XXXIX. MILDRED BEGINS HER JOURNEY…

XXXIX. MILDRED BEGINS HER JOURNEY

The man who writes the history of woman's love will find himself employed in drawing out a tangled skein. It is a history of secret emotions and vivid contrasts, which may well go nigh to baffle his penetration and to puzzle his philosophy. There is in it a surface of timid and gentle bashfulness concealing an underflow of strong and heady passion: a seeming caprice that a breath may shake or a word alarm; yet, all the while, an earnest devotion of soul which, in its excited action, holds all danger cheap that crosses the path of its career. The sportive, changeful, and coward nature that dallies with affection as a jest, and wins admiration by its affrighted coyness; that flies and would be followed; that revolts and would be soothed, entreated, and on bended knee implored, before it is won; that same nature will undergo the ordeal of the burning ploughshare, take all the extremes of misery and distress, brave the fury of the elements and the wrath of man, and in every peril be a patient comforter, when the cause that moves her is the vindication of her love. Affection is to her what glory is to man, an impulse that inspires the most adventurous heroism.

There had been for some days past in Mildred's mind an anxious misgiving of misfortune to Butler, which was but ill concealed in a quiet and reserved demeanor. The argument of his safety seemed to have little to rest upon, and she could perceive that it was not believed by those who uttered it. There rose upon her thoughts imaginings or presentiments of ill, which she did not like to dwell upon, but which she could not banish. And now when Horse Shoe had told his tale, the incidents did not seem to warrant the levity with which he passed them by. She was afraid to express her doubts: and they brooded upon her mind, hatching pain and secret grief. It was almost an instinct, therefore, that directed her resolve, when she announced her determination to go in person in quest of Cornwallis, and to plead Butler's cause herself to the British general. Her soul rebelled at the gross calumny which had been invented to bring down vengeance upon Arthur's head; and she had no thought of thwarting the accuser's wickedness, but by an appeal to the highest power for that redress which an honorable soldier, in her opinion, could not refuse, even to an enemy. As to the personal hazard, inconvenience, or difficulty of her projected enterprise, no thought of either for a moment occupied her. She saw but her purpose before her, and did not pause to reckon on the means by which she was to promote it. She reflected not on the censure of the world; nor on its ridicule; nor on its want of sympathy for her feelings: she reflected only on her power to serve one dearer to her than a friend, upon her duty, and upon the agony of her doubts. If her father had been at hand she might have appealed to him, and, perhaps, have submitted to his counsel; but he was absent, she knew not where, and she was convinced that no time was to be lost. "Even now, whilst we debate," she said, "his life may be forfeited to the malice of the wicked men who have ensnared him."

Her conduct in this crisis is not to be weighed in the scale wherein the seemly and decorous observances of female propriety are ordinarily balanced. The times, the occasion, and the peculiar position of Mildred, take her case out of the pale of common events, and are entitled to another standard. She will be judged by the purity of her heart, the fervor of her attachment, and her sense of the importance of the service she was about to confer. And with the knowledge of these, I must leave her vindication to the generosity of my reader.

When the morning came and breakfast was over, the horses were brought to the door. Henry was active in all the preliminary arrangements for the journey, and now bestirred himself with an increased air of personal importance. Isaac, a grey-haired negro of a sedate, and, like all his tribe, of an abundantly thoughtful length of visage, appeared in a suit of livery, ready booted and spurred for his journey. A large portmanteau, containing a supply of baggage for his mistress, was duly strapped behind his saddle, whilst a pair of pistols were buckled upon the pummel. Henry's horse also had all the furniture necessary to a campaign and the young martialist himself, notwithstanding his sister's disapproval, was begirt with a sword-belt, from which depended a light sabre, with which he was in the habit of exhibiting himself in the corps of the Rangers. His bugle hung gracefully by his side, and his carbine was already provided with a strap to sling it across his back. Stephen Foster was lost in wonder at these sudden preparations, of the import of which he could gain no more intelligence from Henry than that a movement towards the army was intended, of a portentous character.

Horse Shoe sat quietly in the porch looking on with a professional unconcern, whilst his trusty Captain Peter, bearing a pair of saddle-bags, now stuffed with a plethora of provisions, slouched his head, in patient fixedness, waiting the order to move. A bevy of domestics hung around the scene of preparation, lost in conjectures as to the meaning of this strange array, and prosecuting an inquiry to satisfy themselves, with fruitless perseverance.

When Mildred appeared at the door she was habited for her journey. The housekeeper, an aged dame, stood near her.

"My travel, Mistress Morrison," she said, addressing the matron, and at the same time putting a letter into her hand, "I trust will not keep me long from home. If my father should return before I do, be careful to give him that. Mr. Foster, you will not forget your promise," she added, as she delivered the second letter, which, notwithstanding her own expedition, she had prepared for Butler, in the hope that opportunity might favor its transmission by Stephen.

"The gold," said Stephen, putting his hand in his pocket; "you will want it yourself, Miss Mildred, and I can do without it."

"Never mind that," interrupted Mildred. "Keep your promise, and I hope to be able to reward you more according to your deserts."

"Heaven and the saints protect you, Miss Mildred!" said the housekeeper, as the lady bade her farewell. "You leave us on some heavy errand. God grant that you come back with a gayer face than you take away!" Then turning up her eyes, and raising her hands, she ejaculated, "This is an awful thing, and past my understanding!"

Mildred took leave of the rest of the group around the door, and was soon in her saddle. This was a signal for the rest to mount, and as Stephen Foster delivered Henry his rifle, the latter took occasion to whisper in the hunter's ear--

"It is not unlikely, Steve, that we may meet each other again over here in Carolina; so remember to make inquiries for us as you go along, and tell the men I hope to join them before they fire one shot in spite. But mum, Steve, not a word about our route."

Stephen shook hands with his young comrade; and Henry, seeing that the rest of the party had already left the door and were some distance down the hill, called out with an elated tone of good humor--"Farewell, Mrs. Morrison, and all the rest of you!" and putting spurs to his horse galloped off to join his sister.

The route pursued by the travellers lay due south, and during the first three or four days of their journey they were still within the confines of Virginia. To travel on horseback was a customary feat, even for ladies, in those days of rough roads and scant means of locomotion: and such a cavalcade as we have described was calculated to excite no particular inquiry from the passer-by, beyond that which would now be made on the appearance of any party of pleasure upon the high-roads, in the course of a summer excursion. Mildred experienced severe fatigue in the first stages of her journey; but by degrees this wore off, and she was soon enabled to endure the long day's ride with scarcely less inconvenience than her fellow-travellers.

At that period there were but few inns in these thinly-peopled districts, and such as were already established were small and but meagrely provided. This deficiency was, in some degree, compensated by the good will with which the owners of private establishments in the country received the better class of travellers, and the ready hospitality with which they entertained them. Henry took upon himself to obtain information of the gentlemen's seats that lay near the route of his journey, and to conduct the party to them whenever his sister's comfort required better accommodation than the common inns afforded.

As our travellers had thus far kept along that range of country which lay immediately under the mountains, they were not annoyed by the intense heats which, at this season, prevailed in the lowlands. The weather, ever since their departure, had been uncommonly fine, and as is usual in this district, the month of September had brought its cool, dewy nights, whilst the early hours of the morning were even marked by a little sharpness, almost approaching to frost. The effect of this on Mildred was to recruit the weariness of travel, and better enable her to encounter the noon-tide fervors of the sun; and she had so far endured the toils of her journey with an admirable spirit. Actual trial generally results in demonstrating how much we are prone to exaggerate in advance the difficulties of any undertaking. Accordingly, Mildred's present experience strengthened her resolution to proceed, and even communicated an unexpected increase of contentment to her feelings.

On the fifth day the party crossed the river Dan, and entered the province of North Carolina. A small remnant of Gates's shattered army lay at Hillsborough, at no great distance from the frontier; and as Mildred was anxious to avoid the inquiry or molestation to be expected in passing through a military post, she resolved to travel by a lower route, and Horse Shoe, therefore, at her suggestion, directed his journey towards the little village of Tarborough.

Cornwallis, it was understood, since the battle of Camden, had removed his head-quarters into the neighborhood of the Waxhaws, some distance up the Catawba, where he was supposed to be yet stationary. The whole country in the neighborhood of either army was in a state of earnest preparation; the British commander recruiting his forces for further and immediate operations--the American endeavoring to reassemble his feeble and scattered auxiliaries for defence. At the present moment, actual hostilities between these two parties were entirely suspended, in anxious anticipation of the rapidly approaching renewal of the struggle. It was a breathing time, when the panting combatants, exhausted by battle, stood sullenly eyeing each other and making ready--the one to strike, the other to ward off another staggering blow.

The country over which Mildred was now to travel was calculated to tax her powers of endurance to the utmost. It was a dreary waste of barren wilderness, covered with an endless forest of gloomy pine, through which a heavy, sandy road crept in lurid and melancholy shade. Here and there a miserable hut occurred to view, with a few ragged inmates, surrounded by all the signs of squalid poverty. The principal population were only to be seen along the banks of the rivers which penetrated into this region, some twenty or thirty miles distant from each other. The alluvial bottoms through which these streams found a channel to the ocean, were the only tracts of land of sufficient fertility to afford support to man--all between them was a sterile and gloomy forest.

Still, these regions were not deserted. Bodies of irregular troops, ill clothed and worse armed, and generally bearing the haggard features of disease, such as mark the population of a sickly climate, were often encountered upon the road, directing their wearied march towards the head-quarters of the republican army. The rigors of the Southern summer had not yet abated; and it was with painful steps in the deep sand, amid clouds of suffocating dust, that these little detachments prosecuted their journey.

Mildred, so far from sinking under the weariness and increasing hardships of her present toils, seemed to be endued with a capacity for sustaining them much beyond anything that could have been believed of her sex. Her courage grew with the difficulties that beset her. She looked composedly upon the obstacles before her, and encountered them, not only without a murmur, but even with a cheerfulness to which she had hitherto been a stranger. The steadiness of her onward march, her unrepining patience, and the gentle solicitude with which she turned the thoughts of her companions from herself, and forbade the supposition that her powers were over-taxed, showed how deeply her feelings were engaged in her enterprise, and how maturely her mind had taken its resolution.

"One never would have guessed," said Horse Shoe, towards the close of the second day after they had entered North Carolina, "that a lady so daintily nursed as you was at home, Mistress Mildred, could have ever borne this here roughing of it through these piney woods. But I have made one observation, Miss Lindsay, that no one can tell what they are fit for till they are tried; and on the back of that I have another, that when there's a great stir that rouses up a whole country, it don't much signify whether they are man or woman, they all get roused alike. 'Pon my word, ma'am, I have seen men--who think themselves sodgers too--that would be onwilling to trust themselves at this time o' year through such a dried up piece of pine barren as we have been travelling over for two days past."

"You remember the fable of the willow and the oak, Mr. Robinson," replied Mildred, smiling; "the storm may bring down the sturdy tree, but the supple shrub will bend before it without breaking."

"I'm not much given to religious takings-on," said the sergeant, "but sometimes a notion comes into my head that looks a little that way, and that is, when God appoints a thing to be done, he gives them that's to do it all the wherewithals. Now, as Major Butler is a good man and a brave sodger--God bless him!--it does seem right that you, Mistress Lindsay,--who, I take on me to understand enough of your consarns and his'n, without offence, to say has a leaning towards the major,--I say it does seem right and natural that you should lend a hand to help him out of tribulation; and so you see the cause being a good cause, the Lord has given you both wisdom and strength to do what is right."

"We owe, sergeant, a duty to our country; and we serve God and our country both, when we strengthen the hands of its defenders."

"That's a valiant speech, young lady, and it's a noble speech," said Horse Shoe, with an earnest emphasis. "I have often told the major that the women of this country had as honest thoughts about this here war, and was as warm for our cause as the men; and some of them, perhaps, a little warmer. They could be pitted against the women of any quarter of the aqueous globe, in bearing and forbearing both, when it is for the good of the country."

"Henry is asleep on his horse," said Mildred, looking at her brother, who now, jaded and worn with the effort of travel, was nodding and dropping his head forward, and almost losing his seat. "What, Henry, brother!" she added, loud enough to rouse up the young horseman. "My trusty cavalier, are you going to fall from your horse? Where is all that boasted glorification upon which you were disposed to be so eloquent only a week ago? I thought a man on horseback was naturally proud: I fear it was only on holiday occasions you meant, Henry. Hav'n't you a word for a sunny day and a dry journey? You lag more like a miller's boy with his bag of meal, than a young soldier setting out on his adventures."

"Ah, sister," said Henry, waking up, "this is nothing but pine--pine--and sand, without end. There is no game in the woods to keep a man on the look-out, except here and there a herd of wild hogs, that snort and run from us, like a squadron of cavalry, with their bristles set up on their backs as fierce as the back fin of a sunfish. There is not even grass to look at: you might see a black snake running half a mile amongst the trees. And then there are such great patches of burnt timber, every trunk staring right at you, as black as thunder. I'm tired of it all--I want to see the green fields again."

"And, in truth, brother, so do I: but not until we can bring merry faces to look upon them. How far are we from Tarborough?"

"We should be drawing nigh to the town," replied Horse Shoe, "for you may see that we shall soon be out of these woods, by the signs of open country ahead. The last squad of sodgers that passed us, said that when we came to the farms, we shouldn't be more than five miles from the town, and the sun isn't above an hour high."

"In the hope of being soon housed, then, Mr. Robinson, I may confess to you I am somewhat weary; but a good night's rest will put me in fair condition for to-morrow's ride again."

After the lapse of an hour, the party were safely sheltered in a tolerably comfortable inn at the village: and Mildred, aided by the sedulous care of Henry, found herself well bestowed in the best chamber of the house.

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Chapter XL

From Tarborough our travellers continued their route towards the Pedee, by the main road which led through Cross creek, a small hamlet on Cape Fear river, near the site of the present town of Fayetteville. The general features of the country were even more forbidding than those I have already described as characteristic of this portion of North Carolina. Even to the present day, cultivation has done but little to cheer up the natural desolation of those tracts of wilderness which lie between the rivers. But at the early period to which the events I have been detailing have reference, the journey undertaken by our little caravan might be compared to that which is now frequently made through the more southern extremity of the Union, from the Atlantic to the Gulf of Mexico, an attempt seldom essayed by a female, and sufficiently trying to the hardihood of the stoutest travellers. The forethought and attention of Horse Shoe Robinson, however, contributed to alleviate the pains of the enterprise, and to enable Mildred to overcome its difficulties.

In the present alarmed and excited state of this province, the party were less liable to interruption in this secluded and destitute section of the country, than they might have been, had they chosen a lower and more populous district; and the consciousness that every day's perseverance brought them nearer to the ultimate term of their journey, gave new vigor, at least, to Mildred's capacity to endure the privations to which she was exposed. But few vestiges of the war yet occurred to their view. The great wilderness, like the great ocean, retains no traces of the passage of hostile bodies. Sometimes, indeed, the signs of a woodland encampment were visible in the midst of the forest, on the margin of some sluggish brook or around a sylvan fountain, where the impression of recent hoof-prints, the scattered fragments of brushwood cut for temporary shelter, and the still smouldering ashes of camp fires, showed that masses of men had been in motion. The deer fled, too, with a more frightened bound towards their coverts, as if lately alarmed by the pursuit of the huntsman; but the images of devastation, which are associated with the horrid front of war in the mind of all familiar with its ravage, were absent. The eternal, leafy shade high arching over the heads of the wayfarers, furnished no object for human vengeance; and it still sighed in the fanning of the breeze, as of old it sighed before man claimed dominion in the soil it sheltered. A far different scene was shortly to be looked upon by our venturesome friends.

Several days had again passed by, for the journey through the wilderness had been slowly prosecuted, when Robinson, towards the approach of evening, announced to Mildred his conjecture that they were not far off the Pedee. The banks of this river had been the scene of frequent hostilities, and the war that had been carried on here was of the most ruthless kind. The river is characterized by a broad, deep, and quiet stream, begirt with a vegetation of exceeding luxuriance. Its periodical overflow seems to have poured out upon its margin a soil of inexhaustible richness, that, for a mile or two on either side, forms a striking contrast with the low, barren sand-hills that hem in the river plain. Along this tract of level border, all the way to the Atlantic, are found, as is usually the case throughout the Carolinas, the large plantations of opulent gentlemen, who, by the cultivation of rice and cotton, turn the fertility of the soil to the best account. These possessions, presenting the most assailable points to an enemy, and, indeed, almost the only ones in which the great interests of the province might be wounded, were, during the whole of that bloody struggle which distinguished the days of the "Tory Ascendency," the constant objects of attack; and here the war was waged with a vindictive malignity, on the part of the British and Tory partisans, that is scarcely surpassed in the history of civil broils. The finest estates were sacked, the dwellings burnt, and the property destroyed with unsparing rage. The men were dragged from their houses and hung, the women and children turned without food or raiment into the wilderness, and political vengeance seemed to gorge itself to gluttony upon its own rapine.

The thoughts of Robinson had been, for some days past, running upon the probable difficulties that might attend the guise in which he was now about to return to his native province. This was a subject of some concern, since he ran a risk of being compelled either to desert his charge, or to bring his companions into jeopardy, amongst the many persons of both armies who were, at least by report, acquainted with his name and his military connexions. He had explained to Mildred the necessity of his appearing in some definite character, associated with the object of her journey, and of which, upon emergency, he might claim the benefit to retain his post near her. This matter was summarily settled by Henry.

"In general, Mr. Horse Shoe, you can call yourself Stephen Foster: you know Steve; and you can say that you are Mr. Philip Lindsay's gardener. Isaac, here, can let you enough into the craft to pass muster, if any of them should take it into their heads to examine you. Mind that, Isaac: and recollect, old fellow, you are only sister Mildred's waiting man."

"Sartainly, master," replied Isaac.

"And sergeant, I'll tell you all about Steve; so that you can get your lesson by heart. You have a wife and five children--remember that. I'll give you all their names by-and-by."

"Thanks to the marcies of God, that ar'n't my misfortune yet," said Horse Shoe, laughing; "but, Mr. Henry, I have got conscience enough now for any lie that can be invented. The major and me talked that thing over, and he's of opinion that lying, in an enemy's country, is not forbidden in the scriptures. And I have hearn the preacher say that Rahab, who was not a woman of good fame no how, yet she was excused by the Lord for telling the king of Jericho a most thumping lie, consarning her not knowing what had become of the two men that Joshua, the judge of Israel, who was a general besides, had sent into the town to reconnoitre; which was a strong case, Mister Henry, seeing that Rahab, the harlot, was a taking of sides against her own people. So, I like your plan and I'll stick by it."

This being agreed upon, it became one of the amusements of the road-side to put the sergeant through his catechism, which was designed to make him familiar with the traits of private history relating to the Dove Cote and its appurtenances, that he might thereby maintain his identity, in the event of a close investigation. Horse Shoe was but an awkward scholar in this school of disguise, and gave Henry sufficient employment to keep him in the path of probability; and, indeed, the young teacher himself found it difficult to maintain an exact verisimilitude in the part which it was his own province to play in this deception.

On the evening to which we have alluded, the sergeant, finding himself within a short distance of the district of country in which he was almost certain to encounter parties of both friends and foes, adopted a greater degree of circumspection than he had hitherto deemed it necessary to observe. His purpose was to halt upon the borders of the forest, and endeavor to obtain accurate information of the state of affairs along the river, before he entered upon this dangerous ground. Like a soldier who had a rich treasure to guard, he was determined to run no hazard that might be avoided, in the safe conduct of the lady in whose service he was enlisted. In accordance with this caution, he directed the cavalcade to move onward at a moderate walk, in order that they might not reach the limit of the woodland before the dusk of the evening; and also in the hope of finding there some habitation where they might pass the night. They had not advanced far in this manner before the sergeant descried, at some distance ahead, a small log hut standing by the road side, which, by the smoke that issued from the chimney, he perceived to be inhabited. Upon this discovery, he ordered the party to stop and await his return. Then giving spurs to his horse he galloped forward, and, after a short interval of absence, returned, made a favorable report of his reconnoissance, and conducted his companions to the house.

The little cabin to which Mildred was thus introduced was the homestead of an honest Whig soldier, by the name of Wingate, who was now in service, under the command of one of the most gallant partisans that any country ever produced, Francis Marion, then recently promoted to the rank of a brigadier. The inmates were the soldier's family, consisting of a young woman and a number of small children, all demonstrating by their appearance a condition of exceedingly limited comfort. The hut contained no more than two rooms, which exhibited but a scanty supply of the meanest furniture. The forest had been cleared for the space of a few acres around the dwelling, and these were occupied by a small garden or vegetable patch, meagrely stocked with scattered and half parched plants; and by a cornfield, along the skirts of which some lean hogs were seen groping with a felonious stealthiness. A shed, in the same inclosure, formed a rendezvous for a few half-starved cattle, that probably obtained their principal but slender support from the neighboring wood. Add to these a troop of fowls, that were now at roost upon one of the trees hard by, and we have, probably, a tolerably correct inventory of the worldly goods of this little family.

The woman of the house was kind and hospitable, and her attentions were in no small degree quickened by the application of a few pieces of money which Mildred insisted upon her receiving--much to the discomfiture of the dame's self-possession--the boon consisting of hard coin, to an amount of which, perhaps, she had never before been mistress.

Mildred was exceedingly fatigued, and it was an object of early consideration to furnish her the means of rest. Our hostess assisted by old Isaac, and officiously but awkwardly superintended by Horse Shoe, began her preparations for supper, to the abundance of which the provident sergeant was enabled to contribute some useful elements from his wallet. In one of the apartments of the hut, a shock-bed was spread for the lady, and by the assistance of her cloak and some other commodities which had been provided as part of her travelling gear, she was supplied with a couch that formed no ill exchange for the weariness of her long-inhabited saddle. Use and necessity are kind nursing-mothers to our nature, and do not often fail to endow us with the qualities proper to the fortune they shape out for us. This was not Mildred's first experience of a homely lodging since she left the Dove Cote; and, as privation and toil have a faculty to convert the rough pallet of the peasant into a bed of down, she hailed the present prospect of rest with a contented and grateful spirit.

The supper being dispatched, our lady was left alone with her hostess, to seek the repose of which she stood so much in need.

The sergeant now set about making provision for the rest of his party. This was done by erecting a shelter beneath one of the trees of the forest, opposite to the door of the cabin. It was composed of a few boughs stacked against the trunk of the tree, sufficiently covered with leaves to turn aside any rain that might happen to fall. Under this cover Horse Shoe appointed that he and his comrades should pass the night, enjoining them to keep a regular watch for the security of the lady, whose welfare was now the object of his most sedulous attention. All these preparations were made with the exactness of military rule, and with a skill that greatly delighted Henry.

The long summer twilight had faded away. Mildred had been, from an early period, in the enjoyment of a profound slumber, and Henry and his negro ally were seated at the front of their sylvan tent. The sergeant had lighted his pipe, and now, taking his seat upon a log that lay near his post, he began to smoke in good earnest, with a mind as free from anxiety as if universal peace prevailed. In the sedate enjoyment of this luxury, he fell into a descant on matters and things, interlarded with long and strange stories of his own singular adventures, which he told to the no small edification and amusement of Henry and the negro.

The habits of the experienced soldier were curiously illustrated in the thoughtful and sober foresight with which Robinson adapted his plans to the exigencies of his condition, and then in the imperturbable light-heartedness with which, after his measures of safety were taken, he waited the progress of events. His watchfulness seemed to be an instinct, engendered by a familiarity with danger, whilst the steady and mirthful tone of his mind was an attribute that never gave way to the inroads of care. He was the same composed and self-possessed being in a besieged garrison, in the moment of a threatened escalade, as amongst his cronies by a winter fire-side.

"In this here starlight, Mister Henry," he said, after he had puffed out two or three charges of his pipe, "I can't see your eyes, but by your yawning, I judge you are a little sleepy. Take my advice and turn in. A sodger ought to snatch his rest when he can get it. I'll keep guard over our young lady; the Lord protect her, for a most an elegant and oncommon precious young creature! Fling your great coat upon the leaves, and go at it, my lad, like a good fellow."

"If I was at home Mr. Horse Shoe, at the Dove Cote, I could sit up all night listening to your stories; but I believe I am bewitched to-night, for my eyelids, this hour past, have been snapping like rat traps. So, I'll just stretch out for an hour or so, and then get up and take my turn at the guard."

"Don't trouble your head about watching," replied Horse Shoe, "you are not old enough for that yet. At your time of life, Mr. Lindsay, a good night's rest is the best part of a ration. And to-morrow, if I'm not mistaken, you will have need of all the strength you can muster to-night. As for me, it isn't much account whether I'm asleep or awake."

"Not so fast, sergeant," rejoined the youth, "I'm an older soldier than you take me for; Stephen and I have watched many a night for racoons. No, no, I'll have my turn towards morning. So, you and Isaac take the first part of the night between you, and if anything should happen, call me; I'm one of your minute men. So good night. My horse trots harder than I thought he did."

It was not long before our boasted minute man was locked up in a spell apparently as profound as that which the legend affirms assailed the seven sleepers: and Isaac, not even waiting for the good example of his master, had already sunk upon the ground, with that facility which distinguishes his race, the most uncaring and happiest of mortals.

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Chapter XLI

Our fortress is the good green wood, Our tent the cypress tree, We know the forest round us As seamen know the sea.

We know its walls of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass.--BRYANT.

The faithful Horse Shoe being thus left to himself, replenished his pipe, and, taking his rifle in his hand, paced to and fro upon the border of the road, holding communion with his own thoughts, carefully weighing the probabilities connected with his present singular expedition, and revolving, after his own fashion, the fortunes of Arthur Butler and Mildred Lindsay.

It was within an hour of midnight, when the sergeant's meditations were interrupted by the tramp of a horse approaching the hut at a gallop. But a few moments elapsed before a traveller, who, in the starlight, Horse Shoe could discern to be armed, drew up his rein immediately at the door of the dwelling, against which he struck several blows with his weapon, calling out loudly at the same time--

"Mistress Wingate--for God's sake, open your door quickly! I have news to tell you, good woman."

"In the name of mercy! who are you?" exclaimed the voice of the dame within, whilst a note of alarm was also heard from her fellow-lodger.

"What do you mean by this racket and clatter?" demanded Horse Shoe, in the midst of the uproar, at the same time laying his hand upon the stranger's bridle rein. "What brings you here, sir?--stand back; the women in that house are under my charge, and I won't have them disturbed."

"If you are a friend to Mistress Wingate," said the horseman, sternly, "speak the word; if an enemy, I will shiver your skull with the butt of my musket."

"Don't be rash, good fellow," replied Horse Shoe; "I take it you and me are on the same side. What's afoot that you stir in such a hurry?"

"The Tories are afoot--the devil's afoot! Open, Mistress Wingate--open to Dick Peyton!"

"The Lord preserve us!" ejaculated the mistress of the hovel, as she opened the door; "Bloody Spur, is it you? What ill luck brings you here to-night?"

"A gang of Tories, Mistress Wingate, from the Black River, under that cut-throat Fanning, crossed Pedee this morning at Lowder's Lake. They have been thieving and burning as far as Waggamaw, and are now on the road home by the upper ferry. They will be along here in less than half an hour. Your husband, Bob Wingate, and myself, were sent out by General Marion this morning, to reconnoitre the roads. We fell in with the ruffians, after sunset, below Lumberton, and have tracked them up here. Bob has got a pistol-shot through his arm. He was lucky enough, however, to escape their clutches; but believing they had a spite against him, and would ride past his house to-night, he told me to call and give you warning, and to help you to drive the cattle back into the swamp."

"How many mought there be, friend?" asked Horse Shoe, calmly.

"Between two and three hundred, at least," said the trooper; "we counted fifty in the vanguard--those that followed made a long column of march. They have stolen a good many horses and cattle, all of which are with them, and several prisoners."

"What, ho!--Isaac, Henry Lindsay; fall to, and saddle, boys," shouted Horse Shoe. "Miss Mildred, it will not do to stand. I am sorry to break in upon your rest, but you must be ready to move in a few minutes."

Everything about the hut was now in confusion. Henry and the sergeant were equipping the horses, whilst Isaac was gathering up the baggage. Bloody Spur--to adopt the rider's nom de guerre--had dismounted, and was busy in removing the few articles of value from the hut; the mother and children, meanwhile, were pouring forth loud lamentations.

Mildred, in the midst of this scene of uproar, hurriedly made her preparations for departure; and whilst she was yet engaged in this care, a confused murmur was heard, at some distance up the road--and the rattle of sabres, as well as the hoarse voice and abrupt laughter of men, announced that the freebooters were at no great distance from the dwelling.

"Merciful heaven!" exclaimed Mildred, giving way for the first time to her fears; "they are fast approaching, and we shall be captured."

"Sister," said Henry, with scarcely less alarm, "I will die by your side, before they shall hurt a hair of your head."

Horse Shoe, who at this moment was tightening the girths of Mildred's saddle, paused for an instant to listen, and then said:

"The wind is north-east, young lady, and the voice sounds far to-night. One could hardly expect you to be cool when one of these night-frays is coming on, but there's no occasion to be frightened. Now, ma'am, if you please, I'll heave you into your seat. There," continued the sergeant, setting Mildred upon her horse, "you have got four good legs under you, and by a fair use of them will be as safe as a crowned king. Mister Henry, mount, and ride with your sister slowly down the road, till I overtake you."

Henry obeyed the order.

"Is the portmanteau and the rest of the baggage all safe, Isaac? Don't be flurried, you old sinner, but look about you, before you start off."

"All safe," replied the negro.

"Up and follow your master, then. Hark you, Mr. Bloody Spur," said Horse Shoe, as Isaac rode off, to the trooper, who was still actively employed in turning the cattle loose from the inclosure, "what is the best road hereabouts for my squad to keep out of the way of these bullies?"

"About a mile from here, take a road that strikes into the woods, upon your right hand," answered the trooper hastily, "it will lead you up the river to the falls of Pedee. If you should meet any of Marion's men, tell them what you have seen; and say Dick Peyton will be along close after you."

"Where is Marion?" asked the sergeant, mounting his horse.

"What man that knows Frank Marion could ever answer that question?" said the trooper. "He is everywhere, friend. But you have no time to lose: be off."

As Bloody Spur said this, he disappeared, driving the cattle before him; whilst the mother, laden with an infant and as many pieces of furniture as she could carry, and followed by her terrified children, fled towards the neighboring thicket.

Horse Shoe in a few moments overtook his companions, and, urging them forward at a rapid flight, soon reached the diverging road, along which they journeyed with unabated speed for upwards of a mile.

"How do you bear it, sister?" asked Henry, with concern.

"Ah, brother, with a sore heart to be made so painfully acquainted with these frightful scenes. I lose all thought of my own annoyance, in seeing the calamities that are heaped upon the unoffending family of a man who dares to draw his sword for his country."

"Yes, ma'am," said Horse Shoe, gravely, "these incarnivorous devils have broken the rest of many a good woman in the Carolinas, before they routed you out to-night, ma'am. But it is one of God's marcies to see how you keep up under it."

"Mine's a trifling grievance, good sergeant: I lose but a little repose: that poor mother flies to save her children, uncertain, perhaps, of to-morrow's subsistence; and her husband's life is in daily peril. It is a sad lot. Yet truly," added Mildred with a sigh, "mine is scarcely better. Gracious heaven!" she exclaimed, looking behind her, "they have set fire to the dwelling!"

In the quarter to which she directed her eyes, the horizon was already illuminated with the blaze of Wingate's hut. The light grew brighter for a short interval, and brought into bold relief upon the sky, the tall, dark forms of the stately pines of which the forest was composed.

"They are fools as well as villains," said Horse Shoe, with an angry vehemence; "they have had liquor to-night, or they would hardly kindle up a blaze which should rouse every Whig on Pedee to track them like hounds. It would be sport worth riding to look at, if Marion should get a glimpse of that fire. But these wolves have grown obstropolous ever since Horatio Gates made his fox paw at Camden."

"Oh, it is a most savage war," said Mildred, "that roots up the humble hearth, and fires the lowly roof, where none but defenceless women and children abide. I shudder to think of such wanton barbarity."

"There's the thing, Miss Lindsay, that turns all our blood bitter. Man to man is fair game, all the world over: but this ere stealing of cattle, and burning of houses, and even cutting up by the roots the plants of the 'arth, and turning of women and children naked into the swamps, in the dead of night! it's a sorry business to tell of a Christian people, and a cowardly business for a nation that's a boasting of its bravery."

The light of the conflagration had soon died away, and our wanderers pursued their solitary road in darkness, ignorant of the country through which they passed, and uncertain of the point to which they tended. A full hour had gone by in this state of suspense, and Robinson had once more resolved to make a halt, and encamp his party in the woods. Before, however, he could put this design into execution, he was unexpectedly challenged, from the road-side, with the military demand of--"Who goes there?"

"Travellers," was the reply.

"Where do you come from, and where are you going?"

"The first question I can answer," said Horse Shoe, "and that is, from Old Virginny, a fortnight ago, but, to-night, from a tolerable snug lodging, where some onmannerly fellows troubled our sleep. But as to where we're going, it's more likely you can tell that for us."

"You are saucy, sir."

"It's more than I meant to be," replied the sergeant. "Mayhap you mought have hearn of a man they call Bloody Spur?"

"He has pricked your pillows for you--has he? Dick Peyton is good at that," said a second questioner.

"Aha, comrades, I understand you now," said Horse Shoe, with alacrity. "Dick Peyton and Bob Wingate both belong to your party. Am I right? We are friends to Marion."

"And therefore friends to us," said the patrole. "Your name, sir, and the number you have in company?"

"Take us to the general, and we will answer that," replied Horse Shoe. "The Tories have set upon Wingate's house and burnt it to the ground. It's like we may be able to tell something worth hearing at head-quarters. Your man Bloody Spur gave us in charge to report him, and to say that he would soon follow upon our track. I wonder that he isn't here before now."

"I will remain," said one of the soldiers to his companion; "you shall take charge of the travellers."

The trooper accordingly turned his horse's head and commanded Horse Shoe and his party to follow.

The scout conducted our adventurers along a by-road that led round the head of a marsh, and through several thickets which, in the darkness of the night, were penetrated with great difficulty; during this ride he interrogated Horse Shoe as to the events of the late inroad of the Tories. He and his comrade had been stationed upon the path where the sergeant encountered them, to direct the out-riding parties of his corps to the spot of Marion's encampment, the policy of this wary officer being to shift his station so frequently as almost equally to defy the search of friend and foe. Peyton and Wingate were both expected; and the trooper who remained behind only waited to conduct them to the commanding officer, who had, since the disappearance of daylight, formed a bivouac in this neighborhood. Marion's custom was to order his reconnoitring parties to return to him by designated roads, where videttes were directed to repair in order to inform them of his position,--a fact which, as his movements were accomplished with wonderful celerity and secresy, they were generally unable to ascertain in any other way.

At length, emerging from the thicket, and crossing what seemed, by the plash of the horse's feet, a morass, the party, under the guidance of the scout, came upon a piece of thinly-timbered woodland, which, rising by a gentle slope, furnished what might be called an island of dry ground, that seemed to be only accessible by crossing the circumjacent swamp. Upon this spot were encamped, in the rudest form of the bivouac, a party of cavalry, which might have amounted to two hundred men. Several fires, whose ruddy glare had been discerned for the last half mile of the journey, were blazing forth from different quarters of the wood, and threw a bold and sharp light upon the figures of men and horses, imparting a feature of lively, picturesque beauty to the scene. The greater portion of the soldiers were stretched beneath the trees, with no other covering than the leafy bowers above them. The horses were picketed in the neighborhood of their riders; and the confused array of saddles, sabres, muskets, rifles, and other warlike instruments, that were hung upon projecting boughs, or leant against the trunks, as they caught the flashes of the frequent fires, seemed to be magnified in number equal to the furniture of thrice the force. Sentinels were seen pacing their limits on the outskirts of this company, and small bodies of patroles on horseback moved across the encampment with the regularity of military discipline. Here and there, as if regardless of rest, or awaiting some soon-expected tour of duty, small knots of men sat together amusing themselves, by torch-light, at cards; and, more appropriately, others had extended their torpid frames in sleep upon their grassy pallets and knapsack pillows.

"We have seen war in its horrors," exclaimed Mildred, with an involuntary vivacity; "and here it is in all its romance!"

"Sister, I wish you were at home," said Henry, eagerly, "and Steve and I had the Rangers on this field to-night. I would undertake to command a picket with any man here!"

To Horse Shoe these were familiar scenes, and he could not comprehend the source of that sudden interest which had so vividly aroused the admiration of his companions; but asking the guide to conduct them immediately to General Marion, he followed the soldier across the whole extent of the bivouac, until they halted beneath a large tree, near which a few officers were assembled. One of this group was seated on the ground; and close by him, planted in the soil, a blazing pine-faggot flung a broad light upon a saddle, the flap of which the officer had converted, for the occasion, into a writing-desk.

"Make way for a squad of travellers picked up on the road to-night," said the scout in a loud voice. "They wish to see General Marion."

In a moment our party was surrounded by the officers; and Horse Shoe, unceremoniously dismounting, addressed the person nearest to him:--

"A lady, sir, from Virginia, that I started with from her father's house, to fetch to Carolina; but who has been most audaciously unhoused and unbedded in the very middle of the night by a hellish pack of Tories."

"My name is Lindsay, sir," said Henry, riding to the front; "my sister and myself were travelling south, and have been obliged to fly, to-night, before a detachment of horse-stealers."

"From Bob Wingate's," said Horse Shoe, "as I should judge, some six miles back. I want to report to General Marion: the lady, likewise, is tired, as she has good right to be."

The officer to whom this was addressed, directed a soldier to seek General Marion, and then approaching Mildred, said:

"Madam, we can promise but little accommodation suitable to a lady: the greenwood tree is but an uncouth resting-place: but what we can supply shall be heartily at your service."

"I feel sufficiently thankful," replied Mildred, "to know that I am in the hands of friends."

"Sister, alight," said Henry, who now stood beside her stirrup, and offered his hand: and in a moment Mildred was on her feet.

The officer then conducted her to a bank, upon which a few blankets were thrown by some of the soldiers in attendance. "If this strange place does not alarm you," he said, "you may perhaps find needful repose upon a couch even as rough as this."

"You are very kind," replied Mildred, seating herself. "Brother, do not quit my side," she added, in a low voice: "I feel foolishly afraid."

But a few moments elapsed before the light of the torches, gleaming upon his figure, disclosed to Mildred the approach of a person of short stature and delicate frame, in whose step there was a singular alertness and rapidity. He wore the blue and buff uniform of the staff, with a pair of epaulets, a buckskin belt, and broadsword. A three-cornered cocked-hat, ornamented with a buck-tail, gave a peculiar sharpness to his naturally sharp and decided features; and a pair of small, dark eyes twinkled in the firelight, from a countenance originally sallow, but now swarthy from sun and wind. There was a conspicuous alacrity and courtesy in the gay and chivalrous tone in which he accosted Mildred:

"General Marion, madam, is too happy to have his poor camp honored by the visit of a lady. They tell me that the Tories were so uncivil as to break in upon your slumbers to-night. It adds greatly to my grudge against them."

"I have ventured," said Mildred, "into the field of war, and it does not become me to complain that I have met its vicissitudes."

"Gallantly spoken, madam! May I be allowed to know to whom I am indebted for the honor of this visit?"

"My name is Lindsay, my father resides at the Dove Cote in Virginia: under the protection of my brother and a friend, I left home to travel into Carolina."

"A long journey, madam," interrupted Marion; "and you have been sadly vexed to-night, I learn. We have a rude and unquiet country."

"My sister and myself," said Henry, "counted the chances before we set out."

"I would call you but an inexperienced guide, sir," said the General, addressing Henry, and smiling.

"Oh, as to that," replied the youth, "we have an old soldier with us--Horse Shoe Robinson--hem--Stephen Foster, I meant to say."

"Horse Shoe Robinson!" exclaimed Marion, "where is he?"

"Mr. Henry Lindsay, General, and me," said the sergeant, bluntly, "have been practising a lie to tell the Tories, in case they should take us unawares; but it sticks, you see, in both of our throats. It's the true fact that I'm Horse Shoe himself. This calling me Stephen Foster is only a hanging out of false colors for the benefit of the red-coats and Tories, upon occasion."

"Horse Shoe, good fellow, your hand," said Marion, with vivacity, "I have heard of you before. Miss Lindsay, excuse me, if you please; I have business to-night which is apt impertinently to thrust itself between us and our duty to the ladies. Richards," he continued, addressing a young officer who stood near him, "see if you can find some refreshment that would be acceptable to the lady and her brother. Horse Shoe, this way: I would speak with you."

Marion now retired towards the place where the writing materials were first noticed, and entered into an examination of the sergeant, as to the particulars of the recent attack upon Wingate's cabin.

Before Robinson had finished his narrative of the events of the night, a horseman dashed up almost at full speed to the spot where Marion stood, and, flinging himself from his saddle, whilst his horse stood panting beside him, asked for the General.

"How now, Bloody Spur! What's the news?" demanded Marion.

"The Black River hawks are flying," said the soldier.

"I have heard that already," interrupted the chieftain. "Tell me what else."

"I stayed long enough to secure Wingate's cattle, and then set out for the river to cut loose the boats at the Ferry. I did it in good time. Four files followed close upon my heels, who had been sent ahead to make sure of the means of crossing. The fellows found me after my work was done, and chased me good three miles. They will hardly venture, General, to swim the river to-night, with all the thievery they have in their hands; and I rather take it they will halt at the ferry till daylight."

"Then that's a lucky cast, Dick Peyton," exclaimed Marion. "Ho, there! Peters, wake up that snoring trumpeter. Tell him to sound 'to saddle.' Come lads, up, up. Gentlemen, to your duties!"

Forthwith the trumpet sounded, and with its notes everything asleep started erect. Troopers were seen hurrying across the ground in rapid motion: some hastily buckling on broadswords and slinging their muskets; others equipping the horses; and everywhere torches were seen passing to and fro in all the agitation of a sudden muster. As soon as Marion had set this mass in action, he repaired to Mildred, and in a manner that betokened no excitement from the general stir around him, he said--

"I owe you an apology, Miss Lindsay, for this desertion, which I am sure you will excuse when you know that it is caused by my desire to punish the varlets who were so ill-mannered as to intrude upon your slumbers. I hope, however, you will not be a loser by the withdrawal of our people, as I will take measures to put you under the protection of a good friend of mine, the widow of a worthy soldier, Mistress Rachel Markham, who lives but two miles from this, and whose hospitable mansion will afford you a shelter more congenial to your wishes than this broad canopy of ours. A guide shall be ready to conduct you."

"Your kindness, general," said Mildred, "puts me under many obligations."

"Horse Shoe shall take a line of explanation to my friend," added Marion. "And now, madam, farewell," he said, offering his hand. "And you, Master or Mister Henry, I don't know which--you seem entitled to both--good night, my brave lad: I hope, before long, to hear of your figuring as a gallant soldier of independence."

"I hope as much myself," replied Henry.

Marion withdrew, and by the time that he had prepared the letter and put it into Horse Shoe's hands, his troops were in line, waiting their order to march. The general mounted a spirited charger, and galloping to the front of his men, wheeled them into column, and, by a rapid movement, soon left Horse Shoe and his little party, attended by one trooper who had been left as a guide, the only tenants of this lately so busy scene. The change seemed almost like enchantment. The fires and many torches were yet burning, but all was still, except the distant murmur of the receding troops, which grew less and less, until, at last, there reigned the silence of the native forest.

Our travellers waited, almost without exchanging a word, absorbed in the contemplation of an incident so novel to Mildred and her brother, until the distant tramp of the cavalry could be no longer heard: then, under the direction of the guide, they set out for the residence of Mrs. Markham.

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Chapter XLII

The day had just begun to dawn as our party, under the guidance of Marion's soldier, were ferried across the Pedee, on the opposite bank of which river lay the estate and mansion of Mrs. Markham. The alarms and excitements of the past night had ceased to stimulate the frame of Mildred, and she now found herself sinking under the most painful weariness. Henry had actually fallen asleep as he sat upon the gunwale of the ferry-boat, and rested his head against the sergeant's shoulder: the whole party were overcome with the lassitude that is so distressing, at this hour of dawning, to all persons who have spent the night in watching; and even the sergeant himself, to the influences of fatigue and privation the most inaccessible of mortals, and, by fate or fortune, the most unmalleable--occasionally nodded his head, as if answering the calls of man's most welcome visitor. It was, therefore, with more than ordinary contentment that our travellers, when again mounted, were enabled to descry, in the first light of the morning, a group of buildings seated upon an eminence about a mile distant, on the further side of the cultivated lowland that stretched along the southern margin of the river. The guide announced that this was the point of their destination, and the intelligence encouraged the party to accelerate the speed with which they journeyed over the plain. When they arrived at the foot of the hill, the character of the spot they were approaching was more distinctly developed to their view. The mansion, encompassed by a tuft of trees that flung their broad and ancient limbs above its roof, was of the best class of private dwellings, old and stately in its aspect, and exhibiting all the appendages that characterized the seat of a wealthy proprietor. It was constructed entirely of wood, in accordance with a notion that prevailed at that period, no less than at the present, that a frame structure was best adapted to the character of the climate. It occupied the crest of a hill which commanded a view of the river with its extensive plains; whilst, in turn, it was overlooked by the adjacent tract of country bearing the name of the Cheraw Highlands.

As the party ascended this eminence, Henry, in the eager and thoughtless satisfaction of the moment, put his bugle to his mouth and continued to blow with all his might, deaf to the remonstrances of his sister, who was endeavoring to explain that there was some want of courtesy in so abrupt a challenge of the hospitality of the family. The blast was interrupted by Horse Shoe's laying his hand upon the instrument, as he gave the indiscreet bugler a short military lecture:

"You might fetch trouble upon us, Mister Henry: this here screeching of horns or trumpets is sometimes a sort of bullying of a garrison; and if an enemy should happen to be on post here--as, God knows, is likely enough in such scampering wars as these, why you have set the thing past cure: for it is cutting off all chance of escape, just as much as if the people had been ordered 'to horse.' It leaves nothing for us but to brazen it out."

An old negro was first startled by the summons, and appeared for a moment at the door of one of the out-buildings, evincing, as he looked down the road upon the approaching cavalcade, manifest signs of consternation. After a brief glance, he was seen to retreat across the yard to the door of the mansion-house, where he fell to beating at it with as much earnestness as if giving an alarm of fire, shouting at the same time, "Lord bless us, mistress! here is a whole rigiment of sodgers coming to turn everything topsy-turvy. Get up, get up--open the door!"

"Stop your bawling, you stunted black-jack!" said Robinson, who had galloped up to the spot, "and none of your lies. Is the lady of the house at home?"

A window was thrown up, at the same moment, in an upper story, and a female head, decorated with a nightcap, was thrust out, whilst a voice, tremulous with affright, inquired what was the cause of this disturbance; but before an answer could be given the head was withdrawn, and the door opening discovered a youth scarcely in appearance over sixteen, with a loose robe thrown around his person and a pistol in his hand.

"Who comes here, and with what purpose?" was the question firmly put by the young man.

"Friends," said Horse Shoe--"sent to the good lady by General Marion. Sorry, sir, to be the occasion of such a rumpus. But this here young lady has travelled all night and is 'most dead with hardships."

Mildred, who with the rest of the company had now arrived near the door, was about to speak, when the questioner retired, calling the negro after him into the house. In a moment the servant returned with Mrs. Markham's compliments to the party, and a request that they would alight.

"Then all's well," said Horse Shoe, dismounting, and immediately afterwards lifting Mildred from her saddle, "a friend in need, madam, is the greatest of God's blessings. I make no doubt you will find this as snug a nest as you ever flew into in your life."

"And, good sergeant, most specially welcome," replied Mildred, smiling in the midst of all her pain, "for in truth I never was so weary."

The guide, having now performed his duty, announced that he must return to his corps; and, after a few cheering words of kind remembrance from Mildred, coupled with a message of thanks to Marion, he wheeled about and galloped back towards the river. Mildred and Henry entered the house: and the sergeant, taking command of Isaac, followed the horses towards the stable.

The brother and sister were ushered into an ample parlor, comfortably furnished according to the fashion of the wealthier classes of that day; and, Mildred as she threw herself upon a capacious sofa, could not fail to recognise in the formal portraits that were suspended to the pannelled walls, that she was in the dwelling of a family of some pride of name and lineage.

After a short interval, the proprietress of the mansion entered the parlor. She was a lady of a kind and gentle aspect, apparently advanced beyond the middle period of life; and her features, somewhat emaciated, gave a sign of feeble health. She was attired in dishabille, hastily thrown on; and there was some expression of alarm in the unreserved and familiar manner with which she approached Mildred, and inquired into the nature of this early journey.

"I hope no unhappy accident, my dear, has driven you at this unusual hour to my poor house? You are heartily welcome. I fear to ask what has brought you."

"My brother and myself, madam," said Mildred, "have had a most adventurous night. This letter will explain. General Marion was so kind as to commit us to your hospitality."

The lady took the letter and read it.

"Miss Lindsay, my child, I am truly happy to serve you. You have had an awful night, but these times make us acquainted with strange afflictions. This young gentleman, your brother, is he your only attendant?"

Mildred began to communicate the details of her journey, when she was interrupted by her hostess.

"I will not trouble you with questions, now, my dear. You must have sleep; I dread lest your health may suffer by this harsh exposure. After you have had rest, we will talk more, and become better acquainted. Judith," continued the matron, addressing a servant maid, who had just entered the room, "attend this lady to a chamber. Mr. Henry Lindsay, I believe--so General Marion calls you--my son Alfred shall take you in charge."

With these words the good lady left the room, and in an instant after returned with the youth who had first appeared at the door. Upon being introduced by his mother to the guests, he lost no time in obeying her orders in regard to Henry, whom he had conducted out of the room at the same moment that Mildred followed the servant towards a chamber.

The entire day was spent by our party in recruiting their strength, towards which needful care the hospitable hostess contributed by the tenderest attentions. On the following morning Mildred, although refreshed by the slumbers of the long interval, still exhibited the traces of her recent fatigue; and upon the earnest recommendation of Mrs. Markham, seconded by the almost oracular authority of Horse Shoe,--for the sergeant had greatly won upon the respect of his companions by his prudence and discretion--she determined to remain another day in her present resting-place.

Mrs. Markham was the widow of a Carolina gentleman, who had borne the rank of a colonel in the Whig militia, and had been actively employed, in the earlier stages of the war, in the southern provinces. He had fallen in an unfortunate skirmish with some of Prevost's light troops, on the Savannah river, some sixteen months before; and his widow, with three daughters and no other male protector than an only son, was now, in this season of extreme peril, residing upon a large estate, which the evil fortune of the times had made the theatre of an eventful and active desultory war. She had been exposed to the most cruel exactions from the Tories, to whom her possessions were generally yielded up with a passive and helpless submission; and the firmness with which, in all her difficulties, she had adhered to the cause for which her husband fell, had gained for her the generous sympathy of the whig leaders, and more than once stimulated them to enterprises, in her behalf, that were followed by severe chastisement upon her enemies. These circumstances had given extensive notoriety to her name, and drawn largely upon her the observation of both friend and foe. To Marion, who hovered upon this border more like a goblin than a champion whose footsteps might be tracked, her protection had become a subject of peculiar interest; and the indefatigable soldier frequently started up in her neighborhood when danger was at hand, with a mysterious form of opposition that equally defied the calculations of Whigs and Tories.

The lady was still in her weeds, and grief and care had thrown a pallor upon her cheek; but the watchfulness imposed upon her by the emergencies of the day, her familiarity with alarms, and the necessity for constant foresight and decisive action, had infused a certain hardihood into her character, that is seldom believed to be,--but yet in the hour of trial unerringly exhibits itself--an attribute of the female bosom. Her manners were considerate, kind, and fraught with dignity. She was the personation of a class of matrons that--for the honor of our country and of the human race--was not small in its numbers, nor upon trial unworthy of its fame, in the sad history of the sufferings of Carolina.

The evening of the day on which Mildred arrived at the mansion brought rumors of a brilliant exploit achieved by Marion; and more circumstantial accounts on the following morning confirmed the good tidings. The alert partisan had fallen upon the track of the freebooters who had been marauding on the confines of North Carolina, and whose incursion had expelled our travellers from Wingate's cabin. Marion had overtaken them before sunrise, on the bank of the Pedee, where they had been detained by reason of Peyton's successful removal of the boats. A short but most decisive combat was the consequence, and victory, as she was wont, had seated herself upon Marion's banner. The chieftain and his followers had, as usual, disappeared, and the whole country was in a state of agitation and dread; the one side fearing a repetition of the blow in some unlooked-for quarter, the other alarmed by the expectation of quick and bloody reprisal.

These events still more contributed to fortify Mildred's resolution to remain another day under the shelter of Mrs. Markham's friendly roof, before she would venture forth in the further prosecution of her journey.

Here, for the present, we must leave her.

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XLIII. OCCURRENCES AT MUSGROVE'S MILL

She passed by stealth the narrow door, The postern way also, And thought each bush her robe that tore, The grasp of a warding foe.--JOANNA BAILLIE.

The month of September was more than half gone. The night had just set in, and the waxing moon shone forth from a clear heaven, flinging her rays upon the rippling surface of the Ennoree and upon the glossy leaves that flickered in the wind by the banks of the stream, when Mary Musgrove, with wary and stealthy pace, glided along the path, intricate with shrubbery, that led upwards immediately upon the margin of the river. For a full half hour had she toiled along this narrow way since she had stolen past the sentinel near her father's gate. The distance was not a mile; but the anxious maiden, pursued by her own fears, had more than once, in the fancy that she was followed, stopped in her career and concealed herself in the thick copse-wood, and listened with painful intensity for the footsteps of those whom her imagination had set upon her track. There was, however, no pursuit: it was the prowling fox or the raccoon whose leap had disturbed the dry and rotten branches that lay upon the ground; and Mary smiled with faint-heartedness at the illusions of her own mind. She arrived at last beneath the brow of a crag that jutted over the stream, and in the shade of one of the angles of the rock, she discerned the figure of a man seated upon the grass. She paused with a distrustful caution, as she challenged the silent and half-concealed person.

"Hist, John! is it you? For mercy, speak! Why would you frighten me?--Me, Mary. Don't you know me?" said the maiden, as she took heart of grace and advanced near enough to put her hand upon John Ramsay's shoulder. "Powers above! the man's asleep," she added with a laugh. "Who would have thought I should have caught you napping, John, at such a time as this!"

"Why, in truth, Mary," said John Ramsay, waking up under the touch of his mistress, and rising to his feet, "I deserve to be shot for sleeping on my watch; but I have been so driven from post to pillar for this last fortnight, that it is as much as I can do to keep my eyes open when night comes on. So Mary, you will forgive me, and more particularly when I tell you I was dreaming of you; and thought this war was at an end, and that you and I were happy in a house of our own. I have been waiting for you for upwards of an hour."

"Ah, John, I don't think I could sleep if it had been my turn to watch for you."

"There's the difference," replied John, "betwixt you women and us men; you are so full of frights and fidgetings and fancyings, that I do verily believe all the sleeping doses in the world could never make you shut your eyes when anything is going on that requires watching, whether it be for a sick friend or for a piece of scheming. Now, with us, we take a nap on a hard-trotting horse, and fall to snoring up to the very minute that the trumpet wakes us to make a charge. What news from Butler?"

"It is all fixed," answered Mary, "to our hearts' content. Lieutenant Macdonald, ever since Cornwallis's letter, allows Major Butler greater privileges; and the sentinels are not half so strict as they used to be; so that I think we may give them the slip. By the gable window that looks out from the garret room, the Major will be able to get upon the roof, and that, he thinks, is near enough to the tree for him to risk a leap into its branches; though I am almost afraid he is mistaken, for it looks awfully wide for a spring. He says if you will be ready with the horses an hour before daylight to-morrow, he will try the leap, and join you at the willows above the mill. Christopher will saddle one of the wagon-horses and lead him to the place."

"And the sentinel who keeps guard on that side?"

"Ah, John, that puzzles us," said Mary; "I'm so much afraid that you will be rash. It is in your nature to forget yourself."

"Tut, girl; don't talk of that. I'll find a way to manage the sentinel. I will steal up to him and take him unawares; and then seizing him by the throat, give him his choice of a knife in between his ribs, or a handful of guineas in his pocket."

"Hadn't we better tell him what a good man the Major is?" said Mary, alarmed at the idea of a struggle in which her lover's life might be endangered, "and try to coax him to take our side?"

"Ha, ha!" ejaculated the trooper involuntarily, "that's a very good woman's thought, but it won't hold out in a campaign. The fellow might happen to have some honesty, and then away goes our whole scheme. No, no; blows are the coin that these rascals buy their bread with, and, faith, we'll trade with them in the same article."

"But then, John, you will be in danger."

"What of that, girl? When have I been out of danger? And don't you see, Mary, what good luck I have with it? Never fear me; I will stifle the fellow in the genteelest fashion known in the wars."

"And if it must be so, John, I will say my prayers for you with more earnestness than I ever said them in my life. As my father says, the God of Israel will stand by our cause: and when He is for us, what care we who is against us?"

"You are a good girl, Mary," replied John Ramsay, smiling. "Get back to the house; let Major Butler know that you have seen me, and that I will be ready."

"He is to be at the window," said Mary, "and I am to signify to him that you are prepared, by setting up a plank against the garden fence in a place where he can see it. He is to keep a look-out from the window all night, and when the time comes you are to flash a little powder on the edge of the woods upon the hill: if he is ready then he will show his candle near the window-sill; that, he says, must be a sign for you to come on; and when he sees you he will take the leap."

"I understand it," said Ramsay. "Tell Christopher to be sure of the horse."

"I have a great deal of courage, John, when danger is far off--but when it comes near, I tremble like a poor coward," said Mary. "Does not my hand feel cold?"

"Your lips are warm, Mary," replied John, kissing her, "and your heart is warm. Now, never flag when it comes to the trial. Everything depends upon you. We shall be very happy, by-and-by, to talk this thing all over. How many soldiers are on Macdonald's guard? Have none left you since I saw you yesterday?"

"None," said Mary: "one man left the mill two days since. I think I heard them say he was going to Ninety-six, on business for the lieutenant."

"Well, well, it makes but little odds how many are there, so they but sleep soundly. Our business is more to run than to fight. Mary, my girl, step across to my father's to-morrow, and he will tell you what has become of me. We must get the Major out of this country of wolf-traps as fast as we can."

"I forgot to ask you," said the maiden, "if you had some coarse clothes ready for the Major. He must not seem to be what he is."

"Trust me for that," replied the trooper. "Christopher has given me a bundle with as fine a dusty suit in it as any miller's boy ever wore; and besides that, I have a meal bag to throw across the Major's saddle: and as for myself, Mary, there's ploughman in my very looks. We shall cheat all the Tories betwixt this and Catawba."

"Now, John, before I leave you, I have one favor to ask."

"And what is that?" inquired the generous-hearted soldier, "you know, if I can, I will grant it before it is named."

"I would ask as a favor to me," said Mary, with earnestness, "that you will not be too venturesome: the Major is a wiser man than you, so be governed by him. Remember, John, if any ill were to happen to you, it would break my heart."

"I am not so foolhardy, my girl," replied Ramsay, "but, that when there's occasion for it, I can show as clean a pair of heels as any man: and so, for your sake, you kitten," he said, as he put his hands upon her cheeks, and again snatched a kiss, "I will run to-morrow like a whole troop of devils. And now, Mary, good night, and God bless you girl! it is time you were at home. Yet upon second thoughts, I will walk part of the way with you. So, take my arm and let us begin the retreat."

"John, I do so fear you may be hurt," said the maiden, as they pursued their way along the path, her whole thoughts being absorbed with the danger of the enterprise. "Be careful when you come near the sentinel to wait until his back is turned. This moon shines bright, and you may easily be seen."

"But look, girl, the moon has scarcely two hours yet to travel, and, from that circle round it, I shouldn't wonder if we had rain before daylight; so by the hour we have fixed for the Major's escape, it will be dark enough: therefore you may be easy on that score."

The humble and ardent lovers pursued their way towards the miller's dwelling with slow steps, intently engaged in conversing over the chances of their perilous project, until they arrived at a point beyond which it was not safe for John Ramsay to venture. Here, after many affectionate caresses and fond adieus, they separated--the maiden to steal to her place of rest, the soldier to hasten back to his horse, that awaited him near the scene of the late meeting.

Mary soon arrived at the mill; then sauntering carelessly towards the dwelling-house, began, the better to conceal her purpose, to sing a simple air, during which she had wandered up to the garden fence, where she delayed long enough to set up the plank. The small window in the angle of the roof of the cottage looked down upon the spot where she stood; and as she cast her eyes towards this part of the building, she received a recognition from the prisoner, in a slight waving of the hand, which was sufficiently observable by the light of the taper within.

Matters having gone so far to the maiden's satisfaction, she now retreated into the house.

The reader will perceive from this narrative that Butler's fortunes had greatly improved since we last took leave of him. The messenger despatched to Cornwallis by Williams had brought back to the Fair Forest, where it will be remembered the vanquishers of Innis had retreated, a more favorable answer than even the republican leader had hoped. The British commander was not ignorant of the capture of Butler, but the circumstances of the trial had not before been communicated to him. Upon the representation of Williams, he had no hesitation to order a respite to be given to the prisoner for such reasonable time as might be necessary for further investigation. This obvious act of justice was more than, in the circumstances of the times, might have been expected from Cornwallis. The cruel and bloody policy which he adopted towards the inhabitants of the Carolinas, immediately after the battle of Camden, showed a tone of personal exacerbation that was scarcely consistent with the lenity displayed towards Butler. It is not unlikely, therefore, that the fear of retaliation upon the young St. Jermyn, of whose fate he might have been informed from officers of his own camp, might have induced him to temporize in the present case, and to grant a suspension of proceedings against the rebel prisoner. The reply to Williams's letter accordingly intimated that, for the present, Major Butler should be held in close custody as a prisoner of war, leaving the determination of the manner in which he was finally to be disposed of, a subject for future consideration.

John Ramsay, after the departure of Horse Shoe Robinson for Virginia, instead of rejoining his regiment, returned to the Fair Forest camp, where he remained with Williams, until the answer from Cornwallis was received. The tidings of this answer he undertook to convey to Butler, and he again set out for his father's house. John felt himself now regularly enlisted in the service of the prisoner, and having found means to communicate his present employment to General Sumpter, he obtained permission to remain in it as long as his assistance was of value. The service itself was a grateful one to the young trooper: it accorded with the generosity of his character, and gratified his personal pride by the trust-worthiness which it implied: but more than this, it brought him into opportunities of frequent meeting with Mary Musgrove, who, passionately beloved by the soldier, was not less ardent than he in her efforts to promote the interest of Butler.

The state of the country did not allow John to be seen in day-time, and he and Mary had consequently appointed a place of meeting, where in the shades of night they might commune together on the important subjects of their secret conspiracy. Night after night they accordingly met at this spot, and here all their schemes were contrived. Mary sometimes came to David Ramsay's dwelling, and the old man's counsel was added to that of the lovers. Christopher Shaw and Allen Musgrove were not ignorant of what was in contemplation, but it was a piece of necessary policy that they should appear to be as little connected with the prisoner as possible. Christopher, therefore, pursued his duties as assistant-quarter-master or purveyor to the little garrison under Macdonald's command, with unabated assiduity.

The plan of Butler's escape was John Ramsay's. He had been anxiously awaiting an opportunity to attempt this enterprise for the last fortnight, but the difficulty of concerting operations with the prisoner had retarded his movement. This difficulty was at last overcome, and, for a few days past, the plan had been arranged. All that was left to be done was to appoint the hour. Christopher Shaw and Mary, alone of the miller's family, were made acquainted with the details. Christopher was to provide a horse and a suitable disguise for Butler, and these were to be ready at a tuft of willows that grew upon the edge of the river some quarter of a mile above the mill, whenever Mary should announce that John was ready to act. Ramsay's horse was to be brought to the same spot. The preparatory signals, already mentioned, were all agreed upon and understood by the parties. Butler was to escape to the roof, and thence by the boughs of a large oak that grew hard by the miller's dwelling. A sentinel was usually posted some fifty paces from this tree, and it was a matter of great perplexity to determine how his vigilance was to be defeated. This difficulty, John resolved, should be overcome by a stern measure: the man was to be silenced, if necessary, by a blow. John Ramsay was to steal upon him in the dark, and if signs of alarm were given, he was to master the sentinel in such a manner as the occasion might require, being furnished by Butler with a purse of gold, if such a form of influence might be necessary.

Such is the outline of the plan by which Butler's disenthralment was to be attempted.

Mary Musgrove, before she retired to her chamber, sought Christopher Shaw and made him acquainted with the appointment of the hour, and then left him to manage his own share of the enterprise. It was now near ten at night, and Christopher, who had charge of Allen Musgrove's stable, in order to avoid the suspicion of being seen stirring at a later hour, immediately set off to saddle the horse. One of the wagon team, well known in the family by the name of Wall Eye, was selected for this service, and being speedily accoutred, was conducted to the willows, where he was tied fast to a tree, to remain until the hour of need. The young miller soon returned, and it was not long afterwards that the household and its military companions were wrapt in the silence of unsuspecting repose.

Butler, at the hour of the customary visit of the watch, had gone to bed; and, feigning sickness, had been allowed to burn a light in his room during the night. His chamber door, also, by special favor, was closed; and the night advanced without suspicion or distrust from any quarter. At two o'clock the last sentinels were relieved, and the form had been gone through of inspecting the prisoner's chamber. To all outward show, Butler was asleep: the door was again shut, and all was still. The time for action now arrived. Butler rose silently from his bed, dressed himself, and, putting his shoes into his pockets, stole in his stockinged feet to the little gable window at the further end of his apartment. Here he remained, gazing out upon the night with fixed attention. The moon had set, and the sky was overcast with clouds, adding a fortunate obscurity to the natural darkness of the hour. By still greater good luck, after a few moments the wind began to rise and rain to descend. Everything seemed to favor the enterprise. The shadowy form of the sentinel, who was stationed on this side of the house, was dimly discerned by Butler through the gloom; and it was with joyful satisfaction that he could perceive the soldier, as the rain fell in larger drops, retreat some distance from his post and take shelter beneath the shrubbery that grew in the garden. At the same moment a flash upon the hill, which might have been mistaken for summer lightning, announced to him that his faithful comrade was at hand. Desirous to take advantage of the present neglect of the sentinel, and to avoid the possibility of bringing him into conflict with Ramsay, Butler hastily showed his candle at the window, then extinguished it, and throwing himself out upon the roof, scrambled towards the nearest point of the impending branches of the oak. Here, without a moment's pause, he made a fearless leap that flung him amongst the boughs. The darkness prevented him from choosing the most favorable lodgment in the tree, and he fell across a heavy limb with such force as to take away his breath--receiving at the same time, a severe contusion in the head. For a brief space he hung almost senseless, and there was reason to apprehend that he would fall in a swoon to the ground; but the occasion braced his sinking strength, and before many minutes he revived sufficiently to make his way to the trunk, by which he descended safely to the earth. He now threw himself on his hands and feet, and crept to the garden fence. The rain still increased, and fell in a heavy shower. In another instant he surmounted the barrier, and betook himself with his utmost speed towards the mill, behind which he sought concealment and temporary rest.

"Stand," said John Ramsay, who had just reached this point on his way to the house, and now, taken by surprise, presented a pistol to Butler's breast. "One word above your breath and you die. Be silent, and here is gold for you."

"Ramsay," said Butler, in a low tone, "is it you?"

"Your name?" demanded the trooper, still presenting the pistol.

"Butler," was the reply.

"Thanks--thanks, good Major, for that word! You have been before me. I thought you would not miss this rain. Is all well?"

"Better, much better, than we could have hoped," answered Butler. "Seeing the sentinel was off his guard, I took time by the forelock, and have saved you trouble."

"For God's sake, Major, let us not delay here. Our horses are waiting for us above."

"I am ready," said Butler, having now put on his shoes. "My brave fellow, I owe you more than I can find words to utter: lead the way."

The liberated captive and his gallant comrade instantly hastened towards the horses, and mounting with a joyful alacrity, soon set forward at a gallop in the direction leading to David Ramsay's cottage. Here they arrived just as the day began to dawn.

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XLIV. A MELANCHOLY INCIDENT

The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory.--Scott.

Brief time was taken by the fugitives for refreshment at David Ramsay's dwelling. Here Butler put on the disguise which Christopher Shaw had provided for him. Then arming himself with a pair of pistols which John had appropriated to his use, the trooper himself using a similar precaution, our two adventurers resumed their journey. Their first object was to gain a point, some seven or eight miles distant, in the direction of the Fair Forest, where John Ramsay had concealed a few troopers that had been furnished him by Williams, to give their aid, if necessary, in securing Butler's escape.

From this point they were to proceed, with all possible despatch, to Williams's camp. However hazardous the experiment of attempting to traverse the country in open daylight, it was deemed still more dangerous to tarry any length of time so near the scene of their late adventure. Butler and his comrade, therefore, pushed forward with as much expedition as possible, resolved to outrun the fresh pursuit which they had reason to apprehend upon the discovery which the morning must produce at the miller's habitation.

Soon after sunrise the rain ceased to fall, the clouds dispersed, and a fresh and brilliant morning broke forth upon the heavens. The success of their late exploit had raised the spirits of the wanderers. A sense of intense delight animated Butler's feelings: a consciousness of liberty once more enjoyed, after hopes deferred and almost despairing captivity, seemed to regenerate him and make him acquainted with emotions he had never felt before. His heart was full of gratitude to his new friend Ramsay, and the expression of it was warm and sincere. Nature had never appeared so lovely to him as now: the whispers of the forest and the murmur of the clear brook fell on his enfranchised ear like the sweetest music: there was melody for him even in the screams of the jay and the harsh notes of the crow: and once when his companion had halted in sight of a buck that bounded through the wood before him, Butler, apprehensive that John was about to discharge a bullet after the forest-rover, found himself involuntarily pleading the cause of the noble animal: "Do not draw your pistol on him, Ramsay, I pray you. Let him run; it is liberty--liberty, good comrade--and that is sacred."

Before eight o'clock they had reached the rendezvous. Here they found three troopers who, although armed, were habited in the plain dress of the country, which enabled them to claim the denomination either of Whig or Tory militia, as their occasions might demand. These men had lain perdue, for some days, in the depth of the forest, impatiently awaiting for intelligence from Ramsay.

"Well, Harry Winter," said John, laughing, "what say you now? I have brought you the miller's boy at last. Have I not made my word good?"

"Truth, John," replied the trooper, "there is more stuff in you than we counted on. Macdonald must be a silly crow to let the fox steal his cheese from him so easily."

"You would have come nearer the mark, Harry, if you had called him a sleepy lout, for whilst he was nodding I took his cake off the griddle. It was fair filching by night, as the Major will tell you. But come, lads, here is no time for dallying, we mustn't have the grass growing to our horses' heels, when we have a whole pack of King George's hounds on our trail. So move, boys!" and saying these words, John led the party forward at a rapid gallop.

They had not gone far before they found themselves upon a road which led through a piece of thin wood that covered a small tract of marshy ground, the nature of which brought the party into a more compact body as they approached the narrowest point of the defile. At a short distance beyond this impediment the track became broader, where it ascended a hill thickly covered with an undergrowth of bushes.

Our friends had scarcely arrived in the narrow pass before they perceived on the hill in front of them, a company of some ten or fifteen horse, rapidly advancing towards them. In a moment all conversation was checked, and Harry Winter turning to his companions, had barely time to remark,

"I answer all questions: be silent, and if asked, swear to the truth of every word I say--steady: these fellows are Tories."

As he ceased speaking, the foremost of the strangers had already come up to them.

"Where from, and whither do you go?" asked Harry Winter, with a stern accent.

"From below Ninety-Six, and on our road to Fort Granby," replied a clownish voice.

"Peace, you knave!" interrupted one who appeared to be the leader of the party, and whose carriage and demeanor announced him to be an officer; "by what authority do you undertake to answer a challenge on the highway? Back, to your place, sir."

The rebuked rustic hung his head, as he reined his horse back into the crowd that now thronged the road.

"As we are of the larger party," said the same person, addressing himself to Winter, "we have the right to the word. Who are you and whence come you?"

"We belong to Floyd's new draft," replied Winter with great coolness, "and left Winnsborough yesterday morning."

"And where bound?"

"To Augusta, on business with Brown."

"Ah ha!" exclaimed the officer, "Brown is pinched by the rebels. It is well you have thought of him. What have you to say to him? Do you bear despatches?"

"Your pardon, sir--that's a secret."

"You need not be afraid, good fellow, we are friends."

"I can hardly tell you the exact business," replied Winter. "You will meet Floyd himself with a hundred men, before you ride five miles. I believe we are going to reinforce the garrison."

"You will be very welcome," said the Tory officer, "Brown will give you a hearty reception, but devilish slim fare; he is surrounded with hornets."

"So much the better," replied Winter, "we have a knack at taking the sting out of the hornets, now-a-days. Good morning, sir. Report us, if you please, to Colonel Floyd, when you come across him, and tell him the hour of the day when you met us."

During this short parley the two parties had become united into a common throng, completely filling up the road; and the proximity into which they were severally brought, gave rise to various inquiries after news amongst the subordinates on either side. In this press, Butler was startled to observe the eyes of an individual scanning him with a somewhat pointed scrutiny, and it was with an emotion that had well nigh betrayed him, that he recognised in this person one of Macdonald's soldiers. It was the man whom the lieutenant had despatched, a few days previous, with an errand to the post at Ninety-Six, and who was now returning with this detachment of militia. The soldier was evidently at fault, for in a moment afterwards Butler could perceive, from his expression of face, that whatever might have been his first suspicion, it was quieted by another glance. The disguise was so far effectual. But another cause of alarm arose, that for an instant brought Butler into greater jeopardy. The horse on which the messenger was mounted, was the yoke-fellow of the lean Wall-Eye, and the two beasts had been long accustomed to work side by side in the same wagon. Their mutual recognition, at this critical moment, became distressingly conspicuous. Their noses were brought in contact, and they began to whinny and paw the ground in that intelligible manner which constitutes one of the forms of expression by which this portion of the brute creation acknowledge their attachments. The presence of mind of John Ramsay saved the explosion which must soon have followed. He spurred his horse between the two noisy and restless animals, and immediately addressed a conversation to the soldier, which for the moment turned his thoughts into another channel.

By this time the conference had terminated, and the two leaders respectively directing their men to move forward, the defile was passed and each party extricated from the other. But no sooner was the separation completed than Butler's brutish steed, Wall-Eye, began to neigh with the most clamorous vociferation, whilst a response was heard in the same tones as pertinaciously reiterated from the retreating companion on the other side of the defile.

"We were in great danger from yonder Tories," said Ramsay, addressing Butler, "did you see that one of these fellows rode the mate of the beast you are on? Who could he be?"

"It was one of Macdonald's men," replied Butler, "I knew the fellow the moment we met; but, thank Heaven, this humble dress concealed me."

"Faster, Major!" cried John, "these cursed horses are calling after each other now. Pray, push forward until we get out of hearing. How unlucky that Christopher Shaw should have given you one of the wagon cattle!"

"Look back, lads!" exclaimed Winter with great earnestness, "there is something wrong, these fellows are returning. Whip and spur, or we are overtaken!"

Macdonald's soldier, it seems, having his attention drawn to the singular motions of his horse, had become suddenly confirmed in the suspicion which at the late meeting for a moment rested upon his mind, as to the identity of Butler; and having communicated his thought to the commanding officer, the whole party of the Tory militia had wheeled about to demand a further investigation: they were now some hundred paces in the rear of the fugitives, and were pressing forward at high speed, the officer in the front calling out at the same time,

"Hold!--Rein up and return! We have questions to ask. Halt, or we shall fire!"

"To it, boys!" cried Harry Winter. "Your safety is in your legs!"

And the party pricked onward as fast as they could urge their cavalry along the road. The chase continued for some half hour or more; the little escort of Butler leaving the road and plunging into the recesses of the forest. An occasional pistol-shot was fired during this retreat, but without effect on either side. The tangled character of the ground over which they passed, greatly retarded the pursuit, and before the half hour was spent none but a few of the boldest horsemen of the assailants were found persevering in the chase. Seeing their number diminished, and finding also that the horses of his own comrades were beginning to flag, John Ramsay assumed the command, and directed his party to turn about and offer battle to the pursuers. The immediate effect of this movement was to bring the assailants to a halt, which was no sooner witnessed by John, than he shouted, "Charge, lads, charge and the day is ours! Hack and hew, good fellows: down with the bloodhounds!"

This animated exhortation was followed up by a prompt onset, in which the brave trooper led the way; and such was the impetuosity of the assault that the enemy, although consisting of twice the number of those who attacked them, were forced to give ground. A sharp skirmish ensued, during which several pistol-shots were discharged on both sides, and some encounters, hand to hand, were sustained with a sturdy resolution; but, at last, our friends succeeded in turning their opponents to flight. The combat had been maintained in that pell-mell form of attack and defence, which defied compact or organized resistance; and the individuals of each party had been scattered over the wood for a considerable distance, so that when the late pursuers were compelled to retreat, each man urged his horse in such a direction as was most favorable to his escape. By degrees, Butler's few companions began to reassemble at that part of the wood where they had made their first stand.

"There is nothing like striking the first blow at the right time," said Harry Winter, as, with his hat in his hand to allow the air to cool his brow, he rode up to Butler, and halted to gain breath. "Give me a hot charge on a slow enemy, and I don't care much about two to one of odds. Thank God that business is cleanly done, and here we are all safe I hope. Where is John Ramsay?" he inquired, looking around him, and observing that their comrade was not amongst the number assembled.

"I saw him close at the heels of the runaways," said one of the men. "John has a trick of seeing a scrimmage to the end; and it is an even bet that he is now upon the trail like a fresh hound. The last I noticed of him was at the crupper of a couple of the rascals that, I'll engage, before now he has set his mark upon."

"Then we must to his assistance!" exclaimed Butler, eagerly; and without waiting for further consultation he set off at full speed, in the supposed direction of John Ramsay's pursuit. The rest followed. They had ridden some distance without being able to perceive any traces of their missing companion. Butler called aloud upon Ramsay, but there was no answer; and, for some moments, there was an anxious suspense as the party halted to listen for the sound of the footsteps of the trooper's approach. At length, a horse was seen far off in the wood, bounding over the turf at a wild and frightened pace; the saddle was empty, and the bridle-rein hung about his feet. On seeing his companions, the excited steed set up a frequent neigh, and, with head and tail erect, coursed immediately up to the group of horsemen. Here he came to a sudden halt, snorting with the terror of his late alarm. There were drops of blood upon the saddle.

"Gracious Heaven!" cried Butler, "some evil has befallen Ramsay. Scatter and search the wood."

It was with confused and melancholy earnestness that they all now continued the quest. After a painful suspense, one of the men was heard to shout to the rest that their lost comrade was found. The summons soon brought the party together. Ramsay, pale and faint, was stretched upon the grass of the forest, his bosom streaming forth a current of blood. In an instant Butler was seen stooping over him.

"Oh, this is a heavy ransom, for my deliverance!" he said with the deepest anguish, as he raised the trooper's head and laid it on his lap, whilst the blood flowed from the wound. "Speak, dear friend, speak! Great God, I fear this blow is mortal! Some water, if it can be found--look for it, Winter; he has fainted from loss of blood."

Whilst Harry Winter went in search of the necessary refreshment, Butler tore his cravat from his neck and applied it to staunch the wound. The administration of a slight draught of water, after a short interval, sufficiently revived the disabled soldier to enable him to speak. He turned his sickly and almost quenched eye to Butler, as he said:

"I was foolish to follow so far. I have it here--here," he added in a feeble voice, as he put his hand upon his breast, "and it has done my work. I fought for you, major, because I was proud to fight for a friend; and because"--here his voice failed him, as for a moment he closed his eyes and faintly uttered--"it is all over--I am dying."

"Nay, good John," said Butler, whilst the tears ran down his cheeks; "it is not so bad as that--you are weak from bleeding--you will be better presently. Oh God! oh God!" he muttered to himself, "I would not have had this to save my own life, much less as the price of my liberty!"

"I fought for you," said the wounded man, again reviving, "because Mary wished it. This will kill Mary," he added after a pause. "She warned me not to be rash, but I could not help it. Be kind to her, Major Butler, and take care of her. Tell her I did not fear to die; but for her sake, and for the sake of my poor mother. Go to my parents; let them know I thought of them in my last thoughts."

"John! John!" exclaimed Butler, unable to give further utterance to his feelings.

The dying trooper lay for some moments silent, and his comrades stood around him in mute grief, and hung their heads to conceal their emotions from each other.

"In my pocket," said Ramsay, "is a Testament. Mary gave it to me for a keepsake. Take it out."

Butler drew forth the small volume.

"What shall I do with it?" he asked, in a mournful whisper.

"Give it to Mary, back from me. And this plait of her hair upon my wrist, major, take it and wear it on your own; it will remind you of my Mary--you will guard her from harm."

"Before God, John Ramsay," said Butler with solemn fervor, "I promise you, that, while I live, she shall not want. Your parents, too, shall be my special care."

"Then I shall die with easier heart. Thanks, thanks--friends, farewell!" feebly ejaculated the stricken soldier, whose eye, already glazed with the pangs of death, now glanced upon the attending group, and after a brief but painful interval closed in darkness.

John Ramsay spake no more, and his short breathing showed that life was fast ebbing in its channel. The audible sobs of Butler, for some moments, were alone heard in the circle, as he sat supporting the head and grasping the hand of his brave comrade. The struggle was at last over, and the gallant spirit of the generous soldier had fled. Butler took from the wrist the bracelet of Mary's hair, which was now stained with the blood of its late owner, and with an earnest vow to redeem his promise, drew it over his own hand.

The scene that followed this melancholy adventure was one of solemn interest. The proximity of the enemy, although defeated, rendered a delay at this spot, in the present circumstances of Butler, exceedingly hazardous; yet he could not entertain the thought of continuing his journey until he had communicated to David Ramsay the distressing tidings of his son's death. The last request of John seemed also to impose this task upon him as a sacred obligation, due to the friendship which had terminated in so disastrous an end. Butler's resolution, therefore, was soon taken. He determined immediately, at all hazards, to make his way back to Ramsay's cottage, and to endeavor to console the afflicted parents under their severe bereavement. Disdaining, in his present state of feeling, the disguise that seemed to make him almost a stranger to himself, he threw aside the miller's dress and again appeared in his true character, resolved manfully to meet what he now believed to be the almost certain result--a recapture with all its probable consequences. Some of his party, who were acquainted with the localities of their present position, suggested to him that a Whig family of the name of Drummond resided at no great distance from the scene of the late encounter, and that, by bearing the body to this place, they might secure for it a decent burial. The remains of the trooper were accordingly laid upon a rude litter, and his mourning comrades slowly and sorrowfully wended their way through the forest to the designated habitation. Here they arrived about noon, having traversed a space of more than two miles to gain this asylum.

Drummond was a woodman, and occupied a rude cabin, with a small clearing around it, in the depths of the wilderness, so remote from the highway as to promise as much security from the quest of the enemy, as might be expected from any portion of the region in which he lived. He received his guests with kindness; and as he was himself acquainted with the family of the deceased, he exhibited a lively sympathy with the mourners around the body.

When Butler now made known his purpose to set out immediately for the habitation of David Ramsay, Winter asked permission to accompany him, but the woodman interposed, and recommended that he alone should be permitted to perform that errand, leaving the others to remain with the corpse until his return.

"It is, before all others, my duty," said Butler; "and come what may, I will perform it."

"Then we will go together," added the proprietor of the cabin. "It will be wise to wait until the day is a little more spent, and return in the darkness of the night. David Ramsay will come back with us. He would like to see his son before we put him in the ground."

"That shall be as you please, friend," said Butler. "I will be under your guidance."

An hour or two before sundown, Butler and his new companion left the cabin, and took their route across the woods towards Ramsay's dwelling, leaving the dead body in charge of the woodman's family and the three soldiers. The distance they had to travel did not exceed eight miles. The repulse of the Tory party in the skirmish of the morning seemed to have induced a belief, on the part of the enemy, that the fugitives had made a successful retreat which was now beyond pursuit, and there were, in consequence, no parties on the road to molest the travellers. Under these circumstances, it was still daylight when they came in view of David Ramsay's homestead.

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Chapter XLV

Great agitation prevailed at Macdonald's post, when the morning disclosed the escape of Butler. The lieutenant was conscious that this mischance had exposed him to the risk of heavy censure, and as was natural to a man who could not entirely acquit himself of some neglect in the performance of his duty, his first measures were taken in a spirit of peevish and angry severity. Small parties were sent out to explore the neighborhood, with a view to gain intelligence of the direction taken by the fugitive, with orders to bring him in dead or alive. The sentinels who were on duty during the night were arrested, and subjected to a rigid examination on the events of their watch; the several members of Musgrove's family were also interrogated as to matters touching their own connexion with the prisoner. Nothing, however, was gathered from these investigations that was calculated to cast a suspicion of connivance in Butler's liberation, upon any individual either of the garrison or of the family. It was only apparent that the prisoner had availed himself of the remissness of the guard and the darkness of the night, to make a bold descent from the window; and had succeeded by one of those lucky accidents which sometimes baffle the most cautious foresight. The nature of the attempt did not necessarily suppose the aid of an accomplice, and a faint hope was, therefore, entertained that Butler would be found still lurking in the vicinity of the post.

In the course of a few hours, the first parties that had been dispatched in the morning, returned. They could give no account of the prisoner; nor was there any light thrown upon the escape until about the dinner hour, when a portion of the detachment which had intercepted Butler and his comrades in the morning, arrived at the mill, under the conduct of the soldier whose suspicions had led to the pursuit and skirmish which we have already described. The report of these men left Macdonald no room to doubt the identity of Butler with the person described. A further examination, at the suggestion of the soldier, showed that Wall-Eye, the wagon-horse, was missing; and it now became certain that Butler had been aided by a party of the enemy with whom he must have been in correspondence. The conclusion was, that with his means of flight there could be little doubt of his being, long before the present period of the day, out of the reach of successful pursuit. The scheme was laid to the account of Horse Shoe Robinson, whose name and adventures were already famous in this district; and it was conjectured that Sumpter was secretly posted in some neighboring fastness to give his assistance to the enterprise.

With these reflections, Macdonald felt himself obliged to submit to the exigencies of the case; a point of philosophy which he did not practise without a very visible chagrin and mortification. His men were called together, and after a short, fretful lecture on their neglect, and an injunction to a more soldier-like vigilance in future, which savored of the caution of locking the stable after the steed was stolen, they were dismissed.

About an hour before sundown, Allen Musgrove and Mary, availing themselves of the confusion and relaxed discipline of the post, occasioned by the events of the morning, set out on horseback for David Ramsay's dwelling, whither they were led by a natural anxiety to learn something of the movements of the fugitives.

"It's a pleasure and a happiness, Allen Musgrove," said Mistress Ramsay, as the miller and his daughter sat down in the cabin, "to see you and Mary over here with us at any time, but it is specially so now when we have good news to tell. John and his friend are safe out of reach of Macdonald's men, and--God be praised!--I hope out of the way of all other harms. We have had soldiers dodging in and out through the day, but not one of them has made any guess what's gone with the major; and as for John, they don't seem to suspect him to be on the country-side. It's all Horse Shoe Robinson with them. They say that none but he could have helped to get the major away, and that General Sumpter was the instigator. Well, I'm sure they were welcome to that opinion, for it set them all to looking over towards Broad river, which is as good a direction as we could wish them to travel."

"The less you seem to know about it, with any of these inquiring parties, the better, Mistress Ramsay," said Allen Musgrove, "and I would advise you, even here amongst ourselves, to speak lower, David, what do you hear this evening?"

"Nothing concerning our runaways since they left us at daylight this morning," replied Ramsay. "I should guess them to be somewhere near upon Fair Forest by this time. You know Williams is out-lying upon the upper branches of the river? It is more like hunted deer, Allen, than Christian men, that our poor fellows take to the woods now. God knows what will come of it!"

"He knows and has appointed it," said Musgrove, gravely, "and will in His own good time and with such instruments as shall faithfully work His purpose, give the victory to them that have the right. Man, woman, and child may perish, and house and home may be burnt over our heads, and the blood of brave men may make the dust of the road red; yes, and the pastures rich as if new laid with manure; but the will of God shall be done and His providence be accomplished. The cause of the just shall prevail against the unjust."

"There were no soldiers," inquired Mary, addressing David Ramsay, "that you have heard of, who followed towards Fair Forest? I should be sorry if John was to be troubled with persons going after him; because,"--the maiden hesitated an instant,--"because it's unpleasant and disagreeable to be obliged to be riding off the road, through bushes and briers, to keep out of the way."

"If they were not greatly an overmatch, girl," interrupted Ramsay, "John wouldn't give himself much trouble upon that account."

"Oh, Mr. Ramsay," said Mary earnestly, "I was thinking of that. It's hard to say what John would call an overmatch: men are so headstrong and venturesome."

"That's God's own truth, Mary," interposed Mrs. Ramsay; "and what I have always been telling David and John both. But they never heed me, no more than if I was talking to the child in that cradle."

"I've told John as much myself," said Mary, blushing.

"And he would not heed you either," interrupted her father, "A soldier would have a holiday life of it, if he followed the advice of his mother or his sweetheart. Daughter, amongst friends here, you needn't blush; we know more of the secrets betwixt you and the trooper lad than you count upon. John's a clever boy, Mistress Ramsay, and I think you have reason to brag of him somewhat; and as there's particular good-will between him and my Mary, I'll not stand in the way when the war is over, if God spares us all, and Mary and the lad keep in the same mind; I'll not stand in the way of a new settlement in the neighborhood. Mary is a good daughter, well nurtured, and--I don't care to say it to her face--will make a thriving wife."

The mother smiled as she replied, "I don't pretend to know the young people's secrets, but I know this, you don't think better of Mary than John does--nor than me neither, perhaps."

The conversation was interrupted by a knocking at the door, and, in a moment afterwards, Arthur Butler and the woodman entered the apartment.

"Major Butler, as I am a living woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Ramsay.

"Our good friend himself!" ejaculated Musgrove, with surprise. "What has turned you back? And Gabriel Drummond here too! What has happened?"

"Where is my son John?" demanded Ramsay. "Are you followed?"

Butler walked up to Mrs. Ramsay, and, as a tear started to his eye, took her by the hand, and stood for a moment unable to speak.

"Oh, heaven have mercy on me!" screamed Mary Musgrove, as she threw herself upon a bed, "something dreadful has happened."

"For God's sake, speak what you have to tell!" said David Ramsay, instantly turning pale.

"John Ramsay is hurt," faintly articulated the mother, and Mary, rising from the bed, stood beside Butler with a countenance on which was seated the most agonizing attention. Andy, the hero of the exploit we have heretofore related, also pressed into the presence of the same group, and a death-like silence pervaded the whole party.

Butler, with an ineffectual effort to recover himself, turned to Drummond, making a sign to him to tell the object of their melancholy errand, and then flung himself into a chair.

"John Ramsay is dead," said the woodman, in a mournful tone. "Your son, mistress Ramsay, was shot in a fray with the bloody, villanous Tories. The heartiest curses upon them!"

"Killed, dear madam," said Butler, scarce able to articulate, "killed in my defence. Would to God the blow had fallen upon my own head!"

"Oh, no, no, no!" exclaimed the matron, as a flood of tears rolled down her cheeks, and she endeavored to wipe them away with her apron. "It isn't true. It can't be true. My poor, dear, brave boy!"

At the same instant Mary Musgrove fell insensible into the arms of her father, where it was some moments before she gave signs of animation. At length, being laid upon the bed, a deep groan escaped her, which was followed by the most piteous wailing.

The scene wrought upon the younger members of the family, who, as well as the domestics, were heard pouring forth deep and loud lamentations, accompanied with reiterated announcements of the death of the soldier.

When this first burst of the general grief was over, David Ramsay arose from his seat and walked across the room to a window, where he stood endeavoring to compose and master his feelings. At length, facing Butler, he said in a low and tranquil tone,

"John Ramsay, my son, killed, killed in a skirmish? God is my witness, I expected it! It was his failing to follow his enemy with too hot a hand; and I am to blame, perhaps, that I never checked him in that temper. But he died like a man and a soldier, Major Butler," he added, firmly.

"He died in my arms," replied Butler, "as bravely as ever soldier closed his life, his last thoughts were fixed upon his parents, and--"

"Dead!" interrupted Ramsay, as if communing with himself, and regardless of Butler's words--"Dead! He fell doing his duty to his country, that's a consolation. A man cannot die better. If it please God, I hope my end may be like his. Andrew, my boy, come here. You are now my oldest living son," he said, taking the lad's hand and looking him full in the face, as he spoke with a bitter compression of his lips; "I am willing, much as I love you, that the country should have you."

"No, David, David," interrupted the mother, rousing herself from her silent grief, "we have given enough; no other child of mine shall venture in the war. John! John! John! my dear boy, my brave son! How good and kind he was to us all! And how glad he was to get home to see us; and how much we made of him!"

"Silence, wife," said David Ramsay, "this is no time to hold back from our duty. Andrew, listen to me: remember your brother has met his death fighting against these monsters, who hate the very earth that nurses liberty. You are young, boy, but you can handle a musket; we will not forget your brother's death."

"Nor the burning of a good house over your head, and a full barn, father; nor the frights they have given my poor mother."

"Nor the thousands of brave men," added the father, "who have poured out their blood to give us a land and laws of our own. My boy, we will remember these, for vengeance."

"Not for vengeance," said Allen Musgrove, "for justice, David. Your enemy should be remembered only to prevent him from doing mischief. The Lord will give him sword and buckler, spear and shield, who stands up for the true cause: and when it pleases Him to require the sacrifice of life from the faithful servant who fights the battle, he grants patience and courage to meet the trial. Your son was not the man, David, to turn his face away from the work that was before him; may God receive him and comfort his distressed family! He was an honest and brave son, David Ramsay."

"A braver soldier never buckled on broadsword, Allen Musgrove," replied the father. "Yes, I looked for this; ever since my dwelling was levelled to the ground by these firebrands, I looked for it. John's passion was up then, and I knew the thoughts that ran through his mind. Ever since that day his feelings have been most bitter; and he has flung himself amongst the Tories, making as little account of them as the mower when he puts his scythe into the grass of the meadows."

"God forgive him, David!" said Musgrove, "and strengthen you and the boy's good mother in this sharp hour of trial. They who draw the sword in passion may stand in fear of the judgment of the sword: it is a fearful thing for sinful man to shed blood for any end but that of lawful war, and at the bidding of his country. God alone is the avenger."

Mary had again raised herself from the bed, and at this moment gave vent to her feelings in a loud and bitter lamentation "John Ramsay is dead, is dead!" she exclaimed. "I cannot believe it. He that was so true and so warm-hearted, and that everybody loved! They could not kill him! Oh, I begged him to keep his foot from danger, and he promised me, for my sake, to be careful. I loved him, father; I never told you so much before, but I am not ashamed to tell it now before everybody; I loved him better than all the world. And we had promised each other. It is so hard to lose them that we love!" she continued, sobbing violently. "He was so brave and so good, and he was so handsome, Mrs. Ramsay, and so dutiful to you and his father, coming home to see you whenever the war would let him. And he walked, and rode, and ran, and fought for his friends, and them that he cared for. He was so thoughtful for your comfort too," she added, as she threw herself on her knees and rested her head in the lap of the mother, and there paused through a long interval, during which nothing was heard but her own moans mingled with the sighs of the party, "we were to be married after this war was at an end, and thought we should live so happily: but they have murdered him! Oh they have murdered him," and with her hair thrown in disorder over her face, she again gave vent to a flood of tears.

"Mary, daughter! Shame on you, girl!" said her father. "Do you forget, in the hour of your affliction, that you have a friend who is able to comfort? There is one who can heal up your sorrows and speak peace to your troubled spirit, if you be not too proud to ask it. I have taught you, daughter, in all time of tribulation to look to Him for patience and for strength to bear adversity. Why do you neglect this refuge now?"

"Our Father," said the maiden, fervently clasping her hands and lifting up her eyes, now dim with weeping, as she appealed to God in prayer, "who art in heaven--teach us all to say thy will be done. Take--take--my dear John--Oh my heart will burst and I shall die!" she uttered, almost overwhelmed with her emotions, as she again buried her face in Mistress Ramsay's lap--"I cannot speak!"

A silence of inexpressible agony prevailed for some moments. This was at length interrupted by the uprising of the full, clear, and firm voice of Allen Musgrove, who now broke forth from the opposite side of a room where he had kneeled before a chair, in an earnest and impressive supplication to the Deity, urged with all that eloquence which naturally flows from deeply-excited feeling. From the solemnity of the occasion, as well as from the habitually religious temper of the family assembled in the little cabin, the words of the prayer fell upon the hearts of those present with a singularly welcome effect, and, for the moment, brought tranquillity to their feelings.

When the prayer was ended, the grief of the mourners rolled back in its former flood, and burst from Mary Musgrove in the most heart-rending bitterness. Paroxysm followed paroxysm with fearful violence, and these outbreaks were responded to by the mother with scarcely less intensity. All attempts at consolation, on the part of the men, were unavailing; and it was apparent that nothing remained but to let the tide of anguish take its own course.

It was now some time after night-fall, when Butler and Drummond beckoned Allen Musgrove to leave the room. They retired into the open air in front of the house, where they were immediately joined by David Ramsay. Here Butler communicated to them the necessity of making immediate arrangements for their return to the woodman's cottage, and for the burial of the deceased trooper. His advice was adopted, and it was resolved that Musgrove and Ramsay should accompany the other two to the spot. Before the consultation was closed, Andy had come into the group, and he was now directed, with all haste, to throw a saddle upon his father's horse.

"You, Andrew, my son," said David Ramsay, "will stay at home and comfort your poor mother, and Mary. Speak to them, boy, and persuade them to give up their useless lamentations. It is the will of God, and we ought not to murmur at it."

"The burning, father," replied the boy, with a sorrowful earnestness, "and the fighting, and the frights we have had, was all nothing to this. I never felt before how terrible the war was."

Andy had now gone to equip the horse, and the men returned to the inside of the cabin, where they sat in profound silence. Butler, at length, rose from the door-sill where he had taken his seat, and crossing the room, took a position by the bed on which Mary Musgrove had thrown herself, and where she now lay uttering faint and half-smothered moans.

"I have a remembrance for you," he said, stooping down and speaking scarce above a whisper in the maiden's ear; "I promised to deliver it into your hand. God knows with what pain I perform my office! John enjoined upon me to give you this," he continued, as he presented to her the little copy of the Testament, "and to say to you that his last thoughts were given to you and his mother. He loved you, Mary, better than he loved any living creature in this world."

"He did, he did," sobbed forth the girl; "and I loved him far above family, friends, kinsfolk and all--I wish I were dead by his side."

"Take the book," said Butler, hardly able to articulate. "God for ever bless you," he added, after a pause of weeping, "and bring you comfort! I have promised John Ramsay, that neither you, nor any of his family, shall ever want the service of a friend, while I have life or means to render it. Before Heaven, that pledge shall be redeemed! Farewell, farewell! God bless you!"

As Butler uttered these words he grasped the maiden's hand and pressed it fervently to his lips; then turning to the mother, he addressed some phrase of comfort to her, and hastily left the room. Scarcely a sound was heard from any one, except the low sobbing of the exhausted weepers, and the almost convulsive kisses which Mary imprinted upon the little book that Butler had put into her hand.

Musgrove, Ramsay, and the woodman, retired from the apartment at the same moment; and the horses being ready at the door, the retreating beat of the hoofs upon the turf gave notice to the in-dwellers that the four men had set forward on their journey.

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XLVI. A RUSTIC FUNERAL

How glumly sounds yon dirgy song; Night ravens flap the wing.--Burger's Leonora.

By eleven o'clock at night, Butler and the party from Ramsay's arrived at the woodman's cabin. Winter and his comrades had been busy in making preparations for the funeral. The body had been laid out upon a table, a sheet thrown over it, and a pine torch blazed from the chimney wall close by, and flung its broad, red glare over the apartment. An elderly female, the wife of the woodman, and two or three children, sat quietly in the room. The small detachment of troopers loitered around the corpse, walking with stealthy pace across the floor, and now and then adjusting such matters of detail in the arrangements for the interment as required their attention. A rude coffin, hastily constructed of such materials as were at hand, was deposited near the table. A solemn silence prevailed, which no less consisted with the gloom of the occasion than with the late hour of the night.

When the newly arrived party had dismounted and entered the apartment, a short salutation, in suppressed tones, was exchanged, and without further delay, the whole company set themselves to the melancholy duty that was before them. David Ramsay approached the body, and, turning the sheet down from the face, stood gazing on the features of his son. There was a settled frown upon his brow that contrasted signally with the composed and tranquil lineaments of the deceased. The father and son presented a strange and remarkable type of life and death--the countenance of the mourner stamped by the agitation of keen, living emotion, and the object mourned bearing the impress of a serene, placid, and passionless repose:--the one a vivid picture of misery, the other a quiet image of happy sleep. David Ramsay bent his looks upon the body for some minutes, without an endeavor to speak, and at last retreated towards the door, striking his hand upon his forehead as he breathed out the ejaculation, "My son, my son, how willingly would I change places with you this night!"

Allen Musgrove was less agitated by the spectacle, and whilst he surveyed the features of the deceased, his lips were moved with the utterance of a short and almost inaudible prayer. Then turning to Drummond, he inquired: "Has the grave been thought of? Who has attended to the preparations?"

"It has been thought of," replied the woodman; "I sent two of my people off to dig it before I went with Major Butler to see David. We have a grave-yard across in the woods, nigh a mile from this, and I thought it best that John Ramsay should be buried there."

"It was kindly thought on by you, Gabriel," replied Musgrove. "You have your father and others of your family in that spot. David Ramsay will thank you for it."

"I do, heartily," said Ramsay, "and will remember it, Gabriel, at another time."

"Let the body be lifted into the coffin," said Musgrove.

The order was promptly executed by Harry Winter and the other troopers. In a few minutes afterwards, the rough boards which had been provided to close up the box or coffin, were laid in their appropriate places, and Winter had just begun to hammer the nails into them, when from the outside of the cabin was heard a wild and piercing scream, that fell so suddenly upon the ears of those within as to cause the trooper to drop the hammer from his hand. In one moment more, Mary Musgrove rushed into the room and fell prostrate upon the floor. She was instantly followed by Andrew.

"God of heaven!" exclaimed Butler, "here is misery upon misery. This poor girl's brain is crazed by her misfortune. This is worst of all!"

"Mary, Mary, my child!" ejaculated Musgrove, as he raised his daughter into his arms. "What madness has come upon you, that you should have wandered here to-night!"

"How has this happened, Andrew?" said David Ramsay, all speaking in the same breath.

"When Mary heard," replied Andrew, in answer to his father's question, "that you had all come to Gabriel Drummond's to bury my brother, she couldn't rest content; and she prayed so pitifully to come after you, and see him before they put him in the ground, that I thought it right to tell her that I would come with her. And if I hadn't, she would have come by herself; for she had got upon her horse before any of us were aware."

"I couldn't stay at home, father," said Mary, reviving and speaking in a firm voice. "I should have died with a broken heart. I couldn't let you come to put him in the earth without following after you. Where is he? I heard them nailing the coffin; it must be broken open for me to see him!"

These words, uttered with a bitter vehemence, were followed by a quick movement towards the coffin, which was yet unclosed; and the maiden, with more composure than her previous gestures seemed to render it possible for her to acquire, paused before the body with a look of intense sorrow, as the tears fell fast from her eyes.

"It is true--it is too true--he is dead! Oh, John, John!" she exclaimed, as she stooped down and kissed the cold lips, "I did not dream of this when we parted last night near the willows. You did not look as you do now, when I found you asleep under the rock, and when you promised me, John, that you would be careful and keep yourself from danger, if it was only to please me. We were doing our best for you then, Major Butler--and here is what it has come to. No longer than last night he made me the promise. Oh me, oh me! how wretched--how miserable I am!"

"Daughter, dear," said Allen Musgrove, "rise up and behave like a brave girl as, you know, I have often told you you were. We are born to afflictions, and young as you are, you cannot hope to be free from the common lot. You do yourself harm by this ungoverned grief. There's a good and a kind girl--sit yourself down and calm your feelings."

Musgrove took his daughter by the hand, and gently conducted her to a seat, where he continued to address her in soothing language, secretly afraid that the agony of her feelings might work some serious misfortune upon her senses.

"You are not angry with me, father, for following you to-night?" said Mary, for a moment moderating the wildness of her sorrow.

"No, child, no. I cannot be angry with you; but I fear this long night-ride may do you harm."

"I can but die, father; and I would not step aside from that."

"Recollect yourself, Mary; your Bible does not teach you to wish for death. It is sinful to rebel under the chastisements of God. Daughter, I have taught you in your day of prosperity, the lessons that were to be practised in your time of suffering and trial. Do not now turn me and my precepts to shame."

"Oh, father, forgive me. It is so hard to lose the best, the dearest!" Here Mary again gave way to emotions which could only relieve themselves in profuse tears.

In the meantime the body was removed to the outside of the cabin, and the coffin was speedily shut up and deposited upon a light wagon-frame, to which two lean horses were already harnessed, and which waited to convey its burden to the grave-yard.

"All is ready," said Winter, stepping quietly into the house, and speaking in a low tone to Musgrove. "We are waiting only for you."

"Father," said Mary, who, on hearing this communication, had sprung to her feet, "I must go with you."

"My child!"

"I came all this way through the dark woods on purpose, father--and it is my right to go with him to his grave. Pray, dear father, do not forbid me. We belonged to each other, and he would be glad to think I was the last that left him--the very last."

"The poor child takes on so," said the wife of Drummond, now for the first time interposing in the scene; "and it seems natural, Mr. Musgrove, that you shouldn't hinder her. I will go along, and maybe it will be a comfort to her, to have some woman-kind beside her. I will take her hand."

"You shall go, Mary," said her father; "but on the condition that you govern your feelings, and behave with the moderation of a Christian woman. Take courage, my child, and show your nurture."

"I will, father--I will; the worst is past, and I can walk quietly to John's grave," replied Mary, as the tears again flowed fast, and her voice was stifled with her sobs.

"It is a heavy trouble for such a young creature to bear," said Mistress Drummond, as she stood beside the maiden, waiting for this burst of grief to subside; "but this world is full of such sorrows."

Musgrove now quitted the apartment. He was followed by his daughter and the rest of the inmates, all of whom repaired to the front of the cabin, where they awaited the removal of the body.

A bundle of pine faggots had been provided, and each one of the party was supplied from them with a lighted torch. Some little delay occurred whilst Harry Winter was concluding his arrangements for the funeral.

"Take your weapons along, boys," said the trooper to his comrades, in a whisper. "John Ramsay shall have the honors of war--and mark, you are to bring up the rear--let the women walk next the wagon. Gabriel Drummond, bring your rifle along--we shall give a volley over the grave."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fugitives were pursued by numbers of the hostile party, and in a few moments were dragged back to the lights.

"Who are you, sir?" demanded an officer, who now rode up to Butler, "that you dare to disobey a command in the name of the king? Friend or foe, you must submit to be questioned."

"We have been engaged," said Allen Musgrove, "in the peaceful and Christian duty of burying the dead. What right have you to interrupt us?"

"You take a strange hour for such a work," replied the officer, "and, by the volley fired over the grave, I doubt whether your service be so peaceful as you pretend, old man. What is he that you have laid beneath the turf to-night?"

"A soldier," replied Butler, "worthy of all the rites that belong to the sepulture of a brave man."

"And you are a comrade, I suppose?"

"I do not deny it."

"What colors do you serve?"

"Who is he that asks?"

"Captain McAlpine of the new levies," replied the officer. "Now, sir, your name and character? you must be convinced of my right to know it."

"I have no motive for concealment," said Butler, "since I am already in your power. Myself and four comrades are strictly your prisoners; the rest of this party are inhabitants of the neighboring country, having no connexion with the war, but led hither by a simple wish to perform an office of humanity to a deceased friend. In surrendering myself and those under my command, I bespeak for the others an immunity from all vexatious detention. I am an officer of the Continental service: Butler is my name, my rank, a major of infantry."

After a few words more of explanation, the party were directed by the British officer to continue their march to Drummond's cabin, whither, in a brief space, they arrived under the escort of their captors.

A wakeful night was passed under the woodman's roof; and when morning came the circumstances of the recapture of Butler were more fully disclosed. The detachment under Captain McAlpine were on their way to join Ferguson, who was now posted in the upper district; and being attracted by the sound of voices engaged in chanting the psalm at the funeral of John Ramsay, and still more by the discharge of the volley over the grave, they had directed their march to the spot, which they had no difficulty in reaching by the help of the torches borne by the mourners.

The detachment consisted of a company of horse numbering some fifty men, who had no scruple in seizing upon Butler and his companions as prisoners of war. It was some relief to Butler when he ascertained that his present captors were ignorant of his previous history, and were unconnected with those who had formerly held him in custody. He was also gratified with the assurance that no design was entertained to molest any others of the party, except those whom Butler himself indicated as belligerents.

Captain McAlpine halted with his men at the woodman's cabin, until after sunrise. During this interval, Butler was enabled to prepare himself for the journey he was about to commence, and to take an affectionate leave of Musgrove and his daughter, David Ramsay, and the woodman's family.

Allen Musgrove and Mary, and their friend Ramsay, deemed it prudent to retreat with the first permission given them by the British officer; and, not long afterwards, Butler and his comrades found themselves in the escort of the Tory cavalry, bound for Ferguson's camp.

Thus, once more, was Butler doomed to feel the vexations of captivity.

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Chapter XLVII

A COUNCIL OF WAR AT MRS. MARKHAM'S. THE SERGEANT SETS FORTH ON AN ADVENTURE.

We return to Mildred Lindsay, who, comfortably sheltered under the roof of Mrs. Markham, had found herself, after the repose of forty-eight hours, almost entirely reinstated in her former strength; her thoughts were now consequently directed to the resumption of her journey. The gentle and assiduous attentions of the family whose hospitality she enjoyed, were, however, not confined to the mere restoration of her health. The peculiarity of her condition, thus thrown as she was amongst strangers, in the prosecution of an enterprise, which, though its purpose was not disclosed to her entertainer, was one manifestly of great peril, and such only as could have been induced by some urgent and imperious necessity, awakened in Mrs. Markham a lively interest towards Mildred's future progress. This interest was increased by the deportment of our heroine herself, whose mild and graceful courtesy, feminine delicacy, and gentleness of nurture, were so signally contrasted with the romantic hardihood of her present expedition. General Marion's letter, also, in the estimation of the hostess, put her under a special obligation to look after the welfare of her guest. Accordingly, now when the third morning of our travellers' sojourn had arrived, and Mildred thought of taking leave of the friendly family, the first announcement of this purpose was met by an almost positive prohibition.

"You are young, my dear," said the matron, "in your experience of the horrors of this civil war, and make a sad mistake if you think that your sex, or any sufficient reason you may have to justify you in going on, will protect you against insult, in case you should be so unfortunate as to meet parties of the enemy."

"My object, madam," replied Mildred, "is to go into the very heart of the enemy's ranks. My business is to see Lord Cornwallis himself. I shall, therefore, proceed directly to his head-quarters. That being my purpose, I shall not regret the opportunity to throw myself upon the protection of the first band of loyal troops I may meet."

"Into Lord Cornwallis's presence!" said Mrs. Markham, with an expression of wonder. "You have some very near friend who has suffered in the late battle--a prisoner, perhaps?" As this question escaped the lips of the lady, who had hitherto purposely forborne to inquire into the private history of Mildred's journey, she shook her head distrustfully, and, after some deliberation, added, "You will pardon me, my child, for what may seem to be an idle curiosity--I seek to know nothing that you may desire to keep secret--but your journey is so full of hazard to one so young and helpless as yourself, that I fear you have not wisely considered the evil chances to which you may be exposed."

"I have spent no thought upon the hazard, madam," replied Mildred. "There is no degree of danger that should outweigh my resolution. You guess truly--I have a friend who is a prisoner, and in sad jeopardy--and more than that, dear madam, I have persuaded myself that I have power to save him." A tear started in her eye as she added, "That is all I have thought of."

"Then may a kind and merciful Heaven shield you! They little know the heart-rending trials of war, who have not felt them as I have. These rude soldiers, Miss Lindsay--I shudder at the thought of your trusting your safety to them."

"My name, madam," replied Mildred, "I am ashamed to tell you, has all its associations on their side--I must trust to its power to bear me through."

"Not all, sister," interrupted Henry. "From the beginning up to this day, I can answer for myself, I have never had a thought that didn't take sides against the red-coats."

A faint smile played upon Mrs. Markham's features, as she turned to Henry and said, "You are a young rebel, and a warm one, I perceive. Such troubles as ours require grave advisers."

"My brother and myself must not be misapprehended," continued Mildred; "I alluded only to my father's influence. I have heard that he enjoys some consideration in the esteem of Lord Cornwallis, and it is upon the strength of that I have ventured. Besides, I am well attended by a careful and wise soldier, who rides as my companion and guide--one who would not quietly see me harmed."

"Let him be brought into our consultation," said Mrs. Markham. "I would not act without his advice. With your leave, I will send for him."

Henry and Alfred Markham, immediately upon this hint, went in pursuit of Horse Shoe.

When that important and trusty personage arrived in the parlor, a regular conference was opened, which, after a few discourses on the general aspect of affairs--wherein the sergeant showed an abundance of soldierly sagacity and knowledge, and a still greater share of warm and faithful concern for the welfare of the sister and brother whom he had in ward--resulted in the conclusion that measures should be taken to ascertain the state of the country around, in reference to the impression made by the late movements of Marion and his adversary; and, especially, what character of troops occupied the region over which the sergeant would be required to conduct his charge. This duty the sergeant very appropriately considered as belonging to himself, and he therefore determined forthwith to set out on a reconnoitring expedition. As we propose to bear him company, we will, for the present, leave the family in the parlor to the enjoyment of the kind communion that had already nursed up a mutual affection between the hostess and her guests.

The sergeant took his departure alone, notwithstanding the urgent importunities of Henry and his new companion, Alfred Markham, for permission to accompany him--a request that was utterly denied by the sturdy and cautious soldier.

"You are apt to talk too much, Mister Lindsay," he said, in answer to the petition of the young men, "for such a piece of business as I have in hand: for although, consarning your good sense, and valor both, considering your years, I would not be thought to speak rashly of them--but, on the contrary, to give you full praise and recommendation--yet you know you want experience and use to these duble-dealings and dodgings that the war puts us to; whereupon, you mought fall to talking when it was best to be silent, and, in case of our meeting a body, to be letting out somewhat too much, which is a thing that discommodes in war more than you would believe. And besides this, Master Henry, there might be, mayhap, a scrimmage, a chase, and what not--in which consideration you would be only in my way, seeing that I should be obliged to be thinking of you when all my wits would be wanting for myself. No, no; upon no account is it reasonable that you should be along. It is your business to sarve as a body-guard to our young lady, who, I say, may God bless and take care of in this world and the next! And so, Mister Henry, you have my orders to stick to your post."

"Well, sergeant," replied Henry, "I must obey orders, and if you command me to stay behind, why I cannot choose about it. But, sergeant, let me give you a word of advice. Ride cautiously--keep your eyes to the right and left, as well as straight before you--and don't let them catch you napping."

"You studied that speech, Mr. Henry!" said Horse Shoe, laughing. "To hear you, one mought almost think you had shaved a beard from your chin before this. Look out, or your hair will turn grey from too hard thinking! and now, my long-headed fellow-soldier, good bye t'ye!"

"You are not going without your rifle, Mr. Horse Shoe?" said Henry, calling out to the sergeant, who had already trotted off some twenty paces.

"That's another consarn for you to ruminate over," replied Horse Shoe, in the same jocular mood. "Mine is a business of legs, not arms, to-day."

The sergeant was immediately after this upon the highway, moving forward with nothing, seemingly, to employ him but cheerful thoughts.

After riding for an hour upon the road that led towards Camden, he was enabled to collect from the country people a rumor that some detachments of horse were, at this time, traversing the country towards Pedee, but whether friends or enemies was not known to his informants. In following up this trail of common report, his vigilance quickened by the uncertainty of the tidings, he arrived about mid-day at a brook which, running between low but sharp hills, was crossed by the road at a point where a bold mass of rock, some twenty feet in height, jutted down with a perpendicular abruptness into the water. Here, as he stopped to survey the narrow and winding course of the stream, his eye was attracted by the projecting crag that thrust its bulk almost into the middle of the channel; and, for a moment, he indulged the speculation of a soldier, as he pondered upon the military advantages of such a post, either as a point from which to reconnoitre an enemy, or as a vantage-ground on which to dispute his passage of the ford. It not long afterwards fell to his lot to turn this observation to some account.

A mile beyond this spot, and where the road, as it yet crept through the bosom of the hills, was so obscured by forest as to afford not more than fifty paces of uninterrupted view, his quick ear was struck with sounds resembling the tramp of horses. Upon this conviction, it was but the action of an instant for him to turn aside into the woods and to take a station which might enable him to investigate the cause of his surmise, without exposing himself to the risk of detection. The noise grew louder, and what was vague conjecture soon became the certain report of his senses. At the nearest turn in the road, whilst protected by a screen of thicket, he could descry the leading platoons of a column of horse advancing at a slow gait; and upon examining his own position he became aware that, although the thicket might guard him from present observation, it would cease to do so as soon as the squadron should approach nearer to his ground. His thoughts recurred to the rock at the ford, and, with a view to avail himself of it, he forthwith commenced his retreat through the underwood that guarded the road side, as fast as Captain Peter could get over the ground. It was not long before he was removed beyond all risk of being seen by the advancing party, and he thus found himself at liberty to take the road again and retire without apprehension.

In Horse Shoe's reckoning, it was a matter of great importance that he should obtain the most accurate information regarding the troop that he had just encountered; and his present purpose was, accordingly, to post himself in a secure position upon the rock and there maintain a close watch upon the party as they rode beneath it. The brook was gained, the ford passed, and the sergeant, after riding a short circuit towards the rear of the little promontory, dismounted from his horse, which he secured in the depths of the wood, and then clambered to the top of the precipice, where he had barely time to conceal himself amongst the crags and the thick shrubbery that shot up above them, before the headmost files of the cavalry appeared descending the opposite hill.

As the column came gradually into his view upon the road which wound down into the valley, it disclosed a troop of some twenty men, whose green uniform sufficiently indicated the presence of a part of Tarleton's command. He heard them call a halt upon the bank, and after a few moments' rest, he saw them ride into the stream, and pass in files around the base of the rock.

The passage of the brook occupied some time; for the thirsty horses were successively given a slack rein as they entered the ford, and were allowed to drink. This delay separated the platoons, and those who first passed over had advanced a considerable distance before the stragglers of the rear had quitted the stream. For some minutes that stir and noise prevailed which, in a military party, generally attends the attempt to restore order amongst confused or broken ranks. The frequent commands of officers summoning the loiterers and chiding their delay, were given from front to rear in loud tones, and the swift gallop of those who had lingered in the stream, as they obeyed the order and hastened forward to their places, sent forth a quick and spirited evidence of bustle, that broke sharply upon the silence of the surrounding forest. These indications of activity unfortunately pricked with a sudden astonishment the ear of one who has heretofore figured, not without renown, in this history--the lusty and faithful Captain Peter; who, not sufficiently alive to the distinction between friend and foe, now began to snuff, and paw the ground, and then with a long and clear note of recognition, to express his feelings of good fellowship towards the unseen strangers. Another moment, and the gay and thoughtless steed reared, plunged broke his bridle, and bounded through the woods, with a frolicsome speed that brought him into the midst of the troop, where he wheeled up and took his place, like a disciplined charger, on the flank of one of the platoons.

This incident caused the officer in command of the party to come again to a halt, and to despatch a portion of his men to seek the owner of the horse. An eager search commenced, which was almost immediately terminated by the wary sergeant presenting himself to the view of the troop, on a prominent and exposed point of the rock, where he seemed to be busily and unconcernedly engaged with his jack-knife, in stripping the bark from the roots of a sassafras tree that grew out of one of the fissures of the cliff. Apparently, he gave no attention to the clamor around him, nor seemed to show a wish to conceal himself from notice.

"Who in the devil are you--and what are you about?" exclaimed the leading soldier, as he mounted the rock and came up immediately behind Robinson, who was still fixed with one knee upon the ground, plying his labor at the root of the tree.

"Good day, friend," said Robinson, looking up over his shoulder, "Good day! From your looks you belong to the army, and, if that's true, perhaps you mought be able to tell me how far it is from here to the river?"

"Get up on your feet," said the other, "and follow me quickly! I will take you to one who will oil the joints of your tongue for you, and put you to studying your catechism. Quick, fellow, move your heavy carcass, or, I promise you, I will prick your fat sides with my sword point."

"Anywhere you wish, sir, if you will only give me time to gather up this here bark," said the sergeant, who, hereupon, heedless of the objurgation of the trooper, deliberately untied the handkerchief from his neck, and spreading it out upon the ground, threw into it the pieces of bark he had been cutting, and then, taking it in his hand, rose and walked after the soldier.

He was conducted to the troop, who were waiting in the road the return of the men that had been despatched on this piece of service.

"Quick, quick, move yourselves! we have no time to lose," cried out the officer in command of the detachment, as Horse Shoe and his guide came in view: and then, after an interval of silence, during which the sergeant walked heavily to the spot where the troop waited for him, he added with an impatient abruptness, "Make few words of it, sir. Your name, where from, and where are you going?"

"My name, captain--if your honor is a captain, and if I miscall you, I ax your honor's pardon: my name is--is--Stephen Foster, Steve most commonly."

"Well, whence do you come?"

"From Virginny."

"Fool! why do you stop?"

"You axed, I think, where I was going? I was going to get on my horse that's broke his bridle, which I see you have cotched for me: and then back to my young mistress, sir, that was taken sick over here at a gentlewoman's house on Pedee. She thought a little sassafras tea might help her along, and I was sent out to try and get a few scrapings of the bark to take to her. I suppose I must have rode out of my way a matter of some eight or ten miles to find it, though I told her that I thought a little balm out of the garden would have done just as well. But women are women, sir, and a sick woman in particular."

"This fellow is more knave than fool, I take it, cornet," said the officer to a companion near him.

"His horse seems to have been trained to other duties than gathering herbs for ladies of delicate stomachs," replied the other.

"My horse," interrupted the sergeant, "would have broken clean off if it hadn't a been for your honor: they say he belonged to a muster in Verginny, and I was warned that he was apt to get rampagious when there was anything like a set of sodgers nigh him, and that is about the reason, I expect, why he took it into his head to fall into your company."

"Get on your beast," said the officer impatiently, "you must go with us. If upon further acquaintance I form a better opinion of you, you may go about your business."

"I am somewhat in a hurry to get back to the lady."

"Silence! Mount your horse, fall to the rear. Gilbert, attend to this fellow, he musn't leave us," said the officer, as he delivered Horse Shoe into the charge of one of the leaders of a platoon, and then put spurs to his steed and moved to the head of the column.

It was in the afternoon when this incident occurred; and Robinson found himself, during the remainder of the day, compelled to follow the troop through a series of by-ways across the country, in a direction of which he was wholly ignorant,--being also in the same degree unacquainted with the object of the march. When the day closed they arrived at a farm-house, where it seemed to be their purpose to pass the night; and here the sergeant, towards whom no unnecessary rigor had been exercised, was freely allowed to participate in the cheer provided for the party. This rest was of short duration; for, before the coming of the allotted bed-hour, a courier arrived, bringing a despatch to the leader of the detachment, which produced an instant order to saddle and resume the march.

Once more upon the road, the sergeant became aware, as well as he was able to determine in the dark, that the party during the night were retracing their steps, and returning upon the same route which they had before travelled.

A half hour before the dawn found the troop ascending a long hill, the summit of which, as Robinson perceived from the rustling of the blades in the morning wind, was covered by a field of standing corn; and he was enabled to descry, moving athwart the starlit sky, the figures of men on horseback approaching the column. The customary challenge was given; a momentary halt ensued, and he could hear the patrole--for such they described themselves,--informing the officer of the detachment that Colonel Tarleton was close at hand expecting their arrival. This intelligence induced an increase of speed which, after a short interval, brought the night-worn squadron into the presence of nearly a whole regiment of cavalry.

The troops, thus encountered, were stationed upon the high-road where it crossed an open and uncultivated plain, the nearer extremity of which was bordered by the cornfield of which I have spoken. It was apparent that the regiment had passed the night at this place, as a number of horses were yet attached to the fence that guarded the field, and were feeding on the blades of corn that had been gathered and thrown before them. The greater part, however, were now drawn up in column of march, as if but recently arrayed to prepare for the toil of the coming day.

Robinson was conducted along the flank of the column, and thence to a spot in the neighborhood, where a party of officers assembled by a sylvan tent, constructed of the boughs of trees, showed him that he was at the head-quarters of the commander of the corps. This tent was pitched upon a piece of high ground that afforded a view of the distant horizon in the east, where a faint streak of daylight lay like the traces of a far-off town in flames, against which the forms of men and horses were relieved, in bold profile, as they now moved about in the early preparations for their march.

A single faggot gleamed within the tent, and, by its ray, Horse Shoe was enabled to discern the well known figure of Tarleton, as he conferred with a company of officers around him. After the sergeant had waited a few moments, he was ordered into the presence of the group within:

"You were found yesterday," said Tarleton, "in suspicious circumstances--what is your name, fellow?"

"I am called Stephen Foster by name," replied the sergeant, "being a stranger in these parts. At home I'm a kind of a gardener to a gentleman in Virginia; and it isn't long since I set out with his daughter to come here into Carolina. She fell sick by the way, and yesterday, whilst I was hunting up a little physic for her in the woods, a gang of your people came across me and fotch me here--and that's about all that I have got to say."

A series of questions followed, by which the sergeant was compelled to give some further account of himself, which he contrived to do with an address that left his questioners but little the wiser as to his real character; and which strongly impressed them with the conviction that the man they had to deal with was but a simple and rude clown.

"You say you don't know the name of the person at whose house you stopped?" inquired the commander.

"I disremember," replied Horse Shoe; "being, as I said, a stranger in the parts, and not liking to make too free with axing after people's names."

"A precious lout, this, you have brought me, Lieutenant Munroe," said Tarleton, addressing the officer who had hitherto had the custody of the sergeant. "You don't disremember the part of Virginia you lived in?" he added, pursuing his examination.

"They have given it the name of Amherst," replied Horse Shoe.

"And the father of Miss Lindsay, you say, resided there?"

"Sartainly, sir."

"There is a gentleman of that name somewhere in Virginia," said Tarleton, apart to one of his attendants, "and known as a friend to our cause, I think."

"I have heard of the family," replied the person addressed.

"What has brought the lady to Carolina?"

"Consarning some business of a friend, as I have been told," answered Horse Shoe.

"It is a strange errand for such a time, and a marvellous shrewd conductor she has chosen! I can make nothing out of this fellow. You might have saved yourself the trouble of taking charge of such a clod, lieutenant."

"My orders," replied the lieutenant, "were to arrest all suspicious persons; and I had two reasons to suspect this man. First, he was found upon a spot that couldn't have been better chosen for a look-out if he had been sent to reconnoitre us; and second, his horse showed some military training."

"But the booby himself was stupid enough," rejoined the commander, "to carry his passport in his face."

"I have a paper, sir, to that purpose," said Horse Shoe, putting his hands into his pockets, "it signifies, I was told,--for I can't read of my own accord--that I mought pass free without molestification from the sodgers of the king--this is it, I believe, sir."

"To three suppers at the Rising Sun, four and six pence," said Tarleton, reading. "Tush, this is a tavern bill!"

"Ha, ha, so it is," exclaimed Robinson. "Well, I have been keeping that there paper for a week past, thinking it was my certificate--and, like a fool, I have gone and tore up the t'other."

"We are wasting time, gentlemen," said the commander. "Turn this fellow loose, and let him go his ways. But hark you, did you hear of a fight lately on Pedee, between some of our people and Marion--three days ago?"

"They talked of such a thing on the river," replied Horse Shoe.

"Well, and what was said?"

"Nothing in particular that I can bear in mind."

"Like all the rest we have tried to get out of him! You don't even know which party got the better?"

"Oh, I have hearn that, sir."

"What did you hear? speak out!"

"Shall I give you the circumlocutory account of the matter?" asked Horse Shoe, "or did you wish me to go into the particulars?"

"Any account, so that it be short."

"Then I have hearn that Marion gave the t'other side a bit of a beating."

"Aye, aye, so I suppose! Another tale of this Jack the Giant Killer! And what has become of Marion?"

"That's onbeknownst to me," replied Horse Shoe.

"Do you remember the fool we met at the Waxhaws last May?" asked one of the officers present, of another. "This fellow might pass for a full brother in blood--only I think this clown has the less wit of the two."

"As heavy a lump, certainly," replied the officer. "This, you say, is the first time you have been in Carolina?"

"To my knowledge," replied the sergeant.

"It is broad day, gentlemen," said Tarleton; "we have been squandering precious time upon an empty simpleton. Give him his beast and let him be gone. Sirrah, you are free to depart. But, look you, if I hear any reports along the road of your having seen me, or a word about my coming, I'll ferret you out and have you trussed upon a stake twenty feet long."

"Thank your honor," said Horse Shoe, as he left the tent. "I never troubles my head with things out of my line."

Then seeking his horse he leisurely rode back by the way he had come; and as soon as he found himself beyond the outposts of the corps, he urged Captain Peter to as much speed as the late arduous duties of the good beast left him power to exert.

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XLVIII. AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR NOT UNFAMILIAR TO THE TIME

Breakfast was just over when Robinson was seen, from the windows of Mrs. Markham's parlor, pricking along the avenue that conducted to the front of the mansion; and when he drew up his horse at the door, the family were already assembled there to greet him. The plight, both of himself and of his steed, was such as to tell the best part of his story--they had travelled far and seen rough service. The rest was supplied by the sergeant himself, who, before he moved from the spot where he had dismounted, gave a narrative of his adventures, which was listened to with great anxiety by the household.

By the sergeant's reckoning, Mrs. Markham's residence could not be more than twenty miles from the place where, at daybreak, he had encountered the British partisan, whom he had left with a full conviction that the expedition then on foot was to be directed against the country lying upon the river. These tidings spread consternation throughout the mansion, and the morning was passed in all the confusion which such an alarm might be supposed to produce. The fright of the females rendered them irresolute, and incapable of attending to the most obvious precautions necessary to meet the emergency.

In this conjuncture, Robinson felt himself bound to assume the direction of affairs. At his suggestion, the plate and such other valuables as were likely to attract the cupidity of a licentious soldiery, were secreted in hiding-places sufficiently secure to defy a hasty search. The family was advised to assume the appearance of as much composure as they could command; and the last and most emphatic injunction of the sergeant was, to provide an ample and various repast, in the hope that the ill-will of the visitants might be conciliated by the display of good cheer. All this was accordingly put into a train of accomplishment.

In the midst of these precautions, the fears of the inhabitants of the mansion were but too truly realized. It was scarcely noon when the long column of Tarleton's cavalry was descried descending the high hills that lay in the distance, and, soon afterwards, taking the road that led into the plantation.

Whilst the panic produced by this sight was still fresh the sound of bugles and trumpets showed that the invaders had already turned their steps towards the dwelling, and the next view disclosed them deploying from a wood and advancing at a full trot. The quick beat of hoofs upon the soil, and the jangling sounds of sabres shaken against the flanks of the horses, struck upon the terrified ear of the proprietress of the estate like the harsh portents of impending ruin; and in the despair and agony of her distress, she retreated hastily to her chamber, whither she summoned her female domestics, and gave way to a flood of tears. She was followed by Mildred, who, touched by the pervading disquiet of the family, participated in the alarm, and found herself overcome by a terror which she had never before experienced in all the scenes which she had lately gone through. Obeying the instinct of her present fears, our heroine cowered beside her weeping friend, in the midst of the group of clamorous servants, and awaited in mute solicitude the coming events.

The cavalry had turned aside and halted in front of a barn some distance from the dwelling-house, and a small party, consisting principally of officers attended by a sergeant's guard, were immediately afterwards seen galloping up to the door. The air of exultation exhibited in their movement, their loud jocularity and frequent laughter, resembled the burst of gladsome riot with which a party of fox-hunters are wont to announce the first springing of their game, and gave evidence of the feelings of men who set little account upon the annoyance they threatened to a peaceful and unoffending household.

When the officers of the party had dismounted and entered the hall, the first person they encountered was Sergeant Robinson, who had thoughtfully posted himself in view of the door; and now, with some awkward and ungainly bows and scraping of his feet across the floor, bade them welcome.

"What," said Tarleton, who was at the head of the intruders, "have we stumbled so soon again upon our shrewd and sensible ox! Wise Master Stephen Foster, well met! So you are the gentleman-usher to your good friend, Mrs. Markham! By my faith, the old lady is likely to have the honors of her house well administered!"

"Your sarvant, sir," said Horse Shoe, again bowing and scraping his foot with a look of imperturbable gravity. "Mought I ax your honor to stomp as lightly upon the floor as you can? My young lady is sick up stairs--and much noise is apt to flurry her narves."

"Tread daintily, gentlemen," said Tarleton, laughing, "for your gallantry's sake! A lady's nerves are as delicate as the strings of a harp, and must not be rudely struck. The damsel's page here (pointing to Horse Shoe), puts down his foot like a most considerate elephant--soft as a feather, you perceive; and I would by no means have you give so worshipful a master of courtesy cause to complain of you. As your wisdom," he added, again addressing the sergeant, "has found out, by this time, that you are in the house of Mrs. Markham, although you disremembered that this morning, I suppose you can tell whether she is at home?"

"I can answer you that she is at home, sir--that is, onless she has went out sence I saw her, which is not likely, sir."

"Then, present her Colonel Tarleton's respects, and say that he has come to offer his duty to her."

"I suppose by that, you are wishing to see the lady," replied the sergeant; "I'll let her know, sir."

Robinson retired for a few moments, and when he returned he announced to the commander that Mrs Markham was not willing to come from her chamber. "But whatsomever your honor pleases to ax after, the lady promises you shall have," continued the sergeant.

"Well, that's a condescension!--a good, comfortable lady! So, gentlemen, you see we are in luck; a broad roof over head--a larder well stored, I hope--and a cellar not altogether empty, I think I may undertake to promise. Where are your waiting-men, my nimble Ganymede? You are a sluggish oaf, fellow, not to see that soldiers must have drink!"

Alfred and Henry now entered the hall, and the former approaching Tarleton, said, with a firm but respectful tone:

"My mother has before been visited by British troops, and she had so little then to thank them for, except their departure, that the fear of meeting them again has greatly alarmed her. Our family, sir, has no older man in it than myself--and out of regard to helpless women--"

"That's enough, my pert lad," interrupted Tarleton; "I have heard of your good mother before; she is somewhat over ready in her zeal in behalf of Marion's ragamuffins: and truly I think she is more squeamish than she should be at the sight of a soldier, when she could look upon such hang-gallows knaves without shuddering. You have another man in your house, I see (directing his eye towards Henry Lindsay, who had seated himself in the hall)--and full as old, I take it, as yourself."

"I wish I were a man of full age," said Henry, looking fearlessly at the British officer, and remaining fixed in his chair.

"Why so, my gay sparrow-hawk?"

"I would have disputed with you your right to enter this door."

"These young cocks are all trained to show their game," said the Colonel to one of his companions. "Well, you are a fine fellow, and I should be happy to be better acquainted with you. A little too stiff, perhaps: but you will learn better as you grow older. You should thank me for making holiday in your school to-day."

Here Robinson interposed before Henry could make the saucy reply he meditated, by announcing that the company would find some cool water and a supply of spirits in the adjoining room. "Besides," he added, "I have told the house-folks to make ready somewhat in the way of victuals, as I judged you mought be a little hungry."

"Not badly thought of, Mr. Ajax!" said one of the officers, as the party now crowded into the room.

"Don't forget Stephen Foster," whispered Robinson, by way of admonition in regard to his assumed character, as he passed by the chair where Henry was sitting. "And keep a civil tongue in your head."

Henry nodded compliance, and then, with Alfred, left the hall, whilst the sergeant repaired to the refreshment room to offer his officious attentions to the quests.

Meanwhile, the ladies still kept to their chamber, ever and anon gazing out at the window with a solicitous and unhappy interest, and occasionally receiving the highly-colored reports of the servants, who, as often as any new subject of wonder or fear occurred to them, were plying backwards and forwards between the apartment and the head of the stair-case.

After an interval of half an hour, during which the uncouth din of laughter, of loud oaths, and of the careless swaggering of the party below, rose with a harsh note to the ear of the hostess and her companion, these sounds abruptly ceased, and it was evident that the visitors had quitted the house. It was with an emotion of delight that Mrs. Markham, from the window, beheld Colonel Tarleton and his comrades galloping towards the main body of his troops that awaited him near the barn; but, on repairing to the hall, this sudden gleam of satisfaction was as suddenly clouded, when the matron perceived a sentinel posted at the front door. As soon as she came within speech of this functionary, he threw up his hand to his brow, as he said: "The colonel commanded me to make his compliments to the ladies, and asks the honor of their company at dinner."

"Colonel Tarleton forgets himself," said Mrs. Markham, with a stately reserve that showed she had now dismissed her fears; "a brave soldier would hardly think it a triumph to insult unprotected females."

"He is here to speak for himself, madam," replied the sentinel, as Tarleton at this moment returned to the door.

The lady of the house, thus taken by surprise, firmly stood her ground, and awaited in silence the accost of the officer. Tarleton was somewhat disconcerted by this unexpected encounter. He had entered with a hurried step, but the moment he was aware of the presence of the dame, he halted and removed his cap from his head, as he made a low obeisance.

"I am too happy, madam," he said, "in the persuasion that you have overcome your unnecessary alarm at this visit; and feel pleased to be afforded an opportunity of making my respects in person."

"I can conceive no sufficient reason, Colonel Tarleton, why a defenceless house like mine should provoke the visit of such a host of armed men."

"Your house, madam, has some fame upon this border for good entertainment. It fell in my way, and you will excuse me for the freedom of saying, that I boast myself too much of a cavalier to pass it by unmarked by some token of my regard. Besides, I may add without meaning to be rude, our necessities in the article of forage, madam, are quite as great as General Marion's, who, I understand, does not scruple sometimes to take his contribution from you."

"I should more readily excuse your visit," replied the lady, "if you would time it when General Marion was levying his contribution. You might then adjust your right to the share you claim. This house is yours, sir; and it is not fit that I should remain to debate with you your claim to dispose of whatever you may find in it."

"Why, what a musty and wrinkled piece of insolence is here!" muttered the angry soldier, clenching his teeth under this rebuke as the matron withdrew. "Well, let the crones rail and the maidens weep their fill! the border is mine, and merrily will I hold it, and blithely will I light up the river, too, before I leave it! Curse on these free-spoken women! Who says they are defenceless with that supple weapon that God has given them? What ho, you bag of chaff--booby--Foster--I say! Look you; have you all the provisions in the house set out upon the tables--and don't spare your peach brandy, which we have already tasted--you have more of it. So let us have the best; I shall feast with a good will to-day, and I will do it plentifully, or your ears shall be cropped."

"Everything in the kitchen, sir, is going on at a gallop," said Horse Shoe; "and as for the drinkables, your honor shall command the house to the last jug."

"Then bestir yourself, for I am in no mood to tarry."

In a brief lapse of time an abundant board was spread, and the leaders of the corps, consisting of some twenty or thirty officers of all ranks, were gathered around it. A scene of uproar succeeded that resounded to the roof with the unfeeling and licentious mirth of those engaged in the carouse.

When they had eaten and drunk their fill, the greater portion of the guests were assembled at the front door. From this position there was to be seen, at no great distance, a small inclosure of not above ten feet square, constructed with a dark paling, above which a venerable willow drooped its branches. Towards this inclosure some five or six of the revellers repaired, to gratify an idle and, at present, a maudlin curiosity. When they arrived here, they leaned across the paling to read the inscription upon a stone that seemed but recently to have been placed there. It was a simple memorial of the death of Colonel Markham, of the Carolina militia, which was recorded to have taken place but eighteen months before on the Savannah river in an engagement with the troops under General Prevost. To this was added, in the spirit of the times and in accordance with the sentiments of the Whig leaders in the war of independence, a bitter expression of censure upon the barbarous disposition of the enemy, couched in homely but earnest phrase, and speaking the hate of the survivors in the same sentence that commended the virtues of the dead.

It was an unpropitious moment for such a tablet to meet the eye of those who gazed upon it; and when it was read aloud by the captain of a troop, whose natural temper, rendered savage by the rudeness of the war, was also at this moment exasperated almost to intoxication by the freedom of the table, he vented his curses in loud and coarse rage against the memory of him to whom the stone was dedicated. This fire of passion spread through the group around the tomb, and each man responded to the first execration by others still deeper and more fierce. Proclaiming the inscription to be an insult, they made an attack upon the paling, which was instantly demolished, and, seizing upon the largest stones at hand, they assailed the tablet with such effect as soon to break it in pieces; and then, with a useless malice, applied themselves to obliterating the inscription upon the fragments. Whilst engrossed with the perpetration of this sacrilege, their attention was suddenly aroused by the near report of a pistol, the ball of which, it was discovered, had struck into the trunk of the willow.

"I will kill some of the scoundrels, if I die for it!" was the exclamation heard immediately after the shot, and Alfred Markham was seen struggling with an officer who had seized him. The young man had been observed and followed, as he madly rushed from a wing of the mansion towards the burial-place, and arrested at the moment that he was levelling a second pistol.

"Henry, shoot him down!" he screamed to his companion, who was now approaching armed with his carbine.

"Let me go, sir! I will not see my father's tomb disturbed by ruffians."

"Loose your hands!" cried Henry, directing his passionate defiance to the individual who wrestled with Alfred, "loose your hands, I say, or I will fire upon you!"

"Fire at the drunken villains around my father's grave!" shouted Alfred.

"They shall have it," returned Henry, eagerly, "if it is the last shot I ever make." And with these words the youth levelled his piece at the same group which had before escaped Alfred's aim, but, luckily, the carbine snapped and missed fire. In the next instant Horse Shoe's broad hand was laid upon Henry's shoulder, as he exclaimed, "Why, Master Henry, have you lost your wits? Do you want to bring perdition and combustion both, down upon the heads of the whole house?"

"Galbraith Robinson, stand back!" ejaculated Henry. "I am not in the humor to be baulked."

"Hush--for God's sake, hush!--foolish boy," returned Robinson with real anger. "You are as fierce as a young panther--I am ashamed of you!"

By this time the whole company were assembled around the two young men, and the violent outbreak of wrath from those at whom the shot was aimed, as well as from others present, rose to a pitch which the authority of Tarleton in vain sought to control. Already, in this paroxysm of rage, one of the party, whose motions had escaped notice in the confusion of the scene, had hurried to the kitchen fire, where he had snatched up a burning brand, and hurled it into the midst of some combustibles in a narrow apartment on the ground floor.

The clamor had drawn Mrs. Markham and Mildred to the chamber window, and whilst they looked down with a frightened gaze upon the confused scene below, it was some moments before they became aware of the participation of Henry and Alfred in this sudden and angry broil. Mildred was the first to discern the two young men as they were dragged violently across the open space in front of the mansion by the crowd, and to hear the threats with which this movement was accompanied.

"Merciful Heaven!" she exclaimed, "they have laid hands upon Henry and Alfred--they will kill my brother, my dear brother!" Almost frantic at the danger that threatened Henry and his companion, she fled precipitately down the stair-case, and in a moment stood confronted with Colonel Tarleton and his soldiers.

"Never fear, sister," cried out Henry, who was already brought into the hall, as he saw Mildred descending the stairs. "Don't be alarmed for either Alfred or me. We are ready to confess what we did and why we did it--and Colonel Tarleton, if he is a true man, will not dare to say we did wrong."

"I charge you, Colonel Tarleton," said Mildred with a firm but excited voice, "as the soldier of a Christian nation, to save the people of this house from an inhuman and most wicked outrage. I implore you as an officer who would be esteemed valiant--and as a gentleman who would fly from dishonor--to rescue your name from the disgrace of this barbarous violence. For the sake of mercy--spare us--spare us!"

As she uttered this last ejaculation her spirit yielded to the vehemence of her feelings, and she flung herself upon her knee at the feet of the commander. "Oh, sir, do not let harm fall upon my brother. I know not what he has done, but he is thoughtless and rash."

"Mildred," said Henry, immediately rushing to his sister, and lifting her from the floor, "why should you kneel before him, or any man here? This is no place for you--get back to your room." Then turning to Tarleton, he continued, "Alfred Markham and I tried to shoot down your men, because we saw them breaking the tomb. If it was to do over again our hands are ready."

"They have insulted the memory of my father," exclaimed Alfred, "trampled upon his grave, and broken the stone that covers him--I aimed to kill the drunken coward who did it. That I say, sir, to your face."

Tarleton, for a space, seemed to be bewildered by the scene. He looked around him, as if hesitating what course to pursue, and once or twice made an effort to obtain silence in the hall; but the tumult of many voices in angry contention still continued. At last he presented his hand to Mildred, and with a courteous action conducted her to a chair, then begged her to calm her fears, as he promised her that no evil should befal either of the young men whose indiscreet tempers had occasioned the present uproar.

"In God's name! have they fired the dwelling?" he exclaimed, as at this moment a volume of smoke rolled into the hall. "What ho, there! O'Neal, McPherson. Look where this smoke comes from, and instantly extinguish the fire! Stir yourselves, gentlemen. By my hilt, if any follower of mine has been so wild as to put a torch to this house, I will hang him up to the ridge-pole of the roof! Look to it--every man! Quick, quick--there is danger that the flames may get ahead."

In an instant nearly every soldier in the hall departed in obedience to this order.

"I beg, madam," Tarleton continued, "that you will dismiss your alarm, and rest upon my pledge that no inmate of this house shall be harmed. I conjecture that I have the honor to speak to Miss Lindsay--I have been informed that that lady has lately found shelter under this roof."

"It is my name, sir--and as the daughter of a friend to your quarrel, let me conjure you to see that this house is safe; I cannot speak with you until I am assured of that."

At this juncture, Mrs. Markham was observed at the head of the first flight of stairs, pale with affright, wringing her hands, and uttering loud ejaculations of terror and grief as she made her way down to the hall:

"Oh, sir," she said, as she approached the commander, "we are harmless women, and have done nothing to call down this vengeance upon us. Take what you will--but spare my roof and save my family! God will reward you even for that act of humanity to a desolate widow."

Before Tarleton could reply to the matron, a party of officers came hastily into his presence, at the head of whom was Captain O'Neal, who reported that the fire was extinguished.

"One of the mess, to-day," he said, "heated with drink and roused by the foolish temper of these hot-headed boys, threw a blazing billet into a closet. Luckily, we reached the spot before any great harm was done. The chaps should be switched, and taught better manners. It was a silly affair and might have made mischief."

"See that the offender be arrested," replied Tarleton, "I will take measures to curb this license. These meddling youngsters, too--however, I can't blame them, they had provocation, I confess--and this war gives an edge to all the metal of the country. Instead of pop-guns now every baby has his powder and ball--dismiss the boys. To your post, captain, and order every man to join his company. Now, madam," he added in a tone of conciliation to Mrs. Markham, as soon as the hall was cleared, "I am sure you will not accuse me of incivility. My people have withdrawn--the fire is extinguished--these inconsiderate lads at liberty: have I answered your wish?"

"You have won the gratitude of a mother," replied the dame, "and the respect of an enemy. I am bound to say to you, in return, that I cheerfully surrender to you whatever you may choose to take from my estate for the supply of your soldiers. Alfred, my son, give me your arm, and help me to my chamber--I am feeble and faint. I must ask your permission to withdraw," she continued, as she courtesied to Tarleton, and ascended the stairs.

"And I, too, must take my leave," said Tarleton. "But before I go I may claim the privilege of a word with Miss Lindsay. You spoke of your father, madam? and, especially, as a friend of our arms. I have been told he lives in Virginia, Philip Lindsay, the proprietor of a seat called 'The Dove Cote,' a royalist too--am I right?"

"So, my father is known, sir."

"That name has stood you in stead to-day, madam. And this is your brother? I should think he is hardly of your father's mind in regard to our quarrel. This way, my thoughtless young gallant! It was a wild, bold, and very conceited thing of you to be challenging my unruly dragoons--and would have been no less so, if you had had twenty score of tall fellows at your back. But it is past now, and you need not apologize for it--it showed mettle at least, and we never quarrel with a man for that. May I inquire, Miss Lindsay, in what direction you travel? for I learn you are but a sojourner here. It may be in my power to insure your safe-conduct."

"I seek your general, Lord Cornwallis, on matters of private concern," replied Mildred, "and if I might venture to ask it of Colonel Tarleton, his service in affording me an unquestioned passage, would be a favor that I should gratefully acknowledge."

"The obligation will be on my side, madam. It will be a pleasure to me to believe that I can serve a lady, much more the daughter of an honorable subject of the king. Permit me, without further parley, for time presses at this moment, to say that I will leave an escort behind me under the command of a trusty officer, who will wait your pleasure to conduct you, by the safest and easiest journey to head-quarters. Your commands, madam, shall in all respects regulate his motions. My communications with his lordship shall announce your coming. Now, Miss Lindsay, with my best wishes for your safety and success, I take my leave; and, as a parting request, I venture to hope you will do me the justice to say, that Tarleton is not such a graceless sinner as his enemies have sometimes been pleased to represent him."

These last words were accompanied by a laugh, and a somewhat bluff courtesy, as the speaker swayed his rigid and ungainly figure into a succession of awkward bows by which he retreated to the door.

"I shall be happy on all occasions," replied Mildred, whilst the soldier was thus strenuously playing off the graces of a gallant, "to do justice to the kindness which I have experienced at Colonel Tarleton's hands."

"There, Mildred," said Henry, when Tarleton had disappeared, "you see things have gone very pat for us. That comes of letting these fellows see who they have to deal with. A little powder and ball is a good letter of recommendation to the best of their gang. If my carbine hadn't missed fire to-day, Tarleton would have been short by one bottle-holder, at least, when he set out to steal liquor from the country cupboards."

"It has ended well, brother," replied Mildred, "but it does not become you to boast of what you have done. It was a rash and dangerous deed, and had nearly brought ruin upon this friendly family."

"Tut, sister! you are only a woman. You wouldn't have found the colonel so civil if we hadn't taught him to look after his men."

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Chapter XLIX

MILDRED ARRIVES AT THE TERM OF HER JOURNEY.----THE READER IS FAVORED WITH A GLIMPSE OF A DISTINGUISHED PERSONAGE.

Cornwallis, after the battle of Camden, turned his thoughts to the diligent prosecution of his conquests. The invasion of North Carolina and Virginia was a purpose to which he had looked, from the commencement of this campaign, and he now, accordingly, made every preparation for the speedy advance of his army. The sickness of a portion of his troops and the want of supplies rendered some delay inevitable, and this interval was employed in more fully organizing the civil government of the conquered province, and in strengthening his frontier defences; by detaching considerable parties of men towards the mountains. The largest of these detachments was sent to reinforce Ferguson, to whom had been confided the operations upon the north-western border.

The chronicles of the time inform us that the British general lay at Camden until the 8th of September, at which date he set forward towards North Carolina. His movement was slow and cautious, and for some time, his head-quarters were established at the Waxhaws, a position directly upon the border of the province about to be invaded. At this post our story now finds him, the period being somewhere about the commencement of the last quarter of the month.

A melancholy train of circumstances had followed the fight at Camden, and had embittered the feelings of the contending parties against each other to an unusual degree of exasperation. The most prominent of these topics of anger was the unjust and severe construction which the British authorities had given to the obligations which were supposed to affect such of the inhabitants of South Carolina, as had, after the capitulation of Charleston, surrendered themselves as prisoners on parole, or received protections from the new government. A proclamation, issued by Sir Henry Clinton in June, annulled the paroles, and ordered all who had obtained them to render military service, as subjects of the king. This order, which the prisoners, as well as those who had obtained protections, held to be a dissolution of their contract with the new government, was disobeyed by a large number of the inhabitants, many of whom had, immediately after the proclamation, joined the American army.

Cornwallis permitted himself, on this occasion, to be swayed by sentiments unworthy of the character generally imputed to him. Many of the liberated inhabitants were found in the ranks of Gates at Camden, and several were made prisoners on the field. These latter, by the orders of the British general, were hung almost without the form of an inquiry: and it may well be supposed that in the heat of war and ferment of passion, such acts of rigor, defended on such light grounds, were met on the opposite side by a severe retribution.

Almost every day, during the British commander's advance, some of the luckless citizens of the province whom this harsh construction of duty affected, were brought into the camp of the invaders, and the soldiery had grown horribly familiar with the frequent military executions that ensued.

It was in the engrossment of the occupations and cares presented in this brief reference to the history of the time, that I have now to introduce my reader to Cornwallis.

He had resolved to move forward on his campaign. Orders were issued to prepare for the march, and the general had announced his determination to review the troops before they broke ground. A beautiful, bright, and cool autumnal morning shone upon the wide plain, where an army of between two and three thousand men was drawn out in line. The tents of the recent encampment had already been struck, and a long array of baggage-wagons were now upon the high-road, slowly moving to a point assigned them in the route of the march. Cornwallis, attended by a score of officers, still occupied a small farm-house which had lately been his quarters. A number of saddle-horses in the charge of their grooms, and fully equipped for service, were to be seen in the neighborhood of the door; and the principal apartment of the house showed that some of the loiterers of the company were yet engaged in despatching the morning meal. The aides-de-camp were seen speeding between the army and the general, with that important and neck-endangering haste which characterizes the tribe of these functionaries; and almost momentarily a courier arrived, bearing some message of interest to the commander-in-chief.

Cornwallis himself sat in an inner room, busily engaged with one of his principal officers in inspecting some documents regarding the detail of his force. Apart from them, stood, with hat in hand and in humble silence, a young ensign of infantry.

"Your name, sir?" said Cornwallis, as he threw aside the papers which he had been perusing, and now addressed himself to the young officer.

"Ensign Talbot, of the thirty-third Foot," replied the young man: "I have come by the order of the adjutant-general to inform your lordship that I have just returned to my regiment, having lately been captured by the enemy while marching with the third convoy of the Camden prisoners to Charleston."

"Ha! you were of that party! What was the number of prisoners you had in charge?"

"One hundred and fifty, so please your lordship."

"They were captured"--

"On Santee, by the rebels Marion and Horry," interrupted the ensign. "I have been in the custody of the rebels for a week, but contrived, a few days since, to make my escape."

"Where found the rebels men to master you?"

"Even from the country through which we journeyed," replied the ensign.

"The beggarly runagates! Who can blame us, Major M'Arthur," said the general, appealing to the officer by his side, with an interest that obviously spoke the contest in his own mind in regard to the justice of the daily executions which he had sanctioned: "who can blame us for hanging up these recreants for their violated faith, with such thick perfidy before our eyes? This Santee district, to a man, had given their paroles and taken my protection: and, now, the first chance they have to play me a trick, they are up and at work, attacking our feeble escorts that should, in their sickly state, have rather looked to them for aid. I will carry out the work; by my sword, it shall go on sternly. Enough, Ensign, back to your company," he said, bowing to the young officer, who at once left the room.

"What is your lordship's pleasure regarding this Adam Cusack?" inquired M'Arthur.

"Oh, aye! I had well nigh forgotten that man. He was taken, I think, in the act of firing on a ferry-boat at Cheraw?"

"The ball passed through the hat of my Lord Dunglas," said M'Arthur.

"The lurking hound! A liege subject turning truant to his duty; e'en let him bide the fate of his brethren."

M'Arthur merely nodded his head, and Cornwallis, rising from his chair, strode a few paces backwards and forwards through the room. "I would tune my bosom to mercy," he said, at length, "and win these dog-headed rebels back to their duty to their king by kindness; but good-will and charity towards them fall upon their breasts like water on a heated stone, which is thrown back in hisses. No, no, that day is past, and they shall feel the rod. We walk in danger whilst we leave these serpents in the grass. Order the gentlemen to horse, Major M'Arthur; we must be stirring. Let this fellow, Cusack, be dealt with like the rest. Gentlemen," added the chief, as he appeared at the door amidst the group who awaited his coming, "to your several commands!"

Captain Brodrick, the principal aide, at this moment arrested the preparations to depart, by placing in Cornwallis's hand a letter which had just been brought by a dragoon to head-quarters.

The general broke the seal, and, running his eye over the contents, said, as he handed the letter to the aide, "This is something out of the course of the campaign; a letter from a lady, now at the picquet-guard, and it seems she desires to speak with me. Who brought the billet, captain?"

"This dragoon, one of a special escort from the legion. They have in charge a party of travellers, who have journeyed hither under Tarleton's own pledge of passport."

"Captain," replied Cornwallis, "mount and seek the party. Conduct them to me without delay. What toy is this that brings a lady to my camp?"

The aide-de-camp mounted his horse, and galloped off with the dragoon. He was conducted far beyond the utmost limit of the line of soldiers, and at length arrived at a small outpost, where some fifty men were drawn up, under the command of an officer of the picquet-guard, which was about returning to join the main body of the army. Here he found Mildred and Henry Lindsay, and their two companions, Horse Shoe and old Isaac, attended by the small escort furnished by Tarleton. This party had been two days on the road from Mrs. Markham's, and had arrived the preceding night at a cottage in the neighborhood, where they had found tolerable quarters. They had advanced this morning, at an early hour, to the corps de garde of the picquet, where Mildred preferred remaining until Henry could despatch a note to Lord Cornwallis apprising him of their visit.

When Captain Brodrick rode up, the travellers were already on horseback and prepared to move. The aide-de-camp respectfully saluted Miss Lindsay and her brother, and after a short parley with the officer of the escort, tendered his services to the strangers to conduct them to head-quarters.

"The general, madam," he said, "would have done himself the honor to wait on you, but presuming that you were already on your route to his quarters, where you might be better received than in the bivouac of an outpost, he is led to hope that he consults your wish and your comfort both, by inviting you to partake of such accommodation as he is able to afford you."

"My mission would idly stand on ceremony, sir," replied Mildred. "I thank Lord Cornwallis for the promptness with which he has answered my brother's message."

"We will follow you, sir," said Henry.

The party now rode on.

Their path lay along the skirts of the late encampment upon the border of an extensive plain, on the opposite side of which the army was drawn out; and it was with the exultation of a boy, that Henry, as they moved forward, looked upon the long line of troops glittering in the bright sunshine, and heard the drums rolling their spirited notes upon the air.

When they arrived at a point where the road emerged from a narrow strip of forest, they could discern, at the distance of a few hundred paces, the quarters of the commander-in-chief. Immediately on the edge of this wood, a small party of soldiers attracted the attention of the visitors by the earnest interest with which they stood around a withered tree, and gazed aloft at its sapless and huge boughs. Before anything was said, Mildred had already ridden within a few feet of the circle, where turning her eyes upwards she saw the body of a man swung in the air by a cord attached to one of the widest-spreading branches. The unfortunate being was just struggling in the paroxysms of death, as his person was swayed backwards and forwards, with a slow motion, by the breeze.

"Oh, God! what a sight is here!" exclaimed the lady. "I cannot, will not go by this spot. Henry--brother--I cannot pass."

The aide-de-camp checked his horse, and grasped her arm, before her brother could reach her, and Horse Shoe, at the same moment, sprang to the ground and seized her bridle.

"I should think it but a decent point of war to keep such sights from women's eyes," said Robinson, somewhat angrily.

"Peace, sirrah," returned the aide, "you are saucy. I trust, madam, you are not seriously ill? I knew not of this execution, or I should have spared you this unwelcome spectacle. Pray, compose yourself, and believe, madam, it was my ignorance that brought you into this difficulty."

"I will not pass it," cried Mildred wildly, as she sprang from her horse and ran some paces back towards the wood, with her hands covering her face. In a moment Henry was by her side.

"Nay, sister--dear sister," he said, "do not take it so grievously. The officer did not know of this. There now, you are better; we will mount again, and ride around this frightful place."

Mildred gradually regained her self-possession, and after a few minutes was again mounted and making a circuit through the wood to avoid this appalling spectacle.

"Who is this man?" asked Henry of the aide-de-camp, in a half whisper; "and what has he done, that they have hung him?"

"It is an every-day tale," replied the officer; "a rebel traitor, who has broken his allegiance, by taking arms against the king in his own conquered province. I keep no count of these fellows; but I believe this is a bold rebel by the name of Adam Cusack, that was caught lately at the Cheraw ferry; and our boobies must be packing him off to head-quarters for us to do their hangman's work."

"If we were to hang all of your men that we catch," replied Henry, "hemp is an article that would rise in price."

"What, sir," returned the officer, with a look of surprise, "do you class yourself with the rebels? What makes you here under Tarleton's safeguard? I thought you must needs be friends, at least, from the manner of your coming."

"We ride, sir, where we have occasion," said Henry, "and if we ride wrong now, let his lordship decide that for us, and we will return."

By this time the company had reached head-quarters, where Mildred found herself in the presence of Lord Cornwallis.

"Though on the wing, Miss Lindsay," said his lordship, as he respectfully met the lady and her brother upon the porch of the dwelling-house, "I have made it a point of duty to postpone weighty matters of business to receive your commands."

Mildred bowed her head, and after a few words of courtesy on either side, and a formal introduction of herself and her brother to the general as the children of Philip Lindsay, "a gentleman presumed to be well known to his lordship," and some expressions of surprise and concern on the part of the chief at this unexpected announcement, she begged to be permitted to converse with him in private. When, in accordance with this wish, she found herself and her brother alone with the general, in the small parlor of the house, she began, with a trembling accent and blanched cheek--

"I said, my lord, that we were the children of Philip Lindsey, of the Dove Cote, in Amherst, in the province of Virginia; and being taught to believe that my father has some interest with your lordship--"

"He is a worthy, thoughtful, and wise gentleman, of the best consideration amongst the friends of the royal cause," interrupted the earl, "so speak on, madam, and speak calmly. Take your time, your father's daughter shall not find me an unwilling listener."

"My father was away from home," interposed Henry, "and tidings came to us that a friend of ours was most wickedly defamed and belied, by a charge carried to the ears of your lordship; as we were told, that Major Arthur Butler of the Continental army who had been made a prisoner by your red-coats somehow or other--for I forget how--but the charge was that he had contrived a plan to carry off my father from the Dove Cote--if not to kill him, which was said, besides--and upon that charge, it was reported that your people were going to hang or shoot him--hang, I suppose, from what we just now saw over here in the woods--and that your lordship had given orders to have the thing put off until the major could prove the real facts of the case."

"The tale is partly true, young sir," said Cornwallis. "We have a prisoner of that name and rank."

"My sister Mildred and myself, thinking no time was to be lost, have come to say to your lordship that the whole story is a most sinful lie, hatched on purpose to make mischief, and most probably by a fellow by the name of----"

"My brother speaks too fast," interrupted Mildred. "It deeply concerned us to do justice to a friend in this matter. If my father had been at home a letter to your lordship would have removed all doubts; but, alas! he was absent, and I knew not what to do, but to come personally before your lordship, to assure you that to the perfect knowledge of our whole family, the tale from beginning to end is a malicious fabrication. Major Butler loves my father, and would be accounted one of his nearest and dearest friends."

Cornwallis listened to this disclosure with a perplexed and bewildered conjecture, to unravel the strange riddle which it presented to his mind.

"How may I understand you, Miss Lindsay?" he said; "this Major Butler is in the service of Congress?"

"Even so. Your lordship speaks truly."

"Your father--my friend, Philip Lindsay, is a faithful and persevering loyalist."

"To the peril of his life and fortune," replied Mildred.

"And yet Butler is his friend?"

"He would be esteemed so, if it please your lordship--and, in heart and feeling, is so."

"He is related to your family, perhaps?"

"Related in affection, my lord, and plighted love," said Mildred, blushing and casting her eyes upon the ground.

"So!--Now I apprehend. And there are bonds between you?"

"I may not answer your lordship," returned the lady. "It only imports our present business to tell your lordship, that Arthur Butler never came to the Dove Cote but with the purest purpose of good to all who lodged beneath its roof. He has never come there but that I was apprised of his intent; and never thought rose in his heart that did not breathe blessings upon all that inhabit near my father. Oh, my lord, it is a base trick of an enemy to do him harm; and they have contrived this plot to impose upon your lordship's generous zeal in my father's behalf."

"It is a strange story," said Cornwallis. "And does your father know nothing of this visit? Have you, Miss Lindsay, committed yourself to all the chances of this rude war, and undertaken this long and toilsome journey, to vindicate a rebel charged with a most heinous device of perfidy? It is a deep and painful interest that could move you to this enterprise."

"My lord, my mission requires a frank confidence. I have heard my father say you had a generous and feeling heart--that you were a man to whom the king had most wisely committed his cause in this most trying war: that your soul was gifted with moderation, wisdom, forecast, firmness--and that such a spirit as yours was fit to master and command the rude natures of soldiers, and to compel them to walk in the paths of justice and mercy. All this and more have I heard my father say, and this encouraged me to seek you in your camp, and to tell you the plain and undisguised truth touching those charges against Major Butler. As Heaven above hears me, I have said nothing but the simple truth. Arthur Butler never dreamt of harm to my dear father."

"He is a brave soldier," said Henry, "and if your lordship would give him a chance, and put him before the man who invented the lie, he would make the scoundrel eat his words, and they should be handed to him on the major's sword-point."

"The gentleman is happy" said the chief, "in two such zealous friends. You have not answered me--is your father aware of this visit, Miss Lindsay?"

"He is ignorant even of the nature of the charge against Arthur Butler," replied the lady. "He was absent from the Dove Cote when the news arrived; and, fearing that delay might be disastrous, we took the matter in hand ourselves."

"You might have written."

"The subject, so please your lordship, was too near to our hearts to put it to the hazard of a letter."

"It is a warm zeal, and deserves to be requited with a life's devotion," said Cornwallis. "You insinuated, young sir, just now, that you suspected the author of this imputed slander."

"My brother is rash, and speaks hastily," interrupted Mildred.

"Whom were you about to name?" asked the general, of Henry.

"There was a man named Tyrrel," replied the youth, "that has been whispering in my father's ear somewhat concerning a proposal for my sister" (here Mildred cast a keen glance at her brother and bit her lip) "and they say, love sometimes makes men desperate, and I took a passing notion that, may be, he might have been at the bottom of it; I know nothing positively to make me think so, but only speak from what I have read in books."

Cornwallis smiled as he replied playfully: "Tush, my young philosopher, you must not take your wisdom from romances. I have heard of Tyrrel, and will stand his surety that love has raised no devil to conjure such mischief in his breast. What will satisfy your errand hither, Miss Lindsay?"

"A word from your lordship, that no harm shall befall Arthur Butler beyond the necessary durance of a prisoner of war."

"That is granted you at once," replied the general, "granted for your sake, madam, in the spirit of a cavalier who would deny no lady's request. And I rather grant it to you, because certain threats have been sent me from some of the major's partisans, holding out a determination to retaliate blood for blood. These had almost persuaded me to run, against my own will, to an extreme. I would have you let it be known, that as a free grace to a lady, I have done that which I would refuse to the broad sword bullies of the mountains. What next would you have?"

"Simply, an unmolested passage hence, beyond your lordship's posts."

"That too shall be cared for. And thus the business being done, with your leave, I will go to more unmannerly employments."

"A letter for your lordship," said an officer, who at this moment entered the door, and putting a packet into the general's hand, retired.

Cornwallis opened the letter and read it.

"Ha! by my faith, but this is a rare coincidence! This brings matter of interest to you, Miss Lindsay. My officer, Macdonald, who had Butler in custody, writes me that, two days since, his prisoner had escaped."

"Escaped!" exclaimed Mildred, forgetting in whose presence she spoke, "unhurt--uninjured. Thank Heaven for that!"

Cornwallis sat for a moment silent, as a frown grew upon his brow, and he played his foot against the floor, abstracted in thought. "These devils have allies," he muttered, "in every cabin in the country. We have treachery and deceit lurking behind every bush. We shall be poisoned in our pottage by these false and hollow knaves. If it gives you content, madam," he said, raising his voice, "that this Major Butler should abuse the kindness or clemency of his guard and fly from us at the moment we were extending a boon of mercy to him through your supplications, you may hereafter hold your honorable soldier in higher esteem for his dexterity and cunning."

"I pray your lordship to believe," said Mildred, with a deep emotion, which showed itself in the rich, full tones of her voice, "that Major Butler knows nothing of my coming hither. I speak not in his name, nor make any pledge for him. If he has escaped, it has only been from the common instinct which teaches a bird to fly abroad when it finds the door of his cage left open by the negligence of his keepers. I knew it not--nor, alas! have I heard aught of his captivity, but as I have already told your lordship. He is an honorable soldier, rich in all the virtues that may commend a man: I would your lordship knew him better and in more peaceful times."

"Well, it is but a peevish and silly boy," said Cornwallis, "who whines when his pie is stolen. The war has many reckonings to settle, and we contrive to make one day's profit pay another's loss. The account for the present is balanced; and so, Miss Lindsay, without discourtesy, I may leave you, with a fair wish for a happy and prosperous journey back to your father's roof. To the good gentleman himself, I desire to be well remembered. And to show you that this briery path of war has not quite torn away all the habiliments of gentleness from us, I think it dutiful to tell you that, as I have become the confidant of a precious love-tale, wherein I can guess some secret passage of mystery is laid which should not be divulged, I promise you to keep it faithfully between ourselves. And when I reach the Dove Cote, which, God willing, under the banners of St. George, I do propose within three months to do, we may renew our confidence, and you shall have my advice touching the management of this dainty and delicate affair. And now, God speed you with a fair ride, and good spirits to back it!"

"I am much beholden to your lordship's generosity," said Mildred, as Cornwallis rose with a sportive gallantry and betook himself to his horse.

"Come hither, Mr. Henry," he said after he had mounted, "farewell, my young cavalier. You will find a few files of men to conduct you and your party beyond our posts: and here, take this," he added, as now on horseback, he scrawled off a few lines with a pencil, upon a leaf of his pocket-book, which he delivered to the youth, "there is a passport which shall carry you safe against all intrusion from my people. Adieu!"

With this last speech the commander-in-chief put spurs to his horse, and galloped to the plain, to review his troops and commence the march by which he hoped to make good his boast of reaching the Dove Cote.

How fortune seconded his hopes may be read in the story of the war.

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