The reply seemed to be satisfactory, and Veitch actually stood forward to officiate in the disgraceful ceremony, when a voice at the entrance drew the attention of the parties within. It was that of Elijah Fields. How he had made his way to the building without arrest or interruption is only to be accounted for by his pacific progress—his being without weapons, and his well-known priestly character. It may have been thought by the troopers, knowing what was in hand, that he also had been sent for; and probably something may be ascribed to the excitement of most of the parties about the dwelling. At all events, Fields reached it without interruption, and the first intimation that Dunbar had of his presence was from his own lips.
“I forbid this proceeding in the name and by the authority of God,” was the stern interruption. “The girl is already married!”
——
CHAPTER X.
Let us now retrace our steps and follow those of Richard Coulter and his party. We have seen what has been the progress of Elijah Fields. The route which he pursued was considerably longer than that of his comrades; but the difference of time was fully equalized by the superior and embarrassing caution which they were compelled to exercise. The result was to bring them to the common centre at nearly the same moment, though the policy of Coulter required a different course of conduct from that of Fields. Long before he reached the neighborhood of old Sabb’s farm, he had compelled his troopers to dismount, and hide their horses in the forest. They then made their way forward on foot. Richard Coulter was expert in all the arts of the partisan. Though eager to grapple with his enemy, and impatient to ascertain and arrest the dangers of his lovely wife, he yet made his approaches with a proper caution. The denseness of the forest route enabled him easily to do so, and making a considerable circuit, he drew nigh to the upper part of the farmstead, in which stood the obscure out-house, which, when Dunbar had taken possession of the mansion, he assigned to the aged couple. This he found deserted. He little dreamed for what reason, or in what particular emergency the old Dutchman stood at that very moment. Making another circuit, he came upon a copse, in which four of Dunbar’s troopers were grouped together in a state of fancied security. Their horses were fastened in the woods, and they lay upon the ground, greedily interested with a pack of greasy cards, which had gone through the campaign. The favorite game of that day was Old Sledge, or All Fours, or Seven Up; by all of which names it was indiscriminately known. Poker, and Brag, and Loo, and Monte, and Vingt’un, were then unknown in that region. These are all modern innovations, in the substitution of which good morals have made few gains. Dragoons, in all countries, are notoriously sad fellows, famous for swearing and gambling. Those of Dunbar were no exception to the rule. Our tory captain freely indulged them in the practice. He himself played with them when the humor suited. The four upon whom Coulter came were not on duty, though they wore their swords. Their holsters lay with their saddles across a neighboring log, not far off, but not immediately within reach. Coulter saw his opportunity; the temptation was great; but these were not exactly his prey—not yet, at all events. To place one man, well armed with rifle and pair of pistols, in a situation to cover the group at any moment, and between them and the farmstead, was his plan; and this done, he proceeded on his way. His policy was to make his first blow at the head of the enemy—his very citadel—trusting somewhat to the scattered condition of the party, and the natural effect of such an alarm to scatter them the more. All this was managed with great prudence, and with two more of his men set to watch over two other groups of the dragoons, he pushed forward with the remaining four until he reached the verge of the wood, just where it opened upon the settlement. Here he had a full view of the spectacle—his own party unseen—and the prospect was such as to compel his instant feeling of the necessity of early action. It was at the moment which exhibited old Sabb in the hands of the provost, his hands tied behind him, and the rope about his neck. Clymes, the lieutenant of Dunbar, with drawn sword, was pacing between the victim and the house. The old Dutchman stood between two subordinates, waiting for the signal, while his wife, little dreaming of the scene in progress, was kept out of sight at the bottom of the garden. Clymes and the provost were at once marked out for the doom of the rifle, and the beads of two select shots were kept ready, and leveled at their heads. But Dunbar must be the first victim—and where was he? Of the scene in the house Coulter had not yet any inkling. But suddenly he beheld Frederica at the window. He heard her shriek, and beheld her, as he thought, drawn away from the spot. His excitement growing almost to frenzy at this moment, he was about to give the signal, and follow the first discharge of his rifles with a rush, when suddenly he saw his associate, Elijah Fields, turn the corner of the house, and enter it through the piazza. This enabled him to pause, and prevented a premature development of his game. He waited for those events which it is not denied that we shall see. Let us then return to the interior.
We must not forget the startling words with which Elijah Fields interrupted the forced marriage of Frederica with her brutal persecutor.
“The girl is already married.”
Dunbar, still supporting her now quite lifeless in his arms, looked up at the intruder in equal fury and surprise.
“Ha, villain!” was the exclamation of Dunbar, “you are here?”
“No villain, Captain Dunbar, but a servant of the Most High God!”