Chapter 12

The officers thus commanded moved to the execution of their charges with sufficient celerity. The commands and movements of Major Singleton were much more cool, and not less prompt. He hurried along by his scattered men as they lay here and there covered by this or that bush or tree: "Carry off no bullets that you can spare them, men. Fire as soon as they reach the garden; and when your pieces are clear, take down the hill and mount."

Three minutes did not elapse before the rifles had each poured forth its treasured death; and without pausing to behold the effects of their discharge, each partisan, duly obedient, was on his way, leaping off from cover to cover through the thick woods to the hollow where their horses had been fastened.

The furious Tarleton meanwhile led the way through the garden, the palings of which were torn away to give his cavalry free passage. With a soldier's rage, he hurried forward the pursuit, in a line tolerably direct, after the flying partisans. But Singleton was too good a soldier, and too familiar with the ground, to keep his men in mass in a wild flight through woods becoming denser at every step.

When they had reached a knoll at some little distance beyond the place where his horses had been fastened, he addressed his troop as follows: "We must break here, my men. Each man will take his own path, and we will all scatter as far apart as possible. Make your way, all of you, for the swamp, however, where in a couple of hours you may all be safe.--Lance Frampton, you will ride with me."

Each trooper knew the country, and, accustomed to individual enterprise and the duties of the scout, there was no hardship to the men of Marion in such a separation. On all hands they glided off, and at a far freer pace than when they rode together in a body. A thousand tracks they found in the woods about them, in pursuing which there was now no obstruction, no jostling of brother-horsemen pressing upon the same route. Singleton and his youthful companion darted away at an easy pace into the woods, in which they had scarcely shrouded themselves before they heard the rushing and fierce cries of Tarleton's dragoons.

"Do you remember, Lance," said Singleton to the boy,--"do you remember the chase we had from the Oaks when Proctor pursued us?"

"Yes, sir; and a narrow chance it was when your horse tumbled. I thought they would have caught and killed you then, sir; but I didn't know anything of fighting in the woods then."

"Keep cool, and there's little danger anywhere," responded Singleton. "Men in a hurry are always in danger. To be safe, be steady. But hark! do you not hear them now? Some of them have got upon our track."

"I do hear a noise, sir: there was a dry bush that cracked then."

"And a voice,--that was a shout. Let us stop for a moment and reload. A shot may be wanted."

Coolly dismounting, Singleton proceeded to charge his rifle, which had been slung across his shoulder. His companion did the same. While loading, the former felt a slight pain and stiffness in his left arm: "I am hurt, Lance, I do believe. Look here at my shoulder."

"There's blood, sir; and the coat's cut with a bullet. The bullet's in your arm, sir."

"No, not now. It has been there, I believe, though the wound is slight. There! now mount; we have no time to see to it now."

"That's true, sir, for I hear the horses. And look now, major! There's two of the dragoons coming through the bush, and straight toward us."

"Two only?" said Singleton, again unslinging his rifle. The boy readily understood the movement, and proceeded to do likewise; but he was too late. The shot of Singleton was immediate, and the foremost trooper fell forward from his horse. His companion fled.

"Don't 'light, Lance: keep on. There's only one now, and he won't trouble us. Away, sir!" It was time to speed. The report of the shot and the fall of the dragoon gave a direction to the whole force of the pursuers, whose shouts and cries might now be heard ringing in all directions through the forest behind them.

"They can't reach us, Lance," said Singleton, as they hastened forward. "We shall round that bay in a few seconds, and they will be sure to boggle into it. On, boy, and waste no eyesight in looking behind you. Push on; the bay is before us."

Thus speaking, guiding and encouraging the boy, the fearless partisan kept on. In a few minutes they had rounded the thick bay, and were deeply sheltered in a dense wood well known at that period by a romantic title, which doubtless had its story. "My Lady's Fancy. We are safe now, Lance, and a little rest will do no harm."

The partisan, as he spoke, drew up his horse, threw himself from his back, fastened him to a hanging branch, and, passing down to a hollow where a little brooklet ran trickling along with a gentle murmur, drank deeply of its sweet and quiet waters, which he scooped up with a calabash that hung on a bough above.

Then, throwing himself down under the shadow of the tree, he lay as quietly as if there had been no danger tracking his footsteps, and no deadly enemy still prowling in the neighborhood and hungering for his blood.

--From "Mellichampe."

DEFINITIONS:--Partisan, any one of a body of light troops, designed to carry on a desultory warfare. Audacity, daring spirit. Knoll, a little round hill. Shrouded, hidden. Calabash, a dry gourd scooped out.

NOTES.--Marion's Men. During the Revolution, General Francis Marion was in command of a body of partisan soldiers known by the above title. They were for the most part poorly clad and equipped, but their bravery, self-denial, and patriotism enabled them to do good service in the cause of freedom. Their deeds have been commemorated in Bryant's well-known poem, the first stanza of which is as follows:--

"Our band is few, but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told."

Tarleton. Colonel Tarleton was in command of a portion of the British forces in South Carolina during the Revolution. He was an able, brave, but merciless soldier.

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN.

A CHILD'S STORY.

BY ROBERT BROWNING.

I.

Hamelin town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side A pleasanter spot you never spied; But when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, what a pity!

II.

Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles. Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

III.

At last the people in a body To the town hall came flocking: "'Tis clear," cried they, "our mayor's a noddy; And as for our corporation--shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin! Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" At this the mayor and corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV.

An hour they sat in council; At length the mayor broke silence "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell; I wish I were a mile hence! It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-- I'm sure my poor head aches again, I've scratched it so, and all in vain. Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap! "Bless us," cried the mayor, "what's that?" (With the corporation as he sat Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous), "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat Anything like the sound of a rat Slakes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

V.

"Come in!"--the mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red, And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin: And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the trump of doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

VI.

He advanced to the council table: And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper." (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the selfsame check; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire bats: And as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders?" "One? fifty thousand!"--was the exclamation Of the astonished mayor and corporation.

VII.

Into the street the piper stepped Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- Followed the piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser, Wherein all plunged and perished! --Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry To rat-land home his commentary: Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks: And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, 'Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nunchion, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!' --I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

VIII.

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. "Go, cried the mayor, "and get long poles, Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!" when suddenly, up the face Of the piper perked in the market place, With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

IX.

A thousand guilders! The mayor looked blue; So did the corporation too. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the mayor with a knowing wink. "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

X.

The piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait. Beside, I've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the head cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: With him I proved no bargain driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe after another fashion."

XI.

"How?" cried the mayor, "d'ye think I brook Being worse treated than a cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

XII.

Once more he stepped into the street And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

XIII.

The mayor was dumb, and the council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by, --Could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the piper's back. But how the mayor was on the rack, And the wretched council's bosoms beat, As the piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters However he turned from South to West, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. "He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!" When, lo, as they reached the mountain side, A wonderous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain side shut fast. Did I say, all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say,-- "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the piper also promised me. For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outrun our fallow deer, And honeybees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings: And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!"

XIV.

Also, alas, for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says that heaven's gate Opes to the rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The mayor sent East, West, North, and South, To offer the piper, by word of mouth, Whatever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, And piper and dancers were gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here On the twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:" And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it the Pied Piper's Street, Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people who ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterranean prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand.

XV.

So, Willy, let me and you be wipers Of scores out with all men--especially pipers! And whether they pipe us FROM rats or FROM mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

DEFINITIONS:--Corporation, city government. Ermine, furs used for lining the robes of mayors and other high officials. Guilder, a silver coin worth about 40 cents. Adept, one fully skilled in anything. Nunchion, the same as luncheon. Puncheon, a cask containing 84 gallons. Poke, pocket. Caliph, a Mohammedan ruler. Stiver, a Dutch coin worth about two cents. Burgher, a citizen of the town.

EXERCISE. In your geographies find all the places named in this poem.

LIST OF AUTHORS.

Arthur, Timothy S. An American writer, born near Newburgh, New York, in 1809. Most of his life was passed in Baltimore and Philadelphia. He wrote more than a hundred volumes, nearly all of which are now forgotten. His best-known work is a temperance tale entitled "Ten Nights in a Bar-room." He died in 1885.

Browning, Robert. An English poet, born near London in 1812. He was educated at London University, and spent most of his life in Italy. He was the author of many volumes of poetry. He died at Venice in 1889.

Bryant, William Cullen. An American poet, born at Cummington, Massachusetts, in 1794; died in New York in 1878. His poems relate for the most part to subjects connected with the woods and fields and the beauties of nature. For fifty years he was the editor of the New York Evening Post.

Burroughs, John. An American writer, born at Roxbury, New York, in 1837. His writings include many delightful essays on out-door subjects. Among his best books are "Wake-Robin," Birds and Poets," "Winter Sunshine," and "Fresh Fields."

Cooke, John Esten. An American writer, born at Winchester, Virginia, in 1830. Among his works are a number of interesting stories and sketches of life in Virginia. He died in 1886.

Cutter, George W. An American writer, whose home was in Washington, D.C. His most popular work is the short poem entitled "The Song of Steam." He was born in 1801; died in 1865.

Dickens, Charles. One of the most famous of English novelists, born at Landport, near Portsmouth, England, in 1812. His greatest novel is "David Copperfield," but some of his most pleasing work is found in the "Pickwick Papers." Among his other writings are "The Old Curiosity Shop," "Dombey and Son," "Martin Chuzzlewit," and "Nicholas Nickleby." His "Christmas Carol" and other Christmas stories are delightful reading. He died at Gadshill in 1870.

Dodge, Mary Napes. An American author, born at New York in 1838. She has been the editor of St. Nicholas since its beginning in 1875, and has written several charming stories for children.

Drummond, Henry. A Scottish clergyman, author, and naturalist. His most popular work is "Tropical Africa"; but he also wrote many sermons, essays, and religious books. He died in 1897.

Elizabeth, Charlotte. An English writer, Charlotte Elizabeth Browne Tonna, born at Norwich in 1790. She wrote some novels, and several tracts on religious subjects, and was editor of the Christian Lady's Magazine, but her works are now seldom read. She died in 1846.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. A famous American writer and philosopher, born at Boston in 1803; died in 1882. His works are included in fourteen volumes of essays, poems, and criticisms.

Everett, Edward. An American statesman and orator, born in Massachusetts in 1794; died in 1865.

Field, Eugene. A popular American journalist and poet, born in Missouri in 1850, died at Chicago in 1896. His best poems are contained in the volumes entitled "Love Songs of Childhood" and "A Little Book of Western Verse."

Fields, James T. An American publisher and author, born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in 1817. He wrote a little poetry, and a few well-known prose works, among which his "Yesterdays with Authors" is the best. He died at Boston in 1881.

Flagg, Ellen H. An American writer of verses, whose home was in the South. Her best-known production is "The Blue and the Gray."

Froude, James Anthony. An English writer, born in Devonshire in 1818. His writings relate chiefly to historical subjects, and include a "History of England" and "Short Studies on Great Subjepts," both of which are works of the highest order. He died in 1894.

Gallagher, William D. An American journalist born in Pennsylvania in 1808. The greater part of his life was spent in Kentucky, and his best poems relate to Western and Southern subjects. He died in 1894.

Gilder, Richard Watson. An American editor and poet, born at Bordentown, New Jersey, in 1844. He was for many years the editor of Lee Century Magazine. His works are collected in a volume entitled "Five Books of Song."

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. One of the greatest of American prose writers, born at Salem, Massachusetts, in 1804. Besides writing some famous novels, he.was,the author of "The Wonder Book," "Tanglewood Tales," and "Grandfather's Chair," delightful books for children. He died at Plymouth, New Hampshire, in 1864.

Hughes, Thomas. An English writer, born near Newbury in 1823. He is well known in this country as the author of "Tom Brown's School Days at Rugby," an excellent book for boys. He died in 1896.

Key, Francis Scott. An American lawyer and author of "The Star-Spangled Banner," was born in Maryland in 1779; died in 1843.

La Coste, Marie. An American writer whose home was in the South. She is remembered for the single poem, "Somebody's Darling"

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. One of the greatest of American poets, born at Portland, Maine, in 1807. He held for some years the professorship of Modern Languages in Bowdoin College, and later a similar professorship in Harvard College. Many of his poems are well known to all young readers. He died in Cambridge in 1882.

Mackay, Charles. A Scottish poet, born at Perth in 1814. He was editor of the Illustrated London News for several years, and wrote three or four volumes of poems. He died in London in 1889.

Macdonald, George. A Scottish writer, born at Huntly, Scotland, in 1824. He was the author of a number of popular novels, of several books for the young, and of two or three works on religious subjects.

Michelet, Jules. A famous French historian and miscellaneous writer, born in Paris in 1798. He died in 1872.

Mitford, Mary Russell. An English author, born in Hampshire in 1787. She wrote several dramas and poems besides numerous stories for children. Her most popular work is "Our Village." She died in 1855.

Musick, John R. An American writer born in Missouri in 1849; died in 1901. He was the author of several works relating to American history.