Elsie in the South

"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 tremblesWhen Marion's name is told.Our fortress is the good greenwood,Our tent the cypress-tree;We know the forest round usAs seamen know the sea.We know its walls of thorny vines,Its glades of reedy grass;Its safe and silent islandsWithin the dark morass."Woe to the English soldiery,That little dread us near!On them shall light at midnightA strange and sudden fear;When, waking to their tents on fire,They grasp their arms in vain,And they who stand to face usAre beat to earth again;And they who fly in terror deemA mighty host behind,And hear the tramp of thousandsUpon the hollow wind."Then sweet the hour that brings releaseFrom 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'dTo crown the soldier's cup.With merry songs we mock the windThat in the pine-top grieves,And slumber long and sweetlyOn beds of oaken leaves."Well knows the fair and friendly moonThe band that Marion leads —The glitter of their rifles.The scampering of their steeds.'Tis life to guide the fiery barbAcross the moonlight plain;'Tis life to feel the night windThat lifts his tossing mane.A moment in the British camp —A moment – and awayBack 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 bandWith 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 moreTill we have driven the BritonForever 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."

CHAPTER XVII

The Dolphin's passengers greatly enjoyed their voyage up the Atlantic coast, yet were not sorry when they reached their desired haven – the city within a few miles of their homes.

Dr. Percival had gained strength every day and now could go about very well with the help of a friend's arm or a cane, and spent but a part of his time lounging in an easy-chair or resting upon a couch.

A telegram had carried to their home friends the information that they expected to reach port on that day, and carriages were there in waiting to convey them to their several places of abode.

Dr. Conly had come for Dr. and Mrs. Percival, as had also Mr. Dinsmore from the Oaks; the one claiming that Roselands was Dick's old home, therefore undoubtedly the proper place for him at present – the other that Maud belonged at the Oaks and of course her husband with her. Grandma Elsie had already given them a warm invitation to Ion, and Captain Raymond and Violet the same to Woodburn. It seemed a little difficult to decide which had the prior claim. Dr. Harold said it should be Ion first in order that he might still have his patient where he could keep continued and careful watch over him; and as he grew better and stronger the others could have their turns at entertaining him and Maud.

To that Dick laughingly replied that he was now tolerably used to obeying Harold's orders, so should submit to his decision, still hoping that in time he and Maud might have the pleasure of accepting the other invitations in turn.

That seemed to give tolerable satisfaction as about as good an arrangement as could well be made.

The Beechwood and Woodburn family carriages and Max's pony were there, also the carriage from Fairview for Evelyn. Max helped her into it, then mounted his steed and rode alongside, the Woodburn carriage driving a little ahead of them, while the other vehicles were somewhat in their rear.

All reached their destinations in safety, each party receiving a joyful welcome on their arrival. Chester, after a brief but affectionate good-by, "for a short time," to Lucilla, had taken a seat in Mr. Dinsmore's carriage, as he and his brother still made their home at the Oaks. Both pairs of lovers had greatly enjoyed their daily intercourse upon the Dolphin and gave that up with some feeling of regret, but comforted themselves with the thought that twenty-four hours would seldom pass without allowing them at least a brief interview.

Bidding good-by to Eva at the gate into Fairview Avenue, Max rode rapidly onward and entered the Woodburn grounds just in the rear of his father's carriage, then dismounted at the veranda in time to take part in assisting the ladies and children to alight.

"Oh, how delightful it is to be at home again!" exclaimed Grace, dancing about and gazing this way and that into the beautifully kept grounds. "I am always glad to go, but still gladder to get back."

"And so am I," "And I," exclaimed the younger ones.

"And I am as glad as anybody else, I think," said Max, "though I should not be if I were here alone – without father, Mamma Vi, and the sisters and little brother."

"No, indeed! the dear ones make more than half of home," Lucilla said with a loving glance around upon the others, then one of ardent affection up into her father's face.

"Yes," said Grace, "father alone is more than half of home to each and every one of us."

An assertion which no one was in the least inclined to contradict.

"He certainly is to me – his wife," said Violet, giving him a look that spoke volumes of respect and love.

"And I certainly know of no man who has less reason to complain of the lack of appreciation by his nearest and dearest," responded the captain in tones slightly tremulous with feeling, and a look of fond, proud affection, first at his wife, then at his children, each in turn.

"This is certainly a happy home-coming to us all," said Max, "to me in especial, I think, as the one who has seen so little of it for years past. It is to me the dearest spot on earth; though it would not be without the dear ones it holds."

But housekeeper and servants had now come crowding about with glad greetings, which were warmly returned, and then the family scattered to their rooms to prepare for the dinner just ready to be served.

All our returned travellers were received with joyful greetings at their homes, not excepting Dr. Harold Travilla at Ion; and all there seemed to rejoice that they were to be the first to entertain the cousins – Dr. Percival and Maud. They were warmly welcomed and speedily installed in most comfortable quarters – a suite of beautifully furnished apartments – on the ground floor, that Dick might be spared the exertion of going up and down even the easiest flight of stairs. They were more than content.

"We seem to have come into a haven of rest, Maud, my love," Dick remarked as he lay back in his reclining chair, and gazed about with eyes that kindled with joy and admiration.

"Yes, my dear," laughed Maud, "it would seem almost appropriate to put another letter into that noun and call it a heaven – so beautiful and tasteful is everything around us."

"Yes; I wish everybody had as good, kind, capable, and helpful friends and relatives as ours, and as able to give them such royal entertainment."

"Cousin Elsie is the very person to have large means," said Maud, "for she seems to be always thinking of others and what she can do for their comfort and happiness. There is not a particle of selfishness or self-righteousness about her."

"I heartily agree with you there," said Dick. "I have known her since I was the merest child and she has always seemed to live to do good and show kindness to all around her. She evidently looks upon her wealth as simply a trust – something the Lord has put into her hands to be used for his glory and the good of her fellow creatures."

"I am sure you are right about that," said Maud. "And her children resemble her in it. What could have exceeded the kindness of Cousins Harold and Herbert – Cousin Arthur Conly, too – when you were so ill? Oh, Dick dear, I thought I was going to lose you! Oh, how could I ever have borne that?" she added with a sob; "and I am sure you and I owe your life to their skilful treatment, their untiring care and devotion."

"We do indeed," he said with emotion; "but for their untiring efforts and God's blessing upon them I should now be under the sod – and my darling a widow," he added tenderly and in quivering tones, drawing her down to give her a fond caress. "And how kind Vi and her husband have been," he went on. "The captain is a grand good man and quite as anxious to use all he has for the glory of God and the good of his fellow creatures as dear Cousin Elsie herself."

"Yes; I don't wonder his wife and children love him so dearly; and I could hardly love him better were he my own brother," said Maud. "I am so glad he and Cousin Violet fancied each other and married when they did."

"Yes, they are the most enjoyable of relatives to us and very happy in each other."

Here their bit of chat was interrupted by a tap on the door opening into the hall. Dr. Harold had come to say that dinner was on the table, and ask if his patient felt able, and if it would be enjoyable to join the family at their meal.

"Indeed I should like it," was Dick's prompt response, "and I think too that I am entirely equal to the exertion."

"Perhaps even with only your cane, if I give you the support of my arm," suggested Harold.

"Thank you, yes," returned Dick, with a pleased look, as Harold assisted him to rise and Maud handed him his cane.

So the little journey was made successfully and the social meal greatly enjoyed. At its conclusion Harold assisted Dr. Percival to his couch again, where he lay down, just weary enough to take a long, refreshing nap.

On leaving the table, Grandma Elsie went to the telephone and called to Woodburn. Violet answered, "What is it, mother?" and received the reply, "I expect the whole connection here to take tea and spend the evening, and I want you all to come."

The captain, standing near, heard the message also, and as Violet turned inquiringly to him, "Surely there is nothing to prevent any of us from going," he said, and she at once answered, "Thank you, mother, you may expect us all."

The same invitation had been already sent to, and accepted by, the others, and some time before the tea hour they were all there, glad to meet and exchange greetings, and chat about all that had occurred since they last saw each other. And Dr. Percival, refreshed and strengthened by his dinner and a long, sound sleep after it, was able to enjoy it all, perhaps as keenly as anyone else. They talked of whatever had occurred among them during the time that they had been separated, and of their plans for the coming heated term – who would pass it at home and who go North to find a cooler climate. But it was not necessary to decide fully upon their plans, as some weeks must elapse ere carrying them out and there would be a good deal of intercourse among them in the meantime.

They scattered to their homes early in the evening that Dr. Percival might not be kept up or awake, and that the little ones might be safely and in good season bestowed in their nests for the night.

Dr. Percival improved rapidly in the next few weeks; so rapidly that he was able to make a visit to Roselands, the Oaks, and Woodburn, each in turn, and felt that he should greatly enjoy the journey to the North and the sojourn by the seaside there which awaited him, his wife, and friends.

Our two pairs of lovers went quietly and happily on with their courting, considered plans for future house-building and housekeeping, and what should be done and enjoyed in the meantime, and it seemed but a little while till they were again on board the Dolphin and speeding on their northward course.

It was the same party that had come in her on that last voyage from the South. Max was still in the enjoyment of his furlough and by his father's request now took command of the vessel; but, the weather being fine throughout the voyage, his duties were not arduous and Evelyn had no reason to complain of want of attention from her fiancé. Nor had Lucilla; Chester being seldom absent from her side during the day or evening. So that Captain Raymond began to feel at times that he was already losing – to some extent – his eldest daughter. He sighed over it to himself, but made no complaint to either of them.

Lucilla's affection for him did not seem to have suffered any abatement; as had been her custom, she often came to him for a bit of private chat early in the morning or in the evening after the others had gone to their staterooms; and in these private interviews she was the same ardently affectionate daughter she had been for years; so that he felt he had no reason to fear that her lover had stolen all her heart.

But she was very keen-sighted as regarded him and his feelings toward her. One evening as, according to his custom, he paced the deck after all the passengers had retired for the night, he heard her light step at his side and then her voice asking in its sweetest tones, "Papa dear, mayn't I walk with you for at least a few minutes? I am neither sleepy nor tired, and it is so seldom now that I can have my own dear father all to myself."

"Yes, daughter dear," he said, putting an arm about her and caressing her with tenderness. "I am very glad to have your company if it is not going to weary you or rob you of needed sleep." Then he drew her hand within his arm and they paced slowly back and forth, conversing in subdued tones.