Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency

by John Pendleton Kennedy

"Look to yourself! I ask no terms from you," interrupted Curry, as suddenly springing to his feet, he now made a second pass, which was swung with such unexpected vigor at the head of his adversary, that Horse Shoe had barely time to catch the blow, as before, upon his rifle. The broadsword was broken by the stroke, and one of the fragments of the blade struck the sergeant upon the forehead, inflicting a wound that covered his face with blood. Horse Shoe reeled a step or two from his ground, and clubbing the rifle, as it is called, by grasping the barrel towards the muzzle, he paused but an instant to dash the blood from his brow with his hand, and then, with one lusty sweep, to which his sudden anger gave both precision and energy, he brought the piece full upon the head of his foe, with such fatal effect as to bury the lock in the trooper's brain, whilst the stock was shattered into splinters. Curry, almost without a groan, fell dead across a ledge of rock at his feet.

"The grudge is done, and the fool has met his desarvings," was Horse Shoe's brief comment upon the event, as he gazed sullenly, for an instant, upon the dead corpse. He had no time to tarry. The rest of his party were still engaged with the troopers of the guard, who now struggled to preserve the custody of their prisoner. The bridle-rein of Captain Peter had been caught by one of the Rangers, and the good steed was now quickly delivered up to his master, who, flinging himself again into his saddle, rushed into the throng of combatants. The few dragoons, dispirited by the loss of their leader, and stricken with panic at this strenuous onset, turned to flight, leaving Butler in the midst of his friends.

"God bless you, major!" shouted Robinson, as he rode up to his old comrade, who, unarmed, had looked upon the struggle with an interest corresponding to the stake he had in the event. "Up, man—here, spring across the pommel. Now, boys, down the mountain, for your lives! Huzza, huzza! we have won him back!" he exclaimed, as seizing Butler's arm, he lifted him upon the neck of Captain Peter, and bounded away at full speed towards the base of the mountain, followed by Foster and his party.

The reader may imagine the poignancy of Mildred's emotions as she sat beside Allen Musgrove and his daughter on the knoll, and watched the busy and stirring scene before her. The centre division of the assailing army was immediately in her view, on the opposite face of the mountain, and no incident of the battle in this quarter escaped her notice. She could distinctly perceive the motions of the Amherst Rangers, to whom she turned her eyes with a frequent and eager glance, as the corps with which her brother Henry was associated; and when the various fortune of the fight disclosed to her the occasional retreat of her friends before the vigorous sallies of the enemy, or brought to her ear the renewed and angry volleys of musketry, she clenched Mary Musgrove's arm with a nervous grasp, and uttered short and anxious ejaculations that showed the terror of her mind.

"I see Mister Henry, yet," said Mary, as Campbell's troops rallied from the last shock, and again moved towards the summit. "I see him plainly, ma'am—for I know his green dress, and caught the glitter of his brass bugle in the sun. And there now—all is smoke again. Mercy, how stubborn are these men! And there is Mister Henry once more—near the top. He is safe, ma'am."

"How earnestly," said Mildred, unconsciously speaking aloud as she surveyed the scene, "Oh, how earnestly do I wish this battle was done! I would rather, Mr. Musgrove, be in the midst of yonder crowd of angry men, could I but have their recklessness, than here in safety, to be tortured with my present feelings."

"In God is our trust, madam," replied the miller. "His arm is abroad over the dangerous paths, for a shield and buckler to them that put their trust in him. Ha! there is Ferguson's white horse, rushing, with a dangling rein and empty saddle, down the mountain, through Campbell's ranks: the rider has fallen; and there, madam—there, look on it!—is a white flag waving in the hands of a British officer. The fight is done. Hark, our friends are cheering with a loud voice!"

"Thank Heaven—thank Heaven!" exclaimed Mildred as she sprang upon her feet; "It is even so!"

The loud huzzas of the troops rose upon the air; the firing ceased; the flag of truce fluttered in the breeze, and the confederated bands of the mountaineers, from every quarter of the late battle, were seen hurrying towards the crest of the mountain, and mingling amongst the ranks of the conquered foe. Again and again, the clamorous cheering of the victors broke forth from the mountain-top, and echoed along the neighboring valleys.

During this wild clamor and busy movement, a party of horsemen were seen, through the occasional intervals of the low wood that skirted the valley on the right, hastening from the field with an eager swiftness towards the spot where Mildred and her companions were stationed.