Читать книгу The Carolinian - His Odyssey - Страница 6

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WILLIAM MOULTRIE, of Northampton on the Cooper River—who had just been appointed Colonel of the Second Provincial Regiment of South Carolina, under a certificate issued by a Provincial Congress which was not yet sufficiently sure of itself to grant commissions—was aroused from slumber in the early hours of a June morning by a half-dressed negro servant, who proffered him a folded slip of paper.

The Colonel reared a great nightcapped head from his pillow, and displayed a broad, rugged face the bone structures of which were massive and well-defined. From under beetling brows two small eyes, normally of a kindly expression, peered out, to screw themselves up again when smitten by the light of the candle which the negro carried.

'Wha...wha...what's o'clock?' quoth the Colonel, confusedly.

'Close on five o'clock, massa.'

'Fi...five o'clock!' Moultrie awakened on that, and sat up. 'What the devil, Tom...?'

Tom brought the slip of paper more definitely to his master's notice. Puzzled, the Colonel took it, unfolded it, dusted his eyes with his knuckles, and read. Then he flung back the bedclothes, thrust out a hairy leg, his foot groping for the floor, and commanded Tom to give him a bedgown, draw the curtains, and bring up this visitor.

And so a few minutes later, Harry Latimer was ushered into the presence of the Colonel, who stood in the pale light of early day, in bedgown, slippers, and nightcap, to receive him.

'Odsbud, Harry! What's this? What's brought you back?'

They shook hands firmly, like old friends, whilst the gimlet eyes of Moultrie observed the young man's dusty boots and travel-stained riding-clothes as well as the haggard lines in his face.

'When you've heard, you may say I've come back to be hanged. But it's a slight risk at present, and it had to be taken.'

'What's that?' The Colonel's voice was very sharp.

Latimer delivered the burden of his news. 'The Governor is informed of the part I played in the raid last April.'

'Oons!' said Moultrie, startled. 'How d'ye know?'

'Read these letters. They'll make it plain. They reached me three days ago at Savannah.'

The Colonel took the papers Latimer proffered, and crossed to the window to peruse them. He was a stockily built man of middle height, twenty years older than his visitor, whom he had known from infancy. For Moultrie had been one of the closest friends of Latimer's father and his brother-in-arms in Grant's campaign against the Cherokees in which the elder Latimer had prematurely lost his life. And there you have the reason why Harry sought him now in the first instance, rather than Charles Pinckney, the President of the Provincial Congress, which the Royal Government did not recognize, or Henry Laurens, the President of the Committee of Safety, which the Royal Government recognized still less. The offices held by these two should have designated one or the other of them as the first recipient of this weighty confidence. But to either, Latimer had taken it upon himself to prefer the man who was in such close personal relations with himself.

Whilst still reading, Moultrie swore softly once or twice. When he had done, he came slowly back, his brow rumpled in thought. Silently he handed back the papers to the waiting Latimer, who had meanwhile taken a chair near the table in mid-apartment. Then, still in silence, the Colonel took up one from a bundle of pipes on that same table, and slowly filled it with leaf from a pewter box.

'Faith,' he grumbled at last, 'you don't lack evidence for your assumption. Nobody outside of the committee so much as suspected that you were here in April. God knows the place is crawling with spies. There was a fellow named Kirkland, serving in the militia, whom we suspect of acting as Lord William's agent with the back-country tories. We durstn't touch him until he was so imprudent as to desert, and come down to Charles Town with another rogue named Cheney. But before ever we can lay hands on him, Lord William puts him safely aboard a man-o'-war out there in the roads. Cheney was less lucky. We've got him. Though, gadslife, I don't know what we're to do with him, for unfortunately he isn't a deserter. But that he's a spy only a fool could doubt.'

'Yes, yes.' Latimer was impatient. 'But that kind of spy is of small account compared with this one.' And he tapped the papers vehemently.

Moultrie looked at him, pausing in the act of applying to his pipe the flame of the candle which the servant had left burning. Latimer answered the inquiry of the glance.

'This man is inside our councils. He is one of us. And unless we find him and deal with him, God alone knows what havoc he may work. As it is, there are some twenty of us whose lives are in jeopardy. For you can't suppose that, if he has betrayed me to the Governor, he hasn't at the same time betrayed the others who were with me, whether they actually bore a hand or merely shared the responsibility.'

Moultrie lighted his pipe, and pulled at it thoughtfully. He did not permit himself to share the excitement that was setting his visitor aquiver. He came and placed a hand affectionately on Harry's shoulder.

'I'm not vastly exercised by any threat to your life, lad—at least, not at present. Neither the Governor, nor his pilot Captain Mandeville, wants another Lexington here in South Carolina. And that's what would happen if they tried any hangings. But as far as the rest goes, you're right. We've to find this fellow. He's among the ninety members of the General Committee. Faith, the job'll be singularly like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay.' He paused, shaking his head; then asked a question: 'I suppose ye've not thought of how to go about discovering him?'

'I've thought of nothing else all the way from Savannah here. But I haven't found the answer.'

'We shall have to seek help,' said Moultrie; 'and, after all, it's your duty to Pinckney and Laurens, and one or two others, to let them know of this.'

'The fewer we tell, the better.'

'Of course. Of course. A half-dozen at most, and those men that are well above suspicion.'

Later on in the course of that day six gentlemen of prominence in the colonial party repaired to Colonel Moultrie's house on Broad Street in response to his urgent summons. In addition to Laurens and Pinckney, there was Christopher Gadsden, long and lean and tough in the blue uniform of the newly established First Provincial Regiment, to the command of which he had just been appointed. A veteran firebrand, President of the South Carolina Sons of Liberty, he was among the very few who at this early date were prepared to go the length of demanding American Independence. With him came the elegant, accomplished William Henry Drayton, of Drayton Hall, who like Latimer was a recent convert to the party of Liberty, and who brought to it all the enthusiasm and intolerance commonly found in converts. His position as President of the Secret Committee entitled him to be present. The others making up this extemporaneous committee were the two delegates to the Continental Congress, the Irish lawyer John Rutledge, a man of thirty-five who had been prominent in the Stamp-Act Congress ten years ago, and famous ever since, and his younger brother Edward.

Assembled about the table in Moultrie's library these six, with Moultrie himself presiding, listened attentively to the reasons advanced by Mr. Latimer in support of his assertion that they were being betrayed by some one within their ranks.

'Some twenty of us,' he concluded, 'lie already at the mercy of the Royal Government. Lord William is in possession of evidence upon which to hang us if the occasion serves him. That, in itself, is grave enough. But there may be worse to follow unless we take our measures to discover and remove, by whatever means you may consider fit, this traitor from our midst.'

There followed upon that a deal of talk that was little to the point. They discussed this thing; they pressed Latimer for details which he would have preferred to withhold as to the exact channel through which this information had reached him; and they were very vehement and angry in their vituperation of the unknown traitor, very full of threats of what should be done to him when found. Several talked at once, and in the general alarm and excitement the meeting degenerated for a while into a babel.

Drayton took the opportunity wrathfully to renew a demand, which had already once been rejected by the General Committee, that the Governor should be taken into custody. Moultrie answered him that the measure was not practical, and Gadsden, supporting Drayton, furiously demanded to know why the devil it should not be. Then, at last, John Rutledge, who hitherto had sat as silent and inscrutable as a granite sphinx, coldly interposed.

'Practical or not, this is not the place to debate it, nor is it the matter under consideration.' Almost contemptuously he added: 'Shall we keep to the point?'

It was his manner rather than his words that momentarily quieted their vapourings. His cold detachment and his obvious command of himself gave him command of others. And there was, too, something arresting and prepossessing in his appearance. He was in his way a handsome man, with good features that were softly rounded, and wide-set, slow-moving, observant eyes. There was the least suggestion of portliness about his figure, or, rather than actual portliness, the promise of it to come with advancing years. His dress was of a scrupulous and quiet elegance, and if the grey wig he wore was clubbed to an almost excessive extent, yet it was redeemed from all suspicion of foppishness by the formal severity of its set.

There was a moment's utter silence after he had spoken. Then Drayton, feeling that the rebuke had been particularly aimed at himself, gave Rutledge sneer for sneer.

'By all means, let us keep to the point. After long consideration you may reach the conclusion that it's easier to discover the treason than the traitor. And that will be profitable. As profitable as was the arrest of Cheney by a committee too timid to commit anything.'

That sent them off again, on another by-path.

'Yes, by God!' burst from the leathery lungs of Gadsden, who had been preaching sedition to the working-people of Charles Town for the last ten years, ever since the Stamp-Act troubles. 'There's the whole truth of the matter. That's why we make no progress. The committee's just a useless and impotent debating society, and it'll go on debating until the redcoats are at our throats. We daren't even hang a rascal like Cheney. Oons! If the wretch had known us better, he might have spared himself his terrors.'

'His terrors?' The question came sharply from Latimer, so sharply that it stilled the general murmurs as they began to arise again. At the mention of Cheney's name, he remembered what Moultrie had said about the fellow. An idea, vague as yet, was stirring in his mind. 'Do you say that this man Cheney is afraid of what may happen to him?'

Gadsden loosed a splutter of contemptuous laughter. 'Afraid? Scared to death, very near. Because he doesn't realize that the only thing we can do is talk, he already smells the tar, and feels the feathers tickling him.'

Rutledge addressed himself scrupulously to the chair. 'May I venture to inquire, sir, how this is relevant?'

Leaning forward now, a certain excitement in his face, Latimer impatiently brushed him aside.

'By your leave, Mr. Rutledge. It may be more relevant than you think.' He addressed himself to Moultrie. 'Tell me this, pray. What does the committee propose to do with Cheney?'

Moultrie referred the question to the genial elderly Laurens, who was President of the committee concerned.

Laurens shrugged helplessly. 'We have decided to let him go. There is no charge upon which we can prosecute him.'

Gadsden snorted his fierce contempt. 'No charge! And the man a notorious spy!'

'A moment, Colonel,' Latimer restrained him, and turned again to Laurens. 'Does Cheney know—does he suspect your intentions?'

'Not yet.'

'Latimer sank back in his chair again, brooding. 'And he's afraid, you say?'

'Terrified,' Laurens assured him. 'I believe he would betray anybody or anything to save his dirty skin.'

That brought Latimer suddenly to his feet in some excitement. 'It is what I desired to know. Sir, if your committee will give me this man—let me have my way with him—it is possible that through him I may be able to discover what we require.'

They looked at him in wonder and some doubt. That doubt Laurens presently expressed. 'But if he doesn't know?' he asked. 'And why should you suppose that he does?'

'Sir, I said through him, not from him. Let me have my way in this. Give me twenty-four hours. Give me until to-morrow evening at latest, and it is possible that I may have a fuller tale to tell you.'

There was a long pause of indecision. Then, very coldly, almost contemptuously in its lack of expression, came a question from Rutledge:

'And if you fail?'

Latimer looked at him, and the lines of his mouth grew humorous.

'Then you may try your hand, sir.'

And Gadsden uttered a laugh that must have annoyed any man but Rutledge.

Of course, that was not yet the end of the matter. Latimer was pressed with questions touching his intentions. But he fenced them off. He demanded their trust and confidence. And in the end they gave it, Laurens taking it upon himself, in view of the urgency of the case, to act for the committee over which he presided.

The immediate sequel was that, some two or three hours later, Mr. Harry Latimer was ushered into the cell in the town gaol where Cheney languished. But it was a Mr. Latimer very unlike his usual modish, elegant self. He went dressed in shabby brown coatee and breeches, with coarse woollen stockings and rough shoes, and his abundant hair hung loose about his neck.

'I am sent by the Committee of Safety,' he announced to the miserable wretch who cowered on a stool in a corner and glared at him with frightened eyes. On that he paused. Then, seeing that Cheney made no shift to speak, he continued: 'You can hardly be such a fool as not to know what is coming to you. You know what you've done, and you know what usually happens to your kind when they're caught.'

He saw the rascally pear-shaped face before him turn a sickly grey. The man moistened his lips, then cried out in a quavering voice:

'They can prove naught against me. Naught!'

'Where there is certain knowledge proof doesn't matter.'

'It matters! It does matter!' Cheney rose. He snarled like a frightened animal. 'They durstn't hurt me without cause; good cause; legal cause. And they knows it. What have they against me? What's the charge? I've been twice before the committee. But there never were no charge; no charge they durst bring in a court.'

'I know,' said Latimer quietly. 'And that's why I've been sent: to tell you that to-morrow morning the committee will set you at liberty.'

The coarse mouth about which a thick stubble of beard had sprouted during the spy's detention fell open in amazement. Breathing heavily, he leaned on the coarse deal table for support, staring at his visitor. Hoarsely at last came his voice.

'They...they'll set me at liberty!' And then his currish demeanor changed. Now that he saw deliverance assured, a certain truculence invested him. He laughed, slobbering like a drunkard. 'I knowed it! I knowed they durstn't hurt me. If they did they'd be hurt theirselves. They'd have to answer to the Governor for't. Ye can't hurt a man without bringing a charge and proving it.'

'That,' Mr. Latimer agreed suavely, 'is what the committee realizes, and that is why it is letting you go. But don't assume too much. Don't be so rash as to suppose that you're to get off scot free.'

'What...what!' Out went the truculence. Back came the terror.

'I'll tell you. When you are released to-morrow morning, you'll find me waiting for you outside the gaol, and with me there'll be at least a hundred lads of the town, all of them Sons of Liberty who'll have had word of the committee's intention and don't mean to let you go back to your dirty spying. What the committee dare not do, they'll never boggle over. For the Governor can't prosecute a mob. You guess what'll happen?'

The grey face with its shifty eyes and open mouth was fixed in speechless terror.

'Tar and feathers,' said Mr. Latimer, to remove the last doubt in that palsied mind.

'God!' shrieked the creature. His knees were loosened and he sank down again upon his stool. 'God!'

'On the other hand,' Mr. Latimer resumed quite placidly, 'it may happen that there will be no mob; that I shall be alone to see you safely out of Charles Town. But that will depend upon yourself; upon your willingness to undo as far as you are able some of the mischief you have done.'

'What d'ye mean? In God's name, what d'ye mean? Don't torture a poor devil.'

'You don't know who I am,' said Mr. Latimer. 'I'll tell you. My name is Dick Williams, and I was sergeant to Kirkland...'

'That you never was!' Cheney cried out.

Mr. Latimer smiled upon him with quiet significance. 'It is necessary that you should believe it, if you are to avoid the tar and feathers. I beg you then to persuade yourself that my name is Dick Williams, and that I was sergeant to Kirkland. And you and I are going together to pay the Governor a visit to-morrow morning. There you will do as I shall tell you. If you don't, you'll find my lads waiting for you when you leave his lordship's.' He entered into further details, to which the other listened like a creature fascinated. 'It is now for you to say what you will do,' said Mr. Latimer amiably in conclusion. 'I do not wish to coerce you, or even to over-persuade you. I have offered you the alternatives. I leave you a free choice.'