Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency

by John Pendleton Kennedy

"Mr. Robinson!" she exclaimed, with a faltering voice; "you don't know me?—me, Mary Musgrove. Father, it is our friend, Horse Shoe Robinson!" Then placing the vessel upon the ground, she ran to the sergeant's side, as he sat upon his horse, and leaning her head against his saddle, she wept bitterly, sobbing out: "It is me, Mary Musgrove. John—our John—that you loved—he is dead—he is dead!"

In an instant Allen Musgrove was at the gate, where he greeted the sergeant with the affection of an old friend.

This recognition of the miller and his daughter at once confirmed the sergeant in his determination to end his day's journey at this spot. In a few moments Mildred and her companions were introduced into the farm-house, where they were heartily welcomed by the in-dwellers, consisting of a sturdy, cheerful tiller of the soil, and a motherly dame, whose brood of children around her showed her to be the mistress of the family.

The scene that ensued after the party were seated in the house was, for some time, painfully affecting. Poor Mary, overcome by the associations called up to her mind at the sight of the sergeant, took a seat near him, and silently gazed in his face, visibly laboring under a strong desire to express her feelings in words, but at the same time stricken mute by the intensity of her emotions.

After a long suspense, which was broken only by her sobs, she was enabled to utter a few disjointed sentences, in which she recalled to the sergeant the friendship that had existed between him and John Ramsay; and there was something peculiarly touching in the melancholy tone with which, in accordance with the habits inculcated by her religious education, and most probably in the words of her father's frequent admonitions, she attributed the calamity that had befallen her to the kindly chastisement of heaven, to endure which she devoutly, and with a sigh that showed the bitterness of her suffering, prayed for patience and submission. Allen Musgrove, at this juncture, interposed with some topics of consolation suitable to the complexion of the maiden's mind, and soon succeeded in drying up her tears, and restoring her, at least, to the possession of a tranquil and apparently a resigned spirit.

When this was done, he gave a narrative of the events relating to the escape of Butler and his subsequent recapture at the funeral of John Ramsay, to which, it may be imagined, Mildred and Henry listened with the most absorbed attention.

This tale of the recapture of Butler, so unexpected, and communicated at a moment when Mildred's heart beat high with the joyful hopes of speedily seeing her lover again in safety, now struck upon her ear with the alarm that seizes upon a voyager who, fearing no hidden reef or unknown shoal, hears the keel of his ship in mid ocean crash against a solid rock. It seemed at once to break down the illusion which she had cherished with such fond affection. For the remainder of the evening the intercourse of the party was anxious and thoughtful, and betrayed the unhappy impression which the intelligence just communicated had made upon the feelings of Mildred and her brother. Musgrove, after the travellers had been refreshed by food, and invigorated by the kind and hearty hospitality of the good man under whose roof they were sheltered, proceeded to give the sergeant a history of what had lately befallen in the neighborhood of the Ennoree. Some days after the escape of Butler, the miller's own family had drawn upon themselves the odium of the ruling authority. His mill and his habitation had been reduced to ashes by a party of Tories who had made an incursion into this district, with no other view than to wreak their vengeance against suspected persons. In the same inroad, the family of David Ramsay had once more been assailed, and all that was spared from the first conflagration was destroyed in the second. Many other houses through this region had met the same fate. The expedition had been conducted by Wemyss, who, it is said, carried in his pocket a list of dwellings to which the torch was to be applied, and who, on accomplishing each item of his diabolical mission—so still runs the tradition—would note the consummated work by striking out the memorandum from his tablets.

In this general ravage, the desolated families fled like hunted game through the woods, and betook themselves with a disordered haste to the more friendly provinces northward. Musgrove had sent his wife and younger children, almost immediately after the assault upon him, to the care of a relative in Virginia, whither they had been conducted some days previous to the date of his present meeting with Horse Shoe by Christopher Shaw; whilst he and Mary had remained behind, for a short space, to render assistance to the family of Ramsay, to whom they felt themselves affined almost as closely as if the expected alliance by marriage had taken place. When this duty was discharged, and Ramsay's family were provided with a place of refuge, Musgrove had set forward with his daughter to rejoin his wife and children in their new asylum. It was upon this journey that they had now been accidentally overtaken by our travellers.

The disclosure of the motives of Mildred's expedition to Mary and her father, as may be supposed, warmed up their feelings to a most affectionate sympathy in her troubles. They had often heard of Butler's attachment to a lady in Virginia, and were aware of her name, from the incidents that had occurred at the trial of Butler, and from the nature of Horse Shoe's mission to Virginia. Mary had nursed in her mind a fanciful and zealous interest in behalf of the lady who was supposed to have engrossed Butler's affections, from the earnest devotion which she had witnessed in his demeanor, first at Adair's, and often afterwards during his captivity. The effect of this preconceived favor now showed itself in her behavior to Mildred; and, in the gentle play which it gave to her kindly sentiments, a most happy change was wrought in her present feelings. She at once warmly and fervently attached herself to Mildred, and won her way into our lady's esteem by the most amiable assiduities. In these offices of love, the poignancy of her own grief began to give way to the natural sweetness of her temper, and they were observed, in the same degree, to enliven Mildred's feelings. Mary hung fondly about her new acquaintance, proffered her most minute attentions of comfort, spoke often of the generous qualities of Butler, and breathed many a sincere prayer for future happiness to him and those he loved.

As Mildred pondered over the new aspect which the tidings of this evening had given to her condition, her inclination and duty both prompted her to the resolve to make an effort to join Butler, instead of returning to the Dove Cote. She was apprised by Musgrove that the prisoner had been conducted to Ferguson, who, she was told, was at this time stationed in the neighborhood of Gilbert-town, not a hundred miles from her present position. She had ventured far in his services, and she could not, now that she had so nearly approached him, consent to abandon the effort of reaching the spot of his captivity. She thought with alarm over the dangers that might await him in consequence of his previous escape, and this alarm was increased by her remembrance of the tone of bitter resentment with which Cornwallis, in a moment of unguarded feeling, had referred to the event in her late conference with that officer. Above all, it was her duty—such was her view of the matter—and whatever might befal, he was the lord of her heart, and all dangers and difficulties, now as heretofore, should be cast aside in her determination to administer to his safety or comfort. Her decision was made, and she so announced it to her companions.