XVII. SCENE IN THE BIVOUAC…

XVII. SCENE IN THE BIVOUAC

"Bustle, my lads--bustle! These are stirring times," exclaimed Habershaw, riding with an air of great personal consequence into the midst of the troop, as they were gathered, still on horseback, under the chestnut. "We have made a fine night's work of it, and, considering that we fought in the dark against men ready armed for us, this has not been such a light affair. To be sure, in point of numbers, it is a trifle; but the plan, Peppercorn--the plan, and the despatch, and the neatness of the thing--that's what I say I am entitled to credit for. Bless your soul, Peppercorn, these fellows were sure to fall into my trap--there was no getting off. That's the effect of my generalship, you see, Peppercorn. Study it, boy! We could have managed about twenty more of the filthy rebels handsomely; but this will do--this will do. I took, as a commanding officer ought always to do, the full responsibility of the measure, and a good share of the fight. Did I not, Peppercorn? Wasn't I, in your opinion, about the first man in the river?"

"I'll bear witness, valiant and victorious captain," answered the dragoon, "that you fired the first shot; and I am almost willing to make oath that I saw you within at least twenty paces of the enemy, exhorting your men."

"Now lads--wait for the word--dismount!" continued the captain, "and make up your minds to pass the night where you are. Peppercorn, the prisoners I put under your identical charge. Remember that! keep your eyes about you. Set a guard of four men upon them; I will make you accountable." He then added, in an under tone, "hold them safe until to-morrow, man, and I promise you, you shall have no trouble in watching them after that."

"You shall find them," replied Peppercorn.

"Silence," interrupted the captain; "hear my orders, and give no reply. Now, sir, before you do anything else, call your roll, and report your killed, wounded, and missing."

Upon this order, the dragoon directed the men, after disposing of their horses, to form a line. He then called over the squad by their real names, and immediately afterwards reported to his superior, who, in order to preserve a proper dignified distance, had retreated some paces from the group, the following pithy and soldier-like account:--

"Two men wounded, noble captain, in the late action; two missing; one horse, saddle and bridle lost; one horse and two prisoners taken from the enemy."

"The names of the wounded, sir?"

"Tom Dubbs and Shadrach Green; one slightly scratched, and the other bruised by a kick from the blacksmith."

"The missing, sir?"

"Dick Waters, commonly called Marrow Bone, and Roger Bell, known in your honor's list by the name of Clapper Claw."

"They have skulked," said the captain.

"Marrow Bone is as dead as a door nail, sir," said the orderly with perfect indifference, and standing affectedly erect. "He fell in the river, and the probability is that Clapper Claw keeps him company."

"What!" roared Habershaw, "have the diabolical scoundrels made away with any of my good fellows? Have the precious lives of my brave soldiers been poured out by the d----d rebels? By my hand, they shall feel twisted rope, Peppercorn!--cold iron is too good for them."

"Softly, captain!" said the orderly. "You don't blame the enemy for showing fight? We mustn't quarrel with the chances of war. There is not often a fray without a broken head, captain. We must deal with the prisoners according to the laws of war."

"Of Tory war, Peppercorn, aye, that will I! String the dogs up to the first tree. The devil's pets, why didn't they surrender when we set upon them! To-morrow: let them look out to-morrow. No words, orderly; send out two files to look for the bodies, and to bring in the stray horse if they can find him. A pretty night's work! to lose two good pieces of stuff for a brace of black-hearted whigs!"

The two files were detailed for the duty required, and immediately set out, on foot, towards the scene of the late fray. The rest of the troop were dismissed from the line.

"I would venture to ask, sir," said Butler, addressing the captain, "for a cup of water: I am much hurt."

"Silence, and be d----d to you!" said Habershaw gruffly, "silence, and know your place, sir. You are a prisoner, and a traitor to boot."

"Don't you hear the gentleman say he is hurt?" interposed Robinson. "It's onnatural, and more like a beast than a man to deny a prisoner a little water."

"By my sword, villain, I will cleave your brain for you, if you open that rebel mouth of yours again!"

"Pshaw, pshaw! Captain Habershaw, this will never do," said Peppercorn; "men are men, and must have food and drink. Here, Gideon Blake, give me your flask of liquor and bring me some water from the river. It is my duty, captain, to look after the prisoners."

Gideon Blake, who was a man of less savage temper than most of his associates, obeyed this command with alacrity, and even added a few words of kindness, as he assisted in administering refreshment to the prisoners. This evidence of a gentler nature did not escape the comment of the ruffian captain, who still remembered his old grudge against the trooper.

"Away, sir," he said in a peremptory and angry tone, "away and attend to your own duty. You are ever fond of obliging these beggarly whigs. Hark you, Peppercorn," he added, speaking apart to the dragoon, "take care how you trust this skulking vagabond: he will take bribes from the rebels, and turn his coat whenever there is money in the way. I have my eye upon him."

"If I chose to speak," said Gideon Blake.

"Hold your peace, you grey fox," cried the captain. "Not a word! I know your doublings. Remember you are under martial law, and blast me, if I don't make you feel it! There are more than myself suspect you."

"I should like to know," said Butler, "why I and my companion are molested on our journey. Have we fallen amongst banditti, or do you bear a lawful commission? If you do, sir, let me tell you, you have disgraced it by outrage and violence exercised towards unoffending men, and shall answer for it when the occasion serves. On what pretence have we been arrested?"

"Hark, my young fighting-cock," replied the captain. "You will know your misdemeanors soon enough. And if you would sleep to-night with a whole throat, you will keep your tongue within your teeth. It wouldn't take much to persuade me to give you a little drum-head law. Do you hear that?"

"It is my advice, major," whispered Robinson, "to ax no questions of these blackguards."

"Be it so, sergeant," said Butler, "I am weary and sick."

When other cares were disposed of, and the excited passions of the lawless gang had subsided into a better mood, the dragoon took Butler's cloak from the baggage and spread it upon the ground beneath the shelter of the shrubbery, and the suffering officer was thus furnished a bed that afforded him some small share of comfort, and enabled to take that rest which he so much needed. Robinson seated himself on the ground beside his companion, and in this situation they patiently resigned themselves to whatever fate awaited them.

Soon after this the whole troop were busy in the preparations for refreshment and sleep. The horses were either hobbled, by a cord from the fore to the hind foot, and turned loose to seek pasture around the bivouac, or tethered in such parts of the forest as furnished them an opportunity to feed on the shrubbery. The fire was rekindled, and some small remnants of venison roasted before it; and in less than an hour this reckless and ill-governed band were carousing over their cups with all the rude ribaldry that belonged to such natures.

"Come, boys," said Peppercorn, who seemed to take a delight in urging the band into every kind of excess, and who possessed that sort of sway over the whole crew, including their leader no less than the privates, which an expert and ready skill in adapting himself to the humor of the company gave him, and which faculty be now appeared to exercise for the increase of his own influence. "Come, boys, laugh while you can--that's my motto. This soldiering is a merry life, fighting, drinking, and joking. By the God of war! I will enlist the whole of you into the regular service--Ferguson or Cruger, which you please, boys! they are both fine fellows and would give purses of gold for such charming, gay, swaggering blades. Fill up your cans and prepare for another bout. I'm not the crusty cur to stint thirsty men. A toast, my gay fellows!"

"Listen to Peppercorn," cried out some three or four voices.

"Here's to the honor of the brave captain Hugh Habershaw, and his glorious dogs that won the battle of Grindall's ford!"

A broad and coarse laugh burst from the captain at the announcement of this toast.

"By my sword!" he exclaimed, "the fight was not a bad fight."

"Can you find a joint of venison, Gideon?" said Peppercorn, aside. "If you can, give it, and a cup of spirits, to the prisoners. Stop, I'll do it myself, you will have the old bull-dog on your back."

And saying this the dragoon rose from his seat, and taking a few fragments of the meat which had been stripped almost to the bone, placed them, together with a canteen, beside Butler.

"Make the best of your time," he said, "you have but short allowance and none of the best. If I can serve you, I will do it with a good heart; so, call on me."

Then turning to the sergeant, who sat nigh, he whispered in his ear, and, with a distinct and somewhat taunting emphasis, inquired,

"Friend Horse Shoe, mayhap thou knowest me?"

"That I do, James Curry," replied the sergeant, "and I have a mean opinion of the company you keep. I don't doubt but you are ashamed to say how you come by them."

"All is fish that comes into the Dutchman's net," said Curry. "To-night I have caught fat game. You are a sturdy fellow, master Blacksmith, and good at a tug, but remember, friend, I owe you a cuff, and if you weren't a prisoner you should have it."

"Show me fair play, James Curry, and you shall have a chance now," said Horse Shoe; "I'll keep my parole to surrender when it is over."

"Silence, fool!" returned Curry, at the same time rudely pinching Robinson's ear. "You will be a better man than I take you to be, if you ever wrestle with me again. I have not forgotten you."

The dragoon now rejoined his comrades.

"Peppercorn," cried Habershaw, "d----n the prisoners, let them fast to-night. The lads want a song. Come, the liquor's getting low, we want noise, we want uproar, lad! Sing, bully, sing!"

"Anything to get rid of the night, noble captain. What shall I give you?"

"The old catch, master Orderly. The Jolly Bottle, the Jolly Bottle," cried Habershaw, pronouncing this word according to ancient usage, with the accent on the last syllable, as if spelt "bottel;" "give us the Jolly Bottle, we all know the chorus of that song. And besides it's the best in your pack."

"Well, listen, my wet fellows!" said Peppercorn, "and pipe lustily in the chorus."

Here the orderly sang, to a familiar old English tune, the following song, which was perhaps a common camp ditty of the period.

"You may talk as you please of your candle and book, And prate about virtue, with sanctified look; Neither priest, book, nor candle, can help you so well To make friends with the world as the Jolly Bottle."

"Chorus, my lads; out with it!" shouted the singer; and the whole crew set up a hideous yell as they joined him.

"Sing heave and ho, and trombelow, The Jolly Bottle is the best I trow.

"Then take the bottle, it is well stitched of leather, And better than doublet keeps out the wind and weather: Let the bottom look up to the broad arch of blue, And then catch the drippings, as good fellows do. With heave and ho, and trombelow, 'Tis sinful to waste good liquor, you know.

"The soldier, he carries his knapsack and gun. And swears at the weight as he tramps through the sun But, devil a loon, did I ever hear tell, Who swore at the weight of the Jolly Bottle. So heave and ho, and trombelow, The Jolly Bottle is a feather, I trow."

Here the song was interrupted by the return of the two files who had been sent to bring in the bodies of the dead. They had found the missing horse, and now led him into the circle laden with the corpses of Bell and Waters. The troopers halted immediately behind the ring of the revellers, and in such a position as to front Peppercorn and the captain, who were thus afforded a full view of the bodies by the blaze of the fire.

"Easy," almost whispered Habershaw, now half-intoxicated, to the two troopers, as he lifted his hands and motioned to them to halt; "put them down gently on the ground. Go on, Peppercorn; let the dead help themselves: finish the song! That chorus again, my boys!" And here the last chorus was repeated in the highest key of merriment.

Peppercorn cast an eye at the bodies which, during the interval, had been thrown on the earth, and while the men who had just returned were helping themselves to the drink, he proceeded, in an unaltered voice, with the song.

"When drinkers are dry, and liquor is low, A fray that takes off a good fellow or so, Why, what does it do, but help us to bear The loss of a comrade, in drinking his share? Then heave and ho, and trombelow, A fray and a feast are brothers, you know.

"The philosophers say it's a well-settled fact, That a vessel will leak whose bottom is cracked; And a belly that's drilled with a bullet, I think, Is a very bad belly to stow away drink. So heave and ho, and trombelow, The dead will be dry to-night, I trow."

"There they are, captain," said one of the returning troopers, after the song, to which he and his companions had stood listening with delighted countenances, was brought to an end, "there they are. We found Dick Waters lying in the road, and when we first came to him he gave a sort of groan, but we didn't lift him until we came back from hunting Roger Bell; by that time the fellow was as dead as a pickled herring. Where do you think we found Clapper Claw? Why, half a mile, almost, down the stream. He was washed along and got jammed up betwixt the roots of a sycamore. We had a long wade after him, and trouble enough to get him--more, I'm thinking, than a dead man is worth. So, give us some more rum; this is ugly work to be done in the dark."

"Scratch a hole for them, lads, under the bushes," said Habershaw; "put a sod blanket over them before morning. That's the fortune of war, as Peppercorn calls it. How are the wounded men getting along?"

"Oh bravely, captain," replied Shad Green, or, according to his nickname, Red Mug: "this here physic is a main thing for a scratch."

"Bravely!" echoed Screech Owl, or Tom Dubbs, the same who had been reported by the dragoon as "kicked by the blacksmith;" "we are plastering up sores here with the jolly bottle:--

"Sing heave and ho, and trombelow, The Jolly Bottle is a feather, I trow."

"What's a cracked crown, so as it holds a man's brains?" continued the drunken carouser, whilst a laugh deformed his stupid physiognomy.

"How are we off for provisions, quarter-master?" inquired the captain of one of the gang.

"Eaten out of skin, from nose to tail," replied Black Jack.

"Then the squad must forage to-night," continued Habershaw. "We must take a buck, my sweet ones; there are plenty along the river. Get your rifles and prepare lights, and, to keep out of the way of our horses, don't stop short of a mile. Be about it, lads. Black Jack, this is your business."

"True, Captain," replied the person addressed: "I shall have all things ready directly."

It was near midnight when Black Jack, having prepared some faggots of pitch-pine, and selected three or four of the best marksmen, left the bivouac to look for deer. Habershaw himself, though lazy and inordinately impressed with a sense of his own dignity, and now confused with liquor, could not resist the attraction of this sport. He accordingly, not long after the others had departed, took a rifle, and, attended by his bull-dog, whom he never parted from on any occasion, slowly followed in the direction chosen by the hunters.

Those in advance had scarcely walked along the margin of the river a mile before they lighted their faggots, and began to beat the neighboring thickets; and their search was not protracted many minutes when the light of their torches was thrown full upon the eyes of a buck. A shot from one of the marksmen told with unerring precision in the forehead of the animal.

The report and the light brought the corpulent captain into the neighborhood. He had almost walked himself out of breath and, as he did not very well preserve his perpendicularity, or a straight line of march, he had several times been tripped up by the roots of trees, or by rocks and briers in his path. Exhausted, at length, and puzzled by the stupefaction of his own brain, as well as by the surrounding darkness, he sat down at the foot of a tree, determined to wait the return of the hunting party. His faithful and congenial "Beauty," not less pursy and short-winded than himself, and not more savage or surly in disposition, now couched upon his haunches immediately between his master's legs; and here this pair of beastly friends remained, silent and mutually soothed by their own companionship. During this interval the person who bore the fire, followed by one of the marksmen, crept slowly onward to the vicinity of the spot where the captain had seated himself. The lapse of time had proved too much for Habershaw's vigilance, and he had, at length, with his head resting against the trunk of the tree, fallen into a drunken slumber. The short crack of a rifle at hand, and the yell of his dog awakened him. He started upon his feet with sudden surprise, and stepping one pace forward, stumbled and fell over the dead body of his favorite Beauty, who lay beneath him weltering in blood. The shot was followed by a rush of the hunter up to the spot: it was Gideon Blake.

"Buck or doe, it is my shot!" cried Gideon, as he halted immediately beside Habershaw.

"May all the devils blast you, Gideon Blake!" thundered on the incensed captain. "You have sought my life, you murdering wolf, and your bullet has killed Beauty."

"I shot at the eyes of what I thought a deer," returned Blake. "You were a fool, Hugh Habershaw, to bring a dog into such a place.

"My poor dog! my brave dog! Beauty was worth ten thousand such bastard villains as you! And to have him killed! May the devil feast upon your soul this night, Gideon Blake! Go! and account for your wickedness. Take that, snake! tiger! black-hearted whig and rebel! and be thankful that you didn't come to your end by the help of hemp!" and in this gust of passion he struck his knife into the bosom of the trooper, who groaned, staggered, and fell.

At this moment the person bearing the fire, hearing the groan of his comrade, rushed up to the spot and seized Habershaw's arm, just as the monster was raising it over the fallen man to repeat the blow.

"Damn him! see what he has done!" exclaimed the captain, as he lifted up the dead body of the dog so as to show in the light the wound inflicted by the ball between the eyes; "this poor, faithful, dumb beast was worth a hundred such hell-hounds as he!"

"I am murdered," said the wounded man; "I am murdered in cold blood."

The noise at this place brought together the rest of the hunters, who were now returning with the buck thrown across a horse that had been led by one of the party. Blake's wound was examined by them, and some linen applied to staunch the blood. The man had fainted, but it was not ascertained whether the stab was mortal. Habershaw stood sullenly looking on during the examination, and, finding that life had not instantly fled, he coolly wiped his knife and restored it to his girdle.

"The fellow has no idea of dying," he said with a visible concern, "and has got no more than he deserves. He will live to be hung yet. Take him to quarters."

"Make a hurdle for him," said one of the bystanders, and, accordingly, two men cut a few branches from the neighboring wood, and twisting them together, soon constructed a litter upon which they were able to bear the body of the wounded hunter to the rendezvous. The others, scarcely uttering a word as they marched along, followed slowly with the buck, and in half an hour the troop was once more assembled under the chestnut.

For a time there was a sullen and discontented silence amongst the whole crew, that was only broken by the groans of the wounded trooper. Occasionally there was a slight outburst of sedition from several of the troop, as a sharper scream, indicating some sudden increase of pain, from Gideon Blake, assailed their ears. Then there were low and muttered curses pronounced by Habershaw, in a tone that showed his apprehension of some vengeance against himself; and these imprecations were mingled with hints of the disloyalty of the trooper, and charges of a pretended purpose to betray his fellow-soldiers, evidently insinuated by the captain to excuse his act of violence. Then he approached the sick man and felt his pulse, and examined his wound, and pronounced the hurt to be trifling. "It will do him good," he said, with affected unconcern, "and teach him to be more true to his comrades hereafter." But still the fate of the man was manifestly doubtful, and the rising exasperation of the troop became every instant more open. Alarmed and faint-hearted at these symptoms of discontent, Habershaw at last called the men into a circle and made them a speech, in which he expressed his sorrow for the act he had committed, endeavored to excuse himself by the plea of passion at the loss of his dog, and, finally, perceiving that these excuses did not satisfy his hearers, acknowledged his drunken condition and his unconsciousness of the deed he had done until the horrible consequences of it were before his eyes. Here Peppercorn interposed in his favor, alleging that he had examined the wound, and that, in his opinion, the trooper's life was not in danger.

"And as the captain is sorry for it, lads," he concluded, "why, what is to be done but let the thing drop? So, if there's another canteen in the squad, we will wet our whistles, boys, and go to sleep."

This appeal was effectual, and was followed by a hearty cheer. So, draining the dregs of the last flask, this debauched company retired to rest--Habershaw sneaking away from them with a heart loaded with malice and revenge.

A few men were employed, for a short time, in burying the bodies of the troopers who were killed in the fray; and, excepting the guard, who busied themselves in skinning the buck and broiling some choice slices before the fire, and in watching the prisoners, or attending upon their sick comrade, all were sunk into silence if not repose.

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XVIII. THE TROOPERS MOVE WITH THEIR PRISONERS

"Oft he that doth abide, Is cause of his own paine, But he that flieth in good tide, Perhaps may fight again."--Old Proverb.

It was with the most earnest solicitude that Butler and his companion watched the course of events, and became acquainted with the character of the ruffians into whose hands they had fallen. The presence of James Curry in this gang excited a painful consciousness in the mind of the soldier, that he had powerful and secret enemies at work against him, but who they were was an impenetrable mystery. Then the lawless habits of the people who had possession of him, gave rise to the most anxious distrust as to his future fate: he might be murdered in a fit of passion, or tortured with harsh treatment to gratify some concealed malice. His position in the army was, it seemed, known too; and, for aught that he could tell, his mission might be no secret to his captors. Robinson's sagacity entered fully into these misgivings. He had narrowly observed the conduct of the party who had made them prisoners, and with that acute insight which was concealed under a rude and uneducated exterior, but which was strongly marked in his actions, he had already determined upon the course which the safety of Butler required him to pursue. According to his view of their present difficulties it was absolutely necessary that he should effect his escape, at whatever personal hazard. Butler, he rightly conjectured, was the principal object of the late ambuscade; that, for some unknown purpose, the possession of this officer became important to those who had procured the attack upon him, and that James Curry had merely hired this gang of desperadoes to secure the prize. Under these circumstances, he concluded that the Major would be so strictly guarded as to forbid all hope of escape, and that any attempt by him to effect it would only be punished by certain death. But, in regard to himself, his calculation was different. "First," said he, "I can master any three of this beggarly crew in an open field and fair fight; and, secondly, when it comes to the chances of a pell-mell, they will not think me of so much account as to risk their necks by a long chase; their whole eyes would undoubtedly be directed to the Major." The sergeant, therefore, determined to make the attempt, and, in the event of his success, to repair to Sumpter, who he knew frequented some of the fastnesses in this region; or, in the alternative, to rally such friends from the neighboring country as were not yet overawed by the Tory dominion, and bring them speedily to the rescue of Butler. Full of these thoughts, he took occasion during the night, whilst the guard were busy in cooking their venison, and whilst they thought him and his comrade wrapt in sleep, to whisper to Butler the resolution he had adopted.

"I will take the first chance to-morrow to make a dash upon these ragamuffins," he said; "and I shall count it hard if I don't get out of their claws. Then, rely upon me, I shall keep near you in spite of these devils. So be prepared, if I once get away, to see me like a witch that travels on a broomstick or creeps through a keyhole. But whisht! the drunken vagabonds mustn't hear us talking."

Butler, after due consideration of the sergeant's scheme, thought it, however perilous, the only chance they had of extricating themselves from the dangers with which they were beset, and promised the most ready co-operation; determining also, to let no opportunity slip which might be improved to his own deliverance. "Your good arm and brave heart, Galbraith, never stood you in more urgent stead than they may do to-morrow," was his concluding remark.

When morning broke the light of day fell upon a strange and disordered scene. The drunken and coarse wretches of the night before, now lessened in number and strength by common broil and private quarrel, lay stretched on their beds of leaves. Their motley and ill-assorted weapons lay around in disarray; drinking cups and empty flasks were scattered over the trodden grass, the skin and horns of the buck, and disjointed fragments of raw flesh were seen confusedly cast about beneath the tree, and a conspicuous object in the scene were the clots of blood and gore, both of men and beast, that disfigured the soil. Two new-made graves, or rather mounds, hastily scratched together and imperfectly concealing the limbs of the dead, prominently placed but a few feet from the ring of last night's revelry, told of the disasters of the fight at the ford. The brushwood fire had burned down into a heap of smouldering ashes, and the pale and sickly features of the wounded trooper were to be discerned upon a pallet of leaves, hard by the heap of embers, surrounded by the remnants of bones and roasted meat that had been flung carelessly aside. In a spot of more apparent comfort, sheltered by an overhanging canopy of vines and alder, lay Butler stretched upon his cloak, and, close beside him, the stout frame of Horse Shoe Robinson. In the midst of all these marks of recent riot and carousal, sat two swarthy figures, haggard and wan from night-watching, armed at every point, and keeping strict guard over the prisoners.

The occasional snort and pawing of horses in the neighboring wood showed that these animals were alert at the earliest dawn; whilst among the first who seemed aware of the approach of day, was seen rising from the earth, where it had been flung in stupid torpor for some hours, the bloated and unsightly person of Hugh Habershaw, now much the worse for the fatigue and revelry of the preceding night. A savage and surly expression was seated on his brow, and his voice broke forth more than ordinarily harsh and dissonant, as he ordered the troop to rouse and prepare for their march.

The summons was tardily obeyed; and while the yawning members of the squad were lazily moving to their several duties and shaking off the fumes of their late debauch, the captain was observed bending over the prostrate form of Gideon Blake, and directing a few anxious inquiries into his condition. The wounded man was free from pain, but his limbs were stiff, and the region of the stab sore and sensitive to the least touch. The indications, however, were such as to show that his wound was not likely to prove mortal. By the order of Habershaw, a better litter was constructed, and the troopers were directed to bear him, by turns, as far as Christie's, where he was to be left to the nursing of the family. It was a full hour before the horses were saddled, the scattered furniture collected, and the preparations for the march completed. When these were accomplished the prisoners were provided with the two sorriest horses of the troop, and they now set forward at a slow pace, under the escort of four men commanded by James Curry. The two troopers who bore the sick man followed on foot; Habershaw with the remainder, one of whom had appropriated Captain Peter, whilst he led the horses of the dismounted men, brought up the rear.

On the journey there was but little spoken by any member of the party; the boisterous and rude nature of the men who composed the troop seemed to have been subdued by sleep into a temper of churlish indifference or stolid apathy. Peppercorn, or James Curry, as the reader now recognises him, strictly preserved his guard over the prisoners, manifesting a severity of manner altogether different from the tone of careless revelry which characterized his demeanor on the preceding night. It never relaxed from an official and sullen reserve. A moody frown sat upon his brow, and his communication with the prisoners was confined to short and peremptory commands; whilst, at the same time, he forbade the slightest intercourse with them on the part of any of the guard. During the short progress to Christie's he frequently rode apart with Habershaw; and the conversation which then occupied these two was maintained in a low tone, and with a serious air that denoted some grave matter of deliberation.

It was more than an hour after sunrise when the cavalcade reached the point of their present destination. There were signs of an anxious purpose in the silence of the journey, broken as it was only by low mutterings amongst the men, above which sometimes arose an expression of impatience and discontent, as the subject of their whispered discussions appeared to excite some angry objection from several of the party; and this mystery was not less conspicuous in the formal order of the halt, and in the pause that followed upon their arrival at the habitation.

The house, in front of which they were drawn up, was, according to the prevailing fashion of the time, a one-storied dwelling covering an ample space of ground, built partly of boards and partly of logs, with a long piazza before it, terminating in small rooms, made by inclosing the sides for a few feet at either extremity. Being situated some twenty paces aside from the road, the intervening area was bounded by a fence through which a gate afforded admission. A horse-rack, with a few feeding troughs, was erected near this gate; and a draw-well, in the same vicinity, furnished a ready supply of water. With the exception of a cleared field around the dwelling, the landscape was shaded by the natural forest.

A consultation of some minutes' duration was held between Habershaw and Curry, when the order to dismount was given, accompanied with an intimation of a design to tarry at this place for an hour or two; but the men, at the same time, were directed to leave their saddles upon their horses. One or two were detailed to look after the refreshment of the cattle, whilst the remainder took possession of the principal room. The first demands of the troop were for drink, and this being indulged, the brute feeling of conviviality which in gross natures depends altogether upon sensual excitement, began once more to break down the barriers of discipline, and to mount into clamor.

The scenes of the morning had made a disagreeable impression upon the feelings of Butler and his comrade. The changed tone and the ruffian manners of the band, the pause, and the doubts which seemed to agitate them, boded mischief. The two prisoners, however, almost instinctively adopted the course of conduct which their circumstances required. They concealed all apprehension of harm, and patiently awaited the end. Horse Shoe even took advantage of the rising mirth of the company when drink began to exhilarate them, and affected an easy tone of companionship which was calculated to throw them off their guard. He circulated freely amongst the men, and by private conference with some of the individuals around him, who, attracted by his air of confiding gaiety, seemed inclined to favor his approaches of familiarity, he soon discovered that the gang were divided in sentiment in regard to some important subject touching the proposed treatment of himself and his friend. A party, at least, he was thus made aware, were disposed to take his side in the secret disputes which had been in agitation. He was determined to profit by this dissension, and accordingly applied himself still more assiduously to cultivate the favorable sentiment he found in existence.

Whilst breakfast was in preparation, and Habershaw and Curry were occupied with the wounded man in an adjoining apartment, the sergeant, playing the part of a boon companion, laughed with the rioters, and, uninvited, made himself free of their cups.

"I should like to know," he said to one of the troopers, "why you are giving yourselves all this trouble about a couple of simple travellers that happened to be jogging along the road? If you wanted to make a pitched battle you ought to have sent us word; but if it was only upon a drinking bout you had set your hearts, there was no occasion to be breaking heads for the honor of getting a good fellow in your company, when he would have come of his own accord at the first axing. There was no use in making such a mighty secret about it; for, as we were travelling the same road with you, you had only to show a man the civility of saying you wanted our escort, and you should have had it at a word. Here's to our better acquaintance, friend!"

"You mightn't be so jolly, Horse Shoe Robinson," said Shad Green--or, according to his nickname, Red Mug, in a whisper; "if some of them that took the trouble to find you, should have their own way. It's a d----d tight pull whether you are to be kept as a prisoner of war, or shoved under ground this morning without tuck of drum. That for your private ear."

"I was born in old Carolina myself," replied Horse Shoe, aside to the speaker; "and I don't believe there is many men to be found in it who would stand by and see the rules and regulations of honorable war blackened and trod down into the dust by any cowardly trick of murder. If it comes to that, many as there are against two, our lives will not go at a cheap price."

"Whisht!" returned the other, "with my allowance, for one, it shan't be. A prisoner's a prisoner, I say; and damnation to the man that would make him out worse."

"They say you are a merry devil, old Horse Shoe," exclaimed he who was called Bow Legs, who now stepped up and slapped the sergeant on the back. "So take a swig, man; fair play is a jewel!--that's my doctrine. Fight when you fight, and drink when you drink--and that's the sign to know a man by."

"There is some good things," said the sergeant, "in this world that's good, and some that's bad. But I have always found that good and bad is so mixed up and jumbled together, that you don't often get much of one without a little of the other. A sodger's a sodger, no matter what side he is on; and they are the naturalest people in the world for fellow-feeling. One day a man is up, and then the laugh's on his side; next day he is down, and then the laugh's against him. So, as a sodger has more of these ups and downs than other folks, there's the reason his heart is tenderer towards a comrade than other people's. Here's your health, sir. This is a wicked world, and twisted, in a measure, upside down; and it is well known that evil communications corrupts good manners; but sodgers were made to set the world right again, on its legs, and to presarve good breeding and Christian charity. So there's a sarmon for you, you tinkers!"

"Well done, mister preacher!" vociferated a prominent reveller. "If you will desert and enlist with us you shall be the chaplain of the troop. We want a good swearing, drinking, and tearing blade who can hold a discourse over his liquor, and fence with the devil at long words. You're the very man for it! Huzza for the blacksmith!"

"Huzza for the blacksmith!" shouted several others in the apartment.

Butler, during this scene, had stretched himself out at full length upon a bench, to gain some rest in his present exhausted and uncomfortable condition, and was now partaking of the refreshment of a bowl of milk and some coarse bread, which one of the troopers had brought him.

"What's all this laughing and uproar about?" said Habershaw, entering the room with Curry, just at the moment of the acclamation in favor of the sergeant "Is this a time for your cursed wide throats to be braying like asses! We have business to do. And you, sir," said he, turning to Butler, "you must be taking up the room of a half dozen men on a bench with your lazy carcase! Up, sir; I allow no lolling and lying about to rascally whigs and rebels. You have cost me the death of a dog that is worth all your filthy whig kindred; and you have made away with two of the best men that ever stept in shoe leather. Sit up, sir, and thank your luck that you haven't your arms pinioned behind you, like a horse thief."

"Insolent coward," said Butler, springing upon his feet; "hired ruffian! you shall in due time be made to pay for the outrage you have inflicted upon me."

"Tie him up!" cried Habershaw; "tie him up! And now I call you all to bear witness that he has brought the sentence upon himself; it shall be done without waiting another moment. Harry Gage, I give the matter over to you. Draw out four men, take them into the yard, and dispatch the prisoners off-hand! shoot the traitors on the spot, before we eat our breakfasts! I was a fool that I didn't settle this at daylight this morning--the rascally filth of the earth! Have no heart about it, men; but make sure work by a short distance. This is no time for whining. When have the Whigs shown mercy to us!"

"It shall be four against four, then!" cried out Shadrach Green, seconded by Andrew Clopper; "and the first shot that is fired shall be into the bowels of Hugh Habershaw! Stand by me, boys!"

In a moment the parties were divided, and had snatched up their weapons, and then stood looking angrily at each other as if daring each to commence the threatened affray.

"Why, how now, devil's imps!" shouted Habershaw. "Have you come to a mutiny? Have you joined the rebels? James Curry, look at this! By the bloody laws of war, I will report every rascal who dares to lift his hand against me!"

"The thing is past talking about," said the first speaker, coolly. "Hugh Habershaw, neither you nor James Curry shall command the peace if you dare to offer harm to the prisoners. Now, bully, report that as my saying. They are men fairly taken in war, and shall suffer no evil past what the law justifies. Give them up to the officer of the nearest post--that's what we ask--carry them to Innis's camp if you choose; but whilst they are in our keeping there shall be no blood spilled without mixing some of your own with it, Hugh Habershaw."

"Arrest the mutineers!" cried Habershaw, trembling with rage. "Who are my friends in this room? Let them stand by me, and then--blast me if I don't force obedience to my orders!"

"You got off by the skin of your teeth last night," said Green, "when you tried to take the life of Gideon Blake. For that you deserved a bullet through your skull. Take care that you don't get your reckoning this morning, captain and all as you are."

"What in the devil would you have?" inquired Habershaw, stricken into a more cautious tone of speech by the decided bearing of the man opposed to him.

"The safety of the prisoners until they are delivered to the commander of a regular post; we have resolved upon that!" was the reply.

"Curry!" said Habershaw, turning in some perplexity to the dragoon as if for advice.

"Softly, Captain; we had better have a parley here," said Curry, who then added in a whisper: "There's been some damned bobbery kicked up here by the blacksmith. This comes of giving that fellow the privilege of talking."

"A word, men," interposed Horse Shoe, who during this interval had planted himself near Butler, and with him stood ready to act as the emergency might require. "Let me say a word. This James Curry is my man. Give me a broadsword and a pair of pistols, and I will pledge the hand and word of a sodger, upon condition that I am allowed five minutes' parole, to have a pass, here in the yard, with him--it shall be in sight of the whole squad--I pledge the word of a sodger to deliver myself back again to the guard, dead or alive, without offering to take any chance to make off in the meantime. Come, James Curry, your word to the back of that, and then buckle on your sword, man. I heard your whisper."

"Soldiers," said Curry, stepping into the circle which the party had now formed round the room, "let me put in a word as a peace-maker. Captain Habershaw won't be unreasonable. I will vouch for him that he will fulfil your wish regarding the conveying of the prisoners to a regular post. Come, come, let us have no brawling! For shame! put down your guns. There may be reason in what you ask, although it isn't so much against the fashion of the times to shoot a Whig either. But anything for the sake of quiet amongst good fellows. Be considerate, noble captain, and do as the babies wish. As for Horse Shoe's brag--he is an old soldier, and so am I; that's enough. We are not so green as to put a broadsword and a brace of pistols into the hands of a bullying prisoner. No, no, Horse Shoe! try another trick, old boy! Ha, ha, lads! you are a set of fine dashing chaps, and this is only one of your mad-cap bits of spunk that boils up with your liquor. Take another cup on it, my merry fellows, and all will be as pleasant as the music of a fife. Come, valiant Captain of the Tiger, join us. And as for the prisoners--why let them come in for snacks with us. So there's an end of the business. All is as mild as new milk again."

"Well, well, get your breakfasts," said Habershaw gruffly. "Blast you! I have spoiled you by good treatment, you ungrateful, carnivorous dogs! But, as Peppercorn says, there's an end of it! So go to your feeding, and when that's done we will push for Blackstock's."

The morning meal was soon despatched, and the party reassembled in the room where the late disturbance had taken place. The good-nature of Robinson continued to gain upon those who had first taken up his cause, and even brought him into a more lenient consideration with the others. Amongst the former I have already noted Andrew Clopper, a rough and insubordinate member of the gang, who, vexed by some old grudge against the fat captain, had efficiently sustained Green in the late act of mutiny, and who now, struck with Horse Shoe's bold demeanor towards Curry, began to evince manifest signs of a growing regard for the worthy sergeant. With this man Horse Shoe contrived to hold a short and secret interview that resulted in the quiet transfer of a piece of gold into the freebooter's hand, which was received with a significant nod of assent to whatever proposition accompanied it. When the order of "boot and saddle" was given by Habershaw, the several members of the troop repaired to their horses, where a short time was spent in making ready for the march; after which the whole squad returned to the porch and occupied the few moments of delay in that loud and boisterous carousal which is apt to mark the conduct of such an ill-organized body in the interval immediately preceding the commencement of a day's ride. This was a moment of intense interest to the sergeant, who kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the movements of Clopper, as that individual lingered behind his comrades in the equipment of his horse. This solicitude did not, however, arrest his seeming mirth, as he joined in the rude jests of the company and added some sallies of his own.

"Give me that cup," he said at length, to one of the men, as he pointed to a gourd on a table; "before we start I have a notion to try the strength of a little cold water, just by way of physic, after all the liquor we have been drinking," and, having got the implement in his hand, he walked deliberately to the draw-well, where he dipped up a draught from the bucket that stood on its brink. As he put the water to his lips and turned his back upon the company, he was enabled to take a survey of the horses that were attached to the rack near him: then, suddenly throwing the gourd from him, he sprang towards his own trusty steed, leaped into his saddle at one bound, and sped, like an arrow from a bow, upon the highway. This exploit was so promptly achieved that no one was aware of the sergeant's purpose until he was some twenty paces upon his journey. As soon as the alarm of his flight was spread, some three or four rifles were fired after him in rapid succession, during which he was seen ducking his head and moving it from side to side with a view to baffle the aim of the marksmen. The confusion of the moment in which the volley was given rendered it ineffectual, and the sergeant was already past the first danger of his escape.

"To horse and follow!" resounded from all sides.

"Look to the other prisoner!" roared out Habershaw; "if he raises his head blow out his brains! Follow, boys, follow!"

"Two or three of you come with me," cried Curry, and a couple of files hastened with the dragoon to their horses. Upon arriving at the rack it was discovered that the bridles of the greater part of the troop were tied in hard knots in such a manner as to connect each two or three horses together.

A short delay took place whilst the horsemen were disentangling their reins, and Curry, being the first to extricate his steed, mounted and set off in rapid pursuit. He was immediately followed by two others.

At the end of half an hour the two privates returned and reported that they had been unable to obtain a view of the sergeant or even of Curry. Shortly afterwards the dragoon himself was descried retracing his steps at a moderate trot towards the house. His plight told a tale upon him of discomfiture. One side of his face was bleeding with a recent bruise, his dress disarranged and his back covered with dust. The side of his horse also bore the same taint of the soil.

He rode up to Habershaw--who was already upon the road at the head of the remaining members of the squad, having Butler in charge--and informed him that he had pursued the sergeant at full speed until he came in sight of him, when the fugitive had slackened his gait as if on purpose to allow himself to be overtaken.

"But, the devil grip the fellow!" he added, "he has a broad-side like a man-of-war! In my hurry I left my sword behind me, and, when I came up with him, I laid my hand upon his bridle; but, by some sudden sleight which he has taught his horse, he contrived, somehow or other, to upset me--horse and all--down a bank on the road-side. And, when I lay on the ground sprawling, do you think the jolly runagate didn't rein up and give me a broad laugh, and ask me if he could be of any sarvice to me? He then bade me good bye, saying he had an engagement that prevented him from favoring me any longer with his company. Gad! it was so civilly done that all I could say was, luck go with you, Mr. Horse Shoe; and, since we are to part company so soon, may the devil pad your saddle for you! I'll do him the justice to say that he's a better horseman than I took him for. I can hardly begrudge a man his liberty who can win it as cleverly as he has done."

"Well, there's no more to be said about it," remarked Habershaw. "He is only game for another day. He is like a bear's cub; which is as much as to signify that he has a hard time before him. He would have only given us trouble; so let him go. Now, boys, away for Blackstock's; I will engage I keep the fox that's left safely enough."

With these words the troop proceeded upon their march.

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Chapter XIX

Horse Shoe's successful escape from the hands of the Tories, it will be conjectured, had been aided by Clopper. The sergeant had sufficiently assured himself of the present safety of Butler, from the spirit with which a strong party of Habershaw's followers had resisted the bloody purpose of their leader before breakfast; and he had also, by the timely reward secretly conveyed to Clopper, received a pledge from that individual that the same protection should still be accorded to the major, in the event of his own extrication from the gang by the perilous exploit which he then meditated. It is no doubt apparent to the reader, that the favor which saved the lives of the prisoners was won from the captors by the address of Robinson, and that whatever good will was kindled up amongst them, was appropriated principally to the sergeant, Butler having elicited but little consideration from the band, beyond that interest which the roughest men are apt to take in the fortunes of a young and enterprising soldier. Neither the major's manners nor temper were adapted to conciliate any special regard from such natures.

The escape of the sergeant, therefore, although it added nothing to the perils of Butler's situation, still operated in some degree to his present inconvenience. It caused him to be more rigorously guarded than before, and consequently to be more restricted in his personal comfort. He was hurried forward at a rough and uneasy pace; and both from Habershaw and Curry, and those more immediately of their party, he experienced a surly indifference to the pain that this occasioned him. They seemed to have no regard either to his wants or feelings, and in the passing remarks that fell from them he could gather harsh surmises as to the manner in which he was now likely to be disposed of.

"It is their own fault," said one of them to his companion, as Butler overheard the conversation; "if every prisoner is strung up and shot now-a-days. He makes no more of hanging out people than so many wolves; and there was Captain Huck--will any man say that Sumpter hadn't him murdered in cold blood?"

"Yes," added the other, "let a Tory be caught over yonder amongst the Iredell Whigs, on t'other side of the line, or in Tryon, or down here at the Waxhaws, why, a grey fox in a barn yard with forty dogs would have as good a chance for his life. So, for my share, I am glad to see our folks break up that blasted breed, root and branch."

"Innis has got as keen a nose for a Whig as a bloodhound," said the first speaker, "and won't stop long to consider what's right to be done, if he gets this chap in his clutches; so it is of no great account that we didn't make short work of it this morning."

Such remarks produced a gloomy effect upon Butler's mind. He had witnessed enough, in the scenes of the morning, to convince him that Habershaw had been employed to waylay him and take his life, and that the latter purpose had only failed by the lucky conjuncture of circumstances which led to the mutiny. He was aware, too, that Curry was the prime conductor of the scheme, and drove matters, by a secret influence, as far as he could towards its accomplishment, whilst with a professional hardihood and most hypocritical bearing he affected to be indifferent to the issue. This fellow's malice was the more venomous from his address, and the gay, swaggering, remorseless levity with which he could mask the most atrocious designs: nothing could baffle his equanimity; and he seemed to be provided, at all times, with a present expedient to meet the emergency of his condition.

The most perplexing feature in this man's present position was his recent connexion with Tyrrel; a fact that recurred to Butler with many alarming doubts. All the other circumstances accompanying Butler's condition, at this moment, were subjects of distressful uncertainty. Ignorant of the place to which he was to be taken, into whose hands he was to be delivered, how he was to be disposed of, he could only anticipate the worst. It was obvious that his journey was an expected one, and that the gang who held him were employed by persons in authority, set on, no doubt, by the agency of Tyrrel: but where was he--and who was he?--and what influence could he bring to bear against his, Butler's life, now that he had failed in his bloody purpose of lying in wait; and that it was resolved by these ruffians, who had in part only obeyed his behests, to deliver their prisoner up to the regular authorities of the British army? The mention of the name of Innis by one of the troopers was not calculated to allay his inquietude. This person he knew to have been an active confederate and eager adviser of the new court, lately established at Charleston, to promote the confiscation of the estates of the inhabitants of Carolina disaffected to the royal cause. He was, besides, a zealous Tory partisan, and, having lately joined the army, was now in command of a detachment of loyalists on the Ennoree.

Then, again, there was abundant cause of anxiety to the unfortunate officer in the question whether Robinson could be kept acquainted with his condition, or even of the place to which he might be removed--and if acquainted with these particulars, whether, in the disturbed state of the country, he could render any service. These thoughts all contributed to sink his spirits.

Notwithstanding the usual assumed levity of Curry, he had now become resentful towards Butler, and did not give himself the trouble to conceal it. His manner was quick and unaccommodating, showing his vexation at his own want of sagacity, inferred by the successful flight of Robinson. Expressions occasionally escaped him that indicated a self-reproof on this subject, though they were partially disguised by an affected undervaluing of the importance of having such a prisoner, so long as he retained the custody of the principal object of the enterprise. But the consciousness of being again baffled by a man who had once before obtained the mastery over him, roused his pride into the exhibition of a peevish and vindictive demeanor. In this temper he seconded the brutal disposition of Habershaw, and abandoned the captive officer to the coarse insults of those who exercised control over him. There was some mitigation to this annoyance, in the reserved and partial spirit in which the insurgent party of the squad manifested some slight signs of good will towards him. An instance of this spirit was afforded in a passing hint conveyed by Clopper, on one occasion when the troop had halted to water their horses. "Whatever is to come of it, after we give you up to other hands," he said, apart to Butler, "we will stick to the ground we have taken, that no harm shall be done to you in our keeping."

The day was intensely hot, and the road, over which the party travelled, rugged and fatiguing; it was, therefore, near one o'clock when they came in sight of the Tiger, a rough, bold, impetuous stream that rushed over an almost unbroken bed of rocks. On the opposite bank was Blackstocks, a rude hamlet of some two or three houses, scattered over a rugged hill-side--a place subsequently rendered famous by the gallant repulse of Tarleton by Sumpter. The troop struck into a narrow ford, and, with some scrambling amongst the rocks, succeeded in crossing the stream; they then galloped rapidly up the hill, towards a farm-house which seemed to be the principal place of resort for the people of the neighborhood. The approach of the party of cavalry drew to the door a bevy of women, children, and negroes, who stood idly gaping at the spectacle; and, in addition to these, a detachment of militia, consisting of between twenty and thirty men, were seen to turn out and form a line in front of the house. Habershaw, with an air of magnified importance, halted opposite this detachment, gave a few prompt orders to Curry in regard to the disposition of the troop, and in an authoritative tone of command, ordered the officer of the militia to detail a guard for the safe keeping of a prisoner of state. The personage addressed--a tall, ungainly, and awkward subaltern--signified his acquiescence with a bow, and immediately took possession of Butler by seizing the rein of his horse and leading him to one side, where two men, armed with rifles, placed themselves at either stirrup. Habershaw now directed his men to alight, accompanying the order with a caution that the prisoner was not to be allowed to enter the house. "The d----d rascal," he added, "shall not play the trick of his rebel associate: no more privilege of going into bar-rooms, and lounging about doors! See the man stowed away in the barn; and tell the sentinels never to take their eyes off of him--do you hear, lieutenant?"

"You may depend upon my look-out," replied the lieutenant, with a flourish of a hacked and rusty sword. "Men, march your prisoner straight to the barn. Have a relief, Corporal, every two hours, and towards night, set four on the watch at a time."

"Look to it, Lieutenant!" shouted Habershaw. "No words, sir: do your duty!"

And having thus given vent to his own high opinion of himself the bulky captain withdrew into the house.

Butler was now marched into a large log barn, in one corner of which an armful of fodder, or dried blades of Indian corn, were shaken out for his bed; and this, he was told, was to be his prison until other orders awaited him. The guard, consisting of two sentinels, were stationed on the inner side of the door, having the prisoner immediately under their eye; and, this disposition being completed, the officer commanding the detachment retired to mingle with the troopers in the farm-house.

Half an hour had scarcely elapsed after the arrival of the troopers at Blackstocks, before James Curry had refreshed himself with a hasty meal, and had his horse brought to the door. He seemed bound upon some urgent mission.

"Captain St. Jermyn, you say, left this at sunrise this morning?" said the dragoon, addressing the lieutenant of the militia.

"He did. He was here all day yesterday, and thought he should hear from you last night."

"What route did he take?"

"To Turnbull, at Ninety-Six."

"Is Turnbull there now, think you?"

"He is," replied the lieutenant. "They say orders have gone up from Cornwallis to the post for four light companies, and it is expected that Captain Campbell is now on his way with them towards Camden; neither Turnbull nor Cruger would leave the post."

"I have heard that this corps was marching to head-quarters Are you sure St. Jermyn is not with Campbell?"

"He said nothing about it yesterday, but I think he wishes to join Colonel Innis with the loyalist cavalry."

"Where is Innis?" inquired Curry.

"Over on Ennoree, about two miles from Musgrove's mill."

"Humph!" said Curry, thoughtfully, "I must ride to the garrison at Ninety-Six. The devil take this cantering about the country! I have had more than enough of it."

And saying this, the dragoon mounted his horse, and clapping spurs to the restive animal, was soon out of sight.

It was late in the day before the wants of Butler were attended to. He had thrown aside his coat, from the oppressive heat of the weather, and, placing it under his head for a pillow, had fallen into a sleep, from which he was awakened by a summons from one of the sentinels to partake of food. There was more kindness apparent in the demeanor of the soldier than Butler had been accustomed to meet from the persons who held him captive, and this circumstance won upon his heart and induced him to accept with courtesy the proffered attentions.

"You live in a divided country, and witness much to make a good man wish this unhappy war was at an end," said Butler, after he had eaten of the provisions placed before him.

"Indeed we do, sir," replied the soldier, "and it is enough to make a man's heart bleed to see brothers fighting against each other, and kindred that ought to hold together seeking each other's lives. Men will have, and ought to have their opinions, sir; but it is hardly good reason for treating one another like savage Indians, because all cannot think alike."

"Do you live in this neighborhood?" inquired Butler.

"Not far away," answered the man.

"You are married?"

"Yes, and have six children."

"They should be young," said Butler, "judging by your own age."

"Thank God, sir!" exclaimed the soldier, with fervor, "they are young! And I would pray that they may never live to be old if these wars are to last. No father can count upon his own child's living in harmony with him. My boys, if they were grown enough, might be the first I should meet in battle."

"Your name, friend?" said Butler.

"Bruce," replied the other.

"A good and a brave name; a name once friendly to the liberty of his country."

"Stop, sir!" said the sentinel. "This is not the place to talk upon questions that might make us angry with each other. It is a name still friendly to the liberty of his country; that liberty that supports the king and laws, and punishes treason."

"I cannot debate with you," replied Butler; "I am your prisoner."

"I am a man," said the soldier, firmly, "and would not take advantage of him that cannot take his own part; but these questions, sir, are best dropped--they have made all the provinces mad. However, I do not blame you, sir; I will not deny that there are good men on your side."

"And on yours, doubtless," returned Butler.

"We have many bad ones, sir," returned the soldier; "and as you have spoken like a well-tempered gentleman to me, I will give you a friendly hint." Here the sentinel spoke in a lowered tone. "Have your eyes about you; these men are none of the best, and would think but little of taking from you anything of value. As you slept, just now, I saw a golden trinket hanging by a ribbon in your bosom. You are a young man, sir, and a soldier, I hear; this may be some present from your lady, as I guess you have one. If others had seen it, as I saw it, you might have been the loser. That's all."

"Thank you, honest friend! from my heart, I thank you!" replied Butler eagerly. "Oh, God! that bauble is a consolation to me that in this hour I would not part with--no, no! Thank you, friend, a thousand times!"

"Have done," said the soldier, "and in future be more careful. The relief is coming this way."

And the sentinel, taking up his rifle, repaired to his post. In a few moments the guard was changed, and those lately on duty were marched to the dwelling-house.

When night came on the immediate guard around Butler's person was doubled. Some few comforts were added to his forlorn prison by the kindness of the soldier Bruce, and he was left to pass the weary hours of darkness in communion with his own thoughts, or in the enjoyment of such repose as his unhappy state of thraldom allowed. If the agitation of his spirit had permitted sleep, there were but few moments of the night when it might have been indulged. The outbursts of revelry, the loud and boisterous laugh, and still louder oaths of the party who occupied the dwelling-house near at hand, showed that they had plunged into their usual debauch, and now caroused over their frequently filled cups; and the clamor that broke upon the night might have baffled the slumbers of a mind less anxious and wakeful than his own.

The party of troopers and militia sat at the door to take advantage of the coolness of the night, and as they plied the busy flagon, and with heavy draught grew more noisy, scarce a word fell from their lips that was not distinctly heard by Butler. It was with intense interest, therefore, that he listened to the conversation when it led to a topic that greatly concerned himself; and that he might not alarm the suspicion of the speakers he affected sleep.

"Sumpter has been hovering about Ninety-Six," said the lieutenant; "and if one could believe all the stories that are told about him, he must be a full cousin at least to a certain person that it wouldn't be right to mention in respectable company; for, by the accounts, he is one day on the Wateree, and the next, whoop and away!--and there he is, almost over at Augusta. It seems almost past the power of human legs for a mortal man to make such strides as they tell of him."

"Who says Sumpter is near Ninety-Six?" inquired one of the party; "I can only say, if that's true, he is a ghost--that's all. Here's Harry Turner will swear that he saw him, day before yesterday, in North Carolina, on his march towards Burk."

"Indeed did I," responded Harry, one of the militia-men.

"There is no mistake about it," interposed the lieutenant. "A vidette of Brown's came scampering through here this morning, who reported the news; and the man had good right to know, for he saw Cruger yesterday, who told him all about it, and then sent him off to Wahab's plantation, near the Catawba fords, for Hanger's rangers. It was on his way back this morning that he stopped here five minutes, only to give us warning?"

"This is only some story that your drunken head has been dreaming about, Gabriel," said Habershaw. "There is not a word of truth in it; the rangers went down to Camden three days ago. Who saw the vidette besides yourself?"

"The whole detachment," replied the lieutenant. "We talked to the man and had the story from him--and a queer fellow he was--a good stout chap that liked to have been caught by a pair of reconnoitring Whigs, a few miles back between this and Pacolet; they pushed him up to the saddleflaps. But you must have seen him yourself, Captain Habershaw; for he told us you were on the road."

"From towards Pacolet!" exclaimed the captain with surprise. "We saw nobody on that road. When did the man arrive?"

"About an hour before you. He came at full speed, with his horse--a great, black, snorting beast seventeen hands high at least--all in a foam. He was first for passing by without stopping, but we challenged him and brought him short upon his haunches, and then he told us he was in a hurry, and mustn't be delayed."

"What kind of a looking man was he?" inquired Habershaw.

"A jolly fellow," replied the lieutenant: "almost as big as his horse. A good civil fellow, too, that swigs well at a canteen. He made a joke of the matter about your coming up, and called you old Cat-o'-nine tails--said that you were the cat, and your nine tag-rags were the tails--ha, ha ha!"

"Blast the bastard!" exclaimed Habershaw; "who could he be?"

"Why we asked that, but he roared out with a great haw-haw--took another drink, and said he was never christened."

"You should, as a good soldier," said Habershaw, "have made him give his name."

"I tried him again, and he would only let us have a nickname; he told us then that he was called Jack-o'-Lantern, and had a special good stomach, and that if we wanted more of him we must give him a snatch of something to eat. Well, we did so. After that, he said he must have our landlord's sword, for his own had been torn from him by the Whig troopers that pushed him so hard, and that the bill for it must be sent to Cruger. So he got the old cheese-knife that used to hang over the fire-place and strung it across his shoulder. He laughed so hard, and seemed so good-natured, that there was no doing anything with him. At last he mounted his horse again, just stooped down and whispered in my ear at parting, that he was an old friend of yours, and that you could tell us all the news, and away he went, like a mad bully, clinking it over the hill at twenty miles to the hour."

"A black horse did you say?" inquired Habershaw. "Had he a white star in the forehead, and the two hind legs white below the knee?"

"Exactly," said the lieutenant and several others of the party.

"It was Horse Shoe Robinson!" exclaimed Habershaw, "by all the black devils!"

"Horse Shoe, Horse Shoe, to be sure!" responded half a dozen voices.

"He was a famous good rider, Horse Shoe or anybody else," said the lieutenant.

"That beats all!" said one of the troopers; "the cunning old fox! He told the truth when he said you would tell the news, captain: but to think of his lies getting him past the guard, with a sword and a bellyfull into the bargain!"

"Why didn't you report instantly upon our arrival?" asked Habershaw.

"Bless you," replied the lieutenant, "I never suspicioned him, more than I did you. The fellow laughed so naturally that I would never have thought him a runaway."

"There it is," said Habershaw; "that's the want of discipline. The service will never thrive till these loggerheads are taught the rules of war."

Butler had heard enough to satisfy him on one material point, namely, that Robinson had secured his escape, and was in condition to take whatever advantage of circumstances the times might afford him. It was a consolation to him also to know that the sergeant had taken this route, as it brought him nearer to the scene in which the major himself was likely to mingle. With this dawn of comfort brightening up his doubts, he addressed himself more composedly to sleep, and before daylight, the sounds of riot having sunk into a lower and more drowsy tone, he succeeded in winning a temporary oblivion from his cares.

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Chapter XX

"What ho! What ho!--thy door undo: Art watching or asleep?"--Burger's Leonora.

On the banks of the Ennoree, in a little nook of meadow, formed by the bend of the stream which, fringed with willows, swept round it almost in a semicircle, the inland border of the meadow being defined by a gently rising wall of hills covered with wood, was seated within a few paces of the water, a neat little cottage with a group of out-buildings, presenting all the conveniences of a comfortable farm. The dwelling-house itself was shaded by a cluster of trees which had been spared from the native forest, and within view were several fields of cultivated ground neatly inclosed with fences. A little lower down the stream and within a short distance of the house, partially concealed by the bank, stood a small low-browed mill, built of wood. It was near sundown, and the golden light of evening sparkled upon the shower which fell from the leaky race that conducted the water to the head gate, and no less glittered on the spray that was dashed from the large and slowly revolving wheel. The steady gush of the stream, and the monotonous clack of the machinery, aided by the occasional discordant scream of a flock of geese that frequented the border of the race, and by the gambols of a few children, who played about the confines of the mill, excited pleasant thoughts of rural business and domestic content. A rudely constructed wagon, to which were harnessed two lean horses, stood at the door of the mill, and two men, one of them advanced in years, and the other apparently just beyond the verge of boyhood, were occupied in heaping upon it a heavy load of bags of meal. The whitened habiliments of these men showed them to be the proper attendants of the place, and now engaged in their avocation. A military guard stood by the wagon, and as soon as it was filled, they were seen to put the horses in motion, and to retire by a road that crossed the stream and take the descending direction of the current close along the opposite bank.

When this party had disappeared, the old man directed the mill to be stopped. The gates were let down, the machinery ungeared, and, in a few moments, all was still. The millers now retired to the little habitation hard by.

"There is so much work lost," said the elder to his companion, as they approached the gate that opened into the curtilage of the dwelling. "We shall never be paid for that load. Colonel Innis doesn't care much out of whose pocket he feeds his men; and as to his orders upon Rawdon's quarter-master, why it is almost the price of blood to venture so far from home to ask for payment--to say nothing of the risk of finding the army purse as low as a poor miller's at home. I begrudge the grain, Christopher, and the work that grinds it; but there is no disputing with these whiskered foot-pads with bayonets in their hands--they must have it and will have it, and there's an end of it."

"Aye," replied the man addressed by the name of Christopher, "as you say, they will have it; and if they are told that a poor man's sweat has been mixed with their bread, they talk to us about the cause--the cause--the cause. I am tired of this everlasting preaching about king and country. I don't know but if I had my own way I'd take the country against the king any day. What does George the Third care for us, with a great world of water between?"

"Whisht, Christopher Shaw--whisht, boy! We have no opinions of our own; trees and walls have ears at this time. It isn't for us to be bringing blood and burning under our roof, by setting up for men who have opinions. No, no. Wait patiently; and perhaps, Christopher, it will not be long before this gay bird Cornwallis will be plucked of his feathers. The man is on his way now that, by the help of the Lord, may bring down as proud a hawk as ever flew across the water. If it should be otherwise, trust to the power above the might of armies, and wiser than the cunning of men, that, by a righteous and peaceful life, we shall make our lot an easier one than it may ever be in mingling in the strife of the evil-minded."

"It is hard, for all that--wise as it is--to be still," said Christopher, "with one's arms dangling by one's side, when one's neighbors and kinsmen are up and girding themselves for battle. It will come to that at last; fight we must. And, I don't care who knows it, I am for independence, uncle Allen."

"Your passion, boy, and warmth of temper, I doubt, outrun your discretion," said the old man. "But you speak bravely and I cannot chide you for it. For the present, at least, be temperate, and, if you can, silent. It is but unprofitable talk for persons in our condition."

The uncle and nephew now entered the house, and Allen Musgrove--for this was the person to whom I have introduced my reader--was soon seated at his family board, invoking a blessing upon his evening meal, and dispensing the cares of a quiet and peaceful household.

"I wonder Mary stays so long with her aunt," he said, as the early hour of repose drew nigh. "It is an ill place for her, wife, and not apt to please the girl with anything she may find there. Wat Adair is an irregular man, and savage as the beasts he hunts. His associates are not of the best, and but little suited to Mary's quiet temper."

The wife, a staid, motherly-looking woman of plain and placid exterior, who was busily engaged amongst a thousand scraps of coarse, homespun-cloth, which she was fashioning into a garment for some of the younger members of her family, paused from her work, upon this appeal to her, and, directing her glances above her spectacles to her husband, replied:

"Mary has been taught to perform her duties to her kinsfolk, and it isn't often that she counts whether it is pleasant to her or not. Besides, Watty, rough as he is, loves our girl; and love goes a great way to make us bear and forbear both, husband. I'll warrant our daughter comes home when she thinks it right. But it is a weary way to ride over a wild country, and more so now when Whig and Tory have distracted the land. I wish Christopher could be spared to go for her."

"He shall go to-morrow, wife," returned Allen Musgrove. "Wat Adair, love her or not, is not the man to go out of his way for a wandering girl, and would think nothing to see the child set out by herself. But come, it is Saturday night and near bed-time. Put aside your work, wife; a lesson from the Book of Truth, and prayers, and then to rest," he said, as he took down a family Bible from a shelf and spread it before him.

The old man put on a pair of glasses, which, by a spring, sustained themselves upon his nose, and with an audible and solemn voice he read a portion of scripture; then, placing himself on his knees, whilst the whole family followed his example, he poured forth a fervent and heart-inspired prayer. It was a simple and homely effusion, delivered from the suggestions of the moment, in accordance with a devout habit of thanksgiving and supplication to which he had long been accustomed. He was a Presbyterian, and had witnessed, with many a pang, the profligate contempt and even savage persecution with which his sect had been visited by many of the Tory leaders--especially by the loyalist partisan, Captain Huck, who had been recently killed in an incursion of Sumpter's at Williams's plantation, not far distant from Musgrove's present residence. It was this unsparing hostility towards his religion, and impious derision of it, that, more than any other circumstance, had begotten that secret dislike of the Tory cause which, it was known to a few, the miller entertained, although his age, situation, and, perhaps, some ancient prejudice of descent (for he was the son of an early Scotch emigrant), would rather have inclined him to take the royal side; that side which, in common belief and in appearance, he still favored.

"Thou hast bent thy bow," he said, in the warmest effusion of his prayer, "and shot thine arrows, O Lord, amongst this people; thou hast permitted the ministers of vengeance, and the seekers of blood to ride amongst us, and thy wrath hath not yet bowed the stubborn spirit of sin--but the hard hearts are given strong arms, and with curses they have smitten the people. Yet even the firebrand that it did please thee not to stay because of our sins--yea, even the firebrand that did cause conflagration along our border, until by the light the erring children of men might read in the dark night, from one end of our boundary even unto the other, the enormity of their own backslidings, and their forgetfulness of thee; that firebrand hath been thrown into the blaze which it had itself kindled, and, like a weapon of war which hath grown dull in the work of destruction, hath been cast into the place of unprofitable lumber, and hath been utterly consumed. The persecutor of the righteous and the scoffer of the word hath paid the price of blood, and hath fallen into the snares wherewith he lay in wait to ensnare the feet of the unthinking. But stay now, O Lord of Hosts, the hand of the destroyer, and let the angel of peace again spread his wing over our racked and wearied land. Take from the wicked heart his sword and shield, and make the righteous man safe beside his family hearth. Shelter the head of the wanderer, and guide in safety the hunted fugitive who flees before the man of wrath; comfort the captive in his captivity, and make all hearts in this rent and sundered province to know and bless thy mercies for ever more. In especial, we beseech thee to give the victory to him that hath right, and to 'stablish the foundations of the government in justice and truth, giving liberty of conscience and liberty of law to those who know how to use it." At this point the worship of the evening was arrested by a slight knocking at the door.

"Who goes there?" exclaimed the old man, starting from his kneeling position. "Who raps at my door?"

"A stranger, good man," replied a voice without. "A poor fellow that has been hot pressed and hard run."

"Friend or foe?" asked Allen Musgrove.

"A very worthless friend to any man at this present speaking," replied the person on the outside of the door; "and not fit to be counted a foe until he has had something to eat. If you be Allen Musgrove, open your door."

"Are you alone, or do you come with followers at your heels? My house is small and can give scant comfort to many?"

"Faith, it is more than I know," responded the other; "but if I have followers it is not with my will that they shall cross your door-sill. If you be Allen Musgrove, or if you be not, open, friend. I am as harmless as a barndoor fowl."

"I do not fear you, sir," said Musgrove, opening the door; "you are welcome to all I can give you, whatever colors you serve."

"Then give us your hand," said Horse Shoe Robinson, striding into the apartment. "You are a stranger to me, but if you are Allen Musgrove, the miller, that I have hearn men speak of, you are not the person to turn your back on a fellow creature in distress. Your sarvent, mistress," he added, bowing to the dame. "Far riding and fast riding gives a sort of claim these times; so excuse me for sitting down."

"You are welcome, again; your name, sir?" said Musgrove.

"Have I guessed yours?" inquired Horse Shoe.

"You have."

"Then you must guess mine; for it isn't convenient to tell it."

"Some poor Whig soldier," said Christopher Shaw privately to Musgrove. "It isn't right to make him betray himself. You are hungry, friend," added Christopher; "and we will first get you something to eat, and then you may talk all the better for it."

"That's a good word," said Horse Shoe, "and a brave word, as things go; for it isn't every man has the courage to feed an enemy in these days, though I made the devils do it for me this morning, ha, ha, ha! Some water, Mr. Musgrove, and it will not come badly to my hand if you can tangle it somewhat."

The refreshment asked for was produced by Christopher Shaw; and Horse Shoe, taking the brimming cup in his hand, stood up, and with a rather awkward courtesy, pledged the draught with "Your health, good mistress, and luck to the little ones! for we grown-up babies are out of the days of luck, except the luck of escaping twisted hemp, or drum-head law, which for to-night, I believe, is mine;" and he swallowed the mixture at a draught; then, with a long sigh, placed the cup upon the table and resumed his seat. "That there spirit, Mr. Musgrove," he added, "is a special good friend in need, preach against it who will!"

"You say you have ridden far to-day," remarked the miller: "you must be tired."

"I am not apt to get tired," replied the sergeant, turning his sword-belt over his head, and flinging the weapon upon a bench; "but I am often hungry."

"My wife," said Musgrove, smiling, "has taken that hint before you spoke it; she has already ordered something for you to eat."

"That's an excellent woman!" exclaimed Horse Shoe. "You see, Allen Musgrove, I don't stand much upon making myself free of your house. I have hearn of you often before I saw you, man; and I know all about you. You are obliged to keep fair weather with these Tories--who have no consideration for decent, orderly people--but your heart is with the boys that go for liberty. You see I know you, and am not afeard to trust you. Perchance, you mought have hearn tell of one Horse Shoe Robinson, who lived over here at the Waxhaws?"

"I have heard many stories about that man," replied the miller.

"Well, I won't tell you that he is in your house to-night, for fear the Tories might take you to account for harboring such a never-do-well. But you have got a poor fellow under your roof that has had a hard run to get here."

"In my house!" exclaimed Musgrove; "Horse Shoe Robinson!" and then, after a pause, he continued, "well, well, there is no rule of war that justifies a Christian in refusing aid and comfort to a houseless and hunted stranger, who comes with no thought of harm to a peaceful family hearth. I take no part in the war on either side; and, in your ear, friend Robinson, I take none against you or the brave men that stand by you."

"Your hand again," said Horse Shoe, reaching towards the miller. "Allen, I have come to you under a sore press of heels. An officer of the Continental army and me have been travelling through these here parts, and we have been most onaccountably ambushed by a half wild-cat, half bull-dog, known by the name of Captain Hugh Habershaw, who cotched us in the night at Grindall's ford."

"Heaven have mercy on the man who has anything to do with Hugh Habershaw!" exclaimed the miller's wife.

"Amen, mistress," responded the sergeant; "for a surlier, misbegotten piece of flesh, there's not in these wild woods, giving you the choice of bear, panther, catamount, rattlesnake, or what not. We were sot upon," continued the sergeant, "by this bully and a bevy of his braggadocios, and made prisoners; but I took a chance to slip the noose this morning, and after riding plump into a hornet's nest at Blackstock's, where I put on a new face and tricked the guard out of a dinner and this here old sword, I took a course for this mill, axing people along the road where I should find Allen Musgrove; and so, after making some roundabouts and dodging into the woods until night came on, to keep clear of the Tories, here I am."

"And the officer?" said Musgrove.

"He is in the hands of the Philistines yet--most likely now at Blackstock's."

"What might be his name?"

"Major Butler--a bold, warm gentleman--that's been used to tender life and good fortune. He has lands on the sea-coast--unless that new-fangled court at Charlestown, that they call the Court of Seekerstations, has made them null and void--as they have been making the estates of better gentleman than they could ever pretend to be; taking all the best lands, you see, Allen, to themselves, the cursed iniquiters!"

"Where did you come from with this gentleman?"

"A long way off, Mr. Musgrove--from old Virginny--but lastly from Wat Adair's."

"Wat's wife is a relation of my family."

"Then he is a filthy disgrace to all who claim kin with him, Allen Musgrove. Wat was the man who put us into the wild-cat's claws--at least, so we had good reason to think. There was a tidy, spruce, and smart little wench there--tut, man--I am talking of your own kith and kindred, for her name was Mary Musgrove."

"Our girl!" said the dame with an animated emphasis; "our own Mary; what of her, Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson?"

"That she is as good a child, Mistress Musgrove, as any honest parent mought wish for. She got some sort of inkling of what was contrived; and so she appeared to Major Butler in a dream--or her ghost."

"Mercy on us! the child has not been hurt?" cried the mother.

"Ondoubtedly not, ma'am," said Robinson; "but it is as true as you are there, she gave us, somehow or other, a warning that there was harm in the wind; and we took her advice, but it didn't do."

"I wish the child were home," said Musgrove. "Christopher, at daylight, boy, saddle a horse and be off to Adair's for Mary."

The nephew promised to do the errand.

"Come, Mr. Robinson, draw near the table and eat something."

"With right good heart," replied Horse Shoe; "but it's a kind of camp rule with me, before I taste food--no matter where--just to look after Captain Peter Clinch; that's my horse, friend Musgrove. So, by your leave, I'll just go take a peep to see that the Captain is sarved. A good beast is a sort of right arm in scrapish times; and as God ha'n't given them the gift of speech, we must speak for them."

"Christopher shall save you the trouble," replied Musgrove.

"A good horse never loses anything by the eye of his master," said Horse Shoe; "so, Christopher, I'll go with you."

In a short time the sergeant returned into the house, and took his seat at the table, where he fell to, at what was set before him, with a laudable dispatch.

"How far off," he inquired, "is the nearest Tory post, Mr. Musgrove?"

"Colonel Innis has some light corps stationed within two miles. If you had been a little earlier you would have found some of them at my mill."

"Innis!" repeated Horse Shoe, "I thought Floyd had these parts under command?"

"So he has," replied the miller, "but he has lately joined the garrison at Rocky Mount."

"Ha! ha! ha!" ejaculated Robinson, "that's a pot into which Sumpter will be dipping his ladle before long. All the land between Wateree and Broad belongs to Tom Sumpter, let mad-cap Tarleton do his best! We Whigs, Mr. Musgrove, have a little touch of the hobgoblin in us. We travel pretty much where we please. Now, I will tell you, friend, very plainly what I am after. I don't mean to leave these parts till I see what is to become of Major Butler. Innis and Floyd put together sha'n't hinder me from looking after a man that's under my charge. I'm an old sodger, and they can't make much out of me if they get me."

"The country is swarming with troops of one kind or another," said the miller; "and a man must have his wits about him who would get through it. You are now, Mr. Robinson, in a very dangerous quarter. The fort at Ninety-Six on one side of you, and Rocky Mount and Hanging Rock on the other--the road between the three is full of loyalists. Colonel Innis is here to keep the passage open, and, almost hourly, his men are passing. You should be careful in showing yourself in daylight. And as for your poor friend, Major Butler, there is not likely to be much good will shown towards him. I greatly fear his case is worse than it seems to you."

"There is somewhere," said Robinson, "in that book that lies open on the table--which I take to be the Bible--the story of the campaigns of King David; and as I have hearn it read by the preacher, it tells how David was pushed on all sides by flying corps of the enemy, and that, seeing he had no sword, he came across a man who gave him victuals and the sword of Goliath--as I got my dinner and a sword this morning from the tavern-keeper at Blackstock's; and then he set off on his flight to some strange place, where he feigned himself crazy and scrabbled at the gate, and let the spit run down on his beard--as I have done before now with Tarleton, Mr. Musgrove; and then King David took into a cave--which I shouldn't stand much upon doing if there was occasion; and there the King waited, until he got friends about him and was able to drub the Philistians for robbing the threshing-floors--as I make no doubt these Tories have robbed yours, Allen Musgrove. But you know all about it, seeing that you are able to read, which I am not. Now, I don't pretend to say that I nor Major Butler are as good men as David--not at all; but the cause of liberty is as good a cause as ever King David fought for, and the Lord that took his side in the cave, will take the side of the Whigs, sooner or later, and help them to beat these grinding, thieving, burning, and throat-cutting Tories. And, moreover, a brave man ought never to be cast down by such vermin; that's my religion, Mr. Musgrove, though you mought hardly expect to find much thought of such things left in a rough fellow like me, that's been hammered in these here wars like an old piece of iron that's been one while a plough coulter, and after that a gun-barrel, and finally that's been run up with others into a piece of ordnance--not to say that it moughtn't have been a horse shoe in some part of its life, ha! ha! ha! There's not likely to be much conscience or religion left after all that hammering."

"'He shall keep the simple folk by their right,'" said Musgrove, quoting a passage from the Psalms, "'defend the children of the poor and punish the wrong-doer.' You have finished your supper, Mr. Robinson," he continued, "and before we retire to rest you will join us in the conclusion of our family worship, which was interrupted by your coming into the house. We will sing a Psalm which has been given to us by that man whose deliverance has taught you where you are to look for yours."

"If I cannot help to make music, Allen," said Horse Shoe, "I can listen with good will."

The miller now produced a little book in black-letter, containing a familiar and ancient version of the Psalms, and the following quaint and simple lines were read by him in successive couplets, the whole family singing each distich as soon as it was given out--not excepting Horse Shoe, who, after the first couplet, having acquired some slight perception of the tune, chimed in with a voice that might have alarmed the sentinels of Innis's camp:

"A king that trusteth in his host Shall not prevail at length; The man that of his might doth boast Shall fall, for all his strength.

"The troops of horsemen eke shall fail, Their sturdy steeds shall starve: The strength of horse shall not prevail The rider to preserve.

"But so the eyes of God intend, And watch to aid the just; With such as fear him to offend, And on his goodness trust.

"That he of death and great distress May set their souls from dread; And if that dearth their land oppress, In hunger them to feed.

"Wherefore our soul doth whole depend On God, our strength and stay; He is our shield us to defend And drive all darts away."

When this act of devotion was concluded the old man invoked a blessing upon his household, and gave his orders that the family should betake themselves to rest. Horse Shoe had already taken up his sword and was about retiring to a chamber, under the guidance of Christopher Shaw, when the door was suddenly thrown wide open, and in rushed Mary Musgrove. She ran up, threw herself into her father's arms, and cried out--

"Oh, how glad I am that I have reached home to-night!" then kissing both of her parents, she flung herself into a chair, saying "I am tired--very tired. I have ridden the livelong day, alone, and frightened out of my wits."

"Not alone, my daughter!--on that weary road, and the country so troubled with ill-governed men! Why did you venture, girl? Did you not think I would send your cousin Christopher for you?"

"Oh, father," replied Mary, "there have been such doings! Ah! and here is Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson; Major Butler, where is he, sir?" she exclaimed, turning to the sergeant, who had now approached the back of her chair to offer his hand.

"Blessings on you for a wise and a brave girl!" said Robinson. "But it wouldn't do; we were ambushed, and the Major is still a prisoner."

"I feared it," said Mary, "and therefore I stole away. They are bloody-minded and wicked, father; and uncle Adair's house has been the place where mischief and murder has been talked of. Oh, I am very sick! I have had such a ride!"

"Poor wench!" said the father, taking her to his bosom. "You have not the temper nor the strength to struggle where ruthless men take up their weapons of war. What has befallen? Tell us all!"

"No, no!" interposed the mother; "no, Allen, not now. The girl must have food and sleep, and must not be wearied with questions to-night. Wait, my dear Mary, until to-morrow. She will tell us everything to-morrow."

"I must hear of Major Butler," said Mary; "I cannot sleep until I have heard all that has happened. Good Mr. Robinson, tell me everything."

In few words the sergeant unfolded to the damsel the eventful history of the last two days, during the narrative of which her cheek waxed pale, her strength failed her, and she sank almost lifeless across her father's knee.

"Give me some water," she said. "My long ride has worn me out. I ran off at daylight this morning, and have not stopped once upon the road."

A glass of milk with a slice of bread restored the maiden to her strength, and she took the first opportunity to inform the circle who surrounded her of all the incidents that had fallen under her observation at Adair's.

Her father listened with deep emotion to the tale, and during its relation clenched his teeth with anger, as he walked, to and fro, through the apartment. There was an earnest struggle in his feelings to withhold the expression of the strong execration, which the narrative brought almost to his lips, against the perfidy of his wife's kinsman. But the habitual control of his temper, which his religious habits inculcated, kept him silent; and considerations of prudence again swayed him from surrendering to the impulse, which would have led him to declare himself openly against the cause of the royal government and its supporters in the district where he lived. He cross-questioned his daughter as to many minute points of her story, but her answers were uniform and consistent, and were stamped with the most unequivocal proofs of her strict veracity. Indeed, the collateral evidences furnished by Robinson, left no doubt on the miller's mind that the whole of Mary's disclosures were the testimony of a witness whose senses could not have been disturbed by illusions, nor distempered by fear.

"It is a dreadful tale," he said, "and we must think over it more maturely. Be of good heart, my daughter, you have acted well and wisely; God will protect us from harm."

"And so it was no ghost, nor spirit," said Horse Shoe, "that the major saw in the night? But I wonder you didn't think of waking me. A word to me in the night--seeing I have sarved a good deal on outposts, and have got used to being called up--would have had me stirring in a wink. But that's part of Wat's luck for I should most ondoubtedly have strangled the snake in his bed."

"I called you," said Mary, "as loudly as I durst, and more than once, but you slept so hard!"

"That's like me too," replied Horse Shoe. "I'm both sleepy and watchful, according as I think there is need of my sarvices."

"Now to bed, my child," said Musgrove. "Your bed is the fittest place for your wearied body. God bless you, daughter!"

Once more the family broke up, and as Robinson left the room Mary followed him to the foot of the little stair that wound up into an attic chamber; here she detained him one moment, while she communicated to him in a half whisper,

"I have a friend, Mr. Robinson, that might help you to do something for Major Butler. His name is John Ramsay: he belongs to General Sumpter's brigade. If you would go to his father's, only six miles from here, on the upper road to Ninety-Six, you might hear where John was. But, may be, you are afraid to go so near to the fort?"

"May be so," said Robinson, with a look of comic incredulity. "I know the place, and I know the family, and, likely, John himself. It's a good thought, Mary, for I want help now, more than I ever did in my life. I'll start before daylight--for it won't do to let the sun shine upon me, with Innis's Tories so nigh. So, if I am missed to-morrow morning, let your father know how I come to be away."

"Tell John," said Mary, "I sent you to him. Mary Musgrove, remember."

"If I can't find John," replied Horse Shoe, "you're such a staunch little petticoat sodger, that I'll, perhaps, come back and enlist you. 'Tisn't everywhere that we can find such valiant wenches. I wish some of our men had a little of your courage; so, good night!"

The maiden now returned to the parlor, and Horse Shoe, under the guidance of Christopher Shaw, found a comfortable place of deposit for his hard-worked, though--as he would have Christopher believe--his unfatigued frame. The sergeant, however, was a man not born to cares, notwithstanding that his troubles were "as thick as the sparks that fly upward," and it is a trivial fact in his history, that, on the present occasion, he was not many seconds in bed before he was as sound asleep as the trapped partridges, in the fairy tale, which, the eastern chronicle records, fell into a deep sleep when roasting upon the spit, and did not wake for a hundred years.

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Chapter XXI

"Now if you ask who gave the stroke I cannot tell, so mote I thrive; It was not given by man alive."--Lay of the last Minstrel.

It was a little before daybreak on Sunday morning, the fifteenth of August (a day rendered memorable by the exploit of Sumpter, who captured, in the vicinity of Rocky Mount, a large quantity of military stores, and a numerous escort, then on their way from Ninety-Six to Camden), that James Curry was travelling in the neighborhood of the Ennoree, some four miles distant from Musgrove's mill. He had a few hours before left the garrison of Ninety-Six, and was now hieing with all haste to Blackstock's on a mission of importance. The night had been sultry, but the approach of the dawn had brought with it that refreshing coolness which is always to be remarked in the half hour that precedes the first blush of morning. The dragoon had had a weary night-ride, but the recent change of temperature had invigorated his system and given buoyancy to his spirits. This effect was exhibited in his first whistling a tune, then humming the words of a ditty, and, finally, in breaking forth into a loud full song, which, as he had a good voice and practised skill, increased in loudness as he became better pleased with the trial of his powers. The song was occasionally intermitted to give room to certain self-communings which the pastime suggested.

"You may take it for sooth, that wit without gold,"

he sang in the loudest strain, trying the words on different keys, and introducing some variations in the tune--

"Will make a bad market whenever 'tis sold."

"That's true; your poor moneyless devil, how should his wit pass current? He was a shrewd fellow that wrote it down. Your rich man for wit, all the world over, and so the song runs:--

"'But all over the world it is well understood That the joke of a rich man is sure to be good.'

"True, true as gospel! Give the knaves dinners, plenty of Burgundy and Port, and what signifies an empty head? Go to college, and how is it there? What is a sizer's joke? If the fellow have the wit of Diogenes, it is sheer impertinence. But let my young lord Croesus come out with his flatulent nonsense, oh, that's the true ware for the market! James Curry, James Curry, what ought you to have been, if the supple jade fortune had done your deserts justice! Instead of a d----d dodging dragoon, obedient to the beck of every puppy who wears his majesty's epaulets; but it's no matter, that's past; the wheel has made its turn, and here I am, doing the work of the scullion, that ought to sit above the salt-cellar. Vogue la galere! We will play out the play. Meantime, I'll be merry in spite of the horoscope: come then, I like these words and the jolly knave, whoever he was, that penned them.

"'You may take it for sooth that wit without gold.'"

The singer was, at this instant, arrested at the top of his voice by a blow against the back of his head, bestowed, apparently, by some ponderous hand, that so effectually swayed him from the line of gravity, as to cause him to reel in his saddle, and, by an irrecoverable impetus, to swing round to the ground, where he alighted on his back, with the reins of his horse firmly held in his hand.

"Singing on Sunday is against the law," said a hoarse voice, that came apparently from the air, as the darkness of the hour--which was increased by an overcast and lowering sky, as well as by the thick wood through which the road ran, prevented the stricken man from discerning anything that might have done him harm, even if such thing had been bodily present. The soldier lay for a moment prostrate, bewildered by the suddenness of this mysterious visitation; and when, at length, he regained his feet, he almost fancied that he heard receding from him, at a great distance, the dull beat of a horse's foot upon the sandy road.

Curry, who as a soldier was insensible to fear, now shook in every joint, as he stood beside his horse in a state of confused and ravelled wonderment. He strained his ear to catch the sound in the direction towards which he thought he had heard the retreating footsteps, but his more deliberate attention persuaded him that he was mistaken in his first impression. Still more puzzled as he came into the possession of his faculties, of which the abruptness of the surprise had almost bereft him, he stood for some time mute; then drawing his sword with the alacrity of a man, who all at once believes himself in danger of an uplifted blow, he called out loudly,

"Speak, and show yourself, if you be a man! Or if there be a party, let them come forth. Who waylays me? Remember, I warn him, in the name of the king, that I am on his majesty's errand, and that they are not far off who will punish any outrage on my person. By all the powers of Satan, the place is bewitched!" he exclaimed, after a pause. "Once more, speak; whether you are to be conjured in the name of the king or of the devil!"

All remained silent, except the leaves of the forest that fluttered in the breeze; and it was with an awkward and unacknowledged sense of faint-heartedness that Curry put up his sword and remounted into his saddle. He first moved slowly forward in continuation of his journey; and, as his thoughts still ran upon the extraordinary incident, he applied spurs to his horse's side, and gradually increased his pace from a trot to a gallop, and from that to almost high speed, until he emerged from the wood upon a track of open country. When he reached this spot the day had already appeared above the eastern horizon; and reassured, as the light waxed stronger, the dragoon, by degrees, fell into his customary travelling pace, and resumed the equanimity of his temper.

About ten o'clock in the day he reached Blackstock's, where he arrived in a heavy rain, that had been falling for the last three hours, and which had drenched him to the skin. So, rapidly dismounting and giving his horse into the charge of some of the idlers about the door, he entered the common room in which were assembled the greater part of the militia guard and of Habershaw's troopers. His first movement was to take the burly captain aside, and to communicate to him certain orders from the commanding officer at Ninety-Six, respecting the prisoner; which being done, he mingled with his usual affectedly careless and mirthful manner amongst the throng.

Butler, through the intercession of Bruce, had been indulged with some mitigation of the restraints at first imposed upon him; and he was, at this moment, availing himself of the privilege that had been allowed him, on account of the leaky condition of the barn in which he had spent the night, to take his morning meal inside of the dwelling-house. He was accordingly seated at a table, in a corner of the room, with some eatables before him in a more comfortable state of preparation than he had hitherto enjoyed. Two soldiers stood sufficiently near to render his custody effectual without much personal annoyance. As yet he had been unable to glean anything from the conversation of those around him, by which he might form the least conjecture as to his probable destiny. His intercourse with his captors was restricted to the mere supply of his immediate wants. All other communication was strictly interdicted. Even Habershaw himself seemed to be under some authoritative command, to deny himself the gratification of either exhibiting his own importance, or of wreaking his spleen upon his prisoner; and when Butler attempted to gain from Bruce some hint as to what was intended, the only answer he received was conveyed by the soldier's putting his finger on his lip.

Butler knew enough of Robinson's hardihood and venturesome disposition, to feel perfectly confident that he would make good his promise to be near him, at whatever personal hazard; and he was, therefore, in momentary expectation of receiving further intelligence from the sergeant in some of those strange, bold, and perilous forms of communication, which the character of the trusty soldier warranted him in counting upon. His knowledge that Robinson had passed by Blackstock's on the day preceding, gave him some assurance that the sergeant was in the diligent prosecution of his purpose to seek Sumpter, or some other of the partisan Whig corps in their hiding-places, and to try the hazardous experiment of his (Butler's) rescue from his present thraldom, by a vigorous incursion into the district where he was now confined. With this calculation of the course of events, he was prepared to hear, at every hour of the day, of some sudden alarm; and ready to co-operate, by seizing the first moment of confusion to snatch up a weapon, and force his way through the ranks of his guard. It was with such anticipations that now, whilst seemingly engrossed with the satisfaction of his physical wants at the table, he lent an attentive ear to the conversation which passed in the house between Curry and the company who were clustered around him. The dragoon, at first, in a light and merry vein of narrative, recounted to his hearers the singular visitation he had experienced before daybreak; and he contrived to fling over his story an additional hue of mystery, by the occasional reflections with which he seasoned it, tending to inculcate the belief to which he himself partly inclined, that the incident was brought about through the agency of some pranking and mischievous spirit,--a conclusion which, at that period, and amongst the persons to whom the adventure was related, did not require any great stretch of faith to sustain it. Some of his auditors fortified this prevailing inclination of opinion, by expressing their own conviction of the interference of malignant and supernatural influences in the concerns of mankind, and gave their personal experience of instances in which these powers were active. The conversation by degrees changed its tone from that of levity and laughter into one of grave and somewhat fearful interest, according to the increasing marvel which the several stories that were told excited in the superstitious minds of the circle; and in the same proportion that this sentiment took possession of the thoughts of the company, they became more unreserved in their language, and louder in the utterance of it, thus giving Butler the full benefit of all that was said.

"But, after all," said one of the men, "mightn't you have been asleep on your horse, James Curry, and had a sort of jogging dream, when a limb of a tree across the road, for it was a dark morning, might have caught you under the throat and flung you out of your saddle: and you, not knowing whether you was asleep or awake, for a man who is on duty, without his night's rest, sometimes can't tell the difference, thought it was some hobgoblin business?"

"No," said Curry, "that's impossible; for I was singing a song at the time, and almost at the top of my voice. I had been sleepy enough before that, just after I left Ninety-Six, near midnight, for I had ridden a long way; but as it grew towards daylight I began to rouse up, so that when this thing happened I was as much awake as I am now."

"Then it's a downright case of ghost," said the other. "It knew you was upon a wicked errand, and so that back-handed blow was a warning to you. These things are sometimes meant to be friendly; and who knows but this oversetting you in the road might have been intended to signify that you had better not meddle in cases of life and death. If you would take my advice, you would just treat this Major Butler, that you took prisoner"--

Curry looked at the speaker with a frown, as he made a motion to him to be silent. "Remember where you are, and who may hear you," he said in a cautious voice, as he glanced his eye towards Butler, who was leaning his head upon the table, as if in slumber.

"Oh, I understand," replied the soldier of the guard. "I forgot he was in the room."

"The weather holds up," said Habershaw, who now walked into the house. "The rain has slackened; and so, orderly, if you have had a bite of something to eat, the boys had better be got ready to march. We have a long way to go, and as the infantry march with us we shall get on slowly."

"I think so, noble Captain," replied Curry. "I shall be ready to join you before you get your line formed."

Orders were now issued by Habershaw, both to the troopers of his own squad and to the militia detachment, to put themselves in condition for an immediate movement. The clouds, during the last half hour, had been breaking away, and the sun soon burst forth upon the wet and glittering landscape, in all the effulgence of mid summer. During a brief interval of preparation the party of infantry and cavalry that now occupied the hamlet exhibited the bustle incident to the gathering of the corps. Some ran to one quarter for their arms, others to the stables for their horses; a cracked trumpet in the hands of a lusty performer, who here joined the troop, kept up a continual braying, and was seconded by the ceaseless beat of a slack and dull drum. There were some who, having put on their military equipments, thronged the table of the common room of the house, where spirits and water had been set out for their accommodation, and rude jokes, laughter, and oaths, were mingled together in deafening clamor.

"Move out the prisoner," shouted Habershaw; "he goes with the infantry afoot. I'll never trust another of the tribe with a horse."

"Follow, sir," said one of the sentinels near Butler's person, as he faced to the right with his musket at an "advance," and led the way to the door.

Butler rose, and, before he placed himself in the position required, asked:

"Where is it you purpose to conduct me?"

"Silence!" said Habershaw sternly. "Obey orders, sir, and march where you are directed."

Butler folded his arms and looked scornfully at the uncouth savage before him as he replied:

"I am a prisoner, sir, and therefore bound to submit to the force that constrains me. But there will be a day of reckoning, both for you and your master. It will not be the lighter to him for having hired such a ruffian to do the business in which he is ashamed to appear himself."

"Devil's leavings!" screamed Habershaw, almost choked with choler, "dare you speak to me so? By my heart, I have a mind to cleave your skull for you! My master, sir! You will find out, before long, who is master, when Hugh Habershaw has tied the knot that is to fit your neck."

"Peace, villain!" exclaimed Butler; "I cannot come too soon into the presence of those who claim to direct your motions."

Here James Curry interposed to draw off the incensed captain, and Butler, having received another order from the officer of the guard, moved out upon the road and took the place that was assigned him, between two platoons of the foot soldiers.

The troopers being mounted and formed into column of march with Habershaw and his trumpeter at the head and Curry in the rear, now moved forward at a slow gait, followed by the detachment of infantry who had the prisoner under their especial charge.

It was near noon when the party took up the line of march, and they prosecuted their journey southward with such expedition as to tax Butler's powers to the utmost to keep even pace with them over roads that were in many places rendered miry by the late rain. Towards evening, however, the sun had sufficiently dried the soil to make the travel less fatiguing; and by that hour when the light of day only lingered upon the tops of the western hills, the military escort, with their prisoner, were seen passing through a defile that opened upon their view an extensive bivouac of some two or three hundred horse and foot, and occupying a space of open field, encompassed with wood and guarded in its rear by a smooth and gentle river.

The spot at which they had arrived was the camp of a partisan corps under the command of Colonel Innis. A farm-house was seen in the immediate neighborhood, which was used as the head-quarters of a party of officers. Numerous horses were attached to the trees that bounded the plain, and various shelters were made in the same quarter, in the rudest form of accommodation, of branches and underwood set against ridge-poles, that were sustained by stakes, to protect the men against the weather. Groups of this irregular soldiery were scattered over the plain, a few wagons were seen collected in one direction, and, not far off, a line of fires, around which parties were engaged in cooking food. Here and there a sentinel was seen pacing his short limits, and occasionally the roll of a drum and the flourish of a fife announced some ceremony of the camp police.

The escort marched quickly across this plain until it arrived in front of the farm-house. Here a guard was drawn up to receive them; and, as soon as the usual military salute was passed and the order to "stand at ease" given, Habershaw put the detachment under the command of the lieutenant of infantry, and, accompanied by Curry, walked into the house to make his report to the commanding officer of the post.

In a few moments afterwards Colonel Innis, attended by two or three military men--some of whom wore the uniform of the British regular army--came from the house and passed hastily along the line of the escort, surveying Butler only with a rapid glance. Having regained the door, he was heard to say--

"It is very well; let the prisoner have a room above stairs. See that he wants nothing proper to his situation; and, above all, be attentive that he be kept scrupulously under the eye of his guard."

When this order was given, the Colonel retired with his attendants to his quarters, and Butler was forthwith conducted, by a file of men, up a narrow, winding stair, to a small apartment in the angle of the roof, where he was provided with a chair, a light, and a comfortable bed. His door was left open, and on the outside of it, full in his view, was posted a sentinel. He was too weary even to be troubled with the cares of his present condition; and, without waiting, therefore, for food, or seeking to inquire into whose hands he had fallen, or even to turn his thoughts upon the mysterious train of circumstances that hung over him, he flung himself upon the couch and sank into a profound and grateful sleep.

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Chapter XXII

AN ADVENTURE WHEREIN IT IS APPARENT THAT THE ACTIONS OF REAL LIFE ARE FULL AS MARVELLOUS AS THE INVENTIONS OF ROMANCE.

David Ramsay's house was situated on a by-road, between five and six miles from Musgrove's mill, and at about the distance of one mile from the principal route of travel between Ninety-six and Blackstock's. In passing from the military post that had been established at the former place, towards the latter, Ramsay's lay off to the left, with a piece of dense wood intervening. The by-way leading through the farm, diverged from the main road, and traversed this wood until it reached the cultivated grounds immediately around Ramsay's dwelling. In the journey from Musgrove's mill to this point of divergence, the traveller was obliged to ride some two or three miles upon the great road leading from the British garrison, a road that, at the time of my story, was much frequented by military parties, scouts, and patroles, that were concerned in keeping up the communication between the several posts which were established by the British authorities along that frontier. Amongst the whig parties, also, there were various occasions which brought them under the necessity of frequent passage through this same district, and which, therefore, furnished opportunities for collision and skirmish with the opposite forces.

It is a matter of historical notoriety, that immediately after the fall of Charleston, and the rapid subjugation of South Carolina that followed this event, there were three bold and skilful soldiers who undertook to carry on the war of resistance to the established authorities, upon a settled and digested plan of annoyance, under the most discouraging state of destitution, as regarded all the means of offence, that, perhaps, history records. It will not detract from the fame of other patriots of similar enthusiasm and of equal bravery, to mention the names of Marion, Sumpter, and Pickens, in connexion with this plan of keeping up an apparently hopeless partisan warfare, which had the promise neither of men, money, nor arms,--and yet which was so nobly sustained, amidst accumulated discomfitures, as to lead eventually to the subversion of the "Tory ascendency" and the expulsion of the British power. According to the plan of operations concerted amongst these chieftains, Marion took the lower country under his supervision; Pickens the south-western districts, bordering upon the Savannah; and to Sumpter was allotted all that tract of country lying between the Broad and the Catawba rivers, from the angle of their junction, below Camden, up to the mountain districts of North Carolina. How faithfully these men made good their promise to the country, is not only written in authentic history, but it is also told in many a legend amongst the older inhabitants of the region that was made the theatre of action. It only concerns my story to refer to the fact, that the events which have occupied my last five or six chapters, occurred in that range more peculiarly appropriated to Sumpter, and that the high road from Blackstock's towards Ninety-six was almost as necessary for communication between Sumpter and Pickens, as between the several British garrisons.

On the morning that succeeded the night in which Horse Shoe Robinson arrived at Musgrove's, the stout and honest sergeant might have been seen, about eight o'clock, leaving the main road from Ninety-six, at the point where that leading to David Ramsay's separated from it, and cautiously urging his way into the deep forest, by the more private path into which he had entered. The knowledge that Innis was encamped along the Ennoree, within a short distance of the mill, had compelled him to make an extensive circuit to reach Ramsay's dwelling, whither he was now bent; and he had experienced considerable delay in his morning journey, by finding himself frequently in the neighborhood of small foraging parties of Tories, whose motions he was obliged to watch for fear of an encounter. He had once already been compelled to use his horse's heels in what he called "fair flight;" and once to ensconce himself, a full half hour, under cover of the thicket afforded him by a swamp. He now, therefore, according to his own phrase, "dived into the little road that scrambled down through the woods towards Ramsay's, with all his eyes about him, looking out as sharply as a fox on a foggy morning:" and with this circumspection, he was not long in arriving within view of Ramsay's house. Like a practised soldier, whom frequent frays has taught wisdom, he resolved to reconnoitre before he advanced upon a post that might be in possession of an enemy. He therefore dismounted, fastened his horse in a fence corner, where a field of corn concealed him from notice, and then stealthily crept forward until he came immediately behind one of the out-houses.

The barking of a house-dog brought out a negro boy, to whom Robinson instantly addressed the query--

"Is your master at home?"--

"No, sir. He's got his horse, and gone off more than an hour ago."

"Where is your mistress?"

"Shelling beans, Sir."

"I didn't ask you," said the sergeant, "what she is doing, but where she is."

"In course, she is in the house, Sir,"--replied the negro with a grin.

"Any strangers there?"

"There was plenty on 'em a little while ago, but they've been gone a good bit."

Robinson having thus satisfied himself as to the safety of his visit, directed the boy to take his horse and lead him up to the door. He then entered the dwelling.

"Mistress Ramsay," said he, walking up to the dame, who was occupied at a table, with a large trencher before her, in which she was plying that household thrift which the negro described; "luck to you, ma'am, and all your house! I hope you haven't none of these clinking and clattering bullies about you, that are as thick over this country as the frogs in the kneading troughs, that they tell of."

"Good lack, Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson," exclaimed the matron, offering the sergeant her hand. "What has brought you here? What news? Who are with you? For patience sake, tell me!"

"I am alone," said Robinson, "and a little wettish mistress;" he added, as he took off his hat and shook the water from it "it has just sot up a rain, and looks as if it was going to give us enough on't. You don't mind, doing a little dinner-work of a Sunday, I see--shelling of beans, I s'pose, is tantamount to dragging a sheep out of a pond, as the preachers allow on the Sabbath--ha, ha!--Where's Davy?"

"He's gone over to the meeting-house on Ennoree, hoping to hear something of the army at Camden: perhaps you can tell us the news from that quarter?"

"Faith, that's a mistake, Mistress Ramsay. Though I don't doubt that they are hard upon the scratches, by this time. But, at this present speaking, I command the flying artillery. We have out one man in the corps--and that's myself; and all the guns we have got is this piece of ordnance, that hangs in this old belt by my side (pointing to his sword)--and that I captured from the enemy at Blackstock's. I was hoping I mought find John Ramsay at home--I have need of him as a recruit."

"Ah, Mr. Robinson, John has a heavy life of it over there with Sumpter. The boy is often without his natural rest, or a meal's victuals; and the general thinks so much of him, that he can't spare him to come home. I hav'n't the heart to complain, as long as John's service is of any use, but it does seem, Mr. Robinson, like needless tempting of the mercies of providence. We thought that he might have been here to-day; yet I am glad he didn't come--for he would have been certain to get into trouble. Who should come in, this morning, just after my husband had cleverly got away on his horse, but a young cock-a-whoop ensign, that belongs to Ninety-Six, and four great Scotchmen with him, all in red coats; they had been out thieving, I warrant, and were now going home again. And who but they! Here they were, swaggering all about my house--and calling for this--and calling for that--as if they owned the fee-simple of everything on the plantation. And it made my blood rise, Mr. Horse Shoe, to see them run out in the yard, and catch up my chickens and ducks, and kill as many as they could string about them--and I not daring to say a word: though I did give them a piece of my mind, too."

"Who is at home with you?" inquired the sergeant eagerly.

"Nobody but my youngest boy, Andrew," answered the dame. "And then, the filthy, toping rioters--" she continued, exalting her voice.

"What arms have you in the house?" asked Robinson, without heeding the dame's rising anger.

"We have a rifle, and a horseman's pistol that belongs to John.--They must call for drink, too, and turn my house, of a Sunday morning, into a tavern."

"They took the route towards Ninety-Six, you said, Mistress Ramsay?"

"Yes,--they went straight forward upon the road. But, look you, Mr. Horse Shoe, you're not thinking of going after them?"

"Isn't there an old field, about a mile from this, on that road?" inquired the sergeant, still intent upon his own thoughts.

"There is," replied the dame; "with the old school-house upon it."

"A lop-sided, rickety log-cabin in the middle of the field. Am I right, good woman?"

"Yes."

"And nobody lives in it? It has no door to it?"

"There ha'n't been anybody in it these seven years."

"I know the place very well," said the sergeant, thoughtfully; "there is woods just on this side of it."

"That's true," replied the dame: "but what is it you are thinking about, Mr. Robinson?"

"How long before this rain began was it that they quitted this house?"

"Not above fifteen minutes."

"Mistress Ramsay, bring me the rifle and pistol both--and the powder-horn and bullets."

"As you say, Mr. Horse Shoe," answered the dame, as she turned round to leave the room; "but I am sure I can't suspicion what you mean to do."

In a few moments the woman returned with the weapons, and gave them to the sergeant.

"Where is Andy?" asked Horse Shoe.

The hostess went to the door and called her son, and, almost immediately afterwards, a sturdy boy of about twelve or fourteen years of age entered the apartment, his clothes dripping with rain. He modestly and shyly seated himself on a chair near the door, with his soaked hat flapping down over a face full of freckles, and not less rife with the expression of an open, dauntless hardihood of character.

"How would you like a scrummage, Andy, with them Scotchmen that stole your mother's chickens this morning?" asked Horse Shoe.

"I'm agreed," replied the boy, "if you will tell me what to do."

"You are not going to take the boy out on any of your desperate projects, Mr. Horse Shoe?" said the mother, with the tears starting instantly into her eyes. "You wouldn't take such a child as that into danger?"

"Bless your soul, Mrs. Ramsay, there ar'n't no danger about it! Don't take on so. It's a thing that is either done at a blow, or not done,--and there's an end of it. I want the lad only to bring home the prisoners for me, after I have took them."

"Ah, Mr. Robinson, I have one son already in these wars--God protect him!--and you men don't know how a mother's heart yearns for her children in these times. I cannot give another," she added, as she threw her arms over the shoulders of the youth and drew him to her bosom.

"Oh! it aint nothing," said Andrew, in a sprightly tone. "It's only snapping of a pistol, mother,--pooh! If I'm not afraid, you oughtn't to be."

"I give you my honor, Mistress Ramsay," said Robinson, "that I will bring or send your son safe back in one hour; and that he sha'n't be put in any sort of danger whatsomedever: come, that's a good woman!"

"You are not deceiving me, Mr. Robinson?" asked the matron wiping away a tear. "You wouldn't mock the sufferings of a weak woman in such a thing as this?"

"On the honesty of a sodger, ma'am," replied Horse Shoe, "the lad shall be in no danger, as I said before--whatsomedever."

"Then I will say no more," answered the mother. "But Andy, my child, be sure to let Mr. Robinson keep before you."

Horse Shoe now loaded the fire-arms, and having slung the pouch across his body, he put the pistol into the hands of the boy; then shouldering his rifle, he and his young ally left the room. Even on this occasion, serious as it might be deemed, the sergeant did not depart without giving some manifestation of that light-heartedness which no difficulties ever seemed to have the power to conquer. He thrust his head back into the room, after he had crossed the threshold, and said with an encouraging laugh, "Andy and me will teach them, Mistress Ramsay, Pat's point of war--we will surround the ragamuffins."

"Now, Andy, my lad," said Horse Shoe, after he had mounted Captain Peter, "you must get up behind me. Turn the lock of your pistol down," he continued, as the boy sprang upon the horse's rump, "and cover it with the flap of your jacket, to keep the rain off. It won't do to hang fire at such a time as this."

The lad did as he was directed, and Horse Shoe, having secured his rifle in the same way, put his horse up to a gallop, and took the road in the direction that had been pursued by the soldiers.

As soon as our adventurers had gained a wood, at the distance of about half a mile, the sergeant relaxed his speed, and advanced at a pace a little above a walk.

"Andy," he said, "we have got rather a ticklish sort of a job before us, so I must give you your lesson, which you will understand better by knowing something of my plan. As soon as your mother told me that these thieving villains had left her house about fifteen minutes before the rain came on, and that they had gone along upon this road, I remembered the old field up here, and the little log hut in the middle of it; and it was natural to suppose that they had just got about near that hut, when this rain came up; and then, it was the most supposable case in the world, that they would naturally go into it, as the driest place they could find. So now, you see, it's my calculation that the whole batch is there at this very point of time. We will go slowly along, until we get to the other end of this wood, in sight of the old field, and then, if there is no one on the look-out, we will open our first trench; you know what that means, Andy?"

"It means, I s'pose, that we'll go right smack at them," replied Andrew.

"Pretty exactly," said the sergeant. "But listen to me. Just at the edge of the woods you will have to get down, and put yourself behind a tree. I'll ride forward, as if I had a whole troop at my heels, and if I catch them, as I expect, they will have a little fire kindled, and, as likely as not, they'll be cooking some of your mother's fowls."

"Yes, I understand," said the boy eagerly--

"No, you don't," replied Horse Shoe, "but you will when you hear what I am going to say. If I get at them onawares, they'll be mighty apt to think they are surrounded, and will bellow, like fine fellows, for quarter. And, thereupon, Andy, I'll cry out 'stand fast,' as if I was speaking to my own men, and when you hear that, you must come up full tilt, because it will be a signal to you that the enemy has surrendered. Then it will be your business to run into the house and bring out the muskets, as quick as a rat runs through a kitchen: and when you have done that, why, all's done. But if you should hear any popping of fire-arms--that is, more than one shot, which I may chance to let off--do you take that for a bad sign, and get away as fast as you can heel it. You comprehend."

"Oh! yes," replied the lad, "and I'll do what you want, and more too, may be, Mr. Robinson."

"Captain Robinson,--remember, Andy, you must call me captain, in the hearing of these Scotsmen."

"I'll not forget that neither," answered Andrew.

By the time that these instructions were fully impressed upon the boy, our adventurous forlorn hope, as it may fitly be called, had arrived at the place which Horse Shoe Robinson had designated for the commencement of active operations. They had a clear view of the old field, and it afforded them a strong assurance that the enemy was exactly where they wished him to be, when they discovered smoke arising from the chimney of the hovel. Andrew was soon posted behind a tree, and Robinson only tarried a moment to make the boy repeat the signals agreed on, in order to ascertain that he had them correctly in his memory. Being satisfied from this experiment that the intelligence of his young companion might be depended upon, he galloped across the intervening space, and, in a few seconds, abruptly reined up his steed, in the very doorway of the hut. The party within was gathered around a fire at the further end, and, in the corner near the door, were four muskets thrown together against the wall. To spring from his saddle and thrust himself one pace inside of the door, was a movement which the sergeant executed in an instant, shouting at the same time--

"Halt! File off right and left to both sides of the house, and wait orders. I demand the surrender of all here," he said, as he planted himself between the party and their weapons. "I will shoot down the first man who budges a foot."

"Leap to your arms," cried the young officer who commanded the little party inside of the house. "Why do you stand?"

"I don't want to do you or your men any harm, young man," said Robinson, as he brought his rifle to a level, "but, by my father's son, I will not leave one of you to be put upon a muster-roll if you raise a hand at this moment."

Both parties now stood, for a brief space, eyeing each other in a fearful suspense, during which there was an expression of doubt and irresolution visible on the countenances of the soldiers, as they surveyed the broad proportions, and met the stern glance of the sergeant, whilst the delay, also, began to raise an apprehension in the mind of Robinson that his stratagem would be discovered.

"Shall I let loose upon them, captain?" said Andrew Ramsay, now appearing, most unexpectedly to Robinson, at the door of the hut. "Come on, boys!" he shouted, as he turned his face towards the field.

"Keep them outside of the door--stand fast," cried the doughty sergeant, with admirable promptitude, in the new and sudden posture of his affairs caused by this opportune appearance of the boy. "Sir, you see that it's not worth while fighting five to one; and I should be sorry to be the death of any of your brave fellows; so, take my advice, and surrender to the Continental Congress and this scrap of its army which I command."

During this appeal the sergeant was ably seconded by the lad outside, who was calling out first on one name, and then on another, as if in the presence of a troop. The device succeeded, and the officer within, believing the forbearance of Robinson to be real, at length said:--

"Lower your rifle, sir. In the presence of a superior force, taken by surprise, and without arms, it is my duty to save bloodshed. With the promise of fair usage, and the rights of prisoners of war, I surrender this little foraging party under my command."

"I'll make the terms agreeable," replied the sergeant. "Never doubt me, sir. Right hand file, advance, and receive the arms of the prisoners!"

"I'm here, captain," said Andrew, in a conceited tone, as if it were a mere occasion of merriment; and the lad quickly entered the house and secured the weapons, retreating with them some paces from the door.

"Now, sir," said Horse Shoe to the Ensign, "your sword, and whatever else you mought have about you of the ammunitions of war!"

The officer delivered up his sword and a pair of pocket pistols.

As Horse Shoe received these tokens of victory, he asked, with a lambent smile, and what he intended to be an elegant and condescending composure, "Your name, sir, if I mought take the freedom?"

"Ensign St. Jermyn, of his Majesty's seventy-first regiment of light infantry."

"Ensign, your sarvent," added Horse Shoe, still preserving this unusual exhibition of politeness. "You have defended your post like an old sodger, although you ha'n't much beard on your chin; but, seeing you have given up, you shall be treated like a man who has done his duty. You will walk out, now, and form yourselves in line at the door. I'll engage my men shall do you no harm; they are of a marciful breed."

When the little squad of prisoners submitted to this command, and came to the door, they were stricken with equal astonishment and mortification to find, in place of the detachment of cavalry which they expected to see, nothing but a man, a boy, and a horse. Their first emotions were expressed in curses, which were even succeeded by laughter from one or two of the number. There seemed to be a disposition on the part of some to resist the authority that now controlled them; and sundry glances were exchanged, which indicated a purpose to turn upon their captors. The sergeant no sooner perceived this, than he halted, raised his rifle to his breast, and, at the same instant, gave Andrew Ramsay an order to retire a few paces, and to fire one of the captured pieces at the first man who opened his lips.

"By my hand," he said, "if I find any trouble in taking you, all five, safe away from this here house, I will thin your numbers with your own muskets! And that's as good as if I had sworn to it."

"You have my word, sir," said the Ensign. "Lead on."

"By your leave, my pretty gentleman, you will lead, and I'll follow," replied Horse Shoe. "It may be a new piece of drill to you; but the custom is to give the prisoners the post of honor."

"As you please, sir," answered the Ensign. "Where do you take us to?"

"You will march back by the road you came," said the sergeant.

Finding the conqueror determined to execute summary martial law upon the first who should mutiny, the prisoners submitted, and marched in double file from the hut back towards Ramsay's--Horse Shoe, with Captain Peter's bridle dangling over his arm, and his gallant young auxiliary Andrew, laden with double the burden of Robinson Crusoe (having all the fire-arms packed upon his shoulders), bringing up the rear. In this order victors and vanquished returned to David Ramsay's.

"Well, I have brought you your ducks and chickens back, mistress," said the sergeant, as he halted the prisoners at the door; "and, what's more, I have brought home a young sodger that's worth his weight in gold."

"Heaven bless my child! my brave boy!" cried the mother, seizing the lad in her arms, and unheeding anything else in the present perturbation of her feelings. "I feared ill would come of it; but Heaven has preserved him. Did he behave handsomely, Mr. Robinson? But I am sure he did."

"A little more venturesome, ma'am, than I wanted him to be," replied Horse Shoe; "but he did excellent service. These are his prisoners, Mistress Ramsay; I should never have got them if it hadn't been for Andy. In these drumming and fifing times the babies suck in quarrel with their mother's milk. Show me another boy in America that's made more prisoners than there was men to fight them with, that's all!"

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Chapter XXIII

SHOWING HOW A GOOD SOLDIER WILL TURN THE ACCIDENTS OF WAR TO THE BEST ACCOUNT. ENSIGN ST. JERMYN IN A DISAGREEABLE DILEMMA.

Robinson having thus succeeded in his enterprise, now found himself in circumstances of peculiar perplexity in regard to the disposal of his prisoners. Here he was, in the neighborhood of the British posts--in a district of country of which the enemy might be said to have, at this moment, complete possession--(for Horse Shoe himself was almost the only belligerent in the field against them)--and, more than that, he was but a few miles' distant from a camp whose scouts had chased him almost to his present place of refuge. It was scarcely probable, therefore, that he could hope to retain his captives long under his control, or prevent the enemy from receiving intelligence of the capture. He was, however, notwithstanding these embarrassments, as usual, cheerful, confident, and self-possessed. He had no wish or motive to detain the private soldiers as prisoners of war, and would at once have dismissed them, if he could have assured himself that they would not make the earliest use of their liberty to convey information of their misadventure to the first corps of loyalists they should meet, and thus get up a hot pursuit of him through the whole district. But he had cogent and most important reasons for holding the ensign, St. Jermyn, in close custody. It occurred to him, that this officer might be used to control the procedure that should be adopted by those who meditated injury to Arthur Butler; and he therefore, at once formed the resolution of communicating with the nearest British authorities, in order to assure them that he would retaliate upon the Ensign any pain that might be inflicted upon his late comrade. His plan was speedily formed--it was to keep his prisoners until night-fall, move off under cover of the darkness to some remote and concealed spot with St. Jermyn, and release the others, on their parole or pledge not to take up arms until regularly exchanged.

Whilst the sergeant was deliberating over these arrangements, the prisoners were allowed to shelter themselves from the rain under a shed near the door of the dwelling, where Andrew, with all the pride and importance of his new station, marched to and fro, before them, like a trained sentinel. There was a small log building in the yard of Ramsay's mansion, which had been recently erected as a store-house, and which being well secured at the door by a padlock, Robinson determined to convert for the nonce into a prison. It contained but one room, not above twelve feet square, with an earthen floor, and received no light except such as was admitted under the door, and through a few crannies about the roof. Into this narrow apartment the soldiers were now marched; a bundle of straw was thrown upon the floor; sundry flitches of bacon, that hung upon the walls, were removed; and a few comforts, in the way of food and drink, were supplied to render the accommodation as tolerable to the inmates as was compatible with their safe custody. This being done, our friend Andrew was posted in the passage-way of the dwelling, in full view of the door of the store-house, which was carefully locked, with a musket in his hand, and with orders to make a circuit every five minutes round the little building, to guard against any attempts at escape by under-mining the foundation.

As noon approached the weather began to clear up, and with the first breaking forth of the sun came David Ramsay, the proprietor of the farm which was the scene of the present operations. His recognition of Horse Shoe Robinson was accompanied by a hearty greeting, and with an expression of wonder that he should have ventured, in hostile guise, through a country so beset as this was by the forces of the enemy; but when he heard the narrative of the exploit of the morning, and saw the trophies of its success in the weapons piled against the wall, and, more especially, when he received from the lips of his wife a circumstantial account of the part which had been performed in this adventure by his son Andrew, his delight seemed almost to be absorbed by his astonishment and incredulity. The proofs, however, were all around him; and after assuring himself, by an actual inspection of the prisoners through one of the chinks of the store-house, he came into his own parlour, sat down, and laughed out-right.

Ramsay was a staunch friend of the independence of his country; and although he had not been up in arms in the cause, he gave it all the aid he could by the free expression of opinion, and by a resolute refusal to comply with the requisitions of the royalists. His eldest son had joined Sumpter, and had already been active in the field; and he himself looked, with an almost certain expectation, to see visited upon himself that proscription under which thousands were already suffering, and which he had only escaped as yet by the temporizing delays of his opponents, or by their neglect, arising out of the incessant hurry and pressure of their military operations in the organization of the new dominion which the royal forces had but lately acquired. He was a man of sturdy frame--now only in the prime of life--brave, thoughtful, and intelligent, and firmly resolved to stand by his principles through whatever adverse chances. The present aspect of affairs was, to his mind, almost decisive of his fate: the capture of these prisoners, made from information derived from his own family, and in which his own son had been a principal agent; their confinement, too, in his own house, were facts of so unequivocal a character as inevitably to draw upon him the prompt ire of the Tories, and compel him to assume the attitude and abide by the issues of a partisan. As he had faith in the justice of his quarrel, and a strong devotion to the principles upon which it was sustained, he did not hesitate in the crisis before him, but heroically determined to meet the worst that might befal. He, therefore, in the present emergency, became a useful and efficient ally to Robinson, who opened to him the full history of Butler, and the course of measures he was about to pursue for the relief of that unfortunate officer.

We must now leave the sergeant holding watch and ward over his vanquished foes, and shift our scene to Musgrove's Mill. The family of Allen Musgrove were in a state of great disquietude. Horse Shoe Robinson had disappeared before daylight; and when the miller and his nephew left their beds, a little after the dawn, the only intelligence they had of the departure of their guest was inferred from finding the stable door open and the sergeant's horse absent. This fact was explained when Mary met them at breakfast. Horse Shoe had set out for Ramsay's to learn some tidings of John, and to enlist him in an effort to liberate Butler. He had departed under cover of darkness to avoid molestation from Innis's scouts, and she, Mary Musgrove, had placed the key of the stable, the night before, in a place where Horse Shoe might find it. Such was the extent of the maiden's information. The day passed wearily upon her hand: she was anxious to hear something of Butler--something of Horse Shoe--and something, we suppose, of John Ramsay. Frequently during the morning she and Christopher Shaw held secret conferences: they spoke in whispers: suspense, care, and doubt were pictured upon her face; and as the rain pattered against the windows she oftentimes stood before them, and looked out upon the distant road, and across the wide fields, and then upwards to the clouded sky. The sun at length appeared, and his rays seemed to shoot a glimpse of joy into the breast of the maiden, as she walked forth to note the drying of the roads, and to see the clear blue, which, in that climate, outvies the mellow and rich tints of a Tuscan heaven.

The day waxed, and the birds sang, and nature was gay, but the maiden was restless and unquiet: the day waned, and the sun rode downwards on the western slope in gorgeous beauty; but Mary was ill at ease, and thought little of the grand and glorious firmament. Her communings with Christopher Shaw, meantime, became more eager: she and her cousin were seen to wander towards the mill; then Christopher left her, and, presently, he might be discovered leading two horses, one bearing a side-saddle, down to the margin of the stream. There was a short visit to the house by the young man--a word whispered in the ear of the mother--a shake of her head, an expression of doubt, a final nod of assent,--and, in the next moment, Mary and Christopher were seen trotting off on horseback, on the road that led towards Ramsay's.

When they had ridden some two or three miles, and had entered upon the high-road between Ninety-Six and Blackstock's--somewhere near to that piece of haunted ground, where, on the morning of this very day, a goblin had struck down James Curry from his steed--they descried a military party of horse and foot slowly advancing from the direction to which they were travelling. In a few moments they met the first platoon of the cavalry, headed by a trumpeter and the unsightly captain Hugh Habershaw. They were detained at the head of this column, whilst some questions were asked respecting the object of their journey, the troops in their neighborhood, and other matters connected with the affairs of the times. Christopher's answers were prompt and satisfactory: he was only riding with his kinswoman on a visit to a neighbor; Innis's camp was not above two miles and a half away, and the country in general was quiet, as far as he had the means of knowing. The travellers were now suffered to pass on. In succession, they left behind them each platoon of threes, and then encountered the small column of march of the infantry. Mary grew pale as her eyes fell upon the form of Arthur Butler, posted in the centre of a guard. Her feeling lest he might not recognise her features, and guess something of her errand, almost overpowered her. She reined up her horse, as if to gratify an idle curiosity to see the soldiers passing, and halted in a position which compelled the ranks to file off, in order to obtain a free passage round her. Every look seemed to be turned upon her as the escort marched near her horse's head, and it was impossible to make the slightest sign to Butler without being observed. She saw him, however, lift his eyes to hers, and she distinctly perceived the flash of surprise with which it was kindled as he became aware of her features. A faint and transient smile, which had in it nothing but pain, was the only return she dared to make. An order from the van quickened the march; and the detachment moved rapidly by. As Mary still occupied the ground on which she had halted, and was gazing after the retreating corps, she saw Butler turn his face back towards her; she seized the moment to nod to him and to make a quick sign with her hand, which she intended should indicate the fact that she was now engaged in his service. She thought she perceived a response in a slight motion of Butler's head, and now resumed her journey, greatly excited by the satisfaction of having, in this accidental encounter, obtained even this brief insight into the condition of the prisoner.

The sun was set, when Mary with her convoy, Christopher Shaw, arrived at Ramsay's. Always an acceptable guest at this house, she was now more than ever welcome. There was business to be done in which she could discharge a most important part, and the service of Christopher Shaw in reinforcing the garrison was of the greatest moment. When the intelligence regarding the movement of Butler to Innis's camp was communicated to the sergeant, it suggested a new device to his mind, which he determined instantly to adopt. Butler was at this moment, he concluded, in the hands of those who had engaged the ruffians to set upon him at Grindall's ford, and it was not improbable that he would be summarily dealt with: there was no time, therefore, to be lost. The sergeant's plan, in this new juncture, was, to compel the young ensign to address a letter to the British commandant, to inform that officer of his present imprisonment, and to add to this information the determination of his captors to put him to death, in the event of any outrage being inflicted upon Butler. This scheme was communicated to Ramsay, Shaw, and Mary. The letter was to be immediately written; Mary was to return with it to the mill, and was to contrive to have it secretly delivered, in the morning, at Innis's head-quarters; and David Ramsay himself was to escort the maiden back to her father's house, whilst Shaw was to attend the sergeant and assist him to transport the young ensign to some fit place of concealment. The private soldiers were to remain prisoners, under the guard of Andrew, until his father's return, when they were to be released on parole, as prisoners of war.

The plan being thus matured, Robinson went forthwith to the prison-house, and directed Ensign St. Jermyn to follow him into the dwelling. When the young officer arrived in the family parlor, he was ordered to take a chair near a table, upon which was placed a light, some paper, pen, and ink.

"Young man," said Robinson, "take up that pen and write as I bid you."

"To what end am I to write? I must know the purpose you design to answer, before I can put my hand to paper."

"To the end," replied Horse Shoe firmly, and with unwonted gravity, "of the settlement of your worldly affairs, if the consarns of to-morrow should bring ill luck to a friend of mine."

"I do not understand you, sir. If my life is threatened to accomplish an unrighteous purpose, it is my duty to tell you at once, that that life belongs to my king; and if his interests are to suffer by any forced act of mine, I am willing to resign it at once."

"Never was purpose more righteous, sir, in the view of God and man, than ours," said David Ramsay.

"I have a friend," added Horse Shoe, greatly excited as he spoke, "who has been foully dealt by. Some of your enlisted gangs have laid an ambuscade to trap him: villany has been used, by them that ought to be ashamed to see it thriving under their colors, to catch a gentleman who was only doing the common duties of a good sodger; and by mean bush-fighting, not by fair fields and honest blows--they have seized him and carried him to the camp of that blood-sucking Tory, Colonel Innis. I doubt more harm is meant him than falls to the share of a common prisoner of war."

"I know nothing of the person, nor of the circumstances you speak about," said the ensign.

"So much the better for you," replied the sergeant. "If your people are brave sodgers or honest men, you will not have much occasion to be afeard for yourself; but, by my right hand! if so much as one hair of Major Arthur Butler's head be hurt by Colonel Innis, or by any other man among your pillaging and brandishing bullies, I myself will drive a bullet through from one of your ears to the other. This game of war is a stiff game, young man, but we will play it out."

"Major Arthur Butler!" exclaimed the officer, with astonishment, "is he taken?"

"Ha! you've hearn of him, and know something, mayhap, of them that were on the look-out for him?"

"I cannot write," said the officer sullenly.

"No words, sir," interrupted Horse Shoe, "but obey my orders; write what I tell you, or take your choice. I will bind you hand and foot to a tree on yonder mountain, to starve till you write that letter; or to feed the wild vermin with your body, if you refuse."

The ensign looked in Robinson's face, where a frown of stern resolution brooded upon his brow, and a kindling tempest of anger showed that this was not a moment to hazard the trial of his clemency.

"What would you have the purport of my letter?" asked the officer, in a subdued voice.

"That you have got into the hands of the Whigs," replied the sergeant; "and that if so be any mischief should fall upon Major Butler, by the contrivings of your friends, you die the first minute that we hear of it."

"I have had no hand in the taking of Major Butler," said the young St. Jermyn.

"I am glad of it," answered Robinson, "for your sake. You will die with a better conscience. If you had a hand in it, young man, I wouldn't ask you to write a line to any breathing man: your brains would spatter that door-post. Take up the pen and write, or stand by the consequences."

The officer took up the pen, then, hesitating a moment, flung it down, saying:

"I will not write; do with me as you choose."

"The young man drives me to it, against my own nature," said Robinson, speaking under strong excitement. "If he will not pen that letter, then, David Ramsay, you will write to Innis, in my name, and say Galbraith Robinson has got the Ensign where no Tory foot will ever follow him, and holds him to answer the first mischief that is done to Arthur Butler. But, I swear to this sulky boy, that if that letter goes to Innis for want of a better, as I am a man and a sodger, he will never taste food or water till I hear that Major Butler is free. He shall starve in the mountain."

"Oh, God! oh, God!" ejaculated the young soldier, in bitterness of heart; and covering his face with his hands, he threw his head upon the table, where he wept tears of agony. At length, looking in the countenance of Robinson, he said: "I am young, sir--not above twenty years. I have a mother and sisters in England."

"We have no time to spare," interrupted Robinson, "much less to talk about kinsfolk. Major Butler has them that love his life better than e'er an Englishwoman loves her son. If they are brought to grief by this onnatural rascality, it matters nothing to me if every daughter and sister in England pines away of heart-sickness, for the loss of them that they love best. Take my advice, my lack-beard," added Robinson, patting him on the shoulder, "and write the letter. You have the chances of war in your favor, and may save your neck."

"I will do your bidding, sir," said the ensign, after a pause. "Under the compulsion of force, I agree to write," and he once more took up the pen.

"You speak now like a reasonable gentleman," said Horse Shoe. "I pity you, friend, and will preserve you against harm, so far as it can be done in the circumstances of the case."

The ensign then wrote a few lines, in which he communicated to Colonel Innis, or to whatever officer his letter might be delivered, the straits in which he found himself, and the resolution of his captors to hold his life forfeit upon the event of any rigors, beyond those of an ordinary prisoner of war, imposed upon Major Butler. When he had finished, he gave the paper to Robinson.

"Read it aloud, Mr. Ramsay," said Horse Shoe, delivering the scrawl to his friend.

Ramsay read what was written.

"It must be wrote over again," said Horse Shoe, after he had heard the contents. "First, it must make no mention of his being only a few miles off; that must be left out. Secondly, my name needn't be told; though if the runagates knowed he was in my hands, they wouldn't think his chance any better on that account. Let him say that the Whigs have got him--that's enough. And, lastly, he must write his own name in full at the bottom. And, look you, young man, don't be scrawling out the lines in such a way that your own hand-write moughtn't be known. That must speak for itself, because upon this letter depends your life. You understand?"

"Give it me," said the ensign; "I will write it as you desire."

And again the unfortunate officer applied himself to the task that was imposed upon him; and in a short time produced a letter, which, being subjected to the criticism of the bystanders, was pronounced satisfactory.

As soon as this was done, St. Jermyn was conducted into another apartment, and there confided to the guardianship of Christopher Shaw. Horse Shoe now took a light and the writing materials from the table, and repaired with David Ramsay--both of them well armed--to the store-house, where the other prisoners were confined. After they had entered and closed the door, posting Andrew with his musket on the outside, Horse Shoe addressed the men in a gay and cheerful tone:

"Come, my lads, as you are good, honest fellows, that can have no great love for these little country cabins, judging by your bad luck and oncomfortable circumstances in that one where I found you this morning, I have come to set you free. By the laws of war, you have the right, if I choose to take it, to give me your parole. So now, if you have a mind to promise me, on the honor of sodgers, not to sarve again until you are fairly exchanged, you shall all leave this before daybreak. What do you say to the terms?"

"We are all agreed," replied the men, with one accord.

"Then write out something to that effect," said the sergeant to Ramsay. "You that can't scratch like scholards, stick your marks to the paper--d'ye hear?"

The parole was written out by Ramsay, and duly signed or marked by each of the four men. This being done, the sergeant informed them that, exactly at three in the morning, the door would be opened, and they would be at liberty to go where they pleased, provided they pledged themselves to visit no post of the enemy within twenty miles, nor communicate any particulars relating to their capture or detention to any British or Tory officer or soldier, within seven days. This pledge was cheerfully given, and after a few words of jocular good-nature were exchanged on both sides, Horse Shoe and his companion retired.

David Ramsay now ordered out his own and Mary Musgrove's horses, with an intention to set out immediately for the mill.

"Does Major Butler know that you are in his neighborhood?" inquired Ramsay of the sergeant, before the horses were brought to the door.

"Oh, bless you, yes," replied Horse Shoe. "I left word for him yesterday at Blackstock's, by giving the babblers there something to talk about, which I knew he would hear." And the sergeant went on to relate the particulars of his stop at that post: "And I sent him a message," continued he, "this morning, by James Curry, in the same sort of fashion. A little before daylight, I heard the devil singing one of his staves upon the road back here, so loud that he seemed to be frightened by ghosts or sperits; so I rode up fast behind him, and cuffed him out of his saddle, and then away I went like a leather-winged bat. I knowed the curmudgeon's voice, and I expect he knowed my hand, for he has felt it before. I'll be bound, he made a good story out of it; and, as such things fly, I make no doubt it wasn't long reaching the ear of the major, who would naturally think it was me, whether James told my name or not, because he knows my way. It was as good as writing a letter to the major, to signify that I was lurking about, close at hand. I never went to school, Mr. Ramsay, so I write my letters by making my mark. I can make a blow go further than a word upon occasion, and that's an old-fashioned way of telling your thoughts, that was found out before pen and ink."

"Well, Horse Shoe, you are a man after your own sort," replied Ramsay, laughing. "Come, Mary, take the letter; our horses are at the door."

"Good bye t'ye, David," said Horse Shoe, shaking Ramsay's hand; "it may be some days before we see each other again. Kit and me will be off with this young ensign before you get back. Don't forget the prisoners at three o'clock. And, a word, David--where had we best take this young sparrow, the ensign, to keep him out of the way of these fellows that are scouring the country?"

"Leave that to Christopher Shaw," replied Ramsay; "he knows every nook in the country. So, now, friend Robinson, good night, and luck go with you!"

It was a clear starlit night, and every tree and pool sent forth a thousand notes from the busy insects and reptiles that animate the summer hours of darkness, when David Ramsay set out with Mary Musgrove for her father's house.

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XXIV. NEW DIFFICULTIES OPEN UPON BUTLER

With the last notes of the reveillee everything was stirring in Innis's camp. It was a beautiful, fresh morning; a cool breeze swept across the plain, and each spray and every blade of grass sparkled with the dew; whilst above, an unclouded firmament gave promise of a rich and brilliant mid-summer's day. The surrounding forest was alive with the twittering of birds; and the neighing of horses showed that this portion of the animal creation partook of the hilarity of the season. From every little shed or woodland lair, crept forth parties of soldiers, who betook themselves to their several posts to answer at the rollcall; and by the time the sun had risen, officers, on horseback and on foot, were seen moving hurriedly across the open plain, to join the groups of infantry and cavalry, which were now forming in various quarters for the purposes of the morning drill. Companies were seen in motion, passing through the rapid evolutions of the march, the retreat, and the many exercises of service. Drums were beating, and fifes were piercing the air with their high notes, and, ever and anon, the trumpet brayed from the further extremities of the field. Picquet-guards were seen mustering on the edge of the camp--wearied and night-worn: salutes were exchanged by the small detachments on service; and, here and there, sentinels might be descried, stationed at the several outlets of the plain, and presenting their arms as an officer passed their lines.

The troops that occupied this space were mostly of the irregular kind. Some were distinguished by ill-fitted and homely uniforms; others were clad in the common dress of the country, distinguished as soldiers only by their arms and accoutrements; but amongst them was also a considerable party of British regulars, clad in the national livery of scarlet. Amongst the officers, who were in command of the subordinate departments of this mixed and parti-colored little army, were several who, from their costume, might be recognised as belonging to the regiments that had come from the other side of the Atlantic.

Colonel Innis himself was seen upon the parade, directing the movements of divisions that, under their proper officers, were practising the customary lessons of discipline. He was a tall, thin man, of an emaciated complexion, with a countenance of thoughtful severity. A keen black eye seemed almost to burn within its orb, and to give an expression of petulant and peevish excitability, like the querulousness of a sick man. A rather awkward and ungainly person, arrayed in a scarlet uniform that did but little credit to the tailor-craft employed in its fabrication, conveyed to the spectator the idea of a man unused to the pride of appearance that belongs to a soldier by profession; and would have suggested the conclusion, which the fact itself sustained, that the individual before him had but recently left the walks of civil life to assume a military office. His demeanour, however, showed him to be a zealous if not a skilful officer. He gave close attention to the duties of his command, and busied himself with scrupulous exactitude in enforcing the observances necessary to a rigorous system of tactics.

This officer, as we have before hinted, had been an active participator in the proceedings of the new court of sequestrations at Charleston; and had rendered himself conspicuous by the fierce and unsparing industry with which he had brought to the judgment of that tribunal, the imputed delinquencies of some of the most opulent and patriotic citizens of the province.

Amongst the cases upon which he had been called into consultation was that of Arthur Butler, whose possessions being ample, and whose position, as a rebellious belligerent, being one of "flagrant delict," there was but little repugnance, on the part of the judges and their adviser, to subject him to the severest law of confiscation. The proceedings, however, had been delayed, not from any tenderness to the proprietor, but, as it was whispered in the scandal of the day, on account of certain dissensions, amongst a few prominent servants of the British crown, as to which of them the privilege of a cheap purchase should be extended. The matter was still in suspense, with a view (as that busybody, common rumor, alleged) to reward a particular favorite of the higher powers with the rich guerdon of these good lands, in compensation for private and valuable secret services, rendered in a matter of great delicacy and hazard--no less a service than that of seducing into the arena of politics and intrigue, an opulent and authoritative gentleman of Virginia, Mr. Philip Lindsay.

In consequence of the odious nature of the duty which Colonel Innis had assumed to perform, he became peculiarly hateful to the Whigs; and this sentiment was in no degree abated when, relinquishing his occupation as a counsellor to the court at Charleston, he accepted a commission to command a partisan corps of royalists in the upper country. He was, at the juncture in which I have exhibited him to my reader, new in his command, and had not yet "fleshed his maiden sword:" the day, however, was near at hand when his prowess was to be put to the proof.

Such was the person into whose hands Arthur Butler had now fallen.

After the morning exercises of the camp were finished, and the men were dismissed to prepare their first repast, the principal officers returned to the colonel's head-quarters in the farm-house, where, it will be remembered, Butler had been delivered by the escort that had conducted him from Blackstock's. The prisoner had slept soundly during the whole night; and now, as the breakfast hour drew nigh, he had scarcely awaked and put on his clothes, before he heard an inquiry, made by some one below, of the orderly on duty, whether the Whig officer was yet in a condition to be visited; and, in the next moment, the noise of footsteps, ascending the stair towards his chamber, prepared him to expect the entrance of the person who had asked the question.

A British officer, in full uniform, of a graceful and easy carriage, neat figure, and of a countenance that bespoke an intelligent and cultivated mind, made his appearance at the door. He was apparently of five or six and thirty years of age; and whilst he paused a moment, as with a purpose to apologize for the seeming intrusion, Butler was struck with the air of refined breeding of the individual before him.

"Major Butler, I understand, of the Continental army?" said the stranger. "The unpleasant nature of the circumstances in which you are placed, I hope will excuse the trespass I have committed upon your privacy. Captain St. Jermyn, of his Majesty's army, and lately an aide-de-camp of Lord Rawdon."

Butler bowed coldly, as he replied:

"To meet a gentleman, as your rank and name both import, is a privilege that has not been allowed me of late. Without knowing wherefore, I have been waylaid and outraged by bravoes and ruffians. You, perhaps, sir, may be able to afford me some insight into the causes of this maltreatment."

"Even if it were proper for me to hold discourse with you on such a subject, I could only speak from common report," replied the officer. "I know nothing of your seizure, except that, by the common chances of war, you have fallen into the hands of the ruling authorities of the province, and you will, doubtless, as a soldier, appreciate my motives for declining any reference to the circumstances in which you have been found. My visit is stimulated by other considerations, amongst which is foremost a desire to mitigate the peculiarly uncomfortable captivity to which I am sorry to learn you have been subjected."

"I thank you," replied Butler, "for the intention with which your good offices are proffered; but you can render me no service that I should value so much as that of informing me why I have been brought hither, at whose suggestion, and for what purpose."

"I will be plain with you, Major Butler. Your situation demands sympathy, however inexorably the present posture of our affairs may require the decrees of stern justice, in respect to yourself, to be executed. I feel for you, and would gladly aid you to any extent which my duty might allow, in averting the possible calamity that may hang over you. You are known as a gentleman of consideration and influence in the colonies. I may further add, as a brave and venturesome soldier. You are believed to have, more boldly than wisely, enterprised the accomplishment of certain schemes against the safety of his majesty's acknowledged government in this province; besides having committed other acts in violation of a faith plighted for you by those who had full authority to bind you, thus bringing yourself within the penalties appropriate to the violation of a military parole, if not within those of treason itself."

"He lies in his throat," cried Butler, "who charges me with forfeiture of plighted word or honor, in any action of my life. That I have arrayed myself against what you are pleased to term his majesty's acknowledged government in this province, I am proud to confess, here in the midst of your bands, and will confess it again at your judgment seat; but if aught be said against me that shall be intended to attaint my honor as a gentleman, I will, in the same presence and before God, throw the lie in the teeth of my accuser. Aye, and make good my word, now or hereafter, wheresoever it may be allowed me to meet the slanderer."

"I do not condemn your warmth," said St. Jermyn, calmly, "in a matter that so deeply stirs your self-esteem; and only desire now to second it in all things wherein an honorable enemy may claim the support of those who themselves value a good name. The authorities of this post have considerately resolved to give you the benefit of a court of inquiry. And I hope you will take it as it was meant, in all kindness to you, that I have come, before the communication of an official order, to apprise you that charges will be duly exhibited against you, and a trial be instantly had. If you will accept of my services, feeble and inadequate as they may be, I would gladly tender them to afford you such facilities as the pressure of the present emergency may allow."

"To be tried! when, and for what? If the charge is that I carry on open war against those who are in the habit of calling me and my compatriots rebels--I am ready to confess the charge. What need of court or trial?"

"There are graver and more serious offences than that imputed to you," said St. Jermyn.

"When am I to be informed of them, and to what do they tend?"

"You will hear them this morning; when, I am sorry to add, the nature of our military operations also enforces the necessity of your trial."

"You can be of little service, if that be true," returned Butler, thoughtfully. "My cause can only be defended by my country, long after I am made the victim of this unrighteous procedure."

"There is one alternative," said St. Jermyn, with some hesitation in his manner, "which a mature deliberation upon your relations as a subject,--pardon me, for I do not deem this ill-timed rebellion to have obliterated them--may present to your mind."

"Speak it," said Butler, vehemently; "speak out the base thought that is rising to your lip, if you dare. Prisoner as I am, I will avenge the insult on the spot with the certainty of loss of life. The alternative you suggest, is to dishonor me and all who are dear to me by the foul opprobrium of treason to my country. You would have me, I suppose, renounce the cause to which I have dedicated my life, and take shelter with the recreants that have crowded under the banner of St. George?"

"Hold! remember, sir, that you are a prisoner," said St. Jermyn, with great coolness; and then after a pause, he added with a sigh: "I will not wound, by further converse, the exaggerated and delusive sense of honor which is too fatally predominant in your breast, and, as I have found it, in the breasts of many of your misguided countrymen. I came to serve you, not to excite your feelings; and I will now, even in your displeasure, serve you as far as the occasion may afford me means: I pray you, call on me without reserve. For the present, believe me, in pain and sorrow I take my leave."

With these words, the officer retired.

Butler paced to and fro through his narrow chamber for some minutes, as his mind revolved the extraordinary and unexpected disclosures which had been made to him in this short visit. A thousand conjectures rose into his thoughts as to the nature of the supposed charges that were to be brought against him. He minutely retraced all the incidents of his late adventures, to ascertain how it was possible to found upon them an accusation of violated faith, or to pervert them into an imputation of treason against the present doubtful and disputed authority of the self-styled conquerors of Carolina. If his attempt to join Clarke was treason, it could be no less treason in the followers of Gates to array themselves against the royal army; and, that every prisoner hereafter taken in battle was to be deemed a traitor to the contested power of Cornwallis, seemed to be a pretension too absurd for the most inveterate partisans to assert. There was nothing in this review of his actions that the most ingenious malice could pervert into an offence punishable by the laws of war, by other rigor than such as might be inflicted upon an ordinary prisoner taken in arms. Still, there were unhappy doubts of some secret treachery that rose to his reflections: the perfidy of Adair, manifestly the effect of a bribe; the ambuscade promoted and managed by James Curry; the bloody purpose of the brutal gang who captured him, frustrated only by the accidental fray in which Blake was wounded. Then the "doubtful givings out" which fell from the lips of some of the soldiers at Blackstock's, of his case still being one of life and death; the insinuation of the savage Habershaw, at the same place, conveyed in the threat of twisted hemp; the knowledge which his present keepers affected to have of his rank and consequence, of his past life and present aims; and, above all, his being brought for immediate trial, in a matter affecting his life, before the very man, now in the capacity of a military commander, who had heretofore been active in promoting the design of confiscating his estate. All these considerations, although unconnected with any circumstance of specific offence within his knowledge, led him into the most anxious and melancholy forebodings as to the result of this day's proceedings.

"I am doomed to fall," he said, "under some secret stroke of vengeance, and my country is to have in my case another stirring appeal against the enormity of that iron rule that seeks to bow her head into the dust. So be it! The issue is in the hand of God, and my fate may turn to the account of the establishment of a nation's liberty. Oh, Mildred, I tremble to think of thee! Heaven grant, my girl, that thy fortitude may triumph over the martyrdom of him that loves thee better than his life!"

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Chapter XXV

A TRIAL.--A GRAVE ACCUSATION THAT STILL FURTHER CONFIRMS BUTLER IN HIS BELIEF OF A SECRET ENEMY.--A SUDDEN RESPITE.

Butler's baggage, ever since he left Robinson's habitation on the Catawba, had been divided into two parcels, one of which he carried in a portmanteau on his own horse, and the other had been stowed away in a pair of black leather saddle-bags that were flung across Captain Peter. These latter sufficed, also, to inclose, in addition to the sergeant's own wardrobe, sundry stores of provender, which the careful appetite and soldier-like foresight of the trusty squire had, from time to time, accumulated for their comfort upon the road-side. After the escape of the sergeant, this baggage had been kept with more scrupulousness than might have been expected from the character of the freebooters into whose possession it had fallen; and now, when Butler had been surrendered up to the custody of Colonel Innis, it was restored to the prisoner without the loss of any article of value. On this morning, therefore, Butler had thrown aside the rustic dress in which he had heretofore travelled, and appeared habited as we have described him when first introduced to the reader.

After a very slight meal, which had been administered with more personal attention and consideration for his rank and condition than he was prepared to expect, an officer entered his apartment and communicated an order to him to repair to the yard in front of the quarters. Here he found a sergeant's guard mustered to receive him, and he was directed to march with them to the place that had been selected for his trial. The spot pitched upon for this purpose, was at the foot of a large mulberry that stood on the border of the plain, at a short distance from the house.

When the guard arrived with the prisoner, Colonel Innis was already seated at the head of a table, around which were placed several officers, both of the regular and militia forces. Writing materials were also arranged upon the board, and at the lower end, a few paces removed from it, stood a vacant chair. Behind this was erected a pile of drums, with one or two colours laid transversely across them. Sentinels were stationed at different points near this group, and within their lines were collected the principal officers of Innis's command. Somewhat more remote, a number of idle spectators were assembled, amongst whom might have been discerned Habershaw, Curry, and many of the heroes who had figured at Grindall's ford. Captain St. Jermyn had taken a station a little to the left of the presiding officer at the table, and in the rear of those who appeared to have the management of the approaching procedure, and now stood, with his hands folded, apparently an anxious and interested looker-on.

There was a thoughtful and even stern expression upon every face when Butler appeared--and a silence that was scarce broken by the occasional whispers in which the several individuals present communicated with each other. The guard marched the prisoner around the circle, and inducted him into the vacant chair, where he was received by a quiet and cold inclination of the head from each member of the court.

For a few moments he looked around him with a scornful gaze upon the assemblage that were to sit in judgment upon him, and bit his lip, as his frame seemed to be agitated with deep emotion: at length, when every look was bent upon him, and no one breathed a word, he rose upon his feet and addressed the company.

"I understand that I am in the presence of a military court, which has been summoned for the purpose of inquiring into certain offences, of the nature of which I have not yet had the good fortune to be informed, except in so far as I am given to infer that they purport of treason. I ask if this be true."

The presiding officer bowed his head in token of assent, and then presented a paper, which he described as containing the specification of charges.

"As an officer of the American army, and the citizen of an independent republic," continued Butler, "I protest against any accountability to this tribunal; and, with this protest, I publish my wrongs in the face of these witnesses, and declare them to arise out of facts disgraceful to the character of an honorable nation. I have been drawn by treachery into an ambuscade, overpowered by numbers, insulted and abused by ruffians. I wish I could say that these outrages were practised at the mere motion of the coarse banditti themselves who assailed me; but their manifest subserviency to a plan, the object of which was to take my life, leaves me no room to doubt that they have been in the employ and have acted under the orders of a more responsible head"--

"Keep your temper," interrupted Innis, calmly. "Something is to be allowed to the excited feelings of one suddenly arrested in the height of a bold adventure, and the court would, therefore, treat your expression of such feelings at this moment with lenity. You will, however, consult your own welfare, by giving your thoughts to the charges against you, and sparing yourself the labor of this useless vituperation. Read that paper, and speak to its contents. We will hear you patiently and impartially."

"Sir, it can avail me nothing to read it. Let it allege what it may, the trial, under present circumstances, will be but a mockery. By the chances of war, my life is in your hands; it is an idle ceremony and waste of time to call in aid the forms of justice, to do that which you have the power to do, without insulting Heaven by affecting to assume one of its attributes."

"That we pause to inquire," replied Innis, "is a boon of mercy to you. The offence of rank rebellion which you and all your fellow-madmen have confessed, by taking up arms against your king, carries with it the last degree of punishment. If, waiving our right to inflict summary pain for this transgression, we stay to hear what you can say against other and even weightier charges, you should thank us for our clemency. But this is misspending time. Read the paper to the prisoner," he added, addressing one of the officers at the table.

The paper was read aloud. It first presented a charge against the prisoner for violating the terms of the parole given at the capitulation of Charleston. The specification to support this charge was that, by the terms of the surrender, General Lincoln had engaged that the whole garrison should be surrendered as prisoners of war, and that they should not serve again until exchanged. The prisoner was described as an officer of that garrison, included in the surrender, and lately taken in the act of making war upon his majesty's subjects.

The second charge was, that the prisoner had insinuated himself, by false representations, into the territory conquered by the royal army; and that, in the quality of a spy, he had visited the family of a certain Walter Adair, with a view to obtain a knowledge of the forces, plans, movements, and designs of the various detachments engaged in his majesty's service in the neighborhood of Broad River.

And, third and last, that he, together with certain confederates, had contrived and partially attempted to execute a plan to seize upon and carry away a subject of his majesty's government, of great consideration and esteem--Mr. Philip Lindsay, namely, of the Dove Cote, in the province of Virginia. That the object of this enterprise was to possess himself of the papers as well as of the person of the said Philip Lindsay, and, by surrendering him up to the leaders of the rebel army, to bring upon him the vengeance of the rebel government, thus exposing him to confiscation of property, and even to peril of life.

Such was the general import and bearing of the accusations against the prisoner, expressed with the usual abundance of verbiage and minuteness of detail. Butler listened to them, at first, with indifference, and with a determination to meet them with inflexible silence; but, as the enunciation of them proceeded, and the extraordinary misrepresentations they contained were successively disclosed, he found his indignation rising to a height that almost mastered his discretion, and he was on the point of interrupting the court with the lie direct, and of involving himself in an act of contumacy which would have been instantly decisive of his fate. His better genius, however, prevailed, and, smothering his anger by a strong effort of self-control, he merely folded his arms and abided until the end, with a contemptuous and proud glance at his accusers.

"You have heard the allegations against you, sir," said Colonel Innis; "what say you to them?"

"What should an honorable man," replied Butler, "say to such foul aspersions? The first and second charges, sir, I pronounce to be frivolous and false. As to the last, sir, there are imputations in it that mark the agency of a concealed enemy, lost to every impulse of honor--a base and wicked liar. Confront me with that man, and let the issue stand on this--if I do not prove him to be, in the judgment of every true gentleman of your army, an atrocious and depraved slanderer, who has contrived against my life for selfish purposes, I will submit myself to whatever penalty the most exasperated of my enemies may invent. It was my purpose, sir, to remain silent, and to refuse, by any act of mine, to acknowledge the violation of the rights of war by which I have been dragged hither. Nothing could have swayed me from that determination, but the iniquitous falsehood conveyed in the last accusation."

"We cannot bandy words with one in your condition," interrupted the president of the court. "I must remind you again, that our purpose is to give you a fair trial, not to listen to ebullitions of anger. Your honor is concerned in these charges, and you will best consult your interest by a patient demeanor in your present difficulties."

"I am silent," said Butler, indignantly, taking his seat.

"Let the trial proceed," continued the president. "You will not deny," he said, after an interval of reflection, "that you are a native of Carolina?"

"I can scarcely deny that before you," replied Butler, "who, in my absence, as report says, have been busy in the investigation of my affairs."

"There are bounds, sir, to the forbearance of a court," said Innis, sternly. "I understand the taunt. Your estates have been the subject of consideration before another tribunal; and if my advice were listened to, the process relating to them would be a short one."

"You are answered," returned Butler.

"Nor can you deny that you were an officer belonging to the army under the command of General Lincoln."

Butler was silent.

"You were at Charleston during the siege?" inquired one of the court.

"In part," replied Butler. "I left it in March, the bearer of despatches to Congress."

"And you were in arms on the night of the thirteenth, at Grindall's Ford?" continued the same questioner.

"I confess it, sir."

"That's enough," interrupted Innis. "In the ninth article of the capitulation of Charleston we read: 'all civil officers, and the citizens who have borne arms during the siege, must be prisoners on parole.'"

"I should say," interposed St. Jermyn, who now, for the first time, opened his lips, "that the prisoner scarcely falls within that description. The words 'during the siege' would seem to point to a service which lasted to the end. They are, at least, equivocal; and I doubt Lord Cornwallis would be loath to sanction a judgment on such a ground."

Upon this ensued a consultation amongst the officers at the table, during which Butler was withdrawn to a short distance in the rear of the assemblage. Several of the unoccupied soldiers of the camp, at this stage of the trial, had crowded into the neighborhood of the court; and the sentinels, yielding to the eagerness of the common curiosity, had relaxed their guard so far as to allow the spectators to encroach beyond the lines. Among those who had thrust themselves almost up to the trial-table were a few children, male and female, bearing on their arms baskets of fruit and vegetables, which had been brought within the camp for sale. A smart-looking girl, somewhat older than the rest, seemed to have gained more favor from the crowd than her competitors, by the temptation which she presented of a rich collection of mellow apples; and perhaps her popularity was in some degree increased by the soft and pleasant-toned voice in which she recommended her wares, no less than by the ruddy, wholesome hue of her cheek, and an agreeable, laughing, blue eye, that shone forth from the shade of a deep and narrow sun-bonnet, the curtain of which fell upon her shoulders and down her back.

"Buy my apples, gentlemen," said the pretty fruit-merchant, coming up fearlessly to Colonel Innis, in the midst of the consultation.

"Three for a penny; they are very ripe and mellow, sir."

The colonel cast his eye upon the treasures of the basket, and began to select a few of the choicest fruit. Thus encouraged, the girl set her load upon the table, in the midst of the hats and swords with which it was encumbered, and very soon every other member of the court followed the example of the presiding officer, and became purchasers of the greater part of the store before them. When this traffic was concluded, the little huckster took up her burden and retired towards the group of spectators. Seeing the prisoner in this quarter, she walked up to him, curtsied, and presented him an apple, which was gratefully accepted, and the proffered return, from him, in money, refused.

When about a quarter of an hour had elapsed, Butler was resummoned to his seat, and the court again proceeded to business. The inquiry now related to the second charge--that, namely, which imputed to the prisoner the character of a spy in his visit at Adair's. To this accusation, Captain Hugh Habershaw and several of his troop were called as witnesses. The amount of testimony given by them was, that, on the eleventh of the month, they had received information that a Continental officer, whose real name and title was Major Butler, but who was travelling in disguise and under an assumed name, from the Catawba towards the Broad River, in company with a well known, stark Whig--a certain Horse Shoe Robinson--was expected in a few days to arrive at Wat Adair's. That Habershaw, hoping to intercept them, had scoured the country between the two rivers; but that the travellers had eluded the search, by taking a very circuitous and unfrequented route towards the upper part of Blair's Range and Fishing Creek. That, on the night of the twelfth, the two men arrived at Adair's, unmolested; and, on the morning of the thirteenth, some of the woodman's family had met Habershaw and apprised him of this fact; adding, further, that the prisoner had offered a bribe to Adair, to induce him to give information in regard to the loyalist troops in the neighborhood, with a view to communicate it to a certain Colonel Clarke, who had appointed to meet Butler and his companion somewhere on the upper border of the province. That, in consequence of this attempt, Adair had directed the prisoner towards Grindall's Ford; and, this intelligence being communicated to the witness, he had conducted his troop to that place, where he succeeded in arresting the prisoner and his comrade, with the loss of two men in the struggle. The narrative then went on to give the particulars of Horse Shoe's escape, and the other facts with which the reader is acquainted. This account was corroborated by several witnesses, and, amongst the rest, by Curry.

Butler heard the testimony with the most painful sensations. There was just enough of truth in it to make the tale plausible; and the falsehood related to points which, as they were affirmed upon hearsay, he could not repel by proof. There was a common expression of opinion amongst the bystanders--who in general were inclined to take the side of the prisoner in reference to the charge which was supposed to affect his life--that this accusation of Butler's acting the part of a spy was sustained by the proof. In vain did he protest against the injustice of being condemned on what was alleged to have been said by some of Adair's family; in vain did he deny that he had offered a bribe to Adair for information respecting the Tories; and equally in vain did he affirm that he had asked of Adair nothing more than the common hospitality due to a traveller, and for which he had made him a moderate requital--the only money the woodman had received from him. The current was now setting violently against him, and it seemed impossible to stem it.

"It is but due," said Captain St. Jermyn, a second time interposing in behalf of the prisoner, "to the rank and character of Major Butler, since a portion of this testimony is second-hand, to take his own examination on these alleged facts. With permission, therefore, I would ask him a few questions."

"The court will not object," said Innis, who throughout affected the air of an impartial judge.

"It is true, Major Butler, that you were at Adair's on the night of the twelfth?" said the volunteer advocate of the prisoner.

"I was, sir."

"And you made no concealment of your name or rank?"

"I will not say that," replied Butler.

"You were under a feigned name then, sir?" inquired Innis, as St. Jermyn seemed a little confounded by the answer he had received.

"I was called Mr. Butler, sir; my rank or station was not communicated."

"Your dress?"

"Was an assumed one, to avoid inquiry."

"This man, Horse Shoe Robinson," said St. Jermyn, "was known to Adair as a whig soldier?"

"Well known," replied Butler; "and I was also represented as belonging to that party. Adair himself led us to believe that he was friendly to our cause."

Here several members of the court smiled.

"Had you met any parties of loyalists," inquired Innis, "in your journey between Catawba and Broad?"

"We had--more than one."

"How did you escape them?"

"By assuming feigned characters and names."

"Your purpose was to join Clarke?"

"I am not at liberty to answer that question," replied the prisoner. "Suffice it, sir, I was travelling through this region on a mission of duty. My purpose was to act against the enemy. So far the charge is true, and only to this extent. I came with no design to pry into the condition of the royal troops; I sought only a successful passage through a contested, though sadly overpowered country."

"You offered no money to Adair," said St. Jermyn again, as if insisting on this point of exculpation, "but what you have already called a moderate requital for his entertainment?"

"None," replied the prisoner--"except," he added, "a guinea, to induce him to release, from some wicked torture, a wolf he had entrapped."

"It will not do," said Colonel Innis, shaking his head at St. Jermyn; and the same opinion was indicated in the looks of several of the court.

"I was at Walter Adair's that night, and saw the gentleman there, and heard all that was said by him; and I am sure that he offered Watty no money," said our little apple-girl, who had been listening with breathless anxiety to the whole of this examination, and who had now advanced to the table as she spoke the words. "And I can tell more about it, if I am asked."

"And who are you, my pretty maid?" inquired Colonel Innis, as he lifted the bonnet from her head and let loose a volume of flaxen curls down upon her neck.

"I am Mary Musgrove, the miller's daughter," said the damsel, with great earnestness of manner, "and Watty Adair is my uncle, by my mother's side--he married my aunt Peggy; and I was at his house when Major Butler and Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson came there."

"And what in the devil brought you here?" said Habershaw gruffly.

"Silence!" cried Innis, impatient at the obtrusive interruption of the gross captain. "What authority have you to ask questions? Begone, sir."

The heavy bulk of Hugh Habershaw, at this order, sneaked back into the crowd.

"I came only to sell a few apples," said Mary.

"Heaven has sent that girl to the rescue of my life," said Butler, under the impulse of a feeling which he could not refrain from giving vent to in words. "Pray allow me, sir, to ask her some questions."

"It is your privilege," was the answer from two or three of the court; and the spectators pressed forward to hear the examination.

Butler carefully interrogated the maiden as to all the particulars of his visit, and she, with the most scrupulous fidelity, recounted the scenes to which she had been a witness. When she came to detail the conversation which she had overheard between Adair and Lynch, and the events that followed it, the interest of the bystanders was wound up to the highest pitch. There was a simplicity in her recital of this strange and eventful story, that gave it a force to which the most skilful eloquence might in vain aspire; and when she concluded, the court itself, prejudiced as the members were against the prisoner, could not help manifesting an emotion of satisfaction at the clear and unequivocal refutation which this plain tale inferred against the testimony of Habershaw and his confederates. Innis alone affected to treat it lightly, and endeavored in some degree to abate its edge, by suggesting doubts as to the capacity of a young girl, in circumstance so likely to confuse her, to give an exact narrative of such a complicated train of events. Every cross-examination, however, which was directed to the accuracy of the maiden's story, only resulted in producing a stronger conviction of its entire truth. This concluded the examination on the second charge.

The court now proceeded to the third and last accusation against the prisoner.

To this there was but one witness called--James Curry. In the course of the examination this man showed great address and knowledge of the world. He gave some short account of himself. He had been a man born to a better condition of life than he now enjoyed. His education had been liberal, and his associations in life extremely various. It was to be inferred from his own relation, that he had fallen into some early indiscretion which had thrown him into the lowest stations of society, and that his original delinquency had prevented him from ever rising above them. He had served for many years in the army, and was present at the surrender of Charleston, being at that period a confidential servant, or man of business, to the young Earl of Caithness, the aide-de-camp of Sir Henry Clinton. Upon the departure of that young nobleman with the rest of Sir Henry's military family, for New York, he had remained behind, and had taken a similar service to that which he had left, with another officer of some repute. "There were state reasons," he said, "why this gentleman's name could not now be communicated to the court." That, in the month of July, he had attended his master on a visit to Mr. Philip Lindsay, in Virginia; and whilst in the immediate vicinity of that gentleman's residence, at a small country tavern, he had accidentally become privy to the design of the prisoner, and the same Horse Shoe Robinson who had been mentioned before, to seize upon the person and papers of Mr. Lindsay: that these two persons had actually arrived at the tavern he spoke of to commence operations. That he had overheard them discussing the whole plan; and he had no doubt they had allies at hand to assist in the scheme, and would have proceeded that same night to put it in execution, if he had not frustrated their design at the risk of his life. That, with the view of interrupting this enterprise, he had lured Robinson, the companion of the prisoner, to walk with him at night to the margin of a small river near the tavern, where he accused him of the treacherous design which he and his comrade had in view: that, in consequence of this, Robinson had endeavored to take his life which was only saved by a severe struggle; and that, being thus discovered in their purpose, this man, Robinson, and the prisoner had made a hasty retreat towards Gates's head-quarters.

Such was in effect the narrative of James Curry, which was solemnly given upon oath. Butler was for some moments confounded with astonishment at the audacity of this falsehood. He urged to the court the improbability of the whole story. "It would have been easy," he said, "if I had been hostile to Mr. Philip Lindsay--which, God knows, there are most cogent reasons to disprove--it would have been easy to procure his arrest without an attempt at a violent seizure by me. I had only to speak, and the whole country around him would have united in treating him as an object of suspicion, on account of his politics." He admitted that he was at Mrs. Dimock's at the time spoken of--that Robinson attended him there; but all else that had been said relating to the visit, he affirmed to be utterly false. He gave the particulars of the meeting between Horse Shoe and the witness, as he had it from Robinson; and spoke also of his knowledge of the visit of Tyrrel at the Dove Cote--"which person," he said, "he had reason to believe, came under a name not his own."

"How do you happen to be so familiar," inquired Innis, "with the affairs of Mr. Lindsay?"

"That question," replied Butler, "as it refers to matters entirely private and personal, I must decline to answer."

Curry, upon a second examination, re-affirmed all he had said before, and commented with a great deal of dexterity upon Butler's statement, particularly in reference to such parts of it as the prisoner's repeated refusal to answer had left in doubt. After a protracted examination upon this point, the trial was at length closed, and Butler was ordered back to his apartment in the farm-house.

Here he remained for the space of half an hour, an interval that was passed by him in the most distressing doubt and anxiety. The whole proceeding of the court boded ill to him. The haste of his trial, the extraordinary nature of the charges, and the general unsympathizing demeanor of the court itself, only spoke to his mind as evidences of a concealed hostility, which sought to find a plausible pretext for making him a sacrifice to some private malevolence. He was therefore prepared to expect the worst when, at the close of the half hour, St. Jermyn entered his chamber.

"I come, sir," said the officer, "to perform a melancholy duty. The court have just concluded their deliberations."

"And I am to be a sacrifice to their vengeance. Well, so be it! There was little need of deliberation in my case, and they have soon despatched it," said Butler, with a bitter spirit, as he paced up and down his narrow chamber. "What favor have these, my impartial judges, vouchsafed to me in my last moment? Shall I die as a common felon, on a gibbet, or am I to meet a soldier's doom?"

"That has been thought of," said St. Jermyn. "The commanding officer has no disposition to add unnecessary severity to your unhappy fate."

"Thank God for that! and that the files detailed for this service are to be drawn from the ranks of my enemies! I will face them as proudly as I have ever done on the field of battle. Leave me, sir; I have matters in my thought that require I should be alone."

"Your time, I fear, is brief," said St. Jermyn. "The guard is already at hand to conduct you to the court, who only stay to pass sentence. I came before to break the unhappy news to you."

"It is no news to me," interrupted Butler. "I could expect no other issue to the wicked designs by which I have been seized. This solemn show of a trial was only got up to give color to a murderous act which has been long predetermined."

At this moment, the heavy and regular tap of the drum, struck at equal intervals, and a mournful note from a fife, reached the prisoner's ear.

"I come!" exclaimed Butler. "These fellows are practising their manual for an occasion in which they appear impatient to act. One would think, Captain St. Jermyn," he added, with a smile of scorn, "that they needed but little practice to accomplish them for a ceremony which has of late, since his majesty has extended his merciful arm over this province, grown to be a familiar piece of military punctilio."

St. Jermyn hastily fled from the room, and rushing out upon the grass-plot where the guard was collected, cried out:

"Silence, you base and worthless knaves! Is it thus you would insult the sufferings of an unfortunate enemy, by drumming, under his very ear, your cursed death-notes? Strike but one note upon that drum again, and I will have you up to the halberds."

"The music did but try a flourish of the dead march," replied the sergeant of the guard; "they are a little rusty, and seeing that the Whig officer"--

"Another word, sir, and you shall be sent to the provost-marshal. Attend the prisoner."

"I am here," said Butler, who had overheard this conversation, and had already descended to the door.

With a mournful and heavy heart, though with a countenance that concealed his emotions under an air of proud defiance, he took his place in the ranks, and marched to the spot where the court were yet assembled.

"A chair for the prisoner," said some of the individuals present, with an officious alacrity to serve him.

"I would rather stand," replied Butler. "It is my pleasure to hear the behests of my enemies in the attitude a soldier would choose to meet his foe in the field."

"Mine is a painful duty, Major Butler," said Innis, rising, as he addressed the prisoner. "It is to announce to you that, after a full and most impartial trial, in which you have had the advantage of the freest examination of witnesses, and every favor accorded to you which the usages and customs of war allow, you have been found guilty of two of the charges imputed to you in the list with which you were furnished this morning. Notwithstanding the satisfactory testimony which was given in your behalf by the girl Mary Musgrove, in relation to your conduct at the house of Adair, and however disposed the court were to abandon an accusation which thus seemed to be refuted, it has occurred to them, upon subsequent reflection, that, by your own confession--given, sir, permit me to say, with the frankness of a soldier--you came into this district in disguise and under false names, and thus enabled yourself to collect information relative to the condition of the royal forces, which it was doubtless your purpose to use to our detriment. The court, for a moment, might have led you to entertain hope that they were satisfied that in this charge you had been wronged. The simple, affecting, and, no doubt, true narrative made by the miller's daughter produced a momentary sensation that was too powerful to be combated. That narrative, however, does not relieve you from the effect of your own confessions, since both may be true, and the charge still remain unimpaired against you.

"The offence of breaking your parole and infringing the terms of the capitulation of Charleston, is open to a legal doubt, and, therefore, in tenderness to you, has not been pressed; although the court think, that the very circumstance of its doubtful character should have inculcated upon you the necessity of the most scrupulous avoidance of service in the conquered province.

"The last charge against you is fully proved. Not a word of counter evidence has been offered. Strictly speaking, by the usages of war, this would not be an offence for the notice of a military tribunal. The perpetrators of it would be liable to such vindictive measures as the policy of the conqueror might choose to adopt. That we have given you, therefore, the benefit of an inquiry, you must regard as an act of grace, springing out of our sincere desire to do you ample justice. The nature of the offence imputed and proved is such as, at this moment, every consideration of expediency demands should be visited with exemplary punishment. The friends of the royal cause, wherever they may reside, shall be protected from the wrath of the rebel government; and we have, therefore, no scruple in saying, that the attempt upon the person of Mr. Philip Lindsay requires a signal retribution. But for this last act, the court might have been induced to overlook all your other trespasses. Upon this, however, there is no hesitation.

"Such being the state of the facts ascertained by this tribunal, its function ceases with its certificate of the truth of what has been proved before it. The rest remains to me. Without the form of an investigation, I might, as the commanding officer of a corps on detached service, and by virtue of special power conferred upon me, have made up a private judgment in the case. I have forborne to do that, until, by the sanction of a verdict of my comrades, I might assure myself that I acted on the clearest proofs. These have been rendered.

"My order, therefore, is, in accordance with the clear decision of the court,--and, speaking to a soldier, I use no unnecessary phrase of condolence,--that you be shot to death. Time presses on us and forbids delay. You will be conducted to immediate execution. Major Frazer," he said, turning to one of his officers, "to your discretion I commit this unpleasant duty." Then, in a tone of private direction, he added, "Let it be done without delay; pomp and ceremony are out of place in such a matter. I wish to have it despatched at once."

"I would speak," said Butler, repressing the agitation of his feelings, and addressing Innis with a stern solemnity, "not to implore your mercy, nor to deprecate your sentence: even if I could stoop to such an act of submission, I know my appeal would reach your ears like the idle wind: but I have private affairs to speak of."

"They were better untold, sir," interrupted Innis with an affected air of indifference. "I can listen to nothing now. We have other business to think of. These last requests and settlements of private affairs are always troublesome," he muttered in a tone just audible to the officers standing near him; "they conjure up useless sympathies."

"I pray you, sir," interposed St. Jermyn.

"It is in vain, I cannot hear it," exclaimed the commander, evidently struggling to shake from his mind an uncomfortable weight. "These are woman's requests! God's mercy! How does this differ from death upon the field of battle? a soldier is always ready. Ha! What have we here?" he exclaimed, as a trooper rode up to the group. "Where are you from? What news?"

"A vidette from Rocky Mount," answered the horseman. "I am sent to inform you that, yesterday, Sumpter defeated three hundred of our people on the Catawba, and has made all that were alive, prisoners, besides capturing fifty or sixty wagons of stores which the detachment had under convoy for Camden."

The first inquiries that followed this communication related to Sumpter's position, and especially whether he was advancing towards this camp.

"He is still upon Catawba, tending northwards," replied the vidette.

"Then we are free from danger," interrupted Innis. "I am stripping the feathers from a bird to-day that is worth half of Sumpter's prize," he added, with a revengeful smile, to an officer who stood by him.

During this interval, in which the commander of the post was engaged with the vidette, the guard had conducted the prisoner back to the house, and Innis, freed from the restraint of Butler's presence, now gave way to the expression of a savage exultation at the power which the events of the morning had given him, to inflict punishment upon one that he termed an audacious rebel. "The chances jump well with us," he said, "when they enable us to season the joy of these ragged traitors, by so notable a deed as the execution of one of their shrewdest emissaries. This fellow Butler has consideration amongst them, and fortune too: at least he had it, but that has gone into better hands; and, to say truth, he has a bold and mischievous spirit. The devil has instigated him to cross our path; he shall have the devil's comfort for it. The whole party taken did you say?"--

"Every man, sir," replied the vidette.

"How many men had this skulking fellow, Sumpter, at his back?"

"They say about seven hundred."

"And did the cowards strike to seven hundred rebels?"

"They were tangled with the wagons," said the soldier, "and were set on unawares, on the bank of the river, at the lower ferry."

"Aye, that's the way! An ambuscade, no doubt,--a piece of cowardly bush-fighting. Fresh men against poor devils worn down by long marching! Well, well, I have a good requital for the rascally trick. Major Butler's blood will weigh heavy in the scale, or I am mistaken! Come, gentlemen, let us to quarters--we must hold a council."

"Here is a letter," said one of the officers of the court, "which I have this moment found on the table, under my sword belt; it seems, from its address, to contain matter of moment. How it came here does not appear."

"'To Colonel Innis, or any other officer commanding a corps in his majesty's service,'" said Innis, reading the superscription, "besides, here is something significant, 'for life or death, with speed.' What can this mean?" he added, as he broke open the paper and ran his eyes hastily over the contents. St. George! here is something strange, gentlemen. Listen!--

"'By ill luck I have fallen into the possession of the Whigs. They have received intelligence of the capture of Major Butler, and, apprehending that some mischief might befal him, have constrained me to inform you that my life will be made answerable for any harsh treatment that he may receive at the hands of our friends. They are resolute men, and will certainly make me the victim of their retaliation.

EDGAR ST. JERMYN,

Ensign of the 71st Reg't.

P. S. For God's sake respect this paper, and be lenient to the prisoner.'"

"Treason and forgery, paltry forgery!" exclaimed Innis, with a smile of derision, as he finished reading the letter. "What ho! tell Frazer to lead out the prisoner, and despatch him without a moment's delay. So much for this shallow artifice!"

"A base forgery," said one of the officers in attendance, "and doubtless the work of the rebel major himself. He will die with this silly lie upon his conscience. St. Jermyn, here!" cried out the same officer to the captain, who was now at some distance, "here is an attempt to put a trick upon us by a counterfeit of your brother's hand, telling a most doleful and improbable falsehood. Look at it."

St. Jermyn read the letter, and suddenly turning pale, exclaimed: "Sir, this is no trick. It is my brother's own writing. He is in the custody of the Whigs! How came this here? Who brought it? When was it written? Can nobody tell me?"

"Tut, St. Jermyn!" interrupted the officer, smiling, "you surely cannot be imposed upon by such a device. Look at the scrawl again. In truth, are you sure of it, man?" he inquired with great surprise, as he perceived the increasing paleness of St. Jermyn's brow.

"My brother's life is in imminent danger," replied St. Jermyn, with intense earnestness. "Colonel Innis, as you value my happiness, I entreat you, countermand the order for the prisoner's execution. I implore you, respect this letter; it is genuine, and I dread the consequences. My poor brother, the youngest of my family and the special darling of his parents! For heaven's sake, good colonel, pause until we learn something more of this mysterious business."

"For your sake, my friend, and until we can investigate this matter," said Innis, "let the execution be suspended."

St. Jermyn instantly hurried to the guard, to communicate the new order.

"Whence comes this missive?" demanded Innis. "It has neither date nor place described. Who brought it? Did any one see the bearer?" he asked aloud of the bystanders.

No one answered except the officer who had first discovered the paper. "I know nothing more than what you see. It was here upon the table. How long it had been there I cannot tell."

"It is strange," continued Innis. "Can this young St. Jermyn have fallen in with Sumpter? Or, after all, is it not an ingenious forgery which has deceived our friend the captain? Still, who could have brought it here?"

The letter was again examined by every individual present.

"It must be genuine," said one of the officers, shaking his head. "Captain St. Jermyn was very much in earnest, and it is not likely he could be deceived. It has been mysteriously deposited here by some agent of the Whigs. The person should be found, and compelled to give us more specific information. This matter must be looked to; the ensign, I doubt not, is in perilous circumstances."

"Let the prisoner be strictly guarded, and held to wait our future pleasure," said Innis. "I would not put in jeopardy the young ensign's life. A reward of twenty guineas shall be given to any one who brings me the bearer of this letter. And you, Lieutenant Connelly, take thirty troopers, and scour the country round to gain intelligence of this capture of Edgar St. Jermyn. Be careful to examine every man you meet, as to the presence of Whig parties in this district. Away instantly, and do not return without tidings of this singular event."

The camp, by these occurrences, was thrown into great bustle. The prisoner was securely lodged in his former quarters, and placed under a double guard; consultations were held amongst the officers; and Butler himself was strictly interrogated in regard to the appearance of this mysterious letter, of the contents of which he was yet ignorant. The examination threw no light on the affair; and, very soon afterwards, a troop of horse were seen sallying beyond the limits of the camp, under Lieutenant Connelly, to seek information of the fate of Ensign St. Jermyn.

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