Dr. Percival had so far recovered
as to be considered able to lie in a hammock upon
an upper veranda where he could look out upon the
beauties of the lawn, the bayou, and the fields and
woods beyond. Dr. Harold Travilla was still in
attendance and seldom left him for any great length
of time, never alone, seldom with only the nurse Maud,
one of Dick’s sisters, or some other relative
being always near at hand, ready to wait upon him,
chat pleasantly for his entertainment, or remain silent
as seemed best to suit his mood at the moment.
He was very patient, cheerful, and
easily entertained, but did not usually talk very
much himself.
One day he and Harold were alone for
a time. Both had been silent for some moments
when Dick, turning an affectionate look upon his cousin,
said in grateful tones, “How very good, kind,
and attentive you have been to me, Harold. I
think that but for you and the other two doctors Cousins
Arthur and Herbert I should now be lying
under the sod; and I must acknowledge that you are
a most excellent physician and surgeon,” he
added with an appreciative smile and holding out his
hand.
Harold took the hand and, pressing
it affectionately in both of his, said with feeling,
“Thank you, Dick. I consider your opinion
worth a great deal, and it is a joy to me that I have
been permitted to aid in helping on your recovery;
but I am no more deserving of thanks than the others.
Indeed both Herbert and I felt it to be a very great
help to be able to call Cousin Arthur in to give his
opinion, advice, assistance; which he did freely and
faithfully. He is an excellent physician and
surgeon as I know you to be also: knowledge
which increases the delight of having been by
God’s blessing upon our efforts able
to pull you through, thus saving a most useful life.”
“Thank you,” replied Dick
in a moved tone. “By God’s help I
shall try to make it more useful in the future than
it has been in the past should he see fit
to restore me to health and vigor. I feel at
present as if I might never again be able to walk or
ride.”
“I think you need change of
climate for a while,” said Harold. “What
do you say to going North with us, if Captain Raymond
should give you and Maud an invitation to take passage
in his yacht?”
“Why, that is a splendid idea,
Harold!” exclaimed Dick, with such a look of
animation and pleasure as had not been seen upon his
features for many a day. “Should I get
the invitation and Bob come back in time to attend
to our practice, I I really shall, I think,
be strongly inclined to accept.”
“I hope so indeed,” Harold
said with a smile, “and I haven’t a doubt
that you will get it; for I know of no one who loves
better than the captain to do good or give pleasure.
Ah! speak of angels! here he is with his wife and
yours,” as just at that moment the three stepped
out from the open doorway upon the veranda.
“The three of us, Harold?
Are we all angels to-day?” asked Violet, with
a smile, stepping forward and taking Dick’s hand
in hers.
“Quite as welcome as if you
were, cousin,” said Dick. “Ah, captain!
it was you we were speaking of at the moment of your
arrival.”
“Ah? a poor substitute for an
angel, I fear,” was the rejoinder in the captain’s
usual pleasant tones. “But I hope it was
the thought of something which it may be in my power
to do for you, Cousin Dick.”
“Thanks, captain; you are always
most kind,” returned Dick, asking Harold by
a look to give the desired explanation, which he did
at once by repeating what had just passed between
him and Dr. Percival in regard to a Northern trip
to be taken by the latter upon his partner’s
return from his bridal trip.
Captain Raymond’s countenance
brightened as he listened and scarcely waiting for
the conclusion, “Why, certainly,” he said.
“It will be an easy matter to make room for
Cousins Dick and Maud, and a delight to have them
with us on the voyage and after we reach home until
the warm weather sends us all farther North for the
summer.”
“Oh, delightful!” cried
Maud. “Oh, Dick, my dear, it will set you
up as nothing else could; and you may hope to come
back in the fall as well and strong as ever.”
Dr. Percival looked inquiringly at Violet.
“Yes, cousin,” she said
with a smile, “I think we can make you very
comfortable; and that without inconveniencing anybody;
especially as Grandpa and Grandma Dinsmore decline
to return in the Dolphin. They go from
here to Philadelphia by rail, to visit her relations
there or in that region. So you need not hesitate
about it for a moment, and,” glancing at her
brother, “you will have your doctor along to
see that you are well taken care of and not allowed
to expose yourself on deck when you should be down
in the saloon or lying in your berth.”
“Yes,” laughed Harold,
“I shall do my best to keep my patient within
bounds and see that he does nothing to bring on a relapse
and so do discredit to my medical and surgical knowledge
and skill.”
“Which I should certainly be
most sorry to do,” smiled Dick. “If
I do not do credit to it all, it shall be no fault
of mine. Never again, cousin, can I for a moment
forget that you stand at about the head of your profession or
deserve to, certainly as both physician
and surgeon. Captain, I accept your kind offer
with most hearty thanks. I feel already something
like fifty per cent. better for the very thought of
the rest and pleasure of the voyage, the visit to my
old home and friends, and then a sojourn during the
hot months in the cooler regions of the North.”
From that time his improvement was
far more rapid than it had been, and Maud was very
happy over that and her preparations for the contemplated
trip, in which Grandma Elsie and Cousins Annis and
Violet gave her valuable assistance.
At length a letter was received telling
that the newly-married pair might be expected two
days later. Chester brought the news to Viamede
shortly after breakfast and all heard it with pleasure,
for they were beginning to feel a strong drawing toward
their northern homes.
“It is good news,” said
Grandma Elsie; “and now I want to carry out a
plan of which I have been thinking for some time.”
“In regard to what?” asked her father.
“The reception to be given our
bride and groom,” she answered. “I
want it to be given here; all the connection now in
these parts to be invited, house and lawn to be decorated
as they were for our large party just after the wedding,
and such a feast of fat things as we had then to be
provided.”
“That is just like you, mother,”
said Captain Raymond; “always thinking how to
give pleasure and save trouble to other people.”
“Ah, it seems to me that I am
the one to do it in this instance,” she returned
with a gratified smile, “having the most means,
the most room of any of the connection about here,
abundance of excellent help as regards all the work
of preparation and the entertainment of the guests;
indeed everything that the occasion calls for.
Dick and Maud are in no case to do the entertaining,
though I do certainly hope they may both be able to
attend he, poor fellow, lying in a hammock
on the veranda or under the trees. If they like
they may as well come fully prepared for their journey
and start with us from here.”
“A most excellent and kind plan,
cousin, as yours always are,” said Chester,
giving Mrs. Travilla a pleased and grateful look.
“I have no doubt it will be accepted if Dr.
Harold approves.”
“As he surely should, since
it is his mother’s,” remarked Violet in
her sprightly way. “Suppose you drive over
at once, mamma, see the three, and have the whole
thing settled.”
“A very good idea I think, Vi,”
was the smiling rejoinder. “Captain, will
you order a carriage brought round promptly, and you
and Vi go with me? taking Elsie and Ned
also, if they would care for a drive,” she added,
giving the little folks a kindly inquiring look.
Both joyfully accepted the invitation,
if papa and mamma were willing; Elsie adding:
“And if Cousin Dick is not well
enough for us to go in, we can stay in the carriage
or out in the grounds, till you and papa and mamma
are ready to come back.”
“Yes,” said her father;
“so there is no objection to your going.”
“There will still be a vacant
seat,” said Grandma Elsie, “will you not
go with us also, Grace? I have heard Harold say
driving was good exercise for you.”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am,”
said Grace. “I should like it very much,
if papa approves,” glancing with an inquiring
smile at him.
“Certainly. I am quite
sure that my daughter Grace’s company will add
to my enjoyment of the drive,” was the captain’s
kindly response.
“And, Grandma Elsie, cannot
you find some use for the stay-at-homes?” asked
Max. “Chester and myself for instance.
Would there be any objection to having ‘Old
Glory’ set waving from the tree tops to-day?”
“None whatever,” she returned
with her sweet smile. “I, for one, never
weary of seeing it ’wave o’er the land
of the free and the home of the brave.’”
“I think anyone who does isn’t
worthy to be called an American!” exclaimed
Lucilla with warmth.
“Unless so unfortunate as to
be only a South American,” remarked Eva with
a smile. “You would not expect such an one
to care for our Old Glory.”
“Oh, no, certainly not; it is
no more to them than to the rest of the world.”
“But I dare say it is a good
deal to some of the rest of the world; judging from
the way they flock to these shores,” said Chester.
“Which I sincerely wish some
of them wouldn’t,” said Lucilla; “the
ignorant, idle, and vicious. To read of the great
numbers constantly coming in often makes me tremble
for our liberties.”
“Honest and industrious ones
we are always glad to welcome,” said Chester,
“but the idle and vicious ought to be kept out.
And as our own native born boys must be twenty-one
years old before being allowed to vote, I think every
foreigner should be required to wait here that same
length of time before receiving the right of suffrage.”
“And I heartily agree with you
in that,” said Captain Raymond.
“But unfortunately we have too
many selfish politicians men who are selfishly
set upon their own advancement to wealth and power
and care little, if anything, for their country and
their country’s good who, to gain
votes for themselves, have managed to have the right
of suffrage given those worthless, ignorant foreigners
in order to get into place and power through them.”
“I haven’t a particle
of respect for such men,” exclaimed Lucilla
hotly; “and not much, more for some others who
are so engrossed in the management of their own affairs the
making of money by such close attention to business,
that they can’t, or won’t look at all after
the interests of their country.”
“Very true, my dear sister,”
said Max, with a roguish look and smile, “so
it is high time the ladies should be given the right
of suffrage.”
“The right! I think they
have that already,” she returned with rising
color and an indignant look, “but domineering
men won’t allow them to use it.”
“Why, daughter,” laughed
the captain, “I had no idea that you were such
a woman’s rights woman. Surely it is not
the result of my training.”
“No, indeed, papa; though you
have tried to teach me to think for myself,”
she returned with a blush and smile, adding, “I
am not wanting to vote even if I were old
enough, which I know I am not yet but I
do want the laws made and administered by my own countrymen,
and that without any assistance from ignorant foreigners.”
“Ah, and that is perhaps the
result of my teachings. Are you not afraid, Chester,”
turning to him, “that one of these days she may
prove too independent for you?”
“Ah, captain, if you are thinking
of frightening me out of my bargain let me assure
you at once that it is perfectly useless,” laughed
Chester in return.
“Ah, yes; I suppose so,”
sighed the captain in mock distress. “But
I must go now and order the carriage,” he added,
rising and hastening away in the direction of the
stables.
“And we to make our preparations
for the drive and call at Torriswood,” said
Grandma Elsie, addressing Violet and the younger ones,
expecting to be of the party. “Dick and
Maud should have as early a report of our plans and
purposes as we can well give them.”
To that Violet and Grace gave a hearty
assent, the little ones echoing it joyfully, and by
the time the carriage could be brought to the door
they were all ready to enter it.
They found Maud and Dick full of pleasurable
excitement, the former already at work upon her packing.
Grandma Elsie’s plan and invitation were highly
appreciated by both and joyfully accepted.
The arrangements were soon made.
If all went well with Dr. and Mrs. Johnson they would
reach Viamede the next afternoon, stay there in the
enjoyment of its hospitality until toward bedtime of
that evening, then come on to Torriswood, and a day
or two later the others would start upon their northward
journey; all going together to New Orleans, Grandpa
and Grandma Dinsmore taking the cars there for Philadelphia,
and the rest starting for home by water along
the Gulf of Mexico, around Florida, and up the Atlantic
coast.
The whole plan met Dr. Harold’s
unqualified approval, while Dr. Percival was so charmed
with it that he insisted that the very prospect of
it all had nearly restored him to health and strength.
“Is that so, cousin?”
exclaimed Violet with a pleased laugh, “why,
you will be another Samson by the time we reach our
homes.”
“Ah, if I can only recover the
amount of strength I had before my accident I shall
be satisfied,” said he, “and I shall know
how to appreciate it as I never did in the past.”
All the necessary arrangements having
now been made, the Viamede party presently returned
to their temporary home, which they found looking
very gay and patriotic with flags fluttering from tree
tops, gables, windows, and verandas; for the young
folks left behind had been very busy in their work
of adornment. The result of their labors met with
warm approval from Grandma Elsie, the captain, and
Violet. Grace and Elsie Raymond, too, expressed
themselves as highly pleased, while Ned quite went
into raptures at the sight of so fine a display of
the “Star-spangled Banner.”
“Now, Cousin Ronald,”
he exclaimed, turning to Mr. Lilburn, “don’t
you think it is the very prettiest flag that floats?”
“As bonny a one as ever I saw,
laddie,” responded the old gentleman with a
genial smile. “And don’t you know
that having adopted this as my country, I now consider
it as truly my ain banner as it is yours?”
“Oh, yes, sir, and I like you
to,” returned Ned with a pleased look.
“I like this to be your country as well as mine.”
“It’s a grand country,
laddie,” was the pleasant-toned response, “and
the native land of my bonny young wife and the dear
little bairns of my son Hugh; so I may well give it
a share of my affection.”
The weather continued fine, all the
preparations were carried forward successfully, and
by noon of the next day the Percivals were ready to
enjoy a brief stay at Viamede and gaining strength,
but carefully attended and watched over by his cousin
Harold, and Maud full of life and gayety because of
his improvement and the pleasant prospect before them.
It would be so delightful, she thought and said, to
see her old home and friends and acquaintances about
there, Dick taking his ease among them all for a time;
and then to spend some weeks or months, farther north,
enjoying sea breezes and sea bathing.
All the cousins, older and younger,
from Magnolia Hall and the Parsonage were gathered
there before the hour when the boat bringing their
bride and groom might be expected, and as it rounded
to at the wharf quite a little crowd could be seen
waiting to receive them.
The Johnsons had not been apprised
of the reception awaiting them and were expecting
to go on immediately to Torriswood, but the boat was
hailed and stopped by Chester, and at the same time
seeing the festive preparations and the assemblage
of relatives, they understood what was going on and
expected, and stepped quickly ashore, where glad greetings
were exchanged; then all moved on to the house where
Dr. Percival lay in a hammock on the front veranda.
“Oh, Dick, dear fellow, are
you still unable to move about?” asked Dr. Johnson,
grasping his hand and looking down into his thin, pale
face with eyes that filled with tears in spite of
himself.
“Oh, I’ll soon be all
right, Bob; though if it hadn’t been for Harold
here,” giving the latter a warmly affectionate
glance, “I doubt if you would have found a partner
in your practice on your return.”
“In that case I am certainly
under great obligations to you, Harold,” Robert
said with feeling, as he and Harold grasped hands with
cousinly warmth. “You could hardly have
done me a greater service.”
“Don’t talk of obligations,”
said Harold with emotion. “Dick and you
and I are not only all members of the same profession,
but all near kinsmen; so that Dick had a double and
strong claim upon me and my services.”
“And we all think he needs a
change,” said Maud, standing near, “and
so, by Cousin Elsie’s kind invitation, we are
going with her and the rest, in the captain’s
yacht, to visit them and our old homes; then on farther
North to the seashore.”
“The very best thing that could
be done, I think,” said Robert; “it certainly
is Dick’s turn to have a holiday while I stay
and attend to our practice.”
The mirth, jollity, and feasting that
followed, filling up the rest of the day, were very
similar to those of the day of the wedding, weeks
before.
Dr. Percival was still feeble, and
Mrs. Travilla had some arrangements to make in regard
to the conduct of affairs at Viamede after her departure,
which together made it best to delay for a few days.
But at length all was ready, the good-byes were said,
and the return journey to their northern homes was
begun.
As had been planned Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore
took the cars at New Orleans, while the Dolphin,
bearing the remaining members of their party, passed
from west to east along the Gulf of Mexico, around
the southern coast of Florida and up its eastern coast
and that of the Carolinas. Quite a voyage, but
neither tedious nor tiresome to the passengers, so
pleasant did they find each other’s society and
the variety of books and sports provided for their
entertainment.
During the greater part of the voyage
the weather was pleasant enough to allow them to spend
the most of their days upon deck, where they could
walk about or sit and chat beneath an awning.
“Grandma,” said little
Elsie, coming to Mrs. Travilla’s side one morning
as she sat on deck busied with a bit of fancy work,
“would it trouble you to talk to Ned and me
a little while?”
“No, dear,” was the smiling
reply, “but what is it that you wish to hear
from me?”
“Something about General Marion,
grandma, if you please. I know a little about
him and admire him very much indeed. He was a
South Carolina man, I know, and when I heard papa
say a while ago that we were on the South Carolina
coast, it made me think of Marion and that I should
be very glad to hear something more of what he did
in the Revolution.”
“And so would I, grandma; ever
so much,” added Ned, who was close at his sister’s
side.
“Then sit down, one on each
side of me, and I will tell you some things that I
have read about General Francis Marion, one of the
boldest, most energetic, and faithful patriots of the
Revolution. He was born in South Carolina in
1732, and it is said was so small a baby that he might
have been easily put into a quart pot.”
“He must have had to grow a
good deal before he could be a soldier, grandma,”
laughed Ned.
“Yes, but he had forty-three
years to do it in,” said Elsie.
“That many years before the
Revolutionary War began,” said her grandma,
“but he was only twenty-seven when he became
a soldier by joining an expedition against the Cherokees
and other hostile Indian tribes on the western frontier
of his State. When the Revolution began he was
made a captain in the second South Carolina regiment.
He fought in the battle at Fort Sullivan, on Sullivan’s
Island, in the contest at Savannah, and many another.
He organized a brigade and became brigadier of the
militia of South Carolina. After the battle of
Eutaw he became senator in the Legislature, but soon
went back into the army and remained there till the
close of the war.”
“Grandma, didn’t he and
his soldiers camp in the swamps a good deal of the
time?” asked Elsie.
“Yes; and often had but little
to eat sometimes sweet potatoes only, and
but a scant supply of them. A story is told of
a young British officer from Georgetown coming to
treat with him respecting prisoners, when Marion was
camping on Snow’s Island at the confluence
of the Pedee River and Lynch’s Creek. The
Briton was led blindfolded to Marion’s camp.
There for the first time he saw that general a
small man with groups of his men about
him, lounging under the magnificent trees draped with
moss. When they had concluded their business Marion
invited the Englishman to dine with him. The invitation
was accepted, and great was the astonishment of the
guest when the dinner was served; only some roasted
potatoes on a piece of bark. ’Surely, general,’
he said, ‘this cannot be your ordinary fare?’
’Indeed it is,’ replied Marion, ’and
we are fortunate on this occasion, entertaining company,
to have more than our usual allowance.’
“It is said that the young officer
gave up his commission on his return, saying that
such a people could not, and ought not to be subdued.”
“Marion and his men must have
loved their country and liberty to be willing to live
in swamps with nothing but potatoes to eat,”
said Elsie; “it makes me think of the stories
I’ve read and heard about Robin Hood and his
merry men.”
“Yes,” said her grandmother,
“and Lossing tells us Marion’s men were
as devoted to him as those of Robin Hood were to their
leader. Our poet Bryant has drawn a telling picture
of that noble band in his
“SONG
OF MARION’S MEN.
“Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion’s name is
told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us
As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass;
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.
“Woe to the English soldiery,
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.
“Then sweet the hour that brings
release
From danger and from toil;
We talk the battle over,
And share the battle’s
spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,
As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gather’d
To crown the soldier’s
cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.
“Well knows the fair and friendly
moon
The band that Marion leads
The glitter of their rifles.
The scampering of their steeds.
’Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain;
’Tis life to feel the night wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp
A moment and away
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.
“Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
With tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton
Forever from our shore.”
“And we did drive the British
away or Marion and his men, and the rest
of our brave soldiers did,” exclaimed Ned when
the recitation of the poem was finished, “didn’t
they, grandma?”
“Yes, Neddie boy, God helped
us to get free and become the great nation which we
are to-day; and to him let us give all the glory and
the praise.”
“Yes, grandma, I know that even
those brave and good fighters couldn’t have
done it if God hadn’t helped them. Did Marion
live long after the war was over?”
“About a dozen years. He
died on the 29th of February, 1795. We are told
his last words were, ’Thank God, since I came
to man’s estate I have never intentionally done
wrong to any man.’”
“And is that all the story about
him?” asked Ned regretfully.
“Enough for the present, I think,”
replied his grandma; “when you are older you
can read of him in history for yourself. However,
some of his work will come in incidentally as I go
on with some other historical sketches. I want
to tell you something of Mrs. Rebecca Motte one
of the brave and patriotic women living in South Carolina
at that time and the doings of the British
and Americans on her estate.
“Mrs. Motte was a rich widow.
She had a fine large mansion occupying a commanding
position on the road between Charleston and Camden.
The British, knowing that she was a patriot, drove
her and her family from their home to a farmhouse
which she owned, upon a hill north of her mansion,
into which they put a garrison of one hundred and fifty
men under Captain M’Pherson, a brave British
officer.
“Early in May he was joined
by a small detachment of dragoons sent from Charleston
with despatches for Lord Rawdon. They were about
to leave when Marion and Lee, with their troops, were
seen upon the height at the farmhouse where Mrs. Motte
was now living. So the dragoons remained to give
their help in the defense of the fort.
“Lee took position at the farmhouse,
and his men, with a fieldpiece which General Greene
had sent them, were stationed on the eastern slope
of the high plain on which Fort Motte stood. Marion
at once threw up a mound and planted the fieldpiece
upon it in a position to rake the northern face of
the parapet of the fort against which Lee was about
to move.
“M’Pherson was without
artillery. Between Fort Motte and the height
where Lee was posted was a narrow valley which enabled
his men to come within a few hundred yards of the
fort. From that they began to advance by a parallel a
wide trench and by the 10th of the month
they were so far successful that they felt warranted
in demanding a surrender. They sent a summons
to M’Pherson, but he gallantly refused to comply.
“That evening our men heard
that Lord Rawdon had retreated from Camden, was coming
in that direction, and would relieve Fort Motte.
The next morning beacon fires could be seen on the
high hills of Santee, and that night the besieged
were greatly rejoiced to see their gleam on the highest
ground of the country opposite Fort Motte. They
were delighted, but soon found that they had rejoiced
too soon.
“Lee proposed a quicker plan
for dislodging them than had been thought of before.
Mrs. Motte’s mansion, in the center of their
works, was covered with a roof of shingles now very
dry, as there had been no rain for several days and
the heat of the sun had been great. Lee’s
idea was to set those shingles on fire and so drive
the enemy out. He had been enjoying Mrs. Motte’s
hospitality and her only marriageable daughter was
the wife of a friend of his, so he was very loath to
destroy her property, but on telling her his plan,
he was much relieved to find that she was not only
willing, but desirous to serve her country by the
sacrifice of her property.
“He then told his plan to Marion
and they made haste to execute it. It was proposed
to set the roof on fire with lighted torches attached
to arrows which should be shot against it. Mrs.
Motte, seeing that the arrows the men were preparing
were not very good, brought out a fine bow and bundle
of arrows which had come from the East Indies, and
gave them to Lee.
“The next morning Lee again
sent a flag of truce to M’Pherson, the bearer
telling him that Rawdon had not yet crossed the Santee,
and that immediate surrender would save many lives.
“But M’Pherson still refused,
and at noon Nathan Savage, a private in Marion’s
brigade, shot toward the house several arrows with
lighted torches attached. Two struck the dry
shingles and instantly a bright flame was creeping
along the roof. Soldiers were sent up to knock
off the shingles and put out the fire, but a few shots
from Marion’s battery raked the loft and drove
them below. Then M’Pherson hung out a white
flag, the Americans ceased firing, the flames were
put out, and at one o’clock the garrison surrendered
themselves prisoners of war.
“Then Mrs. Motte invited both
the American and the British officers to a sumptuous
dinner which she had had made ready for them.”
Grace Raymond had drawn near and was
listening in a very interested way to the story as
told by Mrs. Travilla.
“Grandma Elsie,” she said
as that lady paused in her narrative, “do you
remember a little talk between the American and British
officers at that dinner of Mrs. Motte’s?”
“I am not sure that I do,”
was the reply. “Can you repeat it for us?”
“I think I can give at least
the substance,” said Grace. “One of
the prisoners was an officer named Captain Ferguson.
He was seated near Colonel Horry, one of our American
officers. Addressing him, Ferguson said, ‘You
are Colonel Horry, I presume, sir?’ Horry replied
that he was and Ferguson went on, ’Well, I was
with Colonel Watson when he fought your General Marion
on Sampit. I think I saw you there with a party
of horse, and also at Nelson’s Ferry, when Marion
surprised our party at the house. But I was hid
in high grass and escaped. You were fortunate
in your escape at Sampit, for Watson and Small had
twelve hundred men.’
“‘If so,’ said Horry,
’I certainly was fortunate, for I did not suppose
they had more than half that number,’ Then Ferguson
said, ’I consider myself equally fortunate in
escaping at Nelson’s Old Field.’
“‘Truly you were,’
Horry returned sarcastically, ’for Marion had
but thirty militia on that occasion,’ The other
officers at the table could not refrain from laughing.
General Greene afterward asked Horry how he came to
affront Captain Ferguson, and Horry answered that he
affronted himself by telling his own story.’”
“Ah, I think our soldiers were
the bravest,” was little Elsie’s comment
upon that anecdote.
“Yes,” said her grandma,
“probably because they were fighting for liberty
and home.”
“Please, grandma, tell us another
Revolutionary story,” pleaded Ned.
“Did you ever hear the story
of what Emily Geiger did for the good cause?”
asked Grandma Elsie in reply.
“No, ma’am; won’t you please tell
it?”
“Yes. Emily was the daughter
of a German planter in Fairfield District. She
was not more than eighteen years old, but very brave.
General Greene had an important message to send to
Sumter, but because of the danger from the numbers
of Tories and British likely to be encountered on
the way none of his men seemed willing to take it;
therefore he was delighted when this young girl came
forward and offered to carry his letter to Sumter.
But fearing she might lose it on the way, he made
her acquainted with its contents.
“She mounted a fleet horse,
crossed the Wateree at the Camden Ferry, and hastened
on toward Sumter’s camp. On the second day
of her journey, while passing through a dry swamp,
she was stopped and made prisoner by some Tory scouts,
who suspected her because she came from the direction
of Greene’s army. They took her to a house
on the edge of the swamp and shut her up in a room,
while they sent for a woman to search her person.
“Emily was by no means willing
to have the letter found upon her person, so as soon
as left alone she began tearing it up and swallowing
it piece by piece. After a while the woman came
and searched her carefully, but found nothing to criminate
the girl, as the last piece of the letter had already
gone down her throat.
“Her captors, now convinced
of her innocence, made many apologies and allowed
her to go on her way. She reached Sumter’s
camp, gave him Greene’s message, and soon the
British under Rawdon were flying before the Americans
toward Orangeburg.”
“Is that all, grandma?”
asked Ned, as Mrs. Travilla paused and glanced up
smilingly at Captain Raymond, who now drew near.
“All for the present, Neddie,”
she replied. “Some other time I may perhaps
think of other incidents to give you.”
“Ah, mother, so you have been
kindly entertaining my children, who are great lovers
of stories,” remarked the captain. “I
hope they have not been too exacting in their entreaties
for such amusement?”
“Oh, no,” she replied;
“they wanted some episodes in the history of
the State we are passing, and I have been giving them
some account of the gallant deeds of General Marion
and others.”
“He was a brave, gallant man,
was Francis Marion, thoroughly patriotic, and one
of the finest characters of that time; a countryman
of whom we may well be proud,” remarked the captain,
speaking with earnestness and enthusiasm; “and
with it all he was most humane; a great contrast to
some of the British officers who burnt houses, robbed
and wronged women and children rendering
them shelterless, stripping them of all clothes except
those they wore, not to speak of even worse acts of
barbarity. Bancroft tells us that when the British
were burning houses on the Little Pedee, Marion permitted
his men of that district to go home and protect their
wives and families; but that he would not suffer retaliation
and wrote with truth, ’There is not one house
burned by my orders or by any of my people. It
is what I detest, to distress poor women and children.’”
“I am proud of him as one of
my countrymen,” said Grace. “He was
sometimes called ‘The swamp Fox,’ was he
not, papa?”
“Yes; the swamps were his usual
place of refuge and camping ground.”
“I admire him very much and
like to hear about him and all he did for our country,”
said little Elsie; “but I am glad and thankful
that I didn’t live in those dreadful war times.”
“As you well may be, my dear
child,” said her father. “We cannot
be too thankful for the liberty we enjoy in these
days and which was largely won for us by Marion and
other brave and gallant patriots of those darker days.
They, and our debt of gratitude to them, should never
be forgotten or ignored.”