CHAPTER XXIII.
SHOWING HOW A GOOD SOLDIER WILL TURN THE ACCIDENTS OF WAR TOTHE BEST ACCOUNT. ENSIGN ST. JERMYN IN A DISAGREEABLE DILEMMA.
Robinson having thus succeeded in his enterprise, now found himself incircumstances of peculiar perplexity in regard to the disposal of hisprisoners. Here he was, in the neighborhood of the British posts--in adistrict of country of which the enemy might be said to have, at thismoment, complete possession--(for Horse Shoe himself was almost the onlybelligerent in the field against them)--and, more than that, he was buta few miles' distant from a camp whose scouts had chased him almost tohis present place of refuge. It was scarcely probable, therefore, thathe could hope to retain his captives long under his control, or preventthe enemy from receiving intelligence of the capture. He was, however,notwithstanding these embarrassments, as usual, cheerful, confident, andself-possessed. He had no wish or motive to detain the private soldiersas prisoners of war, and would at once have dismissed them, if he couldhave assured himself that they would not make the earliest use of theirliberty to convey information of their misadventure to the first corpsof loyalists they should meet, and thus get up a hot pursuit of himthrough the whole district. But he had cogent and most important reasonsfor holding the ensign, St. Jermyn, in close custody. It occurred tohim, that this officer might be used to control the procedure thatshould be adopted by those who meditated injury to Arthur Butler; and hetherefore, at once formed the resolution of communicating with thenearest British authorities, in order to assure them that he wouldretaliate upon the Ensign any pain that might be inflicted upon his latecomrade. His plan was speedily formed--it was to keep his prisonersuntil night-fall, move off under cover of the darkness to some remoteand concealed spot with St. Jermyn, and release the others, on theirparole or pledge not to take up arms until regularly exchanged.
Whilst the sergeant was deliberating over these arrangements, theprisoners were allowed to shelter themselves from the rain under a shednear the door of the dwelling, where Andrew, with all the pride andimportance of his new station, marched to and fro, before them, like atrained sentinel. There was a small log building in the yard of Ramsay'smansion, which had been recently erected as a store-house, and whichbeing well secured at the door by a padlock, Robinson determined toconvert for the nonce into a prison. It contained but one room, notabove twelve feet square, with an earthen floor, and received no lightexcept such as was admitted under the door, and through a few cranniesabout the roof. Into this narrow apartment the soldiers were nowmarched; a bundle of straw was thrown upon the floor; sundry flitches ofbacon, that hung upon the walls, were removed; and a few comforts, inthe way of food and drink, were supplied to render the accommodation astolerable to the inmates as was compatible with their safe custody. Thisbeing done, our friend Andrew was posted in the passage-way of thedwelling, in full view of the door of the store-house, which wascarefully locked, with a musket in his hand, and with orders to make acircuit every five minutes round the little building, to guard againstany attempts at escape by under-mining the foundation.
As noon approached the weather began to clear up, and with the firstbreaking forth of the sun came David Ramsay, the proprietor of the farmwhich was the scene of the present operations. His recognition of HorseShoe Robinson was accompanied by a hearty greeting, and with anexpression of wonder that he should have ventured, in hostile guise,through a country so beset as this was by the forces of the enemy; butwhen he heard the narrative of the exploit of the morning, and saw thetrophies of its success in the weapons piled against the wall, and, moreespecially, when he received from the lips of his wife a circumstantialaccount of the part which had been performed in this adventure by hisson Andrew, his delight seemed almost to be absorbed by his astonishmentand incredulity. The proofs, however, were all around him; and afterassuring himself, by an actual inspection of the prisoners through oneof the chinks of the store-house, he came into his own parlour, satdown, and laughed out-right.
Ramsay was a staunch friend of the independence of his country; andalthough he had not been up in arms in the cause, he gave it all the aidhe could by the free expression of opinion, and by a resolute refusal tocomply with the requisitions of the royalists. His eldest son had joinedSumpter, and had already been active in the field; and he himselflooked, with an almost certain expectation, to see visited upon himselfthat proscription under which thousands were already suffering, andwhich he had only escaped as yet by the temporizing delays of hisopponents, or by their neglect, arising out of the incessant hurry andpressure of their military operations in the organization of the newdominion which the royal forces had but lately acquired. He was a man ofsturdy frame--now only in the prime of life--brave, thoughtful, andintelligent, and firmly resolved to stand by his principles throughwhatever adverse chances. The present aspect of affairs was, to hismind, almost decisive of his fate: the capture of these prisoners, madefrom information derived from his own family, and in which his own sonhad been a principal agent; their confinement, too, in his own house,were facts of so unequivocal a character as inevitably to draw upon himthe prompt ire of the Tories, and compel him to assume the attitude andabide by the issues of a partisan. As he had faith in the justice of hisquarrel, and a strong devotion to the principles upon which it wassustained, he did not hesitate in the crisis before him, but heroicallydetermined to meet the worst that might befal. He, therefore, in thepresent emergency, became a useful and efficient ally to Robinson, whoopened to him the full history of Butler, and the course of measures hewas about to pursue for the relief of that unfortunate officer.
We must now leave the sergeant holding watch and ward over hisvanquished foes, and shift our scene to Musgrove's Mill. Thefamily of Allen Musgrove were in a state of great disquietude. HorseShoe Robinson had disappeared before daylight; and when the miller andhis nephew left their beds, a little after the dawn, the onlyintelligence they had of the departure of their guest was inferred fromfinding the stable door open and the sergeant's horse absent. This factwas explained when Mary met them at breakfast. Horse Shoe had set outfor Ramsay's to learn some tidings of John, and to enlist him in aneffort to liberate Butler. He had departed under cover of darkness toavoid molestation from Innis's scouts, and she, Mary Musgrove, hadplaced the key of the stable, the night before, in a place where HorseShoe might find it. Such was the extent of the maiden's information. Theday passed wearily upon her hand: she was anxious to hear something ofButler--something of Horse Shoe--and something, we suppose, of JohnRamsay. Frequently during the morning she and Christopher Shaw heldsecret conferences: they spoke in whispers: suspense, care, and doubtwere pictured upon her face; and as the rain pattered against thewindows she oftentimes stood before them, and looked out upon thedistant road, and across the wide fields, and then upwards to theclouded sky. The sun at length appeared, and his rays seemed to shoot aglimpse of joy into the breast of the maiden, as she walked forth tonote the drying of the roads, and to see the clear blue, which, in thatclimate, outvies the mellow and rich tints of a Tuscan heaven.
The day waxed, and the birds sang, and nature was gay, but the maidenwas restless and unquiet: the day waned, and the sun rode downwards onthe western slope in gorgeous beauty; but Mary was ill at ease, andthought little of the grand and glorious firmament. Her communings withChristopher Shaw, meantime, became more eager: she and her cousin wereseen to wander towards the mill; then Christopher left her, and,presently, he might be discovered leading two horses, one bearing aside-saddle, down to the margin of the stream. There was a short visitto the house by the young man--a word whispered in the ear of themother--a shake of her head, an expression of doubt, a final nod ofassent,--and, in the next moment, Mary and Christopher were seentrotting off on horseback, on the road that led towards Ramsay's.
When they had ridden some two or three miles, and had entered upon thehigh-road between Ninety-Six and Blackstock's--somewhere near to thatpiece of haunted ground, where, on the morning of this very day, agoblin had struck down James
Curry from his steed--they descried amilitary party of horse and foot slowly advancing from the direction towhich they were travelling. In a few moments they met the first platoonof the cavalry, headed by a trumpeter and the unsightly captain HughHabershaw. They were detained at the head of this column, whilst somequestions were asked respecting the object of their journey, the troopsin their neighborhood, and other matters connected with the affairs ofthe times. Christopher's answers were prompt and satisfactory: he wasonly riding with his kinswoman on a visit to a neighbor; Innis's campwas not above two miles and a half away, and the country in general wasquiet, as far as he had the means of knowing. The travellers were nowsuffered to pass on. In succession, they left behind them each platoonof threes, and then encountered the small column of march of theinfantry. Mary grew pale as her eyes fell upon the form of ArthurButler, posted in the centre of a guard. Her feeling lest he might notrecognise her features, and guess something of her errand, almostoverpowered her. She reined up her horse, as if to gratify an idlecuriosity to see the soldiers passing, and halted in a position whichcompelled the ranks to file off, in order to obtain a free passage roundher. Every look seemed to be turned upon her as the escort marched nearher horse's head, and it was impossible to make the slightest sign toButler without being observed. She saw him, however, lift his eyes tohers, and she distinctly perceived the flash of surprise with which itwas kindled as he became aware of her features. A faint and transientsmile, which had in it nothing but pain, was the only return she daredto make. An order from the van quickened the march; and the detachmentmoved rapidly by. As Mary still occupied the ground on which she hadhalted, and was gazing after the retreating corps, she saw Butler turnhis face back towards her; she seized the moment to nod to him and tomake a quick sign with her hand, which she intended should indicate thefact that she was now engaged in his service. She thought she perceiveda response in a slight motion of Butler's head, and now resumed herjourney, greatly excited by the satisfaction of having, in thisaccidental encounter, obtained even this brief insight into thecondition of the prisoner.
The sun was set, when Mary with her convoy, Christopher Shaw, arrived atRamsay's. Always an acceptable guest at this house, she was now morethan ever welcome. There was business to be done in which she coulddischarge a most important part, and the service of Christopher Shaw inreinforcing the garrison was of the greatest moment. When theintelligence regarding the movement of Butler to Innis's camp wascommunicated to the sergeant, it suggested a new device to his mind,which he determined instantly to adopt. Butler was at this moment, heconcluded, in the hands of those who had engaged the ruffians to setupon him at Grindall's ford, and it was not improbable that he would besummarily dealt with: there was no time, therefore, to be lost. Thesergeant's plan, in this new juncture, was, to compel the young ensignto address a letter to the British commandant, to inform that officer ofhis present imprisonment, and to add to this information thedetermination of his captors to put him to death, in the event of anyoutrage being inflicted upon Butler. This scheme was communicated toRamsay, Shaw, and Mary. The letter was to be immediately written; Marywas to return with it to the mill, and was to contrive to have itsecretly delivered, in the morning, at Innis's head-quarters; and DavidRamsay himself was to escort the maiden back to her father's house,whilst Shaw was to attend the sergeant and assist him to transport theyoung ensign to some fit place of concealment. The private soldiers wereto remain prisoners, under the guard of Andrew, until his father'sreturn, when they were to be released on parole, as prisoners of war.
The plan being thus matured, Robinson went forthwith to theprison-house, and directed Ensign St. Jermyn to follow him into thedwelling. When the young officer arrived in the family parlor, he wasordered to take a chair near a table, upon which was placed a light,some paper, pen, and ink.
"Young man," said Robinson, "take up that pen and write as I bid you."
"To what end am I to write? I must know the purpose you design toanswer, before I can put my hand to paper."
"To the end," replied Horse Shoe firmly, and with unwonted gravity, "ofthe settlement of your worldly affairs, if the consarns of to-morrowshould bring ill luck to a friend of mine."
"I do not understand you, sir. If my life is threatened to accomplish anunrighteous purpose, it is my duty to tell you at once, that that lifebelongs to my king; and if his interests are to suffer by any forced actof mine, I am willing to resign it at once."
"Never was purpose more righteous, sir, in the view of God and man, thanours," said David Ramsay.
"I have a friend," added Horse Shoe, greatly excited as he spoke, "whohas been foully dealt by. Some of your enlisted gangs have laid anambuscade to trap him: villany has been used, by them that ought to beashamed to see it thriving under their colors, to catch a gentleman whowas only doing the common duties of a good sodger; and by meanbush-fighting, not by fair fields and honest blows--they have seized himand carried him to the camp of that blood-sucking Tory, Colonel Innis. Idoubt more harm is meant him than falls to the share of a commonprisoner of war."
"I know nothing of the person, nor of the circumstances you speakabout," said the ensign.
"So much the better for you," replied the sergeant. "If your people arebrave sodgers or honest men, you will not have much occasion to beafeard for yourself; but, by my right hand! if so much as one hair ofMajor Arthur Butler's head be hurt by Colonel Innis, or by any other manamong your pillaging and brandishing bullies, I myself will drive abullet through from one of your ears to the other. This game of war is astiff game, young man, but we will play it out."
"Major Arthur Butler!" exclaimed the officer, with astonishment, "is hetaken?"
"Ha! you've hearn of him, and know something, mayhap, of them that wereon the look-out for him?"
"I cannot write," said the officer sullenly.
"No words, sir," interrupted Horse Shoe, "but obey my orders; write whatI tell you, or take your choice. I will bind you hand and foot to a treeon yonder mountain, to starve till you write that letter; or to feed thewild vermin with your body, if you refuse."
The ensign looked in Robinson's face, where a frown of stern resolutionbrooded upon his brow, and a kindling tempest of anger showed that thiswas not a moment to hazard the trial of his clemency.
"What would you have the purport of my letter?" asked the officer, in asubdued voice.
"That you have got into the hands of the Whigs," replied the sergeant;"and that if so be any mischief should fall upon Major Butler, by thecontrivings of your friends, you die the first minute that we hear ofit."
"I have had no hand in the taking of Major Butler," said the young St.Jermyn.
"I am glad of it," answered Robinson, "for your sake. You will die witha better conscience. If you had a hand in it, young man, I wouldn't askyou to write a line to any breathing man: your brains would spatter thatdoor-post. Take up the pen and write, or stand by the consequences."
The officer took up the pen, then, hesitating a moment, flung it down,saying:
"I will not write; do with me as you choose."
"The young man drives me to it, against my own nature," said Robinson,speaking under strong excitement. "If he will not pen that letter, then,David Ramsay, you will write to Innis, in my name, and say GalbraithRobinson has got the Ensign where no Tory foot will ever follow him, andholds him to answer the first mischief that is done to Arthur Butler.But, I swear to this sulky boy, that if that letter goes to Innis forwant of a better, as I am a man and a sodger, he will never taste foodor water till I hear that Major Butler is free. He shall starve in themountain."
"Oh, God! oh, God!" ejaculated the young soldier, in bitterness ofheart; and covering his face with his hands, he threw his head upon thetable, where he wept tears of agony. At length, looking in thecountenance of Robinson, he said: "I am young, sir--not above twentyyears. I have a mother and sisters in England."
"We have no time to spare," interrupted Robinson, "much less to talkabout kinsfolk. Major Butler
has them that love his life better thane'er an Englishwoman loves her son. If they are brought to grief by thisonnatural rascality, it matters nothing to me if every daughter andsister in England pines away of heart-sickness, for the loss of themthat they love best. Take my advice, my lack-beard," added Robinson,patting him on the shoulder, "and write the letter. You have thechances of war in your favor, and may save your neck."
"I will do your bidding, sir," said the ensign, after a pause. "Underthe compulsion of force, I agree to write," and he once more took up thepen.
"You speak now like a reasonable gentleman," said Horse Shoe. "I pityyou, friend, and will preserve you against harm, so far as it can bedone in the circumstances of the case."
The ensign then wrote a few lines, in which he communicated to ColonelInnis, or to whatever officer his letter might be delivered, the straitsin which he found himself, and the resolution of his captors to hold hislife forfeit upon the event of any rigors, beyond those of an ordinaryprisoner of war, imposed upon Major Butler. When he had finished, hegave the paper to Robinson.
"Read it aloud, Mr. Ramsay," said Horse Shoe, delivering the scrawl tohis friend.
Ramsay read what was written.
"It must be wrote over again," said Horse Shoe, after he had heard thecontents. "First, it must make no mention of his being only a few milesoff; that must be left out. Secondly, my name needn't be told; though ifthe runagates knowed he was in my hands, they wouldn't think his chanceany better on that account. Let him say that the Whigs have gothim--that's enough. And, lastly, he must write his own name in full atthe bottom. And, look you, young man, don't be scrawling out the linesin such a way that your own hand-write moughtn't be known. That mustspeak for itself, because upon this letter depends your life. Youunderstand?"
"Give it me," said the ensign; "I will write it as you desire."
And again the unfortunate officer applied himself to the task that wasimposed upon him; and in a short time produced a letter, which, beingsubjected to the criticism of the bystanders, was pronouncedsatisfactory.
As soon as this was done, St. Jermyn was conducted into anotherapartment, and there confided to the guardianship of Christopher Shaw.Horse Shoe now took a light and the writing materials from the table,and repaired with David Ramsay--both of them well armed--to thestore-house, where the other prisoners were confined. After they hadentered and closed the door, posting Andrew with his musket on theoutside, Horse Shoe addressed the men in a gay and cheerful tone:
"Come, my lads, as you are good, honest fellows, that can have no greatlove for these little country cabins, judging by your bad luck andoncomfortable circumstances in that one where I found you this morning,I have come to set you free. By the laws of war, you have the right, ifI choose to take it, to give me your parole. So now, if you have a mindto promise me, on the honor of sodgers, not to sarve again until you arefairly exchanged, you shall all leave this before daybreak. What do yousay to the terms?"
"We are all agreed," replied the men, with one accord.
"Then write out something to that effect," said the sergeant to Ramsay."You that can't scratch like scholards, stick your marks to thepaper--d'ye hear?"
The parole was written out by Ramsay, and duly signed or marked by eachof the four men. This being done, the sergeant informed them that,exactly at three in the morning, the door would be opened, and theywould be at liberty to go where they pleased, provided they pledgedthemselves to visit no post of the enemy within twenty miles, norcommunicate any particulars relating to their capture or detention toany British or Tory officer or soldier, within seven days. This pledgewas cheerfully given, and after a few words of jocular good-nature wereexchanged on both sides, Horse Shoe and his companion retired.
David Ramsay now ordered out his own and Mary Musgrove's horses, with anintention to set out immediately for the mill.
"Does Major Butler know that you are in his neighborhood?" inquiredRamsay of the sergeant, before the horses were brought to the door.
"Oh, bless you, yes," replied Horse Shoe. "I left word for him yesterdayat Blackstock's, by giving the babblers there something to talk about,which I knew he would hear." And the sergeant went on to relate theparticulars of his stop at that post: "And I sent him a message,"continued he, "this morning, by James Curry, in the same sort offashion. A little before daylight, I heard the devil singing one of hisstaves upon the road back here, so loud that he seemed to be frightenedby ghosts or sperits; so I rode up fast behind him, and cuffed him outof his saddle, and then away I went like a leather-winged bat. I knowedthe curmudgeon's voice, and I expect he knowed my hand, for he has feltit before. I'll be bound, he made a good story out of it; and, as suchthings fly, I make no doubt it wasn't long reaching the ear of themajor, who would naturally think it was me, whether James told my nameor not, because he knows my way. It was as good as writing a letter tothe major, to signify that I was lurking about, close at hand. I neverwent to school, Mr. Ramsay, so I write my letters by making my mark. Ican make a blow go further than a word upon occasion, and that's anold-fashioned way of telling your thoughts, that was found out beforepen and ink."
"Well, Horse Shoe, you are a man after your own sort," replied Ramsay,laughing. "Come, Mary, take the letter; our horses are at the door."
"Good bye t'ye, David," said Horse Shoe, shaking Ramsay's hand; "it maybe some days before we see each other again. Kit and me will be off withthis young ensign before you get back. Don't forget the prisoners atthree o'clock. And, a word, David--where had we best take this youngsparrow, the ensign, to keep him out of the way of these fellows thatare scouring the country?"
"Leave that to Christopher Shaw," replied Ramsay; "he knows every nookin the country. So, now, friend Robinson, good night, and luck go withyou!"
It was a clear starlit night, and every tree and pool sent forth athousand notes from the busy insects and reptiles that animate thesummer hours of darkness, when David Ramsay set out with Mary Musgrovefor her father's house.
Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency Page 25