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 THE ETHEL CARR PEACOCK 
 
 MEMORIAL COLLECTION 
 
 Matris amori monumentum 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 
 DURHAM, N. C. 
 
 1903 
 
 Gift of Dr. and Mrs. Dred Peacock 
 
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HOUSE 
 
 TOE 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE P, 
 
 -SHOE ROBINSON: 
 51 €ak 
 
 Y ASCENDEISrCY. 
 
 JOHN P. ONNEDY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF “SWALLOW BARN ' 
 
 ‘I eay the tale as ’twas said to me.” 
 
 Lay of 
 
 
 3Etbt5tJi jEbitiott. 
 
 E E W Y 0 R K: 
 
 PUTNAM, 10 PARK PLyCcE. 
 
 1853. 
 
Entered accnr(lii\c: to the act of Congress, in the year *852, by , 
 GEORGE P. PUTNAM, 
 
 Ib the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York, 
 
 R. CRAlOHian. I'RfNTKK, 
 
 513 rc»LV Street, A'ev Yurk. 
 
5 1 5 . ? 2 > 
 P ■ 
 
 INTEODUCTION. 
 
 In the -winter of eighteen hundred and eighteen-nineteen, I had 
 occasion to visit the western section of South Carolina. The 
 public conveyances had taken me to Augusta, in Georgia. There 
 I purchased a horse, a most trusty companion, with whom I had 
 many pleasant experiences: a sorrel, yet retained by me in 
 admiring memory. A valise strapped behind my saddle, with a 
 great coat spread upon that, furnished all that I required of 
 personal accommodation. My blood beat temperately with the 
 pulse of youth and health. I breathed the most delicious ah’ in 
 the world. My travel tended to the region of the most beautiful 
 scenery. The weather of early January was as balmy as October; 
 a light warm haze mellowed the atmosphere, and cast the softest 
 and richest hues over the landscape. I retraced my steps from 
 Augusta to Edgefield, which I had passed in the stage coach. 
 From Edgefield I went to Abbeville, and thence to Pendleton. 
 I was now in the old district of Ninety Six, just at the foot of the 
 mountains. My course was still westward. I journeyed alone, or 
 rather, I ought to say, in good company, for my horse and I had 
 established a confidential friendship, and we amused om’selves 
 with a great deal of pleasant conversation—in our way. Besides, 
 my fancy was busy, and made the wayside quite populous—-with 
 people of its own : there were but few of any other kind. 
 
 In the course of my journey I met an incident, which I have 
 preserved in my journal. The reader of the tale which occupies 
 this volume has some interest in it. 
 
VI 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 “ Upon a day,” as the old ballads have it, one of the best days 
 of this exquisite climate, my road threaded the defiles of some of 
 the grandest mountains of the country. Huge ramparts of rock 
 toppled over my path, and little streams leaped, in beautiful 
 cascades, from ledge to ledge, and brawled along the channels, 
 which often supplied the only footway for my horse, and, glid¬ 
 ing through tangled screens of rhododendron, laurel, arbor vitse, 
 and other evergreens, plunged into rivers, whose waters exceed 
 anything I had ever conceived of limpid purity. It may be 
 poetical to talk of liquid crystal, but no crystal has the absolute 
 perfection of the transparency of these streams. The more 
 distant mountain sides, where the opening valley offered them to 
 my view, were fortified with stupendous walls, or banks of solid 
 and unbroken rock, rising in successive benches one above 
 another, with masses of dark pine between ; the highest forming 
 a crest to the mountain, cutting the sky in sharp profile, with 
 images of castellated towers, battlements, and buttresses, around 
 whose summits the inhabiting buzzard, with broad extended 
 wings, floated and rocked in air and swept in majestic circles. 
 
 The few inhabitants of this region were principally the tenants 
 of the bounty lands, wdiich the State of South Carolina had 
 conferred upon the soldiers of the Revolution; and their settle¬ 
 ments, made upon the rich bottoms of the river valleys, were 
 separated from each’ other by large tracts of forest. 
 
 I had much perplexity in some portions of this day’s journey in 
 finding my way through the almost pathless forest which lay 
 between two of these settlements. That of which I was in quest 
 was situated upon the Seneca, a tributary of the Savanna river, 
 here called Tooloolee. It was near sundown, when I emerged 
 from the wilderness upon a wagon road, very uncertain of my 
 whereabout, and entertaining some rather anxious misgivings as 
 to my portion for the night. 
 
 I had seen no one for the last five or six hours, and upon 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 vii 
 
 falling into the roud I did not know whether I was to take the 
 right or the left hand—a very material problem for my solution 
 just then. 
 
 During this suspense, a lad, apparently not above ten years of 
 age, mourned bare back on a fine horse, suddenly emerged from 
 the wood about fifty paces ahead of me, and galloped along the 
 road iu the same direction that I had myself resolved to take. I 
 quickened my speed to overtake him, but from the rapidity of liis 
 movement, I found myself, at the end of a mile, not as near him 
 as 1 was at the beginning. Some open country in front, however, 
 showed me that I was approaching a settlement. Almost at the 
 moment of making this discovery, I observed that the lad was 
 lying on the ground by the road-side. I hastened to him, 
 dismounted, and found him sadly in want of assistance. His 
 horse had run off with him, thrown him, and dislocated, as it 
 afterwards appeared, his shoulder-joint. 
 
 Whilst I was busy in rendering such aid as I could afford, I 
 was joined by a gentleman of venei’able aspect, the father of the 
 youth, who came from a dwelling-house near at hand, which, in 
 the engrossment of my occupation, I had not observed. We 
 lifted the boy in our arms and bore him into the house. 
 
 I was now in comfortable quarters for the night. The gentleman 
 
 was Colonel T-, as I was made aware by his introduction, and 
 
 the kindly welcome he offered me, and I very soon found myself 
 established upon the footing of a favored guest. The boy was 
 laid upon a bed in the room where we sat, suffering great pain, 
 and in want of immediate attention. I entered into the family 
 consultation on the case. Never have I regretted the want of an 
 acquisition, as I then regretted that I had no skill in surgery. I 
 was utterly incompetent to make a suggestion worth considering. 
 The mother of the family happened to be absent that night; and, 
 next to the physician, the mother is the best adviser. There was 
 an elder son, about my own age, who was playing a fiddle when 
 
viii 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 we came in ; and there was a sister younger than he, and brothers 
 and sisters still younger. But we were all alike incapable. The 
 poor boy’s case might be critical, and the nearest physician. Dr. 
 Anderson, resided at Pendleton, thirty miles off. This is one of 
 the conditions of frontier settlement which is not always thought 
 of. 
 
 In the difficulty of the juncture, a thought occurred to Colonel 
 T., which was immediately made available. “ I think I will send 
 for Ilorse-Shoe Robinson,” he said, with a manifest lighting up 
 of the countenance, as if he had hit upon a happy expedient. “ Get 
 a horse, my son,” he continued, addressing one of the boys, “ and 
 ride over to the old man, and tell him what has happened to 
 your brother; and say, he will oblige me if he will come here 
 directly.” At the same time, a servant was ordered to ride to 
 Pendleton, and to bring over Dr. Anderson. 
 
 In the absence of the first messenger the lad grew easiei’, and it 
 became apparent that his hurt was not likely to turn out 
 seriously. Colonel T., assured by this, drew his chair up to the 
 fire beside mg, and with many expressions of friendly interest 
 inquired into the course of my journey, and into the numberless 
 matters that may be supposed to interest a frontier settler in his 
 intercourse with one just from the world of busy life. It happened 
 
 that I knew an old friend of his. General -, a gentleman 
 
 highly distinguished in professional and jjolitical service, to whose 
 youth Colonel T. had been a most timely patron. This circum¬ 
 stance created a new pledge in my favor, and, I believe, influenced 
 the old gentleman in a final resolve to send that night for his 
 wife, who was some seven or eight miles off, and whom he had 
 been disinclined to put to the discomfort of such a journey in the 
 dark, ever since it was ascertained that the boy’s case was not 
 dangerous. I am pretty sure this influenced him, as I heard him 
 privately instructing a servant to go for the lady, and to tell her 
 that the boy’s injury was not very severe, and “ that there was a 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Ut 
 
 gentleman there who was well acquainted with General —— 
 
 I observed, hanging- in a little black frame over the fireplace, a 
 miniature engraved portrait of the general, which was the only 
 specimen of the fine arts in the house—perhaps in the settlement. 
 It was my recognition of this likeness that led, I fear, to the weary 
 night ride of the good lady. 
 
 In less than an hour the broad light of the hearth—for the 
 apartment was only lit up by blazing pine faggots, which, from 
 time to time, Avere thrown upon the fire—fell upon a goodly 
 figure. There was first a sound of hoofs coming through the 
 dark—a halt at the door—a full, round, clear voice heard on the 
 porch — and then the entrance into the apartment of a woodland 
 hero. That fine rich voice again, in salutation, so gentle and so 
 manly ! This was our expected counsellor, Horse-Shoe Robinson. 
 What a man I saw ! With near seventy years upon his poll, time 
 seemed to have broken its billows over his front only as the ocean 
 breaks over a rock. There he stood—tall, broad, brawnjq and 
 erect. The sharp light gilded his massive frame and weather¬ 
 beaten face with a pictorial effect that would have rejoiced an 
 artist. Ilis homely dress, his free stride, as he advanced to the 
 fire ; his face radiant with kindness; the natural gracefulness of 
 his motion ; all afforded a ready index to his character. Horse 
 Shoe, it was evident, was a man to confide in. 
 
 “ I hear your boy’s got flung from his horse. Colonel,” he said, 
 as he advanced to the bed-side. “ Do you think he is much 
 hurt?” “Hot so badly as we thought at first, Mr. Robinson,” 
 was the reply. “ I am much obliged to you for coming over to¬ 
 night. It is a great comfort to have your advice in such 
 times.” 
 
 “These little shavers are so venturesome—with horses in par¬ 
 ticular,” said the visitor ; “ it’s Providence, Colonel, takes care of 
 ’em. Let me look at you, my son,” he continued, as he removed 
 the bed-clothes, and began to handle the shoulder of the boy. 
 
X 
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 “ He’s got it out of joint,” he added, after a moment. “ Get me a 
 basin of hot water and a cloth. Colonel. I think I can soon set 
 matters right.” 
 
 It was not long before the water was placed beside him, and 
 Eobinson went to work with the earnestness of a practised 
 surgeon. After applying wet cloths for some time to the injured 
 part, he took the shoulder in his broad hand, and with a sudden 
 movement, which was followed by a shriek from the boy, he 
 brought the dislocated bone into its proper position. “ It doesn’t 
 hurt,” he said, laughingly ; “ you are only pretending. How do 
 you feel now ?” 
 
 The patient smiled, as he replied, “ Well enough now; but I 
 reckon you was joking if you said that it didn’t hurt.” 
 
 Horse Shoe came to the fireside, and took a chair, saying, 
 “ I larnt that. Colonel, in the campaigns. A man picks up 
 some good everywhere, if he’s a mind to; that’s my observa¬ 
 tion.” 
 
 This case being disposed of. Horse Shoe determined to remain 
 all night with the family. We had supper, and, after that, formed 
 a little party around the hearth. Colonel T. took occasion to tell 
 me something about Horse Shoe; and the Colonel’s eldest son 
 gave me my cue, by which he intimated I might draw out 
 the old soldier to relate some stories of the war. 
 
 “ Ask him,” said the young man, “ how he got away from 
 Charleston after the surrender; and then get him to tell you 
 how he took the five Scotchmen piisoners.” 
 
 We were all in good humor. The boy Avas quite easy, and 
 everything was going on well, and Ave had determined to sit up 
 until Mrs. T. should arrive, which could not be before midnight. 
 Horse Shoe was very obliging, and as I expressed a great interest 
 in his adventures, he yielded himself to my leading, and I got out 
 of him a rich stock of adventure, of Avhich his life was full. The 
 two famous passages to which I had been asked to question him 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 XI 
 
 —the escape from Charleston, and the capture of the Scotch 
 soldiers—the reader will find preserved in the narrative upon 
 which he is about to enter, almost in the very words of my 
 anthority. I have—perhaps with too much scruple—retained 
 Horse Shoe’s peculiar vocabulary and rustic, doric form of speech— 
 holding these as somewhat necessary exponents of his character. 
 A more truthful man than he, I am convinced, did not survive the 
 war to tell its story. Truth was the predominant expression of 
 his face and gesture—the truth that belongs to natural and 
 unconscious bravery, united with a frank and modest spirit. 
 He seemed to set no especial value upon his own exploits, 
 but to relate them as items of personal history, with as little 
 comment or emphasis as if they concerned any one more than 
 himself. 
 
 It was long after midnight before our party broke up; and 
 when I got to my bed it was to dream of Horse Shoe and his 
 adventures. I made a record of what he told me, whilst the 
 memory of it was still fresh, and often afterwards reverted to it, 
 when accident or intentional research brought into my view events 
 connected with the times and scenes to which his story had 
 reference. 
 
 The reader will thus see how I came into possession of the 
 leading incidents upon which this “ Tale of the Tory Ascendency” 
 in South Carolina is founded. 
 
 It was first published in 1835. Horse-Shoe Robinson was then 
 a very old man. He had removed into Alabama, and lived, I am 
 told, upon the banks of the Tuskaloosa. I commissioned a friend 
 to send him a copy of the book. The report brought me was, 
 that the old man had listened very attentively to the reading of 
 it, and took great interest in it. 
 
 “ What do you say to all this ?” was the question addressed to 
 him, after the reading was finished. His reply is a voucher. 
 
XU 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 whicli I desire to preserve: “ It is all true and right—in its right 
 place—excepting about them women, which I disremember. That 
 mought be true, too ; but my memory is treacherous—I dis- 
 remember.” 
 
 AprU 12, 1852 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE 
 
 FIRST EDITION. 
 
 Thk events narrated in the following pages, came to my 
 knowledge in the progress of my researches into the personal 
 history of some of the characters who figure in the story. I 
 thought them w’orth being embodied into a regular narrative, for 
 two reasons;— 
 
 First, because they intrinsically possess an interest that may 
 amuse the lovers of adventure, and 
 
 Second, because they serve to illustrate the temper and charac¬ 
 ter of the War of our Revolution. 
 
 As yet, only the political and documentary history of that war 
 has been written. Its romantic or picturesque features have been 
 left for that industrious tribe of chroniclers, of which I hold 
 myself to be an unworthy member, and who have of late, as the 
 public is aware, set about the business in good earnest. It shall 
 go hard with us if we do not soon bring to light every remnant 
 of fruition that the war has left! 
 
 An opinion has heretofore prevailed that the Revolution was too 
 recent an aftair for our story-telling craft to lay hands upon it. 
 But this objection, ever since the fiftieth anniversary, has been 
 nullified by common consent,—that being deemed the fair poetical 
 limit which converts tradition into truth, and takes away all right 
 
xiv PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 of contradiction from a surviving actor in fhe scene. The pension 
 roll is manifestly growing thinner, and the widows—married 
 young after the peace—make a decided majority on the list. 
 These are the second-hand retailers of the marvels of the war; 
 and it is observed that, like wine which has descended to the 
 hefr, the events have lost none of their flavor or value by the 
 transmission. This is all so much clear gain to our fraternity ; 
 and it is obvious, therefore, that we must thrive. 
 
 My reader will perceive that I have been scrupulous to preserve 
 the utmost historical accuracy in my narrarive : and I hope, when 
 he has finished the perusal, that he may find reason to award me 
 the commendation of having afforded him some pleasure, by the 
 sketch I have attempted of the condition of things in the south 
 during the very interesting period of the “ Tory Ascendency.” 
 
 The Author. 
 
 May 1,18Sa 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A TOPOGRAPHICAL DISCOURSE. 
 
 The belt of mountains which traverses the state of Virginia 
 diagonally, from north-east to south-west, it will be seen by an 
 inspection of the map, is composed of a series of parallel ranges, 
 presenting a conformation somewhat similar to that which may be 
 observed in miniature on the sea-beach, amongst the minute lines of 
 sand hillocks left by the retreating tide. This belt may be said to 
 commence with the Blue Ridge, or more accurately speaking, with 
 that inferior chain of highlands that runs parallel to this mountain 
 almost immediately along its eastern base. From this region west¬ 
 ward the highlands increase in elevation, the valleys become narrorver, 
 steeper and cooler, and the landscape progressively assumes the 
 wilder features which belong to what is distinctly meant by “ the 
 mountain country.” 
 
 The loftiest heights in this series are found in the Alleghany, 
 nearly one hundred and fifty miles westward from the first thread 
 of the-belt; and as the principal rivers which flow towards the 
 Chesapeake find their sources in this overtopping line of mountain, 
 it may be imagined that many scenes of surpassing beauty exist in 
 those abrupt solitudes where the rivers have had to contend with the 
 sturdy hills that nature had thrown across their passage to the sea. 
 
 1 * 
 
10 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBIKSON. 
 
 The multiplication of the facilities of travel which the spirit of 
 improvement has, of late years, afforded to this region ; the health¬ 
 fulness, or,—to use a term more germain to its excellence,—the 
 volujjtuousness of the climate, and the extraordinary abundance 
 of waters of the rarest virtue, both for bathing and drinking, have 
 all contributed, very recently, to render the mountains of Virginia 
 notorious and popular amongst that daintily observant crowd of 
 well-conditioned people who yearly migrate in quest of health, or 
 of a refuge from the heats of summer, or who, perchance, wander 
 in pursuit of those associations of hill and dale which are supposed 
 to repair a jaded imagination, and to render it romantic and fruitful. 
 
 The traveller of either of these descriptions, who holds his journey 
 westward, will find himself impelled to halt at Charlottesville, as a 
 ])leasant resting-place in the lap of the first mountains, where he may 
 stop to reinforce his strength for the prosecution of the rugged task 
 that awaits him. His delay here will not be unprofitable. This 
 neat little village is not less recommended to notice by its position 
 in the midst of a cultivated and plentiful country, than by its conti¬ 
 guity to the seats of three Presidents of the Union ; and, especialljq 
 by its immediate proximity to Monticcdlo, whose burnished dome 
 twinkles through the crow'n of forest that adorns the very apex of 
 its mountain pyramid, and which, as it has now growm to be the 
 Mecca of many a pilgrim, w’ill of itself furnish a sufficient inducement 
 for our traveller’s tarrying. An equal attraction wdll be found in 
 the University of Virginia, which, at the distance of one mile, in the 
 opposite direction from that leading to Monticello, rears its gorgeous 
 and fantastic piles of massive and motley architecture—a lively and 
 faithful symbol (I speak it revai’ently) of the ambitious, parti-colored 
 and gallican taste of its illustrious founder. 
 
 From Charlottesville, proceeding southwardly, in the direction of 
 Nelson and Amherst, the road lies generally over an undulating 
 country, formed by the succession of hills constituting the subordinate 
 chain of mountains which I have described as first in the belt. 
 These hills derive a beautiful feature from the manner in which they 
 are commanded,—to use a military phrase,—by the Blue Pddge, 
 which, for the whole distance, rests against the western horizon, and 
 heaves up its frequent pinnacles amongst the clouds, clothed in all 
 the variegated tints that belong to the scale of vision, from the, 
 
HOESE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 11 
 
 sombre green and pui'irle of the nearer masses, to the light and 
 almost indistinguishable azure of its remotest summits. 
 
 The constant interrujition of some gushing rivulet, which hurries 
 from the neighboring mountain into the close vales that intercept the 
 road, communicates a trait of peculiar interest to this journey, 
 affording that pleasant surprise of new and unexpected scenery, 
 which, more than any other concomitant of travel, wards off the 
 sense of fatigue. These streams have worn deep channels through 
 the hills, and constantly seem to solicit the road into narrow passes 
 and romantic dells, where fearful crags are seen topj)ling over the 
 head of the traveller, and sparkling Avaters tinkle at his feet; and 
 Avhere the richest and rarest trees of the forest seem to have chosen 
 their several stations, on mossy bank or cloven rock, in obedience to 
 some master mind intent upon the most tasteful and striking combi¬ 
 nation of these natural elements. 
 
 A part of the country embraced in this descrij)tlon, has obtained 
 the local designation of the South Garden, perhaps from its succes¬ 
 sion of fertile fields and fragrant meadow's, w'hich are shut in by the 
 walls of mountain on either hand; whilst a still more remote but 
 adjacent district of more rugged features, beai's the appellation of the 
 Cove, the name being suggc'sted iiy the narrow' and encompassing 
 character of the sharp and jirecipitous hills that hem in and over¬ 
 shadow a rough and brattling mountain torrent, avI nch is marked 
 on the map as the Cove creek. 
 
 At the period to Avhich m3' stoiy refers, the population of this 
 central district of Virginia, exhibited but fcAV of the chai'acteristics 
 which are found to distinguish the present race of inhabitants. A 
 rich soil, a pure atmosphere, and gTeat abundance of Avood and Avater, 
 to say nothing of the sylvan beauties of the mountain, possessed a 
 great attraction f;r the wealth}' propi'ietors of the Ioav country ; and 
 the land w'as, therefore, generally j^arcelled out in large estates held 
 by opulent oAvners, Avhose husbandry did not fail, at least, to accu¬ 
 mulate in profusion the comforts of life, and afford full scope to that 
 prodigal hospitality, Avhich, at that period CA'en more than at present, 
 Avas the boast of the state. The laAvs of primogeniture exercised 
 their due influence on the national habits; and the odious dir-ision 
 of property amongst undeserving younger brothers, whom our mo¬ 
 dern philosophy Avould fain persuade us have as much merit, and as 
 
12 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 little capacity to tliiive in the world as their elders, had not yet 
 formed part of the household thoughts of these many-acred squires. 
 From Charlottesville, therefore, both north and south, from the 
 Potomac to the James river, there extended a chain of posts, occu¬ 
 pied by lordly and open-hearted gentlemen,—a kind of civil cordon 
 of bluff free-livers who were but little vereed in the mystery of 
 “ bringing the two ends of the year together.” 
 
 Since that period, well-a-day ! the hand of the reaper has put in 
 his sickle upon divided fields; crowded progenies have grown up 
 under these paternal roof-trees; daughters have married and brought 
 in strange names; the subsistence of one has been spread into the 
 garner of ten; the villages have gTOwn populous; the University 
 has lifted up its didactic head; and everywhere over this abode of 
 ancient wealth, the hum of industry is heard in the carol of the 
 ploughman, the echo of the wagoner’s whip, the rude song of the 
 boatman, and in the clatter of the mill. Such are the mischievous 
 interpolations of the republican system ! 
 
 My rcadei’, after this topographical sketch and the political reflec¬ 
 tions with which I have accompanied it, is doubtless well-prepared 
 for the introduction of the worthy pereonages with whom I am 
 about to make him acquainted. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHEREIN THE READER IS INTRODDCED TO TWO WORTHIES "WITH 
 
 WHOM HE IS LIKELY TO FORM AN INTIMATE ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 It was about two o’clock in the afternoon of a day towards the 
 end of July, 1780, when Captain Arthur Butler, now holding a 
 brevet, some ten days old, of major in the continental army, and 
 Galbraith Robinson were seen descending the long hill which 
 separates the South Garden from the Cove. They had just left the 
 rich and mellow scenery of the former district, and were now 
 jtassing into the picturesque valley of the latter. It was evident 
 from the travel-worn appearance of their horses, as well as from their 
 equipments, that they had journeyed many a mile before they had 
 reached this spot; and it might also have been perceived that the 
 shifting beauties of the landscape were not totally disregarded by 
 Butler, at least,—as he was seen to halt on the summit of the hill, 
 turn and gaze back upon the wood-embowered fields that lay 
 beneath his eye, and by lively gestures to direct the notice of his 
 companion to the same quarter. Often, too, as they moved slowly 
 downward, he reined up his steed to contemplate more at leisure 
 the close, forest-shaded ravnne before them, through which the Cove 
 creek held its noisy way. It was not so obvious that his companion 
 responded to the earnest emotions which this wild and beautiful , 
 scenery excited in his mind. 
 
 Arthur Butler was now in the possession of the vigor of early 
 manhood, with apparently some eight and twenty years upon his 
 head. His frame was well proportioned, light and active. His 
 face, though distinguished by a smooth and almost beardless cheek, 
 still presented an outline of decided manh’ beauty. The sun and 
 wind had tanned his complexion, except where a rich volume of 
 black hair upon his brow had preserved the original fairness of a 
 
 13 
 
14 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 liigli, broad forehead. A hazel eye sj^arkled under the shade of a 
 dark lash, and indicated, by its alternate playfulness and decision, 
 an adventurous as well as a cheerful spirit. His whole bearing, 
 visage and figure, seemed to speak of one familiar with enterprise 
 and fond of danger:—they denoted gentle breeding predominating 
 over a life of toil and privation. 
 
 Notwithstanding his profession, which was seen in his erect and 
 peremptory carriage, his dress, at this time, was, with some slight 
 exceptions, merely civil. And here, touching this matter of dress, 
 I have a prefatory word to say to my reader. Although custom, or 
 the fashion of the story-telhng craft, may require that I should 
 satisfy the antiquarian in this important circumstance of apparel of 
 the days gone by, yet, on the present occasion, I shall be somewhat 
 chary of my lore in that behalf;—seeing that any man who is 
 curious on the score of the coslume of the revolution time, may be 
 fully satisfied by studying those most graphic “ counterfeit present¬ 
 ments ” of sundry historical passages of that day, wherewith Colonel 
 'J’rumbull has furnished this age, for the edification of posterity, in 
 the great rotunda of the Capitol of the United States. And I 
 confess, too, I have another reason for m}^ present reluctance,—as F 
 feed some faint misgiving lest my principal actor might run the risk 
 of making a sorry figure with the living generation, were I*to 
 introduce him upon the stage in a coat, whose technical description, 
 after the manner of a botanical formula, might be comprised in the 
 following summary :—long-waisted—wide-skirted—narrow-collared 
 —broad-backed—big-buttoned—and largedapelled ;—and then to 
 add to this, what would be equally outlandish, yellow small-clothes, 
 and dark-topped boots, attached by a leather strap to the buttons at 
 the knee,—without which said boots, no gentleman in 1Y8G 
 ventured to mount on horseback. 
 
 But when I say that Captain Butler travelled on his present 
 iourney, habited in the civil costume of a gentleman of the time, I 
 do not mean to exclude a round hat pretty much of the fashion of 
 the present day—though then hut little used except amongst 
 military men—with a white cockade to show his party; nor do I 
 wish to be considered as derogating from that peaceful character 
 when I add that his saddle-bow w'as fortified by a brace of 
 horseman’s pistols, stowed away in large holsters, covered with bear 
 
HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 16 
 
 g]jin;—for, in those days, when hostile banners were unfurled, and 
 men challenged each other upon the highways, these pistols were a 
 part of the countenance (to use an excellent old phrase) of a 
 gentleman. 
 
 Galbraith Robinson was a man of altogether rougher mould. 
 Nature had carved out, in his person, an athlete whom the sculptors 
 might have studied to improve the Hercules. Every lineament of 
 his body indicated strength. Ilis stature w:is rather above six feet; 
 his chest broad; his limbs sinewy, and remarkable for their sym¬ 
 metry. There seemed to be no useless flesh upon Ins frame to 
 soften the prominent surface of his muscles ; and his ample thigh, 
 as he sat upon horseback, showed the working of its texture at each 
 step, as if j)art of the animal on which he rode. Ills was one of 
 those iron forms that might be imagined almost bullet proof. With 
 all these advantages of poison, there was a radiant, broad, good 
 nature upon his face; and the glance of a large, clear, blue eye told 
 of arch thoughts, and of shrewd, homely wisdom. A ruddy 
 comjflexion accorded well with his sprightly, but massive features, 
 of wliich the pre\'ailing expression was such as silently invited 
 friendship and trust. If to these traits be added an abundant 
 shock of yellow, curly hair, terminating in a luxuriant queue, confined 
 by a narrow strand of leather cord, my reader will have a tolerably 
 correct idea of the person I wish to describe. 
 
 Robinson had been a blacksmith at the breaking out of the 
 revolution, and, in truth, could hardly be said to have yet abandoned 
 the craft; although of late, he had been engaged in a course of 
 life which had but little to do with the anvil, e.xcept in that 
 metaphorical sense of hammering out and shaping the rough, iron 
 independence of his country. He was the owner of a httle farm in 
 the Waxhaw settlement, on the Catawba, and having pitched his 
 habitation upon a promontory, around whose base the AVax^aw 
 creek swejit \rfth a regular but narrow circuit, this locality, taken in 
 connexion with his calling, gave rise to a common prefix to his 
 name throughout the neighborhood, and he was therefore almost 
 exclusivelv distinguished by the sobriquet of Horse Shoe Robinson. 
 This familiar appellative had followed him into the army. 
 
 The age of Horse Shoe was some seven or eight years in 
 iidvance of that of Butler—a circumstance whicli the worthy senior 
 
16 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBIXSOX. 
 
 did not fail to use vritli some autlioritT in their personal intercoiu'se, 
 holding himself on that account, to he hke Cassius, an elder, if not 
 a better soldier. On the present occasion, his dress was of the 
 plainest and most rustic descrijfitiou: a spherical cro\\nied hat with 
 a broad brim, a coarse grey coatee of mixed cotton and wool, dai’k 
 hnsey-woolsey trowseis adhering closely to his leg, hob-nailed shoes, 
 and a red cotton handkerchief tied carelessly round his neck with a 
 knot upon his bosom. This costume, and a long rifle throum into 
 the angle of the right arm, with the breech resting on his pommel, 
 and a pouch of deer-skin, with a powder horn attached to it, 
 suspended on his right side, might have warranted a spectator in 
 taking Robinson for a woodsman, or hunter fi-om the neighboring 
 mountains. 
 
 Such were the two personages who now came “ pricking o’er the 
 hill.'’ The period at which I have presented them to my reader 
 was, perhaps, the most anxious one of the whole struggle for 
 independence. TVithout falling into along narrative of events which are 
 famihar, at least to every American, I. may recall the fact that Gates 
 had just passed southward, to take cotnmand of the army destined 
 to act against Cornwallis. It was now within a few weeks of that 
 decisive battle which sent the hero of Saratoga “ bootless home and 
 weather-beaten back,” to ponder over the mutations of fortune, and, 
 in the quiet shades of Virginia, to strike the balance of fame 
 between northern glory and southern discomfiture. It may be 
 imagined then, that our travellers were not without some share of 
 that intense interest for the events “ upon the gale,” which every¬ 
 where pervaded the nation. Still, as I have before hinted, Arthur 
 Butler did not journey through this beautiful region without a 
 lively perception of the charms which nature had spread around 
 him. The soil of this district is remarkable for its blood-red hue. 
 The side of every bank glowed in the sun with this bright 
 A-«rmiIlion tint, and the new-made furrow, wherever the early 
 ploughman had scarred the soil, turned up to view the predomi 
 nating color. The contrast of this with the luxuriant grass and 
 the yellow stubble, with the grey and tnossy rock, and with the 
 deep green shade of the surrounding forest, perpetually sohcited 
 the notice of the lover of landscape; and from every height, the 
 eye rested with pleasure upon the rich meadows of the bottom 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBIN SOX. 
 
 17 
 
 land—upon the varied cornfields spread over the hills; upon the 
 adjacent mountains, with their bald crags peeping through the screen 
 of forest, and especially upon the broad lines of naked earth 
 that, here and there, hghted up and reheved, as a painter would 
 say, with its warm coloring, the heavy masses of shade. 
 
 The day was hot, and it was with a grateful sense of refreshment 
 that our wayfareis, no less than their horses, found themselves, as 
 they appjroached the lowland, gradually penetrating the deep and 
 tangled thicket and the high wood that hung over and darkened the 
 vhannel of the small stream which rippled through the valley. Their 
 road lay along this stream and frequently crossed it at narrow fords, 
 where the water fell from rock to rock in small cascades, presenting 
 natural basins of the limpid flood, embosomed in laurel and alder, 
 and gurgling that busy music which is one of the most welcome 
 sounds to the ear of a wearied and overheated traveller. 
 
 Butler said but little to his companion, except now and then to 
 express a passing emotion of admiration for the natural embellish¬ 
 ments of the region ; until, at length, the road brought them to a 
 huge mass of rock, from whose base a fountain issued forth over a 
 bed of gravel, and soon lost itself in the brook hard by. A small 
 strip of bark, that some friend of the traveller had placed there, 
 caught the pure water as it was distilled from the rock, and threw it 
 off in a spout, some few’ inches above the surface of the ground. The 
 earth trodden around this spot showed it to be a customary halting 
 place for those who journeyed on the road. 
 
 Here Butler checked his hoi-se, and announced to his comrade his 
 intention to suspend, for a w hile, the toil of travel. 
 
 “There is one thing, Galbraith,” said he, as he dismounted, 
 “ wherein all philosophers agree—man must eat when he is hungry, 
 and rest w’hen he is weary. TVe have now been some six hours on 
 horseback, and as this fountain seems to have been put here for our 
 use, it would be sinfully shghting the bounties of pro\-idence not to 
 do it the honor of a halt. Get down, man; rummage your havre- 
 sac, and let us see what you have there.” dfe 
 
 Robinson was soon upon his feet, and taking^TO horses a little 
 distance off, he fastened their bridles to the impending branches of 
 a tree; then opening his saddle-bags, he produced a wallet with 
 which he approached the fountain, where-Butler had thrown him- 
 
IS 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 self at full leiigtli upon the grass. Here, as lie successively disclosed 
 his stores, lie announced his bill of fare, with suitable deliberation 
 between each item, in the following terms : 
 
 “ I don’t march without jirovisions, you see, captain—or major, I 
 suppose I must call you now. Here’s the rear divdsion of a roast 
 ])ig, and along with it, by way of flankers, two spread eagles (hold¬ 
 ing up two broiled fowls), and here are four slices from the best end 
 of a ham. Besides these, I can throw in two apple-jacks, a half 
 dozen of rolls, and—” 
 
 “Your wallet is as bountiful as a conjurer’s bag, sergeant; it is a 
 perfect cornucopia. How did you come by all this provender?” 
 
 “ It isn’t so overmuch, major, when you come to consider,” said 
 Kobinson. “The old landlady at Charlottesville is none of your 
 heap-up, shake-down, and running-over landladies, and when I sig- 
 infied to her that we mought w'aut a snack upjon the road, she as 
 much as gave me to understand that there wa’n’t nothing to be had. 
 But I took care to make fair weather with her daughter, as I always 
 do amongst the creatures, and she let me into the pantry, where I 
 made bold to stow away these few trifling articles, under the deno¬ 
 mination of pillage. If you are fond of Indian corn bread, I can 
 give you a pretty good slice of that.” 
 
 “ Pillage, Galbraith! You forget }'ou are not in an enemy’s 
 country. I directed you scrupulously to pay for everything you got 
 upon the road. I hope you have not omitted it to-day ?” 
 
 “ Lord, sir! what do these women do for the cause of liberty but 
 cook, and wash, and mend!” exclaimed the sergeant. “ I told the old 
 Jezebel to charge it all to the continental congress.” 
 
 “ Out upon it, man ! Would you bring us into discredit with 
 our best friends, by your villanous habits of free quarters ?” 
 
 “ I am not the only man, major, that has been spoiled in his reli¬ 
 gion by these wars. I had both politeness and decency till we got 
 to squabbling over our chimney corners in Carolina. But when a 
 man’s conscience begins to get hard, it does it faster than anything 
 in nature: it is, I may say, like the boiling of an egg—it is very 
 clear at first, but as soon as it gets cloudy, one minute more and you 
 may cut it with a knife.” 
 
 “ Well, well! Let us fall to, sergeant; this is no time to argue 
 points of conscience.” 
 
liOUSJi SHOE KOBINSON. 
 
 10 
 
 V 
 
 “ You seem to take no notice of this here bottle of peach brandy, 
 major,” said Robinson. “ It’s a bird that came out of the same 
 nest. To my thinking it’s a sort of a file leader to an eatable, if it 
 ar’u’t an eatable itself.” 
 
 “ Peace, Galbraith! it is the vice of the army to set too much 
 store by this devil brandy.” 
 
 The sergeant was outwardly moved by an inward laugh that 
 shook his head and shoulders. 
 
 “Do you suppose, major, that Troy town was taken without 
 brandy ? It’s drilling and countermarching and charging with the 
 bagnet, all three, sir. But before we begin, I will just strip our 
 horses. A fluny of cool air on the saddle spot is the best thing in 
 nature for a tired horse.” 
 
 Robinson now performed this office for their jaded cattle; and 
 having given them a mouthful of water at the brook, returned to his 
 post, and soon began to despatch, with a laudable alacrity, the heaps 
 of provision before him. Butler partook with a keen appetite of 
 this sylvan repast, and was greatly amused to see with what relish 
 his companion caused slice after slice to vanish, until nothing was 
 left of this large supply but a few fragments. 
 
 “You have lost neither stomach nor strength by the troubles, 
 sergeant; the short commons of Charleston would have gone some¬ 
 thing against the grain with you, if you had stayed for that course of 
 diet.” 
 
 “ It is a little over two months,” said Robinson, “ since I got away 
 from them devils; and if it hadn’t been for these here wings of mine 
 (pointing to his legs), I might have been a caged bird to-day.” 
 
 “ You have never told me the story of your escape,” said Butler. 
 
 “ You were always too busy, or too full of your own thoughts, 
 major, for me to take up your time with such talk,” replied the 
 other. “ But, if you would like me to tell you all about it, while 
 you are resting yourself here on the ground, and have got nothing 
 better to think about, why. I’ll start hke old Jack Carter of our mess, 
 by beginning, as he used to say when he had a tough story ahead, 
 right at the beginning.” 
 
 “ Do so, sergeant, and do it discreetly ‘y^ut first, swallow that 
 mouthful, for you don’t speak very clear.” 
 
 “I’ll wash doAvn the gutter, major, according to camp fashion, 
 
 \ 
 
20 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 and then my throat will he as clear as the morning gun after sun¬ 
 rise.” 
 
 And saying this, the tall soldier helped himself to a hearty draught 
 of cool water mingled in fair proportion with a part of the contents 
 of his flask, and setting the cup down by his side, he commenced as 
 follows :— 
 
 “ You was with us, major, when Prevost served us that trick in 
 Georgia, last year—kept us, you remember, on the look out for him 
 t’other side of the Savannah, whilst all the time he was whiskino: of 
 it down to Charleston.” 
 
 “ You call this beginning at the beginning ? Faith, you have 
 started a full year before your time. Do you think yourself a Poly¬ 
 bius or a Xenophon—who were two famous old fellows, just in 
 your line, sergeant—that you set out with a history of a whole 
 war.” 
 
 “ I never knew any persons in our line—oflflcers or men—of either 
 of them names,”—replied Robinson,—“ they were nicknames, per¬ 
 haps ;—but I do know, as well as another, when a thing turns up 
 that is worth notice, major; and this is one of ’em :—and that’s the 
 reason why I make mention of it. What I was going to say was 
 this—that it was a sign fit for General Lincoln’s consarnment, that 
 these here British should make a push at Charleston on the tenth 
 of May, 1779, and get beaten, and that exactly in one year and two 
 days afterwards, they should make another push and win the town. 
 Now, what was it a sign of, but that they and the tories was more 
 industrious that year than we were ?” 
 
 “ Granted,” said Butler, “now to your story. Mister Philosopher!” 
 
 “ In what month was it you left us ?” inquired the sergeant 
 gravely. 
 
 “ In March,” answered Butler. 
 
 “ General Lincoln sent you OS', as we were told, on some business 
 with the continental congress; to get us more troops, if I am i-ight. 
 It was a pity to throw away a good army on such a place—for it 
 wa’nt worth defending at last. From the time that you set out, 
 they began to shut us in, every day a little closer. First, they 
 closed a door on one side, and then on t’other: till, at last they sent 
 a sort of flash-o’-lightning fellow—this here Colonel Tarleton—up to 
 Monk’s corner, which, you know, was our back door, and he shut 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 21 
 
 that up and double bolted it, by giving Huger a most tremenjious 
 lathering. Now, when we were shut in, we had nothing to do but 
 look out. I’ll tell you an observation I made, at that time.” 
 
 “ Well.” 
 
 “ Wh}'^, ivhen a man hiis got to fight, it’s a natural sort of thing 
 enough;—but when he has got nothing to eat, it’s an onnatural 
 state. 1 have beam of men who should have said they would rather 
 fight than eat:—if they told truth they would have made honest 
 fellows for our garrison at Charlestown. First, our vegetables—after 
 that devil took up his quarters at Monk’s corner — began to give out : 
 then, our meat; and, finally, we had nothing left but rice, which I 
 consider neither fish, flesh, nor good salt herring”-- 
 
 “ You had good spirits, though, sergeant.” 
 
 “ If you mean rum or brandy, major, we hadn’t much of that ; — 
 but if you mean jokes and laughs, it must be hard times that will 
 stop them in camp.—I’ll tell you one of them, that made a great 
 hurra on both sides, where w’e got the better of a Scotch regiment 
 that was plaguing us from outside the town. They thought they 
 would make themselves merry with our starvation — so, they throwed 
 a bomb shell into our lines, that, as it came along through the air, 
 we saw had some devilment in it, from the streak it made in day¬ 
 light ; and, sure enough, when we come to look at it on the ground, 
 we found it filled with rice and molasses—^just to* show that these 
 Scotchmen were laughing at us for having nothing to eat. Well, 
 w'hat do we do but fill another shell with brimstone and hogslard, 
 and just drop it handsomely amongst the lads from the land o’cakes ? 
 Gad, sir, it soon got to the hearing of the English regiment, and 
 such a shouting as they sot up from their lines against the Scotch¬ 
 men ! That’s what I call giving as good as they saunt, major—ha 
 ha ha!’ 
 
 “ It wasn’t a bad repartee, Galbraith,” said Butler, joining in the 
 laugh. “ But go on with your siege.” 
 
 ” We got taken, at last,” proceeded Horse Shoe, “ and surrendered 
 on the ]2tlvof May. Do you know that they condescended to let 
 us go through the motions of marching outside the lines? Still it 
 was a sorry day to see our colors tied as fast to their sticks as if a 
 stocking had been drawn over them. After that, we were marched 
 to the barracks and put into close confilfS^^nt.” 
 
22 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Yes, I have heard that; and with heavy hearts—and a dreary 
 prospect before you, sergeant.” 
 
 “I shouldn’t have minded it much, Major Butler, it was the 
 fortune of war. But they insulted us as soon as they got our arms 
 from us. It was a blasted cowardly trick in them to endeavor to 
 wean us from our cause, which they tried every day; it was 
 seduction, I may say. First, they told us that Colonel Pinckney 
 and some other officers had gone over; but that was too 
 onprobable a piece of rascality,—we didn’t believe one w’ord on’t. 
 So, one morning Colonel Pinckney axed that w^e mought be drawed 
 up in a line in front of the barracks ; and there he made us a speech. 
 We were as silent as so many men on a surprise party. The 
 colonel said—^yes, sir, and right in their very teeth—that it was an 
 infamious, audacious calamy ; that whenever he desarted the cause 
 of liberty, he hoped they would take him, as they had done some 
 Homan officer or other—I think one Officious, as I underetood the 
 colonel—you’ve hearn of him, may be—and tie his limbs to wild 
 horses, and set them adrift, at full speed, taking all his joints apart, 
 so that not one traitorious limb should be left to kee]”) company with 
 another. It was a mighty severe punishment, whoever he mought’a 
 been. The British officers began to frown—and I saw one chap 
 put his hand upon his sword. It would have done you good to 
 witness the look fhe colonel gave him, as he p)ut his own hand to 
 his thigh to feel if his sword was there—he so naturally forgot he 
 ■was a prisoner. They made him stop speaking howsever, because 
 they gave out that it was perditious language; and so, they dismissed 
 us—but w'e let them have three cheers to show that we w^ere in 
 heart.” 
 
 “ It was like Pinckney,” said Butler; “ I’ll ■warrant him a true 
 man, Galbraith.” 
 
 “I’ll thribble that warrant,” replied Galbraith, “and afterwards 
 make it nine. I wish you could have hearn him. I always thought 
 a bugle horn the best mu-sic in the world, till that day. But that 
 day Colonel Charles Cotesworth Pinckney’s voice v,\as sweeter than 
 shawns and trumpets, as the preacher says, and bugles to boot. I 
 have hearn people tell of speeches jvorking like a fiddle on a man’s 
 nerves, major: but, for my part, I think they sometimes work hkea 
 battery of field-pieces, or a whole regimental band on a parade day. 
 
HORSE SHOE RORIXSON. 
 
 23 
 
 Ilowsever, 1 was going on to tell you, Colonel Pinckney put a stop 
 to all this parleying with our poor fellows; and knowing, major, 
 that you was likely to be coming this way, he axed me if I thought 
 I could give the guard the slip, and make off with a letter to meet 
 you. Well, I studied over the thing for a while, and then told him 
 a neck was but a neck any how, and that I could try ; and so, when 
 his letter was ready, he gave it to me, telling me to hide it so that, 
 if I was sarched, it couldn’t be found on my person. Do you see 
 that foot ?” added Horse Shoe, smiling, “ it isn’t so small but that I 
 could put a letter between the inside sole and the out, longways, or 
 even crossways, for the matter of that, and that, without so much as 
 turning down a corner. Correspondent and accordingly I stitched 
 it in. The colonel then told me to watch my chance and make off 
 to you in the Jarseys, as fast as I could. He told me, besides, that 
 I was to stay with you, because you was likely to have business for 
 me to do.” 
 
 “ That’s true, good sergeant.” 
 
 “There came on a darkish, drizzly evening; and a little before 
 roll call, at sun set, I borrowed an old forage cloak from Corporal 
 Green—you moughthave remembered him—and out I went towards 
 the lines, and sauntered along the edge of the town, till I came to 
 one of your pipe-smoking, gin-drinking Hessians, keeping sentry 
 near the road that leads out towards Ashley ferry :—a fellow that 
 had no more watch in him—bless your soul!—as these Dutchmen 
 hav’n’t—than a duck on a rainy day. So, said I, coming up boldly 
 to him, ‘Hans, wie gehet es’ — ‘ Geh zum Teufel,’ says he, laughing 
 —for he knowed me. That was all the Dutch I could speak, except 
 I was able to say it was going to rain, so I told him—‘ Es will reg- 
 nen ’—which he knowed as well as I did, for it was raining all the 
 time. I had a little more palaver with Hans, and, at last, he got 
 up on his feet and set to walking up and down. By this time the 
 drums beat for evening quarters, and I bid Hans good night; but, 
 instead of going away, I squatted behind the Dutchman’s sentry 
 box;—and, presently, the rain came down by the bucket full; it 
 got very dark and Hans was snug undej«:cover. The grand rounds 
 was coming; I could hear the trapip of feet, and a? no time was to 
 be lost, I made a long step and a short story of it, by just slipping 
 over the lines and setting out to seek ray fortune.” 
 
 
24 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Well done, sergeant! You were ever good at these pranks.” 
 
 “ But that wasn’t all,” continued Robinson. “ As the prime file 
 leader of mischief would have it, outside of the lines I meets a cart 
 witli a man to drive it, and two soldiers on foot, by way of guard. 
 
 “ The first I was aware of it, was a hallo, and then a bagnet to my 
 breast. I didn’t ask for countersigns, for I didn’t mean to trade in 
 words that night; but, just seizing hold of the muzzle of the piece, 
 I twisted it out of the fellow’s hand, and made him a present of the 
 butt-end across his pate. I didn’t want to hurt him, you see, for it 
 wa’n’t his fault that he stopped me. A back-hander brought down 
 the other, and the third man drove off his cart, as if he had some 
 suspicion that his comrades were on their backs in the mud. I 
 didn’t mean to trouble a peaceable man with my compliments, but 
 on the contrary, as the preacher says, I went on my way rejoicing.” 
 
 “You were very considerate, sergeant; I entirely approve of your 
 moderation. As you are a brave man, and have a natural liking for 
 danger, this was a night that, doubtless, aflforded you great satisfac¬ 
 tion.” 
 
 “ When danger stares you in the face,” replied Horse Shoe, “ the 
 best way is not to see it. It is only in not seeing of it, that a brave 
 man differs from a coward : that’s my opinion. Well, after that I 
 had a hard time of it. I was afraid to keep up the Neck road, upon 
 account of the sodgers that was upon it; so I determined to ci'oss 
 the Ashley, and make for the Orangeburg district. When I came 
 to the ferry, I was a little dubious about taking one of the skiffs that 
 was hauled up, for fear of making a noise; so I slipped off my shoe 
 that had your letter, and put it betwixt my teeth and swum the 
 river. I must have made some splashing in the water—although I 
 tided to mufHe my oars, too, for first, I heard a challenge from the 
 ferry-house, and then the crack of a musket: but it was so dark 
 you couldn’t see an egg on your own nose. There was a little flus¬ 
 tering of lights on the shore, and a turnout of the guard, may be; 
 but, I suppose, they thought it was a sturgeon, or some such beast, 
 and so made no more of it; and I got safe to the other bank.” 
 
 “Faithfully and bravely, sergeant!” 
 
 “ For the first three or four days the chances were all against me. 
 The whole country was full of tones, and it wasn’t safe to meet a 
 man on the road: you couldn’t tell whether he was friend or enemy. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 25 
 
 I (lurstri’t show my face in day-time at all, but lay close in the 
 swamps; and when it began to grow dark, I stole out, like a wolf, 
 and travelled across the fields, and along the byways.” 
 
 “You had a good stomach to bear it, sergeant.” 
 
 “ A good stomach enough, but not much in it. I’ll tell you ano¬ 
 ther observation I made ; when a man travels all night long on an 
 empty stomach, he ought either to fill it next morning or make it 
 smaller.” 
 
 “ And how is that to be managed, friend Horse Shoe ?” 
 
 “ Indian fashion,” replied the sergeant. “ Buckle your belt a little 
 tighter every two or three hours. A man may shrivel his guts up.-- 
 to the size of a pipe stem. But I found a better way to get along 
 than by taking in my belt”- 
 
 “ Now, for another stratagem!” 
 
 “ I commonly, about dark, crept as near to a farm house as I 
 mought venture to go ; and, putting on a poor mouth, told the folks 
 I had a touch of the small-pox, and was dying for a little food. 
 They were Christians enough to give me a dish of bread and ■— 
 milk, or something of that sort, and cowards enough to keep so^ 
 much out of the way, as not to get a chance to look me in the fiice. - - 
 They laid provisions on the ground, and then walked awaj^ while I 
 came up to get them. Though I didn’t think much of the fashion 
 I was waited on, and had sometimes to quarrel with a bull-dog for 
 my supper, I don’t believe I ever ate with a better appetite in my 
 life. The first bread of freedom, no matter how coarse, a man eats 
 after his escape from prison, is the sweetest morsel in nature. And 
 I do think it is a little jileasanter when he eats it at the risk of his 
 life.” 
 
 Butler nodded his head. -.r— 
 
 “Well, after this,” continued Horse ^hoe, “I had like to have lost 
 all by another mishap. My course was for the upper country, 
 because the nearer I got to my own home the better I was acquaint' 
 with the people. That scrummaging character, Tarleton, you ma) 
 have hearn, scampered off, as soon as ever Charlestown was taken, 
 after Colonel Abraham Buford, who w:is on his way down to the city 
 when the news was foteh him of our surrender. Buford accoi dingly 
 came to the right about, to get out of harm’s way as fast as he could, 
 and Tarleton followed close on his heels. Think of that devil, major, 
 
 2 
 
26 
 
 HOBSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 trying to catch a man a hundred miles away! It was a brazen 
 hearted thing! considering, besides, that Buford had a good regi¬ 
 ment with him. When nobody thought it anything more than a 
 brag, sure enough, he ovei’hauls Buford yonder at the Waxhaws— 
 onawares, you may say—and there he tore him all to pieces. They 
 say it was a bloody cruel sight, to see how these English troopers 
 did mangle the poor fellows. I doubt there wasn’t fair play. But, 
 major, that Tarleton rides well and is a proper soldier, take him man 
 to man. It so happened that as I was making along towards 
 Catawba, who should I come plump upon, but Tarleton and his lads, 
 with their prisonei’s, all halting beside a little run to get water !” 
 
 “Again in trouble, sergeant! Truly you have had full measure 
 of adventures !’’ 
 
 “ I was pretty near nonplushed, major,” said Horse Shoe, with a 
 hroad laugh, “but I thought of a stratagem. I let fall my under 
 jaw, and sot my eyes as wild as a madman, and twisted my whole 
 face out of joint—and began to clap my hands, and hurra for the 
 red coats, like a natural fool. So, when Tarleton and two or three 
 of his people came to take notice of me, they put me down for a 
 poor idiot that had been turned adrift.” 
 
 “ Did they hold any discourse with you ?” 
 
 “ A good deal; and, just to try me, they flogged me with the flats 
 of their swords; but I laughed and made merry when they hurt me 
 v/orst, and told them I thanked them for their politeness. There 
 •were some of our people amongst the prisoners, that I knew, 
 and I was mortally afeard they would let on, but they didn’t. 
 Especially, there was Seth Cuthbert, from Tryon, who had both of 
 his hands chopped off in the fray at the Waxhaws; he was riding 
 double behind a trooper, and he held up the stumps just to let me 
 see how barbarously he was^mangled. I was dubious they w'ould 
 see that he knowed me, but he took care of that. Bless your soul, 
 major! he saw my drift in the first shot of 'his eye. Thinking that 
 they mought take it into their noddles to carry me along with them 
 oack, I played the quarest trick that I suppose ever a man thought 
 of; it makes me laugh now to tell it. I made a spring that fetched 
 me right upon the crupper of Colonel Tarleton’s horee, which sot him 
 to kicking and flirting at a merry rate; and, whilst the creature was 
 floundering as if a hornet had stung him, I took the colonel’s cap 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSOH. 
 
 2Y 
 
 and put it upon my own head, and gave him mine. And after I had 
 vagaried in this sort of way for a little while, I let the horse fling 
 me on the ground. You would have thought the devils would have 
 died a laughing. And the colonel himself, altliough at iirst he was 
 very angry, couldn’t help laughing likewise. lie said that I was as 
 strange a fool as he ever saw, and that it would be a pity to hurt 
 me. So he threw me a shilling, and, whilst they were all in good 
 humor, I trudged away.” 
 
 “ It was a bold e.vperiment, and might be practised a thousand 
 times without success. If I did not know you, Robinson, to be a 
 man of truth, as well as courage, I should scarce believe this tale. 
 
 If any one, hereafter, should tell your story, he will be accounted a 
 fiction-monger.” 
 
 “ I do not boast. Major Butler ; and, as to my story, I care veiy 
 little who tells it. Every trick is good in war. I can change my 
 face and voice both, so that my best friends shouldn’t know me: 
 and, in these times, I am willing to change every thing but my 
 coat, and even that, if I have a witness to my heart, and it will 
 serve a turn to help the country. Am I not right 
 
 “ No man ever blames another for that, sergeant, and if ever you 
 should be put to the trial, you will find friends enough to vouch for 
 your honesty.” 
 
 “ When I got away from Tarleton it wasn’t long before I reached 
 my own cabin. There I mustered my hoise and gun, and some 
 decent clothes ; and after a good sleep, and a belly full of food, I .. 
 started for the north, as fast as I could, with my letter. I put it 
 into your own hands, and you know the rest.” 
 
 “This will be a good tale for a winter night,” said Butler, “to be 
 told hereafter, in a snug chimney corner, to your wife and children, 
 when peace, as I trust it may, will make you happy in the possession 
 of both. Your embassy has had marvellous good luck so far. I 
 hope it may prove a happy omen for our future enterprise. Now it 
 is my turn, Galbraith, to tell you something of our plans. Colonel 
 Pinckney has apprised me of the state of things in the ujiper 
 countiy. Our good friend Clarke there meditates an attempt to 
 regain Augusta and Ninety-six; and we have reason to believe that 
 some levies will be made by our confederates in Virginia and else¬ 
 where. My business is to co-operate in this undertaking; and as it 
 
28 HORSE SHOE R 0 B I IT S O N . 
 
 was essential I should have the guidance of some man acquainted 
 with that country—some good soldier, true and trusty—the colonel 
 has selected you to accompany me. These red coats have already 
 got possession of all the strongholds; and the tories, you know, 
 swarm' in the country, like the locusts of Egypt. I stand in need, 
 sergeant, of a friend with a discreet head and a strong arm. I 
 could not have picked out of the army a better man than Sergeant 
 Galbraith Robinson. Besides, Horse Shoe,” he added, putting his 
 hand gently upon the sergeant’s shoulder, “ old acquaintance has 
 bred an affection between us.” 
 
 “ I am a man that can eat my allowance, major,” said Robinson, 
 with an awkward diffidence at hearing the encomium just passed 
 upon him, “ and that’s a matter that doesn’t turn to much profit 
 in an empty country. But I think I may make bold to promise, 
 that you are not like to suffer, if a word or a blow from me would 
 do you any good.” 
 
 “ Your belt may be serviceable in two ways in this expedition. 
 Horse Shoe ; it may be buckled closer in scant times, and will 
 carry a sword in dangerous ones.” 
 
 “ May I ask, major,” inquired Horse Shoe, “ since you have 
 got to talking of our business, what has brought us so high up the 
 country, along here ? It seems to me that the lower road would 
 have been nearer.” 
 
 “ Suppose I say, Galbraith,” replied Butler, with animation, 
 “ that there is a bird nestles in these woods, I was fond of hearing 
 sing, would it be unsoldierlike, think you, to make a harder ride 
 and a larger circuit for that gratification ?” 
 
 “ Oh! I understand, major,” said Horse Shoe, laughing, 
 “ whether it be peace or whether it be war, these women keep the 
 upper hand of us men. For my part, I think it’s more natural to 
 think of them in war than in peace. For, you see, the creatures 
 are so helpless, that if a man don’t take care of them, who 
 would ? And then, when a wmman’s frightened, as she must be 
 in these times, she clings so naturally to a man! It stands to 
 reason !” 
 
 “You will keep my counsel, Galbraith,” interrupted Butler. 
 “ I have a reason which, perhaps, you may know by and by, why 
 you should not speak of any thing you may see or hear. And now, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 29 
 
 as we have spent a good hour in refreshment, sergeant, make our 
 hoi'ses ready. We’ll take the road again.” 
 
 Robinson promised caution in all matters that might be com¬ 
 mitted to his charge, and now set himself about saddling the horses for 
 the journey. Whilst he was engaged in this occupation, Butler was 
 startled to hear the sergeant abruptly cry out—“ You devil, Captain 
 Peter Clinch ! what are you about ?” and, looking hastily around, 
 saw no one but the trusty squire himself, who was now sedately intent 
 upon thrusting the bit into his horse’s mouth,—a liberty which the 
 animal seemed to resent by sundry manifestations of waywardness. 
 
 “ To whom are you talking, Galbraith ?” 
 
 “ Only to this here contrary, obstropolous beast, major.” — - 
 
 “ What name did you call him by ?” inquired Butler. 
 
 “ Ha, ha, ha! was it that you was listening too ?” said Horse 
 Shoe. “ I have christened him Captain Peter—sometimes Captain 
 Peter Clinch. I’ll tell you why. I am a little malicious touching 
 the name of my horse. After the surrender of Charlestown, our 
 regiment was put in the charge of a provost marshal, by the name 
 of Captain Clinch, and his first name was Peter. He was a rough, 
 ugly, wiry-haired fellow, with no better bowels than a barrel of 
 vinegar. He gave us all sorts of ill usage, knowing that we wa’n’t 
 allowed to give him the kind of payment that such an oncomfort- 
 able fellow desarved to get. If ever I had met him again, major, 
 setters parhus —as Lieutenant Hopkins used to say—which is lingo, 
 I take it, for a fair field, I would’a cudgelled his pate for him, to the 
 satisfaction of all good fellows. Well, when I got home, I gave his 
 name to my beast, just for the pleasure of thinking of that hang- 
 gallows thief, every time I had occasion to give the creetur a dig in 
 the ribs, or lay a blow across his withers! And yet he is a most 
 an excellent horse, major, and a hundred times more of a gentleman 
 than his namesake,—though he is a little hard-headed too—but 
 that he larnt from me. It really seems to me that the dumb beast 
 thinks his name a disgrace, as he has good right, but has got used 
 to it. And, besides, I hear that the cross-grained, growling dog of” 
 a captain has been killed in a scuffle since I left Charlestown, so 
 now I consider my horse a sort of tombstone with the ugly sinner’s'’ 
 name on it; and as I straddle it every day you see, that’s another 
 satisfaction.” 
 
80 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Well, sergeant, there are few men enjoy their revenge more 
 good-humoredly than you. So, come, straddle your tombstone 
 again, and make the bones beneath it jog.” 
 
 lu good glee, our travellers now betook themselves once more to 
 the road. 
 
CHAPTER HI. 
 
 AN INCIDENT THAT SAVORS OF ROMANCE. 
 
 By the time the sun had hillen to the level of the summits of the 
 Blue Ridge, Butler and Robinson had progressed so far in their 
 journey, as to find themselves in the vicinity of the Rockfish river— 
 a rapid mountain stream, that traverses the southern confine of 
 Albemarle, and which, at that period, separated this county from 
 Amherst. Their path had led them, by a short cii-cuit, out of the 
 ravine of Cove creek, along upon the ridges of the neighboring 
 hills; and they were now descending from this elevation, into the 
 valley of the Rockfish, near to the point where the Cove creek forms 
 its junction with this river. The hill was covered with a stately 
 forest, and a broad, winding road had been cut down the steep side, 
 in such a manner as to present a high bank on one hand, and an 
 abrupt sheer descent on the other. From this road might be seen, 
 at intervals, glimmering through the screen of underwood, the 
 waters of the small river below; whilst, at the same time, the 
 circuitous course of the descending track left but few paces of its 
 length visible from any one point, except where, now and then, it 
 came boldly forth to the verge of some wild crag, from which 
 glimpses were to be obtained of its frequent traverses towards the 
 deep and romantic dell that received the mingled tribute of the two 
 
 our travellers journeyed downward, their attention was 
 awakened by the cry of hounds in pursuit of game. These sounds 
 came from the wood on the crest of the hill above them ; and the 
 clamorous earnestness with which they assailed the ear, and roused 
 the far echo of the highlands, showed the object of chase to have 
 been suddenly surprised and hotly followed. The outcry was heard, 
 
 for some moments, pursuing a direction towards the river, when, 
 
 •1 
 
 streams^ 
 Here, as 
 
32 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 suddenly from the midst of the forest, the sharp twang of a rifle-shot 
 showed that some hunter was on the watch to profit by the discovery 
 of the dogs. 
 
 Robinson, as soon as he heard the report, urged his lioi-se forward 
 with speed, to the first turn of the road below; dismounted, and, 
 throwing his rifle into the palm of his left hand, stood ready to give 
 his fire wherever he might find occasion. Butler followed, and 
 reined up close beside his companion. 
 
 “ There is game afoot,” said Galbraith, “ and if that shot has not 
 flone its business, it may be my turn to try a hand.” ' 
 
 These words were hardly spoken, Avhen a wounded buck rushed 
 to the brink of the bank, some twelve or fifteen feet above the heads 
 of the travellers, and regardless of the presence of enemies,'made one 
 frantic bound forward into the air, and fell dead almost at Robinson’s 
 feet. So effectually had the work of death been done upon the poor 
 animal, that he seemed to have expired, in the convulsion of this 
 last leap, before he reached the ground ; his antlers were driven into 
 the clay ; his eyes were fixed, and not a struggle followed. 
 
 “ It was a home-shot that brought this poor fugitive to the earth,” 
 said Butler, as he stood gazing at the piteous spectacle before him, 
 “ and sped by a practised hand.” 
 
 “ I don’t count him a good man, major,” said Galbraith, with 
 professional indifference, “ who would mangle his meat by random 
 firing. Now, this buck ■was taken sideways, as he leaped above the 
 tops of the bushes, which is the ticklishest of all the ways of shoot¬ 
 ing a deer. The man that plucked., this fellow. I’ll warrant, can 
 plant his ball just where he likes : right under the arm is the place 
 for certainty ; and the thing couldn’t have been prettier done if the 
 man J^ad had a rest and a standing shot.” 
 
 During this short interval, the hounds had arrived on the spot 
 where the buck lay bleeding, and these, after a few minutes, were 
 followed by two huntem of vei'y dissimilar appearance, who came 
 on foot, slowly leading their horses up the hill. 
 
 The first was a tall, gaunt woodman, of a sallow complexion, jet 
 black eyes, and round head of smooth black hair. His dress was 
 simply a coarse linen shirt and trowsers, the heat of the day being 
 such as to allow him to dispense coat and waistcoat. He 
 carried, in one hand, a battered straw hat, and in the other, trailed 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 33 
 
 a long rifle. His feet were covered with a pair of moccasins of 
 brown leather, and the ordinary hunting equipments were suspended 
 about his person. 
 
 The second was a youth apparently about sixteen, dressed in a 
 suit of green summer-cloth, neatly and fancifully adapted to his 
 figui'e, which was graceful and boyish. The jacket was short, and 
 gathered into a small skirt behind ; and both this and the panta¬ 
 loons were garnished with a profusion of black cord and small black 
 buttons. A highly polished leather belt was buckled around his 
 Avaist; a cap of green cloth rested, somewhat conceitedly, amongst 
 the rich locks of a head of light, curly hair that fell, with girlish 
 beauty, over a fair brow, and gave softness to a countenance of pure 
 white and red ; and a neat foot shorved to advantage in a laced 
 boot. The whole appearance of the youth was of one of an amiable 
 and docile bearing, and the small rifle or carbine which he bore in 
 his hand, as well as the dainty accoutrements that belonged to it, 
 amongst which was a diminutive bugle, looked more like the toys 
 of a pampered boy, than any apparatus of service. _ 
 
 No sooner had these two approached near enough to Butler and 
 his attendant for recognition, than the youth, quitting the hold of 
 his hdtse, sprang forward with a joyous alacrity and seized Butler 
 by the hand. 
 
 “ Captain Butler,” he cried with great animation, “ how glad I 
 am you have come ! And how fortunate it is that I should meet 
 you! Get down from your horse, I have something to tell you. 
 Here, Stephen Foster, take this gentleman’s horse.” 
 
 “ You are a fine fellow, Harry,” said Butler, dismounting. “ That 
 smiling face of yours is full of pleasant news; it assures me that all 
 are well at the Hove Cote.” Then having given his horse in charge 
 to Robinson, and walked a few paces apart with his young^i'iend, 
 he enquired, in a low and anxious tone, “ Mildred, my dear Heniy, 
 Avhat of your sister Mildred ? Has she received my letter ? Does 
 she expect me ? Is your father—” 
 
 “ Now, captain,” interrupted the other—“but heigh! don’t the 
 newspapers say you are brevetted ? I am a pretty fallow to forget 
 that! Well then. Major Butler, let me answer (me question at a 
 time. In the first place, sister Mildred is as rvell as any girl can be, 
 that has a whole bushel of crosses to keep her out of spirits. Poor 
 
84 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 tiling, she frets so, about you and my father. In the second place, 
 she received your letter a week ago, and has had me patrolling this 
 ridge every day since, just to keep a look-out for you ; and, for the 
 sake of company, I have had Stephen Foster hunting here all the 
 time—more for an excuse than anything else, because on this side 
 of the river the drives are not the best for deer—a man might be 
 here a fortnight and not get a shot. Sister Mildred wanted me, if 
 I should see you fii'st, just to whisper to you that it is impossible to 
 do anything with my father, especially at this time, for he has one 
 of these English officei's staying at the Dove Cote now, who, I am 
 afraid, and so is sister Mildred, has come to do some mischief. 
 Mildred says I must make some appointment with you to see her 
 privately. I thought of Mrs. Dimock’s, but this Englishman has a 
 servant staying over there, and may be it wouldn’t do. So, major, 
 you will have to ride down to the big chestnut, on the bank of the 
 river, just under the rock that we call the Fawn’s Tower—you know 
 where that is ? it isn’t more than two miles from here.” 
 
 “I know it well, Henry, I will wait there patiently,” replied 
 Butler, as he now returned to his horse. 
 
 “ Haven’t we been in luck,” said Henry, “ to get so fine a buck 
 at last ? This fellow has eight branches. It is Stephen’s rifle that 
 has done it.” 
 
 The woodman, during this convereation, had taken possession of 
 his spoil, and was now busily engaged with his knife in cutting open 
 and preparing the animal for transportation, according to the usages 
 of woodcraft, whilst Robinson stood by, admiring the dexterity with 
 which this office was performed. When the buck was, at last, 
 thrown by Stephen across his horse, Henry gave him orders to ride- 
 forward. 
 
 “ You will carry our game to your own house, Stephen; and 
 don’t forget, to-morrow, to let us have the saddle at the Dove Cote. 
 And Stephen, you need not say that we have found any acquaint¬ 
 ances upon the road, you understand !” 
 
 The man bowed his head, in token of obedience, and getting upon 
 his long-backed steed, behind the buck, was soon lost to view in the 
 windings of the hill. 
 
 “ Sister Mildred is sometimes downright melancholy,” said the 
 young hunter, after he had remounted, and now rode beside Butler. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 35 
 
 “ She is troubled about you, and is always telling me of some 
 unpleasant dream. I almost think she is over-fanciful; and then she 
 reads everything about the army, and talks almost like a man about 
 soldiering. Do you know she is making a soldier of me ? I am 
 constantly reading military books, and practising drill, and laying 
 out fortifications, just as if I was going into camp. My fixther 
 doesn’t know a word of it; his time is taken up with these English 
 officers, writing to them, and every now and then there are some 
 of them at our house. Mildred knows them—a famous spy she - 
 would make! Isn’t she an excellent girl. Major Butler ?” 
 
 “You and I should guard her, Henry, with more care than we, 
 guard our lives,” replied Butler, with a serious emphasis. 
 
 “ I hope,” returned Henry, “ she will be in better spirits after she 
 sees you.” 
 
 “ I would to heaven,” said Butler, “ that we all had more reason 
 to be of good cheer, than we are likely to have. It is as cloudy a 
 day, Henry, as you may ever behold again, should you live, as I 
 pray you may, to the ripest old age.” 
 
 Henry looked up towards the west. 
 
 “ There are clouds upon the sky,” he said, “ and the sun has 
 dropped below them ; but there is a streak of yellow light, near 
 to the line of the mountain, that our wise people say is a sign that 
 the sun will rise in beauty to-morrow.” 
 
 “ There is a light beyond the mountain,” replied Butler, half 
 speaking to himself, “ and it is the best, the only sign I see of a 
 clear to-morrow. I wish, Henry, it were a brighter beam.” 
 
 “Don’t you know Gates .has passed South ?” said Henry, “ and 
 has some pretty fellows with him, they say. And ar’n’t we all 
 mustering here—every man most? Ask Stephen Foster what 
 I am ?” 
 
 “ And what will he tell me ?” 
 
 “Why, that I am his deputy-coi’poral in the mounted riflemen ; 
 Stephen is the lieutenant.” 
 
 “ Oh, I crave your favor, brother officer, good master deputy- 
 corporal, Henry Lindsay! and does your father allow you to ride 
 in the ranks of the friends of liberty ?” 
 
 “ Sister Mildred persuaded him that as I am a mere lad, as she 
 says,—look at me, major,—a pretty well grown lad, I take it, there 
 
36 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 is no harm in my playing soldier. So I ride always with Stephen 
 Foster, and Mildred got me this light rifle-carbine. Now, major, I 
 fancy I am pretty nearly as good a marksman as rides in the corps. 
 Who is this with you ?” asked Henry, looking back at Kobinson, 
 who loitered some distance in the rear purposely to avoid what 
 might be deemed an intrusion upon the private conference of the 
 two friends. 
 
 “ That is a famous soldier, Henry; he was at the siege of 
 Charleston, and last year at Savannah. He has had some hard 
 blows, and can tell you more of war than you have ever read in all 
 your studies.” 
 
 “ He wears a curious uniform,” said Henry, “ for a regulai 
 soldier. What is his name ?” 
 
 “ Galbraith Robinson—or Home Shoe Robinson—to give him his 
 most popular distinction. But it would be well to keep his name 
 secret.” 
 
 “ I have heard of Horse Shoe,” said Henry, with an expression 
 of great interest. “ So, this is the man himself? From all reports 
 he is as brave as”— 
 
 “As w’ho?” asked Butler, smiling at the tone of wonder with 
 which Henry spoke. 
 
 “ As Caius Marcius Coriolanus, who, I make no doubt, major, was 
 about the bravest man in the books.” 
 
 Butler laughed, and applauded the young martialist for his dis- 
 ciimination. 
 
 The rokd from the foot of the hill pursued the left, or northern, 
 bank of the Rockfish, which shot along, with a rapid flood, over the 
 rocks that lay scattered in its bed; and the gush of whose flight fell 
 upon’the ear like the loud tones of the wind. From either margin 
 it was shaded by huge sycamores, whose tops, at this twilight hour, 
 were marked in broad lines upon the fading sky, and whose wide 
 spreading boughs met, from side to side, over the middle of the 
 stream, throwing a deeper night upon the clear and transparent 
 waters. The valley was closely bound by high precipitous hills, 
 whose steep crags and narrow passes seemed to echo and prolong 
 the gush of the stream, that was now mingled with the occasional 
 lowing of cattle, the shriek of the owl, and the frequent hoarse scream 
 of the whip-poor-will. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 37 
 
 When our pai'ty had advanced about a mile along this road, 
 Idenry Lindsay took his bugle and blew a blast which seemed to 
 dance in its reverberations from one side of the river to the other. 
 
 “ Mildred knows my signal,” said he ; “ that is the scout’s warn¬ 
 ing : cavalry approaches: dress your line : prepare to receive a 
 general officer.” 
 
 “ Henry, pray drop your military phrase, and tell me what this 
 means ?” said Butler. 
 
 “ Eide on till you areive beneath the Fawn’s Tower. Wait for 
 me there. I will give you a signal when I auproach : and trust me 
 for a faithful messenger. The river is deep at the rock, but you will 
 find a boat fastened to this bank. When you hear my signal come 
 across. Mr. Dimock’s is only another mile; and, I’ll warrant, the 
 old lady will make you comfortable. Love, they say, major,” added 
 
 Henry, sportively, “ is meat and drink, and a blanket to boot; but - 
 
 for all that, Mrs. Dimock’s will not be amiss—especially for Horse - 
 
 Shoe, who, I take it, will have the roughest time of the party. If 
 love is a blanket, Mr. Robinson,” Henry continued, addressing him¬ 
 self to that worthy, “ it doesn’t cover two, you know.” 
 
 “ To my thinking, young sir,” replied Horse Shoe, with a laugh, 
 
 “ it wouldn’t fold so cleverly in a knapsack.” 
 
 “ Now dhat I have given my ordei’s,” said Henry, “ and done my 
 duty,"] I must leave you, for my road lies across the ford here. 
 Where are my hounds ? Hylas, Bell, Blanche, you puppies, where 
 are you ?” 
 
 Here Henry blew another note, which was immediately responded 
 to by the hounds; and, plunging into the rapid and narrow stream, 
 followed by the dogs, who swam close behind him, he was seen, the 
 next moment, through the twilight, galloping up the opposite hill, 
 as he called out his “ good night” to his friends. 
 
 As soon as Henry had disappeared, the other two pricked their 
 steeds forward at a faster pace. f^Tlie rapid flow of the riv^er, as they 
 advanced along its bank, began to change into a more quiet current, 
 as if some obstruction below had dammed up the water, rendering it 
 deeji and still. Upon this tranquil mirror the pale crescent of the 
 , moon and the faintly peeping shirs were reflected; and the flight of 
 the fire-fly was traced, by his owm light and its redoubled image, 
 upon the same surface. 
 
38 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 The high toppling cliff of the Fawn’s Tower, that jutted forth hke 
 a parapet above the road, soon arrested the attention of Butler; and 
 at its base the great chestnut flung abroad his “ vast magnificence of 
 leaves,” almost in emulation of the aspiring crag. 
 
 “ We have reached our appointed ground,” said Butler. “ I shall 
 want my cloak, Galbraith; the dews begin to chill my limbs.” 
 
 They dismounted, and Butler threw his cloak around his shoulders. 
 Then, in a thoughtful, musing state of mind, he strolled slowly along 
 the bank of the river, till he was temporarily lost to view in the 
 thick shades and sombre scenery around him. Robinson, having 
 secured the horses, sat himself down at the foot of the chestnut, 
 unwilling to interrupt, by conversation, the anxious state of feeling 
 which he had the shrewdness to perceive predominated in Butler’s 
 mind. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A MEETING OF LOVERS-SOME INSIGHT INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 The twilight had subsided and given place to a beautiful night. 
 The moon had risen above the tree tops, and now threw her level 
 rays upon the broad face of the massive pile of rocks forming the 
 Fawn’s Tower, and lit up with a silvery splendor, the foliage that 
 clothed the steep cliff and the almost perpendicular hill in its neigh¬ 
 borhood. On the opposite side of the river, a line of beech and syca¬ 
 more trees, that grew almost at the water’s edge, threw a dark 
 shadow upon the bank. Through these, at intervals, the bright 
 moonlight fell upon the earth, and upon the quiet and deep stream. 
 The woods w'ere vocal with the whispering noises that give discord 
 to the nights of summer; yet, was there a stillness in the scene 
 which invited grave thoughts, and recalled to Butler’s mind some 
 painful emotions that belonged to his present condition. 
 
 “ How complicated and severe are those trials”—such was the 
 current of his meditations—“which mingle private grief with public 
 misfortune : that double current of ill which runs, on one side, to the 
 overthrow of a nation’s happiness, and, on the other, to the prostra¬ 
 tion of the individual who labom in the cause! What a struggle 
 have I to encounter between my duty to my country and my regard 
 for those tender relations that still more engross my affections, nor 
 less earnestly appeal to my manhood for defence! Upon the com¬ 
 mon quarrel I have already staked my life and fortune, and find 
 myself wrapt up in its most perilous obligations. That cause has 
 enough in it to employ and peiqdex the strongest mind, and to 
 invoke the full devotion of a head and heart that are exempt from 
 all other solicitude : yet am I embarrassed with pemonal cares that 
 are woven into the very web of my existence; that have planted 
 themselves beside the fountain of my affections, and which, if they 
 
40 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 be rudely torn fi’om me, would leave behind—but a miserable and 
 hopeless wreck. My own Mildred! to what sad trials have I brought 
 your affection ; and how nobly hast thou met them! 
 
 “ Man lives in the contentious crowd; he struggles .for the palm 
 that thousands may award, and far-speeding renown may rend the 
 air with the loud huzza of praise. His is the strife of the theatre 
 where the world are spectators; and multitudes shall glorify his 
 success, or lament his fall, or cheer him in the pangs of death. But 
 woman, gentle, silent, sequestered—thy triumphs are only for the 
 heart that loves thee—thy deepest griefs have no comforter but the 
 secret communion of thine own pillow !” 
 
 Whilst Butler, who had now returned beneath the cliff of the 
 Fawn’s Tower, was absorbed in this silent musing, his comrade was 
 no less occupied with his own cares. The sergeant had acquired 
 much of that forecast, in regard to small comforts, which becomes, 
 in some degree, an instinct in those whose profession exposes them 
 to the assaults of wind and weather. Tobacco, in his reckoning, 
 was one of the most indispensable muniments of war; and he was, 
 accordingly, seldom without a good stock of this commodity. A 
 corn cob, at any time, furnished him the means of carving the bowl 
 of a pipe; whilst, in his pocket, he carried a slender tube of reed 
 which, being united to the bowl, formed a smoking apparatus, still 
 familiar to the people of this country, and which, to use the sergeant’s 
 own phrase, “ couldn’t be touched for sweetness by the best pipe the 
 very Queen of the Dutch herself ever smoked ; and that”—he was 
 in the habit of adding—“ must be, as I take it, about the tenderest 
 thing for a whiff that the Dutchman knowed how to make.” 
 
 A flint and steel—part also of his gear—now served to ignite his 
 tobacco, and he had been, for some time past, sedatel)’’ scanning the 
 length and breadth of his own fancies, which were, doubtless 
 rendered the more sublime by the mistiness which a rich volume oi 
 smoke had shed across his vision and infused into the atmosphere 
 around his brain. 
 
 “ Twelve shillings and nine pence,” were the first words which 
 became audible to Butler in the depth of his revery. “ That, major,’’ 
 said the sergeant, who had been rummaging his pocket, and count 
 ing over a handful of coin, “ is exactly the amount I have spent 
 since this time last night. I paid it to the old lady of the Swan, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 41 
 
 at Charlottesville, taking a sixpence for mending your hridle rein. 
 Since you must make me paymaster for our march, I am obliged to 
 square accounts every night. My noddle wont hold two days’ 
 reckoning. It gets scrimped and flustered with so many number¬ 
 ings, that I lose the count clean out.” 
 
 “ It is of little consequence, Galbraith,” replied Butler, seeking to 
 avoid his companion’s interruption. 
 
 “ Squaring up, and smoothing off, and bringing out this and that 
 shilling straight to a penny, don’t come natui-al to me,” continued 
 Kobinson, too intent upon his reckoning to observe the disinclination 
 of Butler to a parley, “ money matters are not in my line. I take 
 to them as disunderstandingly as Gill Bentley did to the company’s 
 books, when they made him Orderly on the Waccamaw picquet. 
 For Gill, in the firet place, couldn’t write, and, in the next place, if 
 he could’a done that, he never larnt to read, so you may suppose 
 what a beautiful puzzleification he had of it to keep the guard roster 
 straight.” 
 
 “ Sergeant, look if yonder boat is loose ; I shall want it presently,” 
 said Butler, still giving no ear to his comrade’s gossip. 
 
 “ It is tied by an easy knot to the root of the tree,” said Robin¬ 
 son, as he returned from the examination. 
 
 “ Tlmnk you,” added Butler with more than usual abstractedness. 
 
 “ Something, major, seems to press upon your spirits to-night,” 
 said the sergeant, in the kindest tones of inquiry. “ If I could lend 
 a hand to put any thing, that mought happen to have got crooked, 
 into its right ])lace again, you kn ow. Major Butler, I wouldn’t be 
 slow to do it, when you say the word.” 
 
 “ I would trust my life to you, Galbraith, sooner than to any 
 man living,” replied the otlier, with an affectionate emphasis :— “ But 
 you mistake me, I am not heavy at heart, though a little anxious, 
 sergeant, at what has brought me here, comrade,” he added as ho 
 approached the sergeant, upon whoso broad shoulder he familiarly 
 laid his hand, with a smile ; “ you will keep a fellow soldier’s 
 counsel ?” 
 
 “ As I keep my heart in my body,” interrupted Galbraith. 
 
 “ I am sure of it; even as you keep your faith to your country, 
 my true and worthy brother,” added Ilutler with animation, “ and 
 that is with no less honesty than a good man serves his God. 
 
42 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Then, Galbraith, bear it in mind, I have come here for the sake of a 
 short meeting with one that I love, as you would have a good soldier 
 love the lady of his soul. You will hereafter speak of nothing that 
 may fall within your notice. It concerns -me deeply that this 
 meeting should be secret.” 
 
 “ Major, I w'ill have neither eyes nor ears, if it consarns you to keep 
 any thing that mought chance to come to my knowledge, pri¬ 
 vate.” 
 
 “ It is not for myself, sergeant, I bespeak this caution; I have 
 nothing to conceal from you; but there is a lady who is much 
 interested in our circumspection. I have given you a long and 
 solitary ride on her account, and may hereafter ask other service 
 from you. You shall not find it more irksome, Galbraith, to stand 
 by a comrade in love, than you have ever found it in war, and that, 
 I know, you think not much.” 
 
 “ The war comes naturally enough to my hand,” replied Gal¬ 
 braith, “ but as for the love part, major, excepting so far as carrying 
 a message, or, in case of a runaway, keeping off a gang of pesti- 
 farious intermeddlers, or watching, for a night or so, under a tree, 
 or any thing, indeed, in the riding and running, or watching, or 
 scrimmaging line—I say, excepting these, my sarvice moughtn’t turn 
 to much account. I can’t even play a fiddle at a wedding, and I’ve 
 not the best tongue for making headway amongst the women. 
 Howsomdever, major, you may set me down for a volunteer on the 
 first forlorn hope you may have occasion for.” 
 
 “ Mr. Lindsay lives on the hill across the river. There are i-easons 
 why I cannot go to his house; and his daughter, Galbraith, is an 
 especial friend to us and to our cause.” 
 
 “ I begin to see into it,” interrupted the sergeant, laughing, “ you 
 have a notion of showing the old gentleman the same trick you 
 played off upon Lord Howe’s provost marshal, when you was lieu¬ 
 tenant at Valley Forge, touching your stealing away his prisoner. 
 Captain Roberts. That was a night affair, too. Well, the best wife 
 a man can have, major, is the woman that takes to him through 
 fire and water. There was Colonel Gardiner, that stole his wife just 
 in that way, against all opposition of both father and mother, and a 
 better woman never stitched up a seam, to my knowledge and 
 belief.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 43 
 
 “ I have no tliouglit of such an enterprise, sergeant,” said Butler; 
 “ our pui pose, for the present, must be confined to a short visit. 
 We are houseless adventurers, Galbraith, and have little to ofier to 
 sweetheart or wife that might please a woman’s fancy.” 
 
 “ When a woman loves a man, especially a sodger,” replied the 
 sergeant, “ she sets as little store by house and home as the best of 
 us. Still, it is a wise thing to give the creatures the chance of 
 peace, before you get to tangling them with families. Hark, I hear 
 something like footsteps on t’other side of the river ! Mister Henry 
 must be on his march.” 
 
 After an interval, a lowr whistle issued from the opposite bank, and, 
 in a moment, Butler was in the skiff, pushing his way through the 
 sparkling waters. 
 
 A» the small boat, in which he stood upright, shot from the 
 bright moonlight into the shade of the opposite side, he could 
 obscurely discern Mildred Lindsay leaning on her brother’s arm, as 
 they both stood under the thick foliage of a large beech. And 
 scarcely had the bow struck upon the pebbly margin, before he 
 bounded fi’om it up the bank, and was, in the next instant, locked 
 in the embrace of one whose affection he valued above all earthly 
 possessions. 
 
 When that short interval had passed away, in which neither Mil¬ 
 dred nor Arthur could utter speech ; during which the lady leant 
 her head upon her lover’s bosom, in that fond familiarity which 
 plighted faith is allowed to justify in the most modest maiden, sob¬ 
 bing the while in the intensity of her emotions, she then at last, as 
 she slowly regained her self-possession, said, in a soft and melancholy 
 voice, in which there was nevertheless a tone of playfulness : 
 
 “I am a foolish girl, Arthur. I can boast like a blustering 
 coward, w’hen there is nothing to fear; and yet I weep, like a true 
 woman, at the first trial of my courage.” 
 
 “ Ah, my dear Mildred, you are a brave girl,” replied Butler, as 
 he held both of her hands and looked fondly into her face, “ and a 
 true and a tried girl. You have come kindly to me, and evei’, like a 
 blessed and gentle spirit of good, are prompt to attend me through 
 every mischance. It is a long and weary time, love, since last we 
 met.” 
 
 “ It is very, veiy long, Arthur.” 
 
44 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ And we ai-e still as far off, Mildred, from our wishes as at first 
 we were.” 
 
 “Even so,” said Mildred sorrowfully. “ A year of pain drags 
 heavily by, and brings no hope. Oh, Arthur, what have I sufiPered 
 in the thought that your life is so beset with dangers ! I muse upon 
 them with a childish fear, that was not so before our last meeting. 
 They rise to disturb my daily fancies, and night finds them inhabit¬ 
 ing my pillow. I was so thankful, that you escaperl that dreary 
 siege of Charleston !” 
 
 “ Many a poor and gallant fellow soldier there bit his lip with a 
 chafed and peevish temper,” said Butler; “ but the day will come, 
 Mildred, when we may yet carry a prouder head to the field of om 
 country’s honor.” 
 
 “ And your share,” interrupted Mildred, “ will ever be to march 
 in the front rank. In spite of all your perils past, your hard service, 
 w'hich has known no holiday, your fatigues, that I have sometimes 
 feared would break down your health, and in spite too, of the 
 claims, Arthur, that your poor Mildred has upon you, you are even 
 now again bound upon some bold adventure, that must separate us, 
 ah, perhaps, for ever! Our fate has malice in it. Ever beginning 
 some fresh exploit!” 
 
 “ You would not have your soldier bear himself otherwise than as 
 a true knight, who would win and wear his lady-love by good set 
 blows w’hen there was need for them ?” 
 
 “ If I were the genius that conjured up this war, I would give 
 my own true knight a breathing space. He should pipe and dance 
 between whiles,” replied Mildred sportively. 
 
 “ He that puts his sickle into this field amongst the reapers,” said 
 Butler, with a thoughtful earnestness, “ should not look back from 
 his work.” 
 
 “ Ho, no, though my heart break while I say it—for, in truth, I 
 am very melancholy, notwithstanding I force a beggar’s smile upon 
 my cheek; no, I would not have you stay or stand, Arthur, until 
 you have seen this wretched quarrel at an end. I praised your first 
 resolve—loved you for it—applauded and cheered you ; I will not 
 selfishly now, for the sake of my weak, womanish apprehension, say 
 one word to withhold your arm.” 
 
 “ And you are still,” said Butler, “ that same resolute enthusiast 
 
nORSE SHOE ROBINSON 
 
 .45 
 
 that I found in the young and eloquent beauty who captivated my 
 worthless heart, when the war fii'st drew the wild spirits of the 
 country together under our free banner?” 
 
 “ The same foolish, conceited, heady, prattling truant, Arthur, that 
 first took a silly liking to your pompous strut, and made a hero to 
 her imagination out of a boasting ensign—the same in all my follies, 
 and in all my fiiults—only altered in one quality.” 
 
 “ And pray, what is that one quality ?” 
 
 “ I will not toll you,” said Mildred carelessly. “ ’Twould make 
 you vainer than you are.” 
 
 “ It is not well to hide a kind thought from me, Mildred.” 
 
 “ Indeed it is not, Arthur. And so, I will muster courage to 
 speak it,” said the confiding girl -with vivacity, after a short pause 
 during which she hung fondly upon her lover’s arm ; and then 
 suddenly changing her mood, she proceeded in a tone of deep and 
 serious enthusiasm, “ it is, that since that short, eventful and most 
 solemn meeting, I have loved you, Arthur, with feelings that I did 
 not know until then were mine. My busy fancy has followed you 
 in all your wanderings—painted with stronger hues than nature 
 gives to any real scene the difficulties and disasters that might cross 
 your path—noted the seasons with a nervous acuteness of remark, 
 from very faint-heartedness at the thought that they might blight 
 your health or bring you some discomfort. I have pored over the 
 accounts of battles, the march of armies, the tales of prisonei's, 
 relating the secrets of their prisons; studied the plans of generals 
 and statesmen, as the newspapers or common rumor brought them 
 to ray knowledge, with an interest that has made those around me 
 say I was sadly changed. It was all because I had grown cowardly 
 and feared even my own shadow. Oh, Arthur, I am not indeed 
 what I was.” 
 
 The solemnity, force and feeling with which Mildred gave utter¬ 
 ance to these words, strangely contrasted with the light and gay 
 tone in which she had commenced; but her thoughts had now 
 fallen into a current that bore her forward into one of those bursts 
 of excited emotion, which were characteristic of her temper, and 
 which threw a peculiar energy and eloquence into her manner, 
 butler, struck by the rising warmth of her enunciation, and 
 swayed in part by the painful reflections to which her topic 
 
46 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 gave rise, replied, in a state of feeling scarcely less solemn than 
 her own— 
 
 “ Ah, Mildred,” and as he spoke, he parted her hair upon her 
 pale forehead and kissed it, “ dearest girl, the unknown time to 
 come has no cup of suffering for me that I would not hold a cheap 
 purchase for one moment like this. Even a year of painful absence 
 past, and a still more solicitous one to come, may be gallantly and 
 cheerfully borne when blessed with the fleeting interval of this night. 
 To hear your faith, which though I never dwelt upon it but with a 
 confidence that I have held it most profane to doubt, still, to hear 
 it avowed from your own lips, now again and again, repeating what 
 you have often breathed before, and in letter after letter, written 
 down, it falls upon my heart, Mildred, like some good gift from 
 heaven, specially sent to revive and quicken my resolution in all the 
 toils and labors that yet await me. There must be good in store 
 for such a heart as thine; and, trusting to this faith, I will look to 
 the future with a buoyant temper.” 
 
 “ The future,” said Mildred, as she lifted her eyes to the pale 
 moon that now sheeted with its light her whole figure, as she and 
 her lover strayed beyond the shade of the beech, “ I almost shudder 
 when I hear that word. We live but in the present; that, Arthur, 
 is, at least, our own, poor as we are in almost all beside. That 
 future is a perplexed and tangled riddle—a dreadful uncertainty, in 
 the contemplation of rvhich I grow superstitious. Such ill omens 
 are about us ! My father’s inexorable will, so headstrong, so 
 unconscious of the pain it gives me; his rooted, yes, his fatal 
 aversion to you ; my thraldom here, where, like a poor bird checked 
 by a cord, I chafe myself by fluttering on the verge of my prison 
 bounds ; and then, the awful perils that continually impend over 
 your head—all these are more than weak imaginings ; they are the 
 realities of my daily life, and give me, what I am almost ashamed 
 to confess, a sad and boding spirit.” 
 
 “Nay, nay, dearest Mildred ! Away with all these unreasonable 
 reckonings!” replied Butler, with a manner that too plainly be¬ 
 trayed the counterfeit of mirth. “ Seclusion has dealt unworthily 
 with you. It has almost turned thee into a downright sentimental 
 woman. I will have none of this stepping to the verge of melan¬ 
 choly. You were accustomed to cheer me with sunny and w'arm 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 47 
 
 counsel; and you must not forget it was yourself who taught me to 
 strike aside the waves of fortune with a glad temper. The fates 
 can have no spite against one so good as thou art! Time may bear 
 us along like a rough trotting horse; and our journey may have its 
 dark night, its quagmires, and its jack-o’lanterns, but there will come 
 a ruddy morning ■ at last—a smoother road, and an easier gait; 
 * and thou, my gii l, shalt again instruct me how to win a triumph 
 over the ills of life.” 
 
 “ And we will be happy, Ailhur, because all around us will be 
 so,” added Mildred, catching the current of Butler’s thoughts, with 
 that ready versatility which eminently showed the earnestness and 
 devotion of her feelings—“Ah, may heaven grant this boon, and 
 bring these dreams to life! I think, Arthur, I should be happier 
 now, if I could but be near you in your wanderings. Gladly w’ould 
 I follow you through all the dangers of the war.” 
 
 “ That were indeed, love, a trial past your faculty to endure. 
 No, no, Mildred, she who would be a soldier’s wife, should learn 
 the soldier’s philosophy—to look with a resigned submission on the 
 present events, and trust to heaven for the future. Your share in 
 this struggle is to commune with your own heart in solitude, and 
 teach it patience. Right nobly have you thus far borne that 
 grievous burden! The saci-ifice that you have made—its ever 
 present and unmitigated weight, silently and sleeplessly inflicting 
 its slow pains upon your free and generous spirit; that, Mildred, is 
 the chief and most galling of my cares.” 
 
 “ This weary war, this weai-y war,” breathed Mildred, in a pensive 
 under key, “ when will it be done!” 
 
 “ The longest troubles have their end,” replied Butler, “ and men, 
 at last, spent with the vexations of their own mischief, fly, by a 
 selfish instinct, into the bosom of peace. God will prosper our 
 entei'prise, and bring our battered ship into a fortunate haven.” 
 
 “ How little like it seems it now!” returned Mildred. “ The 
 genei-al sorrow, alone, might well weigh down the stoutest heart. 
 That cause which you have made mine, Arthur, to which you have 
 bestowed your life, and which, for your sake,” she added proudly, 
 “ should have this feeble arm of mine, could it avail, is it not even 
 now trembling on the verge of ruin ? Have not your letters, one 
 after another, told me of the sad train in which misfortunes have 
 
48 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 thickened upon the whole people? of defeat, both north and south, 
 and, at this very time, of disgraceful mutiny of whole regiments 
 under the very eye of Washington—that Washington who loves his 
 country and her soldiers as a husband loves his bride, and a father 
 Ijis children. Have not those, to whom we all looked for cham¬ 
 pions, turned into mere laggards in the war for freedom ? Ob, 
 Arthur, do you not remember that these are the thoughts, the very 
 words, which were penned by your own hand, for my especial 
 meditation ? How can I but fear that the good end is still far off? 
 How can I but feel some weight upon my heart ?” 
 
 “You have grown overwise, Mildred, in these ruminations. I am 
 to blame for this, that in my peevish humor, vexed with the crosses 
 of the day, I should have written on such topics to one so sensitive 
 as yourself.” 
 
 “ Still it is true, Arthur, all report confirms it.” 
 
 “ These things do not become your entertainment, Mildred. Leave 
 the public care to us. Tliere are bold hearts, love, and strong arms 
 yet to spare for this quarrel. We have not yet so exhausted our 
 mines of strength, but that much rough ore still lies unturned to the 
 sun, and many an uncouth lump of metal remains to be fashioned 
 for serviceable use. History tells of many a rebound from despond¬ 
 ency, so sudden and unreckoned, that the wisest men could see in it 
 no other spring than the decree of God. He will fight the battle of 
 the weak, and set the right upon a sure foundation.” 
 
 “ The country rings,” said Mildred, again taking the more cheer¬ 
 ful hue of her lover’s hopes, and following out, with an affectionate 
 sympathy, his tone of thought, “ with anticipation of victory from 
 Gates’s southern march.” 
 
 “ That may turn out to be a broken reed,” interrujited Butler, 
 as if thinking aloud, and struck by Mildred’s reference to a subject 
 that had already engrossed his thoughts; “ they may be deceived. 
 AVashington would have put a different man upon that service. I 
 would have a leader in such a war, waiy, watchful, humble—diffident 
 as well as brave. I fear Gates is not so.” 
 
 Then, I trust, Arthur,” exclaimed Alildred, with anxious alaci'ity, 
 “ that your present expedition does not connect you with his for¬ 
 tunes !” 
 
 “ I neither follow his colors nor jiartake of his counsels,” rejrlied 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 51 
 
 baiting ouv citizens in Carolina; those ruthless partizans who are 
 poisoning the fountains of contentment at every fire-side. It is not 
 a name to conjure evil spirits with.” 
 
 “ Major Butler,” said Henry, who during this long interval had 
 been strolling backward and forward, like a sentinel, at some distance 
 from his sister and her lover, and who, with the military punctilio 
 of a soldier on duty, forbore even to listen to what he could not 
 have helped overhearing, if it had not been for humming a tune — 
 
 “ Major, I don’t like to make or meddle with things that don’t belong 
 to me—hut you and Mildred have been talking long enough to __ 
 settle the course of a whole campaign. And as my father thinks he 
 can’t be too careful of Mildred, and doesn’t like her walking about 
 after night-fall, I shouldn’t be surprised if a messenger were 
 despatched for us—only I think that man Tyrrel is hatching some 
 plot with him to-night, and may keep him longer in talk than 
 usual.” 
 
 “ Who is Tyrrel ?” inquired Butler. 
 
 “ One that I wish had been in his grave before he had ever seen 
 my father,” answered Mildred with a bitter vehemence. “ He is a 
 wicked emissary of the royal party sent here to entrap my dear father 
 into their toils. Such as it has ever been his fate to be cursed with 
 from the beginning of the war; but this Tyrrel, the most hateful of 
 them all.” 
 
 “ Alas, alas, your poor father ! Mildred, what deep sorrow do I 
 feel that he and I should he so estranged. I could love him, coun¬ 
 sel with him, honor him, with a devotion that should outrun your 
 fondest wish. Ilis generous nature has been played iq^on, cheated, 
 abused; and I, in whom fortune and inclination should have raised 
 him a friend, have been made the victim of his perverted pa.ssion.” 
 
 “True, true,” exclaimed Mildred, bursting into tears, and resting 
 her head against her lover’s breast, “ I can find courage to bear all 
 hut this—I am most unhappyand for some moments she sobbed 
 audibly. 
 
 “ The thought has sometimes crossed me,” said Butler, “ that I 
 would go to your father and tell him all. It offends my self-respect 
 to be obliged to practise concealment towards one who should have 
 a right to know all that concerns a daughter so dear to him. Even 
 now, if I may persuade you to it, I will go hand in hand with you, 
 
62 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 and, with humble reverence, place myself before him and divulge all 
 that has passed between us.” 
 
 “No, no, Arthur, no,” ejaculated Mildred with the most earnest 
 determination. “ It will not come to good. You do not understand 
 my father’s feelings. The very sight of you would rouse him into 
 frenzy; there is no name which might fall upon his ear with 
 deeper oflence than yours. Not yet, Arthur, the time has not yet 
 come.” 
 
 “ I have been patient,” said Butler, “ patient, Mildred, for your 
 sake.” 
 
 “ To try him now,” continued Mildred, whose feelings still ran, 
 with a heady impetuosity, upon this newly-awakened and engrossing 
 topic; “ now, in the very depth of his bitterest aversion to what he 
 terms an impious rebellion, and whilst his heart is yet moved with 
 an almost preternatural hate against all who uphold the cause, and 
 to you, especially, above whose head there hovers, in his belief, 
 some horrid impending curse that shall bring desolation upon him 
 and all who claim an interest in his blood—no, no, it must not be!” 
 
 “Another year of pent-up vexation, self-reproach and anxious 
 concealment must then glide by, and perhaps another,” said Butler. 
 “ Well, I must be content to bear it, though, in the mean time, my 
 heart bleeds for you, Mildred; it is a painful trial.” 
 
 “ For good or for evil our vow is now registered in heaven,” 
 replied Mildred, “ and we must abide the end.” 
 
 “ I would not have it other than it is, dearest girl, except this 
 stern resolve of your father—not for the world’s wealth,” said 
 Butler warmly. “But you spoke of this Tyrrel—what manner of 
 .man is he ? How might I know him ?” 
 
 “ To know him would answer no good end, Arthur. His soul is 
 absorbed in stratagem, and my dear father is its prey. I too am 
 grievously tormented by him; but it is no matter, I need not vex 
 your ear with the tale of his annoyance.” 
 
 “ Indeed!” exclaimed Butler with a sudden expression of resent¬ 
 ment. 
 
 “ All that concerns my father, concerns me,” said Mildred. “ It 
 is my evil destiny, Arthur, to be compelled to endure the associa¬ 
 tions of men, whose principles, habits, purposes, are all at war with 
 my own. Alas, such are now my father’s constant companions! 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 63 
 
 This man Tyrrel, whose very name is a cheat put on, I doubt not, 
 to conceal him from observation—goes farther than the rest in the 
 boldness of his practice. I have some misgiving that he is better 
 acquainted with the interest you take in me, than we might suspect 
 possible to a stranger. I fear him. And then, Arthur, it is my 
 peculiar misery that he has lately set up a disgusting pretension to 
 my regard. Oh ! I could give him, if my sex had strength to 
 strike, the dagger, sooner than squander upon him one kind word. 
 
 Yet am I obliged by circumstance to observe a strained courtesy 
 towards him, which, frugal as it is, makes me an unwilling hypo¬ 
 crite to my own heart.” 
 
 “ Tyrrel,” ejaculated Butler, “ Tyrrel! I have heard no such name 
 abroad!” then, muttering a deep curse, as he bit his lip with 
 passion, he added, “ Oh, that I could face this man, or penetrate his 
 foul purpose ! How is it likely I might meet him ?” 
 
 “ You shall have no temptation to a quarrel,” said Mildred; 
 
 “ your quick resentment would but give activity to his venom. 
 
 For the sake of my peace, Arthur, and of your own, inquire no 
 further. Time may disclose more than rash pursuit.” 
 
 “ Leave that to sister Mildred and myself, major,” said Henry, 
 who listened with great interest to this conversation, “ I have my 
 eye upon him—let that satisfy you ; and when sister Mildred puts 
 up the game, depend upon it, I will bring him down.” 
 
 “ Thanks, thanks, dear Henry! I can trust you for a ready friend, 
 and will even follow your good advice. A more favorable season 
 for this concern may soon arrive; meantime, I will bear this hint in 
 mind.” i 
 
 Again Henry made an appeal to the lovers to bring their con¬ 
 ference to an end. |^It was a sorrowful moment, the events of which 
 were brief, earnest and impassioned, and such as a dull scribbler, — 
 like myself, might easily mar in the telling; yet they were such as 
 zealous and eager natures, who have loved with an intense and 
 absorbing love, and who have parted in times of awful danger and 
 uncertainty, may perchance be able to picture to themselves, when 
 they recall the most impressive incident of their lives to memory. I 
 will only say, that, in that dark shade where the beech tree spread 
 his canopy of leaves over the cool bank, and marked his shadow’s 
 profile on the green sward — that grassy sward, on which “the 
 
54 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 constant moon” lit up the dewy lamps, hung by the spider on 
 blade and leaf; and in that silent time, when the distant water-fall 
 came far-sounding on the ear, when sleepless insects chirped in the 
 thicket, and dogs, at some remote homestead, howled bugle-like to 
 the moon ; and in that chill hour, when Mildred drew her kerchief 
 close around her dew-besprinkled shoulders, whilst Arthur, fondly 
 and afiFeetionately, half enveloped her in the folds of a military cloak, 
 as he whispered words of tender parting in her ear, and imprinted a 
 kiss upon her cheek ; and when, moreover, Henry’s teeth chattered 
 like a frozen warder’s, then it was, and there, that this enthusiastic 
 girl again pledged her unalterable devotion to the man of her 
 waking thoughts and nightly dreams, come weal, come woe, what¬ 
 ever might betide ; and the soldier paid back the pledge with new 
 ardor and endearment, in the strong language that came unstudied 
 fi’om the heart, meaning all that he said, and rife with a feeling 
 beyond the reach of words. And, after “ mony a locked and fond 
 embrace,” full tearfully, and lingeringly, and, in phrase oft repeated, 
 the two bade “farewell,” and invoked God’s blessing each upon the 
 other, and then, not mthout looking back, and breathing a fresh 
 prayer of blessings, they separated on their dreary way, Mildred 
 retiring, as she had come, on the arm of her brother, and Butler, 
 springing humedly into the skifip and directing its swift passage to 
 the middle of the stream, where, after a pause to enable him to 
 discern the last footsteps of his mistress, as her form glided into the 
 obscure distance, he sighed a low “ God bless her,” then resumed 
 his oar, and stm’dily drove his boat against the “ opponent bank.” 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A COMFORTABLE INN, AND A GOOD LANDLADY-THE iaSFOBTUNES 
 
 OF HEROES DO NOT ALWAYS DESTROY THE APPETITE. 
 
 As soon as Butler landed from the skiff, he threw his cloak into 
 the hands of the sergeant; then, with a disturbed haste, sprang 
 upon his horee, and, commanding Robinson to follow, galloped 
 along the road down the river as fast as the nature of the gi'ound 
 and the obscurity of the hour would allow. A brief space brought 
 them to the spot w'here the road crossed the stream, immediately in 
 the vicinity of the widow Dimock’s little inn, which might here be 
 discerned ensconced beneath the cover of the opposite hill. The 
 low-browed wooden building, quietly stationed some thirty paces off 
 the road, was so adumbrated in the shelter of a huge willow, that 
 the journeyer, at such an hour as this, might perchance pass the 
 spot unconsciously by, were it not for an insulated and somewhat 
 haggard sign-post that, like a hospitable seeker of strangers, stood 
 hard by the road side, and there displayed a shattered emblem in 
 the guise of a large blue ball, a little decayed by wind and weather, 
 which said Blue Ball, without superscription or device, was imiver- 
 sally interpreted to mean “ entertainment for man and horse, by the 
 widow Dimock.” The moonlight fell with a broad lustre upon the 
 sign post and its pendent globe; and our traveller, besides, could 
 descry, through the drapery of the ivillow, a window, of some rear 
 building of the inn, richly illuminated by what, from the redness of 
 the light, might be conjectured to be a bundle of blazing faggots. 
 
 As the horses had, immediately upon entering the ford, compelled 
 their masters to a halt, whilst they thrust their noses into the water 
 and drank with the greediness of a long and neglected thirst, it was 
 with no equivocal self-gratulation that Robinson directed his eye to 
 the presignifications of good cheer which were now before him. 
 
50 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Butler had spoken “ never a word,” and the sergeant’s habits of 
 subordination, as well as an honest sympathy in what he guessed 
 to be the griefs of his superior oiBcer, bad constrained him to a 
 respectful silence. The sergeant, however, was full of thoughts 
 which, more than once during the gallop from the Fawn’s Tower, 
 he was on the point of uttering by way of consolation to Butler, and 
 which nothing prevented but that real delicacy of mind that lies at 
 the bottom of a kind nature, and inhabits the shaggy breast of the 
 rustic, at least full as often as it lodges in the heart of the trim 
 worldling. The present halt seemed, in Horse Shoe’s reckoning, 
 not only to furnish a pretext to speak, but, in some degree, to render 
 it a duty; and, in truth, an additional very stimulating subject 
 presented itself to our good squire, in his instantaneous conviction 
 that the glare from the tavern window had its origin in some active 
 operation which, at this late hour, might be going on at the kitchen 
 chimney ; to underetand the full pungency of which consideration, 
 ■ it is necessary to inform my reader, that Eobinson had, for some 
 time past, been yielding himself to certain doubts, whether his 
 friend and himself might not arrive at the inn at too late an hour 
 to hope for much despatch in the preparation for supper. In this 
 state of feeling, partly bent to cheer the spirits of Butler, and partly 
 to express his satisfaction at the prospect of his own comfort, he 
 broke forth in the following terms— 
 
 “ God bless all widows that set themselves down by the roadside, 
 is my woi’st wish! and, in particular, I pray for good luck to the 
 ■widow Dimock, for an orderly sort of body, which I have no doubt 
 she is ; and keeps good hours—to judge by the shine of the kitchen 
 fire which is blazing yonder in the rear—and which, to tell truth, 
 major, I began to be afeard would be as dead, by this time o’ night, 
 as the day the hearth-stone was first laid. She desarves to be 
 spoken of as a praiseworthy woman. And, moreover, I should say 
 she has popped her house down in a most legible situation, touching 
 our day’s march, by which I mean it isn’t one step too near a rea¬ 
 sonable bed hour. I count it lucky, major, on your account; and 
 although it isn’t for me ter give advice in M'oman affaire—^for I know 
 the creatures do try the grit and edge of a man amazingly some¬ 
 times—yet, if I mought say what was running in my head fit for a 
 gentleman and an officer hke you to do in such a tribulation, it 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 5l 
 
 would be this : drop thinking and chawing over your troubles, and 
 take them with a light heart, as things that’s not to be mended by 
 a solemncolly long-facedness. A good victual’s meal and a fair 
 night’s rest would make another man of you. That’s my observa¬ 
 tion ; and I remember once to hear you say the same yourself, upon 
 occasion of your losing the baggage wagons last fall on the Beaufort 
 convoy. You ha’n’t forgot it, major ?” 
 
 “Thank you, thank you, sergeant. Your counsel is kindly offered 
 and wisely said, and I will follow it. But it is a little hard, fellow 
 soldier,” added Butler, with something like an approach to jocu¬ 
 larity, “ it’s a little hard to have one’s misfortunes cast in his teeth 
 by a comrade.” 
 
 “ I thought it would make you laugh, major!” replied Robinson, 
 with a good-natured solicitude, “ for it w’an’t in the possibilities of a 
 mortal earthly man to save the baggage; and, I remember, you 
 laughed then, as well as the rest of us, when them pestifarious, 
 filching sheep stealeis made off with our dinners ; nobody ever 
 blamed you for it.” 
 
 “Ah, Galbraith, you are a good friend, and you shall say what 
 you please to me,” said Butler, with a returning cheerfulness; 
 “sorrow is a dull companion to him who feeds it, and an imperti- ' 
 nent one to everybody beside. So, ride forwai'd, and we will endea¬ 
 vor to console oui'selves with the good cheer of the widow. And, 
 hark, Galbraith, this Mistress Dimock is an especial friend of mine; 
 pray you, let her see, by your considerateness towards her, that you 
 are aware of that—for my sake, good Horse Shoe.” 
 
 The two soldiers soon reached the inn, and, having dismounted, 
 Butler aroused the attention of the inmates by a few strokes upon •• 
 the door with his riding rod. 
 
 The reply to this summons was a shrill invitation, in a feminine 
 voice, to “ walk inand no sooner had Butler thrown open 
 the door and advanced a few paces into the passage, than the 
 head of an elderly female was seen thrust through the partially 
 expanded doorway of the adjoining room. Another instant, and 
 the dusky figure of Mistress Dimock herself was visible to our 
 travellers. 
 
 “ What would you be pleased to have, sir ?” inquired the dame, 
 with evident distrust at this untimely approach of strangers. 
 
 o-Sr 
 
 Cr 
 
58 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Accommodation for the night, and whatever you have good to 
 offer a fi-iend, Mistress Dimock.” 
 
 “ Who are j’^ou that ride so late ?” again interrogated the hostess; 
 “ I am cowardly, sir, and cautious, and have reason to be careful who 
 comes into my house; a poor unprotected woman, good man.” 
 
 “ A light, mother,” said Butler, “ and you shall know us better- 
 We are travellei’s and want food and rest, and would have both with 
 as little trouble to you as possible; a light will show you an old 
 fi'iend.” 
 
 “ Wait a moment,” returned the dame; and then added, as she 
 observed Butler walk into a room on the left, “ Take care, sir, it is 
 risking a fall to grope in the dark in a strange house.” 
 
 “ The house is not so strange to me as you suppose. Unless you 
 have moved your furniture I can find the green settee beyond the 
 cupboard,” said Butler, familiarly striding across the room, and 
 throwing himself into the old commodity he had named. 
 
 The landlady, without heeding this evidence of the conveisancy 
 of her visitor with the localities of the little parlor, had hastily 
 retreated, and, in a moment afterwards, returned with a light, which, 
 as she held it above her head, while she peered through a pair of 
 spectacles, threw its full effulgence upon the face of her 
 guest. 
 
 “ Dear me, good lack !” she exclaimed, after a moment’s gazing ; 
 “ Arthur Butler, o’ my conscience ! And is it you, Mr. Butler ?” 
 Then, putting the candle upon the table, she seized both of his hands 
 and gave them a long and hearty shake. “ That Nancy Dimock 
 shouldn’t know your voice, of all others ! Where have you been, 
 and where are you going ? Mercy on me ! what makes you so late ? 
 And why didn’t you let me know you were coming ? I could have 
 made you so much more comfortable. You are chilled with the 
 night air; and hungry, no doubt. And you look pale, poor fellow ! 
 You surely couldn’t have been at the Dove Cote ?” which last inter¬ 
 rogatory was expressed with a look of earnest and anxious inquiry, 
 
 “ No, not there,” replied Butler, almost in a whisper ; “alas, my 
 kind dame, not there,’’ he added, with a melancholy smile, as he 
 held the hand of the hostess and shook his head; “ my fortune has 
 in no jot improved since I left you almost a year ago. I broke from 
 you hastily then to resume my share in the war, and I have had 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 59 
 
 nothing but hard blows ever since. The tide, Mistress Dimock, sets 
 sadly against us.” 
 
 “ Never let your heart fail you,” exclaimed the landlady; “ it 
 isn’t in the nature of things for the luck to be for ever on the shady 
 side. Besides, take the good and bad together, you have not been 
 so hardly dealt by. Captain Butler.” 
 
 “ Major Butler, madam, of the second Carolina continental reg’lar 
 infantry,” interrupted Robinson, who had stood by all this time 
 
 ^_ unnoticed, “ Major Butler; the captain has been promoted, by 
 
 _ occa.sion of the wiping out of a few friends from the upper side of 
 the adjutant’s roll, in the scrimmage of Fort Moultrie. He is what 
 we call, in common parley, brevetted.” 
 
 This annunciation was made by the sergeant with due solemnity, 
 accompanied by an attempt at a bow, which was abundantly stiff 
 and ungraceful. 
 
 “ My friend Sergeant Robinson,” said Butler ; “ I commend him. 
 Mistress Dimock, to your especial favor, both for a trusty comrade, 
 and a most satisfactory and sufficient trencher man.” 
 
 “ You are welcome and free to the best that’s in the house, 
 sergeant,” said the landlady, courtesying; “and I wish, for your 
 sake, it was as good as your appetite, which ought to be of the best. 
 Mr. Arthur Butler’s word is all in all under this roof; and, whether 
 he be captain or major, I promise you, makes no difference with me. 
 Bless me! when I first saw you, major, you was only an ensign; 
 then, whisk and away! and back you come a pretty lieutenant, 
 about my house : and then a captain, forsooth! and now, on the 
 track of that, a major. It is up-up-up-the ladder, till you will come, 
 one of these days, to be a general; and too proud, I misdoubt, to look 
 at such a little old woman as me ! hegh, hegh, hegh! a pinch of 
 snuff, Mr. Arthur.” And here the good dame prolonged her 
 phthisicky laugh for some moments, as she presented a box of Scotch 
 snuff to her guest. “ But I’ll engage promotion never yet made 
 the appetite of a travelling man smaller than before ; so, gentlemen, 
 you will excuse me while I look after your supper.” 
 
 “ The sooner the better, ma’am,” said Robinson ; “ your night air 
 is a sort of a whetstone to the stomach : but first, ma’am, I would 
 be obligated to you, if you would let me see the ostler.” 
 
 “ Hut, tut! and have I been diivelling here all this time,” 
 
60 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 exclaimed the dame, “without once spending a thought upon your 
 cattle! Tony, Tony, To-ny, I say,’’ almost shrieked the hostess, as 
 she retreated along the passage towards the region of the kitchen, 
 and then back again to the fiont door. “ Are you asleep ? Look 
 to the gentlemen’s horses; lead them to the stable, and don’t spare 
 to rub them down; and give them as much as they can eat. 
 Where are you, old man ?” 
 
 “ What’s the use of all this fuss. Missus Dimck ? Arn’t I here on 
 the spot, with the cretur’s in my hand ?” grumbled Out an old, stunted 
 negro, who answered to the appellation of ostler: “ Arn’t I getting 
 
 the baggage offi as fast as I can onbuckle the straps?—I don’t want 
 nobody to tell me when I ought to step out. If a hos could talk, 
 he ain’t got nothing new to say to me. Get out, you varmints,” he 
 shouted, with a sudden vivacity of utterance, at three or four dogs 
 that were barking around him; “ Consarh you! What you making 
 such a conbobberation about? You all throat when you see gent- 
 men coming to the house; better wait tell you see a thief; bound, 
 you silent enough then, with your tail twixt your legs ! Blossom, 
 ya sacy slut, keep quiet, I tell you!” 
 
 In the course of this din and objurgation, the old negro succeeded 
 in disburdening the horses of their furniture, and was about to lead 
 them to the stable, when Robinson came to give him some directions. 
 
 “ Mind what you are after with them there cattle. Give them 
 not a mouthful for a good hour, and plenty of fodder about their 
 feet; I’ll look at them myself before you shut up. Throw a handful 
 of salt into the trough, Tony, and above all things, don’t let me catch 
 you splashing water over their backs; none of that; do you 
 hear ?” 
 
 “ Haw, haw, haw !” chuckled Tony ; “ think I don’t know how to 
 take care of a hos, mass! Been too use to creturs, ever sense so 
 high. Bless the gentman! one of the best things on arth, when 
 you’re feared your hos is too much blowed, is to put a sprinkling of 
 salt in a bucket o’water, and just stir a leetle Indian meal in with it; 
 it sort of freshes the cretur up like, and is onaccountable good in 
 hot weather, when you ain’t got no time to feed. But cold water 
 across the hnes ! oh, oh, I too cute in hos laming for that! Look 
 at the top of my head—gvay as a fox !” 
 
 “ Skip then, or I’ll open upon you like a pack of hounds,” said 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 61 
 
 Robinson, as be turned on bis beel to re-enter tbe bouse, “I’ll 
 look in after supper.” 
 
 “Never mind me,” replied Tony, as be led tbe borses off, “I have 
 tended Captain Butler’s bos afore this, and be wan’t never onsatisfied 
 with me.” 
 
 These cares being disposed of. Horse Shoe returned to tbe par¬ 
 lor. The tidy display of some plain furniture, and tbe scrupulous 
 attention to cleanliness in every part of the room, afforded an intelli¬ 
 gent commentary upon tbe exact, orderly and decent character of 
 the Widow Dirnock. Tbe dame herself was a pattern of useful thrift. 
 Her short figure, as she now bustled to and fro, through the apart¬ 
 ment, was arrayed in that respectable, motherly costume which 
 befitted her years; and which was proper to the period of my story, 
 when the luxury of dress was more expensive than at present, and 
 when a correspondent degree of care was used to preserve it in repair. 
 Evidences of this laudable economy were seen in the neatness with 
 which a ruffle was darned, or a weak point fortified by a nicely 
 adjusted patch, presenting, in some respect, a token both of the 
 commendable pride of the wearer, and of the straitness of the 
 national means, since the prevalence of war for five years had not 
 only reduced the wealth of individuals and rendered frugality indis¬ 
 pensable, but had, also, literally deprived the country of its necessary 
 supply of commodities; thus putting the opulent and the needy, 
 to a certain extent, u-pon the same footing. On the present occasion, 
 our good landlady was arrayed in a gown of sober-colored chintz, gath¬ 
 ered into plaits in the skirt, whilst the body fitted closely over a pair 
 of long-waisted stays, having tight sleeves that reached to the elbow. 
 The stature of the dame was increased a full inch by a pair of high- 
 heeled, parti-colored shoes, remarkable for their sharp toes; and a 
 frilled muslin cap, with lappets that reached under the chin, towered 
 sufficiently high to contribute, also, something considerable to the 
 elevation of the tripping little figure of its wearer. 
 
 In such guise did Mistress Dimock appear, as she busied herself in 
 preparing needful refreshment for the travellers; and for some time 
 the house exhibited all that stir which belongs to this important care 
 when despatched in a retired country inn. 
 
 By degrees, the table began to show the bounties of the kitchen. 
 A savory dish of fried bacon, the fumes of which had been, foi' a 
 
62 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 quarter of an hour, gently stimulating the appetite of the guests, 
 now made its appearance, in company with a pair of broiled pullets; 
 and these were followed by a detachment of brown-crested hoe- 
 cakes^—the peculiar favorite of the province; an abundance of rich 
 milk, eggs, butter, and other rural knicknackeries, such as no hungry 
 man ever surveys with indifference. These were successively depo¬ 
 sited upon a homespun table cloth, whose whiteness rivalled the new 
 snow, with an accuracy of adjustment that, by its delay, produced 
 the most visible effects upon the sergeant, who, dming the spreading 
 of the board, sat silently by, watching, with an eager and gloating 
 earnestness, the slow process, ever and anon uttering a short hem, 
 and turning about restlessly on his chair. 
 
 I may pause here, after the fashion of our worthy friend Horse 
 Shoe, to make an observation. There is nothing that works so 
 kindly upon the imagination of a traveller, if he be in any doubt as 
 to his appetite, as the display of such a table. My particularity of 
 detail, on the present occasion, will, therefore, be excused by my 
 reader, when I inform him that Butler had arrived at the inn in that 
 depressed tone of sjiirits which seemed to defy refreshment; and 
 that, notwithstanding this impediment, he played no insignificant 
 part afterwards at supper; a circumstance mainly attributable to that 
 gentle but irresistible solicitation, which the actual sight and fra¬ 
 grance of the board addressed to his dormant physical susceptibility. 
 I might, indeed, have pretermitted the supper altogether, were there 
 not a philosophical truth at the bottom of the matter, worthy of the 
 notice of the speculative and curious reader; namely, that where a 
 man’s heart is a little teased with love, and his temper fretted by 
 crossings, and his body jolted by travel; especially, when he has 
 been wandering through the night air, with owls hooting in his ears; 
 and a thin drapery of melancholy has been flung, like cobwebs, across 
 his spirits, then it.is my doctrine, that a clean table, a good-humored 
 landlady and an odorous steaming-up of good things, in a snug, 
 cheerful little parlor, are certain to beget in him a complete change 
 of mood, and to give him, instead, a happy train of thoughts and a 
 hearty relish for his food. Such was precisely Butler’s condition. 
 
 He and the sergeant now sat down at the table, and each drew 
 the attention of the other by the unexpected vigor of their assaults 
 upon the dainties before them ; Robinson surprised to find the major 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSOX. 
 
 63 
 
 so suddenly revived, and Butler no less unprepared to see a man, 
 who had achieved such wonders at dinner, now successively demo¬ 
 lish what might be deemed a stout allowance for a well fed lion. 
 
 “ It almost seems to go against the credit of my house,” said the 
 hostess, “ to set gentlefolks down at my table without a cup of tea; 
 but so it is; we must get used to be stripped of all the old-fashioned 
 comforts. It is almost treason for an honest woman to have such an 
 article in her house now, even if it could be fairly come by. Still, 
 I’ll engage I am tory enough yet to like the smell of hyson. They 
 have no mercy upon us old women, major; they should have a care, 
 or they will drive us into the arms of the enemy.” 
 
 “ Faith then, ma’am,” interrupted Horse Shoe bluntly, as he threw 
 his eye over his shoulder at the landlady, who had broken into a 
 laugh at her own sally of humor, “ it would be no wonder if you 
 were soon driven back again.” 
 
 “ Shame on you, Mr. Sergeant Robinson,” retorted the dame, 
 laughing again, “ I didn’t expect to hear such a speech from you; 
 that’s a very sorry compliment to a poor country woman. If the 
 men on our side think so little of us as you do, it would be no 
 wonder if we all desert to King George : but Major Arthur Butler, I 
 am sure, will tell you that we old bodies can sometimes make our¬ 
 selves very useful—gainsay it who will.” 
 
 “You seem to be rather hard, Galbraith,” said Butler, “on my 
 good friend Mistress Dimock. I am sure, madam, the sergeant has 
 only been unlucky in making himself understood; for I know him 
 to be a man of gallantry to your sex, and to cherish an especial liking 
 for the female friends of our cause, amongst whom. Mistress Dimock, 
 I can certify he is prepared to set a high value upon yourself. The 
 sergeant was only endeavoring to provoke your good humor. Try 
 this honey, Galbraith; Mistress Dimock is famous for her beehives; 
 and perhaps it will give a sweeter edge to your tongue.” 
 
 “ I spoke, major,” replied Robinson, awkwardly endeavoring to 
 extricate himself under this joint rebuke, and, at the same time, 
 plunging a spoon into the dish to which Butler had invited his 
 notice, “ consarning the difficulty of having ladies—whether old or 
 young makes no difterence, it wan’t respecting the age of Mistress 
 ' Dimock, nor her beauty, by no means, that I said what I did say; 
 
 __ but it was consarning of the diflSiculty of having the women with 
 
64 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 them in their marches and their counter-marches. What could such 
 tender creatures have done at such a place as the sieging of Charles¬ 
 town ? Certain, this is most elegant honey!” he added, by way of 
 parenthesis, as he devoured a large slice of bread, well covered with 
 a fragment of honeycomb, as if anxious to gain time to collect his 
 ideas; for, with all Horse Shoe’s bluntness, he was essentially a dif¬ 
 fident man. “ It is my opinion, ma’am, the best thing the women 
 
 — can do, in these here wars, is to knit; and leave the fighting of it 
 
 — out, to US who hav’n’t faces to be spoiled by bad weather and tough 
 times.” 
 
 “ I don’t want to have art nor part in these quarrels,” replied the 
 widow. “ The saints above are witnesses, I think it unnatural enough 
 to see a peaceable country, and a quiet honest people, vexed and 
 harried, and run down with all this trooping of horses, and parading 
 of armies, and clattering of drums, amongst the hills that never 
 heard anything worse than the lowing of a heifer before. But still, 
 I Mush well to liberty ; and if it must be fought for, why, I am even 
 content to take my share of the suffering, in my own lonesome way; 
 and they that bear the heat of the day, and their friends, shall 
 always be, served in my house with the best that’s in it, and at the 
 most reasonable rates. Even if they come without money, I am not 
 the w'oman to turn them off with an empty stomach ; I mean them 
 of the right side.” 
 
 “Well, that’s as sensible a speech. Mistress Dimock,” said Horse 
 Shoe, quickly seizing the occasion to make amends to the landlady 
 for his former bluntness, “ and as much to the purpose, and spoken 
 with as much wisdom and circumscription, as mought come out of 
 the mouth of e’er a lady in the land—high born or low boi-n—I don’t 
 care where the other comes from. And it does a man’s heart good 
 to hear the womankind holding out such presentments. It’s encou¬ 
 raging on the face of it.” 
 
 During this conversation the supper was finished, and Mrs. Di¬ 
 mock had now seated herself, with her elbows upon the table, so 
 placed as to allow her to prop her chin upon her hands, in which 
 position she fell into an earnest but quiet, under-toned confabulation 
 with Butler, who partook of it with the more interest, as it related to 
 the concerns of the family at the Dove Cote. 
 
 |‘Mr. Lindsay, poor man,” said the dame, in the course of this 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 65 
 
 conference, “ is wofully beset. It almost looks as if he was haunted 
 by an evil spirit, sure enough, which folks used to say of him after 
 his wife’s death—and which, to tell you the truth, our young lady 
 Mildred has sometimes more than half hinted to me ; he is so run 
 at, and perplexed, and misguided by strangers that can have nO| 
 good intention in coming to see him. There is Mr. Tyrrel, over at 
 the Dove Cote at this very time, on his third visit, major, in less 
 now than two months past; yes, let me see, he brought the news 
 here of the recapitulation—I think you military call it—though, 
 heaven knows, I have but a poor head for these bloodthirsty words 
 —I mean the taking of Charleston ; three times has he been here, 
 counting from that day. Where he comes from, and who are his 
 kith and kin, I am sure I don’t know.” 
 
 “ Tyrrel, ha ! yes, I have heard of him to-night, for the first 
 time,” said Butler. 
 
 “ He must be a rich man,” continued the hostess, “ for he travels 
 ,with two white servants, and always pays his way in gold. One of 
 his men is now in the house ; and, between you and me, major, this 
 
 man is a very inquisitive sort of person, and would hardly be taken _ 
 
 -for a serving man; and he is a cautious fellow too, although there 
 is a good deal of swagger and bullying about him, which might 
 deceive one at first sight.” 
 
 “ Here, in the house to-night ?” inquired Butler. 
 
 “ Speak low, major, the man is now walking the porch before our 
 windows.” 
 
 “ What does Mildred say of this Tyrrel ?” asked Butler. 
 
 “ Has she been here lately ?” 
 
 “ The good lady never stirs from home whilst Tyrrel is at the 
 Dove Cote ; for fear, I believe, that he will follow her, for they do 
 whisper about in the neighborhood—though I don’t say it to alarm 
 you, Mr. Arthur, that this man is of the high quality, a nobleman, 
 some say, and that he has come here a-courting. Only think of the 
 assurance of the man ! But if he was a ])rince, and every hair of 
 his head strung with diamonds, and Miss Mildred was as free as the 
 day you first saw her, I can say with safety he would find but cold 
 comfort in that game; for she despises him, major, both for himself 
 and for his tory principles. She does hate him with a good will. 
 
 No, no, her heart and soul ai’e both where they ought to be, for all 
 
4 
 
 66 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 her father, poor man, and this rich gentleman! Oh, it is a cruel 
 thing that you and our pretty lady cannot live quietly together; but 
 Mr. Lindsay is past talking to about it. I declare I think his mind 
 is touched : I positively believe it would kill him if he knew all that 
 has passed in this house ; but he is, in the main, a good man, and a 
 kind father, and is very much to be pitied. I see you are sad and 
 sorrowful, Mr. Arthur : I didn’t mean to distress you with my prat- 
 - ing. You tell me, you think you may travel as far as Georgie.” 
 
 “ Even so far, good dame, if some accident should not shorten my 
 career. These are doubtful times, and my path is as uncertain as 
 the chances of war. It may be long before I return. 
 
 “ I grieve night and day, and my heart bleeds for Miss Mildred, 
 for she is so good, so constant, so brave, too, for a woman,” said the 
 widow with unaffected emotion. “ Well-a-day ! what woes these 
 wars have brought upon us ! You told her your plans, Mr. Arthur ?” 
 
 “ Our interview was short and painful,” replied Butler. “ I 
 scarcely know what I said to her. But, one thing I entreat of you: 
 ___ my letters will be directed to your charge; you will contrive to have 
 them promptly and secretly delivered: oblige me still in that, good 
 mother. Henry will often visit you.” 
 
 “ And a brave and considerate young man he is, major ; I’ll be 
 surety for his making of an honorable and a real gentleman. Do 
 you join the army in Carolina ?” 
 
 “ Perhaps not. My route lies into the mountains, our troops 
 struggle for a footing in the low country.” 
 
 “ If I may make bold. Major Butler, to drop a word of advice into 
 your ear, which, seeing that I’m an older man than you,” inter¬ 
 rupted the sergeant, in an admonitory whisper, “ I think I have got 
 good right to do, why I would just say that there may be no great 
 disconvenience in talking before friends; but sometimes silence brings 
 more profit than words. So, I vote that we leave off telling the 
 course of our march till such time as it is done, and all is safe. 
 There will be briers enough in our way, without taking the trouble 
 to sow them by the roadside. The man that stands a little aside 
 from that window, out on the porch, throws his shadow across the 
 sill oftener than is honest, according to my reckoning. You said, 
 ma’am,” continued Horse Shoe, addressing -the widow, “ that the 
 fellow in the porch yon is Mr. Tyrrel’s man.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 67 
 
 “ He walks later than usual to-night,” replied Mrs. Dimock, “ for 
 though he can’t be called a man of regular houi-s, yet, unless he can 
 find an idler to keep him company, he is accustomed to he in his 
 bed before this.” 
 
 " “ He is after no good, depend upon that,” said Horse Shoe. “ I 
 have twice seen the light upon his face behind the shutter: so, 
 ^ true man or spy, it’s my admonishment not to speak above the 
 purring of a cat.” 
 
 “You are right, Galbraith,” said Butler. “We have many 
 reasons to distrust him ; and it is at least safest to keep our affairs 
 private.” 
 
 “ If I thought he was prying,” continued Galbraith, “ which I do 
 measurably insinuate and believe, I would take the freedom to give 
 him the benefit of a drilling on good mannere. Ha, major! as I 
 have a hand, he is reconnoitring us now at this identical time! 
 Didn’t you see him pass up and down before the door, and look in 
 as greedily as if our faces were picture-books for him to read? I 
 will have a word with hini^. and, wise or simple, I will get his 
 calibre before I am done with him. Never let on, major; stay 
 where you are. I promised to look after our horees.” 
 
 The hostess and her guest now continued their communion; in 
 which we leave them, whilst we follow Horee Shoe towards the 
 stable. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 There ’re two at fisty-cuffs about it; 
 
 Sir, I may say at dagger’s drawing, 
 
 But that 1 cannot say, because they have none. 
 
 Mayor of Quinborouffh. 
 
 When Horse Shoe left the apartment, he discovered the person, 
 ■whose demeanor had excited his suspicion, leaning against a post of 
 the porch, in front of the house. The moonlight, as it partially fell 
 upon this man’s figure, disclosed a frame of sufficient mould to raise 
 a surmise, that, in whatever form of communication the sergeant 
 might accost him, he was not hkely to find a very tractable subject 
 to his hand. Robinson, however, without troubling himself with the 
 contemplation of such a contingency, determined to delay his visit to 
 the stable long enough to allow himself the expression of a word of 
 warning or rebuke, to indicate to the stranger the necessity for 
 restraining his curiosity in regard to the guests of the inn. With 
 this view he halted upon the porch, while he scanned the person 
 before him, and directed an earnest gaze into his face. The stranger, 
 slightly discomfited by this eager scrutiny, turned his back upon his 
 visitor, and, with an air of idle musing, threw his eyes towards the 
 heavens, in which position he remained until summoned by the 
 familiar accost of Horse Shoe. 
 
 “ Well! and what do you make of the moon ? As sharp an eye 
 as you have in your head, neighbor, I’m thinking it will do you no 
 -great sarvnce there. You’re good at your spying trade; but you 
 will get nothing out of her; she keeps her secrets.” 
 
 Startled by this abrupt gi'eeting, which was made in a tone half¬ 
 way between jest and earnest, the stranger quickly confi’onted his 
 challenger, and bestowed upon him a keen and inquiring inspection; 
 then breaking into a laugh, he replied with a free and impudent 
 swagger— 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 69 
 
 “ You are mistaken, Master Jack Puddiia^l;. What says the pro¬ 
 verb ? Wit’s in the wane when the mddn’s at full. Now, our 
 mistress has let roe into a secret. She tells me that you will not 
 lose your wits, when she comes to her growth. The reason why ? 
 first, because she never troubles heiself with so small a stock as yours, —___ 
 
 and second, because your thick skull is moon-proof; so, you’re safe, 
 friend.” 
 
 “ A word in your ear,” said Horse Shoe; “ you are not safe, 
 
 friend, if you are cotched again peeping through the chinks of the -- 
 
 window, or sneaking upon the dark side of the doorway, to pick up 
 a crumb of talk from people that are not axing your company. 
 
 Keep that in your memory.” 
 
 “ It’s a base lie, Mr. Bumpkin, if you mean to Insinuate that I 
 did either.” 
 
 “ Oh, quiet and easy, good man ! No flusterifications here! I _ 
 
 am civil and peaceable. Take my advice, and chaw your cud in 
 silence, and go to bed at a reasonable hour, without minding what 
 folks have to say who come to the widow Dimock’s. It only run in 
 my head to give you a polite sort of a warning. So, good night; I 
 have got business at the stable.” 
 
 Before the other could reply, Robinson strode away to look after , 
 the accommodations of the horses. 
 
 “ The devil take this impertinent ox-driver !” muttered the man 
 to himself, after the sergeant had left him ; “ I have half a mind to 
 take his carcase in hand, just to give it the benefit of a good, whole¬ 
 some manipulation. A queer fellow, too—a joker ! A civil, peace¬ 
 able man !— the hyperbolical rogue ! Well, I’ll see him out, and, 
 laugh or fight, he shan’t want a man to stand up to him !” 
 
 Having by this train of reflection brought himself into a mood - 
 
 which might be said to hover upon the isthmus between anger and - 
 
 mirth, ready to fall to either side as the provocation might serve, 
 the stranger sauntered slowly towards the stable, with a hundred 
 odd fancies as to the character.«ii.,the man he sought running 
 through his mind. Upon his arri\1Si|tJiere he found that Horse 
 Shoe was occupied in the interior of t^l^uilding, and being still in 
 a state of uncertainty as to the manner in which it was proper he 
 should greet our redoubtable friend, he took a seat on a small bench _ 
 at the door, resolved to wait for that worthy’s reappeai'ance. This 
 
 
 i' 
 
70 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 delay had a soothing efiect upon his temper, for as he debated the 
 subject over in his mind, certain considerations of policy seemed to 
 indicate to him the necessity of making himself better acquainted 
 with the business and quality of the indirtdual whom he came to 
 meet. 
 
 After a few moments. Home Shoe was seen with old Tony at the 
 stable door, where, notwithstanding the unexpected presence of the 
 man to whom he had so lately offered his unwelcome advice, and 
 upon whom he now conferred not the slightest notice, he continued 
 uninterruptedly, and with deliberate composure, to give his orders 
 upon what, at that moment, doubtless, he deemed matter of much 
 graver importance than any concern he might have in the visit of 
 his new acquaintance. 
 
 “ Do what I tell you, Tony ; get a piece of linen, rub it well over 
 with tallow, and bring it here along with a cup of vinegar. The 
 beast’s back is cut with the saddle, and you must wash the sore fii'st 
 with the vinegar, and then lay on the patch. Go, old fellow, and 
 Mrs. Dimock, may be, can give you a strip of woollen cloth to sarve 
 as a pad.” 
 
 With these instructions the negro retired towards the house. 
 
 “ I see you understand your business,” said the stranger. “ You 
 look to your horse’s back ^ the end of a day’s journey, and you 
 know how to manage a "sore spot. Vinegar is the thing! You 
 have had a long ride ?” 
 
 “ How do you know that ?” inquired Horse Shoe. 
 
 “ Know it! any man might guess as much by the way you sho¬ 
 velled down your supper. I happened by chance to pass your win¬ 
 dow, and seeing you at it, faith ! for the soul of me I couldn’t help 
 taking a few turns more, just to watch thiS end of it. Ha! ha! ha! 
 give me the fellow that does honor to his stomach ! And your dolt 
 head must be taking offence at my looking at you ! Why, man, 
 “your appetite was a most beautiful rarity ; I wouldn’t have lost the 
 sport of it for the pleasure of the best supper I ever ate myself.” 
 
 —— - “ Indeed !” said Eobinson,' drily. 
 
 “ Pease upon the trencher!” exclaimed the other, with the air of 
 a pot companion ; “ that’s the true music for good fellows of your 
 kidney ! But it isn’t every where that you will find such bountiful 
 quarters as you get here at the Blue Ball; in that cureed southern 
 
71 
 
 HORSE SHOE R-OBINSON. 
 
 country a man like you would breed a famine, if you even do not 
 find one ready made to your hand when you get there.” 
 
 “ Where mought you he from ?” asked the sergeant, with gi’eat 
 gravity, without responding to the merriment of his visitor, and 
 purposely refraining from the answer which he saw it was the 
 other’s drift to obtain relative to the course of his travel. 
 
 “ It was natural enough that you should have mistaken my 
 object,” continued the stranger, heedless of Horse Shoe’s abrupt 
 question, “ and have suspected me for wanting to hear some of your 
 rigmarole; but there you did me wrong. I forgive you for that, 
 and, to tell you the truth, I hate your-” 
 
 “ That’s not to the purpose,” said Horse Shoe; “ I axed you a 
 civil question, and maybe, that’s more than you have a right to. 
 You can answer if or let it alone. I want to know where mought 
 you he from ?” 
 
 “ Since jmu are bent upon it, then,” replied the other, suddenly 
 changing his tone, and speaking with a saucy emphasis, “I’ll 
 answer your question, when you tell me what mought be your 
 right to know.” 
 
 “ It’s the custom of our country,” rejoined Horse Shoe, “ I don’t 
 know what it may be in yourn, to lain a little about the business - 
 of every man we meet; but we do it by fair, out-and-out question 
 and ansM'er—all above board, and we hold in despise all sorts of 
 contwistifications, either by laying of tongue-traps, or listening under 
 eaves of houses.” 
 
 “ Well, most wise and shrewd master, what do you call my 
 country ? Ha! ha! ha! I M’ould be sworn you think you have 
 found some mare’s nest! If it were not that your clown pate is 
 somewhat addled by over feeding, I would hold your speech to 
 be impertinent. My country. I’d have your sagacity to under¬ 
 stand - 
 
 “ Tut, man, it arn’t worth thq j,rouble of talking about it! I 
 never saw one of your people that I didn’t know him hy the first 
 word that came out of his lips. You are an Englishman, and a red 
 coat into the bargain, as we call them in these parts. You have 
 been a sodger. Now, never bounce at that, man ! There’s no great 
 harm in belonging to that craft. They listed you, as likely as not, 
 when you was flusticated with liquor, and you took^your pay; 
 
12 
 
 0 " 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 there was a bargain, and it was your business to stand to it. But 
 I have got a jjiece of wisdom to whisper to you, insomuch as you 
 are not in the most agreeablest part of the world to men of your 
 colors, it would be best to be a little more shy against giving offence. 
 You said some saucy things to me just now, but I don’t grudge 
 your talking, because you see, I am an onaccountable hard sort of 
 pemon to be instigated by speeching.” 
 
 “ Verily, you are a most comical piece of dulness,” said the other, 
 in a spirit of raillery. “ In what school did you learn your philoso¬ 
 phy, friend ? You have been brought up to the wholesome tail of 
 the plough, I should say—an ancient and reputable occupation.” 
 
 “ When I obsarved, just now,” replied Robinson, somewhat sternly, 
 “ that I couldn’t be instigated, I meant to be comprehended as laying 
 down a kind of general doctrine that I was a man not given to 
 quarrels; but still, if I suspicioned a bamboozlement, which I am 
 not far from at this present speaking, if it but come up to the confla¬ 
 grating of only the tenth part of the wink of an eye, in a project to 
 play me off, fore God, I confess myself to be as weak in the flesh as 
 e’er a rambunctious fellow you mought meet on the road.” 
 
 “ Friend,” said the other, “ I do not understand thy lingo. It 
 has a most clodpolish smack. It is neither grammar, English, nor 
 sense.” 
 
 “ Then, you are a damned, onmannerly rascal,” said Horse-Shoe, 
 “and that’s grammar, English, and sense, all three.” 
 
 “Ha, you are at that! Now, my lubberly booby, I underetand 
 you,” returned the other, springing to his feet. “ Do you know to 
 whom you are speaking ?” 
 
 “ Better than you think for,” replied the sergeant, placing himself 
 in an erect position to receive what he had a right to expect, the 
 threatened assault of his adversary, “ I know you, and guess you” 
 arrand here.” 
 
 “ You do ?” returned the other sharply. “ You have been juggling 
 with me, sir. You are not the gudgeon I took you for. It has 
 suited your purpose to play the clown, eh? Well, sir, and pray, 
 what do you guess ?” 
 
 “ Nothing good of you, considering how things go here. Suppose 
 I was to say you was, at this self-same identical time, a sodger of 
 the king’s ? I have you there !” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 13 
 
 The stranger turned on his heel and retreated a few paces, evi¬ 
 dently perplexed at the new view in which the sergeant suddeply 
 rose to his apprehension. Ilis curiosity and his interest wei’e both 
 excited to gain a more distinct insight into a man whom he had 
 mistaken for a mere simpleton, but whose liints showed him to be 
 shrewdly conversant with the personal concerns of one, whom, appa¬ 
 rently, he had seen to-night for the first time in his life. With this 
 anxiety upon his mind, he again appi’oached the sergeant, as he 
 replied to the last question. 
 
 “ Well, and if I were ? It is a character of which I should have 
 no reason to be ashamed.” 
 
 “ That’s well said !” exclaimed Horee Shoe. “ Up and speak out, 
 and never be above owning the truth; that’s the best sign that can 
 be of a man. Although it mought be somewhat dangerous, just 
 hereabouts, to confess yourself a sodger of King George—let me tell 
 you, that, being against you, I am not the person to mislest you on 
 that head, by spreading the news abroad, or setting a few dozen of 
 ■whigs upon your scent, which is a thing easily done. If your busi¬ 
 ness here is peaceable and lawful, and you don’t let your tongue 
 brawl against quiet and orderly people, you are free to come and go 
 for me.” 
 
 “ Thank you, sir: but look you; it isn’t my way to answer questions 
 about my own business, and I scorn to ask any man’s leave to come 
 and go where and when my occasions call me.” 
 
 “ If it isn’t your way to answer questions about your own business,” 
 replied Hoi-se Shoe, “ it oughtn’t to be your w'ay to ax them about 
 other people’s ; but that don’t disturb me; it is the rule of the war 
 to question all comers and goers that W'e happen to fall in with, 
 specially now, when there’s a set of your devils scampering and rag¬ 
 ing about in Carolina, hardly a summer day’s ride off this province, 
 burning houses and killing cattle, and turning everything topsy-turvy, 
 with a pack of rascajly tories to back them. In such times all sorts 
 of tricks are played, such as putting on coats that don’t belong 
 to a man, jmd deceiving honest people by lies, and what not.” 
 
 “ You ate a stranger to me,” said the other; but let me tell you, 
 without circumlocution or periphrase, I am a free born subject of the 
 king, and I -see no reason why, because some of his people have 
 turned rebels a true man, who travels his highway, should be obliged 
 
 4 
 
74 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 to give an account of himself to every inquisitive fellow who chooses 
 to challenge it. Suppose I tell you that you meddle with matters 
 that don’t concern you ?” 
 
 “ Then you mought chance to get your head in your hand, that’s 
 all. And, hark you, if it wan’t that I am rather good-natured, I 
 mought happen to handle you a little rough for that nicknaming of 
 the friends of liberty, by calling them rebels. It doesn’t suit such 
 six-pence-a-day fellows as you, who march right or left at the bidding 
 of your master, to rob a church or root up an honest man’s peaceful 
 hearth, without so much as daring to have a thought about the 
 righteousness of the matter—it doesn’t suit such to be befouling them 
 that fight for church and fireside both, with your scurvy, balderdash 
 names.” 
 
 “ Well, egad! you are a fine bold fellow who speaks his thoughts, 
 that’s not to be denied!” said the stranger, again suddenly changing 
 his mood, and resorting to his free and easy address. “You suit 
 these times devilish well. I can’t find it in my heart to quarrel with 
 you. We have both been somewhat rough in speech, and so, the 
 account is square. But now tell me, after all, are you sure you have 
 guessed me right ? How do you know I am not one of these very 
 rebels myself?” 
 
 “ For two good and point-blank reasons. First, you dar’n’t deny 
 that you have pocketed the king’s money and worn his coat—that’s 
 one. And, second, you are now here under the orders of one of his 
 ofiBcers.” 
 
 “ No, no, good friend,” said the man, with a voice of less boldness 
 than heretofore, “ you are mistaken for once in your life. So far 
 what you say, I don’t deny—I am in the service of a gentleman, who 
 for some private affairs of his own has come on a visit to this part 
 of the province, and I admit I have been in the eld country.” 
 
 “ I am not mistaken, good friend,” drawkd out Robinson, affect¬ 
 edly. “ You come from the south. I can*. ell men’s fortunes with¬ 
 out looking into the palms of their hands.” 
 
 “ You are wrong again,” said the other tartly, as he gi’ew angry 
 at being thus badgered by his opponent, “ I come from the north.” 
 
 “ That’s true and it’s false both,” returned Robinson. “ From the 
 north, I grant you—to the south with Sir Henry, and frcim the south 
 up here. You will find I can conjure a little, friend.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 15 
 
 “ The devil take your conjuring !” exclaimed the other, as he bit 
 his lip and strode restlessly backward and forward ; which perplexity 
 being observed by the sergeant, he did not fail to aggravate it by 
 breaking into a hoaise laugh, as he said- 
 
 “ It wa’n’t worth your while to try to deceive me. I knowed you 
 by manifold and simultaneous signs. Him that sets about scouting 
 after other people’s secrets, ought to be wary enough to larn to 
 keep his own. But don’t take it so to heart, neighbor, there’s no 
 occasion for oneasiness—1 have no mind to harm you.” 
 
 “ Master bully,” said the stranger, planting himself immediately 
 in front of the sergeant, “ in England, where I was bred, we play at 
 cudgels, and sometimes give broken heads; and some of us are gifted 
 with heavy fists, wherewith we occasionally contrive to box a rude 
 fellow who pries too much into our affairs.” 
 
 “ In our country,” replied Horse Shoe, “ we generally like to get a 
 share of whatever new is stirring, and, though we don’t practise 
 much with cudgels, yet, to sarve a turn, we do, now and then, break 
 a head or so; and, consarning that fist work you happened to 
 touch upon, we have no condesentious scruples against a fair rap or 
 two over the knowledge-box, and the tripping-up of a fractious chap’s 
 heels, in the way of a sort of a rough-and-tumble, which, may be, 
 you underetand. You have been long enough here, mayhap, to 
 find that out.” 
 
 “ Then, it is likely, it would please you to have a chance at such 
 a game ? I count myself a pretty tolerable hand at the play,” said 
 the stranger, with a composure corresponding to that exhibited by 
 Horse Shoe. 
 
 “ Ho, ho ! I don’t want to hurt you, man,” replied the Sergeant. 
 “ You will get yourself into trouble. You are hot-headeder than is 
 good for your healMi.” 
 
 “ As the game was mentioned, I thought you might have a fancy 
 to play it.” 
 
 “ To be sure I would,” said Iloree Shoe, “ rather than disappoint 
 you in any reasonable longing. For the sake of quiet—being a 
 peaceable man, I will take the trouble to oblige you. Where, do 
 you think, would be the likeliest spot to have it ?” 
 
 “ We may readily find a piece of ground at hand,” replied the 
 other. “ It is a good moonlight play, and we may not be interrupted 
 
16 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 if we get a little distance off before the negro comes back. Toe to 
 toe, and face to face, suits me best with both friend and foe.” 
 
 - “A mule to drive and a fool to hold back, are two of the contra- 
 riest things I know,” said Robinson, “ and so, seeing that you are in 
 arnest'about it, let us go at it without more ado upon the first good 
 bit of grass we can pop upon along the river.” 
 
 In this temper the two antagonists left the vicinity of the stable, 
 and walked some hundred paces down along the bank of the stream. 
 The man with whom Horse Shoe was about to hold this strange 
 encounter, and who now walked quietly by his side, had the erect 
 and soldierly port of a grenadier. He was square-shouldered, com¬ 
 pact and muscular, and the firmness of his gait, his long and easy 
 stride, and the free swing of his arm as he moved onward in the 
 moonlight, showed Robinson that he was to engage with an adversary 
 of no common capacity. There was, perhaps, on the other side, some 
 abatement in this man’s self-confidence, when the same light disclosed 
 to his deliberate inspection the brawny proportions of the sergeant, 
 which, in the engrossment of the topics bandied about in the late 
 dialogue, he had not so accurately regarded. 
 
 When they had walked the distance I have mentioned, they had 
 little difficulty to select a space of level ground with a sufficient mould 
 for the purpose of the proposed tiial of strength. 
 
 “ Here’s as pretty a spot as we mought find on the riv'er,” said 
 Robinson, “ and so get ready, friend. Before we begin, I have a 
 word to say. This here bout is not a thing of my seeking, and I 
 take it to be close akin to downright tom-foolery, for grown up men 
 to set about thumping and hammering each other, upon account of 
 a bras of who’s best man, or such like, when the whole univai-se is 
 full of occasions for scuffles, and stands in need of able-bodied fellows, 
 to argufy the pints of right and wrong, that can’t be settled by 
 preachers, or books, or lawyer. I look upon this here coming out 
 to fight no better than a bit of arrant nonsense. But, as you will 
 have it, it’s no consarn of mine to stop you.” 
 
 “You are welcome to do your worst,” replied the other, “andthe 
 less preaching you make with it, the more saving of time.” 
 
 “ My woret,” interrupted Horse Shoe, “ is almost more than I have 
 the conscience to do to any man who isn’t a downright flagi’atious 
 enemy; and, once more, I would advise you to think before you 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSOK. 
 
 
 draw me into a fray ; you are flustrated, and sot upon a quarrel, and 
 mayhap, you conjecture that by drawing me out from behind my 
 retrenchments, by which is signified my good nature, and forcing me 
 to deploy into line and open field, you’ll get the advantage of an 
 old sodger over me; but there, Mr. Dragoon, you are mistaken. In 
 close garrison or open field, in siege or sally, crossing a defile or 
 reconnoitring on a broad road, I am not apt to lose my temper, or 
 strike without seeing where my blow is to hit. Now, that is all I 
 have to say : so, come on.” 
 
 “You are not what you seem,” said the antagonist, in a state of 
 wonder at the strain of the sergeant’s composed and deliberate speech, 
 and at the familiarity v^hich this effusion manifested with the details 
 of military life. “ In the devil’s name, who are you ? But, don’t 
 fancy I pause to begin our fight, for any other reason than that I 
 may know who I contend with. On the honor of a soldier, I promise 
 you, I will hold you to your game—man, or imp of hell—I care not. 
 Again, who in the devil are you ?” 
 
 “ You have hit it,” replied Horee Shoe. “My name is Brimstone, — 
 I am first cousin to Belzebub.” 
 
 “ You have served ?” 
 
 “ I have.” 
 
 “ And belong to the army yet ?” 
 
 “ True again; and I am as tough a sodger, and may be I mought 
 say, as old a sodger as yourself.” 
 
 “Your hand, fellow soldier. I mistook you from the beginning. 
 
 — You continentals—that’s the newfangled word—are stout fellows, 
 and have a good knack at the trick of war, though you wear rough 
 coats, and are savagely unrudimentcd in polite learning. No matter 
 what colois a man fights under, long usage makes a good comrade 
 of him; and, b}^ my faith ! I am not amongst the last to do him 
 honor, even though we stand in opposite ranks. As you say, most 
 sapient Brimstone, we are not much better than a pair of fools for 
 this conspiracy to knock about each other’s pates, here at midnight; 
 but YOU have my pledge to it, and so, we will go at it, if it be only 
 to win a relish for our beds ; I will teach you, to-night, some skill 
 in the art of mensuration. You shall measure two full ells upon this 
 green sod.” 
 
 “ There’s my hand,” said Horse Shoe; “ now, if I am flung, I 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 •rs 
 
 promise you I won’t be angry. If I sarve you in the same fashion, 
 you must larn to bear it.” 
 
 “ With all my heart. So here I stand upon my guard. Begin.” 
 
 “ Let me feel your weight,” said Robinson, laughing, as he put 
 one hand upon his adversary’s shoulder, and the other against his 
 side. “ Hark you, master, I feel something hard here about your 
 ribs ; you have pistols under your coat, friend. For the sake of fair 
 play and keeping rid of foul blood, you had best lay them aside 
 before we strike. Anger comes up onawares.” 
 
 “ I never part from my weapons,” replied the other, stepping back 
 and releasing himself from Robinson’s grasp. “We are strangers; 
 I must know the company I am in, before I dismiss such old cronies 
 as these. They have got me out of a scrape before this.” 
 
 '“ We took hands just now,” said Robinson, angrily. “When I 
 give my hand, it is tantamount to a book oath that I mean fair, 
 round dealing with the man who takes it. I told you, besides, I was 
 a sodger—that ought to have contented you—and you mought 
 sarch my breast, inside and out, you’d seen in it nothing but honest 
 meanings. There’s something of a suspectable rascality, after that, 
 in talking about pistols hid under the flaps of the coat. It’s alto¬ 
 gether onmanful, and, what’s more, onsodgerly. You are a deceit, 
 and an astonishment, and a hissing, all three, James Curry, and no 
 better, to my comprehension, than a coward. I know you of old, 
 although, mayhap, you disremember me. I have hearn said, by 
 more than one, that you was a double-faced, savage-heaided, disre¬ 
 gardless beast, that snashed his teeth where he darsn’t bite, and 
 bullied them that hadn’t the heart to fight; I have hearn that of 
 you, and, as I live, I believe it. Now, look out for your bull head, 
 for I will cufiF you in spite of your pistols.” 
 
 With these words. Horse Shoe gave his adversary some half 
 dozen overpowering blows, in such quick succession as utterly defied 
 and broke down the other’s guard; and then, seizing him by the 
 breast, he threw the tall and stalwart form of Cuny at full length 
 upon the ground. 
 
 “ There’s your two ells for you! there’s the art of menstirration, 
 you disgrace to the tail of a drum,” exclaimed Horse Shoe, with 
 accumulating wi’ath, as the prostrate man strove to extricate himself 
 from the lion grasp that held him. In this stiife, Curry several 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 79 
 
 times made an effort to get liis hand upon his pistol, in which he 
 was constantly foiled by the superior vigor of the sergeant. 
 
 “ No, no,” continued the latter, as he became aware of this 
 attempt, “James Curry, you shall never lay hold upon your fire¬ 
 arms whilst I have the handling of you. Give them up, you twist¬ 
 ing prevaricationer; give them up, you disgi-acer of powder and 
 lead; and larn this from a rebel, that I don’t blow out your brains, 
 only because I wouldn’t accommodate the devil by flinging such a 
 lump of petrifaction into his clutches. There, man,” he added, as 
 he threw the pistols far from him into the river, his exasperation, at 
 the same time, moderating to a lower temperature, “ get upon your 
 feet; and now, you may go hunt for your cronies in yonder running 
 stream. You may count it a marcy that I haven’t tossed you after 
 
 them, to wash the cowardly blood off your face. Now that you are 
 upon your legs, I tell you here, in the moonlight, man to man, with 
 nobody by to hold back your hand, that you are a lying, deceitful 
 skulker, that loves the dark side of a wall better than the light, and 
 steals the secrets of honest folks, and hasn’t the heart to stand up 
 fairly to the man that tells you of it. Swallow that, James Curry, 
 and see how it will lay upon your stomach.” 
 
 “ I will seek a time! ” exclaimed Curry, “ to right myself with your 
 heart’s blood.” 
 
 “ Pshaw! man,” replied Horee Shoe, “ don’t talk about heart’s 
 blood. The next time we come into a field together, ax for Gal¬ 
 braith Robinson, commonly called Horse Shoe Robinson. Find me 
 out, that’s all. ^ye may take a fi-olic together then, and I give you 
 my allowance to wear your pistols in your belt.” 
 
 “ We may find a field yet. Horse Shoe Robinson,” returned Curry, 
 “ and ni not fail of my appointment. Om- game will be played 
 with broadswords.” 
 
 “ If it should so turn out, James, that you and me are to work 
 through a campaign in the same quarter of the world, as we havp done 
 afore, James, I expect. I’ll take the chance of some holiday to pay my 
 respects to you. I wont trouble you to ride far to find me; and 
 
 then, it may be broadsword or pistol, rifle or bagnet. I’m not over- 
 scrumptious which. Only promise I shall see you when I send for 
 you.” 
 
 “ It’s a bargain, Galbraith Robinson! Strong as you think your- 
 
80 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 self in your cursed rough-and-tumble horseplay, I am soldier 
 enough for you any day. I only ask that the time may come 
 quickly.” 
 
 “ You have no objection to give us a hand to clinch that bargain, 
 James ? ” asked Horse Shoe. “ There’s my paw ; take it, man, I 
 scorn to bear malice after the hot blood cools.” 
 
 “I take it with more pleasure now,” said Curi-y, hastily seizing 
 the hand, “ than I gave mine to you before to-night, because it is a 
 pledge that suits my humor. A good seat in a saddle, four strong 
 legs below me, and a sharp blade, I hold myself a match for the 
 best man that ever picked a flint in your lines.” 
 
 “Now, friend Curry,” exclaimed the sergeant, “good night! Go 
 look for your pop-guns in the river; and if you find them, hold 
 them as a keepsake to remember Horse Shoe Robinson. Good 
 night.” 
 
 Robinson left his adversary, and returned to the inn, ruminating, 
 as he walked, over the strange incident in which he had just been 
 engaged. For a while his thoughts wore a grave complexion ; but, 
 as iis careless good humor gradually broke forth through the thin 
 mist that enveloped it, he was found, before he reached the porch, 
 laughing, with a quiet chuckle, at the conceit w’hich rose upon his 
 mind, as he said, half-audibly, “ Odd sport for a summer night! 
 Howsever, every one to his liking, as the old woman said; but to 
 my thinking, he mought have done better if he had gone to sleep at 
 a proper hour, like a moralised and sober Christian.” 
 
 AVhen he entered the parlor, he found Butler and the landlady 
 waiting for him. 
 
 “ It is late, sergeant,” said the Major. “ You have forgotten the 
 hour; and I began to fear you had more to say to your friend, there, 
 than suited the time of night.” 
 
 “All is right, by your smiling,” added the landlady; “ and that’s 
 more than I expected at the time you walked out of the room. I 
 couldn’t go to my bed, till I was sure you and my lodger had no 
 disagreeable words; for, to tell you the truth, I am greatly afraid 
 of his hot and hasty temper.” 
 
 “There is nothing hot or hasty about him, ma’am,” replied 
 Robinson ; “ he is about as peaceable a man as you mought expect 
 to meet in such times as these. I only told him a little scrap of 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 81 
 
 news, and you would have thought he would have hugged me for it, 
 ha,.ha, ha.” 
 
 “ We are to sleep in the same room, sergeant,” said Butler, “and 
 our good hostess will show us the way to it.” 
 
 The dame, upon this hint, took a candle, and conducted her 
 guests to a chamber in the upper story, where, after wishing them 
 “ a good night,” she courtesied respectfully, and left them to their 
 repose. 
 
 “Tell me, sergeant, what you made out of that fellow,” said 
 Butler, as he undressed himself. “ I see that you have had some 
 passage with him ; and, from your tarrying so long, I began to be 
 a little apprehensive of rough work between you. What passed, 
 and what have you learned ? ” 
 
 “ Enough, major, to make us more circumscriptious against scouts, 
 and spies, and stratagems. When I was a prisoner at Charlestown, 
 there was an amazing well-built fellow, a dragoon, that had been 
 out with Tarleton ; but, when I saw him, he was a sort of rithma- 
 tical account-keeper and letter-scribbler for that young fighting- 
 cock, the Earl of Caithness, him that was aidegong to Sir Henry 
 Clinton. Well, this fellow had a tolerable bad name, as being a 
 chap that the devil had spiled, in spite of all the good that had 
 been pumped into him at school; for, as I have hearn, he was come 
 of gentle people, had a firet rate edication, and I reckon, now, 
 major, he talks as well as a book, whereupon I have an observation.” 
 
 “ Keep that until to-morrow, sergeant,” interrupted Butler, “ and 
 go on with what you had to tell me.” 
 
 “You must be a little sleep/, major; however, this fellow, they 
 say, was cotched cheating with cards one day, -when he was playing a 
 
 _game of five shilling loo with the King or the Queen, or some of the 
 
 dukes or colonels in the guards—for he wa’n’t above any thing ras¬ 
 cally. So, it was buzzed about, as you may suppose when a man 
 ___goes to cheating one of them big fish—and the King gave him his 
 choice to enlist, or go to the hulks; and he, being no fool, listed, as 
 a matter of course. In that way he got over here; and, as I tell 
 you, was a sort of sarvent to that young Earl. He sometimes came 
 about our quartei's to list prisoners and make Toides of ’em, for his 
 own peo])le kept him to do all that sort of dirty work, upon account 
 of the glibness of his tongue. He was a remarkable saucy fellow, 
 
 4 * 
 
82 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 and got nothing but ill-will from the prisoner—though, I make no 
 doubt, the man is a tolerable sodger on sarvice. Now, after telhng 
 you all this, major, you must know that the identical, same, parti¬ 
 cular man that we saw looking through the porch window at us to¬ 
 night”— 
 
 “ Is the man you have been describing ? Is it possible ? Ai-e you 
 sure of it ?” 
 
 “ I knowed him the minute I clapped eyes on him: his name is 
 James Curry; but, as I didn’t stay long at Charlestown, and hadn’t 
 any thing to do with him in particular, it seems he didn’t remem¬ 
 ber me.” 
 
 “ You conversed with him ?” 
 
 “ Most sartainly I did. I wanted to gather a little consarning of his 
 visit up here; but the fellow’s been so battered about in the wars, 
 that he knows how to hold his tongue. I had some mischief in me, 
 and did want to make him just angry enough to set his speech loose; 
 and, besides, I felt a little against him upon account of his misdoings 
 with our people in Carolina, and so, I said some rough things to 
 him; and, as my discourse ar’n’t none of the squarest in pint of 
 grammar and topographical circumlocution—as Lieutenant Hopkins 
 used to say—why he set me down for a piece of an idiot, and began 
 to hoax and bamboozle me. I put that matter straight for him very 
 soon, by just letting him say so much and no more. And then, as 
 I was a peaceable man, major, he seemed to see that I didn’t want 
 to have no quarrel with him, which made him push it at me rather 
 too hard, and all my civility ended in my giving him what he wanted 
 at first—a tolerable, regular thrashing.” 
 
 The sergeant continued to relate to Butler the details of this adven¬ 
 ture, which he did with more prolixity than the weariness of his 
 listener was able to endure; for the major, having in the progress 
 
 of the narrative got into bed, and having, in the increasing oscitancy^^ _ 
 
 of his faculties, exhausted every expression of assent by which one 
 who listens to a tale is accustomed to notify his attention—he at 
 length dropped into a profound sleep, leaving the sergeant to con¬ 
 clude at his leisure. 
 
 When Robinson perceived this, he had nothing left but to betake 
 himself, with all expedition, to his own rest; whereupon he threw off 
 his coat, and taking the coverings of the bed approjiriated to his use, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 83 
 
 spread them upon the floor, as he pronounced an anathema against 
 sleeping on feathers, (for it must be observed, that our good hostess, 
 at that early day, was liable to the same censure of an unnatural 
 attachment to feather beds in summer, which may, at the present 
 time,* be made against almost every country inn in the United 
 States,) and then extinguishing the candle, he stretched himself upon 
 the planks, as he remarked to his unconscious companion, “ that he 
 was brought up on a hard floorand after one or two rolls, he fell 
 into that deep oblivion of cares, by which nature re-summons and 
 supplies the strength which toil, watching and anxiety wear down. 
 
 The speed of Horse Shoe’s journey through this pleasant valley 
 of sleep might be measured somewhat in the same manner that the 
 route of a mail stage may sometimes be traced through a mountain 
 defile, by the notes of the coachman’s horn; it was defined by the 
 succession of varying intonations through which he ascended the 
 gamut, beginning with a low but audible breathing, and rising 
 through the several stages of an incipient snore, a short quick bark, 
 and up to a snort that constituted the greatest altitude of the ascent. 
 Occasionally a half articulated interjection escaped him, and words 
 that showed in what cun-ent his dreams were sailing; “ No pistols ! 
 Look in the water, James! Ila ha!” These utterings were accom¬ 
 panied with contortions of body that more than once awaked the 
 sleeper; but, at last, the huge bulk of Horee Shoe grew motionless 
 in a deep and strong sleep. 
 
 The next morning, at early dawn, our traveller resumed their 
 journey, which I will leave them to prosecute, whilst I conduct my 
 reader to the affairs and interests that dwell about the Dove Cote. 
 
 k 
 
 * This stricture, true in 1835, the date of the first edition of these volumes, 
 nas, I am happy to notice, lost much of its point in the lapse of sixteen years. 
 
84 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF PHILIP LINDSAY-SENSIBILITY AND RETIREMENT 
 
 APT TO ENGENDER A PERNICIOUS PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The thread which I have now to take up and weave into this 
 history requires that my narrative should go back for some years. 
 It briefly concerns the earlier fortunes of Philip Lindsay. 
 
 His father emigrated from England, and was established in 
 Virginia about the year 1735, as a secretary to the governor of 
 the province. He was a gentleman of good name and fortune. 
 Philqi was born within a year after this emigration. As America 
 was then comparatively a wilderness, and aff'orded hut few 
 facilities for the education of youth, the son of the secretary was 
 sent at an early age to England, where he remained, with the 
 exception of an occasional \dsit to his parents, under the guardian¬ 
 ship of a near relative, until he had completed, not only his college 
 course, but also his studies in the Temple—an almost indispensable 
 requirement of that day for young gentlemen of condition. 
 
 His studies in the Temple had been productive of one result, 
 which Lord Coke, if I remember, considers idiosyncratic in the 
 younger votaries of the law—he had fallen in love with an heiress. 
 The natural consequence was a tedious year, after his return home, 
 spent at the seat of the provincial government, and a most 
 energetic and persevering interchange of letters with the lady,- 
 whom my authority allows me to name Gertrude Marshall. This 
 •was followed by another voyage across the Atlantic, and Anally, as 
 might he predicted, by a Avedding with all proper observance and 
 parental sanction. Lindsay then returned, a happier and more 
 tranquil man, to Virginia, where he fulfllled the duties of more 
 than one public station of dignity and trust. 
 
 In due course of time he fell heir to his father’s wealth, which 
 
HOUSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 85 
 
 with the estate of his wife made him one of the most opulent and 
 considerable gentlemen of the Old Dominion. • 
 
 He had but two children—Mildred and Henry—with four 
 years difference betiveen their ages. These were nurtured with 
 all the care and indulgent bounty natural to parents whose 
 affections are concentrated upon so small a family chcle. 
 
 Lindsay’s character was grave and thoughtful, and inclined him 
 to avoid the contests of ambition and collision with the world. A 
 delicate taste, a nice judgment, and a fondness for inquiry made 
 him a student and an ardent IqVer of books. The ply of his 
 mind was towards metaphysics'^; he delved into the obsolete 
 subtleties of the old schools of philosd^hy, and found amusement, 
 if not instruction, in those frivo^Jojis but ingenious speculations 
 Avhich have overshadowed even the'best wisdom of the schoolmen 
 with the hues of a solemn and absurd pedantry. He dreamed in _ 
 the reveries of Plato, anc^-^usued them through the aberrations of 
 the CoryphseaM, He Relighted in tha visions of Pythagoras, and 
 in the intellectual revels of Epicurus. He found attraction in the 
 Gnostic mysteries, and still more in tfie-phantasmagoria of Judicial 
 Astrology. His library furnished a curious index to this unhealthy 
 appetite for the marvellous and the mystical. The writings of 
 Cornelius Agrippa, Raymond Lully, and Martin Delvio, and others 
 of less celebrity in this circle of imposture, were found associated 
 with truer philosophies and more approved and authentic teachers. 
 
 These studies, although pursued with an acknowledgment of 
 their fidse and dangerous tendency, nevertheless had their influ¬ 
 ence upon Lindsay’s imagination. There are few men in whom 
 the mastery of reason is so absolute as to be able totally to subdue 
 the occasional uprising of that element of superstition which is found 
 more or less vigorous in every mind. A nervous temperament, 
 which is almost characteristic of minds of an imaginative cast, is 
 often distressingly liable to this influence, in spite of the strongest 
 resolves of the will and the most earnest convictions of the judg¬ 
 ment. If those who possess this temperament would confess, they 
 might certify to man}’ extraordinary anxieties and troubles of 
 spirit, which it would pain them to have the world believe. 
 
 Lindsay’s pursuits had impressed his understanding with some 
 sentiment of respect for that old belief in the supernatural, and 
 
86 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 had, perhaps, even warmed up his faith to a secret credulity in 
 these awful agencies of the spiritual world, or at least to an unsa¬ 
 tisfied doubt as to their existence. Many men of sober brow and 
 renown for wisdom are unwilling to acknowledge the extent of 
 then own credulity on the same topic. 
 
 His relations to the government, his education, pursuits and 
 temper, as might be expected, had deeply imbued Lindsay with 
 the politics of the tory party, and taught him to regard with 
 distrust, and even with abhorrence, the revolutionary principles 
 which were getting in* vogue. In this sentiment he visited with a 
 dislike that did not correspond with the more usual development 
 of his character, all those who were in any degi'ee suspected of 
 aiding or abetting the prevailing political heresy of the times. 
 
 About two years after the birth of Mildred, he had purchased a 
 tract of land in the then new and frontier country lying upon the 
 Eockfish river. Many families of note in the low country bad 
 possessed themselves of estates at the foot of the Blue Eidge, in 
 this neighborhood, and were already making establishments there. 
 Mr. Lindsay, attracted by the romantic character of the scenery, 
 the freshness of the soil, and the healthfulness of the climate, 
 following the example of others, had laid off the gTounds of his 
 new estate with great taste, and had soon built, upon a beautiful 
 site, a neat and comfortable rustic dwelling, with such accommoda¬ 
 tion as might render it a convenient and pleasant retreat during 
 the hot months of the summer. 
 
 The occupation which this new establishment afforded his 
 family; the scope which its improvement gave to their taste; and 
 the charms that intrinsically belonged to it, by degi’ees commu¬ 
 nicated to his household an absorbing interest in its embellish¬ 
 ment. His wife cherished this enterprise with a peculiar ardor. 
 The plans of improvement were hers ; the garden, the lawns, the 
 gi'oves, the walks—all the little appendages which an assiduous 
 taste might invent, or a comfort-seeking fancy might imagine 
 necessary, nR3re taken under her charge; and one beauty quickly fol¬ 
 lowing upon another, from day to day, evinced the dominion which a 
 refined art may exercise with advantage over nature. It was a quiet, 
 calm, and happy spot, where many conveniences were congi’egated 
 together, and where, for a portion of every succeeding year, this little 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 87 
 
 family nestled, as it were, in the enjoyment of voluptuous ease. 
 From this idea, and especially as it was allied with some of the 
 tenderest associations connected with the infancy of Mildred, it was 
 called by the fenciful and kindly name of “ The Dove Cote.” 
 
 The education of Mildred and Henry became a delightful house¬ 
 hold care. Tutors were supplied, and the parents gave themselves 
 up to the task of supervision with a fond industry. They now 
 removed earlier to the Dove Cote with every returning spring, and 
 remained there later in the autumn. The neighboi'hood furnished 
 an intelligent and hospitable society; and the great western wilder¬ 
 ness smiled with the contentment of a refined and polished civiliza¬ 
 tion, which no after day in the history of this empire has yet sur¬ 
 passed—perhaps, not equalled. It is not to be wondered at, that a 
 mind so framed as Lindsay’s, and a family so devoted, should find an 
 exquisite enjoyment in such a spot. 
 
 Whilst this epoch of happiness was in progression, the political 
 heaven began to be darkened with clouds. The troubles came on 
 with harsh portents; war rumbled in the distance, and, at length, 
 broke out in thunder. Mildred had, in the meantime, grown up to 
 the verge of womanhood,—a fair, ruddy, light-haired beauty, of ex¬ 
 ceeding graceful proportions, and full of the most interesting impulses. 
 Henry trod closely upon her heels, and was now shooting through 
 the rapid stages of boyhood. Both had entwined themselves around 
 their parents’ affections, like fibres that conveyed to them their chief 
 nourishment; and the children were linked to each other even, if 
 that were possible, by a stronger band. 
 
 The war threw Lindsay into a perilous predicament. His estates 
 were large, and his principles exposed him to the sequestration which 
 was rigidly enforced against the royalist party. To avoid this blow, 
 or, at least, to mitigate its severity, he conveyed the estate of the 
 Dove Cote to Mildred; assigning, as his reason for doing so, that, 
 as it was purchased with moneys belonging to his wife, he consulted 
 and executed her wish, in transferring the absolute ownership of it 
 to his daughter. The rest of his property was converted into monej'^ 
 and invested in funds in Great Britain. As soon as this arrangement 
 was made, about the second year of the war, the Dove Cote became 
 the permanent residence of the family; Lindsay preferring to remain 
 here rather than to retire to England, hoping to escape the keen 
 
88 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 notice of the dominant party, and to find, in this classic and philo¬ 
 sophical privacy, an oblivion of the rude cares that beset the pillow 
 of every man who mingled in the strife of the day. 
 
 He was destined to a grievous disappointment. His wife, to whom 
 he was romantically attached, was snatched from him by death, just 
 at this interesting period. This blow, for a time, almost unseated 
 his reason. The' natural calm of such a mind as Lindsay’s is not 
 apt to show paroxysms in grief. Its sorrow was too still and deep 
 for show. The flight of years, however, brought healing on their 
 wings; and Mildred and Henry gradually relumed their father’s 
 countenance with flashes of cheerful thought, that daily grew broader 
 and more abiding ; till, at last, sense and duty completed their tri¬ 
 umph, and once more gave Lindsay to his family, unburdened of his 
 grief, or, if not unburdened, conversing with it only in the secret 
 hours of self-communion. 
 
 His hopes of ease and retirement were disappointed in another 
 way. The sequesteiment of the Dove Cote was not sufficient to 
 shut out the noise nor the intrigues of the war. His reputation, as 
 a man of education, of wealth, of good sense, and especially as a 
 man,of aristocratic pretensions, irresistiblj'^ drew him into the agi¬ 
 tated vertex of politics. His house was open to the visits of the 
 tory leaders, no less than to those of the other side; and, although 
 this intercourse could not be openly maintained without risk, yet 
 pretexts w'ere not wanting, occasionally, to bring the officere and 
 gentlemen in the British interest to the Dove Cote. They came 
 stealthily and in disguise, and they did not fail to involve him in 
 the insidious schemes and base plottings by which a wary foe gene¬ 
 rally endeavoi-s to smoothe the way of invasion. The temporary im¬ 
 portance which these connections conferred, and the assiduous appeal 
 which it was the policy of the enemy to make to his loyalty, wrought 
 upon the vanity of the scholar, and brought him, by degrees, from 
 the mere toleration of an intercourse that he at first sincerely sought 
 to avoid, into a participation of the plans of those who courted his 
 fellowship. Still, however, this was grudgingly given—as much 
 from the inaptitude of his character, as from a secret consciousness, 
 at bottom, that it was contrary to the purpose that had induced 
 him to seek the shelter of the woods. Unless, therefore, the spur 
 was fi’equently applied to the side of his reluctant resolution, his zeal 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 89 
 
 was apt to weary in its pace, or, to change my figure for one equally 
 appropriate, to melt away in the sunny indolence of his temper. 
 
 I have said that, during the tenderer years of the children, and 
 up to the period of the loss of their mother, they had received the 
 most unremitting attention from their parents. The bereavement of 
 his wife, the deep gloom that followed this event, and the now 
 engrossing character of the war, had in some degree relaxed Lind¬ 
 say’s vigilance over their nurture, although it had in no wise abated 
 his affection for them; on the contrary, perhaps this was more con¬ 
 centrated than ever. Mildred had grown up to the blossom-time of 
 life, in the possession of every personal attraction. From the fanci¬ 
 ful ideas of education adopted by her father, or rather from the 
 sedulous care with which he experimented upon her capacity, and — 
 devoted himself to the task of directing and waiting upon the ex¬ 
 pansion of her intellect, she had made acquii-ements much beyond 
 her years, and altogether of a character unusual to her sex. An 
 ardent and persevering temper had imparted a singular enthusiasm 
 
 to her pursuits; and her air, though not devoid of playfulness, might _ 
 
 be said to be habitually abstracted and self-communing. 
 
 As the war advanced, her temper and situation both enlisted her 
 as a partisan in the questions which it brought into discussion ; and, 
 whilst her father’s opinions were abhorrent to this struggle for inde¬ 
 pendence, she, on the other hand, unknown to him, was casting hei 
 thoughts, feelings, affections, and hopes upon the broad waters of 
 rebellion ; and, if not expecting them to return to her, after many 
 days, with increase of good, certainly believing that she was min¬ 
 gling them with those of patriots who were predestined to the 
 brightest meed of glory. 
 
 A father is not a]it to reason with a daughter ; the passions and ■—'' 
 prejudices of a parent are generally received as principles by the 
 child; and most hithers, counting upon this instinct, deem it enough 
 to make known the bent merely of their own opinions, without caring 
 to argue them. This mistake will serve to explain the wide differ¬ 
 ence which is sometimes seen between the most tenderly attached 
 parent and child, in those deeper sentiments that do not belong to 
 the every-day concerns of life. Whilst, therefore, Mr. Lindsay took 
 no heed how the seed of doctrine fructified and grew in the soil 
 where he desired to plant it, it in truth fell upon ungenial ground, 
 
■90 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 an^' either was blown away by the wind, or perished for want of 
 Appropriate nourishment. 
 
 As the crisis became more momentous, and the discussion of 
 national rights more rife, Mildred’s predilections ran stronger on the 
 republican side; and, at the opening of my story, she was a sincere 
 and enthusiastic friend of American independence,—a character 
 I (however it may be misdoubted by my female readers of the 
 I iiresent day, nursed as they are in a lady-like apathy to all concerns 
 of government, and little aware, in the lazy lap of peace, how vividly 
 ! their own quick sensibilities may be enhsted by the strife of men) 
 neither rare nor inefficient amongst the matrons and maidens of the 
 ; year seventy-six, some of whom—now more than fifty years gone 
 by—are embalmed in the richest spices and holiest ointment of our 
 country’s memory. 
 
 It is, however, due to truth to say, that Mildred’s eager attachment 
 to this cause was not altogether the free motion of patriotism. How 
 often does some little undei’-current of passion, some slight and ami¬ 
 able prepossession, modest and unobserved, rise to the surface of our 
 feelings, and there give its direction to the stream upon which floats 
 all our philosophy! "What is destiny but these under-currents that 
 come whencesoever they list, unheeded at first, and irresistible ever 
 afterwards! 
 
 I My reader must be told that, before the war broke out, this enthu- 
 ) siastic girl had flitted across the path of Arthur Butler, then a youth 
 of rare faculty and promise, who combined with a gentle and modest 
 demeanor an earnest devotion to his country, sustained by a chival¬ 
 rous tone of honor that had in it all the fanciful disinterestedness of 
 boyhood. It will not, therefore, appear wonderful that, amongst the 
 golden opinions the young man was storing up in all quarters, some 
 fragments of this grace should have made a lodgment in the heart 
 of Mildred Lindsay. 
 
 Butler was a native of one of the lower districts of South Carolina, 
 and was already the possessor, by inheritance, of what was then 
 called a handsome fortune. He first met Mildred, under the safe- 
 \ conduct of her parents, at Annapolis in Maryland, at that time the 
 ‘ seat of opulence and fashion. There the wise and the gay, the beau¬ 
 tiful and the rarely-gifted imited in a splendid little constellation, in 
 which wealth threw its sun-beam gUtter over the wings of love, and 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 91 
 
 learning and eloquence were warmed by the smiles of fair women : 
 there gallant men gave the fascinations of wit to a festive circle 
 unsurpassed in the new world, or the old, for its proportion of the 
 graces that embellish, and the endowments that enrich hfe. In this 
 circle there was no budding beauty of softer charm than the young 
 Mildred, nor was there amongst the gay and bright cavaliers that 
 thi-onged the “ little academy” of Eden, (the governor of the pro¬ 
 vince,) a youth of more favorable omen than Arthur Butler. 
 
 The war was at the very threshold, and angry men thought of 
 turning the ploughshare into the sword. Amongst these was But¬ 
 ler ; an unsparing denouncer of the policy of Britain, and an unhe¬ 
 sitating volunteer in the ranks of her opposers. It was at this eventful 
 time that he met Mildred. I need hardly add that under these 
 inauspicious circumstances they began to love. Every interview 
 afterwards (and they fi-equently saw each other at Williamsburg 
 and Richmond) only developed more completely the tale of love thaF, 
 nature was telling in the heart of each. ^ 
 
 Butler received from Congress an ensign’s commission in the con¬ 
 tinental army, and was employed for a few months in the recruiting 
 service at Charlottesville. This position favored his views and ena¬ 
 bled him to visit at the Dove Cote. His intercourse with Mildred, 
 up to this period, had been allowed by Lindsay to pass without 
 comment: it was regarded but as the customary and common-place 
 civility of polite society. Mildred’s parents had no sympathy in her 
 lover’s sentiments, and consequently no especial admii-ation of his 
 character, and they had not yet doubted their daughter’s loyalty to 
 be made of less stern materials than their own. Her mother was the 
 firet to perceive that the modest maiden awaited the coming of the 
 young soldier with a more anxious forethought than betokened 
 an unoccupied heart. How painfully did this perception break upon 
 her 1 It opened upon her view a foresight of that unhappy sequence 
 of events that attends the secret struggle between parental authority 
 and filial inclination, when the absorbing interests of true love are 
 concerned; a struggle that so fi'equently darkens the fate of the 
 noblest natures, and whose history supplies the charm of so many a 
 melancholy and thrilling page. Mrs. Lindsay had an invincible 
 objection to the contemplated alliance, and immediately awakened 
 the attention of her husband to the subject. From this moment 
 
92 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Butler’s reception at the Dove Cote was cold and formal; and Mr. 
 Lindsay did not delay to express to his daughter a marked aveision 
 to her intimacy with a man so uncongenial to his own taste. I need 
 not dwell upon the succession of incidents that followed; are they 
 not written in every hook that tells of young hearts loving in despite 
 of authority ? Let it suffice to say that Butler, “ many a time and 
 oft,” hied stealthily and with a lover’s haste to the Dove Cote, where, 
 ■>- “ undei- the shade of melancholy houghs,” or sometimes of good Mis¬ 
 tress Dimock’s roof, he found means to meet and exchange vows of 
 constancy with the lady of his love. 
 
 Thus passedthe first year of the war. The death of Mrs. Lindsay, to 
 which I have before adverted, now occurred. The year of mourning 
 was douhly afflictive to Mildred. Her father’s grief hung as heavily 
 upon her as her own, and to this was added a total separation from 
 Butler. He had joined his regiment and M'as sharing the perils of 
 the northern camjDaigns, and subsequently of those which ended in 
 the subjugation of Carolina and Georgia. During all this period he 
 w'as enabled to keep up an uncertain .and irregular correspondence 
 with Mildred, and he had once met her in secret, for a few hours 
 only, at Mistress Dimock’s, during the autumn immediately preced¬ 
 ing the date of the opening of my story. 
 
 Mrs. Lindsay, upon her death-bed, had spoken to her husband in 
 the most emphatic terms of admonition against Mildred’s possible 
 alliance with Butler, and conjured him to prevent it by whatever 
 means might be in his power. Besides this, she made a will direct¬ 
 ing the distribution of a large jointure estate in England between her 
 two children, coupling, with the bequest, a condition of forfeiture, if 
 klildred married without her father’s approbation. 
 
 1 I have now to relate an incident in the life of Philip Lindsay, 
 which throws a sombre coloring over most of the future fortunes of 
 Mildred and Arthur, as they are hereafter to be developed in my 
 story. 
 
 The lapse of years, Lindsay supposed, would wear out the first 
 favorable impressions made by Arthur Butler upon his daughter. 
 Years had now passed : he knew nothing of the secret correspond- 
 ence^between the parties, and he had hoped that all was forgotten. 
 He couW not help, however, perceiving that Mildred had grown 
 reserved, Rnd that her deportment seemed to be controlled by some 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 93 
 
 secret cave that sat upon hei* heart. She was anxious, solicitous, 
 and more inclined, than became her youth, to be alone. Her house¬ 
 hold affections took a softer tone, like one in grief. These things did 
 not escape her father’s eye. 
 
 It was on a night in June, a little more than a year before the 
 visit of Butler and Robinson which I have narrated in a former 
 chapter, that the father and daughter had a free communion 
 together, in which it was his purpose to penetrate into the causes of 
 her disturbed spirit. The conference was managed with an affec¬ 
 tionate and skilful address on the part of the feither, and “ sadly 
 borne” by Mildred. It is sufficient to say that it revealed to him a 
 truth of which he was previously but little aware, namely, that nei¬ 
 ther the family afflictions nor tlie flight of two years had rooted out 
 the fond predilection of Mildred for Arthur Butler. When this 
 interview ended Mildred retired weeping to her chamber, and Lind¬ 
 say sat in his study absorbed in meditation. The object in life 
 nearest to his heart was the happiness of his daughter; and for the 
 accomplishment of this what sacrifice would he not make? He 
 minutely recalled to memory all th^passages of her past life. What 
 error of education had he committed, that she thus, at womanhood, 
 was found wandering along a path' T6 which he had never led her, 
 which, indeed, he had ever taughriier to avoid ? What accident of 
 fortune had brought her into this, as he must consider it, unhappy 
 relation ? “ How careful have I been,” he said, “ to shut out all the 
 inducements that might give a complexion to her tastes and princi¬ 
 ples difl’erent from my own ! How sedulously have I waited upon 
 her footsteps from infancy onward, to shield her from the influences 
 that might mislead her pliant mind! And yet in this, the most 
 determinate act of her life, that which is to give the hue to the whole 
 of her coming fortune, the only truly momentous event in'her his¬ 
 tory—how strangely has it befallen!” 
 
 In such a strain did his thoughts pursue this harassing subject. 
 The window of his study was open, and he sat near H, looking out 
 upon the night. The scene around him was of a nature to awakei^ 
 his imagination and lead his musings towards the preternatural and 
 invisible world. It was past midnight, and the bright moon was 
 just sinking down the western slope of the heavens, journeying 
 through the fantastic and gorgeous clouds, that, as they successively ~ 
 
94 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 caught her beam, stood like promontories jutting upon a waveless 
 ocean, their rich profiles tipped with burnished silver. The long 
 black shadows of the trees slept in enchanted stillness upon the 
 earth : the night-wind breathed through the foliage, and brought 
 the distant gush of the river fitfully upon his ear. There was a 
 witching harmony and music in the landscape that sorted with the 
 solitary hour, and conjured up thoughts of the world of shadows. 
 Lindsay’s mind began to run upon the themes of his favorite stu¬ 
 dies : the array of familiar spirits rose upon his mental vision; the 
 many recorded instances of what was devoutly believed the interfer¬ 
 ence of the dead in the concerns of the living, came fresh, at this 
 moment, to his memory, and made him shudder at his lonesomeness. 
 Struggling with this conception, it struck him with an awe that he 
 was unable to master: “ some invisible counsellor,” he muttered, 
 “ some mysterious intelligence, now holds my daughter in thrall, and 
 flings his spell upon her existence. The powers that mingle unseen 
 in the aflfairs of mortals, that guide to good or lead astray, have 
 wafted this helpless bark into the current that sweeps onward, 
 unstayed by man. I cannoL^ontend with destiny. She is thy 
 child, Gertrude,” he exclaimed, apostrophizing the spirit of his 
 departed wife. “ She is thinej and thou wilt hover near her and pro¬ 
 tect her fi'om those who contrive against her peace : thou wilt avert 
 the ill and shield thy daughter !” 
 
 Excited almost to phrensy, terrified and exhausted in physical 
 energy, Lindsay threw his head upon his hand and rested it against 
 the window-sill. A moment elapsed of almost inspired madness, and 
 when he raised his head and looked outward upon the lawn, he 
 beheld the pale image of the being he had invoked, gliding through 
 the shrubbery at the farthest verge of the level ground. The ghastly 
 visage -was bent upon him, the hand steadily pointed towards him, 
 ah^as the figure slowly passed away the last reverted gaze was 
 (j^e^cted to' him. “Great God!” he ejaculated, “that form—that 
 fofm ! ” and fell senseless into his chair. 
 
 During the night, Mildred was awakened by a low moan, which 
 ^ed her to visit her father’s chamber. He was not there. In great 
 Marm she betook herself to his study, where she found him ex¬ 
 tended upon a sofa, so enfeebled and bewildered by this recent incident 
 that he was scarcely conscious of her presence. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 95 
 
 A few weeks restored Lindsay to his usual health, but it was 
 long before he regained the equanimity of his mind. He had seen 
 enough to confirm his faith in the speculations of that pernicious 
 philosophy which is wrapt up in the studies of which I have before 
 given the outline ; and he was, henceforth, oftentimes melancholy, 
 moody, and reserved in spite of all the resolves of duty, and in defi¬ 
 ance of a temper naturally placid and kind. 
 
 ' Let us pass from this unpleasant incident to a theme of more 
 cheerful import : the loves of Mildred and Arthur.' I have said 
 'these two had secret meetings. They were not entirely without 
 a witness. There was a confidant in all their intercourse : no other 
 tSan Henry Lindsay, who united to the reckless jollity of youth an 
 almost worshipping love of his sister. His thoughts and actions 
 were ever akin to hers. Henry was therefore a safe depository 
 of the precious secret; and as he could not but think Arthur 
 Butler a good and gallant comrade, he determined that his father 
 was altogether on the wrong side in respect to the love affair, and, by 
 a natural sequence, wrong also in his politics. 
 
 Henry had several additional reasons for this last opinion. The 
 whole countryside was kindled into a martial flame, and there w as 
 nothing to be heard but drums and trumpets. There were rifle-corps 
 raising, and they were all dressed in hunting-shirts, and bugles were 
 blowing, and horses were neighing; how could a gallant of sixteen 
 resist it? Besides, Stephen Foster, the woodman, right under the 
 brow of the Dove Cote, was a lieutenant of mounted riflemen, and 
 had, for some time past, been training Henry in the mystery of his 
 weapon, and had given him divers lessons on the horn to sound the 
 signals, and had enticed him furtively to ride in a platoon on parade, 
 whereof he had dubbed Henry corporal or deputy coj-poral. All 
 this worked well for Arthur and Mildred. * 
 
 Mr. Lindsay was not ignorant of Henry’s popularity in the^neigh- 
 borhood, nor how much he wsis petted by the volunteer soldiery. 
 He did not object to this, as it served to quiet suspicion of his own 
 dislike to the cause, and diverted the observation of the adherents of 
 what he called the rebel government, from his own motions ; whilst, 
 at the same time, he deeme.d it no other than a gew'gaw that played 
 upon the boyish fancy of Henry without reaching his principles. 
 Mildi’ed, on the contrary, did not so regard it. She had inspired 
 
98 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Hemy with her own sentiments, and now carefully trained him up 
 to feel warmly the interests of the war, and to prepare himself by 
 discipline for the hard life of a soldier. She early awakened in 
 him a wish to render service in the field, and a resolution to accom¬ 
 plish it as soon as the occasion might arrive. Amongst other things, 
 too, she taught him to love Arthur Butler and keep his counsel. 
 
CHAPTER Vlir. 
 
 THE MANSION OF A GENTLEMAN AND A SCHOLAR. 
 
 The site of the Dove Cote was eminently picturesque*?. It was an 
 area of level ground, containing, perhaps, two acres, on the summit 
 ^ of a hill that, on one si<ie, overhung the Rockfish river, and on the 
 other rose by a gentle sweep from the champaign country below 
 This summit might have been as much as two hundred feet above 
 the bed of the stream, and was faced on that side by a bold, rocky 
 precipice, not absolutely perpendicular, but broken into stages or 
 platforms, where grassy mould had accumulated, and where the 
 sweet-bi'ier and the laurel, and clusters of the azalea, shot up in pro¬ 
 fuse lu.xuriance. The fissures of the crag had also collected their 
 handful of soil and gave nourishment to struggling vines, and every¬ 
 where the ash or pine, and not unfrequently the dogwood, took 
 jiossessiou of such spots upon the rocky wall, as these adventurous 
 and cliff-loving trees had found congenial to their nature. The oppo¬ 
 site or northern bank of the river had an equal elevation, and jutted 
 forward so near to the other as to leave between them a cleft, which 
 suggested the idea of some sudden abruption of the earth in those 
 early parox3’sms that geologists have deemed necessary to account 
 for some of the features of our continent. Below was heard the 
 ceaseless brattle of the watei’s, as they ran over and amongst the 
 rocks which probably constituted the debris formed in the convulsion 
 that opened this chasm. It was along through this obscure dell 
 that the road, with which m3? reader is acquainted, found place be¬ 
 tween the margin of the stream and the foot of the rocks. The 
 genei'al aspect of the country was divereified by high knolls and 
 broken masses of mountain land, and the Dove Cote itself occu¬ 
 pied a station sufficiently above the surrounding district to give it a 
 prospect, eastward, of several miles in extent. From this point 
 
98 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 the eye might trace the valley of the Eockfish, by the abrupt hill¬ 
 sides that hemmed it in, and by the growth of sombre pines that 
 coated the steeps where nothing else could find a foot-hold. Not 
 far below, in this direction, was to be seen the Fawn’s tower, a 
 singular pinnacle of rock, which had acquired its name from the 
 protection it was said to have afforded to a young deer against the 
 assault of the hounds; the hard-pressed animal, as the tradition 
 relates, having gained this insulated point by a bound that baffled 
 the most adventurous of his pursuers, and admiration of the successful 
 boldness of the leap having won from the huntsman the favor that 
 spared his fife. 
 
 With the exception of a large chestnut near the edge of the cliff, 
 and of some venerable oaks, that had counted centuries before the 
 white man rested his limbs beneath their shade, the native growth 
 of the forest had been removed by Lindsay from the summit I have 
 described, and he had substituted for the wild garniture of nature a 
 few of the choicest trees of the neighboring woods. Here he had 
 planted the elm, the holly and the linden tree, the cedar and the 
 arbor vitte. This platform was semicircular, and was bounded by a 
 terrace or walk of gravel that swept around its circumference. The 
 space inclosed was covered with a natural grass, which the frequent 
 use of the scythe had brought to the resemblance of velvet ; and 
 the lower side of the terrace was guarded by a hedge-row of cedar. 
 Over this green wall, as the spectator walked forth in fair summer 
 time, might he look out upon the distant woods and meadows ; and 
 there he might behold the high-road showing itself, at distant inter¬ 
 vals, upon the hill-sides; and in the bottom lands, that lay open to 
 the sun through the forest-bound valleys, might he see herds of 
 grazing cattle, or fields of yellow grain, or, perchance, the slow mov¬ 
 ing wain burdened with hay, or slower moving plough. 
 
 The mansion itself partook of the character of the place. It was 
 q)erched—to use a phrase peculiarly applicable to its position— 
 almost immediately at that point where the terrace made an angle 
 with the chff, being defended by a stone parapet, through which an 
 iron wicket opened upon a flight of rough-hewn steps, that termi¬ 
 nated in a pathway leading down to the river. 
 
 The main building was of stone, consisting of one lofty story, and 
 capped with a steep roof, which curved so far over the front as to 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 99 
 
 furnish a broad rustic porch that rested almost upon the ground. 
 The slim pillais of this porch were concealed by lattice-work, which 
 was overgrown with creeping vines; and the windows of the conti¬ 
 guous rooms, on either side of a spacious hall, opened to the floor, 
 and looked out upon the lawn and upon the quiet landscape far 
 beyond. One of these apartments was also accessible through the 
 eastern gable, by a private doorway shaded by a light veranda, and 
 was appropriated by Lindsay to his library. This portal seemed 
 almost to hang over the rock, having but the breadth of the terrace 
 between it and the declivity, and showing no other foreground than 
 the parapet, which was here a necessary defence against the clifi', 
 and from which the romantic dell of the river was seen in all its 
 wildness. 
 
 There were other portions of the mansion constructed in the same 
 style of architecture, united to this in such a manner as to afford an 
 uninterrupted communication, and to furnish a range of chambei’s 
 for the use of the family. A rustic effect was everywhere preserved. 
 Stacks of chimneys shot up in grotesque array; and heavy, old- 
 fashioned windows looked quaintly down from the peaked roof. 
 Choice exotics, planted in boxes, were tastefully arranged upon the 
 lawn; cages with singing-birds were suspended against the wall; 
 and the whole mass of building, extending along the verge of the 
 cliff, so as to occupy the entire diameter of the semicircle, perhaps 
 one hundred and fifty feet, sorted by its simplicity of costume, if I 
 may so speak, and by its tidy beauty, with the close-shaven grass-plot 
 and its trim shades. 
 
 Above the whole, flinging their broad and gnarled arms amongst 
 the chimney tops, and forming a pleasing contrast with the artificial 
 embellishments of this spot, some ancient oaks, in primeval magnifi¬ 
 cence, reared their time-honored trunks, and no less sheltered the 
 habitation from the noon-tide heats, than they afforded an asylum to 
 the ringdove and his mate, or to the countless travellers of the air 
 that here stopped for rest or food. 
 
 Such was the general aspect of the Dove Cote; a spot where a 
 philosopher might glide through life in unbroken contemplation; 
 where a wearied statesman might betake himself to reassemble the 
 scattered forces of intellect for new enterprises; where the artist 
 might repair to study with advantage the living graces of God’s 
 
100 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 own painting; and where young beauty might bud and bloom 
 amongst the most dehcate aud graceful forms of earth. 
 
 The interior of the dwelling was capacious and comfortable. Its 
 furniture, suitable to the estate of the owner, was plain, and adapted 
 to a munificent rather than to an ostentatious hospitality. It was 
 only in the library that evidence might be seen of large expense. 
 Here, the books were ranged from the floor to the ceiling, with 
 scarcely an interval, except where a few choice paintings had found 
 space, or the bust of some ancient woi'thy. One or two ponderous 
 lounging chairs stood in the apartment; and the footstep of the visitor 
 was dulled into silence by the soft nap of (what, in that day, was 
 a rare and costly luxury) a Turkey carpet. This was in all respects 
 an apartment of ease, and it was provided with every incentive to 
 beguile a student into silent and luxurious communion with the 
 spirit of the sages around him,—whose subtlest thoughts and holiest 
 breathings, whose most volatile fancies, had been caught up, fixed, 
 and turned into tangible substance, more indestructible than ada¬ 
 mant, by the magic of letters. 
 
 I have trespassed on the patience of my i-eader to give him a 
 somewhat minute description of the Dove Cote, princi])ally because 
 I hope thereby to open his mind to a more adequate conception of 
 the character of Philip Lindsay. By looking at a man in his owji / 
 dwelling, and observing his domestic habits, I will ventui'e to affirm, ■ 
 it shall scarcely in any instance fail to be true, that, if there be seen 
 a tasteful arrangement of mattei's necessary to his comfort; if his 
 household be well ordered, and his walks clean and well rolled, 
 and his grassplots neat; and if there be no slovenly inattention to 
 repairs, but thrift against waste, and plenty for all; and, if to these 
 be added habits of early rising and comely attire—and, above all, j 
 if there be books, many books, well turned and carefully tended—' 
 that man is one to warm up at the coming of a gentleman; to open 
 his doors to him; to take him to his heart, and to do him the kind¬ 
 nesses of life. He is a man to hate what is base, and to stand apart 
 fj'om the mass, as one who wall not have his virtue tainted. He is a 
 man, moreover, whose woildly craft may be so smothered and sup¬ 
 pressed, in the predominance of the household affections, that the 
 skilful and designing, alas, may ever practise with success their plans 
 against him. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN INTRIGUE. 
 
 I MUST now introduce my reader to the library described in the last 
 chapter, where, beside a small table covered with papers, and lighted 
 by two tall candles, sate Philip Lindsay, with a perplexed and 
 thoughtful brow. Opposite to him, in an easy chair, reclined his 
 guest, Mr. Tyn-el; a man whose appearance might entitle him to 
 claim something like thirty-five years; and whose shrewd and intel¬ 
 lectual expression of countenance, to which an air of decision was 
 given by what might be called an intense eye, denoted a person 
 ——r conveisant with the business of life; whilst an easy and flexible 
 address no less distinctly announced him one habituated to the 
 most polished society. The time of this meeting coiresponded vith 
 that of the interview of Arthur and Mildred, beneath the Fawn’s 
 Tower. 
 
 It is necessary only to premise that these two had frequently con¬ 
 ferred together, within the last two or three days, upon the subject 
 with which they were now engaged. 
 
 “ Sir Henry Clinton does me too much honor by this confidence,” 
 said Lindsay. “ He oveiTates my influence amongst the gentlemen 
 of the pro\nnce. Truly, Mr. Tyrrel, I am well persuaded that neither 
 my precept nor my example would weigh a feather in the scale 
 against the heady coui-se of this rebellion.” 
 
 “We are seldom competent to judge of the weight of our own 
 influence,” said Tjrrel. “ I might scarce expect you to speak other¬ 
 wise than you do. But I, who have the opportunity to know, take 
 upon myself to say that many gentlemen of note in this province, 
 who are at present constrained by the fear of the new government, 
 look with anxiety to you. They repose faith in your discretion, and 
 would follow your lead. If an excuse be necessary, you might afibrd 
 
102 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 them some pretext of pastime to visit the Dove Cote. Here you 
 might concert your plan to co-operate with our friends in the south.” 
 
 “ Tis a rash thought,” replied Lindsay. “ This httle nook of wood¬ 
 land quiet has never yet been disturbed with the debates of men 
 who meditated the spilling of blood. God forbid that these peaceful 
 walls should hereafter echo back the words that speak of such a 
 purpose.’ ’ 
 
 “ It is to spare the shedding of blood, Mr. Lindsay, and to bring 
 speedy peace to a distracted country that we invoke you and olher 
 friends to counsel. A single battle may decide the question of n las- 
 tery over the province. We are well assured that the moment Lord 
 Cornwallis reaches the Eoanoke”— 
 
 “ Cornwallis has yet to win the ground he stands upon,” inter¬ 
 rupted Lindsay: “ there may be many a deadly blow struck before 
 he slakes his thirst in the waters of that river: many a proud head 
 may be low before that day.” 
 
 “Think you, sir,” said Tyrrel, rising as he spoke, “that this 
 patched and ragged levy—this ague-stricken army that is now 
 creeping tlirough the pines of North Carolina, under the command 
 of that pompous pretender. Gates, are the men to dispute with his 
 majesty’s forces their right to any inch of soil they choose to occupy ? 
 It will be a merry day when we meet them, Mr. Lindsay. We have 
 hithei-to delayed our campaign until the harvest was gathered : that 
 is now done, and we shall speedily bring this hero of Saratoga to his 
 reckoning. Then, following at the heels of the runagates, his Lord- 
 ship, you may be prepared to hear, within two months fi-om this day, 
 will be within friendly hail of the Dove Cote.” 
 
 “ You speak like a boastful soldier, Mr. Tyrrel. It is not unlikely 
 that his lordship may foil Gates and turn him back; such I learn to 
 be the apprehension of the more sagacious amongst the continental 
 officers themselves; but whether that mischance is to favor your 
 incursion into this province may be worth a soberer study than, I 
 doubt, you have given the question. The path of invasion is ever a 
 difficult road when it leads against a united people. You mistake 
 both the disposition and the means of these republicans. They have 
 bold partisans in the field, and eloquent leaders in their senates. The 
 nature of the strife sorts well with their quick and earnest tempers; 
 and by this man’s-play of war we breed up soldiem who delight in 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 103 
 
 the game. Rebellion has long since marched beyond the middle 
 ground, and has no thought of retreat. AVhat was at first the mere 
 overflow of popular passion has been hardened into principle, like a 
 fiery stream of lava which first rolls in a flood, and then turns into 
 stone. The delusion of republicanism, like all delusions, is embraced 
 with more enthusiasm than men ever embrace truth. We deem too 
 lightly of these men and their cause^ and we have already, more than 
 once, suffered for the error. When they expelled Dunmore they 
 committed treason against the British crown; and they are wise 
 enougli to know that that cup, once tasted, must be drained to the 
 bottom: they have, therefore, imbrued their hands the deeper in 
 rebellion. They have raised their idol of democracy high, and have 
 fenced it about with the penalties of confiscation and death to those 
 who refuse to bow before it: and now they stand pledged to the 
 prosecution of their unnatural war, by such a bond of fate as unites 
 mariners who have rashi}' ventured forth upon a raging sea, in a 
 bark of doubtful strength; their minds braced up, by the thought 
 of instant perdition, to the daring effort necessary to reach their 
 haven.” 
 
 “ That haven shall they never reach,” cried Tyrrel impatiently. 
 “ Let them invoke the aid of their patron devils! We have a spell 
 shall conjure them back again to their own hell, else there is no 
 virtue in the forged steel w hich these rebels have felt before.” 
 
 “ The battle is not always to the strong,” said Lindsay, “ nor is 
 the craft of soldiership without its chances.” 
 
 “If we had listened, my friend,” said Tyrrel, “to musty proverbs, 
 Charleston would have this day been in the secure and peaceful pos¬ 
 session of the enemy. All that you say against our present scheme 
 was heretofore urged, though not with such authority, perhaps, 
 against the invasion of Carolina. And yet how prettily have wo 
 gainsaid the prophets ! Look at their principal town surrendered— 
 all the country strongholds delivered up—the people flocking to our 
 standard for protection — and the whole province lifting up a voice 
 of gratitude for the deliverance we have wrought them. They are 
 even now arming themselves in our behalf, whilst the shattered 
 fragments of the rebel force are flying to the swamps and their moun¬ 
 tain fastnesses. Why should not the same game be as well played 
 in Virginia? Trust me, Mr. Lindsay, your caution somewhat over- 
 
104 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 leaps t]ia6 wholesome moderation, which I do not deny is necessary 
 to check a too sanguine reckoning. Come, good sir, lend us a more 
 auspicious counsel. Sir Henry relies much upon your wisdom, and 
 will not, with good heart, forego your service.” 
 
 “ Sir Henry has sadly disturbed my repose,” returned Lindsay. 
 “ To tell the truth, I have no stomach for this business. Here, I am 
 native to the province : I have found old friends separated fi-om me; 
 early associations torn up by the roots; and the elements which fed 
 my strongest pei’sonal attachments poisoned, by this accursed spirit 
 of revolution. I would hide my head from the storm and die in 
 these shades in peace.” 
 
 “ It is not for Mr. Philip Lindsay, nor such as he,” replied Tyrrel, 
 “ to desert his sovereigTi in his hour of need.” 
 
 “ God forgive me for the thought, Mr. Tyrrel, but it remains yet 
 to be proved who most faithfully serve their sovereign; they who 
 counsel peace, or they who push wav to its fatal extremes. There 
 lives not a man within the realm of England, to whom I would yield 
 in devotion to the glory of our country. Once make it clear to my 
 judgment that we may hope to regain the lost allegiance of this 
 province by the sacrifice of life and fortune, and, dearly as I cherish 
 the welfare of those around me, I will obey the first summons to the 
 field, and peril this woi’thless existence of mine in bloody fight. 
 Yea, if need be, I will, with my own hand, apply the torch to this 
 peaceful abode, and give it over a smoking ruin to the cause.” 
 
 “ I know you too well,” replied Tyrrel, “ to doubt the sincerity of 
 your words. But is it not obvious that the war must inevitably 
 tend to this field? Having gained the Carolinas, should we turn 
 om’ backs as soon as we have reached the confines of Virginia? On 
 the contrary, does not every obligation of honor impel us to main¬ 
 tain and protect our friends here? The conquest of Virginia is an 
 easier enterprise than you deem it. If the continentals can 
 muster ten thousand men, we, assuredly, may double that number, 
 counting our provincials levied in the south. We have money and 
 all the means of war, whilst this crippled Congress has drained fi’om 
 the people their last groat; their wretched troops will disband from 
 mere w'ant of supplies. They may expect no aid from the north ; 
 for there Sir Henry will furnish them sufiicient motive to stay at 
 home! We come animated by victories, full of mettle and vigor; 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 105 
 
 they meet us broken by defeats, dejected and torn to pieces by 
 mutiny. Never did treason or rebellion array itself with more cer¬ 
 tainty of punishment than this!” 
 
 “I have read,” said Lindsay, “how John Hampden resisted the 
 exaction of twenty shillings of ship money, and for that pittance 
 dared the displeasure of Charles and his Star Chamber: how he 
 voted the impeachment of the jucjg-es who were supple enough to 
 warrant the imposition : how, in this cause, he drew the sword and 
 threw away the scabbard: how he brought Strafford to the block for 
 levying war against the commons of England: and through all that 
 disastrous time, have I read that Charles promised the cavaliera 
 splendid victories, and derided the feeble means of those who were 
 in arms against him ; yet Hampden shrank not fi'om the struggle. 
 To me it seems there is a strange resemblance between the congress 
 now sitting at Philadelphia and the parliament of 1640; and this 
 George Washington might claim kindred with John Hampden. I 
 will not seek for further likenesses.” 
 
 “If I read that history right,” replied Tyrrel, “Hampden met 
 his reward at Chalgrove, and Cromwell turned his crop-eared parlia¬ 
 ment out of doors. We may, perhaps, find a Chalgrove on this 
 continent;—and Sir Henry Clinton will most probably save the 
 wiseacres at Philadelphia from the intrusion of an upstart Crom¬ 
 well.” 
 
 “ It would be too bold in us to count on that, Mr. Tyrrel. I am 
 the enemy of these men and their purpose, but I cannot deem other¬ 
 wise of them than as misguided subjects of the king, frenzied by the 
 imagination of grievances. They are men of good intellects and 
 honest hearts, misled by passion. I would that w’e could give their 
 tempers time to cool. I would, even now, preach moderation and 
 compromise to his majesty’s ministei's.” 
 
 “ The die is long since cast,” said Tyrrel, “ and all that 
 remains now is to take the hazard of the throw. At this moment, 
 whilst we debate, friend and foe are whetting their swords for a 
 deadly encounter on the fields of Carolina. It is too late to talk of 
 other arbitrement. Assuredly, my good friend, our destiny directs 
 us to this prorince: and the time has come when you must decide 
 what course you will take. It has been our earnest wish—Sir 
 Henry’s letters, there upon the table, anxiously unfold it — to have 
 
106 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 you up and active in the cause. Why will you disappoint so fair a 
 hope ?” 
 
 “ Alas ! Mr. Tyrrel,—it is a thorny path you would have me 
 tread. Think you I am the man to win my way through these 
 intricacies ? I that live in the shelter of these woods by sufferance 
 merely—an unmolested outlaw, to speak soberly, whom these 
 fanatics of liberty have forborne jEbr the sake of past acquaintance 
 and present peaceful habits ? Am I not girded round about with 
 the hot champions of independence ? Look amongst these hills— 
 there is not a cabin, not a woodman’s hut, no, nor stately dwelling, 
 whose roof defends one friend to the royal cause, but my own. My 
 lips are sealed; my very thoughts are guarded, lest I give room to 
 think I mean to fly from my neutrality. These papers that lie upon 
 that table might cost me my life: your presence here, were your 
 purpose known, might consign me to captivity or exile:—one 
 random word spoken might give me over to the censures of the 
 power that holds its usurped domination in the province. What 
 aid may be expected from one so guarded, fettered, watched and 
 powerless ?” 
 
 “ And can you patiently,” exclaimed Tyrrel, “ bow to this oppres¬ 
 sion ? You, a native born freeman of the province—a Briton, 
 nursed in the sunny light of liberty! Shall your freedom of speech 
 be circumscribed, yom- footsteps be followed by spies and traitors, 
 your very inmost thoughts be read and brought up to the censure 
 of the judgment seat ? Shall these things be, and the blood still 
 continue to run coolly and temperately through your veins ! There 
 are ills, Mr. Lindsay, which even your calm philosophy may not 
 master. But, perhaps, I have mistaken your temper: these evi¬ 
 dences, at least, shall not put you in peril,” he said, as he took up 
 the letters from the table and held them over the candle, and then 
 threw the flaming mass upon the hearth. “ That fear, I hope, is 
 removed; and as for my presence here, one word briefly spoken, and 
 it shall not longer jeopard your safety.” 
 
 Lindsay looked fixedly at his companion as he destroyed the 
 papers, and then said with a stern emphasis— 
 
 “ Your duty, sir, is in the field. You have been bred to a profes¬ 
 sion that teaches you blind obedience to orders. It is not your part 
 to weigh the right of the cause, nor to falter in the execution of any 
 
107 
 
 UORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 fbtif purpose of blood, so that it come under the name of honorable 
 warfare. Therefore I excuse this unbecoming warmth ; but do not 
 presume upon the hazardous nature of your calling, and fancy that 
 it implies more fidelity to the king than the allegiance of his more 
 peaceful subjects. It is a thought unworthy of you that fear of disas¬ 
 ter to myself—be it tenfold more imminent than it has yet been—■ 
 should arrest my step in that pa^-^'here my country’s honor, or 
 my sovereign’s command, bids m^ advance.” 
 
 “Worthy and excellent friend,” "said Tyrrel, taking Lindsay’s 
 hand, “ I have done you wrong. I am rash and headlong in my 
 temper, and my tongue often speaks what my heart disavows. I 
 am little better than a boy, Mr. Lindsay, and a foolish one; I 
 humbly crave your pardon.” 
 
 “ Speak on,” said Lindsa^y. 
 
 “Then briefly this. Your situation is all that you have described 
 it. Sir Henry is aware of the trial he imposes upon you. He 
 would have you act with the caution which your wisdom dictates; 
 and if it should become necessary to speak that word which is to 
 bring the wrath of the rebels upon your head, remember there is 
 sanctuary and defence under the broad banner of England. Who 
 so welcome there as Philip Lindsay ? Even at this moment our 
 councils should be tempered by your presence, and it becomes 
 almost a patriotic duty to pluck you from the seclusion of the Dove 
 Cote, and give you a share in the stirring events of the day. Sir, 
 the country hiis a claim upon your services, scarce compatible with 
 the idle contemplation of this momentous trial ’of strength.” 
 
 Lindsay had advanced to the window, where he remained look¬ 
 ing over the moon-lit scene. His companion stood close beside him, 
 and after a short interval took his arm, when they stepped forth upon 
 the porch, and sauntered backward and forward, as Tyrrel continued, 
 
 “ The government would not be unmindful of the benefits you 
 might confer. There are offices of trust and dignity to be filled in 
 this prortnce when it shall be restored to its allegiance. The highest 
 post would not be unfitly bestowed, if it should be assigned to you. 
 Sir Henry Clinton bids me speak of that, as of a subject that has 
 already occupied his thoughts. It would give grace and dignity 
 to our resumed authority, to have it illustrated by the accomplisTiea 
 scholar and discreet statesman, who has, before this, discharged 
 
108 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 important and difficult trusts ■with a fidelity that has won all men’s 
 esteem. And then, my dear sir,” he added after a pause, “who 
 may say that it shall not be Sir Philip Lindsay, or even something 
 yet higher ?—a coronet would not be an honor unsuited even to the 
 wilds of Virginia. His majesty is not slow to discern worth, nor 
 backward to raise it to its proper station. These are toys and bau¬ 
 bles to you, Mr. Lindsay, but they are still worth the seeking. You 
 have a son to follow you.” 
 
 “ Ah! there, Mr. Tyrrel, you touch me more nearly than you 
 imagine. You remind me by this language that I have also a 
 daughter. As to Hemy, he has a temper and a capacity to make 
 his o'wn way through the world. I fear not for him—nor would I 
 seek for honors to add to his name. But my Mildred! You know 
 not what emotions the thought of her, in these troubles, costs me. 
 Who shall guard and defend her, whilst I pursue this way-laid road 
 of ambition ? What sanctuary would she find under a war-encircled 
 banner, should misfortune assail me, and adversity separate us ? 
 Alas, alas!—that is the spell that, like a net cast over my limbs, 
 makes me feeble and submissive.” 
 
 “ I have not been without my solicitude, Mr. Lindsay, on that sub¬ 
 ject,” said Tyn-el. “ You yesterday did me the honor to say that 
 my proposal in regard to Miss Lindsay was not distasteful to you. 
 Could my ardent wish but be accomplished, she should be placed in 
 safety, assured of ample and kind protection. If, haply, her thoughts 
 should incline to a favorable reception of my offer, which I -^vould 
 fain persuade myself her reverence for you may render not altogether 
 improbable, when she knows that you deem well of my suit, we 
 might remove her to Charleston, where, secure amidst assiduous 
 friends, she would pass the brief interval of alarm, and leave you free 
 to act on this theatre as your honor and duty may impel you.” 
 
 “ Mildred will not leave me,” said Lindsay; “ my dear daughter 
 would suffer a thousand deaths in the anxiety of such a separation.” 
 
 “ Then why not accompany her to Charleston ? ” asked Tyrrel. 
 “ Your presence there would be equally efficient as at head-quarters 
 —perhaps more so.” 
 
 “ There are other obstacles, Mr. Tyirel. You talk of Mildred as 
 if her heaii; were to be disposed of at my bidding. You do not know 
 her. I have long struggled to subdue an attachment that has bound 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 109 
 
 lier to our woi’st enemy, I fear with little success. I have trusted to 
 time to wear out what I deemed a mere girlish liking; but it seems 
 to me the traces fade but slowly from her heart.” 
 
 “ I know of whom you speak,” said Tyrrel—“ that harebrained 
 enthusiast Butler. It is a freakish and transient passion, and cannot 
 but fall into forgetfulness. Miss Lindsay has from circumstances been 
 but little conversant with the world, and, like an inexperienced girl, 
 has fostered in solitude a romantic affection. That alone should be 
 a motive to remove her into a busier scene. Besides, this Butler will 
 be himself forced to give over his hopeless aim—if he has not done 
 so before this : measures are already taken, and I do not scruple to 
 tell you, at my instance—to confiscate his lands in Carolina to his 
 majesty’s use. The close of this war will find him penniless, and not 
 unlikely, my dear sir, I myself may be the possessor of his inherit¬ 
 ance—I have some pledge of the pre-emption of these lands at a 
 small fee.” 
 
 “ It will win you no favor with Mildred,” said Lindsay, “ to tell 
 her that you succeed by such a title to this man’s wealth. She is a 
 wayward girl, and is not used to crosses. Her devotion to her pur¬ 
 pose, as it sometimes excites my admiration, gives me, in the present 
 case, cause of profound alarm.” 
 
 “ You have spoken to her on this subject ? ” 
 
 “I have not,” replied Lindsay, “and almost fear to broach it. I 
 can, therefore, give you no encouragement. Some little time hence 
 —perhaps to-moiTow—I may sound her feelings. But remember, as 
 her father, I claim no right beyond that of advice. I shall think 
 myself fortunate if, by giving a new direction to the current of her 
 affections, I can divert her rnirid from the thoughts of an alliance to' 
 me the most hateful—to her fuH of future misery. A maiden’s fan¬ 
 cies are scarcely intelligible even to a father.” 
 
 “These subjects require meditation,” said Tyrrel. . “I will not 
 press them further upon your thoughts to-night.” 
 
 “Heaven guide us in the way of safety and happiness!” said 
 Lindsay, almost in a wdiisper. “ Good night, my friend." 
 
 AVhen Tyrrel was left alone he strolled forward to t^e terrace, and 
 passing round to that enjl which overhung the clift',^ near the door 
 that opened from the library, he leaned his breast upon the parapet 
 and looked down upon the wild and beautiful scenery ®f the valley. 
 
110 
 
 HOUSE SHOE KOBINSON. 
 
 The night %Yas calm and full of splendor. The tops of the trees that 
 grew in the ravine, almost perpendicularly beneath his eye, here and 
 there caught the bright moon-beam where it glowed like silver, and 
 the shades, rendered deeper by the contrast, seemed to brood over a 
 black and impenetrable abyss. Occasional glimpses were seen of the 
 river below, as it sparkled along such portions of its channel as were 
 not hidden in darkness. The coolness of the hour and the solitude 
 of the spot were not ungrateful to the mood of TyrreFs mind, whilst 
 the monotonous music of the river fell pleasantly upon his ear. He 
 was not unheedful of these charms in the scene, though his thoughts 
 were busily employed with a subject foreign to their contemplation. 
 
 “ Have I advanced,” was the tenor of his present self-communion, 
 “ the purpose I have so much at heart, by this night’s conference ? 
 Could I but engage Lindsay in the issues of this war, so commit him 
 in its purposes and its plots as to render his further residence at the 
 Dove Cote insecure, then would I already have half-compassed my 
 point. Where could he remove but to Charleston? And there, 
 amidst the blandishments of friends and the allurements of gay 
 society, I might make sure of Mildred. There, cut off from all 
 means of hearing of this Butler, and swayed, as she must neces¬ 
 sarily be, by the current of loyal feelings, she would learn to detest 
 his foul rebellion, and soon lose her favor for the rebel. Then, too, 
 the confiscation of his lands—but I am not so sure of that!—she is 
 rich and would make a merit of sharing her fortune with a man whose 
 brave resistance of oppression—for so, doubtless, Butler pereuades 
 her it is—has cost him his wealth : the confiscation should not seem, 
 at least, to be my doing. Well, well, let her be brought to Charles¬ 
 ton. Any change were better than to remain here, where anxiety 
 and suspense and solitude nurse and soften her woman’s affections, 
 and teach her to fancy her lover whatsoever her imagination delights 
 to think on. Then may not the chances of war assist me ? This 
 Butler, all men say, is brave and adventurous. He should be short¬ 
 lived. Whatever ill may befall him cannot but work good to me. 
 Yet Lindsay has such a sickly caution—such scruple against 
 involving himself in the scheme—I could almost find it in my 
 heart to have it told amongst his neighbors that he is in correspond¬ 
 ence with the enemy. Ha, that would be a bright device !—inform 
 against myself! No, no, I will not abuse his generous nature. Let 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Ill 
 
 him come fairly into the fold, and I will guard his gentle lambkin 
 like a very shepherd. Then if we make him governor of the pro¬ 
 vince—that will work well. Mildred will thank me for my zeal in 
 that good purpose; at least, and I will marry her and possess her 
 estate, if it be only to enable her to be grateful to me. ’Twill be a 
 brave reward, and bravely shall it be won.” 
 
 As Tyrrel ruminated over these topics, in the strain indicated by 
 this sketch, the noise of footsteps ascending the rugged stairway of 
 the cliff, and the opening of the iron wicket, but a short distance 
 from where he leaned over the parapet, roused his attention, and 
 put an end to this insidious and selfish communion with his own 
 heart. 
 
 The cause of this interruption was soon apparent. Henry and 
 Mildred entered through the gate, and hurried along the path to that 
 part of the terrace where Tyrrel stood. The shade of the house con¬ 
 cealed him from their view until they were within a few paces. 
 “ Ha, Miss Lindsay ! You are a late rambler,” he said, in a tone of 
 gallantry. “ The dampness of the valley, at this hour, is not alto¬ 
 gether safe ; the ague is a sore enemy to romance; beware of it.” 
 
 “ I am not afraid of the night,” replied Mildred, as she increased 
 the rapidity of her gait; then, turning immediately upon the porch, 
 she almost ran, leaving Heniy and Tyrrel in pursuit, until she 
 reached the farthest window which was heard descending the moment 
 she passed through it into the parlor. When Tyrrel and Henry 
 entered the same apartment, she had disappeared. 
 
 “ My sister is not well this evening,” said Henry. “ We strolle(^ 
 too late uiion the river bank.” 
 
 “ It w'as still an over-hasty retreat,” muttered Tyrrel to himself. 
 
 “ It bodes not well for me. I will wager, Henry,” he said, raising 
 his voice, “ that I can guess what you and your sister have been 
 talking about.” 
 
 “ Let me hear,” said Henry. 
 
 “ First,” replied Tyrrel, “ she repeated some verses from Shakspeare 
 about the moonlight sleeping on the bank—this is just the night for 
 poetry—and then you both fell to talking sentiment, and then. I’ll 
 be bound, you had a ghost story, and by that time, you found you 
 had got too far from the house and were a httle frightened, and so 
 came back as fiist as you could.” 
 
112 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ You are wrong,” said Heniy. “ I have been telling sister Mildred 
 how to hob for eels. Did you know that an eel will never pass a 
 streak of moonlight for fear of being found out by the watchers ?” 
 
 “ Indeed I did not.” 
 
 “ Well, sister Mildred is wiser than you are; and as I have taught 
 you that, I will go to bed.” 
 
 Tyrrel was again left to resume his meditations, and to hatch his 
 lots for invading the peace of the Dove Cote, on his pillow. To 
 that sleepless pillow he now betook himself. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 TYRREL RETREATS. * 
 
 The next morning Tyrrel rose with the sun. He had passed a rest¬ 
 less night, and now sought refreshment in the early breeze. With 
 this purpose he descended to the river, and strayed along the dewy 
 pathway which crept through the shrubbery on the right bank in 
 the direction of the Fawn’s Tower. He had not wandered far before 
 he perceived a homeman moving along the road upon the opposite 
 side. 
 
 “ Halloo, James Curry !—which way ?—What news have you ?” 
 
 “ I seek you, sir, I was on my way to the Dove Cote,” replied the 
 horseman, who at the same time turned his horse’s head to the river, 
 and, spurring the animal forward, plunged into the stream wdiich 
 was here still and deep enough to reach above his saddle flaps. 
 After some floundering, the home and rider gained the margin, 
 where Tyrrel awaited them ! The vigor of the animal, as well as 
 the practised hand that held the rein, was shown in the boldness of 
 the attempt to climb the steep bank and break through the briers 
 and bushes that here guarded it. As soon as Curry reached the 
 level ground, he dismounted. 
 
 “ In God’s name, man, what is the matter with your face ?” asked 
 Tyrrel. 
 
 “ It is of that, amongst other things, that I came to speak to you,” 
 was the reply; “ I have news for you.” 
 
 “ Speak, without prelude. Tell me.” 
 
 “ Major Butler slept hvst night at Mrs. Dimock’s.” 
 
 “ And is there still ?” 
 
 “ISTo, sir. He started at early dawn this morning.” 
 
 “To join Gates?” ■ 
 
 “I think not. He talked of going to Ninety-Six—perhaps to 
 Georgia.” 
 
114 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ So, ho ! The hawk hovers over that field! Does he travel 
 alone ?” 
 
 “ He has a giant in his company, a great ploughman by the name 
 of Horse Shoe Robinson. A quarrelsome rascal; he would needs 
 pick a quarrel with me last night. And in the skirmish I got this 
 face.” 
 
 “ Did I not command you to bear yourself peaceably ? Fool! 
 will you risk our lives with your infernal broils ? Now, I would 
 wager you told the fellow your name.” 
 
 “ Little need of that, sir. He told it to me: said he knew me 
 before. The fellow, for all his rough coat, is a regular trained soldier 
 in the rebel service, and has met me somewhere—Heaven knows!— 
 I don’t remember him; yet he isn’t a man to see once and for¬ 
 get again.” 
 
 “ And me, did he speak of me ?” 
 
 “ He knew that I was in the employ of an English gentleman who 
 was here at the Dove Cote. I have nothing especial to complain of 
 in the man. He speaks soldierly enough; he said he would take no 
 advantage of me for being here as long as our visit was peaceable.” 
 
 “Humph! And you believed him. And you must fight with 
 him, like a brawling knave. When will you get an ounce of wit into 
 that fool’s head 1 What time of day was it when this Butler 
 arnved ?” 
 
 “ Long after night-fall.” 
 
 “ Did you understand any thing of the purpose of his visit ?” _ 
 
 “ He talked much rvith Mistress Dimock, and I think their con¬ 
 versation related to the lady at the Dove Cote. I could hear but 
 a few scattered words.” 
 
 “Away.—Here (throwing his purse to the horseman), pay up 
 your score at the inn, and at your greatest haste attend me on the 
 river bank, immediately below Mr. Lindsay’s house. Ask Mrs. 
 Dimock to have a breakfast prepared for me.—Away, I ivill expect 
 you in half an hour.” 
 
 Curry mounted his horse, and choosing a more convenient ford 
 than that which he had passed (for the jutting rocks, on this side, 
 prevented his reaching Mrs. Dimock’s without recrossing the river to 
 the road), he soon regained the track, and was seen, almost at high 
 speed, sweeping around the base of the Fawn’s Tower. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 116 
 
 Tyrrel returned hastily to the Dove Cote, and, seeking his valet, 
 gave orders to have his portmanteau packed, his horse saddled and 
 to be in waiting for him at the foot of the hill. These commands 
 were speedily obeyed, and everything was in readiness for his journey 
 before any of the family had made their appearance in the breakfast 
 room. 
 
 Whilst Tyrrel meditated writing a line to explain to Lindsay his 
 present sudden movement, and had drawn near a table for that pur¬ 
 pose, he was saluted by the voice of Henry, who had entered the 
 apartment, and stolen unobserved almost immediately behind his 
 chair. 
 
 “Booted and spurred, Mr. Tyrrel!” said Henry. “You are for 
 a ride. Will you take a fowling-piece ? There are pheasants over 
 upon the hills.” 
 
 “ Oh, ho ! Master Henry, you are up ! I am glad of it. I was 
 just writing a word to say that business calls me away this morn¬ 
 ing. Is your father yet abed ? ” 
 
 “ He is sound asleep,” said Henry; “ I will wake him.” 
 
 “ No, my lad. You must not do that. Say I have received news 
 this mornihg that has called me suddenly to my friends. I will 
 return before long. Is your sister stirring ? ” 
 
 “ She was in the garden but a moment since,” replied Henry; 
 and the young man left the room, to which he returned after a short 
 space. “ Sister Mildred is engaged in her chamber, and begs you 
 will excuse her,” said he, as he again entered the door. 
 
 “ Tush, Henry, I didn’t tell you to interrupt your sister. Make 
 her my most respectful adieu. Don’t forget it. I have all my way 
 to win,” he said to himself, “ and a rough road to travel, I fear.” 
 
 Tyrrel now left the house and descended to the river, accom¬ 
 panied by Henry, who sought in vain to know why he departed in 
 such haste as not to stay for breakfast. James Curry w'aited below; 
 and, when Henry saw his father’s guest mount in his saddle and 
 cross the ford, attended by his two servants, he turned about and 
 clambered up the hill again, half singing and half saying to him 
 self,—“ I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad he’s gone,” accompanied with 
 a trolling chorus, expressive of the satisfaction of his feelings at the 
 moment. “ He’d a got a flea in his ear, if he had stay’d. I should 
 like to know what Major Butler would say to Mr. Tyrrel, if he was 
 
116 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 to meet him. Zooks ! may be Butler will see him this very morn¬ 
 ing at Mrs. Dimock’s. Now, I wonder! Shall I whisper that to 
 sister Mildred ? She would be glad, for one. I’ll be bound! May 
 be, they might have a fight. And if they do, let Mr. Tyrrel look 
 out! He never had his bread so buttered in his life, as it would 
 be then.” 
 
 In such a strain of cogitation and conjecture, Henry reached the 
 parlor, where he found Mildred. The melancholy that hung upon 
 her spirits, the evening before, seemed to have been dispelled by the 
 repose of the night, and was doubtless relieved, in part, by the intel¬ 
 ligence that Tyrrel had quitted the Dove Cote. 
 
 “ Come, sister,” said Henry, throwing his arm round her waist, 
 and almost dancing, as he foi’ced her through the open window, 
 “ come, it will be a good while before father is ready for his break¬ 
 fast. Let us look at your flowers ; I have something to tell you.” 
 
 “ You are quite an important personage, this morning,” replied 
 Mildred, moving off towards the lawn with her brother. “Your face 
 looks as wise as a book of proverbs.” 
 
 It was some time before the brother and sister returned to the 
 parlour, and when they did so, their father had not yet appeared. 
 The delay u^as unusual; for Lindsay generally rose at an early hour, 
 and frequently walked abroad before his morning meal. When he 
 at last entered the room, there was an expression of care upon his 
 brow and thought that made him haggard. Mildred, as was her 
 custom, approached him with a kiss, and, taking both of his hands, 
 as she looked up in his face, she said, with some earnestness,— 
 
 “ You are not well, my dear father.” 
 
 Lindsay paused a moment, while he gazed affectionately upon her, 
 and then pressing her to his bosom, uttered in a low voice, with a 
 smile,— 
 
 “ God bless my dear child! How carefully does she read my 
 looks ! Come hither, Henry,” he continued, as he gave his son one 
 hand, and still held Mildred with the other, and then turned his eyes 
 alternately upon each. Now, tell me, which of you love me best ? 
 Who has waited most patiently for me this- morning ? I see by that 
 glance of your blue eye, master Henry, that you have been chiding 
 your lazy father for lying so long abed. Now, I dare say, if the 
 truth were known, you have had your rifle ready to go out and shoot 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 IIT 
 
 squirrels an hour ago. I beg your pardon, Mr. Sportsman—not to 
 shoot the squirrel, but to shoot at him. Or, perhaps, you mean to 
 bring us a deer to-day; you know you have promised to do that 
 every morning for a week.” 
 
 “ You shall eat a slice from as fine a saddle of venison to-day, 
 father, as you ever saw smoke over a chafing-dish.” 
 
 “ In good truth, shall I, boy? You are a brave promiser ! You 
 remember your own adage,—Brag was a good dog, but Holdfast 
 was better.” 
 
 “In right down earnest, fiither, you shall. You needn’t laugh. 
 Now, you’re thinking I have the deer to shoot; there’s your mistake. 
 The saddle is this minute lying on the dresser in the kitchen. He 
 was a running buck yesterday; and I could tell where the ])Owder 
 and ball came from (here Henry made the motion of opening a 
 hunting pouch at his side) that jmt an end to his capers.” 
 
 “ He is a monstrous braggart; is he not, Mildred ?” said Lindsay, 
 directing a look of incredulity at his d.aughter. 
 
 “What Henry tells you is true,” replied Mildred. “ Stephen Fos¬ 
 ter was here at sun-rise with a part of a buck, which he says was 
 shot yesterday.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! Then it is to Stejdren’s rifle we are indebted. Y’’ou 
 kill your bucks by proxy, nuister.” 
 
 “ I’ll bet,” said Henry, “ that Stephen Foster hasn’t the impu¬ 
 dence to charge one penny for that venison. And why ? Because, 
 by the laws of chace, one-half belongs to me.” 
 
 “ Oh, I understand,” interrupted Lindsay, with affected gravity; 
 “ it is a matter of great doubt u Inch of you shot it. You both 
 fired at once; or, pcrhajis, Sto]ihen first, and you afterwards; and 
 the poor animal droi)ped the moment you took your aim,—even be¬ 
 fore your piece went off. You know 3'Our aim, Harry, is deadly/ 
 —much worse than your bullet.” 
 
 “ There is no doubt who killed him,” said Henry; “ for Stephen 
 was on that side of the hill, and I was a little below him, and the 
 buck ran light to Stephen, who, of course, gave him the first shot. 
 But there was I, father, just ready, if Stephen had missed, to bring 
 old Velvet-Horns to the ground, before he could have leaped a 
 rod.” 
 
 “ But, unluckily, Stephen’s first shot killed him ?’’ 
 
118 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “I don’t know that,” replied Henry. “Another person’s knife 
 might have done the business ; for the deer jumped down the bank 
 into the road, and there ”— 
 
 Mildred cast a sidelong look of caution at her brother, to warn 
 him against alluding to a third person, whom it was not discreet to 
 mention. 
 
 “And there,” said Henry, taking the sign, “ when I got up to him 
 he was stone dead. I would almost think a deer couldn’t be shot 
 dead so suddenly. But Stephen can pitch his lead, as he calls it, 
 just where he likes.” 
 
 “Well, it isn’t fair to inquire who killed him,” said Lindsay. 
 “ One hunter often turns the game to the other’s rifle. And, at all 
 events, your dogs, Henry, I dare say, did as much as either of you.” 
 
 “ Hylas was just at his heels when he was shot,” replied Heniy; 
 “ and a better dog there isn’t in Amherst, or Albemarle to boot.” 
 
 “ Well, well! Let us to breakfast. Where is our guest ? Tyrrel 
 is surely out before this.” 
 
 “ He has been gone from the Dove Cote more than an hour,” 
 said Hemy. “ He told me to say, that some sudden news took him 
 off in haste. I would have waked you, but he forbade it. His man, 
 Curry, who was waiting for him at the ford, I dare say, brought 
 him some dispatches.” 
 
 “ It was very sudden,” said Lindsay, musing ; “ the great game 
 will be shortly played.” 
 
 “ My dear father, yon have not your usual look of health,” said 
 Mildred again. “ I fear something disturbs you.” 
 
 “A slight cold, only, from exposure to the night air, perhaps. 
 You did not see Tyrrel this morning, Mildred ?” 
 
 “ I did not wish to see him, hither. I w^as up when he set out, 
 but I was not in his way.” 
 
 “ Fie, girl, you almost speak crossly ! Tyrrel, I must think, is 
 not a man to win his way with ladies. But he is a loyal subject to 
 bis king. I can tell you, Mildred, loyalty is a virtue of good asso¬ 
 ciations in these mes.” 
 
 ' ^ “It is the last virtue, my dear father, that a woman ever writes 
 down in the list of noble qualities. AVe generally forget it alto¬ 
 gether. History is so full of the glory of disloyal heroes, that the 
 indiscriminate and persevering loyalty of brave men has come to be 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 119 
 
 but little noticed. Brutus was disloyal, and so was Tell ; and the 
 English barons, of whom you boast so much, when you call them 
 sturdy, were disloyal; and Washington—who knows, my dear 
 father, but that he may be written down by some future nation, 
 (and she laid an emphasis on this word,) as another name to give 
 credit to this word, disloyal.” 
 
 “ Thou art a shrewd orator, Mildred,” exclaimed her father, as he 
 sought to change the subject, “ and I doubt not, if heaven had made 
 you man, you would now be flattering these rebels by persuading 
 them they were all born for heroes. We may thank the gods that 
 they have given you the petticoat instead of the soldier’s cloak, and^^ 
 placed you at the head of a breakfast table instead of a regi¬ 
 ment.” 
 
 “ I do not think,” replied Mildred smiling, “ that I should alto¬ 
 gether disgrace the cloak now, woman as I am, if the occasion 
 required me to put it on.” 
 
 “ Pray drop this subject, my dear child ; you know it makes me 
 sad. My family, I fear, are foredoomed to some strange mishap 
 from these civil broils. Attend me presently in the library, I have 
 mattei’s to communicate that concern you. Henry, my boy,” 
 Lindsay continued, as he rose from his breakfast, “pay Stephen 
 Foster the full value of the venison ; as a sportsman you have a right 
 perhaps to your share of the game, but a gentleman shows his 
 courtesy by w’aiving such claims; he should suffer no friend to bo 
 his creditor, even in opinion. Stephen may not expect to be paid; 
 no matter, it concerns your own characttn- to be liberal.” 
 
 “ I have promised Stephen a new rifle,” replied Henry, “ since 
 they have elected him lieutenant of the Amherst Rangers he wants 
 something better than his old deer gun.” 
 
 “I positively forbid it,” interrupted Lind.say hastily, returning 
 towards the middle of the room from the door through which ho 
 Wits about to depart. “ What 1 would you purchase weapons fur 
 these clowns to enable them to shoot down his majesty’s liege 
 subjects ? to make war upon their rightful king, against his laws and 
 throne ? to threaten your life, your sister’s and mine, unless wo 
 bowed to this impious idol of democracy, which thay have set up— • 
 this Washington ?” 
 
 “ My dear, dear father,” interposed Mildred as she came up to 
 
120 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 him and flung her arms about his neck. “ Consider, Henry is a 
 thoughtless boy, and does not look to consequences.” 
 
 “ Heaven Ifless you both, my children ! I beg your jiardons. 
 I am over captious. Henry, pay Stephen for the venison, and give 
 him something better than a rifle. Mildred, I will see you 
 presently.” 
 
 When Lindsay had left the parlor Mildred besought her brother, 
 in the most earnest terms, to be more guarded against giving 
 e.vpression to any sentiment which might .bring their father’s 
 thoughts to the existing war. Her own observation had informed 
 her of the nature of the struggle that agitated his mind, and her 
 eflbrt was continually directed to calm and soothe his feelings by 
 the most unremitting affection, and thus to foster his resolution 
 against taking any part in those schemes in which, she shrewdly 
 guessed, it was the purpose of the emissaries of the royal party to 
 involve him. 
 
 Her attachment to Arthur Butler she feared to mention to her 
 father, whilst her self-respect and her conviction of her duty to a 
 parent who loved her with unbounded devotion, would not allow 
 her altogether to conceal it. Upon this subject, Lindsay had 
 sufliciently read her heart to know much more about it than she 
 chose to confess; and it did not fail to kindle up in his mind a 
 feverish excitement, that occasionally broke forth in even a petulant 
 reproof, and to furnish the only occasion that had ever arisen of 
 serious displeasure against his daughter. The unhappy association 
 between this incident in the life of Mildred, and the current of a 
 feeling which had its foundation in a weak piece of superstition, to 
 which I have alluded in a former chapter, gave to the idea of 
 Mildred’s marriage with Butler a fatal complexion in Lindsay’s 
 tlioughts. “For what purpose,” he asked himself, “but to avert 
 this ill-omened event could I have had such an extraordinary 
 warning ?” It had occurred to him that the surest method of pro¬ 
 tecting his family against this misfortune would be to throw 
 Mildred into other associations, and encourage the growth of other 
 attachments, such as might be expected to grow up in her heart out 
 of the kindness of new friendships. He had even meditated remov¬ 
 ing her to England, but that plan became so repulsive to him when 
 he found the mention of it distasteful to his children, and it suited so 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 121 
 
 little his own fondness for the retirement he had already cultivated, 
 that he had abandoned it almost as soon as it occurred to him. 
 His next alternative was to favor — though he did so with no great 
 zeal—the proposal lately made by Tyrrel. He little knew the 
 character 9f the woman he had to deal with. Never was more 
 devotion enshrined in a woman’s heart than in Mildred’s. N%ver 
 was more fixed and steady purpose to encounter all hazards and 
 hold cheap all dangers more deeply rooted in man’s or woman’s 
 resolution, than was Mildred’s to cherish the love and follow the 
 fortunes of Arthur Butler. 
 
 This conflict between love and filial duty sadly perplexed the 
 daughter’s peace; and not less disturbing was the strife between 
 parental aftection and the supposed mandate of fate, in the breast of 
 the father. 
 
 Henry protested his sorrow for his recent indiscretion and 
 promised more caution for the future, and then recurring to what 
 more immediately concerned his sister’s interest, he said, “ I do 
 much wonder what Tyrrel's man had to say this morning; it took 
 our good gentleman away so suddenly. I can’t help thinking it has 
 something to do with Butler and Horse Shoe. They must have 
 been seen by Curry at Mrs. Dimock’s, and old Tony know's the 
 major very well, and lias told his name. Besides, do you 
 know, sister, I think Gurry is a spy ? Else, Avhy should ho 
 be left at Mrs. Dimock’s always ? There was room enough here 
 for both of Mr. Tyrrel’s servants. I have a thought that I will 
 reconnoitre: I will ride over to the Blue Ball, and see what I can 
 learn.” 
 
 “ Do, m}’ good brother,” replied Mildred, “ and in the meantime 
 I must go to my father, who has something disagreeable to tell me 
 —so I fear—concerning that busy plotter who has just left us. My 
 spirits grow heavy at the thought of it. Ah, Henry, if I could but 
 speak out, and unpack my heart, what a load would I throw oflF! 
 How does it grieve me to have a secret that I dare not tell 
 my dear father! Thank heaven, brother, your heart and 
 mine have not yet had a secret that they could not whisper to each 
 other!” 
 
 “ Give care the whip, sister,” said Henry, like a young gallant, 
 “it belongs to the bat family and should not fly in day-time. 
 
 6 
 
122 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Farewell for the next two hours !” and saying these words the 
 siirightly youth kissed his hand, and, with an alert step, left the 
 room. 
 
 klilch’ed now retired to prepare for the interview with her father. 
 
 % 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 A SCENE BETWEEN A FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 When Mildred entered the library Lindsay was already there. He 
 stood before one of the ranges of book shelves, and held a volume in 
 his hand which, for a moment after his daughter’s entrance, seemed 
 to engross his attention. Mildred wiis sufficiently astute to pcu-ceive 
 that by this device he struggled to compose his mind for an inter¬ 
 view of which she more than guessed the import. She was of a 
 constitution not easily to be driven from her self-possession ; but the 
 consciousness of her father’s embarrassment, and some perplexity in 
 her own feelings at this moment, ])roduced by a sense of the difficult 
 part she had to perform, slightly discomposed her; there was some¬ 
 thing like alarm in her step, and also in the expression of her 
 features, as she almost stealthily seated herself in one of the large 
 lounging chairs. For a moment she unconsciously employed her¬ 
 self in stripping a little flower that she held in her hand of its leaves, 
 and looked silently upon the floor; at length, in a low accent, she 
 said, ‘‘ Father, I am here at your bidding.’’ Lindsay turned quickly 
 round, and, throwing down the volume he had been perusing, 
 approached his daughter with a smile that seemed rather unnaturally 
 to play over his grave and almost melancholy countenance, and it 
 was with a forced attempt at pleasantry he said, as he took her 
 hand:— 
 
 “ Nowq I dare say, you think you have done something very 
 wrong, and that I have brought you here to give you a lecture.” 
 
 “ I hope, father, I have done nothing wrong,” wiis Mildred’s grave 
 and almost tremulous reply. 
 
 “ Ihou art a good child, Mildred,” said Lindsay, drawing a cbaii 
 close beside hers, and then, in a more serious tone, he continued, 
 “ you are entirely sure, my daughter, that I love you, and devoutly 
 seek your happiness ?” 
 
 193 
 
124 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Dear father, you frighten me by this solemn air. Why ask me 
 such a question ?” 
 
 “ Pardon me, ray girl, but my feelings are full with subjects of 
 serious import, and I would have you believe that what I have now 
 to say springs from an earnest solicitude for your welfare.” 
 
 “ You have always shown it, father.” 
 
 “ I come to speak to you, without reserve, of Tyrrel,” resumed 
 Lindsay; “ and you will not respond to my confidence, unless you 
 answer me in the very truth of your heart. This gentleman, Mr. 
 Tyrrel, has twice avowed to me of late an earnest attachment to you, 
 and has sought my leave to prosecute his suit. Such things are not 
 apt to escape a woman’s notice, and you have doubtless had some 
 hint of his predilection before he disclosed it to me.” 
 
 All the woman’s bashfulness disappeared with this announcement. 
 Mildred grew erect in her seat, and as the native pride of her cha¬ 
 racter beamed forth from every feature of her face, she replied— 
 
 “ lie has never, father, vouchsafed to give me such a proof of his 
 good opinion. Mr. Tyrrel is content to make his bargain with you: 
 he is well aware that whatever hope he may be idle enough to che¬ 
 rish, must depend more on your command than on my regard.” 
 
 “ He has never spoken to you, Mildred ?” asked Lindsay, without 
 making any comment on the indignant reception his daughter had 
 given to his disclosure. “ Never a word ? Bethink you, my daugh¬ 
 ter, of all that has lately passed between you. A maiden is apt to 
 misconstrue attentions. Can you remember nothing beyond the 
 mere civilities of custom ?” 
 
 “ I can think of nothing in the conduct of Mr. Tyrrel but his devo¬ 
 tion to the purpose of embroiling my dear father in his miserable 
 politics. I can remember nothing of him but his low voice and 
 noiseless step, his mysterious insinuations, his midnight sittings, his 
 fulsome flattery of your services in the royal cause, the base means 
 b}'^ which he has robbed you of your rest and taken the color from 
 your cheek. I thought him too busy in distracting 3'our peace to 
 cast a thought upon me. But to speak to me, father, of attach¬ 
 ment,” she said, rising and taking a station so near Lindsay’s chair 
 as to be able to lean her arm upon his shoulder, “ to breathe one 
 word of a wish to win my esteem, that he dared not do.” 
 
 “ You speak under the impulse of some unnecessarily excited 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 125 
 
 feeling, daughter. You apply terms and impute motives that sound 
 too harsh from your lips, when the subject of them is a brave and 
 faithful gentleman. Mr. Tyrrel deserves nothing at our hands but 
 kindness.” 
 
 “ Alas, my dear father, alas, that you should think so !” 
 
 “ What have you discovered, Mildred, or heard, that j^ou should 
 deem so injuriously of this man ? Who has conjured up this unrea. 
 sonable aversion in your mind against him ?” 
 
 “ I am indebted to no sources of information but my own senses,” 
 replied Mildred ; “ I want no monitor to tell me that he is not to be 
 ti’usted. He is not what he seems.” 
 
 “ True, he is not what he seems, but better. Tyrrel appears here 
 but as a simple gentleman, wearing, for obvious reasons, an assumed 
 name. The letters he has brought me avouch him to be a man of 
 rank and family, high in the confidence of the officers of the king, 
 and holding a reputable commission in the army: a man of note, 
 worthy to be trusted w’ith grave enterprises, distinguished for saga¬ 
 city, bravery, and honor, of moral virtues which would dignify any 
 station, and, as you cannot but acknowledge from your own obser¬ 
 vation, filled W’ith the courtesy and grace of a gentleman. Fie, 
 daughter! it is sinful to derogate from the character of an honor¬ 
 able man.” 
 
 “ Wearing an assumed name, father, and acting a part, here, at 
 the Dove Cote! Is it necessary for his purpose that, under this 
 roof, he should appear in masquerade? May I know whether he 
 treats with you for my hand in his real or assumed character—does 
 he permit me to know who he is ?” 
 
 “All in good time, Mildred. Content }’ou, girl, that he has suf¬ 
 ficiently certified himself to me. These are perilous times, and 
 Tyrrel is obliged to practise much address to find his way along our 
 roads. You are aware it would not be discreet to have him known 
 even to oui‘ servants. But the time will come when you shall know 
 him as himself, and then, if I mistake not, your generous nature will 
 be ashamed to have wronged him by unworthy suspicions.” 
 
 “Believe me, father,” exclaimed Mildred, rising to a tone of ani¬ 
 mation that aw’akened the natural eloquence of her feeling-s, and 
 gave them vent in language which more resembled the display of a 
 practised orator than the declamation of a girl, “ believe me, he im- 
 
126 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 poses on you. Ilis jiurposes are intensely selfish. If he has ob¬ 
 tained an authority to treat with you or others under an assumed 
 name, it has only been to further his personal ends. Already 
 has he succeeded in plunging you, against your will, into the depth 
 of this quarrel. Your time, my dear father, which once glided as 
 softly and as happily as yon sparkling waters through our valley, 
 is now consumed in deliberations that wear out your spirits ; your 
 books are abandoned for the study of secret schemes of politics ; 
 jmu are perplexed and anxious at every account that reaches us of 
 victory or defeat. It was not so, until you saw Tyrrel: your 
 nights, that once knew a long and healthful sleep, are now divided 
 by short and unrefreshing slumbers : you complain of unpleasant 
 dreams and you foretell some constantly coming disaster. Indeed, 
 dearest father, you are not what you were. You wrong yourself 
 l)y these cares, and you do not know how anxiously my brother 
 Henry and myself watch, in secret, this unhappy change in your 
 nature. How can I think with patience of this Tyrrel when I see 
 these things ?” 
 
 “ The times, Mildred, leave me no choice. When a nation strug¬ 
 gles to throw off the rule of lawful authority, the friends of peace 
 and order should remember that the riotous passions of the refrac¬ 
 tory people are not to be subdued without personal sacrifices.” 
 
 “ You promised yourself, father, here at the Dove Cote to live 
 beyond the sphere of these excitements. And, as I well remember, 
 you often, as the war raged, threw yourself upon your knees, ' and 
 taught us, —your children,—to kneel by your side, and we put up 
 our joint expressions of gratitude to God, that, at least, this little 
 asylum was undisturbed by the angry passions of man.” • 
 
 “ We did, we did, my dearest child. But I should think it sin¬ 
 ful to pray for the same quiet Avhcn my services might be useful to 
 restore harmony to a distracted and misguided country.” 
 
 “ Do you now think,” asked Mildred, “ that your efforts are or 
 can be of any avail to produce peace ?” 
 
 “ The blessing of heaven has descended upon the arms of our 
 sovereign,” replied Lindsay. “ The southern provinces are subdued, 
 and are fast returning to their allegiance. The hopes of England 
 brighten, and a speedy close of this unnatural rebellion is at hand.’’ 
 
 “ There are many valleys, father, amongst these mountains, and 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 127 
 
 the wide forests shade a solitude where large and populous nations 
 may be hid almost from human search. They who possess the val¬ 
 leys and the wilderness, I have heard it said by wise men, will 
 for ever choose their own rulers.” 
 
 ‘■jMildred, you are a dutiful daughter, and are not wont to op- 
 jiose 3'our lather’s wishes. I could dt'sire to see you, with that 
 shrewd apjirehension of yours, that quick insight, and thayhoughtful 
 mind, thoughtful hei'ond the qualitj’ of j'our sex, less favorably 
 bejit towards the entci'prise of these rebel subjects. I do utterly 
 loathe them and their cause, and could wish that child of mine 
 abated in no one jot of my aversion to them.” 
 
 “ Heaven, father, and your good tutoring have made me what I 
 am,” returned Mildred, calmly ; “ I am but a woman, and speak with 
 a weak judgment and little knowledge. To my unlearned mind it 
 seems that^he government of eveiy nation should be what the people 
 wisli Hj/ There ai-e good men here, father, amongst your friends— 
 men, who, I am sure, have all kindness in their hearts, who say 
 that this country has suflered grievous wrongs from the insolence 
 of the king’s representatives. Thej' have proclaimed this in a 
 paper which I have heard even3’ou say was temperate and thought¬ 
 ful : and 3’ou know nearly the whole land has roused itself to say 
 that paper was good. Can so many men be wrong ?” 
 
 “ You are a girl,” replied Lindsay, “and a subtile one : 3-0U are 
 tainted with the common heres3'. 13 ut what else might I expect! 
 Thcic aie few men who can think out of fa.shion. When the mul¬ 
 titude is su])posed to speak, that is warrant enough for the Ojii- 
 nions of the majorit3'. But it is no matter, this is not a woman’s 
 them^ and is foreign to our present conference. I came to talk 
 with 3 ®*^^ about T.3U'i‘*^h Lpon that subject I Avill use no per¬ 
 suasions, express no wish, notin the slightest point essay to influ¬ 
 ence your choice. WTien he disclosed his purpose to me, I told 
 him it was a question solel3' at 3*our disposal. Thus much it is my 
 duty to sa3q that should his suit be favored ”— 
 
 “From the bottom of my heart, father,” interrupted Mildred 
 eagerly, and with increasing earnestness, “ I abhor the thought, 
 i^e assured that if age, poA'ert3', and deformit3’ showertxl ujion 
 me at once, it friends abandoned me, it m3^ reason Avere blighted, 
 and I was doomed to Avander barefooted amongst thorns and briers, 
 
128 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 I would not excliange that lot, to he his wife amidst tenfold his 
 honors and wealth. I never can listen to his hateful proposal: 
 there is that in my condition which would make it wicked. Pray, 
 dearest father, as you love your daughter, do not speak of it to me 
 again.” 
 
 “ Resume your calmness, child : your earnestness on this subject 
 afflicts me ; it has a fearful omen in it. It tells of a heart fatally 
 devoted to one whom, of all men, I have greatest reason to hate. 
 This unhappy, lingering passion for the sworn enemy of his king 
 and country, little becomes my daughter, or her regard for me. It 
 may rouse me, Mildred, to some unkind wish against thee. Oh, I 
 could curse myself that I ever threw you in the way of this insidi¬ 
 ous rebel, Butler. Nay you need not conceal your tears; well do 
 they deserve to flow for this persevering transgression against the 
 peace of your father’s house. It requires but little skill to read the 
 whole history of your heart.” 
 
 Lindsay now walked to and fro across the apai'tment, under the 
 influence of emotions which he was afraid to trust himself to utter. 
 At length resuming his expostulation, in a somewhat moderate tone, 
 he continued: 
 
 “ Will no lapse of time wear away this abhorred image from 
 your memory ? Are you madly bent on bringing down misery on 
 your head ? I do not speak of my own suffering. Will you for 
 ever nurse a hopeless attachment for a man whom, it must be ap¬ 
 parent to yourself, you can never meet again ? Whom if the perils 
 of the field, the avenging bullet of some loyal subject, do not bring 
 him merited punishment, the halter may reward, or, in his most 
 fortunate destiny, disgrace, poverty, and shame pursue. Are you 
 for ever to love that man ?” 
 
 f Mildred stood before her father as he brought this appeal to a 
 close; her eyes filled with tears, her breast heaving as if it would 
 burst; and summoning up all her courage for her reply, when this 
 last question was asked, she looked with an expression of almost 
 angry defiance in his face, as she answered “ For ever, for ever,” and 
 hastily left the room. 
 
 The firm tone in which Mildred spoke these last words, her proud 
 and almost haughty bearing, so unlike anything Lindsay had ever 
 seen before, and her abrupt departure from his presence, gave a 
 
I 
 
 UORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 129 
 
 check to the current of his thoughts that raised the most painful 
 emotions. For an instant a blush of resentment rose into his 
 cheeks, and he felt tempted to call his daughter back that he might 
 express this sentiment: it was but of a moment’s duration, how¬ 
 ever, and grief, at what he felt was the first altercation hediad 
 ever had with his child, succeeded, and stifled all other emotions. 
 He flung himself into the chair, and, dropping his forehead upon 
 his hand, gave way to the full tide of his feelings. His spirits 
 gradually became more composed, and he was able to survey with 
 a somewhat temperate judgment the scene that had just passed. 
 His manner, he thought, might have been too peremptory—perhaps 
 it was harsh, and had offended his daughter’s pride: he should 
 have been more conciliatory in his speech. “The old,” he said, 
 “ are not fit counsellors to the young; we forget the warmth of their 
 passions, and would reason when they only feel. How small a 
 share has prudence in the concerns of the heart!” But then this 
 unexpected fervor of devotion to Butler—that alarmed him, and ho 
 bit his lip, as he felt his anger rising with the thought. “ Her re¬ 
 pugnance to Tyrrel, her prompt rejection of his suit, her indignant 
 contempt for the man, even that I could bear with patience,” he 
 exclaimed. “ I seek not to trammel her will by any authority of 
 mine. But this Butler ! Oh ! there is the beginning of the curse 
 upon my house! there is the fate against which I have been so 
 solemnly warned I That man who had been the author of this 
 unhappiness, and whose alliance with my name has been denounced 
 by the awful visitation of the dead,—that Mildred should cherish his 
 regard, is misery. It cannot and shall not be !” 
 
 These and many such reflections passed through Lindsay’s mind, 
 and had roused his feelings to a tone of exacerbation affainst Ar- 
 thur Butler, far surpassing any di.spleasure he had ever before in¬ 
 dulged against this individual. In the height of this self-commu¬ 
 nion he was interrupted by the return of Mildred to the apiu-tment, 
 almost as abruptly as she had quitted it. She approached his chaii-, 
 knelt, laid her head upon his lap, and wept aloud. 
 
 “ Why, my dear father,” she said, at length, looking up in his 
 face while the tears rolled down her cheeks, “ why do you address 
 language to me that makes me forget the duty I owe you ? If 
 you knew my heart, you would spare and pity my feelings. Pardon 
 
 C* 
 
130 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 me, dear fatlier, if my conduct has offended you. I knew not 
 what I spoke; I am wretched, and cannot answer for my words. 
 Do not think I would wound your affection by unkindness; hut in¬ 
 deed, indeed, I cannot hear you speak of Tyi-rel without agony.” 
 
 “ Rise, daughter,” said Lindsay, almost lifting her up, “ I do not. 
 chide you for your repugnance to Tyi’rel. You mistake me if you 
 think I would dictate to your affections : my grief has a deeper' 
 source. This Arthur Butler ”— 
 
 “ Spare that name, father ?” interrupted Mildred, retiring to a 
 seat near the window and covering her face with her hands. 
 
 “ Curse him !” exclaimed Lindsay. “ May all the plagues that 
 torment the human bosom fall upon him ! Mark me, daughter, I 
 trust I am not an unreasonable father; I know I am not an 
 unkind one; there are few requests that you could make which 
 I would not freely grant. But to hear with patience the 
 name of that man on your lips, to think of him as alhed to you by 
 any sympathy, as sharing any portion of your esteem—him, a 
 rebel traitor who has raised his sacrilegious hand against his 
 king, who has sold his name to infamy, who has contributed to 
 fill these peaceful provinces with discord, and to subvert the hap¬ 
 piness of this land, which heaven had appointed to be an asylum 
 where man, disgusted with the lusts, rapine, and murder of his fel¬ 
 low, might betake himself as a child to the bosom of his parent—I 
 cannot endure the thought of him ! Never again, Mildred, I 
 charge you, never allude to him again !” 
 
 “ If I could but tell you all!” interrupted Mildred, sobbing, “ if 
 I could but patiently have your hearing.” 
 
 “ Never a Avord of him ! as you desire to preserve my affection. 
 I will not hear. Get to your chamber,” said Lindsay, almost stern- 
 ^ly. “ Get to your chamber, this perverse and resolute temper of 
 thine, needs the restraint of solitude.” 
 
 Mildred rose from her chair and moved towards the door, and as 
 she was about to depart she turned her weeping countenance to¬ 
 wards her father. 
 
 I, “ Come hither,” he said, “ thou art a foolish girl, and would 
 Wing down wretchedness and woe upon thee. God forgive you! 
 from the bottom of my heart, I forgive you. This thing is not of 
 your own imagining; some malignant spirit has spread his baleful 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 131 
 
 wing above our house. Go, child, forget what has been said, and 
 believe that your father buffets thus harshly with fate for your own 
 Avelhire. Kiss me, and may heaven shield you against this 
 impending ill!” 
 
 “ Dear father, hear me,” said Mildred, as Lindsay imprinted a 
 hiss upon her forehead. 
 
 ‘‘ Away, away!” inteiTupted Lindsay, “ I would be temperate, 
 nor again forget myself. In all love, Mildred, away.” 
 
 Mildred left the room, and Lindsay, to restore the equanimity of 
 his temper, which had been so much overthrown by this interview, 
 wandered forth into the valley, whence it was some hours before he 
 returned. 
 
 It was not long after the termination of this conference before 
 Henry rode up to the door. The clatter of his horse’s hoofs 
 brought ^lildred from her chamber into the parlor. 
 
 “ What! sister, your eyes red with tears ?” said Henry. “ "UTio 
 has distressed you ?” 
 
 “ Ah, brother, I have had a weary time in your absence. Our 
 poor father is sadly displeased with me.” 
 
 “ Have you told him all ?” asked Henry, with an expression of 
 anxiety. 
 
 “ He bade me,” replied Mildred, “ never mention Arthur’s name 
 again. He would not hear me speak of Aathur. Have I not 
 reason, dear brother, to be miserable ?” 
 
 “ I love you, Mildred,” said Henry, kissing his sister, “ and what’s 
 more, I love Arthur Butler, and will stand up for him against the 
 world. And I have a good mind to go to my father and tell him I 
 am man enough to think for myself—and more than that—that I, 
 for one, believe these rebels, as he calls them, have the light of it. 
 Why shouldn’t I ? Can’t I shoot a rifle as well as the best of 
 them, and stand by a friend in a quarrel, and make good my words 
 as well as many a man who writes twenty years to his age ? Tush ! I 
 am tired of this boy-play—shooting with blunted arrows, and riding 
 with my father’s hand ever on the neck of ray horse, as if I could 
 not hold the reins. Give me sharp steel, Mildred, and throw me on 
 the world, and I’ll be bound I make my way as well as another.” 
 
 “ We are surrounded with difficulties, brother,” said Mildred, 
 “ and have a hard part to perform. We must soothe our dear 
 
132 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 father’s feelings, for he loves us, Henry; and if he could hut think 
 as we do, how happy should we he! But there is something 
 fearful in his passions, and it makes me tremble to see them 
 roused.” 
 
 “ This all comes,” replied Henry, “ from that devil’s imp Tyi-rel. 
 Oh, I could find it in my heart to trounce that fellow, sister. But 
 you hav’n’t asked me about my reconnoitring! I’ll tell you. 
 Tyrrel’s man, Curry, talked a great deal to old Tony and Mrs. 
 Dimock both, about our friends who went there last night, and 
 found out their names and all about them: and there was some 
 fray between Horse Shoe and Curry, in which. I’ll warrant you^ 
 Horse Shoe gave him a drubbing; so Tony told me. Well, Butler 
 and Horse Shoe set out this morning at daylight. And Tyrrel 
 went over there to breakfast; and you may suppose he was lucky 
 in not meeting the major, for I am sure there would have been a 
 spot of work if he had. Furthermore, I found out that Tyrrel 
 followed on the same road after Butler, so they may meet yet, you 
 know.” 
 
 “ I pray not,” said Mildred. 
 
 “ Wliy pray not, sister ? I pray they may meet. Let Tyrrel 
 have all the good of it. There, now I believe I have given you all 
 the news, sister, exactly as I picked it up. But here is a trifle I 
 forgot,” said Henry, producing a letter addressed to Mildred. 
 “ Ah, ha, you brighten up now ! This was left by the major with 
 Mrs. Dimock, to be forwarded to you with care and speed.” 
 
 Mildred tore open the letter, and eagerly perused its contents. 
 They consisted of a few lines hastily penned by Butler, at early 
 dawn, as he was about mounting his horse for the prosecution of 
 his journey. Their purpose was to apprise her of the discovery 
 Robinson had made of the true character of Curry, and also to 
 express his fears that this latter person might disclose to Tyrrel the 
 fact of his, Butler’s, visit. He cautioned her to observe the conduct 
 of Tyrrel, and to communicate with him at Gates’s head-quarteis 
 where he expected to be delayed a few days on his journey : her 
 letter, he said, might be forwarded by some of the parties who at 
 that time were continually passing southward ; Henry might look 
 to this ; and he concluded by assuring her that he would Avrite as 
 often as he might find means of conveying a packet to the care 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 133 
 
 of good Mistress Dimock, wlio was sufficiently in the interest of the 
 lovers to keep faithfully any secret which they might confide to 
 her. 
 
 This letter served to explain the cause of Tyrrel’s sudden 
 departure, and to confirm Mildred in the opinion, which she had 
 before expressed, that this guest of her father was not ignorant of 
 the interest Butler had in her regard. Tier determination therefore 
 w’as to watch his motions narrowly, and to make her lover 
 acquainted ivith whatever she might discover. 
 
 “ It is even so,” she said musing; “ Tyrrel either fears or hates 
 Arthur. I shudder to think that that man should have any motive 
 supplied him to contrive against the peace or safety of one so dear 
 to me. Wretch,” she exclaimed, “that he should be insolent 
 enough to hope for my regard ! Oh ! my father, my father, what 
 a snare has .been spread for you by this man ! Thank you, 
 brother,” she continued, addressing Ilenry. “ You have well 
 executed your mission. Be discreet and ready ; I shall have much 
 need of your head and hand both: your heart is mine already, 
 good brother.” 
 
 “I will i-ide for you, sister,” said Heniy, “I will run for you, 
 speak for you, pray for you—if my prayers be worth anything— 
 and strike for you, if need be. If I am but turned of sixteen, I am 
 a man, I trow; and that’s more than you are. Good bye ! a soldier^ 
 ought to look after his horse, you know.” 
 
 “ God bless you, dear brother, for an excellent boy,” said Mildred^ 
 smiling, “ man I mean—aye and a brave one !” 
 
 Ilenry now walked away, and Mildred betook herself to other 
 cares. 
 
 
13-1 
 
 HOESE SHOE E0B1NSOE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A POLITICAL EETEOSPECT.-BUTLEE ENTERS SOUTH CAROLINA. 
 
 It was the misfortune of South Carolina, during the revolution 
 arj war, to possess a numerous party less , attached to the union or 
 more tainted with disaffection than the inhabitants of any of the 
 other-states. Amongst her citizens the disinclination to sever from 
 the mother country ivas stronger, the spread of republican 
 principles more limited, and the march of revolution slower, than in 
 either of the other colonies, except, perhaps, in the neighbor state 
 of Georgia, where the people residing along the Savannah river, 
 were so closely allied to the Carolinians in sentiment, habits, and 
 pursuits, as to partake pretty accurately of the same jiolitical pi eju- 
 dices, and to unite themselves in parties of the same complexion. 
 Upon the first invasion of Georgia, at the close of the year 1 ' 7 ' 78 , 
 the city of Savannah was made an easy conquest, and a mere 
 handful of men, early in lY'/Q, were enabled to penetrate the # 
 interior as far as Augusta, and to seize upon that post. The 
 audacity with which Prevost threatened Charleston in the same 
 year, the facility of his march through South Carolina, and the 
 safety which attended his retreat, told a sad tale of the supineuess 
 o^he people.of that province.' The reduction of Charleston in the 
 following year, by Sir Henry Clinton, was followed with singular 
 rapidity by the conquest of the whole province. A civil govern¬ 
 ment was erected. The most remote posts in the mountains were 
 at once occupied by British soldiers or provincial ti’oops, mustered 
 under the officers of the royal army. Proclamations were issued to 
 call back the wandering sheep to the royal fold; and they, 
 accordingly, like herds that had been scattered from beneath the 
 eye of the shepherd by some rough incursion of wolves, flocked in 
 as soon as they were aware of the retreat of their enemy. Lord 
 Cornwallis, upon whom the command devolved after the reimn of 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 135 
 
 Sir nemy Clinton in June to New York, recruited liis army from 
 these repentant or unwilling republicans ; and the people rejoiced 
 at what they thought the end of strife and the establishment of 
 law. The auxiliaries who had marched from Virginia and North 
 Carolina under Colonel Buford, to assist in the defence of the 
 southern capital, were informed of its surrender as they journeyed 
 thither, and soon found themselves obliged to fly through a country 
 they had come to succor;—and when even at the distance of one 
 hundred and fifty miles from the city, were overtaken by the ruth¬ 
 less troopers of Tarleton, and butchered under circumstances 
 peculiarly deplorable. , 
 
 In truth, a large proportion of the population of South Carolina 
 seem to have regarded the revolution with disfavor, and they were 
 slow to break their ancient friendship for the land of their fore¬ 
 fathers. The colonial government was mild and beneficent in its 
 action upon the piwince, and the people had a reverence for the 
 mother country deeper and more affectionate than was found else¬ 
 where. They did not resent, because, haply, they did not feel the 
 innovations of right asserted by the British crown, so acutely as 
 some of their neighbors; to them it did not seem to be so unreason¬ 
 able that taxation should be divorced from representation. They 
 did not quarrel with the assumption of Great Britain to regulate 
 t their trade for them in such manner as best suited her own views 
 of interest; nor did they see in mere commercial restrictions the 
 justification of civil war and hot rebellion ;—because, peradventure, 
 (if I may hazard a reason) being a colony of planters whose pro¬ 
 ducts were much in demand in England, neither the regulations 
 of their trade nor the restrictions upon commerce, were likely to 
 be so adjusted as to interfere with the profitable expansion of their 
 labors. 
 
 Such might be said to be the more popular sentiment of the 
 State at the time of its subjugation by Sir Heniy Clinton and 
 Lord Cornwallis. To this common feeling there were many bril¬ 
 liant exceptions; and the more brilliant because they stood, as it 
 were, apart from the preponderating mass of public judgment. 
 There is no trial of courage which will bear comparison with that 
 of a man whose own opinions stand in opposition, upon fearful 
 quc-stions of passion, to those of the “ giddy-paced” and excited 
 
136 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 multitude, and who, nevertheless, carries them “ into act.” That 
 man ivho can stand in the breach of universal public censure, with 
 all the fashions of opinion disgracing him in the thoughts of the 
 lookers on, with the tide of obloquy beating against his breast, 
 and the fingers of the mighty, combined many, pointing^him to 
 scorn ; nay, with the fury of the drunken rabble threatening him 
 with instant death ; and, worse than all, having no present friend 
 to whisper a word of defence or palliative, in his behalf, to his 
 revilers, but bravely giving his naked head to the storm, because 
 he knows himself to be idrtuous in his purpose; that man shall 
 come forth from this fierce ordeal like tried gold; philosophy shall/ 
 embalm his name in her richest unction, history shall give him a 
 . place on her brightest page, and old, yea, hoary, tar-os' posterity 
 ^ shall remember him as of yesterday. 
 
 There were heroes of this mould in South CaroHna, who entered 
 with the best spirit of chivalry into the national quarrel, and 
 brought to it hearts as bold, minds as vigorous, and arms as strong 
 as ever, in any clime, worked out a nation’s redemption. These 
 men refused submission to then- conquerors, and endured exile, 
 chains, and prisons, rather than the yoke. Some few, still undis¬ 
 couraged by the portents of the times, retreated into secret places, 
 gathered then- few patriot neighbors together, and contrived to 
 keep in awe the soldier-government that now professed to sway the 
 land. They lived on the scant aliment furnished in the woods, 
 slept in the tangled brakes and secret places of the fen, exacted 
 ■' contributions from the adherents of the crown, and by rapid move¬ 
 ments of their woodland cavalry and brave blows, accomplished 
 more than thrice their numbers would have achieved in ordinary 
 warfare. 
 
 The disaffected abounded in the upper country, and here Corn¬ 
 wallis maintained some strong garrisons. The difficulties that sur¬ 
 rounded the republican leaders may well be supposed to have been 
 appalling in this region, where regular posts had been established 
 to furnish the Tories secure points of union, and the certainty of 
 prompt assistance whenever required. Yet notwithstanding the 
 numerical inferiority of the fiiends of independence, their guarded 
 and proscribed condition, their want of support, and their almost 
 absolute destitution of all the necessaries of military life, the nation 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 137 
 
 was often rejoiced to hear of brilliant passages of arms, where, how-* 
 ever unimportant the consequences, the display of soldiership and 
 bravery was of the highest order. In such encounters, or fravs, 
 they might almost be called, from the smallness of the numbers 
 concerned and the hand-to-hand mode of fighting which they 
 exhibited, Marion, Sumpter, Horry, Pickens, and many others, had 
 n on a fame that in a nation of poetical or legendary associations 
 would have been reduplicated through a thousand channels of im- 
 moital verse: but, alas! we have no ballads: and many men, 
 who as well deserve to be remembered as Percy or Douglas, as 
 Adam Bell or Clym of the Clough, have sunk down without even 
 a couplet-epitaph upon the rude stone, that in some unfenced and 
 unreverenced grave-yard still marks the lap of earth whereon 
 their heads were laid. f 
 
 One feature that belonged to this unhappy state of things in 
 Carolina wag the division of families. Kindred were arrayed 
 against each other in deadly feuds, and, not unfrequently, brother 
 took up arms against brother, and sons against their sires. A pre¬ 
 vailing spirit of treachery and distrust marked the times. Strangers 
 did not know how far they might trust to the rites of hospitalTty ; 
 and many a man laid his head upon his pillow, uncertain whether 
 his fellow lodger, or he with, whom he had broken bread at his 
 last meal, might not invade him in the secret watches of the night 
 and murder him in his slumbers. All went armed, and many 
 slept with pistols or daggers under their pillows. Thefe are tales 
 told of men being summoned to their doors or windows at midnight 
 by the blaze of their farm-yards to which the incendiary torch had 
 been applied, and shot down, in the light of the conflagration, by a 
 concealed hand. Families were obliged to betake themselves to 
 the shelter of the thickets and swamps, when their own home¬ 
 steads were dangerous places. The enemy wore no colors, and 
 w^as not to be distinguished from friends either by outward guise 
 or speech. Nothing could be more revolting than to see the 
 symbols of peace thus misleading the confident into the toils of 
 war ; nor is it possible to imagine a state of society characterized 
 by a more frightful insecurity. 
 
 Such was the condition of the country to w'hich my tale now 
 makes it necessary to introduce my reader. Butlers instructions 
 
138 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 required that he should report himself to General Gates, and, 
 unless detained for more pressing dutjq to proceed -with all the cir¬ 
 cumspection -which the enterprise might require, to Colonel Clarke, 
 who, it was known, was 'at that time in the upland country of 
 South Carolina, raising troops to act against Augusta and other 
 British posts. lie accordingly arrived at head-quarters, on the 
 borders of the trvo Carolinas,in about a week after leaving the Dove 
 Cote. The army of the brave and unfortunate De Kalb, which 
 had been originally destined for the relief of Charleston, had been 
 increased, by reinforcements of militia from Virginia and the 
 adjoining States, to double the computed strength of the British 
 forces ; and Gates, on taking command of it, was filled -with the 
 most lofty presentiments of -victory. Vainglorious and unadvis- 
 able, he is said to have pushed forward with an indiscreet haste, 
 and to have thrown himself into difficulties which a wiser man 
 would have avoided. He professed himself to stand in no need of 
 recruits to his army, and Butler, therefore, after the delay of a few 
 days, was left at liberty to pursue his original scheme. 
 
 The wides]pread disaffection of the region through which our 
 adventurers were about to pass, inculcated the necessity of the 
 utmost -\ngilance to avoid molestation from the numerous parties 
 that were then abroad hastening to the seat of war. Under the 
 almost entire guidance of Robinson, who was familiar with every 
 path in this neighborhood, Butler’s plan was to temporize with 
 whatever difficulties might beset his way, and to rely upon his 
 own and his comrade’s address for escape. 
 
 The sergeant’s first object -w'as to conduct his superior to his 
 own dwelling, which was situated on the Catawba, a short dis¬ 
 tance above the Waxhaws. This was safely accomplished on the 
 second day after they had left Gates. A short delay at this 
 place enabled Butler to exchange the dress he had hitherto worn, 
 for one of a more homely and rustic character, a measure* 
 deemed necessary to facilitate his quiet passage through the 
 country. With these precautions he and the trusty sergeant 
 resumed their expedition, and now shaped their course across the 
 region lying between the Catawba and Broad rivers, with the 
 intention of reaching the habitation of Wat Adair, a well known 
 woodsman who lived on the southern side of the latter river, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 139 
 
 someivhat above its confluence with the Pacolet. The route they 
 had chosen for this purpose consisted of such circuitous and 
 unfrequented paths as were least likely to be infested by the 
 scouts of the enemy, or by questioners who might be too curious 
 regarding the object of their journey. 
 
 The second week of August had half elapsed when, towards the 
 evening of a day that had been distinguished for the exliilarating 
 freshness of the atmosphere, such as is peculiar to the higlilaiids 
 of southern latitudes at this season, our travellers found themselves 
 descending through a long and shady defile to the level ground 
 that lay along the margin of the Broad river. The greater part 
 of the day had been spent in threading the mazes of a series of 
 sharp and abrupt hills covered with the native forest, or winding 
 through narrow valleys, amongst tangled thickets of briers and 
 copsewood, by a path scarce wide enough to permit the passage 
 of a single horse. They had now emerged from the wilderness 
 upon a public highway, which extended across the strip of lowland 
 that skirted the river. Tlie proximity of the river itself was 
 indicated by the nature of the ground, that here retained vestiges 
 of occasional inundations, as also by the rank character of the 
 vegetation. The road led through a swamp, which was rendered 
 passable by a causey of timber, and was shaded on either side by 
 a mass of shrubbeiy, composed of laurel, magnolia, and such other, 
 plants as delight in a moist soil, over whose foi-ms a tissue of ' 
 creeping plants was woven in such profusion as to form a fastness 
 or impregnabt'e retreat for all kinds of noxious animals. Above 
 this wilderness, here and there, might be seen in the depths of the 
 morass, the robust cypress or the lurid pine, high enough for the 
 mast of the largest ship, the ash, and gum, and, towering above 
 all, the majestic poplar, with its branchless trunk bound up in the 
 embraces of a huge serpent-like grapevine. 
 
 As soon as Butler found himself extricated from the difficult 
 path that had so much embarrassed his journey, and once more 
 introduced upon a road that allowed him to ride abreast with his 
 companion, he could not help congratulating himself upon the 
 change. 
 
 “ ell, here at last, Galbraith,” he said, “ is an end to this 
 bridle path, as you call it. Thank heaven for it! The settlement 
 
140 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 of the account between this and the plain road ■would not leave 
 much in our favor: on one side, I should have to set down my 
 being twice unhorsed in riding up perpendicular hills; one plunge 
 up to the belly in the mud of a swamp; a dozen times in danger 
 of strangling from grapevines; and how often torn by briers, I 
 leave you to reckon up by looking at my clothes. And all this 
 is to be cast up against the chance of meeting a few rascally Tories. 
 Faith! upon the whole, it would have been as cheap to fight.” 
 
 “ Whist, Major, you are a young man, and don’t study things 
 as I do. You never catch me without reason on my side. As to 
 standing upon the trifle of a man or two odds in the way of a 
 fight, when there was need of scratching, I wouldn’t he so 
 onaccommodating as to ax you to do that. But I had some 
 generalship in view, which I can make appear. This road, which 
 we have just got into, comes up through Winnsborough, which is 
 one of the randyvoos of the Tories: now I thought if we out¬ 
 flanked them by coming through the hills, we mought keep our 
 heads out of a hornets’ nest. The best way. Major Butler, to 
 get along through this world is not to be quarrelsome ; that’s my 
 principle.” 
 
 “ Truly, it comes well from you, sergeant, who -within two days 
 past have been in danger of getting your crown cracked at least 
 six times 1 Were you not yesterday going to beat a man only for 
 asking a harmless question ? A rough fellow to-boot. Horse Shoe, 
 w'ho might, from appearance, have turned out a troublesome 
 customer.” 
 
 “ Ho, ho, ho. Major ! Do you know who that character was ? 
 That was mad Archy GibbI, from the Broken Bridge, one of 
 the craziest devils after a fracaw on the Catawba ; a tearing Tory 
 likewise.” 
 
 “ And was that an argument for wishing to fight him ?” 
 
 “ Why, you see. Major, I’ve got a principle on that subject. 
 It’s an observation I have made, that whenever you come across 
 one of these rampagious fellows, that’s always for breeding dis¬ 
 turbances, the best way is to be as fractious as themselves. You 
 have beam of the way of putting out a house on fire by blo-wing 
 it up with gunpowder ? ” 
 
 “ A pretty effectual method, Sergeant.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 141 
 
 “ Dog won’t eat dog,” continued Horse Shoe. “ Ho, ho! I 
 know these characters; so I always bullies them. When we 
 stopped yesterday at the surveyor’s, on Blair’s Range, to get a 
 little something to eat, and that bevy of Tories came riding up, 
 with mad Archy at their head, a thought struck me that the 
 fellows mought be dogging us, and that sot me to thinking what 
 answer I should make consarning you, if they were to question 
 me. So, ecod, I made a parson of you, ha, ha, ha! Sure enough, 
 they began as soon as they sot down in the porch, to axing me 
 about my business, and then about yourn. I told them, cor¬ 
 respondent and accordingly, that you was a Presbyterian minister, 
 and that I had undertook to show you the way to Chester, wheje 
 you was going to hold forth. And, thereupon, mad Archy out 
 with one of his tremengious oaths, and swore he would have a 
 sarmint from you, for the good of his blackguards, before they 
 broke up.” 
 
 “ Mad Archy and his blackguards would have profited, no 
 doubt, by my spiritual lessons.” 
 
 “ Rather than let him have anything to say to you,” proceeded 
 Robinson, “ for you wa’n’t prepared, seeing that you didn’t hear 
 what was going on, though I spoke loud enough, on purpose. 
 Major, for you to hear us through the window ; I up and told 
 Archy, says I, I am a peaceable man, but I’ll be d—d if any 
 minister of the gospel shall be insulted whilst I have the care of 
 him ; and, furthermore, says I, I didn’t come here to interrupt no 
 man ; but if you, Archy Gibbs, or any one of your crew, says 
 one ondecent word to the parson, they’ll run the risk of being 
 flung sprawling on this here floor, afd that’s as good as if I had 
 sworn to it; and as for you, Archy, I’ll hold you accountable for 
 the good conduct of your whole squad. But, Major, you are 
 about the hardest man to take a wink I ever knowed. There was 
 I a motioning of you, and signifying to get your horse and be off, 
 at least ten minutes before you took the hint.” 
 
 “ I was near spoiling all, Galbraith, for from your familiarity 
 with these fellows I at first thought them friends.” 
 
 “ They were mighty dubious, you may depend. And it was as 
 much as I could do to keep them from breaking in on you. 
 They said it was strange, and so it was, to see a parson riding 
 
142 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 witli jiistols ; but I told tliem you was obliged to travel so mucb 
 after night that it was as much as you could do to keep dear 
 of panthers and wolves ; and in fact, major, I had to tell them a 
 monstrous sight of lies, just to keep them in talk whilst you was 
 getting away ; it was like a rare guard scrummaging by platoons 
 on a retreat to get the advance ofiF. I was monstrous afeard, major, 
 you wouldn’t saddle my horse.” 
 
 “ I understood you at last, Galbraith, and made everything 
 ready for a masterly retreat, and then moved away with a very 
 sober air, leaving you to bring up the rear like a good soldier. 
 And you know, sergeant, I didn’t go so far but that I was at hand 
 to give you support, if you had stood in need of it. I wonder 
 now that they let you off so easily.” 
 
 “ They didn’t want to have no uproar with me. Major Butler. 
 They knowed me, that although I wa’n’t a quarrelsome man, 
 they would’a got some of their necks twisted if I had seen occa¬ 
 sion : in particular, I would have taken some of mad Archy’s 
 crazy fits out of him—by my hand I would, major ! But I’ll tell 
 you, — I made one observation, that this here sort of carrying 
 false colors goes against a man’s conscience : it doesn’t seem 
 natural for a man, that’s accustomed and willing to stand by 
 his words, to be heaping one lie upon top of another as fast as he 
 can speak them. It really. Major Butler, does go against my 
 grain.” 
 
 “ That point of conscience,” said Butler laughing, “ has been duly 
 considered, and, I believe, we are safe in setting it down as entire¬ 
 ly lawful to use any deceit of speech to escape from an enemy in 
 time of war. We have a dangerous trade, sergeant, and the mor¬ 
 alists indulge us more than they do others : and as I am a minis¬ 
 ter, you know, you need not be afraid to trust your conscience to 
 my keeping.” 
 
 “ They allow that all’s fair in war, I believe. But it don’t signi¬ 
 fy, a man is a good while before he gets used to this flat lying, for 
 I can’t call it by any other name.” 
 
 “ If we should be challenged on this road, before we reach Wat 
 Adair’s,” said Butler, “ it is your opinion that we should say we are 
 graziers going to the mountains to buy cattle.” 
 
 “ That’s about the best answer I can think of. Though you 
 
HOESE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 143 
 
 must be a bttle careful about that. If you see me put my band 
 uji to my mouth and give a sort of a hem, major, then leave the 
 answer to me. A gang of raw lads might be easily imposed upon, 
 but it wouldn’t do if there’s an old sodger amongst them; he 
 mought ax some hard questions.” 
 
 “ I know but little of this grazier craft to bear an examination. 
 I fear I should fare badly if one of these bullies should take it into 
 his head to cross-question me.” 
 
 If a man takes on too much with you,” replied Robinson, “ it 
 It well to be a little saiicy to him. If he thinks you are for a 
 quarrel, the chances are he rvon’t pester you. But if any of these 
 lories should only take it into their heads, without our telling them 
 right down in so many words, for I would rather a lie, if it is to 
 come out, should take a roundabout wuiy, that we are sent up here 
 by Cornwallis, or Rarvdon, or Leslie, or any of their people to do 
 an arrand, they will be as civil, sir, as your grandmother’s cat, for, 
 major, they are a blasted set of cringin’ rvhelps, the best of them, 
 and will take anything that has G. R. marked on it with thanks’ 
 o\ en if it was a cat-o nine tails, which they desarve every day at 
 rollcall, the sorry devils!” 
 
 “ I am completely at my wits’ end, Galbraith. I have not done 
 much justice to your appointment of me as a parson, and w hen I 
 come to play the grazier it will be still worse; even in this disguise 
 of a plain countryman I make a poor performer; I fear I shalTdis-" 
 grace the boards.” 
 
 ^“It the worst comes to the worst, major, the rule is run orfio-ht. 
 "W e can manage that, at any rate, for we have had a good deal of 
 both in the last three or four years.” 
 
 “ God knows we have had practice enough, sergeant, to make us 
 perfect in that trick. Let us make our way through this treacher¬ 
 ous ground as quickly and as quietly as we can. Get me to Clarke 
 by the shortest route, and keep as much among friends as you know¬ 
 how'.” 
 
 “ As to that, l^fajor Butler, it is all a matter of chance, for to 
 tell you the plain truth, I don’t know who to depend upon. ’ A 
 quick eye, a nimble foot, and a ready hand, will be our surest friends. 
 
 len with the pistols at your saddle, besides a pair in your pocket, 
 and a dirk for close quarters, and my rifle here for a long shot,’ 
 
144 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 major, I am not mucli doubtful but Avbat we shall bold our 
 own.” 
 
 “ How far are we from Adair’s ?” asked Butler. 
 
 “ Not more than a mile,” replied Horse Shoe. “ You may see 
 the feny just ahead. Wat lives upon the top of the first hill on 
 the other side.” 
 
 “ Is that fellow to be trusted, sergeant ?” 
 
 “Better with the help of gold, major, than without it. Wat 
 was never over honest. But it is worth our while to make a friend 
 of him if we can.” 
 
 Our travellers had now reached the river, which was here a 
 smooth and deep stream, though by no means so broad as to entitle it to 
 the distinction by which, in its lower portion, it has earned its name. 
 It here flowed sluggishly along in deep and melancholy shade. 
 
 Butler and his companion were destined to encounter a difficulty 
 at this spot which less hardy travellers would have deemed a 
 serious embarrassment. The boat was not to be seen on either 
 side of the river, having been carried ofl’ a few hours before, accor¬ 
 ding to the information given by the inmates of a negro cabin, 
 constituting the family of the ferryman, by a party of soldiers. 
 
 Robinson regarded this obstacle with the resignation of a prac¬ 
 tised philosopher. He nodded his head significantly to his com¬ 
 panion upon receiving the intelligence, as he said, 
 
 “ There is some mischief in the wind. These Tories are always 
 dodging about in gangs; and when they collect the boats on the 
 river, it is either to help them forward on some house-burning and 
 thieving business, or to secure their retreat when they expect to 
 have honest men at their heels. It would be good news to hear 
 that Sumptei' was near their cruppers, which, by the by, is not 
 onlikely neither. You would be told of some prettj'' sport then, 
 major.” 
 
 “ Sumpter’s means, sergeant,” replied Butler, “ I fear, are not 
 equal to his will. There are heavy odds against him, and it isn’t 
 often that he can venture from his hiding-place. But what are 
 we to do now, Galbraith ?” 
 
 “ Ha, ha! do as we have often done before this, launch our four¬ 
 legged ships, and take a wet jacket coolly and dispassionately, as 
 that quare devil Lieutenant Hopkins used to tell us when he was 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 145 
 
 going to make a charge of the bagnet. We hav’n’t no time to 
 lose, major, and if we had, I don’t think the river would run dry. 
 So, here goes.” 
 
 With these words Robinson plunged into the stream, and, with 
 his rifle resting across his shoulder, he plied his voyage towards 
 the opposite bank with the same unconcern as if he had journeyed 
 on dry land. As soon as he Avas fairly afloat he looked back to 
 give a fcAV cautions to Butler. 
 
 “ Head slantwise up stream, major, lean a little forward, so as to 
 sink your horse’s nose nearer to the Avater, he swims all the better 
 for it. Slacken your reins and give him play. You have it now. 
 It isn’t oncomfortable in a day’s ride to get a cool seat once in a 
 Avhile. Here we are safe and sound,” he continued, as they reached 
 the further margin, “ and nothing the Avorse for the ferrjdng^ 
 excepting it be a trifle of dampness about the breeches.” 
 
 The two companions noAV galloped tOAvards the higher grounds 
 of the adjacent country. 
 
 By the time that they had gained the summit of a long hill that 
 rose immediately from the plain of the river, Robinson apprised 
 Butler that they were now in the vicinity of Adair’s dwelling. 
 The sun had sunk below the horizon, and the varied lustre of 
 earl)’’ tAvilight tinged the surrounding scenery with its own beauti¬ 
 ful colors. The road, as it wound upAvards gi-adually emerged from 
 the forest upon a tract of open country, given signs of one of those 
 original settlements which, at that day, were sparsely sprinkled 
 through the great wilderness. The space that had been snatched 
 from the ruggedness of nature, for the purpose of husbandry, com¬ 
 prehended some three or four fields of thinly cultivated land. 
 These Avere yet spotted over with stumps of trees, that seemed to 
 leave but little freedom to the course of the ploughshare, and 
 bespoke a thriftless and slovenly tillage. A piece of half cleared 
 ground, occupying the side of one of the adjacent hills, presented 
 to the eye of our travellers a yet more uncouth spectacle. This 
 spot was still clothed Avith the native trees of the forest, all of 
 which had been death-stricken by the axe, and now heaved up 
 their withered and sapless branches towards the heavens, without 
 leaf or spray. In the phrase of the woodman, they had been 
 girdled some years before, and \vero destined to await the slow 
 
 n 
 
146 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 decay of time in tlieir upright attitude. It was a grove of huge 
 skeletons that had already been bleached into an ashy hue by the 
 sun, and whose stiff and dry members rattled in the breeze with a 
 preternatural harshness. Amongst the most hoary of these victims 
 of the axe, the gales of winter had done their work and thrown 
 them to the earth, where the shattered boles and boughs lay as they 
 had fallen, and were slowly reverting into their original dust. 
 Others, whose appointed time had not yet been fulfilled, gave 
 evidence of their struggle with the frequent storm, by their decli¬ 
 nation from the perpendicular line. Some had been caught in 
 falling by the boughs of a sturdier neighbor, and still leaned their 
 huge bulks upon these supports, awakening the mind of the spec¬ 
 tator to the fancy, that they had sunk in some deadly paroxysm 
 into charitable and friendly arms, and, thus locked together, abided 
 their tardy but irrevocable doom. It was a field of the dead; and 
 the more striking in its imagery from the contrast which it furnished 
 to the rich, verdurous, and hvely forest that, with all the joyousness 
 of health, encompassed this blighted spot. Its aspect was one of 
 unpleasant desolation; and the traveller of the present day who 
 visits our western wilds, where this slovenly practice is still in use, 
 will never pass through such a precinct without a sense of disgust 
 at the disfiguration of the landscape. 
 
 The field thus marred might have contained some fifty acres, and 
 it was now occupied, in the intervals between the lifeless trunks, 
 with a feeble crop of Indian corn, whose husky and parched blades, 
 as they fluttered in the evening wind, added new and appropriate 
 features to the inexpressible raggedness of the scene. The same 
 effect was further aided and preserved by the cumbrous and un¬ 
 seemly worm fence that shot forth its stiff angles around the tract. 
 
 On the very apex of the hill up which our travellers were now 
 clambering, was an inclosure of some three or four acres of land, 
 in the middle of which, under the shade of a tuft of trees, stood a 
 group of log cabins so situated as to command a view of nearly 
 every part of the farm. The principal structure was supplied with 
 a rude porch that covered three of its sides; whilst the smoke that 
 curled upwards from a wide-mouthed chimney, and the accom¬ 
 paniment of a bevy of little negroes that were seen scattered 
 amongst the out-houses, gave an air of habitation and life to the 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 147 
 
 place that contrasted well with the stillness of the neighboring 
 wood. A well-beaten path led into a narrow ravine where might 
 be discerned, peeping forth from the rveeds, the roof of a spring 
 house; and, in the same neighborhood, a rough garden was ob¬ 
 servable, in which a bed of broad-leaved cabbages seemed to have 
 their ground disputed by a plentiful crop of burdock, thistles, and 
 other intruders upon a manured soil. In this inclosure, also, the 
 hollyhock and sunflower, rival coxcombs of the vegetable com- 
 munityf gave their broad and garish tribute to the beautifying of 
 the spot. 
 
 The road approached within some fifty paces of the front of the 
 cabins, where access was allowed, not by the help of a gate, but 
 only by a kind of ladder or stile formed of rails, which were so 
 arranged as to furnish steps across the barrier of the worm fence 
 at four or five feet from the ground. 
 
 “ Are you sure of entertainment here, Galbraith ?” inquired But¬ 
 ler, as they halted at the stile. “ This Wat Adair is not likely to 
 be churlish, I hope ?” 
 
 “ I don’t think I am in much humor to be turned away,” replied 
 Robinson. “ It’s my opinion that a man who has rode a whole 
 day-has a sort of right to quarters wherever the night finds him— 
 providing he pays for what he gets. But I have no doubt of Wat, 
 Major. Holloa! who’s at home? Wat Adair! Wat Adair! 
 Travellers, man ! Show yourself.” 
 
 “ Who are you that keep such a racket at the fence there ?” de¬ 
 manded a female voice. “ What do you mean by such doings 
 before a peaceable house ?” 
 
 “ Keep your dogs silent, ma’am,” returned Horse Shoe, in a blunt 
 and loud key, “ and you will hear us. If you are Wat Adair’s 
 wife you are as good as master of this house. We want a night’s 
 lodging and must have it—and besides, we have excellent sto¬ 
 machs, and mean to pay for all we get. Ain’t that reason enough to 
 satisfy a sensible woman, Mrs. Adair ?” 
 
 “ If you come to make disturbance,” said a man of a short and 
 sturdy figure, who at this moment stepped out from the house and 
 took a position in front of it, w-ith a rifle in his hand—“ if you 
 come here to insult a quiet family you had best turn your horses’ 
 heads up the road and jog further.” 
 
148 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “We miglit do tliat, sir, and fai-e ivorse,” said Butler, in a con¬ 
 ciliatory tone. “ You have no need of your gun ; we are harm¬ 
 less travellers who have come a long way to get under your roof.” 
 
 “ Where from ?” asked the other. 
 
 “ From below,” said Horse Shoe promptly. 
 
 “ What side do you take ?” 
 
 “ Your side for to-night,” returned Robinson again. “ Don’t be 
 ohstropolous, friend,” he continued, at the same time dismounting, 
 “we have come on purpose to pay Wat a visit, and if you ha’n’t 
 got no brawlers in the house, you needn’t be afraid of us.” 
 
 By this time the sergeant had crossed the stile and approached 
 the questioner, to whom he offered his hand. The man gazed for 
 a moment upon his visitor, and then asked— 
 
 “ Isn’t this Galbraith Robinson ?” 
 
 “ They call me so,” replied Horse Shoe ; “ and if I ain’t mis¬ 
 taken, this is Michael Lynch. You wan’t going: to shoot at us, 
 Michael ?” 
 
 “ A man must have sharp eyes when he looks in the face of a 
 neighbor now-a-days,” said the other. “ Come in; Wat’s wife 
 will be glad to see you. Wat himself will be home presently. 
 Who have you here, Galbraith ?” 
 
 “ This is Mr. Butler,” answered Horse Shoe, as the Major joine^ 
 them. “ He and me are taking a ride across into Georgia, and y%, 
 thought we would give Wat a call just to hear the news.” 
 
 “ You are apt to fetch more news than you will take away,” re¬ 
 plied the other; “ but there is a good deal doing now in all quar¬ 
 ters. Howsever, go into the house, we must give you something 
 to eat and a bed besides.” 
 
 After putting their horses in charge of a negi’o who now ap¬ 
 proached in the character of an ostler, our adventurers followed 
 Michael Lynch into the house. 
 
CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 A woodman’s family. 
 
 The apartment into whicli the travellers were introduced was 
 one of large dimensions, conspicuous for its huge kitchen-like fire¬ 
 place and ample chimney. The floor, consisting of broad planks, 
 was so much warped as, in several places, to show the ground 
 throuD'h the chinks. The furniture was of the rudest form and 
 
 O 
 
 most homely materials. Three or four rifles were suspended 
 against the walls, together with some trapping implements and 
 various skins of such wild animals of prey and game as abounded 
 in the woods of this region : these were associated with the antlers 
 of^the buck, powder-horns, hunting pouches, and a few articles of 
 clothing,—the ■^v'hole array giving to the room that air of wood¬ 
 land life which denotes the habitation of a hunter, and which so 
 distinctly characterizes the dwellings of our frontier population. 
 
 Amongst other articles of household use was a large spinning- 
 wheel that was placed near the door, and beside it stood the dame 
 who had first challenged the visitors. She was a woman who could 
 scarcely be said to have reached the middle period of life, although 
 her wan and somewhat haggard features, and a surly, discontented 
 expression of face, might well induce an observer to attribute more 
 years to her worldly account than she had actually seen. The 
 presence of a rough and untidy cradle and some five or six children, 
 the majority of whom might be below three feet in stature, served 
 in some degree to explain the care-worn and joyless countenance of 
 the hostess. When Butler and his companion were ushered by 
 L)'nch into her presence, she gave them no other welcome than a 
 slight nod of the head, and continued to ply her task at the wheel 
 with unremitted assiduity. 
 
 In another corner of the room sat a smart-looking young girl 
 who, at this moment, was employed in carding wool. She was a 
 
150 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 sylvan Hebe, just verging upon womanhood, with a round, active, 
 and graceful figure, which was adorned with that zealous attention 
 to neatness and becoming ornament which, in every station of life, 
 to a certain extent, distinguishes those of the sex Avho are gifted 
 with beauty. Her cheek had the rich bloom of high health; a 
 full round blue eye seemed habitually to laugh with pleasure; and 
 the same trick of a happy temperament had stamped its mark 
 upon the lines of her mouth. Her accost was altogether dift’erent 
 from that of the mistress of the house. She arose from her work 
 immediately upon the entrance of the strangers, courtesied with a 
 modest and silent reserve, and then proceeded to gather up the 
 rolls^ of carded wool at her feet and to dispose of them in a chest 
 near at hand. Having done this, she left the apartment, not with¬ 
 out casting sundry prying glances towards the guests. 
 
 Another member of the family was an aged female: she had 
 perhaps seen her eightieth winter. Her attenuated frame seemed 
 to be hovering on the verge of dissolution: a hollow cheek, a 
 sunken, moist eye, and a tremulous palsied motion of the head 
 denoted the melancholy period of dotage ; and it was apparent at a 
 glance that this unfortunate being had far outlived both her capa¬ 
 city for enjoyment and the sympathy of her kindred. She now sat 
 in a low elbow-chair, with her head almost in contact with her 
 knees, upon the stone hearth, bending over a small fire of brush¬ 
 wood which had been kindled as well for the purpose of preparing 
 the evening meal as for the comfort of the ancient dame herself— 
 the chilliness of nightfall rendering this additional warmth by no 
 means unpleasant. The beldam silently smoked a short pipe, 
 unmoved by anything that occurred in the apartment, and appa¬ 
 rently engrossed with the trivial care of directing the smoke, as 
 she puflfed it from her lips, into a cuiTent that should take it up 
 the chimney. 
 
 Michael Lynch, who acted as landlord in the casual absence of 
 Wat Adair, had no other connexion with the family than that of 
 being joint owner, with the lord of this wild domain, of a small 
 saw-mill in the vicinity, the particular superintendence of which 
 was his especial province. He was, therefore, at particular seasons 
 of the year, an in-dweller at the homestead, and sufficiently in 
 authority to assume a partial direction in the afifairs of the house. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 151 
 
 This maa now replaced his rifle upon the pegs appropriated to 
 receive it, and then oflTered Butler and Robinson chairs, as he said 
 to the mistress of the family :— 
 
 “ Here’s Horse Shoe Robinson, Mrs. Adair ; and this other man 
 I think they call Mr. Butler. They’ve come for a night’s lodging. 
 I believe Wat will be right glad to see them.” 
 
 “You are not often visited with travellers in this part of the 
 country,” said Butler, addressing the matron as he drew his chair 
 near to the fire to dry his clothes. 
 
 “ We have enough of them, such as they are,” replied the 
 woman; “ and it’s a dangerous thing, when there’s so many 
 helpless women at home, to be opening the door to all sorts of 
 persons.” 
 
 “ You, at least, run no risk in ofiering shelter to us this even¬ 
 ing,” returned Butler; “ we are strangers to the quarrel that pre¬ 
 vails in your district.” 
 
 “ People puts on so many pretences,” said the woman, “ that 
 there’s no knowing them.” 
 
 “ You have a fine troop of boys and girls,” continued Butler, 
 patting the head of one of the boys who had summoned courage 
 to approach him, after various shy reconnoitrings of his person. 
 “ Your settlement will require enlargement before long.” 
 
 “ There is more children than is needful,” replied the hostess ; 
 “ they are troublesome brats; but poor people generally have the 
 luck that way.” ^ 
 
 “ Does your husband ever serve with the army, madam ?” asked 
 Butler. 
 
 The woman stopped spinning for a moment, and turning her 
 face towards Butler with a scowl, muttered, 
 
 “ How does that matter concern you ?” 
 
 “ Pardon me,” replied Butler; “ I was recommended to Mr. 
 Adair as a friend, and supposed I might approach his house with¬ 
 out suspicion.” 
 
 “Wat Adair is a fool,” said the wife ; “ who is never content 
 but when he has other people thrusting their spoons into his 
 mess.” 
 
 “ Wat’s a wiser man than his wife,” interrupted Robinson 
 bluntly, “ and takes good care that no man thrusts his spoon into 
 
152 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 his mess without paying for it. You know Wat and me knows 
 each other of old, Mrs. Adair; and devil a ha’penny did Wat 
 ever lose by good manners yet.” 
 
 “ And who are you to talk, forsooth. Horse Shoe Robinson!” 
 exclaimed the ill-favored dame, tartly. “ Who are you to talk of 
 Wat Adair ? If h.e knows you he knows no good of you. I’m 
 sm-e ? I warrant you have come here on honest business now— 
 you and your tramping friend. What do you do up here in the 
 woods, when there is work enough for hearty men below ? Ho 
 good, I will undertake. It is such as you. Horse Shoe Robinson, 
 and your drinking, rioting, broadsword cronies that has given 
 us all our troubles here. You know Wat Adah’!” 
 
 “A little consideration, good woman! Hot so fast; you run 
 yourself out of breath,” said Robinson mildly, interrupting this flood 
 of objurgation. “ Why, you are as spiteful as a hen with a fresh 
 brood! Remember, Wat and me are old friends. Wat has 
 been at my house both before the war and since, and I have been 
 here—all in friendship you know. And many’s the buck I 
 have helped Wat to fetch down. What’s the use of tantrums ? 
 If we had been thieves, Mrs. Adair, you couldn’t have 
 sarved us worse. Why, it’s onreasonable in you to fly in a man’s 
 face so.” 
 
 “ I’ll vouch for Horse Shoe Robinson, Mrs. Peggy Adair,” said 
 Lynch. “You oughtn’t to think harm of him; and you know 
 it isn’t long since we heard Wat talk of him, and say he would 
 hke to see him once more !” 
 
 “ Well, it’s my way,” replied the hostess, soothed down into a 
 placid mood by this joint expostulation. “We have had cause to 
 be suspicious, and I own I am suspicious. But, Horse Shoe 
 Robinson, I can’t say I have anything against you; you and 
 your friend may be welcome for me.” 
 
 “ Heyday!” exclaimed the old crone from the chimney corner. 
 “ Who is talking about Horse Shoe Robinson ? Is this Horse 
 Shoe ? Come here, good man,” she said, beckoning with her 
 finger to the sergeant. “ Come close and let me look at you. 
 Galbraith Robinson, as I am a sinner ! All the way from the 
 Waxhaws. Who’d ’a thought to find you here amongst the 
 Tories ? Such a racketing whig as you ! Heyday !” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 153 
 
 “ Whisht, granny !” said Robinson almost in a whisper. “ Don’t 
 call names.” 
 
 “We are all Tories here,” said the old woman, heedless of the 
 sergeant’s caution, “ ever since last Thursday, when the handsome 
 English oflBcer was here to see Watty, and to count out his gold 
 like pebble-stones.” 
 
 “ Grandmother, you talk nonsense,” said the wife. 
 
 “ Old Mistress Crosby,” interposed Robinson, “ is as knowing as 
 she ever was. It’s a mark of sense to be able to tell the day of the 
 week when a man changes his coat. But, granny, you oughtn’t 
 to talk of Wat’s seeing an English officer in his house.” 
 
 “ Golden guineas, honey !” continued the drivelling old woman. 
 “ All good gold ! And a proud clinking they make in Watty’s 
 homespun pocket. A countryman’s old leather bag, Galbraith 
 Robinson, doesn’t often scrape acquaintance with the image of the 
 king’s head—ha, ha, ha! It makes me laugh to think of it! 
 Ha, ha, ha! Watty’s nose cocked up so high too ! Wffio but he, 
 the proud gander ! Strutting like quality. Well, well, pr ide w ill 
 ha ve a fall, some day, t hat’s the Lord’s truth. Both pockets full!” 
 slie^ontinued, muttering broken sentences and laughing so vio¬ 
 lently that the tears ran down her cheeks. 
 
 “If you call Wat Adair your friend,” interrupted the wife sul¬ 
 lenly, and addressing Robinson, “ you will show your sense by 
 keeping away from this foolish old woman. She is continually 
 raving with some nonsense that she dreams of nights. You ought 
 to see that she is only half witted. It’s sinful to encourage her 
 talking. Grandmother, you had better go to your bed.” 
 
 “ Come this way, deary,” said the beldam, addressing an infant 
 that toddled across the floor near to her seat, at the same time 
 extending her shrivelled arm to receive it. “ Come to the old 
 body,'pretty darling !” 
 
 “ No,” lisped the child with an angi-y scream, and instantly 
 made its way towards the door. 
 
 “ Then do you come to me, Peggy,” she said, looking up at her 
 granddaughter, the mistress of the family, who was still busy with 
 her wheel. “ Wipe my old eye with your handkerchief. Don’t 
 you see I have laughed my eyes dim at Watty and his gold ? 
 And fill my pipe again, Peggy.” 
 
 1 * 
 
164 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Instead of obeying this command, the mother left her spinning, 
 and ran with some precipitation towards the door to catch up the 
 child, who had staggered to the very verge of the sill, where it 
 paused in imminent peril of falling headlong down the step ; and 
 having rescued it from its danger, she returned with the infant in 
 her arms to a chair, where, without scruple at the presence of her 
 visitors, she uncovered her bosom and administered to her off¬ 
 spring that rich and simple bounty which nature has so lavishly 
 ’ provided for the sustenance of our first and tenderest days of 
 helplessness. 
 
 “ Well-a-day, I see how it is !” muttered the grandmother in an 
 accent of reproof, “ that’s the way of the world. Love is like a 
 running river, it goes downwards, but doesn’t come back to the 
 spring. The poor old granny in the chimney corner is a withered 
 tree up the stream, and the youngest born is a pretty flower on the 
 bank below. Love leaves the old tree and goes to the flower. It 
 went from me to Peggy’s mother, and so downwards and down¬ 
 wards, but it never will come back again. The old graflny’s room 
 is more wanted than her company ; she ought to be nailed up in 
 her coffin and put to sleep down, down in the cold ground. Well, 
 well! But Watty’s a proud wretch, that’s for certain !” 
 
 In this strain the aged dame continued to pour forth a stream 
 of garrulity exhibiting a mixture of the silly dreamings of dotage, 
 with a curious remainder of the scraps and saws of former experi¬ 
 ence—a strange compound of futile drivelling and shrewd and 
 quick sagacity. 
 
 During the period of the foregoing dialogue, preparations were 
 making for supper. These were conducted principally under the 
 superintendence of our Hebe, who, my reader will recollect, some 
 time since escaped from the room, and who, as Butler learned, in 
 the course of the evening, was a niece of Adair’s wife and bore the 
 kindly name of Mary Musgrove. The part which she took in the 
 concerns of the family was in accordance with the simple manners 
 of the time, and such as might be expected from her relationship. 
 She was now seen arranging a broad table, and directing the 
 domestics in the disposition of sundry dishes of venison, bacon, and 
 corn bread, with such other items of fare as belonged to the 
 sequestered and forest-bound region in which Adair resided. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 155 
 
 Mary was frequently caught directing her regards towards 
 Butler, whose face w’as handsome enough to have rendered such a 
 thing quite natural from a young girl: hut she seemed to be moved 
 by more than ordinary interest, as the closeness of her scrutiny 
 almost implied a suspicion in her mind of his disguise. In truth 
 there was some incongruity between his manners and the peasant , 
 dress he wore, which an eye like Mary’s might have detected, not¬ 
 withstanding the plainness of demeanor which Butler studied to 
 assume. 
 
 “We have nothing but corn bread in the house,” said Mary in 
 a low tone to her kinswoman, “ perhaps the gentlemen (here she 
 directed her eye, for the fiftieth time, to Butler) expected to get 
 wheat. Had I not better pull some roasting-ears from the garden and 
 prepare them ? they will not be amiss with our milk and butter.” 
 
 “Bless you, my dear,” said Butler, thrown completely off his 
 guard, and showing more gallantry than belonged to the station 
 he affected. “ Give yourself no trouble on my account; we can 
 eat anything. I delight in corn cakes, and will do ample justice to 
 this savory venison. Pray do not concern yourself for us.” 
 
 “ It is easy as running to the garden,” said Mary in a sweet and 
 almost laughing tone. 
 
 “ That’s further, my dear,” replied Butler, “ than I choose you 
 should run at this time of night. It is dark, my pretty girl.” 
 
 “ Gracious!” returned Mary with natural emotion, “ do you 
 think I am afraid to go as far as the garden in the dark ? We 
 have no witches or fairies in our hills to hurt us : and if we had, I 
 know how to keep them away.” 
 
 “ And how might that be ?” 
 
 “ By saying my prayers, sir. My father taught me, before my 
 head was as high as the back of this chair, a good many prayers : 
 and he told me they would protect me from all sorts of harm, if I 
 only said them in right earnest. And I hear many old people, 
 who ought to know, say the same thing.” 
 
 “Your father taught you well and wisely,” replied Butler; 
 
 “ prayer will guard us against many ills, and chiefly against our¬ 
 selves. But against the harm that others may do us, we should^ 
 not forget that prudence is also a good safeguard. It is always j 
 well to avoid a dangerous path.” -..y 
 
156 
 
 IIORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ But, for all that,” said the maiden smihng, “ I am not afraid to 
 go as far as the garden.” 
 
 “ If you mean to get the corn,” interrupted Mistress Adair, in no 
 very kindly tone, “ you had as well go without all this talk. I 
 warrant if you listen to every man who thinks it worth while to 
 jabber in your ear, you will find harm enough, without going far 
 to seek it.” 
 
 “ I thought it was only civil to speak when I was spoken to,” 
 replied Mary, with an air of mortification. “ But I will be gone 
 this moment;” and with these words the girl went forth upon her 
 errand. 
 
 A moment only elapsed when the door was abruptly thrown 
 open, and the tall and swarthy figure of Wat Adair strode into 
 the room. The glare of the blazing faggots of pine which had 
 been thrown on the fire to light up the apartment, fell broadly 
 over his person, and flung a black and uncouth shadow across the 
 floor and upon the opposite wall; thus magnifying his proportions 
 and imparting a picturesque character to his outward man. A 
 thin, dark, weather-beaten countenance, animated by a bright and 
 restless eye, expressed cunning rather than hardihood, and seemed 
 habitually to alternate between the manifestations of waggish 
 vivacity and distrust. The person of this individual might be said^ 
 from its want of symmetry and from a certain slovenly and 
 ungraceful stoop in the head and shoulders, to have been 
 protracted, rather than tall. It better deserved the description of 
 sinewy than muscular, and communicated the idea of toughness in 
 a gi'eater degree than strength. His arms and legs were long ; and 
 the habit of keeping the knee bent as he walked, suggested a 
 remote resemblance in his gait to that of a panther and other ani¬ 
 mals of the same species ; it seemed to be adapted to a sudden leap 
 or spring. 
 
 His dress was a coarse and short hunting-shirt of dingy gi-een, 
 trimmed with a profusion of fringe, and sufficiently open at the 
 collar to disclose his long and gaunt neck : a black leather belt 
 supported a hunting knife and wallet; whilst a pair of rude deer¬ 
 skin moccasins and a cap manufactured from the sMn of some wild 
 animal, and now deprived of its hair by long use, supplied the 
 indispensable gear to either extremity of his person. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 157 
 
 Adair’s first care was to bestow in their proper places his rifle 
 and powder-horn; then to disburden himself of a number of 
 squirrels which were strung carelessly over his person, and, finally, 
 to throw himself into a chair that occupied one side of the fire¬ 
 place. The light for a moment blinded him, and it was not until 
 he shaded his brow with his hand and looked across the hearth, 
 that he became aware of the presence of the strangers. His first 
 gaze was directed to Butler, to whom he addressed the common 
 interrogatory, “ Travelhng in these parts, sir ?” and, before time was 
 afforded for a reply to this accost, his eye recognised the sergeant, 
 upon which, starting from his seat, he made up to our sturdy friend, 
 and slapping him famiharly on the back, uttered a chuckling 
 laugh, as he exclaimed: 
 
 “ Why, Galbraith, is it you, man ? To be sure it is I What 
 wind has blown you up here ? Have you been running from red 
 coats, or are you hunting of Tories, or are you looking for beeves ? 
 Who have you got with you here ?” 
 
 “ Wat, it don’t consarn you to know what brought us here—it 
 is only your business to do the best you can for us whilst we are 
 here,” replied the sergeant; “ This here gentleman is Mr. Butler, a 
 friend of mine that wants to get across into Georgia ; and trouble 
 enough we’ve had to find our way this far, Wat Adair. You’ve 
 got such an uproarious country, and such a cursed set of quarrel¬ 
 some devils in it, that a peaceable man is clean out of fashion 
 amongst you. AVe are as wet as muskrats in swimming the river^ 
 and as hungry as wolves in winter.” 
 
 “ And happy,” said Butler, “ to be at last under the roof of a 
 friend.” 
 
 “ Well, I am glad to see you both,” replied AVat. “ What put 
 it in my head, Galbraith, I am sure I can’t tell, but I was thinking 
 about you this very day; said I to myself, I should just like to see 
 I lorse Shoe Robinson, the onconceivable, superfluous, roaring devil! 
 Haw, haw, haw !” 
 
 “ You were ashamed of your own company, AVat, and wanted 
 to see a decent man once more,” replied Horse Shoe, echoing the 
 laugh. 
 
 “ Mary Musgrove, bustle, girl,” said the woodman, as the maiden 
 entered the room with her arms loaded with ears of Indian com ; 
 
158 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ bustle, mink! here are two runaways with stomachs like mill¬ 
 stones to grind your corn. Horse Shoe, get uji from that chist, 
 man ; I can give you a little drop of liquor, if you will let me 
 rummage there for it. Marcus, boy, go bring us in a jug of cool 
 water. Wife, I’m ’stonished you didn’t think of giving our friends 
 something to drink afore.” 
 
 “ I am sure I don’t pretend to know friend from foe,” returned 
 the dame ; “ and it is a bad way to find that out by giving them 
 liquor.” 
 
 When the boy returned with the water, and the host had helped 
 his guests to a part of the contents of a fiask which had been ex¬ 
 tracted from the chest, Butler took occasion to commend the 
 alacrity of the young servitor. 
 
 “ This is one of your children, I suppose ?” 
 
 “A sort of a pet cub,” replied the woodman; “just a small 
 specimen of my fetching up: trees squirrels like a dog—got the 
 nose of a hound—can track a raccoon in the dark—and the most 
 meddlesome imp about fire-arms you ever see. Here t’ other day 
 got my rifle and shot away half the hah from his sister’s head; 
 but I reckon I skinned him for it! You can answer for that, Mar¬ 
 cus, you shaver, eh ?” 
 
 “ I expect you did,” answered the boy pertly, “ but I don’t mind 
 a whipping when I’ve got room to dodge.” 
 
 “ Do you know, Mr. Butler, how I come to call that boy Mar¬ 
 cus ?” said Adair. 
 
 “ It is one of your family names, perhaps.” 
 
 “ Not a bit. There’s nare another boy nor man in this whole 
 country round has such a name—nor woman, neither. It’s a to¬ 
 tally oncommon name. I called him after that there Frenchman 
 that’s come out here to help General Washington—Marcus Lafay¬ 
 ette ; and I think it sounds mighty well.” 
 
 Butler laughed, as he replied, “ That was a soldierly thought of 
 yours. I think you must call your next Baron, after our old Prus¬ 
 sian friend De Kalb.” 
 
 “Do you hear that, wife ?” exclaimed Wat. “Keep that in 
 your head, if it will hold there a twelvemonth. No occasion to 
 wait longer, haw ! haw ! haw !” 
 
 “ Wat talks like a natural born fool,” retorted the wife. “We 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 159 
 
 have no friends nor enemies on any side. The boy was called 
 Marcus because Watty was headstrong, and not because we cared 
 any more for one general nor another. I dare say there is faults 
 enough on both sides, if the truth was told; and I can’t see what 
 people in the woods have to do with all this jarring about liberty 
 and such nonsense.” 
 
 “Hold your tongue!” said Wat. “Boil your kettle, and give' 
 us none of your tinkling brass, as the Bible calls it. You see. 
 Horse Shoe, there’s such ridings and burnings, and shooting and 
 murder about here, that these women are scared out of the little 
 wits God has given them ; and upon that account we are obliged 
 sometimes to play a little double, just to keep out of harm’s way. 
 But I am sure I wish no ill to the Continental army.” 
 
 “If we thought you did, Wat,” replied Robinson, “we would 
 have slept on the hill to-night, rather than set foot across the sill 
 of your door. Howsever, let’s say nothing about that; I told Mr. 
 Butler that you would give us the best you had, and so you 
 will. I have known Wat Adair, Mr. Butler, a good many years. 
 We used to call him Wat with the double hand. Show us your 
 fist here, Wat. Look at that, sir ! it’s as broad as a shovel!” 
 
 “ Cutting of trees,” said the woodman, as he spread his large 
 horny-knuckled hand upon the supper table, “ and handling of 
 logs, will make any man’s ^law broad, and mine wa’n’t small at 
 first.” 
 
 “ Ha ! ha ! ha 1” ejaculated the sergeant, “ you ha’n’t forgot 
 Dick Rowley over here on Congaree, W’’at,—Walloping Dick, as 
 they nicknamed him—and the scrimmage you had with him when 
 he sot to laughing at you because they accused you for being light- 
 fingered, and your letting him see that you had a heavy hand, by 
 giving him the full weight of it upon his ear that almost drove him 
 through the window of the bar-room at the Cross Roads 1 You 
 ha’n’t forgot that—and his drawing his knife on you ?” 
 
 “ To be sure I ha’n’t. That fellow was about as superfluous a 
 piece of wicked flesh as I say—as a man would meet on a sum¬ 
 mer’s day journey. But for all that. Horse Shoe, he wa’n’t going 
 to supererogate me, without getting as good as he sent. When I 
 come across one of your meny fellows that’s for playing cantraps 
 on a man,-it’s my rule to make them pay the piper; and that’s a 
 
160 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 pretty good rule, Horse Shoe, all the Avorld through. But come, 
 here is supper; draw up, Mr. Butler.” 
 
 Mary Musgrove having completed the arrangement of the hoard 
 whilst this conversation was in progress, the family now sat down 
 to their repast. It was observable, during the meal, that Mary 
 was very attentive in the discharge of the offices of the table, and 
 especially when they were required by Butler. There was a 
 modest and natural courtesy in her demeanor that attracted the 
 notice of our soldier, and enhanced the kindly impression which 
 the artless girl had made upon him; and it was, accordingly, with 
 a feeling composed, in one degree, of curiosity to learn more of 
 her character, and, in another, of that sort of tenderness which an 
 open-hearted man is apt to entertain towards an ingenuous and 
 pretty female, that he took occasion after supper, when Mary had 
 seated herself on the threshold of the porch, to fall into conversa¬ 
 tion with her. 
 
 “ You do not live here, I think I have gathered, but are only on 
 a visit ?” was the remark addressed to the maiden. 
 
 “ No, SH; it is thirty good long miles by the shortest road, from 
 this to my father’s house. Mistress Adair is my mother’s sister, 
 and that makes her my aunt, you know, su’.” 
 
 “ And your father’s name ?” 
 
 “ Allen Musgrove. He has a mill, sir, on the Ennoree.” 
 
 “ You are the miller’s daughter, then. Well, that’s a pretty 
 title. I suppose they call you so ?” 
 
 “ The men sometimes call me,” replied Mary, rising to her feet, 
 and leaning carelessly against one of the upright timbers that sup¬ 
 ported the porch, “ the miller’s pretty daughter, but the women 
 call me plain Mary Musgrove.” 
 
 “ Faith, my dear, the men come nearer to the truth than the 
 women.” 
 
 “ They say not,” replied the maiden, “ I have heard, and some¬ 
 times I have read in good books—at least, they called them good 
 books—that you mustn’t believe the men.” 
 
 “ And why should you not 
 
 “ I don’t well know why not,” returned the girl doubtingly; 
 “ but I am young, and maybe I shall find it out by and by.” 
 
 “ God forbid,” said Butler, “ that you should ever gain that ex- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 161 
 
 perience! But there are many toils spread for the feet of inno¬ 
 cence in this world, and it is well to have a discreet eye and good / 
 friends.” 
 
 “ I am seventeen, sir,” replied Mary, “ come next month ; and 
 though I have travelled backwards and forwards from here to 
 Ennoree, and once to Camden, which, you know, sir, is a good deal 
 of this world to see, I never knew anybody that thought harm of 
 me. But I don’t dispute there are men to be afraid of, and some 
 that nobody coidd like. And yet I think a good man can be told 
 by his face.” 
 
 “ Are you sure of that ?” 
 
 “ Yes. My father is a good man, and every one says you may 
 see it in his looks.” 
 
 “ I should like to know your father,” said Butler. 
 
 “ I am sure he would be glad to know you, sir.” 
 
 “ Now, my pretty miller’s daughter, why do you think so ?” 
 
 “ Because you are a gentleman,” replied the girl, courtesying, 
 
 “ for all your homespun clothes.” 
 
 “ Ha ! pray how have you found that out ?” 
 
 “ You talk differently from our people, sir. Your words or your”' 
 voice, I can’t rightly tell which, are softer than I have been used to 
 hear. And you don’t look, and walk, and behave as if homespun ' 
 had been all you ever wore.” 
 
 “ And is that all ?” 
 
 “ You stop to consider, as if you were stud)dng what would, 
 please other people ; and you do not step so heavy, sir ; and you\ 
 do not swear; and you do not seem to like to give trouble. I I 
 can’t think, sir, that you have been always used to such as are ' 
 hereabouts. And then there’s another reason, sir,” added the 
 maiden, almost in a whisper. 
 
 “ What is that ? ” asked Butler, smiling. 
 
 “ AVhy, sir, when you stooped down to pick up your fork, that 
 fell from the table, I saw a blue ribbon round your neck, and a 
 beautifid gold picture hanging to it. None but gentlemen of 
 quality cany such things about them : and as there is so much 
 contriving and bloody doings going on about here, I was sure you 
 wasn’t what you seemed.” 
 
 “ For heaven’s sake, my dear,” exclaimed Butler, startled by 
 
102 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 the disclosure of the maiden’s suspicion, wliich was so naturally 
 accounted for, “ keep tliis to yourself, and the time may come 
 when I shall be able to reward your fidelity. If you have any 
 good will towards me, as I hope you have, tell nobody what you 
 have seen.” 
 
 “ Never fear me, sir,” returned the maid. “ I wouldn’t let on 
 to any one in the house for the world. I am for General Wash¬ 
 ington and the Congress, which is more than I think the people 
 here are.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! ” muttered Butler, thoughtfully, and scarce above his 
 breath. “ What side does your father take, Mary ? ” 
 
 “ My father is an old man, sir. And he reads his Bible, and 
 every night, before we go to bed, he prays aloud before us all, I 
 mean all that belong to his house, for quiet once more and peace. 
 His petition is that there may be an end of strife, and that the 
 _ sword and spear may be turned into the pruning-hook and 
 ploughshare—you know the words, sir, perhajps, for they are in 
 the good book, and so he doesn’t take any side. But then, the 
 English ofiBcers are not far olF, and they take his house and use it 
 as they please, so that he has no mind of his own. And almost 
 all the people round us are Tories, and we are afi-aid of om’ lives 
 if we do not say whatever they say.” 
 
 “ Alas ! that’s the misfortune of many more than your father’s 
 household. But how comes it that you are a friend of General 
 Washington ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, sir, I think he is our friend ; and then he is a good man. 
 And I have a better reason still to be on his side,” added the 
 maiden tremulously, with her head averted. < 
 
 “ What reason, my good girl ? ” 
 
 “ John Ramsay, sir.” 
 
 —— “ Indeed! a very cogent reason, I doubt not, my pretty maid 
 of the mill. And how does this reason operate ? ” 
 
 “We have a liking, sir,” she replied bashfully, but with inno¬ 
 cent frankness ; “ he is for Washington, and we are to be married 
 when the war is over.” 
 
 “ Truly, that is a most excellent reason ! Who is John Ram¬ 
 say?” 
 
 “ He is a trooper, sir, and out with General Sumpter. We 
 
HOUSE SHOE ROBINSOK. 
 
 163 
 
 don’t see Lim often now, for he is afraid to come home, excepting 
 when the Tories are away.” 
 
 “ These Tories are very troublesome, Mary,” said Butler, 
 laughing ; “ they annoy us all, on our side of the question. But 
 love John Ramsay, my dear, and don’t be ashamed of it, for I’ll 
 warrant he is a brave fellow, and deserves a pretty girl with a 
 true heart, for his love to his country.” 
 
 “ That he does! ” replied Mary, “ for his greatest fault is that 
 he ventures too much. If you should see him, sir, I would like 
 you just to drop him a hint that he ought to take more care of 
 himself. He would mind it from you, but he puts me off with a 
 laugh when I tell him so.” 
 
 “ If I have the schooling of him, he shall be more cautious, for 
 your sake. But the cm-rent of true love never did run smooth, 
 Mary; remember that.” 
 
 “ I must go into the house, my aunt Peggy calls me,” inter¬ 
 rupted the maiden. “ I will keep the secret, sir,” she added, as 
 she retired fr-om the porch to the household service where her 
 presence was demanded. 
 
 “ Simple, innocent, and confiding girl,” ejaculated Butler, as he 
 now strolled forth under the starlit canopy of night; “ how are 
 you ' contrasted with the rough and savage natures around you! 
 
 I wear but a thin disguise, when this unpractised country girl is < 
 able so soon to penetrate it. And this miniature, too! Oh, 
 Mildred ! that the very talisman I bear about me to guard me 
 from evil, should betray me ! Well, this discovery admonishes 
 me that I should wear that image nearer to my heart. There,” 
 he continued, as he buttoned his waistcoat across his breast; “ lie 
 closer and more concealed. I doubt this double-faced woodman, 
 and almost believe in the seeming fi-ivolous dotings of the crone 
 at his fireside. Now, God defend us fi-om treachery and ambus¬ 
 cade ! ” 
 
 Robinson, at this moment, being on his way to the stable, was 
 met by Butler, who half whispered, “ Good sergeant, keep your 
 eyes about you, and, mark me, do not omit to take our weapons 
 to our chamber. I have reasons for this caution. I would not 
 trust ’lese people too far.” 
 
 “ W at dare not play us a trick, major,” replied the sergeant. 
 
164 
 
 HOESE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 “ He Imows I would shake the life out of his carcase if I saw him 
 take one step of a traitor. Besides, in this here war time, it’s a part 
 of my discipline to be always ready for stolen marches. As you 
 say, major, we will stack arms where we sleep. There is no trust 
 in this dubious country that isn’t something the surer with powder 
 and ball to back it.” 
 
 With this intimation the sergeant continued his walk, and 
 Butler, retiring to the family group, seated himself near the 
 fire. 
 
 Wat Adair and his crony, Michael Lynch, had each lighted a 
 pipe, and were now in close conference under the cover of their 
 own smoke, amidst the combined din of romping children and of 
 the noisy spinning-wheel of the wife, which gave fife and occupa¬ 
 tion to the apartment. 
 
 “ How far do you expect to travel to-morrow ? ” asked the host, 
 as Butler drew a chair near him. 
 
 “ That will depend very much,” replied Butler, “ upon the 
 advice you may give us.” 
 
 “ You wish to get across here into Georgia?” continued Wat. 
 
 “ By the route least liable to molestation,” added the major. 
 
 “ Let me see, Michael, Grindall’s Ford is the best point to make : 
 then there’s Christie’s, about three miles beyont.” 
 
 “ Just so,” replied Lynch ; “ that will make about twenty-seven 
 and three are thirty miles : an easy day’s journey.” 
 
 “ In that case,” said Adair, “ if you know the road—doesn’t 
 Horse Shoe know it, sir ? ” 
 
 “ I rather think not,” answered Butler. 
 
 “ Well, it’s a little tangled, to be sure; but if you will wait in 
 the morning until I look at my wolf trap, which is only a step off, 
 I will go with you part of the way, just to see you through one 
 or two cross paths : after that all is clear enough. You will 
 have a long day before you, and, with good horses, not much 
 to do.” 
 
 - “ Are we likely to meet parties on the u’oad ? ” asked Butler. 
 
 “ Oh, Lord, sir, no chance of it,” replied the woodman; “ eveiy- 
 thing is drawing so to a head down below at Camden Twixt 
 Cornwallis and Gates, that we have hardly anything but old 
 women left to keep the countiy free of Indians.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 165 
 
 “ And how have you escaped the levy ? ” inquired the major. 
 
 “ He, he, he! ” chuckled our host; “ there’s a trick in that. 
 They call me a man of doubtful principles, and neither side are 
 willing to own me,” he added, with a tone that seemed to indicate 
 a sense of his own cleverness. “ But, bless you, sir, if I chose to 
 speak out, there wouldn’t be much doubt in the case. Would 
 there, Michael ?” 
 
 “ Not if you was to be plain in declaring your sentiments,” 
 answered Lynch, sedately puffing out a huge cloud of smoke. 
 
 “ Betwixt you and me, sir,” continued Wat, putting his hand up 
 to his mouth, and winking an eye at Butler, “ the thing’s clear 
 enough. But these are ticklish times, Mr. Butler, and the wise 
 man keepeth his own counsel, as the Scripture says. You under¬ 
 stand me, I dare say.” 
 
 “ Perhaps, I do,” returned Butler. And here the conversation 
 dropped, Wat and his companion gravely pouring forth volumes 
 of tobacco-fumes in silence, until the sergeant, having made his 
 visit to the stable, now re-entered the room. 
 
 “ Wat,” said Robinson, “ show us where we are to sleep. Mr. 
 Butler, to my thinking, it’s time to be turning in.” 
 
 Then throwing his rifle upon one arm, and Butler’s holsters 
 over the other, the sergeant waited in the middle of the floor until 
 Mary Musgrove, at the order of Adair, took a candJLe in her hand, 
 and beckoned our traveljers to follow her out at me door. The 
 maiden conducted her charge along the porch to the opposite end 
 of the cabin, where she pointed out their chamber. After bidding 
 their pretty conductress “ good night,” our travellers prepared 
 themselves for that repose which their wearied frames did not long 
 seek in vain. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SOMETHING VERY LIKE A DREAM, 
 
 It was after midniglit, and the inmates of the woodman’s cabin 
 had been some hours at rest, when Mary Musgrove’s sleep was dis¬ 
 turbed by strange and unwonted alarms. She was dreaming of 
 Arthur Butler, and a crowd of pleasant visions flitted about her 
 pillow, when, suddenly, clouds darkened the world of her dream, 
 and images of bloodshed caused her to shudder. Horrid shapes 
 appeared to her, marching with stealthy pace through her apart¬ 
 ment, and a low and smothered footfall seemed to strike her ear 
 like the ticking of a death-watch. The fright awakened her, but 
 when she came to herself all was still. Her chamber was at the 
 opposite end of the cabin from that where Butler and Robinson 
 slept, and it was separated from the room occupied by Lynch only 
 by a thin partition of boards. The starlight through her window 
 fell upon the floor, just touching, as it passed, the chair over which 
 Mary had hung her clothes, and lighting with a doubtful and 
 spectral light the prominent points of the pile of garments, in such 
 manner as to give it the semblance of some unearthly thing. Mary 
 Musgrove had the superstition common to rustic education, and, 
 as her dream had already filled her mind with apprehensions, she 
 now trembled when her eye fell upon what seemed to her a visit¬ 
 ant from another world. For some moments she experienced that 
 most painful of all sufferings, the agony of young and credulous 
 minds when wrought upon by their horror of spectres in the night. 
 Gradually, however, the truth came to her aid, and she saw the 
 di’eaded ghost disrobed of his terrors, and changed into a familiar 
 and harmless reality. But this night-fear was scarcely dissipated 
 before she again heard, what in her sleep had conjured up the 
 train of disagreeable images, the noise of footsteps in the adjoining 
 room. In another instant she recognised the sound of voices con¬ 
 versing in a half whisper. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 167 
 
 “ Michael,” said the first voice; “ Damn it, man, will you never 
 awake ? Rouse yourself; it is time to be stirring.” 
 
 “Wat!” exclaimed the second voice, with a loud yawn, whilst 
 at the same moment the creaking of the bedstead and a sullen 
 sound upon the floor showed that the speaker had risen from his 
 couch. “ Is it you ? I have hardly gone to bed, before you are 
 here to rouse me up. What o’clock is it ?” 
 
 “ It is nearly one,” replied Wat Adair. “And let me tell you, 
 you have no time to lose. Hugh Habershaw is good ten miles off, 
 and you must be back by day-light.” 
 
 “ You might have given me another hour, I think, if it was only 
 to consider over the right way of setting about this thing. Always 
 look before you leap, that’s common sense.” 
 
 “ You were always a heavy-headed devil,” said Adair; “ and 
 take as much spurring as a spavined horse. What have you to 
 do with considering ? Isn’t all fixed ? Jog, man, jog. You have 
 a beautiful starlight: and I had the crop-ear put up in the 
 stable last night, that no time might be lost; so up, and saddle, 
 and away 1” 
 
 “ Well, you needn’t be so d—d busy ; don’t you see that I am 
 getting ready ?” 
 
 “ Quiet, Mike; you talk too loud. Take your shoes in your 
 hand, you can put them on when you get into the porch.” 
 
 “There, give me my coat, Wat; and I think I should have no 
 objection to a drop before I set out. It’s raw riding of a morning. 
 Now tell me exactly what I am to say to Hugh Habershaw.” 
 
 “ Tell him,” replied Wat, “ that we have got Horse Shoe Robin¬ 
 son and Major Butler of the Continental army, as snug as a pair of 
 foxes in a bag, and that I will let them run exactly at seven ; 
 and—” 
 
 “ Not to interrupt you, Wat,” said the other, “ let me ask you a 
 question before you go on. Suppose this shouldn’t be the man ? 
 Are you sure of it 1 It would be a d—d unchristian job to give 
 over any other human being to such a set of bloodhounds as Hugh 
 Habershaw and his gang.” 
 
 “ Shaw, Mike; you are a fool! WTio, in the name of all the 
 imps, could it be, but Major Butler! Weren’t we expecting him 
 along witli Horse Shoe, and just at this time ?” 
 
16S 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ It looks likely enough,” replied Lynch. “ So go on.” 
 
 “ Tell Hugh to be ready at the Dogwood Spring, at the latest, 
 by eight o’clock. I’ll give him a game to play that will supple his 
 joints for him. And mind me Mike, warn the greasy captain to 
 have his whole squad with him; for Horse Shoe Robinson, you 
 know, is not to be handled by boys; it will be a bull-fight, or I’m 
 mistaken.” 
 
 “ The major seems to have a wicked eye too, Wat,” said Lynch. 
 “ I shouldn’t like much to be in his way, if he was angry; these 
 copperheads are always in a coil ready to strike. But, Wat, how 
 if they don’t ride by the Dogwood Spring ?” 
 
 “ Leave that to me ; I’ll contrive to go as far as the forks of the 
 road with them. And then, if they don’t take the right hand fork, 
 why, you may say it’s for the want of my not knovfing how to tell 
 a lie.” 
 
 “ Now, Wat Adair, I don’t like to spoil sport, but, may be, you 
 * have never thought whether it would be worth while just to take 
 t’other side, and tell Horse Shoe the whole business. Couldn’t we, 
 don’t you think, get as much money, and just as honestly, by 
 hoisting colors with Major Butler ?” 
 
 “ But I have thought of that, and it won’t do, for two reasons. 
 First, these Continentals are on the down-hill, and money is as 
 scarce with them as honesty with the red-coats: and, second, the 
 Tories have got so much the upper hand in the whole country, 
 that I should have my house burnt down and my children thrown 
 into the blaze of it, in less than three days, if I was to let these 
 fellows slip through my fingers.” 
 
 “ Well, I never knew,” said Mike Lynch, “ any piece of villany 
 that hadn’t some good reasons to stand by it, and that’s what 
 makes it agreeable to my conscience to take a hand.” 
 
 “ Why, you off-scouring,” replied Wat, “ it is enough 'to make 
 Old Scratch laugh, to hear you talk about conscience ! There ain’t 
 no such a thing going in these days. So be off; I’U look for you 
 at daylight.” 
 
 “I’ll ride, Wat, as if the devil was on my Crupper; so good 
 bye!” 
 
 The cessation of the voices, the distant tramp of Lynch when he 
 had left the cabin, and the cautious retreat of Wat Adair to his 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 169 
 
 chamber, told to Mary that the affair was settled, and the plan of 
 treachery in full career towards its consummation. 
 
 The dialogue that had just passed in the hearing of the maiden, 
 disclosed a plot that deeply agitated and distressed her. What 
 did it become her to do, was the first question that presented itself 
 to her reflection, as soon as she was sufficiently self-possessed to 
 turn her thoughts upon herself. AVas it in her power to avert 
 the impending disaster which threatened the lives, perhaps, of those 
 who had sought the hospitality of her kinsman ? Perplexed, dis¬ 
 mayed, and uncertain how to act, she had recourse to an expedient 
 natural to her education, and such as would appear most obvious 
 to a feeble and guileless female : it was to the simple and faith- 
 inspired expedient of prayer. And now, in artless but sincere lan¬ 
 guage, having first risen up in her bed, and bent, her body across 
 her pillow, in the attitude of supplication, she fervently implored 
 the support of Heaven in her present strait, and besought wis¬ 
 dom and strength to conceive and to do that which was needful for 
 the security of the individuals whose peace was threatened by this 
 conspiracy. 
 
 “ I will arise,” she said, as she finished her short and earnest 
 prayer, “ with the first light of the dawn, and wait the coming of 
 the strangers from their chamber, and I will then be the first to 
 tell them of the snare that is prepared for them.” With this 
 resolve she endeavored to compose herself to rest, but sleep fled her 
 eyelids, and her anxious thoughts dwelt upon and even magnified 
 the threatened perils*. It might be too late, she reflected, to wait 
 for the dawn of day; Adair might be before her at the door of the 
 guests, and his constant presence might take from her all hope of 
 being able to communicate the important secret to them ; it was 
 undoubtedly her surest course to take advantage of the stillness of 
 the night, whilst the household were wrapt in sleep, and apprise 
 the strangers of their danger. But then, how was she to make her 
 way to theii' apartment, and arouse them, at this hour, from their 
 slumbers ? To what suspicions might the attempt expose her, even 
 from Arthur Butlei- himself? And, more particularly, what would 
 John Ramsay think of it, if the story should be afterwards told to 
 her disadvantage ? 
 
 This last was an interrogatory which Mary Musgrove was often 
 
 8 
 
170 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 found putting to herself, in -winding up a self-communion. On 
 the present occasion this appeal to the opinion of John Eamsay 
 had the opposite effect from that which might have been expected 
 from it. It suggested new lights to her mind, and turned her 
 thoughts into another current, and brought that resolution to her 
 aid which her prayer was intended to invoke. What would John 
 Ramsay think—he, the friend of liberty, and of Washington, the 
 compatriot of Butler and Robinson, now toiling with them in the 
 same cause! What would he think, if she, his own Mary (and the 
 maiden rested a moment on this phrase), did not do everything in 
 her power to save these soldiers of independence from the blow 
 which treachery was now aiming at them? “John would have 
 good right to be angry with me,” she breathed out in a voice that 
 even startled heiself, “ if I did not give them full warning of what 
 I have heard. This I am sure of, he will believe my story what¬ 
 ever others may say.” 
 
 Innocence and purity of mind are both sword and shield in this 
 world, and no less inspire confidence to defy the malice and 
 uncharitableness of enemies than they strengthen the arm to do 
 what is right. Mary, therefore, resolved to forego all maidenly 
 scruples and bravely to perform her duty, come what might ; and 
 ha-ving settled upon this conclusion she impatiently awaited the 
 moment when she might venture forth upon her office of humanity. 
 In this situation it was not long before she heard the distant footfall 
 of a horse’s gallop along the road, indicating to her the departure 
 of Michael Lynch upon his traitorous embassy. 
 
 The time seemed to be propitious, so Mary arose and dressed 
 herself. Then tripping stealthily to the door that opened upon the 
 porch, she undid the bolt. A loud and prolonged creak, fi’om the 
 wooden hinges, caused her to shake from head to foot. She 
 listened for a moment, and, finding that no one stirred, stepped 
 forth with the timid and faltering step which would no less have 
 marked the intent of the burglar, than, as now it did, the frightened 
 motion of a guardian spirit bent upon an errand of good. Midway 
 along the porch she had to pass the window of Adair’s apartment : 
 first, the low growl, and then the sudden bark of the watch-dog 
 saluted her ear, and made her blood run cold. The maiden’s hand, 
 however, soothed him into silence'; but the noise had attracted the 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 I7l 
 
 notice of Wat Adair, who grumbled out a short curse from within, 
 which was distinctly audible to Mary. She hastily fled to the 
 further end of the porch, and there stood cowering close against 
 the wall, almost as mute and motionless as a statue, scarce daring 
 to breathe, and poised, as in the act to run, with her weight resting 
 on one foot, the other raised from the floor. In this position she 
 remained during a long interval of fear, until, at length, convinced 
 that all was quiet, she again ventured forward. The window of the 
 travellers’ chamber looked out from the gable end of the dwelling, 
 and she was now immediately before it. One of the beds of the 
 room, she knew, was placed beside this window, and was occupied 
 by either Butler or Robinson. Tremblingly and mistrustfulljq she 
 gave a feeble tap with her hand against the sash. There was no 
 answer : the sleep within was the sleep of tired men, and was not 
 to be broken by the light play of a maiden’s fingers. She now 
 picked up a pebble from the gi’ound, and with it again essayed to 
 wake the sleepers. This, too, was unsuccessful. In utter hopeless¬ 
 ness of accomplishing her purpose by other means, she ventured 
 upon raising the sash ; and having done so, she thrust her head 
 partially into the room as sl>e held up the window-frame with one 
 hand, crying out with an almost choked voice. 
 
 “ Mr. Butler! Mr. Butler! For mercv, awake !” 
 
 There was no other response but the deep breathings of the 
 sleep-subdued inmates. 
 
 “ Oh ! what shall I do ?” she exclaimed, as her heart beat with a 
 violent motion. “ I might as well call to the dead. Mr. Galbraith 
 Robinson! Ah me, I cannot rouse them without alarming the 
 whole house ! Major Butler,” she continued, la 3 ’ing a particular 
 stress upon this designation of his rank, “ Oh, good sir 
 awake!” 
 
 “ What do you want ?” muttered Butler in a smothered and 
 sleep-stifled voice, as he turned himself heavily on his pillow, like 
 one moved bj' a dream. 
 
 “Oh, heaven, sir, make no noise! I am ashamed to tell you 
 who I am,” said the terrified girl, “ but I come for your good—I 
 have something to tell j’ou.” 
 
 “ Away, away!” cried Butler, speaking in his sleep, “ I will not 
 be disturbed : I do not fear you. Begone 1” 
 
172 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Oh, sir, hear me,” entreated the maiden, “ the people in this 
 house know you, and they are contriving evil against you.” 
 
 “ It makes no difference,” muttered the only half-awakened 
 soldier. “ I will ride where it suits me, if the Tories were as thick 
 as the leaves of the trees.” 
 
 “ There are people gathering to do you harm to-morrow,” con¬ 
 tinued Mary, not suspecting the unconsciousness of the person to 
 \vhom she addressed herself, “ and I only come with a word of 
 warning to you. Do not ride by the Dogwood Spring to-morrow, 
 nor take the right hand road at the first forks ; there are wicked 
 men upon that road. Have your eye,” she whispered, “ upon my 
 uncle Walter. Ride fast and far, before you stop; and pray, sir, as 
 you think fairly of me—Mary Musgrove, sir,—the daughter 
 of Allen Musgrove, the miller—oh, do not tell my name. 
 If you knew John Ramsay, sir, I am certain you would believe 
 me.” 
 
 The watch-dog had growled once or twice during the period 
 while Mary spoke, and at this moment the door of the principal 
 room of the cabin was heard to move slightly ajar, and the voice 
 of Adair, in a whisper, reached the girl’s ear. 
 
 “ Hist, Michael! In the devil’s name what brought you back ? 
 Why do you loiter, when time is so precious ?” 
 
 A long, heavy, and inarticulate exclamation, such as belongs to 
 disturbed sleep, escaped from Butler. 
 
 “ Father of heaven, I shall let the window fall with fright!” 
 inwardly ejaculated Mary, as she still occupied her uneasy station. 
 “ Hush, it is the voice of my uncle.” 
 
 There was a painful pause. 
 
 A heavy rush of wind agitated the trees, and sweeping along the 
 porch caused some horse-gear that was suspended against the wall 
 to vibrate with a rustling noise: the sound pierced Mary’s ear like 
 the accents of a ghost, and her strength had well nigh failed her 
 from faint-heartedness. 
 
 “ I thought it was Michael,” said Adair, speaking to some one 
 within, “ but it is only the rattling of harness and the dreaming, of 
 Drummer. These dogs have a trick of whining and gi-owling in 
 I their sleep according to a way of their own. They say a dog some¬ 
 times sees a spirit at night. But man or devil it’s all one to old 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 173 
 
 Drummer! Sleep quiet, you superfluous, and have done with 
 your snoring!” 
 
 With these words, the door was again closed, and Mary, for the 
 moment, was released from suffering. 
 
 “ Remember,” she uttered in the most fear-stricken tone, as she 
 lowered the sash. “ Be sure to take the left hand road at the first 
 fork!” 
 
 “ In God’s name, what is it ? Where are you ?” was the 
 exclamation heard by Mary as the window was closing. She did 
 not halt for further parley or explanation, but now hastily stole 
 back, like a frightened bird towards its thicket. Panting and 
 breathless, she regained her chamber, and with the utmost expedi¬ 
 tion betook herself again to bed, where, gratified by the conscious¬ 
 ness of having done a good action, and fully trusting that her 
 caution would not be disregarded, she gradually dismissed her 
 anxiety, and, before the hour of dawning, had fallen into a gentle 
 though not altogether unperturbed slumber. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HORSE SHOE AND BUTLER RESUME THEIR JOURNEY, WHICH IS 
 DELATED BY A SAVAGE INCIDENT. 
 
 Morning broke, and with the first day-streak Robinson turned 
 out of his bed, leaving Butler so thoroughly bound in the spell of 
 sleep, that he was not even moved by the loud and heavy tramp 
 of the sergeant, as that weighty personage donned his clothes. 
 Horse Shoe’s first habit in the morning was to look after Captain 
 Peter, and he accordingly directed his steps towards the rude shed 
 which served as a stable, at the foot of the hill. Here, to his sur¬ 
 prise, he discovered that the fence-rails which, the night before, 
 had been set up as a barrier across the vacant doorway, had been 
 let down, and that no horses were to be seen about the premises. 
 
 “ What hocus-pocus has been here ?” said he to himself, as he 
 gazed upon the deserted stable. “Have these rummag-ing and 
 thieving Tories been out maraudering in the night ? or is it only 
 one of Captain Peter’s old-sodger tricks, letting down bars and 
 leading the young geldings into mischief ? That beast can snuff 
 the scent of a corn field or a pasture ground as far as a crow smells 
 gunpowder. He’d dislocate and corruptify any innocent stable of 
 horses in Carolina !” 
 
 In doubt to which of these causes to assign this disappearance 
 of their cavalry, the sergeant ascended the hill hard-by, and directed 
 his eye over the neighboring fields, hoping to discover the desert¬ 
 ers in some of the adjacent pastures. But he could get no sight 
 of them. He then returned to the stable and fell to examining the 
 ground about the door, in order to learn something of the depart¬ 
 ure of the animals by their tracks. These were sufficiently distinct 
 to convince him that Captain Peter, whose shoes had a peculiar 
 mark well known to the sergeant, had eloped during the night, in 
 company with the major’s gelding and two others, these being all, 
 
HORSE SHOE RODINSON. 
 
 * 175 
 
 as Horse Shoe had observed, that were in the stable at the time he 
 Had retired to bed. He forthwith followed the foot-prints which led 
 him into the high road, and thence along it westward for about 
 two hundred paces, where a set of field bars, now thrown down, 
 alforded entrance into the cornfield. At this point the sergeant 
 traced the deviation of three of the horses into the field, whilst the 
 fourth, it was evident, had continued upon the road. 
 
 The conclusion which Galbraith drew from this phenomenon 
 was expressed by a wise shake of the head and a profound fit of 
 abstraction. He took his seat upon a projecting rail at the angle 
 of the fence, and began to sum up conjectures in the following 
 phrase; 
 
 “ The horse that travelled along that road, never travelled of his 
 own free will: that’s as clear as preaching. Well, he wa’n’t rode 
 by Wat nor by Mike Lynch, or else they are arlier men than I 
 take them to be : but still. I’ll take a book oath that creetur went 
 with a bridle across his head, and a pair o’ legs astride his back. 
 And whoever held that bridle in his hand, did it for no good ! 
 Scampering here and scampering there, and scouring woods in the 
 night too, when the country is as full of Tories as a beggar’s coat 
 
 Avith-, it’s a dogmatical bad sign, take it which way you will. 
 
 Them three horses had the majoritj’’, and it is the nature of these 
 beasts always to follow the majority : that’s an observation I have 
 made ; and, in particular, if there’s a cornfield, or an oatpatch, or a 
 piece of fresh pasture to be got into, every individual horse is unani¬ 
 mous on the subject.” 
 
 Whilst the sergeant was engrossed with these reflections, “ he 
 was ware,”as the old ballads have it, of a man trudging past 
 him along the road. This was no other than Wat Adair, who was 
 striding forward with a long and rapid step, .and with all the 
 appearance of one intent upon some pressing business. 
 
 “Halloo! who goes there? where away so fast, Wat?” was 
 Robinson’s challenge. 
 
 “ Horse Shoe 1” exclaimed Adair, in a key that bespoke surprise, 
 and even alarm,—“ Ha, ha, ha!—By the old woman’s pipe, you 
 frightened me ! I’ll swear, Galbraith Robinson, I heard you snoring 
 as I pissed by your window three minutes ago.” 
 
 “ I’ll swear that’s not the truest word you ever spoke in your life, 
 
 
/ 
 
 176 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Wat; though true enough for you, mayhap. Do you see how 
 cleverly yon light has broke across the whole sky ? When I first 
 turned out this morning it was a little ribbon of day : the burning 
 of a block-house at night, ten miles off, would have made a broader 
 streak. It was your own snoring you heard, Wat; you have only 
 forgot under whose window it was.” 
 
 “ What old witch has been pinching you. Horse Shoe, that you 
 are up so early ?” asked Adair. “ Get back to the house, man, I 
 will be with you jiresently; I have my farm to look after. I’ll see 
 you presently.” 
 
 “ You seem to me to be in a very onreasonable hurry, Wat, con¬ 
 sidering that you have the day before you. But, softly. I’ll walk 
 ■with you, if you have no unliking to it.” 
 
 “ No, no, I’m bus]^, Galbraith ; I’m going to look after my traps; 
 I’d rather you’d go back to the house and hurry breakfast. Go! 
 You would only get scratched with briers if you followed me.” 
 
 “Ha, ha, ha! AYat! Briers, did you say? Look here, man, 
 do you see them there legs ? Do they look as if they couldn’t 
 laugh at yourn in any sort of scrambling I had a mind to set them 
 to ? Tut, I’ll go with you just to larn you the march drill.” 
 
 “ Then I’ll not budge a foot after the traps.” 
 
 “ You are crusty, AVat Adair ; what’s the matter with you ?” 
 
 “ Is Major Butler up yet ?” asked the woodman thoughtfully. 
 
 “ Who do you say ? Major Butler.” 
 
 “ Major P' cried Adair, with affected surprise. 
 
 “ Yes, you called him Major Butler ?” 
 
 “ I had some dream, I think, about him : or, didn’t you call him 
 so yourself. Horse Shoe ?” 
 
 “ Most undoubtedly, I did not,” replied Robinson seriously. 
 
 “ Then I dreamt it. Horse Shoe: these dreams sometimes get 
 into the head, like things we have been told. But, Galbraith, tell 
 me the plain up-and-down truth, what brings you and Mr. Butler 
 into these parts ? What are you after in Georgia ? It does seem 
 strange to find men that are wanted below, straggling here in our 
 woods at such a time as this.” 
 
 “There are two sorts of men in this world, Wat,” said the 
 sergeant, "with a smile, “ them that axes questions, and them that 
 won’t answer questions. Now, which, do you think, I belong to ? 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 177 
 
 Why, to the last, you tinker! Where are our horses, Wat? Tell 
 me that. Who let them out of the stable ?” 
 
 “ Perhaps they let themselves out,” replied Adair, “ they were 
 not haltered.” 
 
 “ You are either knave or fool, Wat. Come here. There are 
 the tracks of the beast that carried the man up this road, who sot 
 loose all the horses that were in that stable.” 
 
 “ Mike Lynch, perhaps,” said Adair, with an assumed expression 
 of ignorance. “ Where can that fellow have been so early ? Oh, I 
 remember, he told me last night that he was going this morning to 
 the blacksmith’s. He ought to be back by this time.” 
 
 “ And you are here to larn the news from him ?” said th 
 sergeant, eyeing Adair with a suspicious scrutiny. 
 
 “ You have just hit it, Horse Shoe,” returned Wat, laughing. 
 
 I did want to know if there were any more squads of troopei’s 
 foraging about this district; for these cursed fellows whip in upon 
 a man and cut him up blade and ear, ^vithout so much as thanks 
 for their pillage, and so I told Mike to inquire of the blacksmith, 
 for he is more like to know than anybody else, whether there was 
 any more of these pestifarious scrummagers abroad.” 
 
 “ And your traps, Wat ?” 
 
 “ That was only a lie, Galbraith—I confess it. I w'as afeard to 
 make you uneasy by telling you what I w’as after. But still it 
 wasn’t a broad, stark, daylight lie neither ; it was only a civil fib, 
 for I was going after my wolf trap before I got my breakfast. But 
 here comes Mike.” 
 
 At this juncture Lynch was seen emerging from the wood, 
 mounted on a rough, untrimmed pony, which he was urging for¬ 
 ward under repeated blows -with his stick. The little animal w’as 
 covered wnth foam ; and, from his travel-worn plight, gave evidence 
 of having been taxed to tlie utmost of his strength in a severe 
 journey. At some hundred paces distant, the rider detected the 
 presence of Adair and his companion, and came to a sudden halt. 
 He appeared to deliberate as if with a purpose to escape their 
 notice; but finding that he was already observed by them, he put 
 his horse again in motion, advancing only at a slow walk. Adair 
 hastily quitted Robinson, and, walking forward until he met Lynch, 
 turned about and%ccompanied him along the road, conversing 
 
 8 * 
 
178 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 during tTiis interval in a key too low to be beard by the ser¬ 
 geant. 
 
 “ Here’s Horse Shoe thrusting his head into our affairs. Con¬ 
 jure a lie quickly about your being at the blacksmith’s ; I told him 
 you were there to hear the news.” 
 
 “ Aye, aye! I understand.” 
 
 “ You saw Hugh ?” 
 
 “ Yes. The gang will be at their post.” 
 
 “ Hush ! Be merry ; laugh and have a joke—Horse Shoe is 
 very suspicious.” 
 
 “ You have ridden the crop-ear like a stolen horse,” continued 
 Adair, as soon as he found himself within the sergeant’s hearing. 
 “ See what a flurry you have put the dumb beast in. If it had 
 been your own nag, Mike Lynch, I warrant you would have been 
 more tedious with him.” 
 
 “ The crop-ear is not worth the devil’s fetching, Wat. He is as 
 lazy as a land-turtle, and too obstinate for any good-tempered 
 man’s patience. Look at that stick—I have split it into a broom 
 on the beast.” 
 
 You look more like a man at the end of the day than at the 
 beginning: of it,” said Robinson. “ How far had you to ride, 
 Michael ?” 
 
 “ Only over here to the shop of Billy Watson, in the Buzzard’s 
 nest,” replied Lynch, “ which isn’t above three miles at the farthest. 
 My saw wanted setting, so I thought I’d make an early job of it, 
 but this beast is so cursed dull I have been good three-quarters of 
 an hour since I left the smith’s.” 
 
 “ What news do you bring ?” inquired Adair. 
 
 Oh, none worth telling again. That cross-grained, contrary, 
 rough-and-tumble bear gouger, old Hide-and-Seek, went .down 
 yesterday with the last squad of Ferguson’s new draughts.” 
 
 “ Wild Tom Eskridge,” said Wat Adair. “ You knowed him. 
 Horse Shoe, a superfluous imp of Satan !” continued the woodman, 
 laying a particular accent on the penultimate of this favorite ad¬ 
 jective, which he was accustomed to use as expressive of strong 
 reprobation. So he is cleared out at last! Well, I’m glad on’t, 
 for he was the only fellow in these hills I was afeard would give 
 you trouble, Galbraith.” ^ 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “Superfluous or not,” replied tLe sergeant, pronouncing the 
 word in the same manner as the woodman, and equally ignorant 
 of its meaning, “ it will be a bad day for Tom Eskridge, the rank, 
 obstropolous Tory, when he meets me, Wat Adair. I have reason 
 to think that he tried to clap some of Tarleton’s dragoons on my 
 back over here at the Waxhaws. There’s hemp growing for that 
 scape-grace at this very time.” 
 
 “ You heard of no red coats about the Tiger ?” asked Adair. 
 
 “ Not one,” replied Lynch ; “ the nearest post is Cruger’s, in 
 Ninety-Six.” 
 
 “ Then your w’ay, Mr. Robinson, is tolerable for to-day,” added 
 Adair : “ but war is war, and there is always some risk to be run 
 when men are ^larading with their rifles in their hands. But see ! 
 it is hard upon sunrise. Let us go and give some directions about 
 breakfast. I will send out some of the boys to hunt up the 
 horses; they will be ready by the time we have had something to 
 eat.” 
 
 Without further delay, Adair strode rapidly up the hill to the 
 dwelling-house, the sergeant and Lynch following as soon as the 
 latter had put his jaded beast in the stable. By the time these 
 were assembled in the porch the family began to show signs of 
 life, and it was a little after suniise when Butler came forth ready 
 for the prosecution of his journey. A few words were exchanged 
 in private between Lynch and the woodman, and after much idle 
 talk and contrived delay, two lazy and loitering negi’o boys were 
 sent off in quest of the travellers’ horses. Not long after this the 
 animals were seen coursing from one part of the distant field to 
 another, defying all attempts to get them into a corner, or to com¬ 
 pel them to pass through the place that had been opened in order 
 to drive them towards the stable. 
 
 There was an air of concern and silent bewilderment visible 
 upon Butler’s features, and an occasional expression of impatience 
 escaped his lips as he watched from the porch the ineffectual efibrts 
 of the negi-ocs to force the truant steeds towards the house. 
 
 “ All in good time,” said Adair, answering the thoughts and 
 looks of Butler, rather than his words, “ all in good time; they 
 must have their play out. It is a good sign, sir, to see a traveller’s 
 horse so capersome of a morning. Wife, make haste with your 
 
180 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 preparations ; Horse Shoe and his friend here mustn’t he kept back 
 from their day’s journey. Stir yourself, Mary Musgrove !” 
 
 “ Will the gentlemen stay for breakfast ?” inquired Mary, with a 
 doubtful look at Butler. 
 
 “ Will they ? To be sure they will! Would you turn off friends 
 from the door with empty stomachs, you mink, and especially with 
 a whole day’s starvation ahead of them ?” exclaimed the wood¬ 
 man. 
 
 “ I thought they had far to ride,” replied the girl, “ and would 
 choose, rather than wait, to take some cold provision to eat upon 
 the road.” 
 
 “ Tush ! Go about your business, niece! The horses are not 
 caught yet, and you may have your bacon fried before they are at 
 the door.” 
 
 “ It shall he ready, then, in a moment,” returned Mary, and she 
 betook herself diligently to her task of preparation. During the 
 interval that followed, the maiden several times attempted' to gain 
 a moment’s speech with Butler, but the presence of Adam or 
 Lynch as frequently forbade even a whisper; and the morning 
 meal was at length set smoking on the table without the arrival of 
 the desired opportunity. The repast was speedily finished, and the 
 horses having surrendered to the emissaries who had been de¬ 
 spatched to bring them in, were now in waiting for their masters. 
 Horse Shoe put into the woodman’s hand a small sum of money 
 in requital for the entertainment afforded to his comrade and him¬ 
 self, and having arranged them baggage upon the saddles, an¬ 
 nounced that they were ready to set forward on their journey. 
 Whilst the travellers were passing the farewells customary on such 
 occasions, Mary Musgi'ove, whose manner during the whole morn¬ 
 ing gave many indications of a painful secret concern, now threw 
 herself in Butler’s way, and as she modestly offered him her hand 
 at parting, and heard tbs' little effusion of gallantry and compli¬ 
 ment with which it was natural for a well-bred man and a soldier 
 to speak at such a moment, she took the opportunity to whisper— 
 “ The left hand road at the Fork—remember!” and instantly 
 glided away to another part of the house. Butler paused but for 
 an instant, and then burned forward with the sergeant to their 
 horses. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 181 
 
 “ Wat, you promised to put us on the track to Grindall’s Ford,” 
 said Horse Shoe, as he rose into his seat. 
 
 “ I am ready to go part of the way with you,” replied the wood¬ 
 man, “ I will see you to the Fork, and after that you must make 
 out for yourselves. Michael, fetch me my rifle.” 
 
 It was not more than half past six when the party set forth on 
 their journey.- Our two travellers rode along at an easy gait, and 
 Wat Adair, throwing his rifle carelessly across his shoulder, stepped 
 out with a long swinging step that kept him, without difficulty, 
 abreast of the hoi’semen, as they pursued their way over hill and 
 dale. 
 
 They had not journeyed half a mile before they reached a point 
 in the woods at which Adair called a halt. 
 
 “ My trap is but a little ofi" the road,” he said, “ and I must 
 beg you to stop until I see what luck I have this morning. It’s a 
 short business and soon done. This way. Horse Shoe ; it is likely 
 I may give you sport this morning.” 
 
 “ Our time is pressing,” said Butler. “ Pray give us your direc¬ 
 tions as to the road, and we will leave you.” 
 
 “ You would never find it in these woods,” replied Wat; “there 
 are two or three paths leading through here, and the road is a 
 blind one till you come to the fork; the trap is not a hundred 
 yards out of your way.” 
 
 “ Rather than stop to talk about it, Wat,” said the sergeant, 
 “ we will follow you, so go on.” 
 
 The woodman now turned into the thickets, and opening his 
 way through the bushes, in a few moments conducted the two 
 soldiers to the foot of a large gum tree. 
 
 “By all the crows, I have got my lady !” exclaimed Wat Adair, 
 with a whoop that made the woods ring. “ The saucy slut! I have 
 yoked her. Horse Shoe Robinson ! There’s a picture worth look¬ 
 ing at.” 
 
 “ Who ?” cried Butler ; “ of whom are you speaking ?” 
 
 “ Look for yourself, sir,” replied the woodman. “ There’s the 
 mischievous devil; an old she-wolf that I have been hunting these 
 two years. Oh, ho, madam ! Your servant!” 
 
 Upon looking near the earth, our travellers descried the object of 
 this triumphant burst of joy, in a large wolf that was now struggling 
 
182 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 to release herself from the thraldom of her position. The trap was 
 ingeniously contrived. It consisted of a long opening into the 
 hollow trunk of the tree, beginning about four feet from the ground^ 
 and cut out with an axe down to the root. An aperture had been 
 made at the upper end of the slit about a foot wide, and the wood 
 had been hewed away downwards, in such a manner as to render 
 the slit gi-adually nai-rower as it approached the lower extremity, 
 until near the earth it was not more than four inches in width, thus 
 forming a wedge-shaped loophole into the hollow body of 
 the tree. A part of the carcase of a sheep had been placed on 
 the bottom inside, the scent of which had attracted the wolf, and, 
 in her eagerness to possess herself of this treasure she had risen on 
 her hind legs high enough to find the opening sufficiently wide to 
 allow her head to be thrust in, whence, slipping downwards, the 
 slit became so narrow as to prevent her from withdrawing her 
 jaws. The only mode of extrication from this trap was to rear 
 her body to the same height at which she found admission, an expe¬ 
 dient which, it seems, required more cunning than this proverbially 
 cunning animal was gifted with. She now stood captive pretty 
 much in the same manner that oxen are commonly secured in their 
 stalls. 
 
 For a few moments after the prisoner was first perceived, and 
 during the extravagant yelling of Adair at the success of his stra¬ 
 tagem, she made several desperate but ineffectual efforts to with¬ 
 draw her head; but as soon as Butler and Robinson had dis¬ 
 mounted, and, together with their guide, had assembled around 
 her, she desisted from her struggles, and seemed patiently to resign 
 herself to the will of her captor. She stood perfectly still with 
 that passive and even cowardly submission for which, in such cir¬ 
 cumstances, this animal is remarkable ; her hind legs drooped and 
 her tail was thrust between them, whilst not a snarl nor an expres¬ 
 sion of anger or grief escaped her. Her characteristic sagacity had 
 been completely baffled by the superior wolfish cunning of her 
 ensnarer. 
 
 Wat laughed aloud with a coarse and almost fiendish laugh, as 
 he cried out— 
 
 “ I have cotched the old thief at last, in spite of her cunning ! 
 With a warning to boot. Here is a mark I sot upon her 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 183 
 
 last winter,” he added, as he raised her tore leg, which was 
 deprived of the foot; “ but she would be prowling, the superfluous 
 devil! It is in the nature of these here blood-suckers, to keep a 
 going at their trade, no matter how much they are watched. But 
 I knowed I’d have her one of these days. These varmints- have 
 always got to pay, one day or another, for their villanies. W a’n’t 
 she an old fool. Horse Shoe, to walk into this here gum for a 
 piece of dead mutton ? Ha, ha, ha ! if she had had only the sense 
 to rear up, she might have had the laugh on us! But she hadn’t; 
 ha, ha, ha!” 
 
 “ Well, Wat Adair,” said Robinson, “you had a mischievous 
 head when you contrived that trap.” 
 
 “ Feel her ribs, Mr. Butler,” cried Wat, not heeding the ser¬ 
 geant ; “ I know who packed that flesh on her. There isn’t a 
 lamb in my flock to-day that wouldn’t grin if he was to hear the 
 news.” 
 
 “ Well, what are you going to do with her, Adair ?” inquired 
 Butler; “ remember you are losing time here.” 
 
 “ Do with her !” ejaculated the woodman ; “ that’s soon told: I 
 will skin the devil alive.” 
 
 “ I hope not,” exclaimed Butler. “ It would be an unnecessary 
 cruelty. Despatch her on the spot with your rifle.” 
 
 “ I wouldn’t waste powder and ball on the varmint,” replied 
 Adair. “ No, no, the knife, the knife !” 
 
 “ Then cut her throat and be done with it.” 
 
 “ You are not used to these hellish thieves, sir,” said the wood¬ 
 man. “ There is nothing that isn’t too good for them. By the 
 old sinner. I’ll skin her alive ! That’s the sentence !” 
 
 “ Once more, I pray not,” said Butler imploringly. 
 
 “ It is past praying for,” returned Adair, as he drew forth his 
 knife and began to whet it on a stone. “ She shall die by inches, 
 and be damned to her!” he added, as his eye sparkled with savage 
 delight. “ Now look and see a wolf punished according to her 
 evil doings.” 
 
 The woodman stood over his captive and laughed heartily, as he 
 pointed out to his companions the quailing and subdued gestures 
 of his victim, indulging in coarse and vulgar jests whilst he 
 described minutely the plan of torture he was about to execute. 
 
184 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 When he had done with his ribaldry, he slowly drew the point of 
 his knife down the baek-bone of the animal, from the neck to the 
 tail, sundering the skin along the whole length. “ That’s the 
 way to unbutton her jacket,” he said, laughing louder than ever. 
 
 “ For God’s sake, desist!” ejaculated Butler. “ For my sake, 
 save the poor animal from this pain ! I will pay you thrice the 
 value of the skin.” 
 
 “ Money will not buy her,” said Wat, looking up for an instant. 
 “ Besides, the skin is spoiled by that gash.” 
 
 “ Here is a guinea, if you will cut her throat,” said Butler, 
 “ and destroy her at once.” 
 
 “ That would be murder outright,” replied Adair; “ I never 
 take money to do murder; it goes agin my conscience. Ho, no, 
 I will undress the old lady, and let her have the benefit of the 
 cool air in this hot weather. And if she should take cold, you 
 know, and fall sick and die of that, why then, Mr. Butler, you 
 can give me the guinea. That will save my conscience,” he 
 added, with a grin that expressed a struggle between his avarice 
 and cruelty. 
 
 “ Come, Galbraith, I will not stay to witness the barbarity of this 
 savage. Mount your horse, and let us take our chance alone 
 through the woods. Fellow, I don’t wish your further service.” 
 
 “ Look there now!” said Adah’; “ where were you born, that 
 you are so mighty nice upon account of a blood-sucking wolf? 
 Man, it’s impossible to find your way through this country; and 
 you might, by taking a wrong road, fall in with them that would 
 think nothing of serving you as I serve this beast.” 
 
 “ Wat, curse your onnatural heart,” interposed the sergeant. 
 “ Stob her at once. It’s no use, Mr. Butler,” he said, finding that 
 Adair did not heed him, “ we can’t help ourselves. It’s wolf agin 
 wolf.” 
 
 “I knowed you couldn’t. Horse Shoe,” cried Wat, with another 
 laugh. “ So you may as well stay to see it out.” 
 
 Butler had now walked to his horse, mounted, and retired some 
 distance into the wood to avoid further converse with the tor¬ 
 mentor of the ensnared beast, and to withdraw himself from a 
 sight so revolting to his feelings. In the meantime, Adair pro¬ 
 ceeded with his operation with an alacrity that showed the innate 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 185 
 
 cruelty of his temper. He made a cross incision through the skin, 
 from the point of one shoulder to the other, the devoted subject 
 of his torture remaining, all the time, motionless and silent. Hav¬ 
 ing thus severed the skin to suit his purpose, the woodman now, 
 with an affectation of the most dainty precision, flourished his 
 knife over the animal’s back, and then burst into a loud laugh. 
 
 “ I can’t help laughing,” he exclaimed, “ to think what a fine, 
 dangling, holiday coat I am going to make of it. I shall strip her 
 as low as the ribs, and then the flaps will hang handsomely. She 
 will be considered a beauty in the sheep-folds, and then she may 
 borrow a coat, you see, from some lamb; a wolf in sheep’s cloth¬ 
 ing is no uncommon sight in this world.” 
 
 “ Wat Adair,” said Horse Shoe, angrily, “ I’ve a mind to take 
 the wolf’s part and give you a trouncing. You are the savagest 
 wolf in sheep’s clothing yourself that it was ever my luck to see.” 
 
 “You think so. Horse Shoe!” cried Wat, tauntingly. “You 
 might chance to miss your way to-day, so don’t make a fool of 
 yourself ! Ill will would only take away from you a finger-post 
 —and it isn’t every road through this district that goes free of the 
 Tory rangers.” 
 
 “ Your own day will come yet,” replied Horse Shoe, afraid to 
 provoke the w’oodman too far on account of the dependence of 
 himself and his companion upon Adair’s information in regard to 
 the route of their journey. “ We have to give and take quarter 
 in this world.” 
 
 “ You see. Horse Shoe,” said Adair, beginning to expostulate, 
 “ I don’t like these varmints, no how ; that’s the reason why. 
 They are cruel themselves and I like to be cruel to them. It’s a 
 downright pleasure to see them winch, for, bless your soul! they 
 don’t mind common throat-cutting, no more than a calf. Now 
 here’s the way to touch their feelings.” 
 
 At this moment he applied the point of his knife to separating 
 the hide from the flesh on either side of the spine, and then, in his 
 eagerness to accomplish this object, he placed his knife between his 
 teeth and began to tug at the skin with his hands, accompanying 
 the effort with muttered expressions of delight at the involuntary 
 and but ill-suppressed agonies of the brute. The pain, at length, 
 became too acute for the wolf, with all her characteristic habits of 
 
186 
 
 HORSE SHOE RORINSON. 
 
 submission, to bear, and, in a desjjerate struggle that ensued be¬ 
 tween her and her tormentor, she succeeded, by a convulsive leap, 
 in extricating herself from her place of durance. The energy of 
 her effort of deliverance rescued her from the woodman’s hand, 
 and turning short upon her assailant, she fixed her fangs deep into 
 the fleshy part of his thigh, where, as the foam fell from her lips, 
 she held on firmly as if determined to sell her life dearly for the 
 pain she suffered. Adam uttered a groan from the infliction, and, 
 in the hurry of the instant, dropped his knife upon the ground. 
 He was thus compelled to bear the torment of the grip, until he 
 dragged the still pertinaciously-adhering beast a few paces forward, 
 where, grasping up his knife, he planted it, by one deeply driven 
 blow, through and through her heart. She silently fell at his feet, 
 without snarl or bark, releasing her hold only in the impotency of 
 death. 
 
 “ Curse her !” cried Adair, “ the hard-hearted, bloody-minded 
 devil! That’s the nature of the beast—cruel and wicked to the 
 last, damn her !” he continued, raving with pain, as he stamped 
 his heel upon her head : “ damn her in the wolf’s hell to which 
 she has gone !” 
 
 Robinson stood by, unaiding, and not displeased to see the sum¬ 
 mary vengeance thus inflicted by the victim upon the oppressor. 
 This calmness provoked the woodman, w’ho, with that stoicism 
 which belongs to uncivilized life, seemed determined to take away 
 all pretext for the sergeant’s exultation, by aflecting to make light 
 of the injuiy he had received. 
 
 “ I don’t mind the scratch of the cursed creature,” he said, as¬ 
 suming a badly counterfeited expression of mirth, “ but I don’t like 
 to be cheated out of the pleasure of tormenting such mischievous 
 varmints. It’s well for her that she put me in a passion, or she 
 should have carried a festered carcase that the buzzards might have 
 fed upon before she died. But come—where is Mr. Butler ? I 
 want that guinea. Ho, sir!” he continued, bawling to Butler, as 
 he tied up his wound with a strap of buckskin taken from his 
 pouch, “ my guinea ! I’ve killed the devil to please you, seeing 
 you would have it.” 
 
 Butler now rode up to the spot, and, in answer to this appeal, 
 gave it an angiy and indignant refusal. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 187 
 
 “ Lead us on our way, sir,” lie added. “ We have lost too much 
 time already with your brutal delay. Lead on, sir!” 
 
 “ You will get soon enough to your journey’s end,” replied 
 Adair with a smile, and then sullenly took up his rifle and led the 
 way through the forest. 
 
 A full half hour or more was lost by the incident at the trap, 
 and Butler’s impatience and displeasure continued ;o be manifested 
 by the manner with which he urged the woodmin forward upon 
 their journey. After regaining the road, and trav3rsing a piece of 
 intricate and tangled woodland, by a bridle-path into which their 
 guide had conducted them, they soon reached a Iroader and more 
 beaten highway, along which^ they rode scarce s mile before they 
 arrived at the Fork. 
 
 “ I have seen you safe as far as I promised,” said the woodman, 
 “and you must now shift for yourselves. You tike the right hand 
 road ; about ten miles further you will come :o another prong, 
 there strike to the left, and if you have luck you will get to the 
 ford before sundown. Three miles further is Clristie’s. Good bye 
 t’ ye ! And Horse Shoe, if you should come across another wolf 
 stuck in a tree, skin her, d’ ye hear ? Ha! ha! ha 1 Good bye 1” 
 
 “ Ride on 1” said Butler to the sergeant, wh) avas about making 
 some reply to Adair; “ ride on I Don’t heel or answer that fel¬ 
 low, but take the road he directs. He is a least and scoundrel. 
 Faster, good sergeant, faster 1” 
 
 As he spoke he set his horse to a gallop. Robinson followed at 
 equal speed, the woodman standing still until the travellers disap¬ 
 peared from his view behind the thick foliage that overhung their 
 path. Having seen them thus secure in his toil, the treacherous 
 guide turned upon his heel, shouldered his rifle, and limped back 
 to his dwelling. 
 
 “ I have a strange misgiving of that rutBan, sergeant,” said 
 Butler, after they had proceeded about a quarter of a mile. “ My 
 mind is perplexed with some unpleasant doubts. What is your 
 opinion of him ?” 
 
 “ He plays on both sides,” replied Horse Shoe, “ and knows 
 more of you than by rights he ought. He spoke consarning of 
 you, this morning, as Major Butler. It came out of his mouth 
 onawares.” 
 
 ’{ 
 
 At 
 
188 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Ha ! Is toy name on any part of my baggage or dress ?” 
 
 “ Not that I know of,” replied the sergeant; “ and if it was, 
 "Wat can’t read.” 
 
 “ Were you interrupted in your sleep last night, Galbraith ? Did 
 you hear noises in our room ?” 
 
 “ Nothing, k^ajor, louder nor the gnawing of a mouse at the 
 foot of the plank partition. Did you see a spirit that you look so 
 solemn ?” 
 
 “I did, sergeint!” said Butler, with great earnestness of man¬ 
 ner. “ I had a di-eam that had something more than natural in it.” 
 
 “You amaze rae. Major! If you saw anything, why didn’t you 
 awake me ?” \ 
 
 “ I hadn’t time|before it was gone, and then it was too late. I 
 dreamed, GalhraitV, that somehow—for my dream didn’t explain 
 how she came in—!-Mary Musgrove, the young girl we saw-” 
 
 “ Ha ! ha ! hat Major, that young girl ’s.oversot you ! Was 
 that the sperit ?” 1 
 
 “ Peace, Galbraitt, I am in earnest; listen to me. I dreamt Mary 
 Musgrove came intb our room and warned us that our lives were 
 in danger ; how, I irget, or perhaps she did not tell, but she spoke 
 of our being waylaid, and, I think, she advised that at this very 
 fork of the road we nave just passed, we should take the left hand 
 —the right, accordiry to my dream, .she said, led to some spring.” 
 
 “ Perhaps the Dogwood, Major,” said Robinson, laughing; “there 
 is such a place, somei^here in these parts.” 
 
 “ The Dogwood ! by my life,” exclaimed Butler; “ she called it 
 the Dogwood spring.” 
 
 “ That’s very strange,” said Robinson gravely; “ that’s very 
 strange, unless you have hearn some one talk about the spring be¬ 
 fore you went to bed last night. For, as sure as you are a gentle¬ 
 man, there is such a spring not far off, although I don’t know ex¬ 
 actly where.” 
 
 “ And what perplexes me,” continued Butler, “ is that, this morn¬ 
 ing, almost in the very words of my dream, Mary Musgrove cau¬ 
 tioned me, in a whisper, to take the left road at the fork. How is 
 she connected with my dream ? Or could it have been a reality, 
 and was it the girl herself who spoke ? I have no recollection of 
 such a word from her before I retired to bed.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 189 
 
 “ I have hearn of these sort of things before, major, and never 
 could make them out. For my share, I believe in dreams. There 
 is something wrong here,” continued the sergeant, after pondering 
 over the matter for a few moments, and shaking his head, “ there 
 is something wrong here. Major Butler, as sure as you are born. I 
 wasn’t idle in making my own observations; first, I didn’t like the 
 crossness of Wat’s wife last night; then, the granny there, she 
 raved more like an old witch, with something wicked in her that 
 wouldn’t let her be still, than like your decent old bodies when 
 they get childish. What did she mean by her palaver about 
 golden guineas in Wat’s pocket, and the English officer ? Such 
 notions don’t come naturally into the head, without something to 
 go upon. And, moreover, when I turned out this morning, before 
 it was cleverly day, who do you think I saw ?” 
 
 “ Indeed I cannot guess.” 
 
 “ First, Wat walking up the road with a face like a man that 
 had sot a house on fire; and when I stopped him to ax what he 
 was after, down comes Mike Lynch—that peevish bull-dog—from 
 the woods, on a little knot of a pony, pretty nigh at full speed, and 
 covered wdth lather; and there was a sort of colloguing together, 
 and then a story made up about Mike’s being at Billy Watson’s, 
 the blacksmith’s. It didn’t tell well, major, and it sot me to suspi¬ 
 cions. The gray of the morning is not the time for blacksmith’s 
 work; there’s the fire to make up, and what not. Besides, it don’t 
 belong to the trade, as I know, here in the country, to be at work 
 so arly. I said nothing; but I made a sort of reckoning in my 
 own mind that they looked like a couple of desarters trying to sham 
 a sentry. Then again, there was our horses turned loose. There is 
 something in these signs, you may depend upon it. Major Butler!” 
 
 “ That fellow has designs against us, Galbraith,” said Butler, 
 musing, and paying but little attention to the surmises of the 
 sergeant, “ I can hardly think it was a dream. It may have been 
 Mary Musgrove herself, but how she got there is past my con¬ 
 jecture. I saw nothing, I only heard the warning. And I would 
 be sworn she addressed me as Major Butler. You say Wat Adair 
 gave me the same title ?” 
 
 “ As I am a living man,” replied Horse Shoe, “ he wanted 
 to deny it; and then he pretended it was a fancy of his own.” 
 
190 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ It is very strange, and looks badly,” said Butler, 
 
 “ Nevei’mind, let the worst come to the worst, we have arms 
 and legs both,” returned the sergeant.” 
 
 “I will take the hint for good or for ill,” said the major. “ Ser¬ 
 geant, strike across into the left hand road; in this I will move no 
 farther,” 
 
 “ That’s as wise a thing as we can do,” replied Robinson. “ If 
 you have doubts of a man, seem to trust him, but take care not to 
 follow his advice. There is another hint I will give you, let us 
 examine our fire-arms to see that we are ready for a battle.” 
 
 Butler concurring in this precaution, the sergeant dismounted, 
 and having primed his rifle afresh, attempted- to fire it into the air, 
 but it merely flashed, without going off. Upon a second trial the 
 result was the same. This induced a further examination, which 
 disclosed the fact that the load which had been put in the day 
 previous had been discharged, and a bullet was now driven home 
 in the place of the powder. It was obvious that this was designed. 
 The machination of an enemy became more apparent when, upon 
 an investigation into the condition of Butler’s pistols, they were 
 also found incapable of being used. 
 
 “ This is some of Michael Lynch’s doings whilst we were eating 
 our breakfast,” said Horse Shoe, “ and it is fiat proof of treason in 
 our camp. I should like to go back if it was only for the satisfac¬ 
 tion of blowing out Wat’s brains. But there is no use in argufy¬ 
 ing about it. We must set things to rights, and move on with a 
 good look-out ahead.” 
 
 With the utmost apparent indifi'erence to the dangers that beset 
 them, the sergeant now applied himself to the care of restoring his 
 rifle to a serviceable condition. With the aid of a small tool which 
 he carried for such a use, he opened the breach and removed the 
 ball; Butler’s pistols were likewise put in order, and our travellers, 
 being thus restored to an attitude of defence, turned their horses’ 
 heads into the thicket upon their left, and proceeded across the 
 space that filled up the angle made by the two branches of the 
 road; and, having gained that branch which they sought, they 
 pressed forward diligently upon their journey. 
 
 The path they had to travel was lonely and rugged, and it was 
 but once or twice, during the day, that they met a casual wayfarer 
 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 191 
 
 « traversing the same wild. From such a source, however, they 
 were informed that they were on the most direct road to Grindall’s 
 ford, and that the route they had abandoned would have con¬ 
 ducted them to the Dogwood spring, a point much out of their 
 proper course, and from which the ford might only have been 
 reached by a difScult and tortuous by-way. 
 
 These disclosures opened the eyes of Butler and his companion 
 to the imminent perils that encompassed them, and prompted them 
 to the exercise of the strictest vigilance. Like discreet and trusty 
 soldiers, they pursued their way with the most unwavering 
 courage, confident that the difficulty of retreat was fully equal to 
 that of the advance. 
 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TORT TROOPERS, A DARK ROAD AND A FRAY. 
 
 “ By the whiskers of the Grand Turk, I have got the four points 
 on you, bully Buff! High, low, jack and the game !” exclaimed 
 Peppercorn. 
 
 “ You have luck enough to worry out the nine lives of a cat. 
 That’s an end to Backbiter, the best horse ’twixt Pedee and the 
 Savannah. So, blast me, if I play any more vsdth you! There, 
 send the cards to hell!” roared out Hugh Habershaw, rising and 
 throwing the pack into the fire. 
 
 It was just at the closing in of night, when a party of ruffianly- 
 looking men were assembled beneath a spreading chestnut, that 
 threw forth its aged arms over a small gravelly hillock, in the 
 depths of the forest that skirted the northern bank of the Pacolet, 
 within a short distance of Grindall’s ford. The spot had all the 
 qualities of a secret fastness. It was guarded on one side by the 
 small river, and on the other by a comjjlicated screen of underwood, 
 consisting principally of those luxuriantly plaited vines which give 
 so distinct a character to the southern woodland. The shrubbery, 
 immediately along the bank of the river, was sufficiently open to 
 enable a horseman to ride through it down to the road which, at 
 about two hundred paces off, led into the ford. 
 
 The group who now occupied this spot consisted of some ten or 
 twelve men under the command of Hugh Habershaw. Their 
 appearance was half rustic and half military; some efforts at 
 soldierly costume were visible in the decoration of an occasional 
 buck-'tail set in the caps of several of the party, and, here and there, 
 a piece of yellow cloth forming a band for the hat. Some wore 
 long and ungainly deer-skin pantaloons and moccasins of the same 
 material; and two or three were indued with coats of coarse home- 
 spun, awkwardly garnished with the trimmings of a British 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 193 
 
 uniform. All were armed, but in the same iiTegular fashion. 
 Tliere were rifles to be seen stacked against the trunk of the tree : 
 most of the men wore swords, which were of different lengths and 
 sizes; and some of the gang had a horseman’s pistol bestowed con¬ 
 spicuously about their pemons. Their horses were attached to the^ 
 drooping ends of the boughs of the several trees that hemmed in 
 the circle, and were ready for service at the first call. A small fire 
 of brushwood had been kindled near the foot of the chestnut, and 
 its blaze was sufficiently str(fng to throw a bright glare over the 
 motley and ill-looking crew who w'ere assembled near it. They 
 might well have been taken for a bivouac of banditti of the most 
 undisciplined and savage class. A small party were broiling 
 venison at the fire; the greater number, howevei', were stretched 
 out upon the ground in idleness, waiting for some expected 
 summons to action. The two I have first noticed, were seated on 
 the butt-end of a fallen trunk, immediately within the light of the 
 fire, and were engaged with a pack of dirty cards, at the then' 
 popular game of “ all fours.” 
 
 These two personages were altogether different in exterior from 
 each other. The first of them, known only by the sobriquet of 
 Peppercorn, was a tall, well-proportioned and active man, neatly 
 dressed in the uniform of a British dragoon. His countenance 
 indicated more intelligence than belonged to his companions, and 
 liis manners had the flexible, bold, and careless port that gene¬ 
 rally distinguishes a man who has served much in the army, 
 and become familiar with the varieties of character afforded by 
 such a career. The second was Hugh Habershaw, the captain of 
 the gang. He was a bluff, red-visaged, corpulent man, with a face 
 of gross, uTimitigated sensuality. A pale blood-shot eye, which was 
 expressionless, except in a sinister glance, occasioned by a partial 
 squint, a small upturned no.se, a mouth with thin and compressed 
 lips inclining downwards at the corners, a double chin, bristling 
 with a wiry and almost white beard, a low forehead, a bald crown, 
 and meagre, reddish whiskers, were the ill-favored traits of his 
 j)hysiognomy. The figure of this person was as uncouth as his coun-^ 
 tenance. He was rather below the middle height, and appeared’ 
 still shorter by the stoop of his massive round shoulders, by the 
 ample bulk of his chest, and by the rotundity of his corporation. 
 
 9 
 
194 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 In consideration of his rank, as the leader of this vagabond 
 squadron, he aimed at more military ornament in his dress than 
 his comrades. A greasy cocked hat, decorated after the fashion 
 described by Grumio, “ with the humor of forty fancies pricked in 
 it for a feather,” was perched somewhat superciliously upon his 
 poll, and his body was invested in an old and much abused cloth 
 coat of London brown, as it was then called, to the ample 
 shoulders of which had been attached two long, nari’ow, and 
 threadbare epaulets of tarnished silver lace. A broad buckskin belt 
 was girded, by the help of a large brass buckle, around his middle, 
 on the outside of his coat, and it served as well to suspend a 
 rusty sabre, as to furnish support to a hunting knife, which was 
 thrust into it in front. His nether person was rendered conspicu¬ 
 ous by a pair of dingy small-clothes, and long black boots. Close 
 at the feet of this redoubtable commander lay a fat, surly bull¬ 
 dog, whose snarlish temper seemed to have been fostered and pro¬ 
 moted by the peremptory perverseness with which his master 
 claimed for him all the privileges and indulgencies of a pampered 
 favorite. 
 
 Such were the unattractive exterior and circumstances of 
 the man who assumed control over the band of rutBans now 
 assembled. 
 
 “ I wish you and the cards had been broiled on the devil’s grid¬ 
 iron before I ever saw you !” continued Habershaw, after he had 
 consigned the pack to the flames. “ That such a noble beast as 
 Backbiter should be whipped out of my hand by the ton of a 
 rascally card ! Hark’ee, you imp of Satan, you have the knack 
 of winning! your luck, or something else—you understand me— 
 something else, would win the shirt off my back if I was such a 
 fool as to play longer with you. I suspect you are a light-fingered 
 Jack — a light-fingered Jack — d’ye hear that, Master Pepper¬ 
 corn ?” 
 
 “ How now, Bully !” cried Peppercorn ; “ are you turning boy in 
 your old days, that you must fall to whining because you have 
 lost a turn at play ? Is every man a rogue since you have set up 
 the trade ? For shame ! If I were as hot a fool as you, I would 
 give you steel in your guts. But come, noble Captain, there’s my 
 hand. This is no time for us to be catching quarrels ; we have 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 195 
 
 other business cut out. As to Backbiter, the rat-tailed and spavined 
 bone-setter, curse me if I would have him as a gift: a noble 
 beast! ha, ba, ha! Take him back, man, take him back! be 
 wasn’t worth the cards that won him.” 
 
 “ Silence, you tailor’s bastard! Would you breed a mutiny 
 in the camp ? Look around you ; do you expect me to preserve 
 discipbne amongst these wild wood-scourers, with your loud haw- 
 haws to my very teeth ? You make too free. Peppercorn ; you 
 make too free ! It wouldn’t take much to make me strike ; damn 
 me, there’s fighting blood in me, and you know it. When I am 
 at the bead of my men, you must know your distance, sir. Suffice 
 it, I don’t approve of this familiarity to the commander of a squad. 
 But it is no matter : I let it pass this time. And, hark in your 
 ear, as you underrate Backbiter, you are a fool. Peppercorn, and 
 know no more of the points of a good horse than you do of the 
 ten commandments. Why, blast you, just to punish you. I’ll hold 
 you to the word of a gentleman, and take him back. Now 
 there’s an end of it, and let’s have no more talking.” 
 
 “Right, noble Captain !” ejaculated Peppercorn, with a fi'ee and 
 swaggering laugh, “ right! I will uphold the discipline of the 
 valiant Hugh Habershaw of the Tiger against all the babblers the 
 world over. By the God of war, I marvel that Cruger hasn’t 
 forced upon you one of his commissions, before this; the army 
 would be proud of such a master of tactics.” 
 
 “ The time will come, Peppercorn ; the time will come, and then 
 I’ll teach them the elements of military construction. Mark that 
 word. Peppercorn, there’s meaning in it.” 
 
 “ Huzza for Captain Tiger of Habershaw — Habershaw of 
 Tiger, I mean !” cried Peppercorn. “ Here’s Tiger Habershaw, 
 my boys ! Drink to that.” And saying these words, the dra¬ 
 goon snatched up a leathern canteen from the ground, and, pour¬ 
 ing out some spirits into the cup, drank them off. 
 
 The rest of the crew sprang from the grass, and followed the 
 example set them by their comrade, roaring out the pledge until 
 the woods rang with their vociferation. 
 
 “ Peace ! you rapscallions!” screamed the captain. “ Have you 
 so little notion where you are, that you bellow like bulls ? Is this 
 your discipline, when you should be as silent as cats in a kitchen, 
 
196 
 
 HORSK SHOK ROBINSON. 
 
 hellhound ! And you, you coarse-throated devil, Beauty,” he said 
 as he kicked his dog, that had contributed to the chorus with a 
 loud sympathetic howl, “ you must be breaking the laws of ser¬ 
 vice guard with your infernal roar, like the other fools of the 
 pack. Be still, puppy !” 
 
 The clamor upon this rebuke ceased, and the bull-dog crouched 
 again at his master’s feet. 
 
 “ Isn’t it time that we were at the ford ? Oughtn’t our friends 
 to be near at hand ?” inquired Peppercorn. 
 
 “Black Jack will give us notice,” replied Habershaw. “De¬ 
 pend upon him. I have thought of everything hke a man that 
 knows his business. I have sent that rascal up the road, with 
 orders to feel the enemy; and I’ll undertake he’ll clink it back 
 when he once lays eyes on them, as fast as four legs will carry 
 him. But it is always well to be beforehand. Peppercorn. Learn 
 that from me : I never in my campaigns knowed any harm done 
 by being too early. So, Master Orderly, call the roll.”- 
 
 “ Keady, sir; always ready when you command,” answered 
 Peppercorn. “ Shall I call the ragamuffins by their nicknames, or 
 will you have them handled like Christians.” 
 
 “ On secret service,” said Habershaw, “ it is always best to use 
 them to their nicknames.” 
 
 “ As when they go horse-stealing, or house-burning, or throat¬ 
 cutting,” interrupted Peppercorn. 
 
 “ Order, sir, no indecencies! do you hear ? Go on with your 
 roll, if you have got it by heart. Be musical, dog !” 
 
 “ Faith will I, most consummate captain! It is just to my 
 hand: I’ll sing you like a bagpipe. I have learnt the roll- 
 call handsomely, and can go through it as if it were a song.” 
 
 “ Begin then: the time is coming when we must move. I 
 think I hear Black Jack’s horse breaking through the bushes 
 now.” 
 
 “ Attention, you devil’s babies, the whole of you !” shouted 
 Peppercorn. “ Horse and gun, every mother’s imp of you !” 
 
 In a moment the idlers sprang to their weapons and mounted 
 their horses. 
 
 “ Answer to your names,” said the orderly; “ and see that you 
 do it discreetly. Pimple !” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 197 
 
 “ Here,” answered one of the disorderly crew, with a laugh. 
 
 “ Silence in the ranks !” cried Habershaw, “ or, by the blood of 
 your bodies. I’ll make my whinger acquainted with your hearts!” 
 
 “ Long Shanks.” 
 
 “ Here ! if you mean me,” said another. 
 
 “ Good! Black Jack.” 
 
 “ On patrole,” said the captain. 
 
 “ Red Mug.” 
 
 “ At the book,” answered the man in the ranks; and here rose 
 another laugh. 
 
 “ Red Mug! do you mind me ?” said Habershaw, in a threaten¬ 
 ing tone, as his eye squinted fiercely towards the person addressed. 
 
 “ Platter Breech.” 
 
 “ ni stand out against the nickname,” said the person intended 
 to be designated, whilst the whole squad began to give symptoms 
 of a mutiny of merriment. “ I’ll be d—d if I will have it, and 
 that’s as good as if I swore to it. I am not going to be cajoled at 
 by the whole company.” 
 
 “ Silence! Blood and butter, you villains !” roared the captain. 
 “ Don’t you see that you’re in line ? How often have I told you 
 that it’s against discipline to chirp above a whisper when you are 
 drawn out ? Take care that I hav’n’t to remind you of that again! 
 Andy Clopper, you will keep the denomination I have set upon 
 you. Platter Breech is a good soldier-hke name, and you shall 
 die in it, if I bid you. Go on. Orderly—proceed I” 
 
 “ Marrow Bone.” 
 
 “ Here!” 
 
 “ Fire Nose.” 
 
 “ Fire Nose yourself. Mister Disorderly!” replied another refrac¬ 
 tory member, sullenly from the ranks. 
 
 “ Well, let him pass. That’s a cross-grained devil,” said the 
 • captain, aside to Peppercorn. “ I’ll bring that chap into order yet, 
 the d—d mutineering back hanger ! Pass him.” 
 
 “ Screech Owl.” 
 
 “ Here!” 
 
 “ That’s a decent, good-natured Screech Owl,” said Peppercorn. 
 “ Clapper Claw ! Bow Legs !” 
 
 “ Both here.” 
 
198 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ They are all here, most comfortable Captain, all good fellows 
 and true, and as ready to follow you into the belly of an earth¬ 
 quake as go to supper, it is all the same to them.” 
 
 “ Let them follow where I lead. Peppercorn ; that is all I ask,” 
 said Hahershaw significantly. 
 
 “ You have forgot one name on your roll, Mister Orderly,” said 
 he who had been written down by the name of Fire Nose. 
 
 “ Whose was that ?” 
 
 “ You forgot Captain Moonface Bragger—captain of the squad.” 
 
 “ Gideon Blake !” shouted Habershaw, with a voice choked by 
 anger, until it resembled the growl of a mastiff, whilst, at the 
 same time, he drew his sword half out of the scabbard. “ How- 
 sever, it is very well,” he said, restraining his wrath and permitting 
 the blade to drop back into its sheath. “Another time, sir. I 
 have marked you, you limb of a traitor. May all the devils ride 
 over me if I don’t drive a bullet through your brain -if you ever 
 unfringe my discipline again ! Yes, you foul-mouthed half-whig, I 
 have had my suspicions of you before to-day. So look to your¬ 
 self. A fine state of things when skunks like you can be setting 
 up a mutiny in the service ! Take care of yourself, sir, you know 
 me. Now, my lads, to business. Eemember the orders I issued 
 at the Dogwood Spring, this morning. This Whig officer must be 
 taken dead or alive, and don’t be chicken-hearted about it. Give 
 him the lead—give him the lead ! As to the lusty fellow that rides 
 with him—big Horse Shoe—have a care of him; that’s a dog that 
 bites without barking. But be on the watch that they don’t es¬ 
 cape you again. Since we missed them at the spring they have 
 cost us a hard ride to head them here, so let them pay for it. See 
 that they are well into the ford before you show yourselves. Wait 
 for orders from me, and if I fall by the fortune of war, take your 
 orders from Peppercorn. If by chance we should miss them at 
 the river, push for Christie’s ; Wat has taken care that they shall 
 make for that, to-night. If any of you, by mistake, you under¬ 
 stand me, take them prisoners, brin^ them back to this spot. Now 
 you have heard my orders, that’s enough. Keep silent and ready. 
 Mind your discipline. Black Jack is long coming, Orderly; these 
 fellows must travel slow.” 
 
 “ I hear him now.” replied Peppercorn. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 199 
 
 Ill the next moment tlie scout referred to galloped into the 
 circle. Ilis report was hastily made. It announced that the 
 travellers were moving leisurely towards the ford, and that not 
 many minutes could elapse before their arrival. Upon this intelli¬ 
 gence Ilabershaw immediately marched his troop to the road and 
 posted them in the cover of the underwood that skirted the river, 
 at the crossing-place. Here they remained like wild beasts aware 
 of the ajiproach of their prey, and waiting the moment to spring 
 upon them when it might be done with the least chance of suc¬ 
 cessful resistance. 
 
 Meantime Butler and Robinson advanced at a wearied pace. 
 The twilight had so far faded as to be only discernible on the 
 western sky. The stars were twinkling through the leaves of the 
 forest, and the light of the firefly spangled the wilderness. The 
 road might be descried, in the most open parts of the wood, for 
 some fifty paces ahead; but wliere the shrubbery was more dense, 
 it was lost in utter darkness. Our travellers, like most wayfarers 
 towards the end of the day, rode silently along, seldom exchang¬ 
 ing a word, and anxiously computing the distance which they had 
 yet to traverse before they reached their appointed place of repose. 
 
 A sense of danger, and the necessity for vigilance, on the present 
 occasion, made them the more silent. 
 
 “ I thought I heard a wild sort of yeU just now—people laugh¬ 
 ing a great way off,” said Robinson, “ but there’s such a hooting 
 of owls and piping of frogs that I mought have been mistaken. 
 Halt, Major. Let me listen—there it is again.” 
 
 “ It is the crying of a panther, sergeant; more than a mile from « 
 us, by my ear.” 
 
 “ It is mightily like the scream of drunken men,” replied the 
 sergeant; “ and there, too ! I thought I heard the clatter of a hoof.” 
 
 The travellers again reined up and listened. 
 
 “ It is more like a deer stalking through the bushes, Galbraith.” 
 
 “ Xo,” exclaimed the sergeant, “ that’s the gallop of a horse 
 making down the road ahead of us, as sure as you are alive; I 
 heard the shoe strike a stone. You must have hearn it too.” 
 
 “ I wouldn’t be sure,” answered Butler. 
 
 “ Look to your pistols. Major, and prime afresh.” 
 
 “ We seem to have ridden a great way,” said Butler, as he con- 
 
200 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 eluded the inspection of liis pistols and now held one of them 
 ready in his hand. “ Can we have lost ourselves ? Should we not 
 have reached the Pacolet before this ?” 
 
 “ I have seen no road that could take us astray,” replied Eobin- 
 son, “ and, by what we were told just before sundown, I should 
 guess that we couldn’t be far off the ford. We hav’n’t then quite 
 three miles to Christie’s. Well, courage, major ! supper and bed 
 were never spoiled by the trouble -of getting to them.” 
 
 “ Wat Adair, I think, directed us to Christie’s ?” said Butler. 
 
 “ He did ; and I had a mind to propose to you, since we caught 
 him in a trick this morning, to make for some other house, if such 
 a thing was possible, or else to spend the night in the woods.” 
 
 “ Perhaps it would be wise, sergeant; and if you think so still, 
 I rvill be ruled by you.” 
 
 “ If we once got by the river-side where our horses mought 
 have water, I almost think I should advise a halt there. Although 
 I have made one observation. Major Butler—that running water is 
 lean fare for a hungry man. Howsever, it won’t hurt us, and if 
 you say the word we will stop there.” 
 
 “ Then, sergeant, I do say the word.” 
 
 “ Isn’t that the glimmering of a light yonder in the bushes ?” 
 inquired Horse Shoe, as he turned his gaze in the direction of the 
 bivouac, “ or is it these here lightning bugs that keep so busy 
 shooting about ?” 
 
 “ I thought I saw the light you speak of, Galbraith; but it has 
 disappeared.” 
 
 “ It is there again, major; and I hear the rushing of the river 
 —we are near the ford. Perhaps this light comes from some 
 cabin on the bank.” 
 
 “ God send that it should turn out so, Galbraith ! for I am very 
 weary.” 
 
 “ There is some devilment going on in these woods, major. I 
 saw a figure pass in front of the light through the bushes. I 
 would be willing to swear it was a man on horseback. Perhaps 
 we have, by chance, fallen on some Tory muster; or, what’s not so 
 likely, they may be friends. I think I will ride forward and 
 challenge.” 
 
 “Better pass unobserved, if you can, sergeant,” interrupted 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 201 
 
 Butler. “ It will not do for us to run the risk of being separated. 
 Here we are at the river; let us cross, and ride some distance; 
 then, if any one follow us, we shall be more certain of his design.” 
 
 They now cautiously advanced into the river, which, though 
 rapid, was shallow ; and having reached the middle of the stream, 
 they halted to allow their horses water. 
 
 “ Captain Peter is as thirsty as a man in a fever,” said Horse 
 Shoe. “ He drinks as if he was laying in for a week. Now, 
 major, since we are here in the river, look up the stream. Don’t 
 you see, from the image in the water, that there’s a fire on the 
 bank ? And there, by my soul! there are men on horseback. 
 Look towards the light. Spur, and out on the other side ! Quick 
 —quick—they are upon us !” 
 
 At the same instant that Horse Shoe spoke, a bullet whistled 
 close by his ear ; and, in the next, six or eight men galloped into 
 the river, from different points. This was succeeded by a sharp 
 report of firearms from both parties, and the vigorous charge of 
 Robinson, followed by Butler, through the array of the assailants. 
 They gained the opposite bank, and now dhected all their efforts 
 to outrun their pursuers; but in the very crisjs of their escape, 
 Butler’s horse, bounding under the prick of the spur, staggered a 
 few paces from the river and fell dead. A bullet had lodged in a 
 vital part, and the energy of the brave steed was spent in the effort 
 to bear his master through the stream. Butler fell beneath the 
 stricken animal, from whence he was unable to extricate himself. 
 The sergeant, seeing his comrade’s condition, sprang from his horse 
 and ran to his assistance, and, in the same interv'al, the ruffian fol¬ 
 lowers gained the spot and surrounded their prisoners. An 
 ineffectual struggle ensued over the prostrate horse and rider, in 
 which Robinson bore down more than one of his adversaries, but 
 was obliged, at last, to yield to the overwhelming power that 
 pressed upon him. 
 
 “ Bury your swords in both of them to the hilts!” shouted 
 Habershaw; “ I don’t want to have that work to do to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Stand off!” cried Gideon Blake, as two or three of the gang 
 sprang forward to execute their captain’s order ; “ stand off’! the 
 man is on his back, and he shall not be murdered in cold blood 
 and the speaker took a position near Butler, prepared to make 
 
 9 * 
 
202 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 good his resolve. The spirit of Blake had its desired effect, and 
 the same assailants now turned upon Robinson. 
 
 “ Hold!” cried Peppercorn, throwing up his sword and warding 
 off’ the blows that were aimed by these men at the body of the 
 sergeant. “ Hold, you knaves ! this is my prisoner. I will deal 
 with him to my liking. Would a dozen of you strike one man 
 when he has surrendered ? Back, ye cowards ; leave him to me. 
 How now, old Horse Shoe; are you caught, with your gay master 
 here ? Come, come, we know you both. So yield with a good 
 grace, lest, peradventure, I might happen to blow out your 
 brains.” 
 
 “ Silence, fellows ! You carrion crows !” roared Habershaw, 
 “ Remember the discipline I taught you. Ho disorder, nor con¬ 
 fusion, but take the prisoners, since you hav’n’t the heart to strike; 
 take them to the rendezvous. And do it quietly—do you hear ? 
 Secure the baggage ; and about it quickly, you hounds !” 
 
 Butler was now lifted from the ground, and, with his com- 
 jianion, was taken into the custody of Blake and one or two of his 
 companions, who seemed to share in his desire to prevent the 
 shedding of blood. The prisoners were each mounted behind one 
 of the troopers, and in this condition conducted across the river. 
 The saddle and other equipments were stripped from the major’s 
 dead steed; and Robinson’s horse. Captain Peter, was burdened 
 with the load of two wounded men, whose own horses had escaped 
 from them in the fray. In this guise the band of freebooters, with 
 their prisoners and spoils, slowly and confusedly made their way 
 to the appointed place of re-assembling. In a few moments they 
 were ranged beneath the chestnut, waiting for orders from their 
 self-important and vain commander. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SCENE IN THE BIVOUAC. 
 
 '* Bustle, my lads—bustle! These are stirring times,” exclaimed 
 Habershaw, riding with an air of gi’eat personal consequence into 
 the midst of the troop, as they were gathered, still on horseback, 
 under the chestnut. “ We have made a fine night’s work of it, 
 and, considering that we fought in the dark against men ready 
 ai'med for us, this has not been such a light affair. To be sure, 
 in point of numbers, it is a trifle ; but the plan. Peppercorn—the 
 plan, and the despatch, and the neatness of the thing—that’s what 
 I say I am entitled to credit for. Bless your soul. Peppercorn, 
 these fellows were sure to fall into my trap—there was no getting 
 oft’. That’s the effect of my generalship, you see. Peppercorn. 
 Study it, boy! We could have managed about twenty more of 
 the filthy rebels handsomely; but this will do—this will do. I 
 took, as a commanding officer ought always to do, the full respon¬ 
 sibility of the measure, and a good share of the fight. Did I not. 
 Peppercorn ? AVasn’t I, in your opinion, about the first man in 
 the river ?” 
 
 “ ni hear witness, valiant and victorious captain,” answered the 
 dragoon, “ that you fired the firet shot; and I am almost willing 
 to make oath that I saw you within at least twenty paces of the 
 enemy, exhorting your men.” 
 
 “ Now lads—wait for the word—dismount!” continued the cap¬ 
 tain, “ and make uji your minds to pass the night where you are. 
 Peppercorn, the prisoners I put under your identical charge. 
 Remember that! keep your eyes about you. Set a guard of four 
 men upon them ; I will make you accountable.” He then added, 
 in an under tone, “ hold them safe until to-moiTow, man, and I 
 promise you, you shall ;}iave no trouble in watching them after 
 
204 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ You shall find them,” replied Peppercorn. 
 
 “ Silence,” interrupted the captain ; “ hear my orders, and give 
 no reply. Now, sir, before you do anything else, call your roll, 
 and report your killed, wounded, and missing.” 
 
 Ujion this order, the dragoon directed the men, after disposing 
 of their horses, to form a line. He then called over the squad by 
 their real names, and immediately afterwards reported to his 
 superior, who, in order to preserve a proper dignified distance, 
 had retreated some paces from the group, the following pithy and 
 soldier-like account;— 
 
 “ Two men wounded, noble captain, in the late action; two 
 missing ; one horse, saddle and bridle lost; one horse and two pri¬ 
 soners taken from the enemy.” 
 
 “ The names of the wounded, sir ?” 
 
 “ Tom Dubbs and Shadrach Green ; one slightly scratched, and 
 the other bruised by a kick from the blacksmith.” 
 
 “ The missing, sir ?” 
 
 “Dick Waters, commonly called Marrow Bone, and Roger 
 Bell, known in your honor’s list by the name of Clapper 
 Claw.” 
 
 “ They have skulked,” said the captain. 
 
 “ Marrow Bone is as dead as a door nail, sir,” said the orderly 
 with perfect indifference, and standing affectedly erect. “ He fell 
 in the river, and the probability is that Clapper Claw keeps him 
 company.” 
 
 “What!” roared Habershaw, “have the diabolical scoundrels 
 made away with any of my good fellows ? Have the precious 
 lives of my brave soldiers been poured out by the d—d rebels ? 
 By my hand, they shall feel twisted rope. Peppercorn !—cold iron 
 is too good for them.” 
 
 “ Softly, captain 1” said the orderly. “ You don’t blame the 
 enemy for showing fight? We mustn’t quarrel with the chances 
 of war. There is not often a fray without a broken head, captain. 
 We must deal with the prisoners according to the laws of war.” 
 
 “ Of Tory war. Peppercorn, aye, that will 11 String the dogs 
 up to the first tree. The devil’s pets, why didn’t they surrender 
 when we set upon them! To-morrow: let them look out 
 to-morrow. No words, orderly ; send out two files to look for the 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 205 
 
 % 
 
 bodies, and to bring in the stray horse if they can find him. A 
 pretty night’s work ! to lose two good pieces of stuff for a brace of 
 black-hearted whigs!” 
 
 The two files were detailed for the duty required, and immedi¬ 
 ately set out, on foot, towards the scene of the late fray. The res! 
 of the troop were dismissed from the line. 
 
 “ I would venture to ask, sir,” said Butler, addressing the cap- 
 Jaiii, “ for a cup of water : I am much hurt.” 
 
 “ Silence, and be d—d to you!” said Habershaw gruffly, 
 “ silence, and know your place, sir. You are a prisoner, and a 
 traitor to boot.” 
 
 “ Don’t you hear the gentleman say he is hurt ?” interposed 
 Kobinson. “ It’s onnatural, and more like a beast than a man to 
 deny a prisoner a little water.” 
 
 “ By my sword, villain, I will cleave your brain for you, if you 
 open that rebel mouth of yours again!” 
 
 “ Pshaw, pshaw ! Captain Habershaw, this will never do,” said 
 Peppercorn; “ men are men, and must have food and drink. 
 Here, Gideon Blake, give me your fiask of liquor and bring me 
 some water from the river. It is my duty, captain, to look after 
 the prisoners.” 
 
 Gideon Blake, who was a man of less savage temper than most 
 of his associates, obeyed this command with alacrity, and even 
 added a few words of kindness, as he assisted in administering 
 refreshment to the prisoners. This evidence of a gentler nature 
 did not escape the comment of the ruffian captain, who still 
 remembered his old gi’udge against the trooper. 
 
 “ Away, sir,” he said in a peremptory and angry tone, “ away 
 and attend to your own duty. You are ever fond of obliging 
 these beggarly whigs. Hark you. Peppercorn,” he added, speaking 
 apart to the dragoon, “ take care how you trust this skulking vaga¬ 
 bond : he will take bribes from the rebels, and turn his coat when¬ 
 ever there is money in the way. I have my eye upon him.” 
 
 “ If I chose to .speak,” said Gideon Blake. 
 
 “ Hold your peace, you grey fox,” cried the captain. “ Not a 
 word! I know your doublings. Remember you are under martial 
 law, and blast me, if I don’t make you feel it! There are more 
 than myself suspect you.” 
 
206 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 ♦ 
 
 # 
 
 “I should like to know,” said Butler, “why I and my com¬ 
 panion are molested on our journey. Have we fallen amongst 
 banditti, or do you bear a lawful commission ? If you do, sir, let 
 me tell you, you have disgraced it by outrage and violence exer¬ 
 cised towards unoffending men, and shall answer for it when the 
 occasion serves. On ivhat pretence have we been arrested ?” 
 
 “ Hark, my young fighting-cock,” replied the captain. “You 
 will know your misdemeanors soon enough. And if you would 
 sleep to-night with a whole throat, you will keep your tongue 
 within your teetli. It wouldn’t take much to persuade me to give 
 you a little drum-head law. Ho you hear that ?” 
 
 “ It is my advice, major,” whispered Robinson, “ to ax no ques¬ 
 tions of these blackguards.” 
 
 “ Be it so, sergeant,” said Butler, “ I am weary and sick.” 
 
 When other cares were disposed of, and the excited passions of 
 the lawless gang had subsided into a better mood, the dragoon 
 took Butler’s cloak from the baggage and spread it upon the 
 grormd beneath the shelter of the shrubbery, and the suffering 
 ofiicer was thus furnished a bed that afforded him some small 
 share of comfort, and enabled to take that rest which he so much 
 needed. Robinson seated himself on the ground beside his com¬ 
 panion, and in this situation they patiently resigned themselves to 
 whatever fate awaited them. 
 
 Soon after this the whole troop M'ere busy in the preparations 
 for refreshment and sleep. The horses were either hohhled, by a 
 cord from the fore to the hind foot, and turned loose to seek 
 pasture around the bivouac, or tethered in such parts of the forest 
 as furnished them an opportunity to feed on the shrubbery. The 
 fire was rekindled, and some small remnants of venison roasted 
 before it; and in less than an hour this reckless and ill-governed 
 band were carousing over their cups with all the rude ribaldry that 
 belonged to such natures. 
 
 “ Come, boys,” said Peppercorn, who seemed to take a delight 
 in urging the band into every kind of excess, and who possessed 
 that sort of sway over the whole crew, including their leader no less 
 than the privates, which an expert and ready skill in adapting 
 himself to the humor of the comjiany gave him, and which faculty 
 he now appeared to exercise for the increase of his own influence, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 20*7 
 
 “ come, boys, laugb while you can—that’s my motto. This soldier¬ 
 ing is a merry life, fighting, drinking, and joking. By the God of 
 war! I will enlist the whole of you into the regular service— 
 Ferguson or Cruger, which you please, boys! they are both fine 
 fellows and would give purses of gold for such charming, gay, 
 swaggering blades. Fill up your cans and prepare for another 
 bout. I’m not the crusty cur to stint thirsty men. A toast, my 
 gay fellows!” 
 
 “ Listen to Peppercorn,” cried out some three or four voices. 
 
 “ Here’s to the honor of the brave captain Hugh Habershaw, and 
 his glorious dogs that won the battle of Grindall’s ford !” 
 
 A broad and coarse laugh burst from the captain at the 
 announcement of this toast. 
 
 “ By my sword !” he exclaimed, “ the fight was not a bad fight.” 
 
 “ Can you find a joint of venison, Gideon ?” said Peppercorn, 
 aside. “ If you can, give it, and a cup of spirits, to the prisoners. 
 Stop, I’ll do it myself, you will have the old bull-dog on your 
 back.” 
 
 And saying this the dragoon rose from his seat, and taking a 
 few fragments of the meat which had been stripped almost to the 
 bone, placed them, together with a canteen, beside Butler. 
 
 “ Make the best of your time,” he said, “ you have but short 
 allowance and none of the best. If I can serve yon, I will do it 
 with a good heart; so, call on me.” 
 
 Then turning to the sergeant, who sat nigh, he whispered in his 
 ear, and, with a distinct and somewhat taunting emphasis, inquired, 
 
 “ Friend Horse Shoe, mayhap thou knowest me?” 
 
 “ That I do, James Curry,” replied the sergeant, “ and I have a 
 mean opinion of the company you keep. I don’t doubt but you 
 are ashamed to say how yon come by them.” 
 
 “ All is fish that comes into the Dutchman’s net,” said Curry. 
 “To-night I have caught fat game. You are a sturdy fellow, 
 master Blacksmith, and good at a tug, but remember, friend, I owe 
 you a cuff, and if you Averen’t a prisoner you should have it.” 
 
 “Show me fair plaj', James Curry, and you shall have a chance 
 noAA',” said Horse Shoe ; “ I’ll keep my parole to surrender Avhen it 
 is over.” 
 
 “ Silence, fool!” returned CiUTy, at the same time rudely pinch- 
 
208 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 ing Robinson’s ear. “ You ■will be a better man than I take you 
 to be, if you ever ■wrestle ■with me again. I have not forgotten 
 you.” 
 
 The dragoon no^w rejoined his comrades. 
 
 “ Peppercorn,” cried Habershaw, “ d—n the prisoners, let them 
 fast to-night. The lads ■want a song. Come, the liquor’s getting 
 lo^w, ■we want noise, we want uproar, lad ! Sing, bully, sing!” 
 
 “ Anything to get rid of the night, noble captain. What shall 
 I give you ?” 
 
 “ The old catch, master Orderly. The Jolly Bottle, the Jolly 
 Bottle,” cried Habershaw, pronouncing this word according to 
 ancient usage, with the accent on the last syllable, as if spelt 
 “ bottel;” “ give us the Jolly Bottle, we all know the chorus of that 
 song. And besides it’s the best in your pack.” 
 
 “Well, listen, my wet fellows!” said Peppercorn, “and pipe 
 lustily in the chorus.” 
 
 Here the- orderly sang, to a familiar old English tune, the follow¬ 
 ing song, which was perhaps a common camp ditty of the period. 
 
 “You may talk as you please of your candle and book, 
 
 And prate about virtue, with sanctified look ; 
 
 Neither priest, book, nor candle, can help you so well 
 To make friends with the world as the Jolly Bottle.” 
 
 “ Chorus, my lads ; out -with it 1” shouted the singer; and the 
 whole crew set up a hideous yell as they joined him. 
 
 “ Sing heave and ho, and trombelow. 
 
 The Jolly Bottle is the best I trow. 
 
 “ Then take the bottle, it is well stitched of leather. 
 
 And better than doublet keeps out the wind and weather: 
 
 Let the bottom look up to the broad arch of blue. 
 
 And then catch the drippings, as good fellows do. 
 
 With heave and ho, and trombelow, 
 
 ’Tis sinful to waste good liquor, you know. 
 
 “ The soldier, he carries his knapsack and gun. 
 
 And swears at the weight as he tramps through the sun: 
 
 But, devil a loon, did I ever hear tell. 
 
 Who swore at the weight of the Jolly Bottle. 
 
HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 209 
 
 So heaTG and ho, and trombelow, 
 
 The Jolly Bottle is a feather, I trow.” 
 
 Here the song was interrupted by the return of the two files 
 who had been sent to bring in the bodies of the dead. They had 
 found the missing horse, and now led him into the circle laden 
 with the corpses of Bell and Waters. The troopers halted imme¬ 
 diately behind the ring of the revellers, and in such a position as 
 to front Peppercorn and the captain, who were thus afforded a 
 full view of the bodies by the blaze of the fire. 
 
 “ Easy,” almost whispered Ilabershaw, now half intoxicated, to 
 the two troopers, as he lifted his hands and motioned to them to 
 halt; “ put them down gently on the ground. Go on. Pepper¬ 
 corn ; let the dead help themselves : finish the song! That chorus 
 again, my boys!” And here the last chorus was repeated iii the 
 highest key of merriment. 
 
 Peppercorn cast an eye at the bodies which, during the interval, 
 had been thrown on the earth, and while the men who had just 
 returned were helping themselves to the drink, he proceeded, in 
 an unaltered voice, with the song. 
 
 “ When drinkers are dry, and liquor is low, 
 
 A fray that takes off a good fellow or so, 
 
 Wliy, what does it do, but help us to bear 
 The loss of a comrade, in drinking his share ? 
 
 Tlien heave and ho, and trombelow, 
 
 A fray and a feast are brothers, you know. 
 
 “ Tlie philosophers say it’s a well-settled fact, 
 
 Tliat a vessel will leak whose bottom is craeked; 
 
 And a belly that’s drilled with a bullet, I think, 
 
 Is a very bad belly to stow away drink. 
 
 So heave and ho, and trombelow, 
 
 The dead will be dry to-night, I trow.” 
 
 “ There they are, captain,” said one of the returning troopens, 
 after the song, to which he and his companions had stood listen¬ 
 ing with delighted countenances, was brought to an end, “there 
 they are. We found Dick Waters* lying in the road, and when 
 we first came to him he gave a sort of groan, but we didn’t lift 
 
210 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 liim until we came back from hunting Roger Bell; by that time 
 the fellow was as dead as a pickled herring. Where do you 
 think we found Clapper Claw ? Why, half a mile, almost, down 
 the stream. He was washed along and got jammed up betwixt 
 the roots of a sycamore. We had a long wade after him, and 
 trouble enough to get him—more, I’m thinking, than a dead man 
 is worth. So, give us some more rum ; this is ugly work to be 
 done in the dark.” 
 
 “ Scratch a hole for them, lads, under the bushes,” said Haber- 
 shaw: “ put a sod blanket over them before morning. That’s the 
 fortune of war, as Peppercorn calls it. How are the wounded men 
 getting along ?” 
 
 “ Oh bravely, captain,” replied Shad Green, or, according to 
 his nick-name, Red Mug: “ this here physic is a main thing for a 
 scratch.” 
 
 “ Bravely!” echoed Screech Owl, or Tom Dubbs, the same who 
 had been reported by the dragoon as “ kicked by the blacksmith 
 “ we are plastering up sores here with the jolly bottle:— 
 
 “ Sing heave and ho, and trombelow, 
 
 Tire Jolly Bottle is a feather, I trow.” 
 
 “ What’s a cracked crown, so as it holds a man’s brains ?” con¬ 
 tinued the drunken carouser, whilst a laugh deformed his stupid 
 physiognomy. 
 
 “ How are we olf for provisions, quarter-master ?” inquired the 
 captain of one of the gang. 
 
 “ Eaten out of skin, from nose to tail,” replied Black Jack. 
 
 “ Then the squad must forage to-night,” continued Habershaw. 
 “ We must take a buck, my sweet ones; there are plenty along 
 the river. Get your rifles and prepare lights, and, to keep out of 
 the way of our horses, don’t stop short of a mile. Be about it, 
 lads. Black Jack, this is your business.” 
 
 “ True, Captain,” replied the person addressed ; “ I shall have all 
 things ready directly.” 
 
 It was near midnight when Black Jack, having prepared some 
 faggots of pitch-pine, and selected three or four of the best marks¬ 
 men, left the bivouac to look for deer. Habershaw himself, though 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 211 
 
 lazy and inordinately imjiressed with a sense of his own dignity, 
 and now confused with liquor, could not resist the attraction of 
 this sport. He accordingly, not long after the others had departed, 
 took a rifle, and, attended by his hull-dog, whom he never parted 
 from on any occasion, slowly followed in the direction chosen by 
 the hunters. 
 
 Those in advance had scarcely Avalked along the margin of the 
 river a mile before they lighted their faggots, and began to beat 
 the neighboring thickets; and their search was not protracted 
 many minutes when the light of their torches was thrown full upon 
 the eyes of a buck. A shot from one of the marksmen told with 
 unerring precision in the forehead of the animal. 
 
 The report and the light brought the corpulent captain into the 
 neighborhood. He had almost walked himself out of breath; 
 and, as he did not very well preserve his perpendicularity, or a 
 straight line of march, he had several times been tripped up by 
 the roots of trees, or by rocks and briers in his path. Exhausted, 
 at length, and puzzled by the stupefaction of his oivn brain, as 
 well as by the surrounding darkness, he sat down at the foot of a 
 tree, determined to wait the return of the hunting party. His 
 faithful and congenial “ Beauty,” not less pursy and short-winded 
 than himself, and not more savage or surly in disposition, now 
 couched upon his haunches immediately between his master’s legs; 
 and here this pair of beastly friends remained, silent and mutually 
 soothed by their own companionship. During this interval the 
 person who bore the fire, followed by one of the marksmen, crept 
 slowly onward to the vicinity of the spot where the captain had 
 seated himself. The lapse of time had proved too much for 
 Habershaw’s vigilance, and he had, at length, with his head resting 
 against the trunk of the tree, fallen into a drunken slumber. The 
 short crack of a rifle at hand, and the yell of his dog awakened 
 him. He started upon his feet with sudden surprise, and stepping 
 one pace forward, stumbled and fell over the dead body of his 
 favorite Beauty, who lay beneath him weltering in blood. The shot 
 was followed by a rush of the hunter up to the spot: it was 
 Gideon Blake. 
 
 “ Buck or doe, it is my shot!” cried Gideon, as he halted imme¬ 
 diately beside Habershaw. 
 
212 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ May all the devils blast you, Gideon Blake !” thundered out 
 the incensed captain. “ You have sought my life, you murdering 
 ■wolf, and your bullet has killed Beauty.” 
 
 “ I shot at the eyes of what I thought a deer,” returned Blake. 
 “ You were a fool, Hugh Habershaw, to bring a dog into such a 
 place.” 
 
 “ My poor dog ! my brave dog! Beauty was worth ten thou¬ 
 sand such bastard villains as you! And to have him killed! May 
 the devil feast upon your soul this night, Gideon Blake! Go! 
 and account for your wickedness. Take that, snake! tiger! black¬ 
 hearted whig and rebel! and be thankful that you didn’t come tb 
 your end by the help of hemp !” and in this gust of passion he 
 struck his knife into the bosom of the trooper, who groaned, stag¬ 
 gered, and fell. 
 
 At this moment the person bearing the fire, hearing the groan 
 of his comrade, rushed up to the spot and seized Habershaw’s 
 arm, just as the monster was raising it over the fallen man to 
 repeat the blow. 
 
 “ Damn him ! see what he has done !” exclaimed the captain, 
 as he lifted up the dead body of the dog so as to show in the 
 light the wound inflicted by the ball between the eyes; “ this 
 poor, faithful, dumb beast was worth a hundred such hell-hounds 
 as he !” 
 
 “ I am murdered,” said the wounded man ; “ I am murdered in 
 cold blood.” 
 
 The noise at this place brought together the rest of the hunters, 
 who were now returning with the buck thrown across a horse that 
 had been led by one of the party. Blake’s wound was examined 
 by them, and some linen applied to staunch the blood. The man 
 had fainted, but it was not ascertained whether the stab was 
 mortal. Habershaw stood sullenly looking on during the exami¬ 
 nation, and, finding that life had not instantly fled, he coolly wiped 
 his knife and restored it to his girdle. 
 
 “ The fellow has no idea of dying,” he said with a visible con¬ 
 cern, “ and has got no more than he deserves. He will live to be 
 hung yet. Take him to quarters.” 
 
 “ Make a hurdle for him,” said one of the bystanders, and, ac¬ 
 cordingly, two men cut a few branches from the neighboring wood, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 213 
 
 and twisting them together, soon constructed a litter upon which 
 they were able to bear the body of the wounded hunter to the 
 rendezvous. The others, scarcely uttering a word as they marched 
 along, followed slowly with the buck, and in half an hour the 
 troop was once more assembled under the chestnut. 
 
 For a time there was a sullen and discontented silence amongst 
 the whole crew, that was only broken by the groans of the wound¬ 
 ed trooper. Occasionally there was a slight outburst of sedition 
 from several of the troop, as a sharper scream, indicating some 
 sudden increase of pain, from Gideon Blake, assailed their ears. 
 Then there were low and muttered curses pronounced by Haber- 
 shaw, in a tone that showed Ins apprehension of some vengeance 
 against himself; and these imprecations were mingled with hints 
 of the disloyalty of the trooper, and charges of a pretended pur¬ 
 pose to betray his fellow-soldiers, evidently insinuated by the cap¬ 
 tain to excuse his act of violence. Then he approached the sick 
 man and felt his pulse, and examined his wound, and pronounced 
 the hurt to be trifling. “ It will do him good,” he said, with af¬ 
 fected unconcern, “ and teach him to be moi-e true to his comrades 
 hereafter.” But still the fate of the man was manifestly doubtful, 
 and the rising exasperation of the troop became eveiy instant 
 more open. Alarmed and faint-hearted at these symptoms of dis¬ 
 content, Habershaw at last called the men into a circle and made 
 them a speech, in which he expressed his sorrow for the act he 
 had committed, endeavored to excuse himself by the plea of pas¬ 
 sion at the loss of his dog, and, finally, perceiving that these ex¬ 
 cuses did not satisfy his hearers, acknowledged his drunken condi¬ 
 tion and his unconsciousness of the deed he had done until the 
 liorrible consequences of it were before his eyes. Here Pep¬ 
 percorn interposed in his favor, alleging that he had examined 
 the wound, and that, in his opinion, the trooper’s life was not in 
 danger. 
 
 “ And as the captain is sorry for it, lads,” he concluded, “ why, 
 what is to be done but let the thing drop ? So, if there’s another 
 canteen in the squad, we will wet our whistles, boys, and go to 
 sleep.” 
 
 This appeal was effectual, and was followed by a hearty cheer. 
 So, draining the dregs of the last flask, this debauched company 
 
214 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 retired to rest—Habei’shaw sneaking away from them with a heart 
 loaded with malice and revenge. 
 
 A few men were employed, for a short time, in buiying the 
 bodies of the troopers who were killed in the fray; and, excepting 
 the guard, who busied themselves in skinning the buck and broil¬ 
 ing some choice slices before the fire, and in watching the prison¬ 
 ers, or attending upon their sick comrade, all were sunk into 
 silence if not repose. 
 
 « 
 
CHAPTER XVIir. 
 
 THE TROOPERS MOVE WITH THEIR PRISONERS. 
 
 “ Oft he that doth abide, 
 
 Is cause of his own paine, 
 
 But he that fiieth in good tide, 
 
 Perhaps may fight again.’*—O/d Proverb. 
 
 It was with the most earnest sohcitude that Butler and his com¬ 
 panion Avatched the course of events, and became acquainted with 
 the character of the ruffians into whose hands they had fallen. 
 The presence of James Curry in tliis gang excited a painful con¬ 
 sciousness in the mind of the soldier, that he had powerful and 
 seciet enemies at work against him, but who they were was an im¬ 
 penetrable mystery. Then the lawless habits of the people who 
 had possession of him, gave rise to the most anxious distrust as to 
 his futuie fate; he might be murdered in a fit of passion, or tor¬ 
 tured with harsh treatment to gratify some concealed malice. His 
 position in the army was, it seemed, known too; and, for aught 
 that^ he could tell, his mission might be no secret to his captors. 
 Robinson’s sagacity entered fully into these misgivings. He had 
 narrowly observed the conduct of the party who had made them 
 piisoneis, and with that acute insight which was concealed under a 
 rude and uneducated exterior, but which was strongly marked in 
 his actions, he had already determined upon the course which the 
 safety of Butler required him to pursue. According to his view of 
 their present difficulties it was absolutely necessary that he should 
 effect his escape, at whatever personal hazard. Butler, he rightly 
 conjectured, was the principal object of the late ambuscade ; *that, 
 for some unknown puriwse, the possession of this officer became 
 important to tliose who had procured the attack upon him, and 
 that James Cuny had merely hired this gang of desperadoes to 
 secure the prize. Under these circumstances, he concluded that 
 
216 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 the Major would he so strictly guarded as to forbid all hope of 
 escape, and that any attempt by him to effect it would only be 
 punished by certain death. But, in regard to himself, his calculation 
 was different. “ First,” said he, “ I can master any three of this 
 beggarly crew in an open field and fair fight; and, secondly, when 
 it comes to the chances of a pell-mell, they will not think me of 
 so much account as to risk their necks by a long chase; their 
 whole eyes would ondoubtedly be directed to the Major.” The 
 sergeant, therefore, determined to make the attempt, and, in the 
 event of his success, to repair to Sumpter, who he knew frequented 
 some of the fastnesses in this region; or, in the alternative, to 
 rally such friends from the neighboring country as were not yet 
 overawed by the Tory dominion, and bring them speedily to the 
 rescue of Butler. Full of these thoughts, he took occasion during 
 the night, whilst the guard were busy in cooking their venison, 
 and whilst they thought him and his comrade wrapt in sleep, to 
 whisper to Butler the resolution he had adopted. 
 
 “ I will take the first chance to-morrow to make a dash upon 
 these ragamuffins,” he said ; “ and I shall count it hard if I don’t 
 get out of their claws. Then, rely upon me, I shall keep near 
 you in spite of these devils. So be prepared, if I once get away, 
 to see me like a witch that travels on a broomstick or creeps 
 through a keyhole. But whisht! the drunken vagabonds mustn’t 
 hear us talking.” 
 
 Butler, after due consideration of the sergeant’s scheme, thought 
 it, however perilous, the only chance they had of extricating them¬ 
 selves from the dangers with which they were beset, and promised 
 the most ready co-operation ; determining also, to let no oppor¬ 
 tunity slip which might be improved to his own deliverance. 
 “ Your good arm and bra'^’e heart, Galbraith, never stood you in 
 more urgent stead than they may do to-morrow,” was his conclud¬ 
 ing remark. 
 
 When morning broke the light of day fell upon a strange and 
 disordered scene. The drunken and coarse wretches of the night 
 before, now lessened in number and strength by common broil and 
 private quarrel, lay stretched on their beds of leaves. Their mot¬ 
 ley and ill-assorted weapons lay around in disarray ; drinking cups 
 and empty flasks were scattered over the trodden grass, the skin 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 21Y 
 
 and horns of the buck, and disjointed fragments of raw flesh were 
 seen confusedly cast about beneath the tree, and a conspicuous ob¬ 
 ject in the scene were the clots of blood and gore, both of men 
 and beast, that disfigured the soil. Two new-made graves, or 
 rather mounds, hastily scratched together and imperfectly conceal¬ 
 ing the limbs of the dead, prominently placed but a few feet from 
 the ring of last night’s revelry, told of the disasters of the fight at 
 the ford. The brushwood fire had burned down into a heap of 
 smouldering ashes, and the pale and sickly features of the wounded 
 trooper were to be discerned upon a pallet of leaves, hard by the 
 heap of embers, surrounded by the remnants of bones and roasted 
 meat that had been flung carelessly aside. In a spot of more ap¬ 
 parent comfort, sheltered by an overhanging canopy of vines and 
 alder, lay Butler stretched upon his cloak, and, close beside him, 
 the stout frame of Horse Shoe Robinson. In the midst of all 
 these marks of recent riot and carousal, sat two swarthy figures, 
 haggard and wan from night-watching, armed at every point, and 
 keeping strict guard over the prisoners. 
 
 The occasional snort and pawing of hoi'ses in the neighboring 
 wood showed that these animals were alert at the earliest dawn ; 
 M'hilst among the first who seemed aware of the approach of day, 
 was seen rising from the earth, where it had been flung in stupid 
 torpor for some hours, the bloated and unsightly pemon of Hugh 
 Ilabershaw, now much the worse for the fatigue and revelry of the 
 preceding night. A savage and surly expression was seated on his 
 brow, and his voice broke forth more than ordinarily harsh and 
 dissonant, as he ordered the troop to rouse and prepare for their 
 march. 
 
 The summons was tardily obeyed; and while the yawning 
 members of the squad were lazily mqying to their several duties 
 and shaking off the fumes of their late debauch, the captain was 
 observed bending over the prostrate form of Gideon Blake, and 
 directing a few anxious inquiries into his condition. The wounded 
 man was free from pain, but his limbs were stiff, and the region of 
 the stab sore and sensitive to the least touch. The indications, 
 however, were such as to show that his wound was not likely to 
 prove mortal. By the order of Habershaw, a better litter was 
 constructed, and the troopers were directed to bear him, by turns, 
 
 10 
 
218 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 as far as Christie’s, where he was to be left to the nursing of the 
 family. It was a full hour before the horses were saddled, the 
 scattered furniture collected, and the preparations for the march 
 completed. When these were accomplished the prisoners were 
 pro\dded with the two sorriest horses of the troop, and they now 
 set forward at a slow pace, under the escort of four men command¬ 
 ed by James Curry. The two troopers who bore the sick man fol¬ 
 lowed on foot; Habershaw with the remainder, one of whom had 
 appropriated Captain Peter, whilst he led the horses of the dis¬ 
 mounted men, brought up the rear. 
 
 On the journey there was but little spoken by any member of 
 the par-ty ; the boisterous and rude nature of the men who com¬ 
 posed the troop seemed to have been subdued by sleep into a tem¬ 
 per of churlish indifference or stolid apathy. Peppercorn, or 
 James Curry, as the reader now recognises him, strictly preserved 
 his guard over the prisoners, manifesting a severity of manner 
 altogether different from the tone of careless revelry which charac¬ 
 terized his demeanor on the preceding night. It never relaxed 
 fi'om an official and sullen reserve. A moody frown sat upon his 
 brow, and his communication with the prisoners was confined to 
 short and peremptory commands; whilst, at the same time, he 
 forbade the slightest intercourse with them on the part of any of 
 the guai'd. During the short progress to Christie’s he frequently 
 rode apart with Habershaw; and the conversation which then 
 occupied these two was maintained in a low tone, and with a serious 
 air that denoted some gr-ave matter of deliberation. 
 
 It was more than an hour after sunrise when the cavalcade 
 reached the point of their present destination. There were signs 
 of an anxious purpose in the silence of the journey, broken as it 
 was only by low mutterings amongst the men, above which some¬ 
 times arose an expression of impatience and discontent, as the sub¬ 
 ject of their whispered discussions appeared to excite some angry 
 Cibjection from several of the party; and this mystery was not 
 less conspicuous in the formal order of the halt, and in the pause 
 that followed upon their arrival at the habitation. 
 
 The house, in front of which they were drawn up, was, accord¬ 
 ing to the prevailing fashion of the time, a one-storied dwelling 
 covering an ample space of ground, built partly of boards and 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 219 
 
 partly of logs, witli a long piazza before it, terminating in small 
 rooms, made by inclosing the sides for a few feet at either 
 extremity. Being situated some twenty paces aside from the road, 
 the intervening area was bounded by a fence through which a 
 gate afforded admission. A horse-rack, with a few feeding troughs, 
 was erected near this gate; and a draw-well, in the same vicinity, 
 furnished a ready supply of water. With the exception of a cleared 
 field around the dwelling, the landscape was shaded by the natural 
 forest. 
 
 A consultation of some minutes’ duration was held between 
 Habershaw and CuiTy, when the order to dismount was given, 
 accompanied with an intimation of a design to tarry at this place 
 for an hour or two ; but the men, at the same time, were directed 
 to leave their saddles upon their horses. One or two were detailed 
 to look after the refreshment of the cattle, whilst the remainder 
 took possession of the principal room. The first demands of the 
 troop were for drink, and this being indulged, the brute feeling of 
 convivdality which in gross natures depends altogether upon sen¬ 
 sual excitement, began once more to break doM-n the barriers of 
 discipline, and to mount into clamor. 
 
 Tlie scenes of the morning had made a disagreeable impression 
 upon the feelings of Butler and his comrade. The changed tone 
 and the ruffian manners of the band, the pause, and the doubts 
 which seemed^to agitate them, boded mischief. The two prisoners, 
 however, almost instinctively adopted the course of conduct which 
 their circumstances required. They concealed all apprehension of 
 harm, and patiently awaited the end. Horse Shoe even took 
 advantage of the rising mirth of the com])any when drink beg.an 
 to exhilarate them, and affected an easy tone of companionship 
 which was calculated to throw them off their guard. He circu¬ 
 lated freely amongst the men, and by private conference with some 
 of the individuals around him, who, attracted by his air of confid¬ 
 ing gaiety, seemed inclined to favor his approaches of familiarity, 
 he soon discovered that the gang were divided in sentiment in 
 regard to some important subject touching the proposed treatment 
 of himself and** his friend. A party, at least, he was thus made 
 aware, were disposed to take his side in the secret disputes which 
 had been in agitation. He was determined to profit by this dissen- 
 
220 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 sioD, and accordingly applied himself still more assiduously to cul¬ 
 tivate the favorable sentiment he found in existence. 
 
 Whilst breakfast was in preparation, and Hahershaw and 
 Currjr were occupied with the Avounded man in an adjoining apart¬ 
 ment, the sergeant, playing the part of a boon companion, laughed 
 Avith the rioters, and, uninvited, made himself free of their cups. 
 
 “ I should like to knoAv,” he said to one of the troopers, “ Avhy 
 you are giAung yourselves all this trouble about a couple of simple 
 travellers that hajApened to be jogging along the road ? If you 
 wanted to make a pitched battle you ought to have sent us word; 
 but if it was only upon a drinking bout you had set your hearts, 
 there Avas no occasion to be breaking heads for the honor of getting 
 a good fellow in your company, Avhen he would have come of his 
 own accord at the first axing'. There Avas no use in making such 
 a mighty secret about it; for, as we Avere travelling the same road 
 with you, you had only to show a man the ci-vility of saying you 
 wanted our escort, and you should have had it at a word. Here’s 
 to our better acquaintance, friend !” 
 
 “ You mightn’t be so jolly. Horse Shoe Kobinson,” said Shad 
 Green—or, according to his nickname. Red Mug, in a Avhispai- 
 “■if some of them that took the trouble to find you, should have 
 their OAvn Avay. It’s a d—d tight pull Avhether you are to be 
 kept as a prisoner of Avar, or shoved under ground this morning 
 without tuck of drum. That for your private ear.” 
 
 “ I Avas born in old Carolina myself,” replied Horse Shoe, aside 
 to the speaker; “ and I don’t believe there is many men to be 
 found in it who would stand by and see the rules and regulations 
 of honorable war blackened and trod down into the dust by any 
 coAvardly trick of murder. If it comes to that, many as there are 
 against tAvo, our lives Avill not go at a cheap price.” 
 
 “ Whisht!” returned the other, “ with my alloAvance, for one, it 
 shan’t be. A prisoner’s a prisoner, I say ; and damnation to the 
 man that would make him out Avorse.” 
 
 “ They say you are a merry devil, old Horse Shoe,” exclaimed 
 he who Avas called Boav Legs, Avho noAV stepped up and slapped the 
 sergeant on the back. “ So take a swig, man; fair play is a 
 jeAvel!—that’s my doctrine. Fight Avhen you fight, and drink 
 when you drink — and that’s the sign to know a man by.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 221 
 
 “ There is some good things,” said the sergeant, “ in this world 
 that’s good, and some that’s bad. But I have always found that 
 good and had is so mixed up and jumbled together, that you don’t 
 often get much of one without a little of the other. A sodger’s a 
 sodger, no matter what side he is on; and they are the naturalest 
 people in the world for fellow-feeling. One day a man is up, and 
 then the laugh’s on his side; next day he is down, and then the 
 laugh’s against him. So, as a sodger has more of these ups and 
 downs than other folks, there’s the I'eason his heart is tenderer 
 towards a comradethan other people’s. Here’s your health, sir. 
 This is a wicked world, and twisted, in a measure, upside down; 
 and it is well known that evil communications corrupts good 
 manners ; hut sodgers were made to set the world right again, on 
 its legs, and to presarve good breeding and Christian charity. 
 So there’s a sarmon for you, you tinkers!” 
 
 “ Well done, mister preacher!” vociferated a prominent reveller. 
 “ If you will desert and enlist with us you shall he the chaplain 
 of the troop. We want a good swearing, drinking, and tearing 
 blade who can hold a discourse over his liquor, and fence with the 
 devil at long words. You’re the very man for it! Huzza for the 
 blacksmith !” 
 
 “ Huzza for the blacksmith!” shouted several others in the 
 apartment. 
 
 Butler, during this scene, had stretched himself out at full 
 length upon a bench, to gain some rest in his present exhausted 
 and uncomfortable condition, and was now partaking of the 
 refreshment of a howl of milk and some coarse bread, which one 
 of the troopers had brought him. 
 
 " What’s all this laughing and uproar about ?” said Habershaw, 
 entering the room with Curry, just at the moment of the acclama¬ 
 tion in favor of the sergeant “ Is this a time for your cursed wide 
 throats to be braying like asses! We have business to do. And 
 you, sir,” said he, turning to Butler, “ you must be taking up the 
 room of a half dozen men on a bench with your lazy carcase ! Up, 
 sir; I allow no lolling and lying about to rascally, whigs and rebels. 
 You have cost me the death of a dog that is worth all your filthy 
 w'hig kindred ; and you have made away with two of the best men 
 that ever stept in shoe leather. Sit up, sir, and thank your luck 
 
222 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 that you haven’t your arms pinioned behind you, like a horse 
 thief.” 
 
 “ Insolent coward,” said Butler, springing upon his feet; 
 “ hired ruffian! you shall in due time be made to pay for the 
 outrage you have inflicted upon me.” 
 
 “ Tie him up !” cried Habershaw ; “ tie him up ! And now I 
 call jmu all to bear witness that he has brought the sentence upon 
 himself; it shall be done without waiting another moment. Harrv 
 Gage, I give the matter over to you. Draw out four men, take 
 them into the yard, and dispatch the prisoners olf-hand! shoot 
 the traitors on the spot, before we eat our breakfasts! I was a 
 fool that I didn’t settle this at daylight this morning—^the rascally 
 filth of the earth ! Have no heart about it, men ; but make sure 
 work by a short distance. This is no time for whining. When 
 have the Whigs shown mercy to us!” 
 
 “ It shall be four against four, then!” cried out Shadrach 
 Green, seconded by Andrew Clopper ; “ and the first shot that is 
 fired shall be into the bowels of Hugh Habershaw ! Stand by me, 
 boys!” 
 
 In a moment the parties were divided, and had snatched up 
 their weapons, and then stood looking angrily at each other as if 
 daring each to commence the threatened affray. 
 
 “ Why, how now, devil’s imps !” shouted Habershaw. “ Have 
 you come to a mutiny ? Have you joined the rebels ? James 
 Curry, look at this! By the bloody laws of war, I will report 
 every rascal who dares to lift his hand agamst me !” 
 
 “ The thing is past talking about,” said the first speaker, coolly. 
 “ Hugh Habershaw, neither you nor James Curry sjiall command 
 the peace if you dare to ofi'er harm to the prisoners. ’ How, bully, 
 report that as my saying. They are men fairly taken in war, and 
 shall suffer no evil past what the law justifies. Give them up to 
 the officer of the nearest post—that’s what we ask—carry them to 
 Innis’s camp if you choose ; but whilst they are in our keeping 
 there shall be no blood spilled without mixing some of your own 
 with it, Hugh Habershaw.” 
 
 “ Arrest the mutineers !” cried Habershaw, trembling with rage. 
 “ Who are my fiiends in this room ? Let them stand by me, and 
 then—blast me if I don’t force obedience to my orders !” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 223 
 
 “ You got off by the skin of your teeth last night,” said Green, 
 “ when you tried to take the life of Gideon Blake. For that you 
 deserved a bullet through your skull. Take care that you don’t 
 get your reckoning this morning, cajitain and all as you are.” 
 
 “ What in the devil would you have ?” inquired Habershaw, 
 stricken into a more cautious tone of speech by the decided bear¬ 
 ing of the man opposed to him. . 
 
 “ The safety of the prisoners until they are delivered to the 
 commander of a regular post; we have resolved upon that!” was 
 the reply. 
 
 “ Curry!” said Habershaw, turning in some perplexity to the 
 dragoon as if for advice. 
 
 “ Softly, Captain; we had better have a parley here,” said 
 Curry, who then added in a whisper : “ There’s been some damned 
 bobbery kicked up here by the blacksmith. This comes of giving 
 that fellow the privilege of talking.” 
 
 “ A word, men,” interposed Horse Shoe, who during this interval 
 had planted himself near Butler, and with him stood ready to act 
 as the emergency might require. “ Let me say a word. This 
 James Curry is my man. Give me a broadsword and a pair of 
 pistols, and I will pledge the hand and word of a sodger, upon 
 condition that I am allowed five minutes’ parole, to have a jiass, 
 here in the yard, with him—it shall be in sight of the whole 
 squad—I pledge the word of a sodger to deliver myself back again 
 to the guard, dead or alive, without offering to take any chance to 
 make ofl’ in the meantime. Come, James Curry, yom’ word to 
 the back of that, and then buckle on your sword, man. I heard 
 your whisper.” 
 
 “ Soldiers,” said Curry, stepping into the circle w'hich the party 
 had now formed round the room, “ let me put in a word as a 
 peace-maker. Captain Habei’shaw won’t be unreasonable. I will 
 vouch for him that he will fulfil your wish regarding the convey¬ 
 ing of the prisoners to a regular post. Come, come, let us have 
 no brawling ! For shame ! put dowm your guns. There may be 
 reason in what you ask, although it isn’t so much against the 
 fashion of the times to shoot a Whig either. But anything for the 
 sake of quiet amongst good fellows. Be considerate, noble captain, 
 and do as the babies wish. As'for Horse Shoe’s brag—he is an 
 
224 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 old soldier, and so am I; tliat’s enongh. We are not so green as 
 to put a broadsword and a brace of pistols into tbe bands of a 
 bullying prisoner. No, no. Horse Shoe ! try another trick, old 
 boy ! Ha, ha, lads ! you are a set of fine dashing chaps, and this 
 is only one of your madcap bits of spunk that boils up with your 
 liquor. Take another cup on it, my merry fellows, and all will be 
 as pleasant as the music of a fife. Come, valiant Captain of the 
 Tiger, join us. And as for the prisoners—why let them come in 
 for snacks with us. So there’s an end of the business. All is as 
 mild as new milk again.” 
 
 “ Well, well, get your breakfasts,” said Habershaw gruffly. 
 “ Blast you ! I have spoiled you by good treatment, you ungrate¬ 
 ful, carnivorous dogs ! But, as Peppercorn says, there’s an end of 
 it! So go to your feeding, and when that’s done we w'ill push for 
 Blackstock’s.” 
 
 The morning meal was soon despatched, and the party reas¬ 
 sembled in the room where the late disturbance had taken place. 
 The good-nature of Eobinson continued to gain upon those w'ho 
 had first taken up his cause, and even brought him into a more 
 lenient consideration with the others. Amongst the former I have 
 already noted Andrew Clojrper, a rough and insubordinate mem¬ 
 ber of the gang, who, vexed by some old grudge against the fat 
 captain, had efficiently sustained Green in the late act of mutiny, 
 and who now, struck with Horse Shoe’s bold demeanor towards 
 Curry, began to evince manifest signs of a growing regard for the 
 worthy sergeant. With this man Horse Shoe contrived to hold a 
 short and secret interview that resulted in the quiet transfer of a 
 jnece of gold into the freebooter’s hand, which was received with a 
 significant nod of assent to whatever proposition accompanied it. 
 AVhen the order of “ boot and saddle ” was given by Habershaw', 
 the several members of the troop repaired to their horses, where a 
 short time rvas spent in making ready for the march ; after which 
 tho w'hole squad returned to the porch and occupied the few mo¬ 
 ments of delay in that loud and boisterous carousal which is apt to 
 mark the conduct of such an ill-organized body in the interval 
 immediately preceding the commencement of a day’s ride. This 
 was a moment of intense interest to the sergeant, who kept his 
 eyes steadily fixed upon the movements of Clopper, as that indi- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 225 
 
 vidual lingered behind his comrades in the equipment of his horse. 
 This ‘solicitude did not, however, arrest his seeming mirth, as he 
 joined in the rude jests of the company and added some sallies of 
 his own. 
 
 “ Give me that cup,” he said at length, to one of the men,’ as 
 he pointed to a gourd on a table ; “ before we start I have a notion 
 to try the strength of a little cold water, just by way of physic, 
 after all the liquor we have been drinking,” and, having got the 
 implement in his hand, he walked deliberately to the draw-well, 
 where he dipped up a draught from the bucket that stood on its 
 brink. As he put the water to his lips and turned his back upon 
 the company, he was enabled to take a survey of the horses that 
 were attached to the rack near him : then, suddenly throwing the 
 gourd from him, he sprang towards his own trusty steed, leaped 
 into his saddle at one bound, and sped, like an arrow from a bow, 
 upon the highway. This exploit was so promptly achieved that 
 no one was aware of the sergeant’s purpose until he was some 
 twenty paces upon his journey. As soon as the alarm of his flight 
 was spread, some three or four rifles were fired after him in rapid 
 succession, during which he was seen ducking his head and moving 
 it from side to side with a view to baffle the aim of the marksmen. 
 The confusion of the moment in which the volley was given ren¬ 
 dered it ineffectual, and the sergeant was already past the first 
 danger of his escape. 
 
 “ To horse and follow !” resounded from all sides. 
 
 “ Look to the other prisoner!” roared out Ilabershaw ; “ if he 
 raises his head blow out his brains ! Follow, boys, follow !” 
 
 “ Two or three of you come with me,” cried Curry, and a couple 
 of files hastened with the dragoon to their horses. Upon arriving 
 at the rack it was discovered that the bridles of the greater part 
 of the troop were tied in hard knots in such a manner as to con¬ 
 nect each two or three horses together. 
 
 A short delay took place whilst the horsemen were disentangling 
 their reins, and Curry, being the first to extricate his steed, mount¬ 
 ed and set oft' in rapid pursuit. He was immediately followed by 
 two others. 
 
 At the end of half an hour the two privates returned and re¬ 
 ported that they had been unable to obtain a Uew of the sergeant 
 
 10 * 
 
226 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 or even of Curiy. Shortly afterwards the dragoon himself was 
 descried retracing his steps at a moderate trot towards the house. 
 His plight told a tale upon him of discomfiture. One side of his 
 face was bleeding with a recent bruise, his dress disarranged and 
 his back covered with dust. The side of his horse also bore the 
 same taint of the soil. 
 
 He rode up to Habershaw—who was already upon the road at 
 the head of the remaining members of the squad, having Butler 
 in charge—and informed him that he had pursued the sergeant at 
 full speed until he came in sight of him, when the fugitive had 
 slackened his gait as if on purpose to allow himself to be overtaken. 
 
 “ But, the devil gvip the fellow !” he added, “ he has a broad¬ 
 side like a man-of-war! In my hurry I left my sword behind me, 
 and, when I came up with him, I laid my hand upon his bridle ; 
 but, by some sudden sleight which he has taught his horse, he 
 contrived, somehow or other, to upset me^—horse and all—down a 
 bank on the road-side. And, when I lay on the ground sprawling, 
 do you think the jolly runagate didn’t rein up and give me a broad 
 laugh, and ask me if he could be of any sarvice to me ? He then 
 bade me good bye, saying he had an engagement that prevented, 
 him from favoring me any longer with his company. Gad! it 
 was so civilly done that all I could say was, luck go with you, Mr. 
 Horse Shoe ; and, since we are to part company so soon, may the 
 devil pad your saddle for you ! I’ll do him the justice to say that 
 he’s a better horseman than I took him for. I can hardly be¬ 
 grudge a man his liberty who can win it as cleverly as he has 
 done.” 
 
 “ Well, there’s no more to be said about it,” remarked Haber¬ 
 shaw. “ He is only game for another day. He fs like a bear’s 
 cub ; which is as much as to signify that he has a hard time before 
 him. He would have only given us trouble; so let him go. 
 Now, boys, away for Blackstock’s ; I will engage I keep the fox 
 that’s left safely enough.” 
 
 With these words the troop proceeded upon then' march. 
 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Horse Shoe’s successful escape from the hands of the Tories, it 
 will he conjectured, had been aided by Clopper. The sergeant 
 had sufficiently assured himself of the present safety of Butler, from 
 the spirit with which a strong party of Habershaw’s followers had 
 resisted the bloody purpose of their leader before breakfast; and 
 he had also, by the'timely reward secretly conveyed to Clopper, 
 received a pledge from that individual that the same protection 
 should still he accorded to the major, in the event of his own 
 extrication from the gang by the perilous exploit which he then^ 
 meditated. It is no doubt apparent to the reader, that the favor 
 which saved the lives of the prisoners was won from the captors 
 by the address of. Robinson, and that whatever good wffl, was 
 kindled up amongst*^m, was appropriated principally to ttf&«a:- 
 geant, Butler having elicited but little consideration from th^ 
 band, beyond that interest which the roughest men are apt to * 
 take in the fortunes of a youijg and enterprising soldier. Neither: 
 the major’s manners nor temper were adapted to conciliate any^ 
 special regard from such natures. 
 
 The escape of the sergeant, therefore, although it added nothing 
 to the perils of Butler’s situation, still operated in some degree to 
 his present inconvenience. It caused him to be more rigorously 
 guarded than before, and consequently to be more restricted in 
 his personal comfort. He was hurried forward at a rough and - 
 uneasy pace ; and both from Habershaw and Curry, and those 
 more immediately of their party, he experienced a surly indifference 
 to the pain that this 'occasioned him. They seemed to have no 
 regard either to his wants or feelings, and in the passing remarks 
 that fell from them he could gather harsh surmises as to the 
 manner in which he was now likely to be disposed of. 
 
 “ It is their own fault,” said one of them to his companion, as 
 Butler overheard the conversation; “ if every prisoner is strung 
 
 
228 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 up and shot nowadays. He makes no more of hanging our 
 people than so many wolves ; and there was Captain Huck—will 
 any man say that Sumpter hadn’t him murdered in cold blood ?” 
 
 “ Yes,” added the other, “ let a Tory be caught over yonder 
 amongst the Iredell Whigs, on t’other side of the line, or in Tryon, 
 or down here at the Waxhaws, why, a grey fox in a barn yard 
 with forty dogs would have as good a chance for his life. So, for 
 my share, I am glad to see our folks break up that blasted breed, 
 root and branch.” 
 
 “ Innis has got as keen a nose for a Whig as a blood-hound,” 
 said the first speaker, “ and won’t stop long to consider what’s 
 right to be done, if he gets this chap in his clutches; so it is of no 
 great account that we didn’t make short work of it this morning.” 
 
 Such remarks produced a gloomy effect upon Butler’s mind. 
 He had witnessed enough, in the scenes of the morning, to con¬ 
 vince him that Habershaw had been employed to -waylay him and 
 take his life, and that the latter purpose had only failed by the 
 lucky conjuncture of circumstances which led to the mutiny. He 
 was aware, too, that Curry was the prime conductor of the 
 scheme, and drove matters, by a secret influence, as far as he 
 could towards its accomplishment, whilst rvith a professional hardi¬ 
 hood and most hypocritical bearing he affected to be indifferent to 
 the issue. This fellow’s malice was the more venomous from his 
 address, and the gay, swaggering, remorseless levity with Avhich he 
 could mask the most atrocious designs : nothing could baffle his 
 equanimity, and he seemed to be provided, at all times, with a pre¬ 
 sent expedient to meet the emergency of his condition. 
 
 The most perplexing feature in this man’s present position was 
 his recent connexion with Tyrrel; a fact that recurred to 
 Butler with many alarming doubts. All the other circumstances 
 accompanying Butler’s condition, at this moment, were subjects of 
 distressful uncertainty. Ignorant of the place to which he was to 
 be taken, into whose hands he was to be delivered, how he was to 
 be disposed of, he could only anticipate the worst. It was ob-vious 
 that his journey was an expected one, and that the gang who held 
 him were employed by persons in authority, set on, no doubt, by 
 the agency of Tyrrel; but where was he—and who was he ?— 
 and what influence could he bring to bear against his, Butler’s 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 229 
 
 life, now that he had failed in his bloody purpose of lying in wait; 
 and that it was resolved by these rnflSans, who had in part only 
 obeyed his behests, to deliver their prisoner up to the regular 
 authorities of the British army ? The mention of the name of 
 Innis by one of the troopers was not calculated to allay his inquiet¬ 
 ude. This person he knew to have been an active confederate 
 and eager adviser of the new court, lately established at Charleston, 
 to promote the confiscation of the estates of the inhabitants of 
 Carolina disaffected to the royal cause. He was, besides, a zealous 
 Tory partisan, and, having lately joined the army, was now in com¬ 
 mand of a detachment of loyalists on the Ennoree. 
 
 Then, again, there was abundant cause of anxiety to the unfor¬ 
 tunate officer ill the question whether Robinson could be kept 
 acquainted with his condition, or even of the place to which he 
 might be removed—and if acquainted with these particulars, whe¬ 
 ther, in the disturbed state of the country, he could render any 
 service. These thoughts all contributed to sink his spirits. 
 
 Notwithstanding the usual assumed levity of Curry, he had now 
 become resentful towards Butler, and did not give himself the 
 trouble to conceal it. His manner was quick and unaccommo¬ 
 dating, showing his vexation at his own want of sagacity, inferred 
 by the successful flight of Robinson. Expressions occasionally 
 escaped him that indicated a self-reproof on this subject, though 
 they were partially disguised by an affected undervaluing of the 
 importance of having such a prisoner, so long as he retained the 
 custody of the principal object of the enterprise. But the con¬ 
 sciousness of being again baffled by a man who had once before 
 obtained the mastery over him, roused his pride into the exhibi¬ 
 tion of a peevish and vindictive demeanor. In this temper he 
 seconded the brutal disposition of Habershaw, and abandoned the 
 captive officer to the coarse insults of those who exercised control 
 over him. There was some mitigation to this annoyance, in the 
 reserved and partial spirit in which the insurgent party of the 
 squad manifested some slight signs of good will towards him. An 
 instance of this spirit was afforded in a passing hint conveyed by 
 Clopper, on one occasion when the troop had halted to water their 
 horses. “ Wliatever is to come of it, after we give you up to 
 other hands,” he said, apart to Butler, “ we will stick to the 
 
230 
 
 HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 ground we Have taken, that no Harm sHall be done to you in our 
 keeping.” 
 
 THe day was intensely Hot, and tHe road, over wHicH tHe party 
 travelled, rugged and fatiguing; it was, tHerefore, near one 
 o’clock wHen tHey came in sigHt of tHe Tiger, a rougH, Hold, im¬ 
 petuous stream tHat rusHed over an almost unHroken Hed of rocks. 
 On tHe opposite Hank was Blackstocks, a rude Hamlet of some two 
 or tHree Houses, scattered over a rugged Hill-side—a place suHse- 
 quently rendered famous Hy tHe gallant rejiulse of Tarleton Hy 
 Sumpter. THe troop struck into a narrow ford, and, witH some 
 scramHling amongst tHe rocks, succeeded in crossing tHe stream; 
 tHey tHen galloped rapidly up tHe Hill, towards a farm-House 
 wHicH seemed to He tHe principal place of resort for tHe people of tHe 
 neig'HHorHood. THe approacH of tHe party of cavalry drew to tHe 
 door a Hevy of women, cHildren, and negroes, wHo stood idly gap¬ 
 ing at tHe spectacle; and, in addition to tHese, a detacHment of 
 militia, consisting of Hetween twenty and tliirty men, were seen to 
 turn out and form a line in front of tHe House. HaHersHaw, witH 
 an air of magnified importance. Halted opposite tHis detacHment, 
 gave a few prompt orders to Curry in regard to tHe disposition of 
 the troop, and in an autHoritative tone of command, ordered tHe 
 oflicer of tHe militia to detail a guard for tHe safe keeping of a 
 prisoner of state. THe personage addressed—a tall, ungainly, and 
 awkward suHaltern—signified His acquiescence witH a How, and 
 immediately took possession of Butler Hy seizing tHe rein of His 
 Horse and leading Him to one side, wHere two men, armed witH 
 rifles, placed tHemselves at eitlier stirrup. HaHersHaw now 
 directed His men to aligHt, accompanying tHe order witH a caution 
 tHat tHe prisoner was not to be allowed to enter tHe House. “ THe 
 d—d rascal,” He added, “ sHall not play tHe trick of His rebel asso¬ 
 ciate : no more privilege of going into bar-rooms, and lounging 
 about doors ! See tHe man stowed away in tHe barn ; and tell tHe 
 sentinels never to take their eyes OS’ of Him—do you Hear, Heu- 
 tenant ?” 
 
 “ You may depend upon my look-out,” repHed the lieutenant, 
 with a flourish of a Hacked and rusty sword. “ Men, march your 
 prisoner straight to the barn. Have a relief. Corporal, every two 
 Hours, and towards night, set four on the watch at a time.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 231 
 
 “ Look to it, Lieutenant!” shouted Habershaw. “ No words, 
 sir : do your duty!” 
 
 And having thus given vent to his own high opinion of himself, 
 the bulky captain withdrew into the house. 
 
 Butler was now marched into a large log barn, in one corner of 
 which an armful of fodder, or dried blades of Indian corn, were 
 shaken out for his bed; and this, he was told, was to be his prison 
 until other orders awaited him. The guard, consisting of two sen¬ 
 tinels, were stationed on the inner side of tlie door, having the 
 prisoner immediately under their eye ; and, this disposition being 
 completed, the officer commanding the detachment retired to mingle 
 with the troopers in the farm-house. 
 
 Half an hour had scarcely elapsed after the arrival of the troopers 
 at Blackstocks, before James Curry had refreshed himself with a 
 hasty meal, and had his horse brought to the door. He seemed 
 bound upon some urgent mission. 
 
 “ Captain St. Jermyn, you say, left this at sunrise this morning ?” 
 said the dragoon, addressing the lieutenant of the militia. 
 
 “ He did. He ivas here all day yesterday, and thought he should 
 hear from you last night.” 
 
 “ What route did he take ?” 
 
 “ To Turnbull, at Ninety-Six.” 
 
 “ Is Turnbull there now, think you ?” 
 
 “ He is,” replied the lieutenant. “ They say orders have gone 
 up from Cornwallis to the post for four light companies, and it is 
 expected that Captain Campbell is now on his way with them 
 towards Camden; neither Turnbull nor Cruger would leave the post.” 
 
 “ I have heard that this corps was marching to head-quarters. 
 Are you sure St. Jermyn is not with Campbell ?” 
 
 “ He said nothing about it yesterday, but I think he wishes to 
 join Colonel Innis with the loyalist cavalry.” 
 
 “ Where is Innis ?” inquired Curry. 
 
 “ Over on Ennoree, about two miles from Musgrove’s mill.” 
 
 “ Humph !” said Curry, thoughtfully, “ I must ride to the gar¬ 
 rison at Ninety-Six. The deidl take this cantering about the coun¬ 
 try ! I have had more than enough of it.” 
 
 And saying this, the dragoon mounted his horse, and clapping 
 spurs to the restive animal, was soon out of sight. 
 
232 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 It was late in the day before the wants of Butler were attended 
 to. He had thrown aside his coat, from the oppressive heat of the 
 weather, and, placing it under his head for a pillow, had fallen 
 into a sleep, from which he was awakened by a summons from one 
 of the sentinels to partake of food. There was more kindness 
 apparent in the demeanor of the soldier than Butler had been 
 accustomed to meet from the persons who held him captive, and this 
 chcumstance won upon his heart and induced him to accept with 
 courtesy the proffered attentions. 
 
 “You live in a divided country, and witness much to make a 
 good man -wish this unhappy war was at an end,” said Butler, 
 after he had eaten of the provisions placed before him. 
 
 “ Lideed we do, sir,” replied the soldier, “ and it is enough to 
 make a man’s heart bleed to see brothers fighting against each 
 other, and kindred that ought to hold together seeking each other’s 
 lives. Men will have, and ought to have their opinions, sir ; but 
 it is hardly good reason for treating one another hke savage In¬ 
 dians, because all cannot think alike.” 
 
 “ Do you live in this neighborhood ?” inquired Butler. 
 
 “ Not far away,” answered the man. 
 
 “ You are married ?” 
 
 “ Yes, and have six children.” 
 
 “ They should be young,” said Butler, “ judging by your own age.” 
 
 “ Thank God, sir !” exclaimed the soldier, with fervor, “ they 
 are young 1 And I would pray that they may never live to be 
 old if these wars are to last. No father can count upon his own 
 child’s living in harmony with him. My boys, if they were gi'own 
 enough, might be the first I should meet in battle.” 
 
 “ Your name, ffiend ?” said Butler. 
 
 “ Bruce,” replied the other. 
 
 “ A good and a brave name ; a name once fiaendly to the liber¬ 
 ty of his country.” 
 
 “ Stop, sir !” said the sentinel. “ This is not the place to talk 
 upon questions that might make us angry with each other. It is 
 a name still friendly to the liberty of his country ; that liberty that 
 suppoids the king and laws, and punishes treason.” 
 
 “ I cannot debate with you,” replied Butler; “ I am your 
 prisoner.” 
 
 \ 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 233 
 
 “ I am a man,” said the soldier, firmly, “ and would not take 
 advantage of him that cannot take his own part; but these ques¬ 
 tions, sir, are best dropped—they have made all the provinces 
 mad. However, I do not blame you, sir; I will not deny that 
 there are good men on your side.” 
 
 “ And on yours, doubtless,” returned Butler. 
 
 “We have many bad ones, sir,” returned the soldier; “and as 
 you have spoken like a well-tempered gentleman to me, I will give 
 you a friendly hint.” Here the sentinel spoke in a lowered tone. 
 “ Have your eyes about you ; these men are none of the best, and 
 would think but little of taking from you anything of value. As 
 you slept, just now, I saw a golden trinket hanging by a ribbon in 
 your bosom. You arc a young man, sir, and a soldier, I hear ; 
 this may be some present from your lady, as I guess you have one. 
 If others had seen it, as I saw it, you might have been the loser. 
 That’s all.” 
 
 “ Thank you, honest friend ! from my heart, I thank you !” re¬ 
 plied Butler eagerly. “ Oh, God ! that bauble is a consolation to 
 me that in this hour I would not part with—no, no! Thank you, 
 friend, a thousand times !’^ 
 
 “ Have done,” said the soldier, “ and in future be more careful. 
 The relief is coming this way.” 
 
 And the sentinel, taking up his rifle, repaired to his post. In a 
 few moments the guard was changed, and those lately on duty 
 were marched to the dwelling-house. 
 
 When night came on the immediate guard around Butler’s per¬ 
 son was doubled. Some few comforts were added to his forlorn 
 prison by the kindness of the soldier Bruce, and he was left to 
 pass the weary hours of darkness in communion with his own 
 thoughts, or in the enjoyment of such repose as his unhappy state 
 of thraldom allowed. If the agitation of his spirit had permitted 
 sleep, there were but few moments of the night when it might 
 have been indulged. The outbursts of revelry, the loud and bois¬ 
 terous laugh, and still louder oaths of the party who occu])ied the 
 dwelling-house near at hand, showed that they had plunged into 
 their usual debauch, and now caroused over their frequently filled 
 cups; and the clamor that broke upon the night might have 
 baffled the slumbei's of a mind less anxious and wakeful than his own. 
 
234 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 The part}'- of troopers and militia sat at the door to take advan¬ 
 tage of the coolness of the night, and as they plied the busy 
 flagon, and with heavy draught grew more noisy, scarce a word 
 fell from their lips that was not distinctl}^ heard by Butler. It 
 was with intense interest, therefore, that he listened to the conver¬ 
 sation when it led to a topic that greatly concerned himself; and 
 that he might not alarm the suspicion of the sjieakers he affected 
 sleep. 
 
 “ Sumpter has been hovering about Ninety-Six,” said the lieu¬ 
 tenant ; “ and if one could believe all the stories that are told 
 about him, he must be a full cousin at least to a certain person 
 that it wouldn’t be right to mention in respectable company; for, 
 by the accounts, he is one day on the Wateree, and the next, 
 whoop and away !—and there he is, almost over at Augusta. It 
 seems almost past the power of human legs for a mortal man to 
 make such strides as they tell of him.” 
 
 “ Who says Sumpter is near Ninety-Six ?” inquired one of the 
 party; “ I can only say, if that’s true, he is a ghost—that’s 
 all. Here’s Harry Turner will swear that he saw him, day 
 before yesterday, in North Carolina, on his march towards 
 Burk.” 
 
 “ Indeed did I,” responded Harry, one of the militia-men. 
 
 “ There is no mistake about it,” ihtei’posed the lieutenant. “ A 
 vidette of Brown’s came scampering through here this morning, 
 who reported the news; and the man had good right to know, for 
 he saw Cruger yesterday, who told him all about it, and then sent 
 him off to Wahab’s plantation, near the Catawba fords, for 
 Hanger’s rangers. It was on his way back this morning that he 
 stopped here five minutes, only to give us warning ?” 
 
 “ This is only some story that your dranken head has been 
 dreaming about, Gabriel,” said Habershaw. “ There is not a 
 word of truth in it; the rangers went down to Camden three days 
 ago. A¥ho saw the vidette besides yom-self?” 
 
 “ The whole detachment,” replied the lieutenant. “ We talked 
 to the man and had the story from him—and a queer fellow 
 he was—a good stout chap that liked to have been caught by a 
 pair of reconnoitring Whigs, a few miles back between this and 
 Pacolet; they pushed him up to the saddleflaps. But you must 
 
HORSK SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 235 
 
 have seen him yourself, Captain Ilabershaw; for he told us you 
 were on the road.” 
 
 “ From towards Pacolet 1” exclaimed the captain with surprise. 
 “ We saw nobody on that road. When did the man arrive ? ” 
 
 “ About an hour before you. He came at full speed, with his 
 horse—a great, black, snorting beast seventeen hands high at 
 least—all in a foam. He was first for passing by without stopping, 
 but we challenged him and brought him short upon his haunches, 
 and then he told us he was in a hurry, and mustn’t be delayed.” 
 
 “ What kind of a looking man was he ?” inquired Habershaw. 
 
 “ A jolly fellow,” replied the lieutenant: “ almost as big as his 
 horse. A good civil fellow, too, that swigs well at a canteen. He 
 made a joke of the matter about your coming up, and called you 
 old Cat-o’-nine tails—said that you were the cat, and your nine 
 tag-rags were the tails—ha, ha ha !” 
 
 “ Blast the bastard !” exclaimed Habershaw; “ who could he 
 be ?” 
 
 “ Why we asked that, but he roared out with a great haw-haw 
 —took another drink, and said he was never christened.” 
 
 “You should, as a good soldier,” said Habershaw, “have made 
 him give his name.” 
 
 “ I tried him again, and he would only let us have a nickname; 
 he told us then that he was called Jack-o’-Lantern, and had a 
 special good stomach, and that if we wanted more of him we must 
 give him a snatch of something to eat. Well, we did so. After that, 
 he said he must have our landlord’s sword, for his own had been 
 torn from him by the Whig troopers that pushed him so hard, and 
 that the bill for it must be sent to Cruger. So he got the old 
 cheese-knife that used to hang over the fire-place and strung it 
 across his shoulder. He laughed so hard, and seemed so good- 
 natured, that there was no doing anything with him. At last he 
 mounted his horse again, just stooped down and whispered in my 
 ear at parting, that he was an old friend of yours, and that you 
 could tell us all the news, and away he went, like a mad bully, 
 clinking it over the hill at twenty miles to the hour.” • 
 
 “ A black horse did you say ?” inquired Ilaber-shaw. “ Had he 
 a white star in the forehead, and the two hind legs white below 
 the knee ?” 
 
236 
 
 HOKSE SHOEROBINSON. 
 
 “ Exactly,” said the lieutenant and several others of the 
 party. 
 
 “ It was Horse Shoe Robinson!” exelaimed Habershaw, “ by aU 
 the black deHls !” 
 
 “ Horse Shoe, Horse Shoe, to be sure !” responded half a dozen 
 voices. 
 
 “ He was a famous good rider. Horse Shoe or anybody else,” 
 said the lieutenant. 
 
 “ That beats all!” said one of the troopers ; “ the cunning old 
 fox! He told the truth when he said you would teU the news, 
 captain : but to think of his lies getting him past the guard, with 
 a sword and a bellyfull into the bargain !” 
 
 “ Why didn’t you report instantly upon our arrival ?” asked 
 Habershaw. 
 
 “ Bless you,” replied the lieutenant, “ I never suspicioned him, 
 more than I did you. The fellow laughed so naturally that I 
 would never have thought him a runaway.” 
 
 “ There it is,” said Habershaw ; “ that’s the want of disciphne. 
 The service vrill never thrive till these loggerheads are taught the 
 rules of war.” 
 
 Butler had heard enough to satisfy him on one material point, 
 namely, that Robinson had secured his escape, and was in condi¬ 
 tion to take whatever advantage of circumstances the times might 
 aflbrd him. It was a consolation to him also to know that the 
 sergeant had taken this route, as it brought him nearer to the scene 
 in which the major himself was likely to mingle. With this dawn 
 of comfort brightening up his doubts, he addi-esssed himself more 
 composedly to sleep, and before daylight, the sounds of riot having 
 sunk into a lower and more di'owsy tone, he succeeded in winning 
 a temporary oblivion from his cares. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 “ What ho! WTiat ho !—thy door undo: 
 
 Art watching or asleep ?”— Burger's Leonora. 
 
 On the banks of the Ennoree, in a little nook of meadow, formed 
 by the bend of the stream which, fringed with willows, swept 
 round it almost in a semicircle, the inland border of the meadow 
 being defined by a gently rising wall of hills covered with wood, 
 was seated within a few paces of the water, a neat little cottage 
 with a group of out-buildings, presenting all the conveniences of a 
 comfortable farm. The dwelling-house itself w'as shaded by a 
 cluster of trees which had been spared from the native forest, and 
 within view were several fields of cultivated ground neatly inclosed 
 with fences. A little lower down the stream and within a short 
 distance of the house, partially concealed by the bank, stood a 
 small low-browed mill, built of wood. It was near sundowm, and 
 the golden light of evening sparkled upon the shower which fell 
 from the leaky race that conducted the water to the head gate, 
 and no less glittered on the spray that was dashed from the large 
 and slowly revolving wheel. The steady gush of the stream, and 
 the monotonous clack of the machinery, aided by the occasional 
 discordant scream of a flock of geese that frequented the boi-der 
 of the race, and by the gambols of a few children, w'ho played 
 about the confines of the mill, excited pleasant thoughts of rural 
 business and domestic content. A rudely constructed wagon, to 
 which were harnessed two lean horses, stood at the door of the 
 mill, and two men, one of them advanced in years, and the other 
 apparently just beyond the verge of boyhood, were occupied in 
 heaping upon it a heavy load of bags of meal. The w’hitened 
 habiliments of these men showed them to be the proper attendants 
 of the place, and now engaged in their avocation. A military 
 guard stood by the wagon, and as soon as it was filled, they were 
 
288 
 
 HOESE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 seen to put the horses in motion, and to retire by a road that 
 crossed the stream and take the descending direction of the cm-rent 
 close along the opposite bank. 
 
 When this party had disapjDeared, the old man directed the mill 
 to be stopped. The gates were let down, the machinery ungeared, 
 and, in a few moments, all was still. The millers now retired to 
 the little habitation hard by. 
 
 “ There is so much work lost,” said the elder to his companion, 
 as they approached the gate that opened into the curtilage of the 
 dwelling. “We shall never be paid for that load. Colonel Innis 
 doesn’t care much out of whose pocket he feeds his men ; and as 
 to his orders upon Kawdon’s quarter-master, why it is almost the 
 price of blood to venture so far from home to ask for payment—to 
 say nothing of the risk of finding the army purse as low as a poor 
 miller’s at home. I begrudge the grain, Christopher, and the work 
 that grinds it; but there is no disputing with these whiskered foot¬ 
 pads with bayonets in their hands—they must have it and will 
 have it, and there’s an end of it.” 
 
 “ Aye,” replied the man addressed by the name of Christopher, 
 “ as you say, they vdll have it; and' if they are told that a poor 
 man’s sweat has been mixed with then- bread, they talk to us about 
 the cause—the cause—the cause. I am tired of this everlasting 
 preaching about king and country. I don’t know but if I had my 
 own way I’d take the country against the king any day. What 
 does George the Third care for us, with a great world of water 
 between ?” 
 
 “ Whisht, Christopher Shaw—whisht, boy! We have no opinions 
 of our own ; trees and walls have ears at this time. It isn’t for 
 us to be bringing blood and burning under our roof, by setting up 
 for men who have opinions. No, no. Wait patiently ; and per¬ 
 haps, Christopher, it will not be long before this gay bird Corn¬ 
 wallis will be plucked of his feathers. The man is on his way 
 now that, by the help of the Lord, may bring down as proud a 
 hawk as ever flew across the water. If it should be otherwise, 
 trust to the power above the might of armies, and wiser than the 
 cunning of men, that, by a righteous and peaceful life, we shall 
 make our lot an easier one than it may ever be in mingling in the 
 strife of the evil-minded.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 239 
 
 “ It is hard, fbr all that—wise as it is—to be still,” said Chris¬ 
 topher, “ with one’s arms dangling by one’s side, when one’s neigh¬ 
 bors and kinsmen are up and girding themselves for battle. It 
 will come to that at last; fight we must. And, I don’t care 
 who knows it, I am for independence, uncle Allen.” 
 
 “ Your passion, boy, and warmth of temper, I doubt, outrun 
 your discretion,” said the old man. “ But you speak bravely and 
 I cannot chide you for it. For the present, at least, be temperate, 
 and, if you can, silent. It is but unprofitable talk for persons in 
 our condition.” 
 
 The uncle and nephew now entered the house, and Allen Mus- 
 grove — for this was the person to whom I have introduced my 
 reader—was soon seated at his family board, invoking a blessing 
 upon his evening meal, and dispensing the cares of a quiet and 
 peaceful household. 
 
 “ I wonder Mary stays so long with her aunt,” he said, as the 
 early hour of repose drew nigh. “ It is an ill place for her, wife, 
 and not apt to please the girl with anything she may find there. 
 Wat Adair is an irregular man, and savage as the beasts he hunts. 
 His associates are not of the best, and but little suited to Mary’s 
 quiet temper.” 
 
 The wife, a staid, motherly-looking woman of plain and placid 
 exterior, who was busily engaged amongst a thousand scraps of 
 coarse, homespun-cloth, which she was fashioning into a garment 
 for some of the younger members of her family, paused from her 
 work, upon this appeal to her, and, directing her glances above 
 her spectacles to her husband, replied : 
 
 “ Mary has been taught to perform her duties to her kinsfolk, 
 and it isn’t often that she counts whether it is pleasant to her or 
 not. Besides, Watty, rough as he is, loves our girl ; and love goes 
 a great way to make us bear and forbear both, husband. I’ll war¬ 
 rant our daughter comes home when she thinks it right. But it is 
 .1 weary way to ride over a wild country, and more so now' when 
 AVhig and Tory have distracted the land. I wish Christopher 
 could be s])ared to go for her.” 
 
 “ He shall go to-morrow, wife,” returned Allen Musgrove. “ AA^at 
 Adair, love her or not, is not the man to go out of his way for a 
 wandering girl, and would think nothing to see the child set out 
 
240 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 by berself. But come, it is Saturday nigbt and near bed-time. 
 Put aside j^our -work, wife ; a lesson from the Book of Trutb, and 
 prayers, and then to rest,” he said, as he took down a family Bible 
 from a shelf and spread it before him. 
 
 The old man put on a pair of glasses, which, by a spring, sus¬ 
 tained themselves upon his nose, and with an audible and solemn 
 voice he read a portion of scripture; then, placing himself on his 
 knees, whilst the whole family followed his example, he poured 
 forth a fervent and heart-inspired prayer. It was a simple and 
 homely effusion, delivered from the suggestions of the moment, in 
 accordance with a devout habit of thanksgiving and supplication 
 to wdiich he had long been accustomed. He was a Presbyterian, 
 and had witnessed, with many a pang, the profligate contempt and 
 even savage persecution with which his sect had been visited by 
 many of the Tory leaders—especially by the loyahst partisan. Cap¬ 
 tain Huck, who had been recently killed in an incursion of 
 Sumpter’s "at Williams’s plantation, not far distant from Musgrove’s 
 present residence. It was this unsparing hostility towards his 
 religion, and impious derision of it, that, more than any other 
 circumstance, had begotten that secret dislike of the Tory cause 
 which, it was known to a few, the miller entertained, although his 
 age, situation, and, perhaps, some ancient prejudice of descent (for 
 he was the son of an early Scotch emigrant), wmuld rather have 
 inclined him to take the royal side; that side which, in common 
 belief and in appearance, he still favored. 
 
 “ Thou hast bent thy bow,” he said, in the warmest efl'usion of 
 his prayer, “and shot thine arrow's, 0 Lord, amongst this people; 
 thou hast permitted the ministers of vengeance, and the seekers of 
 blood to ride amongst us, and thy wrath hath not yet bow'ed the 
 stubborn spirit of sin—but the hard hearts are given strong arms, 
 and Avith curses they have smitten the people. Yet even t^e fire¬ 
 brand that it did please thee not to stay because of our sins^yea, 
 even the firebrand that did cause conflagration along our border, 
 until bj' the light the erring children of men might read in the 
 dark night, fi’om one end of our boundary even unto the other, 
 the enormity of their own backslidings, and their forgetfulness of 
 thee; that firebrand hath been throAvn into the blaze -which it had 
 itself kindled, and, like a weapon of w'ar w'hich hath grown dull 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 241 
 
 in the work of destruction, hath been cast into the place of 
 unprofitable lumber, and hath been utterly consumed. The perse¬ 
 cutor of the righteous and the scoffer of the word hdth paid the 
 price of blood, and hath fallen into the snares wherewith he lay in 
 wait to ensnare the feet of the unthinking. But stay now, 0 Lord 
 of Hosts, the hand of the destroyer, and let the angel of peace 
 again spread his wing over our racked and wearied land. Take 
 from the wicked heart his sword and shield, and make the right¬ 
 eous man safe beside his family hearth. Shelter the head of the 
 wanderer, and guide in safety the hunted fugitive who flees before 
 the man of wrath ; comfort the captive in his captivity, and make 
 all hearts in this rent and sundered province to know and bless thy 
 mercies for ever more. In especial, we beseech thee to give the 
 victory to him that hath right, and to ’stablish the foundations of 
 the government in justice and truth, giving liberty of conscience 
 and liberty of law to those who know how to use it.” At this 
 point the worship of the evening was arrested by a slight knock¬ 
 ing at the door. 
 
 “ Who goes there ?” exclaimed the old man, starting from his 
 kneeling position. “ Who raps at my door ?” 
 
 “ A stranger, good man,” replied a voice without. “ A poor 
 fellow that has been hot pressed and hard run.” 
 
 “ Friend or foe ?” asked Allen Musgrove. 
 
 “ A very worthless friend to any man at this present speaking,” 
 replied the person on the outside of the door; “ and not fit to be 
 counted a foe until he has had something to eat. If you be 
 Allen i\fusgrovc, open your door.” 
 
 “Are you alone, or do you come with followers at your 
 heels ? My house is small and can give scant comfort to 
 many?” 
 
 “ Faith, it is more than I know,” responded the other; “ but 
 if I have followers it is not wdth my will that they shall cross 
 your door-sill. If you be Allen Musgrove, or if you be not, open, 
 friend. I am as harmless as a barndoor fowl.” 
 
 “ I do not fear you, sir,” said Musgrove, opening the door; 
 “ you are welcome to all I can give you, whatever colors you 
 serve.” 
 
 “ Then give us your hand,” said Horse Shoe Robinson, striding 
 
 11 
 
242 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 into the apartment. “ You are a stranger to me, but if you are 
 Allen Musgrove, the miller, that I have hearu men speak of, you 
 are not the f)erson to turn your back on a fellow creature in dis¬ 
 tress. Your sarvent, mistress,” he added, bowing to the dame. 
 “ Far riding and fast riding gives a sort of claim these times ; so 
 excuse me for sitting down.” 
 
 “You are welcome, again ; your name, sir ?” said Musgrove. 
 
 “ Have I guessed yours ?” inquhed Horse Shoe. 
 
 “You have.” 
 
 “ Then you must guess mine ; for it isn’t convenient to tell it.” 
 
 “Some poor Whig soldier,” said Christopher Shaw privately to 
 Musgrove. “ It isn’t right to make him betray himself. You are 
 hungry, friend,” added Christopher; “ and we will first get you 
 something to eat, and then you may talk all the better for it.” 
 
 “ That’s a good word,” said Horse Shoe, “ and a brave word, as 
 things go; for it isn’t every man has the courage to feed an enemy 
 in these days, though I made the devils do it for me this morning, 
 ha, ha, ha! Some water, Mr. Musgrove, and it will not come 
 badly to my hand if you can tangle it somewhat.” 
 
 The refreshment asked for was produced by Christopher Shaw ; 
 and Horse Shoe, taking the brimming cup in his hand, stood up, 
 and with a rather awkward courtesy, pledged the draught with 
 “ Your health, good mistress, and luck to the little ones ! for we 
 grown-up babies are out of the days of luck, except the luck of 
 escaping twisted hemp, or drum-head law, which for to-night, I 
 believe, is mine and he swallowed the mixture at a draught ; 
 then, with a long sigh, placed the cup upon the table and resumed 
 his seat. “ That there spirit, Mr. Musgrove,” he added, “ is a 
 special good friend in need, preach against it who will!” 
 
 “ You say you have ridden far to-day,” remarked the miller : 
 “ you must be tired.” 
 
 “ I am not apt to get tired,” replied the sergeant, turning his 
 sword-belt over his head, and flinging the weapon upon a bench ; 
 “ but I am often hungry.” 
 
 “ My wife,” said Musgrove, smiling, “has taken that hint before 
 you spoke it; she has already ordered something for you to 
 eat.” 
 
 “ That’s an excellent woman!” exclaimed Horse Shoe. “ You 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 243 
 
 see, Allen Musgrove, I don’t stand much upon making myself free 
 of your house. I have hearn of you often before I saw you, man ; 
 and I know all about you. You are obliged to keep fair weather 
 with these Tories—who have no consideration for decent, orderly 
 peoj^le—but your heart is with the boys that go for liberty. You 
 see I know you, and am not afeard to trust you. Perchance, you 
 mought have hearn tell of one Horse Shoe Robinson, who lived over 
 here at the Waxhaws ?” 
 
 “ I have heard many stories about that man,” replied the 
 miller. 
 
 “ Well, I won’t tell you that he is in your house to-night, for 
 fear the Tories might take you to account for harboring such a 
 never-do-well. But you have got a poor fellow under your roof 
 that has had a hard run to get here.” 
 
 “ In my house !” exclaimed Musgi’ove ; “ Horse Shoe Robinson !” 
 and then, after a pause, he continued, “ well, well, there is no rule 
 of war that justifies a Christian in refusing aid and comfort to a 
 houseless and hunted stranger, Avho comes with no thought of 
 harm to a peaceful family hearth. I take no part in the war on 
 either side ; and, in your ear, friend Robinson, I take none against 
 you or the brave men that stand by you.” 
 
 “ Your hand again,” said Horse Shoe, reaching towards the 
 miller. “ Allen, I have come to you under a sore press of heels. 
 An officer of the Continental army and me have been travel¬ 
 ling through these here parts, and we have been most onaccount- 
 ably ambushed by a half wild-cat, half bull-dog, known by the 
 name of Captain Hugh Habershaw, who notched us in the night 
 ' at Grindall’s ford.” 
 
 “ Heaven have mercy on the man who has anything to do with 
 Hugh Habershaw!” exclaimed the millei'’s wife. 
 
 “ Amen, mistress,” responded the sergeant; “ for a surlier, mis¬ 
 begotten piece of flesh, there’s not in these .wild woods, ginng you 
 the choice of bear, panther, catamount, rattlesnake, or what not. 
 We were sot upon,” continued the sergeant, “ by this bully and a 
 bevy of his braggadocios, and made prisoners; but I took a chance 
 to slip the noose this morning, and after riding plump into a 
 hornet’s nest at Blackstock’s, where I put on a new face and 
 tricked the guard out of a dinner and this here old sword, I took a 
 
244 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 coui’se for this mill, axing people along the road where I should 
 find Allen Musgrove ; and so, after making some roundabouts and 
 dodging into the woods until night came on, to keep clear of the 
 Tories, here I am.” 
 
 “ And the officer ?” said Musgrove. 
 
 “ He is in the hands of the Philistines yet—most likely now at 
 Blackstock’s.” 
 
 “ What might be his n ame ?” 
 
 “ Major Butler—a bold, warm gentleman—that’s been used to 
 tender life and good fortune. He has lands on the sea-coast— 
 unless that new-fangled court at Charlestown, that they call the 
 .Court of Seekerstations, has made them null and void—as they 
 have been making the estates of better gentleman than they could 
 ever pretend to be; taldng all the best lands, you see, Allen, to 
 themselves, the cursed iniquiters !” 
 
 “ "Where did you come from with this gentleman ?” 
 
 “ A long way off, Mr. Musgrove—from old "Virginny—but 
 lastly from Wat Adair’s.” 
 
 “ Wat’s wife is a relation of my family.” 
 
 “Then he is a filthy disgrace to all who claim kin with him, 
 Allen Musgrove. Wat was the man who put us into the wild¬ 
 cat’s claws—at least, so we had good reason to think. There was 
 a tidy, spruce, and smart little wench there—tut, man—I am talk¬ 
 ing of your own kith and kindred, for her name was Mary Mus¬ 
 grove.” 
 
 “ Our girl!” said the dame with an animated emphasis; “our 
 own Mary ; what of her, Mr. Horse Shoe Eobinson ?” 
 
 “ That she is as good a child. Mistress Musgrove, as any honest 
 2 )arent mought wish for. She got some sort of inkling of what 
 was contrived ; and so she appeared to Major Butler in a dream— 
 or her ghost.” 
 
 “ Mercy on us! the child has not been hurt ?” cried the 
 mother. 
 
 “ Ondoubtedly not, ma’am,” said Eobinson ; “ but it is as true 
 as you are there, she gave us, somehow or other, a warning that 
 there was harm in the wind ; and we took her advice, but it didn’t 
 do.” 
 
 “ I wish the child were home,” said Musgrove. “ Christo- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 245 
 
 pber, at day-ligbt, boy, saddle a horse and be off to Adair’s for 
 , Mary.” . 
 
 The nephew promised to do the errand. 
 
 “ Come, Mr. Robinson, draw near the table and eat some¬ 
 thing.” 
 
 “ With right good heart,” replied Horse Shoe; “ but it’s a kind 
 of camp rule with me, before I taste food—no matter where —just 
 to look after Captain Peter Clinch ; that’s my horse, friend Mus- 
 grove. So, by your leave, I’ll just go take a peep to see that the 
 Captain is sarved. A good beast is a sort of right arm in scrapish 
 times; and as God ha’n’t given them the gift of speech, we must 
 speak for them.” 
 
 “ Christopher shall save you the trouble,” replied Musgiwe. 
 
 “ A good horse never loses anything by the eye of his master,” 
 said Horse Shoe ; “ so, Christopher, I’ll go with you.” 
 
 In a short time the sergeant returned into the house, and took 
 his seat at the table, where he fell to, at what was set before him, 
 with a laudable dispatch. 
 
 “ How far off,” he inquired, “ is the nearest Tory post, Mr. Mus- 
 grove ?” 
 
 “ Colonel Innis has some light corps stationed within two miles. 
 If you had been a little earlier you would have found some of 
 them at my mill.” 
 
 “ Innis!” repeated Horse Shoe, “ I thought Floyd had these 
 paids under command ?” 
 
 “ So he has,” replied the miller,” but he has lately joined the 
 garrison at Rocky Mount.” 
 
 “ Ha ! ha! ha !” ejaculated Robinson, “ that’s a pot into which 
 Sumpter will be dipping his ladle before long. All the land be¬ 
 tween Waterce and Broad belongs to Tom Sumpter, let mad-cap 
 Tarleton do his best! We Whigs, Mr. Musgrove, have a little 
 touch of the hobgoblin in us. We travel pretty much where we 
 jilease. Now, I will tell you, friend, very plainly what I am after. 
 I don’t mean to leave these parts till I see what is to become of 
 Major Butler. Innis and Floyd put together sha’n’t hinder me 
 from looking after a man that’s under my charge. I’m an old 
 sodgjer, and they can’t make much out of me if they get me.” 
 
 “ The country is swarming with troops of one kind or another,” 
 
246 
 
 HOESE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 said the miller ; “ and a man must have his wits about him who 
 would get thi’ough it. You are now, Mr. Eobinson, in a very dan¬ 
 gerous quarter. The fort at Ninety-Six on one side of you, and 
 Rocky Mount and Hanging Rock on the other—the road between 
 the three is full of loyalists. Colonel Innis is here to keep the 
 passage open, and, almost hourly, his men are passing. You 
 should he careful in showing yourself in daylight. And as for 
 your poor friend. Major Butler, there is not likely to he much good 
 will shown towards him. I greatly fear his case is worse than it 
 seems to you.” 
 
 “ There is somewhere,” said Robinson, “ in that book that lies 
 open on the table—which I take to be the Bible—the story of the 
 campaigns of King David ; and as I have beam it read by the 
 preacher, it tells how David was pushed on all sides by flying 
 corps of the enemy, and that, seeing he had no sword, he came 
 across a man who gave him victuals and the sword of Goliath—as 
 I got my dinner and a sword this morning from the tavern-keeper 
 at Blackstock’s; and then he set olf on his flight to some strange 
 place, where he feigned himself crazy and scrabbled at the gate, 
 and let the spit run down on his beard—as I have done before now 
 with Tarleton, Mr. Musgrove ; and then King David took into a 
 cave—which I shouldn’t stand much upon doing if there was 
 occasion ; and thei'e the King waited, until he got friends about 
 him and Avas able to drub the Philistians for robbing the threshing- 
 floors—as I make no doubt these Tories have robbed yours, Allen 
 MusgTove. But you know all about it, seeing that you are able to 
 read, which I am not. Now, I don’t pretend to say that I nor 
 Major Butler are as good men as David—not at all; but the cause 
 of liberty is as good a cause as ever King David fought for, and 
 the Lord that took his side in the cave, will take the side of the 
 Whigs, sooner or later, and help them to beat these grinding, 
 thieving, burning, and throat-cutting Tories. And, moreover, a 
 brave man ought never to be cast down by such vermin; that’s 
 my religion, Mr. Musgrove, though you mought hardly expect to 
 find much thought of such things left in a rough fellow like me, 
 that’s been hammered in these here wars like an old piece of iron 
 that’s been one while a plough coulter, and after that a gun-barrel, 
 and finally that’s been run up with others into a piece of ordnance 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 24Y 
 
 — not to say that it mouglitn’t have been a horse shoe in some 
 part of its life, ha ! lia! ha ! There’s not likely to he much con¬ 
 science or religion left after all that hammering.” 
 
 “ ‘ He shall keep the simple folk by their right,’ ” said Musgrove, 
 quoting a passage from the Psalms, “ ‘ defend the children of the 
 poor and punish the wrong-doer.’ You have finished your supper, 
 Mr. Robinson,” he continued, “ and before we retire to rest you 
 ii\TJl join us in the conclusion of our family worship, which was 
 interrupted by your coming into the house. We will sing a Psalm 
 which has been given to us by that man whose deliverance has 
 taught you where you are to look for yours.” 
 
 “ If I cannot help to make music, Allen,” said Horse Shoe, “ I 
 can listen with good will.” 
 
 The miller now produced a little book in black-letter, containing 
 a familiar and ancient version of the Psalms, and the following 
 quaint and simple lines were read by him in successive couplets, 
 the whole family singing each distich as soon as it was given out 
 — not excepting Horse Shoe, who, after the first couplet, having 
 acquired some slight perception of the tune, chimed in with a 
 voice that might have alarmed the sentinels of Innis’s camp : 
 
 “ A king that trusteth in his host 
 Shall not prevail at length; 
 
 The man that of his might doth boast 
 Shall fall, for all his strength. 
 
 “ The troops of horsemen eke shall fail. 
 
 Their sturdy steeds shall stai-ve : 
 
 The strength of horse shall not prevail 
 The rider to preserve. 
 
 i 
 
 “ But so the eyes of God intend. 
 
 And watch to aid the just; 
 
 With such as fear him to offend. 
 
 And on his goodness trust. 
 
 “ That he. of death and great distress 
 May set their souls from dread ; 
 
 And if that dearth their land oppress^ 
 
 In hunger them to feed. 
 
248 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Wlierefore our soul dotli wliole depend 
 On God, our strengtli and stay; 
 
 He is our sloield us to defend 
 And diive all darts away.” 
 
 When this act of devotion was concluded the old man invoked 
 a blessing upon his household, and gave his orders that the family- 
 should betake themselves to rest. Horse Shoe had already taken 
 up his sword and was about retiiing to a chamber, under the 
 guidance of Christopher Shaw, when the door was suddenly thrown 
 wide open, and in rushed Mary Musgrove. She ran up, threw her¬ 
 self into her father’s arms, and cried out— 
 
 “ Oh, how glad I am that I have reached home to-night!” then 
 kissing both of her parents, she flung herself into a chair, saying 
 —“ I am tired—very tired. I have ridden the livelong day, alone, 
 and frightened out of my wits.” • 
 
 “ Hot alone, my daughter !—on that weary road, and the coun¬ 
 try so troubled with ill-governed men ! Why did you venture, 
 girl ? Did you not think I would send your cousin Christopher 
 for you ?” 
 
 “ Oh, father,” replied Mary, “ there have been such doings ! Ah ! 
 and here is Mr. Horse Shoe Kobinson ; Major Butler, where is he, 
 sir?” she exclaimed, turning to the sergeant, who had now 
 approached the back of her chair to offer his hand. 
 
 “ Blessings on you for a wise and a brave girl!” said Robinson. 
 “ But it wouldn’t do ; we were ambushed, and the Major is still a 
 prisoner.” 
 
 “ I feared it,” said Mary, “ and therefore I stole away. They are 
 bloody-minded and wicked, father; and uncle Adair’s house has 
 been the place where mischief and murder has been talked of. 
 Oh, I am very sick ! I have had such a ride !” 
 
 “ Poor wench !” said the father, taking her to his bosom. “ You 
 have not the temper nor the strength to struggle where ruthless 
 men take up their weapons of war. W^hat has befallen ? Tell us 
 all !” 
 
 “ No, no !” interposed the mother ; “ no, Allen, not now. The 
 ^rl must have food and sleep, and must not be wearied with ques¬ 
 tions to-night. Wait, my dear Mary, until to-morrow. She -will 
 tell us everything to-morrow.” 
 
HOUSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 249 
 
 “ I must hear of Major Butler,” said Mary; “ I cannot sleep 
 until I have heard all that has happened. Good Mr. Kohinson, 
 tell me everything.” 
 
 In few words the sergeant unfolded to the damsel the eventful 
 history of the last two days, during the narrative of which her 
 cheek waxed pale, her strength failed her, and she sank almost''^' — 
 lifeless across her father’s knee. 
 
 “ Give me some water,” she said. “ My long ride has worn me 
 out. I ran off at daylight this morning, and have not stopped 
 once upon the road.” 
 
 A glass of milk with a slice of bread restored the maiden to her 
 strength, and she took the first opportunity to inform the circle 
 who surrounded her of all the incidents that had fallen under her 
 observation at Adair’s. ^ 
 
 Her father listened with deep emotion to the tale, and during its 
 relation clenched his teeth with anger, as he walked, to and fro, 
 through the apartment. Tliere was an earnest struggle in his 
 feelings to withhold the expression of the strong execration, which 
 the nai-rative brought almost to his lips, against the perfidy of his 
 wife’s kinsman. But the habitual control of his temper, which his 
 religious habits inculcated, kept him silent; and considerations of 
 ju-udence again swayed him from surrendering to the impulse, 
 which would have led him to declare himself openly against the 
 cause of the royal government and its supporters in the district 
 where he lived, lie cross-questioned his daughter as to many 
 minute points of her story, but her answers were uniform and con¬ 
 sistent, and were stamped with the most unequivocal proofs of her 
 strict veracity. Indeed, the collateral evidences furnished by 
 Robinson, left no doubt on the miller’s mind that the whole of 
 Mary’s disclosures were the testimony of a witness whose senses 
 could not have been disturbed by illusions, nor distempered by 
 fear. 
 
 “ It is a dreadful tale,” he said, “ and we must think over it more 
 maturely. Be of good heart, my daughtei*, you have acted well 
 and wisely ; God will protect us from harm.” 
 
 “ And so it was no ghost, nor spirit,” said Horse Shoe, “that the 
 major saw in the night ? But I wonder you didn’t think of waking 
 me. A word to me in the night—seeing I have sarved a good 
 
 11 * 
 
250 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 deal ou outposts, and have got used to being called up—would 
 have had me stirring in a wink. But that’s part of Wat’s luck, 
 for I should most ondoubtedly have strangled the snake in his 
 bed.” 
 
 “ I called you,” said Mary, “ as loudly as I durst, and more than 
 once, hut you slept so hard !” 
 
 “ That’s like me too,” replied Horse Shoe. “ I’m both sleepy 
 and watchful, according as I think there is need of my sarvices.” 
 
 “Now to bed, my child,” said Musgi’ove. “Your bed is the 
 fittest place for your wearied body. God bless you, daughter!” 
 
 Once more the family broke up, and as Robinson left the room 
 Mary followed him to the foot of the little stair that woimd up into 
 an attic chamber; here she detained him one moment, while she 
 communicated to him in a half 'whisper, 
 
 “ I have a friend, Mr. Robinson, that might help you to do 
 something for Major Butler. His name is John Ramsay: he 
 belongs to General Sumpter’s brigade. If you would go to his 
 father’s, only six miles from here, on the uj^per road to Ninety-Six, 
 you might hear rvhere John was. But, may be, you are afraid to 
 go so near to the fort ?” 
 
 “ May be so,” said Robinson, with a look of comic incredulity. 
 “ I know the place, and I know the family, and, likely, John him¬ 
 self. It’s a good thought, Mary, for I want help now, more than I 
 ever did in my life. I’ll start before daylight—for it won’t do to 
 let the sun shine upon me, with Innis’s Tories so nigh. So, if I 
 am missed to-morrow morning, let your father know how I come 
 to be away.” 
 
 “ Tell John,” said Mary, “ I sent you to him. Mary Musgrove, 
 remember.” 
 
 “If I can’t find John,” replied Horse Shoe, “you’re such a 
 staunch little petticoat sodger, that I’ll, perhaps, come back and 
 enlist you. ’Tisn’t everywhere that we can find such valiant 
 wenches. I wish some of our men had a httle of your courage; 
 so, good night!” 
 
 The maiden now returned to the parlor, and Horse Shoe, under 
 the guidance of Christopher Shaw, found a comfortable place of 
 deposit for his hard-worked, though—as he would have Christopher 
 believe—his unfatigued frame. The sergeant, however, was a man 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 251 
 
 not born to cares, notwithstanding that his troubles were “ as thick 
 as the sparks that fly upward,” and it is a trivial fact in his history, 
 that, on the present occasion, he was not many seconds in bed 
 before he was as sound asleep as the trapped partridges, in the 
 fairy tale, which, the eastern chronicle records, fell into a deep 
 sleep when roasting upon the spit, and did not wake for a hundred 
 years. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 “ Now if you ask who gave the stroke 
 I cannot tell, so mote I thrive; 
 
 It was not given by man alive .”—Lay of the last Minstrel. 
 
 It Avas a little before day-break on Sunday morning, tbe fifteenth 
 of August (a day rendered memorable by the exploit of Sumpter, 
 who captured, in the vicinity of Rocky Mount, a large quantity of 
 military stores, and a numerous escort, then on theh way from 
 Ninety-Six to Camden), that James Curry was travelling in the 
 neighborhood of the Ennoree, some four miles distant from 
 Musgrove’s mill. He had a few hours before left the garrison of 
 Ninety-Six, and was noAV hieing Avith all haste to Blackstock’s on 
 a mission of importance. The night had been sultry, but the 
 approach of the dawn had brought Avith it that refreshing coolness 
 which is always to be remarked in the half hour that jirecedes the 
 first blush of morning. The dragoon had had a Aveary night-ride, 
 but the recent change of temperature had invigorated his system 
 and given buoyancy to his spirits. This effect Avas exhibited in his 
 first Avhistling a tune, then humming the Avords of a ditty, and, 
 finally, in breaking forth into a loud full song, which, as he had a 
 good voice and practised skill, increased in loudness as he became 
 better pleased with the trial of his powers. The song was occasion¬ 
 ally mtermitted to give room to certain self-communings Avhich the 
 pastime suggested. 
 
 You may take it for sooth, that wit without gold,” 
 
 he sang in the loudest strain, trying the words on different keys, 
 and introducing some variations in the tune— 
 
 “ Will make a bad market whenever His sold.” 
 
 “ That’s true; your poor moneyless devil, how should his wit pass 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 253 
 
 current ? He was a shrewd fellow that wi-ote it down. Your rich 
 man for wit, all the ivorld over, and so the song runs:— 
 
 “ ‘ But all over the world it is well understood 
 That the joke of a rich man is sure to be good.’ 
 
 “ True, true as gospel! Give the knaves dinners, plenty of 
 Burgundy and Port, and what signifies an empty head ? Go to 
 college, and how is it there? What is a sizer’s joke? If the 
 fellow have the ivit of Diogenes, it is sheer impertinence. But let 
 my young lord CrcBsus come out with his flatulent nonsense, oh, 
 that’s the true ware for the market! James Curry, James Curry, 
 what ought you to have been, if the supple jade fortune had done 
 your deserts justice ! Instead of a d—d dodging dragoon, obedi¬ 
 ent to the beck of every puppy who wears his majesty’s epaulets; 
 hut it’s no matter, that’s past; the wheel has made its turn, and 
 here I am, doing the work of the scullion, that ought to sit above 
 the salt-cellar. Vogue la galore! We will play out the play. 
 Meantime, I’ll he merry in spite of the horoscope: come then, I 
 like these words and the jolly knave, whoever he was, that penned 
 them. 
 
 “ ‘ You may take it for sooth that wit without gold.’ ” 
 
 The singer was, at this instant, arrested at the top of his voice 
 by a blow against the back of his head, bestowed, apparently, by 
 some ponderous hand, that so effectually swayed him from the 
 line of gravity, as to cause him to reel in his saddle, and, by an 
 irrecoverable impetus, to swing round to the ground, where he 
 alighted on his back, with the reins of his horse firmly held in his 
 hand. 
 
 “ vSinging on Sunday is against the law,” said a hoarse voice, 
 that came apparently from the air, as the darkness of the hour— 
 which was increased by an overcast and lowering sky, as well as by 
 the thick wood through which the road ran, prevented the stricken 
 man from discerning anything that might have done him h;Trm, 
 even if such thing had been bodily present. The soldier lay for a 
 moment j)rostrato, bewildered by the suddenness of this mysterious 
 visitation ; and when, at length, he regained his feet, he almost 
 
254 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 fancied that he heard receding from him, at a great distance, the 
 dull heat of a hoi-se’s foot upon the sandy road. 
 
 Curry, who as a soldier was insensible to fear, now shook in every 
 joint, as he stood beside his horse in a state of confused and ravelled 
 wonderment. He strained his ear to catch the sound in the direc¬ 
 tion towards which he thought he had heard the retreating footsteps, 
 but his more deliberate attention persuaded him that he was mistaken 
 in his first impression. Still more puzzled as he came into the pos¬ 
 session of his faculties, of which the abruptness of the surprise 
 had almost bereft him, he stood for some time mute; then draw¬ 
 ing his sword with the alacrity of a man, who all at once believes 
 himself in danger of an uplifted blow, he called out loudly, 
 
 “ Speak, and show yourself, if you be a man ! Or if there be a 
 party, let them come forth. Who waylays me ? Remember, I 
 warn him, in the name of the king, that I am on his majesty’s 
 errand, and that they are not far off who will punish any outrage 
 on my person. By all the powers of Satan, the place is bewitched!” 
 he exclaimed, after a pause. “ Once more, speak; whether you 
 are to be conjured in the name of the king or of the devil!” 
 
 All remained silent, except the leaves of the forest that fluttered 
 in the breeze ; and it was with an awkward and unacknowledged 
 sense of faint-heartedness that Curry put up his sword and 
 remounted into his saddle. He first moved slowly forward in con¬ 
 tinuation of his journey; and, as his thoughts still ran upon the 
 extraordinary incident, he applied spurs to his horse’s side, and 
 gradually increased his pace from a trot to a gallop, and from that 
 to almost high speed, until he emerged from the wood upon a 
 track of open country. When he reached this spot the day had 
 already appeared above the eastern horizon ; and reassured, as 
 the light waxed stronger, the dragoon, by degrees, fell into his 
 customaiy travelling pace, and resumed the equanimity of his 
 temper. 
 
 About ten o’clock in the day he reached Blackstock’s, where he 
 arrived in a heavy rain, that had been falling for the last three hours, 
 and* which had drenched him to the skin. So, rapidly dismount 
 ing and giving his horse into the charge of some of the idlers 
 about the door, he entered the common room in which were 
 assembled the greater part of the militia guard and of Habershaw’s 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 255 
 
 U’oopers. His first movement was to take the burly captain aside, 
 and to communicate to him certain orders from the commanding 
 officer at Ninety-Six, respecting the prisoner; which being done, 
 he mingled with his usual affectedly careless and mbthful manner 
 amongst the thronsj. 
 
 Butler, through the intercession of Bruce, had been indulged 
 with some mitigation of the restraints at first imposed upon him ; 
 and he was, at this moment, availing himself of the privilege that 
 had been allowed him, on account of the leaky condition of the 
 barn in which he had spent the night, to take his morning meal 
 inside of the dwelling-house. He was accordingly seated at a 
 table, in a corner of the room, with some eatables before him in a 
 more comfortable state of preparation than he had hitherto 
 enjoyed. Two soldiers stood sufficiently near to render his custody 
 effectual without much personal annoyance. As yet he had been 
 unable to glean anything from the conversation of those around 
 him, by which he might form the least conjecture as to his probable 
 destiny. His intercourse with his captors was restricted to the 
 mere supply of his immediate wants. All other communication 
 was strictly interdicted. Even Habershaw himself seemed to be 
 under some authoritative command, to deny himself the gratifica¬ 
 tion of either exhibiting his own importance, or of wreaking his 
 spleen upon his prisoner; and when Butler attempted to gain 
 from Bruce some hint as to what was intended, the only answer 
 he received was conveyed by the soldier’s putting his finger on his 
 lip. 
 
 Butler knew enough of Robinson’s hardihood and venturesome 
 disposition, to feel perfectly confident that he would make good 
 his promise to be near him, at whatever personal hazard ; and he 
 was, therefore, in momentary expectation of receiving further 
 intelligence from the sergeant in some of those strange, bold, and 
 perilous forms of communication, which the character of the 
 trusty soldier warranted him in counting upon. His knowledge that 
 Robinson had passed by Blackstock’s on the day preceding, gave 
 him some assurance that the sergeant was in the diligent prosecu¬ 
 tion of his purpose to seek Sumpter, or some other of the partisan 
 Whig corps in their hiding-places, and to try the hazardous experi¬ 
 ment of his (jButler’s) rescue from his present thraldom, by a 
 
256 
 
 nORSK SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 vigorous incursion into the district where he was now confined 
 With this calculation of the course of events, he was prepared to 
 hear, at every hour of the day, of some sudden alarm ; and ready 
 to co-operate, by seizing the fii'st moment of confusion to snatch up 
 a weajion, and force his ■way through the ranks of his guard. It 
 was with such anticipations that now, whilst seemingly engrossed 
 with the satisfaction of his physical wants at the table, he lent an 
 attentive ear to the conversation which passed in the house between 
 Curry and the company who were clustered around him. The 
 dragoon, at first, in a light and merry vein of narrative, recounted 
 to his hearers the singular visitation he had experienced before 
 daybreak; and he contrived to fling over his story an additional 
 hue of mystery, by the occasional reflections with which he sea¬ 
 soned it, tending to inculcate the belief to which he himself partly 
 inclined, that the incident was brought about through the agency 
 of some pranking and mischievous spuit,—a conclusion which, at 
 that period, and amongst the persons to whom the adventure was 
 related, did not require any great stretch of faith to sustain it. 
 Some of his auditors fortified this prevailing inclination of opinion, 
 by expressing their own conviction of the interference of malignant 
 and supernatural influences in the concerns of mankind, and gave 
 their personal experience of instances in which these powers were 
 active. The conversation by degrees changed its tone from that 
 of levity and laughter into one of gi’ave and somewhat fearful 
 interest, according to the increasing marvel which the several 
 stories that were told excited in the superstitious minds of the 
 circle; and in the same proportion that this sentiment took posses¬ 
 sion of the thoughts of the company, they became more unreserved 
 in their language, and louder in the utterance of it, thus giving 
 Butler the full benefit of all that was said. 
 
 “ But, after all,” said one of the men, “ mightn’t you have been 
 asleep on your horse, James Curry, and had a sort of jogging 
 dream, when a limb of a tree across the road, for it was a dark 
 morning, might have caught you under the throat and flung you 
 out of your saddle: and you, not knowing whether you was asleep 
 or awake, for a man who is on duty, without his night’s rest, 
 sometimes can’t tell the diflference, thought it was some hobgoblin 
 business ? ” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 257 
 
 “No,” said Curry, “ that’s impossible ; for I was singing a song 
 at the time, and almost at the top of my voice. 1 had been 
 sleepy enough before that, just after I left Ninety-Six, near mid-’ 
 night, for I had ridden a long way ; but as it grew towards day¬ 
 light I began to rouse up, so that when this thing happened I was 
 as much awake as I am now.” 
 
 “Then it’s a downright case of ghost,” said the other. “It 
 knew you was upon a wicked errand, and so that back-handed blow 
 was a warning to you. These things are sometimes meant to be 
 friendly ; and who knows but this oversetting you in the road 
 might have been intended to signify that you had better not 
 meddle in cases of life and death. If you would take my advice» 
 you would just treat this Major Butler, that you took prisoner”— 
 
 Curry looked at the speaker with a frown, as he made a motion 
 to him to be silent. “ Remember where you are, and who may 
 hear you,” he said in a cautious voice, as he glanced his eye 
 towards Butler, who was leaning his head upon the table, as if in 
 slumber. 
 
 “ Oh, I understand,” replied the soldier of the guard. “ I forgot 
 he was in the room.” 
 
 “ The weather holds up,” said Ilabershaw, who now walked into 
 the house. “ The rain has slackened; and so, orderly, if you 
 have had a bite of something to eat, the boys had better be got 
 ready to march. We have a long way to go, and as the infantry 
 march with us we shall get on slowl}^” 
 
 “ I think so, noble Captain,” replied Curry. “ I shall be ready 
 to join you before you get your line formed.” 
 
 Orders were now issued by Ilabersbaw, both to the troopers of 
 his own squad and to the militia detachment, to put themselves in 
 condition for an immediate movement. The clouds, during the 
 last half hour, had been breaking away, and the sun soon burst 
 forth upon the wet and glittering landscape, in all the effulgence 
 of mid summer. During a brief interval of preparation the party 
 of infantry and cavalry that now occupied the hamlet exhibited 
 the bustle incident to the gathering of the corp.s. Some.ran to 
 one quarter fo« their arms, others to the stables for their horses ; a 
 cracked trumpet in the hands of a lusty performer, who here 
 joined the troop, kept up a continual brapng, and was seconded 
 
258 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 by the ceaseless beat of a slack and dull drum. There were some 
 who, having put on their military equipments, thronged the table 
 of the common room of the house, where spirits and water had 
 been set out for their accommodation, and rude jokes, laughter, and 
 oaths, were mingled together in deafening clamor. 
 
 “ Move out the prisoner,” shouted Habershaw ; “ he goes with 
 the infantiy afoot. I’ll never trust another of the tribe with a 
 horse.” 
 
 “ Follow, sir,” said one of the sentinels near Butler’s person, as 
 he faced to the right with his musket at an “ advance,” and led the 
 way to the door. 
 
 Butler rose, and, before he placed himself in the position 
 required, asked : 
 
 “ Where is it you purpose to conduct me ?” 
 
 “ Silence !” said Habershaw sternly. “ Obey orders, sh, and 
 march where you are directed.” 
 
 Butler folded his arms and looked scornfully at the uncouth 
 savage before him as he replied: 
 
 “ I am a prisoner, sir, and therefore bound to submit to the force 
 that constrains me. But there will be a day of reckoning, both 
 for you and your master. It will not be the lighter to him for 
 having hired such a ruffian to do the business in which he is 
 ashamed to appear himself.” 
 
 “ Devil’s leavings!” screamed Habershaw, almost choked with 
 choler, “ dare you speak to me so ? By my heart, I have a mind 
 to cleave your skull for you ! My master, sir ! You will find out, 
 before long, who is master, when Hugh Habershaw has tied the 
 knot that is to fit your neck.” 
 
 “ Peace, villain!” exclaimed Butler ; “ I cannot come too soon 
 into the presence of those who claim to direct your motions.” 
 
 Here James Curry interposed to draw off the incensed captain, 
 and Butler, having received another order from the officer of the 
 guard, moved out upon the road and took the place that was 
 assigned him, between two platoons of the foot soldiers. 
 
 The troopers being mounted and formed into column of march 
 with Habershaw and his trumpeter at the head and Cm-ry in the 
 rear, now moved forward at a slow gait, followed by the detach¬ 
 ment of infantry who had the prisoner under their especial charge. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 259 
 
 It was near noon when the party took up the line of march, 
 and they prosecuted their journey southward with such expedition 
 as to tax Butler’s powers to the utmost to keep even pace with 
 them over roads that were in many places rendered miry by the 
 late rain. Towards evening, however, the sun had sufficiently dried 
 the soil to make the travel less fatiguing; and by that hour when 
 the light of day only lingered upon the tops of the western hills, 
 the military escort, with their prisoner, were seen passing through 
 a defile that opened upon their view an extensive bivouac of some 
 two or three hundred horse and foot, and occupying a space of 
 open field, encompassed with wood and guarded in its rear by a 
 smootli and gentle river. 
 
 The spot at which they had arrived was the camp of a partisan 
 corps under the command of Colonel Innis. A farm-house was 
 seen in the immediate neighborhood, which was used as the head¬ 
 quarters of a party of officers. Numerous horses were attached 
 to the trees that bounded the plain, and various shelters were 
 made in the same quarter, in the rudest form of accommodation, 
 of branches and underwood set against ridge-poles, that were sus¬ 
 tained by stakes, to protect the men against the weather. Groups 
 of this irregular soldiery were scattered over the plain, a few 
 wagons were seen collected in one direction, and, not far off, a line 
 of fires, around which parties were engaged in cooking food. Here 
 and there a sentinel was seen pacing his short limits, and occa¬ 
 sionally the roll of a drum and the flourish of a fife announced 
 some ceremony of the camp police. 
 
 The escort marched quickly across this plain until it arrived in 
 front of the farm-house. Here a guard was drawn up to receive 
 them ; and, as soon as the usual military salute was passed and 
 the order to “ stand at ease ” given, Habershaw put the detachment 
 under the command of the lieutenant of infantry, and, accom¬ 
 panied by Curry, walked into the house to make his report to the 
 commanding officer of the post. 
 
 In a few moments afterwards Colonel Innis, attended by two or 
 three military men—some of whom wore the uniform of the 
 British regular army—came from the house and passed hastily 
 along the line of the escort, surveying Butler only with a rapid 
 glance. Having regained the door, he was heard to say— 
 
 
260 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ It is very well; let the jwisoner have a room above staii-s. 
 See that he wants nothing proper to his situation; and, above all, 
 be attentive that he be kept scrupulously under the eye of his 
 guard.” 
 
 When this order was given, the Colonel retired with his attend¬ 
 ants to his quarters, and Butler was forthwith conducted, by a file 
 of men, up a narrow, winding stair, to a small apartment in the 
 angle of the roof, where he was provided with a chair, a light, and 
 a comfortable bed. His door was left open, and on the outside 
 of it, full in his view, was posted a sentinel. He was too weary even 
 to be ti’oubled with the cares of his present condition; and, without 
 waiting, therefore, for food, or seeking to inquire into whose hands 
 he had fallen, or even to turn his thoughts upon the mysterious 
 train of circumstances that hung over him, he flung himself upon 
 the couch and sank into a profound and grateful sleep. 
 
CHAriER XXII. 
 
 AN ADVENTURE WHEREIN IT IS APPARENT THAT THE ACTIONS OF 
 
 REAL LIFE ARE FULL AS MARVELLOUS AS THE INVENTIONS OF 
 
 ROMANCE. 
 
 David Ramsay’s house was situated on a by-road, between five 
 and six miles from Musgi'ove’s mill, and at about the distance of 
 one mile from the principal route of travel between Ninety-six and 
 Blackstock’s. In passing from the military post that had been 
 established at the former place, towards the latter, Ramsay’s lay off 
 to the left, with a piece of dense wood intervening. The by-way, 
 leading through the farm, diverged from the main road, and tra¬ 
 versed this wood until it reached the cultivated grounds immediate¬ 
 ly around Ramsay’s dwelling. In the journey fi'om Musgrove’s 
 mill to this point of divergence, the traveller was obliged to ride 
 some two or three miles upon the great road leading from the 
 British garrison,- a road that, at the time of my story, was much 
 frequented by military parties, scouts, and patroles, that were con¬ 
 cerned in keeping up the communication between the several posts 
 which were established by the British authorities along that fron¬ 
 tier. Amongst the whig parties, also, there were various occasions 
 which brought them under the necessity of frequent passage 
 through this same district, and which, therefore, furnished oiipor- 
 tunities for collision and skirmish with the opposite forces. 
 
 It is a matter of historical notoriety, that immediately after the 
 fall of Charleston, and the rapid subjugation of South Carolina 
 that followed this event, there were three bold and skilful soldiers 
 who undertook to carry on the war of resistance to the established 
 authorities, upon a settled and digested plan of annoyance, under 
 the most discouraging state of destitution, as regarded all the 
 means of oflFence, that, perhaps, history records. It will not de¬ 
 tract from the fame of other patriots of similar enthusiasm and of 
 
262 
 
 H OB SB- SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 equal bravery, to. jHcn'tioii the-names of Marion, Sumpter, and 
 Pickens, in.jseiinexion -with this jilan of keeping up an apparently 
 hopeless partisan -warfare, -which had the :]>romise neither of men, 
 money, nor arms,—and yet which was so nobly ^stained, amidst 
 accumulated discomfitures, as to lead eventually to the subversion 
 of the “ Tory ascendency ” and the expulsion orthe British power. 
 According to the plan of operations concerted amongst these chief¬ 
 tains, Marion took the lower country under his super-vdsion; 
 Pickens the south-western districts, bordering udon. the Savannah ; 
 and to Sumpter was allotted all that tract oft country lying be¬ 
 tween the Broad and the Catawba rivers, from'the angle of their 
 junction, below Camden, up to the mountain districts of North 
 Carolina. How faithfully these men made good their promise to 
 the country, is not only written in authentic history, but it is also 
 told in many a legend amongst the older inhabitants of the region 
 that was made the theatre of action. It only concerns my story 
 to refer to the fact, that the events which have occupied my last 
 five or six chapters, occurred in that range more peculiarly appro¬ 
 priated to Sumpter, and that the high road from Blackstock’s 
 towards Ninety-six was almost as necessary for communication be¬ 
 tween Sumpter and Pickens, as between the several British gar¬ 
 risons. 
 
 On the morning that succeeded the night in which Horse Shoe 
 Eobinson arrived at Musgvove’s, the stout and honest sergeant 
 might have been seen, about eight o’clock, leaving the main road 
 from Ninety-six, at the point where that leading to David Eam- 
 say’s separated from it, and cautiously urging his way into the 
 deep foi-est, by the more private path into which he had entered. 
 The knowledge that Innis was encamped along the Ennoree, within 
 a short distance of the mill, had compelled him to make an exten¬ 
 sive circuit to reach Ramsay’s dwelling, whither he was now bent; 
 and he had experienced considerable delay in his morning journey, 
 by finding himself frequently in the neighborhood of small forag¬ 
 ing parties of Tories, whose motions he was obliged to watch for 
 fear of an encounter. He had once already been compelled to use 
 his horse’s heels in what he called “ fair flightand once to en¬ 
 sconce himself, a full half hour, under cover of the thicket afford¬ 
 ed him by a swamp. He now, therefore, according to his own 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 263 
 
 phrase, “dived into the little road that scrambled down through 
 the woods towards Ramsay’s, with all his eyes about him, looting 
 out as sharply as a fox on a foggy morningand with this cir¬ 
 cumspection, he was not long in arriving within view of Ramsay’s 
 house. Like a practised soldier, wh 9 m frequent frays has taught 
 wisdom, he resolved to reconnoitre before he advanced upon a post 
 that might be in possession of an enemy. lie therefore dismount¬ 
 ed, fastened his horse in a fence corper, where a field of corn con-* 
 cealed him from notice, and then stealthily crept forward until he 
 came immediately behind one of the out-houses. 
 
 The barking of a house-dog brought out a negro boy, to whom 
 Robinson instantly addressed the query — 
 
 “ Is your master at^ome ?” — 
 
 “ No, sir. He’s got his horse, and gone oflf more than an hour 
 ago.” 
 
 “ Where is your mistress ?” 
 
 “ Shelling beans. Sir.” 
 
 “ I didn’t ask you,” said the sergeant, “ what she is doing, but 
 where she is.” 
 
 “ In course, she is in the house. Sir,”—replied the negrp^ with a 
 gi-in. 
 
 “ Any strangers there ?” 
 
 “ There was plenty on ’em a little while ago, but they’ve been 
 gone a good bit.” 
 
 Robinson having thus satisfied himself as to the safety of his 
 visit, directed the boy to take his horse and lead him up to the 
 door. He then entered the dwelling. 
 
 “ Mistress Ramsay,” said he, walking up to the dame, who was 
 occupied at a table, with a large trencher before her, in which she 
 was plying that household thrift which the negro described ; “ luck 
 to you, ma’am, and all your house! I hope you haven’t none of 
 these clinking and clattering bullies about you, that are as thick 
 over this country as the frogs in the kneading troughs, that they 
 tell of.” 
 
 “ Good lack, Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson,” exclaimed the matron, 
 offering the sergeant her hand. “ What has brought you here ? 
 What news ? Who are with you ? For patience sake, tell me 1” 
 
 “ I am alone,” said Robinson, “ and a little wettish, mistress 
 
2a4 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 he added, as he took off his hat and shook the water from it: 
 “it has just sot up a rain, and looks as if it was going to give us 
 enough on’t. You don’t mind doing a little dinner-work of a 
 Sunday, I see—shelling of beans, I s’pose, is tantamount to drag¬ 
 ging a sheep out of a pond, as the preachers allow on the Sabbath 
 —ha, ha !—Where’s Davy ?”. 
 
 “ He’s gone over to the meeting-house on Ennoree, hoping to 
 hear something of the army at Camden : perhaps you can tell us 
 the news from that quarter ?” 
 
 “ Faith, that’s a mistake. Mistress Ramsay. Though I don’t 
 doubt that they are hard upon the scratches, by this time. But, 
 at this present speaking, I command the flying artillery. We have 
 but one man in the corps—and that’s myself; and all the guns 
 we have got is this piece of ordnance, that hangs in this old belt 
 by my side (pointing to his sword)—and that I captured from the 
 enemy at Blackstock’s. I was hoping I mought find John Ram¬ 
 say at home—I have need of him as a recruit.” 
 
 “ Ah, Mr. Robinson, John has a heavy life of it over there with 
 Sumpter. The boy is often Avithout his natural rest, or a meal’s 
 victuals; and the general thinks so much of him, that he can’t 
 spare him to come home. I hav’n’t the heart to complain, as long 
 as John’s service is of any use, but it does seem, Mr. Robinson, like 
 needless tempting of the mercies of providence. We thought that 
 he might have been here to-day; yet I am glad he didn’t come— 
 for he would have been certain to get into trouble. Who should 
 come in, this morning, just after my husband had cleverly got away 
 on his horse, but a young cock-a-whoop ensign, that belongs to 
 Ninety-Six, and four great Scotchmen with him, all in red coats ; 
 they had been out thieving, I warrant, and Avere noAv going home 
 again. And Avho but they ! Here they were, swaggering all 
 about my house—and calling for this—and calling for that^—as if 
 they OAvncd the fee-simple of everything on the plantation. And 
 it made my blood rise, hlr. Horse Shoe, to see them run out in the 
 yanl, and catch up my chickens and ducks, and kill as many as 
 they could string about them—and I not daring to say a Avord : 
 though I did give them a piece of my mind, too.” 
 
 “ Who is at home with you ?” inquired the sergeant eagerly. 
 
 “ Nobody but my youngest boy, Andrew,” answered the dame. 
 
HOESE SLIOE EOBINSON. 
 
 266 
 
 “ And then, the filthy, toping rioters—” she continued, exalting her 
 voice. 
 
 “ What arms have you in the house ?” asked Robinson, without 
 heeding the dame’s rising anger. 
 
 “ We have a rifle, and a horseman’s pistol that belongs to John.— 
 They must call for drink, too, and turn my house, of a Sunday 
 morning, into a tavern.” 
 
 “ They took the route towards Ninety-Six, you said. Mistress 
 Ramsay ?” 
 
 “ Yes,—they went straight forward upon the road. But, look 
 you, Mr. Horse Shoe, you’re not thinking of going after them 
 
 “ Isn’t there an old field, about a mile from this, on that road ?” 
 inquired the^sergeant, still intent upon his own thoughts. 
 
 “ There is,” replied the dame ; “ with the old school-house upon 
 it.” 
 
 “ A lop-sided, rickety log-cabin in the middle of the field. Am 
 I right, good woman ?” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ And nobody lives in it ? It has no door to it ?” 
 
 “ There ha’n’t been anybody in it these seven years.” 
 
 “ I know the place very well,” said the sergeant, thoughtfully ; 
 “ there is woods just on this side of it.” 
 
 “ That’s true,” replied the dame : “ but what is it you are think¬ 
 ing about, Mr. Robinson ?” 
 
 “ How long before this rain began was it that they quitted this 
 house ?” 
 
 “ Not above fifteen minutes.” 
 
 “ Mistress Ramsay, bring me the rifle and pistol both—and the 
 powder-horn and bullets.” 
 
 “ As you say, Mr. Horse Shoe,” answered the dame, as she turned 
 round to leave the room; “ but I am sure I can’t suspicion what 
 you mean to do.” 
 
 In a few moments the woman returned with the weapons, and 
 gave them to the sergeant. 
 
 “ 'Wliere is Andy ?” asked Horse Shoe. 
 
 The hostess went to the door and called her son, and, almost im¬ 
 mediately afterwards, a sturdy boy of about twelve or fourteen 
 years of age entered the apartment, his clothes dripping with rain. 
 
 12 
 
266 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 He modestly and shyly seated himself on a chair near the door, 
 with his soaked hat flapping down over a face full of freckles, and 
 not less rife with the expression of an open, dauntless hardihood of 
 character. 
 
 “ How would you like a scrummage, Andy, with them Scotch¬ 
 men that stole your mother’s chickens this morning ?” asked Horse 
 Shoe. 
 
 “ I’m agreed,” replied the boy, “ if you will tell me what to do.” 
 
 “ Y ou are not going to take the hoy out on any of your despe¬ 
 rate projects, Mr. Horse Shoe ?” said the mother, with the tears 
 starting instantly into her eyes. “ You wouldn’t take such a child 
 as that into danger ?” 
 
 “ Bless your soul, Mrs. Ramsay, there ar’n’t no danger about it! 
 Don’t take on so. It’s a thing that is either done at a blow, or not 
 done,—and there’s an end of it. I want the lad only to bring 
 home the prisoners for me, after I have took them.” 
 
 “ Ah, Mr. Robinson, I have one son already in these wars—God 
 protect him !—and you men don’t know how a mother’s heart 
 yearns for her children in these times. I cannot give another,” she 
 added, as she threw her arms over the shoulders of the youth and 
 drew him to her bosom. 
 
 “ Oh ! it aint nothing,” said Andrew, in a sprightly tone. “ It’s 
 only snapping of a pistol, mother,—pooh ! If I’m not afraid, you 
 oughtn’t to be.” 
 
 “ I give you my honor. Mistress Ramsay,” said Robinson, “ that 
 I will bring or send your son safe back in one hour; and that he 
 sha’n’t be put in any sort of danger whatsomedever : come, that’s a 
 good woman !” 
 
 “ You are not deceiving me, Mr. Robinson ?” asked the matron, 
 wiping away a tear. “ You wouldn’t mock the sufferings of a 
 weak woman in such a thing as this ?” 
 
 “ On the honesty of a sodger, ma’am,” replied Horse Shoe, “ the 
 lad shall be in no danger, as I said before—whatsomedever.” 
 
 “ Then I will say no more,” answered the mother. “ But Andy, 
 my child, be sure to let Mr. Robinson keep before you.” 
 
 Horse Shoe now loaded the fire-arms, and having slung the 
 pouch across his body, he put the pistol into the hands of the boy; 
 then shouldering his rifle, he and his young ally left the room. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 267 
 
 Even on this occasion, serious as it might be deemed, the sergeant 
 did not depart without giving some manifestation of that light¬ 
 heartedness which no difHculties ever seemed to have the power 
 to conquer. He thrust his head back into the room, after he had 
 crossed the threshold, and said with an encouraging laugh, “ Andy 
 and me will teach them, Mistress Ramsay, Pat’s point of war—we 
 will svrround the ragamufBns.” 
 
 “Now,Andy,my lad,” said Horse Shoe, after he had mounted 
 Captain Peter, “ you must get up behind me. Turn the lock of 
 your pistol down,” he continued, as the boy sprang upon the hoi-se’s 
 rump, “ and cover it with the flap of your jacket, to keep the rain 
 ofl". It won’t do to hang fire at such a time as this.” 
 
 The lad did as he was directed, and Horse Shoe, having secured 
 his rifle in the same way, put his horse up to a gaUop, and took the 
 road in the direction that had been pursued by the soldiers. 
 
 As soon as our adventurers had gained a wood, at the distance 
 of about half a mile, the sergeant relaxed his speed, and advanced 
 at a pace a little above a walk. 
 
 “ Andy,” he said, “ we have got rather a ticklish sort of a job 
 before us, so I must give you your lesson, which you will under¬ 
 stand better by knowing something of my plan. As soon as your 
 mother told me that these thieving villains had left her house 
 about fifteen minutes before the rain came on, and that they had 
 gone along upon this road, I remembered the old field up here, and 
 the little log hut in the middle of it; and it was natural to sup¬ 
 pose that they had just got about near that hut, when this rain, 
 came up; and then, it was the most supposable case in the world,! 
 that they would naturally go into it, as the driest place they couldi 
 find. So now, you see, it’s my calculation that the whole batch is 
 there at this very point of time. AVe will go slowly along, until we 
 get to the other end of this wood, in sight of the old field, and 
 then, if there is no one on the look-out, we will open our first 
 trench; you know what that means, Andy ?” 
 
 “ It means, I s’pose, that we’ll go right smack at them,” replied 
 Andrew. 
 
 “ Pretty exactly,” said the sergeant. “ But listen to me. Just 
 at the edge of the woods you will have to get down, and put your¬ 
 self behind a tree. I’ll ride forward, as if I had a whole troop at 
 
268 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 my heels, and if I catch them, as I expect, they will have a little 
 &e kindled, and, as likely as not, they’ll he cooking some of your 
 mother’s fowls.” 
 
 “ Yes, I understand,” said the boy eagerly— 
 
 “ No, you don’t,” replied Horse Shoe, “ but you will when you 
 hear what I am going to say. If I get at them onawares, they’ll 
 be mighty apt to think they are surrounded, and Avill bellow, like 
 fine fellows, for quarter. And, thereupon, Andy, I’ll cry out 
 ‘ stand fast,’ as if I was speaking to my own men, and when you 
 hear that, you must come ujr full tilt, because it will be a sig-nal to 
 you that the enemy has surrendered. Then it will be your business 
 to run into the house and bring out the muskets, as quick as a rat 
 runs through a kitchen: and when you have done that, why, all’s 
 done. But if you should hear any popping of fire-arms—that is, 
 more than one shot, which I may chance to let off—do you take 
 that for a bad sign, and get away as fast as you can heel it. You 
 comprehend.” 
 
 “ Oh! yes,” replied the lad, “ and I’ll do what you want, and more 
 too, may be, Mr. Robinson.” 
 
 “ Captain Robinson,—remember, Andy, you must call me cap 
 tain, in the hearing of these Scotsmen.” 
 
 “ I’ll not forget that neither,” answered Andrew. 
 
 By the time that these instructions were fully impressed upon 
 the boy, our adventurous forlorn hope, as it may fitly be called, 
 had arrived at the place which Horse Shoe Robinson had desig¬ 
 nated for the commencement of active operations. They had a 
 clear view of the old field, and it afforded them a strong assurance 
 that the enemy was exactly where they wished him to be, when 
 they discovered smoke arising from the chimney of the hovel. 
 Andrew was soon posted behind a tree, and Robinson only tamed 
 a moment to make the boy repeat the signals agreed on, in order 
 to ascertain that he had them correctly in his memory. Being 
 satisfied from this experiment that the intelligence of his young 
 companion might be depended upon, he galloped across the inter¬ 
 vening space, and, in a few seconds, abruptly reined up his steed, 
 in the very doorway of the hut. The party within was gathered 
 around a fire at the further end, and, in the corner near the door, 
 were four muskets thrown together against the wall. To spring 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 269 
 
 from his saddle and thrust himself one pace inside of the door, was 
 a movement which the sergeant executed in an instant, shouting at 
 the same time— 
 
 “ Halt! File off right and left to both sides of the house, and 
 wait orders. I demand the surrender of all here,” he said, as he 
 planted himself between the party and their weapons. “ I will 
 shoot down the fii'st man who budges a foot.” 
 
 “ Leap to your arms,” cried the young officer who commanded 
 the httle party inside of the house. “ Why do you stand ?” 
 
 “ I don’t want to do you or your men any harm, young man,” 
 said Eobinson, as he brought his rifle to a level, “ but, by my 
 father’s son, I will not leave one of you to be put upon a muster- 
 roll if you raise a hand at this moment.” 
 
 Both parties now stood, for a brief space, eyeing each other in 
 a fearful suspense, during which there was an expression of doubt 
 and irresolution visible on the countenances of the soldiers, as 
 they surveyed the broad proportions, and met the stern glance of 
 the sergeant, whilst the delay, also, began to raise an appre¬ 
 hension in the mind of Robinson that his stratagem would be dis¬ 
 covered. 
 
 “ Shall I let loose upon them, captain ? ” said Andi-ew Ramsay, 
 now appearing, most unexpectedly to Robinson, at the door of the 
 hut. “ Come on, boys! ” he shouted, as he turned his face towards 
 the field. 
 
 “ Keep them outside of the door—stand fast,” cried the doughty 
 sergeant, with admirable promptitude, in the new and sudden pos¬ 
 ture of his affairs caused by this oj^ortune appearance of the 
 boy. “ Sir, you see that it’s not worth while fighting five to one; 
 and I should be sorry to be the death of any of your brave fel¬ 
 lows ; so, take my advice, and surrender to the Continental Con¬ 
 gress and this scrap of its army which I command.” 
 
 Diu’ing this appeal the sergeant was ably seconded by the lad 
 outside, who was calling out first on one name, and then on ano¬ 
 ther, as if in the presence of a troop. The device succeeded, and 
 the officer within, believing the forbearance of Robinson to be 
 real, at length said :— 
 
 “ Lower yom- rifle, sir. In the presence of a superior force, taken 
 by surprise, and without arms, it is my duty to save bloodshed. 
 
270 
 
 HORSK SIIOB ROBINSON. 
 
 Witli the promise of fair usage, and the rights of prisoners of war, 
 I surrender this little foraging party under my command.” 
 
 “ ni make the terms agreeable,” replied the sergeant. “Never 
 doubt me, sir. Eight hand file, advance, and receive the arms of 
 the prisoners! ” 
 
 “ I’m here, captain,” said Andrew, in a conceited tone, as if it 
 were a mere occasion of merriment; and the lad quickly entered the 
 house and secm’ed the weapons, retreating with them some paces 
 from the door. 
 
 “Now, sir,” said Horse Shoe to the Ensign, “your sword, and 
 whatever else you mought have about you of the ammunitions of 
 war! ” 
 
 The officer delivered up his sword and a pair of pocket pistols. 
 
 As Horse Shoe received these tokens of victory, he asked, with a 
 lambent smile, and what he intended to be an elegant , and conde¬ 
 scending composure, “ Your name, sir, if I mought take the fi’eedom ?” 
 
 “ Ensign St. Jermyn, of his Majesty’s seventy-first regiment of 
 light infantry.” 
 
 “ Ensign, your sarvent,” added Horse Shoe, still preserving this 
 unusual exhibition of politeness. “ You have defended your post 
 like an old sodger, although you ha’n’t much beard on your chin; 
 but, seeing you have given up, you shall be treated like a man 
 who has done his duty. You will walk out, now, and form your¬ 
 selves in line at the door. I’ll engage my men shall do you no 
 harm; they are of a marciful breed.” 
 
 When the little squad of prisoners submitted to this command, 
 and came to the door, they were stricken with equal astonishment 
 and mortification to find, in place of the detachment of cavahy 
 which they expected to see, nothing but a man, a boy, and a horse. 
 Their first emotions were expressed in curses, which were even suc¬ 
 ceeded by laughter from one or two of the number. There seemed 
 to be a disposition on the part of some to resist the authority that 
 now controlled them; and sundry glances were exchanged, which 
 Indicated a purpose to turn upon theu- captors. The sergeant no 
 sooner perceived this, than he halted, raised his rifle to his breast, 
 and, at the same instant, gave Andrew Eamsay an order to retire 
 a few paces, and to fire one of the captured pieces at the first man 
 ■who opened his lips. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 271 
 
 “By my haad,” he said, “ if I find any trouble in taking you, 
 all five, safe away from this here house, I will thin your numbers 
 with your own muskets! And that’s as good as if I had sworn 
 to it.” 
 
 “You have my word, sir,” said the Ensign. “ Lead on.” 
 
 “ By your leave, my pretty gentleman, you will lead, and I’ll 
 follow,” replied Horse Shoe. “ It may be a new piece of drill to 
 you •; but the custom is to give the prisoners the post of honor.” 
 
 “As you please, sir,” answered the Ensign. “ Where do you take 
 us to ? ” 
 
 “ You will march back by the road you came,” said the ser¬ 
 geant. 
 
 Finding the conqueror determined to execute summary martial 
 law upon the first who should mutiny, the prisoners submitted, and 
 marched in double file fi-om the hut back towards Ramsay’s— 
 Horse Shoe, with Captain Peter’s bridle dangling over his arm, 
 and his gallant young auxiliary Andrew, laden with double the 
 burden of Robinson Crusoe (having all the fire-arms packed upon 
 his shoulders), bringing up the rear. In this order victors and 
 vanquished returned to David Ramsay’s. 
 
 “ Well, I have brought you your ducks and chickens back, mis¬ 
 tress,” said the sergeant, as he halted the prisoners at the door; 
 “ and, what’s more, I have brought home a young sodgar that’s 
 worth his weight in gold.” 
 
 “ Heaven bless my child! my brave boy! ” cried the mother, 
 seizing the lad in her arms, and unheeding anything else in the 
 present perturbation of her feelings. “ I feared ill would come of 
 it; but Heaven has preserved him. Did he behave handsomely, 
 Mr. Robinson ? But I am sure he did.” 
 
 “A little more venturesome, ma’am, than I wanted him to be,” 
 replied Horse Shoe; “ but he did excellent service. These are his 
 prisoners. Mistress Ramsay; I should never have got them if it 
 hadn’t been for Andy. In these drumming and fifing times the 
 babies suck in quarrel with their mother’s milk. Show me another 
 boy in America that’s made more prisoners than there was men to 
 fight them with, that’s all! ” 
 
CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 SHOWING HOW A GOOD SOLDIER WILL TURN THE ACCIDENTS OF 
 WAR TO THE BEST ACCOUNT. ENSIGN ST. JERMYN IN A DIS¬ 
 AGREEABLE DILEMMA. 
 
 Robinson having thus succeeded in his enterprise, now found 
 himself in circumstances of peculiar perplexity in regard to the 
 disposal of his prisoners. Here he was, in the neighborhood of 
 the British posts—in a district of country of which the enemy 
 might be said to have, at this moment, complete possession—(for 
 Horse Shoe himself was almost the only belligerent in the field 
 against them)—and, more than that, he was but a few miles’ dis¬ 
 tant from a camp whose scouts had chased him almost to his pre¬ 
 sent place of refuge. It was scarcely probable, therefore, that he 
 could hope to retain his captives long under his control, or prevent 
 the enemy from receiving intelligence of the capture. He was, 
 however, notwithstanding these embarrassments, as usual, cheerful, 
 confident, and self-possessed. He had no wish or motive to detain 
 the private soldiers as prisoners of war, and would at once have 
 dismissed them, if he could have assured himself that they would 
 not make the earliest use of their liberty to convey information of 
 their misadventure to the first corps of loyalists they should meet, 
 and thus get up a hot pursuit of him through the whole district. 
 But he had cogent and most important reasons for holding the 
 ensign, St. Jermyn, in close custody. It occurred to him, that this 
 officer might be used to control the procedure that should be 
 adopted by those who meditated injury to Arthur Butler ; and he, 
 therefore, at once formed the resolution of communicating with the 
 nearest British authorities, in order to assure them that he would 
 retaliate upon the Ensign any pain that might be inflicted npon 
 his late comrade. His plan was speedily formed—it was to keep 
 his prisoners until night-fall, move off under cover of the darkness, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 2^73 
 
 to some remote and concealed spot with St. Jermyn, and release 
 the others, on their parole or pledge not to take up arms until 
 regularly exchanged. 
 
 Whilst the sergeant was deliberating over these arrangements, 
 the prisoners were allowed to shelter themselves from the rain 
 under a shed near the door of the dwelling, where Andrew, with 
 all the pride and importance of his new station, marched to and 
 fro, before them, like a trained sentinel. There was a small log 
 building in the yard of Ramsay’s mansion, which had been i-ecently 
 erected as a store-house, and which being well secured at the door 
 by a padlock, Robinson determined to convert for the nonce into 
 a prison. It contained but one room, not above twelve feet square, 
 with an earthen floor, and received no light except such as was 
 admitted under the door, and through a few crannies about the 
 roof. Into this narrow apartment the soldiers were now marched; 
 a bundle of straw was thrown upon the floor ; sundry flitches of 
 bacon, that hung upon the walls, were removed ; and a few com¬ 
 forts, in the way of food and drink, were supplied to render the 
 accommodation as tolerable to the inmates as was compatible with 
 their safe custody. This being done, our friend Andrew was posted 
 in the passage-way of the dwelling, in full view of the door of the 
 store-house, which was carefully locked, with a musket in his hand, 
 and with orders to make a circuit every five minutes round the 
 little building, to guard against any attempts at escape by under¬ 
 mining the foundation. 
 
 As noon approached the weather began to clear up, and with 
 the first breaking forth of the sun came David Ramsay, the pro¬ 
 prietor of the farm which was the scene of the present operations, 
 llis recognition of Horse Shoe Robinson was accompanied by a 
 hearty greeting, and with an expression of wonder that he should 
 have ventured, in hostile guise, through a country so beset as this 
 was by the forces of the enemy ; but when he heard the narrative 
 of the exploit of the morning, and saw the trophies of its success 
 in the weapons piled against the wall, and, more ’ especially, when 
 he received from the lips of his wife a circumstantial account of 
 the part which had been performed in this adventure by his son 
 Andrew, lus delight seemed almost to be absorbed by his»astonish- 
 ment and incredulity. The proofs, however, were all around him ; 
 
 12 * 
 
274 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 and after assuring himself, by an actual inspection of the prisoners 
 through one of the chinks of the store-house, he came into his own 
 parlour, sat down, and laughed out-right. 
 
 Eamsay was a staunch friend of the independence of his country; 
 and although he had not been up in arms in the cause, he gave it 
 all the aid he could by the free expression of opinion, and by a 
 resolute refusal to comply with the requisitions of the royalists. 
 His eldest son had joined Sumpter, and had already been active 
 in the field ; and he himself looked, with an almost certain expec¬ 
 tation, to see visited upon himself that proscription under which 
 thousands were already suffering, and which he had only escaped 
 as yet by the temporizing delays of his opponents, or by their ne¬ 
 glect, arising out of the incessant hurry and pressure of their mili¬ 
 tary operations in the organization of the new dominion which the 
 royal forces had but lately acquired. He was a man of sturdy 
 frame—now only in the prime of life—brave, thoughtful, and in¬ 
 telligent, and firmly resolved to stand by his principles through 
 whatever adverse chances. The present aspect of aflfairs was, to 
 his mind, almost decisive of his fate : the capture of these prisoners, 
 made from information derived from his own family, and in which 
 his own son had been a principal agent; their confinement, too, in 
 his own house, were facts of so unequivocal a character as inevi¬ 
 tably to draw upon him the prompt ire of the Tories, and compel 
 him to assume the attitude and abide by the issues of a partisan. 
 As he had faith in the justice of his quarrel, and a strong devotion 
 to the principles upon which it was sustained, he did not hesitate 
 in the crisis before him, but heroically determined to meet the 
 worst that might befal. He, therefore, in the present emergency, 
 became a useful and efficient ally to Robinson, who opened to him 
 the full history of Butler, and the coui’se of measures he was about 
 to pursue for the relief of that unfortunate officer. 
 
 We must now leave the sergeant holding watch and ward over 
 his vanquished foes, and shift our scene to Musgrove’s Mill. 
 
 The family of Allen Musgi’ove were in a state of great disquiet¬ 
 ude. Horse Shoe Robinson had disappeared before day-light; and 
 when the miller and his nephew left their beds, a little after the 
 dawn, the only intelligence they had of the departure of their guest 
 was inferred from finding the stable door open and the sergeant’s 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 2*76 
 
 horse absent. This fact was explained when Mary met them at 
 breakfast. Horse Shoe had set out for Ramsay’s to learn some 
 tidings of John, and to enlist him in an effort to liberate Butler. 
 He had departed under cover of darkness to avoid molestation 
 from Innis’s scouts, and she, Mary Musgrove, had placed the key 
 of the stable, the night before, in a place where Horse Shoe might 
 find it. Such was the extent of the maiden’s information. The 
 day passed wearily upon her hand : she was anxious to hear some¬ 
 thing of Butler—something of Horse Shoe—and something, we 
 suppose, of John Ramsay. Frequently durmg the morning she 
 and Christojiher Shaw held secret conferences: they spoke in 
 whispers : suspense, care, and doubt were pictured upon her face ; 
 and as the rain pattered against the windows she oftentimes' stood 
 before them, and looked out upon the distant road, and across the 
 wide fields, and then upwards to the clouded sky. The sun at 
 length appeared, and his rays seemed to shoot a glimpse of joy 
 into the breast of the maiden, as she walked forth to note the diy- 
 ing of the roads, and to see the clear blue, which, in that climate, 
 outvies the mellow and rich tints of a Tuscan heaven. 
 
 The day waxed, and the birds sang, and nature was gay, but the 
 maiden was restless and unquiet: the day waned, and the sun rode 
 downwards on the western slope in gorgeous beauty ; but Mary 
 was ill at ease, and thought little of the gi’and and glorious firma¬ 
 ment. Her communings with Christopher Shaw, meantime, be¬ 
 came more eager : she and her cousin were seen to wander towards 
 the mill; then Christopher left her, and, presently, he might be 
 discovered leading two horses, one bearing a side-saddle, down to 
 the margin of the stream. Ihcre was a short visit to the house by 
 the young man—a word whispered in the ear of the mother—a 
 shake of her head, an expression of doubt, a final nod of assent,— 
 and, in the next moment, Mary and Christopher were seen trotting 
 off on horseback, on the road that led towards Ramsay’s. 
 
 When they had ridden some two or three miles, and had entered 
 upon the high-road between Ninety-Six and Blackstock’s—some¬ 
 where near to that piece of haunted ground, where, on the morning 
 of this very day, a goblin had struck down James Curry from his 
 steed—they descried a military party of horse and foot slowly ad¬ 
 vancing from the direction to which they were travelling. In a 
 
276 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 few moments tliey met tlie first platoon of tlie cavalry, headed by 
 a trumpeter and the unsightly captain Hugh Habershaw. They 
 were detained at the head of this column, whilst some questions 
 were ashed respecting the object of then journey, the troops in their 
 neighboihood, and other matters connected with the aflairs of the 
 times. Christopher's answers were prompt and satisfactory: he 
 was only riding with his kinswoman on a visit to a neighbor; 
 Innis’s camp was not above two miles and a half away, and the 
 country in general was quiet, as far as he had the means of know¬ 
 ing. The travellers were now suffered to pass on. In succession, 
 they left behind them each platoon of threes, and then encountered 
 the small column of march of the infantry. Mary grew pale as 
 her eyes fell upon the form of Arthm- Butler, posted in the centre 
 of a guard. Her feeling lest he might not recognise her features, 
 and guess something of her errand, almost overpowered her. She 
 reined up her horse, as if to gi’atify an idle curiosity to see the 
 soldiers passing, and halted in a position which compelled the ranks 
 to file off, in order to obtain a free passage round her. Every look 
 seemed to be turned upon her as the escoi’t marched near her 
 horse’s head, and it was impossible to make the slightest sign to 
 Butler without being observed. She saw him, however, lift his 
 eyes to hers, and she distinctly perceived the flash of surprise with 
 which it was kindled as he became aware of her features. A faint 
 and transient smile, which had in it nothing hut pain, was the only 
 return she dared to make. An order from the van quickened the 
 march ; and the detachment moved rapidly by. As Mary still 
 occupied the ground on which she had halted, and was gazing 
 after the retreating corps, she saw Butler turn his face hack towards 
 her; she seized the moment to nod to him. and to make a quick sign 
 with her hand, which she intended should Indicate the fact that she 
 was now engaged in his service. She thought she perceived a 
 response in a slight motion of Butler’s head, and now resumed her 
 journey, greatly excited by the satisfaction of having, in this acci¬ 
 dental rencounter, obtained even this brief insight into the condi¬ 
 tion of the prisoner. 
 
 The sun was set, when Mary with her convoy, Christopher 
 Shaw, arrived at Eamsay’s. Always an acceptable guest at this 
 house, she was now more than ever welcome. There was business 
 
HORSK SHOE ROBINSON. 2^*1 
 
 to be done in wbicb she could discharge a most important part, 
 and the service of Christopher Shaw in reinforcing the garrison 
 was of the greatest moment. When the intelligence regarding the 
 movement of Butler to Innis’s camp was communicated to the 
 sergeant, it suggested a new device to his mind, which he deter¬ 
 mined instantly to adopt. Butler was at this moment, he con¬ 
 cluded, in the hands of those who had engaged the rufSans to set 
 upon him at Grindall’s ford, and it was not improbable that he 
 would be summarily dealt with : there was no time, therefore, to 
 be lost. The sergeant’s plan, in this new juncture, was, to compel 
 the young ensign to address a letter to the British commandant, to 
 inform that officer of his present imprisonment, and to add to this 
 information the determination of his captors to put him to death, 
 in the event of any outrage being inflicted upon Butler. This 
 scheme was communicated to Ramsay, Shaw, and Mary. The 
 letter was to be immediately written; Mary was to return with it 
 to the mill, and was to contrive to have it secretly dehvered, in the 
 morning, at Innis’s head-quarters; and David Ramsay himself was 
 to escort the maiden back to her father’s house, whilst Shaw was 
 to attend the sergeant and assist him to transport the young ensign 
 to some fit place of concealment. The private soldiers were to 
 remain prisoners, under the guard of Andrew, until his father’s 
 return, when they were to be released on parole, as prisoners 
 of war. 
 
 The plan being thus matured, Robinson went forthwith to the 
 prison-house, and directed Ensign St. Jermyn to follow him into 
 the dwelling. When the young officer arrived in the family 
 parlor, he was ordered to take a chair near a table, upon which 
 was placed a light, some paper, pen, and ink. 
 
 “ Young man,” said Robinson, “ take up that pen and write as I 
 bid you.” 
 
 “ To what end am I to write ? I must know the purpose you 
 design to answer, before I can put my hand to paper.” 
 
 “ To the, end,” replied Horse Shoe firmly, and with unwonted 
 gravity, “ of the settlement of your worldly afl’airs, if the consarns 
 of to-morrow should bring ill luck to a friend of mine.” 
 
 “ I do not understand you, sir. If my life is threatened to 
 accomplish an unrighteous pui-pose, it is my duty to tell you at 
 
278 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 once, that that life belongs to my king; and if his interests are to 
 suffer by any forced act of mine, I am -willing to resign it at once.” 
 
 “ Never was pm-pose more righteous, sir, in the view of God and 
 man, than ours,” said David Ramsay. 
 
 “ I have a friend,” added Horse Shoe, greatly excited as he 
 spoke, “who has been foully dealt by. Some of your enlisted 
 gangs have laid an ambuscade to trap him: villany has been 
 used, by them that ought to be ashamed to see it thriving under 
 tlieu- colors, to catch a gentleman who was only doing the common 
 duties of a good sodger; and by mean bush-fighting, not by fair 
 fields and honest blows—they have seized him and carried him to 
 the camp of that blood-sucking Tory, Colonel Innis. I doubt more 
 harm is meant him than falls to the share of a common prisoner 
 of war.” 
 
 “ I know nothing of the person, nor of the circumstances you 
 speak about,” said the ensign. 
 
 “ So much the better for you,” replied the sergeant. “ K your 
 people are brave sodgers or honest men, you will not have much 
 occasion to be afeard for yourself; but, by my right hand! if so 
 much as one hair of Major Arthur Butler’s head be hurt by Colo¬ 
 nel Innis, or by any other man among yom- pillaging and brand¬ 
 ishing bullies, I myself -will drive a bullet through from one of 
 your ears to the other. This game of war is a stiff game, young 
 man, but we will play it out.” 
 
 “ Major Arthur Butler!” exclaimed the ofiBcer, with astonishment, 
 “ is he taken ? ” 
 
 “ Ha! you’ve hearn of him, and know something, mayhap, of 
 them that were on the look-out for him ? ” 
 
 “ I cannot write,” said the officer sidlenly. 
 
 “No words, sir,” interrupted Horse Shoe, “but obey my orders; 
 write what I teU you, or take your choice. I will bind you hand 
 and foot to a tree on yonder mountain, to starve tilk,you write 
 that letter; or to feed the wild vermin with your body, if you 
 refuse.” 
 
 The ensign looked in Robinson’s face, where a frown of stem 
 resolution brooded upon his brow, and a kindling tempest of anger 
 showed that this was not a moment to hazard the trial of his cle¬ 
 mency. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 279 
 
 “ What would you have the jDurport of my letter ?” asked the 
 oflScer, in a subdued voice. 
 
 “ That you have got into the hands of the Whigs,” replied the 
 sergeant; “ and that if so be any mischief should fall upon Major 
 Butler, by the contrivings of your friends, you die the first minute 
 that we hear of it.” 
 
 “ I have had no hand in the taking of Major Butler,” said the 
 young St. Jermyn. 
 
 “ I am glad of it,” answered Robinson, “ for your sake. You will 
 die with a better conscience. If you had a hand in it, young man, 
 I wouldn’t ask you to write a line to any breathing man: your 
 brains would spatter that door-post. Take up the pen and write, or 
 stand by the consequences.” 
 
 The officer took up the pen, then, hesitating a moment, flung it 
 down, saying ; 
 
 “ I will not Avrite ; do with me as you choose.” 
 
 “ The young man drives me to it, against my own nature,” said 
 Robinson, speaking under strong excitement. “ If he will not pen 
 that letter, then, David Ramsay, you will write to Innis, in my 
 name, and say Galbraith Robinson "has got the Ensign where no 
 Tory foot will ever follow him, and holds him to answer the first 
 mischief that is done to Arthur Butler. But, I swear to this sulky 
 boy, that if that letter goes to Innis for want of a better, as I am 
 a man and a sodger, he will never taste food or water till I hear 
 that Major Butler is free. He shall starve in the mountain.” 
 
 “Oh, God! oh, God!” ejaculated the young soldier, in bitter¬ 
 ness of heart; and covering his face with his hands, he threw his 
 head upon the table, where he wept tears of agony. At length, look¬ 
 ing in the countenance of Robmson, he said ; “lam young, sir— 
 not above twenty years. I have a mother and sisters in Eng¬ 
 land.” 
 
 “ We have no time to spare,” interrupted Robinson, “ much less 
 to talk about kinsfolk. Major Butler has them that love his life 
 better than e’er an Englishwoman loves hei- son. If they are 
 brought to grief by this onnatural rascality, it matters nothing to 
 me if every daughter and sister in England pines away of heart¬ 
 sickness, for the loss of them that they love best. Take my 
 adidce, my lack-beard,” added Robinson, patting him on the 
 
280 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 shoulder, “ and wiite the letter. You have the chances of war in 
 your favor, and may save your neck.” 
 
 “ I will do your bidding, sir,” said the ensign, after a pause. 
 “ Under the compulsion of force, I agree to write,” and he once 
 more took up the pen. 
 
 “ You speak now hke a reasonable gentleman,” said Horse Shoe. 
 “ I pity you, friend, and will preserve you against harm, so far as 
 it can he done in the circumstances of the case.” 
 
 The ensign then wrote a few lines, in which he communicated 
 to Colonel Innis, or to whatever ofBcer his letter might be delivered, 
 the straits in which he found himself, and the resolution of his 
 captors to hold his life forfeit upon the event of any rigors, beyond 
 those of an ordinary prisoner of war, imposed upon Major Butler. 
 When he had finished, he gave the paper to Eobinson. 
 
 “ Eead it aloud, Mr. Eamsay,” said Horse Shoe, delivering the 
 scrawl to his friend. 
 
 Eamsay read what was written. 
 
 “ It must be wrote over again,” said Horse Shoe, after he had 
 heard the contents. “ First, it must make no mention of his being 
 only a few miles off; that must be left out. Secondly, my name 
 needn’t be told; though if the runagates knowed he was in my 
 hands, they wouldn’t think his chance any better on that account. 
 Let him say that the Whigs have got him—that’s enough. And, 
 lastly, he must write his own name in full at the bottom. And, 
 look you, young man, don’t be scrawling out the lines in such a 
 way that your own hand-write moughtn’t be known. That must 
 speak for itself, because upon this letter depends your life. You 
 unde^pl^nd ? ” 
 
 “ GiTO it me,” said the ensign ; “ I will write it as you desire.” 
 
 And again the unfortunate officer applied himself to the task 
 that was imposed upon him; and in a short time produced a letter, 
 which, being subjected to the criticism of the bystanders, was pro¬ 
 nounced satisfactory. 
 
 As soon as this was done, St. Jerm3Ti was conducted into ano¬ 
 ther apartment, and there confided to the guardianship of Christo¬ 
 pher Shaw. Horse Shoe now took a light and the writing mate¬ 
 rials from the table, and repaired with David Eamsay—^both of them 
 well aimed—to the store-house, where the other prisoners were 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 2S1 
 
 confined. After they had entered and closed the door, posting 
 Andrew with his musket on the outside, Horse Shoe addressed the 
 men in a gay and cheerful tone; 
 
 “ Come, my lads, as you are good, honest fellows, that can have 
 no great love for these little country cabins, judging by your had 
 luck and oncomfortable circumstances in that one where I found 
 you this morning, I have come to set you free. By the laws of 
 war, you have the right, if I choose to take it, to give me your 
 parole. So now, if you have a mind to promise me, on the honor 
 of sodgers, not to sarve again until you are fairly exchanged, you 
 shall all leave this before day-break. What do you say to the 
 terms ? ” 
 
 “We are all agreed,” replied the men, with one accord. 
 
 “ Then write out something to that effect,” said the sergeant to 
 Ramsay. “ You that can’t scratch like scholards, stick your mai-ks 
 to the paper—d’ye hear ? ” 
 
 The parole was written out by Ramsay, and duly signed or 
 marked by each of the four men. This being done, the sergeant 
 informed them that, exactly at three in the morning, the door 
 would be opened, and they would be at liberty to go Avhere they 
 pleased, provided they pledged themselves to visit no post of the 
 enemy within twenty miles, nor communicate any particulars relat¬ 
 ing to their capture or detention to any British or Tory officer or 
 soldier, within seven days. This pledge was cheerfully given, and 
 after a few words of jocular good-nature were exchanged on both 
 sides. Horse Shoe and his companion retired. 
 
 David Ramsay now ordered out his own and Mary Musgiwe’s 
 hoi-ses, with an intention to set out immediately for the mill. .. 
 
 “ Does Major Butler know that you are in his neighborhood ? ” 
 inqired Ramsay of the sergeant, before the horses were brought to 
 the door. 
 
 “ Oh, bless you, yes,” replied Horse Shoe. “ I left word for him 
 yesterday at Blackstock’s, by giving the babblers there something 
 to talk about, which I knew he would hear.” And the sergeant 
 went on to relate the particulars of his stop at that post: “ And I 
 sent him a message,” continued he, “ this morning, by James Curry, ’ 
 in the same’sort of fashion. A little before dayhght, I heard the 
 devil singing one of his staves upon the road back here, so loud 
 
282 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON 
 
 that he seemed to he firightened by ghosts or sperits; so I rode up 
 fast behind him, and cuffed him out of his saddle, and then away 
 I went like a leather-winged bat. I knowed the curmudgeon’s 
 voice, and I expect he knowed my hand, for he has felt it before. 
 I’ll be bound, he made a good story out of it; and, as such things 
 fly, I make no doubt it wasn’t long reaching the ear of the major, 
 who would naturally think it was me, whether James told my 
 name or not, because he knows my way. It was as good as writ¬ 
 ing a letter to the major, to signify that I was lurking about, close 
 at hand. I never went to school, Mr. Ramsay, so I write my letters 
 by making my mark. I can make a blow go further than a word 
 upon occasion, and that’s an old-fashioned way of telling your 
 thoughts, that was found out before pen and ink.” 
 
 “ Well, Horse Shoe, you are a man after your own sort,” replied 
 Ramsay, laughing. “ Come, Mary, take the letter; our horses are 
 at the door.” 
 
 “ Good bye t’ye, David,” said Horse Shoe, shaking Ramsay’s 
 hand; “ it may be some days before we see each other again. Kit 
 and me will be off" with this young ensign before you get back. 
 Don’t forget the prisoners at three o’clock. And, a word, D.avid— 
 where had we best take this young sparrow, the ensign, to keep 
 him out of the way of these fellows that are scouring the country ? ” 
 
 “ Leave that to Christopher Shaw,” replied Ramsay; “ he knows 
 every nook in the country. So, now, friend Robinson, good night, 
 and luck go with you! ” 
 
 It was a clear star-lit night, and every tree and pool sent forth a 
 thousand notes from the busy insects and reptiles that animate the 
 summer hours of darkness, when David Ramsay set out with Mary 
 Musgrove for her father’s house. 
 
. CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 NEW DIFFICULTIES OPEN UPON BUTLER. 
 
 With the last notes of the reveillee everything was stirring in 
 Innis’s camp. It was a beautiful, fresh morning; a cool breeze 
 swept across the plain, and each spray and every blade of grass 
 sparkled with the dew; whilst above, an imclouded firmament 
 gave promise of a rich and brilliant mid-summer’s day. The 
 surrounding forest was alive with the twittering of birds ; and the 
 neighing of horses showed that this portion of the animal creation 
 partook of the hilarity of the season. From every little shed or 
 woodland lair, crept forth parties of soldiers, who betook them¬ 
 selves to their several posts to answer at the roll-call; and by the 
 time the sun had risen, ofiBcers, on horseback and on foot, were 
 seen moving hurriedly across the open plain, to join the groups of 
 infantry and cavalry, which were now forming in various quarters 
 for the purposes of the morning di-ill. Companies were seen in 
 motion, passing through the rapid evolutions of the march, the 
 retreat, and the many exercises of service. Drums were beating, 
 and fifes were piercing the air with their high notes, and, ever and 
 anon, the trumpet brayed fi-om the further extremities of the field. 
 Picquet-guards were seen mustering on the edge of the camp— 
 wearied and night-worn : salutes were exchanged by the small 
 detachments on service; and, here and there, sentinels might be 
 descried, stationed at the several outlets of the plain, and presenting 
 their arms as an ofiBcer passed their lines. 
 
 The troops that occupied this space were mostly of the Irregular 
 kind. Some were distinguished by ill-fitted and homely uniforms; 
 others were clad in the common dress of the country, distinguished 
 as soldiers only by their arms and accoutrements; but amongst 
 them was also a considerable party of British regulars, clad in the 
 national livery of scarlet. Amongst the ofiBcers, who were in 
 
284 
 
 II 0 E,sl: S H 0 E ROBINSON. 
 
 commaud of the subordinate departnaeuts of this mixed and parti¬ 
 colored- 4 ittle. army,‘^-vyere several who, from their costume, might 
 be recognised lis belonging to the regiments that had come from 
 the-o^igj’..side of th-^?^lantic. ' 
 
 Os^nel lujijs 'hinfeelf was seen upon the parade, dii'ecting the 
 move&ents o^^fvisl^s that, under their proper officers, were 
 practising the eustomaly lessons of diseipline. He was a tall, 
 thpr^ man, of an emaciated complexion, with a countenance of 
 tlipfj^tf(il,''.^a5^^. A keen black eye seemed almost to burn 
 .jjvithin itfe^’i^i^aricrto give an expression of petulant and peevish 
 " Excitability, like the querulousness of a sick'man. A rather 
 awkward and ungamly person, arrayed in a scarlet uniform that 
 did but little credit to the tailor-craft employed in its fabrication, 
 conveyed to the spectator the idea of a man unused to the pride 
 of appearance that belongs to a soldier by profession ; ^and would 
 ' have suggested the conclusion, which the fact itself'sustained, that 
 the individual before him had but recently left the ^yb,lks of civil 
 life to assum^^military office. His demeanour, lltew^^er, showed 
 him to baj^^^lous if not a skilful officer. He gave plose atten¬ 
 tion to _^^‘.duties of his c( 
 scrupuhjfe^exactitude in enfor 
 rigorous system of tactics. 
 
 This officer, as we hay^e bef 
 ticipator in the procee^gs bf ,the,.Mw coi^^^ sequestrates at 
 Charleston;^fod had himself e0.^nGlious bydhe fierce 
 
 and unsparing industry with which he haddirou^^ to the judgment 
 of that tribunal, the imputed delinquencies of some of the most 
 opulent and patriotic citizens of the provnSbe. 
 
 Amongst the cases upon whicffiJfes^d b'^Sn called into consul¬ 
 tation was that of Arthur Butlera^hose possessions being ample, 
 and whose position, as a rebellrffi^ belligerent, being one of 
 “ flagrant delict,” there was b^t •dftn^repugnance, on the part of 
 the judges and their adviser, tc? subject him to the severest law of 
 confiscation. The proceedings, however, had been delayed, not 
 from any tenderness to the propri^or, but, as it was whispered in 
 the scandal of the day, on account of certain dissensions, amongst 
 a few prominent servants of the British crown, as to which of them 
 the privilege of a cheap purchase should be extended. The matter 
 
 immJtnd, and busied .himself with 
 cmg thp. observances necessary to a 
 
 .V 
 
 i? hinted, had been an active per- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 286 
 
 was stUl. in suspense, with a view (as that busybody, common 
 rumor, allegfi^J to reward a particular favorite of the higher 
 powers with tIJfe.neh guerdon of these good lands, in compensation 
 for private and valuable secret services, rendered in a matter of 
 great delicacy and hazard—no less a service than that of seducing 
 into the arena of politics and intrigue, an opulent and authoritative 
 gentleman of Virginia, Mr. Bhilip Lindsay. 
 
 In consequence of the odious nature of the duty which Colonel 
 Innis had assumed to perform, he became peculiarly hateful to the 
 Whigs; and this sentiment was in no-degree abated when, relin¬ 
 quishing his occupation as a counsellor to the court at Charleston, 
 he accepted a commission to command a partisan corjis of royalists 
 in the upper country. lie was, at the juncture in which I have 
 exhibited'him to my reader, new in his command, and had not yet 
 “ fleshedahis maiden sword the day, however, was near at hand 
 when his prowess was to bo put to the proof. 
 
 Such was the person into whose hands Arthur Butler had now 
 fallen. 
 
 After the morning exercises of the camp were finished, and the 
 HMtr wei'e dismissed to prepare their first repast, the principal 
 officers returned to the colonel’s head-quarters in the farm-house, 
 xvhere, it will be remembered, Butler had been delivered by the 
 escort that had conducted him from Blackstock’s. The prisoner 
 had slept soundly during the whole night; and now, as the break¬ 
 fast hour drew nigh, he had scarcely awaked and put on his 
 clothes, before he heard an inquiry, made by some one below, of 
 the orderly on duty, whether the Whig officer was yet in a con¬ 
 dition to be visited; and, in the next moment, the noise of foot¬ 
 steps, ascending the stair towards his chamber, prepared him to ex¬ 
 pect the entrance of the person who had asked the question. 
 
 A British officer, in full uniform, of a graceful and easy carriage, 
 neat figure, and of a countenance that bespoke an intelligent and 
 cultivated mind, made his appearance at the door. lie jjfas 
 apparently of five or six and thirty years of age; and wdulstji he 
 paused a moment, as with a purpose to apologize for the seeming 
 intrusion, Butler was struck wdth the air of refined breeding of the 
 individual before him. 
 
 “ Major Butler, I understand, of the Continental army ?” said 
 
86 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 the stranger. “ The unpleasant nature of the circumstances in 
 which you are placed, I hope will excuse the trespass I have com¬ 
 mitted upon your privacy. Captain St. Jermyn, of his Majesty’s 
 army, and lately an aide-de-camp of Lord Eawdon.” 
 
 Butler bowed coldly, as he replied: 
 
 “ To meet a gentleman, as your rank and name both import, is 
 a privilege that has not been allowed me of late. Without 
 knowing wherefore, I have been waylaid and outraged by bravoes 
 and ruffians. You, perhaps, sir, may be able to afford me some 
 insight into the causes of this maltreatment.” 
 
 “ Even if it were proper for me to hold discourse with you on 
 such a subject, I could only sj^eak from common report,” replied 
 the officer. “ I know nothing of your seizure, except that, by the 
 common chances of war, you have fallen into the hands of the 
 ruling authorities of the province, and you will, doubtless, as a 
 soldier, appreciate my motives for declining any reference to the 
 circumstances in which you have been found. My visit is stimu¬ 
 lated by other considerations, amongst which is foremost a desire 
 to mitigate the peculiarly uncomfortable captivity to which I am 
 sorry to learn you have been subjected.” 
 
 “ I thank you,” replied Butler, “ for the intention with which 
 your good offices are proffered; but you can render me no service 
 that I should value so much as that of informing me why I have 
 been brought hither, at whose suggestion, and for what pur¬ 
 pose.” 
 
 “ I will be plain with you. Major Butler. Your situation de¬ 
 mands sympathy, however inexorably the present posture of our 
 affairs may require the decrees of stern justice, in respect to 
 yourself, to be executed. I feel for you, and would gladly aid you 
 to any extent which my duty might allow, in averting the possible 
 calamity that may hang over you. You are known as a gentleman 
 of consideration and influence in the colonies. I may further add, 
 as a brave and venturesome soldier. You are believed to have, 
 more boldly than wisely, enterprised the accomplishment of certain 
 schemes against the safety of his majesty’s acknowledged govern¬ 
 ment in this province; besides having committed other acts in 
 violation of a faith plighted for you by those who had full 
 authority to bind you, thus bringing yourself within the penalties 
 
HOESE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 287 
 
 appropriate to the violation of a military parole, if not withi^' 
 those of treason itself.” 
 
 “ He lies in his throat,” cried Butler, “ who charges me with 
 forfeiture of plighted word or honor, in any action of my hfe. 
 That I have arrayed myself against what you are pleased to term 
 his majesty’s acknowleciged government in this province, I am 
 proud to confess, here in the midst of your bands, and will confess 
 it again at your judgment seat; but if aught be said against me 
 that shall be intended to attaint my honor as a gentleman, I will, in 
 the same presence and before God, throw the lie in the teeth of 
 my accuser. Aye, and make good my word, now or hereafter, 
 wheresoever it may be allowed me to meet the slanderer.” 
 
 “ I do not condemn your warmth,” said St. Jermyn, calmly, “ in 
 a matter that so deeply stirs your self-esteem; and only desire 
 now to second it in all things wherein an honorable enemy may 
 claim the support of those who themselves value a good name. 
 The authorities of this post have considerately resolved to give 
 you the benefit of a court of inquiry. And I hope you will take 
 it as it was meant, in all kindness to you, that I have come, before 
 the communication of an official order, to apprise you that charges 
 will be duly exhibited against you, and a trial be instantly had. 
 
 If you will accept of my services, feeble and inadequate as they 
 may be, I would gladly tender them to afi’ord you such facilities as 
 the pressure of the present emergency may allow.” 
 
 “ To be tried! when, and for what ? If the charge is that I 
 carry on open war against those who are in the habit of calling 
 me and my compatriots rebels—I am ready to confess the charge. 
 What need of court or trial ?” • 
 
 “ There are graver and more serious offences than that imputed 
 to you,” said St. Jermyn. 
 
 “ When am I to be informed of them, and to what do they 
 tend 2” 
 
 “ You will hear them this morning; when, I am sorry to add, 
 the nature of our military operations also enforces the necessity of 
 your trial.” 
 
 “You can be of little service, if that be true,” returned Butler, 
 thoughtfully. “ My cause can only be defended by my country, 
 long after I am made the victim of this unrighteous procedure.” 
 
288 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ There is one alternative,” said St. Jermyn, with some hesitation 
 in his manner, “ which a mature deliberation upon your relations 
 as a subject,—pardon me, for I do not deem this ill-timed rebellion 
 to have obliterated them—may present to your mind.” 
 
 “ Spealr it,” said Butler, vehemently; “ speak out the base 
 thought that is rising to your lip, if you •dare. Prisoner as I am, 
 I will avenge the insult on the spot with the certainty of loss of 
 life. The alternative you suggest, is to dishonor me and all who 
 are dear to me by the foul opprobrium of treason to my country. 
 You would have me, I suppose, renounce the cause to which I have 
 dedicated my life, and take shelter with the recreants that have 
 crowded under the banner of St. George ?” 
 
 “ Hold ! remember, sir, that you are a prisoner,” said St. Jermyn, 
 with great coolness ; and then after a pause, he added with a sigh : 
 “ I will not wound, by fuffher converse, the exaggerated and delu¬ 
 sive sense of honor which is too fatally predominant in your breast, 
 and, as I have found it, in the breasts of many of your misguided 
 countrymen. I came to serve you, not to excite your feelings; and 
 I will now, even in your displeasure, serve you as far as the occa¬ 
 sion may afford me means : I pray you, call on me without reserve. 
 For the present, believe me, in pain and sorrow I take my leave.” 
 
 With these words, the officer retired. 
 
 Butler paced to and fro through his narrow chamber for some 
 minutes, as his mind revolved the extraordinary and unexpected 
 disclosures which had been made to him in this short visit. A 
 thousand conjectures rose into his thoughts as to the nature of the 
 supposed chai'ges that were to be brought against him. He 
 minutely retraced all the incidents of his late adventures, to ascer¬ 
 tain how it was possible to found. upon them an accusation of 
 violated faith, or to pervert them into an imputation of treason 
 against the present doubtful and disputed authority of the self- 
 styled conquerors of Carolina. If his attempt to join'Clarke was 
 treason, it could be no less treason in the followers of Gates to 
 array themselves against the royal army ; and, that every prisoner 
 hereafter taken in battle was to be deemed a traitor to the con¬ 
 tested power of Cornwallis, seemed to be a pretension too absurd 
 for the most inveterate partisans to assert. There was nothing in 
 this review of his actions that the most ingenious malice could per- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 289 
 
 vert into an offence punishable by the laws of wai', by other rigor 
 than such as might be inflicted upon an ordinary prisoner taken in 
 anns. Still, there were unhappy doubts of some secret treachery 
 that rose to his reflections: the perfidy of Adair, manifestly the 
 effect of a bribe ; the ambuscade promoted and managed by James 
 Curry ; the bloody purpose of the brutal gang who captured him, 
 frustrated only by the accidental fray in which Blake was wounded. 
 Then the “ doubtful givings out ” which fell from the lips of some 
 of the soldiers at Blackstock’s, of his case still being one of life and 
 death; the insinuation of the savage Habershaw, at the same place, 
 conveyed in the threat of twisted hemp ; the knowledge which his 
 present keepers affected to have of his rank and consequence, of his 
 past life and present aims; and, above all, his being brought for 
 immediate trial, in a matter affecting his life, before the very man, 
 now in the capacity of a military commander, who had heretofore 
 been active in promoting the design of confiscating his estate. All 
 these considerations, although unconnected with any circumstance 
 of specific offence within his knowledge, led him into the most 
 anxious and melancholy forebodings as to the result of this day’s 
 proceedings. 
 
 “ I am doomed to fall,” he said, “ under some secret stroke of 
 vengeance, and my country is to have in my case another stirring 
 appeal against the enormity of that iron, rule that seeks to bow 
 her head into the dust. So be it! The issue is in the hand of 
 God, and my fate may turn to the account of the establishment of 
 a nation’s liberty. Oh, Mildred, I tremble to think of thee ! 
 Heaven grant, my girl, that thy fortitude may triumph over the 
 mptyrdom of him that loves thee better than Ws life!” 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A TRIAL.-A GRAVE ACCUSATION THAT STILL FURTHER CONFIRMS 
 
 RUTLER IN HIS BELIEF OF A SECRET ENEMY.-A SUDDEN RESPITE. 
 
 Butler’s baggage, ever since he left Robinson’s habitation on the 
 Catawba, had been divided into two parcels, one of which he 
 carried in a portmanteau on his own horse, and the other had been 
 stowed away in a pair of black leather saddle-bags that were flung 
 across Captain Peter. Tliese latter sufficed, also, to inclose, in 
 addition to the sergeant’s own wardrobe, sundry stores of proven¬ 
 der, which the careful apjietite and soldier-like foresight of the 
 trusty squire had, from time to time, accumulated for their comfort 
 upon the road-side. After the escape of the sergeant, this baggage 
 had been kept with more scrupulousness than might have been 
 expected from the character of the freebooters into whose possession 
 it had fallen; and now, when Butler had been surrendered up to 
 the custody of Colonel Innis, it was restored to the prisoner without 
 the loss of any article of value. On this morning, therefore, Butler 
 had thrown aside the rustic dress in which he had heretofore 
 travelled, and appearec^habited as we have described him when first 
 introduced to the reader. ■ 
 
 After a very slight meal, which had been administered with more 
 personal attention and consideration for his rank and condition than 
 he was prepared to expect, an officer entered his apartment and com¬ 
 municated an order to him to repair to the yard in front of the 
 quarters. ' Here he found a sergeant’s guard mustered to receive 
 him, and he was directed to march with them to the place that 
 had been selected for his trial. The spot pitched upon for this 
 purpose, was at the foot of a large mulberry that stood on the bor¬ 
 der of the plain, at a short distance from the house. 
 
 When the guard arrived with the prisoner. Colonel Innis was 
 already seated at the head of a table, around which were placed 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 291 
 
 several officers, of the regular and militia forces. Writing 
 materials were also arranged upon the board, and at the lower end, 
 a few paces removed from it, stood a vacant chair. Behind this 
 was erected a pile of drums, with one or two colours laid trans¬ 
 versely across them. Sentinels were stationed at dififerent points 
 near this group, and within their lines were collected the principal 
 officers of Innis’s command. Somewhat more remote, a number 
 of idle spectators were assembled, amongst whom might have been 
 discerned Habershaw, Cuny, and many of the heroes who had 
 figured at Grindall’s ford. Captain St. Jermyn had taken a station 
 a little to the left of the presiding officer at the table, and in the 
 rear of those who appeared to have the management of the 
 approaching procedure, and now stood, with his hands folded, 
 apparently an anxious and interested looker-on. 
 
 There was a thoughtful and even stern expression upon every 
 face when Butler appeared—and a silence that was scarce broken 
 by the occasional whispers in which the several individuals present 
 communicated with each other. The guard marched the prisoner 
 around the circle, and inducted him into the vacant chair, where 
 he was received by a quiet and cold inclination of the head from 
 each member of the court. 
 
 For a few moments he looked around him with a scornful gaze 
 upon the assemblage that were to sit in judgment upon him, and 
 bit his lip, as his frame seemed to be agitated with deep emotion : 
 at length, when every look was bent upon him, and no one 
 breathed a word, he rose upon his feet ^nd addressed the com¬ 
 pany. 
 
 “ I understand that I am in the presence of a military court, 
 which has been summoned for the purpose of inquiring into certain 
 offences, of the nature of which I have not yet had the good for¬ 
 tune to bo informed, except in so far as I am given to infer that 
 they purport of treason. I ask if this be true.” 
 
 The presiding officer bowed his head in token of assent, and then 
 presented a paper, which he described as containing the specifica¬ 
 tion of charges. 
 
 “As an officer of the American army, and the citizen of an inde¬ 
 pendent republic,” continued Butler, “ I protest against any account¬ 
 ability to this tribunal; and, with this protest, I publish my wrongs 
 
292 
 
 HOKSK SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 in the face of these witnesses, and declare them to arise out of facts 
 disgraceful to the character of an honorable nation. I have been 
 drawn by treachery into an ambuscade, overpowered by numbers, 
 insulted and abused by ruffians. I wish I could say that these 
 outrages were practised at the mere motion of the coarse banditti 
 themselves who assailed me; but their manifest subserviency to a 
 plan, the object of which was to take my life, leaves me no room 
 to doubt that they have been in the employ and have acted under 
 the orders of a more responsible head”— 
 
 “ Keep your temper,” interrupted Innis, calmly. “ Something is 
 to be allowed to the excited feelings of one suddenly arrested in 
 the height of a bold adventure, and the court would, therefore, 
 treat your expression of such feelings at this moment with lenity. 
 You will, however, consult your own welfare; by giving your 
 thoughts to the charges against you, and sparing yourself the 
 labor of this useless vituperation. Read that paper, and speak to 
 its contents. We will hear you patiently and impartially.” 
 
 “ Sir, it can avail me nothing to read it. Let it allege what it 
 may, the trial, under present circumstances, will be but a mockery. 
 By the chances of war, my life is in your hands; it is an idle 
 ceremony and waste of time to call in aid the forms of justice, to 
 do that which you have the power to do, without insulting Heaven 
 by affecting to assume one of its attributes.” 
 
 “ That we pause to inquire,” replied Innis, “ is a boon of mercy 
 to you. The offence of rank rebellion which you and all your fel¬ 
 low-madmen have confessed, by taking up arms against your king, 
 carries with it the last degree of punishment. If, waiving our 
 right to inflict summary pain for this transgression, we stay to hear 
 what you can say against other and even weightier charges, you 
 should thank us for our clemency. But this is misspending time. 
 Read the paper to the prisoner,” he added, addressing one of the 
 officers at the table. 
 
 The paper was read aloud. It first presented a charge against 
 the prisoner for violating the terms of the parole given at the capi¬ 
 tulation of Charleston. The specification to support this charge 
 was that, by the terms of the surrender. General Lincoln had 
 engaged that the whole garrison should be suiTendered as prison¬ 
 ers of war, and that they should not seiwe again until exchanged. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 293 
 
 The prisoner was described as an ofBcer of that garrison, included 
 in the surrender, and lately taken in the act of making war upon 
 his majesty’s subjects. 
 
 The second charge was, that the prisoner had insinuated him¬ 
 self, by false representations, into the territory conquered by the 
 royal army; and that, in the quality of a spy, he had visited the 
 family of a certain Walter Adair, with a view to obtain a know¬ 
 ledge of the forces, plans, movements, and designs of the various 
 detachments engaged in his majesty’s service in the neighborhood 
 of Broad River. 
 
 And, third and last, that he, together with certain confederates, 
 had contrived and partially attempted to execute a plan to seize 
 upon and carry away a subject of his majesty’s government, of 
 great consideration and esteem—Mr. Philip Lindsay, namely, of 
 the Dove Cote, in the province of Virginia. That the object of 
 this enterprise was to possess himself of the papers as well as 
 of the person of the said Philip Lindsay, and, by surrendering 
 him up to the leaders of the rebel army, to bring upon him the 
 vengeance of the rebel government, thus exposing him to confisca¬ 
 tion of property, and even to peril of life. 
 
 Such was the general import and bearing of the accusations 
 against the prisoner, expressed with the usual abundance of ver¬ 
 biage and minuteness of detail. Butler listened to them, at fii’st, 
 with indifference, and with a determination to meet them with 
 inflexible silence; but, as the enunciation of them proceeded, and 
 the extraordinary misrepresentations they contained were succes¬ 
 sively disclosed, he found his indignation rising to a height that 
 almost mastered his discretion, and he was on the point of inter¬ 
 rupting the court with the lie direct, and of involving himself in 
 an act of contumacy which would have been instantly decisive of 
 his fate. His better genius, however, prevailed, and, smothering 
 his anger by a strong eflTort of self-control, he merely folded his 
 arms and abided until the end, with a contemptuous and proud 
 glance at his accusers. 
 
 “You have heard the allegations against you, sir,” said Colonel 
 Innis; “ what say you to them ? ” 
 
 “ What should an honorable man,” replied Butler, “ say to such 
 foul aspersions ? The first and second charges, sir, I pronounce to 
 
294 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 be fi'ivolous and false. As to tlie last, sir, tliere are imputations in 
 it that mark the agency of a concealed enemy, lost to every im¬ 
 pulse of honor—a base and wicked liar. Confront me with that 
 man, and let the issue stand on this—if I do not prove him to be, 
 in the judgm^it of every true gentleman of your army, an atro¬ 
 cious and depraved slanderer, who has contrived against my life 
 for selfish purposes, I will submit myself to whatever penalty the 
 most exasperated of my enemies may invent. It was my purpose, 
 sir, to remain silent, and to refuse, by any act of mine, to acknow¬ 
 ledge the violation of the rights .of war by which I have been 
 dragged hither. Nothing coidd have swayed me from that deter¬ 
 mination, but the iniquitous falsehood conveyed in the last accusa¬ 
 tion.” 
 
 “ We cannot bandy words with one in your condition,” inter¬ 
 rupted the president of the court. “I must remind you again, 
 that our purpose is to give you a fair trial, not to listen to ebulli¬ 
 tions of anger. Your honor is concerned in these charges, and you 
 will best consult your interest by a patient demeanor in your pre¬ 
 sent difficulties.” 
 
 “ I am silent,” said Butler, indignantly, taking his seat. 
 
 “Let the trial proceed,” continued the president. “You will 
 not deny,” he said, after an interval of reflection, “ that you are a 
 native of Carolina ? ” 
 
 “ I can scarcely deny that before you,” replied Butler, “ who, in 
 my absence, as report says, have been busy in the investigation of 
 my atfau’s.” 
 
 “ There are bounds, sir, to the forbearance of a court,” said Innis, 
 sternly. “ I understand the taunt. Your estates have been the 
 subject of consideration before another tribunal; and if my advice 
 were listened to, the process relating to them would be a short one.” 
 
 “ You are answered,” returned Butler. 
 
 “Nor can you deny that you were an officer belonging to the 
 army under the command of General Lincoln.” 
 
 Butler was silent. 
 
 “ You were at Charleston during the siege ? ” inquired one of the 
 court. 
 
 “ In part,” replied Butler. “ I left it in March, the bearer of 
 despatches to Congress.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 295 
 
 “And you were in arms on the night of the thirteenth, at Grin- 
 dall’s Ford?” continued the saiue^’questioner. 
 
 “ I confess it, sir.” 
 
 “ That’s enough,” interrupted Innis. “ In the ninth article of 
 the capitulation of Charleston we read: ‘ all civil oflScers, and the 
 citizens who have borne arms during the siege, must be prison¬ 
 er's on parole.’ ” 
 
 “ I should say,” interposed St. Jermyn, who now, for the first 
 time, opened his lips, “ that the prisoner scarcely falls within that 
 description. The words ‘ during the siege ’ would seem to point to 
 a service which lasted to the end. They are, at least, equivocal; 
 and I doubt Lord Cornwallis would be loath to sanction a judgment 
 on such a ground.” 
 
 Upon this ensued a consultation amongst the officers at the table, 
 during which Butler was withdrawn to a short distance in the rear 
 of the assemblage. Several of the unoccupied soldiers of the 
 camp, at this stage of the trial, had crowded into the neighbor¬ 
 hood of the coui-t; and the sentinels, yielding to the eagerness of 
 the common curiosity, had relaxed their guard so far as to allow 
 the spectators to encroach beyond the lines. Among those who 
 had thrust themselves almost up to the trial-table were a few chil¬ 
 dren, male and female, bearing on their arms baskets of fruit and 
 vegetables, which had been brought within the camp for sale. A 
 smart-looking girl, somewhat older than the rest, seemed to have 
 gained more favor from the crowd than her competitors, by the 
 temptation which she presented of a rich collection of mellow 
 r apples ; and perhaps her popularity was in some degree increased 
 by the soft and pjeasant-toned voice in which she recommended 
 her wares, no less than by the ruddy, wholesome hue of her cheek, 
 and an agreeable, laughing, blue eye, that shone forth from the shade 
 of a deep and narrow sun-bonnet, the cm'tain of which fell upon 
 her shoulders and down her back. 
 
 “ Buy my apples, gentlemen,” said the pretty fruit-merchant, 
 coming up fearlessly to Colonel Innis, in the midst of the consulta¬ 
 tion. 
 
 “ Three for a penny; they are very ripe and mellow, sir.” 
 
 The colonel cast his eye upon the treasures of the basket, and 
 began to select a few of the choicest fruit. Thus encouraged, the 
 
296 
 
 HORSK SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 girl set her load upon tlie table, in the midst of the bats and 
 swords with which it was encumbered, and very soon every othei 
 member of the court followed the example of the presiding officei; 
 and became purchasers of the greater part of the store befor« 
 them. When this traffic was concluded, the little huckster took 
 up her burden and retired towards the group of spectators. See 
 ing the prisoner in this quarter, she walked up to him, curtsied, 
 and presented him an apple, which was gi-atefully accepted, and the 
 proffered return, from him, in money, refused. 
 
 When about a quarter of an hour had elapsed, Butler was 
 resummoned to his seat, and the court again proceeded to business. 
 The inquiry now related to the second charge—that, namely, 
 which imputed to the prisoner the character of a spy in his visit 
 at Adair’s. To this accusation. Captain Hugh Habershaw and 
 several of his troop were called as witnesses. The amount of testi¬ 
 mony given by them was, that, on the eleventh of the month, they 
 had received information that a Continental officer, whose real 
 name and title was Major Butler, but who was travelling in dis¬ 
 guise and under an assumed name, from the Catawba towards the 
 Broad River, in company with a well known, stark Whig—a cer¬ 
 tain Horse Shoe Robinson—was expected in a few days to arrive 
 at Wat Adair’s. That Habershaw, hoping to intercept them, had 
 scoured the country between the two rivers; but that the travellere 
 had eluded the search, by taking a very circuitous and unfrequented 
 route towards the upper part of Blair’s Range and Fishing Creek. 
 That, on the night of the twelfth, the two men arrived at Adair’s, 
 unmolested; and, on the morning of the thirteenth, some of the 
 woodman’s family had met Habershaw and apprised him of this 
 fact; adding, further, that the prisoner had offered a bribe to 
 Adair, to induce him to give information in regard to the loyalist 
 troops in the neighborhood, with a vdew to communicate it to a 
 certain Colonel Clarke, who had appointed to meet Butler and his 
 companion somewhere on the ujiper border of the province. That, 
 in consequence of this attempt, Adair had directed the prisoner 
 towards Grinclall’s Ford ; and, this intelligence being communicated 
 to the witness, he had conducted his troop to that place, where he 
 succeeded in arresting the prisoner and his comrade, with the loss 
 of two men in the struggle. The narrative then went on to give 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 297 
 
 the particulars of Horse Shoe’s escape, and the other facts with 
 which the reader is acquainted. This account was corroborated by- 
 several witnesses, and, amongst the rest, by Curry. 
 
 Butler heard the testimony -with the most painful sensations. 
 There was. just enough of truth in it to make the tale plausible, 
 and the falsehood related to points which, as they were afSrmed 
 upon hearsay, he could not repel by proof. There was a common 
 expression of opinion amongst the bystanders—who in general 
 were inclined to take the side of the prisoner in reference to the 
 charge which was supposed to affect his life—that this accusation 
 of Butler’s acting the part of a spy Avas sustained by the proof. 
 In vain did he protest against the injustice of being condemned on 
 Avhat was alleged to have been said by some of Adair’s family; in 
 vain did he deny that he had offered a bribe to Adair for informa¬ 
 tion respecting the Tories ; and equally in vain did he affirm that 
 he had asked of Adair nothing more than the common hospitality 
 due to a traveller, and for which he had made him a moderate 
 requital—the only money the woodman had received from him. 
 The current was now setting violently against him, and it seemed 
 impossible to stem it. 
 
 “ It is but due,” said Captain St. Jermyn, a second time inter¬ 
 posing in behalf of the prisoner, “ to the rank and character of 
 Major Butler, since a portion of this testimony is second-hand, to 
 take his own examination on these alleged facts. With permission, 
 therefore, I would ask him a few questions.” 
 
 “ The court will not object,” said Innis, who throughout affected 
 the air of an impartial judge. 
 
 “ It is true, Major Butler, that you were at Adair’s on the night 
 of the twelfth ?” said the volunteer advocate of the prisoner. 
 
 “ I Avas, sir.” 
 
 “ And you made no concealment of your name or rank ?” 
 
 “ I Avill not say that,” replied Butler. 
 
 “You Avere under a feigned name then, sir?” inquired Innis, as 
 St. Jermyn seemed a little confounded by the ansAver he had 
 received. 
 
 “ I Avas called Mr. Butler, sir; my rank or station Avas not com¬ 
 municated.” 
 
 “ Your dress ?” 
 
 13 * 
 
298 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON.' 
 
 “ Was an assumed one, to avoid inquiry.” 
 
 “ This man, Horse Shoe Robinson,” said St. Jermyn, “ was 
 known to Adair as a whig soldier ?” 
 
 “Well known,” replied Butler ; “ and I was also represented as 
 belonging to that party.' Adair himself led us to believe that he. 
 was friendly to our cause.” 
 
 Here several members of the court smiled. 
 
 “ Had you met any parties of loyalists,” inquired Innis, “ in your 
 journey between Catawba and Broad ?” 
 
 “We had—more than one.” 
 
 “ How did you escape them ?” 
 
 “ By assuming feigned characters and names.” 
 
 “ Your purpose was to join Clarke ?” 
 
 “ I am not at liberty to answer that question,” replied the pri¬ 
 soner. “ Suffice it, sh, I was ti’avelling through this region on a 
 mission of duty. My purpose was to act against the enemy. So 
 far the charge is true, and only to this extent. I came with no 
 design to pry into the condition of the royal troops ; I sought only 
 a successful passage through a contested, though sadly overpowered 
 country.” 
 
 “ You offered no money to Adair,” said St. Jermyn again, as if 
 insisting on this point of exculpation, “ but what you have already 
 called a moderate requital for his entertainment ?” 
 
 “ None,” replied the piisoner—“ except,” he added, “ a guinea, 
 to induce him to release, from some wicked torture, a wolf he had 
 entrapped.” 
 
 “ It will not do,” said Colonel Innis, shaking his head at St. 
 Jermyn; and the same opinion was indicated in the looks of 
 several of the court. 
 
 “ I was at Walter Adair’s that night, and saw the gentleman 
 there, and heard all that was said by him ; and I am sure that he 
 offered Watty no money,” said our little apple-girl, who had been 
 listening with breathless anxiety to the whole of this examination, 
 and who had now advanced to the table as she spoke the words. 
 “ And I can tell more about it, if I am asked.” 
 
 “ And who are you, my pretty maid ?” inquired Colonel Innis, 
 as he lifted the bonnet from her head and let loose a volume of 
 flaxen curls down upon her neck. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 299 
 
 “ I am Mary Musgrove, the miller’s daughter,” said the damsel, 
 with great earnestness of manner, “ and Watty Adair is my uncle, 
 by my mother’s side—he married my aunt Peggy ; and I was at 
 his house when Major Butler and Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson came 
 there.” 
 
 “ And what in the devil brought you here ?” said Habershaw, 
 gruffly. 
 
 “ Silence!” cried Innis, impatient at the obtrusive interruption 
 of the gross captain. “ What authority have you to ask questions ? 
 Begone, sir.” 
 
 The heavy bulk of Hugh Habershaw, at this order, sneaked back 
 into the crowd. 
 
 “ I came only to sell a few apples,” said Mary. 
 
 “ Heaven has sent that girl to the rescue of my life,” said Butler, 
 under the impulse of a feeling which he could not refrain from 
 giring vent to in words. “ Pray allow me, sir, to ask her some 
 questions.” 
 
 “ It is your privilege,” was the answer from two or three of the 
 court; and the spectators pressed forward to hear the examina¬ 
 tion. 
 
 Butler carefully interrogated the maiden as to all the particulars \ 
 of his visit, and she, with the most scrupulous fidelity, recounted 
 the scenes to which she had been a witness. When she came to 
 detail the conversation which she had overheard between Adair 
 and Lynch, and the events that followed it, the interest of the by¬ 
 standers was wound up to the highest pitch. There was a simpli¬ 
 city in her recital of this strange and eventful story, that gave it a 
 force to which the most skilful eloquence might in vain aspire; 
 and when she concluded, the court itself, prejudiced as the mem¬ 
 bers were against the prisoner, could not help manifesting an emo¬ 
 tion of satisfaction at the clear and unequivocal refutation which 
 tliis plain tale inferred against the testimony of Habershaw and 
 his confederates. Innis alone affected to treat it lightly, and 
 endeavored in some degree to abate its edge, by suggesting doubts 
 as to the capacity of a young girl, in circumstance so likely to con¬ 
 fuse her, to give an exact narrative of such a complicated train of 
 events, fevery cross-examination, however, which was directed to 
 the accuracy of the maiden’s story, only resulted in producing a 
 
300 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 stronger conviction of its entire truth. This concluded the exami¬ 
 nation on the second charge. 
 
 The court now proceeded to the third and last accusation against 
 the prisoner. 
 
 To this there was hut one witness called—James Curiy. In the 
 course of the examination this man shoAved great address and 
 knowledge of the world. He gave some short account of himself. 
 He had been a man horn to a better condition of life than he now 
 enjoyed. His education had been liberal, and his associations in 
 life extremely various. It was to be infenied from his own relation, 
 that he had fallen into some early indiscretion which had thrown 
 him into the lowest stations of society, and that his original delin¬ 
 quency had prevented him from ever rising above them. He had 
 served for many years in the army, and was present at the surren¬ 
 der of Charleston, being at that period a confidential servant, or 
 man of business, to the young Earl of Caithness, the aide-de-camp 
 of Sir Henry Clinton. Upon the departure of that young noble¬ 
 man with the rest of Sir Henry’s military family, for New York, he 
 had remained behind, and had taken a similar service to that which 
 he had left, with another oflBcer of some repute. “ There were 
 state reasons,” he said, “ why this gentleman’s name could not now 
 be communicated to the court.” That, in the month of July, he 
 had attended his master on a visit to Mr. Philip Lindsay, in Vir¬ 
 ginia ; and whilst in the immediate vicinity of that gentleman’s 
 residence, at a small country tavern, he had accidentally become 
 priAy to the design of the prisoner, and the same Horse Shoe Ro¬ 
 binson who had been mentioned before, to seize upon the person 
 and papers of Mr. Lindsay : that these two persons had actually 
 arrived at the tavern he spoke of to commence operations. That 
 he had overheard them discussing the Avhole plan ; and he had no 
 doubt they had allies at hand to assist in the scheme, and would 
 have proceeded that same night to put it in execution, if he had 
 not frustrated their design at the risk of his life. That, Avith the 
 view of interrupting this enterprise, he had lured Robinson, the 
 f companion of the prisoner, to Avalk with him at night to the mar- 
 I gin of a small river near the tavern, where he accused him of the 
 ^ treacherous design which he and his comrade had in view : that, 
 in consequence of this, Robinson had endeavored to take his life, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 301 
 
 •which was only saved by a severe struggle ; and that, being thus 
 discovered in their purpose, tlris man, Robinson, and the prisoner 
 had made a hasty retreat towards Gates’s head-quarters. 
 
 Such was in effect the narrative of James Curry, which was 
 solemnly given upon oath. Butler was for some moments con¬ 
 founded with astonishment at the audacity of this falsehood. He 
 urged to the court the improbability of the whole story. “ It 
 would have been easy,” he said, “if I had been hostile to Mr. 
 Philip Lindsay—which, God knows, there are most cogent reasons 
 to disprove—it would have been easy to procure his arrest without 
 an attempt at a violent seizure by me. I had only to speak, and 
 the whole country around him would have united in treating him 
 as an object of suspicion, on account of his politics.” He admit¬ 
 ted that he was at Mrs. Dimock’s at the time spoken of—that Ro¬ 
 binson attended him there; but all else that had been said relating 
 to the visit, he affirmed to be utterly false. He gave the particu¬ 
 lars of the meeting between Horse Shoe and the witness, as he 
 liad it from Robinson; and spoke also of his knowledge of the 
 visit of Tyrrel at the Dove Cote—“ which person,” he said, “ he 
 had reason to believe, came under a name not his O'wn.” 
 
 “ How do you happen to be so familiar,” inquired Innis, “ with 
 the afl’airs of Mr. Lindsay ? ” 
 
 “ That question,” replied Butler, “ as it refers to matters entirely 
 private and personal, I must decline to answer.” 
 
 Curry, upon a second examination, re-aflSrmed all he had said 
 before, and commented with a great deal of dexterity upon But¬ 
 ler’s statement, particularly in reference to such parts of it as the 
 prisoner’s repeated refusal to answer had left in doubt. After a 
 protracted examination upon this point, the trial was at length 
 closed, and Butler was ordered back to his apartment in the farm¬ 
 house. 
 
 Here he remained for the space of half an hoiu', an interval that 
 was passed by him in the most distressing doubt and anxiety. The 
 whole proceeding of the court boded ill to him. The haste of his 
 trial, the extraordinary nature of the charges, and the general un¬ 
 sympathizing demeanor of the court itself, only spoke to his mind 
 as evidences of a concealed hostility, which sought to find a plausi¬ 
 ble pretext for making him a sacrifice to some private malevolence. 
 
302 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 
 He was therefore prepared to expect the worst when, at the close 
 of the half hour, St. Jerinyn entered his chamber. 
 
 “ I come, sir,” said the officer, “ to perform a melancholy duty. 
 The court have just concluded their deliberations.” 
 
 “And I am to be a sacrifice to their vengeance. Well, so be it! 
 There was little need of deliberation in my case, and they have 
 soon despatched it,” said Butler, with a bitter spirit, as he paced 
 up and down his narrow chamber. “ What favor have these, my 
 impartial judges, vouchsafed to me in my last moment ? Shall I 
 die as a common felon, on a gibbet, or am I to meet a soldier’s 
 doom ? ” 
 
 “ That has been thought of,” said St. Jermyn. “ The command¬ 
 ing officer has no disposition to add unnecessary severity to your 
 unhappy fate.” 
 
 “ Thank God for that! and that the files detailed for this ser¬ 
 vice are to be drawn from the ranks of my enemies ! I will face 
 them as proudly as I have ever done on the field of battle. Leave 
 me, SH; I have matters in my thought that require I should be 
 alone.” 
 
 “ Your time, I fear, is brief,” said St. Jermyn. “ The guard is 
 already at hand to conduct you to the comd, who only stay to pass 
 sentence. I came before to break the unhappy news to you.” 
 
 “ It is no news to me,” interrupted Butler. “ I could expect no 
 other issue to the wicked designs by which I have been seized. This 
 solemn show of a trial was only got up to give color to a mm-der- 
 ous act which has been long predetermined.” 
 
 At this moment, the heavy and regular tap of the drum, struck 
 at equal intervals, and a mournful note from a fife, reached the 
 prisoner’s ear. 
 
 “ I come ! ” exclaimed Butler. “ These fellows are practising their 
 manual for an occasion in which they appear impatient to act. 
 One would think. Captain St. Jermyn,” he added, with a smile of 
 scorn, “ that they needed but little practice to accomplish them for 
 a ceremony which has of late, since his majesty has extended his 
 merciful arm over this province, grown to be a familiar piece of 
 military punctilio.’” 
 
 St. Jermyn hastily fled from the room, and rushing out upon the 
 grass-plot where the guard was Qollected, cried out: 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 303 
 
 “ Silence, you base and worthless knaves ! Is it thus you would 
 insult the sufferings of an unfortunate enemy, by drumming, under 
 his very ear, your cursed death-notes ? Strike but one note upon 
 that drum again, and I will have you up to the halberds.” 
 
 “ The music did but try a flourish of the dead march,” rephed 
 the sergeant of the guard ; “ they are a little rusty, and seeing that 
 the Whig officer ”— 
 
 “Another word, sir, and you shall be sent to the provost-marshal. 
 Attend the prisoner.” 
 
 “ I am here,” said Butler, who had overheard this conversation, 
 and had already descended to the door. 
 
 With a mournful and heavy heart, though with a countenance 
 that concealed his emotions under an air of proud defiance, he took 
 his place in the ranks, and marched to the spot where the court 
 were yet assembled. 
 
 “A chair for the prisoner,” said some of the individuals present, 
 with an officious alacrity to serve him. 
 
 “ I would rather stand,” replied Butler. “ It is my pleasure to 
 hear the behests of my enemies in the attitude a soldier would 
 choose to meet his foe in the field.” 
 
 “ Mine is a painful duty. Major Butler,” said Innis, rising, as he 
 addressed the prisoner. “ It is to announce to you that, after a 
 full and most impartial trial, in which you have had the advantage 
 of the freest examination of witnesses, and every favor accorded to 
 you which the usages and customs of war allow, you have been 
 found guilty of two of the charges imputed to you in the list with 
 which you were furnished this morning. Notwithstanding the 
 satisfactory testimony which was given in your behalf by the girl 
 Mary Musgrove, in relation to your conduct at the house of Adair, 
 and however disposed the court were to abandon an accusation 
 which thus seemed to be refuted, it has occurred to them, upon 
 subsequent reflection, that, by your own confession—given, sir, 
 permit me to say, with the frankness of a soldier—^you came into 
 this district in disguise and under false names, and thus enabled 
 yourself to collect information relative to the condition of the royal 
 forces, which it was doubtless your purpose to use to our detriment. 
 The court, for a moment, might have led you to entertain hope 
 that they were satisfied that in this charge you had been wronged. 
 
304 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 The simple, affecting, and, no doubt, true narrative made by the 
 miller’s daughter produced a momentary sensation that was too 
 powerful to be combated. That narrative, however, does not 
 relieve you from the effect of your own confessions, since both 
 may be true, and the charge still remain unimpaired against 
 you. 
 
 “ The offence of breaking your parole and infringing the terms 
 of the capitulation of Charleston, is open to a legal doubt, and, 
 therefore, in tenderness to you, has not been pressed; although 
 the court think, that the very circumstance of its doubtful charac¬ 
 ter should have inculcated upon you the necessity of the most 
 scrupulous avoidance of service in the conquered province. 
 
 “ The last charge against you is fully proved. Not a word of 
 counter evidence has been offered. Strictly speaking, by the usages 
 of war, this would not be an offence for the notice of a military 
 tribunal. The perpetrators of it would be liable to such vindictive 
 measures as the policy of the conqueror might choose to adopt. 
 That we have given you, therefore, the benefit of an inquiry, you 
 must regard as an act of grace, springing out of our sincere desire 
 to do you ample justice. The nature of the offence imputed and 
 proved is such as, at this moment, every consideration of expedi¬ 
 ency demands should be visited with exemplary punishment. The 
 friends of the royal cause, wherever they may reside, shall be pro¬ 
 tected from the wrath of the rebel government; and we have, 
 therefore, no scruple in saying, that the attempt upon the 
 person of Mr. Philip Lindsay requires a signal retribution. But 
 for this last act, the court might have been induced to overlook 
 all your other trespasses. Upon this, however, there is no hesita¬ 
 tion. 
 
 “ Such being the state of the facts ascertained by this tribunal, 
 its function ceases with its certificate of the truth of what has been 
 proved before it. The rest remains to me. Without the form of 
 an investigation, I might, as the commanding officer of a corps on 
 detached service, and by virtue of special power conferred upon me, 
 have made up a private judgment in the case. I have forborne to do 
 that, until, by the sanction of a verdict of my comrades, I might 
 assure myself that I acted on the clearest proofs. These have been 
 rendered. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 305 
 
 “ My order, therefore, is, in accordance with the clear decision of 
 the court,—and, speaking to a soldier, I use no unnecessary phrase 
 of condolence,—that you be shot to death. Time presses on us aad 
 forbids delay. You will be conducted to immediate execution. 
 Major Frazer,” he said, turning to one of his officers, “to your 
 discretion I commit this unpleasant duty.” Then, in a tone of 
 private direction, he added, “ Let it be done without delay ; pomp 
 and ceremony are out of place in such a matter. I wish to have 
 it despatched at once.” 
 
 “ I would speak,” said Butler, repressing the agitation of his 
 feelings, and addressing Innis with a stern solemnity, “ not to 
 implore your mercy, nor to deprecate your sentence: even if I could 
 stoop to such an act of submission, I know my appeal would reach 
 your ears like the idle wind: but I have private affairs to 
 speak of.” 
 
 “ They were better untold, sir,” interrupted Innis with an affected 
 air of indifference. “I can listen to nothing now. We have other 
 business to think of. These last requests and settlements of private 
 affairs are always troublesome,” he muttered in a tone just audible 
 to the officers standing near him; “ they conjure up useless sympa¬ 
 thies.” 
 
 “ I pray you, sir,” interposed St. Jermjm. 
 
 “ It is in vain, I cannot hear it,” exclaimed the commander, evi¬ 
 dently struggling to shake from his mind an uncomfortable weight. 
 “ These are woman’s requests ! God’s mercy! How does this 
 differ from death upon the field of battle ? a soldier is always 
 ready. Ha ! What have we here ?” he exclaimed, as a trooper 
 rode up to the group. “ Where are you from ? What news ? ” 
 
 “ A vidette from Rocky Mount,” answered the horseman. “ I am 
 sent to inform you that, yesterday, Sumpter defeated three hundred 
 of our people on the Catawba, and has made all that were alive, 
 prisoners, besides capturing fifty or sixty wagons of stores which 
 the detachment had under convoy for Camden.” 
 
 The first inquiries that followed this communication related to 
 Sumpter’s position, and especially whether he was advancing 
 towards this camp. 
 
 “ Ho is still upon Catawba, tending northwards,” replied the 
 vidette. 
 
306 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “Tlien we are free from danger,” interrupted Innis. “I am 
 stripping the feathers from a bird to-day that is worth half of Sump¬ 
 ter’s prize,” he added, with a revengeful smile, to an oflScer who 
 stood by him. 
 
 During this interval, in which the commander of the post was en¬ 
 gaged with the vidette, the guard had conducted the prisoner back to 
 the house, and Innis, freed from the restraint of Butler’s presence, 
 now gave way to the expression of a savage exultation at the 
 power which the events of the morning had given him, to inflict 
 punishment upon one that he termed an audacious rebel. “ The 
 chances jump well with us,” he said, “when they enable us to 
 season the joy of these ragged traitors, by so notable a deed as the 
 execution of one of their shrewdest emissaries. This fellow Butler 
 has consideration amongst them, and fortune too : at least he had 
 it, but that has gone into better hands; and, to say truth, he has a 
 bold and mischievous spirit. The devil has instigated him to cross 
 our path ; he shall have the devil’s comfort for it. The whole party 
 taken did you say ? ”— 
 
 “ Every man, sir,” replied the vidette. 
 
 “ How many men had this skulking fellow, Sumpter, at his back ?” 
 
 “ They say about seven hundred.” 
 
 “ And did the cowards strike to seven hundred rebels ?” 
 
 “ They were tangled with the wagons,” said the soldier, “ and 
 were set on unawares, on the bank of the river, at the lower ferry.” 
 
 “ Aye, that’s the way! An ambuscade, no doubt,—a piece of 
 cowardly bush-fighting. Fresh men against j)oor devils worn 
 down by long marching ! Well, well, I have a good requital for 
 the rascally trick. Major Butler’s blood -will weigh heavy in the 
 scale, or I am mistaken ! Come, gentlemen, let us to quarters—we 
 must hold a council.” 
 
 “ Here is a letter,” said one of the oflScers of the court, “ which 
 I have this moment found on the table, under my sword belt; it 
 seems, from its address, to contain matter of moment. How it came 
 here does not appear.” 
 
 j “ ‘ To Colonel Innis, or aqy other officer commanding a corps in 
 1 his majesty’s service,”’ said Innis, reading the sujierscription; 
 j “besides, here is something significant, ‘/or life or death, with 
 speed' What can this mean?” he added, as he broke open the 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 307 
 
 paper and ran Iiis eyes hastily over the contents. St. George! 
 here is something strange, gentlemen. Listen !— 
 
 “ ‘By ill luck I have fallen into the possession of the'Whigs. They have 
 received intelligence of the capture of Major Butler, and, apprehending that 
 some mischief might befal him, have constrained me to mform you that my 
 life will be made answerable for any harsh treatment that he may receive 
 at the hands of our friends. They are resolute men, and will certainly 
 make me the victim of their retaliation. 
 
 Edgar St. Jermvn, 
 
 Ensign of the YlstReg’t. 
 
 P. S. For God’s sake respect this paper, and be lenient to the prisoner.’ ” 
 
 “ Treason and forgery, paltry forgery !” exclaimed Innis, with a 
 smile of derision, as he finished reading the letter. “ What ho ! 
 tell Frazer to lead out the prisoner, and despatch him without a 
 moment’s delay. So much for this shallow artifice !” 
 
 “ A base forgery,” said one of the officers in attendance, “ and 
 doubtless the work of the rebel major himself. He will die with 
 this silly lie upon his conscience. St. Jermyn, here !” cried out 
 the same officer to the captain, who was now at some distance, 
 “ here is an attempt to put a trick upon us by a counterfeit of your 
 brother’s hand, telling a most doleful and improbable falsehood. 
 Look at it.” 
 
 St. Jermyn read the letter, and suddenly turning pale, exclaimed : 
 “ Sir, this is no trick. It is my brother’s own writing. He is in 
 the custody of the Whigs! How came this here ? Who brought 
 it ? When was it written ? Can nobody tell me ?” 
 
 “ Tut, St. Jermyn !” interrupted the officer, smiling, “ you surely 
 cannot be imposed upon by such a device. Look at the scrawl 
 again. In truth, are you sure of it, man ?” he inquhed with great 
 surprise, as he perceived the increasing paleness of St. Jermyn’s 
 brow. 
 
 “ My brother’s life is in imminent danger,” replied St. Jermyn, 
 with intense earnestness. “ Colonel Innis, as you value my happi¬ 
 ness, I entreat you, countermand the order for the prisoner’s execu- 
 ti( jQ. I implore you, respect this letter; it is genuine, and I dread 
 t' } consequences. My poor brother, the youngest of my family, 
 
308 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 and the special darling of his parents! For heaven’s sake, good 
 colonel, pause until we learn something more of this mysterious 
 business.” 
 
 “ For your sake, my friend, and until we can investigate this 
 matter,” said Innis, “ let the execution be suspended.” 
 
 St. Jermyn instantly hurried to the guard, to communicate the 
 new order. 
 
 “ Whence comes this missive ?” demanded Innis. “ It has 
 neither date nor place described. Who brought it ? Did any one 
 see the bearer he asked aloud of the bystanders. 
 
 No one answered except the officer who had first discovered 
 the paper. “ I know nothing more than what you see. It was 
 here upon the table. How long it had been there I cannot tell.” 
 
 “ It is strange,” continued Innis. “ Can this young St. Jermyn 
 have fallen in with Sumpter ? Or, after all, is it not an ingenious 
 forgery which has deceived our friend the captain ? Still, who 
 could have brought it here ?” 
 
 The letter was again examined by every individual present. 
 
 “ It must be genuine,” said one of the officers, shaking his head. 
 “ Captain St. Jermyn was very much in earnest, and it is not likely 
 he could be deceived. It has been mysteriously deposited here by 
 some agent of the Whigs. The person should be found, and com¬ 
 pelled to give us more specific information. This matter must be 
 looked to; the ensign, I doubt not, is in perilous circumstances.” 
 
 “ Let the prisoner be strictly guarded, and held to wait our future 
 pleasure,” said Innis. “ I would not put in jeopardy the young 
 ensign’s life. A reward of twenty guineas shall be given to any 
 one who brings me the bearer of this letter. And you. Lieutenant 
 Connelly, take thudy troopers, and scoui- the country round to gain 
 intelligence of this capture of Edgar St. Jermyn. .Be careful to 
 examine every man you meet, as to the presence of Whig parties in 
 this district. Away instantly, and do not return without tidings 
 of this singular event.” 
 
 The camp, by these occurrences, was thrown into gi'eat bustle. 
 The prisoner was securely lodged in his former quarters, and placed 
 under a double guard; consultations were held amongst the 
 officers ; and Butler himself was strictly inteiTOgated in regard to 
 the appearance of this mysterious letter, of the contents of which 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 809 
 
 he was yet ignorant. The examination threw no light on the 
 affair; and, very soon afterwards, a troop of horee were seen sally¬ 
 ing beyond the limits of the camp, under Lieutenant Connelly, to 
 seek information of the fate of Ensign St. Jermyn. 
 
 4 
 
 i 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE sergeant and HIS COMRADE PROJECT AN EXPEDITION WHICH 
 FURNISHES THE ENSIGN AN OPPORTUNITY OF ENJOYING THE 
 PICTURESQUE. 
 
 As soon as David Ramsay had departed with the maiden for 
 MusgTove’s mill, Robinson ordered his own and Christopher Shaw’s 
 horse to be saddled, and another to be made ready for St. Jermyn. 
 His next care was to determine upon a secure place of retreat— 
 reflecting that the news of the capture of the ensign must soon 
 reach the British posts, and that the country would be industriously 
 explored with a view to his rescue. A spot liijown to the 
 woodsmen of this region by the name of the Devil’s Ladder, 
 which was situated in the defile of a mountain brook that emptied 
 into the Ennoree, occuned to Christopher Shaw as the most secret 
 fastness within their reach. This spot lay some twenty miles 
 westward of Ramsay’s, accessible by roads but little known, and 
 surrounded by a district which grew more wild and rugged the 
 nearer it approached the defile. 
 
 Here it was supposed the party might arrive by daylight the 
 next morning, and remain for a few days at small risk of discovery; 
 and thither, accordingly, it was resolved they should repair. 
 
 This being settled. Horse Shoe now procured a supply of pro¬ 
 visions from Mistress Ramsay, and then proceeded to arm himself 
 with the sword and pistols of the ensign, whilst Christopher 
 suspended across his body the sword of Goliath, as the sergeant 
 called the brand he had snatched up at Blackstock’s, and also took 
 possession of one of the captured muskets. 
 
 “ If it don’t go against your conscience. Mistress Ramsay,” said 
 Horse Shoe, when the preparations for the journey were completed, 
 “ I would take it as a favor, in case any interlopers mought happen 
 to pop in upon you, if you would just drop a hint that you have 
 
311 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 hearn that Sumpter’s people had been seen about these parts. It 
 would have an amazing good hearing on the Tories. Besides 
 making them wary how they strayed about the woods it would he 
 sure to. put the bloodhounds on a wrong scent, if they should 
 chance to be sarching for the young ensign. I know you women 
 are a little'ticklish about a fib, but then it’s an honest trick of the war 
 sometimes. And, to make you easy about it, it will be no more 
 than the truth to say you did hear it—for, you obsarve, I tell you 
 so now.” 
 
 “ But,” replied the scrupulous matron, “ if they should ask me 
 who told me, what should I answer ?” 
 
 “ Why,” said the sergeant, hesitating, “just out with it—tell ’em 
 you heard it from one Horse Shoe Robinson; that’ll not make th^- 
 news the worse in point of credit. And be sure, good woman, 
 above all things, to remind Da\dd, when he gets back to night, 
 that the rank and file, in our prison yonder, are not to be turned 
 loose before three o’clock in the morning.” 
 
 This last caution was repeated to Andy, who still performed the 
 duty of a sentinel at the door of the out-house. All things being 
 now arranged for theh departure. Ensign St. Jermyn was brought 
 from the chamber where he had been confined, and was invited to 
 join the sergeant and Christopher at supper before they set out. 
 This meal was ably and rapidly discussed by the stout yeomen, and 
 scarcely less honored by the prisoner, whom the toils and privations 
 of the day had brought to enjoyment of a good appetite. 
 
 With many cheering and kind expressions of encoin-agement 
 from the sergeant, the young officer pre2>ared to comply with the 
 demands of his captors, and was soon in readiness to attend them. 
 Robinson lifted him into his saddle with a grasp as light as if he 
 was dealing with a boy, and then bound him by a surcingle to the 
 horse’s back, whilst he offered a good-humored apology for the 
 rigor of this treatment. 
 
 “ It is not the most comfortable way of riding, Mr. Ensign,” he 
 said, with a chuckle; “ but fast bind, fast find, is a’most an 
 excellent good rule for a traveller in the dark. I hope you don’t 
 think I take any pleasure in oncommoding you, but it is mv 
 intention to lead your horse by the rein to-night, and this friend of 
 mine will keep in the rear. So, by way of a caution, I would just 
 
312 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 signify to you that if you should thinh of playing a prank you 
 will certainly bring some trouble upon your head—as one or 
 another of us would in that case be obliged to fire. It is nothing 
 more than military punctilium to give you a friendly warning of 
 this.” 
 
 “You might dispense with this severity, I should think,” replied 
 the prisoner, “ upon my pledge of honor that I will make no effort 
 to escape.” 
 
 “ I can take no pledge in the dark,” returned Horse Shoe ; 
 “ daylight mought make a dift’erence. If we should happen to fall 
 in vdth any of yom- gangs I’m thinking a pledge wouldn’t come to 
 much more than a cobweb when I should ax you to gallop out of 
 the way of your own people. Flesh is weak, as the preacher says, 
 and, to my mind, it’s a little the weaker when the arm is strong or 
 the foot swift. Temptation is at the bottom of all backsliding. 
 No, no, Mr. Ensign, you may get away, if you can ; we’ll take care 
 of you whilst we’re able—that’s a simple understanding.” 
 
 Without further speech the party proceeded on their journey. 
 They travelled as rapidly as was consistent with the ease of 
 the prisoner and the nature of the ground over which they had 
 to move. For the first eight or ten miles, their route lay across 
 a country with but few impediments, except such as arose 
 from the unseasonable hour of the ride. After this they found the 
 toil and hazard of travel continually increasing. They had been 
 retreating from the settled country towards a rough wilderness, 
 which was penetrated only by an obscure road, so little beaten as 
 tc^ be scarcely discernible in the faint starlight, and which it 
 required all Christopher’s skill in Avoodcraft to follow. Our 
 travellers, consequently, often lost their way, and were obliged to 
 get down from their horses and gTope about to ascertain the path. 
 The stars had shone all night through a cloudless firmament, but 
 the deep shade of the forest thickened around the wanderers, and 
 it was frequently with difficulty, even, that they could discern each 
 other’s figures. 
 
 They reached at length the small stream upon whose banks, 
 some miles above, was situated the place to which their steps were 
 directed ; and they were thus rendered more sure of their road, as 
 they had only to follow the ascending course of the brook. The 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 WILLIAMS TAKES A FANCY TO FOREST LIFE.-HORSE SHOE AND 
 
 JOHN RAMSAY CONTINUE ACTIVE IN THE SERVICE OF BUTLER.- 
 
 MARY MUSGROVE BECOMES A VALUABLE AUXILIARY. 
 
 Williams had commenced his retreat before the dawn, as much 
 witli a view to accomplish a large portion of his journey before 
 the heat of the day, as to protect himself against the probable 
 pursuit of the rallied forces of the enemy. His destination was 
 towards the mountains on the north-western frontier. The over¬ 
 throw of Gates had left a large force of Tory militia at the dis¬ 
 posal of Cornwallis, who, it was conjectured, would use them to 
 break up every remnant of opposition in this region. It was there¬ 
 fore a matter of great importance to AVilliams, to conduct his 
 little force into some place of security against the attacks of the 
 royalists. 
 
 Colonel Elijah Clarke had, ever since the fall of Charleston, been 
 employed in keeping together the few scattered Whig_^ families in 
 that part of Carolina lying contiguous to the Savannah, with a 
 view to an organized plan of resistance against the British authori¬ 
 ties ; and he had so far accomplished his purpose as to have pro¬ 
 cured some three or four hundred men, who had agi-eed to hold 
 themselves in readiness to strike a blow whenever the occasion 
 ottered. These men were to be mustered at any moment by a pre¬ 
 concerted signal; and, in the meantime, they were instructed, by 
 confining themselves to their dwellings, or pursuing their ordinary 
 occupations, to keep as much as possible out of the way of the 
 dominant authorities. 
 
 Clarke resided in Georgia, whence he had fled as soon as the 
 royalist leader. Brown, had taken possession of Augusta ; and we 
 have already seen that a letter from Colonel Pinckney, at Charles¬ 
 ton, which Home Shoe Robinson had been intrusted to deliver, 
 
 15 
 
388 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 had summoned Arthur Butler to this frontier to aid in Clarke’s 
 enterprise. 
 
 Colonel Isaac Shelby, a resident of Washington county in Vir¬ 
 ginia, until the settlement of the southern line of the State had 
 left him in the district at present known as Sullivan county in 
 Tennessee, had been an efficient auxiliary in Clarke’s scheme, and 
 was now ready to summon a respectable number of followers for 
 the support of the war on the mountain border. He and Clarke 
 had accidentally arrived at Williams’s camp a day or two before 
 the attack upon Innis, with a view to a consultation as to the gene¬ 
 ral interests of the meditated campaign; and they had only tar¬ 
 ried to take a part in the engagement from a natural concern for 
 the fate of their intended comrade, Butler. Having no further 
 motive for remaining with Williams, they were both intent upon 
 returning to their respective duties, and, accordingly, during the 
 retreat of the following day, they took their leave. 
 
 The vigilance with which these partisans were watched by their 
 enemies, almost forbade the present hope of successful combina¬ 
 tion. From a co;isciousness of the hazard of attempting to concen¬ 
 trate their forces at this juncture, they had determined still to pur¬ 
 sue their separate schemes of annoyance, until a more favorable 
 moment for joint action should arise; and, in the interval, to hide 
 themselves as much as possible in the forest. It was consequently 
 in the hope of preserving his independence at least, if not of aid¬ 
 ing Clarke, that Williams now moved with so much despatch to 
 the mountains. 
 
 His course lay towards the head waters of the Fair Forest river, 
 in the present region of Spartanburg. This district was inhabited 
 only by a few hunters, and some scattered Indians of an inoffensive 
 character; it abounded in game, and promised to afford an easy 
 subsistence to men whose habits were simple, and who were 
 accustomed to rely upon the chase for support. The second day 
 brought our hardy soldiers into the sojourn they sought. It was a 
 wilderness broken by mountains, and intersected by streams of 
 surpassing transparency; whilst its elevated position and . southern 
 latitude conferred upon it a climate that was then, as well as now, 
 remarked for its delicious temperature in summer, and its exemption 
 from the rigors of winter. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 MARY MUS grove’s PERPLEXITIES. 
 
 As a mariner who watches the heavens from the deck, and notes 
 the first uprising of the small cloud, “ no bigger than a man’s hand,” 
 that to his practised eye shoivs the sign of tempest; and anon, 
 as the speck quickly changes into a lurid mass, whence volume 
 after volume of dun vapor is driven in curled billows forward, 
 covering the broad welkin with a gloomy pall, he looks more fre¬ 
 quently and more intently upwards, anxious to lay his vessel safe, 
 and assure himself of his proper course- to steer: so—not with the 
 same doubt of safety, but with the same restless inspection of the 
 heavens—did Mary watch the slow approach of night. First, she 
 looked wistfully at the declining ,'?un, and observed with pleasure 
 the night-hawk begin to soar : then, through the long twilight, she 
 noted the thickening darkness, and saw the bat take wing, and 
 heard the frog croaking from Kis pool. And as the stars, one by 
 one, broke forth upon the night, it gladdened her to think the hour 
 of her mission was approaching, for she was troubled in her spirit 
 and anxious to acquit herself of her charitable office; and perhaps, 
 too, it may be told of her, without prejudice to her modest, maidenly 
 emotions, a spur was given to her wishes by the hope of meeting 
 John Ramsay. 
 
 For an hour after supper she paced the porch, and still looked 
 out upon the stars, to mark the slow waxing of the night; and, 
 now and then she walked forth as far as the mill, and lingered by 
 the bank of the river, and again returned to ask the sentinel the 
 hour. 
 
 “ You seem disturbed, Mary,” said Macdonald, playfully. “ Noiv, 
 I’ll venture to say I can guess your thoughts: this star-gazing is a 
 great tell-tale. You were just now thinking that, as the tug of the 
 war is over, some lad who has borne a musket lately, will be very 
 
360 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 naturally triijjiing tliis way to-night, instead of going home to see 
 his mother. Come—isn’t that a good guess V' 
 
 “Do you know him, sir?” asked Mary, with composure. 
 
 “ Aye, to be sure I do : a good, brave fellow, who eats well, 
 drinks well, and fights well.” 
 
 “ All men do that now,” replied the maiden; “ but I am sure 
 you are wrong, sir, if you think any such considers it worth his 
 while to come here.” 
 
 “ lie must come quickly, or we cannot let him in without a 
 countersign,” said the oflScer : “ sergeant, order the tattoo to beat, 
 it is nine o’clock. Mary, stay, I must cross-question you a Httle 
 ‘about this same gallant.” 
 
 “ Indeed, sir, I did but jest, and so I thought you did. My 
 father says it is not proper I should loiter to talk with the men; 
 good night, sir : it is our time for prayers.” And with these words 
 the young girl withdrew into the house. 
 
 In some half hour afterwards Mary escaped by another door 
 and, taking a circuitous path through the garden, she passed behind 
 the sentinel and sped towards the mill, intent upon keeping her 
 appointment with the friends of Butler. As soon as she reached 
 the river bank, she quickened her pace, and hurried with a nimble 
 step towards the distant thicket. 
 
 “ What ho ! who goes there ?” shouted the voice of a man from 
 the neighborhood of the mill: “ who flies so fast ?” 
 
 “ Faith, Tom, it must be a ghost,” said a second voice, loud 
 enough to be heard by the damsel, who now increased the speed 
 with which she fled towards the cover. 
 
 In an instant two of the soldiers of the guard rushed upon the 
 track of the frightened girl. 
 
 “ Spare me, good sir—for pity’s sake, spare me !” exclaimed the 
 maiden, suddenly turning round upon her pursuers. 
 
 “ Where away so fiist ?” said one of the men. “ This is a strange 
 time of night for girls to be flying into the woods. What matter 
 have you in hand that brings you here—and what is your name ?” 
 
 “ I am the daughter of Allen Musgrove,” replied Mary indig¬ 
 nantly. 
 
 “ Is it so ?” said the first speaker; “ then it is the Miller’s own 
 daughter, and we ask your pardon. We only saw you flying along 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 361 
 
 the bank of the river, and not knowing what it was, why wa 
 thought it right to follow. But as it is all explained now, we will 
 see you back to the house.” 
 
 “ I can find my way without help,” replied the maiden. 
 
 “Now, that’s not good-natured for so kind a girl as the miller’s 
 daughter ought to be,” said the second soldier. 
 
 “ I will see if my father can protect me,” said Mary, hastening 
 back towards the house so rapidly as almost to run. “ I will know 
 if Lieutenant Macdonald will allow me to be insulted.” 
 
 M' ith a hurried step she entered upon the porch, and, without stop¬ 
 ping to parley with those who occupied this part of the dwelling, 
 retired to her chamber and threw herself into a chair, where she sat 
 for some time panting with affright. As she gradually recovered 
 her strength, she began to turn her thoughts upon her recent dis¬ 
 comfiture ; and it was with a deep sense of chagrin and disappoint¬ 
 ment, that she reflected upon her not being able successfully to 
 renew her enterprise on the same night. The hour of meeting had 
 arrived; the officers of the guard were still frequenting the porch ; 
 her conduct had already excited notice, and if she wished to be in 
 a condition to render future service, her most obvious duty was to 
 postpone any further attempt to deliver the papers until another 
 time. On the other hand, she had reason to fear that John Ram¬ 
 say would be hovering near to ascertain the cause of her failure to 
 meet him, and might rashly resort to the same mode of conveying 
 a signal which he had successfully practised heretofore. This 
 would infallibly, she believed, provoke an investigation that might 
 entirely frustrate all their views. “ But then John is a good soldier,” 
 she said, in the way of self-consolation, “ and will know that the 
 enemy is awake; because if it was not so, he would be sure I 
 would keep my word. And if he only takes that notion into his 
 head, he is too careful to run the chance of spoiling all by comino- 
 here.” 
 
 Still, with some little mistrust as to John’s soldiership when it 
 crossed the path of his love, which naturally, she reflected, makes 
 a man rash, she thouglit it best to provide against accident, by 
 throwing hereelf into the company of the officers who loitered 
 about the door in idle discourse with her father. She accordingly 
 left her room, and, with an anxious and troubled heart, went ont 
 
 16 
 
862 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 and seated herself quietly on the steps of the porch, where she 
 remained for some time a silent hut inattentive listener to the con¬ 
 versation of those around her. 
 
 As a part of that system of things by which it is contrived that 
 the current of true love shall never run smooth, I have ever found 
 that when it was peculiarly fitting that some grandam, uncle, cousin, 
 father, or guest, should retire early to bed, in order that some 
 scheme of interest to young lovers might be successfully achieved; 
 precisely on such nights is the perversity of fate most conspicuous, 
 in inclining the minds of such grandam, uncle, cousin, and so 
 forth, to sit up much longer than they are wont; thus showing 
 that the grooves and dovetails of things in this world are not 
 nicely fitted to the occasions of those who deal in the tender pas¬ 
 sion. And so it befel for poor Mary Musgrove this night. 
 
 The hour was now fast verging upon eleven, and she anxiously 
 noted every sentence that was spoken, hoping it was to be the 
 last; and then she trembled to think that John, regardless of the 
 danger, might be lurking near, and indiscreetly expose himself. 
 And still the talkers discoursed as if they meant to sit up all night. 
 It was a delicious, cool hour, after a sultry day, and there was 
 luxury in the breeze; but as the minutes were counted over by 
 the maiden, in their slow passage, her fears increased. At length, 
 far off, as if it were a nule away, the clear notes of one whistling 
 an old tune were heard. Mary involuntarily started from her 
 seat, and moved along the httle pathway towards the gate, her 
 heart beating against her bosom as if it would have “ overbourne 
 its continents.” The signal notes freshened upon the air, and the 
 tune came forth bhthely and boldly, showing that the wayfarer 
 was trudging, with a light heart, down the main road towards the 
 mill. The party in the porch, however, were too much engrossed 
 in then- colloquy to notice the incident. The whistling came still 
 nearer, until, at last, it seemed to be scarce a gunshot from the 
 house. Beyond this point it did not advance ; but here indicated 
 that the person from whom it proceeded had halted. If Mary’s 
 cheek could have been brought to the light, it would have shown 
 how the blood had deserted it from very fear: her whole frame 
 shook with this emotion. To exhibit her unconcern, which, in truth, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 363 
 
 was most sadly affected, she mingled amongst the company in the 
 porch, and leant against the door-post. Still the whistling con¬ 
 tinued, with no symptom of retreat, and Mary impatiently walked 
 towards the further end of the house. “ John Kamsay makes a 
 fool of himself,” she muttered peevishly. “ Hasn’t he the sense to 
 see I cannot get out? What keeps the simple man dallying 
 shilly-shally at the fence, as if he actually wanted them to take 
 him ? I don’t believe in the mighty sense and wisdom of these 
 men ! If John had half an eye he would see that I couldn’t get 
 away to-night.” 
 
 As the maiden grew fretful, her fears had less mastery over 
 her ; and now, taking heart of grace, she returned to the porch. 
 
 “ Sergeant,” said Macdonald, calling to one of his men, “ take 
 two files and patrole the road until you ascertain who that fellow 
 is who makes himself so merry to-night. I thought it some fool,” 
 he continued, addressing himself to Allen Musgrove, “ who, as 
 the poet says, ‘ whistled as he went for want of thought,’ but he 
 seems to have a hankering after these premises that is not exactly 
 to my mind. Perhaps, after all, Mary,” he added privately in the 
 maiden’s ear; “ it is the lad I was telling you of; and as he is a 
 bashful youth, we will bring him in by force. You know, he can’t 
 help that; and old dad here can never blame you if I should 
 make the fellow come to see you against your will. Sergeant, treat 
 the man civilly, you understand.” 
 
 “ It is not worth your while to be sending after Adam Gordon,” 
 said Mary, with some slight confusion in her accent; “ he is only 
 half-witted; and almost the only thing he does for a living, is to 
 come down of nights here to the mill-dam, to bob for eels. If it 
 wasn’t for that, his mother would go many a day without a meal.” 
 
 “No matter, we will bring Adam in,” replied the lieutenant, 
 “ and if he is good at his sport, why we will go and join him.” 
 
 “ He is shy of company,” said Mary, still faltering in her speech, 
 “ and will not come amongst strangers.” 
 
 Partly from a spirit of resignation, partly to avoid further ex¬ 
 posure of her feelings, and in paib too, perhaps, from some slight 
 feeling of remorse, such as is natural to a virtuous and youthful 
 mind at being obliged to practise a deceit however lawful (as I 
 
864 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 contend it was in this case), the maiden withdrew into the parlor, 
 where, unseen by any, she oflered up a short and earnest prayer for 
 direction and forgiveness. 
 
 Meantime the patrole had set out, and, after the lapse of a short 
 time, returned, when the officer reported that before his arrival, the 
 person they had gone in quest of had left the place, and, in the 
 darkness of the night, they had no clue to follow him. This was 
 scarcely announced before the same whistle was heard, at the 
 same remote point where it had first attracted Mary’s notice. 
 
 “ It is as our young mistress has said,” muttei’ed Macdonald, 
 “ some bumpkin, too shy to be caught, and not worth the catching. 
 We have sat it out to-night long enough, friend Musgrove, so let’s 
 to bed.” 
 
 In a few moments the party betook themselves to their several 
 places of rest. 
 
 As Mary prepared herself for her couch, the anxious events of 
 the night busied her thoughts, and the image of John Ramsay was 
 summoned up alternately to be reproved and applauded. “ If he 
 is foolhardy,” she said, as she laid her head on the pillow, “ no one 
 will say he isn’t wise besides. And if he will be thrusting his head 
 into danger, he knows right well how to get it out again. So God 
 bless him, for a proper man as he is !” And thus, in a better tem¬ 
 per with her lover, the maiden fell asleep. ' 
 
 In order to avert all suspicion of disloyalty from the miller’s fa¬ 
 mily, Christopher Shaw had offered his services to Macdonald, to 
 do duty as one of the detachment, during the period of Butler’s 
 detention in the house. The offer had been accepted, and Chi-is- 
 topher was appointed to serve in the character of a quarter-master, 
 or purveyor for the little garrison,—a post, whose duties did not 
 materially interfere with his daily occupation at the mill. 
 
 Mary was in the habit of communicating to Christopher all her 
 secrets, and of enlisting his aid in her plans whenever it was neces¬ 
 sary. And now, soon after the morning broke, the maiden arose 
 and went to the mill, where she communicated to Christopher all 
 the perplexities of the preceding night. 
 
 “ The thing must be managed to-day,” said the young man, after 
 he had heard the whole story. “ I have provisions to collect from 
 the neighborhood; and what is to hinder you, Mary, from riding 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 365 
 
 out with me,—if it should ouly he to buy some eggs ?—and then, 
 what is to hinder us from popping in upon David Eamsay, and 
 there fixing the whole matter ?” 
 
 “ Will not the lieutenant he sending some of his own men with 
 you ?” inquh-ed the maid. 
 
 “ He doesn’t suspect us,” answered Christopher, as cautiously as 
 if the walls of his mill had ears. “ At any rate we can try it, you 
 know, and if the thing should take a wrong turn, you can only stay 
 at home; and we may, at the worst, make another venture at night.” 
 
 “ I have the letter in my bosom,” said Mary, “ and will be ready 
 immediately after breakfast.” 
 
 When the appointed time arrived, things went as favorably as 
 Mary could have wished. Her good spirits had returned ; and she 
 plied her household duties with a happy cheerfulness in her looks 
 that completely disarmed all suspicion. She received the banter 
 of Macdonald, as to the cause of her restlessness on the preceding 
 night, with perfect good nature; and when Christopher announced 
 to the commanding officer his purpose of going out upon a purvey¬ 
 ing ride, and invited his cousin to accompany him, she accepted 
 the proposal with such a tone of laughing pleasure, as put it on the 
 footing of a pastime.- 
 
 The horses were brought to the door, and the maiden and her 
 escort rode cheerily forth. They were not long in accomplishing 
 the five or six miles that brought them to David Ramsay’s cabin. I 
 need not tell the afiectionate concern with which Mary Musgrove met 
 her lover, John Ramsay; nor how she upbraided him as a silly 
 fellow, for tramping and trudging about the mill, and whistling his 
 signals, when he ought to have known, by her not coming to meet 
 him, that there was good reason for it. Nor is it important to de¬ 
 tail the circumstances of Horse Shoe’s and John’s fruitless expedi¬ 
 tion, and their disappointment at not seeing Mary; and how 
 shrewdly, last night, Robinson guessed the true cause of it; and 
 how entirely he agreed with the maiden, beforehand, in thinking 
 John a venturesome, harebrained fool, to put himself in danger, 
 when he might have been certain it would have ended as it did, in 
 a run from “ the rascally red coats,” as John had to run. to get out 
 of the clutches of the patrole. My story requires that I should 
 pass these things by, and go to the business in hand. 
 
366 
 
 HOUSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Horse Slioe and Ramsay had grown exceedingly impatient, both 
 because they were in hourly danger of being surprised by casual 
 parties of the enemy, and because the time for useful action was 
 fast gliding away. They had used every precaution to keep their 
 visit to David Ramsay’s a profound secret to the neighborhood; 
 and had, with that object, lain perdue in one of the small cabins, 
 from which they might watch the approach of visitors, and, if need 
 required, secure an immediate retreat. During the day, they sel¬ 
 dom left their concealment, confining all their out-door operations 
 to the night. 
 
 A consultation was held in David Ramsay’s cabin,—^the letters 
 were produced and delivered to Horse Shoe, and the instructions 
 intended for him by Butler were carefully read. It was resolved 
 that Horse Shoe should set out for the Dove Cote without delay, 
 taking the route through the mountain country of North Carolina, 
 as that least likely to be interrupted by the British troops. John 
 Ramsay, for the present, was to return to the Fair Forest camp, to 
 inform Williams of the state of afiairs ; and he was hereafter to 
 act as occasion might suggest. Christopher Shaw and Mary were 
 to attend upon Butler, and communicate whatever might transpire 
 of interest to David Ramsay, who promised to find means of 
 intercourse with Williams or Sumpter, as chcumstances should 
 allow. 
 
 These matters being arranged, Mary and Christopher Shaw took 
 their leaves of Ramsay’s family, and went about the ostensible ob¬ 
 ject of their expedition. 
 
 Horse Shoe’s plan of travel during the first and most perilous 
 stages of his journey towards Virginia, was to avail himself of the 
 darkness of the night; and he accordingly resolved to set out as 
 soon as this day should draw to a close. His immediate cares 
 were, therefore, directed to making all the necessary preparations 
 for his departure. Captain Peter was carefully tended, and sup¬ 
 plied with a double allowance of provender; provisions were stowed 
 away, both for himself and his trusty beast: his pistols were put 
 in order: his rifle cleaned out, and a supply of ammunition provided; 
 and, finally, the letters were sewed up in a leather pouch, and 
 buckled around his body by a strap, inside of his clothes. It was 
 no inconsiderable item in the sergeant’s preparation for his expedi- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 367 
 
 tion, to sit down and eat a meal, which, from the quantity bestowed, 
 and the vigor with which the assault upon it was made, might 
 have betokened a full week’s starvation. 
 
 The day waned, and the night came a welcome visitor to the ser¬ 
 geant ; and, at that hour which old chroniclers designate as “ inter 
 canem et lupum,” Captain Peter was brought to the door, ready 
 dight for travel. Ramsay’s family stood around,—and whilst 
 Andy, with boyish afi’ection, held Horse Shoe’s rifle in his hand, 
 the sergeant feelingly spoke the words of parting to his friends;— 
 then, with a jaunty air of careless mirth, springing into his saddle, 
 and receiving his trusty weapon from the young comrade of his 
 late gallant adventure, he rode forth with as'stout a heart as ever 
 went with knight of chivalry to the field of romantic renown. 
 
 
CHAPTER XXXni. 
 
 A GLANCE AT THE DOVE COTE.-THE COMPANIONSHIP OF BROTHER 
 
 AND SISTER, 
 
 Our story once more brings us back to tbe Dove Cote. During 
 tbe first week tbat followed her interview with Arthur Butler under 
 the Fawn’s Tower, Mildred was calm and thoughtful, and even 
 melancholy: her usual custom of exercise was foregone, and her 
 time was passed chiefly in her chamber. By degi-ees, however, her 
 firm and resolute temper predominated over the sadness of her 
 fortunes, and she began to resume that cheerfulness which circum¬ 
 stances can never long subdue in a strong and disciplined mind. 
 She had grown more than ever watchful of the public events, and 
 sought, with an intense avidity, to obtain information in regard to 
 the state of things in the south. She now felt herself closely 
 allied to the cause in which Arthur Butler had embarked, and? 
 therefore, caught up the floating rumors of the day, in what 
 regarded the progress of the American arms in the southern expe¬ 
 dition, with the interest of one who had a large stake depending 
 on the issue. 
 
 She had received several letters from Butler, which detailed the 
 progress of his journey from the Dove Cote to Gates’s camp, and fi-om 
 thence to Horse Shoe’s cottage. They were all written in the con¬ 
 fident and even jocular tone of a light-hearted soldier who sought 
 to amuse his mistress ; and they narrated such matters of personal 
 history as were of a character to still her fears for his safety. Their 
 effect upon Mildred was to warm up her enthusiasm, as well as to 
 brighten her anticipations of the future, and thus to increase the re¬ 
 turning elasticity of her spirits. Up to this period, therefore, she grew 
 every day more buoyant and playful in her temper, and brought 
 herself to entertain a more sanguine reckoning of the eventual deter¬ 
 mination of affairs. She was now frequently on horseback, attend- 
 
 368 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 369 
 
 ed by her brother, with whom she scarcely ever failed to make a 
 visit to the good Mistress Dimock, where she either found a letter 
 from Butler, or heard some of the thousand tidings which report 
 was for ever busy in propagating or exaggerating in regard to the 
 movements of the army. 
 
 “ I’ll warrant you, Arthur is a man for the pen as well as for the 
 spur and broadsword, my pretty lady,” was one of the landlady’s 
 comments, as she handed to Mildred the eighth or ninth epistle that 
 had fallen into her hands since Butler’s departure; “ there scarcely 
 comes trotting by a soiled traveller with his head set northwards, 
 but it is—‘ Good woman, is this Mistress Dimock’s ?’ and when I say, 
 ‘ aye,’ then ‘ here’s a letter, madam,‘for you, that comes from the army;’ 
 and so, there’s Arthur’s own hand-writing to a great pacquet, ‘ for 
 Mistress Dimock of the Rockfish inn, of Amherst,’ and not even, 
 after all, one poor line for me, but just a cover, and the inside for 
 Miss Mildred Lindsay of the Dove Cote. Ha, ha! we old bodies 
 are only stalking-horses in this world. But God bless him !—he is 
 a fine and noble gentleman.” And Mildred would take the pacquet 
 and impatiently break the seal; and as she perused the close- 
 written contents the color waxed and waned upon her cheek, and 
 her eye would one instant sparkle with mirth, and in the next gi-ow 
 dim with a tear. And when she had finished reading, she would 
 secretly press the paper to her lips, and then bestow it away in her 
 bosom, evincing the earnest fondness of a devoted and enthusiastic 
 nature. 
 
 Mildred and Henry were inseparable; and, in proportion as his 
 sister’s zeal and attachment to the cause of independence became 
 more active, did Henry’s inclination to become a partisan gvow 
 apace. Hers was a character to kindle the s})irit of bi'ave adven¬ 
 ture. There was in it a quiet and unostentatious but unvarying 
 current of resolution, that shrank before no perils. Her feelings, 
 acute and earnest, had given all their warmth to her principles ; and 
 what she once believed her duty commanded, was pursued with 
 the devout self-dedication of a religious obligation. To this temper, 
 which, by some secret of its constitution, has a spell to sway the 
 minds of mankind, there was added the grace of an exquisitely 
 feminine address. The union of these two attributes rendered Mildred 
 Lindsay an object of conspicuous interest in such a'time as that of 
 
 16 -^ 
 
370 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 the revolutionary struggle. Her youth, her ready genius, her 
 knowledge and her habits of reflection, much in advance of her 
 years, enhanced the impression her character was adapted to pro¬ 
 duce, and brought upon her, even in her secluded position, a con¬ 
 siderable share of public observation. It was not wonderful that a 
 mind so organized and accomplished should have acquh-ed an 
 unlimited dominion over the frank, open-hearted, and brave temper 
 of her brother, now just stepping beyond the confines of mere boy¬ 
 hood. Her influence over Henry was paramount and unbounded : 
 her afi’ections were his, her faith was his, her enthusiasm stole 
 into and spread over his whole temper. 
 
 With these means of influence she had sedulously applied her¬ 
 self to infuse into Henry’s mind her own sentiment in regard to 
 the war; and this pui-pose had led her to interest herself in sub¬ 
 jects and pursuits, which, in general, are very foreign from her sex. 
 Her desfre to enlist his feelings in aid of Butler, and her convic¬ 
 tion that a time was at hand when Henry might be useful, gave 
 rise to an eager solicitude to see him well prepared for the 
 emergencies of the day, by that necessary mode of educa¬ 
 tion which, during the period of the revolution, was common 
 amongst the young gentlemen of the country. He was a most 
 willing and ready pupil; and she delighted to encourage him in 
 his inclination for military studies, however fanciful some of his 
 conceptions in regard to them might be. She, therefore, saw, 
 with great satisfaction, the assiduous though boyish devotion 
 with which he set himself to gain a knowledge of matters relat¬ 
 ing to the duties of a soldier. However little this may fall within 
 the scope of female perception in ordinary times, it will not appear 
 so much removed from the capabilities or even the habits of the 
 sex, when we reflect that in the convulsions of this great national 
 struggle, when every resource of the country was drained for ser¬ 
 vice, the events of the day were contemplated with no less inter¬ 
 est by the women than by the men. The fervor with which the 
 American women participated in the cares and sacrifices of ‘the 
 revolutionary war, has challenged the frequent notice and warmest 
 praises of its chroniclers. Mildred but reflected, in this instance, 
 the hues of the society around the Dove Cote, which consisted of 
 many families, scattered along the country side, composed of per- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 371 
 
 sons of elevated cliaracter, easy circumstances, and of the staunchest 
 Whig politics, with whom she held an uninterrupted and familiar 
 intercourse. 
 
 Another consideration may serve to explain the somewhat mas¬ 
 culine character of Mildred’s pursuits. Her most intimate com¬ 
 panion, at all times, and frequently for weeks together her only 
 one, was her brother. These two had grown up together in all the 
 confidence of childhood; and this confidence continued still una¬ 
 bated. Their pursuits, sports, exercises, thoughts, and habits 
 were alike, with less of the discrimination usual between the sexes, 
 than is to be found between individuals in larger associations. 
 They approximated each other in temper and disposition; and 
 Henry might, in this regard, be said to be, without disparagement 
 to his manly qualities, a girlish boy; and Mildred, on the other 
 hand, with as little derogation, to be a boyish girl. This home¬ 
 bred freedom of nurture produced, in its development, some gro¬ 
 tesque results, which my reader has, doubtless, heretofore observed 
 with a smile; and it will, dikewise, serve to explain some of the 
 peculiar forms of intercourse which may hereafter be noticed 
 between the brother and sister. 
 
 The news of the battle of Camden had not yet reached the 
 neighborhood of the Dove Cote; but the time drew nigh when all 
 the country stood on tiptoe, anxious to receive tidings of that inter¬ 
 esting event. A week had elapsed without bringing letters from* 
 Butler; and Mildred was gi-owing imeasy at this interval of silence. 
 There was a struggle in her mind; an unpleasant foreboding 
 that she was almost ashamed to acknowledge, and yet which she 
 could not subdue. The country was full of reports of the lios- 
 tile operations, and a thousand surmises were entertained, which 
 varied according to the more sanguine or desponding tempers of 
 the persons who made them. Mildred was taught by Butler to 
 expect defeat, yet still she hoped for victory; but the personal 
 fate of her lover stole upon her conjectures, and she could not 
 keep down the misgiving which affection generally exaggerates, 
 and always renders painful. In this state of doubt, it was observ¬ 
 able that her manners occasionally rose to a higher tone of play¬ 
 fulness than was natural to her; and by turns they sank to a 
 moody silence, showing that the equipoise of the mind was dis- 
 
372 
 
 HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 turbed, and that the scales did not hang true : it was the struggle 
 of mental resolution with a coward heart—a heart intimidated 
 by its affections. 
 
 Such was the state of things when, in the latter fortnight of 
 August, the morning ushered in a day of unsurpassed beauty. The 
 air was elastic; the cool breeze played upon the shrubbery, and 
 stole the perfume of a thousand flowers. The birds sang with 
 unwonted vivacity from the neighboring trees; and the sun lighted 
 up the mountains with a golden splendor, the fast drifting clouds 
 flinging theff shadows upon the forest that clothed the hills around, 
 and the eagle and the buzzard sailing in the highest heavens, or 
 eddying around the beetling cliffs with a glad flight, as if rejoicing 
 in the luxuries of the cool summer morning. Breakfast was scarcely 
 over before Henry was seen upon the terrace, arrayed in his hunt¬ 
 ing dress. His bugle was daintily suspended by a green cord across 
 his shoulders; it was a neat and glittering instrument, whose gai-ni- 
 ture was bedizened with the coxcombry of silken tassels, and was 
 displayed as ostentatiously as if worn by the hero of a melodrame. 
 
 Like St. Swithin in the ballad, he had “ footed thrice the wold,” 
 when he put the bugle to his mouth and “ blew a recheate both 
 loud and long.” 
 
 “ How now, good master Puff,” said Mildred, coming up play¬ 
 fully to her brother, “ what means this uproar ? Pray you, have 
 %nercy on one’s ears.” 
 
 Henry turned towards his sister, without taking the bugle from 
 his lips, and continued the blast for a full minute ; then, ceasing 
 only from want of breath, he said, with a comic earnestness— 
 
 “ I’m practising my signals, sister; I can give you ‘ to Horse,’ 
 and ‘ Keveillee,’ and ‘ Roast Beef,’ like a trained trumpeter.” 
 
 “ Truly you are a proper man, master,” replied Mildred. “ But 
 it is hardly a time,” she continued, half muttering to herself, “ for 
 you and me, Heniy, to wear light hearts in our bosoms.” 
 
 “ Why, sister,” said Henry, with some astonishment in his looks, 
 “ this seems to me to be the very time to practise my signals. We 
 are at the very tug of the war, and every man that has a sword, or 
 bugle either, should be up and doing.” 
 
 “ How come on your studies, brother ?” interrupted Mildred, 
 without heeding Henry’s interpretation of 1 is duty. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSOK. 
 
 373 
 
 “ Oh, rarely ! I know most of the speeches of Coriolanus all by 
 heart:— 
 
 “ ‘ Like an eagle in a dove cote, I 
 Fluttered your voices in Corioli: 
 
 Alone I did it.—^Boy 1’ ” 
 
 he spouted, quoting from the play, and accompanying his recita¬ 
 tion with some extravagant gestures. 
 
 “ This is easy work, Henry,” said Mildred laughing, “ there is 
 too much of the holiday play in that. I thought you were study¬ 
 ing some graver things, instead of these bragging heroics. You 
 pretended to be very earnest, hut a short time ago, to make a 
 soldier of yourself.” 
 
 “ Well, and don’t you call this soldiership ? Suppose I were to 
 pounce down upon Cornwallis—his lordship, as that fellow Tyrrel 
 calls him—just in that same fashion. I warrant they would say 
 there was some soldiership in it! But, sister, haven’t I been stu¬ 
 dying the attack and defence of fortified places, I wonder ? And 
 what call you that ? Look now, here is a regular hexagon,” con¬ 
 tinued Henry, making lines upon the gi’avel walk with a stick, 
 “ here is the bastion,—these lines are the flank,—the face,—the 
 gorge: here is the curtain. Now, my first parallel is around here, 
 six hundred paces from the counterscarp. But I could have taken 
 Charleston myself in half the time that poking fellow, Clinton, did- 
 it, if I had been there, and one of his side, which—thank my stars 
 —I am not.” 
 
 “ You are entirely out of my depth, brother,” interrupted Mil¬ 
 dred. 
 
 “ I know I am. How should women he expected to understand 
 these matters ? Go to your knitting, sister : you can’t teach me.” 
 
 “ Have you studied the Military Catechism, Henry ? that, you 
 know, Baron Steuben requhes of all the young officers.” 
 
 “Most,” replied Henry. “Not quite through it. I hate this 
 getting prose by heart. Shakspeare is more to my mind than 
 Baron Steuben. But I will tell you what I like, sister ; I like the 
 management of the horse. I can passage, and lunge, and change 
 feet, and throw upon the haunches, with e’er a man in Amherst or 
 Albemarle either, may be.” 
 
3'74 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ You told me you had practised firing from your saddle.” 
 
 “ To be sure I did ; and look here,” replied the cadet, taking oflf 
 his cap and showing a hole in the cloth. “ Do you see that, Mil¬ 
 dred ? I flung the cap into the air, and put a ball through it before 
 it fell—at a gallop.” 
 
 “ Well done, master; you come on bravely !” 
 
 “ And another thing I have to tell you, which, perhaps, Mildred, 
 you will laugh to hear :—I have taken to a rough way of sleeping. 
 I want to harden myself; so, I fling a blanket on the floor and 
 stretch out on it—and sleep like—” 
 
 “ Like what, good brother; you are posed for a comparison.” 
 
 “ Like the sleeping beauty, sister.” 
 
 “ Ha ! ha ! that’s a most incongruous and impertinent simile!” 
 
 “ Well, like a Trojan, or a woodman, or a dragoon, or like Ste¬ 
 phen Foster, and that is as far as sleeping can go. I have a notion 
 of trying it in the woods one of these nights—^if I can get Stephen 
 to go along.” 
 
 “ Why not try it alone ?” 
 
 “ Why it’s a sort of an awkward thing to be entirely by one’s 
 self in the woods, the livelong night—it is lonesome, you know, 
 sister ; and, to tell the truth, I almost suspect I am a little afraid 
 of ghosts.” 
 
 “ Indeed! and you a man ! That’s a strange fear for a young 
 Coriolanus. Suppose you should get into the wars, and should 
 happen to be posted as a sentinel at some remote spot—far from 
 your comrades; on picket, I think you call it ? (Henry nodded) 
 on a dark night, would you desert your duty for fear of a gob¬ 
 lin?” 
 
 “ I would die first, Mildred. I would stick it out, if I made an 
 earthquake by trembling in my shoes.” 
 
 Mildred laughed. 
 
 “ And then if a ghost should rise up out of the ground,” she 
 continued, with a mock solemnity of manner. 
 
 “ I would whistle some tune,” interrupted Henry. “ That’s an 
 excellent way to keep down fear.” 
 
 “ Shame on you, to talk of fear, brother.” 
 
 “ Only of ghosts, sister, not of men.” 
 
 “ You must Qure yourself of this childish apprehension, master.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 375 
 
 “ And how shall I do so, Mildred ? I have heard people say 
 that the bravest men have been alarmed by spirits.” 
 
 “ You must accustom yourself to midnight houi-s and dark places, 
 all alone. Our poor mother taught you this fear.” 
 
 “ I should think of her, Mildred, until my heart would burst, 
 and my cheek grew pale as ashes,” said Henry, with an earnest 
 and solemn emphasis. 
 
 “ Her spirit, could it rise, would love you, brother; it would 
 never seek to do you harm,” replied Mildred thoughtfully. 
 
 “ Sister,” said Henry, “ you came here in sport, but you have 
 made me very sad.” 
 
 Mildred walked oflF a few paces and remained gazing stead¬ 
 fastly over the parapet. When she looked back she saw Henry 
 approaching her. 
 
 “ You stoop, brother, in your gait,” she said, “ that’s a slovenly 
 habit.” 
 
 “ It comes, sister, of my climbing these mountains so much. We 
 mountaineers naturally get a stoop on the hill-sides. But if you 
 think,” continued Henry, reverting to the subject which had just 
 been broken off, “ it would make me bolder to watch of nijrhts. I 
 
 O / 
 
 should not care to try it.” 
 
 “ I would have you,” said Mildred, “ walk your rounds, like a 
 patrole, through the woods from twelve until two, every night for 
 a week.” 
 
 “ Agreed, sister—rain or shine.” 
 
 “ And then I shall think you completely cured of this unsoldier¬ 
 like infirmity, when you are able to march as far as the church, 
 and serve one tour of duty in the grave-yard.” 
 
 “ By myself ?” inquired Henry, with concern. 
 
 “You wouldn’t have me go with you, brother?” 
 
 “ I should feel very brave if you did, Mildred; for you are as 
 brave as a general. But if Stephen Foster will keep in the neigh¬ 
 borhood—near enough to hear my‘All’s well’—I think I could 
 stand it out.” 
 
 “You must go alone,” said Mildred, cheerfully, “before I shall 
 think you fit to be promoted.” 
 
 “ If you say I must, sister Mildred, why, then I must: and there’s 
 an end of it. But your discipline is forty times more severe than 
 
376 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 the German Baron’s at Richmond. Father looks pale this morn¬ 
 ing,” continued Henry, as he turned his eyes towards the porch, 
 where Mr. Lindsay was now seen walking forward and hack, with 
 his arms folded across his breast. “ Something perpetually troubles 
 him, Mildred. I wish that devil, Tyrrel, had been buried before 
 he ever found his way to the Dove Cote ! See he comes this 
 way.” 
 
 Both Mildred and Henry ran to meet Lindsay, and encountered 
 him before he had advanced a dozen paces over the lawn. 
 
 “ Such a day, father!” said Mildred, as she affectionately took 
 his hand. “ It is a luxury to breathe this air.” 
 
 “ God has given us a beautiful heaven, my children, and a rich 
 and bountiful earth. He has filled them both with blessings. Man 
 only mars them with his cursed passions,” said Lindsay, with a 
 sober accent. 
 
 “ You have heard bad news, father ?” said Henry, inquiringly; 
 “ what has happened ?” 
 
 Mildred grew suddenly pale. 
 
 “We shall hear glorious news, boy, before many days,” replied 
 Lindsay; “ as yet, all is uncertain. Henry, away to your sports, 
 or to your studies. Mildred, I have something for your ear, and 
 so, my child, walk with me a while.” 
 
 Henry took his leave, looking back anxiously at his sister, whose 
 countenance expressed painful alarm. Mildred accompanied her 
 father slowly and silently to the small veranda that shaded the 
 door of the gable next the terrace. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 MILDRED PUT TO A SEVERE TRIAL t-HER FIRMNESS, 
 
 “ Mr mind troubles me,” said Lindsay : “ Mildred, hear me—and 
 mark what I say. Our fortunes are coming to a period of deep 
 interest: it is therefore no time to deal in evasive speeches, or to 
 dally with coy and girlish feelings. I wish, my daughter, to be 
 understood.” 
 
 “ Father, .have I offended you ?” inquired Mildred, struck with 
 the painful and almost repulsive earnestness of Lindsay’s manner. 
 
 “ Arthur Butler has been at the Dove Cote,” he said, sternly, 
 “ and you have concealed it from me. That was not like my 
 child.” 
 
 “Father!” exclaimed Mildred, bursting into tears. 
 
 “ Nay—these tears shall not move me from my resolution. As 
 a parent I had a right, Mildred, to expect obedience from you; 
 but you saw him in the very despite of my commands : here, on 
 the confines of the Dove Cote, you saw him.” 
 
 “ I did—I did.” 
 
 “ And you were silent, and kept your secret from your father’s 
 bosom.” 
 
 “ You forbade me to speak of him,” replied Mildred, in a low 
 and sobbing voice, “ and banished me from your presence when I 
 but brought his name upon my lips.” 
 
 “ He is a villain, daughter; a base wretch that would murder 
 my peace, and steal my treasure from my heart.” 
 
 Mildred covered her eyes with her hands, and trembled in silent 
 agony. 
 
 “ I have received letters,” continued liindsay, “ that disclose to 
 me a vile plot against my life. This same Butler—this furious and 
 fanatic rebel—has been lurking in the neighborhood of my house, 
 to watch my family motions, to pry into the character of my guests, 
 
 377 
 
378 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 to possess himself of my sacred confidences, to note the incoming and 
 the out-going of my most attached friends, and thereupon to build 
 an accusation of treason before this unholy and most accursed power 
 that has usurped dominion in the land. I am to he denounced to 
 these malignant masters, and to suffer such penalties as their pas¬ 
 sions may adjudge. And all this through the agency of a man 
 who is cherished and applauded by my own daughter !” 
 
 “ My dear father, who has thus abused your mind, and led your 
 thoughts into a current so foreign from that calm judgment with 
 which you have been accustomed to look upon the things of life ?” 
 
 “ Can you deny, Mildred, that this Butler followed Tyi-rel to the 
 Dove Cote; lay concealed here, close at hand; sought by discourse 
 through some of his coadjutors with Tyrrel’s servant, to learn the 
 object of TyiTel’s visit; and offered gross outrage to the man when 
 he failed to persuade him to betray his master ? Can you deny 
 this ? Can you deny that he fled precipitately from his hiding- 
 place when he could no longer conceal his piu’pose?—and, know¬ 
 ing these things, can you doubt he is a villain ?” 
 
 “ He is no villain, father,” said Mildred, indignantly. “ These 
 are the wi-etched forgeries of that unworthy man who has won your 
 confidence—a man who is no less an enemy to your happiness than 
 he is a selfish contriver against mine. The story is not true: it is 
 one of Tyrrel’s basest falsehoods.” 
 
 “ And Butler was not here; you would persuade me so, Mil¬ 
 dred ?” 
 
 “ He was in the neighborhood for a single night; he journeyed 
 southwards in the course of his duty,” answered Mildred, mildly. 
 
 “ And had no confederates with him f” 
 
 “ He was attended by a guide—only one—and hurried onwai’ds 
 without delay.” 
 
 “ And you met him on that single night—by accident, I sup¬ 
 pose ?” 
 
 “ Do you doubt my truth, father ?” 
 
 “ Mildred, Mildred! you will break my heart. Why was he 
 here at all—why did you meet him ?” 
 
 “ He came, father—” said Mildred, struggling to speak through 
 a sudden burst of tears. 
 
 “ Silence ! I will hear no apology!” exclaimed Lindsay. Then 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 379 
 
 relenting in an instant, lio took liis daughter’s hand, as he said : 
 “ My child, thou art innocent in thy nature, and knowest not the 
 evil imaginings of this world. He wickedly lied, if he told you 
 that he came casually hither, or that his stay was circumscribed 
 to one short night. I have proofs, full and satisfactory, that, for 
 several days, he lay concealed in this vicinity ; and, moreover, that 
 his scheme was frustrated only by an unexpected discovery, made 
 through the indiscretion of a drunken bully, who came linked with 
 him in his foul embassy. It was a shameless lie, invented to 
 impose upon your credulity, if he gave you room to believe other¬ 
 wise.” 
 
 “ Arthur Butler scorns a falsehood, father, with the deepest scorn 
 that belongs to a noble mind, and would resent the charge with 
 the spirit of a valiant and virtuous man. K Mr. Tyrrel have such 
 accusations to make, it would be fitter they should be made face 
 to face with the mau he would slander, than in my father’s ear. 
 But it is the nature of the serpent to sting in the gi’ass, not openly 
 to encounter his victim.” 
 
 “The first duty of a trusty fi-iend is to give warning of the 
 approach of an enemy—and that has Tyrrel done. For this act of 
 service does he deserve yom- rebuke? Could you expect aught 
 else of an honorable gentleman ? Shame on you, daughter!” 
 
 “Father, I know the tale to be wickedly, atrociously false. 
 Arthur Butler is not your enemy. Sooner would he lay down his 
 life than even indulge a thought of harm to you. His coming 
 hither was not unknown to me—his delay, but one brief night; 
 business of great moment called him hastily towards the army of 
 the south.” 
 
 “ You speak like a girl, Mildred. I have, against this tale, the 
 avowal of a loyal and brave soldier. Aye, and let me tell you— 
 favorably as you may deem of this false and traitorous rebel—his 
 wily arts have been foiled, and quick vengeance is now upon his 
 path—his doom is fixed.” 
 
 “ For heaven’s sake, father, dear father, tell me what this means. 
 Have you heard of Arthur ?” cried Mildred, in the most impas¬ 
 sioned accents of distress, at the same time throwing her head upon 
 Lindsay’s breast. “ Oh, God! have you heard aught of harm to 
 him ?” 
 
380 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON.’ 
 
 “ Girl! foolish, mad, self-willed girl!” exclaimed Lindsay, 
 disengaging himself from his daughter, and rising from his seat 
 and angrily striding a few paces upon the terrace. “Dare you 
 show this contumacy to me ! No, I did not mean that—have you 
 the heart, Mildred, to indulge these passionate fervors for the man 
 I hate more than I can hate any other living thing! He, a wretch, 
 upon whose head I invoke nightly curses ! A loathsome, ahhon-ed 
 image to my mind! Hear me, Mildred, and hear me, though 
 your heart break while I utter it—May the felon’s death whelm 
 him and his name in eternal disgrace !—may his present captivity 
 be beset with all the horrors of friendliness, unpitied—” 
 
 “ His captivity, father! And has he then fallen into the hands 
 of the enemy ? Quick 1 tell me all!—I shall die—my life is 
 wrapped up in his!” ejaculated Mildred, in agony, as she sprang 
 towards her father and seized his arm, and then sank at his feet. 
 
 “ For God’s sake, my child!” said Lindsay, becoming alarmed 
 at the violence of the paroxysm he had excited, and now hfting his 
 daughter from the ground. “ Mildred!—speak, girl! This emo¬ 
 tion will drive me mad. Oh, fate, fate!—how unerringly dost 
 thou fulfil the sad predictions of my spirit! How darkly does the 
 curse hang upon my household I Mildred, dear daughter, pardon 
 my rash speech. I would not harm thee, child—no, not for worlds 1” 
 
 “ Father, you have cruelly tortui’ed my soul,” said Mildred, 
 reviving from the half lifeless state into which she had fallen, and 
 which for some moments had denied her speech. “ Tell me all; 
 on my knees, father, I implore you.” 
 
 “ It was a hasty word, daughter,” replied Lindsay, iU concealing 
 the perturbation of his feelings; “ I meant not what I said.” 
 
 “Nay, dear father,” said Mildred, “I am prepared to hear the 
 worst; you spoke of Arthur’s captivity.” 
 
 “ It was only a rumor,” replied Lindsay, struck with apprehension 
 at his daughter’s earnestness, and now seeking to allay the feeling 
 his hint had aroused in her mind; “it may be exaggerated by 
 Tyrrel, whose letter, hastily written, mentions the fact, that Butler 
 had been made a prisoner by some bands of Tories, amongst whom 
 he had rashly ventured. The clemency of his king may yet win 
 him back to his allegiance. A salutary confinement, at least, will 
 deprive him of the power of mischief. His lands will be confiscat- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 381 
 
 ed—and the close of the -war, now fast approaching, will find him 
 a houseless adventurer, baffled in his treason, and unpitied by all 
 good men. This should persuade you, Mildred, to renounce your 
 unnatural attachment, and to think no more of one whose cause 
 heaven has never sanctioned, and whose condition in life should 
 forbid all pretension to your regard—one, above all, repulsive even 
 to loathing to the thoughts of your father.” 
 
 “ I loved him, father, in his happiest and brightest day,” said 
 Mildred, firmly ; “ I cannot desert him in his adversity. Oh, speak 
 to me no more ! Let me go to my chamber; I am ill and cannot 
 bear this torrent of your displeasure.” 
 
 “ I will not detain you, Mildred. In sorrow and suffering, but 
 still with a father’s affection as warmly shining on you as when, in 
 earliest infancy, I fondled thee upon my knee, I part with thee 
 now. One kiss, girl. There, let that make peace between us. For 
 your sake and my own, I pledge my word never tq distress you 
 with this subject again. Destiny must have its way, and I must 
 bide the inevitable doom.” 
 
 With a heavy heart and an exhausted frame, Mildred slowly 
 and tearfully withdrew. 
 
 Lindsay remained some time fixed upon the spot where his 
 daughter had left him. He was like a man stupefied and astounded 
 by a blow. His conference had ended in a manner that he had 
 not prepared himself to expect. The imputed treachery of Butler, 
 derived from Tyrrel’s letters, had not struck alarm into the heart of 
 Mildred, as he had supposed it could not fail to do. The wicked 
 fabrication had only recoiled upon the inventor; and Mildred, 
 with the resolute, confident, and unfaltering attachment of her na¬ 
 ture, clung with a nobler devotion to her lover. To Lindsay, in 
 whose mind no distrust of the honesty of Tyrrel could find shelter; 
 whose prejudices and peculiar temperament came in aid of the 
 gi-oss and disgraceful imputation which the letters inferred, the 
 constancy and generous fervor of his daughter towards the cause 
 of Butler seemed to be a mad and fatal infatuation. 
 
 Ever since his first interview with Mildred on the subject of her 
 attachment, his mind had been morbidly engrossed with the reflec¬ 
 tions to which it had given rise. There was such a steadiness of 
 purpose apparent in her behavior, such an unchangeable resolve 
 
382 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 avowed, as seemed to him, in the circumstances of her condition, to 
 defy and stand apart from the ordinary and natural impulses by 
 which human conduct is regulated. He gi-ew daily more abstracted 
 and moody in his contemplations; and as study and thought gave 
 a still graver complexion to his feelings, his mind fled back upon 
 his presentiments; and that intense, scholar-like superstition, which 
 J have heretofore described as one of the tendencies of his nature, 
 /began more actively to conjure up its phantasmagoria before his 
 mental vision. A predominating trait of this superstition was an 
 increasing conviction that, in Mildred’s connexion with Ai-thur 
 Butler, there was associated some signal doom to hirhself, that was 
 to afiect the fortunes of his race. It was a vague, misty, obscure 
 consciousness of impending fate, the loss of reason or the loss of 
 hfe that was to ensue upon that alliance if it should ever take 
 |)lace. 
 
 It was such a presentiment that now, in the solitary path of 
 Lindsay’s life, began to be magnified into a ripening certainty of 
 ill. The needle of his mind trembled upon its pivot, and began to 
 decline towards a fearful point; that point was—frenzy. His 
 
 studies favored this apprehension—they led him into the world of 
 \dsions. The circumstances of his position favored it. He was 
 perplexed by the intrigues of politicians, against whom he had no 
 defence in temper nor worldly skill; he was deluded by false views 
 of events: he was embarrassed and dissatisfied with himself: above 
 /all, he was wi-ought upon, bewildered, and glamoured (to use a 
 ' most expressive Scotch phrase) by the remembrance of a sickly 
 di-eam. 
 
 ■ Thus hunted and badgered by circumstances, he fled with avidity 
 to the disclosures made in Tyrrel’s letters, to try, as a last effort, 
 their effect upon Mildred, hoping that the tale there told might 
 divert her from a purpose which now fed all his melancholy. 
 
 The reader has just seen how the experiment had failed. 
 
 Lindsay retired to his study, and, through the remainder of the 
 day, sought refuge from his meditations in the converse of his 
 books. These mute companions, for once, failed to bring him their 
 customary balm. His feelings had been turned, by the events of 
 the morning, into a current that bore them impetuously along 
 towards a dark and troubled ocean of thought; and when the 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 383 
 
 shades of evening had fallen around him, he was seen pacing the 
 ten-ace with a slow and measured step. 
 
 “ It is plain she passionately loves Butler,” he said, “ in despite 
 of all the visible influences around her. Her education, habits, 
 afl'ections, duty—all set in an opposing tide against this passion, 
 and yef does it master them all. That I should be bound to mine 
 enemy by a chain, whose strongest link is forged by my own 
 daughter. She—Mildred!—No, no—that link was not forged by 
 her: it hath not its shape from human workmanship. Oh, that 
 like those inspired enthusiasts who, in times of old,—yea, and in a 
 later day—have been able to open the Book of Destiny, and to 
 read the passages of man’s future life, I might get one glimpse of 
 that forbidden page!—To what a charitable use might I apply the 
 knowledge. Wise men have studied the journeyings of the stars, 
 and have—as they deemed—discovered the secret spell by which 
 yon shining orbs sway and compel the animal existences of this 
 earth ; even as the moon governs the flow of the ocean, or the 
 fever of the human brain. Who shall say what is the invisible 
 tissue—what the innumerable cords—that tie this planet and all 
 its material natures to the millions of worlds with which it is 
 afBned ? What is tjiat mysterious thing which men call attraction, 
 that steadies these spheres in their tangled pathways through the 
 great void ?—that urges their swift and fearful career into the track 
 of their voyage, without the deviation of the breadth of a single 
 hair—rolling on the same from eternity to eternity ? How awfully 
 does the thought annihilate our feeble and presumptuous philoso¬ 
 phy ! Is it, then, to excite the scorn of the wise, if we assert that 
 some kindred power may shape out and direct the wanderings of 
 man ?—that an unseen hand may lay the threads by which this 
 tottering creature is to travel through the labyrinth of this world ; 
 aye, and after it is done, to point out to him his course along the 
 dark and chill valley, which the dead walk through companionless 
 and silent ? Have not men heard strange whispers in the breeze— 
 the voice of warning ? Have they not felt the fanning of the wing 
 that bore the secret messenger through the aii- ? Have they not 
 seen some floating fold of the robe as it passed by ? O God !— 
 have they not seen the dead arise ? What are these but the com- 
 
 17 * 
 
384 
 
 HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 munings, the points of contact, between the earthy and spiritual 
 worlds—the essences or intelligences that sometimes flit across the 
 confine of our gross sphere, and speak to the children of clay ? 
 And wherefore do they speak, but that the initiated may regard 
 the sign, and walk in safety ? Or, perchance, some mischief-hatch¬ 
 ing fiend,—for such, too, are permitted to be busy to mar the good 
 that God has made—may speak in malice to allure us from our 
 better purpose. Aye, as aptly this, as the other. Miserable child 
 of doubt, how art thou beset! Let the vain pedant prate of his 
 philosophy, let the soldier boast his valor, the learned scholar his 
 scepticism, and the worldling laugh his scorn, yet do they each and 
 all yield homage to this belief. There comes a time of honest 
 self-confession, of secret meditation to all, and then the boding spirit 
 rises to his proper mastery: then does instinct smother argument: 
 then do the darkness of the midnight hour, the howling wind, the 
 rush of the torrent, the lonesomeness of the forest and the field, 
 shake the strong nerves ; and the feeble, pigmy man, trembles at 
 his own imaginings.” 
 
 In such a strain did Lindsay nurse his doubting superstition ; 
 and by these degrees was it that his mind soothed itself doivn 
 into a calmer tone of resignation. In proportion as this fanciful 
 and distempered philosophy inclined his reflection towards the 
 belief of preternatural influences, it suggested excuses for Mildred’s 
 seeming contumacy, and inculcated a more indulgent sentiment of 
 forbearance in his future intercourse with her. 
 
 Towards the confirmation of this temper an ordinary incident, 
 which, at any other time, would have passed without comment, 
 now contributed. A storm had arisen: the day, towards its 
 close, had grown sultry, and had engendered one of those sudden 
 gusts which belong to the summer in this region. It came, with¬ 
 out premonition, in a violent tornado, that rushed through the air 
 with the roar of a gi-eat cataract. Lindsay had scarcely time to 
 retreat to the cover of the porch, before the heavy-charged cloud 
 poured forth its fury in floods of rain. The incessant lightnings 
 glittered on the descending drops, and illuminated the distant 
 landscape with more than the brilliancy of day. The most 
 remote peaks of the mountain were sheeted with the glare; and 
 the torrents that leaped down the nearer hill-sides sparkled ivith a 
 
HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 385 
 
 dazzling radiance. Peal after peal of abrupt and crashing thundei 
 roared through the heavens, and echoed with terrific reverbera¬ 
 tions along the valleys. Lindsay gazed upon this scene, from his 
 secure cover, with mute interest, inwardly aroused and delighted 
 with the grand and sublime conflict of the elements, in a spot of 
 such wild and compatible magnificence: the solemn and awful emo¬ 
 tions excited by these phenomena were exaggerated by the peculiar 
 mood of his mind, and now absorbed all his attention. After a bi-ief 
 interval, the rain ceased to fall as suddenly as it had begun ; the 
 thunder was silent, and only a few distant flashes of wide-spread 
 light broke fitfully above the horizon. The stars soon again shone 
 forth through a transparent and placid heaven, and the moon sailed 
 in beauty along a cloudless sea. The frog chirped again from the 
 trees, and the far-oflf owl hooted in the wood, resuming his melan¬ 
 choly song, that had been so briefly intermitted. The foaming 
 river below, swollen by the recent rain, flung upwards a more lively 
 gush from its rocky bed : the cock was heard to crow, as if a new 
 day had burst upon his harem; and the house-dogs barked in 
 sport as they gambolled over the wet grass. 
 
 Lindsay looked forth and spoke. 
 
 “ How beautiful is the change! But a moment since, and the 
 ang-ry elements were convulsed with the shock of war; and now, 
 how calm ! My ancient oaks have weathered the gale, and not a 
 branch has been torn from their hoary limbs ; not the most delicate 
 of Mildred’s flowers ; not the tenderest shrub has been scathed by 
 the threatening fires of heaven ! The Dove Cote and its inmates 
 have seen the storm sweep by without a vestige of harm. Kind 
 heaven, grant that this may be a portent of our fortune ; and that, 
 when this tempest of human passion has been spent, the Dove 
 Cote and its inhabitants may come forth as tranquil, as safe, as 
 happy, as now—more—yes, more happy than now ! Our ways 
 are in thy hands; and I would teach myself to submit to thy pro¬ 
 vidence with patient hope. So, let it be ! I am resigned.” 
 
 As Lindsay still occupied his position in the porch, Stephen 
 Foster appeared before him dripping with the rain of the late 
 storm. 
 
 “ A letter, sir,” said Stephen. “ I have just rode from the post- 
 
S8G 
 
 HOUSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 office, and was almost oversot in the gust: it catched me upon the 
 road ; and it was as much as I could do to cross the river. It’s a 
 might}’' fretful piece of water after one of these here dashes.” 
 
 Lindsay took the packet. 
 
 “ Get your supper, good Stephen,” he said. “ Order lights for 
 me in the library ! Thank you—thank you !” 
 
 When Lindsay opened the letter, he found it to contain tidings 
 of the victory at Camden, written by Tyrrel. After he had 
 perused the contents, it was with a triumphant smile that he 
 exclaimed, “ And it is come so soon ! Thank God, the omen has 
 proved true! a calmer and a brighter hour at last opens upon us.” 
 
 He left the study to communicate the news to his children, and 
 spent the next hour with Mildred and Henry in the parlor. His 
 feelings had risen to a happier key; and it was with some approach 
 to cheerfulness, but little answered in the looks or feelings of his 
 children, that he retired to his chamber at a late hour, where sleep 
 soon came, with its sweet oblivion, to repair his exhausted spirits, 
 and to restore him to the quiet of an easy mind. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 **■ 
 
 MILDRED IN GRIEF.-SHE IS NEAR MAKING A DISCLOSURE. A 
 
 VISITOR ARRIVES AT THE DOVE COTE. 
 
 “Then in that hour remorse he felt, 
 And his heart told him he had dealt 
 Unkindly with his child.”— Rogers^ 
 
 On the following day Mildred confined herself to her chamber. 
 She had passed a sleepless night, and the morning found her a 
 pale, anxious, and distressed watcher of the slow approach of light. 
 Her thoughts were busy with the fate of Butler. This topic over¬ 
 whelmed all other cares, and struck deep and unmitigated 
 anguish into her mind. The hints that had been so indiscreetly 
 dropped by her father, more than if the whole tale had been told, 
 had worked upon her imagination, and conjured up to her appre¬ 
 hension the certain destruction of her lover. In her interview 
 with Lindsay, her emotions had been controlled by the extreme 
 difficulty of her situation. The fear of rousing in her father that 
 deep and solemn tone of passion, which had now become the 
 infirmity of his mind, and almost threatened to “deprive his 
 sovereignty of reason,” and of which she was painfully aware, had 
 subdued the strength of her own feelings—so far, at least, as to 
 inculcate a more seeming moderation than, in other circumstances, 
 she could have exhibited. It was the struggle between filial affec¬ 
 tion and duty on the one side, and an ardent, though tremblingly 
 acknowledged, attachment on the other. The course that she had 
 previously determined to pursue, in reference to the many earnest 
 and assiduous efi’orts of Lindsay to persuade her from her love, 
 was steadily to persevere in the open acknowledgment of her 
 plighted vow, and endeavor to win her father’s favor by a calm 
 and gentle expostulation ; or to seek, in a respectful silence, the 
 means of averting the occasion of that gusty and moody outbreak 
 
 381 
 
388 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 of temper, which the peculiar exacerbation of his mind was apt to 
 make frequent. She would have resorted to this silence in the 
 late communion with Lindsay, if he had not, with an unusual 
 bitterness, denounced Arthur Butler as the author of a hateful 
 crime ; a crime which she knew had been foully insinuated against 
 him by a man of whose subtle wickedness she was persuaded, 
 and whom, of all others, she most heartily execrated. She was, 
 therefore, led indignantly, though temjierately, to repel the slander 
 by which her father’s hatred had been artfully envenomed. But 
 when, in the fierce fervor of his disjileasure, Lindsay had announced 
 to her the danger that had befallen Butler, the disclosure opened 
 to her mind a world of misery. The late silence of her lover 
 had already alarmed her fears, and this announcement suggested 
 the worst of the many anxious conjectures which her brooding 
 sjiirit had imagined as the cause of that absence of tidings. Her 
 emotions upon this disclosure were those of a bursting heart 
 that dared not trust itself with words; and when her father, see¬ 
 ing the unlooked-for mischief he had done, sought to temper his 
 speech, and retract some of the harshness of his communication, 
 by an explanation, the only effect was, for the moment, to take 
 off the edge of her keenest grief. But when she left his pre¬ 
 sence, and recovered herself sufficiently to recall all that had 
 passed, the dreadful thought of disaster to Butler, came back 
 upon her imagination with all the horrors which a fond heart 
 could summon around it. A weary hour was spent in sobs and 
 tears; and it was only by the blandishments of her brother 
 Henry’s kind and earnest sympathy, when the youth found her in 
 the parlor thus whelmed in sorrow, and by his manly and 
 cheering reckoning of the many chances of safety that attend the 
 footsteps of a prudent and a brave man, that she began to regain 
 that resolute equanimity that was a natural and even predominat¬ 
 ing attribute of her character. 
 
 When Lindsay came into the parlor with the tidings of the 
 victory at Camden, such was the state in which he found her; and 
 whilst he announced to her that event which had given him so 
 much joy, he was not unheedful of the pang he had previously 
 inflicted, and now endeavored to make amends by throwing in 
 some apparently casual, though intentional, reference to the condi- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 389 
 
 tion of Butler, who, he doubted not, would now be disposed of on 
 easy terms. “ Perhaps,” he continued, “ as the war was drawing 
 to a close, and the royal clemency had been singularly considerate 
 of the mistaken men who had taken arms against their king, he 
 would in a little while be discharged on his parole.” This 
 reluctant and forced crumb of comfort fell before one who had but 
 little appetite to take it, and Mildred received it only in cold silence. 
 Henry, however, made better use of the event, and by that assidu¬ 
 ity which, in true and gentle friendships, never wearies, and never 
 misses its aim, when that aim is to revive a sinking hope, succeeded 
 in lifting both his father and sister into a kindlier climate of 
 feeling. But solitude and her pillow ravelled all this work of 
 charity. Fancy, that stirring tormentor of acute minds, summoned 
 up all its phantoms to Mildred’s waking fears, and the night was 
 passed by her as by one who could not be comforted. In the morning 
 she was ill, and therefore, as I have said, remained in her chamber. 
 
 Lindsay, ever solicitous for the happiness of his children, and 
 keenly sensitive to whatever gave them pain, now that the turbid 
 violence of his passion had subsided into a clearer and calmer 
 medium, applied himself by every art which parental fondness could 
 supply, to mitigate the suffering of his daughter. Like a man who, 
 in a reckless and ungoverned moment, having done an injury which 
 his heart revolts at, and having leisure to contemplate the wrong 
 he has inflicted, hastens to administer comfort with an alacrity 
 which even outruns the suggestions of ordinary aflection, so did he 
 now betake himself to Mildred’s chamber, and, with sentiments of 
 mixed alarm and contrition, seek her forgiveness for what he 
 acknowledged a rash and unbecoming assault upon her feelings. 
 
 His soothing did not reach the disease. They could give her no 
 assurance of Butler’s safety; and on that point alone all her 
 anguish turned. “ My dear, dear father,” she said, with a feeble 
 and dejected voice, “ how do you wrong me, by supposing I could 
 harbor a sentiment that might cause me to doubt the love I bear 
 you! I know and revere the purity of your nature, and need no 
 assurance from you that your affection itself has kindled up this 
 warmth of temper. But you have opened a fountain of bitterness 
 upon my feelings,” she added, sobbing vehemently, “ in what you 
 have divulged relating to a man you loathe, and one, dear father 
 
390 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 —take it from me now, as the expression of a sacred duty—one 
 that I must ever love. Call it fate—call it infatuation ; say that it 
 does not befit my womanly reserve to avow it—but if misfortune 
 and death have fallen upon the head of Arthur Butler, there is 
 that bond between us, that I must die. Oh, father—” 
 
 As Mildred pronounced these words she had gradually raised 
 herself into a sitting posture in her bed, and, at the conclusion, fell 
 back exhausted upon her pillow. The enthusiasm, the violence 
 and the intensity of her emotions had overborne her strength, and 
 for some moments she lay incapable of speech. 
 
 “ Mildred, Mildred ! daughter!” exclaimed Lindsay, in alarm, “ I 
 forgive you, my child. Great heaven, if this should be too much 
 for her sensitive nature, and she should die before my eyes ! Dear 
 Mildred,” he said in a softer accent, as he kissed her pale forehead, 
 “ but look up, and never, never more will I oppose your wish.” 
 
 “Father,” she uttered, in a scarce audible whisper. 
 
 “ Thank God, she revives ! Forbear to speak, my love ; 
 that is enough. Do not exhaust your strength by another 
 efibrt.” 
 
 “ Father !” she repeated in a firmer accent. 
 
 “ There, there, my child,” continued Lindsay, fanning the air 
 before her face with his hand. 
 
 “ Father,” again uttered Mildi'ed, “ tell me of Arthur.” 
 
 “ He is safe, my love—and thou shalt yet be happy. Daughter 
 —no more ; compose yourself—nor attempt again to speak.” And 
 saying these words, Lindsay stole out of the chamber and sum¬ 
 moned one of the domestics to administer a cordial to the ex¬ 
 hausted patient; and then gave orders that she should be left to 
 recruit her strength by sleep. 
 
 Mildred by degi'ees revived. Jaded by mental affliction, she had 
 sunk into repose ; and when another morning arrived, the lustre 
 had returned to her eye, and her recovery vvas already well ad¬ 
 vanced. She did not yet venture from her chamber, but she was 
 able to leave her bed and take the fresh air at her window. 
 
 Whilst she sat in the loose robe of an invalid, towards noon, 
 looking out upon the green forest and smiling fields around her, 
 ■with Henry close by her side, seeking to soothe and amuse her 
 mind, they were enabled to descry a horseman, attended by a 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 391 
 
 single servant, making Lis way up the hill from the ford, by the 
 road that led directly to the door. 
 
 “ As I live, sister,” ejaculated Ilenry, “ there is Tyrrel, covered 
 with dust, and his horse all but worn down by travel.” 
 
 “ Heaven forbid that it should be Tyrrel indeed !” said Mildred, 
 growing paler, and trembling as she spoke. “ Oh, what ill fortune 
 brings him hither ?” • 
 
 “ I’ll be bound,’’ replied Henry, “ that he comes with a whole 
 budget of lies and foul thoughts. He has a knavish look, sister, 
 and has been hatching mischief with every step of his horse. I, 
 for one, will not see him ; unless I can’t help it. And you, sister, 
 have an excuse to keep your room: so, he is like to have cold 
 comfort here, with his rascally news of victory. We shall hear 
 enough of Camden now. By-the-by, sister, I should like much to 
 see our account of that business. I would bet it gives another 
 face to the matter. These Tories do so bespatter his lordship with 
 praises, and tell such improbable things about their victories! I 
 will not see Tyrrel, that’s flat.” 
 
 “ Nay, brother, not so fast. You must see him, for my sake. 
 He has something to tell of Arthur. Persuade my father to ask 
 him : tell him, if need be, that I requested this. And, Henry, if 
 he says that Arthur is safe and well, if he has heard anything of 
 him, knows anything of him, fly to and tell me it all. And, remem¬ 
 ber, brother,” she said earnestly, “ tell me all—whether it be good 
 or bad.” 
 
 “ This is a new view of the case,” said Henry. “ Mildred, you 
 are a wise woman, and think more ahead than I do. I did not 
 reflect that this fellow might know something of Major Butler, 
 though I am pretty sure he kept as clear of the major as a clean 
 pair of heels w'ould allow him. And, moreover, I take upon me 
 to say, that he will bring as little good news of ourArthur in this di¬ 
 rection, as he ever did of a good act in his life. But I will spy him out, 
 sister, and report like a—like a—forty-two pounder, or the dis¬ 
 patch of a general w'ho has won a fight. So, adieu, sister.” 
 
 By the time that Henry had reached the porch, Tyrrel was 
 already there. He liad dismounted, and his weary steed stood 
 panting on the grave’ walk, while the servant stripped him of 
 his baggage. 
 
392 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Well met, good master Henry !” said Tyn-el approaching, and 
 offering the youth his hand, “ I am somewhat of a soiled traveller, 
 you see. Is your father at home ? And your sister, how is she ?” 
 
 “ My father is at home,” replied Henry, dropping the proffered 
 hand of the visitor, almost as soon as it had touched his own. “ I 
 will send him to you, sir.” 
 
 “ But you have not asked me the news, Henry,” said Tyrrel, 
 “ and, seeing that I have come from the very theatre of Avar, I 
 could tell you something good.” 
 
 “ I have heard my father speak of your good news,” answered 
 Henry, carelessly, “ I do not serve under the same colors with 
 you, sir.” 
 
 And the youth left the porch to announce the arrival of the 
 traveller to Lindsay. 
 
 “ There spoke the rebel Mildred,” muttered Tyrrel, as Henry 
 left his presence. 
 
 In an instant, Lindsay hastened from the library and received 
 his guest with a warm Avelcome. 
 
 The first cares of his reception, and some necessary order re¬ 
 lating to his comfort, being despatched, Tyrrel began to disburden 
 himself of his stock of particulars relating to the great and impor¬ 
 tant movements of the oj^posing armies in the south. He had 
 left Cornwallis a few days after the battle, and had travelled with 
 post haste to Virginia, on a leave of absence. He described mi¬ 
 nutely the state of things consequent upon the recent victory ; and it 
 was with a tone of triumphant exultation that he frequently 
 appealed to his predictions as to the course of events, when last at 
 the Dove Cote. The convei’sation soon became too confidential 
 for the presence even of Henry, Avho sat gi-eedily deA'ouring every 
 word that fell from the lips of the narrator, and the further inter¬ 
 view was transferred to the library. 
 
 Henry hastened back to Mildred. 
 
 “ The fellow is so full of politics, sister,” said the eager scout, 
 “ that he has not dropped one solitary word about Butler. He 
 talks of the province being brought back to a sense of its duty, 
 and public sentiment putting an end to this unnatural war forsooth ! 
 And his majesty reaping fresh laurels on the fields of Virginia! 
 Let his majesty put in his sickle here—he shall reap as fine a 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 393 
 
 crop of briers to bind round his brow, as ever grew m a fence- 
 corner ! But Butler! Oh, no, he has nothing to say of Butler. 
 He is a cunning man, sister, and keeps out of the major’s way, 
 take my word for that.” 
 
 “ Brother, get you again to my father, and say to him that I 
 desire to know what tidings Mr. Tyrrel brings us. Say it in his 
 ear privately, Henry.” 
 
 The young emissary again took his leave, and, without apology, 
 entered the library. 
 
 Mildred, in the meantime, restless and impatient, applied herself 
 to the duties of the toilet, and, with the assistance of her maid, 
 was soon in a condition to leave her chamber. She had, almost 
 unwittingly, and in obedience to her engrossing wish to know 
 something of Butler, made these preparations to appear in the 
 parlor, without thinking of her repugnance to meet Tyrrel. And 
 now, when she was on the point of going forth, her resolve chang¬ 
 ed, and she moved through the chamber like a perturbed spirt, 
 anxiously waiting the return of Henry. She walked to the win¬ 
 dow, whence, looking out towards the terrace she perceived that 
 her father and his guest had strolled out upon the lawn, where they 
 were moving forward at a slow pace, whilst their gesticulations 
 showed that they were engaged in an earnest conference. 
 
 Henry’s footsteps at the same moment were heard traversing 
 the long passage, and Mildred, no longer able to restrain her 
 eagerness, hastily left her room and met her brother, with whom 
 she returned to the parlor. 
 
 “ My news, upon the whole, is good,” said Henry, as he put his 
 arm round INIildred’s waist. “ AVhen I entered the library, and took 
 a seat by ray father, he suddenly broke up some long talk that 
 ■was going on, in which he looked very grave, and, as if he knew 
 what I came for—he is an excellent, kind father, sister, for all his 
 moping and sad humors, and loves botli you and me.” 
 
 “ He does, Henry, and we must never forget it.” 
 
 “ 1 would fight for him to the very death, Mildred. So, seeing 
 that I looked as if you had sent me to him, he turned, in a kind 
 of careless way, and asked Tyrrel if he had heard anything lately 
 of Butler.” 
 
 “ Well—brother.” 
 
 16* ■ 
 
394 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 “ ‘ I scarce tlioiight to mention it, answered Tyrrel, ‘ but the 
 man’—think of that way of speaking of Major Butler—‘the man 
 had the temerity to push himself amongst the loyal troops, and 
 was made a prisoner; he was suspected to be a spy, and there was, 
 
 I have understood, an idea of trying him by court-martial for 
 it, and for other misdemeanors, of which I wrote you some par¬ 
 ticulars. I believe indeed, he was tried, and would, perhaps, have 
 been shot.” 
 
 “ Oh, heaven! brother, can this be true ?” exclaimed Mildred, 
 as the color deserted her cheek. 
 
 “ I give you exactly Tyrrel’s words,” replied Henry, “ but the 
 court were attacked, said he, by some bands of Whigs who stole a 
 march upon them.” 
 
 “ And Ai'thur escaped ? Kind heaven, I thank thee !” almost 
 screamed Mildred, as she clasped her hands together. 
 
 “ So Tyrrel thinks,” continued Henry. “ At all events they did 
 Rot shoot him, like a pack of cowardly knaves as they were. And 
 •' as some Tory prisoners were taken and dragged away by our 
 V good friend General Sumpter, who was the man, Tyrrel says, that 
 set upon them, it is considered good policy—these were his words, 
 sister—to spare the unnecessary effusion of blood on both sides. 
 And then my father asked Tyn-el if Cornwallis knew of these 
 doings, and he answered, not—that it was the indiscreet act of some 
 mountain boys, who were in the habit of burning and slaying, 
 against the wish of his Lordship : that the regular officers disap¬ 
 prove of harsh measures, and that peace now reigns all through 
 the province.” 
 
 “ When they make a desert of the land, they call it peace,” said 
 Mildred thoughtfully, quoting a translation of the beautiful passage 
 of Tacitus. “ This war is a dreadful trade.” 
 
 “ For us, sister, who stay at home,” replied Henry. “But God 
 is good to us, and will favor the right, and will protect the brave 
 men who draw their swords to maintain it.” 
 
 “ From treachery, ambuscade, and privy murder—I thank you, 
 brother, for that word. Heaven shield us, and those we love! 
 But these are fearful times.” 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 r 
 
 CIRCUMSTANCES FAVOR TYRREl’s INFLUENCE OVER LINDSAY. 
 
 The discourse betwen Lindsay and Tyrrel was one of deep moment. 
 T 3 UTel had taken advantage of the pervading fervor which the late 
 successes of the British arms had diffused amongst the adherents 
 of the royal cause, in behalf of what was deemed their certain tri¬ 
 umph, to urge forward his own views. This was the occasion of 
 his present unexpected visit at the Dove Cote. His immediate aim 
 was to plunge Lindsay into the contest, by forcing him to take 
 some step that should so commit him, in the opinion of the repub¬ 
 lican government, as to leave him no chance of retreat, nor the 
 means longer to enjoy the privileges of his late neutrality. He, 
 unhappily, found Lindsay in a mood to favor this intrigue. The 
 increasing anxieties of that gentleman’s mind, his domestic gi’iefs, 
 his peculiar temperament, and the warmth of his political animosi¬ 
 ties, all stimulated him to the thought of some active participation 
 in the struggle. Tyrrel had sulEcient penetration to perceive that 
 such was likely to be the current of Lindsay’s feelings, and he had 
 by frequent letters administered to this result. 
 
 There were several opulent families in the lower sections of the 
 state, who still clung to the cause of the Ixing, and who had been 
 patiently awaiting the course of events, for the time when they 
 might more boldly avow themselves. AVith the heads of these 
 families Tyrrel had been in active correspondence, and it was now 
 his design which under the sanction of the British leaders, he had 
 already nearly matured, to bring these individuals together into a 
 secret council, that they might act in concert, and strengthen them¬ 
 selves by mutual alliance. Immediately after the battle of Camden, it 
 is known that Cornwallis had laid his plans for the invasion of North 
 Carolina, by intrigues of the same kind: it was only extending the 
 system a little in advance to apply it to A^irginia. Arrangements 
 
 305 
 
396 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 had been made for this meeting of malcontents to be held at the 
 house of a Mr. Stanhope, on one of the lower sections of the 
 James river—a gentleman of good repute, with whom Lindsay had 
 long been in the relations of close friendship. 
 
 “The moments are precious, and you are waited for,” said 
 Tyrrel, in the course of his conference with Lindsay ; “we must 
 strilie whilst the iron is hot. Separated as our good friends are 
 from each other, you are now in the power, and at the mercy— 
 which is a significant phrase—of the unruly government of Con¬ 
 gress. Yom’ motions, therefore, should be prompt. There are 
 seasons, in the history of every trouble, when the virtue of delibera¬ 
 tion mainly lies in its rapidity and the boldness of its resolve. I 
 beseech you, sir, to regard this as such a season, and to take the 
 course which the honor of our sovereign demands, without further 
 pause to think of consequences.” 
 
 “ When you were here a month ago,” replied Lindsay, “ I had 
 my scruples. But things have strangely altered in that short 
 interval. Your standard floats more bravely over the path of 
 invasion than I had deemed it possible. You charged me then 
 with being a laggard, and, you may remember, even impeached 
 my loyalty.” 
 
 “ I did you a grievous wrong, my dear friend; and did I not 
 know your generous nature pardoned, as soon as it was uttered, 
 my rash and intemperate speech, it would have cost me mstny a 
 pang of remorse. Even in this, good sir,” said Tyrrel, smiling 
 and laying his hand upon Lindsay’s shoulder ; “ even in this, you 
 see how necessary is it that we should have a wise and considerate 
 councillor to moderate the ungoverned zeal of us younger men.” 
 
 “ My mind is made up,” replied Lindsay. “ I will attend the 
 meeting.” 
 
 “ And Mildred will be removed forthwith to Charleston ?” 
 eagerly interrupted Tyrrel. 
 
 “ Ah, sir, not one word of that. If I attend this meeting, it must 
 be in secret. Nor do I yet commit myself to its resolves. I shall be 
 a listener only. I would learn what my compatriots think, reserv¬ 
 ing to myself the right to act. Even yet, I would purchase peace 
 with many a sacrifice. I abjure all violent measures of oflrence.” 
 
 “ I am content,” answered Tyrrel, “ that you should hold your- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 397 
 
 oelf unpledged to any measures which your gravest and severest 
 judgment does not approve. Though I little doubt that, from all 
 quarters, you will hear such tidings as shall convince you that the 
 road, both of safety and honor, leads onward in this glorious enter¬ 
 prise. ’Tis from this nettle danger, that we pluck the flower 
 ‘ safety.’ Conscious of this, I would have Mildred and her brother 
 cared for.” 
 
 “ Mildred can never be yours,” said Lindsay musing. “ There 
 is the thought that makes me pause. I believed, and so do you, 
 that the favor this Butler had found with her was the capricious 
 and changeful fancy of a girl. It is the devoted passion of a 
 woman : it has grown to be her faith, her honor, her religion.” 
 
 “ Butler is a fool—a doomed madman,” replied Tyrrel with 
 earnestness. “ He came here with the hellish purpose to betray 
 you; and he was silly enough to think he could do so, and still 
 win your daughter. She should be told of this.” 
 
 “ She has been told of it, and she believes it not.” 
 
 “ Was my avouch given to her for the truth of the fact.” 
 
 “ It was. And, to speak plainly to you, it has only made your 
 name hateful to her ear.” 
 
 “ Then shall she have proof of it, which she cannot doubt. She 
 shall have it in the recorded judgment of a court-martial, which 
 has condemned him as a traitor and a spy; she shall have it in 
 the doom of his death, and the sequestration of his estate,” 
 exclaimed Tyrrel with a bitter malignity, “ proud girl!” 
 
 “ Remember yourself, sir !” interrupted Lindsay, sternly. “ This 
 is not the language nor the tone fit for a father’s ear, when the 
 subject of it is his own daughter.” 
 
 Tyrrel was instantly recalled to his self-possession; and with 
 that humility which he could always assume when his own interest 
 required it, spoke in a voice of sudden contrition. 
 
 “ Why, what a fool am I to let my temper thus sway me! 
 Humbly, most humbly, dear sir, do I entreat your forgiveness. I 
 love your daughter, and revere the earnest enthusiasm of her 
 nature; and, therefore, have been galled beyond my proper show 
 of duty, to learn that she could discredit my word.” 
 
 “ I enjoin it upon you,” said Lindsay, “ that in your intercourse 
 with my family here, you drop no word calculated to alarm ray 
 
398 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 daughter for the safety of this Butler. It is a topic which dis¬ 
 tracts her, and must be avoided.” 
 
 “ For the present,” replied Tyrrel, “ as I have before told you, I 
 think he is safe. The forfeiture of his estate is not a secret. But 
 to business, my friend. When shall we set out ?” 
 
 “ To-morrow,” answered Lindsay. “ We must travel cautiously, 
 and amongst our friends.” 
 
 “ This disguise has served me so far,” said Tyi-rel. “ I may the 
 better trust to it when in your company.” 
 
 Mildred and Henry remained in the parlor, and were there 
 when Lindsay and his guest, having terminated their secret con¬ 
 ference, returned to the house. 
 
 “ Your cheek denies your customary boast of good health. Miss 
 Linds.ay,” said Tyrrel, respectfully approaching the lady, and with 
 an air that seemed to indicate his expectation of a cold reception. 
 “It grieves me to learn that, at a time when all good men are 
 rejoicing in the prospect of peace, you should not be in a condi¬ 
 tion to share the common pleasure.” 
 
 “I think there is small occasion for rejoicing in any quarter,” 
 replied Mildred, calmly. 
 
 “ Miss Lindsay would, perhaps, be interested to hear,” said 
 Tyn'el, not discomfited by the evident aversion of the lady, “that 
 I have, within a few days past, left the head-quarters of the British 
 army, where I was enabled to glean some particulars of a friend 
 of hers, Major Butler, of the Continental service.” 
 
 Mildred colored, as she said in a faint voice, “ He is my friend.” 
 
 “ He has been unfortunate,” continued Tyrrel, “ having fallen 
 into the hands of some of our skirmishers. But I believe I may 
 assure Miss Lindsay that he is both safe and well. He enjoys 
 the reputation of being a brave gentleman. I may be permitted 
 to say, that had his destiny brought him under other colors, I 
 should have been proud to be better known to him.” 
 
 “ Major Butler chooses his own colors,” said Henry, interposing. 
 “ I don’t think destiny had much to do with it. He took his side 
 because they wanted men to help out a brave war.” 
 
 Lindsay frowned, and strode once or twice across the apartment, 
 during which an embarrassing silence prevailed. 
 
 “ You are the same cockerel you always were, Henry,” said 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 399 
 
 Tyn-el, with undaunted playfulness; “ always warm for the fight. 
 But it is a Christian duty, you know, to be peace-makers in such 
 times as these. We may trust. Miss Lindsay, that some concilia¬ 
 tory spirit shall arise to quell the quarrelsome humors of the 
 people, and bring all things back to tranquillity. For myself, I 
 devoutly wish it. ’ 
 
 “ The day for such a spirit does not seem to be at hand,” said 
 Mildred, quietly rising to withdraw. 
 
 “ You are not well, my daughter,” interposed Lindsay. “ Mil-. 
 dred is hut recently from a sick bed,” he* continued, addressing 
 Tyrrel, in the way of apology for her marked coldness of demea¬ 
 nor. 
 
 “ T am not well, father,” replied Mildred, “ I must he permitted 
 to leave you ;” and she now retired. 
 
 When Henry soon afterwards joined her, he found her agitated 
 and excited. 
 
 “ Better known to Arthur Butler !” she exclaimed, dwelling on 
 the speech of Tyrrel. “He is better known already than he dreams 
 of. Think, brother, of the cool hypocrisy of this hold schemer— 
 this secret disturber of the quiet of our house—that he should 
 dare boast to me of Arthur’s bravery.” 
 
 “ And to talk about his colors too !” said Henry. “ Did you 
 mark, sister, how I set him down—in spite of mir father’s presence ? 
 And did you see how his brow blanched when I spoke my mind 
 to him ? He will find me too hot a cockerel, as he calls me, to 
 venture upon our colors again. I hold no terms with him, sister, 
 more than yourself.” 
 
 “ You will excuse me to my father, Henry, I will not go in to 
 dinner to-day.” 
 
 “ I wondered,” replied Henry, “ that you met him at all, sister ; 
 but he took us unawares. And, truly, I don’t think it would be 
 safe to bring you near him again. So I advise you, keep your 
 room. As for me—tut! I am not afraid to meet him. I warrant 
 he gets his own upon occasion !” 
 
 “ I entreat you, Henry,” said Mildred, “ to guard your temper. 
 It would give our father pain to hear a rash speech from you. 
 It would answer no good end.” 
 
400 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ I will be as circumspect, Mildred, as tbe state of tbe war re- 
 qiiii-es,” answered Henry. “ Fight when it is necessary, and be 
 silent when we can’t strike.” 
 
 Henry now left his sister and went to his usual opcupations. 
 
 Mildred, in accordance with the purpose expressed to her brother, 
 did not appear at the dinner table; and the day was passed, by 
 Lindsay and Tyrrel, in close communion over the topics connected 
 with the object of the enterprise in which they were about to em¬ 
 bark. Tyrrel had seen enongh to convince him that he might, at 
 least for the present, abandon all effort to win Mildred’s good 
 opinion; and his whole thoughts were now bent to bring Lindsay 
 into such an attitude of hostility to the republican authorities as 
 would inevitably lead to his removal from the state, and perhaps 
 compel him to retire to England. Either of these events would 
 operate to the advantage of the aspiring and selfish policy by which 
 Tyi’rel hoped to accomplish his object. 
 
 In the course of the evening Lindsay held a short interview with 
 his children, in which he made known to them that affairs of im¬ 
 portance were about to call him away, for a fortnight perhaps, from 
 the Dove Cote. It was in vain that Mildred endeavored to turn 
 him from his purpose, which, though undivulged to her, she con¬ 
 jectured to be, from its association with Tyrrel, some sinister poli¬ 
 tical move, of which her father was to be the dupe. 
 
 In accordance with Lindsay’s intimation, he and Tyrrel set ont, 
 at an early hour of the following day, on their journey towards the 
 low country. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 A DOMESTIC SCENE AT THE DOVE COTE. 
 
 On the third morning following Lindsay’s and Tyrrel’s departure, 
 the season being now about the commencement of Septembei, 
 Henry was seen, after an unusually early breakfast, to come forth 
 upon the grass-plot, in front of the house, bearing in his hand a 
 short rifle, — his customary accompaniment of the bugle being 
 slung across his shoulders. For some moments he was occupied in 
 examining his weapon; then leaning it against a tree that stood 
 upon the lawn, he put the bugle to his mouth and sounded a long 
 and clear signal-note. The first effects of this spell Avere to bring 
 up Bell, Blanch, and Hylas, the three flap-eared hounds, ivho came 
 frisking over the grass with many antics that might be said to 
 resemble the bows and curtsies of the human species, and Avhich 
 were accompanied by the houndish salutation of deep-mouthed 
 howls that the horn never fails to wake up in these animals. 
 
 Soon after these, came striding up the hill the long gaunt form 
 of Stephen Foster, Avho, mounting the stone Avail on the lower side, 
 with one bound sprang over the thickset-hedge that begirt the 
 terrace. He Avas now arrayed in a yelloAV hunting shirt that 
 reached to the middle of his thigh, and AA'hich was decorated Avith 
 an abundance of red fringe that bound the cape, elbows, Avrists, and 
 extremity of the skirt, and a avooI hat encircled with a broad red 
 band, in one side of which Avas set the national ornament of the buck- 
 tail. Around his Avaist Avas buckled a broad buckskin belt; he Avas 
 armed besides with a rifle a little short of six feet in length. 
 
 Stephen Foster was one of that idle craft, Avho,having no par¬ 
 ticular occupation, Avas from this circumstance, by a contradictioi^ 
 in tenns, usually called a man of all Avork. He belonged to that 
 class of beings who are only to be found in a society where the 
 ordinary menial employments are discharged by slaves; and was 
 
 40 ) 
 
402 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 the tenant of a few acres of land, ajipertaining to the domain of 
 the Dove Cote, where he professed to make his li^'ing by husbandry. 
 But by far the greater proportion of his revenues was derived from 
 divers miscellaneous services,—such as driving a team of four lean 
 horses, of which he was proprietor ; hauling wood for fuel; assist¬ 
 ing in the harvest fields; somtimes working in the garden; and, 
 when required, riding errands—which he preferred to all other 
 business. But labor was not Stephen’s forte: it was constitution¬ 
 ally a part of his system to postpone matters of work for pleasure ; 
 and, if there was anything for which he was particularly famous, it was 
 in avoiding all appearances of punctuality to u-ksome engagements. 
 If he can be said to have had a calling at all, it was that of a hunter, 
 a species of employment that possessed a wonderful charm for his 
 fanc)^ and which was excellently adapted both to his physical and 
 moral qualities. He, therefore, gave much of his time to the con¬ 
 cerns of vert and venison ; and his skill with the rifle was such that 
 he could make sure of putting a ball through the brain of a wild 
 pigeon as far as he was able to draw a sight. He was skilled in 
 the habits of all the forest animals common to this part of Virginia, 
 and accurately drew the line of distinction between vermin and 
 game. He hunted wolves, bears, panthers (painters, in his own 
 pronunciation), racoons, foxes, opossums, and squirrels ; and 
 trapped otter, beaver, and muskrats ; moreover, he was an expert 
 jigger and bobber of eels, and well knew the trouting streams. 
 For these pursuits he was endowed with a patient nature that 
 could endure a whole day and night in the woods without eating or 
 sleeping ; my authority says nothing of his forbearance in the third 
 primary want of humanity. He was a man of fine thews and sinews, 
 stout and brave; and withal of a generous, frank, and invariable 
 good nature. The war had furnished occasion for such talents as 
 he possessed; and Stephen was now meditating a bold severance 
 from his wife and children, who had heretofore exerted such a 
 dominion over his affections, that he had not the heart to leave 
 them. But the iiresent difficulties of the nation had made such a 
 cogent appeal to his patriotism, that he had resolved to take one 
 campaign in the field, and thus give scope to his natural love of 
 adventure. It was now his peculiar glory, and one that wrought vrith 
 a potent influence upon his self love, that he held the post of lieute- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 403 
 
 iiaiit to the company of Amherst Rangers, a volunteer corps that had 
 lately been organized with a view to the state of affairs in the south. 
 
 This worthy, when he had no expedition in hand, was generally 
 to he found lounging about the mansion of the Dove Cote, in 
 expectation of some call from Henry, between whom and himself 
 there existed a mutual and somewhat exorbitant affection. 
 
 On his present appearance there was a broad, complacent grin 
 on Stephen’s features as he accosted the young bugleman with the 
 interrogatory— 
 
 “ What’s in the wind now, Mister Henry? Arter another buck, 
 I reckon ? And an elegant morning it is for a drive ! May be, 
 the wind’s just a little too fresh, ’cepting you was able to steal on 
 the lower side of the gajne, and then the scent would come do^vn 
 like a rose. Thar’s a great advantage in being down the wind, 
 because the animal can’t hear you breaking through the bushes, 
 for the wind makes naturally such a twittering of the leaves that 
 it deceives him, you see.” 
 
 “ I fancy I know a good hunting day. Lieutenant Foster,” said 
 Henry, putting his arms akimbo, “ as well as you. Who told you 
 I was going after a buck ? Why, man, if that had been my drift 
 I should have started you two hours ago. But we have other 
 business in hand, Stephen. There is such dreadful news in the 
 country! We shall march soon, take my word for it. I am 
 resolved to go, Stephen, as soon as ever the Rangers set out, let my 
 father say what he will. It is time men should take their sides— 
 that’s my opinion.” 
 
 “ Mister Henry, I wouldn’t advise you,” said Stephen, with a 
 wise shake of the head. “Your father would grieve himself to 
 death if you were to leave him.” 
 
 “ Don’t believe the half of that, lieutenant. There would be a 
 flurry for a little while, and, after that, father would see that the 
 thing couldn’t be helped, and so he would have to be satisfied. I’ll 
 steal away—that’s flat.” 
 
 “Well, take notice. Mister Henry,” said Stephen, chuckling, “ I 
 give you my warning against it. But if you do go along with me 
 I’ll take as much care of you as if you were my own son.” 
 
 “ I know sister Mildred thinks,” replied Henry, “ it wouldn’t be 
 very wrong in me to go; and so I’ll leave her to make my peace 
 
404 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 at liome. Besides, I am going on lier account, just to try and hear 
 something of Major Butler.” 
 
 “ If that’s her opinion,” returned Stephen, “ thar isn’t much 
 wrong about it. She is the head contriver and main privy- 
 councillor,” added Stephen, laughing, as he used these slang -words, 
 ■with which he was in the habit of garnishing his conversation, 
 “ of all matters that are done here in this house.” 
 
 “ These are your new regimentals, Stephen,!’ said Henry, looking 
 at Foster’s dress; “ you shine like a flecker on a sunny day. It will 
 please sister to the life to see you so spruce; she’s a prodigious 
 disciplinarian, and doesn’t like to see us rebels (here he put his 
 hand to his mouth and pronounced this word with a mock 
 circumspection), worse dressed than the rascally red-coats. When 
 do the Bangers march, Stephen ?” 
 
 “We are waiting for orders every day. We parade, you know, 
 Mister Henry, this morning.” 
 
 “ You must plead off to-day,” said Henry; “ I called you up to 
 tell you that sister and I were going to ride, and I wanted you to 
 go with us. At any rate, if you must go to the troop, you can 
 leave us on the road. You don’t meet till twelve, and both sister 
 and I want to talk to you. She commanded me to tell you this. 
 I believe she wishes you to take a letter for her. Poor Mildred 
 doesn’t know that I am going with you; so, as to that, you needn’t 
 let on. Go, Stephen, have our horses ready as soon as you can get 
 them. Quick, good Stephen; sister and I will wait for you on the 
 lawn.” 
 
 The lieutenant of the Bangers, having received his orders, 
 hun’ied away to attend to their execution. 
 
 Mildred was already apparelled for her ride, and came at this 
 moment from the house along the gravel walk. Her cheek, lately 
 pale, had now begun to show the ruddy hue of health. Her full, 
 dark-blue eye, although habitually expressive of a thoughtful 
 temperament, frequently sparkled with the sudden flashes of a 
 playful spirit, and oftener with the fire of an ardent resolution. 
 Her features, marked by a well-defined outline, bore a strong 
 resemblance to her brother’s, and, when animated by the quick¬ 
 speeding emotions of her mind, presented a countenance unusually 
 gifted with the gi-aces of external beauty. The impression wliich 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 405 
 
 her physiognomy conveyed, was that of an impassioned and enthu¬ 
 siastic nature, and of a feminine courage that was sufficient for anV 
 emergency. A clear skin gave brilliancy to her complexion ; and, 
 although habits of exposure to the air had slightly impaired its 
 lustre, the few traces which this exposure left, rather communicated 
 the agreeable idea of a wholesome and vigorous constitution. The 
 tones of her voice were soft and gentle, and full of harmony; and, 
 when stimulated by her feelings, rich, deep, and commanding. 
 Her figure, of what might be deemed a medium height in females, 
 was neat and agile, well proportioned, and combining the flexible 
 ease proper to her sex, with a degree of steadiness and strength 
 that might be denominated masculine. Her movement was grace¬ 
 ful, distinguished by a ready hand and free step; and it was im¬ 
 possible to look upon her most familiar bearing, ivithout being 
 struck by the indication which it gave of a self-possessed, fearless, 
 and careering temper, allied to a mind raised above the multitude 
 by a consciousness of intellectual force. 
 
 As Mildred advanced along the shaded walk, she was followed 
 by a fantastical little attendant, whom, in the toyish freak of a 
 solitary and luxurious life, she had trained to fill the station of a 
 lady’s page. This was a diminutive negro boy, not above ten 
 years of age, of a delicate figure, and now gaudily bedecked in a 
 vest of scarlet cloth, a pair of loose white linen trowsers drawn at 
 the ancle, and red slippers. A ruffle fell over his neck, and full 
 white sleeves were fastened with silken cords at his wrists. A 
 scarlet velvet cap gave a finish to the apparel of this gorgeous 
 little elf; and the dress, grotesque as it was, was not badly set off 
 by the saucy, familiar port of the conceited menial. Whether he 
 had been destined from his birth to this pampered station,—or, 
 accidentally, like many of the eastern monarchs, raised to the pur¬ 
 ple,—he bore the romantic name of Endymion, and was fully as 
 much at the call of his patroness, and as fond of sleep, as him of 
 Mount Latmos. His business seemed to be at the present moment 
 to acquit himself of the responsible duty of holding an ivory- 
 mounted riding-whip in readiness for the service of his mistress. 
 
 When Mildred had crossed the lawn and arrived at the spot 
 where Henry now stood, she was saluted by her brother, with— 
 
406 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Stand, my gentle sister, you and your monkey ! Ah, Mildred, 
 you are not what you used to be; you have grown much too grave 
 of late. Bear up, dear sister : for, after all, what is it! Why we 
 have been beaten, and we must fight it over again, that’s all. And 
 as to the major, your partiality magnifies his dangers. Hasn’t he 
 an arm ?—yes; and hasn’t he a leg ?—which, in war, I hold to be 
 just as useful sometimes.” 
 
 “ There is a dreadful uncertainty, brother,” replied Mildred. “ I 
 dream of the worst.” 
 
 “ A fig for your dreams, sister Mildred ! They have been all 
 sorts of ways, and that you know. Now, I have a waking dream, 
 and that is, that before you are twenty-four hours older you will 
 hear of Major Butler.” 
 
 “ Would to heaven your dream may prove true !” replied Mil¬ 
 dred. “.But, Henry, you love me, and affection is an arrant cheat 
 in its prophecies.” 
 
 “ Tush then, sister! don’t talk of it. For when we know nothing, 
 it does no good to get to fancying. These are the times to act; 
 and perhaps I’ll surprise you yet.” 
 
 “ With what, good brother ?” 
 
 “ Order arms,” replied Henry, evading his sister’s inquiry, and at 
 the same time assuming a military erectness, and bringing his rifle 
 briskly to the ground—“ with the beauty of my drijl, sister. It 
 even surprises myself. You shall see me march.” And here he 
 sportively shouldered his rifle and stepped with a measured pace 
 across the green, and then back again ; whilst the saucy Endymion, 
 presuming on his privilege, with mimic gestures, followed immedi¬ 
 ately in Henry’s rear, taking large strides to keep his ground. 
 When Henry perceived the apish muiion thus upon his track he 
 burst out into a laugh. 
 
 “ You huge giant-killer, do you mock me ?” he exclaimed. 
 “ Sister, I will smother your body-guard in the crown of my cap, 
 if he isn’t taught better manners.” 
 
 “ Henry, I cannot share your light heart with you,” said Mildred 
 sorrowfully, “ mine is heavy.” 
 
 “ And mine is yours, sister, light or heavy; in sunshine or in 
 storm, summer and winter, dear Mildred, it is always yours. It 
 
407 
 
 
 HORSE SitOE ROBINSON. 
 
 was a trick of mine to amuse you. And if I do not seem to feel, 
 sister, as you do, it is because I mean to act. We men have no 
 time for low spirits.” 
 
 “ Stephen Foster is here at the door with our horses, brother. 
 Boy, give me the whip—now, away. The gay feathers of this 
 hird,” said Mildred, as the little black retired, “ do not become a 
 follower of mine.” 
 
 The new aspect of affairs, since the defeat of Camden, had 
 pressed gi-ievously upon Mildred’s spirits. The country was full 
 of disheartening rumors, and every daj added particulars that 
 were of a nature to increase the distress. The bloody fate of the 
 brave De Kalb, and the soldiers that fell by his side; the triumph 
 with which Cornwallis had begun his preparations for further 
 conquests; the destitution and disarray of the American army, 
 now flying before its enemy ; the tales of unsparing sequestration 
 with which, in Carolina, the lands of those who still bore arms in 
 the cause of independence, were visited ; the military executions of 
 prisoners charged with the violation of a constructive allegiance, 
 in the conquered districts ; the harsh measures which were adopted 
 to break the heart of the rebellion, that still lingered behind the 
 march of the victorious army; and, above all, the boastful con¬ 
 fidence with which Cornwallis, by his proclamations, sought to open 
 the way for his invasion of North Carolina and Virginia, by at¬ 
 tempting to rally the liege subjects of the king under his standard : 
 all these events came on the wings of rumor, and had lighted up 
 a flame through the whole country. To Mildred, they all imported 
 an ill omen as regarded the fate of Arthur Butler. Now and 
 then, a straggling soldier of Gates’s broken force arrived at the 
 Dove Cote, where he was received with an eager hospitality, and 
 closely questioned as to the events in which he had participated. 
 But of Butler, not even the remotest tidings were obtained. For 
 the present, the uncertainty of his fortune filled Mildred’s thoughts 
 with the most anxious and unhappy misgivings; and this frame of 
 mind over-mastered all other feelings. The late visit of Tyrrel to 
 the Dove Cote, and the abrupt departure of her father with this 
 indiWdual, on an unavowed expedition, were not calculated to allay 
 her fears; and she felt herself pressed on all sides with the pre¬ 
 sages of coming misfortune. In these difiiculties she did not lose 
 
408 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 her fortitude ; but, like a mariner benighted in a dangerous strait, 
 she counted over the anxious moments of her voyage, expecting, 
 at each succeeding instant, to hear the dreadful stranding of 
 her bark upon the unseen rock, though bravely prepared for the 
 worst. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIIl 
 
 AN ARRIVAL AT THE DOVE COTE. MILDRED RESOLVES ON A 
 PERILOUS ADVENTURE. 
 
 It was in the state of painful expectation described in the last 
 chapter, that Mildred now rode out, daily, upon the highways, in 
 the feeble hope of hearing something of importance from the casual 
 wayfarers who, in the present excited condition of the country, 
 were thronging the roads. On the morning to which our narrative 
 refers, she had charged Henry to procure the attendance of Stephen 
 Foster, to whom, as it was known that he was about to accompany 
 his troop towards the scene of hostilities, she was anxious to in¬ 
 trust a letter for Butler, as well as to communicate to him some 
 instructions relating to it. 
 
 Stephen was, accordingly, now in attendance. A sleek, full- 
 blooded roan, of an active, deer-like figure, and showing by his 
 mettlesome antics the high training of a pampered favorite, stood 
 in the care of the groom at the door; and Mildred, aided by her 
 brother, sprang into her saddle with the ease and confidence of 
 one familiarized to the exploit. When mounted, she appeared to 
 great advantage. She was an expert rider, and managed her horse 
 with a dexterous grace. The very position of command and author¬ 
 ity which her saddle gave her, seemed to raise her spirits into a 
 happier elevation. 
 
 “ Follow me. Mister Stephen,” she said, “ I have service for yon. 
 And it will not be out of the fashion of the time that a lady should 
 be ’squired by an armed soldier. We take the road down the 
 river. Have a care, brother, how you bound ofiF at the start—the 
 hill is steep, and a horse’s foot is not over sure when pressed too 
 rapidly on the descent.” 
 
 The cavalcade descended the hill, crossed the ford, and then 
 took a direction down the stream, by the road that led beneath the 
 
 18 «09 
 
410 
 
 HORSE SHOE R0BIN80X. 
 
 Fawn’s Tower. Mildred sighed as she gazed around her, and saw 
 the spot of her last meeting with Butler. The little sMff by which 
 her lover had glided across the water, now lay upon a dry bed of 
 rock, in the same position, perhaps, where a month ago he had 
 left it. The summer drought had reduced the stream, and deprived 
 the light boat (whose tackle kept it prisoner to the root of the 
 sycamore) of the element on which it had floated. This spectacle 
 suggested to Mildred’s thoughts a melancholy image. “ Even 
 thus,” she muttered to herself, “ have I.been left by him. He has 
 gone to obey the calls of honor and duty, and I, fettered to my 
 native woods, have seen the stream of happiness roll by, one while 
 swollen to a torrent, and again dried up by the fervid heat of war, 
 until, like this sun-withered bark, I have been left upon the shore, 
 without one drop of that clear current on which alone I hoped to 
 live. Come hither, Stephen,” she said, as she slackened the rein 
 of her horse : and the obedient attendant was immediately at her 
 side. 
 
 “ You set out southwards, with your comrades of the troop, in a 
 few days ?” 
 
 “ Orders may come to-morrow,” replied Foster. 
 
 “ It is no holiday game that you are going to play,” continued 
 the lady. 
 
 “ When Congress cut out this here war for us. Miss Mildred,” 
 answered the hunter, “ they didn’t count upon settling of it with¬ 
 out making some tall fellows the shorter. And it is my opinion 
 that it is a p’int of conscience that every man should take his 
 spell of the work.” ^ 
 
 “ You go to it with a good heart,” said Mildred. “ We women 
 can only pray for you, lieutenant.” 
 
 “ I shall pull trigger with a steadier hand, ma’am, when I think 
 that your father’s daughter is praying for me.” 
 
 “ Stephen,” continued Mildred, “ you may chance to see some 
 one whose duty may lead him further south than, perhaps, you 
 may be required to travel: I will give you a letter to a friend of 
 mine, who, I fear, is in distress. If such traveller be trusty and 
 willing to do me a service, as perhaps he may for your sake, 
 I must beg you to put the letter in his charge, and tell him to seek 
 out Major Butler, and contrive to have it delivered to him.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 411 
 
 “ If it concerns you, Miss Mildred, I will take upon myself to 
 hunt Major Butler, or I will make as sure of the letter reaching 
 him as I may have a chance.” 
 
 “ Many thanks, Stephen. There is a purse containing some few 
 pieces of gold for you. Do not spare the use of it to perform my 
 wish.” 
 
 Stephen looked bashfully at the lady as she held the proffered 
 purse in her hand. 
 
 “ Take it, Mr. Foster. It is money to he employed in my service, 
 and it may stand you in good stead when better friends are 
 absent.” 
 
 The hunter uttered an awkward laugh. “ If you would allow 
 me to take the smallest piece of money, it would more than hire a 
 man express.” 
 
 “ Take it all, Stephen, it is hut a trifle. They call this the sinew 
 of war,” said Mildred, smiling. 
 
 “ It’s an utter, moral, and resolute impossibility,” answered Fos¬ 
 ter, “ for me to take all that money. Bless your soul. Miss Mildred, 
 my pocket arn’t used to such company.” 
 
 “Pshaw, Steve,” ejaculated Henry, “ you are the gi’eenest soldier 
 in these hills, to be playing boy about this money. Take it, man, 
 and none of your nonsense; precious little gold you’ll see before 
 you get back!” 
 
 “ Well, I’ll not be ticklish about it,” said Foster. “ Empty the 
 bag. Miss Mildred, into my hand.” 
 
 “ I mean that you shall have the purse with it,” added 
 Mildred. 
 
 “ No, no; that’s too valuable a piece of fine silk net-work for 
 me.” 
 
 “ Tliere again. Lieutenant Foster,” said Henry ; “ if you were not 
 my own superior officer, I would say you were a fool.” 
 
 “ Give it to me,” replied Stephen, laughing, “ I have heard of 
 cheating money out of a man’s pocket, but I never saw it cheated 
 into it before.” 
 
 “ You shall have the letter to-morrow, Stephen,” said Mildred, 
 “ and as you value your poor friend, who worked that purse with 
 her own hands, do not fail to make an effort to learn something of 
 
412 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Major Butler, and to have my letter delivered to him. He was 
 made a prisoner somewhere on his way to Georgia, and I have 
 heard escaped; hut, perhaps, that’s not true. You may find some 
 one who can tell you more about him. Inquire of all you meet: 
 and, Stephen, in my name, beg your comrades to aid you. Eemem- 
 ber,” added Mildred, with a smile, “ this is a lady’s secret. I am 
 sure you will keep it.” 
 
 “ Most sacrilegiously and with all possible punctuation!” replied 
 the woodsman. “And you shall hear of the Major, Miss Mildred, 
 dead or alive.” 
 
 “ Oh heaven !” exclaimed Mildred aloud; and then recollecting 
 herself, she breathed in a whisper, “ that word vibrated a note of 
 fear. Your zeal shall have my warmest gratitude, Stephen.” 
 
 By this time the J^arty had reached the second ford, where the 
 road recrossed the river, in the neighborhood of Mrs. Dimock’s, 
 and in a few moments they were at the door of the little inn. 
 
 A brief halt, and a few words with the good hostess, furnished 
 Mildred neither with a letter nor with any information of moment 
 fi-om the quarter, where at this time the thoughts of nearly the 
 whole of the American people were turned. 
 
 “ Woful days. Miss Mildred,” said the landlady, shaking her 
 head, and wearing a face of lugubrious length, “ woful indeed ! 
 nothing but hurry-skurry, and bragging and swearing. What with 
 Gates’s runaways, that—shame upon them !—come whipping post 
 haste along the road; and messengers, dragoons, and drill ser¬ 
 geants, all out of breath, out of money, and out of everything but 
 appetites; which, mercy on me ! never fail in the worst of times : 
 and what with musterings of volunteers, and drumming and fifing 
 of it, up hill and down dale, it is as much as one can do to keep 
 one’s wits. Heaven help us, my dear ! I don’t know what we shall 
 come to. But poor Arthur,” she continued, in a mournful and lower 
 key, “ not a word from him. It looks awfully : I could almost sit 
 down and w^eep. Nevertheless, Miss Mildred, my child, be of good 
 cheer, God will keep his foot from the path that leads to the snares; 
 we must all trust in His goodness.” 
 
 “ Alas, alas!” breathed Mildred, in an accent of sorrow. “ Brother, 
 ride forward. If a good word reaches you. Mistress Dimock, send 
 it to me, even if it be at midnight.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 413 
 
 Mildred pursued her ride, and Heury, seeing how much she was 
 dejected, applied himself, with the kindest assiduity, to bring back 
 comfort and cheerfulness to her mind. He sought to amuse her 
 with such fragments of the gossip of the counti-y-side as were 
 likely to interest her patriotism ; and he contrived to recal to her 
 recollection passages in the life of Butler, which related to the 
 perils he had heretofore encountered, and from which he had extri¬ 
 cated himself by his address and soldiership; and Henry told these 
 in such a way as to infer from them arguments of comfort that 
 suited the present state of his sister’s feelings. As was usual in 
 most of the young cadet’s discourses, he glided into that half¬ 
 boastful and half-waggish vein in which he delighted to refer to 
 his own pursuits and aspirations after military glory. 
 
 “ A man naturally, sister,” he said, erecting himself in his stir¬ 
 rups, and assuming the stiff carriage of a conceited young adju¬ 
 tant on parade, “ a man naturally feels proud on horseback. It is 
 what I call glorification, to have a noble beast under you, that you 
 can turn and wind and check and set forward as you please, as if 
 his limbs were your own. You feel stronger ; and, in this world, 
 I do believe a strong man is always proud. Now, I should think 
 that a woman would feel even more so than a man ; because, 
 being weak by nature, she must grow happier to think how much 
 muscle she can put in motion by only pulling a rein.” 
 
 “ There is some philosophy in that, Henry,” replied Mildred. 
 
 “ So there is, sister; and I tell you more, that when a person- 
 has this sort of glorification, as they call it, they always get more 
 contented with themselves. And that’s the reason, as far as I am 
 a judge, that you always feel in better spirits when you are on 
 horseback; and, especially, if it should be in fi-ont of a troop. 
 Hallo, Stephen !” ejaculated Henry, taken by surprise, in the midst 
 of his discourse, by the sight of a flock of wild turkeys that ran 
 across the road, some hundred paces a-head. “ Did you see that ? 
 Halt, man—here’s game for us.” And, in an instant, he sprang 
 from his horse, which he fastened to one of the neighboring trees, 
 and ran off with his rifle in his hand, in pursuit of the flock. 
 
 Stephen, whose instincts were those of a keen sportsman, when 
 game was before him, did the same thing; and in a few moments 
 Mildred found herself left entirely alone in the road, half disposed 
 
414 
 
 HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 to chide and half to smile at the eager and ungallant desertion of 
 her attendants, who were now in quick but cautious pursuit of the 
 brood of turkeys. The speed with which these birds are accus¬ 
 tomed to run through the woods, allured their pursuers to some 
 distance into the depths of the forest; and Mildred patiently 
 awaited the return of her companions on the ground where they 
 had left her. 
 
 After five or ten minutes had elapsed, it was with a sensation of 
 some little concern that she descried, upon the road, a stranger 
 mounted on horseback, and coming at a brisk trot to the spot 
 where she had halted. The appearance of the individual was that 
 of one of the irregular soldiers who had accompanied Gates’s 
 array; his dress was rustic, and his weapon, according to the 
 almost universal fashion of the country troops, the long rifle. The 
 condition of his sturdy steed showed long and fatiguing service; 
 whilst the bold and manly person of the rider left little room to 
 suppose that he was to be classed among'st the many who had fled 
 in panic from the field of action. As soon as the stranger be¬ 
 came aware of the presence of the lady, he slackened his speed and 
 approached with a respectful salutation. 
 
 “ If I mought be so bold, ma’am, how far mought it be to a river 
 they call the Rockfish ?” 
 
 “ It is scarce two miles away, sir,” replied Mildred. 
 
 “ And there, if I don’t disremember,” said the traveller, “ is a 
 house kept by the widow Dimock ; the Blue Ball, I think ?” 
 
 “ There is, sir.” 
 
 “ And no forks in the road betwixt this and the widow’s ?” 
 
 “ It is a plain road,” replied Mildred. 
 
 “ And about two miles beyont—is squire Lindsay’s, at a place 
 they call the Dove Cote ?” 
 
 “ Does your business take you there ?” asked Mildred, with in¬ 
 terest ; “ are you from the army ?—whence come you ?” 
 
 “ Beg pardon, ma’am,” replied the stranger, smihng, “ but I 
 am an old sodger, and rather warry about answering questions that 
 consarn myself. I suppose it is likely I mought see Mr. Lindsay ?” 
 
 “ Pray, sh, tell me what brings you here, and who you are ? I 
 have special reasons for presuming so far upon yom‘ kindness. I 
 myself live at the Dove Cote, and”— 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 415 
 
 “ Then, mayhap, you mought have hearn of one Major Arthur 
 Butler?” 
 
 “ Oh yes, sir,—if you have any news of him, speak it to me 
 quickly,” exclaimed Mildred, with much agitation. 
 
 “ By that sparkling of your eye, ma’am, it is no fool’s guess that 
 you are the identical particular lady that I have rode nigh on to five 
 hundred miles to see. You have heam the Major tell of Horse 
 Shoe Robinson?” 
 
 “ And Arthur Butler.” 
 
 “ He is well, madam, and in good heart, excepting some trifling 
 drawbacks that don’t come to much account.” 
 
 “ Thank God, thank God, for this news !” 
 
 “ I have brought two letters. Miss Lindsay, from the Major, for 
 you ; they will tell you, I believe, mainly, that the Major is in the 
 hands of the Philistians,” said Horse Shoe, rummaging through the 
 plaits of his dress, and getting loose the belt and leathern pouch from 
 which, by the help of his jack-knife, he extricated the missives ; “ but 
 they leave the story to be told pretty much by me. The long and 
 the short of it is, that the Major is a prisoner, and wants some as¬ 
 sistance from you : but there is no danger of any harm being done 
 him.” 
 
 Mildred eagerly tore open the letters and read them; then heav¬ 
 ing a sigh, she said, “ He is closely watched, and galled with mis¬ 
 fortune. He refers to you, Mr. Robinson, and I must beg you to 
 tell me all.” 
 
 Horse Shoe, with a cheerful and occasionally even with a laugh¬ 
 ing manner, adopted to reassure the lady and quell her fears, 
 recounted all such particulars of Butler’s adventures as were neces¬ 
 sary to enable her to comprehend the nature of his present mission 
 to the Dove Cote. 
 
 Before this narrative was brought to a close, Henry and Foster 
 had returned, bringing with them a large turkey which Henry had 
 shot, and which the young sportsman was exhibiting with ostenta¬ 
 tious triumph. 
 
 “ Huzza, here’s a new turn of good luck! Horse Shoe Robin¬ 
 son, the brave •sergeant,” shouted Henry, as soon as he observed 
 the stout figure of our old friend. “ Is Major Butler here too ?” 
 
 * 
 
416 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 he demanded, as he shook the sergeant’s hand, “ or have you come 
 alone ? Now, sister, you ought to be a happy woman. You bring 
 us good news, Mr. Horse Shoe, I know you do.” 
 
 “ The news is better than it mought have been if the Tories had 
 had their way,” replied Home Shoe. “ But a sodger’s life has both 
 shade and sunshine in it; and the Major is now a little in the 
 shade.” 
 
 “ Brother, mount quickly,” said Mildred, “ we have business 
 before us. Mr. Eobinson, ride beside me ; I have much to say to 
 you.” 
 
 Stephen Foster, after saluting the sergeant, and reminding Mil¬ 
 dred of his engagement to meet his troop, took his leave of the 
 party. 
 
 The rest repaired, with as much expedition as they were able to 
 employ, to the Dove Cote, Horse Shoe detailing to the brother and 
 sister, as they went along, a great many particulars of the late his¬ 
 tory of Butler. 
 
 Wlien they reached the house, orders were given for the accom¬ 
 modation of the sergeant; and the most sedulous attention was 
 shown to everything that regarded his comfort. Frequent con¬ 
 ferences were held between Mildred and Henry, and the trusty 
 emissary. The letters were reperused, and all the circumstances 
 that belonged to Butler’s means of liberation were anxiously 
 discussed. 
 
 “ How unlucky is it,” said Mildred, “ that my father should be 
 absent at such a moment as this ! Arthur’s appeal to him would 
 convince him how wicked was Tyrrel’s charge against his honoi-. 
 And yet, in my father’s late mood, the appeal might have been in¬ 
 effectual ; he might have refused. Sergeant, we are in great 
 diflBculties, and I know not what to do. A letter, you say, has been 
 written to Lord Cornwallis ?” 
 
 “ Yes, ma’am, and by a man who sharpened his pen with his 
 sword.” 
 
 “ You heard nothing of the answer of his Lordship ?” 
 
 “ There was not time to hear.” 
 
 “ Cornwallis will be prejudiced by those around, him, and he will 
 refuse,” said Mildred, with an air of deep solicitude. 
 
 “ Not if he be the man I take him to be, young lady,” replied 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 417 
 
 Horse Shoe. “ The world says he is above doing a cowardly thing; 
 and it isn’t natural for one brave man to wish harm against another, 
 except in open war.” 
 
 “ Did you hear of one Tyrrel, in the British camp ? But how 
 could you ?—that was an assumed name.” 
 
 “ You mean the gentleman who was here when the major stopped 
 at Mrs. Dimock’s ?” said Robinson : “ that was the name the land¬ 
 lady spoke about—if I remember myself. I did not hear of him, 
 ma’am, in my travels; but his servant, James Curry, I met oftener, 
 I undertake to say, than the fellow wished. He was consarned in 
 ambushing Major Butler and me at Grindall’s Ford. It was our 
 opinion he was hired.” 
 
 “ There,” exclaimed Mildred, “ that confirms what I guessed of 
 Tyrrel’s villany. I will go to Cornwallis myself: I will expose the 
 whole matter to his lordship. Henry, my dear brother, it is a rash 
 venture, but I will essay it. You must accompany and protect me.” 
 
 “ That’s a sudden thought, sister, and you may count on my 
 hearty good will to help it along. It is a brave thought of yours, 
 besides,” said Henry, pondering over it—“ and everybody will 
 praise you for it.” 
 
 Robinson listened to this resolve with an incredulous ear. 
 
 “ You wouldn’t venture, young madam, to trust yourself amongst 
 such rough and unchristian people, as you would have to go 
 among before you could see Cornwallis ? in danger of being taken 
 up by outposts and pickets, or arrested by patroles, or dragged 
 about by dragoons and fellows that have more savagery in them 
 than wolves. Oh no, ma’am, you don’t know what you would 
 have to put up with ; that’s onpossible. Mr. Henry, here, and me 
 can take a letter.” 
 
 “I may not trust to letters, I must go myself. You will protect 
 me, Mr. Robinson ? my brother and I will form some good excuse 
 that shall take us through safely.” 
 
 “ Sartainly, ma’am, I will stand by you through all chances, if 
 you go,” replied the sergeant. “ But there’s not many women, with 
 their eyes open, u'ould set out on such a march.” 
 
 “ It will be easily achieved,” said Mildred ; “ it is an honest and 
 virtuous cause that takes me away, and I will attempt it with a 
 valiant spirit. It cannot but come to good. My father’s name Avill 
 
 18 ^- 
 
418 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 give me free passage through the enemy’s lines. And you shall 
 pass as my attendant.” 
 
 “ If you have a heart stout enough, ma’am, for such hard fare, I 
 believe I mought undertake for yom* safe passage,” answered 
 Horse Shoe, “and it sartainly,would do the major great good to 
 hear that you was stirring in this matter.” 
 
 “ Sergeant, recruit yourself as long as you think necessary,” said 
 Mildred; “ but if you can be ready to set out to-morrow, I should 
 like to go then, and at an early hour.” 
 
 “ Don’t stand upon my fatigue, young lady: I never saw the 
 time when I wan’t ready to march at the shortest warning. With 
 your leave, I will go look after my horse. Captain Peter, I call him, 
 ma’am. A little chance of a roll, and the privilege of a good 
 green pasture, soon puts him in marching trim.” 
 
 The sergeant now left the room. 
 
 “ Sister,” said Henry, “ you never thought a better thought, and 
 you never contrived a better act, than just taking this matter in 
 hand yourself, under mine and Horse Shoe’s protection. Because 
 Horse Shoe is as brave a man as you ever fell in with, and as for 
 me. I’ll back the sergeant. We can finish the thing in two or 
 three weeks, and then, when I see you safe home. I’ll go and join 
 the Rangers.” 
 
 “ It is a perilous and uncertain journey, brother, but it is my 
 duty. I would rather fall beneath the calamities of war than 
 longer endure my present feelings. Provide yourself, brother, with 
 all things requisite for our journey, and give old Isaac, the gar¬ 
 dener, notice that he must go with us. We shall set out to-morrow. 
 I will write a letter to my father to-night explaining my purpose. 
 And one thing, Henry; you will be careful to say nothing to any 
 one of the route we shall travel.” 
 
 “I’ll take my carbine, sister,” said Henry, “I can sling it 
 with a strap. And I was thinking I had better have a broad¬ 
 sword.” 
 
 “ Leave that behind,” replied Mildred, as a smile rose on her 
 features. 
 
 “ The bugle I will certainly take,” added Henry; “ because it 
 might be useful in case we got separated ; and I will teach yo i to 
 understand my signals. Isaac shall carry horse-pistols on his 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 419 
 
 saddle, and the sergeant shall have a great wallet of provisions. 
 You see I understand campaigning, Mildred. And now,” added 
 the eager young soldier, as he left the apartment, “ hurra for 
 the volimteers of the Dove Cote 1” 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 MILDRED BEGINS HER JOURNEY. 
 
 The man who writes the history of woman’s love will find himself 
 employed in drawing out a tangled skein. It is a history of secret 
 emotions and vivid contrasts, which may well go nigh to baffle his 
 penetration and to puzzle his philosophy. There is in it a surface 
 of timid and gentle bashfulness concealing an underflow of strong 
 and heady passion : a seeming caprice that a breath may shake or 
 a word alarm ; yet, all the while, an earnest devotion of soul which, 
 in its excited action, holds all danger cheap that crosses the path of 
 its career. The sportive, changeful, and coward nature that dallies 
 with affection as a jest, and wins admiration by its affrighted coy¬ 
 ness ; that flies and would be followed ; that revolts and would be 
 soothed, entreated, and on bended knee implored, before it is won ; 
 that same nature will undergo the ordeal of the burning plough¬ 
 share, take all the extremes of misery and distress, brave the fury 
 of the elements and the wrath of man, and in every peril be a 
 patient comforter, when the cause that moves her is the vindication 
 of her love. Affection is to her what glory is to man, an impulse 
 that inspires the most adventurous heroism. 
 
 There had been for some days past in Mildred’s mind an 
 anxious misgiving of misfortune to Butler, which was but ill 
 concealed in a quiet and reserved demeanor. The argument of 
 his safety seemed to have little to rest upon, and she could perceive 
 that it was not believed by those who uttered it. There rose upon 
 her thoughts imaginings or presentiments of ill, which she did not 
 like to dwell upon, but which she could not banish. And now 
 when Horse Shoe had told his tale, the incidents did not seem to 
 warrant the levity with which he passed them by. She was afraid 
 to express her doubts : and they brooded upon her mind, hatching 
 pain and secret grief. It was almost an instinct, therefore, that 
 
 420 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 421 
 
 directed her resolve, when she announced her deteiinination to go 
 in person in quest of Cornwallis, and to plead Butler’s cause her¬ 
 self to the British general. Her soul rebelled at the gross calumny 
 which had been invented to bring down vengeance upon Arthur’s 
 head ; and she had no thought of thwarting the accuser’s wicked¬ 
 ness, but by an appeal to the highest power for that redress which 
 an honorable soldier, in her opinion, could not refuse, even to an 
 enemy. As to the personal hazard, inconvenience, or difficulty of 
 her projected enterprise, no thought of either for a moment 
 occupied her. She saw but her purpose before her, and did not 
 pause to reckon on the means by which she was to promote it. 
 She reflected not on the censure of the world ; nor on its ridicule ; 
 nor on its want of sympathy for her feelings ; she reflected only 
 on her power to serve one dearer to her than a friend, upon her 
 duty, and upon the agony of her doubts. If her father had been 
 at hand she might have appealed to him, and, perhaps, 
 have submitted to his counsel; but he was absent, she knew not 
 where, and she was convinced that no time was to be lost. “ Even 
 now, whilst we debate,” she said, “ his life may be forfeited to the 
 malice of the wicked "men who have ensnared him.” 
 
 Her conduct in this crisis is not to be weighed in the scale 
 wherein the seemly and decorous observances of female propriety 
 are ordinarily balanced. The times, the occasion, and the peculiar 
 position of Mildred, take her case out of the pale of common 
 events, and are entitled to another standard. She will be judged 
 by the purity of her heart, the fervor of her attachment, and her 
 sense of the importance of the service she was about to confer. 
 And with the knowledge of these, I must leave her vindication to 
 the generosity of my reader. 
 
 When the morning came and breakfast was over, the homes 
 were brought to the door. Henry was active in all the preliminary 
 arrangements for the journey, and now bestirred himself with an 
 increased air of personal importance. Isaac, a grey-haired negro, 
 of a sedate, and, like all his tribe, of an abundantly thoughtful 
 length of visage, appeared in a suit of livery, ready booted and 
 spurred for his journey. A large portmanteau, containing a 
 supply of baggage for his mistress, was duly strapped behind his 
 saddle, whilst a pair of pistols were buckled upon the pummel. 
 
422 
 
 HORSB SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Henry’s horse also had all the furniture necessary to a campaign; 
 and the young martialist himself, notwithstanding his sister’s dis¬ 
 approval, was begirt with a sword-belt, from which depended a 
 light sabre, with which he was in the habit of exhibiting himself 
 in the corps of the Rangers. His bugle hung gracefully by his 
 side, and his carbine was already provided with a strap to sling it 
 across his back. Stephen Foster was lost in wonder at these 
 sudden preparations, of the import of which he could gain no 
 more intelligence from Hemy than that a movement towards the 
 army was intended, of a portentous character. 
 
 Horse Shoe sat quietly in the porch looking on with a profes¬ 
 sional unconcern, whilst his trusty Captain Peter, bearing a pair of 
 saddle-bags, now stutfed with a plethora of provisions, slouched his 
 head, in patient fixedness, waiting the order to move. A bevy of 
 domestics hung around the scene of preparation, lost in conjectures 
 as to the meaning of this strange array, and prosecuting an inquiry 
 to satisfy themselves, with fruitless perseverance. 
 
 When Mildred appeared at the door she was habited for hsr 
 journey. The housekeeper, an aged dame, stood near her. 
 
 “ My travel, Mistress Morrison,” she said, addressing the matron, 
 and at thb same time putting a letter into her hand, “ I trust will 
 not keep me long from home. If my father should return before 
 I do, be careful to give him that. Mr. Foster, you will not forget 
 your promise,” she added, as she delivered the second letter, which, 
 notwithstanding her own expedition, she had prepared for Butler, 
 in the hope that opportunity might favor its transmission by 
 Stephen. 
 
 “ The gold,” said Stephen, putting his hand in his pocket; “ you 
 will want it yourself. Miss Mildred, and I can do without it.” 
 
 “ Never mind that,” interrupted Mildred. “ Keep your promise, 
 and I hope to be able to reward you more according to your 
 leserts.” 
 
 “ Heaven and the saints protect you. Miss Mildred !” said the 
 housekeeper, as the lady bade her farewell. “ You leave us on 
 some heavy errand. God grant that you come back with a gayer 
 face than you take away !” Then turning up her eyes, and raising 
 her hands, she ejaculated, “ This is an awful thing, and past my 
 understanding!” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 423 
 
 Mildred took leave of the rest of the group around the door, 
 and was soon in her saddle. This was a signal for the rest to 
 mount, and as Stephen Foster delivered Henry his rifle, the latter 
 took occasion to whisper in the hunter’s ear— 
 
 “ It is not unlikely, Steve, that we may meet each other again 
 over here in Carolina; so remember to make inquiries for us as 
 you go along, and tell the men I hope to join them before they 
 fire one shot in spite. But mum, Steve, not a word about our 
 route.” 
 
 Stephen shook hands with his young comrade; and Henry, 
 seeing that the rest of the party had already left the door and 
 were some distance down the hill, called out with an elated tone of 
 good humor—“ Farewell, Mrs. Morrison, and all the rest of you!” 
 and putting spurs to his horse galloped off to join his sister. 
 
 The-route pursued by the travellers lay due south, and during 
 the first three or four days of their journey they were still within 
 the confines of Virginia. To travel on horseback was a customary 
 feat, even for ladies, in those days of rough roads and scant means 
 of locomotion ; and such a cavalcade as we have described was cal¬ 
 culated to excite no particular inquiry from the passer-by, beyond 
 that which would now be made on the appearance of any party of 
 pleasm'e upon the high-roads, in the course of a summer excursion. 
 Mildred experienced severe fatigue in the first stages of her jour¬ 
 ney ; but by degrees this wore oflF, and she was soon enabled to 
 endure the long day’s ride with scarcely less inconvenience than 
 her fellow-travellers. 
 
 At that period there were but few inns in these thinly-peopled 
 districts, and such as were already established were small and but 
 meagrely provided. This deficiency was, in some degree, compen¬ 
 sated by the good will with which the owners of private establish¬ 
 ments in the country received the better class of travellers, and the 
 ready hospitality with which they entertained them. Heniy took 
 upon himself to obtain information of the gentlemen’s seats that 
 lay near the route of his journey, and to conduct the party to them 
 whenever his sister’s comfort required better accommodation than 
 the common inns afforded. 
 
 As our travellers had thus far kept along that range of country 
 which lay immediately under the mountains, they were not annoyed 
 
424 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 by the intense beats which, at this season, prevailed in the lowlands. 
 The weather, ever since their departure, had been uncommonly 
 fine, and as is usual in this distinct, the month of Sejitember had 
 brought its cool, dewy nights, whilst the early hours of the morn¬ 
 ing were even marked by a little sharpness, almost approaching to 
 frost. The efiect of this on Mildred was to recruit the weariness 
 of travel, and better enable her to encounter the noon-tide fervors 
 of the sun; and she had so far endured the toils of her journey 
 with an admirable spirit. Actual trial generally results in demon¬ 
 strating how much we are prone to exaggerate in advance the 
 difiiculties of any undertaking. Accordingly, Mildred’s present 
 experience strengthened her resolution to proceed, and even com¬ 
 municated an unexpected increase of contentment to her feelings. 
 
 On the fifth day the party crossed the river Dan, and entered 
 the province of North Carolina. A small remnant of Gates’s shat¬ 
 tered army lay at Hillsborough, at no great distance from the 
 frontier; and as Mildred was anxious to avoid the inquiry or moles¬ 
 tation to be expected in passing through a military post, she re¬ 
 solved to travel by a lower route, and Horse Shoe, therefore, at 
 her suggestion, directed his journey towards the little village of 
 Tarborough. 
 
 Cornwallis, it was understood, since the battle of Camden, had 
 removed his head-quarters into the neighborhood of theWaxhaws, 
 some distance up the Catawba, where he was supposed to be yet 
 stationary. The whole country in the neighborhood of either 
 army was in a state of earnest preparation; the British commander 
 recruiting his forces for further and immediate operations—the 
 American endeavoring to reassemble his feeble and scattered auxi¬ 
 liaries for defence. At the present moment, actual hostilities be¬ 
 tween these two parties were entirely suspended, in anxious anti¬ 
 cipation of the rapidly approaching renewal of the struggle’. It 
 was a breathing time, when the panting combatants, exhausted by 
 battle, stood sullenly eyeing each other and making ready—the one 
 to strike, the other to ward off another staggering blow. 
 
 The country over which Mildred was now to travel was calcu¬ 
 lated to tax her powers of endurance to the utmost. It was a 
 dreary waste of barren wilderness, covered with an endless forest 
 of gloomy pine, through which a heavy, sandy road crept in lurid 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 425 
 
 and melancholy shade. Here and there a miserable hut occurred 
 to view, with a few ragged inmates, surrounded by all the signs 
 of squalid poverty. The principal population were only to be seen 
 along the banks of the rivers which penetrated into this region, 
 some twenty or thirty miles distant from each other. The allu\dal 
 bottoms through which these streams found a channel to the ocean, 
 Avere the only tracts of land of sufficient fertility to afford support 
 to man—all between them Avas a sterile and gloomy forest. 
 
 Still, these regions were not deserted. Bodies of irregular troops, • 
 ill clothed and Avorse armed, and generally bearing the haggard 
 features of disease, such as mark the population of a sickly climate, 
 were often encountered upon the road, directing their Avearied 
 march toAvards the head-quarters of the republican army. The 
 rigors of the Southern summer had not yet abated; and it Avas 
 with painful steps in the deep sand, amid clouds of suffocating dust, 
 that these little detachments prosecuted their journey. 
 
 Mildred, so far from sinking under the weariness and increasing 
 hardships of her present toils, seemed to be endued with a capacity 
 for sustaining them much beyond anything that could have been 
 believed of her sex. Her courage grcAv with the difficulties that 
 beset her. She looked composedly upon the obstacles before her, 
 and encountered them, not only without a murmur, but even with 
 a cheerfulness to Avhich she had hitherto been a stranger. The 
 steadiness of her onward march, her imrepining patience, and the 
 gentle solicitude with Avhich she turned the thoughts of her com¬ 
 panions from herself, and forbade the supposition that her poAvers 
 were over-taxed, showed hoAV deeply her feelings Avere engaged in 
 her enterprise, aud Iioav maturely her mind had taken its resolu¬ 
 tion. 
 
 “ One never Avould have guessed,” said Horse Shoe, towards the 
 close of the second day after they had entered North Carolina, 
 
 “ that a lady so daintily nursed as you Avas at home. Mistress 
 Mildred, could have ever borne this here roughing of it through 
 these piney Avoods. But I have made one observation. Miss 
 Lindsay, that no one can tell Avhat they are fit for till they are 
 tried ; and on the back of that I have another, that when there’s a 
 great stir that rouses up a Avhole country, it don’t much signify 
 whether they are man or woman, they all get roused alike. ’Pan 
 
42G 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 my word, ma’am, I have seen men—who think themselves sodgers 
 too—that would be onwilling to trust themselves at this time o’ 
 year through such a dried up piece of pine barren as we have been 
 travelling over for two days past.” 
 
 “ You remember the fable of the willow and the oak, Mr. Eobin- 
 son,” replied Mildred, smiling; “ the storm may bring down the 
 sturdy tree, but the supple shrub will bend before it without 
 breaking.” 
 
 “ I’m not much given to religious takings-on,” said the sergeant, 
 “ but sometimes a notion comes into my head that looks a little 
 that way, and that is, when God appoints a thing to be done, he 
 gives them that’s to do it all the wherewithals. Now, as Major 
 Butler is a good man and a brave sodger—God bless him!—it 
 does seem right that you. Mistress Lindsay,—who, I take on me to 
 understand enough of your consarns and his’n, without offence, to 
 say has a leaning towards the major,—I say it does seem right and 
 natural that you should lend a hand to help him out of tribulation ; 
 and so you see the cause being a good cause, the Lord has given 
 you both wisdom and strength to do what is right.” 
 
 “We owe, sergeant, a duty to our country; and we serve God 
 and our country both, when we strengthen the hands of its 
 defenders.” 
 
 “ That’s a valiant speech, young lady, and it’s a noble speech,” 
 said Horse Shoe, with an earnest emphasis. “ I have often told 
 the major that the women of this country had as honest thoughts 
 about this here war, and was as warm for our cause as the men; 
 and some of them, perhaps, a little warmer. They could be pitted 
 against the women of any quarter of the aqueous globe, in bearing 
 and forbearing both, when it is for the good of the country.” 
 
 “ Henry is asleep on his horse,” said Mildred, looking at her 
 brother, who now, jaded and worn with the effort of travel, was 
 nodding and dropping his head forward, and almost losing his seat. 
 “ What, Henry, brother!” she added, loud enough to rouse up the 
 young horseman. “ My trusty cavalier, are you going to fall from 
 your horse ? Where is all that boasted glorification upon which 
 you were disposed to be so eloquent only a week ago ? I thought 
 a man on horseback was naturally proud: I fear it was only on 
 b' “^ay occasions you meant, Henry. Hav’n’t you a word for a 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 427 
 
 sunny day and a dry journey ^ You lag more like a miller’s boy 
 with his bag of meal, than a young soldier setting out on his 
 adventures.” 
 
 “ Ah, sister,” said Henry, waking up, “ this is nothing but pine 
 —pine—and sand, without end. There is no game in the woods 
 to keep a man on the look-out, except here and there a herd of 
 wild hogs, that snort and run from us, like a squadron of cavalry, 
 with their bristles set up on their backs as fierce as the back fin of 
 a sunfish. There is not even grass to look at: you might see a 
 black snake running half a mile amongst the trees. And then 
 there are such gi-eat patches of burnt timber, every trunk staring 
 right at you, as black as thunder. I’m tired of it all—I want to 
 see the green fields again.’* 
 
 “ And, in truth, brother, so do I: but not until we can bring 
 meiTy faces to look upon them. How far are we from Tar- 
 borough ?” 
 
 “We should be drawing nigh to the town,” replied Horse Shoe, 
 “ for you may see that we shall soon be out of these woods, by the 
 signs of open country ahead. The last squad of sodgers that 
 passed us, said that when we came to the farms, we shouldn’t be 
 more than five miles from the town, and the sun isn’t above an 
 hour high.” 
 
 “ In the hope of being soon housed, then, Mr. Robinson, I may 
 confess to you I am somewhat weary; but a good night’s rest will 
 put me-in fair condition for to-moiTOw’s ride again.” 
 
 After the lapse of an hour, the party were safely sheltered in a 
 tolerably comfortable inn at the. village: and Mildred, aided by the 
 sedulous care of Henry, found herself well bestowed in the best 
 chamber of the house. 
 
CHAPTER XL, 
 
 From Tarborough our travellers continued tbeir route towards 
 the Pedee, by the main road which led through Cross creek, a 
 small hamlet on Cape Fear river, near the site of the present town 
 of Fayette\dlle. The general features of the country were even 
 more forbidding than those I have already described as character¬ 
 istic of this portion of North Carolma. Even to the present day, 
 cultivation has done but little to cheer up the natural desolation of 
 those, tracts of wilderness which lie between the rivers. But at the 
 early period to which the events I have been detailing have refer¬ 
 ence, the journey undertaken by our little caravan might be com¬ 
 pared to that which is now frequently made through the more 
 southern extremity of the Union, from the Atlantic to the Gulf of 
 Mexico, an attempt seldom essayed by a female, and sufficiently 
 trying to the hardihood of the stoutest travellers. The forethought 
 and attention of Horse Shoe Robinson, however, contributed to 
 alleviate the pains of the enterprise, and to enable Mildred to over¬ 
 come its difficulties. 
 
 In the present alarmed and excited state of this province, the 
 party were less liable to interruption in this secluded and destitute 
 section of the country, than they might have been, had they chosen 
 a lower and more populous district; and the consciousness that 
 every day’s perseverance brought them nearer to the ultimate term 
 of their journey, gave new rigor, at least, to Mildred’s capacity to 
 endure the privations to which she was exposed. But few vestiges 
 of the war yet occurred to their view. The great wilderness, like 
 the gi-eat ocean, retains no traces of the passage of hostile bodies. 
 Sometimes, indeed, the signs of a woodland encampment were 
 visible in the midst of the forest, on the margin of some sluggish 
 brook or around a sylvan fountain, where the impression of recent 
 hoof-prints, the scattered fragments of brushwood cut for tempo¬ 
 rary shelter, and the still smouldering ashes of camp fires, showed 
 
 428 
 
HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 429 
 
 that masses of men had been in motion. The deer fled, too, with 
 a more frightened bound towards their coverts, as if lately alarmed 
 by the pursuit of the huntsman; but the images of devastation, 
 which are associated with the horrid front of war in the mind of 
 all familiar with its ravage, were absent. The eternal, leafy shade 
 high arching over the heads of the wayfarers, furnished no object 
 for human vengeance; and it still sighed in the fanning of the 
 breeze, as of old it sighed before man claimed dominion in the soil 
 it sheltered. A far difterent scene was shortly to be looked upon 
 by our venturesome friends. 
 
 Several days had again passed by, for the journey through the 
 wilderness had been slowly prosecuted, when Robinson, towards 
 the approach of evening, announced to Mildred his conjecture that 
 they were not far off the Pedee. The banks of this river had 
 been the scene of frequent hostilities, and the war that had been 
 carried on here was of the most ruthless kind. The river is cha¬ 
 racterized by a broad, deep, and quiet stream, begirt with a vegeta¬ 
 tion of exceeding luxuriance. Its periodical overflow seems to have 
 poured out upon its margin a soil of inexhaustible richness, that, 
 for a mile or two on either side, forms a striking contrast with the 
 low, barren sand-hills that hem in the river plain. Along this 
 tract of level border, all the way to the Atlantic, are found, as is 
 usually the case throughout the Carolinas, the large plantations 
 of opulent gentlemen, who, by the cultivation of rice and cotton, 
 turn the fertility of the soil to the best account. These possessions, 
 presenting the most assailable points to an enemy, and, indeed, 
 almost the only ones in which the great interests of the province 
 might be wounded, were, during the whole of that bloody struggle 
 which distinguished the days of the “ Tory Ascendency,” the constant 
 objects of attack; and here the war was waged with a vindictive 
 malignity, on the part of the British and Tory partisans, that is 
 scarcely surpassed in the history of ci\nl broils. The finest estates 
 were sacked, the dwellings burnt, and the property destroyed with 
 unsparing rage. The men were dragged from their houses and 
 hung, the women and children turned without food or raiment into 
 the wilderness, and political vengeance seemed to gorge itself to 
 gluttony upon its own rapine. 
 
 The thoughts of Robinson had been, for some days past, running 
 
430 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON.^ 
 
 upon the probable difficulties that might attend the guise in which 
 he was now about to return to his native province. This was a sub¬ 
 ject of some concern, since he ran a risk of being compelled either 
 to desert his charge, or to bring his companions into jeopardy, 
 amongst the many persons of both armies who were, at least by 
 report, acquainted with his name and his military connexions. 
 He had explained to Mildred the necessity of his appearing in 
 some definite character, associated with the object of her journey, 
 and of which, upon emergency, he might claim the benefit to 
 retain his post near her. This matter was summarily settled by 
 Henry. 
 
 “ In general, Mr. Horse Shoe, you can call yourself Stephen 
 Foster: you know Steve; and you can say that you ai-e Mr. 
 Philip Lindsay’s gardener. Isaac, here, can let you enough into 
 the craft to pass muster, if any of them should take it into their 
 heads to examine you. Mind that, Isaac : and recollect, old fel¬ 
 low, you are only sister Mildred’s waiting man.” 
 
 . “Sartainly, master,” replied Isaac. 
 
 “ And sergeant. I’ll tell you aU about Steve ; so that you can 
 get your lesson by heart. You have a wife and five children— 
 remember that. I’ll give you all their names by-and-by.” 
 
 “ Thanks to the marcies of God, that ar’n’t my misfortune yet,” 
 said Horse Shoe, laughing; “ but, Mr. Henry, I have got con¬ 
 science enough now for any lie that can be invented. The major 
 and me talked that thing over, and he’s of opinion that lying, in 
 an enemy’s country, is not forbidden in the scriptures. And I 
 have beam the preacher say that Rahab, who was not a woman 
 of good fame no how, yet she was excused by the Lord for telling 
 the king of Jericho a most thumping lie, consarning her not knowing 
 what had become of the two men that Joshua, the judge of Israel, 
 who was a general besides, had sent into the town to reconnoitre ; 
 which was a strong case. Mister Henry, seeing that Rahab, the 
 harlot, was a taking of sides against her own people. So, I Iffie 
 your plan and I’ll stick by it.” 
 
 This being agreed upon, it became one of the amusements of 
 the road-side to put the sergeant through his catechism, which 
 was designed to make him familiar with the traits of private his¬ 
 tory relating to the Dove Cote and its appurtenances, that he 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 431 
 
 might thereby maintain his identity, in the event of a close inves¬ 
 tigation. Horse Shoe was but an awkward scholar in this school 
 of disguise, and gave Henry sufficient employment to keep Tiim in 
 the path of probability; and, indeed, the young teacher himself 
 found it difficult to maintain an exact verisimilitude in the part 
 which it was his own province to play in this deception. 
 
 On the evening to which we have alluded, the sergeant, finding 
 himself within a short distance of the district of country in which 
 he was almost certain to encounter parties of both friends and foes, 
 adopted a greater degree of circumspection than he had hitherto 
 deemed it necessary to observe. His purpose was to halt upon 
 the borders of the forest, and endeavor to obtain accurate informa¬ 
 tion of the state of affairs along the river, before he entered upon 
 this dangerous ground. Like a soldier who had a rich treasure to 
 guard, he was determined to run no hazard that might be avoided, 
 in the safe conduct of the lady in whose service he was enlisted. 
 In accordance with this Caution, he directed the cavalcade to move 
 onward at a moderate walk, in order that they might not reach 
 the limit of the woodland before the dusk of the evening; and also 
 in the hope of finding there some habitation where they might 
 pass the night. They had not advanced far in this manner before 
 the sergeant descried, at some distance ahead, a small log hut 
 standing by the road side, which, by the smoke that issued 
 from the chimney, he perceived to be inhabited. Upon this dis¬ 
 covery, he ordered the party to stop and await his return. Then 
 giving spurs to his horse he galloped forward, and, after a short 
 interval of absence, returned, made a favorable report of his recon- 
 noissance, and conducted his companions to the house. 
 
 The little cabin to which Mildred was thus introduced was the 
 homestead of an honest Whig soldier, by the name of Wingate, who 
 was now in service, under the command of one of the most gallant 
 partisans that any country ever produced, Francis ^rion, then 
 recently promoted to the rank of a brigadier. The inmates were 
 the soldier’s family, consisting of a young woman and a number 
 of small children, all demonstrating by their appearance a condi¬ 
 tion of exceedingly limited comfort. The hut contained no more 
 than two rooms, which exhibited but a scanty supply of the mean¬ 
 est furniture. The forest had been cleared for the space of a few 
 
432 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 acres around tire dwelling, and these were occupied by a small 
 garden or vegetable patch, meagrely stocked with scattered and 
 half parched plants ; and by a cornfield," along the skirts of which 
 some lean hogs were seen groping with a felonious stealthiness. 
 A shed, in the same inclosure, formed a rendezvous for a few half- 
 starved cattle, that probably obtained their principal but slender 
 support from the neighboring wood. Add to these a troop of 
 fowls, that were now at roost upon one of the trees hard by, and 
 we have, probably, a tolerably correct inventory of the worldly 
 goods of this little family. 
 
 The woman of the house was kind and hospitable, and her 
 attentions were in no small degree quickened by the application of 
 a few pieces of money which Mildred insisted upon her receiving— 
 much to the discomfiture of the dame’s self-possession—the boon 
 consisting of hard coin, to an amount of which, perhaps, she had 
 never before been mistrees. 
 
 Mildred was exceedingly fatigued, and it was an object of early 
 consideration to furnish her the means of rest. Our hostess, 
 assisted by old Isaac, and officiously but awkwardly superintended 
 by Horse Shoe, began her preparations for supper, to the abun¬ 
 dance of which the provident sergeant was enabled to contribute 
 some useful elements from his wallet. In one of the apartments 
 of the hut, a shock-bed was spread for the lady, and by the 
 assistance of her cloak and some other commodities which had 
 been provided as part of her travelling gear, she was supplied with 
 a couch that formed no ill exchange for the weariness of her long- 
 inhabited saddle. Use and necessity are kind nursing-mothers to 
 our nature, and do not often fail to endow us with the qualities 
 proper to the fortune they shape out for us. This was not Mildred’s 
 first experience of a homely lodging since she left the Dove Cote; 
 and, as privation and toil have a faculty to convert the rough 
 pallet of the peasant into a bed of down, she hailed the present 
 prospect of rest with a contented and grateful spirit. 
 
 The supper being dispatched, our lady was left alone with her 
 hostess, to seek the repose of which she stood so much in need. 
 
 The sergeant now set about making provision for the rest of his 
 party. This was done by erecting a shelter beneath one of the 
 trees of the forest, opposite to the door of the cabin. It was com- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 433 
 
 posed of a few boughs stacked against the trunk of the tree, suflS- 
 cieutly covered with leaves to turn aside any rain that might 
 happen to fall. Under this cover Horse Shoe appointed that he 
 and his comrades should pass the night, enjoining them to keep a 
 regular watch for the security of the lady, whose welfare was now 
 the object of his most sedulous attention. All these preparations 
 were made with the exactness of military rule, and with a skill 
 that greatly delighted Henry. 
 
 The long summer twilight had faded away. Mildred had been, 
 from an early period, in the enjoyment of a profound slumber, and 
 Henry and his negro ally were seated at the front of their sylvan 
 tent. The sergeant had lighted his pipe, and now, taking his seat 
 upon a log that lay near his post, he began to smoke in good 
 earnest, with a mind as free from anxiety as if universal peace pre¬ 
 vailed. In the sedate enjoyment of this luxury, he fell into a 
 descant on matters and things, interlarded with long and strange 
 stories of his own singular adventures, which he told to the no 
 small edification and amusement of Henry and the negi-o. 
 
 The habits of the experienced soldier were curiously illustrated 
 in the thoughtful and sober foresight with which Robinson adapted 
 his plans to the exigencies of his condition, and then in the imper¬ 
 turbable light-heartedness with which, after his measures of safety 
 were taken, he waited the progress of events. His watchfulness 
 seemed to be an instinct, engendered by a familiarity with danger, 
 whilst the steady and mirthful tone of his mind was an attribute 
 that never gave way to the inroads of care. He was the same 
 composed and self-possessed being in a besieged garrison, in the 
 moment of a threatened escalade, as amongst his cronies by a 
 winter fire-side. 
 
 “ In this here starlight. Mister Henry,” he said, after he had 
 puffed out two or three charges of his pipe, “ I can’t see your eyes, 
 but by your yawning, I judge you are a little sleepy. Take my 
 advice and turn in. A sodger ought to snatch his rest when he can 
 get it. ni keep guai-d over our young lady ; the Lord protect her, 
 for a most an elegant and oncommon jnecious young creature! 
 Fling your great coat upon the leaves, and go at it, my lad, like a 
 good fellow.” 
 
 “ If I was at home Mr. Horse Shoe, at the Dove Cote, I could 
 
 19 
 
484 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 sit up all night listening to your stories; but I believe I am 
 bewitched to-night, for my eyelids, this hour past, have been snap¬ 
 ping like rat traps. So, I’ll just stretch out for an hour or so, and 
 then get up and take my turn at the guard.” 
 
 “ Don’t trouble your head about watching,” replied Horse Shoe, 
 “ you are not old enough for that yet. At your time of life, Mr. 
 Lindsay, a good night’s rest is the best part of a ration. And to¬ 
 morrow, if I’m not mistaken, you will have need of all the strength 
 you can muster to-night. As for me, it isn’t much account whether 
 I’m asleep or awake.” 
 
 “ Not so fast, sergeant,” rejoined the youth, “ I’m an older soldier 
 than you take me for ; Stephen and I have watched many a night 
 for racoons. No, no. I’ll have my turn towards morning. So, you 
 and Isaac take the first part of the night between you, and if any¬ 
 thing should happen, call me-; I’m one of your minute men. So 
 good night. My horse trots harder than I thought he did.” 
 
 It was not long before our boasted minute man was locked up in 
 a spell apparently as profoimd as that which the legend afiirms as¬ 
 sailed the seven sleepers : and Isaac, not even waiting for the good 
 example of his master, had already sunk upon the ground, with 
 that facility which distinguishes his race, the most uncaring and 
 happiest of mortals. 
 
CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 Our fortress is the good green wood. 
 Our tent the cypress tree, 
 
 We know the forest round us 
 As seamen know the sea. 
 
 We know its walls of thorny vines. 
 Its glades of reedy grass. 
 
 Its safe and silent islands 
 Within the dark morass.— Bryant. 
 
 The faithful Horse Shoe being thus left to himself, replenished 
 his pipe, and, taking his rifle in his hand, paced to and fro upon 
 the border of the road, holding communion with his own thoughts^ 
 carefully weighing the probabilities connected with his present sin¬ 
 gular expedition, and revolving, after his own fashion, the fortunes 
 of Arthur Butler and Mildred Lindsay. 
 
 It was within an hour of midnight, when the sergeant’s medi¬ 
 tations were interrupted by the tramp of a horse approaching the_^ 
 hut at a gallop. But a few moments elapsed before a traveller, 
 who, in the star-light. Horse Shoe could discern to be armed, drew 
 up his rein immediately at the door of the dwelling, against which 
 he struck several blows with his weapon, calling out loudly at the 
 same time— 
 
 “ Mistress Wingate—for God’s sake, open your door quickly! 
 
 I have news to tell you, good woman.” 
 
 “ In the name of mercy ! who are you ?” exclaimed the voice 
 of the dame within, whilst a note of alarm was also heard from her 
 fellow-lodger. 
 
 “ What do you mean by this racket and clatter ?” demanded 
 Horse Shoe, in the midst of the uproar, at the same time laying 
 his hand upon the stranger’s bridle rein. “ What brings you here, 
 sir ?—stand back ; the women in that house are under my charge, 
 and I won’t have them disturbed.” 
 
 435 
 
436 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ If yon are a friend to Jlistress Wingate,” said the horseman, 
 sternly, “ speak the word ; if an enemy, I will shiver your skull 
 with the butt of my musket.” 
 
 “ Don’t he rash, good fellow,” replied Horse Shoe; “ I take it 
 you and me are on the same side. What’s afoot that you stir in 
 such a hurry ?” 
 
 “ The Tories are afoot—the devil’s afoot! Open, Mistress Win¬ 
 gate —open to Dick Peyton !” 
 
 “ The Lord preserve us !” ejaculated the mistress of the hovel, 
 as she opened the door ; “ Bloody Spur, is it you ? What ill luck 
 brings you here to-night ?” 
 
 “ A gang of Tories, Mistress Wingate, from the Black River, 
 under that cut-throat Fanning, crossed Pedee this morning at 
 Powder’s Lake. They have been thieving and burning as far as 
 Waggamaw, and are now on the road home by the upper ferry. 
 They will be along here in less than half an hour. Your husband, 
 Bob Wingate, and myself, were sent out by General Marion this 
 morning, to reconnoitre the roads. We fell in with the ruffians, 
 after sun-set, below Lumberton, and have tracked them up here. 
 Bob has got a pistol-shot through his arm. He was lucky enough, 
 however, to escape their clutches ; but believing they had a spite 
 against him, and would ride past his house to-night, he told me to 
 call and give you warning, and to help you to drive the cattle back 
 into the swamp.” 
 
 “ How many mought there be, friend ?” asked Horse Shoe, 
 calmly. 
 
 “ Between two and three hundred, at least,” said the trooper ; 
 “ we counted fifty in the vanguard—those that followed made a 
 long column of march. They have stolen- a good many horses and 
 cattle, all of which are with them, and several prisoners.” 
 
 “ "Wliat, ho !—Isaac, Henry Lindsay ; fall to, and saddle, boys,” 
 shouted Horse Shoe. “ Miss Mildred, it will not do to stand. I 
 am sorry to break in upon your rest, but you must be ready to 
 move in a few minutes.” 
 
 Everything about the hut was now in confusion. Henry and 
 the sergeant were equipping the horses, whilst Isaac was gathering 
 up the baggage. Bloody Spur — to adopt the rider’s nom de guerre — 
 had dismounted, and was busy in removing the few articles of value 
 
HORBE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 437 
 
 from the hut; the mother and children, meanwhile, Avere pouring 
 forth loud lamentations. 
 
 IMildred, in the midst of this scene of uproar, hurriedly made 
 her preparations for departure; and whilst she Avas yet engaged in 
 this care, a confused murmur was heard, at some distance up the 
 road—and the rattle of sabres, as AA'ell as the hoarse A'oice and 
 abrupt laughter of men, announced that the freebooters Avere at 
 no great distance from the dwelling. 
 
 “ Merciful heaven!” exclaimed Mildred, giving Avay for the 
 first time to her fears; “ they are fast approaching, and wo shall be 
 captured.” 
 
 “ Sister,” said Henry, with scarcely less alarm, “ I will die by 
 your side, before they shall hurt a hair of your head.” 
 
 Horse Shoe, Avho at this moment Avas tightening the girths 
 of Mildred’s saddle, paused for an instant to listen, and then said: 
 
 “ The wind is north-east, young lady, and the voice sounds far 
 to-night. One could hardly expect you to be cool Avhen one of 
 these night-frays is coming on, but there’s no occasion to be fright¬ 
 ened. Now, ma’am, if you please. I’ll heaA^e you into your seat. 
 There,” continued the sergeant, setting Mildred upon her horse, 
 “ you have got four good legs under you, and by a fair use of them 
 will be as safe as a crowned king. Mister Henry, mount, and ride 
 with your sister sloAvly down the road, till I overtake you.” 
 
 Henry obeyed the order. 
 
 “Is the portmanteau and the rest of the baggage all safe,Isaac? 
 Don’t be flurried, you old sinner, but look about you, before you 
 start off.” 
 
 “ All safe,” replied the negro. 
 
 “ Up and follow your master, then. Hark you, Mr. Bloody 
 Spur,” said Horse Shoe, as Isaac rode off, to the trooper,^ who Avas 
 still actiA'ely employed in turning the cattle loose from the inclo¬ 
 sure, “ Avhat is the best road hereabouts for my squad to keep out 
 of the Avay of these bullies ?” 
 
 “ About a mile from here, take a road that strikes into the 
 woods, upon your right hand,” ansAvered the trooper hastily, “ it 
 will lead you up the river to the falls of Pedee. K you’snnuid 
 meet any of Marion’s men, tell them what you have seen ; and say 
 Dick Peyton will be along close after you.” 
 
438 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Wliere is Marion ?” asked the sergeant, mounting his hoim 
 
 “ What man that knows Frank Marion could ever answer that 
 question ?” said the trooper. “ He is everywhere, Mend. But you 
 have no time to lose: he off.” 
 
 As Bloody Spiu- said this, he disappeared, driving the cattle be¬ 
 fore him; whilst the mother, laden vnth an infant and as many 
 pieces of furniture as she could carry, and followed by her terrified 
 children, fled towards the neighboring thicket. 
 
 Horse Shoe in a few moments overtook his companions, and, 
 urging them forward at a rapid flight, soon reached the diverging 
 road, along which they journeyed with imahated speed for upwards 
 of a mile. 
 
 “ How do you bear it, sister ?” asked Henry, with concern. 
 
 “Ah, brother, with a sore heart to be made so painfully ac¬ 
 quainted with these frightful scenes. I lose all thought of my own 
 annoyance, in seeing the calamities that are heaped upon the un¬ 
 offending family of a man who dares to draw his sword for his 
 country.” 
 
 “Yes, ma’am,” said Horse Shoe, gravely, “these incamivorous 
 devils have broken the rest of many a good woman in the Oarolinas, 
 before they routed you out to-night, ma’am. But it is one of God’s 
 marcies to see how you keep up under it.” 
 
 “ Mine’s a triflmg grievance, good sergeant: I lose but a little 
 repose: that poor mother flies to save her children, uncertain, per¬ 
 haps, of to-moiTOw’s subsistence ; and her husband’s life is in daily 
 peril. It is a sad lot. Yet truly,” added Mildred with a'sigh, 
 “ mine is scarcely better. Gracious heaven !” she exclaimed, look¬ 
 ing behind her, “ they have set fire to the dwelling!” 
 
 In the quarter to which she directed her eyes, the horizon was 
 already illuminated "with the blaze of Wingate’s hut. The light 
 grew brighter for a short interval, and brought into bold relief 
 upon the sky, the taU, dark forms of the stately pines of which the 
 forest was composed. 
 
 “ They are fools as well as -villains,” said Horse Shoe, -svith an 
 angry vehemence; “ they have had liquor to-night, or they would 
 hardly kindle up a blaze which should rouse every Whig on Pedee 
 to track them like hounds. It would be sport worth riding to look 
 at, if Marion should get a glimpse of that fire. But these wolves 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 439 
 
 have grown obstropolous ever since Horatio Gates made his fox-paw 
 at Camden.” 
 
 “ Oh, it is a most savage war,” said Mildred, “ that roots up the 
 humble hearth, and fires the lowly roof, where none but defenceless 
 women and children abide. I shudder to think of such wanton 
 barbarity.” 
 
 “ There’s the thing. Miss Lindsay, that turns all our blood bitter, 
 Man to man is fair game, all the world over: but this ere stealing 
 of cattle, and burning of houses, and even cutting up by the roots 
 the plants of the ’arth, and toning of women and childi'en naked 
 into the swamps, in the dead of night! it’s a sorry business to 
 tell of a Christian people, and a cowardly business for a nation that’s 
 a boasting of its bravery.” 
 
 The light of the conflagration had soon died away, and our 
 wanderei-s pursued their solitary road in darkness, ignorant of the 
 countiy through which they passed, and uncertain of the point to 
 which they tended. A full hour had gone by in this state of sus¬ 
 pense, and Robinson had once more resolved to make a halt, and 
 encamp his party in the woods. Before, however, he could put this 
 design into execution, he was unexpectedly challenged, from the 
 road-side, with the military demand of—“ Who goes there ?” 
 
 “ Ti-avellers,” was the reply, 
 
 “ Where do you come from, and where are you going ?” 
 
 “ The first question I_can answer,” said Horse Shoe, “ and that is, 
 from Old Virginny, a fortnight ago, but, to-night, from a tolerable 
 snug lodging, where some onmannerly fellows troubled our sleep. 
 But as to where we’re going, it’s more likely you can tell that for 
 us.” 
 
 “ You are saucy, sir.” 
 
 “ It’s more than I meant to be,” replied the sergeant. “ Mayhap 
 you mought have hearn of a man they call Bloody Spur ?” 
 
 “ He has pricked your pillows for you—has he ? Dick Peyton 
 is good at that,” said a second questioner. 
 
 “ Aha, comrades, I understand you now,” said Horse Shoe, with 
 alacrity. “ Dick Peyton and Bob Wingate both belong to your 
 party. Am I right ? We are fiiends to Marion.” 
 
 “ And therefore friends to us,” said the patrole. “ Your name, 
 sir, and the number you have in company 3” 
 
y 
 
 440 HOKSfi SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Take us to the general, and we will answer that,” replied 
 Horse Shoe. “ The Tories have set upon Wingate’s house and burnt 
 it to the ground. It’s like we may be able to tell something worth 
 hearing at head-quarters. Your man Bloody Spur gave us in 
 charge to report him, and to say that he would soon follow upon 
 our track. I wonder that he isn’t here before now.” 
 
 “ I will remain,” said one of the soldiers to his companion ; “ you 
 shall take charge of the travellers.” 
 
 The trooper accordingly turned his horse’s head and commanded 
 Horse Shoe and his party to follow. 
 
 The scout conducted our adventurei's along a by-road that 
 led round the head of a marsh, and through several thickets 
 which, in the darkness of the night, were penetrated with gi-eat 
 diflSculty; during this ride he interrogated Horse Shoe as to the 
 events of the late inroad of the Tories. He and his comrade had 
 been stationed upon the path where the sergeant encountered 
 them, to direct the out-riding parties of his corps to the spot of 
 Marion’s encampment, the policy of this wary olBcer being to shift 
 his station so frequently as almost equally to defy the search of 
 friend and foe. Peyton and Wingate were both expected; and the 
 trooper who remained behind only waited to conduct them to the 
 commanding oflBcer, who had, since the disappearance of daylight, 
 formed a bivouac in this neighborhood. Marion’s custom was to 
 order his reconnoitring parties to return to him by designated 
 roads, where videttes were directed to repair in order to inform them 
 of his position,—a fact which, as his movements were accomplished 
 with wonderful celerity and secresy, they were generally unable to 
 ascertain in any other way. 
 
 At length, emerging from the thicket, and crossing what seemed, 
 by the plash of the horse’s feet, a morass, the party, under the 
 guidance of the scout, came upon a piece of thinly-timbered wood¬ 
 land, which, rising by a gentle slope, furnished what might be 
 called an island of dry ground, that seemed to be only accessible 
 by crossing the circumjacent swamp. Upon this spot were en¬ 
 camped, in the rudest form of the bivouac, a party of cavalry, which 
 micrht have amounted to two hundred men. Several fires, whose 
 
 O 
 
 ruddy glare had been discerned for the last half mile of the journey, 
 were blazing forth from different quarters of the wood, and threw 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 441 
 
 a bold and sharp light upon the figures of men and horses, impart¬ 
 ing a feature of lively, picturesque beauty to the scene. The 
 greater portion of the soldiers were stretched beneath the trees, 
 with no other covering than the leafy bowers above them. The 
 horses were picketed in the neighborhood of their riders ; and the 
 confused array of saddles, sabres, muskets, rifles, and other warlike in¬ 
 struments, that were hung upon projecting boughs, or leant against 
 the trunks, as they caught the flashes of the frequent fires, seemed 
 to be magnified in number equal to the furniture of thrice the force. 
 Sentinels were seen pacing their limits on the outskirts of this 
 company, and small bodies of patroles on horseback moved across 
 the encampment with the regularity of military discipline. Here 
 and there, as if regardless of rest, or awaiting some soon-expected 
 tour of duty, small knots of men sat together amusing themselves, 
 by torch-light, at cards; and, more appropriately, others had 
 extended their torpid frames in sleep upon their grassy pallets and 
 knapsack pillows. 
 
 “ We have seen war in its horrors,” exclaimed Mildred, with an 
 involuntary vivacity; “ and hero it is in all its romance !” 
 
 “ Sister, I wish you were at home,” said Henry, eagerly, “ and 
 Steve and I had the Rangers on this field to-night. I would under¬ 
 take to command a picket with any man here !” 
 
 To Horse Shoe these were familiar scenes, and he could not com¬ 
 prehend the source of that sudden interest which had so vividly 
 aroused the admiration of his companions ; but asking the guide 
 to conduct them immediately to General Marion, he followed the 
 soldier across the whole extent of the bivouac, until they halted 
 beneath a large tree, near which a few officers were assembled.* 
 One of this group was seated on the ground ; and close by him, 
 planted in the soil, a blazing pine-faggot flung a broad light upon 
 a saddle, the flap of which the officer had converted, for the occa¬ 
 sion, into a writing-desk. 
 
 “ Make way for a squad of travellers picked up on the road to¬ 
 night,” said the scout in a loud voice. “ They wish to see General 
 Marion.” 
 
 In a moment our party was surrounded by the officers; and 
 Horse Shoe, unceremoniously dismounting, addressed the person 
 nearest to him :— 
 
 19 * 
 
442 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ A lady, sii’, from Virginia, that I started with from her father’s 
 house, to fetch to Carolina; but who has been most audaciously 
 unhoused and unbedded in the very middle of the night by a hell¬ 
 ish pack of Tories.” 
 
 “ My name is Lindsay, sir,” said Henry, riding to the front; 
 “ my sister and myself were travelling south, and have been obliged 
 to fly, to-night, before a detachment of horse-stealers.” 
 
 “ From Bob Wingate’s,” said Horse Shoe, “ as I should judge, 
 some six miles back. I want to report to General Marion : the 
 lady, likewise, is tired, as she has good right to be.” 
 
 The officer to whom this was addressed, directed a soldier to 
 seek General Marion, and then approaching Mildred, said : 
 
 “ Madam, we can promise but little accommodation suitable to a 
 lady : the greenwood tree is but an uncouth resting-place : but 
 what we can supply shall be heartily at your service.” 
 
 “ I feel sufficiently thankful,” replied Mildred, “ to know that I 
 am in the hands of friends.” 
 
 “ Sister, alight,” said Henry, who now stood beside her stirrup, 
 and offered his hand : and in a moment Mildred was on her feet. 
 
 The officer then conducted her to a bank, upon which a few 
 blankets were thrown by some of the soldiers in attendance. “ If 
 this strange place does not alarm you,” he said, “ you may perhaps 
 find needful repose upon a couch even as rough as this.” 
 
 “You are very kind,” replied Mildred, seating herself. “ Brother, 
 do not quit my side,” she added, in a low voice : “ I feel foohshly 
 afraid.” 
 
 But a few moments elapsed before the light of the torches, 
 gleaming upon his figure, disclosed to Mildred the approach of a per¬ 
 son of short stature and delicate frame, in whose step there was a 
 singular alertness and rapidity. He wore the blue and buflf uniform 
 of the staft’, with a pair of epaulets, a buckskin belt, and broad¬ 
 sword. A three-cornered cocked-hat, ornamented with a buck-tail, 
 gave a peculiar sharpness to his naturally sharp and decided fea¬ 
 tures ; and a pair of small, dark eyes twinkled in the firelight, from 
 a countenance originally sallow, but now swarthy from sun and 
 wind. There was a conspicuous alacrity and courtesy in the gay 
 and chivalrous tone in which he accosted Mildred : 
 
 “ General Marion, madam, is too happy to have his poor camp 
 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 443 
 
 honored by the visit of a lady. They tell me that the Tories 
 were so uncivil as to break in upon your slumbers to-night. It 
 adds greatly to my grudge against them.” 
 
 “ I have ventured,” said Mildred, “ into the field of war, and it 
 does not become me to complain that I have met its vicissitudes.” 
 
 “ Gallantly spoken, madam ! May I be allowed to know to whom 
 I am indebted for the honor of this visit ? ” 
 
 “ My name is Lindsay, my father resides at the Dove Cote in 
 Virginia; under the protection of my brother and a friend, I left 
 home to travel into Carolina.” 
 
 “ A long journey, madam,” interrupted Marion; “ and you have 
 been sadly vexed to-night, I learn. We have a rude and unquiet 
 country.” 
 
 “ My sister and myself,” said Ilenry, “ counted the chances before 
 we set out.” 
 
 “ I would call you but an inexperienced guide, sir,” said the 
 General, addressing Henry, and smiling. 
 
 “ Oh, as to that,” replied the youth, “ we have an old soldier 
 with us—Horse Shoe Robinson—hem—Stephen Foster, I meant 
 to say.” 
 
 “ Horse Shoe Robinson !” exclaimed Marion, “ where is he ?” 
 
 “Mr. Henry Lindsay, General, and me,” said the sergeant, 
 bluntly, “ have been practising a lie to tell the Tories, in case they 
 should take us unawares ; but it sticks, you see, in both of our 
 throats. It’s the true fact that I’m Horse Shoe himself. Tliis 
 calling me Stephen Foster is only a hanging out of false colors for 
 the benefit of the red-coats and Tories, upon occasion.” 
 
 “ Horse Shoe, good fellow, your hand,” said Marion, with viva¬ 
 city, “ I have heard of you before. Miss Lindsay, excuse me, if 
 you please; I have business to-night which is apt impertinently 
 to thrust itself between us and our duty to the ladies. Richards,” 
 he continued, addressing a young oflicer who stood near him, “ see 
 if you can find some refreshment that would be acceptable to the 
 lady and her brother. Horse Shoe, this way: I would speak with 
 you.” 
 
 Marion now retired towards the place where the writing ma¬ 
 terials were first noticed, and entered into an examination of the 
 
444 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 sergeant, as to the particulars of the recent attack upon Wingate’s 
 cabin. 
 
 Before Robiuson had finished his narrative of the events of the 
 night, a horseman dashed up almost at full speed to the spot 
 TS'here Marion stood, and, flinging himself from his saddle, whilst 
 his horse stood panting beside him, asked for the General. 
 
 “ How now. Bloody Spur! What’s the news ?” demanded 
 Marion. 
 
 “ The Black River hawks are flying,” said the soldier. 
 
 “ I have heard that already,” interrupted the chieftain. “ Tell 
 me what else.” 
 
 “ I stayed long enough to secure Wingate’s cattle, and then set 
 out for the river to cut loose the boats at the Ferry. I did it in 
 good time. Four files followed close upon my heels, who had 
 been sent ahead to make sure of the means of crossing. The fel¬ 
 lows found me after my work was done, and chased me good three 
 miles. They will hardly venture. General, to swim the river to-night, 
 with all the thievery they have in their hands; and I rather take 
 it they will halt at the ferry till daylight.” 
 
 “ Then that’s a lucky cast, Dick Peyton,” exclaimed Marion. 
 “ Ho, there! Peters, wake up that snoring trumpeter. Tell him 
 to sound ‘ to saddle.’ Come lads, up, up. Gentlemen, to your 
 duties!” 
 
 Forthwith the trumpet sounded, and with its notes everything 
 asleep started erect. Troopers were seen hurrying across the 
 ground in rapid motion; some hastily buckling on broadswords 
 and slinging their muskets; others equipping the horses; and 
 everywhere torches were seen passing to and fro in all the agita¬ 
 tion of a sudden muster. As soon as Marion had set this mass in 
 action, he repaired to Mildred, and in a manner that betokened no 
 excitement from the general stir around him, he said— 
 
 “ I owe you an apology. Miss Lindsay, for this desertion, which 
 1 am sure you will excuse when you know that it is caused by my 
 desire to punish the varlets who were so ill-mannered as to intrude 
 upon your slumbers. I hope, however, you will not be a loser 
 by the withdrawal of our people, as I will take measures to put 
 you under the protection of a good friend of mine, the widow of a 
 
HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 445 
 
 worthy soldier, Mistress Eachel Markham, who lives but two miles 
 from this, and whose hospitable mansion will afford you a shelter 
 more congenial to your wishes than this broad canopy of ours. 
 A guide shall be ready to conduct you.” 
 
 “Your kindness, general,” said Mildred, “ puts me under many 
 obligations.” 
 
 “ Horse Shoe shall take a line of explanation to my friend,” 
 added Marion. “ And now, madam, farewell,” he said, offering 
 his hand. “ And you. Master or Mister Henry, I don’t know 
 which—you seem entitled to both—good night, my brave lad : I 
 hope, before long, to hear of your figuring as a gallant soldier of 
 independence.” 
 
 “ I hope as much myself,” replied Henry. 
 
 Marion withdrew, and by the time that he had prepared the 
 letter and put it into Horse Shoe’s hands, his troops were in 
 line, waiting their order to march. The general mounted a spirit¬ 
 ed charger, and galloping to the front of his men, wheeled them 
 into column, and, by a rapid movement, soon left Hoi-se Shoe and 
 his little party, attended by one trooper who had been left as a 
 guide, the only tenants of this lately so busy scene. The change 
 seemed almost like enchantment. The fires and many torches 
 were yet burning, but all was still, except the distant murmur of 
 the receding troops, which grew less and less, until, at last, there 
 reigned the silence of the native forest. 
 
 Our travellers waited, almost without exchanging a word, 
 absorbed in the contemplation of an incident so novel to Mildred 
 and her brother, until the distant tramp of the cavalry could be 
 no longer heard : then, under the direction of the guide, they set 
 out fbr the residence of Mrs. Markham. 
 
CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 The day had just begun to dawn as our party, under the guidance 
 of Marion’s soldier, were ferried across the Pedee, on the opposite 
 bank of which river lay the estate and mansion of Mrs. Markham. 
 The alarms and excitements of the past night had ceased to 
 stimulate the frame of Mildred, and she now found herself sinking 
 under the most weariness. Henry had actually fallen 
 
 asleep as he sat.upon the gunwale of the ferry-boat, and rested his 
 head against the sergeant’s shoulder: the whole party were over¬ 
 come with the lassitude that is so distressing, at this hour of 
 dawning, to all persons who have spent the night in watching; 
 and even the sergeant himself, to the influences of fatigue and 
 privation the most inaccessible of mortals, and, by fate or fortune, 
 the most unmalleable—occasionally nodded his head, as if answering 
 the calls of man’s most welcome visitor. It was, therefore, with 
 more than ordinary contentment that our travellers, when again 
 mounted, were enabled to descry, in the first light of the morning, 
 a group of buildings seated upon an eminence about a mile 
 distant, on the fm'ther side of the cultivated lowland that stretched 
 along the southern margin of the river. The guide announced 
 that this was the point of their destination, and the intelligence 
 encouraged the party to accelerate the speed wflth w'hich they 
 journeyed over the plain. When they arrived at the foot of the 
 hill, the character of the spot they were approaching was more 
 distinctly developed to their view. The mansion, encompassed by 
 a tuft of trees that flung their broad and ancient limbs above its 
 roof, was of the best class of private dwellings, old and stately in 
 its aspect, and exhibiting all the appendages that characterized 
 the seat of a wealthy proprietor. It was constructed entirely of 
 wood, in accordance with a notion that prevailed at that period, 
 no less than at the present, that a frame structure was best adapt¬ 
 ed to the character of the climate. It occupied the crest of a 
 
 446 
 
horse shoe ROBINSON. 
 
 447 
 
 hill which commanded a view of the river with its extensive 
 plains; whilst, in ton, it was overlooked by the adjacent tract of 
 country bearing the name of the Cheraw Highlands'. 
 
 As the party ascended this eminence, Henry, in the eager and 
 thoughtless satisfaction of the moment, put his bugle to his mouth 
 and continued to blow with all his might, deaf to the remonstrances 
 of his sister, who was endeavoring to explain that there was some 
 want of courtesy in so abrupt a challenge of the hospitality of the 
 family. The blast was interrupted by Horse Shoe’s laying his 
 hand upon the instrument, as he gave the indiscreet bugler a short 
 military lecture ; 
 
 “You might fetch trouble upon us. Mister Henry: this here 
 screeching of horns or trumpets is sometimes a sort of bullying of 
 a gan-ison ; and if an enemy should happen to be on post here— 
 as, God knows, is likely enough in such scampering wars as these, 
 why you have set the thing past cure: for it is cutting off all 
 chance of escape, just as much as if the people had been ordered 
 ‘ to horse.’ It leaves nothing for us but to brazen it out.” 
 
 An old negro was first startled by the summons, and appeared 
 for a moment at the door of one of the out-buildings, evincing, as 
 he looked down the road upon the approaching cavalcade, mani¬ 
 fest signs of consternation. After a brief glance, he was seen to 
 retreat across the yard to the door of the mansion-house, where he 
 fell to beating at it with as much earnestness as if giving an alarm 
 of fire, shouting at the same time, “ Lord bless us, mistress ! here 
 is a whole rigiment of sodgers coming to turn everything topsy¬ 
 turvy. Get up, get up—open the door!” . 
 
 “ Stop your bawling, you stunted black-jack!” said Robinson, 
 who had galloped up to the spot, “ and none of your lies. Is the 
 lady of the house at home ?” 
 
 A window was thrown up, at the same moment, in an upper 
 story, and a female head, decorated with a nightcap, was thrust 
 out, whilst a voice, tremulous with affright, inquired what was the 
 cause of this disturbance; but before an answer could be given 
 the head was withdrawn, and the door opening discovered a youth 
 scarcely in appearance over sixteen, with a loose robe thrown 
 around his person and a pistol in his hand. 
 
448 
 
 HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “"WTio comes here, and with what purpose ?” was the question 
 firmly put by the young man. 
 
 “ Friends,” said Horse Shoe—“ sent to the good lady by General 
 Marion. Sorry, sir, to be the occasion of such a rumpus* But 
 this here young lady has travelled all night and is ’most dead with 
 hardships.” 
 
 Mildred, who with the rest of the company had now arrived 
 near the door, was about to speak, when the questioner retired, 
 calling the negro after him into the house. In a moment the 
 servant returned with Mrs. Markham’s comphments to the party, 
 and a request that they would alight. 
 
 “ Then all’s well,” said Horse Shoe, dismounting, and im¬ 
 mediately afterwards lifting Mildred from her saddle, “ a friend in 
 need, madam, is the gi'eatest of God’s blessings. I make no 
 doubt you wiU find this as snug a nest as you ever flew into in 
 your life.” 
 
 “ And, good sergeant, most specially welcome,” replied Mildred, 
 smiling in the midst of all her pain, “ for in truth I never was so 
 weary.” 
 
 The guide, having now performed his duty, announced that he 
 must return to his corps; and, after a few cheering words of 
 kind remembrance from Mildred, coupled with a message of 
 thanks to Marion, he wheeled about and galloped ha^di towards 
 the river. Mildred and Henry entered the house; and the 
 sergeant, taking command of Isaac, followed the horses towards 
 the stable. 
 
 The brother and sister were ushered into an ample parlor, com¬ 
 fortably furnished according to the fashion of the wealthier classes 
 of that day ; and, Mildi’ed as she threw herself upon a capacious 
 sofa, could not fail to recognise in the formal portraits that were 
 suspended to the pannelled walls, that she was in the dwelling of a 
 family of some pride of name and lineage. 
 
 After a short interval, the proprietress of the mansion entered 
 the parlor. She was a lady of a kind and gentle aspect, apparently 
 advanced beyond the middle period of life ; and her features, 
 somewhat emaciated, gave a sign of feeble health. She was attired 
 in dishabille, hastily thrown on ; and there was some expression of 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 449 
 
 alarm in the unreserved and familiar manner with which she 
 approached Mildred, and inquired into the nature of this early 
 journey. 
 
 “I‘hope no unhappy accident, my dear, has driven you at this 
 unusual hour to my poor house ? You are heartily welcome. I 
 fear to ask what has brought you.” 
 
 “ My brother and myself, madam,” said Mildred, “ have had a 
 most adventurous night. This letter will explain. General Marion 
 was so kind as to commit us to your liosj^itality.” 
 
 The lady took the letter and read it. 
 
 “ hliss Lindsay, my child, I am truly happy to serve you. You 
 have had an awful night, but these times make us acquainted with 
 strange afflictions. This young gentleman, your brother, is he your 
 only attendant ?” 
 
 hlildred began to communicate the details of her journey, when 
 she was interrupted by her hostess. 
 
 “ I will not trouble you with questions, now, my dear. You 
 must have sleep ; I dread lest your health may suffer by this harsh 
 exposure. After you have had rest, we will talk more, and become 
 better acquainted. Judith,” continued the matron, addressing a 
 servant maid, who had just entered the room, “ attend this lady to 
 a chamber. Mr. Henry Lindsay, I believe—so General Marion calls 
 you—my srJn Alfred shall take you in charge.” 
 
 With these words the good lady left the room, and in an instant 
 after returned with the youth who had first appeared at the door. 
 Upon being introduced by his mother to the guests, he lost no time 
 in obeying her orders in regard to Henry, whom he had conducted 
 out of the room at the same moment that Mildred followed the 
 servant towards a chamber. 
 
 The entire day was spent by our party in recruiting their strength, 
 towards which needful care the hospitable hostess contributed by 
 the tenderest attentions. On the following morning Mildred, 
 although refreshed by the slumbers of the long interval, still ex¬ 
 hibited the traces of her recent fatigue; and upon the earnest 
 recommendation of Mrs. Markham, seconded by the almost oracu¬ 
 lar authority of Horse Shoe,—for the sergeant had greatly won upon 
 the respect of his companions by his prudence and discretion— 
 she determined to remain another day in her present resting-place. 
 
450 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 Mrs. Markliain was the widow of a Carolina gentleman, who had 
 borne the rank of a colonel in the Whig militia, and had been 
 actively employed, in the earher stages of the war, in the southern 
 pro\dnces. He had fallen in an unfortunate skirmish with some of 
 Prevost’s light troops, on the Savannah river, some sixteen months 
 before; and his widow, with three daughters and no other male 
 protector than an only son, was now, in this season of extreme 
 peril, residing upon a-large estate, which the evil fortune of the 
 times had made the theatre of an eventful and active desultory war. 
 She had been exposed to the most cruel exactions from the Tories, 
 to whom her possessions were generally yielded up with a passive 
 and helpless submission ; and the firmness with which, in all her 
 difficulties, she had adhered to the cause for which her husband 
 fell, had gained for her the generous sympathy of the whig leaders, 
 and more than once stimulated them to enterprises, in her behalf, 
 that were followed by severe chastisement upon her enemies. These 
 circumstances had given extensive notoriety to her name, and 
 drawn largely upon her the observation of both friend and foe. To 
 Marion, who hovered upon this border more hke a goblin than a 
 champion whose footsteps might be tracked, her protection had 
 become a subject of peculiar interest; and the indefatigable soldier 
 fr'equently started up in her neighborhood when danger was at hand, 
 with a mysterious form of opposition that equally defied the calcu¬ 
 lations of Whigs and Tories. 
 
 The lady was still in her weeds, and giief and care had thrown 
 a pallor upon her cheek ; but the watchfulness imposed upon her 
 by the emergencies of the day, her familiarity with alarms, and the 
 necessity for constant foresight and decisive action, had infused a 
 certain hardihood into her character, that is seldom believed to 
 be,—but yet in the horn’ of trial unerringly exhibits itself—an 
 attribute of the female bosom. Her manners were considerate, 
 kind, and fraught with dignity. She was the personation of a class 
 of matrons that—^for the honor of om’ country and of the human 
 race—was not small in its numbers, nor upon trial unworthy of its 
 fame, in the sad history of the sufferings of Carolina. 
 
 The evening of the day on which Mildi-ed arrived at the mansion 
 brought rumors of a brilliant exploit achieved by Marion; and 
 more circumstantial accounts on the following morning confirmed 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 451 
 
 the good tidings. The alert partisan had fallen upon the track of 
 the freebooters who had been marauding on the confines of North 
 Carolina, and whose incursion had expelled our travellers from 
 Wingate’s cabin. Marion had overtaken them before sunrise, on 
 the bank of the Pedee, where they had been detained by reason of 
 Peyton’s successful removal of the boats. A short but most deci¬ 
 sive combat was the consequence, and victory, as she was wont, had 
 seated herself upon Marion’s banner. The chieftain and his fol¬ 
 lowers had, as usual, disappeared, and the whole country was in a 
 state of agitation and dread; the one side fearing a repetition of 
 the blow in some unlooked-for quarter, the other alarmed by the 
 expectation of quick and bloody repi-isal. 
 
 These events still more contributed to fortify Mildred’s resolution 
 to remain another day under the shelter of Mrs. Markliam’s friendly 
 roof, before she would venture forth in the further prosecution of 
 her journey. 
 
 Here, for the present, we must leave her. 
 
CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 
 OCCURRENCES AT MUSGROVE’s MILL. 
 
 She passed by stealth the narrow door. 
 
 The postern way also, 
 
 And thought each bush her robe that tore, 
 
 The grasp of a warding foe.— Joanna Baillie, 
 
 The montli of September was more than half gone. The night 
 had just set in, and the waxing moon shone forth from a clear 
 heaven, flinging her rays upon the rippling surface of the Ennoree 
 and upon the glossy leaves that flickered in the wind by the banks 
 of the stream, when Mary Musgrove, with wary and stealthy pace, 
 glided along the path, intricate with shrubbery, that led upwards 
 immediately upon the margin of the river. For a full half hour 
 had she toiled along this narrow way since she had stolen past the 
 sentinel near her father’s gate. The distance was not a mile ; but 
 the anxious maiden, pursued by her own fears, had more than 
 once, in the fancy that she was followed, stopped in her career a,nd 
 concealed herself in the thick copse-wood, and listened with painful 
 intensity for the footsteps of those whom her imagination had set 
 upon her track. There was, however, no pursuit; it was the 
 prowling fox or the raccoon whose leap had disturbed the dry and 
 rotten branches that lay upon the ground ; and Mary smiled with 
 faint-heartedness at the illusions of her own mind. She arrived at 
 last beneath the brow of a crag that jutted over the stream, and in 
 the shade of one of the angles of the rock, she discerned the figure 
 of a man seated upon the grass. She paused with a distrustful 
 caution, as she challenged the silent and half-concealed person. 
 
 “Hist, John ! is it you ? For mercy, speak! Why would you 
 frighten me ?—Me, Mary. Don’t you know me ?” said the maiden, 
 as she took heart of grace and advanced near enough to put 
 her hand upon John Ramsay’s shoulder. “ Powers above! the 
 
 452 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 463 
 
 man’s asleep,” she added laugh. “ Wlio would have thought 
 I should have caught you napj)ing, John, at such a time as this!” 
 
 “ Why, in truth, Mary,” said John Ramsay, waking up under the 
 touch of his mistress, and'rising to his feet, “ I deserve to he shot 
 for sleeping on my watch; hut I have been so driven from post to 
 pillar for this last fortnight, that it is as much as I can do to keep 
 my eyes open when night comes on. So Mary, you will forgive 
 me, and more particularly rvhen I tell you I was dreaming of you; 
 and thought this war was at an end, and that you and I M'ere 
 happy in a house of our own. I have been waiting for you for 
 upwards of an hour.” 
 
 “ Ah, John, I don’t think I could sleep if it had been my turn to 
 watch for you.” 
 
 “ There’s the difference,” replied John, “ betwixt you women and 
 us men; you are so full of frights and fidgetings and fancyings, 
 that I do verily believe all the sleeping doses in the world could 
 never make you shut your eyes when anything is going on that 
 requires watching, whether it be for a sick friend or for a piece of 
 scheming. Now, with us, we take a nap on a hard-trotting horse, 
 and fall to snoring up to the very minute that the trumpet wakes 
 us to make a charge. What news from Butler ?” 
 
 “It is all fixed,” answered Mary, “ to our hearts’ content. Lieu¬ 
 tenant Macdonald, ever since Cornwallis’s letter, allows Major But¬ 
 ler greater privileges; and the sentinels are not half so strict as 
 they used to be ; so that I think we may give them the slip. By 
 the gable window that looks out from the garret room, the Major 
 will be able to get upon the roof, and that, he thinks, is near 
 enough to the tree for him to risk a leap into its branches; though 
 I am almost afraid he is mistaken, for it looks awfully wide for a 
 spring. He says if you will be ready with the hoi-ses an hour be¬ 
 fore day-light to-morrow, he will try the leap, and join you at the 
 willows above the mill. Christopher will saddle one of the wagon- 
 horses and lead him to the place.” 
 
 “ And the sentinel who keeps guard on that side 1” 
 
 “ Ah, John, that puzzles us,” said Mary; “ I’m so much afraid 
 that you will be rash. It is in your nature to forget yourself.” 
 
 “ Tut, girl; don’t talk of that. I’ll find a way to manage the 
 sentinel. I will steal up to him and take him unawares; and then 
 
454 
 
 HORSB SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 seizing him by the throat, give him his choice of a knife in between 
 his ribs, or a handful of guineas in his pocket.” 
 
 “ Hadn’t we better tell him what a good man the Major is ?” said 
 Mary, alarmed at the idea of a struggle in which her lover’s 
 hfe might be endangered, “ and try to coax him to take our 
 side !” 
 
 “ Ha, ha!” ejaculated the trooper involuntarily, “ that’s a very 
 good woman’s thought, but it won’t hold out in a campaign. The 
 fellow might happen to have some honesty, and then away goes 
 our w'hole scheme. No, no; blows are the coin that these rascals 
 buy their bread with, and, faith, we’ll trade with them in the same 
 article.” 
 
 “ But then, John, you will be in danger.” 
 
 “ What of that, girl ? Wken have I been out of danger ? And 
 don’t you see, Mary, what good luck I have with it ? Never fear 
 me; I will stifle the fellow in the genteelest fashion known in the 
 wars.” 
 
 “ And if it must be so, John, I will say my prayers for you with 
 more earnestness than I ever said them in my life. As my father 
 says, the God of Israel will stand by our cause: and when He is for 
 us, what care we who is against us ?” 
 
 “You are a good girl, Mary,” replied John Ramsay, smiling. 
 “ Get back to the house; let Major Butler know that you have seen 
 me, and that I will be ready.” 
 
 “ He is to be at the window,” said Mary, “ and I am to signify 
 to him that you are prepared, by setting up a plank against the 
 garden fence in a place where he can see it. He is to keep a look¬ 
 out from the window all night, and when the time comes you are 
 to flash a little powder on the edge of the woods upon the hill: if 
 he is ready then he will show his candle near the window-sill; that, 
 he says, must be a sign for you to come on; and when he sees you 
 he will take the leap.” 
 
 “ I understand it,” said Ramsay. “ Tell Christopher to be sure 
 of the horse.” 
 
 “ I have a great deal of courage, John, when^danger is far off”— 
 but when it comes near, I tremble like a poor coward,” said Mary. 
 “ Does not my hand feel cold ?” 
 
H0R3K SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 455 
 
 “ Xour lips are warm, Mary,” replied John, kissing her, “ and 
 your heart is warm. Now, never flag when it comes to the trial. 
 Everything depends upon you. We shall be very happy, by-and- 
 by, to talk this thing all over. How many soldiers are on Mac¬ 
 donald’s guard ? Have none left you since I saw you yesterday ?” 
 
 “ None,” said Mary; “ one man left the mill two days since. 
 I think I heard them say he was^oing to Ninety-six, on business 
 for the lieutenant.” 
 
 “Well, well, it makes but little odds how many are there, so 
 they but sleep soundly. Our business is more to run than to fight. 
 Mary, my girl, step across to my father’s to-morrow, and he will 
 tell you what has become of me. We must get the Major out of 
 this country of wolf-traps as fast as we can.” 
 
 “ I forgot to ask you,” said the maiden, “ if you had some coarse 
 clothes ready for the Major. He must not seem to bo what 
 he is.” 
 
 “ Trust me for that,” replied the trooper. “ Christopher has 
 given me a bundle with as fine a dusty suit in it as any miller’s 
 boy ever wore; and besides that, I have a meal bag to throw 
 across the Major’s saddle : and as for myself, Mary, there’s plough¬ 
 man in my very looks. We shall cheat all the Tories betwixt this 
 and Catawba.” 
 
 “ Now, John, before I leave you, I have one favor to ask.” 
 
 “ And what is that ?” inquired the generous-hearted soldier, 
 “ you know, if I can, I will grant it before it is named.” 
 
 “ I would ask as a favor to me,” said Mary, with earnestness, 
 “ that you will not be too venturesome: the IMajor is a wiser man 
 than you, so be governed by him. Remember, John, if any ill 
 were to happen to you, it would break my heart.” 
 
 “ I am not so foolhardy, my girl,” replied Ramsay, “ but, that 
 when there’s occasion for it, I can show as clean a pair of heels as 
 any man : and so, for your sake, you kitten,” he said, as he put 
 his hands upon her cheeks, and again snatched a kiss, “ I will 
 run to-mon-ow like a whole troop of devils. And now, Mary, good 
 night, and God bless you girl! it is time you were at home. Yet 
 upon second thoughts, I will walk part of the way with you. So, 
 take my arm and let us begin the retreat.” 
 
 “John, I do so fear you may be hurt,” said the maiden, as they 
 
450 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 pursued tlieir way along tlie pafli, her whole thoughts being 
 absorbed with the danger of the enterprise. “ Be careful when 
 you come near the sentinel to wait until his back is turned. This 
 moon shines bright, and j’ou may easily be seen.” 
 
 “ Blit look, girl, the moon has scarcely two hours yet to travel, 
 and, from that circle round it, I shouldn’t wonder if we had rain 
 before day-light; so by the hour we have fixed for the Major’s 
 escape, it will be dark enough*: therefore you may be easy on 
 that score.” 
 
 The humble and ardent lovers pursued their way towards the 
 miller’s dwelling with slow steps, intently engaged in conversing 
 over the chances of their perilous project, until they arrived at a 
 point beyond which it was not safe for John Ramsay to venture. 
 Here, after many affectionate caresses and fond adieus, they 
 separated —the maiden to steal to her place of rest, the soldier to 
 hasten back to his horse, that awaited him near the scene of the 
 late meeting. 
 
 Mary soon arrived at the mill; then sauntering carelessly 
 towards the dwelling-house, began, the better to conceal her pur¬ 
 pose, to sing a simple air, during which she had w’andered up to 
 the garden fence, where she delayed long enough to set up the 
 plank. The small window in the angle of the roof of the cottage 
 looked down upon the spot where she stood ; and as she cast her 
 eyes towards this part of the building, she received a recognition 
 from the prisoner, in a slight waving of the hand, which was 
 suflSciently observable by the light of the taper within. 
 
 Matters having gone so far to the maiden’s satisfaction, she now 
 retreated into the house. 
 
 The reader will perceive from this naiTative that Butler’s 
 fortunes had greatly improved since we last took leave of him. 
 The messCn'^’er despatched to Cornwallis by Williams had brought 
 back to the Fair Forest, where it will be remembered the van¬ 
 quishers of Innis had retreated, a more favorable answer than 
 even the republican leader had hoped. The British commander 
 was not ignorant of the capture of Butler, but the circumstances 
 of the trial had not before been communicated to him. Upon the 
 representation of Williams, he had no hesitation to order a respite 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBXNSON, 
 
 457 
 
 to be givea to the prisoner for such reasonable time as might be 
 necessary for further investigation. This obvious act of justice 
 was moi-e than, in the circumstances of the times, might have 
 been expected from Cornwallis. The cruel and bloody policy 
 which he adopted towards the inhabitants of the Carolinas, 
 immediately after the battle of Camden, showed a tone of pereona! 
 exacerbation that was scarcely consistent with the lenity displayed 
 towards Butler. It is not unlikely, therefore, that the fear of 
 retaliation upon the young St. Jertnyn, of whose fate he might 
 have been informed from officers of his own camp, might have 
 induced him to temporize in the present case, and to grant a sus¬ 
 pension of proceedings against the rebel prisoner. The reply to 
 Williams’s letter accordingly intimated that, for the present. Major 
 Butler should bp held in close custody as a prisoner of war, 
 leaving the determination of the manner in which he was finally 
 to be disposed of, a subject for future consideration. 
 
 John Ramsay, after the departure of Horse Shoe Robinson for 
 Virginia, instead of rejoining his regiment, returned to the Fair 
 Forest camp, where he remained with Williams, until the answer 
 from Cornwallis was received. The tidings of this answer he under¬ 
 took to convey to Butler, and ho again set out for his father’s house. 
 John felt himself now regularly enlisted in the service of the 
 prisoner, and having found means to communicate his present 
 employment to General Sumpter, he obtained permission to remain 
 in it as long as his assistance was of value. The service itself was 
 a grateful one to the young trooper; it accorded with the 
 generosity of his character, and gratified his personal pi-ide by the 
 trust-worthiness which it implied: but more than this, it brought 
 him into opportunities of frequent meeting with Mary Musgi'ove, 
 who, passionately beloved by the soldier, was not less ardent than 
 he in lier eftbrts to promote the interest of Butler. 
 
 The state of the country did not allow John to be seen in 
 day-time, and he and Mary had consequently appointed a place of 
 meeting, where in the .shades of night they might commune 
 together on the important subjects of their secret conspiracy. 
 Night after night they accordingly met at this spot, and herciall 
 their schemes were contrived. Mary sometimes came to David 
 Ramsay’s dwelling, and the old man’s counsel was added to that 
 
 20 
 
453 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 of the lovers. Christopher Shaw and Allen Musgrove were not 
 ignorant of what was in contemplation, hut it was a piece of 
 necessary policy that they should appear to be as little connected 
 with the prisoner as possible. Christopher, therefore, pursued his 
 duties as assistant-quarter-master or purveyor to the little garrison 
 under Macdonald’s command, with unabated assiduity. 
 
 The plan of Butler’s escape was John Ramsay’s. He had been 
 anxiously awaiting an 'opportunity to attempt this enterprise for 
 the last fortnight, but the dilBculty of concerting operations with 
 the prisoner had retarded his movement. This difficulty was at 
 last overcome, and, for a few days past, the plan had been arrang¬ 
 ed. All that was left to be done was to appoint the hour. 
 Christopher Shaw and Mary, alone of the miller’s family, were 
 made acquainted with the details. Christopher was to provide a 
 horse and a suitable disguise for Butler, and these were to be 
 ready at a tuft of willows that grew upon the edge of the river 
 some quarter of a mile above the mill, whenever Mary should 
 announce that John was ready to act. Ramsay’s horse was to be 
 brought to the same spot. The preparatory signals, already 
 mentioned, were all agreed upon and understood by the parties. 
 Butler was to escape to the roof, and thence by the boughs of a 
 large oak that grew hard by the miller’s dwelling. A sentinel 
 was usually posted some fifty paces from this tree, and it was a 
 matter of great perplexity to determine how his vigilance was to 
 be defeated. This difficulty, John resolved, should be overcome 
 by a stern measure : the man was to be silenced, if necessary, by a 
 blow. John Ramsay was to steal upon him in the dark, and if 
 signs of alarm were given, he was to master the sentinel in such 
 a manner as the occasion might require, being furnished by Butler 
 with a purse of gold, if such a form of influence might be 
 necessary. 
 
 Such is the outline of the plan by which Butler’s disenthral- 
 ment was to be attempted. 
 
 Mary Musgrove, before she retired to her chamber, sought Chris¬ 
 topher Shaw and made him acquainted with the appointment of 
 the hour, and then left him to manage his own share of the enter¬ 
 prise. It was now near ten at night, and Christopher, who had 
 charge of Allen Musgrove’s stable, in order to avoid the suspicion 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 459 
 
 of being seen stirring at a later hour, immediately set off to saddle 
 the horse. One of the wagon team, well known in the family by 
 the name of Wall Eye, was selected for this service, and being 
 speedily accoutred, was conducted to the willows, where he was 
 tied fast to a tree, to remain until the hour of need. The young 
 miller soon returned, and it was’ not long afterwards that the 
 household and its military companions were wrapt in the silence of 
 unsuspecting repose. 
 
 Butler, at the hour of the customary visit of the watch, had gone to 
 bed ; and, feigning sickness, had been allowed to burn a light in his 
 room during the night. His chamber door, also, by special favor, was 
 closed; and the night advanced without suspicion or distrust from 
 any quarter. At two o’clock the last sentinels were relieved, and 
 the form had been gone through of inspecting the prisoner’s cham¬ 
 ber. To all outward show, Butler was asleep ; the door was 
 again shut, and all was still. The time for action now arrived. 
 Butler rose silently from his bed, dressed himself, and, putting his 
 shoes into his pockets, stole in his stockinged feet to the little gable 
 window at the further end of his apartment. Here he remained, 
 gazing out upon the night with fixed attention. The moon had set, 
 and the sky was overcast with clouds, adding a fortunate obscurity 
 to the natural darkness of the hour. By still greater good luck, 
 after a few moments the wind began to rise and rain to descend. 
 Everything seemed to favor the enterprise. The shadowy form of the 
 sentinel, who was stationed on this side of the house, was dimly 
 discerned by Butler through the gloom ; and it was with joyful 
 satisfaction that he could perceive the soldier, as the rain fell in larger 
 drops, retreat some distance from his post and take shelter beneath 
 the shrubbery that grew in the garden. At the same moment a 
 flash upon the hill, which might have been mistaken for summer 
 lightning, announced to him that his faithful comrade was at hand. 
 Desirous to take advantage of the present neglect of the sentinel, 
 and to avoid the possibility of bringing him into conflict with Barn- 
 say, Butler hastily showed his candle at the window, then extin¬ 
 guished it, and throwing himself out upon the roof, scrambled 
 towards the nearest point of the impending branches of the oak. 
 Here, without a moment’s pause, he made a fearless leap that flung 
 him amongst the boughs. The darkness prevented him from 
 
460 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 clioosing the most favorable lodgment in the tree, and he fell across 
 a heavy limb with such force as to take away his breath—receiving, 
 at the same time, a severe contusion in the head. For a brief 
 space he hung almost senseless, and there was reason to apprehend 
 that he would fall in a swoon to the ground; but the occasion 
 braced his sinking strength, and before many minutes he revived 
 sufficiently to make his way to the trunk, by which he descended 
 safely to the earth. He now threw himself on his hands and feet, 
 and crept to the garden fence. The rain still increased, and fell in 
 a heavy shower. In another instant he surmounted the barrier, 
 and betook himself with his utmost speed towards the mill, behind 
 which he sought concealment and temporary rest. 
 
 “ Stand,” said John Ramsay, who had just reached this point on 
 his way to the house, and now, taken by surprise, presented a pistol 
 to Butler’s breast. “ One word above your breath and you die. 
 Be silent, and here is gold for you.” 
 
 “ Ramsay,” said Butler, in a low tone, “ is it you ?” 
 
 “ Your name ?” demanded the trooper, still presenting the pistol. 
 
 “ Butler,” was the reply. 
 
 “ Thanks—thanks, good Major, for that word ! You have 
 been before me. I thought you would not miss this I’ain. Is all 
 well?” 
 
 “ Better, much better, than we could have hoped,” answered But¬ 
 ler. “ Seeing the sentinel was off his guard, I took time by the 
 forelock, and have saved you trouble.” 
 
 “ For God’s sake. Major, let us not delay here. Our horses are 
 waiting for us above.” 
 
 “ I am ready,” said Butlei’, having now put on his shoes. “ My 
 brave fellow, I owe you more than I can find words to utter: lead 
 the waj^” 
 
 The liberated captive and his gallant comrade instantly hastened 
 towards the horses, and mounting with a joyful alacrity, soon set 
 forward at a gallop in the direction leading to David Ramsay’s 
 cottage. Here they arrived just as the day beu-an to dawn 
 
CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 A MELANCHOLY INCIDENT. 
 
 The hand of the reaper 
 Takes the ears that are hoary, 
 
 But the voice of the weeper 
 Wails manliood in glory.— Scott, 
 
 Brief time was taken by the fugitives for refreshment at David 
 Ramsay’s dwelling. Here Butler put on the disguise which Chris¬ 
 topher Shaw had provided for him. Then arming himself with a 
 pair of pistols which John had appropriated to his use, the trooper 
 himself using a similar precaution, our two adventurers resumed 
 their journey. Their first object was to gain a point, some seven 
 or eight miles distant, in the direction of the Fair Forest, where 
 John Ramsay had concealed a few troopers that had been furnished 
 him by "Williams, to give their aid, if necessary, in securing Butler’s 
 escape. 
 
 From this point they were to proceed, with all possible despatch, 
 to Williams’s camp. However hazardous the experiment of attempt¬ 
 ing to traverse the country in open daylight, it was deemed still 
 more dangerous to taiTy any length of time so near the scene of 
 their late adventure. Butler and his comrade, therefore, pushed 
 forward with as much expedition as possible, resolved to outrun 
 the fresh pursuit which they had reason to apprehend upon the 
 discovery which the morning must produce at the miller’s habi¬ 
 tation. 
 
 Soon after sunrise the rain ceased 'to fall, the clouds dispei’sed, 
 and a fresh and brilliant morning broke forth upon the heavens. 
 The success of their late exploit had raised the spirits of the wan¬ 
 derers. A sense of intense delight animated Butler’s feelings: a 
 consciousness of liberty once more enjoyed, after hopes deferred 
 and almost despairing captivity, seemed to regenerate him and 
 make him acquainted with emotions he had never felt before. His 
 
 46 > 
 
462 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 heart was full of gratitude to his new friend Ramsay, and the ex¬ 
 pression of it was warm and sincere. Nature had never appeared so 
 lovely to him as now : the whispers of the forest and the murmur 
 of the clear brook fell on his enfranchised ear like the sweetest 
 music : there was melody for him even in the screams of the jay 
 and the harsh notes of the crow: and once when his companion 
 had halted in sight of a buck that bounded through the wood 
 before him, Butler, apprehensive that John was about to discharge 
 a bullet after the forest-rover, found himself involuntarily pleading 
 the cause of the noble animal; “ Do not draw your pistol on him, 
 Ramsay, I pray you. Let him run; it is liberty—liberty, good 
 comrade—and that is sacred.” 
 
 Before eight o’clock they had reached the rendezvous. Here they 
 found three troopers who, although armed, were habited in the 
 plain dress of the country, which enabled them to claim the deno¬ 
 mination either of Whig or Tory militia, as their occasions might 
 demand. These men had lain perdue, for some days, in the depth 
 of the forest, impatiently awaiting for intelligence from Ramsay. 
 
 “ Well, Harry Winter,” said John, laughing, “ what say you now ? 
 I have brought you the miller’s boy at last. Have I not made my 
 word good ?” 
 
 “ Truth, John,” replied the trooper, “ there is more stuff in you 
 than we counted on. Macdonald must be a silly crow to let the 
 fox steal his cheese from him so easily.” 
 
 “ You would have come nearer the mark, Hany, if you had 
 called him a sleepy lout, for whilst he was nodding I took his cake 
 off the griddle. It was fair filching by night, as the Major will 
 tell you. But come, lads, here is no time for dallying, we mustn’t 
 have the grass growing to our horses’ heels, when we have a whole 
 pack of King George’s hounds on our trail. So move, boys !” and 
 saying these words, John led the party forward at a rapid gallop. 
 
 They had not gone far before they found themselves upon a road 
 which led through a piece of thin wood that covered a small tract 
 of marshy ground, the nature of which brought the party into a 
 more compact body as they approached the narrowest point of the 
 defile. At a short distance beyond this impediment the track 
 became broader, where it ascended a hill thickly covered with an 
 undergi’owth of bushes. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 463 
 
 Our friends had scarcely arrived in the narrow pass before they 
 perceived on the hill in front of them, a company of some ten or 
 fifteen horse, rapidly advancing towards them. In a moment all 
 conversation was checked, and Harry Winter turning to his com¬ 
 panions, had barely time to remark, 
 
 “ I answer all questions: be silent, and if asked, swear to the 
 truth of every word I say—steady : these fellows are Tories.” 
 
 As he ceased speaking, the foremost of the strangers had already 
 come up to them. 
 
 “ Where from, and whither do you go ?” asked Harry Winter, 
 with a stern accent. 
 
 “ From below Ninety-Six, and on our road to Fort Granby,” re¬ 
 plied a clownish voice. 
 
 “ Peace, you knave!” interrupted one who appeared to be the 
 leader of the party, and whose carriage and demeanor announced 
 him to be an officer; “ by what authority do you undertake to 
 answer a challenge on the highway 2 Back, to your place, sfr.” 
 
 The rebuked rustic hung his head, as he reined his horse back 
 into the crowd that now thronged the road. 
 
 “ As we are of the larger party,” said the same person, address¬ 
 ing himself to Winter, “ we have the right to the word. Who are 
 you and whence come you ?” 
 
 “ We belong to Floyd’s new draft,” replied Winter with gi-eat 
 coolness, “ and left Winnsborough yesterday morning.” 
 
 “ And where bound ?” 
 
 “ To Augusta, on business with Brown.” 
 
 “ Ah ha!” exclaimed the officer, “ Brown is pinched by the rebels. 
 It is well you have thought of him. "What have you to say to him ? 
 Do you bear despatches ?” 
 
 “Your pardon, sir—that’s a secret.” 
 
 “You need not be afraid, good fellow, we are friends.” ^ 
 
 “ I can hardly tell you the exact business,” repHed Winter. “ You j 
 will meet Floyd himself with a hundred men, before you ride five / 
 miles. I believe we are going to reinforce the garrison.” ■■ 
 
 “ You will be very welcome,” said the Tory officer, “ Brown will 
 give you a hearty reception, but devilish slim fare; he is surrounded 
 with hornets.” 
 
 “ So much tlie better,” replied Winter, “ we have a knack at 
 
464 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSOK. 
 
 taking the sting out of the hornets, nowadays. Good morning, 
 sir. Eeport us, if you please, to Colonel Floyd, when you come 
 across him, and tell him the hour of the day when you met us.” 
 
 During this short parley the two parties had become united into 
 a common throng, completely filling up the road; and the proximity 
 into which they were severally brought, gave rise to various in¬ 
 quiries after news amongst the subordinates on either side. In this 
 press, Butler was startled to observe the eyes of an individual 
 scanning him with a somewhat pointed scrutiny, and it was with an 
 emotion that had well nigh betrayed him, that he recognised in 
 this person one of Macdonald’s soldiers. It was the man whom 
 the lieutenant had despatched, a few days previous, with an errand 
 to the jDOst at Ninety-Six, and who was now returning with this 
 detachment of militia. The soldier was evidently at favdt, for in a 
 moment afterwards Butler could perceive, from his expression of 
 face, that whatever might have been bis first suspicion, it was 
 quieted by another glance. The disguise was so far eftectual. 
 But another cause of alarm arose, that for an instant brought But¬ 
 ler into greater jeopardy. The horse on which the messenger was 
 mounted, was the yoke-fellow of the lean Wall-Eye, and the two 
 beasts had been long accustomed to work side by side in the same 
 wagon. Then mutual recognition, at this critical moment, became 
 distressingly conspicuous. Their noses were brought in contact, 
 and they began to whinny and paw the gronnd in that intelligible 
 manner which constitutes one of the forms of expression by which 
 this portion of the brute creation acknowledge their attachments. 
 The presence of mind of John Kamsay saved the explosion which 
 must soon have followed. He spurred his horse between the two noisy 
 and restless animals, and immediately addressed a conversation to 
 the soldier, which for the moment turned his thoughts into another 
 channel. 
 
 By this time the conference had terminated, and the two leaders 
 respectively directing their men to move forward, the defile was 
 passed and each party extricated from the other. But no sooner 
 was the separation completed than Butler’s brutish steed, Wall-Eye, 
 began to neigh with the most clamorous vociferation, whilst a 
 response was heard in the same tones as pertinaciously reiterated 
 fi'om the retreating companion on the other side of the defile. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 465 
 
 “ We were in great danger from yonder Tories,” said Ramsay, 
 addressing Butler, “ did you see that one of these fellows rode the 
 mate of the beast you are on ? Who could he be ?” 
 
 “ It was one of Macdonald’s men,” replied Butler, “ I knew the 
 fellow the moment we met; but, thank Heaven, this humble dress 
 concealed me.” 
 
 “Faster, Major!” cried John, “these cursed horses are calling 
 after each other now. Pray, push forward until we get out of 
 hearing. How unlucky that Christopher Shaw should have given 
 you one of the wagon cattle !” 
 
 “ Look back, lads !” exclaimed Winter with great earnestness, 
 “ there is something wrong, these fellows are returning. Whip and 
 spur, or we are overtaken !” 
 
 Macdonald’s soldier, it seems, having his attention drawn to the 
 singular motions of his horse, had become suddenly confirmed in 
 the susjiicion which at the late meeting for a moment rested upon 
 his mind, as to the identity of Butler; and having communicated 
 his thought to the commanding officer, the whole party of the 
 Tory militia had wheeled about to demand a further investigation : 
 they were now some hundred paces in the rear of the fugitives, and 
 were pressing forward at high speed, the officer in the front calling 
 out at the same time, 
 
 “Hold!—Rein up and return ! We have questions to ask. Halt, 
 or we shall fire!” 
 
 “To it, boys!” cried Harry Winter. “Your safety is in your 
 legs!” 
 
 And the party pricked onward as fast as they could urge their 
 cavalry along the road. The chase continued for some half hour 
 or more ; the little escort of Butler leaving the road and plunging 
 into the recesses of the forest. An occasional pistol-shot was fired 
 during this retreat, but without effect on either side. The tangled 
 character of the ground over which they passed, greatly retarded 
 the pursuit, and before the half hour was spent none but a few of 
 the boldest horsemen of the assailants Avere found persevering in 
 the chase. Seeing their number diminished, and finding also that 
 the horses of his own comrades were beginning to flag, John Ram¬ 
 say assumed the command, and directed his party to turn about 
 and offer battle to the pursuers. The immediate effect of this 
 
 20 * 
 
46(5 
 
 HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 movement was to bring the assailants to a halt, which was no 
 sooner witnessed by John, than he shouted “ Charge, lads, charge, 
 and the day is ours! Hack and hew, good fellows; down with 
 the bloodhounds!” 
 
 This animated exhortation was followed up by a prompt onset, 
 in which the brave trooper led the way ; and such was the impe¬ 
 tuosity of the assault that the enemy, although consisting of twice 
 the number of those Avho attacked them, were forced to give 
 ground. A sharp skirmish ensued, during which several pistol- 
 shots were discharged on both sides, and some encounters, hand to 
 hand, were sustained with a sturdy resolution; but, at last, our 
 friends succeeded in turning then’ opponents to flight. The com¬ 
 bat had been maintained in that pell-mell form of attack and 
 defence, which defied compact or organized resistance; and the 
 indiidduals of each party had been scattered over the wood for a 
 considerable distance, so that when the late pursuers were compelled 
 to retreat, each man urged his horse in such a direction as was 
 most favorable to his escape. By degrees, Butler’s few compa¬ 
 nions began to reassemble at that part of the wood where they had 
 made their first stand. 
 
 “ There is nothing like striking the first blow at the right time,” 
 said Harry Winter, as, with his hat in his hand to allow the air to 
 cool his brow, he rode up to Butler, and halted to gain breath. 
 “ Give me a hot charge on a slow enemy, and I don’t care much 
 about two to one of odds. Thank God that business is cleanly 
 done, and here we are all safe I hope. Where is John Ramsay?” 
 he inquired, looldng around him, and observing that their comrade 
 was not amongst the number assembled. 
 
 “ I saw him close at the heels of the runaways,” said one of the 
 men. “ John has a trick of seeing a scrimmage to the end; and 
 it is an even bet that he is now upon the trail like a fresh hound. 
 The last I noticed of him was at the crupper of a couple of 
 the rascals that, I’ll engage, before now he has set his mark 
 upon.” 
 
 “ Then we must to his assistance !” exclaimed Butler, eagerly ; 
 and without waiting for further consultation he set ofif at full speed, 
 in the supposed direction of John Ramsay’s pursuit. The rest fol¬ 
 lowed. They had ridden some distance without being able to 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 467 
 
 perceive any traces of tlieir missing companion. Butler called aloud 
 upon Ramsay, but there was no answer ; and, for some moments, 
 there was an anxious suspense as the party halted to listen for the 
 sound of the footsteps of the trooper’s approach. At length, a horse 
 was seen far off in the wood, bounding over the turf at a wild and 
 frightened pace; the saddle was empty, and the bridle-rein hung 
 about his feet. On seeing his companions, the excited steed set up 
 a frequent neigh, and, with head and tail erect, coursed imme¬ 
 diately up to the group of horsemen. Here he came to a sudden 
 halt, snorting with the terror of his late alarm. There were drops 
 of blood upon the saddle. 
 
 “ Gracious Heaven !” cried Butler, “ some evil has befallen Ram¬ 
 say. Scatter and search the wood.” 
 
 It was with confused and melancholy earnestness that they all 
 now continued the quest. After a painful suspense, one of the 
 men was heard to shout to the rest that their lost comrade was 
 found. The summons soon brought the party together. Ramsay, 
 pale and faint, was stretched upon the grass of the forest, his 
 bosom streaming forth a current of blood. In an instant Butler 
 was seen stooping over him. 
 
 “ Oh, this is a hea \'7 ransom, for my deliverance !” he said with 
 the deepest anguish, as he raised the trooper’s head and laid it on 
 his lap, whilst the blood flowed from the wound. “ Speak, dear 
 friend, speak! Great God, I fear this blow is mortal! Some 
 water, if it can be found—look for it. Winter ; he has fainted from 
 loss of blood.” 
 
 AMiilst Harry Winter went in search of the necessary refreshment, 
 Butler tore his cravat from his neck and applied it to staunch the 
 wound. The administration of a slight draught of water, after a 
 short interval, suflSciently revived the disabled soldier to enable him 
 to speak. He turned his sickly and almost quenched eye to 
 Butler, as he said : 
 
 “ I was foolish to follow so far. I have it here—here,” he added 
 in a feeble voice, as he put his hand upon his breast, “ and it has 
 done my work. I fought for you, major, because I was proud to 
 fight for a friend ; and because”—here his voice failed him, as for 
 a moment he closed his eyes and faintly uttered—“ it is all over— 
 
 I am dying.” 
 
468 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “Nay, good John,” said Butler, whilst the tears ran down his 
 cheeks ; “ it is not so bad as that—you are weak from bleeding— 
 you will be better presently. Oh God! oh God !” he muttered to 
 himself, “ I would not have had this to save my own life, much 
 less hs the price of my liberty!” 
 
 “ I fought for you,” said the wounded man, again reviving, “ be¬ 
 cause Mary wished it. This will kill Mary,” he added after a pause. 
 “ She warned me not to be rash, but I could not help it. Be kind 
 to her. Major Butler, and take care of her. Tell her I did not 
 fear to die; hut for her sake, and for the sake of my poor mother. 
 Go to my parents; let them know I thought of them in my last 
 thoughts.” 
 
 “ John ! John !” exclaimed Butler, unable to give further utter¬ 
 ance to his feelings. 
 
 The dying trooper lay for some moments silent, and his com¬ 
 rades stood around him in mute grief, and hung their heads to 
 conceal their emotions from each other. 
 
 “ In my pocket,” said Ramsay, “ is a Testament. Mary gave it 
 to me for a keepsake. Take it out.” 
 
 Butler drew forth the small volume. 
 
 “ What shall I do with it ?” he asked, in a mournful whisper. 
 
 “ Give it to Mary, back from me. And this plait of her hair 
 upon my wrist, major, take it and wear it on your own; it will 
 remind you of my Mary—you will guard her from harm.” 
 
 “ Before God, John Ramsay,” said Butler with solemn fervor, “I 
 promise you, that, while I live, she shall not want. Your parents, 
 too, shall be my special care.” 
 
 “ Then I shall die with easier heart. Thanks, thanks—friends, 
 farewell!” feebly ejaculated the stricken soldier, whose eye, 
 already glazed with the pangs of death, now glanced upon the 
 attending group, and after a brief but painful interval closed in 
 darkness. 
 
 John Ramsay spake no more, and his short breathing showed 
 that life was fast ebbing in its channel. The audible sobs of 
 Butler, for some moments, were alone heard in the circle, as he sat 
 supporting the head and gTasping the hand of his brave comrade. 
 The struggle was at last over, and the gallant spirit of the generous 
 
H0E8E SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 469 
 
 soldier had fled. Butler took fi-om the wrist the bracelet of Mary’s 
 hair, which was now stained with the blood of its late owner, and, 
 with an earnest vow to redeem his promise, drew it over his own 
 hand. 
 
 The scene that followed this melancholy adventure was one of 
 solemn interest. The proximity of the enemy, although defeated, 
 rendered a delay at this spot, in the present circumstances of Butler, 
 exceedingly hazardous; yet he could not entertain the thought of 
 continuing his journey until he had communicated to David Ram¬ 
 say the distressing tidings of his son’s death. The last request of 
 John seemed also to impose this task upon him as a sacred obli¬ 
 gation, due to the friendship which had terminated in so disastrous 
 an end. Butler’s resolution, therefore, was soon taken. He deter¬ 
 mined immediately, at all hazards, to make his way back to Ram¬ 
 say’s cottage, and to endeavor to console the afflicted parents under 
 their severe bereavement. Disdaining, in his present state of feel¬ 
 ing, the disguise that seemed to make him almost a stranger to 
 himself, he threw aside the miller’s dress and again appeared m 
 his true character, resolved manfully to meet what he now believed 
 to be the almost certain result—a recapture with all its probable 
 consequences. Some of his party, who were acquainted with the 
 localities of their present position, suggested to him that a Whig 
 family of the name of Drummond resided at no great distance 
 from the scene of the late encounter, and that, by bearing the body 
 to this place, they might secure for it a decent burial. The remains 
 of the trooper were accordingly laid upon a rude litter, and his 
 mourning comrades slowly and sorrowfully wended their Avay 
 through the forest to the designated habitation. Here they 
 arrived about noon, having traversed a space of more than two 
 miles to gain this asylum. 
 
 Drummond was a woodman, and occupied a rude cabin, with a 
 small clearing around it, in the depths of the wilderness, so remote 
 from the highway as to jiromise as much security from the quest 
 of tlie enemy, as might be expected from any portion of the region 
 in which he lived. He received his guests with kindness ; and as 
 he was himself acquainted ivitli the family of the deceased, he 
 exhibited a lively sympathy with the mourners around the body. 
 
470 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROSINSON. 
 
 When Butler now made known his purpose to set out imme¬ 
 diately for the habitation of David Kamsay, Winter asked permis¬ 
 sion to accompany him, but the woodman interposed, and recom¬ 
 mended that he alone should he permitted to perform that errand, 
 leaving the others to remain with the corpse until his return. 
 
 “ It is, before all others, my duty,” said Butler; “ and come 
 what may, I will perform it.” 
 
 “ Then we will go together,” added the proprietor of the cabin. 
 “ It will be wise to wait until the day is a little more spent, and 
 return in the darkness of the night. David Ramsay will come 
 back with us. He would like to see his son before we put him in 
 the ground.” 
 
 “ That shall be as you. please, friend,” said Butler. “ I will be 
 under your guidance.” 
 
 An hour or two-before sun-down, Butler and his new companion 
 left the cabin, and took their route across the woods towards Ram¬ 
 say’s dwelling, leaving the dead body in charge of the woodman’s 
 family and the three soldiers. The distance they had to travel 
 did not exceed eight miles. The repulse of the Tory party in the 
 skirmish of the morning seemed to have induced a behef, on the 
 part of the enemy, that the fugitives had made a successful retreat 
 which was now beyond pursuit, and there were, in consequence, no 
 parties on the road to molest the travellers. Under these circum¬ 
 stances, it was still daylight when they came in view of David 
 Ramsay’s homestead. 
 
CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Great agitation prevailed at Macdonald’s post, when the morning 
 disclosed the escape of Butler. The lieutenant was conscious that 
 this mischance had exposed him to the risk of heavy censure, and, 
 as was natural to a man who could not entirely acquit himself of 
 some neglect in the performance of his duty, his first measures 
 were taken in a spirit of peevish and angry severity. Small parties 
 were sent out to explore the neighborhood, with a view to gain 
 intelligence of the direction taken hy the fugitive, with orders 
 to bring him in dead or alive. The sentinels who were on duty 
 during the night were arrested, and subjected to a rigid examina¬ 
 tion on the events of their watch; the several members of Mus- 
 grove’s family were also interrogated as to matters touching their 
 own connexion with the prisoner. Nothing, however, was gathered 
 from these investigations that was calculated to cast a suspicion of 
 connivance in Butler’s liberation, upon any individual either of the 
 gan-ison or of the family. It was only apparent that the prisoner 
 had availed himself of the remissness of the guard and the dark¬ 
 ness of the night, to make a bold descent from the window ; and 
 had succeeded by one of those lucky accidents which sometimes 
 baffle the most cautious foresight. The nature of the attempt did 
 not necessarily suppose the aid of an accomplice, and a faint hope 
 was, therefore, entertained that Butler would be found still lurking 
 in the vicinity of the post. 
 
 In the coiu-se of a few hours, the fii-st parties that had been dis¬ 
 patched in the morning, returned. They could give no accoimt of 
 the prisoner; nor was there any light thrown upon the escape, 
 until about the dinner hour, when a portion of the detachment which 
 had intercepted Butler and liis comrades in the morning, arrived at 
 the mill, under the conduct of the soldier whose suspicions had led 
 to the pui-suit and skirmish which we have already described. The 
 report of these men left Macdonald no room to doubt the identity 
 
 471 
 
4*72 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 of Butler with the person described. A further examination, at 
 the suggestion of the soldier, showed that Wall-Eye, the wagon- 
 horse, was missing; and it now became certain that Butler had 
 been aided by a party of the enemy with whom he must have been 
 in correspondence. The conclusion was, that with his means of 
 flight there could be little doubt of his being, long before the pre¬ 
 sent period of the day, out of the reach of successful pursuit. 
 The scheme was laid to the account of Horse Shoe Robinson, 
 whose name and adventures were already famous in this district; 
 and it was conjectured that Sumpter was secretly posted in some 
 neighboring fastness to give his assistance to the enterprise. 
 
 With these reflections, Macdonald felt himself obliged to submit 
 to the exigencies of the case; a point of philosophy which he did 
 not practise without a very \dsible chagrin and mortification. His 
 men were called together, and after a short, fretful lecture on their 
 neglect, and an injunction to a more soldier-like vigilance in future, 
 which savored of the caution of locking the stable after the steed 
 was stolen, they were dismissed. 
 
 About an hour before sun-down, Allen Musgrove and Mary, 
 availing themselves of the confusion and relaxed discipline of the 
 post, occasioned by the events of the morning, set out on horseback 
 for David Ramsay’s dwelling, whither they were led by a natural 
 anxiety to learn something of the movements of the fugitives. 
 
 “ It’s a pleasure and a happiness, Allen Musgrove,” said Mistress 
 Ramsay, as the miller and his daughter sat down in the cabin, “ to 
 see you and Mary over here with us at any time, but it Is specially 
 so now when we have good news to tell. .John and his friend are 
 safe out of reach of Macdonald’s men, and—God be praised!—I 
 hope out of the way of all other harms. We have had soldiers 
 dodging in and out through the day, but not one of them has 
 made any gueSs what’s gone with the major; and as for John, 
 they don’t seem to suspect him to be on the country-side. It’s all 
 Horse Shoe Robinson with them. They say that none but he could 
 have helped to get the major away, and that General Sumpter 
 was the instigator. Well, I’m sure they were welcome to that 
 opinion, for it set them all to looking over towards Broad river, 
 which is as good a direction as we could wish them to travel.” 
 
 “ The less you seem to know about it, Avith any of these inquiring 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 4'7S 
 
 parties, the better, Mistress Ramsay,” said Allen Musgrove, “ and 
 would advise you, even here amongst ourselves, to speak lower 
 David, what do you hear this evening ?” 
 
 “ Nothing concerning our runaways since they left us at daylight 
 this morning,” replied Ramsay. “ I should guess them to be some¬ 
 where near upon Fair Forest by this time. You know Williams is 
 outlying upon the upper branches of the river ? It is more like 
 hunted deer, Allen, than Christian men, that our poor fellows take 
 to the woods now. God knows what will come of it!” 
 
 “ lie knows and has appointed it,” said Musgrove, gravely, “ and 
 will in His own good time and with such instruments as shall faith¬ 
 fully work His purpose, give the victory to them that have the 
 right. Man, woman, and child may perish, and house and home 
 may be burnt over our heads, and the blood of brave men may 
 make the dust of the road red ; yes, and the pastures rich as if 
 new laid with manure ; but the will of God shall be done and His 
 providence be accomplished. The cause of the just shall prevail 
 against the unjust.” 
 
 “ There were no soldiers,” inquired Mary, addressing David 
 Ramsay, “ that you have heard of, who followed towards Fair 
 Forest ? I should be sorry if John was to be troubled with persons 
 going after him; because,”—the maiden hesitated an instant,— 
 “because it’s unpleasant and disagreeable to be obliged to be 
 riding off the road, through bushes and briers, to keep out of the 
 way.” 
 
 “ If they were not greatly an overmatch, girl,” interrupted 
 Ramsay, “ John wouldn’t give himself much trouble upon that 
 account.” 
 
 “ Oh, Mr. Ramsay,” said Mary earnestly, “ I was thinking of that. 
 It’s hard to say what John would call an overmatch : men are so 
 headstrong and venturesome.” 
 
 “ That’s God’s own truth, Mary,” interposed Mrs. Ramsay ; “ and 
 what I have always been telling David and John both. But they 
 never heed me, no more than if I was talking to the child in 
 that cradle.” 
 
 “ I’ve told John as much myself,” said Mary, blushing. 
 
 “ And he would not heed you either,” inteirupted her father. 
 “ A soldier would have a holiday life of it, if he followed the advice 
 
iU 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 of his mother or his sweetheart. Daughter, amongst friends here, 
 you needn’t blush ; we know more of the secrets betwixt you and 
 the trooper lad than you count upon. John’s a clever boy, Mistress 
 Ramsay, and I think you have reason to brag of him somewhat; 
 and as there’s particular good-will between him and my Mary, I’ll 
 not stand in the way when the war is over, if God spares us all, 
 and Mary and the lad keep in the same mind ; I’ll not stand in the 
 way of a new settlement in the neighborhood. Mary is a good 
 daughter, well nurtured, and—I don’t care to say it to her face— 
 will make a thriving wife.” 
 
 The mother smiled as she replied, “ I don’t pretend to know the 
 young people’s secrets, but I know this, you don’t think better of 
 Mary than John does—nor than me neither, perhaps.” 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by a knocking at the door, 
 and, in a moment afterwards, Arthur Butler and the woodman 
 entered the apartment. 
 
 “ Major Butler, as I am a living woman!” exclaimed Mrs. 
 Ramsay. 
 
 “ Om- good friend himself!” ejaculated Musgrove, with surprise. 
 “ What has turned you back ? And Gabriel Drummond here 
 too 1 What has happened ?” 
 
 “ Where is my son John ?” demanded Ramsay. “ Are you fol¬ 
 lowed ?” 
 
 Butler walked up to Mrs. Ramsay, and, as a tear started to his 
 eye, took her by the hand, and stood for a moment unable to speak. 
 
 “ Oh, heaven have mercy on me 1” screamed Mary Musgrove, as 
 she threw herself upon a bed, “ something dreadful has happened.” 
 
 “ For God’s sake, speak what you have to tell!” said David 
 Ramsay, instantly turning pale. 
 
 “John Ramsay is hurt,” faintly articulated the mother, and 
 Mary, rising from the bed, stood beside Butler with a countenance 
 on which was seated the most agonizing attention. Andy, the 
 hero of the exploit we have heretofore related, also pressed into the 
 presence of the same group, and a death-like silence pervaded the 
 whole party. 
 
 Butler, with an ineflfectual effort to recover himself, turned to 
 Drummond, making a sign to him to tell the object of their melan- 
 eholy errand, and then flung himself into a chair. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 475 
 
 “Joliu Ramsay is dead,” said the woodman, in a mournful 
 tone. “ Your son, mistress Ramsay, was shot in a fray 'svdth the 
 bloody, villanous Tories. The heartiest curses upon them !”^ 
 
 “Killed, dear madam,” said Butler, scarce able to articulate, 
 “killed in my defence. Would to God the blow had fallen upon 
 my own head!” 
 
 “ Oh, no, no, no!” exclaimed the. matron, as a flood of tears 
 rolled down her cheeks, and she endeavored to wipe them away 
 with her apron. “ It isn’t true. It can’t be true. My poor, dear, 
 
 brave boy!” _ _ 
 
 At the same instant Mary Musgrove fell insensible into the anus 
 of her father, where it was some moments before she gave signs of 
 animation. At lengtli, being laid upon the bed, a deep groan/ 
 escaped her, which was followed by the most piteous wailing. J 
 
 The scene wrought upon the younger members of the family, 
 who, as well as the domestics, were heard pouring forth deep and 
 loud lamentations, accompanied with reiterated announcements of 
 the death of the soldier. 
 
 When this first burst of the general grief was over, David 
 Ramsay arose from his seat and walked across the room to a 
 window, where he stood endeavoring to compose and master his 
 feelings. At length, facing Butler, he said in a low and tranquil 
 tone, 
 
 “ John Ramsay, my son, killed, killed in a skirmish ? God is 
 my witness, I expected it! It was his failing to follow his enemy 
 with too hot a hand; and I am to blame, perhaps, that I never 
 checked him in that temper. But he died like a man and a 
 soldier. Major Butler,” he added, firmly. 
 
 “ He died in my arms,” replied Butler, “ as bravely as ever 
 soldier closed his life, his last thoughts were fixed upon his parents, 
 and— 
 
 “Dead!” interrupted Ramsay, as if communing with himself, 
 and regardless of Butler’s words—“ Dead! He fell doing his duty 
 to his country, that’s a consolation. A man cannot die better. If 
 it please God, I hope my end may bo like his. Andrew, my boy, 
 come here. You are now my oldest living son,” he said, taking 
 tlie lad’s hand and looking him full in the face, as he spoke with a 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 476 
 
 Ditter compression of his lips ; “ I am -willing, much as I love you, 
 that the country should have you.” 
 
 “ No, Daidd, David,” interrupted the mother, rousing herself 
 from her silent grief, “ we have given enough ; no other child of 
 mine shall venture in the war. John ! John ! John! my dear boy, 
 my brave son ! How good and kind he was to us all! And how- 
 glad he was to get home to see us ; and how much we made of 
 him !” 
 
 “ Silence, wife,” said Da-vid Ramsay, “ this is no time to hold 
 back from our duty. Andrew, listen to me: remember your 
 brother has met his death fighting against these monsters, ivho 
 hate the very earth that nurses liberty. You are young, boy, but 
 you can handle a musket; 'we will not forget your brother’s death.” 
 
 “Nor the burning of a good house over your head, and a full 
 barn, father; nor the frights they have given my poor mother.” 
 
 “ Nor the thousands of brave men,” added the father, “ who 
 have poured out their blood to give us a land and laws of our own. 
 My boy, we will remember these, for vengeance.” 
 
 “Not for vengeance,” said Allen Musgrove, “for justice, David. 
 Your enemy should be remembered only to prevent him from 
 doing mischief. The Lord will give him sword and buckler, spear 
 and shield, who stands up for the true cause ; and when it pleases 
 Him to require the sacrifice of life from the faithful servant who 
 fights the battle, he grants patience and courage to meet the trial. 
 Your son was not the man, Da-vid, to turn his face away from the 
 work that was before him ; may God receive him and comfort his 
 distressed family! He was an honest and brave son, David 
 Ramsay.” 
 
 “A braver soldier never buckled on broadsword, Allen Mus¬ 
 grove,” replied the father. “ Yes, I looked for this; ever since my 
 dwelling was levelled to the ground by these firebrands, I looked 
 for it. John’s passion was up then, and I knew the thoughts that 
 ran through his mind. Ever since that day his feelings have been 
 most bitter; and he has flung himself amongst the Tories, making 
 as httle account of them as the mower when he puts his scythe 
 into the grass of the meadows.” 
 
 “ God forgive him, Da-vid!” said Musgrove, “ and strengthen 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSOH. 
 
 47*7 
 
 you and the boy’s good mother in this sharp hour of trial. They 
 who draw the sword in passion may stand in fear of the judgment 
 of the sword: it is a fearful thing for sinful man to shed blood for 
 any end hut that of lawful war, and at the bidding of his country. 
 God alone is the avenger.” 
 
 Mary had again raised herself from the bed, and at this moment 
 gave vent to her feelings in a loud and bitter lamentation. “ John 
 Ramsay is dead, is dead!” she exclaimed. “ I cannot believe it. 
 He that was so true and so warm-hearted, and that everybody 
 loved! They could not kill him ! Oh, I begged him to keep his 
 foot from danger, aiid he promised me, for my sake, to be careful. 
 I loved him, father; I never told you so much before, but I am not 
 ashamed to tell it now before everybody; I loved him better than 
 all the world. And we had promised -each other. It is so hard 
 to lose them that we love!” she continued, sobbing violently. 
 “ He was so brave and so good, and he was so handsome, Mrs. 
 Ramsay, and so dutiful to you and his father, coming home to see 
 you whenever the war would let him. And he walked, and rode, and 
 ran, and fought for his friends, and them that he cared for. He 
 was so thoughtful for your comfort too,” she added, as she threw 
 herself on her knees and rested her head in. the lap of the mother, 
 and there paused through a long interval, during which nothing 
 was heard but her own moans mingled with the sighs of the party, 
 “ we were to be married after this war was at an end, and thought 
 we should live so happily; but they have murdered him! Oh 
 they have murdered him,” and with her hair thrown in disorder 
 over her face, she again gave vent to a flood of tears. 
 
 “ Mary, daughter! Shame on you, girl!” said her father. “ Do 
 you forget, in the hour of your affliction, that you have a friend 
 who is able to comfort ? There is one who can heal up your sor¬ 
 rows and speak peace to your troubled spirit, if you be not too 
 proud to ask it. I have taught you, daughter, in all time of tribu¬ 
 lation to look to Him for patience and for strength to bear adver¬ 
 sity. Why do you neglect this refuge now ?” 
 
 “ Our Father,” said the maiden, fervently clasping her hands and 
 lifting up her eyes, now dim with weeping, as she appealed to God 
 in prayer, “ who art in heaven—teach us all to say thy will be done. 
 Take—take—my dear John—Oh ray heart will burst and I shall 
 
478 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 die !” she uttered, almost overwhelmed with her emotions, as she 
 again bjiried her face in Mistress Ramsay’s lap—“ I cannot 
 speak!” 
 
 A silence of inexpressible agony prevailed for some moments. 
 This was at length interrupted by the uprising of the full, clear, 
 and firm voice of Allen Musgrove, who now broke forth from the 
 opposite side of a room where he had kneeled before a chair, in an 
 earnest and impressive supplication to the Deity, urged with all 
 that eloquence which naturally flows from deeply-excited feeling. 
 From the solemnity of the occasion, as well as from the habitually 
 religious temper of the family assembled in the little cabin, the 
 words of the prayer fell upon the hearts of those present with a 
 singularly welcome efi'ect, and, for the moment,_brought tranquillity 
 to theh feelings. 
 
 When the prayer was ended, the giief of the mourners rolled 
 back in its former flood, and burst from Mary Musgrove in the 
 most heart-rending bitterness. Paroxysm followed paroxysm with 
 fearful violence, and these outbreaks rvere responded to by the 
 mother with scarcely less intensity. All attempts at consolation, on 
 the part of the men, w'ere unavailing; and it was apparent that 
 nothing remained but to l6t the tide of anguish take its own 
 course. 
 
 It was now some time after night-fall, when Butler and Drum¬ 
 mond beckoned Allen Musgrove to leave the room. They retired 
 into the open air in front of the house, where they were imme¬ 
 diately joined by David Ramsay. Here Butler communicated to 
 them the necessity of making immediate arrangements for their 
 return to the woodman’s cottage, and for the burial of the deceased 
 trooper. His advice was adopted, and it was resolved that Mus¬ 
 grove and Ramsay should accompany the other two to the spot. 
 Before the consultation was closed, Andy had come into the group, 
 and he was now directed, wdth all haste, to throw a saddle upon 
 his father’s horse. 
 
 “ You, Andrew, my son,” said David Ramsay, “ will stay at home 
 and comfort your poor mother, and Mary. Speak to them, boy, 
 and persuade them to give up their useless lamentations. It is the 
 will of God, and we ought not to murmur at it.” 
 
 “ The burning, father,” replied the boy, with a sorrowful- earnest- 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 4*79 
 
 ness, “ and the fighting, and the frights we have had, was all no¬ 
 thing to this. I never felt before how terrible the war was.” 
 
 Andy had now gone to eqiii^the horse, and the men returned 
 to the inside of the cabin, where they sat in profound silence. But¬ 
 ler, at length, rose from the door-sill where he had taken his seat, 
 and crossing the room, took a position by the bed on which Mary 
 Musgrove had thrown herself, and where she now lay uttering faint 
 and half-smothered moans. 
 
 “ I have a remembrance for you,” he said, stooping down and 
 speaking scarce above a whisper in the maiden’s ear ; “ I promised 
 to deliver it into your hand. God knows with what pain I per¬ 
 form my office! John enjoined upon me to give you this,” he 
 continued, as he presented to her the little copy of the Testament, 
 “ and to say to you that his last thoughts were given to you and 
 his mother. He loved you, Mary, better than he loved any living 
 creature in this world.” 
 
 “ He did, he did,” sobbed forth the girl; “ and I loved him far 
 above family, friends, kinsfolk and all—I wish I were dead by 
 his side.” 
 
 “ Take the book,” said Butler, hardly able to articulate. “ God 
 for ever bless you,” he added, after a pause of weeping, “ and bring 
 you comfort! I have promised John Ramsay, that neither you, 
 nor any of his family, shall ever want the service of a/riend, while I 
 have life or means to render it. Before Heaven, that pledge shall 
 be redeemed ! Farewell, farewell! God bless you !” 
 
 As Butler uttered these words he grasped the maiden’s hand and 
 pressed it fervently to his lips; then turning to the mother, he 
 addressed some phrase of comfort to her, and hastily left the room. 
 Scarcely a sound was heard from any one, except the low sobbing 
 of the exhausted weepers, and the almost convulsive kisses which 
 Mary imprinted upon the little book that Butler had put into her 
 hand. 
 
 Musgrove, Ramsay, and the woodman, retired from the apart¬ 
 ment at the same moment; and the horses being ready at the 
 door, the retreating beat of the hoofs upon the turf gave notice to 
 the in-dwellers that the four men had set forward on then- journey. 
 
CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 
 A RUSTIC FUNERAL. 
 
 How glumly sounds yon dirgy song; 
 
 Night ravens flap the wing.— Burger's Leonora, 
 
 By eleven o’clock at night, Butler and the party from Ramsay’s 
 arrived at the woodman’s cabin. Winter and his comrades had 
 been busy in making preparations for the funeral. The body had 
 been laid out upon a table, a sheet thrown over it, and a pine torch 
 blazed from the chimney wall close by, and flung its broad, red 
 glare over the apartment. An elderly female, the wife of the wood¬ 
 man, and two or three children, sat quietly in the room. The 
 small detachment of troopers loitered around the corpse, walking 
 with stealthy pace across the floor, and now and then adjusting 
 such matters of detail in the arrangements for the interment as 
 required their attention. A rude coffin, hastily constructed of such 
 materials as were at hand, was deposited near the table. A solemn 
 silence prevailed, which no less consisted with the gloom of the 
 occasion than with the late hour of the night. 
 
 When the newly arrived party had dismounted and entered the 
 apartment, a short salutation, in suppressed tones, was exchanged, 
 and without further delay, the whole company set themselves to 
 the melancholy duty that was before them. David Ramsay ap¬ 
 proached the body, and, turning the sheet down from the face, 
 stood gazing on the features of his son. There was a settled 
 frown upon his brow that contrasted signally with the composed 
 and tranquil lineaments of the deceased. The father and son pre¬ 
 sented a strange and remarkable type of life and death—the coun¬ 
 tenance of the mourner stamped by the agitation of keen, living emo¬ 
 tion, and the object mourned bearing the impress of a serene, placid, 
 and passionless repose ;—the one a vivid picture of misery, the other 
 a quiet image of happy sleep. David Ramsay bent his looks upon 
 
 480 
 
HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 481 
 
 the body for some minutes, without an endeavor to speak, and at 
 last retreated towards the door, striking his hand upon his forehead 
 as he breathed out the ejaculation, “My son, my son, how willingly 
 would I change places with you this night!” 
 
 Allen Musgrove \vas less agitated by the spectacle, and whilst he 
 surveyed the features of the deceased, his lips were moved with the 
 utterance of a short and almost inaudible prayer. Then turning to 
 Drummond, he inquired : “ Has the grave been thought of ? Who 
 has attended to the preparations ?” 
 
 “ It has been thought of,” replied the woodman ; “ I sent two 
 of my people off to dig it before I went with Major Butler to see 
 David. We have a grave-yard across in the woods, nigh a mile 
 from this, and I thought it best that John Kamsay should be buried 
 there.” 
 
 “ It was kindly thought on by you, Gabriel,” replied Musgrove. 
 “ You have your father and others of your family in that spot. 
 David Ramsay will thank you for it.” 
 
 “ I do, heartily,” said Ramsay, “ aijd will remember it, Gabriel, 
 at another time.” 
 
 “ Let the body be lifted into the coffin,” said Musgrove. 
 
 The order was promptly executed by Harry Winter and the 
 other troopers. In a few minutes afterwards, the rough boards 
 which had been provided to close up the box or coffin, were laid in 
 their appropriate places, and Winter had just begun to hammer 
 the nails into them, when from the outside of the cabin was heard 
 a wild and piercing scream, that fell so suddenly upon the ears 
 of those within as to cause the trooper to drop the hammer from 
 his hand. In one moment more, Mary Musgrove rushed into the 
 room and fell prostrate upon the floor. She was instantly followed 
 by Andrew. 
 
 “ God of heaven !” exclaimed Butler, “ here is misery upon 
 misery. This poor girl’s brain is crazed by her misfortune. This 
 is worst of all!” 
 
 “ Mary, Mary, my child !” ejaculated Musgrove, as he raised his 
 daughter into his arms. “ What madness has come upon you, 
 that you should have wandered here to-night!” 
 
 “ How has this happened, Andrew ?” said David Ramsay, all 
 speaking in the same breath. 
 
 21 
 
 
482 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ When Mary heard,” replied Andrew, in answer to his father’s 
 question, “ that you had all come to Gabriel Drummond’s to bury 
 my brother, she couldn’t rest content; and she prayed so pitifully 
 to come after you, and see him before they put him in the ground, 
 that I thought it right to tell her that I would come with her. 
 And if I hadn’t, she would have come by herself; for she had got 
 upon her horse before any of us were aware.” 
 
 “ I couldn’t stay at home, father,” said Mary, reviving and 
 speaking in a firm voice. “ I should have died with a broken 
 heart. I couldn’t let you come to put him in the earth without 
 following after you. W^here is he ? I heai’d them nailing the 
 coffin; it must be broken open for me to see him!” 
 
 These words, uttered with a bitter vehemence, were followed by 
 a quick movement towards the coffin, which was yet unclosed; 
 and the maiden, with more composure than her previous gestoes 
 seemed to render it possible for her to acquire, paused before the 
 body with a look of intense sorrow, as the tears fell fast from her 
 eyes. 
 
 “ It is true—it is too true—he is dead ! Oh, John, John !” she 
 exclaimed, as she stooped down and kissed the cold lips, “ I did 
 not dream of this when we parted last night near the willows. 
 You did not look as you do now, when I found you asleep under 
 the rock, and when you promised me, John, that you would be 
 careful and keep yourself from danger, if it was only to please me. 
 We were doing onr best for you then. Major Butler—and here is 
 what it has come to. No longer than last night he made me 
 the promise. Oh me, oh me! how wretched—how miserable I 
 am!” 
 
 “ Daughter, dear,” said Allen Musgrove, “ rise up and behave 
 like a brave girl as, you know, I have often told you you were^ 
 We are born to afflictions, and young as you are, you cannot hope 
 to be free from the common lot. You do yourself harm by this 
 ungoverned grief. There’s a good and a kind girl—sit yourself 
 down and calm your feelings.” 
 
 Musgrove took his daughter by the hand, and gently conducted 
 her to a seat, where he continued to address her in soothing lan¬ 
 guage, secretly afraid that the agony of her feelings might work 
 some serious misfertune upon her senses. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 483 
 
 “You are not angry with me, father, for following you to¬ 
 night ?” said Mary, for a moment moderating the wildness of her 
 sorrow. 
 
 “No, child, no. I cannot he angry with you; but I fear this 
 long night-ride may do you harm.” 
 
 “ I can but die, father; and I would not step aside from that.” 
 
 “ Recollect yourself, Mary ; your Bible does not teach you to 
 wish for death. It is sinful to rebel under the chastisements of 
 God. Daughter, I have taught you in your day of prosperity, the 
 lessons that were to be practised in your time of suffering and trial. 
 Do not now turn me and my precepts to shame.” 
 
 “ Oh, father, forgive me. It is so hard to lose the best, the dear¬ 
 est !” Here Mary again gave way to emotions which could only 
 relieve themselves in profuse tears. 
 
 In the meantime the body was removed to the outside of the 
 cabin, and the cofBn was speedily shut up and deposited upon a light 
 wagon-frame, to which two lean horses were already harnessed, and 
 which waited to convey its burden to the grave-yard. 
 
 “ All is ready,” said Winter, stepping quietly into the house, 
 and speaking in a low tone to Musgrove. “ We are waiting only 
 for you.” 
 
 “ Father,” said Mary, who, on hearing this communication, had 
 sprung to her feet, “ I must go with you.” 
 
 “My child!” 
 
 “ I came all this way through the dark woods on purpose, 
 father—and it is my right to go with him to his grave. Pray, 
 dear father, do not forbid me. We belonged to each other, and 
 he would be glad to think I was the last that left him—the very 
 last.” 
 
 “ The poor child takes on so,” said the wife of Drummond, now 
 for the first time interposing in the scene ; “ and it seems natural, 
 Mr. Musgrove, that you shouldn’t hinder her. I will go along, and 
 maybe it will be a comfort to her, to have some woman-kind be¬ 
 side her. I will take her hand.” 
 
 “ You shall go, Mary,” said her father; “ but on the condition 
 that you govern your feelings, and behave with the moderation of 
 a Christian woman. Take courage, my child, and show your 
 nurture.” 
 
484 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ I will, father—I will; the worst is past, and I can walk quietly 
 to John’s grave,” replied Mary, as the tears again flowed fast, and 
 her voice was stifled with her sobs. 
 
 “ It is a heavy trouble for such a young creature to bear,” said 
 Mistress Drummond, as she stood beside the maiden, waiting for 
 this burst of grief to subside; “ but this world is full of such 
 sorrows.” 
 
 Musgrove now quitted the apartment. He was followed by his 
 daughter and the rest of the inmates, all of whom repaired to the 
 front of the cabin, where they awaited the removal of the body. 
 
 A bundle of pine faggots had been provided, and each one of 
 the party was supplied from them with a lighted torch. Some 
 little delay occurred whilst Harry Winter was concluding his 
 arrangements for the funeral. 
 
 “ Take your weapons along, boys,” said the trooper to his com¬ 
 rades, in a whisper. “ John Ramsay shall have the honors of war 
 —and mark, you are to bring up the rear—let the women walk 
 next the wagon. Gabriel Drummond, bring your rifle along—we 
 shall give a volley over the grave.” 
 
 The woodman stepped into the cabin and returned with his fire¬ 
 lock. All things being ready, the wagon, under the guidance of a 
 negro who walked at the horses’ heads, now moved forward. The 
 whole party formed a procession in couples—the woodman’s wife 
 and Mary being first in the train, the children succeedijig them, and 
 the rest following in regular order. 
 
 It was an hour after midnight. The road, scarcely discernible, 
 wound through a thick forest, and the procession moved with a 
 slow and heavy step towards its destination. The torches lit up 
 the darkness of the wood with a strong flame, that penetrated the 
 mass of sombre foliage to the extent of some fifty paces around, 
 and glared with a wild and romantic effect upon the rude coffin, 
 the homely vehicle on which it was borne, and upon the sorrow¬ 
 ing faces of the train that followed it. The seclusion of the region, 
 the unwonted hour, and the strange mixture of domestic and mili¬ 
 tary mourning, half rustic and half warlike, that entered into the 
 composition of the group ; and, above all, the manifestations of 
 sincere and intense grief that were seen in every member of the 
 train, communicated to tlie incident a singularly imaginative and 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 485 
 
 unusual character. No words were spoken, except the few orders 
 of the march announced by Harry Winter in a whisper; and the ear 
 recognised, with a painful precision, the unceasing sobs of Mary 
 Musgrove, and the deep groan that seemed, unawares, to escape 
 now and then from some of the males of the party. The dull 
 tramp of feet, and the rusty creak of the wagon-wheels, or the 
 crackling of brushwood beneath them, and the monotonous clank 
 of the chains employed in the gearing of the horses, all broke upon 
 the stillness of the night with a more abrupt and observed distinct¬ 
 ness, from the peculiar tone of feeling which pervaded those who 
 were engaged in the sad offices of the scene. 
 
 In the space of half an hour, the train had emerged from the 
 wood upon a small tract of open ground, that seemed to have been 
 formerly cleared from the forest for the purpose of cultivation. 
 Whatever tillage might have once existed there was now aban¬ 
 doned, and the space was overgrown with brambles, through which 
 the blind road still struggled by a track that even in daylight it 
 would have been difficult to pursue. Towards the centre of this 
 opening grew a cluster of low cherry and peach trees, around 
 whose roots a plentiful stock of wild scions had shot up in the 
 absence of culture. Close in the shade of this cluster, a ragged 
 and half-decayed paling formed a square inclosure of some ten or 
 twelve paces broad, and a few rude posts set up within, indicated I 
 the spot to be the rustic grave-yard. Here two negroes were seen 
 resting over a newly-dug grave. 
 
 The wagon halted within some short distance of the paling, and 
 the coffin was now committed to the shoulders of the troopers. 
 Following these, the whole train of mourners entered the burial- 
 place. 
 
 My reader will readily imagine with what fresh fervor the grief 
 of poor Mary broke forth, whilst standing on the verge of the pit 
 in which were to be entombed the remains of one so dear to her. 
 The solemn interval or pause which intervened between the arrival 
 of the coi’pse at this spot, and its being lowered into the ground, 
 was one that was not signalized only by the loud sorrow of her 
 who here bore the part of chief mourner; but all, even to the 
 negroes who stood musing over their spades, gave vent to feelings 
 
486 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 which, at such a moment, it neither belongs to humanity, nor be¬ 
 comes it, to resist. 
 
 The funeral service was performed by Allen Musgrove. The 
 character of the miller, both physical and moral, impressed his 
 present employment with singular efficacy. Though his frame 
 bore the traces of age, it was still robust and muscular; and his 
 bearing, erect and steadfast, denoted firmness of mind. His head, 
 partially bald, was now uncovered; and his loose, whitened locks 
 played in the breeze. The torches were raised above the group; 
 and as they flared in the wind and flung their heavy volumes of 
 smoke into the air, they threw also a blaze of light upon the 
 venerable figure of the miller, as he poured forth an impassioned 
 supplication to the Deity; which, according to the habit of think¬ 
 ing of that period, and conformably also to the tenets of the 
 religious sect to which the speaker belonged, might be said to have 
 expressed, in an equal degi-ee, resignation to the will of Heaven 
 and defiance of the power of man. Though the office at the grave 
 was thus prolonged, it did not seem to be unexpected or wearisome 
 to the auditory, who remained with unabated interest until they 
 had chanted a hymn, which was given out by the miller, and sung 
 in successive couplets. The religious observances of the place 
 seemed to have taken a profitable hold upon the hearts of the 
 mourners ; and before the hymn was concluded, even the voice of 
 Mary Musgrove rose with a clear cadence upon the air, and showed 
 that the inspirations of piety had already supplanted some of the 
 more violent paroxysms of grief. 
 
 This exercise of devotion being finished, the greater part of the 
 company began their retreat to the woodman’s cabin. Winter 
 and his comrades remained to perfoim the useless and idle 
 ceremony of discharging their pistols over the grave, and when 
 this was accomplished they hurried forward to overtake the party 
 in advance. 
 
 They had scarcely rejoined their companions, before the horses 
 of the wagon were seized by an unknown hand; and the glare of 
 the torches presented to the view of the company some fifteen or 
 twenty files of British troopers. 
 
 “ Stand, I charge you all, in the name of the king!” called out 
 an authoritative voice from the contiguous thicket; and before 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 487 
 
 another word could be uttered, the funeral train found themselves 
 surrounded by enemies. 
 
 “ Hands oil’!” exclaimed Butler, as a soldier had seized him by 
 the coat. A pistol shot was heard, and Butler was seen plunging 
 into the w'ood, followed by Winter and one or two others. 
 
 The fugitives were pursued by numbers of the hostile party, and 
 in a few moments were dragged back to the lights. 
 
 “Who are you, sir ?” demanded an oflacer, who now rode up to But¬ 
 ler, “ that you dare to disobey a command in the name of the king ? 
 Friend or foe, you must submit to be questioned.” 
 
 “ We have been engaged,” said Allen Musgrove, “ in the peace¬ 
 ful and Christian duty of burying the dead. What right have you 
 to interrupt us ?” 
 
 “You take a strange hour for such a work,” replied the officer, 
 “ and, by the volley fired over the grave, I doubt whether your ser¬ 
 vice be so peaceful as you pretend, old man. What is he that you 
 have laid beneath the turf to-night ?” 
 
 “ A soldier,” replied Butler, “ worthy of all the rites that belong 
 to the sepulture of a brave man.” 
 
 “ And you are a comrade, I suppose ?” 
 
 “ I do not deny it.” 
 
 “ What colors do you serve ?” 
 
 “ Who is he that asks ?” 
 
 “ Captain M'Alpine of the new levies,” replied the officer. “ Now, 
 sir, your name and character ? you must be convinced of my right 
 to ^cnow it.” 
 
 “ I have no motive for concealment,” said Butler, “ since I am 
 already in your power. Myself and four comrades are strictly your 
 prisoners ; the rest of this party are inhabitants of the neighboring 
 country, having no connexion with the war, but led hither by 
 a simple wish to perform an office of humanity to a deceased 
 friend. In surrendering myself and those under my command, I 
 bespeak for the others an immunity from all vexatious detention. 
 I am an officer of the Continental service : Butler is my name, my 
 rank, a major of infantry.” 
 
 After a few words more of explanation, the party were directed 
 by the British officer to continue their march to Drummond’s 
 
i88 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 cabin, -wbither, in a brief space, they arrived under the escort of 
 their captors. 
 
 A wakeful night was passed under the woodman’s roof; and 
 when morning came the circumstances of the recapture of Butler 
 were more fully disclosed. The detachment under Captain M‘Alpine 
 were on their way to join Ferguson, who was now posted in the 
 upper district; and being attracted by the sound of voices engaged 
 in chanting the psalm at the funeral of John Kamsay, and still more 
 by the discharge of the volley over the grave, they had directed 
 their march to the spot, which they had no difficulty in reaching by 
 the help of the torches borne by the mourners. * 
 
 The detachment consisted of a company of hoise numbering 
 some fifty men, who had no scruple in seizing upon Butler and his 
 companions as prisoners of war. It was some relief to Butler 
 when he ascertained that his present captors were ignorant of his 
 previous history, and were unconnected with those who had formerly 
 held him in custody. He was also gratified with the assurance 
 that no design was entertained to molest any others of the party, 
 except those whom Butler himself indicated as belligerents. 
 
 Captain M‘Alpine halted with his men at the woodman’s cabin, 
 until after sunrise. During this interval, Butler was enabled to 
 prepare himself for the journey he was about to commence, and to 
 take an affectionate leave of Musgrove and his daughter, David 
 Ramsay, and the woodman’s family. 
 
 Allen Musgi’ove and Mary, and their friend Ramsay, deemed it 
 prudent to retreat with the first permission given them by the 
 British officer; and, not long afterwards, Butler and his comrades 
 found themselves in the escort of the Tory cavalry, bound for Fer¬ 
 guson’s camp. 
 
 Thus, once more, was Butler doomed to feel the vexations of 
 captivity. 
 
CHAPTER XLVn. 
 
 { 
 
 A COUNCIL OF WAR AT MRS. MARKHAM’s. THE SERGEANT sStS 
 FORTH ON AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 We return to Mildred Lindsay, who, comfortably sheltered under 
 the roof of Mrs. Markham, had found herself, after the repose of forty- 
 eight hours, almost entirely reinstated in her former strength ; her 
 thoughts were now consequently directed to the resumption of her 
 journey. The gentle and assiduous attentions of the family whose 
 hospitality she enjoyed, were, however, not confined to the mere 
 restoration of her health. The peculiarity of her condition, thus 
 thrown as she was amongst strangers, in the prosecution of an 
 enterprise, which, though its purpose ivas not disclosed to her 
 entertainer, was one manifestly of great peril, and such only as 
 could have been induced by some urgent and imperious necessity, 
 awakened in Mrs. Markham a lively interest towards Mildred’s 
 future progress. This interest was increased by the deportment of 
 our heroine herself, whose mild and graceful courtesy, feminine 
 delicacy, and gentleness of nurture, were so signally contrasted with 
 the romantic hardihood of her present expedition. General 
 Marion’s letter, also, in the estimation of the hostess, put her under 
 a special obligation to look after the welfare of her guest. Ac¬ 
 cordingly, now when the third morning of our travellers’ sojourn 
 had arrived, and Mildred thought of taking leave of the iliendly 
 family, the first announcement of this purpose was met by an almost 
 po.sitive prohibition. 
 
 “ You are young, my dear,” said the matron, “ in your expe¬ 
 rience of the horrors of this civil war, and make a sad mistake 
 if you think that your sex, or any sufficient reason you may 
 have to justify you in going on, will protect you against insult, in 
 case you should be so unfortunate as to meet parties of the 
 enemy,” 
 
 21* 
 
 489 
 
490 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ My object, madam,” replied Mildred, “ is to go into the very 
 heart of the enemy’s ranks. My business is to see Lord Cornwallis 
 himself. I shall, therefore, proceed directly to his head-quarters. 
 •That being my purpose, I shall not regret the opportunity to throw 
 myself upon the protection of the first band of loyal troops I may 
 meet.” 
 
 “ Into Lord Cornwallis’s presence!” said Mrs. Markham, with 
 an expression of wonder. “ You have some very near friend who 
 has suffered in the late battle—a prisoner, perhaps?” As this 
 question escaped the lips of the lady, who had hitherto purposely 
 forborne to inquire into the private history of Mildred’s journey, 
 she shook her head distrustfully, and, after some deliberation, 
 added, “ You wiU pardon me, my child, for what may seem to be 
 an idle curiosity—I seek to know nothing that you may desire to 
 keep secret—^but your journey is so full of hazard to one so young 
 and helpless as yourself, that I fear you have not wisely considered 
 the evil chances to which you may be exposed.” 
 
 “ I have spent no thought upon the hazard, madam,” replied Mil¬ 
 dred. “ There is no degree of danger that should outweigh my 
 resolution. You guess truly—I have a friend who is a prisoner, 
 and in sad jeopardy—and more than that, dear madam, I have 
 persuaded myself that I have power to save him.” A tear started 
 in her eye as she added, “ That is all I have thought of.” 
 
 “ Then may a kind and merciful Heaven shield you! They little 
 know the heart-rending trials of war, who have not felt them as I 
 have. These rude soldiers. Miss Lindsay—I shudder at the 
 thought of your trusting your safety to them.” 
 
 “ My name, madam,” replied Mildred, “ I am ashamed to tell 
 you, has all its associations on their side—I must trust to its power 
 to bear me through.” 
 
 “ Hot all, sister,” inteirupted Henry. “ From the beginning up 
 to this day, I can answer for myself, I have never had a thought 
 that didn’t take sides against the red-coats.” 
 
 A faint smile played upon Mrs. Markham’s features, as she 
 turned to Henry and said, “ You are a young rebel, and a warm 
 one, I perceive. Such troubles as ours require grave advisers.” 
 
 “ My brother and myself must not be misapprehended,” con¬ 
 tinued Mildred ; “ I alluded only to my father’s influence. I have 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 491 
 
 heard that he enjoys some consideration in the esteem of Lord 
 Cornwallis, and it is upon the strength of that I have ventured. 
 Besides, I am well attended by a careful and wise soldier, who 
 rides as my companion ancL guide—one who would not quietly see 
 me harmed.” 
 
 “ Let him be brought into our consultation,” said Mrs. Markham, 
 “ I would not act without his advice. With your leave, I will send 
 for him.” 
 
 Henry and Alfred Markham, immediately upon this hint, went 
 in pursuit of Horse Shoe. 
 
 When that important and trusty personage arrived in the parlor, 
 a regular conference was opened, which, after a few discourses on 
 the general aspect of afiairs—wherein the sergeant showed an 
 abundance of soldierly sagacity and knowledge, and a still greater 
 share of warm and faithful concern for the welfare of the sister and 
 brother whom he had in ward—resulted in the conclusion that 
 measures should be taken to ascertain the state of the country 
 around, in reference to the impression made by the late movements 
 of Marion and his adversary; and, especially, what character of 
 troops occupied the region over which the sergeant would be re¬ 
 quired to conduct his charge. This duty the sergeant very appro¬ 
 priately considered as belonging to himself, and he therefore deter¬ 
 mined forthwith to set out on a recon noitr ing expedition. As we 
 propose to bear him company, we will, for the present, leave the 
 family in the parlor to the enjoyment of the kind communion that 
 had already nursed up a mutual affection between the hostess and 
 her guests. 
 
 The sergeant took his departure alone, notwithstanding the ur¬ 
 gent importunities of Henry and his new companion, Alfred Mark¬ 
 ham, for permission to accompany him—a request that was utterly 
 denied by the sturdy and cautious soldier. 
 
 “You are apt to talk too much. Mister Lindsay,” he said, in 
 answer to the petition of the young men, “ for such a piece of busi¬ 
 ness as I have in hand ; for although, consarning your good sense, 
 and valor both, considering your years, I would not be thought to 
 speak rashly of them—but, on the contrary, to give you full praise 
 and recommendation—yet you know you want experience and use 
 to these double-dealings and dodgings that the war puts us to; 
 
492 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 wliereupon, you mought fall to talking wlien it was best to be silent, 
 and, in case of our meeting a body, to be letting out somewhat too 
 much, which is a thing that discommodes in war more than you 
 would believe. And besides this. Master Henry, there might be, 
 mayhap, a scrimmage, a chase, and what not—in which considera¬ 
 tion you would be only in my way, seeing that I should be obliged 
 to be thinking of you when all my wits would be wanting for my¬ 
 self. No, no ; upon no account is it reasonable that you should be 
 along. It is your business to sarve as a body-guard to our young 
 lady, who, I say, may God bless and take care of in this world and 
 the next! And so, Mister Henry, you have my orders to stick to 
 your post.’’ 
 
 “Well, sergeant,” replied Henry, “ I must obey orders, and, if 
 you command me to stay behind, why I cannot choose about it. 
 But, sergeant, let me give you a word of advice. Ride cautiously 
 —keep your eyes to the right and left, as well as straight before 
 you—and don’t let them catch you napping.” 
 
 “You studied that speech, Mr. Henry!” said Horse Shoe, laughing. 
 “ To hear you, one mought almost think you had shaved a beard 
 from your chin before this. Look out, or your hair will turn grey 
 from too hard thinking! and now, my long-headed fellow-soldier, 
 good bye t’ye !” 
 
 “ You are not going without your rifle, Mr. Horse Shoe ?” said 
 Henry, calling out to the sergeant, who had already trotted ofl 
 some twenty paces. 
 
 “ That’s another consarn for you to ruminate over,” replied Horse 
 Shoe, in the same jocular mood. “ Mine is a business of legs, not 
 arms, to-day.” 
 
 The sergeant was immediately after this upon the highway, 
 moving forward with nothing, seemingly, to employ him but cheer¬ 
 ful thoughts. 
 
 After riding for an hour upon the road that led towards Cam¬ 
 den, he was enabled to collect from the country people a rumor that 
 some detachments of horse were, at this time, traversing the 
 countiy towards Pedee, but whether friends or enemies was not 
 known to his informants. In following up this trail of common 
 report, his vigilance quickened by the uncertainty of the tidings, he 
 arrived about mid-day at a brook which, running between low but 
 
UOBSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 493 
 
 sharp hills, was crossed by the road at a point where a bold mass of 
 rock, some twenty feet in height, jutted down with a perpendicu¬ 
 lar abruptness into the water. Here, as he stopped to survey the 
 narrow and winding course of the stream, his eye was attracted 
 by the projecting crag that thrust its bulk almost into the middle 
 of the channel; and, for a moment, he indulged the speculation of 
 a soldier, as he pondered upon the military advantages of such a 
 post, either as a point from which to reconnoitre an enemy, or as 
 a vantage-ground on which to dispute his passage of the ford. 
 It not long afterwards fell to his lot to turn this observation to 
 some account. 
 
 A mile beyond this spot, and where the road, as it yet crept 
 through the bosom of the hills, was so obscured by forest as to 
 afford not more than fifty paces of uninterrupted view, his quick 
 ear was struck with sounds resembling the tramp of horses. Upon 
 this conviction, it was but the action of an instant for him to turn 
 aside into the woods and to take a station which might enable 
 him to investigate the cause of his surmise, without exposing 
 himself to the risk of detection. The noise grew louder, and what 
 was vague conjecture soon became the certain report of his senses. 
 At the nearest turn in the road, whilst protected by a screen of 
 thicket, he could descry the leading platoons of a column of horse 
 advancing at a slow gait; and upon examining his own position 
 he became aware that, although the thicket might guard him from 
 present observation, it would cease to do so as soon as the squad¬ 
 ron should approach nearer to his gi-ound. His thoughts recurred 
 to the rock at the ford, and, with a view to avail himself of it, he 
 forthwith commenced his retreat through the underwood that 
 guarded the road side, as fast as Captain Peter could get over the 
 ground. It was not long before he was removed beyond all risk of 
 being seen by the advancing party, and he thus found himself 
 at liberty to take the road again and retire without apprehen¬ 
 sion. 
 
 In Horse Shoe’s reckoning, it was a matter of great importance 
 that he should obtain the most accurate information regarding the 
 troop that he had just encountered; and his present purpose was, 
 accordingly, to post himself in a secure position upon the rock, 
 
494 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 and there maintain a close watch upon the party as they rode 
 beneath it. The brook was gained, the ford passed, and the 
 sergeant, after riding a short circuit towards the rear of the little 
 promontory, dismounted from his horse, which he secured in the 
 depths of the wood, and then clambered to the top of the precipice, 
 where he had barely time to conceal himself amongst the crags 
 and the thick shrubbery that shot up above them, before the 
 headmost files of the cavalry appeared descending the opposite 
 hill. 
 
 As the column came gradually into his view upon the road 
 which wound down into the valley, it disclosed a troop of some 
 twenty men, whose green uniform sufficiently indicated the 
 presence of a part of Tarleton’s command. He heard them call a 
 halt upon the bank, and after a few moments’ rest, he saw them 
 ride into the stream, and pass in files around the base of the 
 rock. 
 
 The passage of the brook occupied some time ; for the thirsty 
 horses were successively given a slack rein as they entered the ford, 
 .and were allowed to drink. This delay separated the platoons, 
 and those who first passed over had advanced a considerable 
 distance before the stragglers of the rear had quitted the stream. 
 For some minutes that stir and noise prevailed which, in a military 
 party, generally attends the attempt to restore order amongst 
 confused or broken ranks. The frequent commands of officers 
 summoning the loiterers and chiding their delay, were given from 
 front to rear in loud tones, and the swift gallop of those who had 
 lingered in the stream, as they obeyed the order and hastened 
 forward to their places, sent forth a quick and spirited evidence of 
 bustle, that broke sharply upon the silence of the surrounding 
 forest. These indications of activity unfortunately pricked with a 
 sudden astonishment the ear of one who has heretofore figured, 
 not without renown, in this history—the lusty and faithful Captain 
 Peter ; who, not sufficiently alive to the distinction between friend 
 and foe, now began to snuff, and paw the ground, and then with 
 a long and clear note of recognition, to express his feelings of 
 good fellowship towards the unseen strangers. Another moment, 
 and the gay and thoughtless steed reared, plunged broke his 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 495 
 
 bridle, and bounded through the woods, with a frolicsome speed 
 that brought him into the midst of the troop, where he wheeled 
 up and took his place, like a disciplined charger, on the flank of 
 one of the platoons. 
 
 This incident caused the officer in command of the party to come 
 again to a halt, and to despatch a portion of his men to seek the 
 owner of the horse. An eager search commenced, which was 
 almost immediately terminated by the wary sergeant presenting 
 himself to the view of the troop, on a prominent and exposed 
 point of the rock, where he seemed to be busily, and uncon¬ 
 cernedly engaged with his jack-knife, in stripping the bark from 
 the roots of a sassafras tree that grew out of one of the fissures 
 of the cliff. Apparently, he gave no attention to the clamor 
 around him, nor seemed to show a wish to conceal himself from 
 notice. 
 
 “ Who in the devil are you—and what are you about ?” ex¬ 
 claimed the leading soldier, as he mounted the rock and came up 
 immediately behind Robinson, who was still fixed with one knee 
 upon the gi-ound, plying his labor at the root of the tree. 
 
 “ Good day, friend,” said Robinson, looking up over his shoulder, 
 “ Good day ! From your looks you belong to the army, and, if 
 that’s true, perhaps you mought be able to tell me how far it is 
 from here to the river ?” 
 
 “ Get up on your feet,” said the other, “ and follow me quickly ! 
 I will take you to one who will oil the joints of your tongue for 
 you, and put you to studying your catechism. Quick, fellow, 
 move your heavy carcass, or, I promise you, I will prick your fat 
 sides with my sword point.” 
 
 “Anywhere you wish, sir, if you will only give me time 
 to gather up this here bark,” said the sergeant, who, here¬ 
 upon, heedless of the objurgation of the trooper, deliberately 
 untied the handkerchief from his neck, and spreading it out upon 
 the ground, threw into it the pieces of bark he had been cut¬ 
 ting, and then, taking it in his hand, rose and walked after the 
 soldier. 
 
 He was conducted to the troop, who were waiting in the road 
 the return of the men that had been despatched on this piece of 
 service. 
 
496 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Quick, quick, move youi’selves ! we have no time to lose,” cried 
 out the officer in command of the detachment, as Horse Shoe and 
 his guide came in view: and then, after an interval of silence, 
 during which the sergeant ivalked heavily to the spot where the 
 troop waited for him, he added with an impatient abruptness, 
 “ Make few words of it, sir. Your name, where from, and where 
 are you going ?” 
 
 “ My name, captain—if your honor is a captain, and if I miscall 
 you, I ax your honor’s pardon ; my name is—is—Stephen Foster, 
 Steve most commonly.” 
 
 “ Well, whence do you come ?” 
 
 “ From Virginny.” 
 
 “ Fool! why do you stop ?” 
 
 “You axed, I think, where I was going? I was going to get 
 on my horse that’s broke his bridle, which I see you have cotched 
 for me : and then back to my young mistress, sir, that was taken 
 sick over here at a gentlewoman’s house on Pedee. She thought 
 a little sassafras tea might help her along, and I was sent out to 
 try and get a few scrapings of the bark to take to her. I suppose 
 I must have rode out of my way a matter of some eight or ten 
 miles to find it, though I told her that I thought a little balm out 
 of the garden would have done just as well. But women are 
 women, sir, and a sick woman in particular.” 
 
 “ This fellow is more knave than fool, I take it, cornet,” said 
 the officer to a companion near him. 
 
 “ His horse seems to have been trained to other duties than 
 gathering herbs for ladies of delicate stomachs,” replied the 
 other. 
 
 “ My horse,” interrupted the sergeant, “ would have broken 
 clean oflF if it hadn’t a been for your honor : they say he belonged 
 to a muster in Verginny, and I was warned that he was apt to 
 get rampagious when there was anything like a set of sodgers 
 nigh him, and that is about the reason, I expect, why he took it 
 into his head to fall into your company.” 
 
 “ Get on your beast,” said the officer impatiently, “ you must go 
 with us. If upon further acquaintance I form a better opinion of 
 you, you may go about your business.” 
 
 “ I am somewhat in a hurry to get back to the lady.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 497 
 
 “ Silence ! Mount your horse, fall to the rear. Gilbert, attend 
 to this fellow, he musn’t leave us,” said the officer, as he delivered 
 Horse Shoe into the charge of one of the leaders of a platoon, and 
 then put spurs to his steed and moved to the head of the 
 column. 
 
 It was in the afternoon when this incident occurred ; and Robin¬ 
 son found himself, during the remainder of the day, compelled to 
 follow the troop through a series of by-ways across the country, in a 
 direction of which he was wholly ignorant,—being also in the same 
 degree unacquainted with the object of the march. AVhen the day 
 closed they arrived at a farm-house, where it seemed to be their 
 purpose to pass the night; and here the sergeant, towards whom no 
 unnecessary rigor had been exercised, was freely allowed to partici¬ 
 pate in the cheer pi’ovided for the party. This rest was of short 
 duration; for, before the coming of the allotted bed-hour, a 
 courier arrived, bringing a despatch to the leader of the detach¬ 
 ment, which produced an instant order to saddle and resume the 
 march. 
 
 Once more upon the road, the sergeant became aware, as well as 
 he was able to determine in the dark, that the party during the 
 night were retracing their steps, and returning upon the same route 
 which they had before travelled. 
 
 A half hour before the dawn found the troop ascending a long 
 hill, the summit of which, as Robinson perceived from the rustling 
 of the blades in the morning wind, was covered by a field of stand¬ 
 ing corn ; and he was enabled to descry, moving athwart the star¬ 
 lit sky, the figures of men on horseback approaching the column. 
 The customary challenge was given ; a momentary halt ensued, 
 and he could hear the patrole—for such they described themselves, 
 —informing the officer of the detachment that Colonel Tarleton 
 was close at hand expecting their arrival. This intelligence induced 
 an increase of speed which, after a short interval, brought the night- 
 worn squadron into the presence of nearly a whole i-egiment of 
 cavalry. 
 
 The troops, thus encountered, were stationed upon the high-road 
 where it crossed an open and uncultivated plain, the nearer 
 extremity of which was bordered by the corn-field of which I have 
 spoken. It was apparent that the regiment had passed the night 
 
498 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 at this place, as a number of liorses were yet attached to the fence 
 that guarded the field, and wei« feeding on the blades of corn that 
 had been gathered and thrown before tliem. The gi-eater part, 
 however, were now drawn up in column of march, as if but recently 
 aiTayed to prepare for the toil of the coming day. 
 
 Eobinson was conducted along the flank of the column, and 
 thence to a spot in the neighborhood, where a party of officers 
 assembled by a sylvan tent, constructed of the boughs of trees, 
 showed him that he was at the headquarters of the commander of 
 the corps. This tent was pitched upon a piece of high ground 
 that aflbrded a view of the distant horizon in the east, where a faint 
 streak of daylight lay like the traces of a far-off town in flames, 
 against which the forms of men and horses were relieved, in bold 
 profile, as they now moved about in the early preparations for their 
 march. 
 
 A single faggot gleamed within the tent, and, by its ray. Horse 
 Shoe was enabled to discern the well known figure of Tarleton, as 
 he conferred with a company of officers around him. After the 
 sergeant had waited a few moments, he was ordered into the pre¬ 
 sence of the group within : 
 
 “You were found yesterday,” said Tarleton, “in suspicious cir¬ 
 cumstances—what is your name, fellow ?” 
 
 “ I am called Stephen Foster by name,” replied the sergeant, 
 “being a stranger in these parts. At home I’m a kind of a 
 gardener to a gentleman in Virginia ; and it isn’t long since I sot 
 out with his daughter to come here into Carolina. She fell 
 sick by the way, and yesterday, whilst I was hunting up a little 
 physic for her in the woods, a gang of your people came across 
 me and fotch me here—and that’s about all that I have got to 
 say.” 
 
 A series of questions followed, by which the sergeant was com¬ 
 pelled to give some further account of himself, which he contrived 
 to do with an address that left his questioners but little the wiser 
 as to his real character ; and which strongly impressed them with 
 the conviction that the man they had to deal with was but a simple 
 and rude clown. 
 
 “You say you don’t know the name of the person at whose 
 house you stopped ?” inquired the commander. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 499 
 
 “ I disreraember,” replied Horse Shoe; “ being, as I said, a 
 stranger in the parts, and not liking to make too free with axing 
 after people’s names.” 
 
 “ A precious lout, this, you have brought me. Lieutenant Mun- 
 roe,” said Tarleton, addressing the officer who had hitherto 
 had the custody of the sergeant. “ You don’t disremember the 
 part of Vh-ginia you lived in?” he added, pursuing his examina¬ 
 tion. 
 
 “ They have given it the name of Amherst,” replied Horse 
 Shoe. 
 
 “ And the father of Miss Lindsay, you say, resided there ?” 
 
 “ Sartainly, sir.” 
 
 “ There is a gentleman of that name somewhere in Virginia,” said 
 Tarleton, apart to one of his attendants, “ and known as a friend to 
 our cause, I think.” 
 
 “ I have heard of the family,” replied the person addressed. 
 
 “ What has brought the lady to Carolina ? ” 
 
 “ Consarning some business of a friend, as I have been told,” 
 answered Horse Shoe. 
 
 “ It is a strange errand for such a time, and a marvellous shrewd 
 conductor she has chosen ! I can make nothing out of this fellow. 
 You might have saved yourself the trouble of taking charge of such 
 a clod, lieutenant.” 
 
 “ My orders,” replied the lieutenant, “ were to arrest all sus¬ 
 picious persons; and I had two reasons to suspect this-man. First, 
 he was found upon a spot that couldn’t have been better chosen for 
 a look-out if he had been sent to reconnoitre us ; and second, his 
 horse showed some military training.” 
 
 “ But the booby himself was stupid enough,” rejoined the com¬ 
 mander, “ to carry his passport in his face.” 
 
 “ I have a paper, sir, to that purpose,” said Horse Shoe, putting 
 his hands into his pockets, i“ it signifies, I was told,—for I can’t 
 read of my own accord— that I mought pasg free without 
 molestification from the sodgers of the, king—this is it, I believe, 
 sir.” 
 
 “ To three suppers at the Rising Sun, four and six pencef said 
 Tarleton, reading. “ Tush, this is a tavern bill !” 
 
 “ Ha, ha, so it is,” exclaimed Robinson. “ Well, I have been 
 
600 
 
 HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 keeping that there paper for a week past, thinking it was my cer¬ 
 tificate—and, like a fool, I have gone and tore up the t’other.” 
 
 “AVe are wasting time, gentlemen,” said the commander. 
 “ Turn this fellow loose, and let him go his ways. But hark you, 
 did you hear of a fight lately on Pedee, between some of om- people 
 and Marion—three days ago ?” 
 
 “ They talked of such a thing on the river,” replied Horse Shoe. 
 
 “ Well, and what was said ?” 
 
 “ Nothing in particular that I can bear in mind.” 
 
 “ Like all the rest we have tried to get out of him ! You don’t 
 even know which party got the better ?” 
 
 “ Oh, I have beam that, sii-.” 
 
 “ What did you hear ? speak out!” 
 
 “ Shall I give you the circumlocutory account of the matter ?” 
 asked Horse Shoe, “ or did you wish me to go into the particu¬ 
 lars ?” 
 
 “ Any account, so that it he short.” 
 
 ' “ Then I have beam that Marion gave the t’other side a hit of a 
 heating.” 
 
 “Aye, aye, so I suppose ! Another tale of this Jack the Giant 
 Killer ! And what has become of Marion ?” 
 
 “ That’s onheknownst to me,” replied Horse Shoe. 
 
 “ Do you remember the fool we met at the Waxhaws last 
 May ?” asked one of the officers present, of another. “ This fellow 
 might pass for a full brother in blood—only I think this clown has 
 the less wit of the two.” 
 
 “ As heavy a lump, certainly,” replied the officer. “ This, you 
 say, is the first time you have been in Carolina ?” 
 
 “ To my knowledge,” replied the sergeant. 
 
 “ It is broad day, gentlemen,” said Tarleton; “ we have been 
 squandering precious time upon an empty simpleton. Give him 
 his beast and let him be gone. Sirrah, you are free to depart. 
 But, look you, if I hear any reports along the road of your having 
 seen me, or a word about my coming. I’ll fen-et you out and have 
 you trussed upon a stake twenty feet long.” 
 
 “ Thank your honor,” said Horse Shoe, as he left the tent. “ I 
 never troubles my head with things out of my line.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON-. 
 
 501 
 
 Then seeking his horse he leisurely rode back by the way he had 
 come ; and as soon as he found himself beyond the outposts of the ^ 
 corps, he urged Captain Peter to as much speed as the late arduous 
 duties of the good beast left him power to exert. 
 
CHAPTER XLVm. 
 
 AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR NOT UNFAMILIAR TO THE TIME. 
 
 Breakfast was just over when R^hinson was seen, from the win¬ 
 dows of Mrs. Markham’s parlo/ pricking along the avenue that) 
 conducted to the front of the mansion ; and when he drew up hi» 
 horse at the door, the family were already assembled there to gydet 
 him. The plight, both of himself and of his steed, was such as to tell 
 the best part of his story—they had travelled far and seen rough 
 service. The rest was supplied by the sergeant himself, who, before 
 he moved from the spot where he had dismounted, gave a narra¬ 
 tive of his adventures, which was listened to with great anxiety by 
 the household. 
 
 By the sergeant’s reckoning, Mrs. Markham’s residence could 
 not be more than twenty miles from the place where, at daybreak, 
 he had encountered the British partisan, whom he had left with a full 
 conviction that the expedition then on foot was to be directed 
 against the country lying upon the river. These tidings spread 
 consternation throughout the mansion, and the morning was passed 
 in all the confusion which such an alarm might he supposed to 
 produce. The fright of the females rendered them irresolute, and 
 incapable of attending to the most obvious precautions necessary to 
 meet the emergency. 
 
 In this conjuncture, Robinson felt himself bound to assume the 
 direction of affairs. At his suggestion, the plate and such other 
 valuables as were likely to attract the cupidity of a licentious sol¬ 
 diery, were secreted in hiding-places sufficiently secure to defy a 
 hasty search. The family was advised to assume the appearance of 
 as much composure as they could command ; and the last and 
 most emphatic injunction of the sergeant was, to provide an ample 
 and various repast, in the hope that the ill-will of the visitants 
 might be conciliated by the display of good cheer. All this was 
 accordingly put into a train of accomplishment. 
 
 502 
 
HOUSE SHOE U O BI X S 0 N . 
 
 60S 
 
 In the midst of these precautions, the fears of the inhabitants of 
 the mansion were but too truly realized. It was scarcely noon 
 when the long column of Tarleton’s cavalry was descried descend¬ 
 ing the high hills that lay in the distance, and, soon afterwards, 
 taking the road that led into the plantation. 
 
 Whilst the panic produced by this sight was still fresh, the sound 
 of bugles and trumpets showed that the invaders had already turned 
 then steps towards the dwelling, and the next \'iew disclosed them 
 deploying from a wood and advancing at a full trot. The quick 
 beat of hoofs upon the soil, and the jangling sounds of sabres shaken 
 against the flanks of the horses, struck upon the terrified ear of the 
 proprietress of the estate like the harsh portents of impending ruin; 
 and in the despan and agony of her distress, she retreated hastily 
 to her chamber, whither she summoned her female domestics, and 
 gave way to a flood of tears. She was followed by Mildred, who, 
 touched by the pervading disquiet of the family, participated in 
 the alarm, and found herself overcome by a terror which she had 
 never before experienced in all the scenes which she had lately 
 gone through. Obeying the instinct of her present fears, our hero¬ 
 ine cowered beside her weepiug friend, in the midst of the group 
 of clamorous servants, and awaited in mute solicitude the coming 
 events. 
 
 The cavalry had turned aside and halted in front of a barn some 
 distance from the dwelling-house, and a small party, consisting 
 principally of officers attended by a sergeant’s guard, were imme¬ 
 diately afterwards seen galloping up to the door. The air of ex¬ 
 ultation exhibited in their movement, their loud jocularity and 
 frequent laughter, resembled the burst of gladsome riot with which 
 a party of fox-hunters are wont to announce the first springing of 
 their game, and gave evidence of tlie feelings of men who set little 
 account upon the annoyance they threatened to a peaceful and 
 unoffending household. 
 
 When the officei's of the party had dismounted and entered the 
 hall, the first person they encountered was Sergeant Robinson, who 
 had thoughtfully posted himself in view of the door; and now, with 
 some awkward and ungainly bows and scraping of his feet across 
 the floor, bade them welcome. 
 
 “ What,” said Tarleton, who was at the head of the intruders. 
 
504 
 
 HOR8E SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 “ have we stumbled so soon again upon our shrewd and sensible 
 ox ! Wise Master Stephen Foster, well met! So you are the 
 gentleman-usher to your good friend, Mrs. Markham! By my 
 faith, the old lady is likely to have the honors of her house well 
 administered !” 
 
 “ Your sarvant, sh,” said Horse Shoe, again bowing and scraping 
 his foot with a look of imperturbable gravity. “Mought I ax 
 your honor to stomp as lightly upon the floor as you can ? 
 My young lady is sick up stairs—and much noise is apt to flurry 
 her narves.” 
 
 “ Tread daintily, gentlemen,” said Tarleton, laughing, “ for your 
 gallantry’s sake ! A lady’s nerves are as delicate as the strings of 
 a harp, and must not be rudely struck. The damsel’s page here 
 (pointing to Horse Shoe), puts down his foot like a most consider¬ 
 ate elephant—soft as a feather, you perceive ; and I would by no 
 means have you give so worshipful a master of courtesy cause to 
 complain of you. As your wisdom,” he added, again addressing 
 the sergeant, “ has found out, by this time, that you are in the 
 house of Mrs. Markham, although you disremembered that this 
 morning, I suppose you can tell whether she is at home ?” 
 
 “ I can answer you that she is at home, sir—that is, onless she 
 has went out sence I saw her, which is not likely, sir.” 
 
 “ Then, present her Colonel Tarleton’s respects, and say that he 
 has come to offer his duty to her.” 
 
 “ I suppose by that, you are wishing to see the lady,” replied the 
 sergeant; “ I’ll let her know, sir.” 
 
 Robinson retired for a few moments, and when he returned he 
 announced to the commander that Mrs Markham was not willing 
 to come from her chamber. “ But whatsomever your honor pleases 
 to ax after, the lady promises you shall have,” continued the sergeant. 
 
 “ Well, that’s a condescension!—a good, comfortable lady! 
 So, gentlemen, you see we are in luck; a broad roof over head— 
 a larder well stored, I hope—and a cellar not altogether empty, I 
 think I may undertake to promise. Where are your waiting-men, 
 my nimble Ganymede? You are a sluggish oaf, fellow, not to 
 see that soldiers must have drink !” 
 
 Alfred and Henry now entered the hall, and the former apjiroach- 
 ing Tarleton, said, with a firm but respectful tone : 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 505 
 
 ■ “ lly motlier lias before been visited by British troops, and she 
 had so little then to thank them for, except their departure, that 
 the fear of meeting them again has greatly alarmed her. Our fami¬ 
 ly, sir, has no older man in it than myself—and out of regard to 
 helpless women—” 
 
 “ That’s enough, my pert lad,” interrupted Tarleton ; “ I have 
 heard of your good mother before; she is somewhat over ready in 
 her zeal in behalf of Marion’s ragamufBns : and truly I think she 
 is more squeamish than she should be at the sight of a soldier, when 
 she could look upon such hang-gallows knaves without shuddering. 
 You have another man in your house, I see (directing his eye 
 towards Henry Lindsay, who had seated himself in the hall)—and 
 full as old, I take it, as yourself.” 
 
 “ I wish I were a, man of full age,” said Henry, looking fearlessly 
 at the British ofScer, and remaining fixed in his chair. 
 
 “ Why so, my gay sparrow-hawk ?” 
 
 “ I would have disputed with you your right to enter this door.” 
 
 “ These young cocks are ail trained to show their game,” said 
 the Colonel to one of his companions. “ Well, you are a fine fel¬ 
 low, and I should be happy to be better acquainted with you. A 
 little too stitf, perhaps : but you will learn better as you grow older. 
 You should thank me for making holiday in your school to-day.” 
 
 Here Robinson interposed before Henry could make the saucy 
 reply he meditated, by announcing that the company would find 
 some cool water and a supply of spirits in the adjoining room. 
 “ Besides,” he added, “ T have told the house-folks to make ready 
 somewhat in the way of victuals, as I judged you mought be a little 
 hungry.” 
 
 “Not badly thought of, Mr. Ajax!” said one of the oflBcers, as 
 the party now crowded into the room. 
 
 “ Don’t forget Stephen Foster,” whispered Robinson, by way of 
 admonition in regard to his assumed character, as he passed by 
 the chair where Henry was sitting. “ And keep a civil tongue in 
 your head.” 
 
 Henry nodded compliance, and then, with Alfred, left the hall, 
 whilst the sergeant repaired to the refreshment room to offer his 
 officious attentions to the guests. 
 
 Meanwhile, the ladies still kept to their chamber, ever and anon 
 
 22 
 
606 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 gazing out at the window with a solicitous and unhappy interest, 
 and occasionally receiving the highly-colored reports of the ser¬ 
 vants, who, as often as any new subject of wonder or fear occurred 
 to them, were plpng bactvyards and forwards between the apart¬ 
 ment and the head of the staircase. 
 
 After an interval of half an hour, during which the uncouth din 
 of laughter, of loud oaths, and of the careless swaggering of the 
 party below, rose with a harsh note to the ear of the hostess and 
 her companion, these sounds abruptly ceased, and it was evident 
 that the visitors had quitted the house. It was with an emotion 
 of delight that Mrs. Marhham, from the window, beheld Colonel 
 Tarleton and his comrades galloping towards the main body of his 
 troops that awaited him near the barn; but, on repairing to the 
 hall, this sudden gleam of satisfaction was as suddenly clouded, 
 when the matron perceived a sentinel posted at the front door. 
 As soon as she came within speech of this functionary, he threw 
 up his hand to his brow, as he said: “ The colonel commanded me 
 to make his compliments to the ladies, and asks the honor of their 
 company at dinner.” 
 
 “ Colonel Tarleton forgets himself,” said Mrs. Markham, with a 
 stately reserve that showed she had now dismissed her fears; “ a 
 brave soldier would hardly think it a triumph to insult unprotected 
 females.” 
 
 “ He is here to speak for himself, madam,” replied the sentinel, 
 as Tarleton at this moment returned to the door. 
 
 The lady of the house, thus taken by surprise, firmly stood her 
 gi’ound, and awaited in silence the accost of the oflBcer. Tarleton 
 was somewhat disconcerted by this unexpected encounter. He had 
 entered with a hurried step, but the moment he was aware of the 
 presence of the dame, he halted and removed his cap from his 
 head, as he made a low obeisance. 
 
 “ I am too happy, madam,” he said, “ in the persuasion that you 
 have overcome your unnecessary alarm at this visit; and feel 
 pleased to be afforded an opportunity of making my respects in 
 person.” 
 
 “I can conceive no suflBcient reason. Colonel Tarleton, why a 
 defenceless house like mine should provoke the visit of such a host 
 of armed men.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 501 
 
 “Your house, madam, has some fame upon this border for good 
 entertainment. It fell in my way, and you will excuse me for the 
 freedom of saying, that I boast myself too much of a cavalier to 
 pass it by unmarked by some token of my regard. Besides, I may 
 add without meaning to he rude, our necessities in the article of 
 forage, madam, are quite as great as General Marion’s, who, I 
 understand, does not scruple sometimes to take his contribution 
 from you.” 
 
 “ I should more readily excuse your visit,” replied the lady, “ if 
 you would time it when General Marion was levying his contribu¬ 
 tion. You might then adjust your right to the share you claim. 
 This house is yours, sir; and it is not fit that I should remain 
 to debate with you your claim to dispose of whatever you may 
 find in it.” 
 
 “ Why, what a musty and wrinkled piece of insolence is here!” 
 muttered the angry soldier, clenching his teeth under this rebuke 
 as the matron withdrew. “ Well, let the crones rail and the 
 maidens weep their fill! the border is mine, and merrily will I hold 
 it, and blithely will I light up the river, too, before I leave it! 
 Curse on these free-spoken women ! W’ho says they are defenceless 
 with that supple weapon that God has given them ? What ho, you 
 bag of chaff—booby—Foster—I say ! Look you ; have you all the 
 provisions in the house set out upon the tables—and don’t spare 
 your peach brandy, which we have already tasted—you hav'o 
 more of it. So let us have the best; I shall feast with a good¬ 
 will to-day, and I will do it plentifully, or your ears shall be 
 cropped.” 
 
 “ Everything in the kitchen, sir, is going on at a gallop,” said 
 Horse Shoe; “ and as for the drinkables, your honor shall com¬ 
 mand the house to the last jug.” 
 
 “ Then bestir yourself, for I am in no mood to tarry.” 
 
 In a brief lapse of time an abundant board was spread, and the 
 leaders of the corps, consisting of some twenty or thirty officers of 
 all ranks, were gathered around it. A scene of uproar suc¬ 
 ceeded that resounded to the roof with the unfeeling and licentious 
 mirth of those engaged in the carouse. 
 
 When they had eaten and drunk their fill, the greater portion 
 of the guests were assembled at the front door. From this position 
 
508 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSOH. 
 
 there was to be seen, at no great distance, a small inclosure of not 
 above ten feet square, constructed with a dark paling, above which 
 a venerable willow drooped its branches. Towards this inclosure 
 some five or six of the revellers repaired, to gratify an idle and, at 
 present, a maudlin curiosity. . When they arrived here, they leaned 
 across the paling to read the inscription upon a stone that seemed 
 but recently to have been placed there. It was a simple'memorial 
 of the death of Colonel Markham, of the Carolina militia, which 
 was recorded to have taken place but eighteen months before on 
 the Savannah river in an engagement with the troops under Gene¬ 
 ral Prevost. To this was added, in the spirit of the times and in 
 accordance with the sentiments of the Whig leaders in the war of 
 independence, a bitter expression of censure upon the barbarous 
 disposition of the enemy, couched in homely but earnest phrase, 
 and speaking the hate of the survivors in the same sentence that 
 commended the virtues of the dead. 
 
 It was an unpropitious moment for such a tablet to meet the eye 
 of those who gazed upon it; and when it was read aloud by the 
 captain of a troop, whose natural temper, rendered savage by the 
 rudeness of the war, was also at this moment exasperated almost to 
 intoxication by the freedom of the table, he vented his curses in 
 loud and coarse rage against the memory of him to whom the 
 stone was dedicated. This fire of passion spread through the 
 group around the tomb, and each man responded to the first exe¬ 
 cration by others still deeper and more fierce. Proclaiming the 
 inscription to be an insult, they made an attack upon the paling, 
 which was instantly demolished, and, seizing upon the largest 
 stones at hand, they assailed the tablet with such effect as soon to 
 break it in pieces; and then, with a useless malice, applied them¬ 
 selves to obliterating the inscription upon the fragments. Whilst 
 engrossed with the perpetration of this sacrilege, their attention 
 was suddenly aroused by the near report of a pistol, the ball of 
 which, it was discovered, had struck into the trunk of the willow. 
 
 “ I will kill some of the scoundrels, if I die for it!” was the 
 exclamation heard immediately after' the shot, and Alfred Mark¬ 
 ham was seen struggling with an officer who had seized him. 
 The young man had been observed and followed, as he madly 
 rushed from a wing of the mansion towards the burial-place, 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 509 
 
 and arrested at the moment that he was levelling a second 
 pistol. 
 
 “ Henry, shoot him down!” he screamed to his companion, who 
 was now approaching ai-med with his carbine. 
 
 “ Let me go, sir! I will not see my father’s tomb disturbed by 
 ruflBans.” 
 
 “ Loose your hands!” cried Henry, directing his passionate 
 defiance to the individual who wrestled with Alfred, “ loose your 
 hands, I say, or I will fire upon you!” 
 
 “ Fire at the drunken villains around my father’s grave!” shouted 
 Alfred. 
 
 “ They shall have it,” returned Henry, eagerly, “ if it is the last 
 shot I ever make.” And with these words the youth levelled his 
 piece at the same group which had before escaped Alfred’s aim, 
 but, luckily, the carbine snapped and missed fire. In the next 
 instant Horse Shoe’s broad hand was laid upon Henry’s shoulder, 
 as he exclaimed, “ Why, Master Henry, have you lost your wits ? 
 Do you want to bring perdition and combustion both, down upon 
 the heads of the whole house ?” 
 
 “ Galbraith Robinson, stand back!” ejaculated Henry. “ I am 
 not in the humor to be baulked.” 
 
 “ Hush—for God’s sake, hush !—foolish boy,” returned Robinson 
 with real anger. “ You are as fierce as a young panther—I am 
 ashamed of you!” 
 
 By this time the whole company were assembled around the 
 two young men, and the violent outbreak of wrath from those at 
 whom the shot was aimed, as well as from others present, rose to 
 a pitch which the authority of Tarleton in vain sought to control. 
 Already, in this paroxysm of rage, one of the party, whose motions 
 had escaped notice in the confusion of the scene, had hurried to 
 the kitchen fire, where he had snatched up a burning brand, and 
 hurled it into the midst of some combustibles in a narrow apart¬ 
 ment on the ground floor. 
 
 The clamor had drawn Mrs. Markham and Mildred to the 
 chamber window, and whilst they looked down with a frightened 
 gaze upon the confused scene below, it was some moments before 
 they became aware of the participation of Henry and Alfred in 
 this sudden and angry broU. Mildred was the first to discern the 
 
510 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 two young men as they were dragged violently across the open 
 space in front of the mansion by the crowd, and to hear the threats 
 with which this movement was accompanied. 
 
 “ Merciful Heaven !” she exclaimed, “ they have laid hands upon 
 Henry and Alfred—they will kill my brother, my dear brother !” 
 Almost frantic at the danger that threatened Henry and his com¬ 
 panion, she fled precipitately down the stam-case, and in a moment 
 stood confronted with Colonel Tarleton and his soldiers. 
 
 “ Never fear, sister,” cried out Henry, who was already brought 
 into the hall, as he saw Mildred descending the stairs. “ Don’t be 
 alarmed for either Alfred or me. We are ready to confess what 
 we did and why we did it—and Colonel Tarleton, if he is a true 
 man, will not dare to say we did wrong.” 
 
 “ I charge you. Colonel Tarleton,” said Mildred with a firm but 
 excited voice, “ as the soldier of a Christian nation, to save the 
 people of this house from an inhuman and most wicked outrage. 
 I implore you as an oflBcer who would he esteemed valiant—and 
 as a gentleman who would fly from dishonor—to rescue your 
 name from the disgrace of this barbarous violence. For the sake 
 of mercy—spare us—spare us !” 
 
 As she uttered this last ejaculation her spirit yielded to the vehe¬ 
 mence of her feelings, and she flung herself upon her knee at the 
 feet of the commander. “ Oh, sir, do not let harm fall upon my 
 brother. I know not what he has done, but he is thoughtless and 
 rash.” 
 
 “ Mildred,” said Henry, immediately rushing to his sister, and 
 lifting her from the floor, “ why should you kneel before him, or 
 any man here ? This is no place for you—get back to your 
 room.” Then turning to Tarleton, he continued, “ Alfred Markham 
 and I tried to shoot down your men, because we saw them breaking 
 the tomb. If it was to do over again our hands are ready.” 
 
 “ They have insulted the memory of my father,” exclaimed 
 Alfi'ed, “ trampled upon his grave, and broken the stone that 
 covers him—I aimed to kill the drunken coward who did it. That 
 I say, sir, to your face.” 
 
 Tarleton, for a space, seemed to be bewildered by the scene. He 
 looked around him, as if hesitating what course to pursue, and 
 once or twice made an effort to obtain silence in the hall; but the 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 511 
 
 tumult of many voices in angry contention still continued. At last 
 he presented his hand to Mildred, and with a courteous action con¬ 
 ducted her to a chair, then begged her to calm her fears, as he 
 promised her that no evil should befal either of the young men 
 whose indiscreet tempers had occasioned the present uproar. 
 
 “ In God’s name ! have they fired the dwelling ?” he exclaimed, 
 as at this moment a volume of smoke rolled into the hall. “ What 
 ho, there! O’Neal, McPherson. Look where this smoke comes 
 from, and instantly extinguish the fire ! Stir yourselves, gentlemen. 
 By my hilt, if any follower of mine has been so wild as to put a 
 torch to this house, I will hang him up to the ridge-pole of the 
 roof! Look to it—eveiy man ! Quick, quick—there is danger 
 that the flames may get ahead.” 
 
 In an instant nearly every soldier in the hall departed in obe¬ 
 dience to this order. 
 
 “ I beg, madam,” Tarleton continued, “ that you will dismiss 
 your alai'm, and rest upon my pledge that no inmate of this house 
 shall be harmed. I conjecture that I have the honor to speak to 
 Miss Lindsay—I have been informed that that lady has lately 
 found shelter under this roof.” 
 
 “ It is my name, sir—and as the daughter of a friend to your 
 quarrel, let me conjure you to see that this house is safe; I cannot 
 speak with you until I am assured of that” 
 
 At this juncture, Mrs. Markham was observed at the head of the 
 first flight of stairs, pale with aflfright, wringing her hands, and 
 uttering loud ejaculations of terror and grief as she made her way 
 down to the hall: 
 
 “ Oh, sir,” she said, as she approached the commander, “ we are 
 harmless women, and have done nothing to call down this ven¬ 
 geance upon us. Take what you will—but spare my roof and 
 save my family! God will reward you even for that act of 
 humanity to a desolate widow.” 
 
 Before Tarleton could reply to the matron, a party of ofiScers 
 came hastily into his presence, at the head of whom was Captain 
 O’Neal, who reported that the fire was extinguished. 
 
 “One of the mess, to-day,” he said, “heated with drink*and 
 roused by the foolish temper of these hot-headed boys, threw a 
 
612 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 blazing billet into a closet. Luckily, we reached the spot before 
 any great harm was done. The chaps should be switched, and 
 taught better manners. It was a silly affair and might have made 
 mischief.” 
 
 “ See that the offender be arrested,” replied Tarleton, “ I will 
 take measures to curb this license. These meddling youngsters, 
 too—however, I can’t blame them, they had provocation, I con¬ 
 fess—and this war gives an edge to all the inetal of the country. 
 Instead of pop-guns now every baby has his powder and ball— 
 dismiss the boys. To your post, captain, and order every man to 
 join his company. Now, madam,” he added in a tone of con¬ 
 ciliation to Mrs. Markham, as soon as the hall was cleared, “ I am 
 sure you will not accuse me of incivility. My people have with¬ 
 drawn—the fire is extinguished—these inconsiderate lads at liberty: 
 have I answered your wish ?” 
 
 “ You have won the gratitude of a mother,” replied the dame, 
 “ and the respect of an enemy. I am bound to say to you, in 
 return, that I cheerfully surrender to you whatever you may 
 choose to take from my estate for the supply of your soldiers. 
 Alfred, my son, give me your arm, and help me to my chamber— 
 I am feeble and faint. I must ask your permission to withdraw,” 
 she continued, as she courtesied to Tarleton, and ascended the 
 stairs. 
 
 “ And I, too, must take my leave,” said Tarleton. “ But before 
 I go I may claim the privilege of a word with Miss Lindsay. You 
 spoke of your father, madam ? and, especially, as a friend of our 
 arms. I have been told he lives in Yirginia, Philip Lindsay, the 
 proprietor of a seat called ‘ Tlie Dove Cote,’ a royalist too—am I 
 right ?” 
 
 “ So, my father is known, sir.” 
 
 “ That name has stood you in stead to-day, madam. And this 
 is your brother ? I should think he is hardly of your father’s 
 mind in regard to our quaiTel. This way, my thoughtless young 
 gallant! It was a wild, bold, and very conceited thing of you to 
 be challenging my unruly dragoons—and would have been no less 
 so, if you had had twenty score of tall fellows at your back. But 
 it is past now, and you need not apologize for it—it showed mettle 
 at least’, and we never quarrel with a man for that. May I 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 513 
 
 inquire, Miss Lindsay, in what direction you travel ? for I learn, 
 you are but a sojourner here. It may be in my power to insure 
 your safe-conduct.” 
 
 “ I seek your general. Lord Cornwallis, on matters of private 
 concern,” replied Mildred, “ and if I might venture to ask it of 
 Colonel Tarleton, his service in affording me an unquestioned 
 passage, would be a favor that I should gratefully acknow¬ 
 ledge.” 
 
 “ The obligation will be on my side, madam.* It will be a plea¬ 
 sure to me to believe that I can serve a lady, much more the 
 daughter of an honorable subject of the king. Permit me, with¬ 
 out further parley, for time presses at this moment, to say that I 
 will leave an escort behind me under the command of a trusty 
 oflScer, who will wait your pleasure to conduct you, by the safest 
 and easiest journey to head-quarters. Your commands, madam, 
 , shall in all respects regulate his motions. My communications with 
 his lordship shall announce your coming. Now, Miss Lindsay, 
 with my best wishes for your safety and success, I take my leave; 
 and, as a parting request, I venture to hope you will do me the 
 justice to say, that Tarleton is not such a gi-aceless sinner as his 
 enemies have sometimes been pleased to represent him.” 
 
 These last words were accompanied by a laugh, and a somewhat 
 bluff courtesy, as the speaker swayed his rigid and ungainly figure 
 into a succession of awkward bows by which he retreated to the 
 door. 
 
 “ I shall be happy on all occasions,” replied Mildred, whilst the 
 soldier was thus strenuously playing off the graces of a gallant, 
 “ to do justice to the kindness which I have experienced at Colonel 
 Tarleton’s hands.” 
 
 “ There, Mildred,” said Henry, when Tarleton had disappeared, 
 “ you see things have gone very pat for us. That comes of letting 
 these fellows see who they have to deal with. A little powder and 
 ball is a good letter of recommendation to the best of their gang. 
 If my carbine hadn’t missed fire to-day, Tarleton would have been 
 short by one bottle-holder, at least, when he set out to steal liquor 
 from the country cupboards.” 
 
 “ It has ended well, brother,” replied Mildred, “ but it does not 
 become you to boast of what you have done. It was a rash and 
 
 22 * 
 
 
5U 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 dangerous deed, and had nearly brought ruin upon this friendly 
 family.” 
 
 “ Tut, sister! you are only a woman. You wouldn’t have found 
 the colonel so civil if we hadn’t taught him to look after his men.” 
 
CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 MILDRED ARRIVES AT THE TERM OF HER JOURNEY.-THE READElt 
 
 IS FAVORED WITH A GLIMPSE OF A DISTINGUISHED PERSONAGE. 
 
 Cornwallis, after the battle of Camden, turned his thoughts to 
 the diligent prosecution of his conquests. The invasion of North 
 Carolina and Vu-ginia was a pm-pose to which he had looked, from 
 the commencement of this campaign, and he now, accordingly, 
 made every preparation for the speedy advance of his army. The 
 sickness of a portion of his troops and the want of supplies ren¬ 
 dered some delay inevitable, and this interval was employed in 
 more fully organizing the civil government of the conquered pro¬ 
 vince, and in strengthening his frontier defences, by detaching con-* 
 siderable parties of men towards the mountains. The largest of 
 these detachments was sent to reinforce Ferguson, to whom had 
 been confided the operations upon the north-western border. 
 
 The chronicles of the time inform us that the British general lay 
 at Camden until the 8th of September, at which date he set for¬ 
 ward towards North Carolina. His movement was slow and 
 cautious, and for some tirde, his head-quarters were established at 
 the Waxhaws, a position directly upon the border of the province 
 about to be invaded. At this post our story now "finds him, the 
 period being somewhere about the commencement of the last 
 quarter of the month. 
 
 A melancholy train of circumstances had followed the fight at 
 Camden, and had embittered the feelings of the contending parties 
 against each other to an unusual degree of exasperation. The 
 most prominent of these topics of anger was the unjftst and severe 
 construction which the British authorities had given to the obliga¬ 
 tions which were supposed to affect such of the inhabitants of 
 South Carolina, as had, after the capitulation of Charleston, sm-- 
 rendered themselves as prisoners on parole, or received protections 
 
 615 
 
516 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 from the new government. A proclamation, issued by Sir Henry 
 Clinton in June, annulled the paroles, and ordered all who had ob¬ 
 tained them to render military service, as subjects of the king. 
 This order, which the prisoners, as well as those who had obtained 
 protections, held to be a dissolution of their contract with the new 
 government, was disobeyed by a large number of the inhabitants, 
 many of whom had, immediately after the proclamation, joined 
 the American army. 
 
 Cornwallis permitted himself, on this occasion, to be swayed by 
 sentiments unworthy of the character generally imputed to him. 
 Many of the liberated inhabitants were found in the ranks of Gates 
 at Camden, and several were made prisoners on the field. These 
 latter, by the orders of the British general, were hung almost 
 without the form of an inquiiy : and it may well be supposed that, 
 in the heat of war and ferment of passion, such acts of rigor, de¬ 
 fended on such light grounds, were met on the opposite side by a 
 severe retribution. 
 
 Almost every day, during the British commander’s advance, 
 some of the luckless citizens of the province whom this harsh con¬ 
 struction of duty afiected, were brought into the camp of the in¬ 
 vaders, and the soldiery had grown horribly familiar with the 
 frequent military executions that ensued. 
 
 It was in the engrossment of the occupations and cares presented 
 in this brief reference to the history of the time, that I have now 
 to introduce my reader to Cornwallis. 
 
 He had resolved to move forward on his campaign. Orders 
 were issued to prepare for the march, and the general had an¬ 
 nounced his determination to review the troops before they broke 
 ground. A beautiful, bright, and cool autumnal morning shone 
 upon the wide plain, where an army of between two and three 
 thousand men was drawn out in line. The tents of the recent en¬ 
 campment had already been struck, and a long airay of baggage- 
 wagons were now upon the high-road, slowly moving to a point 
 assigned them in the route of the march. Cornwallis, attended by 
 a score of officers, still occupied a small farm-house which had 
 lately been his quarters. A number of saddle-horses in the charge 
 of their grooms, and fully equipped for service, were to be seen in 
 the neighborhood of the door; and the prineip d apartment of the 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 517 
 
 house showed that some of the loiterers of the company were yet 
 engaged in despatching the morning meal. The aides-de-camp 
 were seen speeding between the army and the general, with that 
 important and neck-endangering haste which characterizes the tribe 
 of these functionaries; and almost momentarily a courier arrived, 
 hearing some message of interest to the commander-in-chief. 
 
 Cornwallis himself sat in an inner room, busily engaged with 
 one of his principal officers in inspecting some documents regard¬ 
 ing the detail of his force. Apart from them, stood, with hat in 
 hand and in humble silence, a young ensign of infantry. 
 
 “ Your name, sir ?” said Cornwallis, as he threw aside the papers 
 which he had been perusing, and now addressed himself to the 
 young officer. 
 
 “Ensign Talbot, of the thirty-third Foot,” replied the young 
 man : “ I have come by the order of the adjutant-general to inform 
 your lordship that I have just returned to my regiment, having 
 lately been captured by the enemy while marching with the third 
 convoy of the Camden prisoners to Charleston.” 
 
 “ Ha! you were of that party! What was the number of 
 prisoners you had in charge ?” 
 
 “ One hundred and fifty, so please your lordship.” 
 
 “ They were captured ”— 
 
 “ On Santee, by the rebels Marion and Horry,” interrupted the 
 ensign. “ I have been in the custody of the rebels for a week, but 
 contrived, a few days since, to make my escape.” 
 
 “ Where found the rebels men to master you ?” 
 
 “ Even from the country through which we journeyed,” replied 
 the ensign. 
 
 “ The beggarly runagates! Who can blame us. Major 
 M‘Arthur,” said the general, appealing to the officer by his side, 
 with an interest that obviously spoke the contest in his own mind 
 in regard to the justice of the daily executions which he had 
 sanctioned: “ who can blame us for hanging up these recreants for 
 their violated faith, with such thick perfidy before our eyes ? This 
 Santee district, to a man, had given their paroles and taken my 
 protection; and, now, the first chance they have to play me a 
 trick, they are up and at work, attacking our feeble escorts that 
 should, in their sickly state, have rather looked to them for aid. 
 
518 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 I will carry out the work; by ray sword, it shall go on sternly! 
 Enough, Ensign, back to your company,” he said, bowing to the 
 young officer, who at once left the room. 
 
 “ What is your lordship’s pleasrae regarding this Adam 
 Cusack ?” inquired M'Ailhur. 
 
 “ Oh, aye ! I had well nigh forgotten that man. He was 
 taken, I think, in the act of firing on a ferry-boat at Cheraw ?” 
 
 “ The ball passed through the hat of my Lord Dunglas,” said 
 M‘Arthur. 
 
 “ The lurking hound! A liege subject turning truant to his duty; 
 e’en let him bide the fate of his brethren.” 
 
 M‘Arthur merely nodded his head, and Cornwallis, rising from 
 his chair, strode a few paces backwards and forwards through the 
 room. “ I would tune my bosom to mercy,” he said, at length, 
 “ and win these dog-headed rebels back to their duty to their 
 king by kindness; but goodwill and charity towards them fall 
 upon their breasts like water on a heated stone, which is thrown 
 back in hisses. No, no, that day is past, and they shall feel the 
 rod. We walk in danger whilst we leave these serpents in the 
 gi’ass. Order the gentlemen to horse. Major M‘Arthur ; we must 
 be stirring. Let this fellow, Cusack, be dealt with like the rest. 
 Gentlemen,” added the chief, as he appeared at the door amidst 
 the group who awaited his coming, “to your several com¬ 
 mands !” 
 
 Captain Brodrick, the principal aide, at this moment arrested the 
 preparations to depart, by placing in Cornwallis’s hand a letter 
 which had just been brought by a dragoon to head-quarters. 
 
 The general broke the seal, and, running his eye over the 
 contents, said, as he handed the letter to the aide, “ This is some¬ 
 thing out of the course of the campaign ; a letter from a lady, now 
 at the picquet-guard, and it seems she desires to speak with me. 
 Who brought the billet, captain ?” 
 
 “ This dragoon, one of a special escort from the legion. They 
 have in charge a party of travellers, who have journeyed hither 
 under Tarleton’s own pledge of passport.” 
 
 “ Captain,” replied Cornwallis, “ mount and seek the party. 
 Conduct them to me without delay. What toy is this that brings 
 a lady to my camp ?” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 519 
 
 The aide-de-camp mounted his horse, and galloped off with the 
 dragoon. He was conducted far beyond the utmost limit of the 
 line of soldiers, and at length arrived at a small outpost, where 
 some fifty men were drawn up, under the command of an officer 
 of the picquet-guard, which was about returning to join the main 
 body of the army. Here he found Mildred and Henry Lindsay, 
 and their two companions. Horse Shoe and old Isaac, attended by 
 the small escort furnished by Tarleton. This party had been two 
 days on the road from Mrs. Markham’s, and had arrived the pre¬ 
 ceding night at a cottage in the neighborhood, where they had 
 found tolerable quarters. They had advanced this morning, at an 
 early hour, to the corps de garde of the picquet, where Mildred 
 preferred remaining until Henry could despatch a note to Lord 
 Cornwallis apprising him of their visit. 
 
 When Captain Brodrick rode up, the "travellers were already on 
 horseback and prepared to move. The aide-de-camp respectfully 
 saluted Miss Lindsay and her brother, and after a short parley 
 with the officer of the escort, tendered his services to the strangers 
 to conduct them to head-quarters. 
 
 “ The general, madam,” he said, “ would have done himself the 
 honor to wait on you, but presuming that you were already on 
 your route to his quarters, where you might be better received 
 than in the bivouac of an outpost, he is led to hope that he 
 consults your wish and your comfort both, by inviting you to 
 partake of such accommodation as he is able to aff’ord you.” 
 
 “ My mission would idly stand on Ceremony, sir,” replied Mil¬ 
 dred. “ I thank Lord Cornwallis for the promptness with which 
 he has answered my brother’s message.” 
 
 “We will follow you, sir,” said Henry. 
 
 The party now rode on. 
 
 Their path lay along the skirts of the late encampment upon the 
 border of an extensive plain, on the opposite side of which the 
 army was drawn out; and it was with the exultation of a boy, 
 that Henry, as they moved forward, looked upon the long line of 
 troops glittering in the bright sunshine, and heard the drums 
 rolling their spirited notes upon the air. 
 
 When they arrived at a point where the road emerged from a 
 narrow strip of forest, they could discern, at the distance of a few 
 
520 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 hundred paces, the quarters of the commander-in-chief. Imme¬ 
 diately on the edge of this wood, a small party of soldiers attracted 
 the attention of the visitors by the earnest interest with which they 
 stood around a withered tree, and gazed aloft at its sapless and 
 huge boughs. Before anything was said, Mildred had already ridden 
 within a few feet of the circle, where turning her eyes upwards she 
 saw the body of a man swung in the air by a cord attached to 
 one of the widest-spreading branches. The unfortunate being was 
 just struggling in the paroxysms of death, as his person was 
 swayed backwards and forwards, with a slow motion, by the 
 breeze. 
 
 “ Oh, God! what a sight is here !” exclaimed the lady. “ I 
 cannot, will not go by this spot. Henry—brother—I cannot 
 pass.” 
 
 The aide-de camp checked his horse, and grasped her arm, 
 before her brother could reach her, and Horse Shoe, at the same 
 moment, sprang to the ground and seized her bridle. 
 
 “I should think it but a decent point of war to keep such 
 sights from women’s eyes,” said Robinson, somewhat angrily. 
 
 “ Peace, sirrah,” returned the aide, “ you are saucy. I trust, 
 madarfi, you are not seriously ill ? I knew not of this execution, 
 or I should have spared you this unwelcome spectacle. Pray, 
 compose yourself, and believe, madam, it was my ignorance that 
 brought you into this difficulty.” 
 
 “ I -will not pass it,” cried Mildred wildly, as she sprang from 
 her horse and ran some paces back towards the wood, with her 
 hands covering her face. In a moment Henry was by her side. 
 
 “ Nay, sister—dear sister,” he said, “ do not take it so grievously. 
 The officer did not know of this. There now, you are better ; we 
 will mount again, and ride around this frightful place.” 
 
 Mildred gradually regained her self-possession, and after a few 
 minutes was again mounted and making a circuit through the 
 wood to avoid this appalling spectacle. 
 
 “ Who is this man ?” asked Henry of the aide-de-camp, in a half 
 whisper; “ and what has he done, that they have hung him ?” 
 
 “ It is an every-day tale,” replied the officer ; “ a rebel traitor, 
 who has broken his allegiance, by taking arms against the king in 
 his own conquered province. I keep no count of these fellows; but I 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 621 
 
 believe this is a bold rebel by the name of Adam Cusack, that was 
 caught lately at the Cheraw ferry; and our boobies must be 
 packing him off to head-quarters for us to do their hangman’s 
 work.” 
 
 “ If we were to hang all of your men that we catch,” replied 
 Henry, “ hemp is an article that would rise in price.” 
 
 “ What, sir,” returned the officer, with a look of surprise, “ do 
 you class yourself with the rebels ? What makes you here under 
 Tarleton’s safeguard? I thought you must needs be friends, at 
 least, from the manner of your coming.” 
 
 “ We ride, sir, where we have occasion,” said Henry, “ and if 
 we ride wrong now, let his lordship decide that for us, and we will 
 return.” 
 
 By this time the company had reached head-quarters, where 
 Mildred found herself in the presence of Lord Cornwallis. 
 
 “ Though on the wing. Miss Lindsay,” said his lordship, as he 
 respectfully met the lady and her brother upon the porch of the 
 dwelling-house, “ I have made it a point of duty to postpone 
 weighty matters of business to receive your commands.” 
 
 Mildred bowed her head, and after a few words of courtesy on 
 either side, and a formal introduction of herself and her brother to 
 the general as the children of Philip Lindsay, “ a gentleman pre¬ 
 sumed to be well known to his lordship,” and some e.xpressions of 
 surprise and concern on the part of the chief at this unexpected 
 announcement, she begged to be permitted to converse with him 
 in private. When, in accordance with this wish, she found herself 
 and her brother alone with the general, in the small parlor of 
 the house, she began, with a trembling accent and blanched 
 cheek — 
 
 “ I said, my lord, that we were the children of Philip Lindsey, 
 of the Dove Cote, in Amherst, in the province of Virginia; and 
 being taught to believe that my father has some interest with 
 your lordship—” 
 
 “ He is a worthy, thoughtful, and wise gentleman, of the best 
 consideration amongst the friends of the royal cause,” interrupted 
 the earl, “ so speak on, madam, and speak calmly. Take your 
 time, your father’s daughter shall not find me an unwilling 
 listener.” 
 
522 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ My. fother was away from home,” interposed Henry, “ and 
 tidings came to ns that a friend of ours was most wickedly defamed 
 and belied, by a charge carried to the ears of your lordship; as 
 we were told, that Major Arthur Butler of the Continental army 
 who had been made a prisoner by your red-coats somehow or 
 other—for I forget how—but the charge was that he had contrived 
 a plan to carry off my father from the Dove Cote—if not to kill 
 him, which was said, besides—and upon that charge, it was 
 reported that your people were going to hang or shoot him—hang, 
 I suppose, from what we just now saw over here in the woods— 
 and that your lordship had given orders to have the thing put off 
 until the major could prove the real facts of the case.” 
 
 “ The tale is partly true, young sir,” said Cornwallis. “ We 
 have a prisoner of that name and rank.” 
 
 “ My sister Mildred and myself, thinking no time was to be lost, 
 have come to say to your lordship that the whole story is a most 
 sinful lie, hatched on purpose to make mischief, and most probably 
 by a fellow by the name of-” 
 
 “ My brother speaks too fast,” interrupted Mildred. “ It deeply 
 concerned us to do justice to a friend in this matter. If my father 
 had been at home a letter to your lordship would have removed 
 all doubts ; but, alas ! he was absent, and I knew not what to do, 
 but to come personally before your lordship, to assure you that to 
 the perfect knowledge of our whole family, the tale from beginning 
 to end is a malicious fabrication. Major Butler loves my father, and 
 would be accounted one of his nearest and dearest friends.” 
 
 Cornwallis listened to this disclosure with a perplexed and 
 bewildered conjecture, to unravel the strange riddle which it pre¬ 
 sented to his mind. 
 
 “ How may I understand you. Miss Lindsay ?” he said; “ this 
 Major Butler is in the service of Congress ?” 
 
 “ Even so. Your lordship speaks truly.” 
 
 “ Your father—ray friend, Philip Lindsay, is a faithful and per¬ 
 severing loyalist.” 
 
 “ To the peril of his life and fortune,” replied Mildred. ■ 
 
 “ And yet Butler is his friend ?” 
 
 “ He would be esteemed so, if it please your lordship—and, in 
 heart and feehng, is so.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 523 
 
 “ He is related to your family, perhaps ?” 
 
 “ Related iu atfection, my lord, and plighted love,” said Mildred, 
 blushing and casting her eyes upon the ground. 
 
 So !—Now I apprehend. And there are bonds between 
 you ?” 
 
 “ I may not answer your lordship,” returned the lady. “ It only 
 imports our present business to tell your lordship, tl at Arthur 
 Butler never came to the Dove Cote but with the purest purpose 
 of good to all who lodged beneath its roof. He has never come 
 there but that I was apprised of his intent; and never thought 
 rose in his heart that did not breathe blessings upon all that 
 inhabit near my father. Oh, my lord, it is a base trick of an 
 enemy to do him harm; and they have contrived this plot to 
 impose upon your lordship’s generous zeal in my father’s 
 behalf.” 
 
 “ It is a strange story,” said Cornwallis. “ And does your father 
 know nothing of this visit ? Have you. Miss Lindsay, committed 
 yourself to all the chances of this rude war, and undertaken this 
 long and toilsome journey, to vindicate a rebel charged with a most 
 heinous device of perfidy ? It is a deep and painful interest that 
 could move you to this enterprise.” 
 
 “ My lord, my mission requires a frank confidence. I have heard 
 my father say you had a generous and feeling heart—that you 
 were a man to whom the king had most wisely committed his 
 cause in this most trying war : that your soul was gifted with mode¬ 
 ration, wisdom, forecast, firmness—and that such a spirit as yours 
 was fit to master and command the rude natures of soldiers, and 
 to compel them to walk in the paths of justice and mercy. All 
 this and more have I heard my father say, and this encouraged 
 me to seek you in your camp, and to tell you the plain and undis¬ 
 guised truth touching those charges against Major Butler. As 
 Heaven above hears me, I have said nothing but the simple truth. 
 Arthur Butler never dreamt of harm to my dear father.” 
 
 “ He is a brave soldier,” said Henry, “ and if your lordship 
 would give him a chance, and put him before the man who invented 
 the lie, he would make the scoundrel eat his words, and they 
 should be handed to him on the major’s sword-point.” 
 
 “ The gentleman is happy,” said the chief, “ in two such zealous 
 
524 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 friends. \ ou have not answered me—is your father aware of this 
 visit, Miss Lindsay ?” 
 
 He is ignorant even of the nature of the charge against Arthur 
 Butler,” replied the lady. “ He was absent from the Dove Cote 
 when the news arrived ; and, fearing that delay might be disastrous, 
 we took the matter in hand ourselves.” 
 
 “ You might have written.” 
 
 “ The subject, so please your lordship, was too near to our hearts 
 to put it to the hazard of a letter.” 
 
 “ It is a warm zeal, and deserves to be requited with a life’s 
 devotion,” said Cornwallis. “ You insinuated, young sir, just now, 
 that you suspected the author of this imputed slander.” 
 
 “ My brother is rash, and speaks hastily, ” interrupted Mildred. 
 
 “ Whom were you about to name ? ” asked the general, of 
 Henry. 
 
 “ There was a man named Tyrrel,” replied the youth, “ that has 
 been whispering in my father’s ear somewhat concerning a pro¬ 
 posal for my sister” (here Mildred cast a keen glance at her brother 
 and bit her lip) “ and they say, love sometimes makes men desperate, 
 and I took a passing notion that, may be, he might have been at the 
 bottom of it; I know nothing positively to make me think so, but 
 only speak from what I have read in books.” 
 
 Cornwallis smiled as he replied playfully; “ Tush, my young 
 philosopher, you must not take your wisdom from romances. I 
 have heard of Tyrrel, and will stand his surety that love has 
 raised no devil to conjure such mischief in his breast. What will 
 satisfy your errand hither, Miss Lindsay ?” 
 
 “ A word from your lordship, that no harm shall befall Arthur 
 Butler beyond the necessary durance of a prisoner of war.” 
 
 “ That is granted you at once,” replied the general, “ granted 
 for your sake, madam, in the spirit of a cavalier who would deny 
 no lady’s request. And I rather grant it to you, because certain 
 threats have been sent me from some of the major’s partisans, 
 holding out a determination to retaliate blood for blood. These 
 had almost persuaded me to run, against my own will, to an 
 extreme. I would have you let it be known, that as a free grace 
 to a lady, I have done that which I would refuse to the broad¬ 
 sword bullies of the mountains. What next would you have ?” 
 
525 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ Simply, an unmolested passage hence, beyond youi loidsbip s 
 
 ^°^That too shall be cared for. And thus the business being 
 done, with your leave, I will go to more unmannerly employ¬ 
 ments.” , . , 
 
 “ A letter for your lordship,” said an officer, who at this moment 
 entered the door, and putting a packet into the general s hand, 
 retired. 
 
 Cornwallis opened the letter and read it. • -u • 
 
 “ Ha ! by my faith, but this is a rare coincidence ! This brings 
 matter of interest to you. Miss Lindsay. My officer, Macdonald, 
 who had Butler in custody, writes me that, two days since, his 
 prisoner had escaped.” 
 
 “Escaped!” exclaimed Mildred, forgetting in whose presence 
 she spoke, “ unhurt—uninjured. Thank Heaven for that 1 
 
 Cornwallis sat for a moment silent, as a frown grew upon his 
 brow, and he played his foot against the floor, abstracted in 
 thought. “These devils have allies,” he muttered, “in eveiy 
 cabin in the country. We have treachery and deceit lurking 
 behind every bush. We shall be poisoned in our pottage by these 
 false and hollow knaves. If it gives you content, madam,” he 
 said, raising his voice, “ that this Major Butler should abuse the 
 kindness or clemency of his guard and fly from us at the mornent 
 we were extending a boon of mercy to him through your supplica¬ 
 tions, you may hereafter hold your honorable soldier in higher 
 esteem for his dexterity and cunning.” 
 
 “ I pray your lordship to believe,” said Mildred, with a deep 
 emotion, which showed itself in the rich, full tones of her voice, 
 “that Major Butler knows nothing of my coming hither. I 
 speak not in his name, nor make any pledge for him. ^ If he has 
 escaped, it has only been from the common instinct which teaches 
 a bird to fly abroad when it finds the door of his cage left open 
 by the negligence of his keepers. I knew it not nor, alas 1 have 
 I heard aught of his captivity, but as I have already told your 
 lordship. He is an honorable soldier, rich in all the virtues that 
 may commend a man ; I would your lordship knew him better 
 and in more peaceful times.” 
 
 “ Well, it is but a peevish and silly boy,” said Cornwallis, 
 
526 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ who whines when his pie is stolen. The war has many reckon¬ 
 ings to settle, and we contrive to make one day’s profit pay 
 another’s loss. The account for the present is balatjced ; and so, 
 Miss Lindsay, without discourtesy, I may leave you, with a fair 
 wish for a happy and prosperous journey back to your father’s 
 roof. To the good gentleman himself, I desire to be well 
 remembered. And to show you that this briery path of war has 
 not quite torn away all the habiliments of gentleness from us, I 
 think it dutiful to tell you that, as I have become the confidant of 
 a precious love-tale, wherein I can guess some secret passage of 
 mystery is laid'which should not be divulged, I promise you to 
 keep it faithfully between ourselves. And when I reach the Dove 
 Cote, which, God willing, under the banners of St. George, I do 
 propose within three months to do, we may renew our confidence, 
 and you shall have my advice touching the management of this 
 dainty and delicate affair. And now, God speed you with a fair 
 ride, and good spirits to back it!” 
 
 “ I am much beholden to your lordship’s generosity,” said 
 Mildred, as Cornwallis rose with a sportive gallantry and betook 
 himself to his horse. 
 
 “ Come hither, Mr. Henry,” he said after he had mounted, 
 “farewell, my young cavalier. You will find a few files of men to 
 conduct you and your party beyond our posts ; and here, take 
 this,” he added, as now on horseback, he scrawled off a few lines 
 with a pencil, upon a leaf of his pocket-book, which he delivered 
 to the youth, “there is a passport which shall carry you safe 
 against all intrusion from my people. Adieu !” 
 
 With this last speech the commander-in-chief put spurs to his 
 horse, and galloped to the plain, to review his troops and com¬ 
 mence the march by which he hoped to make good his boast of 
 reaching the Dove Cote. 
 
 How fortune seconded his hopes may be read in the story of 
 the war. 
 
CHAPTER L. 
 
 A BRITISH partisan. 
 
 As the events of this history are confined to the duration of the 
 Tory Ascendency in South Carolina, it becomes me to prepare my 
 reader for the conclusion to which, doubtless much to his content, 
 he will hear that we are now hastening. We have reached a 
 period which brings us to take notice of certain important 
 operations that were in progress upon the frontier, and touching 
 the details of which, to avoid prolixity, I must refer to the graver 
 chronicles of the times. It answers my present purpose merely to 
 apprise my reader that Colonel Clarke had lately assembled his 
 followers and marched to Augusta, where he had made an attack 
 upon Brown, but that almost at the moment when his dexterous 
 and valiant adversary had fallen within his grasp, a timely succor 
 from Fort Ninety-Six, under the command of Cruger, had forced 
 him to abandon his ground, and retreat towards the mountain 
 districts of North Carolina. To this, it is important to add that 
 Ferguson had now recruited a considerable army amongst the 
 native Tories, and had moved to the small frontier village of 
 Gilbert-town, with a purpose to intercept Clarke, and tlius place 
 him under the disadvantage of having a foe both in front and 
 rear. 
 
 The midnight seizure of Arthur Butler and his friends, whilst 
 returning fi-om Ramsay’s funeral, w'as effected by M‘Alpine, who 
 happened at that moment to be hastening, by a forced march, 
 with a detachment of newly-recruited cavalry from Ninety-Six, to 
 strengthen Ferguson, and to aid in what was expected to be the 
 certain capture of the troublesome Whig partisan. 
 
 As M‘Alpine’s purpose required despatch, he made but a short 
 delay after sun-rise at Drummond’s cabin, and then pushed 
 forward with his prisoners with all possible expedition. The route 
 of his journey diverged, almost at the spot of the capture, from the 
 
 ■ (37 
 
528 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 roads leading towards Musgrove’s Mill, and he consequently had 
 but little chance to fall in with parties who might communicate 
 to him the nature of the accident which threw the prisoners into 
 his possession ; whilst the prisoners themselves were sutBciently 
 discreet to conceal from him everything that might afibrd a hint 
 of Butler’s previous condition. 
 
 The road lay through a rugged wilderness, and the distance to 
 be travelled, before the party could reach Gilbert-town, was 
 something more than si.vty miles. It was, accordingly, about the 
 middle of the second day after leaving Drummond’s habitation, 
 before the troop arrived at the term of their journey, a period that 
 coincided with that of Cornwallis’s breaking ground from his late 
 encampment at the Waxhaws, which we have seen in the last chapter. 
 
 Ferguson was a stout, fearless, and bluff soldier, and instigated 
 by the most unsparing hatred against all who took up the Whig 
 cause. He had been promoted by Earl Cornwallis to the brevet 
 rank of lieutenant-colonel, a short time before the battle of Camden, 
 and despatched towards this wild and mountainous border to 
 collect together and organize the Tory inhabitants of the district. 
 His zeal and activity, no less than his peremptory bearing, had 
 particularly recommended him to the duty to be performed ; and 
 he is, at least, entitled to the commendation of having acquitted him¬ 
 self with great promptitude and efficiency in the principal objects 
 of his appointment. He was now at the head of between eleven and 
 twelve hundred men, of which about one hundred and fifty were 
 regulars of the British line, the remainder consisting of the disor¬ 
 derly and untamed population of the frontier. 
 
 Gilbert-town was a small village, composed of a number of 
 rather well-built and comfortable log-houses. It Avas situated in 
 a mountainous but fert^e district of North Carolina, about the 
 centre of Kutherford country. And I may venture to add (which 
 I do upon report only), that although its former name has faded 
 fi-om the maps of the present day, under that reprehensible in¬ 
 difference to ancient associations, and that pernicious love of change 
 which have obliterated so many of the landmarks of our re¬ 
 volutionary history, yet this Aullage is still a prosperous and 
 pleasant community, known as the seat of justice to the county to 
 which it belongs. 
 
HOUSE SHOE K O BIN S 0 N. 
 
 529 
 
 When tli« troop having charge of Butler and his companions 
 anived, tliey lialted immediately in front of one of the largest 
 buildings of the village, and in a short time the prisoners were 
 marched into the presence of Ferguson. They were received in 
 a common room of ample dimensions, furnished with a table 
 upon which was seen a confused array of drinking vessels, and a 
 number of half-emptied bottles of spirit surrounding a wooden 
 bucket filled with water. Immediately against one of the posts of 
 the door of the apartment, the carcass of a buck, recently shot and 
 now stripped of its skin, hung by the tendons of the hinder feet ; 
 and a soldier was at this moment employed with his knife in the 
 butcher-craft necessary to its preparation for the spit. Ferguson 
 himself, conspicuous for his robust, athletic, and weather-beaten 
 exterior, stood by apjjarently directing the operation. Around the 
 room were hung the hide and antlers of former victims of the 
 chase, intermingled with various weapons of war, military cloaks, 
 cartridge-boxes, bridles, saddles, and other furniture denoting the 
 habitation of a party of soldiers. There was a general air of 
 disorder and untidiness throughout the apartment, which seemed 
 to bespeak early and late revels, and no great observance of the 
 thrift of even military housekeeping. This impression was height¬ 
 ened to the eye of the beholder, by the unchecked liberty with 
 which men of all ranks, privates as well as officers, flung themselves, 
 as their occasions served, i,nto the room and made free with the 
 contents of the flasks that were scattered over the table. 
 
 The irregular and ill-disciplined host under Ferguson’s command 
 lay in and around the village, and presented a scene of which the 
 predominating features bore a sufficient resemblance to the economy 
 of their leader’s own quarters, to raise but an unfavorable opinion 
 of their subordination and soldier-like demeanor: it was wild, 
 noisy, and confused. 
 
 "When M‘Alpine entered the apartment, the words that fell from 
 Ferguson showed that his mind, at the moment, was disturbed by 
 a double solicitude—alternating between the operations performed 
 upon the carcass of venison, and certain symptoms of uproar and 
 disorder that manifested themselves amongst the militia without. 
 
 “ Curse on these swaggering, upland bullies !” he said, whilst 
 M'Alpine and the prisoners stood inside the room, as yet unnoticed, 
 
630 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ I would as soon undertake to train as many wolves from the 
 mountain, as bring these fellows into habits of discipline. Thady, 
 you cut that haunch too low—go deep, man—a long sweep from 
 the pommel to the cantle—it is a saddle worth riding on ! By the 
 infernal gods ! if these yelping savages do not learn to keep quiet 
 in camp. I’ll make a school for them with my regulars, where they 
 shall have good taste of the cat! nine hours’ drill and all the camp 
 duty besides ! Ha, M‘Alpine, is it you who have been standing 
 here all this while ? I didn’t observe it, man—my quarters are 
 like a bar-room, and have been full of comers and goers all day. 
 I thought you were but some of my usual free-and-easy customers. 
 Damn them, I am sick of these gawky, long-legged, half-civilized 
 recruits ! but I shall take a course with them yet. What news, old 
 boy ? What have you to tell of the rebels ? Where is my pretty 
 fellow, Clarke ?” 
 
 “ Clarke’ is still ' in the woods,” replied M'Alpine. “ It would 
 take good hounds to track him.” 
 
 “ And Cruger, I hope, has nose enough to follow. So, the cun¬ 
 ning Indian hunter will be caught at last! We have him safe 
 now, M‘Alpine. There is but one path for the fox to come out of 
 the bush, and upon that path Patrick Ferguson has about as pretty 
 a handful of mischievous imps as ever lapped blood. The slinking 
 runaway never reaches the other side of the mountains while I am 
 awake. With Cruger behind him—our line of posts upon his 
 right—the wild mountains, as full of Cherokees as squirrels, upon 
 his left—and these devils of mine right before him—we have him 
 in a pretty net. Who have you here, captain ?” 
 
 “ Some stray rebel game, that I picked up on my road, as I 
 came from Ninety-Six. This gentleman, I learn, is Major Butler 
 of the Continental army, and these others, some of his party.” 
 
 “ So, ho, more rebels ! damn it, man,” exclaimed the command¬ 
 ant, “ why do you bring them to me ? What can I do with them”^— 
 then dropping his voice into a tone of confidential conference, he 
 added, “ but follow the fashion and hang them ? I have got 
 some score of prisoners already—and have been wishing that they 
 would cut some devilish caper, that I might have an excuse for 
 stiinging them up, to get clear of them. A major in the regular 
 Continental line, sir ?” he asked, addressing himself to Butler. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 531 
 
 Butler bowed his head. 
 
 “ I thought the cuffs your people got at Camden had driven 
 everything like a day-light soldier out of the province. We have 
 some skulking bush-fighters left—some jack-o’-lantern devils, that 
 live in the swamps and feed on frogs and water-snakes—Marion 
 and Sumpter, and a few of their kidney ; but you, sir, are the 
 first regular Continental officer I have met with. What brought 
 you so far out of your latitude ?” 
 
 “ I was on my way to join one,” replied Butler, “ that but now 
 you seemed to think in severe straits.” 
 
 “ Ha ! to visit Clarke, eh ? Well, sir, may I be bold to ask, do 
 you know where that worshipful gentleman is to be found ?” 
 
 “ I am free to answer you,” said Butler, “ that his position, at 
 this moment, is entirely unknown to me. On my journey I heard 
 the report that he had been constrained to abandon Augusta.” 
 
 “ Yes, and in haste, let me tell you. And marches in this direc¬ 
 tion, Major Butler, as he needs must. I shall make his acquaint¬ 
 ance : and inasmuch as you went to seek him, you may count it a 
 lucky accident that brought you here—you will find him all the 
 sooner by it.” 
 
 “ Doubtless, sir. Colonel Clarke will feel proud to see you,” 
 returned Butler. 
 
 “Well, M'Alpine,” said Ferguson, “I have my hands full of 
 business; for I certainly have the wildest crew of devil’s babies 
 that ever stole cattle, or fired a haystack. I am obliged to coax 
 them into discipline by a somewhat free use of this mother’s milk— 
 (pointing to the bottles)—“ to which I now and then add a gentle 
 castigation at the drum-head, and, when that doesn’t serve, a dost 
 of powder and lead, administered at ten paces from a few files of 
 grenadiers. I have shot a brace of them, since you left me, only 
 for impertinence to their officers ! This waiting for Clarke plays 
 the devil with us. I must be moving, and have some thought of 
 crossing the mountains westward, and burning out the settlements. 
 Faith! I would do it, just to keep my lads in spirits, if I thought 
 Clarke would give me another week. How, now, Thady ?—that 
 buck should have been half roasted by this time. We shall never 
 have dinner with your slow work. Look at that, M'Alpine, there 
 is something to make your mouth water—an inch and a half of 
 
532 
 
 I^ORSE SHOE EOBINSON. 
 
 fet on the veiy ridge of tlic back. Give over your prisoners to the 
 camp major—he will take care of them; and, hark you, captain,’’ 
 he added, beckoning his comrade aside, “ if you choose, as you 
 seem to think well of this Major Butler, you may bring him in to 
 dinner presently, with my compliments. Now, away—I must to 
 business.” 
 
 The prisoners were conducted to a separate building, where they 
 were put in charge of an officer, who performed the duties of 
 proN’Ost-marshal over some twenty or more Whigs that had been 
 captured in the late excursions of the Tories, and brought into 
 camp for safe keeping. The place of their confinement was narrow 
 and uncomfortable, and Butler was soon made aware that in the 
 exchange of his prison at Musgrove’s mill for his present one, he 
 had made an unprofitable venture. His condition with Ferguson, 
 however, was alleviated by the constantly-exciting hope that the 
 , events which were immediately in prospect might, by the chances 
 of war, redound to his advantage. 
 
 In this situation Butler remained for several days. For although 
 Ferguson found it necessary to keep in almost constant motion, 
 with a view to hover about the supposed direction of Clarke’s 
 retreat, and, conformably to this purpose, to advance into South 
 Carolina, and again to fall back towards his present position, yet 
 he had established a guard at Gilbert-town which, during all these 
 operations, remained stationary with the prisoners, apparently 
 waiting some fit opportunity to march them off to Cornwallis’s 
 army, that was now making its way northwards. That opportunity 
 did not present itself. The communications between this post and 
 the commander-in-chief were, by a fatal error, neglected ; and in a 
 short time from the date of the present events, as will be seen in 
 the sequel, a web was woven which was strong enough to ensnare 
 and bind up the limbs of the giant who had, during the last five 
 months, erected and maintained the Tory Ascendency in Carolina. 
 
CHAPTER LI. 
 
 MILDRED TURNS HER STEPS HOMEWARDS. 
 
 I HAVE seen a generous and brave boy defied to some enterprise of j 
 terror,—such as, peradventure, to clamber in the dark night, alone,/ 
 up many a winding bout of stair-case to the garret,—and he ha;/ 
 undertaken the achievement, although sore afraid of goblins, and 
 gone forth upon his adventure with a lusty step and with a bold 
 tardiness, whistling or singing on his way—his eyes and ears all the 
 time fearfully open to all household sights and sounds, now mag¬ 
 nified out of their natural proportions ; and when he had reached 
 the furthest term of his travel, I have known him to turn quickly 
 about and come down three steps at a leap, feeling all the way 
 as if some spectre tracked his flight and hung upon his rear. Call¬ 
 ing up such a venture to my mind, I am enabled, by comparison 
 with the speed and anxiety of the boy, to show my reader with 
 what emotions Mildred, her mission being done, now turned herself 
 upon her homeward route. The excitement occasioned by her 
 knowledge of the critical circumstances of Butler, and the pain she 
 had suft'ered in the belief that upon the courageous performance 
 of her duty depended even his life, had nerved her resolution to 
 the perilous and hardy exploit in which we have seen her. But 
 now, when matters had taken such a suddenly auspicious turn, and 
 she was assured of her lover’s safety, not even the abrupt joy which 
 poured in upon her heart was sufficient to stifle her sense of 
 uneasiness at her present exposed condition, and she eagerly pre¬ 
 pared to betake herself back to the Dove Cote. 
 
 The scenes around her had wrought upon her nerves; and, 
 although she was singularly fortunate- in the courtesy which she 
 had experienced from all into whose hands she had fallen, yet the 
 rude licentiousness of the camp, and the revolting acts of barbarity 
 which were ever present to her observation, appalled and distressed 
 
 533 
 
534 
 
 HOESE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 her. Besides, she now saw the fixed purpose with which Corn¬ 
 wallis was preparing to march forward in his course of invasion, 
 and thought with alarm upon the probable event of soon having 
 the theatre of war transferred to the neighborhood of her native 
 woods. 
 
 Robinson’s advice seconded her own alacrity. It ivas to hasten, 
 with all despatch, in advance of the invading army; and as this 
 body was now about taking up its line of march, no time was to be 
 lost. Accordingly, but a brief delay took jilace after Cornwallis 
 and his suite had departed from head-quarters, before our party set 
 forward, accompanied by the small guard of cavalry that had been 
 ordered to attend them. The troops were just wheeling into 
 column on the ground where they had been lately reviewed, when 
 Mildred and her attendants galloped past, and took the high road 
 leading to the town of Charlotte, in North Carolina, towards which 
 it was understood the invaders were about to direct their journey. 
 In less than an hour afterwards they had left behind them the line 
 of baggage wagons and the small military parties of the vanguard, 
 and found themselves rapidly hastening towards a district occupied 
 by the friends of independence. 
 
 The sergeant had now occasion for his utmost circumspection. 
 In pursuing the destined route of the invasion, he had reason to 
 expect an early encounter with some of the many corps of observa¬ 
 tion, which the opposite party were certain to put upon the duty 
 of reporting the approach of their enemy. And so it fell out; for, 
 towards the middle of the day, whilst the travellers were quietly 
 plying their journey through the forest, the discharge of a pistol 
 announced the presence of a hostile body of men; and almost 
 instantly afterwards a small handful of Whig cavalry were seen 
 hovering upon the road, at the distance of some three or four hun¬ 
 dred paces in front. Robinson no sooner recognised this squad 
 than he took the lady’s handkerchief and hoisted it on a rod, as a flag 
 of truce, and, at the same moment, directed the escort to retreat, 
 apprising them that their presence was no longer necessary, as he 
 had now an opportunity to deliver his charge into the hands of 
 friends. The British horsemen, accordingly, took their leave ; and, 
 in the next moment. Horse Shoe surrendered to a patrole, who 
 announced themselves to be a part of the command of Colonel 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSOX. 
 
 535 
 
 Davie, of tlie Xortli Carolina militia—a gallant partisan, then well 
 known to fame, and whose after exploits fill up no inconsiderable 
 page of American history. 
 
 It does not enter into the purpose of my story to detain my 
 reader with a minute account of Mildred’s homeward journey; but 
 having now transferred her to the protection of a friendly banner, 
 it will suffice to say that she arrived the same evening at Char¬ 
 lotte, where she spent the night in the midst of the active, warlike 
 preparations which were in progress to receive Cornwallis. 
 
 It was towards sunset on the following day, when, wearied with 
 the toil of a long and rapid journey, our travellers arrived in front 
 of a retired farm-house, on the road leading through the upper dis¬ 
 tricts of North Carolina. The cultivation around this dwelling 
 showed both good husbandry and a good soil, and there was an 
 appearance of comfort and repose which w^as an unusual sight in 
 a country so much alarmed and ravaged by war, as that over 
 which the wayfarers had lately joui-neyed. The house stood some 
 short distance apart from the road, and in the porch was seated an 
 elderly man of a respectable appearance, to whom a young girl 
 was, at this moment, administering a draught of water from a 
 small, hooped, wooden vessel which she held in her hand. 
 
 “ I am parched with thirst,” said Mildred, “ pray get me some 
 of that waiter.” 
 
 “ The place looks so w'ell, ma’am,” replied the sergeant, “ that I 
 think we could not do better than make a stop here for the night. 
 Good day, neighbor ! What is the name of the river I see across 
 yon field, and wdiere mought we be, just at this time?” 
 
 “It is the Yadkin,” answered the man, “and this county, I 
 believe, is Iredell—though I speak only by guess, for I am but a 
 stranger in these parts.” 
 
 “ The lady would be obligated,” said Horse Shoe, “ for a drop 
 of that water; and, if it was agreeable, she mought likewise be 
 pleased to put up here for the night.” 
 
 “ The people of the Iiouse are kind and worthy,” replied the old 
 man, “ and not likely to refuse a favor. Mary, take a cup to the lady.” 
 
 The girl obeyed; and, coming up to the party with the vessel in 
 her hand, she suddenly started as her eye fell upon Horse Shoe, 
 and her pale and wan countenance w'as seen bathed in tears. 
 
536 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 “ Mr. Robinson !’ sbe exclaimed, with a faltering voice ; “ you 
 don’t know me ?—me, Mary Musgrove. Father, it is our friend, 
 Horse Shoe Robinson !” Then placing the vessel upon the ground, 
 she ran to the sergeant’s side, as he sat upon his horse, and lean¬ 
 ing her head against his saddle, she wept bitterly, sobbing out: 
 “ It is me, Mary Musgrove. John—our John—that you loved— 
 he is dead—he is dead !” 
 
 In an instant Allen Musgrove was at the gate, where he greeted 
 the sergeant with the affection of an old friend. 
 
 This recognition of the miller and his daughter at once con¬ 
 firmed the sergeant in his determination to end his day’s journey 
 at this spot. In a few moments Mildred and her companions were 
 introduced into the farm-house, where they were heartily welcomed 
 by the indwellers, consisting of a sturdy, cheerful tiller of the soil, 
 and a motherly dame, whose brood of children around her showed 
 her to be the mistress of the family. 
 
 The scene that ensued after the party were seated in the house 
 was, for some time, painfully affecting. Poor Mary, overcome by 
 the associations called uji to her mind at the sight of the sergeant, 
 took a seat near him, and silently gazed in his face, visibly labor¬ 
 ing under a strong desire to express her feelings in words, but at 
 the same time stricken mute by the intensity of her emotions. 
 
 After a long suspense, which was broken only by her sobs, she 
 was enabled to utter a few disjointed sentences, in which she 
 recalled to the sergeant the friendship that had existed between 
 him and John Ramsay; and there was something peculiarly touch¬ 
 ing in the melancholy tone with which, in accordance with the 
 habits inculcated by her religious education, and most probably in 
 the words of her father’s frequent admonitions, she attributed the 
 calamity that had befallen her to the kindly chastisement of heaven^ 
 to endure which she devoutly, and with a sigh that showed the 
 bitterness of her suffering, prayed for patience and submission. 
 Allen Musgrove, at this juncture, interposed with some topics of 
 consolation suitable to the complexion of the maiden’s mind, and 
 soon succeeded in drying up her tears, and restoring her, at least, to 
 the possession of a tranquil and apparently a resigned spirit. 
 
 When this was done, he gave a narrative of the events i elating 
 to the escape of Butler and his subsequent recapture at the funeral 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 537 
 
 of John Ramsay, to which, it may be imagined, Mildred and 
 Henry listened with the most absorbed attention. 
 
 This tale of the recapture of Butler, so unexpected, and commu¬ 
 nicated at a moment when Mildred’s heart beat high with the joy¬ 
 ful hopes of speedily seeing her lover again in safety, now struck 
 upon her ear with the alarm that seizes upon a voyager who, fear¬ 
 ing no hidden reef or unknown shoal, hears the keel of his ship in 
 mid ocean crash against a solid rock. It seemed at once to break 
 down the illusion which she had cherished with such fond affec¬ 
 tion. For the remainder of the evening the intercourse of the 
 party was anxious and thoughtful, and betrayed the unhappy 
 impression which the intelligence just communicated had made 
 upon the feelings of Mildred and her brother. Musgrove, after the 
 travellers had been refreshed by food, and invigorated hy^he kind 
 and hearty hospitality of the good man under whose roof they 
 were sheltered, proceeded to give the sergeant a history of what 
 had lately befallen in the neighborhood of the Ennoree. Some 
 days after the escape of Butler, the miller’s own family had drawn 
 upon themselves the odium of the ruling authority. His mill and 
 his habitation had been reduced to ashes by a party of Tories who 
 had made an incursion into this district, with no other view than 
 to wreak their vengeance against suspected persons. In the same 
 inroad, the family of David Ramsay had once more been assailed, 
 and all that was spared from the first conflagration Avas destroyed in 
 the second. Many other houses through this region had met the 
 same fiite. The expedition had been conducted by AVemyss, Avho, 
 it is said, carried in his pocket a list of dwellings to which the 
 torch was to be applied, and who, on accomplishing each item of 
 his diabolical mission— so still runs the tradition — would note the 
 consummated Avork by striking out the memorandum from his 
 tablets. 
 
 In this general ravage, the desolated fiimilies fled like hunted 
 game through the Avoods, and betook themselves Avith a disordered 
 haste to the more friendly provinces northward. Musgrove had 
 sent his Avife and younger children, almost immediately after the 
 assault upon him, to the care of a relative in Virginia, Avhither 
 they had been conducted some days previous to the date of his 
 present meeting Avith Horse Shoe by Christopher Shaw ; Avhilst he 
 
 23 * 
 
538 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 and Mary had remained behind, for a short space, to render assist¬ 
 ance to the family of Ramsay, to whom they felt themselves affined 
 almost as closely as if the expected alliance by marriage had taken 
 place. When this duty was discharged, and Ramsay’s family were 
 provided with a place of refugCj Musgrove had set forward with his 
 daughter to rejoin his wife and children in their new asylum. It 
 was upon this journey that they had now been accidentally over¬ 
 taken by our travellers. 
 
 The disclosure of the motives of Mildred’s expedition to Mary 
 and her father, as may be supposed, warmed up their feelings to a 
 most affectionate sympathy in her troubles. They had often heard 
 of Butler’s attachment to a lady in Virginia, and were aware of 
 her name, from the incidents that had occurred at the trial of But¬ 
 ler, and ffrom the nature of Horse Shoe’s mission to Virginia. 
 Mary had nursed in her mind a fanciful and zealous interest in 
 behalf of the lady who was supposed to have engi-ossed Butler’s 
 affections, from the earnest devotion which she had witnessed in 
 his demeanor, first at Adair’s, and often afterwards during his cap¬ 
 tivity. The effect of this preconceived favor now showed itself in 
 her behavior to Mildred; and, in the gentle play which it gave to 
 her kindly sentiments, a most happy change was wrought in her 
 present feelings. She at once warmly and fervently attached her¬ 
 self to Mildred, and won her way into our lady’s esteem by the 
 most amiable assiduities. In these offices of love, the poignancy of 
 her own grief began to give way to the natural sweetness of her 
 temper, and they were observed, in the same degi-ee, to enUven 
 Mildred’s feelings. Mary hung fondly about her new acquaintance, 
 proffered her most minute attentions of comfort, spoke often of the 
 generous qualities of Butler, and breathed many a sincere prayer 
 for future happiness to him and those he loved. 
 
 As Mildred pondered over the new aspect which the tidings of 
 this evening had given to her condition, her inclination and duty 
 both prompted her to the resolve to make an effort to join Butler, 
 instead of returning to the Dove Cote. She was apprised by Mus¬ 
 grove that the prisoner had been conducted to Ferguson, who, she 
 was told, was at this time stationed in the neighborhood of Gil¬ 
 bert-town, not a hundred miles from her present position. She 
 had ventured far in his services, and she could not, now that she 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 539 
 
 had SO nearly approached him, consent to abandon the effort of 
 reaching the spot of his captivity. She thought with alarm over 
 the dangers that might await him. in consequence of his previous 
 escape, and this alarm was increased by her remembrance of the 
 tone of bitter resentment with which Cornwallis, in a moment of 
 unguarded feeling, had referred to the event in her late conference 
 with that officer. Above all, it was her duty—such was her view 
 of the matter—and whatever might befal, he was the lord of her 
 heart, and all dangers and difficulties, now as heretofore, should be 
 cast aside in her determination to administer to his safety or com¬ 
 fort. Her decision was made, and she so announced it to her com¬ 
 panions. 
 
 Neither the sergeant nor Henry made the opposition to this 
 resolve that might have been expected. To Horse Shoe it was a 
 matter of indifference upon what service he might be ordered; his 
 thoughts ran in no other current than to obey the order, and make 
 the most thrifty and careful provision for its safe execution. To 
 Henry that was always a pleasant suggestion which was calculated 
 to bring him more into the field of adventure. Allen Musgrove, 
 on this occasion, added an opinion which rather favored the enter¬ 
 prise. 
 
 “ It was not much out of the way,” he said, “ to go as far as 
 Burk Court House, where, at least, the lady was likely to learn 
 something of the plans of Ferguson, and she might either wait 
 there, or take such direction afterwards as her friends should 
 advise.” 
 
 Mary begged that whatever route Mildred thought proper to 
 pursue, she might be allowed to accompany her; and this request 
 was so much to the liking of Mildred, that she earnestly implored 
 the miller’s consent to the plan. With some reluctance Musgrove 
 acquiesced; and, feeling thus doubly interested in the fortunes of 
 the party, he finally determined himself to attend them in their 
 present enterprise. 
 
 These matters being settled, the wearied travellers parted for the 
 night, happy, at least, in haring found the weight of their personal 
 afflictions reheved by the cheerfulness with which the burden was 
 divided. 
 
CHAPTER Lll. 
 
 SIGNS OF A GATHERING STORM.-MUSTER OF THE BACKWOODSMEN. 
 
 In arms the huts and hamlets rise, 
 
 From winding glen, from upland hrown. 
 
 They poured each hardy tenant down.— Lady of the Lake. 
 
 f 
 
 ' In gathering iijj the ends of our story, as we draw towards a con¬ 
 clusion, we are forced, after the fashion of a stirring drama, to a 
 frequent change of scene. Accordingly, leaving Mildred and her 
 friends to pursue their own way until we shall find leisure to look 
 after thew footsteps, we must introduce our reader to some new 
 acquaintances, whose motions, it will he seen, are destined greatly 
 to influence the interests of this history. 
 
 The time was about the second of October, when a considerable 
 body of troops were seen marching through that district which is 
 situated between the Allegany mountain and tlie head waters of 
 Catawba, in North Carolina. This force might have numbered 
 perhaps something over one thousand men. Its oi’ganization and 
 general aspect were sufficiently striking to entitle it to a particular 
 description. It consisted almost entirely of cavahy; and a specta¬ 
 tor might have seen in the rude, weather-beaten faces, and muscu¬ 
 lar forms of the soldiers, as well as in the simplicity of their equip¬ 
 ments, a hastily-levied band of mountaineers, whose ordinary pur¬ 
 suits had been familiar with the arduous toils of Indian warfare 
 and the active labors of the chase. They were, almost without 
 exception, arrayed in the hunting shirt—a dress so dear to the 
 recollections of the revolution, and which, it is much to be regret¬ 
 ted, the foppery of modern times has been allowed to displace. 
 Their weapons in but few instances were other than the long rifle 
 and its accompanying hunting-knife. 
 
 It was to be observed that this little army consisted of various 
 corps, which were in general designated either by the color of the 
 hunting-shirt, or by that of the fringe with which this cheap and 
 
 540 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 541 
 
 simple uniform was somewhat ostentatiously garnished. Some few 
 were clad in the plain, homespun working-dress of the time ; and, 
 here and there, an officer might be recognised iu the blue and 
 buft' cloth of the regular Continental army. The buck-tail, also, 
 was an almost indispensable ornament of the cap, or usual round 
 hat of the soldiers; and where this was wanting, its place was not 
 unfrequently supplied by sprigs of green pine or holly, or other 
 specimens of the common foliage of the country. 
 
 The men were mounted on lean, shaggy, and travel-worn horses 
 of every variety of size, shape, and color ; and their baggage con¬ 
 sisted of nothing more cumbersome than a light wallet attached to 
 the rear of their saddles, or of a meagrely supplied pair of saddle¬ 
 bags. The small party on foot were in no wise to be distinguished 
 from the mounted men, except in the absence of horses, and in the 
 mode of carrying their baggage, which was contained in knapsacks 
 of deerskin strapped to their shoulders. These moved over the 
 ground with, perhaps, even more facility than the cavalry, and 
 ajipeared in no degree to regret the toil of the march, which was 
 so far the lighter to them, as they were exempt from the solicitude 
 which their companions suffered of providing forage for their 
 beasts. 
 
 The officers in command of this party were young men, in whose 
 general demeanor and bearing was to be seen that bold, enter¬ 
 prising, and hardy character, which' at that period, even more than 
 at present, distinguished the frontier population. The frequent 
 expeditious against the savages, which the times had rendered 
 familiar to them, as well as the service of the common war, in 
 which they had all partaken, had impressed upon their exteriors 
 the rugged lines of thoughtful soldiership. 
 
 The troops now associated, consisted of distinct bodies of volun¬ 
 teers, who had each assembled under their own leaders, without 
 the recjuisition of the government, entirely independent of each 
 other, and more resembling the promiscuous meeting of hunters 
 than a regularly-organized military corps. 
 
 They had convened, about a week before the period at which I 
 have presented them to my reader, at Wattauga, on the border of 
 Tennessee, in pui-suance of an invitation from Shelby, who was 
 now one of the principal officers in command. He had himself 
 
542 
 
 nOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 embodied a force of between two and three hundred men, in his 
 own district of the mountains ; and Colonel Campbell, now also 
 present, had repaired to the rendezvous with four hundred soldiers 
 from the adjoining county in Virginia. These two had soon after¬ 
 wards formed a junction with Colonels M‘Dowell and Sevier, of 
 North Carolina, who had thus augmented the joint force to the 
 number which I have already mentioned as constituting the whole 
 array. They had marched slowly and wearily from the mountains 
 into the district of country which lay between the forks of Catawba, 
 somewhere near to the present village of Moi’gantown—and might 
 now be said to be rather hovering in the neighborhood of Ferguson, 
 then advancing directly towards him. The force of the British 
 partisan was, as yet, too formidable for the attack of these allies, 
 and he was still in a position to make his way in safety to the main 
 army under Cornwallis—at this time stationed at Charlotte, some 
 seventy or eighty miles distant. It was both to gain increase of 
 force, from certain auxiliaries who were yet expected to join them, 
 as also, without exciting suspicion of their purpose, to attain a po¬ 
 sition from which Ferguson might more certainly be cut off 
 from Cornwallis, that the mountain leaders lingered with such wily 
 delay upon their march. 
 
 Ferguson ivas all intent upon Clarke—little suspecting the 
 power which could summon up, with such incredible alacrity, an 
 army from the woods fit to dispute his passage through any path 
 of the country; and, profiting by this confidence of the enemy, 
 Shelby and his associates were preparing, by secret movements, to 
 put themselves in readiness to spring upon their quarry at the most 
 auspicious moment. In accordance with this plan. Colonel Wil¬ 
 liams, who yet preserved his encampment on the Fair Foi-est, was 
 on the alert to act against the British leader, who still marched 
 further south—at every step lengthening the distance between 
 himself and his commander-in-chief, and so far favoring the views 
 of his enemy. Shelby and his comrades only tarried until their 
 numbers should be complete, designing as speedily as possible after 
 that to form a junction with AVilliams, and at once enter upon an 
 open and hot pursuit of their adversary. 
 
 Their uncertainty in regard to the present condition of Clarke 
 added greatly to their desire to strike, as early as possible, their 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 543 
 
 meditated blow. This officer had, a few weeks before, commenced 
 his retreat from Augusta through Ninety-Six, Avith some five hun¬ 
 dred men, closely followed by Brown and Cruger, and threatened 
 by the Indian tribes who inhabited the wilderness through which 
 he journeyed. The perils and hardships of this retreat arose not 
 only from the necessity Clarke was under to plunge into the inhos¬ 
 pitable and almost unexplored wilderness of the Allegany, by a 
 path which would effectually baffle his pursuers as well as* escape 
 the toils of Ferguson ; but they were painfully enhanced by the 
 incumbrance of a troop of Avomen and children, Avho, having already 
 felt the vengeance of the savages, and fearing its further cruelties, 
 and the scarcely less ruthless hatred of the Tories, preferred to tempt 
 the rigors of the mountain rather than I'emain in their own dAvell- 
 ings. It is said that these terrified and helpless fugitives amounted 
 to somewhat above three hundred individuals. 
 
 There were no incidents of the Avar of independence that more 
 strikingly illustrated the heroism which gi'appled Avith the difficul¬ 
 ties of that struggle at its gloomiest moment, than the patient and 
 persevering gallantry of these brave wanderers and their confede¬ 
 rates, Avhom we have seen lately assembled in arms. History has 
 not yet conferred upon Clarke and his companions their merited 
 tribute of renown. Some future chronicler will find in their ex¬ 
 ploits a captivating theme for Ids pen, Avhen he tells the tale of 
 their constancy, even in the midst of the nation’s despair; until for¬ 
 tune, at length successfully wooed, reAvarded their vigilance, bravery, 
 and skill, by enabling them to subdue and destroy the Tory As¬ 
 cendency in the south. 
 
 The enemy, SAvarming in all the strong places, elate Avith recent 
 victory, well provided Avith the muniments of war, high in hope 
 and proud of heart, hunted these scattered, destitute, and slender 
 bands, Avith a keenness of scent, SAviftness of foot, and exasperation 
 of temper, that can only be compared to the avidity of the blood¬ 
 hound. This eagerness of pursuit Avas, for the present, directed 
 against Clarke; and it is one of the most fortunate circumstances 
 that belong to the events I have been relating, that this purpose 
 of waylaying our gallant partisan so completely absorbed the atten¬ 
 tion of Ferguson, as to cause him to neglect the most ordinary pre¬ 
 cautions for securing himself against the reverses of the war. 
 
544 
 
 HOR^E SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 In tliis state of things, Shelby and his compatriots waited for 
 the moment when they might direct their march immediately to 
 the attack of the British soldier—their anxiet}’’ stimulated to a 
 painful acuteness by the apprehension that Clarke might be ovei- 
 powered by his enemies, or that Cornwallis might receive informa¬ 
 tion of the gathering bands, and make a timely movement to rein¬ 
 force or protect his outpost. It was in this moment of doubt and 
 concern that we have chosen to present them in the course of 
 our narrative. 
 
 The troops had halted about the middle of the day, to take some 
 refreshment. The ground they had chosen for this purpose was a 
 narrow valley or glen, encompassed by steep hills, between which 
 a transparent rivulet wound its way over a rough, stony bed. 
 The margin of the stream was clothed with grass of the liveliest 
 verdure, and a natural grove of huge forest trees covered the whole 
 level space of the valley. The season was the most pleasant of the 
 year, being at that period when, in the southern highlands, the 
 hoar frost is first seen to sparkle on the spray at early dawn. The 
 noon-tide sun, though not oppressively warm, was still sufficiently 
 fervid to render the shade of the grove, and the cool mountain 
 brook in the deep ravine, no unpleasant objects to wearied travel¬ 
 lers. Here the whole of our little army were scattered through the 
 wood; some intent upon refreshing their steeds in the running 
 water, many seated beneath the trees discussing their own slender 
 means, and not a few carelessly and idly loitering about the grounds 
 in the enjoyment of the mere exemption from the constraint of dis¬ 
 cipline. The march of the troops on this day had not exceeded 
 ten or twelve miles;—they might have been said to creep through 
 the woods. Still, however, they had been in motion ever since the 
 dawn of day ; and as they measured the ground Avith their slow 
 but ceaseless footfall, there was a silent disquiet and an eagerness 
 of expectation, that were scarcely less fatiguing than more rapid 
 and laborious operations. 
 
 “ Cleveland will certainly join us ?” said Shelby, as, in the 
 vacancy of the hour, he had fallen into company with his brother 
 ofificers, who were now assembled on the margin of the brook. “ It 
 is time he were here. I am sick of this slow work. If we do not 
 make our leap within the next two or three days, the game is lost.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ItOBINSON. 
 
 545 
 
 “ Keep your temper, Isaac,” replied Campbell, who, beiug some¬ 
 what older than his comrade, assumed the freedom indicated in 
 this reply, and now laughed as he admonished the fretful soldier. 
 “ Keep your temper! Williams is below, and on the look-out; 
 and most usefully employed in enticing Ferguson as far out of 
 reach of my lord Buzzard, there at Charlotte, as we could wish 
 him. Ben Cleveland will be with us all in good time: take my 
 word for that. You forget that he had to muster his lads from 
 Wilkes and Surry both.” 
 
 “ And Brandon and Lacy are yet to join us,” said M‘Dowell. 
 
 “ Damn it, they should be here, man !” interrupted Shelby again ; 
 “ I hate this creaking of my boots upon the soft grass, as if we had 
 come to fish foi‘ gudgeons. I am for greasing our horses’ heels 
 and putting them to service.” 
 
 “ You were always a hot-headed devil,” interrupted Campbell, 
 again, “ and have Avasted more shoe-leather than discretion in this 
 world, by at least ten to one. You are huntsman enough to know, 
 Isaac, that it is sometimes well to steal round the game to get 
 the wind of them. Your headlong haste would only do us 
 harm.” 
 
 “ You !” rejoined Shelby, with a laugh, excited by Campbell’s 
 face of good hunior. “Verily, you are a pattern of sobriety and 
 moderation yourself, to be preaching caution to us youngsters ! All 
 wisdom, forecast, and discretion, I suppose, have taken up their 
 quarters in your wiry-haired noddle ! How in the devil it came 
 to pass, William, that yonder green and gi-ey shirts should have 
 trusted themselves with such a piece of prudence at their head, is 
 more than I can guess.” 
 
 At this moment a soldier pressed forward into the circle of 
 officers; 
 
 “ A letter for Colonel Shelby,” he said, “ brought by a trooper 
 from Cleveland.” 
 
 “ All, ha! This looks well,” exclaimed Shelby, as he ran his 
 eyes over the lines. “ Cleveland is but ten miles behind, and desires 
 us to Avait his coming.” 
 
 “ AVith hoAv many men ?” asked one of the party. 
 
 “ The rogue has forgotten to tell. I’ll warrant, with all he could 
 find.” 
 
 "V 
 
546 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “ With a good party, no doubt,” interrupted Sevier. “ I know 
 the Wbigs of Wilkes and Surry will not be backward.” 
 
 “ From this despatch, gentlemen, I suppose we shall rest here for 
 the night—what say you ?” was the interrogatory proposed to the 
 group by Shelby. 
 
 The proposition w’as agreed to, and the several officers repaired 
 to their commands. As soon as this order was communicated to 
 the troops, everything assumed the bustle incident to the prepara¬ 
 tion of a temporary camp. Fires were kindled, the horses tethered, 
 guards detailed, and shelters erected of green wood cut from the 
 surrounding forest. In addition to this, a few cattle had been 
 slaughtered from a small herd that had been driven in the rear of 
 the march; and long before night came on, the scene presented a 
 tolerably comfortable bivouac of light-hearted, laughing woodsmen, 
 whose familiar habits at home had seasoned them to this forest- 
 life, and gave to their present enterprise something of the zest of a 
 pastime. 
 
 In the first intervals of leisure, parties were seen setting out into 
 the neighboring hills in pursuit of game; and when the hour of 
 the evening meal arrived, good store of fat bucks and wild turkeys 
 were not wanting to flavor a repast, to which a sauce better than 
 the wit of man ever invented, was brought by every lusty feeder 
 of the camp. 
 
 At sun-down, a long line of woodland cavalry, in all respects 
 armed and equipped in the same fashion with those who already 
 occupied the valley, were seen winding down the rugged road which 
 led from the high gi’ounds to the camp. At the first intimation 
 of the approach of this body, the troops below were ordered out on 
 parade, and the new-comers were received with all the military 
 demonstrations of respect and joy usual at the meeting of friendly 
 bodies of soldiers. Some dozen horns of the harshest tones, and 
 with the most ear-piercing discord, kept up an incessant braying, 
 until the alarmed echoes were startled from a thousand points 
 amongst the hills. In spite of the commands of officers, straggling 
 shots of salutation were fired, and loud greetings of individual 
 acquaintances were exchanged from either ranks, as the approaching 
 body filed across the whole front of the drawn-up line. When this 
 ceremony was over, Colonel Cleveland rode up to the little group 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 547 
 
 of officers wlio awaited his report, and, after a long and hearty 
 welcome, announced Ids command to consist of three hundred and 
 fifty stout hearts, ready and tried friends to the issues of the war. 
 
 The force of the confederates, by this accession, now amounted 
 to about fourteen hundred men. It became necessary, at this junc¬ 
 ture, to give to these separate bands a more compact character, 
 and with that view it was indispensable that the command of the 
 whole should be committed to one of the present leaders. In the 
 difficulty and delicacy of selecting an individual for this duty, the 
 common opinion inclined to the propriety of submitting the ap¬ 
 pointment to General Gates. A messenger was accordingly 
 despatched on that night, to repair to the American head-quarters 
 at Hillsborough, to present this subject to the attention of the 
 General. In the meantime, Shelby, whose claim, perhaps, to the 
 honor of leading the expedition was most worthy of consideration, 
 with that patriotic and noble postponement of self which occurs so 
 frequently in the history of the men of the Revolution, himself sug¬ 
 gested the expediency of conferring the command upon his friend 
 Campbell, until the pleasure of Gates should be known. The sug¬ 
 gestion was heartily adopted, and Colonel William Campbell was ac¬ 
 cordingly, from this moment, the chosen leader of our gallant and 
 eSicient little army. 
 
 On the following day the troops were in motion at an early 
 hour—designing to advance, with a steady pace, towards Gilbert- 
 town, and thence on the track of the enemy across the border into 
 South Carolina. In the course of the forenoon, the vanguard were 
 met by a small body of horsemen, whose travel-worn plight and 
 haggard aspects showed that they had lately been engaged in 
 severe service. They were now in quest of the very party whom 
 they had thus fortunately encountered upon the march ; and it 
 was with a lively demonstration of joy that they now rode with 
 the ofiScer of the guard into the presence of Campbell and his staff. 
 Their report announced them to be Major Chandler and Captain 
 Johnson, of Clarke’s party, who, with thirty follow'ers, had been 
 despatched from the western side of the Allegany, to announce to 
 the confederated troops the complete success of that officer’s 
 endeavor to reach the settlements on the Nolachuckie and Wat- 
 tauga rivers. Their tidings were immediately communicated to 
 
548 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 the army; and the deep and earnest interest which oflScers and men 
 took in this agreeable intelligence, was evinced in a spontaneous accla¬ 
 mation and cheering from one extremity of the column to the other. 
 The messengers proceeded to narrate the particulars of their late 
 hazardous expedition, and fully confirmed the most painful antici¬ 
 pations which the listeners had previously entertained of the difli- 
 culties, toils, and sufferings incident to the enterprise. Clarke’s 
 soldiers, they further reported, were too much disabled to he in con¬ 
 dition immediately to recross the mountain and unite in the present 
 movement against Ferguson ; hut that, as soon as they should find 
 themselves recruited by needful rest, they would lose no time in 
 repairing to the scene of action. 
 
 Towards sunset of the succeeding day, our sturdy adventurers 
 entered Gilbert-town. This post had been abandoned by Ferguson, 
 and was now in the occupation of the two staunch Whig leaders, 
 Brandon and Lacy, at the head of about three hundred men, who 
 had repaired thither from the adjacent mountains of Rutherford, to 
 await the airival of Campbell and his friends. It was manifest 
 that affairs were rapidly tending towards a crisis. Ferguson had 
 hitherto appeared indifferent to the dangers that threatened him, 
 and his movements indicated either a fatal contempt for his adver¬ 
 sary, or an ignorance of the extent of his embarrassments—each 
 equally discreditable to the high renown which has been attributed 
 to him for careful and bold soldiership. 
 
CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 MILDRED MEETS AN AGREEABLE ADVENTURE. 
 
 We left Mildred securely lodged with her new and kind-hearted 
 friends, under the hospitable roof of the farmer, hard by the 
 Yadkin. The reader has, doubtless, found reason in the course of 
 this narrative to marvel much that a lady so delicately nurtured 
 should, with so stout a spirit and with such singular devotion, 
 have tempted so many dangers, and exposed herself to such 
 unwonted hardships, for the sake of the man she loved. Perhaps, 
 I might be able to clear up this matter, by referring to the extra¬ 
 ordinary conjuncture of circumstances that surrounded her. It 
 was no secret that she fervently, and with her whole heart,—yea 
 even with a fanatical worship,—loved the man she sought. Her 
 affection had been nursed in solitude, and, like a central fire, 
 glowed with a fervid heat, unobserved at first, silent and steady ; 
 and by degrees her enthusiasm spread its coloring over the j^as- 
 sion, and raised it into a fanciful but solemn self-dedication. This 
 warmth of feeling might still have been witnessed only within her 
 family precinct, had it not been that, at a most critical moment, 
 when her father’s absence from the Dove Cote left her without other 
 resource than her own unaided counsel, she was made acquainted 
 that her lover’s life was in imminent peril, and that a word from 
 her might perhaps avert his doom. We have seen with what 
 anxious alacrity she set forth in that emergency upon her pilgri¬ 
 mage of duty; and how, as she became familiar with hardship and 
 danger, her constancy and resolution still took a higher tone, 
 growing more vigorous even with the impediments that lay across 
 her path. This may seem strange to our peace-bred dames,—and 
 little congruous with that feminine reserve and shrinkingness which 
 we are wont to praise : but war, distress, and disaster work miracles 
 in the female bosom, and render that virtuous and seemly, which 
 
650 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 ease and safety might repel. Nature is a -wise and cunning char¬ 
 mer, and, in affliction, makes that forwardness not unlovely, which 
 in tranquil and happy times she would visit with her censure. If 
 these considerations do not sufflce to explain the present movements 
 of my heroine, I must beg my reader to have patience to the end, 
 when, peradventure, he will find a still better reason. 
 
 When morning came, Mildred was up with the first blush of 
 light. Her thoughts had d welt with a busy restlessness upon the 
 late intelligence, and she had slept only in short and disturbed 
 intervals. She was impatient to be again upon the road. 
 
 Accoi’dingly, as soon as the prejiarations for their journey could 
 be made, our party, now increased by the addition of Musgrove 
 and his daughter, set forward on their travel towards Burk Court 
 House. 
 
 This journey was protracted through several days. The disturbed 
 state of the country, produced by the active hostilities which M'ere 
 now renewed, made it prudent for our wayfarers frequently to halt 
 amongst the friendly inhabitants of the region through which 
 they travelled, in order to obtain information, or wait for the 
 passage of troops whose presence might have caused embarrass¬ 
 ment. 
 
 The considerate kindness of Allen Musgrove, and the unwearied 
 attentions of Mary, who, softened by her own griefs, evinced a more 
 touching sympathy for the suff’erings of Mildred, every day increased 
 the friendship which their present companionship had engendered, 
 and greatly beguiled the road of its tediousness and dis¬ 
 comfort. 
 
 The journey, however, was not without its difficulties, nor alto¬ 
 gether destitute of occurrences of interest to this history. The 
 upper districts of North Carolina present to the eye a very beau¬ 
 tiful country, diversified by mountain and valley, and gifted in 
 general with a rich soil. Considerable portions of this region were 
 consequently occupied and put into cultivation at an early period 
 of the history of the province; and, at the era of the revolution, 
 were noted as the most desirable positions for the support of the 
 southern armies. This circumstance had drawn the war to that 
 quarter, and had induced a frequent struggle to retain a-footing 
 there, by each party who came into possession of it. Such a state 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 551 
 
 of things had now, as we have before remarked, embarrassed the 
 progress of our friends, and had even compelled them to diverge 
 largely from the direct route of their journey. 
 
 It happened, a few days after leaving the Yadkin, that the hour 
 of sunset found our little troop pursuing a road through the deep 
 and gloomy forest, which, for several miles past, had been unre¬ 
 lieved by any appearance of human habitation. Neither Horse 
 Shoe nor Allen Musgrove possessed any acquaintance with the 
 region, beyond the knowledge that they were upon what was 
 called the upper or mountain road that extended from Virginia 
 entirely through this section of North Carolina; and that they 
 could not be much more than fifteen or twenty miles north of Burk 
 Court House. Where they should rest during the night that was 
 now at hand, was a matter that depended entirely upon chance ; 
 and stimulated by the hope of encountering some woodland cabin, 
 they persevered in riding forward, even uhen the fading twilight 
 had so obscured their path as to make it a matter of some cir¬ 
 cumspection to pick their way. Thus the night stole upon them 
 almost unawares. 
 
 There is nothing so melancholy as the deep and lonely forest at 
 night; and why it should be so I will not stop to inquire, but 
 that melancholy, it seems to me, is enhanced by the chilliness of 
 the autumnal evening. The imagination peoples the impenetrable 
 depths of the wood with spectres, which the gibbering and shrill 
 reptiles that inhabit these recesses seem to invest with a voice; 
 the earth beneath the feet, carpeted with “ the raven down of dark¬ 
 ness,” has an indefinite surface that causes the traveller to think of 
 pitfalls and sudden banks, and fearful quagmires; and the grey 
 light of the glow-worm, or the cold gleam of the rotten timber, 
 shine up through the gloom, like some witch-taper from a haunted 
 ground. Then, high above the head, the sombre forms of the 
 trees nod in the night-wind, and the stars,—ineftectual to guide us 
 on our way—are seen only in short and rapid glimpses through 
 the foliage ; all these things affect the mind with sadness, but 
 the chattering of the teeth and the cold creep of the blood, ren¬ 
 dered sluggish by a frosty atmosphere, make it still more sad. 
 
 Mildred and Mary Musgrove experienced a full share of these 
 imaginings, as they now rode in the dark, side by side ; and, per- 
 
552 
 
 nORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 adventure, an occasional expression of impatience might have been 
 heard, in wliispers, between them. By deg’rees this feeling extended 
 to Henry, and, in due course of time, seemed also to have reached 
 the sergeant and the miller ; for these two, as if suddenly struck 
 with the necessity of making some provision for the night, now 
 came to a halt, with a view to inquire into the comfort of the 
 Aveaker members of the troop, and to deliberate on what was best 
 to be done. To make a fire, erect a tent, and resort to the con¬ 
 tents of their havresacks for supper, were the only expedients 
 Avhich their situation afforded ; and as these arrangements Avere but 
 the customary incidents of travel, in the times to which we refer, 
 they Avere noAv resolved upon with but little sense of inconvenience 
 or hardship. It Avas proper, however, that the party should encamp 
 in some position where they might have water, and, with that 
 object, they continued to move forward until they should find 
 themselves in the neighborhood of a running stream—an event 
 that, from the nature of the country, was soon likely to occur. 
 
 “ There can be no moon to-night,” said the sergeant, as they 
 rode along in quest of their lodging-place, “ yet yonder light 
 would look as if she was rising. Ho, it can’t be, for it is west¬ 
 ward, as I judge, Allen.” 
 
 “ It is westward,” replied Musgrove, looking toAvards a faint light 
 which brought the profile of the tree-tops into relief against the 
 horizon. “ There must be fire in the woods.” 
 
 The party rode on, all eyes being directed to the phenomenon 
 pointed out by Horse Shoe. The light greiv broader, and fiung a 
 lurid beam towards the zenith; and, as the travellers still came 
 nearer, the radiance increased, and illuminated the summit of a 
 hill, which, it Avas now apparent, lay between them and the light. 
 
 “ We must rest here for a while,” said the sergeant, reining up 
 his horse in a dark and narrow ravine; “the fire is just across this 
 hill in front. It Avould be Avise to reconnoitre a little; there may 
 be travellers camping on the t’other side, or troops for aught Ave 
 know; or it may be an old fire left by the last persons Avho passed. 
 You, Allen Musgrove, stay here with the Avomen, and I will ride 
 forward to look into the matter.” 
 
 Henry accompanied the sergeant, and they both galloped up the 
 bill. When thov came to the ton, a rich and strange prospect 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 553 
 
 broke upon their siglit. Some three or four hundred yards in 
 advance, at the foot of the long slope of the hill, a huge volume 
 of flame was discovered enveloping the entire trunk of a tall pine, 
 and blazing forth with sudden flashes amongst the withered foliage. 
 Tlie radiance cast around from this gigantic torch penetrated the 
 neighboring forest, and lit up the trees with a lustre more dazzling 
 than that of day; whilst the strong shades brought into such 
 immediate proximity with the sharp, red light, as it glanced upon 
 every upright stem or trunk, gave a new and grotesque outline to 
 the familiar objects of the wood. The glare fell upon the sward 
 of the forest, and towards the rear upon a sheet of water, which 
 showed the conflagration to have been kindled on the bank of 
 some river. Not less conspicuous than the local features of the 
 scene were the figures of a considerable party of soldiers passing 
 to and fro in idle disarray through the region of the light, and a 
 short distance from them a number of horses attached to the 
 branches of the neighboring trees. Horse Shoe and his young 
 companion stood gazing for some moments upon the spectacle, the 
 sergeant in silent conjecture and perplexed thoughtfulness as to the 
 character of the persons below, Henry intent only upon the novel 
 and picturesque beauty of the view. 
 
 The light shone directly up the road, and fell upon the persons 
 of our two friends, a circumstance to which the sergeant seemed 
 to give no heed, until Henry pointed out to him a horseman, 
 from the direction of the fire, who was now advancing towards 
 them. 
 
 “ Sergeant, turn back into the shade,” cried Henry; “ that man 
 is coming after us.” 
 
 “ Keep your ground,” replied Horse Shoe; “ he has no ill- 
 will to us. He wears the dress of an honest man and a good 
 soldier.” 
 
 “ Who goes there ?” called out the horseman, as he now came 
 within speaking distance. “Stand and tell me who you are !” 
 
 “ Friends to the hunting-shirt and buck-tail,” replied Robinson. 
 
 “ 1 am glad to hear you say so,” rejoined the scout, as he 
 advanced still nearer. “ Where from, and in what direction do 
 you travel ?” 
 
 “That should be AYilliam Scoresby’s voice, of the Amherst 
 
 24 
 
554 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSOX. 
 
 Rangers,” shouted Henry, with animation; “ as I live, it is the 
 very man!” 
 
 “ Who have we here!” returned the horseman. “ Henry Lind¬ 
 say ! our deputy corporal! AWiy, man, where did you spring 
 from ?” he added, in a tone of joyful surprise, as he ofi'ered Henry 
 his hand. 
 
 “ Ho, sister Mildred—Mr. Musgrove!” exclaimed Henry, calling 
 out at the top of his voice to his friends, who were waiting 
 behind for intelligence. “ Come up—come up! Here’s good 
 luck!” 
 
 And with a continued vociferation, he galloped back until he 
 met his sister, and conducted her to the top of the hill, whence, fol¬ 
 lowing the guidance of William Scoresby, the party descended to 
 the bivouac of the Amherst Rangers. 
 
 Henry eagerly sought out Stephen Foster, and, having brought 
 him into the presence of Mildred, received from him a narrative of 
 the course of events which had led to this fortunate meeting. 
 
 The Rangers had marched from Virginia a few days after Mil¬ 
 dred had left the Dove Cote. They had fallen in with Gates’s 
 shattered army at Hillsborough, where, after tarrying almost a fort¬ 
 night, they were furnished an opportunity to take some active 
 share in the operations of the day by the enterprise of Shelby 
 against Ferguson, the knowledge of which had reached them at 
 Gates’s headquarters, whither a messenger from Shelby had come 
 to ask for aid. The Rangers had accordingly volunteered for this 
 service, and, with the permission of the general, were now on their 
 way towards Burk Court House, there hoping to receive intelli¬ 
 gence that would enable them to join the allies. 
 
 They had for some miles been marching along the same road 
 taken by our travellers, not more than two hoims ahead of them; 
 and having reached the Catawba near sundown, had determined 
 to encamp there for the night. The soldiers, unaccustomed to 
 exact discipline, had, in sport, set fire to a tall pine which some 
 accident of the storm had killed, and produced the conflagration 
 that had lighted Horse Shoe and his charge to the scene of the 
 present meeting. 
 
 It may be imagined that this incident afibrded great satisfaction 
 to Mildred and her party, who were thus brought into connexion 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 555 
 
 ■with a numerous body of friends, -with whom they determined 
 henceforth to pursue, their journey. The first good result of this 
 encounter was immediately experienced in the comfortable though 
 rude accommodation which the prompt and united efforts of the 
 Rangers supplied to Mildred and her friend, Mary Musgrove, in 
 enabling them to pass a night of sound and healthful sleep. 
 
 On the following day, the Rangers and their new companions 
 arrived at Burk Court House. They were here made acquainted 
 with the fact that the mountain troops were at this time moving 
 towards Gilbert-town. They accordingly, after a night’s rest, 
 resumed their march, and by a toilsome journey through a rugged 
 mountain district, succeeded on the third evening in reaching the 
 little village which had but a short time since been the head-quar¬ 
 ters of Ferguson and the spot of Arthur Butler’s captivity. 
 
 They were now in advance of Campbell and his mountaineers; 
 and, in waiting for these troops, they were afforded leisure to 
 recruit themselves from the effects of their late fatigues. Good 
 quarters were obtained for Mildred and her companions. She 
 required repose, and profited by the present opportunity to enjoy 
 it. 
 
 The village at this moment was full of troops. Brandon and 
 Lacy, with their followers, whom we have referred to in the last 
 chapter, were already there, in daily expectation of the arrival of 
 the confederates; and amongst these men. Sergeant Robinson and 
 his companion, the miller, found the means of relieving the 
 tediousness of delay, to say nothing of Henry, who had now 
 become so decidedly martial in his inclinations, that the camp was 
 to him a scene of never-fading interest. 
 
 In two days Campbell’s army entered the village, after a march 
 of which we have already given a sketch to our reader. It was a 
 duty of early concern, on the part of Allen Musgrove and the ser¬ 
 geant, to apprise him of the presence of Mildred and her brother, 
 and to communicate to him the singular purpose of her mission. 
 The effect of this was a visit by Campbell, Shelby, and Williams, 
 to the lady on the evening of their arrival. The two latter of these 
 officers had already been personally active in the behalf of Arthur 
 Butler, and all felt the liveliest interest in his fortunes. The sin¬ 
 gular relation in which Mildred seemed to stand to the captive offi- 
 
656 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 cer, and tlie extraordinary zeal whicli her present mission betrayed 
 in his cause, drew forth a warm sympathy from the generous sol¬ 
 diers around her, and there was even a tincture of the romance of 
 chivalry in the fervor with which, on the present visit, they pledged 
 themselves to her service. With the delicacy that always belongs 
 to honorable and brave hearts, they refrained from inquiry into the 
 special inducements which could so earnestly enlist the lady in the 
 service of their fellow-soldier, and sedulously strove to raise her 
 spirits into a cheerful and happy tone by the hopes they were able 
 to inspire. 
 
CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 FEKGUSON ADVANCES SOUTH.-HE HAS REASON TO BECOME CIR¬ 
 CUMSPECT.-ARTHUR BUTLER FINDS HIMSELF RETREATING FROM 
 
 HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 We return for a moment to look ^.fter Butler. As near as my 
 information enables me to speak-J-for I wish to be accurate in 
 dates—it was about the 23d of September when our hero arrived 
 at Gilbert-town, and found himself committed to the custody of 
 Ferguson. His situation, in many respects uncomfortable, was not 
 altogether without circumstances to alleviate the rigor of captivity. 
 Ferguson, though a rough soldier, and animated by a zealous par¬ 
 tisanship in the royal cause which imbued his feelings with a deep 
 hatred of the Whigs, was also a man of education, and of a dis¬ 
 position to respect the claims of a gentleman fully equal to him¬ 
 self in rank and consideration—even when these qualities were 
 found in an enemy. His intercourse, of late, had been almost 
 entirely confined to the wild spirits who inhabited the frontier, and 
 who, impelled by untamed passions, were accustomed to plunge 
 into every excess which the license of war enabled them to practise. 
 He had, accordingly, adapted his behavior to the complexion of 
 this population, and maintained his authority, both over his own 
 recruits and such of the opposite party as had fallen into his 
 hands, by a severe, and not unfrequently by even a cruel bearing. 
 Following the example set him by Cornwallis himself, he had 
 more than once executed summary vengeance upon the Whigs 
 whom the chances of war had brought into his power; or, what 
 was equally reprehensible, had allowed the Tory bands who had 
 enlisted under his banner, to gratify their own thirst of blood in 
 the most revolting barbarities. Towards Butler, however, he de¬ 
 meaned himself with more consideration—and sometimes even 
 extended to him such little courtesies as might be indulged without 
 
 557 
 
558 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 risk to the principal purpose of his safe custody. A separate 
 room was provided for the prisoner, and he was allowed the occa¬ 
 sional sendees of Harry Winter and the other companions of his 
 late misfortune. Still, the familiar scenes of suffering and death 
 which Butler was constrained to witness amongst his compatriots, 
 and the consciousness of his own inability to avert these calamities, 
 greatly weighed upon his spirits. His persuasion, too, that Fer¬ 
 guson was now aiding, by what seemed to be a most effectual 
 participation, in the plan for the capture of Clarke, and his belief 
 that this blow would sadly afflict, if not altogether dishearten the 
 friends of independence in the South, added to his private grief. 
 He knew nothing of the mustering of the mountaineers, and saw 
 no hope of extrication from the difficulties that threatened to over¬ 
 whelm his cause. 
 
 Such was the condition of Butler during the first four or five 
 days of his captivity at Gilbert-town. At the end of this period, 
 circumstances occurred to raise in his bosom the most lively excite¬ 
 ment. Suddenly, an order was issued for the immediate movement 
 of the army southwards—and the prisoners were directed to accom¬ 
 pany the march. It was apparent that information of importance 
 had been received, and that some decisive event was at hand. 
 When, in pursuance of this command, the troops were marshalled 
 for their jom-ney, and Butler was stationed in the column, along 
 with all the other prisoners of the post, he was startled to observe 
 the dragoon, James Curry, appear in the ranks, as one regularly 
 attached to the corps. Butler had seen nor heard nothing of this 
 man since he had parted from him at Blackstock’s after the battle 
 of Musgrove’s ■ mill; and his conviction, that, acting under the 
 control of some higher authority, this individual had been the 
 principal agent in his present misfortunes, gave him a painful 
 anxiety in regard to the future. This anxiety was far from being 
 diminished, when he now discovered that the same person, with a 
 party of dragoons, was specially intrusted with his guardianship. 
 Winter and the other troopers who had, until this moment, been 
 allowed to keep him company, were now directed to take a station 
 amongst the common prisoners, and Butler was furnished with his 
 horse, and commanded to submit to the particular supervision of 
 
HORSK SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 669 
 
 the dragoon. These arrangements being made, the march of Fer¬ 
 guson commenced. 
 
 The army moved cautiously towards the upper sections of the 
 district of Ninety-Six. It was evident to Butler, from the frequent 
 hints dropped in conversation by the royalist officers, that Ferguson 
 supposed himself to be getting every moment nearer to Clarke. 
 In this state of suspense and weariness the first day’s march was 
 concluded. 
 
 The second was like the first. Ferguson still moved south, 
 slowly, but steadily. Every man that was met upon the road was 
 questioned by the commanding officer, to ascertain whether there 
 was any report of troops westward. “ Had any crossed Saluda— 
 or been heard of towards the mountains !”—was an invariable 
 interrogatory. 
 
 None, that the person questioned knew of^—was the common 
 reply. 
 
 “ Tush ! the devil’s in it, that we can hear nothing of the 
 fellow !” exclaimed Ferguson, after the fifth or sixth wayfarer had 
 been examined. “ Clarke and his beggars are flesh and blood— 
 they travel by land, and not through the air! Faith, I begin to 
 tljink Cruger has saved us trouble, and has got his hand on the 
 runaway’s cixiup ! James Curry.” 
 
 The dragoon rode to the front and bowed. 
 
 “ You left Fort Ninety-Six only on Wednesday 3” 
 
 “ I did.” 
 
 “ Where was Cruger then ?” 
 
 “ Marching towards Saluda, with Brown—following Clarke, as 
 it was supposed—but on rather a cold scent as one of the couiiers 
 reported.” 
 
 “ Humph! I must get still nearer to the mountains,” said Fer¬ 
 guson, as he clenched his teeth and seemed absorbed in thought. 
 
 In a short time after this, the column diverged from their 
 former course by a road that led westward. 
 
 Thus ended the second day. 
 
 During the next two days, Ferguson had become manifestly 
 more circumspect in his movement, and spent the greater portion 
 gf this interval upon a road which was said to extend from Ninety- 
 Six, to the Allegany mountain. Here he remained, with the 
 
660 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 wariness of tlie tiger that prepares to spring upon his prey; and 
 it was with a petulant temper that, after this anxious watch for 
 forty-eight hours, he turned upon his heel and summoned his 
 oflScers around him, and announced his determination to penetrate 
 still further into the forest. Like a man jierplexed and peevish 
 with crosses, he soon changed his mind, and ordered a lieutenant 
 of cavalry into his presence. 
 
 “ Take six of your best appointed men,” he said, “ and send one 
 half of them up this road towards the mountains—the other half 
 southwards—and command them not to stop until they bring me 
 some news of this night-hawk, Clarke. Let them be trusty men 
 that you can depend upon. I will wait but twenty-four hours for 
 them. Meantime,” he added, turning to another officer present, 
 “ I will send a courier after Cruger, who shall find him if he is 
 above ground.” 
 
 The following day—which brings us to the third of October—a 
 decisive change took place in the aspect of affairs. Before either 
 of the scouts that had been lately despatched had returned, a 
 countryman was brought into Ferguson’s camp, who, being sub¬ 
 mitted to the usual minute examination, informed the questioners, 
 that some thirty miles, in the direction of Fort Ninety-Six, he had 
 met upon the road a large party of cavalry under the command 
 of Colonel 'Williams—and that that officer had shown great 
 anxiety to learn whether certain Whig troops had been seen near 
 Gilbert-town. The informant added, tliat “ Williams appeared to 
 him to be strangely particular in his inquiries about Ferguson.” 
 
 This intelligence seemed suddenly to awaken the British partisan 
 from a dream. He was now one hundred miles south of Corn¬ 
 wallis ; and, both east and west of the line of communication 
 between them, it was apparent that hostile parties were assembling, 
 with a view to some united action against him. It struck him now, 
 for the first time, that an enemy might be thrown between the 
 main army at Charlotte and his detachment, and thus cause him 
 some embarrassment in his retreat—but it was still with the scorn 
 of a presumptuous soldier that he recurred to the possibility of his 
 being forced to fight his way. 
 
 “ They are for turning the tables on me,” he said, in a tone cff 
 
HOESE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 561 
 
 derision, “ and hope to pounce upon my back while I am taken up 
 with this half-starved and long-legged fellow of the mountains. 
 But I will show them who is master yet!” 
 
 In this temper he commenced his retreat, which was conducted 
 slowly and obstinately ; and it may be supposed that Butler, as he 
 involuntarily followed the fortunes of his enemy, contemplated 
 these movements with an anxious interest. The common report of 
 the camp made him acquainted with the circumstances which had 
 recommended the retreat, and he, therefore, watched the course of 
 events in momentary expectation of some incident of great import¬ 
 ance to himself. 
 
 At night Ferguson arrived at the Cowpens, just twenty-four hours 
 in advance of his enemies. Whilst resting here he received intel¬ 
 ligence of the stout array that had lately assembled at Gilbert- 
 town, and which, he Avas now told, were in full pursuit of him. It 
 was, at first, with an incredulous ear that he heard the report of 
 the numbers of this suddenly-levied mountain-army. It seemed 
 incredible that such a host could have been convened in such brief 
 space and with such secret expedition; and even more unworthy 
 of belief, that they could have been found in the wild and thinly- 
 peopled regions of the Allegany. Ills doubt, hoAvever, yielded 
 to his feai", and induced him to accelerate his pace. 
 
 Ilis first care was to despatch, on that night, a courier to Corn¬ 
 wallis, to inform the general of his situation and ask for reinforce¬ 
 ments. The letter which bore this request is still extant, and will 
 show that even in the difficult juncture in which we have presented 
 the writer of it, his boastful confidence had not abandonedJiira. 
 
 Before the succeeding dawn he was again in motion, directing 
 his hasty march towards the Cherokee Ford of Broad river. This 
 point he reached at sun-down. His journey had been pursued, thus 
 far, with unremitting industry. If his motions had corresponded 
 to his affected disesteem of his enemy, he Avould here have halted for 
 rest; hut, like one who flies with the superstitious dread of a goblin 
 follower, the retreating partisan looked over his shoulder with an 
 unquiet spirit, and made a sign to his companions still to press 
 forward. They crossed the river at night, and did not halt again 
 until they had traversed some six or eight miles beyond the further 
 bank. 
 
662 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 The anxiety, suspense, and eager expectation of Butler increased 
 with these thickening demonstrations of the approach of a period 
 which he foresaw must be decisive, not only of his own hopes, but, 
 in a great degree, of the hopes of his country. The retreat of 
 Ferguson towards King’s Mountain, which now lay but a few miles 
 in advance, was a visible and most striking type of the vanishing 
 power which for a brief half-year had maintained its domination over 
 the free sph-its of the south, and which had aimed, by a cruel and 
 bloody rule, to extinguish all that was generous and manly in these 
 afflicted provinces. 
 
 Contenting myself with this rapid survey of events which, of 
 themselves, possess an interest that would, if time and space per¬ 
 mitted me, have justified the detail of a volume, I go back to the 
 regular cui-rent of my story. 
 
CHAPTER LV. 
 
 I'HE WHIGS CONTINUE THEIR MARCH.-MILDRED IS LEFT BEHIND. 
 
 The army of mountaineers halted at Gilbert-town only until a 
 vidette from Williams brought tidings of Ferguson’s late move¬ 
 ments. These reached Campbell early in the day succeeding his 
 arrival at the village, and apprised him that Williams followed on 
 the footsteps of the British partisan, and would expect to unite his 
 force with that of the allied volunteers at the Cowpens—(a field not 
 yet distinguished in story)—whither he expected to arrive on the 
 following day. Campbell determined, in consequence, to hasten to 
 this quarter. 
 
 The present position of Mildred, notwithstanding the kind sym¬ 
 pathy with which every one regarded her, was one that wrought 
 severely upon her feelings. She had heretofore encountered the 
 hardships of her journey, and borne herself through the trials, so 
 unaccustomed to her sex, with a spirit that had quailed before no 
 obstacle. But now, finding herself in the train of an army just 
 moving forth to meet its enemy, with all the vicissitudes and peril 
 of battle in prospect, it was with a sinking of the heart she had not 
 hitherto known, that she felt herself called upon to choose between 
 the alternative of accompanying them in their march, or being left 
 behind. To adopt the first resolve, she was painfully conscious 
 would bring her to witness scenes, and perhaps endure privations, 
 the very thought of which made her shudder ; whilst, to remain at 
 a distance from the theatre of events in which she was so deeply con¬ 
 cerned, was a thought that suggested many anxious fears, not less 
 intolerable than the untried sufierings of the campaign. She had, 
 thus far, braved all dangers for the sake of being near to Butler; 
 and now to hesitate or stay her step, when she had almost reached 
 the very spot of his captivity, and when the fortunes of war might 
 soon throw her into his actual presence, seemed to her like aban- 
 
 S<>3 
 
664 
 
 UORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 doning her duty at the most critical moment of trial. She was 
 aware that he was in the camp of the enemy ; that this enemy was 
 likely to be overtaken and brought to combat; and it was with a 
 magnified terror that she summoned up to her imagination the 
 possible mischances which might befal Arthur Butler in the inflic¬ 
 tion of some summary act of vengeance provoked by the exaspera¬ 
 tion of conflict. “ I have tempted the dangers of flood and storm 
 for him—of forest and field—noon-day battle and midnight assault,” 
 she said, with an earnestness that showed she had shaken all doubts 
 from her mind ; “ I have taken my vow of devotion to his safety— 
 to be performed with such fidelity as befits the sacred bond between 
 us. I will not blench now, in the last struggle, though perils 
 thicken around me. I’m prepared for the worst.” 
 
 Allen Musgrove, Robinson, and Henry combated this resolve 
 with joint expostulation, urging upon Mildred the propriety of her 
 tarrying in the village, at least until the active operations of the 
 army were terminated—an event that might be expected in a few 
 days. But it was not until Campbell himself remonstrated with 
 her against the indiscretion of her purpose, and promised to aftbrd 
 her the means of repairing to the scene of action at any moment 
 she might think her presence there useful, that she relinquished 
 her determination to accompany the army on its present expedition. 
 It was, m consequence, ultimately arranged that she should remain 
 in the quarters provided for her in Gilbert-town, attended by the 
 miller and his daughter, whilst a few soldiers were to be detailed 
 as a guard for her person. With this train of attendants, she was 
 to be left at liberty to draw as near to the centre of events as her 
 considerate and faithful counsellor, Allen Musgrove, might deem 
 safe. 
 
 Another source of uneasiness to her arose out of the separation 
 which she was about to endure from the sergeant and her brother 
 Henry. Horse Shoe, swayed by an irresistible and afiectionate 
 longing to be present at the expected passage of arms, which might 
 so materially affect the fortunes of his captive fellow-soldier, Butler, 
 had represented to Mildred the value of the services he might be 
 able to render ; and as the friendly solicitude of the miller and his 
 daughter left nothing within their power to be supplied, towards 
 the comfort and protection of the lady, she did not refuse her con- 
 
IIOaSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 565 
 
 seut to this temporary desertion—although it naturally awakened 
 some painful sense of bereavement, at a moment when her excited 
 feelings most required the consolation of friends. 
 
 Ilenry, captivated with the prospect of military adventure, and 
 magnified in his own esteem by the importance which Stephen 
 Foster and the Eangers playfully assigned to his position in the 
 ranks, had so far lost sight of the special duty he had assumed, as 
 his sister’s companion, that he now resolutely rebelled against all 
 attempts to persuade him to remain in the village ; and Mildred, 
 at last, upon the pledge of the sergeant to keep the cadet under 
 his own eye, reluctantly yielded to a demand which she found it 
 almost impossible to resist. 
 
 These matters being settled, it was not long before Mildred and 
 Mary Musgrove, seated at the window of the house which had 
 been ^elected as their present abode, saw the long array of the 
 army glide by at a brisk pace, and watched the careless and 
 laughing faces of the soldiers, as they filed oflf through the 
 only street in the village, and took the high road leading south. 
 
 The troops had been gone for several hours, and Allen Musgrove 
 and the few soldiers who had been left behind, had scattered 
 themselves over the village, to get rid of the tedium of idleness in 
 the gossip of the scant population which the place afforded. 
 Mildred had retired to a chamber, and Mary loitered from place to 
 place like one disturbed with care. All the party felt that deep 
 sense of loneliness which is so acutely perceptible to those who 
 suddenly change a life of toil and incident for one of rest, while 
 events of busy interest are in expectation. 
 
 “ They are gone, ma’am,” said Mary, as she now crept into 
 Mildred’s presence, after having travelled over nearly the whole vil¬ 
 lage, in the state of disquietude I have described; “ they are gone at 
 least twenty miles, I should think, by this time; and I never would 
 have believed that I could have cared so much about people I 
 never saw before. But we are so lonesomg, ma’am. And young 
 Mister Henry Lindsay, I should say, must be getting tired by this 
 time of day. As for the matter of that, people may get tireder by 
 standing still than by going on.” 
 
 “ How far do they march to day ?” inquired Mildred ; “ have you 
 heard your father say, Mary ?” 
 
566 
 
 ilOKSli SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 ‘‘ I heard him and the troopers who are here allow,” replied the 
 maiden, “ that Colonel Campbell wouldn’t reach Colonel Williams 
 before to-morrow afternoon. They said it was good fifty miles’ 
 travel. They look like brave men—them that marched this morn¬ 
 ing, ma’am ; for they went out with good heart. The Lord send 
 that through Him they may be the means of deliverance to 
 Major Butler !” 
 
 At the mention of this name, Mildred covered her face with her 
 hands, and the tears trickled through her fingers. “ The Lord 
 send it!” she repeated, after a moment’s pause. “ May He, in his 
 mercy, come to our aid !” Then uncovering her face, and dropping 
 on her knees beside her chair, she whispered a prayer for the 
 success of those who had lately marched forth against the 
 enemy. , 
 
 When she arose from this posture, she went to the window, and 
 there stood gazing out upon the quiet and unfrequented street, 
 running over in her mind the perils to which her brother as well 
 as Butler might be exposed, and smnmoning to her imagination 
 the thousand subjects of solicitude, which her present state of 
 painful expectation might be supposed to create or recall. 
 
 “We will set forth early to-morrow,” she said, addressing her¬ 
 self to her companion, “ so tell your father, Mary. We will follow 
 the brave friends who have left us : I cannot be content to linger 
 behind them. I wiU sleep in the lowliest hovel, or in the common 
 shelter of the woods, and share all the dangers of the march, 
 rather than linger here in this dreadful state of doubt and silence. 
 Tell yom’ father to make his preparations for our departure to¬ 
 morrow : tell him I cannot abide another (fay in this place.” 
 
 “ I should think we might creep near them, ma’am,” replied 
 Mary, “ near enough to see and hear what was going on—which 
 is always a great satisfaction, and not get ourselves into trouble 
 neither. I am sure my father would be very careful of us, and 
 keep us out of harm’s way, come what would. And it is distress¬ 
 ing to be so far off, when you don’t know what’s going to turn up. 
 I will seek my father—who I believe is over yonder with the 
 troopers at the shop, talking to the blacksmith—I will go there 
 and try to coax him to do your bidding. I know the troopers 
 want it more than we do, and they’ll say a word to help it along.” 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 567 
 
 “ Say I desire to have it so, Mary. I can take no refusal. Here 
 I will not stay longer.” 
 
 Mary left the apartment, and as she descended the steps, she 
 fell into a rumination which arrested her progress full five minutes, 
 during which she remained mute upon the stair-case. “No 
 wonder the poor dear lady wishes to go !” was the ejaculation 
 which came at last sorrowfully from her heart, with a long sigh, 
 and at the same time tears began to flow : “ no wonder she wants 
 to be near Major Butler, who loves her past the telling of it. H 
 ^John Ramsay was there,” she added, sobbing, “I would have 
 followed him—followed him—yes, if I died for it.” 
 
CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 AFJFAIRS BEGIN TO DRAW TO A HEAD. PREPARATIONS FOR BATTLE. 
 
 A PICTURE OF THE TWO ARMIES. 
 
 After leaving Gilbert-town, Campbell moved steadily toward the 
 point at which he proposed to meet Williams, and by night-fall 
 had accomplished about one half of the journey. The march fur¬ 
 nished Henry Lindsay unalloyed pleasure. Every incident belong¬ 
 ing to it awakened the fancies which he had indulged in refer¬ 
 ence to military life, and he was delighted in the contemplation 
 of this actual accomplishment of some of the many dreams of 
 glory which his boyish romance had engendered at home. 
 Besides, being a favorite of those in command, he was allowed to 
 ride in the ranks whenever it suited his pleasure, and to amuse 
 himself with what subject of interest the journey afforded; 
 whilst, at the same time, he found his personal ease so much 
 attended to as to leave him but little room to complain of the dis¬ 
 comfort or toil of the campaign. 
 
 The night was spent in the woods, and it was scarcely day-break, 
 when the exhilarating though harsh clamor of the horns sum¬ 
 moned the troops to the renewal of their journey, which was pur¬ 
 sued until the afternoon, when, about four o’clock, they reached 
 the border of the tract of country known as the Cowpens. Afar 
 off, occupying a piece of elevated ground, Campbell was enabled 
 to descry a considerable body of cavalry, whose standard, dress, 
 and equipment, even at this distance, sufficiently made known to 
 him their friendly character,—a fact that was immediately after¬ 
 wards confirmed by the report of some videttes, who had been 
 stationed upon the road by which Campbell advanced. A brief 
 interval brought the two parties together, and the force of the 
 allied bands was thus augmented by the addition of our gallant 
 friend Williams, at the head of four hundred sturdy companions. 
 
 “ Make a short speech of it,” said Shelby, addressing Williams, 
 
 568 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 569 
 
 after tliat officer bad ridden into the circle of his comrades, and 
 had exchanged with them a friendly greeting, “ you have been 
 busy, fellow-soldier, whilst we were waiting to see the grass grow. 
 What has become of the runaway ?” 
 
 “ Ke left this spot but yesterday,” replied Williams ; “ Ferguson 
 has something of the bull-dog in him ; his retreat, now that he is 
 forced to it, is surly and slow ; he stops to snarl and growl as if he 
 defied us to follow him. If he had but stood his ground here, we 
 should have had him in as pretty a field as one might desire. 
 Devil thank him for his prudence ! But he is now" at the Cherokee 
 Ford of Broad river— so I conjecture, by the report of my scouts 
 —liard upon thirty miles from here, on his w'ay towards 
 Charlotte.” 
 
 “ Say you so ?” exclaimed Campbell; “ then, by my faith, we 
 have no time to lose ! Gentlemen, we will rest but an hour, and 
 then to it, for a night march. Pick me out your best men and 
 stoutest horses ; leave the footmen behind, and the w-eakest of the 
 cavalry. This fellow may take it into his head to show his heels. 
 If I can but tread upon the tail of the copperhead with one foot, 
 he will throw himself into his coil for fight,—that’s the nature of 
 theffieast,—and after that, if need be, we can threaten him until 
 all our force arrives. Shelby, look to the immediate execution of 
 this order.” 
 
 “ That’s glorious, sergeant,” said Henry, who, with his com¬ 
 panion, Robinson, had stolen up to the skirts of the circle of 
 officers during this conference, and had heard Campbell’s order. 
 “ I am of this party, whoever goes. Colonel Campbell,” he added, 
 with the fiimiliarity of his privilege, “ the Rangers are ready for 
 you, at any rate.” 
 
 “ There’s a mettlesome colt,” said Campbell, laughing and speak¬ 
 ing to the officers around him, “ that bird shows fight before his 
 spurs are grown. P'-ay, sir,” he continued, addressing Henry, 
 “ what command have you ?” 
 
 “ I consider myself answerable for the second platoon of the 
 Amherst Rangers,” replied Henry, with a waggish sauciness, “ and 
 they march this night, whatever happens.” 
 
 “ You shall serve with ine in the staff, master,” said Campbell, 
 
 
570 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 playfully, “ such fiery young blades must be looked after. Get 
 your men ready; you shall go, I promise 5 'ou.” 
 
 Henry, delighted at the notice he had received, rode off with 
 alacrity to spread the news. 
 
 The council broke up, and the earliest arrangements were set on 
 foot to make the draught required by the general orders. 
 
 Before the day had departed, nine hundred picked men, well 
 mounted and equipped, were seen spurring forward from the line, 
 and taking a position in the column of march, which was now 
 prepared to move. All the principal officers of the army accom¬ 
 panied this detachment, in which were to be seen the Amherst 
 Rangers with their redoubtable recruits, Henry Lindsay and the 
 sergeant. 
 
 It rained during the night, a circumstance that, however it 
 increased the toils of the soldiers, but little abated their speed— 
 and, an hour before daybreak, they had reached the destined 
 point on Broad river: but the game had disappeared. Ferguson, 
 as we have seen, had pushed his march on the preceding evening 
 beyond this spot, and had taken the road, as it was reported, 
 towards King’s mountain, which was not above twelve miles 
 distant. 
 
 A few hours were given by Campbell to the refreshment of his 
 troops, who halted upon the bank of the river, where, having 
 kindled their fires and opened their wallets, they soon found them¬ 
 selves in a condition that pleasantly contrasted with the discomforts 
 of their ride during the night. The enemy consisted principally 
 of infantry—and Campbell, having gained so closely upon their 
 footsteps, felt no doubt of overtaking them in the course of the 
 day. He, therefore, determined to allow his men full time to 
 recruit their strength for the approaching conflict. 
 
 The rain had ceased before the dawn. The clouds had fled 
 from the firmament before a brisk and enlivening autumnal breeze, 
 and the sun rose with unusual splendor. It was one of those days 
 which belong to October, clear, cool, and exhilarating—when all 
 animal nature seems to be invigorated by breathing an atmosphere 
 of buoyant health. For more than an hour after the sun had cast 
 his broad beams over the landscape, the wearied encampment was 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 571 
 
 seen stretched in slumber—the camp-guards only, and some occa¬ 
 sional parties on fatigue service, were to bo observed in motion. 
 By degrees, the drowsy soldiers woke up, refreshed by the change 
 of weather, no less than by the repose which they had snatched in 
 the short moments of the halt. A general summons, at last, 
 brought every one into motion. By nine o’clock of the morning, 
 the army were in condition to prosecute their march, as little 
 wanting in alacrity or vigor as when they first commenced their 
 labors; and, at the hour designated, they were seen to prick forth 
 upon their way with an elastic movement that had in it the viva¬ 
 city of a holiday sport. Even our young martialist, Henry, had 
 become so inured to the toils of the road, that now, with the aid 
 of a sleep which Horse Shoe had afiectionately guarded until the 
 last moment—to say nothing of a good luncheon of broiled venison, 
 which the boy discussed after he had mounted into his saddle— 
 he might be considered the most light-hearted of the host. 
 
 Towards noon, the army reached the neighborhood of King’s 
 mountain. The scouts and parties of the advance had brought 
 information that Ferguson had turned aside from his direct road, 
 and taken post upon this eminence, where, it was evident, he meant 
 to await the attack of his enemy. Campbell, therefore, lost no 
 time in pushing forward, and was soon rewarded with a view of 
 the object of his pursuit. Some two or three miles distant, where 
 an opening through the forest first gave him a sight of the mass 
 of highland, he could indistinctly discern the array of the adverse 
 army perched on the very summit of the hill. 
 
 The mountain consists of an elongated ridge, rising out of the 
 bosom of an uneven countrj', to the height of perhaps five hundred 
 feet, and presenting a level line of summit or crest, from which the 
 earth slopes down, at its southward termination and on each side, 
 by an easy descent; whilst northward, it is detached from highlands 
 of inferior elevation by a rugged valley—thus giving it the cha¬ 
 racter of an insulated promontory, not exceeding half a mile in 
 length. At the period to which our story refers, it was covered, 
 except in a few patches of barren field or broken ground, with a 
 growth of heavy timber, which was so far free from underwood as 
 in no great degree to embarrass the passage of horsemen; and 
 through this growth the eye might distinguish, at a considerable 
 
572 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 distance, the occasional masses of grey rock that were scattered in 
 huge boulders over its summit and sides. 
 
 The adjacent region, lying> south from the mountain, was par¬ 
 tially cleared and in cultivation, presenting a limited range of open 
 ground, over which the march of Campbell might have been 
 revealed in frequent glimpses to the British partisan, for some 
 three or four miles. We may suppose, therefore, that the two 
 antagonists watched each other, during the advance of the ap¬ 
 proaching army across this district, with emotions of various and 
 deep interest. Campbell drew at length into a ravine which, 
 bounded by low and short hills, and shaded by detached portions 
 of the forest, partly concealed his troops from the view of the 
 enemy, who was now not more than half a mile distant. The 
 gorge of this dell or narrow valley opened immediately towards 
 the southern termination of the mountam; and the column halted 
 a short distance within, Avhere a bare knoll, or round, low hill, 
 crowned with rock, jutted abruptly over the road, and constituted 
 the only impediment that prevented each party from inspecting 
 the array of his opponent. 
 
 It was an hour after noon, and the present halt was improved 
 by the men in making ready for battle. Meanwhile, the chief 
 officers met together in front, and employed their time in surveying 
 the localities of the ground upon which they were soon to be 
 brought to action. The knoll, I have described, furnished a 
 favorable position for this observation, and thither they had already 
 repaired. 
 
 I turn from the graver and more important matters which may 
 be supposed to have occupied the thoughts of the leaders, as they 
 were grouped together on the broad rock, to a subject which was, 
 at this moment, brought to their notice by the unexpected appear¬ 
 ance of two females on horseback, on the road, a full half mile in 
 the rear of the army, and who were now approaching at a steady 
 pace. They were attended by a man who, even thus far off, 
 showed the sedateness of age; and, a short space behind them, 
 rode a few files of troopers in military array. 
 
 It was with mingled feelings of surprise and admiration at the 
 courage which could have prompted her, at such a time, to visit 
 the army, that the party recognised Mildred Lindsay and her 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 573 
 
 attendants, in the approaching cavalcade. These emotions were 
 expressed by them in the rough and hearty phrase of their habitual 
 and familiar intercourse. 
 
 “Let me beg, gentlemen,” said Campbell, interrupting them, 
 “ that you speak kindly and considerately of yonder lady. By my 
 honor, I have never seen man or woman with a more devoted or 
 braver heart. Poor girl!—she has nobly followed Butler through 
 his afflictions, and taken her share of suffering with a spirit that 
 should bring us all to shame. Horse Shoe Robinson, who has 
 squired her to our camp, even from her father’s house, speaks of a 
 secret between her and our captive friend, that tells plainly enough 
 to my mind of sworn faith and long-tried love. As men and sol¬ 
 diers, we should reverence it. Williams, look carefully to her 
 comfort and safety. Go, man, at once, and meet her on the road. 
 God grant that this day may bring an end to her grief!” 
 
 Williams departed on his mission, and when he met the lady, 
 her brother and the sergeant were already in her train. 
 
 Allen Musgrove explained the cause of this unlooked-for appari¬ 
 tion. The party, in obedience to Mildred’s urgent wish, and 
 scarcely less to the content of all the others, had quitted their 
 secluded position at Gilbert-town on the preceding morning; and 
 learning in the course of the day from persons on the road, that 
 Ferguson had moved noi thwards, the miller had taken a direction 
 across the country which enabled him to intercept the army at its 
 present post, with little more_^than half the travel which the circuit¬ 
 ous route of the march had'required. They had passed the night 
 under a friendly roof some ten or twelve miles distant, and had 
 overtaken their companions at the critical moment at which they 
 have been introduced to view. 
 
 At Mildred’s request she was conducted into the presence of 
 Campbell, who still retained his station on the knoll. A thought¬ 
 ful and amiable deference was manifested towards her by the 
 assembled soldiers, who received her with many kind and encou¬ 
 raging greetings. That air of perturbation and timidity which, in 
 spite of all efforts at self-control, the novelty of her position and 
 the consciousness of the dreadful scene at hand had thrown over 
 her demeanor, gradually began to give way before the assurances 
 and sympathy of her friends; and, at length, she became suffi- 
 
574 
 
 HOKSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 ciently self-possessed to look around her and mark the events that 
 were in progress. 
 
 The important moment of battle drew nigh, and the several 
 leaders respectively took their leave of her, with an exhortation to 
 be of good cheer, and to remain at her present post under the charge 
 of her trusty companion, the miller, who was fully instructed by 
 Campbell as to the course he should take for the lady’s safety, in 
 whatever emei’gency might arise. 
 
 Here we leave her for a moment, whilst we cast a glance at the 
 preparations for battle. 
 
 It was three o’clock before these arrangements were completed. 
 I have informed my reader that the mountain terminated imme¬ 
 diately in front of the outlet from the narrow dell in which Camp¬ 
 bell’s army had halted, its breast protruding into the plain only 
 some few hundred paces from the head of the column, whilst the 
 valley, that forked both right and left, afforded an easy passage 
 along the base on either side. Ferguson occupied the very summit, 
 and now frowned upon his foe from the midst of a host confident 
 in the strength of their position, and exasperated by the pursuit 
 which had driven them into this fastness. 
 
 Campbell resolved to assail this post by a spirited attack, at the 
 same moment, in front and on the two flanks. With this intent 
 his army was divided into three equal parts. The centre was 
 reserved to himself and Shelby; the right was assigned to Sevier 
 and M’Dowell; the left to Cleveland and Williams. These two 
 latter parties were to repair to their respective sides of the mountain, 
 and the whole were to make the onset by scaling the heights as 
 nearly as possible at the same instant. 
 
 The men, before they marched out of the raidne, had dismounted 
 and picqueted their horses under the winding shelter of the hills ; 
 and, being now separated into detached columns formed in solid 
 order, they were put in motion to reach their allotted posts. The 
 Amherst Rangers were retained on horseback for such duty as 
 might require speed, and were stationed close in the rear of Camp¬ 
 bell’s own division, which now merely marched from behind the 
 shelter of the knoll and halted in the view of the enemy, until 
 suflicient delay should be aflforded to the flanking divisions to attain 
 their gi-oimd. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 .575 
 
 Mildred, attended by Allen Musgrove and bis daughter, still 
 maintained her position on the knoll, and from this height sur¬ 
 veyed the preparations for combat with a beating heart. The scene 
 within her view was one of intense occupation. The air of stern 
 resolve that sat upon every brow ; the silent but onward movement 
 of the masses of men advancing to conflict; the few brief and quick 
 words of command that fell from the distance upon her ear; the 
 sullen beat of the hoof upon the sod, as an occasional horseman 
 sped to and fro between the more remote bodies and the centre 
 division, which yet stood in compact phalanx immediately below 
 her at the foot of the hill; then the breathless anxiety of her com¬ 
 panions near at hand, and the short note of dread, and almost 
 terror, that now and then escaped from the lips of Mary Musgrove, 
 as the maiden looked eagerly and fearfully abroad over the plain ; 
 all these incidents wrought upon her feelings and caused her to 
 tremble. Yet, amidst these novel emotions, she was not insensible 
 to a certain lively and even pleasant interest, arising out of the 
 picturesque character of the spectacle. The gay sunshine striking 
 aslant these moving battalions, lighting up their fringed and many- 
 colored hunting-shirts, and casting a golden hue upon their brown 
 and weather-beaten faces, brought out into warm relief the chief 
 characteristics of this peculiar woodland army. And Mildred some¬ 
 times forgot her fears in the fleeting inspiration of the sight, as she 
 watched the progress of an advancing column—at one time 
 moving in close ranks, with the serried thicket of rifles above their 
 heads, and at another deploying into files to pass some narrow 
 path, along which, with trailed arms and boflies bent, they sped 
 with the pace of hunters beating the hill-side for game. The 
 tattered and service-stricken banner that shook its folds in the 
 wind above these detached bodies, likewise lent its charm of 
 association to the field the silence and steadfastness of the array in 
 which it was borne, and its constant onward motion ; showing it to 
 be encircled by strong arms and stout hearts. 
 
 Turning from these, the lady’s eye was raised, with a less joyous 
 glance, towards the position of the enemy. On the most prominent 
 point of the mountain’s crest she could descry the standard of Eng¬ 
 land fluttering above a concentrated body, whose scarlet uniforms, 
 as the sun glanced upon them through the forest, .showed that hero 
 
Ferguson lind posted his corps of regulars, and held them to 
 meet the attack of the centre division of the assailants ; whilst the 
 glittering of bayonets amidst the dark foliage, at intervals, rearward "v 
 along the line of the summit, indicated that heavy detachments 
 were stationed in this quarter to guard the flanks. The marching 
 and countei'inarching of the frequent corps, from various positions 
 on the summit; the speeding of officers on horseback, and the 
 occasional movement of small squadrons of dragoons, who were at 
 one moment seen struggling along the sides of the mountain, and, 
 at another, descending towards the base or returning to the sum¬ 
 mit, disclosed the earnestness and activity of the pi’eparation with 
 which a courageous' soldier may be supposed to make ready for 
 his foe. 
 
 It was with a look of sorrowful concern which brought tears into 
 her eyes, that Mildred gazed upon this host, and strained her vision 
 in the vain endeavor to catch some evidences of the presence of 
 Arthur Butler. 
 
 “ We both look, perchance,” she said to herself, “ at this very 
 instant, upon yon hateful banner—and with the same aversion : 
 but oh, with what more painful apprehension it is my fortune to 
 behold it! Little does he think that Mildred’s eyes are turned 
 upon it. ’Tis well he does not—his noble heart would chafe itself 
 with ten-fold anguish at the cruel thraldom that separates us. Yes, 
 
 ’tis well he does not dream that his Mildred is here to witness this 
 dreadful struggle,” she continued, musing over the subject of her 
 grief, “ it might tempt him to some rash endeavor to break his 
 bondage. It is better as it is ; the misery of the thought of our 
 afflictions should be mine only; the brave patience of a manly 
 soldier is his, and should not be embittered with sorrows that belong 
 not to the perils of war.” 
 
 “ Sister,” said Henry, who had stolen up the hill unobserved^ 
 and now stood beside Mildred, “ take courage and keep a good 
 heart! The very day I often prayed to see has come—and it has 
 come sooner than you promised it should. Here I am in the field, 
 amongst men, and no play-game is it, either, to keep u.s busy, but 
 downright earnest battle. And then, dear sister, you are here to 
 look on—isn’t that a piece of good luck ?” 
 
 “ Ah, brother, I could talk to you with a boastful tongue when 
 
'J. 
 
 ;• HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 577 
 
 all around us was peace and security. I cannot exhort you now. 
 If I dare, I would beg you to stay by my side. I have need of 
 your comfort, and shudder with a chilly fear. Ilenry, that smajl 
 hand of yours can do no service to-day—and in truth, I cannot bear 
 to see you exposed to danger.” 
 
 “ In tears, sister! Come now, this is not like you. Hasn’t Ar¬ 
 thur fought many a day and often ? And didn’t you set him on, 
 with good brave words for it ?” 
 
 “ I was not there to see him,” interrupted Mildred. 
 
 “ Well, sister, I must get to my post,” said Henry. “ I serve as 
 aide-de-camp, and Horse Shoe is to help me. By-the-by, Mildred, 
 the sergeant is uncommonly silent and busy to-day. He smells 
 this battle like an old soldier, and I heard him give a few hints to 
 Campbell, concerning the marching up yonder hill;—he told him 
 the column should not display until they got near the top, as Fer¬ 
 guson has no cannon ; and the Colonel took: it very gladly. Horse 
 Shoe, moreover, thinks we will beat them—and the men have 
 great dependence on what he says. I shall not lose sight of him 
 to-day,” 
 
 “ For Heaven’s sake, Henry,” exclaimed Mildred, “ my dear 
 brother, do not think of following the sergeant! I cannot part 
 with you,” she added, with great earnestness; “ it is an awful time 
 for brother and sister to separate—stay with me.” 
 
 The cadet turned a look upon his sister of surprise, at the new 
 light in which her present fears represented her. 
 
 “ I thought, Mildred,” he said, “ you were brave. Hav’n’t we 
 come all this way from home to assist Butler ? And are you now, 
 for the first time—just when we are going to pluck him from the 
 midst of the wolves upon that mountain—are you now to weep and 
 play the coward, sister ? 
 
 “ Go, go !” said Mildred, as she covered her eyes with her hand, 
 “ but, dear Henry, remember you have a weak arm and a slender 
 frame, and are not expected to take upon you the duties of a man.” 
 
 “ Besides,” said Mary Musgrove, who had been a silent and per¬ 
 plexed witness of this scene, and who now put in her word of 
 counsel, out of the fulness of her heart, “ besides. Mister Henry 
 Lindsay, what trouble would it give to Sergeant Robinson, and all 
 the rest of them, if you should get lost scampering about the hills, 
 
 25 
 

 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 and they shouldn’t know where to find you ? It would take up so 
 much of their precious time in looking for you : and, I am sure, 
 they hav’n’t much to spare !” 
 
 “ You are as valiant as a mouse,” replied Henry, laughing, “ and 
 monstrous wise, Mary Musgrove. Do you take care of my sister, 
 and speak a word now and then to keep up her spirits—that is, if 
 your tongue doesn’t grow too thick with fright. Your teeth chat¬ 
 ter now. A Idss, Mildred. There : God bless you ! I must get 
 to my post.” 
 
 With these words, Henry bounded off towards the valley to 
 rejoin his comrades. Half way, he met Allen Musgrove, who was 
 now on his return to the top of the hill, whence he had withdrawn 
 for a brief space to hold some converse with Robinson. 
 
 “ A word,” said Allen to Henry, as they met; “ you are but a 
 stripling. Remember that this day’s work is to be wrought by 
 men of might—those who are keen of eye and steady of foot. In 
 the tempest of battle your weight. Mister Henry, would be but as 
 a feather in the gale. Yet in this fight none might be crushed 
 whose fall would bring more anguish than yours. Let me beg 
 you, as a rash and thoughtless youth, to think of that. The good 
 lady, your sister—” 
 
 “ I cannot stay to hear you,” interrupted Henry; “ the column is 
 beginning to move.” 
 
 And in a moment he was at the foot of the hill. 
 
CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF KIXg’s MOUNTAIN. 
 
 They closed full fast on every side, 
 
 No slackness there was found 
 And many a gallant gentleman 
 Lay gasping on the ground. 
 
 O dread! it was a grief to see, 
 
 And likewise for to hear 
 
 The cries of men lying in their gore 
 
 And scattered here and there.—CAeey Chase. 
 
 Every corps was now in motion, and the two flanking divisions 
 were soon lost to view in the intervening forest. An incident of 
 some interest to our story makes it necessary that we should, for 
 a moment, follow the track of Cleveland in his march upon the 
 left side of the mountain. 
 
 The principal road of travel northwards extendedifilong the valley 
 on this side; and upon this road Cleveland and: Williams con¬ 
 ducted their men, until they arrived at a point sufliciently remote 
 to enable them, by ascending the height, to place thei®l,y^s in 
 Ferguson’s rear. They had just reached this point wheii they 
 encountered a picquet of the enemy, which, after'a few shots, retired 
 hastily up the mountain. 
 
 The little o'^ost had scarcely begun to give grourtd, before 
 the leading companies of the Whigs had their attention drawn to 
 the movements of a small party of horsemen who at that moment 
 appeared in sight upon the road, some distance in advance. They 
 were approaching the American column ; and, as if tak_gn by sur¬ 
 prise at the appearance of this force, set spurs to their, horees and 
 made an effort to ride beyond t\ie reach of Cleveland’s fire, whilst 
 they took a direction up the mountain toVards FergiiiSn’s strong¬ 
 hold. From the equipment of these individuals, it might have 
 been inferred that they were two gentlemen of some distinction 
 
 579 
 
580 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 connected with the royal army, attended by their servants, and 
 now about arriving, after a long journey, at the British camp. 
 The first was habited in the uniform of an officer, was well mounted, 
 and displayed a light and active figure, which appeared to advan¬ 
 tage in the dexterous management of his horse. The second was 
 a gentleman in a plain riding costume, of slender and well-knit 
 proportions, and manifestly older than his companion, lie rode a 
 powerful and spirited horse, with a confidence and command not 
 inferior to those of his associates. The others in attendance, from 
 their position in the rear, and from the heavy portmanteaus that 
 encumbered their saddles, we might have no difficulty in conjectur¬ 
 ing to be menials in the service of the two first. 
 
 The course taken by this party brought them obliquely across 
 the range of the fire of the Whigs. 
 
 “ It is a general officer and his aide,” exclaimed one of the sub¬ 
 alterns in the advance. “ Ho there 1 Stand. You are my 
 prisoners !” 
 
 *“ Spur, spur, and away ! For God’s sake, fly!” shouted the 
 younger of the two horsemen to his companion, as .he dashed the 
 rowels into his steed and fled U 2 > the mountain. “ Push for the 
 top—one moment more and we are out of reach!” 
 
 “ Stop them, at all hazards!” vociferated Cleveland, the instant 
 his eye fell upon them. “ Quick, lads—level your pieces—they 
 are qj^^^ngers from Cornwallis. Rein up, or I fire!” he called 
 aloud^fter the flying cavalcade. 
 
 The appeal and the threat were unheeded. A score of men left 
 the ranks and fan some distance up the mountain side, and their 
 shots v^stled through the forest after the fugitives; One of the at¬ 
 tendants was seen to fall, and his hol’se to wheel round and run back, 
 with a frightened pace, to the valley. The scarlet uniform of the 
 3 ’'Ounger horseman, consjiicuous through the foliag’e some distance 
 up the mountain, showed that he had escaped. His elder com¬ 
 rade, when the smoke cleared away, was seen also beyond the 
 reach of Cleveland’s fk-e ; but his altered j>ace and his relaxed seat 
 in his saddle, made it Apparent that he had received some hurt. 
 This was confirmed when, still nearer to the summit, the stranger 
 was seen to fall upon his horse’s neck, and thence to be lifted 
 to the ground by tliree or four soldiers who had hastened to his relief. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 681 
 
 These incidents scarcely occupied more time in their per¬ 
 formance than I have taken in the narrative; and all reflection 
 upon them, for the present, was lost in the uproar and commotion 
 of the bloody scene that succeeded. 
 
 Meanwhile, Campbell and Shelby, each at the head of his men 
 in the centre division of the army, steadily commenced the ascent 
 of the mountain. A long interval ensued, in which nothing was 
 heard but the tramp of the soldiers and a few words of almost 
 whispered command, as they scaled the height; and it was not 
 until they had nearly reached the summit that the first peal of 
 battle broke upon the sleeping echoes of the mountain. 
 
 Campbell here deployed into line, and his men strode briskly 
 upwards until they had come within musket-shot of the British 
 regulars, whose sharp and prolonged volleys, at this instant,, 
 suddenly burst forth from the crest of the hill. Peal after peal 
 rattled along the mountain side, and volumes of smoke, silvered 
 by the light of the sun, rolled over and enveloped the com¬ 
 batants. 
 
 "When the breeze had partially swept away this cloud, and opened 
 glimpses of the battle behind it, the troops of Campbell were seen 
 recoiling before an impetuous charge of the bayonet, in which 
 Ferguson himself led the way. A sudden halt by the retreating 
 Whigs, and a stern front ’steadfastly opposed to the foe, checked 
 the ardor of his pursuit at an early moment, and, in turn, he was 
 discovered retiring towards his original ground, hotly followed by 
 the mountaineers. Again, the same vigorous onset from the 
 royalists was repeated, and again the shaken bands of Campbell 
 rallied and turned back the rush of battle towards the summit. 
 At last, panting and spent with the severe encounter, both parties 
 stood for a space eyeing each other with deadly rage, and waiting 
 only to gather breath for the renewal of the strife. 
 
 At this juncture, the distant firing heard from either flank 
 furnished evidence that Sevier and Cleveland had both come in 
 contact with the enemy. The uprising of smoke above the trees 
 showed the seat of the combat to be below the summit on the 
 mountain sides, and that the enemy had there half-way met his 
 foe; whilst the .shouts of the soldiers, alternating between the 
 parties of either army, no less distinctly proclaimed the fact that. 
 
582 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 at these remote points, the field was disputed with bloody resolu¬ 
 tion and various success. 
 
 It would overtask my poor fiiculty of description, to give my 
 reader even a faint jncture of this rugged battle-field. During the 
 pause of the combatants of the, centre, Campbell and Shelby were 
 seen riding along the line, and by speech and gesture encouraging 
 their soldiers to still more determined efibrts. Little need was 
 there for exhortation ; rage seemed to have refreshed the strength 
 of the men, who, with loud and fierce huzzas, rushed again to the 
 encounter. They were met with a defiance not less eager than 
 their own ; and, for a time, the battle was again obscured under 
 the thick haze engendered by the incessant discharges of fire-arms. 
 Drom this gloom, a yell of triumph was sometimes heard, as 
 mementary success inspired those who struggled within ; and the 
 fr^^ent twinkle of polished steel glimmering through the murky 
 atmosphere, and the occasional apparition of a speeding horseman, 
 keen for an instant as he came into the clear light, told of the 
 dreadful earnestness and zeal with which the unseen hosts had 
 now joined in conflict. The impression of this contact was various. 
 Parts of each force broke before their antagonists; and in those 
 spots where the array of the fight might be discenied through 
 the shade of the forest or the smoke of battle, both royalists and 
 Whigs were found, at the same instant, to have driven back 
 detached fragments of their opponents. Foemen were mingled 
 hand to hand, through and among their adverse ranks; and for a 
 time no conjectra-e might be indulged as to the side to which 
 victory would turn. 
 
 The flanking detachments seemed to have fallen into the same 
 confusion, and might have been seen retreating and advancing 
 upon the rough slopes of the mountain, in partisan bodies, 
 separated from their lines; thus giving to the scene an air of 
 bloody riot, more resembling the sudden insurrection of mutineers 
 from the same ranks, than the orderly Avar of trained soldiers. 
 
 Through the din and disorder of this fight, it is fit ^hat I shoidd 
 take time to mark the wanderings of Galbraith Robinson, whose 
 exploits this day would not ill deserve the pen of Froissart. The 
 doughty sergeant had, for a time, retained his post in the ranks 
 of the Amherst Rangers, and with them had travelled towards the 
 
UORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 583 
 
 mountain top, close in the rear of Campbell’s line. But when the 
 troops had recoiled before the frequent charges of the royalists, 
 finding his station, at best, but that of an inactive spectator, he 
 made no scruple of deserting his companions and trying his fortune 
 on the field in such form of adventure as best suited his temper. 
 With no other weapon than his customary rifle, he stood his 
 ground when others retreated ; and saw the ebb and flow of “ flight 
 and chase” swell round him, according to the varying destiny of 
 the day. In these difficulties, it was his good fortune to escape 
 unhurt; a piece of luck that may, perhaps, be attributed to the 
 coolness with which he either galloped over an adversary or around 
 him, as the emergency rendered most advisable. 
 
 In the midst of this busy occupation, at a moment when one of 
 the refluxes of battle brought him almost to the summit, he descried 
 a small party of British dragoons, stationed some distance in the 
 rear of P'erguson’s line, whose detached position seemed to infer some 
 duty unconnected with the general fight. In the midst of these, he 
 thought he recognised the figure and dress of one familiar to his 
 eye. The person thus singled out by the sergeant’s glance stood 
 bare-headed upon a projecting mass of rock, apparently looking 
 with an eager gaze towards the distant combat. No sooner did 
 the conjecture that this might be Arthur Butler flash across his 
 thought, than he turned his steed back upon the path by which he 
 had ascended, and rode with haste towards the Rangers. 
 
 “ Stephen Foster,” he said, as he galloped up to the lieutenant, 
 and drew his attention by a tap of the hand upon his shoulder, “ I 
 have business for you, man—you are but wasting your time here— 
 pick me out a half-dozen of your best fellows and bring them with 
 you after me. Quick—Stephen—quick !” 
 
 The lieutenant of the Rangers collected the desired party and 
 rode after the sergeant, who now conducted this handful of men 
 with as much rapidity as the broken character of the ground 
 allowed, by a circuit for a considerable distance along the right side 
 of the mountain, until thej' reached the top. The point at which 
 they gained the summit brought them between Ferguson’s line and 
 the dragoons, who, it was soon perceived, were the party charged 
 with the custody of Butler, and who had been thus detached in the 
 rear for the more safe guardianship of the prisoner. Horse Shoe’s 
 
584 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 manoeuvre liad completely cut them off from their friends in front, 
 and they had no resource hut to defend themselves against the 
 threatened assault, or fly towards the parties who were at this 
 moment engaged with the flanking divisions of the Whigs. They 
 were taken by surprise—and Horse Shoe, perceiving the import¬ 
 ance of an immediate attack, dashed onwards along the ridge of 
 the mountain with precipitate speed, calling out to his companions 
 to follow. In a moment the dragoons were engaged in a desperate 
 pell-mell wdth the Rangers. 
 
 “ Upon them, Stephen ! Upon them bravely, my lads! Huzza 
 for Major Butler ! Fling the major across your saddle—the first 
 that reaches him,” shouted the sergeant with a voice that was heard 
 above all the uproar of battle. “ What ho—James Curry!” he 
 cried out, as soon as he detected the presence of his old acquaintr 
 ance in this throng ; “ stand your ground, if you are a man !” 
 
 The person to whorn this challenge was directed had made an 
 effort to escape towards a party of his friends, whom he was about 
 summoning to his aid ; and in the attempt had already ridden some 
 distance into the wood, whither the sergeant had eagerly followed 
 him. 
 
 “ Ah ha, old Truepenny, are you there ?” exclaimed Curry, 
 turning short upon his pursuer, and afl'ecting to laugh as if in 
 scorn. “Horse Shoe Robinson, well met !” he added sternly, 
 “ I have not seen a better sight to-day than that’ fool’s head ot 
 yours upon this hill. No, not even when just now Patrick Fergu¬ 
 son sent your yelping curs hack to hide themselves behind the 
 trees.” 
 
 “ Come on, James !” cried Horse Shoe, “ I have no time to talk. 
 We have an old reckoning to settle, which, perhaps, you mought 
 remember. I am a man of my word ; and, besides, I have set my 
 eye upon Major Butler,” he added, with a tone and look that 
 were both impressed Avith the fierce passion of the scene around 
 him. 
 
 “ The devil blast you, and Major Butler to hoot !” exclaimed 
 Curry, roused by Horse Shoe’s air of defiance. “ To it, bullj’-! It shall 
 be short work between us, and bloody,” he shouted, as he dis¬ 
 charged a pistol-shot at the sergeant’s breast; which failing to take 
 effect, he flung the weapon upon the ground, brandished his sword. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 585 
 
 and spurred immediately against his challenger. The sweep of the 
 broadsword fell upon the barrel of Horse Shoe’s uplifted rifle, and 
 in the next instant the broad hand of our lusty yeoman had seized 
 the trooper by the collar and dragged him from his horse. The 
 two soldiers came to the ground, locked in a mutual embrace ; and, 
 for a brief moment, a desperate trial of strength was exhibited in 
 the eftbrt to gain their feet. 
 
 “ I have you there,” said Robinson, as at length, with a flushed 
 cheek, quick breath, and blood-shot eye, he rose from the earth 
 and shook the dragoon from him, who fell backwards on his knee. 
 “ Curse you, James Curry, for a fool and villain 1 You almost 
 drive me, against my will, to the taldng of your life. I don’t want 
 your blood. You are beaten, man, and must say so. I grant you 
 quarter upon condition—” 
 
 “ Look to yourself! I ask no terms from you,” interrupted 
 Curry, as suddenly springing to his feet, he now made a second 
 pass, which was swung with such unexpected vigor at the head of 
 his adversary, that Horse Shoe had barely time to catch the blow, 
 as before, upon his rifle. The broadsword was broken by the 
 stroke, and one of the fragments of the blade struck the sergeant 
 upon the forehead, inflicting a wound that covered his face with 
 blood. Horse Shoe reeled a step or two from his g’ound, and 
 clubbing the rifle, as it is called, by grasping the barrel towards 
 the muzzle, he paused but an instant to dash the blood from his 
 brow with his hand, and then, with one lusty sweep, to which his 
 sudden anger gave both precision and- energy, he brought the piece 
 full upon the head of his foe, with such Altai effect as to bury the 
 lock in the trooper’s brain, whilst the stock was shattered into 
 splinters. Curry, almost without a groan, fell dead across a ledge 
 of rock at his feet. 
 
 “ 'I’lie grudge is done, and the fool has met his desarvings,” was 
 Horse Shoe’s brief comment upon the event, as he gazed sullenly, 
 for an instant, upon the dead corpse. He had no time to tarrv. 
 The i-est of his party were still engaged with the troopers of the 
 guard, who now struggled to preserve the custody of their prisoner. 
 The bridle-rein of Captain I’eter had been caught by one of the 
 Rangers, and the good steed was now quickly delivered up to his 
 master, who, flinging himself again into his saddle, rushed into the 
 
 25 * 
 
586 
 
 HOESE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 throng of combatants. The few dragoons, dispirited by the loss of 
 their leader, and stricken with panic at this strenuous onset, turned 
 to flight, leaving Butler in the midst of his friends. 
 
 “ God bless you, major!” shouted Robinson, as he rode up to his 
 old comrade, who, unarmed, had looked upon the struggle with an 
 interest corresponding to the stake he had in the event. “ Up, 
 man—here, spring across the pommel. Now, boys, down the 
 mountain, for your lives ! Huzza, huzza ! we have won him back !” 
 he exclaimed, as seizing Butler’s arm, he lifted him upon the neck 
 of Captain Peter, and bounded away at full speed towards the base 
 of the mountain, followed by Foster and his party. 
 
 The reader may imagine the poignancy of Mildred’s emotions 
 as she sat beside Allen Musgrove and his daughter on the knoll, 
 and watched the busy and stirring scene before her. The centre 
 division of the assailing army was immediately in her view, on 
 the opposite face of the mountain, and no incident of the battle 
 in this quarter escaped her notice. She could distinctly perceive 
 the motions of the Amherst Rangers, to whom she turned her eyes 
 with a frequent and eager glance, as the corps wdth which her 
 brother Henry was associated; and when the various fortune of 
 the flght disclosed to her the occasional retreat of her friends 
 before the vigorous sallies of the enemy, or brought to her ear the 
 renewed and angry volleys of musketry, she clenched Mary Mus- 
 grove’s arm with a nervous grasp, and uttered short and anxious 
 ejaculations that showed the terror of her mind. ' 
 
 “ I see Mister Henry, yet,” said Mary, as Campbell’s troops 
 rallied from the last shock, and again moved towards the summit. 
 “ I see him plainly, ma’am—for I know his green dress, and caught 
 the glitter of his brass bugle in the sun. And there now—all is 
 smoke again. Mercy, how stubborn are these, men ! And there 
 is Mister Henry once more—near the top. He is safe, ma’am.” 
 
 “ How earnestly,” said Mildred, unconsciously speaking aloud as 
 she surveyed the scene, “ Oh, how earnestly doT wish this battle 
 was done ! I would rather, Mr. Musgrove, be in the midst of yon¬ 
 der crowd of angry men, could I but have their recklessness, than 
 liere in safety, to be tortured with my preseiit feelings.” 
 
 “ In God is our trust, madam,” replied the miller. “ His arm is 
 abroad over the dangerous paths, for a shield and buckler to them 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 687 
 
 that put their trust in him. Ha ! there is Ferguson’s white horse, 
 rushing, with a dangling rein and empty saddle, down the moun¬ 
 tain, through Campbell’s ranks : the rider _has fallen; and there, 
 madam—there, look on it!—is a white flag waving in the hands 
 of a British oflicer. The fight is done. Hark, our friends are 
 cheering with a loud voice!” 
 
 “ Thank Heaven—thank Heaven 1” exclaimed Mildred as she 
 sprang upon her feet; “ It is even so 1” 
 
 The loud huzzas of the troops rose upon the air; the firing 
 ceased ; the flag of truce fluttered in the breeze, and the confede¬ 
 rated bands of the mountaineers, from every quarter of the late 
 battle, were seen hmaying towards the crest of the mountain, and 
 mingling amongst the ranks of the conquered foe. Again and 
 jigain, the clamorous cheering of the victors broke forth from the 
 mountain-top, and echoed along the neighboring valleys. 
 
 During this wild clamor and busy movement, a party of horse¬ 
 men were seen, through the occasional intervals of the low wood 
 that skirted the valley on the right, hastening from the field with 
 an eager swiftness towards the spot where Mildred and her com¬ 
 panions were stationed. 
 
 As they swept along the base of the mountain, and approached 
 the knoll, they were lost to view behind the projecting angles of 
 the low hills that formed the ravine, through which, my reader is 
 aw.are, the road held its course. When they re-appeared it was in 
 ascending the abrupt acclivity of the knoll, and within fifty paces 
 of the party on the top of it. 
 
 It was now apparent that the approaching party consisted of 
 Stephen Foster and three or four of the Rangers led by Horse Shoe 
 Robinson, with Butler still seated before him, as when the sergeant 
 first caught him up in the fight. These were at the same moment 
 overtaken by Henry Lindsay, who had turned back from the 
 mountain at the firet announcement of victory, to bring the tidings 
 to his sister. 
 
 Mildred’s cheek grew deadly pale, and her frame shook, as the 
 cavalcade rushed into her presence. 
 
 “ There—take him I” cried Horse Shoe, with an efibrt to laugh, 
 but which seemed to be half converted into a quaver by the agitation 
 of his feelings, as, springing to the ground, he swung Butler from 
 
588 
 
 riORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 the horse, with scarce more effort than he would have used in 
 handling a child; “ take him, ma’am. I promised myself to¬ 
 day, that I’d give him to you. And, now, you’ve got him. That’s 
 a good reward for all youi- troubles. God bless us—but I’m happy 
 to-day!” 
 
 “ Mr HUSBAND ! — MY DEAR HUSBAND !” Were the only articulate 
 Mmrds that escaped hlildred’s lips, as she fell senseless into the arms 
 of Arthur Butler. 
 
 
CHAPTER LVm. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 The victoi'j was w'on. In the last assault, Campbell bad reached 
 the crest of the mountain, and the loyalists had given ground with 
 decisive indications of defeat. Ferguson, in the hopeless effort to 
 rally his soldiers, had flung himself into their van, but a bullet at 
 this instant reached his heart; he fell from his seat, and his white 
 horse, which had been conspicuous in the crowd of battle, bounded 
 wildly through the ranks of the Whigs, and made his way down 
 the mountain side. 
 
 Campbell passed onward, driving the royalists before him. For 
 a moment the discomfited bands hoped to join their comrades in 
 the rear, and, by a united effort, to effect a retreat: but the parties 
 led by Sevier and Cleveland, cheered by the shouts of their vic¬ 
 torious companions, urged tlieir attacks with new vigor, and won 
 the hill in time to intercept the fugitives. All hopes of escape 
 being thus at an end, a white flag was displayed in token of sub¬ 
 mission ; and the remnant of Ferguson’s late proud and boastful 
 army, now amounting to between eight and nine bundled men, 
 surrendered to the assailants. 
 
 It has scarcely ever happened that a battle has been fought, in 
 which the combatants met with keener individual exasperation 
 than in this. The mortal hatred which embittered the feelings of 
 Whig and Tory along this border, here vented itself in the eager¬ 
 ness of conflict, and gave the impulse to every blow that was struck 
 —rendering the fight, from beginning to end, relentless, vindictive, 
 and bloody. The remembrance of the thousand cruelties practised 
 by the royalists during the brief Tory dominion to which Iny nar¬ 
 rative has been confined, was fresh in the minds of the stern and 
 hardy men of the mountains, who had pureued their foe with such 
 
590 
 
 IIOESii SHOE JiOBlNSON. 
 
 fierce animosity to this his last stage. Every one had soure wrong 
 to tell, and burned with an unquenchable rage of revenge. It was, 
 therefore, with a yell of triumph that they saw the symbol oi 
 submission raised aloft by the enemy ; and for a space, the forest 
 rang with their loud and reiterated huzzas. 
 
 Many brave men fell on either side. Upon the slopes of the 
 mountain and on its summit, the bodies of the dead and dying lay 
 scattered amongst the rochs, and the feeble groans of the wounded 
 mingled with the fierce tones of exidtation from the living. The 
 AVhigs sustained a grievous loss in Colonel Williams, who had 
 been struck down in the moment of victory. He was young, 
 ardoit, and brave; and his many soldier-like virtues, combined 
 with a generous and amiable temper, had rendered him a cho'ished 
 favorite with the army. His death served still more to increase the 
 exacerbation of the conquerors against the conquered. 
 
 The sun was yet an hour high when the battle was done. The 
 ^Tiigs were formed in two lines on the ridge of the mountain ; 
 and the prisoners, more numerous than their captors, having laid 
 down their arms, were drawn up in detached columns on the 
 intervening ground. There were many sullen and angry glances 
 exchanged, during this period of suspense, between victors and 
 vanquished ; and it was with a fearful rankling of inward wrath, 
 that many of the Whigs detected, in the columns of the prisoners, 
 some of their bitterest persecutors. 
 
 This spirit was partially suppressed in the busy occupation that 
 followed. Preparations were directed to be made for the night- 
 quarters of the army ; and the whole host was, accordingly, ordered 
 to march to the valley. The surgeons of each party were already 
 fully employed in their vocation. The bodies of the wounded were 
 strewed around ; and, for the protection of such as were not in a 
 condition to be moved, shelters were made of the boughs of trees, 
 and fires kindled to guard them from the early frost of the season. 
 All the rest retired slowly to the appointed encampment. 
 
 Whilst Campbell was intent upon these cares, a messenger came 
 to summon him to a scene of unexpected interest. He was 
 informed that a gentleman, not attached to the army, had been 
 dangerously wounded in the fight, and now lay at the further 
 extremity of the mountain ridge. It was added that he earnestly 
 
II O R S K SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 591 
 
 desired an interview witli tlie commanding officer. Campbell lost 
 no time in attending to the request. 
 
 Upon repairing to the spot, his attention was drawn to a stranger 
 who lay upon the ground, llis wan and haggard cheek, and rest¬ 
 less eye, showed that he snftercd acute pain ; and the blood upon 
 bis cloak, which had been spread beneath him, indicated the 
 wound to have been received in the side. A private soldier of the 
 British army was his only attendant. To Campbell’s solicitous 
 and kind inquiry, lie announced himself, in a voice that was 
 almost over-mastered by his bodily anguish, to bo Philip Lindsay, 
 of Virginia. 
 
 “ You behold,” he said, “ an unhappy father in pursuit of his 
 children.” Then, after a pause, he continued, “ My daughter 
 Mildred, I have been told, is near me; I would see her, and quickly.” 
 
 “ God have mercy on us !” e.xclaimed Campbell, “ is this the 
 father of the lady who has sought my protection ? Wounded too, 
 and badly, I fear! Where is Major Butler, who was lately 
 prisoner with Ferguson ?” he said, addressing the attendant—“ Go, 
 go, sir,” he added, speaking to the same person, “ bring me the 
 first surgeon you can find, and direct some three or four men from 
 the ranks to come to your aid. Lose no time.” 
 
 The soldier ivent instantly upon the errand, and soon returned 
 with the desired assistance. Lindsay’s wound had been already 
 staunched, and all that remained to be done was to put him in 
 some place of shelter and comfort. A cottage at the foot of the 
 mountain was pointed out by Campbell ; a litter was constructed, 
 and the sick man was borne upon the shoulders of four attendants 
 to the designated spot. Meantime, Campbell rode off to communi¬ 
 cate the discovery he had made to Mildred and her brother. 
 
 Lindsay’s story, since we last parted from him, may be bidefly 
 told. He and Tyrrel had journeyed into the low country of 
 Virginia, to meet the friends of the royal government. These had 
 wavered, and were not .to be brought together. A delay ensued, 
 during which Tyrrel had prevailed upon Lindsay to extend his 
 journey into North Carolina; whence, after an ineffectual effort 
 to bring the Tory party to some decisive step, they both returned 
 to the l>ove Cote, hai ing been nearly three weeks absent. 
 
 Upon their arrival, the alHicting intelligence met Lindsay of the 
 
692 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 I 
 
 deiDarture of Mildred and her brother for the seat of war. 
 Mildred’s letter was delivered to him ; and its contents almost 
 struck him dumb. It related the story of Arthur Butler’s misfor¬ 
 tunes, and announced, that, for nearly a year past, Mildred had 
 been the wedded wife of the captive officer. The marriage had been 
 solemnized in the preceding autumn, in a hasty moment, as Butler 
 travelled south to join the army. The only witnesses were Mistress 
 Dimock, under whose roof it had occurred, Henry Lindsay, and 
 the clergyman. The motives that induced this marriage were 
 explained : both Mildred and Arthur hoped, by this irremediable 
 step, to reconcile Lindsay to the event, and to turn his mind from 
 its unhappy broodings : the increased exasperation of his feelings, 
 during the succeeding pei'iod, prevented the disclosure which 
 Mildred had again and again essayed to make. The'recent 
 dangers which had beset Arthur Butler, had determined her to 
 fly to his rescue. As his wife she felt it to be her duty, and 
 she had, accordingly, resolved to encounter the peril of the 
 journey. 
 
 For a day or two after the peiusal of this letter, Lindsay fell 
 into a deep melancholy. His presentiments seemed to have been 
 fatally realized, and his hopes suddenly destroyed. From this 
 despondency, Tyrrel’s assiduous artifice aroused him. He proposed 
 to Lindsay the pursuit of his children, in the hope of thus luring 
 him into Cornwallis’s camp, and connecting him with the fortunes 
 of the war. The chances of life, he reasoned, were against Butler, if 
 indeed, as Tyrrel had ground to hope, that officer were not already 
 the victim of the snares that had been laid for him. 
 
 Upon this advice, Lindsay had set out for Cornwallis’s head¬ 
 quarters, where he arrived within a week after the interview of 
 Mildred and Henry with the Biitish chief. 
 
 Whilst he delayed here, he i-eceived the tidings that liis 
 daughter had abandoned her homeward journey, and tiumed aside 
 in quest of Butler. This determined him .to continue his pursuit. 
 Ty'rrel still accompanied him; and the two travellers having 
 arrived at the moment of the attack upon King’s mountain, 
 Lindsay was persuaded by his companion to make the rash 
 adventure which, we have already seen, had been the cause of his 
 present misfortune. 
 
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 693 
 
 It is not my purpose to attempt a description of the scene in 
 the cottage, where Arthur Butler and his wife, and Henry, first 
 saw Lindsay stretched upon a rude pallet, and suffering the 
 anguish of a dangerous wound. It is sufficient to say that, in the 
 midst of the deep grief of the bystanders, Lindsay was composed 
 and tranquil, like one who thought it vain to struggle with fate. 
 “ I have foreseen this day, and felt its coming,” he muttered, in a 
 low and broken voice; “ it has happened as it was ordained. I have 
 unwisely struggled against my doom. There, take it,” he added, 
 as he stretched forth his hand to Butler, and in tones scarcely audi¬ 
 ble breathed out, “ God bless you, ray children ! I forgive you.” 
 
 During the night fever ensued, and with it came delirium. The 
 patient acquired strength from his disease, and raved wildly, in a 
 strain familiar to his waking superstition. The same vision of fate 
 and destiii)^ haunted his imagination ; and he almost frightened 
 his daughter from beside his couch, with the fervid eloquence of 
 his madness. 
 
 The cottage was situated near half a mile from the encamp • 
 ment of the army. Towards daylight, Lindsay had sunk into a 
 slumber, and the attendant surgeon began to entertain hopes that 
 the patient might successfully struggle with his malady. Mildred 
 and Mary Musgrove kept watch in the apartment, whilst Butler, 
 with Horse Shoe Robinson and Allen IMusgrove, remained anx¬ 
 iously awake in the adjoining room. Henry Lindsay, wearied 
 with the toils of the preceding day, and old Isaac the negro, not 
 so much from the provocation of previous labor as from constitu¬ 
 tional torpor, lay stretched in deep sleep upon the floor. 
 
 Such was the state of things when, near sunrise, a distant 
 murmur reached the ears of those who were awake in the cottage. 
 These sounds attracted the notice of Horse Shoe, who immediately 
 afterwards stole out of the apartment and repaired to the camp. 
 During his walk thither the uproar became more distinct, and 
 shouts were heard from a crowd of soldiers who were discovered 
 in a confused and agitated mass in the valley, at some distance 
 from the encampment. The sergeant hastened to this spot, and, 
 upon his arrival, was struck with the shocking sight of the bodies 
 of some eight or ten of the Tory prisoners suspended to the limbs 
 of a large tree. 
 
594 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 The repose of the night had not allayed the thirst of revenge 
 amongst the Whigs. On the contrary, the opportunity of con¬ 
 ference and deliberation had only given a more fatal certainty to 
 their purpose. The recent executions which had been permitted in 
 Cornwallis’s camp, after the battle of Camden, no less than the 
 atrocities lately practised by some of the Tories who were now 
 among-st the captured, suggested the idea of a signal retribution. 
 The obnoxious individuals were dragged forth from their ranks 
 at early dawn, and summary punishment was inflicted by the 
 excited soldiery in the manner which we have described, in 
 spite of all remonstrance or command. 
 
 This dreadful work was still in progress when Horse Shoe 
 arrived. The crowd were, at that moment, forcing along to the 
 spot of execution a trembling wretch, whose gaunt form, crouching 
 beneath the hands that held him, and pitiful supplications for 
 mercy, announced him to the sergeant as an old acquaintance. 
 The unfortunate man had caught a glance of Robinson, and, 
 almost frantic with despair, sprang with a tiger’s leap from the 
 grasp of those who held him, and, in an instant, threw his arms 
 around the sergeant’s neck, ivhere he clung with the hold of 
 a drowning man. 
 
 “ Oh save me, save me. Horse Shoe Robinson !”' he exclaimed 
 wildly. “ Friend Horse Shoe, save me !” 
 
 “ I am no friend of yours, Wat Adair,” said Robinson, sternly. 
 
 “ Speak for me—Galbraith—speak, for old acquaintance sake 1” 
 
 “ Hold !” said Robinson to the crowd who had gathered round 
 to pluck the fugitive from his present refuge. “ One word, friends ! 
 stand back, I have somewhat to say in this matter.” 
 
 “ He gave Butler into Hugh Habei-shaw’s hands,” cried out 
 some of the crowd. 
 
 “ He took the price of blood, and sold Butler’s life for money— 
 he shall die !” shouted others. 
 
 “ No words !” exclaimed many, “ but up with him !” 
 
 “ Mr. Robinson,” screamed Adair, with tears starting from his 
 eyes, “ only hear me! I was forced to take sides against Major 
 Butler. The Tories would have burnt down my house; they suspected 
 me,—I was obliged,—Mike Lynch was witness,— mei’cy, mercy !” 
 and here the frightened culprit cried loud and bitterly. 
 
HOUSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 595 
 
 “ Friends,” said Horse Shoe calmly to the multitude, “ there is 
 better game to hunt than this mountain-cat. Let me have my 
 way.” 
 
 “ None has a better right than Horse Shoe Robinson,” said a 
 speaker from the group, “ to say what ought to be done to Wat 
 Adair. Speak out. Horse Shoe !” 
 
 “ Speak ! We leave it to you,” shouted some of the leaders : 
 and instantly the crowd fell back and formed a circle round Horse 
 Shoe and Adair. 
 
 “ I give you your choice,” said the sergeant, addressing the 
 captive, “ for though your iniquities, Wat Adair, desarve that you 
 should have been the first that was strung up to yonder tree, yet 
 you shall have your choice, to tell us fully and truly, without 
 holding back name of high or low, who put you on to ambush 
 Major Arthur Butler’s life at Grindall’s Ford. Tell us that, to our 
 satisfaction, and answer all other questions besides that we may ax 
 you, and you shall have your life, taking, howsever, one hundred 
 lashes to the back of it.” 
 
 “ I will confess all, before God, truly,” cried Adair with eager¬ 
 ness. “ James Curry told me of your coming, and gave me and 
 Mike Lynch money to help Hugh Habershaw.” 
 
 “ James Curry had a master in the business,” said Robinson : 
 “ His name ?” 
 
 Adair hesitated for an instant and stammered out “ Captain St. 
 Jermyn.” 
 
 “ He was at your house ? Speak it, man, or think of the 
 rope !” 
 
 “ He was there,” said Adair. 
 
 “By my soul! Wat Adair, if you do not come out with the 
 whole truth,” said Robinson, with angry earnestness, “ I take back 
 my promise. Tell me all you know.” 
 
 “ Curry acted by the captain’s directions,” continued the woods¬ 
 man, “ he was well paid for it, as he told me, and would have got 
 more, if a quarrel amongst Habershaw’s people hadn’t stopped 
 them from taking Major Butler’s life. So I have heard from the 
 men myself.” 
 
 “ Well, sir ?” 
 
 “That’s all,” replied Adair. 
 
596 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON. 
 
 “Do you know nothing about the court-martial?” asked 
 Robinson. 
 
 “ Nothing, except that as the Major wasn’t killed at the Ford, 
 it was thought best to have a trial, Avherein James Curry and 
 Hugh Habershaw, as I was told, had agreed to swear against the 
 Major’s life.” 
 
 “ And were paid for it ?” 
 
 “ It was upon a consideration, in course,” replied Adair. 
 
 “ And Captain St. Jermyn contrived this ?” 
 
 “It was said,” answered Adair, “that the captain left it all to 
 Curry, and rather seemed to take Major Butler’s side himself at 
 the trial. He didn’t want to be known in the business!” 
 
 “ Where is this Captain St. Jermyn ?” demanded many voices. 
 
 This interrogatory was followed by the rush of the party towards 
 the quarter in which the prisoners were assembled, and, after a 
 lapse of time which seemed incredibly short for the perfoianance 
 of the deed, the unhappy victim of this tumultuary wrath was seen 
 struggling in the agonies of death, as he hung from one of the 
 boughs of the same tree which had sujiplied the means of the 
 other executions. 
 
 By this time Butler and Henry Lindsay, attracted by the shouts 
 that reached them at the cottage, had arrived at the scene of 
 these dreadful events. Wat Adair was, at this moment, undergo¬ 
 ing the punishment for which his first sentence w^as commuted. 
 The lashes were inflicted by a sturdy arm upon his uncovered 
 back ; and it was remarkable that the wretch who but lately had 
 sunk, with the most slaidsh fear, under the threat of death, now 
 bore his stripes with a fortitude that seemed to disdain complaint or 
 even the confession of pain. Butler and Henry hurried with a 
 natural disgust from this spectacle, and soon found themselves 
 near the spot where the lifeless forms of the victims of military 
 vengeance were suspended from the tree. 
 
 “ Gracious Heaven !” exclaimed Butler, “ is not that St. Jermyn ? 
 What has he done to provoke this doom ?” 
 
 “ It is Tyrrel !” ejaculated Henry. “ Major Butler, it is Tyrrel! 
 That face, black and horrible as it is to look at, I would know it 
 among a thousand!” 
 
 “ Indeed !” said Butler, gazing with a melancholy earnestness 
 
 
597 
 
 % 
 
 HORSE SHOE ROBINSON, 
 
 upon the scene, and speaking scarce above his breath, “ is it so ? 
 Tyrrel and St. Jermyn the same person ! This is a strange 
 mystery.” j 
 
 Robinson, at this moment, approached, and, in answer to 
 Butler’s questions, told the whole story of the commotions that 
 had just agitated the camp. 
 
 “ St. Jermyn was not with Ferguson,” said Butler, when the 
 sergeant had finished his narrative. “ How came he here to- 
 day?” 
 
 “ First or last,” replied Robinson, “ it is my observation. Major, 
 that these schemers and contrivers against others’ lives are sure to 
 come to account. The devil put it into this St. Jermyn’s head 
 to make Ferguson a visit. He came yesterday with Mr. Lindsay, 
 and got the poor gentleman his hurt. James Curry has done 
 working for him now. Major. Master and man have travelled 
 one road.” 
 
 The scene was now closed. The business of the day called the 
 troops to other labors. Campbell felt the necessity of an im¬ 
 mediate retreat with his prisoners to the mountains, and his 
 earliest orders directed the army to prepare for the march. 
 
 When Butler returned to the cottage, he found himself sur¬ 
 rounded by a mournful group. The mMady of Lindsay had un¬ 
 expectedly taken a fiital turn. Mildred and Henry were seated 
 by the couch of their father, watching in mute anguish the last 
 ebbings of life. The dying man was composed and apparently 
 free from pain, and the few words he spoke were of forgiveness 
 and resignation. 
 
 In the midst of their sorrow and silence, the inmates of the 
 dwelling had their attention awakened by the military music of 
 the retiring arm)'. These cheerful sounds vividly contrasted with 
 the grief of the mourners, and told of the professional inditference 
 of soldiers to (he calamities of war. By degrees, the martial tones 
 became more faint, as the troops receded up the valley ; and 
 before they were quite lost to the ear, Campbell and Shelby 
 appeared at the door of the cottage to explain the urgency of iheit 
 present departure, and to take a sad farewell of their friends. 
 
 Stephen Foster, with Harry Winter and a party of the Rangers, 
 remained behind to await the movements of Butler. Horse Shoe 
 
/ 
 
 508 
 
 HOUSE SHOE U O BIK S O N. 
 
 rLoLinson, Allen Musgrove, and his daughter, were in constant 
 at tendance. 
 
 Here ends my story. 
 
 In a lonely thicket, close upon the margin of the little hrook 
 which waters the valley on the easterji side of King’s mountain, 
 the traveller of the present day may he shown an almost oblite¬ 
 rated mound, and hard by he will see the fragment of a rude 
 tombstone, on whicli is carved the letters P. L. Tliis vestige 
 marks the spot where the remains of I’hilip Lindsay were laid, 
 until the restoration of peace allowed them to be transported to 
 the Dove Cote. 
 
 There, also, in a happier day, Arthur Butler and Mildred took 
 up their abode; and notwithstanding the fatal presentiment in 
 regard to the fortunes of his house which had thrown so dark 
 a color upon the life of Philip Lindsay, lived long enough after 
 the revolution to see grow up around them a prosperous and 
 estimable family. 
 
 Maiy Musgrove, too, attended Mildred, and attained an advanc¬ 
 ed, and I hope a happy old age, at die Dove Cote. 
 
 Wat Adair, I have heard it said in Carolina, died a year after the 
 battle of King’s mountain, of a horrible distemper, supposed to have 
 been produced by the bite of a rabid wolf. I would fain believe, 
 for the sake of poetical justice, that this was true. 
 
 Another item of intelligence, to be found in the history of the 
 war, may have some reference to our tale. I find that, in the 
 summer of 1781, Colonel Butler was engaged in the pursuit of 
 Cornwallis in his retreat from Albemaile towards Williamsburgh ; 
 ray inquiries do not enable me to say, with precision, whether it 
 was our friend Arthur Butler who had met this promotion. Ilig 
 sufferings in the cause certainly deserved such a reward. 
 
 
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 L. B. Cat. No. 1137