Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency

by John Pendleton Kennedy

  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  A GLANCE AT THE DOVE COTE.--THE COMPANIONSHIP OF BROTHER AND SISTER.

  Our story once more brings us back to the Dove Cote. During the firstweek that followed her interview with Arthur Butler under the Fawn'sTower, Mildred was calm and thoughtful, and even melancholy: her usualcustom of exercise was foregone, and her time was passed chiefly in herchamber. By degrees, however, her firm and resolute temper predominatedover the sadness of her fortunes, and she began to resume thatcheerfulness which circumstances can never long subdue in a strong anddisciplined mind. She had grown more than ever watchful of the publicevents, and sought, with an intense avidity, to obtain information inregard to the state of things in the south. She now felt herself closelyallied to the cause in which Arthur Butler had embarked, and therefore,caught up the floating rumors of the day, in what regarded the progressof the American arms in the southern expedition, with the interest ofone who had a large stake depending on the issue.

  She had received several letters from Butler, which detailed theprogress of his journey from the Dove Cote to Gates's camp, and fromthence to Horse Shoe's cottage. They were all written in the confidentand even jocular tone of a light-hearted soldier who sought to amuse hismistress; and they narrated such matters of personal history as were ofa character to still her fears for his safety. Their effect upon Mildredwas to warm up her enthusiasm, as well as to brighten her anticipationsof the future, and thus to increase the returning elasticity of herspirits. Up to this period, therefore, she grew every day more buoyantand playful in her temper, and brought herself to entertain a moresanguine reckoning of the eventual determination of affairs. She was nowfrequently on horseback, attended by her brother, with whom she scarcelyever failed to make a visit to the good Mistress Dimock, where sheeither found a letter from Butler, or heard some of the thousand tidingswhich report was for ever busy in propagating or exaggerating in regardto the movements of the army.

  "I'll warrant you, Arthur is a man for the pen as well as for the spurand broadsword, my pretty lady," was one of the landlady's comments, asshe handed to Mildred the eighth or ninth epistle that had fallen intoher hands since Butler's departure; "there scarcely comes trotting by asoiled traveller with his head set northwards, but it is--'Good woman,is this Mistress Dimock's?' and when I say, 'aye,' then 'here's aletter, madam, for you, that comes from the army:' and so, there'sArthur's own hand-writing to a great pacquet, 'for Mistress Dimock ofthe Rockfish inn, of Amherst,' and not even, after all, one poor linefor me, but just a cover, and the inside for Miss Mildred Lindsay of theDove Cote. Ha, ha! we old bodies are only stalking-horses in this world.But God bless him!--he is a fine and noble gentleman." And Mildred wouldtake the pacquet and impatiently break the seal; and as she perused theclose-written contents the color waxed and waned upon her cheek, and hereye would one instant sparkle with mirth, and in the next grow dim witha tear. And when she had finished reading, she would secretly press thepaper to her lips, and then bestow it away in her bosom, evincing theearnest fondness of a devoted and enthusiastic nature.

  Mildred and Henry were inseparable; and, in proportion as his sister'szeal and attachment to the cause of independence became more active, didHenry's inclination to become a partisan grow apace. Hers was acharacter to kindle the spirit of brave adventure. There was in it aquiet and unostentatious but unvarying current of resolution, thatshrank before no perils. Her feelings, acute and earnest, had given alltheir warmth to her principles; and what she once believed her dutycommanded, was pursued with the devout self-dedication of a religiousobligation. To this temper, which, by some secret of its constitution,has a spell to sway the minds of mankind, there was added the grace ofan exquisitely feminine address. The union of these two attributesrendered Mildred Lindsay an object of conspicuous interest in such atime as that of the revolutionary struggle. Her youth, her readygenius, her knowledge and her habits of reflection, much in advance ofher years, enhanced the impression her character was adapted to produce,and brought upon her, even in her secluded position, a considerableshare of public observation. It was not wonderful that a mind soorganized and accomplished should have acquired an unlimited dominionover the frank, open-hearted, and brave temper of her brother, now juststepping beyond the confines of mere boyhood. Her influence over Henrywas paramount and unbounded: her affections were his, her faith was his,her enthusiasm stole into and spread over his whole temper.

  With these means of influence she had sedulously applied herself toinfuse into Henry's mind her own sentiment in regard to the war; andthis purpose had led her to interest herself in subjects and pursuits,which, in general, are very foreign from her sex. Her desire to enlisthis feelings in aid of Butler, and her conviction that a time was athand when Henry might be useful, gave rise to an eager solicitude to seehim well prepared for the emergencies of the day, by that necessary modeof education which, during the period of the revolution, was commonamongst the young gentlemen of the country. He was a most willing andready pupil; and she delighted to encourage him in his inclination formilitary studies, however fanciful some of his conceptions in regard tothem might be. She, therefore, saw, with great satisfaction, theassiduous though boyish devotion with which he set himself to gain aknowledge of matters relating to the duties of a soldier. However littlethis may fall within the scope of female perception in ordinary times,it will not appear so much removed from the capabilities or even thehabits of the sex, when we reflect that in the convulsions of this greatnational struggle, when every resource of the country was drained forservice, the events of the day were contemplated with no less interestby the women than by the men. The fervor with which the American womenparticipated in the cares and sacrifices of the revolutionary war, haschallenged the frequent notice and warmest praises of its chroniclers.Mildred but reflected, in this instance, the hues of the society aroundthe Dove Cote, which consisted of many families, scattered along thecountry side, composed of persons of elevated character, easycircumstances, and of the staunchest Whig politics, with whom she heldan uninterrupted and familiar intercourse.

  Another consideration may serve to explain the somewhat masculinecharacter of Mildred's pursuits. Her most intimate companion, at alltimes, and frequently for weeks together her only one, was her brother.These two had grown up together in all the confidence of childhood; andthis confidence continued still unabated. Their pursuits, sports,exercises, thoughts, and habits were alike, with less of thediscrimination usual between the sexes, than is to be found betweenindividuals in larger associations. They approximated each other intemper and disposition; and Henry might, in this regard, be said to be,without disparagement to his manly qualities, a girlish boy; andMildred, on the other hand, with as little derogation, to be a boyishgirl. This home-bred freedom of nurture produced, in its development,some grotesque results, which my reader has, doubtless, heretoforeobserved with a smile; and it will, likewise, serve to explain some ofthe peculiar forms of intercourse which may hereafter be noticed betweenthe brother and sister.

  The news of the battle of Camden had not yet reached the neighborhood ofthe Dove Cote; but the time drew nigh when all the country stood ontiptoe, anxious to receive tidings of that interesting event. A week hadelapsed without bringing letters from Butler; and Mildred was growinguneasy at this interval of silence. There was a struggle in her mind; anunpleasant foreboding that she was almost ashamed to acknowledge, andyet which she could not subdue. The country was full of reports of thehostile operations, and a thousand surmises were entertained, whichvaried according to the more sanguine or desponding tempers of thepersons who made them. Mildred was taught by Butler to expect defeat,yet still she hoped for victory; but the personal fate of her loverstole upon her conjectures, and she could not keep down the misgivingwhich affection generally exaggerates, and always renders painful. Inthis state of doubt, it was observable that her manners occasionallyrose to a higher tone of playfulness than was natural to her; and byturns they sank to a moody silence, showing that the equipo
ise of themind was disturbed, and that the scales did not hang true: it was thestruggle of mental resolution with a coward heart--a heart intimidatedby its affections.

  Such was the state of things when, in the latter fortnight of August,the morning ushered in a day of unsurpassed beauty. The air was elastic;the cool breeze played upon the shrubbery, and stole the perfume of athousand flowers. The birds sang with unwonted vivacity from theneighboring trees; and the sun lighted up the mountains with a goldensplendor, the fast drifting clouds flinging their shadows upon theforest that clothed the hills around, and the eagle and the buzzardsailing in the highest heavens, or eddying around the beetling cliffswith a glad flight, as if rejoicing in the luxuries of the cool summermorning. Breakfast was scarcely over before Henry was seen upon theterrace, arrayed in his hunting dress. His bugle was daintily suspendedby a green cord across his shoulders; it was a neat and glitteringinstrument, whose garniture was bedizened with the coxcombry of silkentassels, and was displayed as ostentatiously as if worn by the hero of amelodrame.

  Like St. Swithin in the ballad, he had "footed thrice the wold," when heput the bugle to his mouth and "blew a recheate both loud and long."

  "How now, good master Puff," said Mildred, coming up playfully to herbrother, "what means this uproar? Pray you, have mercy on one's ears."

  Henry turned towards his sister, without taking the bugle from his lips,and continued the blast for a full minute; then, ceasing only from wantof breath, he said, with a comic earnestness--

  "I'm practising my signals, sister; I can give you 'to Horse,' and'Reveillee,' and 'Roast Beef,' like a trained trumpeter."

  "Truly you are a proper man, master," replied Mildred. "But it is hardlya time," she continued, half muttering to herself, "for you and me,Henry, to wear light hearts in our bosoms."

  "Why, sister," said Henry, with some astonishment in his looks, "thisseems to me to be the very time to practise my signals. We are at thevery tug of the war, and every man that has a sword, or bugle either,should be up and doing."

  "How come on your studies, brother?" interrupted Mildred, withoutheeding Henry's interpretation of his duty.

  "Oh, rarely! I know most of the speeches of Coriolanus all by heart:--

  "'Like an eagle in a dove cote, I Fluttered your voices in Corioli: Alone I did it.--Boy!'"

  he spouted, quoting from the play, and accompanying his recitation withsome extravagant gestures.

  "This is easy work, Henry," said Mildred laughing, "there is too much ofthe holiday play in that. I thought you were studying some graverthings, instead of these bragging heroics. You pretended to be veryearnest, but a short time ago, to make a soldier of yourself."

  "Well, and don't you call this soldiership? Suppose I were to pouncedown upon Cornwallis--his lordship, as that fellow Tyrrel callshim--just in that same fashion. I warrant they would say there was somesoldiership in it! But, sister, haven't I been studying the attack anddefence of fortified places, I wonder? And what call you that? Look now,here is a regular hexagon," continued Henry, making lines upon thegravel walk with a stick, "here is the bastion,--these lines are theflank,--the face,--the gorge: here is the curtain. Now, my firstparallel is around here, six hundred paces from the counterscarp. But Icould have taken Charleston myself in half the time that poking fellow,Clinton, did it, if I had been there, and one of his side, which--thankmy stars--I am not."

  "You are entirely out of my depth, brother," interrupted Mildred.

  "I know I am. How should women be expected to understand these matters?Go to your knitting, sister: you can't teach me."

  "Have you studied the Military Catechism, Henry? that, you know, BaronSteuben requires of all the young officers."

  "Most," replied Henry. "Not quite through it. I hate this getting proseby heart. Shakspeare is more to my mind than Baron Steuben. But I willtell you what I like, sister: I like the management of the horse. I canpassage, and lunge, and change feet, and throw upon the haunches, withe'er a man in Amherst or Albemarle either, may be."

  "You told me you had practised firing from your saddle."

  "To be sure I did: and look here," replied the cadet, taking off his capand showing a hole in the cloth. "Do you see that, Mildred? I flung thecap into the air, and put a ball through it before it fell--at agallop."

  "Well done, master; you come on bravely!"

  "And another thing I have to tell you, which, perhaps, Mildred, you willlaugh to hear:--I have taken to a rough way of sleeping. I want toharden myself; so, I fling a blanket on the floor and stretch out onit--and sleep like--"

  "Like what, good brother; you are posed for a comparison."

  "Like the sleeping beauty, sister."

  "Ha! ha! that's a most incongruous and impertinent simile!"

  "Well, like a Trojan, or a woodman, or a dragoon, or like StephenFoster, and that is as far as sleeping can go. I have a notion of tryingit in the woods one of these nights--if I can get Stephen to go along."

  "Why not try it alone?"

  "Why it's a sort of an awkward thing to be entirely by one's self in thewoods, the livelong night--it is lonesome, you know, sister; and, totell the truth, I almost suspect I am a little afraid of ghosts."

  "Indeed! and you a man! That's a strange fear for a young Coriolanus.Suppose you should get into the wars, and should happen to be posted asa sentinel at some remote spot--far from your comrades; on picket, Ithink you call it? (Henry nodded) on a dark night, would you desert yourduty for fear of a goblin!"

  "I would die first, Mildred. I would stick it out, if I made anearthquake by trembling in my shoes."

  Mildred laughed.

  "And then if a ghost should rise up out of the ground," she continued,with a mock solemnity of manner.

  "I would whistle some tune," interrupted Henry. "That's an excellent wayto keep down fear."

  "Shame on you, to talk of fear, brother."

  "Only of ghosts, sister, not of men."

  "You must cure yourself of this childish apprehension, master."

  "And how shall I do so, Mildred? I have heard people say that thebravest men have been alarmed by spirits."

  "You must accustom yourself to midnight hours and dark places, allalone. Our poor mother taught you this fear."

  "I should think of _her_, Mildred, until my heart would burst, and mycheek grew pale as ashes," said Henry, with an earnest and solemnemphasis.

  "Her spirit, could it rise, would love you, brother; it would never seekto do you harm," replied Mildred thoughtfully.

  "Sister," said Henry, "you came here in sport, but you have made me verysad."

  Mildred walked off a few paces and remained gazing steadfastly over theparapet. When she looked back she saw Henry approaching her.

  "You stoop, brother, in your gait," she said, "that's a slovenly habit."

  "It comes, sister, of my climbing these mountains so much. Wemountaineers naturally get a stoop on the hill-sides. But if you think,"continued Henry, reverting to the subject which had just been brokenoff, "it would make me bolder to watch of nights, I should not care totry it."

  "I would have you," said Mildred, "walk your rounds, like a patrole,through the woods from twelve until two, every night for a week."

  "Agreed, sister--rain or shine."

  "And then I shall think you completely cured of this unsoldier-likeinfirmity, when you are able to march as far as the church, and serveone tour of duty in the grave-yard."

  "By myself?" inquired Henry, with concern.

  "You wouldn't have me go with you, brother?"

  "I should feel very brave if you did, Mildred; for you are as brave as ageneral. But if Stephen Foster will keep in the neighborhood--nearenough to hear my 'All's well'--I think I could stand it out."

  "You must go alone," said Mildred, cheerfully, "before I shall think youfit to be promoted."

  "If you say I must, sister Mildred, why, then I must: and there's an endof it. But your discipline is forty times more severe than the GermanBaron's at
Richmond. Father looks pale this morning," continued Henry,as he turned his eyes towards the porch, where Mr. Lindsay was now seenwalking forward and back, with his arms folded across his breast."Something perpetually troubles him, Mildred. I wish that devil, Tyrrel,had been buried before he ever found his way to the Dove Cote! See hecomes this way."

  Both Mildred and Henry ran to meet Lindsay, and encountered him beforehe had advanced a dozen paces over the lawn.

  "Such a day, father!" said Mildred, as she affectionately took his hand."It is a luxury to breathe this air."

  "God has given us a beautiful heaven, my children, and a rich andbountiful earth. He has filled them both with blessings. Man only marsthem with his cursed passions," said Lindsay, with a sober accent.

  "You have heard bad news, father?" said Henry, inquiringly; "what hashappened?"

  Mildred grew suddenly pale.

  "We shall hear glorious news, boy, before many days," replied Lindsay;"as yet, all is uncertain. Henry, away to your sports, or to yourstudies. Mildred, I have something for your ear, and so, my child, walkwith me a while."

  Henry took his leave, looking back anxiously at his sister, whosecountenance expressed painful alarm. Mildred accompanied her fatherslowly and silently to the small veranda that shaded the door of thegable next the terrace.