University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

It was about two o'clock in the afternoon of a day towards the
end of July, 1780, when Captain Arthur Butler, now holding a
brevet, some ten days old, of major in the continental army, and
Galbraith Robinson were seen descending the long hill which
separates the South Garden from the Cove. They had just left the
rich and mellow scenery of the former district, and were now
passing into the picturesque valley of the latter. It was evident
from the travel-worn appearance of their horses, as well as from their
equipments, that they had journeyed many a mile before they had
reached this spot; and it might also have been perceived that the
shifting beauties of the landscape were not totally disregarded by
Butler, at least,—as he was seen to halt on the summit of the hill,
turn and gaze back upon the wood-embowered fields that lay
beneath his eye, and by lively gestures to direct the notice of his
companion to the same quarter. Often, too, as they moved slowly
downward, he reined up his steed to contemplate more at leisure
the close, forest-shaded ravine before them, through which the Cove
creek held its noisy way. It was not so obvious that his companion
responded to the earnest emotions which this wild and beautiful
scenery excited in his mind.

Arthur Butler was now in the possession of the vigor of early
manhood, with apparently some eight and twenty years upon his
head. His frame was well proportioned, light and active. His
face, though distinguished by a smooth and almost beardless cheek,
still presented an outline of decided manly beauty. The sun and
wind had tanned his complexion, except where a rich volume of
black hair upon his brow had preserved the original fairness of a

high, broad forehead. A hazel eye sparkled under the shade of a
dark lash, and indicated, by its alternate playfulness and decision,
an adventurous as well as a cheerful spirit. His whole bearing,
visage and figure, seemed to speak of one familiar with enterprise
and fond of danger:—they denoted gentle breeding predominating
over a life of toil and privation.

Notwithstanding his profession, which was seen in his erect and
peremptory carriage, his dress, at this time, was, with some slight
exceptions, merely civil. And here, touching this matter of dress,
I have a prefatory word to say to my reader. Although custom, or
the fashion of the story-telling craft, may require that I should
satisfy the antiquarian in this important circumstance of apparel of
the days gone by, yet, on the present occasion, I shall be somewhat
chary of my lore in that behalf;—seeing that any man who is
curious on the score of the costume of the revolution time, may be
fully satisfied by studying those most graphic “counterfeit presentments”
of sundry historical passages of that day, wherewith Colonel
Trumbull has furnished this age, for the edification of posterity, in
the great rotunda of the Capitol of the United States. And I
confess, too, I have another reason for my present reluctance,—as I
feel some faint misgiving lest my principal actor might run the risk
of making a sorry figure with the living generation, were I to
introduce him upon the stage in a coat, whose technical description,
after the manner of a botanical formula, might be comprised in the
following summary:—long-waisted—wide-skirted—narrow-collared
—broad-backed—big-buttoned—and large-lapelled;—and then to
add to this, what would be equally outlandish, yellow small-clothes,
and dark-topped boots, attached by a leather strap to the buttons at
the knee,—without which said boots, no gentleman in 1780
ventured to mount on horseback.

But when I say that Captain Butler travelled on his present
journey, habited in the civil costume of a gentleman of the time, I
do not mean to exclude a round hat pretty much of the fashion of
the present day—though then but little used except amongst
military men—with a white cockade to show his party; nor do I
wish to be considered as derogating from that peaceful character
when I add that his saddle-bow was fortified by a brace of
horseman's pistols, stowed away in large holsters, covered with bear

skin;—for, in those days, when hostile banners were unfurled, and
men challenged each other upon the highways, these pistols were a
part of the countenance (to use an excellent old phrase) of a
gentleman.

Galbraith Robinson was a man of altogether rougher mould.
Nature had carved out, in his person, an athlete whom the sculptors
might have studied to improve the Hercules. Every lineament of
his body indicated strength. His stature was rather above six feet;
his chest broad; his limbs sinewy, and remarkable for their symmetry.
There seemed to be no useless flesh upon his frame to
soften the prominent surface of his muscles; and his ample thigh,
as he sat upon horseback, showed the working of its texture at each
step, as if part of the animal on which he rode. His was one of
those iron forms that might be imagined almost bullet proof. With
all these advantages of person, there was a radiant, broad, good
nature upon his face; and the glance of a large, clear, blue eye told
of arch thoughts, and of shrewd, homely wisdom. A ruddy
complexion accorded well with his sprightly, but massive features,
of which the prevailing expression was such as silently invited
friendship and trust. If to these traits be added an abundant
shock of yellow, curly hair, terminating in a luxuriant queue, confined
by a narrow strand of leather cord, my reader will have a tolerably
correct idea of the person I wish to describe.

Robinson had been a blacksmith at the breaking out of the
revolution, and, in truth, could hardly be said to have yet abandoned
the craft; although of late, he had been engaged in a course of
life which had but little to do with the anvil, except in that
metaphorical sense of hammering out and shaping the rough, iron
independence of his country. He was the owner of a little farm in
the Waxhaw settlement, on the Catawba, and having pitched his
habitation upon a promontory, around whose base the Waxhaw
creek swept with a regular but narrow circuit, this locality, taken in
connexion with his calling, gave rise to a common prefix to his
name throughout the neighborhood, and he was therefore almost
exclusively distinguished by the sobriquet of Horse Shoe Robinson.
This familiar appellative had followed him into the army.

The age of Horse Shoe was some seven or eight years in
advance of that of Butler—a circumstance which the worthy senior

did not fail to use with some authority in their personal intercourse,
holding himself, on that account, to be like Cassius, an elder, if not
a better soldier. On the present occasion, his dress was of the
plainest and most rustic description: a spherical crowned hat with
a broad brim, a coarse grey coatee of mixed cotton and wool, dark
linsey-woolsey trowsers adhering closely to his leg, hob-nailed shoes,
and a red cotton handkerchief tied carelessly round his neck with a
knot upon his bosom. This costume, and a long rifle thrown into
the angle of the right arm, with the breech resting on his pommel,
and a pouch of deer-skin, with a powder horn attached to it,
suspended on his right side, might have warranted a spectator in
taking Robinson for a woodsman, or hunter from the neighboring
mountains.

Such were the two personages who now came “pricking o'er the
hill.” The period at which I have presented them to my reader
was, perhaps, the most anxious one of the whole struggle for
independence. Without falling into a long narrative of events which are
familiar, at least to every American, I may recall the fact that Gates
had just passed southward, to take command of the army destined
to act against Cornwallis. It was now within a few weeks of that
decisive battle which sent the hero of Saratoga “bootless home and
weather-beaten back,” to ponder over the mutations of fortune, and,
in the quiet shades of Virginia, to strike the balance of fame
between northern glory and southern discomfiture. It may be
imagined then, that our travellers were not without some share of
that intense interest for the events “upon the gale,” which everywhere
pervaded the nation. Still, as I have before hinted, Arthur
Butler did not journey through this beautiful region without a
lively perception of the charms which nature had spread around
him. The soil of this district is remarkable for its blood-red hue.
The side of every bank glowed in the sun with this bright
vermillion tint, and the new-made furrow, wherever the early
ploughman had scarred the soil, turned up to view the predominating
color. The contrast of this with the luxuriant grass and
the yellow stubble, with the grey and mossy rock, and with the
deep green shade of the surrounding forest, perpetually solicited
the notice of the lover of landscape; and from every height, the
eye rested with pleasure upon the rich meadows of the bottom

land—upon the varied cornfields spread over the hills; upon the
adjacent mountains, with their bald crags peeping through the screen
of forest, and especially upon the broad lines of naked earth
that, here and there, lighted up and relieved, as a painter would
say, with its warm coloring, the heavy masses of shade.

The day was hot, and it was with a grateful sense of refreshment
that our wayfarers, no less than their horses, found themselves, as
they approached the lowland, gradually penetrating the deep and
tangled thicket and the high wood that hung over and darkened the
channel of the small stream which rippled through the valley. Their
road lay along this stream and frequently crossed it at narrow fords,
where the water fell from rock to rock in small cascades, presenting
natural basins of the limpid flood, embosomed in laurel and alder,
and gurgling that busy music which is one of the most welcome
sounds to the ear of a wearied and overheated traveller.

Butler said but little to his companion, except now and then to
express a passing emotion of admiration for the natural embellishments
of the region; until, at length, the road brought them to a
huge mass of rock, from whose base a fountain issued forth over a
bed of gravel, and soon lost itself in the brook hard by. A small
strip of bark, that some friend of the traveller had placed there,
caught the pure water as it was distilled from the rock, and threw it
off in a spout, some few inches above the surface of the ground. The
earth trodden around this spot showed it to be a customary halting
place for those who journeyed on the road.

Here Butler checked his horse, and announced to his comrade his
intention to suspend, for a while, the toil of travel.

“There is one thing, Galbraith,” said he, as he dismounted,
“wherein all philosophers agree—man must eat when he is hungry,
and rest when he is weary. We have now been some six hours on
horseback, and as this fountain seems to have been put here for our
use, it would be sinfully slighting the bounties of providence not to
do it the honor of a halt. Get down, man; rummage your havresac,
and let us see what you have there.”

Robinson was soon upon his feet, and taking the horses a little
distance off, he fastened their bridles to the impending branches of
a tree; then opening his saddle-bags, he produced a wallet with
which he approached the fountain, where Butler had thrown himself

at full length upon the grass. Here, as he successively disclosed
his stores, he announced his bill of fare, with suitable deliberation
between each item, in the following terms:

“I don't march without provisions, you see, captain—or major, I
suppose I must call you now. Here's the rear division of a roast
pig, and along with it, by way of flankers, two spread eagles (holding
up two broiled fowls), and here are four slices from the best end
of a ham. Besides these, I can throw in two apple-jacks, a half
dozen of rolls, and—”

“Your wallet is as bountiful as a conjurer's bag, sergeant; it is a
perfect cornucopia. How did you come by all this provender?”

“It isn't so overmuch, major, when you come to consider,” said
Robinson. “The old landlady at Charlottesville is none of your
heap-up, shake-down, and running-over landladies, and when I signified
to her that we mought want a snack upon the road, she as
much as gave me to understand that there wa'n't nothing to be had.
But I took care to make fair weather with her daughter, as I always
do amongst the creatures, and she let me into the pantry, where I
made bold to stow away these few trifling articles, under the denomination
of pillage. If you are fond of Indian corn bread, I can
give you a pretty good slice of that.”

“Pillage, Galbraith! You forget you are not in an enemy's
country. I directed you scrupulously to pay for everything you got
upon the road. I hope you have not omitted it to-day?”

“Lord, sir! what do these women do for the cause of liberty but
cook, and wash, and mend!” exclaimed the sergeant. “I told the old
Jezebel to charge it all to the continental congress.”

“Out upon it, man! Would you bring us into discredit with
our best friends, by your villanous habits of free quarters?”

“I am not the only man, major, that has been spoiled in his religion
by these wars. I had both politeness and decency till we got
to squabbling over our chimney corners in Carolina. But when a
man's conscience begins to get hard, it does it faster than anything
in nature: it is, I may say, like the boiling of an egg—it is very
clear at first, but as soon as it gets cloudy, one minute more and you
may cut it with a knife.”

“Well, well! Let us fall to, sergeant; this is no time to argue
points of conscience.”

“You seem to take no notice of this here bottle of peach brandy,
major,” said Robinson. “It's a bird that came out of the same
nest. To my thinking it's a sort of a file leader to an eatable, if it
ar'n't an eatable itself.”

“Peace, Galbraith! it is the vice of the army to set too much
store by this devil brandy.”

The sergeant was outwardly moved by an inward laugh that
shook his head and shoulders.

“Do you suppose, major, that Troy town was taken without
brandy? It's drilling and countermarching and charging with the
bagnet, all three, sir. But before we begin, I will just strip our
horses. A flurry of cool air on the saddle spot is the best thing in
nature for a tired horse.”

Robinson now performed this office for their jaded cattle; and
having given them a mouthful of water at the brook, returned to his
post, and soon began to despatch, with a laudable alacrity, the heaps
of provision before him. Butler partook with a keen appetite of
this sylvan repast, and was greatly amused to see with what relish
his companion caused slice after slice to vanish, until nothing was
left of this large supply but a few fragments.

“You have lost neither stomach nor strength by the troubles,
sergeant; the short commons of Charleston would have gone something
against the grain with you, if you had stayed for that course of
diet.”

“It is a little over two months,” said Robinson, “since I got away
from them devils; and if it hadn't been for these here wings of mine
(pointing to his legs), I might have been a caged bird to-day.”

“You have never told me the story of your escape,” said Butler.

“You were always too busy, or too full of your own thoughts,
major, for me to take up your time with such talk,” replied the
other. “But, if you would like me to tell you all about it, while
you are resting yourself here on the ground, and have got nothing
better to think about, why, I'll start like old Jack Carter of our mess,
by beginning, as he used to say when he had a tough story ahead,
right at the beginning.”

“Do so, sergeant, and do it discreetly; but first, swallow that
mouthful, for you don't speak very clear.”

“I'll wash down the gutter, major, according to camp fashion,

and then my throat will be as clear as the morning gun after sun-rise.”

And saying this, the tall soldier helped himself to a hearty draught
of cool water mingled in fair proportion with a part of the contents
of his flask, and setting the cup down by his side, he commenced as
follows:—

“You was with us, major, when Prevost served us that trick in
Georgia, last year—kept us, you remember, on the look out for him
t'other side of the Savannah, whilst all the time he was whisking of
it down to Charleston.”

“You call this beginning at the beginning? Faith, you have
started a full year before your time. Do you think yourself a Polybius
or a Xenophon—who were two famous old fellows, just in
your line, sergeant—that you set out with a history of a whole
war.”

“I never knew any persons in our line—officers or men—of either
of them names,”—replied Robinson,—“they were nicknames, perhaps;—but
I do know, as well as another, when a thing turns up
that is worth notice, major; and this is one of 'em:—and that's the
reason why I make mention of it. What I was going to say was
this—that it was a sign fit for General Lincoln's consarnment, that
these here British should make a push at Charleston on the tenth
of May, 1779, and get beaten, and that exactly in one year and two
days afterwards, they should make another push and win the town.
Now, what was it a sign of, but that they and the tories was more
industrious that year than we were?”

“Granted,” said Butler, “now to your story, Mister Philosopher!”

“In what month was it you left us?” inquired the sergeant
gravely.

“In March,” answered Butler.

“General Lincoln sent you off, as we were told, on some business
with the continental congress: to get us more troops, if I am right.
It was a pity to throw away a good army on such a place—for it
wa'nt worth defending at last. From the time that you set out,
they began to shut us in, every day a little closer. First, they
closed a door on one side, and then on t'other: till, at last they sent
a sort of flash-o'-lightning fellow—this here Colonel Tarleton—up to
Monk's corner, which, you know, was our back door, and he shut

that up and double bolted it, by giving Huger a most tremenjious
lathering. Now, when we were shut in, we had nothing to do but
look out. I'll tell you an observation I made, at that time.”

“Well.”

“Why, when a man has got to fight, it's a natural sort of thing
enough;—but when he has got nothing to eat, it's an onnatural
state. I have hearn of men who should have said they would rather
fight than eat:—if they told truth they would have made honest
fellows for our garrison at Charlestown. First, our vegetables—after
that devil took up his quarters at Monk's corner—began to give out:
then, our meat; and, finally, we had nothing left but rice, which I
consider neither fish, flesh, nor good salt herring”—

“You had good spirits, though, sergeant.”

“If you mean rum or brandy, major, we hadn't much of that;—
but if you mean jokes and laughs, it must be hard times that wlll
stop them in camp.—I'll tell you one of them, that made a great
hurra on both sides, where we got the better of a Scotch regiment
that was plaguing us from outside the town. They thought they
would make themselves merry with our starvation—so, they throwed
a bomb shell into our lines, that, as it came along through the air,
we saw had some devilment in it, from the streak it made in day-light;
and, sure enough, when we come to look at it on the ground,
we found it filled with rice and molasses—just to show that these
Scotchmen were laughing at us for having nothing to eat. Well,
what do we do but fill another shell with brimstone and hogslard,
and just drop it handsomely amongst the lads from the land o'cakes?
Gad, sir, it soon got to the hearing of the English regiment, and
such a shouting as they sot up from their lines against the Scotchmen!
That's what I call giving as good as they saunt, major—ha
ha ha!'

“It wasn't a bad repartee, Galbraith,” said Butler, joining in the
laugh. “But go on with your siege.”

“We got taken, at last,” proceeded Horse Shoe, “and surrendered
on the 12th of May. Do you know that they condescended to let
us go through the motions of marching outside the lines? Still it
was a sorry day to see our colors tied as fast to their sticks as if a
stocking had been drawn over them. After that, we were marched
to the barracks and put into close confinement.”

“Yes, I have heard that; and with heavy hearts—and a dreary
prospect before you, sergeant.”

“I shouldn't have minded it much, Major Butler, it was the
fortune of war. But they insulted us as soon as they got our arms
from us. It was a blasted cowardly trick in them to endeavor to
wean us from our cause, which they tried every day; it was
seduction, I may say. First, they told us that Colonel Pinckney
and some other officers had gone over; but that was too
onprobable a piece of rascality,—we didn't believe one word on't.
So, one morning Colonel Pinckney axed that we mought be drawed
up in a line in front of the barracks; and there he made us a speech.
We were as silent as so many men on a surprise party. The
colonel said—yes, sir, and right in their very teeth—that it was an
infamious, audacious calamy: that whenever he desarted the cause
of liberty, he hoped they would take him, as they had done some
Roman officer or other—I think one Officious, as I understood the
colonel—you've hearn of him, may be—and tie his limbs to wild
horses, and set them adrift, at full speed, taking all his joints apart,
so that not one traitorious limb should be left to keep company with
another. It was a mighty severe punishment, whoever he mought'a
been. The British officers began to frown—and I saw one chap
put his hand upon his sword. It would have done you good to
witness the look the colonel gave him, as he put his own hand to
his thigh to feel if his sword was there—he so naturally forgot he
was a prisoner. They made him stop speaking howsever, because
they gave out that it was perditious language; and so, they dismissed
us—but we let them have three cheers to show that we were in
heart.”

“It was like Pinckney,” said Butler; “I'll warrant him a true
man, Galbraith.”

“I'll thribble that warrant,” replied Galbraith, “and afterwards
make it nine. I wish you could have hearn him. I always thought
a bugle horn the best music in the world, till that day. But that
day Colonel Charles Cotesworth Pinckney's voice was sweeter than
shawns and trumpets, as the preacher says, and bugles to boot. I
have hearn people tell of speeches working like a fiddle on a man's
nerves, major: but, for my part, I think they sometimes work like a
battery of field-pieces, or a whole regimental band on a parade day.

Howsever, I was going on to tell you, Colonel Pinckney put a stop
to all this parleying with our poor fellows; and knowing, major,
that you was likely to be coming this way, he axed me if I thought
I could give the guard the slip, and make off with a letter to meet
you. Well, I studied over the thing for a while, and then told him
a neck was but a neck any how, and that I could try; and so, when
his letter was ready, he gave it to me, telling me to hide it so that,
if I was sarched, it couldn't be found on my person. Do you see
that foot?” added Horse Shoe, smiling, “it isn't so small but that I
could put a letter between the inside sole and the out, longways, or
even crossways, for the matter of that, and that, without so much as
turning down a corner. Correspondent and accordingly I stitched
it in. The colonel then told me to watch my chance and make off
to you in the Jarseys, as fast as I could. He told me, besides, that
I was to stay with you, because you was likely to have business for
me to do.”

“That's true, good sergeant.”

“There came on a darkish, drizzly evening; and a little before
roll call, at sun set, I borrowed an old forage cloak from Corporal
Green—you mought have remembered him—and out I went towards
the lines, and sauntered along the edge of the town, till I came to
one of your pipe-smoking, gin-drinking Hessians, keeping sentry
near the road that leads out towards Ashley ferry:—a fellow that
had no more watch in him—bless your soul!—as these Dutchmen
hav'n't—than a duck on a rainy day. So, said I, coming up boldly
to him, `Hans, wie gehet es'—`Geh zum Teufel,' says he, laughing
—for he knowed me. That was all the Dutch I could speak, except
I was able to say it was going to rain, so I told him—`Es will regnen'—which
he knowed as well as I did, for it was raining all the
time. I had a little more palaver with Hans, and, at last, he got
up on his feet and set to walking up and down. By this time the
drums beat for evening quarters, and I bid Hans good night; but,
instead of going away, I squatted behind the Dutchman's sentry
box;—and, presently, the rain came down by the bucket full; it
got very dark and Hans was snug under cover. The grand rounds
was coming; I could hear the tramp of feet, and as no time was to
be lost, I made a long step and a short story of it, by just slipping
over the lines and setting out to seek my fortune.”

“Well done, sergeant! You were ever good at these pranks.”

“But that wasn't all,” continued Robinson. “As the prime file
leader of mischief would have it, outside of the lines I meets a cart
with a man to drive it, and two soldiers on foot, by way of guard.

“The first I was aware of it, was a hallo, and then a bagnet to my
breast. I didn't ask for countersigns, for I didn't mean to trade in
words that night; but, just seizing hold of the muzzle of the piece,
I twisted it out of the fellow's hand, and made him a present of the
butt-end across his pate. I didn't want to hurt him, you see, for it
wa'n't his fault that he stopped me. A back-hander brought down
the other, and the third man drove off his cart, as if he had some
suspicion that his comrades were on their backs in the mud. I
didn't mean to trouble a peaceable man with my compliments, but
on the contrary, as the preacher says, I went on my way rejoicing.”

“You were very considerate, sergeant; I entirely approve of your
moderation. As you are a brave man, and have a natural liking for
danger, this was a night that, doubtless, afforded you great satisfaction.”

“When danger stares you in the face,” replied Horse Shoe, “the
best way is not to see it. It is only in not seeing of it, that a brave
man differs from a coward: that's my opinion. Well, after that I
had a hard time of it. I was afraid to keep up the Neck road, upon
account of the sodgers that was upon it; so I determined to cross
the Ashley, and make for the Orangeburg district. When I came
to the ferry, I was a little dubious about taking one of the skiffs that
was hauled up, for fear of making a noise; so I slipped off my shoe
that had your letter, and put it betwixt my teeth and swum the
river. I must have made some splashing in the water—although I
tried to muffle my oars, too, for first, I heard a challenge from the
ferry-house, and then the crack of a musket: but it was so dark
you couldn't see an egg on your own nose. There was a little flustering
of lights on the shore, and a turnout of the guard, may be;
but, I suppose, they thought it was a sturgeon, or some such beast,
and so made no more of it; and I got safe to the other bank.”

“Faithfully and bravely, sergeant!”

“For the first three or four days the chances were all against me.
The whole country was full of tories, and it wasn't safe to meet a
man on the road: you couldn't tell whether he was friend or enemy.

I durstn't show my face in day-time at all, but lay close in the
swamps; and when it began to grow dark, I stole out, like a wolf,
and travelled across the fields, and along the byways.”

“You had a good stomach to bear it, sergeant.”

“A good stomach enough, but not much in it. I'll tell you another
observation I made; when a man travels all night long on an
empty stomach, he ought either to fill it next morning or make it
smaller.”

“And how is that to be managed, friend Horse Shoe?”

“Indian fashion,” replied the sergeant. “Buckle your belt a little
tighter every two or three hours. A man may shrivel his guts up
to the size of a pipe stem. But I found a better way to get along
than by taking in my belt”—

“Now, for another stratagem!”

“I commonly, about dark, crept as near to a farm house as I
mought venture to go; and, putting on a poor mouth, told the folks
I had a touch of the small-pox, and was dying for a little food.
They were Christians enough to give me a dish of bread and
milk, or something of that sort, and cowards enough to keep so
much out of the way, as not to get a chance to look me in the face.
They laid provisions on the ground, and then walked away while I
came up to get them. Though I didn't think much of the fashion
I was waited on, and had sometimes to quarrel with a bull-dog for
my supper, I don't believe I ever ate with a better appetite in my
life. The first bread of freedom, no matter how coarse, a man eats
after his escape from prison, is the sweetest morsel in nature. And
I do think it is a little pleasanter when he eats it at the risk of his
life.”

Butler nodded his head.

“Well, after this,” continued Horse Shoe, “I had like to have lost
all by another mishap. My course was for the upper country,
because the nearer I got to my own home the better I was acquainted
with the people. That serummaging character, Tarleton, you may
have hearn, scampered off, as soon as ever Charlestown was taken,
after Colonel Abraham Buford, who was on his way down to the city
when the news was fotch him of our surrender. Buford accordingly
came to the right about, to get out of harm's way as fast as he could,
and Tarleton followed close on his heels. Think of that devil, major,

trying to catch a man a hundred miles away! It was a brazen
hearted thing! considering, besides, that Buford had a good regiment
with him. When nobody thought it anything more than a
brag, sure enough, he overhauls Buford yonder at the Waxhaws—
onawares, you may say—and there he tore him all to pieces. They
say it was a bloody cruel sight, to see how these English troopers
did mangle the poor fellows. I doubt there wasn't fair play. But,
major, that Tarleton rides well and is a proper soldier, take him man
to man. It so happened that as I was making along towards
Catawba, who should I come plump upon, but Tarleton and his lads,
with their prisoners, all halting beside a little run to get water!”

“Again in trouble, sergeant! Truly you have had full measure
of adventures!”

“I was pretty near nonplushed, major,” said Horse Shoe, with a
broad laugh, “but I thought of a stratagem. I let fall my under
jaw, and sot my eyes as wild as a madman, and twisted my whole
face out of joint—and began to clap my hands, and hurra for the
red coats, like a natural fool. So, when Tarleton and two or three
of his people came to take notice of me, they put me down for a
poor idiot that had been turned adrift.”

“Did they hold any discourse with you?”

“A good deal; and, just to try me, they flogged me with the flats
of their swords; but I laughed and made merry when they hurt me
worst, and told them I thanked them for their politeness. There
were some of our people amongst the prisoners, that I knew,
and I was mortally afeard they would let on, but they didn't.
Especially, there was Seth Cuthbert, from Tryon, who had both of
his hands chopped off in the fray at the Waxhaws; he was riding
double behind a trooper, and he held up the stumps just to let me
see how barbarously he was mangled. I was dubious they would
see that he knowed me, but he took care of that. Bless your soul,
major! he saw my drift in the first shot of his eye. Thinking that
they mought take it into their noddles to carry me along with them
back, I played the quarest trick that I suppose ever a man thought
of; it makes me laugh now to tell it. I made a spring that fetched
me right upon the crupper of Colonel Tarleton's horse, which sot him
to kicking and flirting at a merry rate; and, whilst the creature was
floundering as if a hornet had stung him, I took the colonel's cap

and put it upon my own head, and gave him mine. And after I had
vagaried in this sort of way for a little while, I let the horse fling
me on the ground. You would have thought the devils would have
died a laughing. And the colonel himself, although at first he was
very angry, couldn't help laughing likewise. He said that I was as
strange a fool as he ever saw, and that it would be a pity to hurt
me. So he threw me a shilling, and, whilst they were all in good
humor, I trudged away.”

“It was a bold experiment, and might be practised a thousand
times without success. If I did not know you, Robinson, to be a
man of truth, as well as courage, I should scarce believe this tale.
If any one, hereafter, should tell your story, he will be accounted a
fiction-monger.”

“I do not boast, Major Butler; and, as to my story, I care very
little who tells it. Every trick is good in war. I can change my
face and voice both, so that my best friends shouldn't know me:
and, in these times, I am willing to change every thing but my
coat, and even that, if I have a witness to my heart, and it will
serve a turn to help the country. Am I not right?”

“No man ever blames another for that, sergeant, and if ever you
should be put to the trial, you will find friends enough to vouch for
your honesty.”

“When I got away from Tarleton it wasn't long before I reached
my own cabin. There I mustered my horse and gun, and some
decent clothes; and after a good sleep, and a belly full of food, I
started for the north, as fast as I could, with my letter. I put it
into your own hands, and you know the rest.”

“This will be a good tale for a winter night,” said Butler, “to be
told hereafter, in a snug chimney corner, to your wife and children,
when peace, as I trust it may, will make you happy in the possession
of both. Your embassy has had marvellous good luck so far. I
hope it may prove a happy omen for our future enterprise. Now it
is my turn, Galbraith, to tell you something of our plans. Colonel
Pinckney has apprised me of the state of things in the upper
country. Our good friend Clarke there meditates an attempt to
regain Augusta and Ninety-six; and we have reason to believe that
some levies will be made by our confederates in Virginia and elsewhere.
My business is to co-operate in this undertaking; and as it

was essential I should have the guidance of some man acquainted
with that country—some good soldier, true and trusty—the colonel
has selected you to accompany me. These red coats have already
got possession of all the strongholds; and the tories, you know,
swarm in the country, like the locusts of Egypt. I stand in need,
sergeant, of a friend with a discreet head and a strong arm. I
could not have picked out of the army a better man than Sergeant
Galbraith Robinson. Besides, Horse Shoe,” he added, putting his
hand gently upon the sergeant's shoulder, “old acquaintance has
bred an affection between us.”

“I am a man that can eat my allowance, major,” said Robinson,
with an awkward diffidence at hearing the encomium just passed
upon him, “and that's a matter that doesn't turn to much profit
in an empty country. But I think I may make bold to promise,
that you are not like to suffer, if a word or a blow from me would
do you any good.”

“Your belt may be serviceable in two ways in this expedition,
Horse Shoe: it may be buckled closer in scant times, and will
carry a sword in dangerous ones.”

“May I ask, major,” inquired Horse Shoe, “since you have
got to talking of our business, what has brought us so high up the
country, along here? It seems to me that the lower road would
have been nearer.”

“Suppose I say, Galbraith,” replied Butler, with animation,
“that there is a bird nestles in these woods, I was fond of hearing
sing, would it be unsoldierlike, think you, to make a harder ride
and a larger circuit for that gratification?”

“Oh! I understand, major,” said Horse Shoe, laughing,
“whether it be peace or whether it be war, these women keep the
upper hand of us men. For my part, I think it's more natural to
think of them in war than in peace. For, you see, the creatures
are so helpless, that if a man don't take care of them, who
would? And then, when a woman's frightened, as she must be
in these times, she clings so naturally to a man! It stands to
reason!”

“You will keep my counsel, Galbraith,” interrupted Butler.
“I have a reason which, perhaps, you may know by and by, why
you should not speak of any thing you may see or hear. And now,

as we have spent a good hour in refreshment, sergeant, make our
horses ready. We'll take the road again.”

Robinson promised caution in all matters that might be committed
to his charge, and now set himself about saddling the horses for
the journey. Whilst he was engaged in this occupation, Butler was
startled to hear the sergeant abruptly cry out—“You devil, Captain
Peter Clinch! what are you about?” and, looking hastily around,
saw no one but the trusty squire himself, who was now sedately intent
upon thrusting the bit into his horse's mouth,—a liberty which the
animal seemed to resent by sundry manifestations of waywardness.

“To whom are you talking, Galbraith?”

“Only to this here contrary, obstropolous beast, major.”

“What name did you call him by?” inquired Butler.

“Ha, ha, ha! was it that you was listening too?” said Horse
Shoe. “I have christened him Captain Peter—sometimes Captain
Peter Clinch. I'll tell you why. I am a little malicious touching
the name of my horse. After the surrender of Charlestown, our
regiment was put in the charge of a provost marshal, by the name
of Captain Clinch, and his first name was Peter. He was a rough,
ugly, wiry-haired fellow, with no better bowels than a barrel of
vinegar. He gave us all sorts of ill usage, knowing that we wa'n't
allowed to give him the kind of payment that such an oncomfortable
fellow desarved to get. If ever I had met him again, major,
setters parbus—as Lieutenant Hopkins used to say—which is lingo,
I take it, for a fair field, I would'a cudgelled his pate for him, to the
satisfaction of all good fellows. Well, when I got home, I gave his
name to my beast, just for the pleasure of thinking of that hang-gallows
thief, every time I had occasion to give the creetur a dig in
the ribs, or lay a blow across his withers! And yet he is a most
an excellent horse, major, and a hundred times more of a gentleman
than his namesake,—though he is a little hard-headed too—but
that he larnt from me. It really seems to me that the dumb beast
thinks his name a disgrace, as he has good right, but has got used
to it. And, besides, I hear that the cross-grained, growling dog of
a captain has been killed in a scuffle since I left Charlestown, so
now I consider my horse a sort of tombstone with the ugly sinner's
name on it; and as I straddle it every day you see, that's another
satisfaction.”

“Well, sergeant, there are few men enjoy their revenge more
good-humoredly than you. So, come, straddle your tombstone
again, and make the bones beneath it jog.”

In good glee, our travellers now betook themselves once more to
the road.