Turner waited until the clatter had died away, and then silently hastened in the direction of his dwelling. Arriving there, he sought the shed which covered his horse. Hurriedly saddling the beast, he rode off toward the city of Charleston, twenty miles distant.
Gen. Clinton, the military commander in Charleston, had scarcely arisen, on the following morning, when his servant announced a man waiting to speak with him.
“Who is he?” was the general’s inquiry.
“He says that his name is Turner—that he rode twenty miles last night to bring you an important piece of news.”
“Turner? Then I think I know the man. He is one of those tory hounds we find it necessary to use. I’ll vouch for it, he is planning some piece of rascality. Admit him.”
The servant retired and returned with Turner. Gen. Clinton surveyed the fellow for a moment, then addressed him rather sharply:
“How now, sir? What have you to say? It should be something of importance to cause you to journey so far and fast.”
“It is of importance,” rejoined Turner. “I heard at a late hour, last night, of a meeting of rebels which is to take place this night. There will be thirty or forty of them, and their purpose is to form a brigade to act with Marion, Sumpter and others. I know the names of but two; but, if the rest of the men are as good as they, the band may do much injury to the king’s cause.”
“What are the names of these two of whom you speak?”
“Nathaniel Ernshaw and John Vale—two most desperate men, and fit to do any thing against the followers of the king.”