THE TROOPERS MOVE WITH THEIR PRISONERS.
"Oft he that doth abide,
Is cause of his own paine,
But he that flieth in good tide,
Perhaps may fight again."—Old Proverb.
It was with the most earnest solicitude that Butler and his companion watched the course of events, and became acquainted with the character of the ruffians into whose hands they had fallen. The presence of James Curry in this gang excited a painful consciousness in the mind of the soldier, that he had powerful and secret enemies at work against him, but who they were was an impenetrable mystery. Then the lawless habits of the people who had possession of him, gave rise to the most anxious distrust as to his future fate: he might be murdered in a fit of passion, or tortured with harsh treatment to gratify some concealed malice. His position in the army was, it seemed, known too; and, for aught that he could tell, his mission might be no secret to his captors. Robinson's sagacity entered fully into these misgivings. He had narrowly observed the conduct of the party who had made them prisoners, and with that acute insight which was concealed under a rude and uneducated exterior, but which was strongly marked in his actions, he had already determined upon the course which the safety of Butler required him to pursue. According to his view of their present difficulties it was absolutely necessary that he should effect his escape, at whatever personal hazard. Butler, he rightly conjectured, was the principal object of the late ambuscade; that, for some unknown purpose, the possession of this officer became important to those who had procured the attack upon him, and that James Curry had merely hired this gang of desperadoes to secure the prize. Under these circumstances, he concluded that the Major would be so strictly guarded as to forbid all hope of escape, and that any attempt by him to effect it would only be punished by certain death. But, in regard to himself, his calculation was different. "First," said he, "I can master any three of this beggarly crew in an open field and fair fight; and, secondly, when it comes to the chances of a pell-mell, they will not think me of so much account as to risk their necks by a long chase; their whole eyes would undoubtedly be directed to the Major." The sergeant, therefore, determined to make the attempt, and, in the event of his success, to repair to Sumpter, who he knew frequented some of the fastnesses in this region; or, in the alternative, to rally such friends from the neighboring country as were not yet overawed by the Tory dominion, and bring them speedily to the rescue of Butler. Full of these thoughts, he took occasion during the night, whilst the guard were busy in cooking their venison, and whilst they thought him and his comrade wrapt in sleep, to whisper to Butler the resolution he had adopted.
"I will take the first chance to-morrow to make a dash upon these ragamuffins," he said; "and I shall count it hard if I don't get out of their claws. Then, rely upon me, I shall keep near you in spite of these devils. So be prepared, if I once get away, to see me like a witch that travels on a broomstick or creeps through a keyhole. But whisht! the drunken vagabonds mustn't hear us talking."
Butler, after due consideration of the sergeant's scheme, thought it, however perilous, the only chance they had of extricating themselves from the dangers with which they were beset, and promised the most ready co-operation; determining also, to let no opportunity slip which might be improved to his own deliverance. "Your good arm and brave heart, Galbraith, never stood you in more urgent stead than they may do to-morrow," was his concluding remark.
When morning broke the light of day fell upon a strange and disordered scene. The drunken and coarse wretches of the night before, now lessened in number and strength by common broil and private quarrel, lay stretched on their beds of leaves. Their motley and ill-assorted weapons lay around in disarray; drinking cups and empty flasks were scattered over the trodden grass, the skin and horns of the buck, and disjointed fragments of raw flesh were seen confusedly cast about beneath the tree, and a conspicuous object in the scene were the clots of blood and gore, both of men and beast, that disfigured the soil. Two new-made graves, or rather mounds, hastily scratched together and imperfectly concealing the limbs of the dead, prominently placed but a few feet from the ring of last night's revelry, told of the disasters of the fight at the ford. The brushwood fire had burned down into a heap of smouldering ashes, and the pale and sickly features of the wounded trooper were to be discerned upon a pallet of leaves, hard by the heap of embers, surrounded by the remnants of bones and roasted meat that had been flung carelessly aside. In a spot of more apparent comfort, sheltered by an overhanging canopy of vines and alder, lay Butler stretched upon his cloak, and, close beside him, the stout frame of Horse Shoe Robinson. In the midst of all these marks of recent riot and carousal, sat two swarthy figures, haggard and wan from night-watching, armed at every point, and keeping strict guard over the prisoners.
The occasional snort and pawing of horses in the neighboring wood showed that these animals were alert at the earliest dawn; whilst among the first who seemed aware of the approach of day, was seen rising from the earth, where it had been flung in stupid torpor for some hours, the bloated and unsightly person of Hugh Habershaw, now much the worse for the fatigue and revelry of the preceding night. A savage and surly expression was seated on his brow, and his voice broke forth more than ordinarily harsh and dissonant, as he ordered the troop to rouse and prepare for their march.
The summons was tardily obeyed; and while the yawning members of the squad were lazily moving to their several duties and shaking off the fumes of their late debauch, the captain was observed bending over the prostrate form of Gideon Blake, and directing a few anxious inquiries into his condition. The wounded man was free from pain, but his limbs were stiff, and the region of the stab sore and sensitive to the least touch. The indications, however, were such as to show that his wound was not likely to prove mortal. By the order of Habershaw, a better litter was constructed, and the troopers were directed to bear him, by turns, as far as Christie's, where he was to be left to the nursing of the family. It was a full hour before the horses were saddled, the scattered furniture collected, and the preparations for the march completed. When these were accomplished the prisoners were provided with the two sorriest horses of the troop, and they now set forward at a slow pace, under the escort of four men commanded by James Curry. The two troopers who bore the sick man followed on foot; Habershaw with the remainder, one of whom had appropriated Captain Peter, whilst he led the horses of the dismounted men, brought up the rear.
On the journey there was but little spoken by any member of the party; the boisterous and rude nature of the men who composed the troop seemed to have been subdued by sleep into a temper of churlish indifference or stolid apathy. Peppercorn, or James Curry, as the reader now recognises him, strictly preserved his guard over the prisoners, manifesting a severity of manner altogether different from the tone of careless revelry which characterized his demeanor on the preceding night. It never relaxed from an official and sullen reserve. A moody frown sat upon his brow, and his communication with the prisoners was confined to short and peremptory commands; whilst, at the same time, he forbade the slightest intercourse with them on the part of any of the guard. During the short progress to Christie's he frequently rode apart with Habershaw; and the conversation which then occupied these two was maintained in a low tone, and with a serious air that denoted some grave matter of deliberation.
It was more than an hour after sunrise when the cavalcade reached the point of their present destination. There were signs of an anxious purpose in the silence of the journey, broken as it was only by low mutterings amongst the men, above which sometimes arose an expression of impatience and discontent, as the subject of their whispered discussions appeared to excite some angry objection from several of the party; and this mystery was not less conspicuous in the formal order of the halt, and in the pause that followed upon their arrival at the habitation.
The house, in front of which they were drawn up, was, according to the prevailing fashion of the time, a one-storied dwelling covering an ample space of ground, built partly of boards and partly of logs, with a long piazza before it, terminating in small rooms, made by inclosing the sides for a few feet at either extremity. Being situated some twenty paces aside from the road, the intervening area was bounded by a fence through which a gate afforded admission. A horse-rack, with a few feeding troughs, was erected near this gate; and a draw-well, in the same vicinity, furnished a ready supply of water. With the exception of a cleared field around the dwelling, the landscape was shaded by the natural forest.
A consultation of some minutes' duration was held between Habershaw and Curry, when the order to dismount was given, accompanied with an intimation of a design to tarry at this place for an hour or two; but the men, at the same time, were directed to leave their saddles upon their horses. One or two were detailed to look after the refreshment of the cattle, whilst the remainder took possession of the principal room. The first demands of the troop were for drink, and this being indulged, the brute feeling of conviviality which in gross natures depends altogether upon sensual excitement, began once more to break down the barriers of discipline, and to mount into clamor.
The scenes of the morning had made a disagreeable impression upon the feelings of Butler and his comrade. The changed tone and the ruffian manners of the band, the pause, and the doubts which seemed to agitate them, boded mischief. The two prisoners, however, almost instinctively adopted the course of conduct which their circumstances required. They concealed all apprehension of harm, and patiently awaited the end. Horse Shoe even took advantage of the rising mirth of the company when drink began to exhilarate them, and affected an easy tone of companionship which was calculated to throw them off their guard. He circulated freely amongst the men, and by private conference with some of the individuals around him, who, attracted by his air of confiding gaiety, seemed inclined to favor his approaches of familiarity, he soon discovered that the gang were divided in sentiment in regard to some important subject touching the proposed treatment of himself and his friend. A party, at least, he was thus made aware, were disposed to take his side in the secret disputes which had been in agitation. He was determined to profit by this dissension, and accordingly applied himself still more assiduously to cultivate the favorable sentiment he found in existence.
Whilst breakfast was in preparation, and Habershaw and Curry were occupied with the wounded man in an adjoining apartment, the sergeant, playing the part of a boon companion, laughed with the rioters, and, uninvited, made himself free of their cups.
"I should like to know," he said to one of the troopers, "why you are giving yourselves all this trouble about a couple of simple travellers that happened to be jogging along the road? If you wanted to make a pitched battle you ought to have sent us word; but if it was only upon a drinking bout you had set your hearts, there was no occasion to be breaking heads for the honor of getting a good fellow in your company, when he would have come of his own accord at the first axing. There was no use in making such a mighty secret about it; for, as we were travelling the same road with you, you had only to show a man the civility of saying you wanted our escort, and you should have had it at a word. Here's to our better acquaintance, friend!"
"You mightn't be so jolly, Horse Shoe Robinson," said Shad Green—or, according to his nickname, Red Mug, in a whisper; "if some of them that took the trouble to find you, should have their own way. It's a d——d tight pull whether you are to be kept as a prisoner of war, or shoved under ground this morning without tuck of drum. That for your private ear."
"I was born in old Carolina myself," replied Horse Shoe, aside to the speaker; "and I don't believe there is many men to be found in it who would stand by and see the rules and regulations of honorable war blackened and trod down into the dust by any cowardly trick of murder. If it comes to that, many as there are against two, our lives will not go at a cheap price."
"Whisht!" returned the other, "with my allowance, for one, it shan't be. A prisoner's a prisoner, I say; and damnation to the man that would make him out worse."
"They say you are a merry devil, old Horse Shoe," exclaimed he who was called Bow Legs, who now stepped up and slapped the sergeant on the back. "So take a swig, man; fair play is a jewel!—that's my doctrine. Fight when you fight, and drink when you drink—and that's the sign to know a man by."
"There is some good things," said the sergeant, "in this world that's good, and some that's bad. But I have always found that good and bad is so mixed up and jumbled together, that you don't often get much of one without a little of the other. A sodger's a sodger, no matter what side he is on; and they are the naturalest people in the world for fellow-feeling. One day a man is up, and then the laugh's on his side; next day he is down, and then the laugh's against him. So, as a sodger has more of these ups and downs than other folks, there's the reason his heart is tenderer towards a comrade than other people's. Here's your health, sir. This is a wicked world, and twisted, in a measure, upside down; and it is well known that evil communications corrupts good manners; but sodgers were made to set the world right again, on its legs, and to presarve good breeding and Christian charity. So there's a sarmon for you, you tinkers!"
"Well done, mister preacher!" vociferated a prominent reveller. "If you will desert and enlist with us you shall be the chaplain of the troop. We want a good swearing, drinking, and tearing blade who can hold a discourse over his liquor, and fence with the devil at long words. You're the very man for it! Huzza for the blacksmith!"
"Huzza for the blacksmith!" shouted several others in the apartment.
Butler, during this scene, had stretched himself out at full length upon a bench, to gain some rest in his present exhausted and uncomfortable condition, and was now partaking of the refreshment of a bowl of milk and some coarse bread, which one of the troopers had brought him.
"What's all this laughing and uproar about?" said Habershaw, entering the room with Curry, just at the moment of the acclamation in favor of the sergeant "Is this a time for your cursed wide throats to be braying like asses! We have business to do. And you, sir," said he, turning to Butler, "you must be taking up the room of a half dozen men on a bench with your lazy carcase! Up, sir; I allow no lolling and lying about to rascally whigs and rebels. You have cost me the death of a dog that is worth all your filthy whig kindred; and you have made away with two of the best men that ever stept in shoe leather. Sit up, sir, and thank your luck that you haven't your arms pinioned behind you, like a horse thief."
"Insolent coward," said Butler, springing upon his feet; "hired ruffian! you shall in due time be made to pay for the outrage you have inflicted upon me."
"Tie him up!" cried Habershaw; "tie him up! And now I call you all to bear witness that he has brought the sentence upon himself; it shall be done without waiting another moment. Harry Gage, I give the matter over to you. Draw out four men, take them into the yard, and dispatch the prisoners off-hand! shoot the traitors on the spot, before we eat our breakfasts! I was a fool that I didn't settle this at daylight this morning—the rascally filth of the earth! Have no heart about it, men; but make sure work by a short distance. This is no time for whining. When have the Whigs shown mercy to us!"
"It shall be four against four, then!" cried out Shadrach Green, seconded by Andrew Clopper; "and the first shot that is fired shall be into the bowels of Hugh Habershaw! Stand by me, boys!"
In a moment the parties were divided, and had snatched up their weapons, and then stood looking angrily at each other as if daring each to commence the threatened affray.
"Why, how now, devil's imps!" shouted Habershaw. "Have you come to a mutiny? Have you joined the rebels? James Curry, look at this! By the bloody laws of war, I will report every rascal who dares to lift his hand against me!"
"The thing is past talking about," said the first speaker, coolly. "Hugh Habershaw, neither you nor James Curry shall command the peace if you dare to offer harm to the prisoners. Now, bully, report that as my saying. They are men fairly taken in war, and shall suffer no evil past what the law justifies. Give them up to the officer of the nearest post—that's what we ask—carry them to Innis's camp if you choose; but whilst they are in our keeping there shall be no blood spilled without mixing some of your own with it, Hugh Habershaw."
"Arrest the mutineers!" cried Habershaw, trembling with rage. "Who are my friends in this room? Let them stand by me, and then—blast me if I don't force obedience to my orders!"
"You got off by the skin of your teeth last night," said Green, "when you tried to take the life of Gideon Blake. For that you deserved a bullet through your skull. Take care that you don't get your reckoning this morning, captain and all as you are."
"What in the devil would you have?" inquired Habershaw, stricken into a more cautious tone of speech by the decided bearing of the man opposed to him.
"The safety of the prisoners until they are delivered to the commander of a regular post; we have resolved upon that!" was the reply.
"Curry!" said Habershaw, turning in some perplexity to the dragoon as if for advice.
"Softly, Captain; we had better have a parley here," said Curry, who then added in a whisper: "There's been some damned bobbery kicked up here by the blacksmith. This comes of giving that fellow the privilege of talking."
"A word, men," interposed Horse Shoe, who during this interval had planted himself near Butler, and with him stood ready to act as the emergency might require. "Let me say a word. This James Curry is my man. Give me a broadsword and a pair of pistols, and I will pledge the hand and word of a sodger, upon condition that I am allowed five minutes' parole, to have a pass, here in the yard, with him—it shall be in sight of the whole squad—I pledge the word of a sodger to deliver myself back again to the guard, dead or alive, without offering to take any chance to make off in the meantime. Come, James Curry, your word to the back of that, and then buckle on your sword, man. I heard your whisper."
"Soldiers," said Curry, stepping into the circle which the party had now formed round the room, "let me put in a word as a peace-maker. Captain Habershaw won't be unreasonable. I will vouch for him that he will fulfil your wish regarding the conveying of the prisoners to a regular post. Come, come, let us have no brawling! For shame! put down your guns. There may be reason in what you ask, although it isn't so much against the fashion of the times to shoot a Whig either. But anything for the sake of quiet amongst good fellows. Be considerate, noble captain, and do as the babies wish. As for Horse Shoe's brag—he is an old soldier, and so am I; that's enough. We are not so green as to put a broadsword and a brace of pistols into the hands of a bullying prisoner. No, no, Horse Shoe! try another trick, old boy! Ha, ha, lads! you are a set of fine dashing chaps, and this is only one of your mad-cap bits of spunk that boils up with your liquor. Take another cup on it, my merry fellows, and all will be as pleasant as the music of a fife. Come, valiant Captain of the Tiger, join us. And as for the prisoners—why let them come in for snacks with us. So there's an end of the business. All is as mild as new milk again."
"Well, well, get your breakfasts," said Habershaw gruffly. "Blast you! I have spoiled you by good treatment, you ungrateful, carnivorous dogs! But, as Peppercorn says, there's an end of it! So go to your feeding, and when that's done we will push for Blackstock's."
The morning meal was soon despatched, and the party reassembled in the room where the late disturbance had taken place. The good-nature of Robinson continued to gain upon those who had first taken up his cause, and even brought him into a more lenient consideration with the others. Amongst the former I have already noted Andrew Clopper, a rough and insubordinate member of the gang, who, vexed by some old grudge against the fat captain, had efficiently sustained Green in the late act of mutiny, and who now, struck with Horse Shoe's bold demeanor towards Curry, began to evince manifest signs of a growing regard for the worthy sergeant. With this man Horse Shoe contrived to hold a short and secret interview that resulted in the quiet transfer of a piece of gold into the freebooter's hand, which was received with a significant nod of assent to whatever proposition accompanied it. When the order of "boot and saddle" was given by Habershaw, the several members of the troop repaired to their horses, where a short time was spent in making ready for the march; after which the whole squad returned to the porch and occupied the few moments of delay in that loud and boisterous carousal which is apt to mark the conduct of such an ill-organized body in the interval immediately preceding the commencement of a day's ride. This was a moment of intense interest to the sergeant, who kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the movements of Clopper, as that individual lingered behind his comrades in the equipment of his horse. This solicitude did not, however, arrest his seeming mirth, as he joined in the rude jests of the company and added some sallies of his own.
"Give me that cup," he said at length, to one of the men, as he pointed to a gourd on a table; "before we start I have a notion to try the strength of a little cold water, just by way of physic, after all the liquor we have been drinking," and, having got the implement in his hand, he walked deliberately to the draw-well, where he dipped up a draught from the bucket that stood on its brink. As he put the water to his lips and turned his back upon the company, he was enabled to take a survey of the horses that were attached to the rack near him: then, suddenly throwing the gourd from him, he sprang towards his own trusty steed, leaped into his saddle at one bound, and sped, like an arrow from a bow, upon the highway. This exploit was so promptly achieved that no one was aware of the sergeant's purpose until he was some twenty paces upon his journey. As soon as the alarm of his flight was spread, some three or four rifles were fired after him in rapid succession, during which he was seen ducking his head and moving it from side to side with a view to baffle the aim of the marksmen. The confusion of the moment in which the volley was given rendered it ineffectual, and the sergeant was already past the first danger of his escape.
"To horse and follow!" resounded from all sides.
"Look to the other prisoner!" roared out Habershaw; "if he raises his head blow out his brains! Follow, boys, follow!"
"Two or three of you come with me," cried Curry, and a couple of files hastened with the dragoon to their horses. Upon arriving at the rack it was discovered that the bridles of the greater part of the troop were tied in hard knots in such a manner as to connect each two or three horses together.
A short delay took place whilst the horsemen were disentangling their reins, and Curry, being the first to extricate his steed, mounted and set off in rapid pursuit. He was immediately followed by two others.
At the end of half an hour the two privates returned and reported that they had been unable to obtain a view of the sergeant or even of Curry. Shortly afterwards the dragoon himself was descried retracing his steps at a moderate trot towards the house. His plight told a tale upon him of discomfiture. One side of his face was bleeding with a recent bruise, his dress disarranged and his back covered with dust. The side of his horse also bore the same taint of the soil.
He rode up to Habershaw—who was already upon the road at the head of the remaining members of the squad, having Butler in charge—and informed him that he had pursued the sergeant at full speed until he came in sight of him, when the fugitive had slackened his gait as if on purpose to allow himself to be overtaken.
"But, the devil grip the fellow!" he added, "he has a broad-side like a man-of-war! In my hurry I left my sword behind me, and, when I came up with him, I laid my hand upon his bridle; but, by some sudden sleight which he has taught his horse, he contrived, somehow or other, to upset me—horse and all—down a bank on the road-side. And, when I lay on the ground sprawling, do you think the jolly runagate didn't rein up and give me a broad laugh, and ask me if he could be of any sarvice to me? He then bade me good bye, saying he had an engagement that prevented him from favoring me any longer with his company. Gad! it was so civilly done that all I could say was, luck go with you, Mr. Horse Shoe; and, since we are to part company so soon, may the devil pad your saddle for you! I'll do him the justice to say that he's a better horseman than I took him for. I can hardly begrudge a man his liberty who can win it as cleverly as he has done."
"Well, there's no more to be said about it," remarked Habershaw. "He is only game for another day. He is like a bear's cub; which is as much as to signify that he has a hard time before him. He would have only given us trouble; so let him go. Now, boys, away for Blackstock's; I will engage I keep the fox that's left safely enough."
With these words the troop proceeded upon their march.
CHAPTER XIX.
Horse Shoe's successful escape from the hands of the Tories, it will be conjectured, had been aided by Clopper. The sergeant had sufficiently assured himself of the present safety of Butler, from the spirit with which a strong party of Habershaw's followers had resisted the bloody purpose of their leader before breakfast; and he had also, by the timely reward secretly conveyed to Clopper, received a pledge from that individual that the same protection should still be accorded to the major, in the event of his own extrication from the gang by the perilous exploit which he then meditated. It is no doubt apparent to the reader, that the favor which saved the lives of the prisoners was won from the captors by the address of Robinson, and that whatever good will was kindled up amongst them, was appropriated principally to the sergeant, Butler having elicited but little consideration from the band, beyond that interest which the roughest men are apt to take in the fortunes of a young and enterprising soldier. Neither the major's manners nor temper were adapted to conciliate any special regard from such natures.
The escape of the sergeant, therefore, although it added nothing to the perils of Butler's situation, still operated in some degree to his present inconvenience. It caused him to be more rigorously guarded than before, and consequently to be more restricted in his personal comfort. He was hurried forward at a rough and uneasy pace; and both from Habershaw and Curry, and those more immediately of their party, he experienced a surly indifference to the pain that this occasioned him. They seemed to have no regard either to his wants or feelings, and in the passing remarks that fell from them he could gather harsh surmises as to the manner in which he was now likely to be disposed of.
"It is their own fault," said one of them to his companion, as Butler overheard the conversation; "if every prisoner is strung up and shot now-a-days. He makes no more of hanging out people than so many wolves; and there was Captain Huck—will any man say that Sumpter hadn't him murdered in cold blood?"
"Yes," added the other, "let a Tory be caught over yonder amongst the Iredell Whigs, on t'other side of the line, or in Tryon, or down here at the Waxhaws, why, a grey fox in a barn yard with forty dogs would have as good a chance for his life. So, for my share, I am glad to see our folks break up that blasted breed, root and branch."
"Innis has got as keen a nose for a Whig as a bloodhound," said the first speaker, "and won't stop long to consider what's right to be done, if he gets this chap in his clutches; so it is of no great account that we didn't make short work of it this morning."
Such remarks produced a gloomy effect upon Butler's mind. He had witnessed enough, in the scenes of the morning, to convince him that Habershaw had been employed to waylay him and take his life, and that the latter purpose had only failed by the lucky conjuncture of circumstances which led to the mutiny. He was aware, too, that Curry was the prime conductor of the scheme, and drove matters, by a secret influence, as far as he could towards its accomplishment, whilst with a professional hardihood and most hypocritical bearing he affected to be indifferent to the issue. This fellow's malice was the more venomous from his address, and the gay, swaggering, remorseless levity with which he could mask the most atrocious designs: nothing could baffle his equanimity; and he seemed to be provided, at all times, with a present expedient to meet the emergency of his condition.
The most perplexing feature in this man's present position was his recent connexion with Tyrrel; a fact that recurred to Butler with many alarming doubts. All the other circumstances accompanying Butler's condition, at this moment, were subjects of distressful uncertainty. Ignorant of the place to which he was to be taken, into whose hands he was to be delivered, how he was to be disposed of, he could only anticipate the worst. It was obvious that his journey was an expected one, and that the gang who held him were employed by persons in authority, set on, no doubt, by the agency of Tyrrel: but where was he—and who was he?—and what influence could he bring to bear against his, Butler's life, now that he had failed in his bloody purpose of lying in wait; and that it was resolved by these ruffians, who had in part only obeyed his behests, to deliver their prisoner up to the regular authorities of the British army? The mention of the name of Innis by one of the troopers was not calculated to allay his inquietude. This person he knew to have been an active confederate and eager adviser of the new court, lately established at Charleston, to promote the confiscation of the estates of the inhabitants of Carolina disaffected to the royal cause. He was, besides, a zealous Tory partisan, and, having lately joined the army, was now in command of a detachment of loyalists on the Ennoree.
Then, again, there was abundant cause of anxiety to the unfortunate officer in the question whether Robinson could be kept acquainted with his condition, or even of the place to which he might be removed—and if acquainted with these particulars, whether, in the disturbed state of the country, he could render any service. These thoughts all contributed to sink his spirits.
Notwithstanding the usual assumed levity of Curry, he had now become resentful towards Butler, and did not give himself the trouble to conceal it. His manner was quick and unaccommodating, showing his vexation at his own want of sagacity, inferred by the successful flight of Robinson. Expressions occasionally escaped him that indicated a self-reproof on this subject, though they were partially disguised by an affected undervaluing of the importance of having such a prisoner, so long as he retained the custody of the principal object of the enterprise. But the consciousness of being again baffled by a man who had once before obtained the mastery over him, roused his pride into the exhibition of a peevish and vindictive demeanor. In this temper he seconded the brutal disposition of Habershaw, and abandoned the captive officer to the coarse insults of those who exercised control over him. There was some mitigation to this annoyance, in the reserved and partial spirit in which the insurgent party of the squad manifested some slight signs of good will towards him. An instance of this spirit was afforded in a passing hint conveyed by Clopper, on one occasion when the troop had halted to water their horses. "Whatever is to come of it, after we give you up to other hands," he said, apart to Butler, "we will stick to the ground we have taken, that no harm shall be done to you in our keeping."
The day was intensely hot, and the road, over which the party travelled, rugged and fatiguing; it was, therefore, near one o'clock when they came in sight of the Tiger, a rough, bold, impetuous stream that rushed over an almost unbroken bed of rocks. On the opposite bank was Blackstocks, a rude hamlet of some two or three houses, scattered over a rugged hill-side—a place subsequently rendered famous by the gallant repulse of Tarleton by Sumpter. The troop struck into a narrow ford, and, with some scrambling amongst the rocks, succeeded in crossing the stream; they then galloped rapidly up the hill, towards a farm-house which seemed to be the principal place of resort for the people of the neighborhood. The approach of the party of cavalry drew to the door a bevy of women, children, and negroes, who stood idly gaping at the spectacle; and, in addition to these, a detachment of militia, consisting of between twenty and thirty men, were seen to turn out and form a line in front of the house. Habershaw, with an air of magnified importance, halted opposite this detachment, gave a few prompt orders to Curry in regard to the disposition of the troop, and in an authoritative tone of command, ordered the officer of the militia to detail a guard for the safe keeping of a prisoner of state. The personage addressed—a tall, ungainly, and awkward subaltern—signified his acquiescence with a bow, and immediately took possession of Butler by seizing the rein of his horse and leading him to one side, where two men, armed with rifles, placed themselves at either stirrup. Habershaw now directed his men to alight, accompanying the order with a caution that the prisoner was not to be allowed to enter the house. "The d——d rascal," he added, "shall not play the trick of his rebel associate: no more privilege of going into bar-rooms, and lounging about doors! See the man stowed away in the barn; and tell the sentinels never to take their eyes off of him—do you hear, lieutenant?"
"You may depend upon my look-out," replied the lieutenant, with a flourish of a hacked and rusty sword. "Men, march your prisoner straight to the barn. Have a relief, Corporal, every two hours, and towards night, set four on the watch at a time."
"Look to it, Lieutenant!" shouted Habershaw. "No words, sir: do your duty!"
And having thus given vent to his own high opinion of himself the bulky captain withdrew into the house.
Butler was now marched into a large log barn, in one corner of which an armful of fodder, or dried blades of Indian corn, were shaken out for his bed; and this, he was told, was to be his prison until other orders awaited him. The guard, consisting of two sentinels, were stationed on the inner side of the door, having the prisoner immediately under their eye; and, this disposition being completed, the officer commanding the detachment retired to mingle with the troopers in the farm-house.
Half an hour had scarcely elapsed after the arrival of the troopers at Blackstocks, before James Curry had refreshed himself with a hasty meal, and had his horse brought to the door. He seemed bound upon some urgent mission.
"Captain St. Jermyn, you say, left this at sunrise this morning?" said the dragoon, addressing the lieutenant of the militia.
"He did. He was here all day yesterday, and thought he should hear from you last night."
"What route did he take?"
"To Turnbull, at Ninety-Six."
"Is Turnbull there now, think you?"
"He is," replied the lieutenant. "They say orders have gone up from Cornwallis to the post for four light companies, and it is expected that Captain Campbell is now on his way with them towards Camden; neither Turnbull nor Cruger would leave the post."
"I have heard that this corps was marching to head-quarters Are you sure St. Jermyn is not with Campbell?"
"He said nothing about it yesterday, but I think he wishes to join Colonel Innis with the loyalist cavalry."
"Where is Innis?" inquired Curry.
"Over on Ennoree, about two miles from Musgrove's mill."
"Humph!" said Curry, thoughtfully, "I must ride to the garrison at Ninety-Six. The devil take this cantering about the country! I have had more than enough of it."
And saying this, the dragoon mounted his horse, and clapping spurs to the restive animal, was soon out of sight.
It was late in the day before the wants of Butler were attended to. He had thrown aside his coat, from the oppressive heat of the weather, and, placing it under his head for a pillow, had fallen into a sleep, from which he was awakened by a summons from one of the sentinels to partake of food. There was more kindness apparent in the demeanor of the soldier than Butler had been accustomed to meet from the persons who held him captive, and this circumstance won upon his heart and induced him to accept with courtesy the proffered attentions.
"You live in a divided country, and witness much to make a good man wish this unhappy war was at an end," said Butler, after he had eaten of the provisions placed before him.
"Indeed we do, sir," replied the soldier, "and it is enough to make a man's heart bleed to see brothers fighting against each other, and kindred that ought to hold together seeking each other's lives. Men will have, and ought to have their opinions, sir; but it is hardly good reason for treating one another like savage Indians, because all cannot think alike."
"Do you live in this neighborhood?" inquired Butler.
"Not far away," answered the man.
"You are married?"
"Yes, and have six children."
"They should be young," said Butler, "judging by your own age."
"Thank God, sir!" exclaimed the soldier, with fervor, "they are young! And I would pray that they may never live to be old if these wars are to last. No father can count upon his own child's living in harmony with him. My boys, if they were grown enough, might be the first I should meet in battle."
"Your name, friend?" said Butler.
"Bruce," replied the other.
"A good and a brave name; a name once friendly to the liberty of his country."
"Stop, sir!" said the sentinel. "This is not the place to talk upon questions that might make us angry with each other. It is a name still friendly to the liberty of his country; that liberty that supports the king and laws, and punishes treason."
"I cannot debate with you," replied Butler; "I am your prisoner."
"I am a man," said the soldier, firmly, "and would not take advantage of him that cannot take his own part; but these questions, sir, are best dropped—they have made all the provinces mad. However, I do not blame you, sir; I will not deny that there are good men on your side."
"And on yours, doubtless," returned Butler.
"We have many bad ones, sir," returned the soldier; "and as you have spoken like a well-tempered gentleman to me, I will give you a friendly hint." Here the sentinel spoke in a lowered tone. "Have your eyes about you; these men are none of the best, and would think but little of taking from you anything of value. As you slept, just now, I saw a golden trinket hanging by a ribbon in your bosom. You are a young man, sir, and a soldier, I hear; this may be some present from your lady, as I guess you have one. If others had seen it, as I saw it, you might have been the loser. That's all."
"Thank you, honest friend! from my heart, I thank you!" replied Butler eagerly. "Oh, God! that bauble is a consolation to me that in this hour I would not part with—no, no! Thank you, friend, a thousand times!"
"Have done," said the soldier, "and in future be more careful. The relief is coming this way."
And the sentinel, taking up his rifle, repaired to his post. In a few moments the guard was changed, and those lately on duty were marched to the dwelling-house.
When night came on the immediate guard around Butler's person was doubled. Some few comforts were added to his forlorn prison by the kindness of the soldier Bruce, and he was left to pass the weary hours of darkness in communion with his own thoughts, or in the enjoyment of such repose as his unhappy state of thraldom allowed. If the agitation of his spirit had permitted sleep, there were but few moments of the night when it might have been indulged. The outbursts of revelry, the loud and boisterous laugh, and still louder oaths of the party who occupied the dwelling-house near at hand, showed that they had plunged into their usual debauch, and now caroused over their frequently filled cups; and the clamor that broke upon the night might have baffled the slumbers of a mind less anxious and wakeful than his own.
The party of troopers and militia sat at the door to take advantage of the coolness of the night, and as they plied the busy flagon, and with heavy draught grew more noisy, scarce a word fell from their lips that was not distinctly heard by Butler. It was with intense interest, therefore, that he listened to the conversation when it led to a topic that greatly concerned himself; and that he might not alarm the suspicion of the speakers he affected sleep.
"Sumpter has been hovering about Ninety-Six," said the lieutenant; "and if one could believe all the stories that are told about him, he must be a full cousin at least to a certain person that it wouldn't be right to mention in respectable company; for, by the accounts, he is one day on the Wateree, and the next, whoop and away!—and there he is, almost over at Augusta. It seems almost past the power of human legs for a mortal man to make such strides as they tell of him."
"Who says Sumpter is near Ninety-Six?" inquired one of the party; "I can only say, if that's true, he is a ghost—that's all. Here's Harry Turner will swear that he saw him, day before yesterday, in North Carolina, on his march towards Burk."
"Indeed did I," responded Harry, one of the militia-men.
"There is no mistake about it," interposed the lieutenant. "A vidette of Brown's came scampering through here this morning, who reported the news; and the man had good right to know, for he saw Cruger yesterday, who told him all about it, and then sent him off to Wahab's plantation, near the Catawba fords, for Hanger's rangers. It was on his way back this morning that he stopped here five minutes, only to give us warning?"
"This is only some story that your drunken head has been dreaming about, Gabriel," said Habershaw. "There is not a word of truth in it; the rangers went down to Camden three days ago. Who saw the vidette besides yourself?"
"The whole detachment," replied the lieutenant. "We talked to the man and had the story from him—and a queer fellow he was—a good stout chap that liked to have been caught by a pair of reconnoitring Whigs, a few miles back between this and Pacolet; they pushed him up to the saddleflaps. But you must have seen him yourself, Captain Habershaw; for he told us you were on the road."
"From towards Pacolet!" exclaimed the captain with surprise. "We saw nobody on that road. When did the man arrive?"
"About an hour before you. He came at full speed, with his horse—a great, black, snorting beast seventeen hands high at least—all in a foam. He was first for passing by without stopping, but we challenged him and brought him short upon his haunches, and then he told us he was in a hurry, and mustn't be delayed."
"What kind of a looking man was he?" inquired Habershaw.
"A jolly fellow," replied the lieutenant: "almost as big as his horse. A good civil fellow, too, that swigs well at a canteen. He made a joke of the matter about your coming up, and called you old Cat-o'-nine tails—said that you were the cat, and your nine tag-rags were the tails—ha, ha ha!"
"Blast the bastard!" exclaimed Habershaw; "who could he be?"
"Why we asked that, but he roared out with a great haw-haw—took another drink, and said he was never christened."
"You should, as a good soldier," said Habershaw, "have made him give his name."
"I tried him again, and he would only let us have a nickname; he told us then that he was called Jack-o'-Lantern, and had a special good stomach, and that if we wanted more of him we must give him a snatch of something to eat. Well, we did so. After that, he said he must have our landlord's sword, for his own had been torn from him by the Whig troopers that pushed him so hard, and that the bill for it must be sent to Cruger. So he got the old cheese-knife that used to hang over the fire-place and strung it across his shoulder. He laughed so hard, and seemed so good-natured, that there was no doing anything with him. At last he mounted his horse again, just stooped down and whispered in my ear at parting, that he was an old friend of yours, and that you could tell us all the news, and away he went, like a mad bully, clinking it over the hill at twenty miles to the hour."
"A black horse did you say?" inquired Habershaw. "Had he a white star in the forehead, and the two hind legs white below the knee?"
"Exactly," said the lieutenant and several others of the party.
"It was Horse Shoe Robinson!" exclaimed Habershaw, "by all the black devils!"
"Horse Shoe, Horse Shoe, to be sure!" responded half a dozen voices.
"He was a famous good rider, Horse Shoe or anybody else," said the lieutenant.
"That beats all!" said one of the troopers; "the cunning old fox! He told the truth when he said you would tell the news, captain: but to think of his lies getting him past the guard, with a sword and a bellyfull into the bargain!"
"Why didn't you report instantly upon our arrival?" asked Habershaw.
"Bless you," replied the lieutenant, "I never suspicioned him, more than I did you. The fellow laughed so naturally that I would never have thought him a runaway."
"There it is," said Habershaw; "that's the want of discipline. The service will never thrive till these loggerheads are taught the rules of war."
Butler had heard enough to satisfy him on one material point, namely, that Robinson had secured his escape, and was in condition to take whatever advantage of circumstances the times might afford him. It was a consolation to him also to know that the sergeant had taken this route, as it brought him nearer to the scene in which the major himself was likely to mingle. With this dawn of comfort brightening up his doubts, he addressed himself more composedly to sleep, and before daylight, the sounds of riot having sunk into a lower and more drowsy tone, he succeeded in winning a temporary oblivion from his cares.
CHAPTER XX.
"What ho! What ho!—thy door undo:
Art watching or asleep?"—Burger's Leonora.
On the banks of the Ennoree, in a little nook of meadow, formed by the bend of the stream which, fringed with willows, swept round it almost in a semicircle, the inland border of the meadow being defined by a gently rising wall of hills covered with wood, was seated within a few paces of the water, a neat little cottage with a group of out-buildings, presenting all the conveniences of a comfortable farm. The dwelling-house itself was shaded by a cluster of trees which had been spared from the native forest, and within view were several fields of cultivated ground neatly inclosed with fences. A little lower down the stream and within a short distance of the house, partially concealed by the bank, stood a small low-browed mill, built of wood. It was near sundown, and the golden light of evening sparkled upon the shower which fell from the leaky race that conducted the water to the head gate, and no less glittered on the spray that was dashed from the large and slowly revolving wheel. The steady gush of the stream, and the monotonous clack of the machinery, aided by the occasional discordant scream of a flock of geese that frequented the border of the race, and by the gambols of a few children, who played about the confines of the mill, excited pleasant thoughts of rural business and domestic content. A rudely constructed wagon, to which were harnessed two lean horses, stood at the door of the mill, and two men, one of them advanced in years, and the other apparently just beyond the verge of boyhood, were occupied in heaping upon it a heavy load of bags of meal. The whitened habiliments of these men showed them to be the proper attendants of the place, and now engaged in their avocation. A military guard stood by the wagon, and as soon as it was filled, they were seen to put the horses in motion, and to retire by a road that crossed the stream and take the descending direction of the current close along the opposite bank.
When this party had disappeared, the old man directed the mill to be stopped. The gates were let down, the machinery ungeared, and, in a few moments, all was still. The millers now retired to the little habitation hard by.
"There is so much work lost," said the elder to his companion, as they approached the gate that opened into the curtilage of the dwelling. "We shall never be paid for that load. Colonel Innis doesn't care much out of whose pocket he feeds his men; and as to his orders upon Rawdon's quarter-master, why it is almost the price of blood to venture so far from home to ask for payment—to say nothing of the risk of finding the army purse as low as a poor miller's at home. I begrudge the grain, Christopher, and the work that grinds it; but there is no disputing with these whiskered foot-pads with bayonets in their hands—they must have it and will have it, and there's an end of it."
"Aye," replied the man addressed by the name of Christopher, "as you say, they will have it; and if they are told that a poor man's sweat has been mixed with their bread, they talk to us about the cause—the cause—the cause. I am tired of this everlasting preaching about king and country. I don't know but if I had my own way I'd take the country against the king any day. What does George the Third care for us, with a great world of water between?"
"Whisht, Christopher Shaw—whisht, boy! We have no opinions of our own; trees and walls have ears at this time. It isn't for us to be bringing blood and burning under our roof, by setting up for men who have opinions. No, no. Wait patiently; and perhaps, Christopher, it will not be long before this gay bird Cornwallis will be plucked of his feathers. The man is on his way now that, by the help of the Lord, may bring down as proud a hawk as ever flew across the water. If it should be otherwise, trust to the power above the might of armies, and wiser than the cunning of men, that, by a righteous and peaceful life, we shall make our lot an easier one than it may ever be in mingling in the strife of the evil-minded."
"It is hard, for all that—wise as it is—to be still," said Christopher, "with one's arms dangling by one's side, when one's neighbors and kinsmen are up and girding themselves for battle. It will come to that at last; fight we must. And, I don't care who knows it, I am for independence, uncle Allen."
"Your passion, boy, and warmth of temper, I doubt, outrun your discretion," said the old man. "But you speak bravely and I cannot chide you for it. For the present, at least, be temperate, and, if you can, silent. It is but unprofitable talk for persons in our condition."
The uncle and nephew now entered the house, and Allen Musgrove—for this was the person to whom I have introduced my reader—was soon seated at his family board, invoking a blessing upon his evening meal, and dispensing the cares of a quiet and peaceful household.
"I wonder Mary stays so long with her aunt," he said, as the early hour of repose drew nigh. "It is an ill place for her, wife, and not apt to please the girl with anything she may find there. Wat Adair is an irregular man, and savage as the beasts he hunts. His associates are not of the best, and but little suited to Mary's quiet temper."
The wife, a staid, motherly-looking woman of plain and placid exterior, who was busily engaged amongst a thousand scraps of coarse, homespun-cloth, which she was fashioning into a garment for some of the younger members of her family, paused from her work, upon this appeal to her, and, directing her glances above her spectacles to her husband, replied:
"Mary has been taught to perform her duties to her kinsfolk, and it isn't often that she counts whether it is pleasant to her or not. Besides, Watty, rough as he is, loves our girl; and love goes a great way to make us bear and forbear both, husband. I'll warrant our daughter comes home when she thinks it right. But it is a weary way to ride over a wild country, and more so now when Whig and Tory have distracted the land. I wish Christopher could be spared to go for her."
"He shall go to-morrow, wife," returned Allen Musgrove. "Wat Adair, love her or not, is not the man to go out of his way for a wandering girl, and would think nothing to see the child set out by herself. But come, it is Saturday night and near bed-time. Put aside your work, wife; a lesson from the Book of Truth, and prayers, and then to rest," he said, as he took down a family Bible from a shelf and spread it before him.
The old man put on a pair of glasses, which, by a spring, sustained themselves upon his nose, and with an audible and solemn voice he read a portion of scripture; then, placing himself on his knees, whilst the whole family followed his example, he poured forth a fervent and heart-inspired prayer. It was a simple and homely effusion, delivered from the suggestions of the moment, in accordance with a devout habit of thanksgiving and supplication to which he had long been accustomed. He was a Presbyterian, and had witnessed, with many a pang, the profligate contempt and even savage persecution with which his sect had been visited by many of the Tory leaders—especially by the loyalist partisan, Captain Huck, who had been recently killed in an incursion of Sumpter's at Williams's plantation, not far distant from Musgrove's present residence. It was this unsparing hostility towards his religion, and impious derision of it, that, more than any other circumstance, had begotten that secret dislike of the Tory cause which, it was known to a few, the miller entertained, although his age, situation, and, perhaps, some ancient prejudice of descent (for he was the son of an early Scotch emigrant), would rather have inclined him to take the royal side; that side which, in common belief and in appearance, he still favored.
"Thou hast bent thy bow," he said, in the warmest effusion of his prayer, "and shot thine arrows, O Lord, amongst this people; thou hast permitted the ministers of vengeance, and the seekers of blood to ride amongst us, and thy wrath hath not yet bowed the stubborn spirit of sin—but the hard hearts are given strong arms, and with curses they have smitten the people. Yet even the firebrand that it did please thee not to stay because of our sins—yea, even the firebrand that did cause conflagration along our border, until by the light the erring children of men might read in the dark night, from one end of our boundary even unto the other, the enormity of their own backslidings, and their forgetfulness of thee; that firebrand hath been thrown into the blaze which it had itself kindled, and, like a weapon of war which hath grown dull in the work of destruction, hath been cast into the place of unprofitable lumber, and hath been utterly consumed. The persecutor of the righteous and the scoffer of the word hath paid the price of blood, and hath fallen into the snares wherewith he lay in wait to ensnare the feet of the unthinking. But stay now, O Lord of Hosts, the hand of the destroyer, and let the angel of peace again spread his wing over our racked and wearied land. Take from the wicked heart his sword and shield, and make the righteous man safe beside his family hearth. Shelter the head of the wanderer, and guide in safety the hunted fugitive who flees before the man of wrath; comfort the captive in his captivity, and make all hearts in this rent and sundered province to know and bless thy mercies for ever more. In especial, we beseech thee to give the victory to him that hath right, and to 'stablish the foundations of the government in justice and truth, giving liberty of conscience and liberty of law to those who know how to use it." At this point the worship of the evening was arrested by a slight knocking at the door.
"Who goes there?" exclaimed the old man, starting from his kneeling position. "Who raps at my door?"
"A stranger, good man," replied a voice without. "A poor fellow that has been hot pressed and hard run."
"Friend or foe?" asked Allen Musgrove.
"A very worthless friend to any man at this present speaking," replied the person on the outside of the door; "and not fit to be counted a foe until he has had something to eat. If you be Allen Musgrove, open your door."
"Are you alone, or do you come with followers at your heels? My house is small and can give scant comfort to many?"
"Faith, it is more than I know," responded the other; "but if I have followers it is not with my will that they shall cross your door-sill. If you be Allen Musgrove, or if you be not, open, friend. I am as harmless as a barndoor fowl."
"I do not fear you, sir," said Musgrove, opening the door; "you are welcome to all I can give you, whatever colors you serve."
"Then give us your hand," said Horse Shoe Robinson, striding into the apartment. "You are a stranger to me, but if you are Allen Musgrove, the miller, that I have hearn men speak of, you are not the person to turn your back on a fellow creature in distress. Your sarvent, mistress," he added, bowing to the dame. "Far riding and fast riding gives a sort of claim these times; so excuse me for sitting down."
"You are welcome, again; your name, sir?" said Musgrove.
"Have I guessed yours?" inquired Horse Shoe.
"You have."
"Then you must guess mine; for it isn't convenient to tell it."
"Some poor Whig soldier," said Christopher Shaw privately to Musgrove. "It isn't right to make him betray himself. You are hungry, friend," added Christopher; "and we will first get you something to eat, and then you may talk all the better for it."
"That's a good word," said Horse Shoe, "and a brave word, as things go; for it isn't every man has the courage to feed an enemy in these days, though I made the devils do it for me this morning, ha, ha, ha! Some water, Mr. Musgrove, and it will not come badly to my hand if you can tangle it somewhat."
The refreshment asked for was produced by Christopher Shaw; and Horse Shoe, taking the brimming cup in his hand, stood up, and with a rather awkward courtesy, pledged the draught with "Your health, good mistress, and luck to the little ones! for we grown-up babies are out of the days of luck, except the luck of escaping twisted hemp, or drum-head law, which for to-night, I believe, is mine;" and he swallowed the mixture at a draught; then, with a long sigh, placed the cup upon the table and resumed his seat. "That there spirit, Mr. Musgrove," he added, "is a special good friend in need, preach against it who will!"
"You say you have ridden far to-day," remarked the miller: "you must be tired."
"I am not apt to get tired," replied the sergeant, turning his sword-belt over his head, and flinging the weapon upon a bench; "but I am often hungry."
"My wife," said Musgrove, smiling, "has taken that hint before you spoke it; she has already ordered something for you to eat."
"That's an excellent woman!" exclaimed Horse Shoe. "You see, Allen Musgrove, I don't stand much upon making myself free of your house. I have hearn of you often before I saw you, man; and I know all about you. You are obliged to keep fair weather with these Tories—who have no consideration for decent, orderly people—but your heart is with the boys that go for liberty. You see I know you, and am not afeard to trust you. Perchance, you mought have hearn tell of one Horse Shoe Robinson, who lived over here at the Waxhaws?"
"I have heard many stories about that man," replied the miller.
"Well, I won't tell you that he is in your house to-night, for fear the Tories might take you to account for harboring such a never-do-well. But you have got a poor fellow under your roof that has had a hard run to get here."
"In my house!" exclaimed Musgrove; "Horse Shoe Robinson!" and then, after a pause, he continued, "well, well, there is no rule of war that justifies a Christian in refusing aid and comfort to a houseless and hunted stranger, who comes with no thought of harm to a peaceful family hearth. I take no part in the war on either side; and, in your ear, friend Robinson, I take none against you or the brave men that stand by you."
"Your hand again," said Horse Shoe, reaching towards the miller. "Allen, I have come to you under a sore press of heels. An officer of the Continental army and me have been travelling through these here parts, and we have been most onaccountably ambushed by a half wild-cat, half bull-dog, known by the name of Captain Hugh Habershaw, who cotched us in the night at Grindall's ford."
"Heaven have mercy on the man who has anything to do with Hugh Habershaw!" exclaimed the miller's wife.
"Amen, mistress," responded the sergeant; "for a surlier, misbegotten piece of flesh, there's not in these wild woods, giving you the choice of bear, panther, catamount, rattlesnake, or what not. We were sot upon," continued the sergeant, "by this bully and a bevy of his braggadocios, and made prisoners; but I took a chance to slip the noose this morning, and after riding plump into a hornet's nest at Blackstock's, where I put on a new face and tricked the guard out of a dinner and this here old sword, I took a course for this mill, axing people along the road where I should find Allen Musgrove; and so, after making some roundabouts and dodging into the woods until night came on, to keep clear of the Tories, here I am."
"And the officer?" said Musgrove.
"He is in the hands of the Philistines yet—most likely now at Blackstock's."
"What might be his name?"
"Major Butler—a bold, warm gentleman—that's been used to tender life and good fortune. He has lands on the sea-coast—unless that new-fangled court at Charlestown, that they call the Court of Seekerstations, has made them null and void—as they have been making the estates of better gentleman than they could ever pretend to be; taking all the best lands, you see, Allen, to themselves, the cursed iniquiters!"
"Where did you come from with this gentleman?"
"A long way off, Mr. Musgrove—from old Virginny—but lastly from Wat Adair's."
"Wat's wife is a relation of my family."
"Then he is a filthy disgrace to all who claim kin with him, Allen Musgrove. Wat was the man who put us into the wild-cat's claws—at least, so we had good reason to think. There was a tidy, spruce, and smart little wench there—tut, man—I am talking of your own kith and kindred, for her name was Mary Musgrove."
"Our girl!" said the dame with an animated emphasis; "our own Mary; what of her, Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson?"
"That she is as good a child, Mistress Musgrove, as any honest parent mought wish for. She got some sort of inkling of what was contrived; and so she appeared to Major Butler in a dream—or her ghost."
"Mercy on us! the child has not been hurt?" cried the mother.
"Ondoubtedly not, ma'am," said Robinson; "but it is as true as you are there, she gave us, somehow or other, a warning that there was harm in the wind; and we took her advice, but it didn't do."
"I wish the child were home," said Musgrove. "Christopher, at daylight, boy, saddle a horse and be off to Adair's for Mary."
The nephew promised to do the errand.
"Come, Mr. Robinson, draw near the table and eat something."
"With right good heart," replied Horse Shoe; "but it's a kind of camp rule with me, before I taste food—no matter where—just to look after Captain Peter Clinch; that's my horse, friend Musgrove. So, by your leave, I'll just go take a peep to see that the Captain is sarved. A good beast is a sort of right arm in scrapish times; and as God ha'n't given them the gift of speech, we must speak for them."
"Christopher shall save you the trouble," replied Musgrove.
"A good horse never loses anything by the eye of his master," said Horse Shoe; "so, Christopher, I'll go with you."
In a short time the sergeant returned into the house, and took his seat at the table, where he fell to, at what was set before him, with a laudable dispatch.
"How far off," he inquired, "is the nearest Tory post, Mr. Musgrove?"
"Colonel Innis has some light corps stationed within two miles. If you had been a little earlier you would have found some of them at my mill."
"Innis!" repeated Horse Shoe, "I thought Floyd had these parts under command?"
"So he has," replied the miller, "but he has lately joined the garrison at Rocky Mount."
"Ha! ha! ha!" ejaculated Robinson, "that's a pot into which Sumpter will be dipping his ladle before long. All the land between Wateree and Broad belongs to Tom Sumpter, let mad-cap Tarleton do his best! We Whigs, Mr. Musgrove, have a little touch of the hobgoblin in us. We travel pretty much where we please. Now, I will tell you, friend, very plainly what I am after. I don't mean to leave these parts till I see what is to become of Major Butler. Innis and Floyd put together sha'n't hinder me from looking after a man that's under my charge. I'm an old sodger, and they can't make much out of me if they get me."
"The country is swarming with troops of one kind or another," said the miller; "and a man must have his wits about him who would get through it. You are now, Mr. Robinson, in a very dangerous quarter. The fort at Ninety-Six on one side of you, and Rocky Mount and Hanging Rock on the other—the road between the three is full of loyalists. Colonel Innis is here to keep the passage open, and, almost hourly, his men are passing. You should be careful in showing yourself in daylight. And as for your poor friend, Major Butler, there is not likely to be much good will shown towards him. I greatly fear his case is worse than it seems to you."
"There is somewhere," said Robinson, "in that book that lies open on the table—which I take to be the Bible—the story of the campaigns of King David; and as I have hearn it read by the preacher, it tells how David was pushed on all sides by flying corps of the enemy, and that, seeing he had no sword, he came across a man who gave him victuals and the sword of Goliath—as I got my dinner and a sword this morning from the tavern-keeper at Blackstock's; and then he set off on his flight to some strange place, where he feigned himself crazy and scrabbled at the gate, and let the spit run down on his beard—as I have done before now with Tarleton, Mr. Musgrove; and then King David took into a cave—which I shouldn't stand much upon doing if there was occasion; and there the King waited, until he got friends about him and was able to drub the Philistians for robbing the threshing-floors—as I make no doubt these Tories have robbed yours, Allen Musgrove. But you know all about it, seeing that you are able to read, which I am not. Now, I don't pretend to say that I nor Major Butler are as good men as David—not at all; but the cause of liberty is as good a cause as ever King David fought for, and the Lord that took his side in the cave, will take the side of the Whigs, sooner or later, and help them to beat these grinding, thieving, burning, and throat-cutting Tories. And, moreover, a brave man ought never to be cast down by such vermin; that's my religion, Mr. Musgrove, though you mought hardly expect to find much thought of such things left in a rough fellow like me, that's been hammered in these here wars like an old piece of iron that's been one while a plough coulter, and after that a gun-barrel, and finally that's been run up with others into a piece of ordnance—not to say that it moughtn't have been a horse shoe in some part of its life, ha! ha! ha! There's not likely to be much conscience or religion left after all that hammering."
"'He shall keep the simple folk by their right,'" said Musgrove, quoting a passage from the Psalms, "'defend the children of the poor and punish the wrong-doer.' You have finished your supper, Mr. Robinson," he continued, "and before we retire to rest you will join us in the conclusion of our family worship, which was interrupted by your coming into the house. We will sing a Psalm which has been given to us by that man whose deliverance has taught you where you are to look for yours."
"If I cannot help to make music, Allen," said Horse Shoe, "I can listen with good will."
The miller now produced a little book in black-letter, containing a familiar and ancient version of the Psalms, and the following quaint and simple lines were read by him in successive couplets, the whole family singing each distich as soon as it was given out—not excepting Horse Shoe, who, after the first couplet, having acquired some slight perception of the tune, chimed in with a voice that might have alarmed the sentinels of Innis's camp:
"A king that trusteth in his host
Shall not prevail at length;
The man that of his might doth boast
Shall fall, for all his strength.
"The troops of horsemen eke shall fail,
Their sturdy steeds shall starve:
The strength of horse shall not prevail
The rider to preserve.
"But so the eyes of God intend,
And watch to aid the just;
With such as fear him to offend,
And on his goodness trust.
"That he of death and great distress
May set their souls from dread;
And if that dearth their land oppress,
In hunger them to feed.
"Wherefore our soul doth whole depend
On God, our strength and stay;
He is our shield us to defend
And drive all darts away."
When this act of devotion was concluded the old man invoked a blessing upon his household, and gave his orders that the family should betake themselves to rest. Horse Shoe had already taken up his sword and was about retiring to a chamber, under the guidance of Christopher Shaw, when the door was suddenly thrown wide open, and in rushed Mary Musgrove. She ran up, threw herself into her father's arms, and cried out—
"Oh, how glad I am that I have reached home to-night!" then kissing both of her parents, she flung herself into a chair, saying "I am tired—very tired. I have ridden the livelong day, alone, and frightened out of my wits."
"Not alone, my daughter!—on that weary road, and the country so troubled with ill-governed men! Why did you venture, girl? Did you not think I would send your cousin Christopher for you?"
"Oh, father," replied Mary, "there have been such doings! Ah! and here is Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson; Major Butler, where is he, sir?" she exclaimed, turning to the sergeant, who had now approached the back of her chair to offer his hand.
"Blessings on you for a wise and a brave girl!" said Robinson. "But it wouldn't do; we were ambushed, and the Major is still a prisoner."
"I feared it," said Mary, "and therefore I stole away. They are bloody-minded and wicked, father; and uncle Adair's house has been the place where mischief and murder has been talked of. Oh, I am very sick! I have had such a ride!"
"Poor wench!" said the father, taking her to his bosom. "You have not the temper nor the strength to struggle where ruthless men take up their weapons of war. What has befallen? Tell us all!"
"No, no!" interposed the mother; "no, Allen, not now. The girl must have food and sleep, and must not be wearied with questions to-night. Wait, my dear Mary, until to-morrow. She will tell us everything to-morrow."
"I must hear of Major Butler," said Mary; "I cannot sleep until I have heard all that has happened. Good Mr. Robinson, tell me everything."
In few words the sergeant unfolded to the damsel the eventful history of the last two days, during the narrative of which her cheek waxed pale, her strength failed her, and she sank almost lifeless across her father's knee.
"Give me some water," she said. "My long ride has worn me out. I ran off at daylight this morning, and have not stopped once upon the road."
A glass of milk with a slice of bread restored the maiden to her strength, and she took the first opportunity to inform the circle who surrounded her of all the incidents that had fallen under her observation at Adair's.
Her father listened with deep emotion to the tale, and during its relation clenched his teeth with anger, as he walked, to and fro, through the apartment. There was an earnest struggle in his feelings to withhold the expression of the strong execration, which the narrative brought almost to his lips, against the perfidy of his wife's kinsman. But the habitual control of his temper, which his religious habits inculcated, kept him silent; and considerations of prudence again swayed him from surrendering to the impulse, which would have led him to declare himself openly against the cause of the royal government and its supporters in the district where he lived. He cross-questioned his daughter as to many minute points of her story, but her answers were uniform and consistent, and were stamped with the most unequivocal proofs of her strict veracity. Indeed, the collateral evidences furnished by Robinson, left no doubt on the miller's mind that the whole of Mary's disclosures were the testimony of a witness whose senses could not have been disturbed by illusions, nor distempered by fear.
"It is a dreadful tale," he said, "and we must think over it more maturely. Be of good heart, my daughter, you have acted well and wisely; God will protect us from harm."
"And so it was no ghost, nor spirit," said Horse Shoe, "that the major saw in the night? But I wonder you didn't think of waking me. A word to me in the night—seeing I have sarved a good deal on outposts, and have got used to being called up—would have had me stirring in a wink. But that's part of Wat's luck for I should most ondoubtedly have strangled the snake in his bed."
"I called you," said Mary, "as loudly as I durst, and more than once, but you slept so hard!"
"That's like me too," replied Horse Shoe. "I'm both sleepy and watchful, according as I think there is need of my sarvices."
"Now to bed, my child," said Musgrove. "Your bed is the fittest place for your wearied body. God bless you, daughter!"
Once more the family broke up, and as Robinson left the room Mary followed him to the foot of the little stair that wound up into an attic chamber; here she detained him one moment, while she communicated to him in a half whisper,
"I have a friend, Mr. Robinson, that might help you to do something for Major Butler. His name is John Ramsay: he belongs to General Sumpter's brigade. If you would go to his father's, only six miles from here, on the upper road to Ninety-Six, you might hear where John was. But, may be, you are afraid to go so near to the fort?"
"May be so," said Robinson, with a look of comic incredulity. "I know the place, and I know the family, and, likely, John himself. It's a good thought, Mary, for I want help now, more than I ever did in my life. I'll start before daylight—for it won't do to let the sun shine upon me, with Innis's Tories so nigh. So, if I am missed to-morrow morning, let your father know how I come to be away."
"Tell John," said Mary, "I sent you to him. Mary Musgrove, remember."
"If I can't find John," replied Horse Shoe, "you're such a staunch little petticoat sodger, that I'll, perhaps, come back and enlist you. 'Tisn't everywhere that we can find such valiant wenches. I wish some of our men had a little of your courage; so, good night!"
The maiden now returned to the parlor, and Horse Shoe, under the guidance of Christopher Shaw, found a comfortable place of deposit for his hard-worked, though—as he would have Christopher believe—his unfatigued frame. The sergeant, however, was a man not born to cares, notwithstanding that his troubles were "as thick as the sparks that fly upward," and it is a trivial fact in his history, that, on the present occasion, he was not many seconds in bed before he was as sound asleep as the trapped partridges, in the fairy tale, which, the eastern chronicle records, fell into a deep sleep when roasting upon the spit, and did not wake for a hundred years.
CHAPTER XXI.
"Now if you ask who gave the stroke
I cannot tell, so mote I thrive;
It was not given by man alive."—Lay of the last Minstrel.
It was a little before daybreak on Sunday morning, the fifteenth of August (a day rendered memorable by the exploit of Sumpter, who captured, in the vicinity of Rocky Mount, a large quantity of military stores, and a numerous escort, then on their way from Ninety-Six to Camden), that James Curry was travelling in the neighborhood of the Ennoree, some four miles distant from Musgrove's mill. He had a few hours before left the garrison of Ninety-Six, and was now hieing with all haste to Blackstock's on a mission of importance. The night had been sultry, but the approach of the dawn had brought with it that refreshing coolness which is always to be remarked in the half hour that precedes the first blush of morning. The dragoon had had a weary night-ride, but the recent change of temperature had invigorated his system and given buoyancy to his spirits. This effect was exhibited in his first whistling a tune, then humming the words of a ditty, and, finally, in breaking forth into a loud full song, which, as he had a good voice and practised skill, increased in loudness as he became better pleased with the trial of his powers. The song was occasionally intermitted to give room to certain self-communings which the pastime suggested.
"You may take it for sooth, that wit without gold,"
he sang in the loudest strain, trying the words on different keys, and introducing some variations in the tune—
"Will make a bad market whenever 'tis sold."
"That's true; your poor moneyless devil, how should his wit pass current? He was a shrewd fellow that wrote it down. Your rich man for wit, all the world over, and so the song runs:—
"'But all over the world it is well understood
That the joke of a rich man is sure to be good.'
"True, true as gospel! Give the knaves dinners, plenty of Burgundy and Port, and what signifies an empty head? Go to college, and how is it there? What is a sizer's joke? If the fellow have the wit of Diogenes, it is sheer impertinence. But let my young lord Crœsus come out with his flatulent nonsense, oh, that's the true ware for the market! James Curry, James Curry, what ought you to have been, if the supple jade fortune had done your deserts justice! Instead of a d——d dodging dragoon, obedient to the beck of every puppy who wears his majesty's epaulets; but it's no matter, that's past; the wheel has made its turn, and here I am, doing the work of the scullion, that ought to sit above the salt-cellar. Vogue la galére! We will play out the play. Meantime, I'll be merry in spite of the horoscope: come then, I like these words and the jolly knave, whoever he was, that penned them.
"'You may take it for sooth that wit without gold.'"
The singer was, at this instant, arrested at the top of his voice by a blow against the back of his head, bestowed, apparently, by some ponderous hand, that so effectually swayed him from the line of gravity, as to cause him to reel in his saddle, and, by an irrecoverable impetus, to swing round to the ground, where he alighted on his back, with the reins of his horse firmly held in his hand.
"Singing on Sunday is against the law," said a hoarse voice, that came apparently from the air, as the darkness of the hour—which was increased by an overcast and lowering sky, as well as by the thick wood through which the road ran, prevented the stricken man from discerning anything that might have done him harm, even if such thing had been bodily present. The soldier lay for a moment prostrate, bewildered by the suddenness of this mysterious visitation; and when, at length, he regained his feet, he almost fancied that he heard receding from him, at a great distance, the dull beat of a horse's foot upon the sandy road.
Curry, who as a soldier was insensible to fear, now shook in every joint, as he stood beside his horse in a state of confused and ravelled wonderment. He strained his ear to catch the sound in the direction towards which he thought he had heard the retreating footsteps, but his more deliberate attention persuaded him that he was mistaken in his first impression. Still more puzzled as he came into the possession of his faculties, of which the abruptness of the surprise had almost bereft him, he stood for some time mute; then drawing his sword with the alacrity of a man, who all at once believes himself in danger of an uplifted blow, he called out loudly,
"Speak, and show yourself, if you be a man! Or if there be a party, let them come forth. Who waylays me? Remember, I warn him, in the name of the king, that I am on his majesty's errand, and that they are not far off who will punish any outrage on my person. By all the powers of Satan, the place is bewitched!" he exclaimed, after a pause. "Once more, speak; whether you are to be conjured in the name of the king or of the devil!"
All remained silent, except the leaves of the forest that fluttered in the breeze; and it was with an awkward and unacknowledged sense of faint-heartedness that Curry put up his sword and remounted into his saddle. He first moved slowly forward in continuation of his journey; and, as his thoughts still ran upon the extraordinary incident, he applied spurs to his horse's side, and gradually increased his pace from a trot to a gallop, and from that to almost high speed, until he emerged from the wood upon a track of open country. When he reached this spot the day had already appeared above the eastern horizon; and reassured, as the light waxed stronger, the dragoon, by degrees, fell into his customary travelling pace, and resumed the equanimity of his temper.
About ten o'clock in the day he reached Blackstock's, where he arrived in a heavy rain, that had been falling for the last three hours, and which had drenched him to the skin. So, rapidly dismounting and giving his horse into the charge of some of the idlers about the door, he entered the common room in which were assembled the greater part of the militia guard and of Habershaw's troopers. His first movement was to take the burly captain aside, and to communicate to him certain orders from the commanding officer at Ninety-Six, respecting the prisoner; which being done, he mingled with his usual affectedly careless and mirthful manner amongst the throng.
Butler, through the intercession of Bruce, had been indulged with some mitigation of the restraints at first imposed upon him; and he was, at this moment, availing himself of the privilege that had been allowed him, on account of the leaky condition of the barn in which he had spent the night, to take his morning meal inside of the dwelling-house. He was accordingly seated at a table, in a corner of the room, with some eatables before him in a more comfortable state of preparation than he had hitherto enjoyed. Two soldiers stood sufficiently near to render his custody effectual without much personal annoyance. As yet he had been unable to glean anything from the conversation of those around him, by which he might form the least conjecture as to his probable destiny. His intercourse with his captors was restricted to the mere supply of his immediate wants. All other communication was strictly interdicted. Even Habershaw himself seemed to be under some authoritative command, to deny himself the gratification of either exhibiting his own importance, or of wreaking his spleen upon his prisoner; and when Butler attempted to gain from Bruce some hint as to what was intended, the only answer he received was conveyed by the soldier's putting his finger on his lip.
Butler knew enough of Robinson's hardihood and venturesome disposition, to feel perfectly confident that he would make good his promise to be near him, at whatever personal hazard; and he was, therefore, in momentary expectation of receiving further intelligence from the sergeant in some of those strange, bold, and perilous forms of communication, which the character of the trusty soldier warranted him in counting upon. His knowledge that Robinson had passed by Blackstock's on the day preceding, gave him some assurance that the sergeant was in the diligent prosecution of his purpose to seek Sumpter, or some other of the partisan Whig corps in their hiding-places, and to try the hazardous experiment of his (Butler's) rescue from his present thraldom, by a vigorous incursion into the district where he was now confined. With this calculation of the course of events, he was prepared to hear, at every hour of the day, of some sudden alarm; and ready to co-operate, by seizing the first moment of confusion to snatch up a weapon, and force his way through the ranks of his guard. It was with such anticipations that now, whilst seemingly engrossed with the satisfaction of his physical wants at the table, he lent an attentive ear to the conversation which passed in the house between Curry and the company who were clustered around him. The dragoon, at first, in a light and merry vein of narrative, recounted to his hearers the singular visitation he had experienced before daybreak; and he contrived to fling over his story an additional hue of mystery, by the occasional reflections with which he seasoned it, tending to inculcate the belief to which he himself partly inclined, that the incident was brought about through the agency of some pranking and mischievous spirit,—a conclusion which, at that period, and amongst the persons to whom the adventure was related, did not require any great stretch of faith to sustain it. Some of his auditors fortified this prevailing inclination of opinion, by expressing their own conviction of the interference of malignant and supernatural influences in the concerns of mankind, and gave their personal experience of instances in which these powers were active. The conversation by degrees changed its tone from that of levity and laughter into one of grave and somewhat fearful interest, according to the increasing marvel which the several stories that were told excited in the superstitious minds of the circle; and in the same proportion that this sentiment took possession of the thoughts of the company, they became more unreserved in their language, and louder in the utterance of it, thus giving Butler the full benefit of all that was said.
"But, after all," said one of the men, "mightn't you have been asleep on your horse, James Curry, and had a sort of jogging dream, when a limb of a tree across the road, for it was a dark morning, might have caught you under the throat and flung you out of your saddle: and you, not knowing whether you was asleep or awake, for a man who is on duty, without his night's rest, sometimes can't tell the difference, thought it was some hobgoblin business?"
"No," said Curry, "that's impossible; for I was singing a song at the time, and almost at the top of my voice. I had been sleepy enough before that, just after I left Ninety-Six, near midnight, for I had ridden a long way; but as it grew towards daylight I began to rouse up, so that when this thing happened I was as much awake as I am now."
"Then it's a downright case of ghost," said the other. "It knew you was upon a wicked errand, and so that back-handed blow was a warning to you. These things are sometimes meant to be friendly; and who knows but this oversetting you in the road might have been intended to signify that you had better not meddle in cases of life and death. If you would take my advice, you would just treat this Major Butler, that you took prisoner"—
Curry looked at the speaker with a frown, as he made a motion to him to be silent. "Remember where you are, and who may hear you," he said in a cautious voice, as he glanced his eye towards Butler, who was leaning his head upon the table, as if in slumber.
"Oh, I understand," replied the soldier of the guard. "I forgot he was in the room."
"The weather holds up," said Habershaw, who now walked into the house. "The rain has slackened; and so, orderly, if you have had a bite of something to eat, the boys had better be got ready to march. We have a long way to go, and as the infantry march with us we shall get on slowly."
"I think so, noble Captain," replied Curry. "I shall be ready to join you before you get your line formed."
Orders were now issued by Habershaw, both to the troopers of his own squad and to the militia detachment, to put themselves in condition for an immediate movement. The clouds, during the last half hour, had been breaking away, and the sun soon burst forth upon the wet and glittering landscape, in all the effulgence of mid summer. During a brief interval of preparation the party of infantry and cavalry that now occupied the hamlet exhibited the bustle incident to the gathering of the corps. Some ran to one quarter for their arms, others to the stables for their horses; a cracked trumpet in the hands of a lusty performer, who here joined the troop, kept up a continual braying, and was seconded by the ceaseless beat of a slack and dull drum. There were some who, having put on their military equipments, thronged the table of the common room of the house, where spirits and water had been set out for their accommodation, and rude jokes, laughter, and oaths, were mingled together in deafening clamor.
"Move out the prisoner," shouted Habershaw; "he goes with the infantry afoot. I'll never trust another of the tribe with a horse."
"Follow, sir," said one of the sentinels near Butler's person, as he faced to the right with his musket at an "advance," and led the way to the door.
Butler rose, and, before he placed himself in the position required, asked:
"Where is it you purpose to conduct me?"
"Silence!" said Habershaw sternly. "Obey orders, sir, and march where you are directed."
Butler folded his arms and looked scornfully at the uncouth savage before him as he replied:
"I am a prisoner, sir, and therefore bound to submit to the force that constrains me. But there will be a day of reckoning, both for you and your master. It will not be the lighter to him for having hired such a ruffian to do the business in which he is ashamed to appear himself."
"Devil's leavings!" screamed Habershaw, almost choked with choler, "dare you speak to me so? By my heart, I have a mind to cleave your skull for you! My master, sir! You will find out, before long, who is master, when Hugh Habershaw has tied the knot that is to fit your neck."
"Peace, villain!" exclaimed Butler; "I cannot come too soon into the presence of those who claim to direct your motions."
Here James Curry interposed to draw off the incensed captain, and Butler, having received another order from the officer of the guard, moved out upon the road and took the place that was assigned him, between two platoons of the foot soldiers.
The troopers being mounted and formed into column of march with Habershaw and his trumpeter at the head and Curry in the rear, now moved forward at a slow gait, followed by the detachment of infantry who had the prisoner under their especial charge.
It was near noon when the party took up the line of march, and they prosecuted their journey southward with such expedition as to tax Butler's powers to the utmost to keep even pace with them over roads that were in many places rendered miry by the late rain. Towards evening, however, the sun had sufficiently dried the soil to make the travel less fatiguing; and by that hour when the light of day only lingered upon the tops of the western hills, the military escort, with their prisoner, were seen passing through a defile that opened upon their view an extensive bivouac of some two or three hundred horse and foot, and occupying a space of open field, encompassed with wood and guarded in its rear by a smooth and gentle river.
The spot at which they had arrived was the camp of a partisan corps under the command of Colonel Innis. A farm-house was seen in the immediate neighborhood, which was used as the head-quarters of a party of officers. Numerous horses were attached to the trees that bounded the plain, and various shelters were made in the same quarter, in the rudest form of accommodation, of branches and underwood set against ridge-poles, that were sustained by stakes, to protect the men against the weather. Groups of this irregular soldiery were scattered over the plain, a few wagons were seen collected in one direction, and, not far off, a line of fires, around which parties were engaged in cooking food. Here and there a sentinel was seen pacing his short limits, and occasionally the roll of a drum and the flourish of a fife announced some ceremony of the camp police.
The escort marched quickly across this plain until it arrived in front of the farm-house. Here a guard was drawn up to receive them; and, as soon as the usual military salute was passed and the order to "stand at ease" given, Habershaw put the detachment under the command of the lieutenant of infantry, and, accompanied by Curry, walked into the house to make his report to the commanding officer of the post.
In a few moments afterwards Colonel Innis, attended by two or three military men—some of whom wore the uniform of the British regular army—came from the house and passed hastily along the line of the escort, surveying Butler only with a rapid glance. Having regained the door, he was heard to say—
"It is very well; let the prisoner have a room above stairs. See that he wants nothing proper to his situation; and, above all, be attentive that he be kept scrupulously under the eye of his guard."
When this order was given, the Colonel retired with his attendants to his quarters, and Butler was forthwith conducted, by a file of men, up a narrow, winding stair, to a small apartment in the angle of the roof, where he was provided with a chair, a light, and a comfortable bed. His door was left open, and on the outside of it, full in his view, was posted a sentinel. He was too weary even to be troubled with the cares of his present condition; and, without waiting, therefore, for food, or seeking to inquire into whose hands he had fallen, or even to turn his thoughts upon the mysterious train of circumstances that hung over him, he flung himself upon the couch and sank into a profound and grateful sleep.