# The Partisan/IX

* "It is all dim—the way still stretches out
* Far in the distance. We may nothing see,
* Till comes the season in the dawning light."
It was an easy victory, and won without loss. Wiping his bloody sword upon the mane of his steed, Major Singleton rode up to his captives, who, by this time, were all properly secured. Four persons had fallen in the conflict, and among these was their leader, Travis. He was shot dead upon the spot. Clough was severely wounded in the breast, though perhaps not mortally, and lay gasping, but without a groan, upon the ground where he had fallen, and around which the surviving prisoners were grouped. Three others had fallen, either killed outright or mortally wounded: two of these by the sabre, not including the corporal, who fell by the hand of Frampton, and who was at once rolled into the swamp. The prisoners, five in number, were natives, generally of the very lowest class, and just the sort of men to fight, according to the necessity of the case, on either side. Such, indeed, were a large proportion of the tories residing in the province. There were many who were avowedly monarchists; who had no sympathy with the revolutionary movement, and no belief in its necessity or propriety; many who were of foreign birth, Scotch, German, and English; and these were frequently persons of great worth, and conscientious in the adoption of their cause, and of these, the unprejudiced judgment of our times has determined that there can be no proper ground for reproach. But with the class of whom we write, and whom we find engaged in such warfare as that which we describe, the case is different. For them, there can be no apology. They were desperates of the worst description—outcasts from several of the provinces,—who, taking refuge at first in Florida—which still remained loyal to the British crown—had ​seized the moment of British ascendency in the South, to inundate Carolina and Georgia with their masses. Without leading principles and miserably poor—not recognised, except as mercenaries, in the social aristocracies which must always prevail in slaveholding nations—they had no sympathy with the more influential classes,—those who were the first to resist the authority of England. The love of gain, the thirst for rapine, and that marauding and gipsy habit of life which was now familiar to them, were all directly appealed to in the tory mode of warfare. They were ready on any side which offered them the greatest chance for indulging in these habits. The tories forming Huck's cavalry were all of this sort; and the small detachment just overthrown by Singleton had no sympathy with their leader, only as his known character promised them plunder. Defeat had no attraction in their eyes; and, as that is always the true cause which is triumphant, they now freely tendered themselves, with clamorous tongues, and to the no small chagrin of the wounded Clough, as recruits for Singleton. The Briton denounced their perfidy in fearless language, and threatened them terribly with the vengeance of Huck and Tarleton; but the remote fear is no fear with the vulgar. They seldom think in advance of the necessity, and the exhortation of their wounded officer had no visible effect. They persisted in their determination to fight on the right side, and earnestly asserted their love of country, alleging that force only had placed them in the ranks of the enemy. Major Singleton conferred with Humphries on the course to be taken in this matter. The latter knew most of the parties, but had been prudent to keep from sight, and they had not seen him, only in the brief glimpse which they had of him in the pursuit, when, at such a distance, perpetually moving, and with his face well smeared with the rank ooze from the creek around him, he must have been unknown, except upon the narrowest examination, even to the mother that had borne him. It was still his policy to keep from sight in connexion with his whig partisans; for, passing in Dorchester as a loyal citizen—a character in part obtained through his father's loudly-voiced attachment to the existing powers—he was of far greater advantage to the cause of the country than he ​possibly could have been even in active military service. He obtained intelligence with singular adroitness, conveyed it with despatch, and planned enterprises upon the facts he thus gathered, with no little tact and ingenuity. To remain unknown, therefore, or only known as he had been heretofore, in close connexion with loyalty alone, was clearly the policy of our lieutenant.
There was one man from whom Humphries seemed willing to withhold his confidence. He counselled his commander to accept the services of the remaining four, recommending that they should be so distributed among the men who had been tried, as to defeat any concert between them, should they feel any impulse to disaffection. In this manner it was also thought that a proper bias would be given to their minds, which, as they both knew, were sufficiently flexible to find but little difficulty in conforming to any circumstances which should for a moment take the shape of a necessity.
"But the fifth—the other fellow—the blear-eyed—what of him? You say nothing of him, Humphries."
Singleton pointed through the copse as he spoke, where the individual referred to leaned against a tree, a little apart from the rest; his head cast down, his arms relaxed beside him, one leg at ease, while the whole weight of his body rested upon the other. The features of his face were dark and unprepossessing—dark and sallow; his cheeks lank and colourless; a small nose; retreating forehead, covered with long thin black hair, that streamed from under a broad white hat, something the worse for wear. A strange protrusion of his eyes gave his face a gross and base expression, which was not before lacking to produce distrust, or even dislike, in the mind of the observer. Humphries gazed on him a moment before he spoke, then, as if satisfied, he proceeded to reply—
"I know nothing against the chap, major; but the truth is, I don't like him. Indeed, I know nobody that does. His right name is Blonay, but we all know him better by the name of Goggle—a nickname which he got on account of his eyes. Something has hurt them when young, which, you see, makes him stare when he looks at you."
​"Well, but we must not refuse him because he has got a blear eye; we are too much in need of men to stand upon trifles. Know you nothing against him?"
"The blood's bad that's in him. His father was a horse-thief, and they do say, a mulatto or an Indian. As for himself, the worst is, that we know nothing about him; and that's no good sign, major, in a country where everybody knows the business of everybody. How he lives, and where and by what means he gets his bread, is a secret. He will not work; but see him when you will, you see him as you see him now—one half of him sleeping while the other half takes the watch. Not that he can't move when the time comes for it—or rather when he's in the humour for it. Touch him close upon his goggle eye, and he's up in arms in a moment. He will fight like a wildcat, too, and that's in his favour; but the worst is, he fights with a bad heart, and loves to remember injuries. I do believe they keep him from sleep at night. He's not like our people in that; he can't knock away at once, and have done with it, but he goes to bed to think about it, and to plan when to knock, so as never to have done with it. He loves to keep his wrongs alive, so that he may always be revenging."
"Still, I see nothing, lieutenant, that should make us discourage his desires; and, truth to pay, it is far easier for us now to keep doubtful friends in our ranks, moving with us, and continually under our eye, than positive enemies in our camp in the form of prisoners, whom we are bound to keep guard over. We can manage our allies if they show signs of bad faith, although we risk something, doubtless, even by the partial confidence. Better do this than break up our little force watching those who profess themselves friends, and may yet prove so."
"You may be right, major, and I only speak perhaps from an old prejudice; but keep an eye upon him, for he certainly will keep one on you. Even now he is looking slyly to this bush, although he can't see or hear either of us, but after the old fashion, to find out what he can. If he were only honest, he'd be a spy among a thousand."
"I will see to him in particular, and if it be possible to drill ​honesty into him, something may be got out of him yet. We must take him."
"Very good, sir;—and you now go back into the camp?"
"Yes: we must put the wounded man into some sort of care, though he will suffer, wanting attendance."
"Leave that to me, sir. You take him into camp, and I have two men to come out this very day, one of whom is a sort of doctor—good as any one hereabout. He used to drench horses in Dorchester; and some of the grannies did say, that there were no drinks like those made by Doctor Oakenburg. But that, I'm thinking, was because he put more brandy in them than anything else; and if a Dorchester granny loves one thing more than another, after opium, it is brandy; and sometimes, liking them equally well, she takes both together. He, major, and the old negro, with some one of the troop, will be guard enough, and Frampton's son Lance can stay with them in the swamp. He's quite too young to be of much service, and will only learn what's bad, going with the troop."
"I have thought better of that, and shall endeavour to attach the lad to myself, and probably, in the end, place him at 'The Oaks' with my uncle. But time wears, and we must move for the camp. I shall take these men into service, and place the wounded man under the charge of one of the troopers, and your doctor can relieve him."
"Well, the doctor will be here to-day with Lieutenant Porgy"—
"Porgy—an ancient and fishlike name."
"Yes, but Lieutenant Porgy is not a fish—though you may call him a strange one. He is more fleshy than fishy; for that matter he has flesh enough for a score of dragoons. He's a perfect mountain of flesh."
"He will never suit for a dragoon, Humphries."
"Well, Sir, if I didn't know the man, T should think so too; but he rides like the devil, and fights like blazes. He's been fighting from the very beginning of the war down in the south. He comes from the Ashepoo, and is a mighty smart fellow, I tell you. You'll like him. Lord, how he can talk. You'll like him, I know. He's been a rich planter in his time, but he's ate and drank and ​everything away, I reckon, but his horse, his nigger servant, and his broadsword."
"And he's one of our lieutenants, you say."
"Yes, he joined us, saying he had been a lieutenant from the beginning, with Harden and Moultrie, and he wasn't going to be less with anybody else. You'll like him, Sir, he's a man; though he's a mountain of flesh."
"Very good. I suppose you know him well, and now to other matters."
Counselling thus, the two continued to confer apart upon other matters connected with their enterprise. To visit "The Oaks" during the day, where his uncle and sister resided, was the object of Singleton; but his desire was also to intercept the supply of arms and ammunition of which Huck had spoken as on their way to Dorchester. They were looked for hourly, and could not be very remote. It was determined, therefore, to intercept them, if practicable, as an acquisition of the last importance. To arrange their route, plan tho place of their next meeting, provide the means of intelligence, and concert what local measures might seem necessary in future, was the work of but little time between the two; and this done, Humphries, withdrawing silently from the cover in which the conference had been carried on, unperceived by the rest, made his way by a different route out of the swamp, and keeping the forest all the way, was, after no long time, safely in Dorchester—looking for all the world as pacific and quiet as ever—without weapon of any kind, as, with a wonted precaution, he had left his sword in the woods, safely hidden, and his hands now grasped only the common wagon-whip, which he handled with a dexterity which seemed to indicate but little acquaintance with any more dangerous or deadly instruments.
Major Singleton, in the mean while, had returned to his troop. They had been busied during his absence in collecting the scattered horses and arms, and repairing their own little losses. The captives were loud in the profession of their new faith, as patriots; and as rebellion loves company, the whigs were not unwilling to receive an accession, even from their late enemies. Major Singleton declared his acceptance of their services, taking care to address ​himself particularly to the man Blonay, or, as they styled him more familiarly, Goggle. An awkward touch of the hat acknowledged this last courtesy, and one eye of Goggle, as he made the movement, peered up into that of Singelton with a searching and doubtful glance. The major did not appear to notice him or them any farther, but, giving directions for the disposal of the wounded sergeant, Clough, so as to spare him as much pain as possible, he led the way once more to the cover of the secluded place, in the centre of the swamp, which had been chosen as their camping-ground.
Here the whole party arrived at length, and having completed his arrangements, placing Clough in charge of one of his dragoons, and in as much comfort as possible, Major Singleton gave the word, and the squad moved forward on their way out of the swamp, and in the direction of the village. But this course was only kept while he yet remained in the swamp. As soon as he emerged from it, he drew up his men, and then, for the first time, perceived the absence of the elder Frampton. The two sons had kept with the troop, and seemed to know nothing of their father. The younger had ridden close beside his commander, who had so willed it. Nobody could give him any account of the absent man after his removal from the body of the corporal whom he had slain. He had disappeared suddenly, it was thought at that juncture, and there were not wanting those who insisted upon his absence from that moment; but Singleton remembered to have seen him after they had reached the camp, and to have noted the singular composedness of his features. But few farther inquiries were made after the absentee, as the major well knew that with a man in such a mood but little could be done. He was, perhaps, perfectly satisfied that nothing could have happened to him, from the composure of the two sons, who, doubtless, were acquainted with all the father's movements. Conjecture succeeded to inquiry, but was interrupted by the order to move on.
The course of the troop lay now towards the Goose Creek road. Major Singleton dared not carry his squad along the Ashley without exposing himself, unnecessarily, to unequal encounter; and, at Dorchester, with a force far superior to his own. Pursuing a northerly direction for a while, therefore, he placed himself at equal ​distances between the Wassamasah and Dorchester roads; then striking to the left, he passed over an untravelled surface of country, broken with frequent swamps, and crowded with luxuriant undergrowth. In a few hours, however, he had gone over the ground almost unseen, and certainly unobstructed. Davis was his guide in this quarter, and he could not have had a better. The discarded lover had given sufficient earnest of his truth and valour, in the courage and perfect coolness of his conduct in the preceding struggle; and he now led the party with all the caution of the veteran, and all the confidence of a thorough-bred soldier.
The road, like all in that country, was low and miry; and the path taken for greater security, being little travelled, was still more troubled with natural obstructions. They reached the desired point at length, which was the Goose Creek Bridge; then leaving it to the left, they once more departed from the beaten track, aud throwing themselves directly across the country, were, after a few hours, again upon the Dorchester road, and some two or three miles below the garrison. They covered themselves in the close forest by Archdale Hall, and Singleton then proceeded to inspect the road. To his great satisfaction, he saw that the wagons had not yet made their appearance, and must be still below them. Cheered with this conviction, he despatched scouts to bring him intelligence, and then proceeded to arrange an ambush for the entrapping of the looked-for detachment.
The road, at the spot chosen for this purpose, was narrow—but a single track, and that raised into a causeway from a ditch on either side, at that time filled with water, and presenting natural advantages for the forming of an ambush. The woods, growing close and thickly, formed a natural defile, of which Singleton, with the eye of experience, soon availed himself. He divided his little force into two equal bodies; and giving the command of one of them to Davis, placed him upon the right of the road in the route from Charleston, while he himself occupied the left. The former division lying in covert some fifty yards below, was ready, in the event of a struggle between the baggage guard and Singleton's troop—to which it was to be left—to secure the precious charge which the guard had undertaken to defend, and at the same time ​to cut off their retreat. Thus arranged, and with the plan of conduct properly understood on all hands, the parties, lay close hidden, impatiently awaiting the approach of the ememy.
They had not long to wait; for, scarcely had their arrangements been well completed, before the scouts came at full gallop along the path, crying loudly that the enemy was at hand. A shot or two whistled over the heads of the fugitives at the same moment, giving full confirmation to their intelligence; and a few seconds after, the rush of half a score of British dragoons was heard upon their footsteps. Passing through the ambuscade without pausing for an instant, the scouts kept on their flight, bringing the pursuers fairly between the two parties. Once enclosed, a shrill whistle from Singleton announced the charge which, he led in person; and dashing out from his cover, he threw his men quickly between the flying scouts and the assailants. In the same moment the squad of Davis obeying the same signal, as repeated by their leader, followed him as he charged upon the force left in possession of the munition wagons. The guard in this quarter, seeing the superiority of the force opposed to them, and struck with surprise, offered but a feeble resistance, and were soon put to flight. Davis followed them a little distance, and then returned to the aid of Singleton. His approach and attack upon the rear of the party with which his commander had been contending, put an end to the fight—the dragoons having lost three men killed and two wounded. With the charge of Davis, they threw down their arms and were made prisoners.