Chapter 1 

"So we meet at five tomorrow morning at the North ford of the Enoree?" asked the short, stout man, his pug nose crinkling as the sun streamed through the trees and into his eyes.

"Yes and bring the Kilmer brothers with you. I’ll see that the rest of the Scouts are there. We’re going to eradicate these rebels amongst us if it’s the last thing I do. We’ll attack Little Eden at dawn," replied Bill Cunningham, with a glint in his eye. The tall, attractive leader of the Bloody Scouts would normally be the type of man that made a girl’s heart skip a beat, but his exuding ruthlessness repulsed any woman with a shred of discernment.

Laodicea Langston clung with her back to the opposite side of a large oak no more than four feet from the two men. "Dicey," as her friends and family called her, withheld a gasp and raised her hands to her mouth. "James and his men are at Little Eden !" she thought to herself. Panic sent her heart pounding within her chest. She’d promised her father no more spying – no more carrying messages she overheard to the Patriots. But it was hard for Dicey. In this war, anyone could be a Patriot or a Loyalist. Because women were rarely given notice – and especially young women like 15-year-old Dicey, she often stumbled upon interesting conversations. Well, stumbling would be a bit understated. The first conversation Dicey overheard was purely by accident; but soon she found that if she kept her eyes and ears open and maneuvered herself discreetly at parties and community events, she often heard important information that would help the Patriot cause.

While Dicey clung to the side of the tree waiting for the men to clear the area, her mind shot back to the conversation with her father only a month before.

"Dicey, I understand what you’re trying to do. James and Solomon are part of the Patriot forces and it’s understandable that you’re worried about them. I’m concerned about them too. But your brothers are fighting for our liberty and we have to trust that the good Lord will take care of them. You can’t go eavesdropping all over town and carrying messages to your brothers."

"But Papa, surely you have said yourself that God helps those who help themselves. Dare we stand idly by and do nothing, expecting our liberties to be protected while we know that our fighting men are in danger?"

A sympathetic expression flickered across Solomon Langston’s green eyes. After all, he had taught his sons and daughters well. He had conscientiously indoctrinated his children that "Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is liberty" and "faith without works is dead." Could he now stand before his daughter instructing her to relinquish the beliefs their family espoused? A look of resolve crossed the tall man’s brow as he smoothed his hair back with his right hand and his left stroked his neatly trimmed gray beard.

He took in a deep breath and in a kind but resolute lowered voice explained, "Now Dicey, you’re absolutely right, but in this case my hands are tied."

"Whatever do you mean your hands are tied?"

"While out in the orchard this morning, two men with scarf-masked faces grabbed me from behind, held a knife to my throat and informed me that the Tories were aware of your spying and carrying messages to the Patriot forces. They demanded that I either take control of my ‘feisty meddlesome daughter’ or I would be held personally responsible. They even threatened to inform the Bloody Scouts of your activities so they could take care of the situation. And you know what that means, Dicey. When the Bloody Scouts take care of a situation, you’re as good as dead and you’ll be blessed by the Almighty if your family doesn’t join you!"

Dicey threw her hands to her mouth in astonishment and gasped, "The Bloody Scouts! Papa, I had no idea! I’m so sorry for putting you and the family in danger!"

Solomon continued, "I know you meant no harm, Dicey. I know you were just trying to protect your brothers and help the cause, but this has to stop for the safety of us all."

Dicey’s mind darted to the tales she’d heard about the barbaric deeds of Bill Cunningham and his Bloody Scouts. She could hear the deep, animated voice of her father’s friend, Judge J. B. O’Neal., as he sat in her family’s home spinning yarns about Bill Cunningham and the Bloody Scouts. The family sat musing together one evening about why these men were so bloodthirsty. "How can they be so barbaric?" her mother had pondered aloud.

The judge settled into his seat, took a deep breath and began his explanation, "Rumor has it that in 1775, Cunningham enlisted as a private soldier in the service of the State of South Carolina , in a company commanded by Captain John Caldwell in Colonel Thomson's Regiment of Rangers. He served with credit; so much so, that Captain Caldwell planned to promote him over the head of his own brother, William Caldwell, who belonged to the same company. Some trivial offense prevented Cunningham’s promotion, and sent him before a court-martial. They sentenced him to be whipped. He suffered the degrading punishment and with his blood boiling with revenge, he deserted the flag of his country and fled to Florida . While there, William Ritchie kicked Cunningham’s aged father out of his home. Somehow Cunningham heard about his father’s plight and swore that he would seek the blood of his father's oppressor. He shouldered his rifle, and mostly on foot, traversed the country between St. Augustine and Laurens District; and in Ritchie's own house, in the presence of his family Cunningham shot the man dead."

Dicey’s and Henry’s eyes widened but remained riveted on Judge O’Neal’s every word as he continued, "Upon the first taste of blood, Cunningham developed a lust for it like a lion’s unquenchable thirst for prey. Since then, he has been the most merciless of the Tory blood-hounds, scouring the country, hunting to the death all those who fight for freedom against British tyranny. He started with those with whom he had served and were responsible in one way or another for his court-martial. For Cunningham, revenge is a sweet elixir that nourishes his wicked soul."

Dicey jerked from her memories back to reality by the sound of breaking twigs and rustling bushes. Startling and quickly turning her head to the right, she saw a fawn rummaging for berries. She exhaled a sigh of relief, reached down into the pocket of her apron and pulled out her grandfather Richard Bennett’s pocket watch. Grandfather Bennett died when Dicey was only three but she remembered sitting on his knee as a little child playing with Grandpa’s pocket watch. She had been so fascinated with it that her mother decided that Dicey should have it – to help her remember those few memories that remained of her grandfather. Dicey’s mother, Sarah Bennett Langston, presented it to her on her twelfth birthday. Since that time, Dicey kept it with her always.

"I’m nearly an hour late! It’s already half past two ! Now if I can just make some excuse to leave Liz ’s party early. I simply must determine a way to warn James." But for now, her best friend was waiting for her.