The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.—Scott.
Brief time was taken by the fugitives for refreshment at David Ramsay's dwelling. Here Butler put on the disguise which Christopher Shaw had provided for him. Then arming himself with a pair of pistols which John had appropriated to his use, the trooper himself using a similar precaution, our two adventurers resumed their journey. Their first object was to gain a point, some seven or eight miles distant, in the direction of the Fair Forest, where John Ramsay had concealed a few troopers that had been furnished him by Williams, to give their aid, if necessary, in securing Butler's escape.
From this point they were to proceed, with all possible despatch, to Williams's camp. However hazardous the experiment of attempting to traverse the country in open daylight, it was deemed still more dangerous to tarry any length of time so near the scene of their late adventure. Butler and his comrade, therefore, pushed forward with as much expedition as possible, resolved to outrun the fresh pursuit which they had reason to apprehend upon the discovery which the morning must produce at the miller's habitation.
Soon after sunrise the rain ceased to fall, the clouds dispersed, and a fresh and brilliant morning broke forth upon the heavens. The success of their late exploit had raised the spirits of the wanderers. A sense of intense delight animated Butler's feelings: a consciousness of liberty once more enjoyed, after hopes deferred and almost despairing captivity, seemed to regenerate him and make him acquainted with emotions he had never felt before. His heart was full of gratitude to his new friend Ramsay, and the expression of it was warm and sincere. Nature had never appeared so lovely to him as now: the whispers of the forest and the murmur of the clear brook fell on his enfranchised ear like the sweetest music: there was melody for him even in the screams of the jay and the harsh notes of the crow: and once when his companion had halted in sight of a buck that bounded through the wood before him, Butler, apprehensive that John was about to discharge a bullet after the forest-rover, found himself involuntarily pleading the cause of the noble animal: "Do not draw your pistol on him, Ramsay, I pray you. Let him run; it is liberty—liberty, good comrade—and that is sacred."
Before eight o'clock they had reached the rendezvous. Here they found three troopers who, although armed, were habited in the plain dress of the country, which enabled them to claim the denomination either of Whig or Tory militia, as their occasions might demand. These men had lain perdue, for some days, in the depth of the forest, impatiently awaiting for intelligence from Ramsay.
"Well, Harry Winter," said John, laughing, "what say you now? I have brought you the miller's boy at last. Have I not made my word good?"
"Truth, John," replied the trooper, "there is more stuff in you than we counted on. Macdonald must be a silly crow to let the fox steal his cheese from him so easily."
"You would have come nearer the mark, Harry, if you had called him a sleepy lout, for whilst he was nodding I took his cake off the griddle. It was fair filching by night, as the Major will tell you. But come, lads, here is no time for dallying, we mustn't have the grass growing to our horses' heels, when we have a whole pack of King George's hounds on our trail. So move, boys!" and saying these words, John led the party forward at a rapid gallop.
They had not gone far before they found themselves upon a road which led through a piece of thin wood that covered a small tract of marshy ground, the nature of which brought the party into a more compact body as they approached the narrowest point of the defile. At a short distance beyond this impediment the track became broader, where it ascended a hill thickly covered with an undergrowth of bushes.