Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency

by John Pendleton Kennedy

"Come what will of it," said Ramsay, summing up the chances for and against him; "I will be ready for the worst. Many better men have given all they had to the cause of independence, and I will not flinch from giving my share. They may burn and break down; but, thank God, I have a country—aye, and a heart and an arm to stand by it!"

On the same evening, towards sundown, a horseman drew up his rein at Ramsay's door. He was young—in the prime of early manhood, his dress was that of a rustic, his equipment showed him to be a traveller—a weary one, from the plight of his horse, and, like most travellers of the time, well armed. He did not stand to summon any one to the door, but put his hand upon the latch with eager haste, and entered with the familiarity of one acquainted with the place. Mistress Ramsay was seated at her spinning-wheel, anxiously brooding over the tales of the day. Her husband reclined in his chair, silently and thoughtfully smoking his pipe. They both sprang up at once, as the visitor crossed the threshold, and with fervent joy greeted their son John Ramsay. The household was clamorous with the affectionate salutations of the parents, of the brothers and sisters, and of the domestics. John was the eldest of Ramsay's children, and had just reached his paternal roof after an absence of some months, during which he had been in service with Sumpter. The gathering in of the members of a family around the domestic board, in times of peril and distress, is one of the luxuries of the heart that in peace we cannot know. The arrival of John Ramsay at the present moment was a source of the liveliest happiness to his parents. They needed a cheerful as well as a resolute comforter. John had, only twenty-four hours previous, left Sumpter near Rocky Mount—immediately after the battle with the British convoy was won. He was sent with despatches to Colonel Williams, a Whig partisan of note, who was now supposed to be in the neighborhood of the Saluda. These had some reference to the military movements of the parties; and John Ramsay was permitted by Sumpter to make a short halt at his father's house.

In the first hour after his arrival, he had given to the family the history of his homeward ride. He had discovered that hostile forces—of which, until his journey was nearly finished, he heard nothing—were encamped in the neighborhood; that a court-martial had been sitting for the trial of an American officer, as a spy, and had condemned him to be shot. He had been apprised, moreover, that small parties were out, riding into every corner of the country. He himself had nearly been surprised by one of these, as he endeavored to make his way to the house of Allen Musgrove, where he had proposed to himself a visit, even before he came to his father's, but, fearing something wrong, he had fled from them, and baffled their pursuit, although they had chased him more than a mile; he had, in consequence, been deprived of the opportunity of visiting the miller.

"Although it is four months since we have seen you, John," said the dame, with a tone of affectionate chiding, "yet, you would turn aside to get under Allen Musgrove's roof, before you thought of the arms of your mother."

John's sun-burnt cheek blushed crimson red as he replied, "It was but a step out of the way, mother, and I should not have stayed long. Mr. Musgrove and his folks are safe and well, I hope, and Christopher?"

"Tut, boy! speak it out, and don't blush about it," interrupted the father briskly: "she is a good girl, and you needn't be ashamed to name her, as you ought to have done, first and before all the rest. Mary is well, John, and has just proved herself to be the best girl in the country."

This little passage of mirth between the parents and their son, led to a full narrative by David Ramsay of the events which had occurred in the last two or three days, concluding with the capture of the ensign, and the retreat of Horse Shoe and Christopher Shaw to the Devil's Ladder. The communication wrought a grave and thoughtful mood on the young soldier. It presented a crisis to him for immediate action. He was wearied with a long ride, but it seemed to him to be no time for rest.

"Father," he said, after turning over in his thoughts the intelligence he had just received, "it was a brave and beautiful thing for so young a lad as Andy to do; and the taking of the ensign has served a useful purpose, but it brings this house and family into danger. And I fear for poor Mary. Christopher Shaw must get back to the mill, and quickly too. His absence will bring his uncle's family into trouble. I will take Christopher's place, and go to Horse Shoe's assistance this night. We may take the prisoner with us to Williams."

"To-night!" said the mother anxiously, "you would not leave us to-night, John?"

"Aye, to-night, wife," answered David Ramsay, "the boy is right, there is no time to spare."