THE SERGEANT AND HIS COMRADE PROJECT AN EXPEDITION WHICH FURNISHES THE ENSIGN AN OPPORTUNITY OF ENJOYING THE PICTURESQUE.
As soon as David Ramsay had departed with the maiden for Musgrove's mill, Robinson ordered his own and Christopher Shaw's horse to be saddled, and another to be made ready for St. Jermyn. His next care was to determine upon a secure place of retreat—reflecting that the news of the capture of the ensign must soon reach the British posts, and that the country would be industriously explored with a view to his rescue. A spot known to the woodsmen of this region by the name of the Devil's Ladder, which was situated in the defile of a mountain brook that emptied into the Ennoree, occurred to Christopher Shaw as the most secret fastness within their reach. This spot lay some twenty miles westward of Ramsay's, accessible by roads but little known, and surrounded by a district which grew more wild and rugged the nearer it approached the defile.
Here it was supposed the party might arrive by daylight the next morning, and remain for a few days at small risk of discovery; and thither, accordingly, it was resolved they should repair.
This being settled, Horse Shoe now procured a supply of provisions from Mistress Ramsay, and then proceeded to arm himself with the sword and pistols of the ensign, whilst Christopher suspended across his body the sword of Goliath, as the sergeant called the brand he had snatched up at Blackstock's, and also took possession of one of the captured muskets.
"If it don't go against your conscience, Mistress Ramsay," said Horse Shoe, when the preparations for the journey were completed, "I would take it as a favor, in case any interlopers mought happen to pop in upon you, if you would just drop a hint that you have hearn that Sumpter's people had been seen about these parts. It would have an amazing good bearing on the Tories. Besides making them wary how they strayed about the woods it would be sure to put the bloodhounds on a wrong scent, if they should chance to be sarching for the young ensign. I know you women are a little ticklish about a fib, but then it's an honest trick of the war sometimes. And, to make you easy about it, it will be no more than the truth to say you did hear it—for, you obsarve, I tell you so now."
"But," replied the scrupulous matron, "if they should ask me who told me, what should I answer?"
"Why," said the sergeant, hesitating, "just out with it—tell 'em you heard it from one Horse Shoe Robinson; that'll not make the news the worse in point of credit. And be sure, good woman, above all things, to remind David, when he gets back to night, that the rank and file, in our prison yonder, are not to be turned loose before three o'clock in the morning."
This last caution was repeated to Andy, who still performed the duty of a sentinel at the door of the out-house. All things being now arranged for their departure, Ensign St. Jermyn was brought from the chamber where he had been confined, and was invited to join the sergeant and Christopher at supper before they set out. This meal was ably and rapidly discussed by the stout yeomen, and scarcely less honored by the prisoner, whom the toils and privations of the day had brought to enjoyment of a good appetite.
With many cheering and kind expressions of encouragement from the sergeant, the young officer prepared to comply with the demands of his captors, and was soon in readiness to attend them. Robinson lifted him into his saddle with a grasp as light as if he was dealing with a boy, and then bound him by a surcingle to the horse's back, whilst he offered a good-humored apology for the rigor of this treatment.
"It is not the most comfortable way of riding, Mr. Ensign," he said, with a chuckle; "but fast bind, fast find, is a'most an excellent good rule for a traveller in the dark. I hope you don't think I take any pleasure in oncommoding you, but it is my intention to lead your horse by the rein to-night, and this friend of mine will keep in the rear. So, by way of a caution, I would just signify to you that if you should think of playing a prank you will certainly bring some trouble upon your head—as one or another of us would in that case be obliged to fire. It is nothing more than military punctilium to give you a friendly warning of this."
"You might dispense with this severity, I should think," replied the prisoner, "upon my pledge of honor that I will make no effort to escape."
"I can take no pledge in the dark," returned Horse Shoe; "daylight mought make a difference. If we should happen to fall in with any of your gangs I'm thinking a pledge wouldn't come to much more than a cobweb when I should ax you to gallop out of the way of your own people. Flesh is weak, as the preacher says, and, to my mind, it's a little the weaker when the arm is strong or the foot swift. Temptation is at the bottom of all backsliding. No, no, Mr. Ensign, you may get away, if you can; we'll take care of you whilst we're able—that's a simple understanding."
Without further speech the party proceeded on their journey. They travelled as rapidly as was consistent with the ease of the prisoner and the nature of the ground over which they had to move. For the first eight or ten miles, their route lay across a country with but few impediments, except such as arose from the unseasonable hour of the ride. After this they found the toil and hazard of travel continually increasing. They had been retreating from the settled country towards a rough wilderness, which was penetrated only by an obscure road, so little beaten as to be scarcely discernible in the faint starlight, and which it required all Christopher's skill in woodcraft to follow. Our travellers, consequently, often lost their way, and were obliged to get down from their horses and grope about to ascertain the path. The stars had shone all night through a cloudless firmament, but the deep shade of the forest thickened around the wanderers, and it was frequently with difficulty, even, that they could discern each other's figures.
They reached at length the small stream upon whose banks, some miles above, was situated the place to which their steps were directed; and they were thus rendered more sure of their road, as they had only to follow the ascending course of the brook. The delays and impediments of the journey had nearly outrun the night, and whilst our travellers were yet some two or three miles from their destination, the first traces of morning began to appear in the east. The increasing light disclosed to them the nature of the scenery around. A limpid rivulet tumbled over a rocky channel, girt with a profusion of brush and briar, amongst which were scattered a thousand wild-flowers, that, renovated by the dew, threw forth a delicious perfume. A succession of abrupt hills, covered with the varied foliage of a rich forest growth, bounded the brook on either side. Occasional rocks jutted above the heads of the travellers as they wound along the paths, worn by the wild cattle in the bottom of the dell.
Both Robinson and Shaw had dismounted when they entered this defile, and whilst the former led the horse of the prisoner his companion preceded him to explore the doubtful traces of the road, which frequently became so obscure as to render it necessary to seek a passage in the bed of the stream. During all this progress Horse Shoe's good nature and light-heartedness were unabated. He conversed with the prisoner in the same terms of friendly familiarity that he did with Shaw, and neglected no attention that might in any degree relieve the irksomeness of St. Jermyn's necessary thraldom.
That peculiar conformation of country which had given rise to the name of the place to which they were conducting the prisoner, was now to be discerned at some little distance ahead. It presented a series of bold crags of granite intermixed with slate, in which rock piled upon rock presented a succession of shelves, each beetling over its base, and thus furnishing a shelter against the weather. Some of these were situated near the bank of the stream, projecting over the water, whilst others towered at different heights, in such a manner as to bear a resemblance to a flight of huge steps cut in the slope of the mountain, and by this likeness, doubtless, suggesting the imaginative name by which the spot was known to the few hunters to whom it was familiar. The cavern-like structure of these ledges abundantly supplied the means of concealment to both men and horses, from the casual notice of such persons as accident might have brought into this sequestered defile.
When the party arrived at the foot of the Devil's Ladder, it was with great satisfaction to all that they now made a halt. A short time was spent in selecting a spot, amongst the impending cliffs, of such a character as might afford the advantage of shelter, as well as the means of ready look-out and escape in case of discovery or pursuit. The place chosen was about half way up the hill, where the ridge of a promontory enabled the occupants to see some distance up and down the valley; whilst the crag itself contained within its recesses a chamber sufficiently large for the purpose to which it was to be applied. A natural platform, near this point, allowed sufficient space for the horses, which might be conducted there by a sideling path up the slope; at the same time, the means of retreat were furnished by the nature of the ground towards the top of the hill.
To this place of security the ensign was ordered by his guard, and, being released from his bonds, he dismounted and threw himself at length upon the mossy surface of the rock, where he lay wearied in body and dejected in mind. The horses were taken in charge by Shaw; provisions were produced, and all arrangements of caution and comfort were made for passing the next two or three days in this wild sojourn.
Here, for the present, we must leave our adventurers, to tell of other matters that are proper to be made known to the reader of this history.
In due time David Ramsay returned from Musgrove's. Precisely at three o'clock in the morning, the soldiers were released according to the terms of the parole; and my reader will, no doubt, be pleased to hear that Andy, being discharged from duty, went to bed as drowsy as e'er a man of mould after a feat of glory, and slept with a sleep altogether worthy of his heroic achievement.
The next day passed by, at Ramsay's dwelling, with a varied and fearful interest to his family. They had received intelligence, before night, of the event of Butler's trial, and had reason to rejoice that Mary Musgrove had so played her part in the delivery of the letter. They were apprised also of the reward that had been offered for the discovery of the bearer of this letter, and were informed that detachments of horse were out to scour the country in quest of the ensign. These tidings filled them with apprehension. It occurred to Ramsay that if, perchance, the released prisoners should fall in with any of the parties of the loyalists, they would of course relate their story, and thus bring down the full rancor of the Tory wrath upon his household: this would also lead with more certainty to the pursuit of Horse Shoe. There was still good reason to hope that the liberated men might not so soon be able to give the alarm; inasmuch as they were more likely to shape their course towards Fort Ninety-Six than to repair to Innis's camp, where they might be forced to do duty, as much against their inclinations as against their parole. They might even, from a natural aversion to labor, prefer loitering about the country rather than put themselves voluntarily in the way of military operations.
"Come what will of it," said Ramsay, summing up the chances for and against him; "I will be ready for the worst. Many better men have given all they had to the cause of independence, and I will not flinch from giving my share. They may burn and break down; but, thank God, I have a country—aye, and a heart and an arm to stand by it!"
On the same evening, towards sundown, a horseman drew up his rein at Ramsay's door. He was young—in the prime of early manhood, his dress was that of a rustic, his equipment showed him to be a traveller—a weary one, from the plight of his horse, and, like most travellers of the time, well armed. He did not stand to summon any one to the door, but put his hand upon the latch with eager haste, and entered with the familiarity of one acquainted with the place. Mistress Ramsay was seated at her spinning-wheel, anxiously brooding over the tales of the day. Her husband reclined in his chair, silently and thoughtfully smoking his pipe. They both sprang up at once, as the visitor crossed the threshold, and with fervent joy greeted their son John Ramsay. The household was clamorous with the affectionate salutations of the parents, of the brothers and sisters, and of the domestics. John was the eldest of Ramsay's children, and had just reached his paternal roof after an absence of some months, during which he had been in service with Sumpter. The gathering in of the members of a family around the domestic board, in times of peril and distress, is one of the luxuries of the heart that in peace we cannot know. The arrival of John Ramsay at the present moment was a source of the liveliest happiness to his parents. They needed a cheerful as well as a resolute comforter. John had, only twenty-four hours previous, left Sumpter near Rocky Mount—immediately after the battle with the British convoy was won. He was sent with despatches to Colonel Williams, a Whig partisan of note, who was now supposed to be in the neighborhood of the Saluda. These had some reference to the military movements of the parties; and John Ramsay was permitted by Sumpter to make a short halt at his father's house.
In the first hour after his arrival, he had given to the family the history of his homeward ride. He had discovered that hostile forces—of which, until his journey was nearly finished, he heard nothing—were encamped in the neighborhood; that a court-martial had been sitting for the trial of an American officer, as a spy, and had condemned him to be shot. He had been apprised, moreover, that small parties were out, riding into every corner of the country. He himself had nearly been surprised by one of these, as he endeavored to make his way to the house of Allen Musgrove, where he had proposed to himself a visit, even before he came to his father's, but, fearing something wrong, he had fled from them, and baffled their pursuit, although they had chased him more than a mile; he had, in consequence, been deprived of the opportunity of visiting the miller.
"Although it is four months since we have seen you, John," said the dame, with a tone of affectionate chiding, "yet, you would turn aside to get under Allen Musgrove's roof, before you thought of the arms of your mother."
John's sun-burnt cheek blushed crimson red as he replied, "It was but a step out of the way, mother, and I should not have stayed long. Mr. Musgrove and his folks are safe and well, I hope, and Christopher?"
"Tut, boy! speak it out, and don't blush about it," interrupted the father briskly: "she is a good girl, and you needn't be ashamed to name her, as you ought to have done, first and before all the rest. Mary is well, John, and has just proved herself to be the best girl in the country."
This little passage of mirth between the parents and their son, led to a full narrative by David Ramsay of the events which had occurred in the last two or three days, concluding with the capture of the ensign, and the retreat of Horse Shoe and Christopher Shaw to the Devil's Ladder. The communication wrought a grave and thoughtful mood on the young soldier. It presented a crisis to him for immediate action. He was wearied with a long ride, but it seemed to him to be no time for rest.
"Father," he said, after turning over in his thoughts the intelligence he had just received, "it was a brave and beautiful thing for so young a lad as Andy to do; and the taking of the ensign has served a useful purpose, but it brings this house and family into danger. And I fear for poor Mary. Christopher Shaw must get back to the mill, and quickly too. His absence will bring his uncle's family into trouble. I will take Christopher's place, and go to Horse Shoe's assistance this night. We may take the prisoner with us to Williams."
"To-night!" said the mother anxiously, "you would not leave us to-night, John?"
"Aye, to-night, wife," answered David Ramsay, "the boy is right, there is no time to spare."
"Have mercy upon us," exclaimed the dame; "to ride so far to-night, after so heavy a journey, John!—you have not strength."
"Dear mother," said John, "think that you are all in danger and that Mary, who has behaved so well, might be suspected, and brought to harm. I must hurry forward to Colonel Williams, and this road by the Devil's Ladder is far out of my way. No, I am not so much fatigued, mother, as you suppose. I will rest for a few hours, and then try the woods. Daybreak, I warrant, shall not find me far from Horse Shoe."
John Ramsay was not above six-and-twenty. He was endued with a stout and manly frame, well adapted to hard service; and this was associated with a bold and intelligent countenance, which, notwithstanding the dint of wind and weather, was handsome. He had for a year or two past been actively engaged in the war, and his manners had, in consequence, acquired that maturity and decision which are generally found in those whose habits of life render them familiar with perils. On the present occasion he regarded the necessity of co-operation with Robinson as so urgent, that no other thought crossed his mind but that which belonged to the care of putting himself in condition to make his services effectual.
With this view he now directed his horse to be carefully tended; then, having taken a hearty meal, he retired to rest, desiring that he might be waked up at midnight, when he proposed to follow the path of Horse Shoe and his comrade.