“Now, by yond’ marble heaven,
In the due reverence of a sacred vow,
I here engage my words.”—Othello.
We left Preston tortured with the reflection that the news of Kate’s peril had come too late. Half insane with the thought, he strode to and fro in his marquee. Suddenly an orderly appeared at the door and requested our hero’s presence at headquarters, where a council of officers was to be immediately held.
Wondering what enterprise called them together, and fearful lest duty should prevent his obtaining the furlough which he intended to ask, in order that he might save Kate, or at least die in the attempt, he walked moodily to the tent of Marion. Here he found the leading captains of the brigade already assembled, late as was the hour; and beside them, Col. Lee, who had just joined Marion with his legion, subsequently so celebrated in that partisan war.
“I believe Capt. Preston is the last one expected—I am glad to see him safely returned,” said Marion, when our hero, having bowed to his brother officers, had assumed a seat, “and, as the affair on which we have met is urgent, we will proceed at once to business. Capt. Horry, will you state the purpose of this assembly; after that we will listen to you all, beginning with Capt. Preston, who is the youngest.”
Every eye, as he spoke, had been turned on Marion; and as hitherto we have given no description of this celebrated personage, we will employ the interval in drawing his picture. Marion, at that time, was about forty-eight years old; small of stature, swarthy in visage, and having a face crossed by many lines of thought. Without being positively stern in aspect, there was a hard expression in his countenance, which at first might seem to augur a bosom equally hard; but Marion was, in reality, a man of a singularly mild temperament; and the usually passionless expression of his face arose rather from the firmness of his character, and the responsibilities of his station, than from any lack of human sympathy. His eyes were dark, small, and piercing; but at times they kindled with enthusiasm. This, indeed, was the only evidence that a physiognomist could have found of genius in Marion; but when those eyes flashed indignantly at wrong, blind, indeed, must he have been, who did not see the master-spirit within. In attire, this great partisan leader was simple and modest. His words generally were few; and, after the exertion he made in welcoming Preston, he sank back into a silence which he maintained until the conference was breaking up, only, as each officer delivered his opinion, Marion would cast on him a momentary glance, as if to read his soul, and then sink his head on his breast, thoughtful and abstracted.
In a few words Capt. Horry explained the purpose for which the council had been convened. A spy had just come in with the intelligence that the garrison of Georgetown had been considerably reduced; on which Col. Lee had proposed that an attack should be made upon the place, since the country expected some bold and decisive stroke, now that his forces and Marion’s were united. The plan he suggested was, that a portion of the brigade should drop down the Pedee by night, and lie in ambush below the town; that, on the succeeding night, this party should enter the town on that defenceless side, and taking it by surprise, open an entrance for their comrades, who, led by Lee and Marion in person, would be ready, at the signal, to assail the entrenchments on the landward side.
The heart of Preston leaped into his throat as he heard this proposal “Perhaps Kate may yet be saved,” he said to himself.
Accordingly, when Horry ceased, and Marion, by a nod, signified his desire for our hero to speak, Preston’s eyes kindled, and he answered,