Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency

by John Pendleton Kennedy

The woodman stepped into the cabin and returned with his fire lock. All things being ready, the wagon, under the guidance of a negro who walked at the horses' heads, now moved forward. The whole party formed a procession in couples—the woodman's wife and Mary being first in the train, the children succeeding them, and the rest following in regular order.

It was an hour after midnight. The road, scarcely discernible, wound through a thick forest, and the procession moved with a slow and heavy step towards its destination. The torches lit up the darkness of the wood with a strong flame, that penetrated the mass of sombre foliage to the extent of some fifty paces around, and glared with a wild and romantic effect upon the rude coffin, the homely vehicle on which it was borne, and upon the sorrowing faces of the train that followed it. The seclusion of the region, the unwonted hour, and the strange mixture of domestic and military mourning, half rustic and half warlike, that entered into the composition of the group; and, above all, the manifestations of sincere and intense grief that were seen in every member of the train, communicated to the incident a singularly imaginative and unusual character. No words were spoken, except the few orders of the march announced by Harry Winter in a whisper; and the ear recognised, with a painful precision, the unceasing sobs of Mary Musgrove, and the deep groan that seemed, unawares, to escape now and then from some of the males of the party. The dull tramp of feet, and the rusty creak of the wagon-wheels, or the crackling of brushwood beneath them, and the monotonous clank of the chains employed in the gearing of the horses, all broke upon the stillness of the night with a more abrupt and observed distinctness, from the peculiar tone of feeling which pervaded those who were engaged in the sad offices of the scene.

In the space of half an hour, the train had emerged from the wood upon a small tract of open ground, that seemed to have been formerly cleared from the forest for the purpose of cultivation. Whatever tillage might have once existed there was now abandoned, and the space was overgrown with brambles, through which the blind road still struggled by a track that even in daylight it would have been difficult to pursue. Towards the centre of this opening grew a cluster of low cherry and peach trees, around whose roots a plentiful stock of wild scions had shot up in the absence of culture. Close in the shade of this cluster, a ragged and half-decayed paling formed a square inclosure of some ten or twelve paces broad, and a few rude posts set up within, indicated the spot to be the rustic grave-yard. Here two negroes were seen resting over a newly-dug grave.

The wagon halted within some short distance of the paling, and the coffin was now committed to the shoulders of the troopers. Following these, the whole train of mourners entered the burial-place.

My reader will readily imagine with what fresh fervor the grief of poor Mary broke forth, whilst standing on the verge of the pit in which were to be entombed the remains of one so dear to her. The solemn interval or pause which intervened between the arrival of the corpse at this spot, and its being lowered into the ground, was one that was not signalized only by the loud sorrow of her who here bore the part of chief mourner; but all, even to the negroes who stood musing over their spades, gave vent to feelings which, at such a moment, it neither belongs to humanity, nor becomes it, to resist.

The funeral service was performed by Allen Musgrove. The character of the miller, both physical and moral, impressed his present employment with singular efficacy. Though his frame bore the traces of age, it was still robust and muscular; and his bearing, erect and steadfast, denoted firmness of mind. His head, partially bald, was now uncovered; and his loose, whitened locks played in the breeze. The torches were raised above the group; and as they flared in the wind and flung their heavy volumes of smoke into the air, they threw also a blaze of light upon the venerable figure of the miller, as he poured forth an impassioned supplication to the Deity; which, according to the habit of thinking of that period, and conformably also to the tenets of the religious sect to which the speaker belonged, might be said to have expressed, in an equal degree, resignation to the will of Heaven and defiance of the power of man. Though the office at the grave was thus prolonged, it did not seem to be unexpected or wearisome to the auditory, who remained with unabated interest until they had chanted a hymn, which was given out by the miller, and sung in successive couplets. The religious observances of the place seemed to have taken a profitable hold upon the hearts of the mourners; and before the hymn was concluded, even the voice of Mary Musgrove rose with a clear cadence upon the air, and showed that the inspirations of piety had already supplanted some of the more violent paroxysms of grief.

This exercise of devotion being finished, the greater part of the company began their retreat to the woodman's cabin. Winter and his comrades remained to perform the useless and idle ceremony of discharging their pistols over the grave, and when this was accomplished they hurried forward to overtake the party in advance.

They had scarcely rejoined their companions, before the horses of the wagon were seized by an unknown hand; and the glare of the torches presented to the view of the company some fifteen or twenty files of British troopers.

"Stand, I charge you all, in the name of the king!" called out an authoritative voice from the contiguous thicket; and before another word could be uttered, the funeral train found themselves surrounded by enemies.

"Hands off!" exclaimed Butler, as a soldier had seized him by the coat. A pistol shot was heard, and Butler was seen plunging into the wood, followed by Winter and one or two others.