turned and fled, at the instant
that another rush of the privateersmen drove the letter-of-
marque men across the decks.

Ernest Riviere, appalled for an instant, speedily regained
his faculties, and started in pursuit of Atnee's flying form. °
He saw him disappear at the companion-way, and, without
lesitation, plunged after him into the cabin beneath. But it
was silent and deserted, and, rushing forward, he encountered
« heavy curtain., Grasping his sword more firmly, Riviere
tore the drapery open, and. beheld, not Robert Atnee, but a
female, kneeling upon the floor, in prayer. She turned her
head as he entered, and uttering a loud shrick, stretched out
her arms, and fell at his feet.

It was Louise—it was his wife !

CHAPTER XVII.
ROBERT ATNEE’S PERIL.

From strand and soil, that lurid light
Gleamed baleful through the night.

Tue PHAntom Sup.

Tue. privateersmen, following their bold commander, soon
forced the letter-of-marque to surrender; and her colours were
hauled.to the deck by no other hand but that of honest Tom
Irvins.. The. yessel’s. captain had fallen mortally wounded,
and half her crew were dead or disabled. But at the very
instant when the sullen survivors flung down their weapons,
in token of surrender, a wild cry rose from stem to stern that
the vessel was on fire, and a moment after, flames and smoke
were seen issuing from the hatchways. Captain Wallings

 

  
 

112 THE KING’S MAN:

gave instant orders for returning to his own vessel; and now
Tom, Irvins, for the first time, bethought him of Captain
Riviere, whom he had last beheld in the heat of conflict.
Rushing back and forth, wildly inquiring for his comrade, the
brave fellow was astounded to behold the young man suddenly
burst from the companion-way, bearing in his arms the forn
of an insensible female.

Captain, thank the Lord, you're safe!” ejaculated tke
ranger. ‘The brig’s afire! Make haste, for God's sake!”

* The magazine—the magazine!’’ here rose from a dozen
throats, as friends and foes crowded to the gangway, ani
peered over the vessel’s side to the Ranger's decks. In a brief
space, all not actually dying with their wounds were trans-
ferred to the privateer, and her lashings being cast off, the
American yessel swung loose, and dropped to leeward. Ernest
Riviere, with his precious burden, sought the cabin which
Captain Wallings resigned to him, and the victorious officers,
after securing their prisoners, prepared to restore the trim craft
to her usual order and discipline.

The sun had now sunk below the horizon, leaving only a
violet dusk upon the waters. As twilight crept up, and crim-
son clouds changed to sable, the letter-of-marque fell off on the
Ranger's quarters, and began to burn vividly. The flames
broke from her ports, and ran up her masts and spars, until
she soon presented a sheet of flame, which illumined the ocean
for miles around.

Once or twice the privateersmen, as they listened fancied
they heard a shrick arise from the doomed vessel; and some
averred that they saw figures running over the burning decks.
And so she drifted over the waters, while the Ranger, with
all sails set, rapidly left her behind. «|

But there was, indeed, one survivor of that day’s fight, whose
despairing voice rang over the deep from the decks of the
blazing brig. Robert Atnee was there, alive, yet blasphemously
cursing his existence. Overcome with sudden and superstitious
fear, he had fled from the face of Krnest Riviere, and sought
retreat below ; but unheeding his course, he had missed a step in
A.TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 118

descending the companion-way, and pitched headlong from the
ladder, falling stunned upon the floor. Rapidly following,
Ernest Riviere, in descending to the obscurity of the eabin, had
not perceived the prostrate body, which had fallen to one side,
and the discovery which he subsequently made, after drawing
the curtain before him, banished all thought of Atnee, or of
aught else than his recovered bride.» Consequently, the
wretched Tory remained insensible and bleeding where he had
fallen, till, aroused by smoke and flame, he gained his feet to
find the brig deserted and on fire from stem to rudder.

It was:a desperate situation, and the heart of Robert Atnee
sank within him, ashe ran from point to point, to escape the
blinding smoke and dreadful heat, which still seemed sl hifting
to pursue him, as the vesselswung around. A breeze was rising
with the night-clouds, and it roared though the flaming shrouds
like the blast of a furnace. . Atnee’s clothing and skin soon be-
came scorched, and his throat grew foul with particles of fiery
soot. Death stared him for the first time directly in the face,
and all the evil deeds of his life rose aceusingly before him.
Nevertheless, the Tory was not one to yield without a struggle,
and though the fire raged everywhere about him, and his hands
were crisped and burned in the effort, he contrived to drag
one: of the vessel’s hatchways to her taffrail, and securing some
lines wherewith to lash himself to it, launched himself with
this frail raft, upon the broad bosom of the ocean.

The blaze of the devoted letter-of-marque castits glare on 1 all
sides, as the night wore on. Atnce,as he guided his raft away
with a fragment of plank which he had secured for the purpose,
could survey the expanse of waters for miles around; and he fan-
cied he beheld the white canvass of the Ranger afar on the edge
of vision. He gnashed his teeth ashe recalled his late encounter
with Ernest Riviere, and the abject fear which had constrained
him to fly before the man he had wronged. Then, reflecting .
upon Louise, he wondered, in his bitter thoughts; whether she
had been discovered by her husband, or whether, as his per-
verse nature prompted him to hope, she had been smothered
in her cabin on board the lettev-of-marque.

 
     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

THE KING'S MAN:

The burning vessel, meanwhile, was smouldering far in the
distance, on the water’s edge, and darkness presently settled
around the narrow raft to which Atnee had fastened himself.
He crouched partially upon his knees, in a painful position,
fearing momently lest the swash of a wave, as the sea rolled,
might sweep him from his frail support. Thus, through the
long hours of night, tossed hither and thither, the wretched
man swayed on a shoreward current, till the grey light of morn-
ing enabled him to discern, apparently very near, the sharp
points of a line of reefs, and beyond a stretch of sandy shore.

The prospect of speedy deliverance banished at once from
Atnee’s mind a thousand reflections which had racked it
during the darkness. Conscience ceased to worry him with
her reminiscences, and despair gave way to resolution. He
grasped the strip of plank which he had secured to the hatch,
and, employing this as both rudder and oar, began to urge
his way toward the reefs.

But the shore which loomed so near through the early mist,
seemed to recede before advancing morning. Hours of hard
toil, under the torrid blaze of the sun, were required to bring
the raft within the outer reefs; and there, the swell of break-
ers threatened to submerge its miserable freight at every turn.
All the hours of light were consumed, and, when night came
again, the Tory sank exhausted on the hatch, his hands and
limbs bleeding from contact with jagged reefs, and his body
nearly paralyzed from’ his exertions, without food or drink,
through the long day. But, during the darkness, he was cast
upon the sands, and, when another dawn appeared, found
himself saved at least from the peril of drowning.

‘Weak and famished, Atnee eagerly devoured the contents
of a few muscles which he dug from the beach, and set out to
explore his whereabouts. He saw woodlands in the distance;
and, after some hours of toilsome travel over the arid sands,
reached a forest of stunted pines, and shortly afterward, the
rude habitation of a turpentine maker, where he found shelter
and rest for the day, and, to his satisfaction, ascertained that
he was on the mainland of Georgia,
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 115

Here, though foiled in his aims, and flung—after losing, all
like a weed back on his native shores, the Tory. congratulated
himself that life and strength remained with his plotting brain.
Here he had leisure to reflect upon the certainty that Ernest
Riviere was living, as well as the bravo Matt Blake; and he
doubted not that the young Whig would soon reach his
friends in Charleston, perhaps with his recoyered wife. Jea-
lousy and hatred tormented his evil thoughts, and he imagined
a hundred ways of circumyenting or destroying, his cousin,
each in turn to be discarded as futile. Thus passed his
waking hours, while sojourning in the humble dwelling where
he had sought shelter ; and no sooner was he able to proceed
than he set out for the interior, He had a few doubloons in
his belt, which he had saved with his watch and some jewellery;
and with the money he purchased a horse whereon to set out
for Laurelwood, which he ascertained to be but.a couple of
days’ ride from the headland where he had been cast ashore.

Robert Atnee had never before experienced the chagrin and
bitterness which now assailed him, for he had been accustomed
to make everything bend to his own crafty schemes. Hereto-
fore, he had reckoned confidently on the ultimate possession of
his cousin’s property, but he now saw almost insurmountable
obstacles interposing. His mind became a chaos as he jour-
neyed toward Laurelwood; but, above all its tumult, the one
thought ever came uppermost—that Ernest Riviere must be
got rid of, and that without delay, and surely. How or by
what agency he could not resolve upon; but the circle of his
reflections always returned to that point, and, as the pivot of
his wicked hopes in the future.

Sunset, on the second day of his journey, brought the mas-
ter of Laurelwood to the banks of the river which ran through
his own lands. He had but five miles to ride, and his way
led by a pleasant road, skirting the stream, and berdered on
the other side by woods which fringed the marshes.’ ‘The
afternoon had been hot, but a cool breeze arose as the sun was
descending, and freshened the sultry atmosphere. The river
surface reflected the purple clouds, and a golden haze filled the

 
 

116 THE KING’S MAN:

forest, through which the last sunbeams were slanting. Robert
Atnee took no note, however, of the scene, but rode onward,
absorbed in thought, till suddenly, as he reached the borders of
his own estate, where could be seen some low hillocks of the
swamp burial-ground, a hand was laid rudely upon the bridle of
his horse so that the animal reared abruptly. Keeping his seat
with difficulty, Atnee raised his loaded whip to strike at the
wild figure which had sprung into the highway; but in an-
other moment he was seized and jerked fiercely from his
saddle.

“ Murder! help! help!” cried the Tory, with a stifled shriek,
as his throat was compressed beneath an iron gripe; but he
was answered by a peal of laughter, which rang horribly
through the woods, and, as he lifted his eyes, he saw the face
of Matthew Blake close to his own, and the outlaw’s eyes
glaring upon him in mad ferocity.

CHAPTER XVIII.
FILIPPA IN THE CAYE MILL.

A dram of poison—such, soon,
As will disperse itself throughout the veins. —SHAKESPEARE,
NicutT had closed over the plantation of Laurelwood, the
field slaves were in their quarters, and the mansion was dark,
except a single apartment on the ground-floor, where Gattan
aud Filippa sat together at a table—the old negress plying her
needle, while her grandchild, resting her forehead on one
transparent hand, appeared lost in silent reflection:
“Mother,” said the girl, looking suddenly up, “ do you think
Master Robert will ever come back ?”
“Please the Lord, yes, child,” answered the crone, raising
her wrinkled face, with a faint smile, ‘ He'll come back,
and——”
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 117

« Say it, mother—he will bring his bride with him. Let us
hope so, mother.”

“To be sure, dear—if you wish; and we must hope for all
happinéss to our good master, Filippa.”

The quadroon leaned back in her chair, and began to toy
with the plain gold ring which gleamed on her forefinger.
Gattan watched her attentively, and presently spoke again:

“You had the ring, Filippa, even if the vile trooper had
carried you away, child. Would you have fearéd to use it,
Filippa ?”

“ Feared, mother?” cried the quadroon, lifting the ring to
her lips and kissing it; “what has a slave to fear in dea th?
When you gave me this ring, mother, I promised you it should
be my protection agiinst dishonour, come in what shape it
might. I never forget that promise, mother.”

“ Filippa,” said Gattan, with a curious expression in her
glance, “ what if our master—if Robert were to offer to harm
his slaye ?”

* Alas! he can never harm me more than he has,” replied
the girl, sadly. “ Yet—against Aim even—I would not fear to
kiss the ring, mother—for the last time.”

Uttering these words, in a low melancholy tone, the girl
slipped the ring from her finger, and, pressing her nail upon
its spring, caused the double circle to open, disclosing a Hollow
filled with some white substance, which she regarded Closely.

Twas a good gift, mother; and sometimes I am happy in
thinking it Will pive me a great sleep, when my heart Can iho
longer belie its load. When you go, mother, Filippa will not
be Tong in following you.”

“No, child; you are young, too young to leave the world—
life is for the youthful,”

“ But a slave has no life; mother.” ;

“T have been a slave for seventy yeais,” answered Gattan.
“T have suffered as a slave; and yet, I am old, and cling to life.”

‘* And you loved once, mother.”

“Did T love?” muttered the crone, absently. “Ah, you oy
well. I did love, and ycttr mother, my child, loved also, Filippa,”

 
  

    

     

118 THE KING’S MAN:

** And J love—alas!” murmured the slave gul.

She bowed her head, in speaking, pressed her small hands
to her heart, and closed her lips as with a spasm. But at
this instant, a tap sounded on the casement outside, and the
crone started.

“ Filippa, ’tis the wild trooper, the crazed man again.”

“ He will not harm us, mother; he wants food, perhaps.
Poor miserable man; he were better off to be with his child
in the grave he watches all night.”

The girl, as she spoke, had risen from her seat, and ap-
proached the casement.

“Have care, Filippa,” cried Gattan following her; “he
may do us mischief.”

“ There is no fear, mother. Did he not save me once?”

Thus speaking, Filippa threw open the blinds, and disco-
yered the crouching figure of Matthew Blake, close under the
sill; his long shaggy hair hanging in elf-locks about his face,
and his eyes gleaming like coals of fire.

“ Hist,” muttered the maniac, as Filippa drew near the
window; “I want you; I have found him.”

“What is it, Matt? Who have you found?”

“Come,” responded the man, jerking his head, and point-
ing out through the darkness. “He is there, you know; ”
and then, in a shrill whisper, he added: “ He sold you, you
know—sold you for the other one.”

“Oh heaven!”? murmured Filippa, pressing her heart with
her hands. “Master Robert is come—do you hear, mother?
Our master.”

‘“‘ Hist,” muttered Matt Blake. ‘‘ We are to have a feast—
the red wine; we will drink the health of the dead. Come;
I must away, I cannot wait.”

“T will go with him, mother; there is meaning in his
words. Our master—Robert is in danger.”

“ “No, Filippa, do not go. I fear this wild man; he is more
dangerous than you think.”

“Then I must go with him. I have power over him. Let
me go, mother. Master Robert may be nigh—perhaps here.”
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 119

Thus speaking, the quadroon flung a shawl over her head,
and called out, “ Matt, Matt, I will go with you.”

The old negress vainly interposed her arm. Her impulsive
grandchild had darted to the corridor, and was hurriedly fol-
lowing the madman, Matthew Blake.

The moon was struggling through grey clouds, now ob-
secured, and anon emerging, but with uncertain light. Matt
Blake, grasping the quadroon’s slender fingers, drew her on
along the dusky avenue of trees, and over to the edge of the
wood, which skirted the negro quarter. He strode under the
shadowy boughs, and through the shrouded paths, in silence,
traversing the sloping ground which stretched to the river and
morass. Filippa spoke to him twice, but the bravo returned no
answer, except to tighten his grasp of her wrist. Thus they
kept on for half a mile, till they reached a patch of thicket
near the burial-ground, when Blake forced his way between
dense masses of trailing plants, which grew rankly on both
sides, and stood with his companion before a vacant building.

It was, as Filippa remembered, the locality of an old mill-
house, near the river, which had long been deserted. The struc-
ture was of stone, and had been strongly built; but the stream
had fallen and deprived it of water-power years before, so that
it became useless. The walls were overrun with creeping
vines, and the great wheel looked down like a skeleton, as the
fitful moonbeams glimmered through it. But the low win-
dows of the building were red with light, and as the outlaw
thrust open the heavy door, and drew her over the threshold,
she saw that the room into which they entered was illumined
by several pine torches, which cast their resinous glare around,
and filled the beams above with dense smoke.

But there were other objects in the room, and one in par-
ticular, which riveted Filippa’s gaze. In the centre of the
room, she saw a table of rough pine, with a torch flaming at
one end. A bottle and delf drinking-cup stood on the board
and a rude bench was beside it. On the floor, at a little
distance, lay a human figure, bent double, and apparently
bound hand and foot to a post which supported the roof. As

 
 

  

120 THE KING’S MAN?

the quadroon paused, bewildered and foreboding, this figure
writhed and seemed gasping for breath.

* Ha! ha!” laughed Matt Blake, and halting in the glare
of the flambeau, holding Filippa’s hand in his iron grasp, he
pointed to the struggling object.‘ Look you there, mistress;
look you yonder, brave wench. Tis he—did I not promise
you ?—’tis the master that sold you for the other one.”

“ Oh, my God!” murmured the slave-girl. “?’Tis Robert.”

* Ha! said I not ?” cried the bravo. ‘* He will never sell
you again; he will never sell Alice again for gold. Come,
let us drink to the dead—to Alice.” He drew the quadroon
to the table, and forced her to sit beside him.

‘* Drink, wench; here is wine to make the heart merry.
You are free, now; he will never sell you again.”

“Matt! oh, Matt! you will not harm him; he has neyer
injured you, Matt.”

The quadroon murmured these words, scarcely knowing
what she said, all her thoughts concentered on her master’s
situation, her eyes fixed upon the living heap in the corner,
which appeared convulsed with contortion. But, in spite of
her abstraction, she shrank from the look which Matt Blake
gave her as he muttered, savagely—

“ Wench, if he had a hundred lives to loose, they’d never
be entough for Matthew Blake’s revenge.”

While the outlaw spoke those words, the wild glare in his
eyes gave way to an expression of demoniac hate; and
Filippa became aware that a settled purpose was conceived
in his crazed brain. But, in another moment, his laugh broke
out, and, seizing the bottle of wine, he filled the solitary cup,
and shouted: ‘“ Pledge, wench, pledge! You'll never be sold
again, ’ll promise you. Drink, drink, I say!” And he
placed the cup to her lips.

The quadroon felt her heart sinking, and her brain becoming
giddy; but the sight of her master, writhing in his. fetters,
and in the power of a frantic enemy, called to her mind all
the craft and resolution of her race. She suddenly seized the
wine-cup, and echoed the outlaw’s mad laugh.

   

-

  
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 121

“ Ha! ha!” she cried, “let us drink, Matt. He will never
sell me again.” And she turned her large eyes upon him,
brilliant as with joy, and kissed the rim of the cup.

“ Good,” cried Matt Blake; « you are a brave wench,
Filippa—ch, Filippa they call you, my girl? Come, fill up;
there’s more where this came from.”

Again he filled the vessel, and then hurled the drained
bottle at Atnee’s pinioned body. It struck the post and
shivered into fragments. At this moment the quadroon
slipped from her finger that heavy gold ring which she wore;
and lifted her cup again.

“* Matt, the wine is good,” she murmured softly; “twill
make us happy.”

Blake took the drinking-bowl, but he saw not the poisoned
ring which lay at its bottom. He drank, and returned it to
her lips, with a tender grimace.

“ Good wine glads the heart, wench,” said the outlaw.
‘* Filippa, you shall see how Matt Blake can hate, and how
he can love, lass, if it like you. I’ve store of wealth, wench;
fit for the best lady in the land. Ha! wench; do we not
suit one another? Kiss the cup again, lass.” Filippa raised
the vessel and drank slowly.

‘We must have more--another bottle, wench,” he ex-
claimed. “But by and by—now for business.”

He drew, as he spoke, a long, thin-bladed knife from his
bosom, and held it aloft in the torchlight. Filippa uttered
a stifled shriek, for she recognized her own stiletto; with
which she had stabbed the man who sought to slay her
master in the supper-room. The truth, which she had never
suspected, flashed instantly over her mind, that Blake and
the assassin were identical. But she mastered her agitation
With a great effort.

“Let us drink again, Matt; my veins are on fire!” she
exclaimed, clasping the bravo’s hand, and leaning her head
forward till it touched his broad breast.

“Plenty, wench, plenty,” resporided Blake ; “ but we'll first

 

  
 

 

  

122 THE KING'S MAN:

 

—aha! what's that? My veins are burning too, I swear!
What’s that roar in my ears, wench? May the devil——”

“ Matt, the wine is good; let us have more.’’

As Filippa murmured this, she wound her arms about the
man’s neck, and gazed up in his wild face with a look of well-
simulated passion. The half-insane, half-brutified wretch
could not resist the expression of those dark, lustrous orbs,
that seemed swimming with strange affection. He threw his
arm about her slender waist, and pressed her to him, and bent
to kiss her red lips. But, at this instant, Filippa snatched the
stiletto, and sprang to her feet.

‘‘Not my master!” she screamed; “not Robert, but yourself!”

* Wench! What’s this—what’s this flame in my eyes?”
Blake rose to his feet, unsteadily. “Where are you, girl?
*Tis dark, the torches are going out.”

“No, Matt; ’tis the darkness of death; you are poisoned ! ”
replied the quadroon.

“Poisoned!” echoed Blake, with a yell, as he dashed his
palm across his eyes, which were dim as with blood. Filippa
sprang from the table, uplifting her stiletto, but too late to
elude the bravo’s grasp. He rushed upon her, and, with his
huge frame staggering, fell with her to the ground. Twice
her stiletto rose, and twice it was sheathed in his breast, but
he wrested it from her hand, as it was aimed fora third blow,
and, clasping her polished throat with his fingers, forced her
white teeth apart with the point of the weapon.

Filippa was like an infant in the powerful man’s grasp.
She offered no resistance, as he dragged her to the table, and,
seizing the cup from which he had drunk, forced the few drops
which remained in it, together with the poisoned ring, into
her gasping throat.

It was Matthew Blake’s last deed; for even in the act, his
massive chest collapsed, he drew a spasmodic breath, and fell
heavily upon the floor.

Slowly and painfully Filippa raised herself, and beheld the
bravo’s blackened countenance close beside her.

‘‘T killed him,” she murmured, “ to—to saye Robert.”

 

A

 
 
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 1238

She rose, then, while the swift fever began already to con-
sume her. She seized the bloody stiletto, and, hastening to
the post, severed the thongs which confined her dear master.
His mouth was distorted by a gag, and, as she relieved him
from it, the blood followed in a discoloured stream.

“Awake, Master Robert—’tis I; you are saved.”

The Tory’s breast heaved convulsively, and his frame still
writhed in agony. Filippa tenderly lifted his head, and
wiped the blood from his lips. At last he opened his eyes.

“ You are saved, Master Robert.” She pointed to the dead
bravo, lying under the glare of the torches.”

“ Ha!—Matt—dead!’’ gasped the Tory, as he began to
recall his situation.

“And—I—I am dying, Master Robert.”

“ Dying ! ”

“Thus, only, could I save my master. Zwice have I saved
thee, dear Robert.”

She sighed, and sank back. She had indeed given her life,
poor girl.

CHAPTER XIX.
THE LAST STRUGGLE.

Thongh all the fiends to whom thou art sold
Rise in thine aid, I'll keep my word.—W. Scorr,

On the 12th of May, 1780, the British captured Charleston»
from which their armies had twice been repulsed. The
American garrison marched out with the honours of war, and
many Whig families retired with them, leaving the exultant
king’s men to possess their homes.

And when the last detachment of Americans had departed,
and foreign sentinels tramped their rounds from Cooper to
Ashley river, there might have been noticed the figure of a

 
 

124 THE KINGS MAN:

man skulking in the dusk of twilight, near a bluff that oyer-
looked the water.

This skulking man was Samuel Pappett, the former spy,
who had since become a camp-follower of the British Army
under Prevost.

Never, since the brief glimpse he had caught of that glitter-
ing casket which Matthew Blake, the bravo, gloated over in
his secret cavern, had the recollection of the treasure been
absent from Pappett’s thoughts. Sleeping or waking, his
memory reverted to the ravishing spectacle of untold wealth
his eyes had beheld for a moment; and many a project had
he formed to return to Charleston, even while the city re-
mained in possession of the patriots. But chronie cowardice
is stronger than even cupidity, and the spy had never mus-
tered sufficient courage to induce the risk of being recognized
and punished asa traitor by the zealous Whigs who knew him.

But at last, Samuel Pappett followed the flag of his British
protectors to Charleston, and on the night which followed
the capture of the city, a night favourable for his purpose,
being gloomy with threatening clouds, he cautiously made
his way to the bank which had sheltered Matt Blake’s cabin,
now deserted and in ruins. The spy’s heart sank as he
groped his way to the spot where he had concealed himself,
three years before, while Robert Atnee entered the brayo’s
dwellings, but the locality was so pictured in his mind, that”
he found no difficulty in discovering, under thick masses of
tangled vines, that narrow crevice through which he had
peered into the hollow bank. He had provided himself with
a pick, and lost no time in widening the aperture, so that in
a few moments it was large enough to admit his body.

But here, an accident, which was nearly fatal, thrilled the
man with new terrors. The displacement of earth with his
pick had jarred the entire bank, and, as he was about climb-
ing to the opening he had effected, a great mass of clay parted,
and fell with a heavy smash into the river, leaving him scarcely
a foothold where he stood. Pappett shrank back aghast, but
avarice soon asserted her dominion, and he prepared to follow
A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 125

up his work, which had now indeed become easier, since the
avalanche had partially exposed the whole cavern. He cau-
tiously planted his feet on the crumbling dust, and dragging
himself to the interior, hastily struck a light with tinder and

matches wherewith he had not forgotten to provide himself.

Where, now, was Matthew Blake, the bravo and pirate, to
guard that treasure, gained by many a crime? Where were
the potent evil spirits said to brood over ill-gotten gold?
Pappett, the coward, erept on, pausing every second and hold-
ing his breath to listen. But he heard nothing but the wind
and river moaning. All within the cavern was as still as the
grave.

At length, the spy, dragging himself on his knees around the
cave, felt his hand slide into the aperture where he had seen the
bravo thrust his casket; and presently his pulse leaped as his
fingers came in contact with its rusty iron lid. The coward
grew brave in lifting the chest from its hiding-place, and he
could have faced a regiment, as he hugged it to his bosom.

But suddenly a grating noise, as of a door turning on rusty
hingcs, and a tread as of feet advancing, caused a chill of ter-
ror to curdle the robber’s blood. In another instant he saw
the glimmer of a light strike across the cavern, and then, with
& muttered cry, he dropped his own dim taper, and, clutching
the casket tightly, crawled toward the outlet.

The damp, slippery clay seemed to ooze from under him as
he proceeded, and presently he heard the voice of a man vent-
ing a loud curse behind him. He redoubled his exertions, and
succeeded in reaching the brink of the passage, still grasping
the chest as with a vice. Here he paused, for immediately
below ran the dark river, and above were black, hurrying
clouds, driven across the sky. He gulped at the cool air, and
drew himself cautiously up, but as he did so, a heavy hand
fell upon his shoulder.

At another time, Pappett would have abandoned everything
for flight; but the possession of the treasure made him des-
perate, and while he hugged it with one hand, he drew a knife
from his belt, and struck furiously a backward blow at his pur-

 
 

  

126 THE KING’S MAN:
suer. A groan answered him, and the grasping hand slackened,
but only for a moment. Another grasp was laid on his arm,
and he found himself grappled by the man he had wounded.

At this juncture, while the two closed in a deadly embrace,
a rift in the heavy cloud, permitted the May moon to look out
for an instant, and illuminate the river, the dark bank, and the
struggling men. Samuel Pappett beheld a hand, armed with
a dagger, suspended above his heart. He saw, too, and reeog-
nized his antagonist, though his features were grimy as those of
acorpse. It was his ancient employer and confidant—Robert
Atnee, the Tory.

‘The uplifted arm descended, and Pappett felt the cold steel
penetrating his bosom. He shrieked in horrible accents, and
sank back, but relinquished neither his hold of the casket,
nor his clutch of Atnee’s garments. Atnce in vain essayed to
shake him him off, and again and again he buried the dagger
in his breast; but the wretch still clung to his treasure,
answering only with shricks, till at last they staggered and
slipped forward, the earth trembled beneath the feet of both,
and they toppled into the black river.

Leaves and brush and loose dirt covered the water, and for
a few moments Pappett and his enemy struggled amid the
débris, and then sank together. The spy never slackened his
dying gripe; and thus ended the life of Robert Atnee, the
Tory.

CHAPTER XX.
CONCLUSION.

Tur pleasant mansion of John Riviere, tne merchant of
Charleston, had been illumined with old faces returned again,
and echoed to well-remembered footsteps and music of happy
voices. Old friends, gathering around Ernest Riviere, and his
fair wife, had listened to the story of captivity and perils

 

  

  
  

 

A TALE OF SOUTH CAROLINA,

 

127

which the elder Riviere was privileged to relate, when he sat
with his children in their vine-covered porch. Moultrie and
Marion, and other gailant ones, loved to mingle with the fond
groups, and ever found gracious welcome there.

And when, after a happy year, the reunited family retired
from before the invading British, and sought shelter in Phila-
delphia ; and when, after fighting for four years under the eye
of General Washington, Ernest Riviere saw the last army of
King George surrender to the patriot chief; and when, at last,
returned to his ancestral domain, a blooming family clung
about the young colonel’s knees, the story of Moultrie’s defence
of St.Augustine prison, of the hatred and plottings of Robert
Atnee, lost none of its interest, but was told and retold till it
became a household legend of the Carolinas.

And when the war was over, Tom Irvins, the ranger, who
had fought under the Swamp-Fox Marion, and the British
corporal, Nevens, who had tales to tell concerning Paul Jones
and many other brave comrades, came and rested under the
vines and orange-trees of the old mansion; to join in the
thanksgiving of the young Republic, and bless the proud
banner of freedom—the Stars and Stripes.

THE END.

 

CLarron & Co., Printers, 17, Bouverie Street, Fleet Street.