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Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency

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Title: Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency

Author: John Pendleton Kennedy


        
Release date: August 21, 2010 [eBook #33478]

Language: English

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HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON.

A Tale of the Tory Ascendency.

by

JOHN P. KENNEDY

Author of "Swallow Barn," "Rob of the Bowl," Etc.


"I say the tale as 't was said to me."--Lay of the Last Minstrel


Revised Edition.







New York
G. P. Putnam's Sons
182 Fifth Avenue
1876

Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1852, by
George P. Putnam,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District
of New York.




To WASHINGTON IRVING, Esq.

DEAR IRVING:--

With some little misgiving upon the score of having wasted time and
paper both, which might have been better employed, I feel a real
consolation in turning to you, as having, by your success, furnished our
idle craft an argument to justify our vocation.

You have convinced our wise ones at home that a man may sometimes write
a volume without losing his character--and have shown to the incredulous
abroad, that an American book may be richly worth the reading.

In grateful acknowledgment of these services, as well as to indulge the
expression of a sincere private regard, I have ventured to inscribe your
name upon the front of the imperfect work which is now submitted to the
public.

Very truly, yours, &c.,
JOHN P. KENNEDY.
BALTIMORE, _May 1, 1885_.




INTRODUCTION


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 air 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 ourselves 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.

"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, gliding through tangled screens of rhododendron,
laurel, arbor vitae, 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, which the State of South Carolina had conferred upon the
soldiers of the Revolution; and their settlements, 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 falling into
the road 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,
mounted bare back on a fine horse, suddenly emerged from the wood about
fifty paces ahead of me, and galloped along the road in the same
direction that I had myself resolved to take. I quickened my speed to
overtake him, but from the rapidity of his movement, I found myself, at
the end of a mile, not as near him as I 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 venerable 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 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
Horse-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 easier, 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 me, 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 political service, to
whose youth Colonel T. had been a most timely patron. This circumstance
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 gentleman there who was well acquainted with
General ----." I observed, hanging in a little black frame over the
fire-place, 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, were
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, brawny, and erect. The sharp light
gilded his massive frame and weather-beaten face with a pictorial effect
that would have rejoiced an artist. His 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?" "Not 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 particular,"
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. "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 Robinson
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 fire-side, 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 observation."

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 prisoners."

We were all in good humor. The boy was quite easy, and everything was
going on well, and we 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 which his life was full. The two famous passages to which
I had been asked to question him--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 anthology. 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 which 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 disremember."

_April 12, 1852._




PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION


The 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 worth 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 character 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 tradition that the war has left!

An opinion has heretofore prevailed that the Revolution was too recent
an affair 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 of
contradiction from a surviving actor in the 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 heir, 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 narrative: 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, 1835._





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 westward the highlands increase in elevation, the
valleys become narrower, 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.

The multiplication of the facilities of travel which the spirit of
improvement has, of late years, afforded to this region; the
healthfulness, or,--to use a term more germain to its excellence,--the
voluptuousness 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
pleasant 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 contiguity to
the seats of three Presidents of the Union; and, especially, by its
immediate proximity to Monticello, whose burnished dome twinkles through
the crown of forest that adorns the very apex of its mountain pyramid,
and which, as it has now grown to be the Mecca of many a pilgrim, will
of itself furnish a sufficient inducement for our traveller's tarrying.
An equal attraction will 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
reverently) 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 Ridge, 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 sombre green and
purple of the nearer masses, to the light and almost indistinguishable
azure of its remotest summits.

The constant interruption 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 toppling over the head of the traveller, and sparkling
waters tinkle at his feet; and where 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 combination of these natural elements.

A part of the country embraced in this description, has obtained the
local designation of the South Garden, perhaps from its succession of
fertile fields and fragrant meadows, which are shut in by the walls of
mountain on either hand; whilst a still more remote but adjacent
district of more rugged features, bears the appellation of the Cove, the
name being suggested by the narrow and encompassing character of the
sharp and precipitous hills that hem in and over-shadow a rough and
brattling mountain torrent, which is marked on the map as the Cove
creek.

At the period to which my story refers, the population of this central
district of Virginia, exhibited but few of the characteristics which are
found to distinguish the present race of inhabitants. A rich soil, a
pure atmosphere, and great abundance of wood and water, to say nothing
of the sylvan beauties of the mountain, possessed a great attraction for
the wealthy proprietors of the low country; and the land was, therefore,
generally parcelled out in large estates held by opulent owners, whose
husbandry did not fail, at least, to accumulate in profusion the
comforts of life, and afford full scope to that prodigal hospitality,
which, at that period even more than at present, was the boast of the
state. The laws of primogeniture exercised their due influence on the
national habits; and the odious division of property amongst undeserving
younger brothers, whom our modern philosophy would fain persuade us have
as much merit, and as little capacity to thrive 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, occupied by lordly and open-hearted gentlemen,--a kind of civil
cordon of bluff free-livers who were but little versed 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 grown 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 reader, after this topographical sketch and the political reflections
with which I have accompanied it, is doubtless well-prepared for the
introduction of the worthy personages with whom I am about to make him
acquainted.




CHAPTER II.

WHEREIN THE READER IS INTRODUCED 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 passing 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 ravine
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
manly 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 high, broad forehead. A hazel eye sparkled 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-telling 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 costume of the revolution time, may be fully satisfied by studying
those most graphic "counterfeit presentments" of sundry historical
passages of that day, wherewith Colonel Trumbull 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 my
present reluctance,--as I feel 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 large-lapelled;--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 1780
ventured to mount on horseback.

But when I say that Captain Butler travelled on his present journey,
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 but 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
was fortified by a brace of horseman's pistols, stowed away in large
holsters, covered with bear skin;--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. His stature was rather above six feet; his chest broad; his
limbs sinewy, and remarkable for their symmetry. There seemed to be no
useless flesh upon his 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 part of the animal on which
he rode. His was one of those iron forms that might be imagined almost
bullet proof. With all these advantages of person, 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
complexion accorded well with his sprightly, but massive features, of
which the prevailing 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, except in that metaphorical sense of
hammering out and shaping the rough, iron independence of his country.
He was the owner of a little farm in the Waxhaw settlement, on the
Catawba, and having pitched his habitation upon a promontory, around
whose base the Waxhaw creek swept with 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 exclusively 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 advance of that
of Butler--a circumstance which the worthy senior did not fail to use
with some authority in their personal intercourse, holding himself, on
that account, to be like Cassius, an elder, if not a better soldier. On
the present occasion, his dress was of the plainest and most rustic
description: a spherical crowned hat with a broad brim, a coarse grey
coatee of mixed cotton and wool, dark linsey-woolsey trowsers 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 thrown 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 from 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. Without falling
into a long narrative of events which are familiar, at least to every
American, I may recall the fact that Gates had just passed southward, to
take command 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 vermillion tint, and the new-made furrow,
wherever the early ploughman had scarred the soil, turned up to view the
predominating color. The contrast of this with the luxuriant grass and
the yellow stubble, with the grey and mossy rock, and with the deep
green shade of the surrounding forest, perpetually solicited the notice
of the lover of landscape; and from every height, the eye rested with
pleasure upon the rich meadows of the bottom 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, lighted up and
relieved, 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 wayfarers, no less than their horses, found themselves, as they
approached the lowland, gradually penetrating the deep and tangled
thicket and the high wood that hung over and darkened the channel 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 embellishments 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 horse, and announced to his comrade his
intention to suspend, for a while, the toil of travel.

"There is one thing, Galbraith," said he, as he discounted, "wherein all
philosophers agree--man must eat when he is hungry, and rest when he is
weary. We 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
slighting the bounties of providence not to do it the honor of a halt.
Get down, man; rummage your havresac, and let us see what you have
there."

Robinson was soon upon his feet, and taking the 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 himself at full length upon the
grass. Here, as he successively disclosed his stores, he announced his
bill of fare, with suitable deliberation between each item, in the
following terms:

"I don't march without provisions, you see, captain--or major, I suppose
I must call you now. Here's the rear division of a roast pig, and along
with it, by way of flankers, two spread eagles (holding 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 Robinson.
"The old landlady at Charlottesville is none of your heap-up,
shake-down, and running-over landladies, and when I signified to her
that we mought want a snack upon 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 denomination of pillage. If you are fond of
Indian corn bread, I can give you a pretty good slice of that."

"Pillage, Galbraith! You forget you 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 religion 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."

"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'n'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 flurry 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 something 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 like 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; but first, swallow that
mouthful, for you don't speak very clear."

"I'll wash down the gutter, major, according to camp fashion and then
my throat will be 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 whisking 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 Polybius 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--officers or men--of either of
them names,"--replied Robinson,--"they were nicknames, perhaps;--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 off, as we were told, on some business with
the continental congress: to get us more troops, if I am right. 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 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."

"Why, when a man has got to fight, it's a natural sort of thing
enough;--but when he has got nothing to eat, it's an onnatural state. I
have hearn 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 we 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 daylight; 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, what 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 Scotchmen! 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
12th of 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 confinement."

"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
word on't. So, one morning Colonel Pinckney axed that we 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 Roman
officer or other--I think one Officious, as I understood 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 keep 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 the colonel gave him, as
he put 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 we let them have three cheers to show that we
were 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 music in the world, till that day. But that day Colonel Charles
Cotesworth Pinckney's voice was sweeter than shawns and trumpets, as the
preacher says, and bugles to boot. I have hearn people tell of speeches
working like a fiddle on a man's nerves, major: but, for my part, I
think they sometimes work like a battery of field-pieces, or a whole
regimental band on a parade day. Howsever, I 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 mought have 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 regnen'--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 under cover. The grand rounds was coming; I could
hear the tramp of feet, and as 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 my fortune."

"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 with 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, afforded you great
satisfaction."

"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 cross 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 tried to muffle 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 flustering 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 tories, and it wasn't safe to meet a man on
the road: you couldn't tell whether he was friend or enemy. I durstn'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 by-ways."

"You had a good stomach to bear it, sergeant."

"A good stomach enough, but not much in it. I'll tell you another
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 face. They laid provisions on the ground,
and then walked away 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 pleasanter when he eats it at the risk of
his life."

Butler nodded his head.

"Well, after this," continued Horse Shoe, "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 acquainted with the people.
That scrummaging character, Tarleton, you may have hearn, scampered off,
as soon as ever Charlestown was taken, after Colonel Abraham Buford, who
was on his way down to the city when the news was fotch him of our
surrender. Buford accordingly 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, trying to catch a man a hundred
miles away! It was a brazen hearted thing! considering, besides, that
Buford had a good regiment with him. When nobody thought it anything
more than a brag, sure enough, he overhauls 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 prisoners, 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 broad
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 worst, 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 would 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 back,
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 horse, 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 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, although at first he was very angry, couldn't help
laughing likewise. He 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 experiment, 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 very 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 horse 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 upper country. 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 elsewhere. My business is to co-operate in this
undertaking; and as it 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 unsoldier-like, 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 woman'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, as we have spent a good hour
in refreshment, sergeant, make our horses ready. We'll take the road
again."

Robinson promised caution in all matters that might be committed 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 oncomfortable fellow desarved to get. If ever I had met him again,
major, _setters parbus_--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."

"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."

In good glee, our travellers now betook themselves once more to the
road.




CHAPTER III.

AN INCIDENT THAT SAVORS OF ROMANCE.


By the time the sun had fallen 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 circuit, 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 streams.

Here, as 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, 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 horse 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 done
its business, it may be my turn to try a hand."

These words were hardly spoken, when 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 shooting 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 had 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
hunters of very 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 with coat and waistcoat. He carried, in one hand, a battered
straw hat, and in the other, trailed 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 figure, which
was graceful and boyish. The jacket was short, and gathered into a small
skirt behind; and both this and the pantaloons were garnished with a
profusion of black cord and small black buttons. A highly polished
leather belt was buckled around his waist; 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 showed 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
horse, 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 Dove Cote." Then having given his horse in charge to Robinson,
and walked a few paces apart with his young friend, he enquired, in a
low and anxious tone, "Mildred, my dear Henry, what 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 fellow to forget that! Well then,
Major Butler, let me answer one question at a time. In the first place,
sister Mildred is as well as any girl can be, that has a whole bushel of
crosses to keep her out of spirits. Poor thing, 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 first, 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 officers 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 conversation, 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 acquaintances 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. "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 father 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-corporal 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 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 Robinson, 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 regular soldier. What
is his name?"

"Galbraith Robinson--or Horse 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 who?" 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
discrimination.

The road 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.

When our party had advanced about a mile along this road, Henry 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 warning:
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.

"Ride on till you arrive beneath the Fawn's Tower. Wait for me there. I
will give you a signal when I approach: 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 himself 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 that I have given my orders," 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. The rapid flow of the river, 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 deep and still.
Upon this tranquil mirror the pale crescent of the moon and the faintly
peeping stars were reflected; and the flight of the fire-fly was traced,
by his own light and its redoubled image, upon the same surface.

The high toppling cliff of the Fawn's Tower, that jutted forth like 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 neighborhood. On the opposite
side of the river, a line of beech and sycamore 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 were 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 prostration of the
individual who labors 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 common 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 perplex 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 personal
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 be rudely torn from 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, sedately scanning the
length and breadth of his own fancies, which were, doubtless rendered
the more sublime by the mistiness which a rich volume of 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 counting 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 at Charlottesville, taking a
sixpence for mending your bridle 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 numberings, 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 natural to me," continued Robinson, 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 first 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 Robinson, as
he returned from the examination.

"Thank 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
place again, you know, 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 other, 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 he approached the
sergeant, upon whose 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 Butler with animation, "and that is with no
less honesty than a good man serves his God. 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 will have neither eyes nor ears, if it consarns you to keep
any thing that mought chance to come to my knowledge, private."

"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 Galbraith, "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 pestifarious 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 reasons 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 lieutenant 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."

"I have no thought of such an enterprise, sergeant," said Butler; "our
purpose, for the present, must be confined to a short visit. We are
houseless adventurers, Galbraith, and have little to offer 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 low whistle issued from the opposite bank, and, in
a moment, Butler was in the skiff, pushing his way through the sparkling
waters.

As 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 from 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 Mildred 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, sobbing 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, when
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 ever, 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, very long, Arthur."

"And we are 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 suffered 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 inhabiting my pillow. I was so
thankful, that you escaped 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 our 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, which
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 when
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."

"No, 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 that I
found in the young and eloquent beauty who captivated my worthless
heart, when the war first 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 faults--only altered in one quality."

"And pray, what is that one quality?"

"I will not tell 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
prisoners relating the secrets of their prisons; studied the plans of
generals and statesmen, as the newspapers or common rumor brought them
to my 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 utterance 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 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 which 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 betrayed 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 melancholy. You were accustomed to
cheer me with sunny and warm 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 girl, shalt again instruct me how to win a triumph over the
ills of life."

"And we will be happy, Arthur, 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 would 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 sacrifice 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 weary 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 enterprise, and
bring our battered ship into a fortunate haven."

"How little like it seems it now!" returned Mildred. "The general
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 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 his children. Have not those, to whom we all looked
for champions, turned into mere laggards in the war for freedom? Oh,
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. There 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 despondency, 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 cheerful 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," interrupted Butler, as if
thinking aloud, and struck by Mildred's reference to a subject that had
already engrossed his thoughts; "they may be deceived, Washington would
have put a different man upon that service. I would have a leader in
such a war, wary, watchful, humble--diffident as well as brave. I fear
Gates is not so."

"Then, I trust, Arthur," exclaimed Mildred, with anxious alacrity, "that
your present expedition does not connect you with his fortunes!"

"I neither follow his colors nor partake of his counsels," replied
Butler. "Still my motions may not be exempt from the influence of his
failure or success. The enemy, you are aware, has possessed himself of
every post of value in South Carolina and Georgia. I go commissioned to
advise with discreet and prudent men upon the means to shake off this
odious domination. So far only, and remotely, too, I am a fellow-laborer
with Gates. There are gallant spirits now afoot, Mildred, to strip these
masters of their power. My office is to aid their enterprise."

"If you needs must go, Arthur, I have no word to say. You will leave
behind you an aching heart, that morning, noon, and night, wearies
heaven with its prayers for your safety. Alas, I have no other aid to
give! How soon--how soon," she said, with a voice that faltered with the
question, "does your duty compel you to leave me?"

"To-morrow's sunrise, love, must find me forth upon my way."

"To-morrow, Arthur? so quickly to part!"

"I dare not linger; not even for the rich blessing of thy presence."

"And the utmost length of your journey?"

"Indeed, I know not. At present my farthest aim is Ninety-six and
Augusta. It much depends upon the pleasure of our proud and wilful
masters."

Mildred stood for some moments looking upon the ground in profound
silence. Her bosom heaved with a sad emotion.

"It is a dangerous duty," said she, at last. "I cannot speak my
apprehension at the thought of your risks amongst the fierce and
treacherous men that overrun the country to which you travel."

"These perils are exaggerated by distance," returned Butler. "A thousand
expedients of protection and defence occur when present, which the
absent cannot fancy. It is a light service, Mildred, and may more
securely be performed with a gay heart than with a sad one. I pray you,
do not suffer that active imagination of yours to invest the every day
adventures of your poor soldier with a romantic interest of which they
are not worthy. I neither slay giants, nor disenchant ladies, nor yoke
captive griffins together. No, no, I shall outrun some over-fed clown,
and outwit some simple boobies; and, perhaps, soil my boots in a great
slough, and then hasten back, love, to boast of my marvels to the
credulous ear of my own sweet girl, who, I warrant, will think me a most
preposterous hero."

"How can you laugh, Arthur? And yet I would not have you catch my
foolish sadness, either."

"I have with me, besides, Mildred, a friend good at need; one Galbraith
Robinson, a practised and valiant soldier, who sits on yonder bank. He
is to be the companion of my journey; he is shrewd, vigilant and
cautious, an inhabitant, moreover, of the district to which I am bound;
his wisdom can do much for my success. Then I travel, too, in peaceful
guise. My business is more concerned with negotiation than with battle."

"It is a waylaid path, Arthur," said Mildred, in the same faint voice
with which she had spoken before.

"Never take it so heavily, my love!" exclaimed Butler, familiarly
seizing her hand, whose trembling now betrayed her agitation,--"it is
the mere sport of the war to be upon a running service, where a light
stratagem or so will baffle a set of dull-pated clodpoles! I scarcely
deem it a venture, to dodge through a forest, where every man flies from
his neighbor out of mutual distrust. These fellows have brought
themselves upon such bad terms with their own consciences, that they
start like thieves at the waving of a bulrush."

"They would be the more cruel," replied Mildred, "if some ill luck
should throw you into their power. If that should happen," she added,
and for a while she hesitated to speak, as a tear fell upon Butler's
hand--"If that should happen, I cannot bear the thought."

"They dare offer me no wrong, Mildred. The chances of battle are
sufficiently various to compel even the victors to pursue the policy of
humanity to prisoners. The conqueror of to-day may himself be a captive
to-morrow, and a bloody reprisal would await his barbarity. Again, let
me remind you, these are not fit topics for your meditation."

"They are topics for my heart, Arthur, and will not be driven from it.
If your lot should put you in the power of the enemy, the name of
Mildred Lindsay, and the relation you bear her, whispered in their ears,
may, perhaps, unlock their charity. My father has many friends in those
ranks, and it may be that I am not unknown to some of them: oh, remember
that!"

"You have little need to teach me to think or speak of Mildred Lindsay,"
said Butler, eagerly. "I cannot forget that name. But I may well doubt
its charm upon the savage bulldogs who are now baiting our 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--but 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 be so estranged. I could love him, counsel with him,
honor him, with a devotion that should outrun your fondest wish. His
generous nature has been played upon, cheated, abused; and I, in whom
fortune and inclination should have raised him a friend, have been made
the victim of his perverted passion."

"True, true," exclaimed Mildred, bursting into tears, and resting her
head against her lover's breast, "I can find courage to bear all but
this--I am most unhappy;" and 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, 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 offence 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 resentment.

"All that concerns my father, concerns me," said Mildred. "It is my evil
destiny, Arthur, to be compelled to endure the associations of men,
whose principles, habits, purposes, are all at war with my own. Alas,
such are now my father's constant companions. 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 hypocrite 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."

Again Henry made an appeal to the lovers to bring their conference 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 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 affectionately,
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, whatever might betide; and the soldier paid
back the pledge with new ardor and endearment, in the strong language
that came unstudied from 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 without 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 hurriedly into the skiff 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
sturdily drove his boat against the "opponent bank."




CHAPTER V.

A COMFORTABLE INN, AND A GOOD LANDLADY----THE MISFORTUNES 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
horse, and, commanding Robinson to follow, galloped along the road down
the river as fast as the nature of the ground and the obscurity of the
hour would allow. A brief space brought them to the spot where 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
universally 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 travellers, besides, could descry,
through the drapery of the willow, 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. 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 officer, had 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 understand the full pungency of which
consideration, it is necessary to inform my reader, that Robinson 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 road-side, is my
worst 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 reasonable bed hour. I count it lucky,
major, on your account; and although it isn't for me to give advice in
woman affairs--for I know the creatures do try the grit and edge of a
man amazingly sometimes--yet, if I mought say what was running in my
head fit for a gentleman and an officer like you to do in such a
tribulation, it 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 observation; 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 jocularity,
"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 wan'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 stealers
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 impertinent one to everybody
beside. So, ride forward, and we will endeavor to console ourselves 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 in;" and 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.

"Accommodation for the night, and whatever you have good to offer a
friend, Mistress Dimock."

"Who are you 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
travellers and want food and rest, and would have both with as little
trouble to you as possible; a light will show you an old friend."

"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 conversancy 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 interrogatory
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 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 occasion
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 drivelling here all this time," 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
front 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
off, 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; "Consarn you! What you making such a conbobberation about? You all
throat when you see gentmen 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 lines! oh, oh, I too cute in hos
larning for that! Look at the top of my head--gray as a fox!"

"Skip then, or I'll open upon you like a pack of hounds," said
Robinson, as he turned on his heel to re-enter the house, "I'll look in
after supper."

"Never mind me," replied Tony, as he led the horses off, "I have tended
Captain Butler's hos afore this, and he wan't never onsatisfied with
me."

These cares being disposed of, Horse Shoe returned to the parlor. The
tidy display of some plain furniture, and the scrupulous attention to
cleanliness in every part of the room, afforded an intelligent
commentary upon the exact, orderly and decent character of the Widow
Dimock. The dame herself was a pattern of useful thrift. Her short
figure, as she now bustled to and fro, through the apartment, 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 indispensable, but had, also, literally deprived the country
of its necessary supply of commodities; thus putting the opulent and the
needy, to a certain extent, upon the same footing. On the present
occasion, our good landlady was arrayed in a gown of sober-colored
chintz, gathered 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, for a 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 hoecakes--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 deposited 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, during 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 spirits
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 fragrance 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 so
suddenly revived, and Butler no less unprepared to see a man, who had
achieved such wonders at dinner, now successively demolish 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 ourselves 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 difference,
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
difficulty of having the women with them in their marches and their
counter-marches. What could such tender creatures have done at such a
place as the sieging of Charlestown? 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 diffident 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 any thing
worse than the lowing of a heifer before. But still, I wish 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 woman 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 born--I don't care where the other
comes from. And it does a man's heart good to hear the woman-kind
holding out such presentments. It's encouraging on the face of it."

During this conversation the supper was finished, and Mrs. Dimock 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
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 prince, 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 are both where they
ought to be, for all 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 prating.
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," interrupted 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 road-side. 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."

"He walks later than usual to-night," replied Mrs. Dimock, "for though
he can't be called a man of regular hours, yet, unless he can find an
idler to keep him company, he is accustomed to be 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 manners. 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 him,
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
horses."

The hostess and her guest now continued their communion; in which we
leave them, whilst we follow Horse Shoe towards the stable.




CHAPTER VI.

    There're two at fisty-cuffs about it;
    Sir, I may say at dagger's drawing,
    But that I cannot say, because they have none.

    _Mayor of Quinborough._



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 likely 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 sarvice there.
You're good at your spying trade; but you will get nothing out of her;
she keeps her secrets."

Startled by this abrupt greeting, which was made in a tone half-way
between jest and earnest, the stranger quickly confronted his
challenger, and bestowed upon him a keen and inquiring inspection; then
breaking into a laugh, he replied with a free and impudent swagger--

"You are mistaken, Master Jack Pudding. What says the proverb? Wit's in
the wane when the moon's at full. Now, our mistress has let me 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 herself
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, wholesome
manipulation. A queer fellow, too--a joker! A civil, peaceable 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 of the man he sought running through his mind. Upon his
arrival there he found that Horse Shoe was occupied in the interior of
the building, 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
reappearance. This delay had a soothing effect 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 individual whom he came
to meet.

After a few moments, Horse 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 first 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 at 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 shovelled down your
supper. I happened by chance to pass your window, and seeing you at it,
faith! for the soul of me I couldn't help taking a few turns more, just
to watch the 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 Robinson, 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 cursed southern 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 be from?" asked the sergeant, with great 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 it or let it alone. I want to know where mought you be from?"

"Since you 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 larn a little about the business of every
man we meet; but we do it by fair, out-and-out question and answer--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 would 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 understand----"

"Tut, man, it arn't worth the trouble of talking about it! I never saw
one of your people that I didn't know him by 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; there was a bargain, and it was your business to
stand to it. But I have got a piece 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 person
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 philosophy,
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 conflagrating 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 rumbunctious
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 understand 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 your 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!"

The stranger turned on his heel and retreated a few paces, evidently
perplexed at the new view in which the sergeant suddenly rose to his
apprehension. His curiosity and his interest were both excited to gain a
more distinct insight into a man whom he had mistaken for a mere
simpleton, but whose hints showed him to be shrewdly conversant with the
personal concerns of one, whom, apparently, he had seen to-night for the
first time in his life. With this anxiety upon his mind, he again
approached 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 Horse 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 business 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 Horse Shoe, "it oughtn't to be your way 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 we happen to fall in with, specially
now, when there's a set of your devils scampering and raging 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
rascally 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, and
deceiving honest people by lies, and what not."

"You are 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 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
fire-side 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 officers."

"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 old country."

"I am not mistaken, good friend," drawled out Robinson, affectedly. "You
come from the south. I can tell men's fortunes without looking into the
palms of their hands."

"You are wrong again," said the other tartly, as he grew 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 from the south up here. You
will find I can conjure a little, friend."

"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 hoarse 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--I 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 understand. 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
health."

"As the game was mentioned, I thought you might have a fancy to play
it."

"To be sure I would," said Horse 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 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 contrariest
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, compact 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 trial of strength.

"Here's as pretty a spot as we mought find on the river," 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 brag of who's best man, or such
like, when the whole univarse 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 lawyers. 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, "and the less
preaching you make with it, the more saving of time."

"My worst," interrupted Horse Shoe, "is almost more than I have the
conscience to do to any man who isn't a downright flagratious enemy;
and, once more, I would advise you to think before you 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 which 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 Horse 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 new-fangled word--are stout fellows, and have a
good knack at the trick of war, though you wear rough coats, and are
savagely unrudimented in polite learning. No matter what colors a man
fights under, long usage makes a good comrade of him; and, by 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 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 altogether 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-hearted,
disregardless 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 cuff 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 others guard; and then, seizing him by the breast, he threw the
tall and stalwart form of Curry 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
wrath, as the prostrate man strove to extricate himself from the lion
grasp that held him. In this strife, Curry several times made an effort
to get his 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 twisting prevaricationer; give
them up, you disgracer 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 Horse Shoe, "don't talk about heart's blood. The
next time we come into a field together, ax for Galbraith Robinson,
commonly called Horse Shoe Robinson. Find me out, that's all. We may
take a frolic 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
I'll not fail of my appointment. Our 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 have 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 yourself 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 Curry, 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 his 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 which 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."

When 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 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 rithmatical
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 first
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 sleepy, 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 rascally. 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 quarters to list prisoners and
make Tories of 'em, for his own people kept him to do all that sort of
dirty work, upon account of the glibness of his tongue. He was a
remarkable saucy fellow and got nothing but ill-will from the
prisoners--though, I make no doubt, the man is a tolerable sodger on
sarvice. Now, after telling you all this, major, you must know that the
identical, same, particular man that we saw looking through the porch
window at us to-night"--

"Is the man you have been describing? Is it possible? Are 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 remember 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
adventure, 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 conclude 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 appropriated to his use, 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,[1] 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
floor;" and 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 current his
dreams were sailing: "No pistols! Look in the water, James! Ha ha!"
These utterings were accompanied with contortions of body that more than
once awaked the sleeper; but, at last, the huge bulk of Horse Shoe grew
motionless in a deep and strong sleep.

The next morning, at early dawn, our travellers 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.




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. Philip was born within a year after
this emigration. As America was then comparatively a wilderness, and
afforded but 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 visit to his parents, under the
guardianship 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
finally, as might be predicted, by a wedding with all proper observance
and parental sanction. Lindsay then returned, a happier and more
tranquil man, to Virginia, where he fulfilled 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 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
between their ages. These were nurtured with all the care and indulgent
bounty natural to parents whose affections are concentrated upon so
small a family circle.

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 lover of books. The ply of his mind was towards metaphysics; he
delved into the obsolete subtleties of the old schools of philosophy,
and found amusement, if not instruction, in those frivolous but
ingenious speculations which 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, and pursued them through the aberrations of
the Coryphaeans. He delighted in the visions of Pythagoras, and in the
intellectual revels of Epicurus. He found attraction in the Gnostic
mysteries, and still more in the 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 false
and dangerous tendency, nevertheless had their influence 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 judgment. If those who possess this temperament would
confess, they might certify to many 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 had, perhaps,
even warmed up his faith to a secret credulity in these awful agencies
of the spiritual world, or at least to an unsatisfied doubt as to their
existence. Many men of sober brow and renown for wisdom are unwilling to
acknowledge the extent of their 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
degree 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 Rockfish river.
Many families of note in the low country had possessed themselves of
estates at the foot of the Blue Ridge, 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 grounds of his new estate with great taste, and had soon built,
upon a beautiful site, a neat and comfortable rustic dwelling, with such
accommodation 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 degrees communicated to his household
an absorbing interest in its embellishment. His wife cherished this
enterprise with a peculiar ardor. The plans of improvement were hers;
the garden, the lawns, the groves, the walks--all the little appendages
which an assiduous taste might invent, or a comfort-seeking fancy might
imagine necessary, were taken under her charge; and one beauty quickly
following 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 congregated together,
and where, for a portion of every succeeding year, this little 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
fanciful and kindly name of "The Dove Cote."

The education of Mildred and Henry became a delightful household 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 neighborhood furnished an intelligent and hospitable
society; and the great western wilderness smiled with the contentment of
a refined and polished civilization, which no after day in the history
of this empire has yet surpassed--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 exceeding 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 where 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 money, 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 notice of the dominant party, and to
find, in this classic and philosophical 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 triumph, 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
sequesterment 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, irresistibly drew him into the agitated vortex 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 were not wanting,
occasionally, to bring the officers 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 generally endeavors to smoothe the way of
invasion. The temporary importance 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 frequently applied to the side of his reluctant resolution, his
zeal 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 Lindsay's vigilance
over their nurture, although it had in no wise abated his affection for
them; on the contrary, perhaps this was more concentrated than ever.
Mildred had grown up to the blossom-time of life, in the possession of
every personal attraction. From the fanciful 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 expansion of her intellect, she had made
acquirements 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 independence,
she, on the other hand, unknown to him, was casting her 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 mingling them with those of
patriots who were predestined to the brightest meed of glory.

A father is not apt to reason with a daughter; the passions and
prejudices of a parent are generally received as principles by the
child; and most fathers, 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 difference 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, and 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 (however it
may be misdoubted by my female readers of the present 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 enlisted 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 under-current of passion, some slight and amiable
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!

My reader must be told that, before the war broke out, this enthusiastic
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 chivalrous 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 beautiful and the rarely-gifted
united in a splendid little constellation, in which wealth threw its
sun-beam glitter over the wings of love, and 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 life. 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 thronged the "little academy" of Eden, (the
governor of the province,) 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 Butler; an unsparing
denouncer of the policy of Britain, and an unhesitating 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 frequently saw each other
at Williamsburg and Richmond) only developed more completely the tale of
love that nature was telling in the heart of each.

Butler received from Congress an ensign's commission in the continental
army, and was employed for a few months in the recruiting service at
Charlottesville. This position favored his views and enabled 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 admiration 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 first 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! 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 frequently darkens the fate of the noblest
natures, and whose history supplies the charm of so many a melancholy
and thrilling page. Mrs. Linds

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