Ernshaw addressed his companions—stating that they were well acquainted with the object which brought them there;—were they willing to enter into a conflict with a body of men larger in number, better armed, more used to such scenes of blood and carnage? If they were willing let them say so. A low but distinct “We are!” passed around. Nat continued:—
“The soldiers were to start from Charleston at an early hour this afternoon, before this time they should have accomplished the distance. There is another road which they must have taken. Timothy Turner,”—at the mention of this name a shout of execration burst from the lips of all—“I say, Turner knows the other road, and that it leads near by the spot where we would have held our meeting. I think I know the exact spot where the dragoons are this moment stationed. By going three-quarters of a mile out of our way, we may, by a third path, come upon them unawares. Shall we venture?”
No one raised a dissentient voice; all seemed anxious for the fray. One, however, a hardy-looking six-footer, begged leave to say a word before they started.
“You see we’re formin’ into a troop that’s goin’ to give thunder and brimstone to every bloody, stealin’, cut-throat of a Britisher that we come across. You know who started this here idea, and got it into motion, an’ all that ’ar; but thar’s one thing that ain’t settled yet, an’ that is, who’s captain? It’s purty generally understood that Nat Ernshaw is goin’ to lead us, but we hain’t actooally given him the legal authority yit; so I move that he be constitooted our captin’, an’ we all agree to be under and obey his orders, regular soger fashion. Whoever’s in favor of this let him speak out and tell it.”
A simultaneous and unanimous “ay!” announced that Nat Ernshaw was the accepted and willing chosen commander of the patriotic brigade.
“Three cheers for Ernshaw’s brigade!” shouted one whose patriotism had overcome his prudence, and the three cheers were accordingly given with a will. Then the whole band took up its line of march, the men handling their weapons with eager impatience.
Nat was busy in laying out his plans for attack. The principal difficulty which presented itself seemed to be, how to open the battle. He might, he felt assured, steal upon the dragoons and shoot down a score or more of them before they could rightly tell from whence their danger came; but there was almost an insuperable objection to this plan—it seemed too much like murder. After due deliberation he settled on the course which he intended to take, and which seemed to be most safe as well as most honorable. What it was, the reader will hereafter learn.
When the Americans reached the path which led through the woods, the captain addressed a few last words to his men. Then they pressed on with noiseless steps. When Ernshaw found they were within a few rods of the spot designated, he left the troop and went forward to reconnoiter. Carefully peering through an opening between the pines, he looked out. It was a clear, moonlight night—so light that he could easily distinguish the forms of some forty or fifty horsemen, who occupied the area before him. Wishing to draw closer to them to mark their disposal, a cracking stick betrayed his presence. Every one of the waiting enemies were startled—the captain of the troop calling out, “Here comes one of them at last. Into the woods after him, half a dozen of you, but don’t use fire-arms unless it is absolutely necessary. It will give the alarm.”
Instantly seven of the privates threw themselves from their steeds for the pursuit; but they had scarcely touched the ground when a command, given in a quick, clear-ringing voice, riveted them to their places. “Hold! Not one step or you are dead men. Surrender to Nat Ernshaw’s Carolina Brigade, or your lives shall be the forfeit!”
For a time a panic seemed to thrill the hearts of the Britons—this command so unexpectedly, so sternly given.