CHAPTER X
HOW MARION’S MEN LAY IN AMBUSH, AND WHAT CAME OF IT
THIS encounter of Tom Deering with the loyalists at the Foster mansion made a great stir. Mr. Foster, of course, could no longer remain at his home, where the British were likely to close in upon him at any time; so he and Lucy, taking their most valuable possessions, made their way northward toward Virginia. From this time on, also, the British commander, Cornwallis, displayed a greater solicitude than ever in the attempts to capture Marion and disperse his band of horsemen.
The legion of Tarleton and a strong force under Major Wemyss were set in motion to beat him out of his retreats in the cane-brakes and swamps. It was Cornwallis’ intention to have these forces cooperate, but Tarleton was delayed and Wemyss would not wait for him.
Through his young scout Marion was kept posted as to the movements of the advancing enemy.
“Major Wemyss is in command of the Sixty-third Regiment,” reported Tom, “and he has with him, also, a large party of Tories, under Clarage.”
“Very good,” said Colonel Marion, briefly. “We must prepare to give them the reception that is due them.”
Major James, a gallant and skilful officer, was summoned and despatched with a select body of volunteers to reconnoitre. All the outposts were called in and, thus united, Marion followed swiftly upon the footsteps of James.
Accompanying the latter was Tom, Cole, and Nat and David Collins. They pushed quickly forward among the morasses and sunk-land, under the great trees hanging with moss and a rank growth of creepers; and at last Major James gave the word to halt.
“Deering,” said he to Tom, “ride carefully forward. I fancy we are about to come in touch with the enemy. Take a few of the men with you.”
Tom selected Cole, of course, and the two Collinses. They rode slowly forward, in Indian file, along a narrow road between two impassable morasses, alert and cautious, never for a moment forgetting that they were in the neighborhood of the British.
“I hear,” said Nat Collins, who rode at Tom’s side, “that Clarage took some prisoners north of this place.”
“Prisoners!” the word always had a peculiar interest for Tom; it set him thinking of his father, so long in the hands of the British—made him long for a sight of him again.
“A rich booty came with these prisoners, too, so the report goes,” continued Nat. “A booty that King George’s treasury will never see, I suppose.”
“The Tories make this war an excuse for plunder,” said Tom. “A great many of them are more actuated by a desire to seize upon their neighbors’ goods, than by longing to serve King George.”
Cole, who rode in front, at this point drew rein upon Dando, and held up his hand. All halted immediately. From far off in the swamp came a low, steady sound, a rising and falling that seemed to draw nearer with each passing moment.
“What is it?” asked David Collins, in a hushed voice.
“It’s like the sound of hoofs,” answered Tom. “Hoof-beats in a swamp, I’ve noticed, have a strangeness about them that seems uncanny. The ground is so soft, and the thick growth muffles the sound so. I’ve lain and listened to them many times in the night; they sound all the more strange coming through the darkness.”
But he was not sure that this was the same sound; and they became silent once more and listened attentively. Suddenly a night bird began to wheel in short circles above the tree-top, and its rasping cries broke the stillness abruptly.
“We’ll not be able to make sure while that fellow is about,” laughed Tom. “He seems to object to our presence.”
He dismounted and gave Sultan’s rein to Cole. Kneeling in the narrow road he pressed his ear to the ground, and kept it there for a long time. At length he arose.
“Yes, horses,” said he, “and quite a lot of them. They seem to be coming along the main road, west of here.” He remounted Sultan and sat silently for a moment. Then he continued, “They are going in the direction of the ford that crosses the Congaree near Fort Mott. There is only one reason why a party of the enemy should be heading for Fort Mott at this time, when they have only started out to seek us.”
“I know,” broke in Nat Collins, “I know what you are thinking. It’s the Tories, under Clarage, and they are taking the prisoners, which I spoke of, to the fort for safe keeping.”
“Right,” said Tom, his eyes snapping; “that is exactly what occurred to me. And, look here, what a pity it is that Major James is not here, and the rest of his men. The Tories will be forced to pass the ruined mill that stands back from the west road, a short distance from here. We could reach that point long before them, judging from the sound of their horses’ feet, and we could give them a surprise.”
For a moment there was silence; then Nat and David broke forth, at once.
“Let us try it—alone!”
Tom laughed in sheer glee, and cried excitedly,
“Do you mean it?”
“We do,” in a breath.
Tom turned to Cole. The great negro grinned; anything that his young master thought of doing was always of great interest to Cole, because, as a rule, what his young master thought it worth while to do usually contained some spice of excitement. Tom knew what the slave’s grin expressed as well as though it had been in words.
“Good!” cried he. “We’re all agreed; and we’ll try it alone. It can do no harm, even if we fail.”
Wheeling their horses they spurred back along the road by which they had come, until they struck a narrow path branching toward the west. Galloping through such a swamp as that and along such a narrow, crooked track, in the darkness, was a most dangerous proceeding; but they were all young and danger, to their ardent spirits, meant but little.
The old mill of which Tom had spoken lay upon the west road—that is the road leading to the Congaree;—it was deserted and had fallen into ruins years before. It was seldom that any one troubled it with his presence; so it was an ideal spot for a surprise or ambuscade. A sharp gallop of, perhaps, a quarter of an hour brought our four adventurers to the old mill. The moon was shining brightly; but the overhanging trees that surrounded the ruin threw it into a deep shadow. A dense thicket stretched along the roadside well in this shadow, and it was behind this that our friends ensconced themselves, after first securing their horses among the trees.
The hoof-beats of the party advancing along the western road now sounded distinctly in their ears. There was little wind, but it was blowing in their direction, and it carried the ringing strokes toward them when the approaching riders came upon a stony part of the road; but, as a rule, the sound was thick, dull and heavy, for the ground was soggy, for the most part, and low.
“Look well to your primings,” spoke Tom, as they crouched behind the thicket. “And keep your pistols at hand, for we will need a second volley.”
Nearer and nearer came the riders; the rumble of wheels could, also, now be distinguished; and soon in the moonlit road they saw about a dozen horsemen, some riding ahead and some alongside a small train of four wagons.
“It’s an escort with Clarage’s prisoners, sure enough,” Nat Collins breathed into Tom Deering’s ear. “See, they have all the plunder in the wagons, just as they took it.”
The wagons rumbled along slowly, drawn by plodding old plough-horses; the steeds of the escort champed at their bits and pranced impatiently at the slowness of the pace.
“Ready,” ordered Tom, in a low, sharp whisper. “I’ll give the word.”
The cavalcade was almost abreast of them when one of the escort called out, apparently addressing some one in one of the wagons.
“So you thought you would run off up to Virginia, did you, Master Foster, and give us the slip! Well, it’s a rare good thing that I fell in with you, or who knows but you might have fallen in with some dishonest rogues upon the way who might have robbed you of the valuables contained in your wagons.”
“It’s Clarage, himself,” said Tom, startled. “And his prisoners are Mr. Foster and his daughter Lucy.” He paused a moment, then leveled his piece over the top of the thicket, his companions doing likewise. “Fire,” he cried.
The four leveled rifles were discharged at once; two men fell from their saddles into the road; another, desperately wounded, clung to his horse’s neck as it raced madly away along the road.
“Hold your ground,” roared Clarage, his bull-like voice plainly to be heard above all the confusion. His men had drawn together in a group, their horses pawing and fighting for their heads against the tautly-drawn bridles.
“The pistols,” whispered Tom. “Fire!”
The long-barreled pistols, of which each of the swamp-riders carried two, exploded in their turn; a man and several horses went down; then the second pistol came into play for a third volley with deadly results. By this time Clarage and his followers, or what were left of them, were struck by a panic; the three volleys of shots from the thicket made it seem as though the ambushment was composed of a great number of men; so, when the four leaped in a body into the road, their swords flashing, and Tom turned and called, as though cheering on still more, “Come on, lads; down with the Tories,” the escort could not be restrained, but gave rein to their steeds and fled down the road toward the Congaree with the raging Clarage thundering at their heels at every bound.
At their flight Tom placed his foot on the hub of a wheel and sprang into the leading wagon.
“Lucy,” he cried, “Mr. Foster.”
“It’s Mars Tom,” cried Dogberry, who had been driving the wagon, but who at the first shot had dived under the seat. “It’s Mars Tom, Missy Lucy. We’s safe again. Ha, ha, ha!”
In a moment Lucy Foster and her father were thanking them for this timely service. Both were pale and worn-looking, especially Mr. Foster, who had been greatly disturbed at the attack of the swamp-riders.
“We were on our way north,” explained Mr. Foster, “and were approaching Fishdam Ferry when we were pounced upon by this man Clarage and his ruffians. All that I have been able to save is contained in these wagons; that and our lives, also, would have been lost had you not appeared just as you did.”
“Oh, when will it all end,” cried poor Lucy, wringing her hands. “It is dreadful; I shall never forget the scenes I have witnessed in the past few weeks!”
“Don’t fear,” soothed Tom. “Marion will lend you an escort and see your father safe on your journey. Meanwhile we had better be on our way back. Major James will be awaiting us.”
Upon their return to the spot where they had left their party they found that Major James, upon his own account, had also surprised a party of the enemy and routed them without loss of a man. So, with Mr. Foster’s wagons rolling along in the midst of them they made their way toward the point where they were to meet Marion.