University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

It was the misfortune of South Carolina, during the revolutionary
war, to possess a numerous party less attached to the union or
more tainted with disaffection than the inhabitants of any of the
other states. Amongst her citizens the disinclination to sever from
the mother country was stronger, the spread of republican
principles more limited, and the march of revolution slower, than in
either of the other colonies, except, perhaps, in the neighbor state
of Georgia, where the people residing along the Savannah river,
were so closely allied to the Carolinians in sentiment, habits, and
pursuits, as to partake pretty accurately of the same political prejudices,
and to unite themselves in parties of the same complexion.
Upon the first invasion of Georgia, at the close of the year 1778,
the city of Savannah was made an easy conquest, and a mere
handful of men, early in 1779, were enabled to penetrate the
interior as far as Augusta, and to seize upon that post. The
audacity with which Prevost threatened Charleston in the same
year, the facility of his march through South Carolina, and the
safety which attended his retreat, told a sad tale of the supineness
of the people of that province. The reduction of Charleston in the
following year, by Sir Henry Clinton, was followed with singular
rapidity by the conquest of the whole province. A civil government
was erected. The most remote posts in the mountains were
at once occupied by British soldiers or provincial troops, mustered
under the officers of the royal army. Proclamations were issued to
call back the wandering sheep to the royal fold; and they,
accordingly, like herds that had been scattered from beneath the
eye of the shepherd by some rough incursion of wolves, flocked in
as soon as they were aware of the retreat of their enemy. Lord
Cornwallis, upon whom the command devolved after the return of

Sir Henry Clinton in June to New York, recruited his army from
these repentant or unwilling republicans; and the people rejoiced
at what they thought the end of strife and the establishment of
law. The auxiliaries who had marched from Virginia and North
Carolina under Colonel Buford, to assist in the defence of the
southern capital, were informed of its surrender as they journeyed
thither, and soon found themselves obliged to fly through a country
they had come to succor;—and when even at the distance of one
hundred and fifty miles from the city, were overtaken by the ruthless
troopers of Tarleton, and butchered under circumstances
peculiarly deplorable.

In truth, a large proportion of the population of South Carolina
seem to have regarded the revolution with disfavor, and they were
slow to break their ancient friendship for the land of their forefathers.
The colonial government was mild and beneficent in its
action upon the province, and the people had a reverence for the
mother country deeper and more affectionate than was found elsewhere.
They did not resent, because, haply, they did not feel the
innovations of right asserted by the British crown, so acutely as
some of their neighbors; to them it did not seem to be so unreasonable
that taxation should be divorced from representation. They
did not quarrel with the assumption of Great Britain to regulate
their trade for them in such manner as best suited her own views
of interest; nor did they see in mere commercial restrictions the
justification of civil war and hot rebellion;—because, peradventure,
(if I may hazard a reason) being a colony of planters whose products
were much in demand in England, neither the regulations
of their trade nor the restrictions upon commerce, were likely to
be so adjusted as to interfere with the profitable expansion of their
labors.

Such might be said to be the more popular sentiment of the
State at the time of its subjugation by Sir Henry Clinton and
Lord Cornwallis. To this common feeling there were many brilliant
exceptions; and the more brilliant because they stood, as it
were, apart from the preponderating mass of public judgment.
There is no trial of courage which will bear comparison with that
of a man whose own opinions stand in opposition, upon fearful
question of passion, to those of the “giddy-paced” and excited

multitude, and who, nevertheless, carries them “into act.” That
man who can stand in the breach of universal public censure, with
all the fashions of opinion disgracing him in the thoughts of the
lookers on, with the tide of obloquy beating against his breast,
and the fingers of the mighty, combined many, pointing him to
scorn; nay, with the fury of the drunken rabble threatening him
with instant death; and, worse than all, having no present friend
to whisper a word of defence or palliative, in his behalf, to his
revilers, but bravely giving his naked head to the storm, because
he knows himself to be virtuous in his purpose; that man shall
come forth from this fierce ordeal like tried gold; philosophy shall
embalm his name in her richest unction, history shall give him a
place on her brightest page, and old, yea, hoary, far-off posterity
shall remember him as of yesterday.

There were heroes of this mould in South Carolina, who entered
with the best spirit of chivalry into the national quarrel, and
brought to it hearts as bold, minds as vigorous, and arms as strong
as ever, in any clime, worked out a nation's redemption. These
men refused submission to their conquerors, and endured exile,
chains, and prisons, rather than the yoke. Some few, still undiscouraged
by the portents of the times, retreated into secret places,
gathered their few patriot neighbors together, and contrived to
keep in awe the soldier-government that now professed to sway the
land. They lived on the scant aliment furnished in the woods,
slept in the tangled brakes and secret places of the fen, exacted
contributions from the adherents of the crown, and by rapid movements
of their woodland cavalry and brave blows, accomplished
more than thrice their numbers would have achieved in ordinary
warfare.

The disaffected abounded in the upper country, and here Cornwallis
maintained some strong garrisons. The difficulties that surrounded
the republican leaders may well be supposed to have been
appalling in this region, where regular posts had been established
to furnish the Tories secure points of union, and the certainty of
prompt assistance whenever required. Yet notwithstanding the
numerical inferiority of the friends of independence, their guarded
and proscribed condition, their want of support, and their almost
absolute destitution of all the necessaries of military life, the nation

was often rejoiced to hear of brilliant passages of arms, where, however
unimportant the consequences, the display of soldiership and
bravery was of the highest order. In such encounters, or frays,
they might almost be called, from the smallness of the numbers
concerned and the hand-to-hand mode of fighting which they
exhibited, Marion, Sumpter, Horry, Pickens, and many others, had
won a fame that in a nation of poetical or legendary associations
would have been reduplicated through a thousand channels of immortal
verse: but, alas! we have no ballads: and many men,
who as well deserve to be remembered as Percy or Douglas, as
Adam Bell or Clym of the Clough, have sunk down without even
a couplet-epitaph upon the rude stone, that in some unfenced and
unreverenced grave-yard still marks the lap of earth whereon
their heads were laid.

One feature that belonged to this unhappy state of things in
Carolina was the division of families. Kindred were arrayed
against each other in deadly feuds, and, not unfrequently, brother
took up arms against brother, and sons against their sires. A prevailing
spirit of treachery and distrust marked the times. Strangers
did not know how far they might trust to the rites of hospitality;
and many a man laid his head upon his pillow, uncertain whether
his fellow lodger, or he with whom he had broken bread at his
last meal, might not invade him in the secret watches of the night
and murder him in his slumbers. All went armed, and many
slept with pistols or daggers under their pillows. There are tales
told of men being summoned to their doors or windows at midnight
by the blaze of their farm-yards to which the incendiary torch had
been applied, and shot down, in the light of the conflagration, by a
concealed hand. Families were obliged to betake themselves to
the shelter of the thickets and swamps, when their own homesteads
were dangerous places. The enemy wore no colors, and
was not to be distinguished from friends either by outward guise
or speech. Nothing could be more revolting than to see the
symbols of peace thus misleading the confident into the toils of
war; nor is it possible to imagine a state of society characterized
by a more frightful insecurity.

Such was the condition of the country to which my tale now
makes it necessary to introduce my reader. Butler's instructions

required that he should report himself to General Gates, and,
unless detained for more pressing duty, to proceed with all the circumspection
which the enterprise might require, to Colonel Clarke,
who, it was known, was at that time in the upland country of
South Carolina, raising troops to act against Augusta and other
British posts. He accordingly arrived at head-quarters, on the
borders of the two Carolinas, in about a week after leaving the Dove
Cote. The army of the brave and unfortunate De Kalb, which
had been originally destined for the relief of Charleston, had been
increased, by reinforcements of militia from Virginia and the
adjoining States, to double the computed strength of the British
forces; and Gates, on taking command of it, was filled with the
most lofty presentiments of victory. Vainglorious and unadvisable,
he is said to have pushed forward with an indiscreet haste,
and to have thrown himself into difficulties which a wiser man
would have avoided. He professed himself to stand in no need of
recruits to his army, and Butler, therefore, after the delay of a few
days, was left at liberty to pursue his original scheme.

The widespread disaffection of the region through which our
adventures were about to pass, inculcated the necessity of the
utmost vigilance to avoid molestation from the numerous parties
that were then abroad hastening to the seat of war. Under the
almost entire guidance of Robinson, who was familiar with every
path in this neighborhood, Butler's plan was to temporize with
whatever difficulties might beset his way, and to rely upon his
own and his comrade's address for escape.

The sergeant's first object was to conduct his superior to his
own dwelling, which was situated on the Catawba, a short distance
above the Waxhaws. This was safely accomplished on the
second day after they had left Gates. A short delay at this
place enabled Butler to exchange the dress he had hitherto worn,
for one of a more homely and rustic character, a measure
deemed necessary to facilitate his quiet passage through the
country. With these precautions he and the trusty sergeant
resumed their expedition, and now shaped their course across the
region lying between the Catawba and Broad rivers, with the
intention of reaching the habitation of Wat Adair, a well known
woodsman who lived on the southern side of the latter river,

somewhat above its confluence with the Pacolet. The route they
had chosen for this purpose consisted of such circuitous and
unfrequented paths as were least likely to be infested by the
scouts of the enemy, or by questioners who might be too curious
regarding the object of their journey.

The second week of August had half elapsed when, towards the
evening of a day that had been distinguished for the exhilarating
freshness of the atmosphere, such as is peculiar to the highlands
of southern latitudes at this season, our travellers found themselves
descending through a long and shady defile to the level ground
that lay along the margin of the Broad river. The greater part
of the day had been spent in threading the mazes of a series of
sharp and abrupt hills covered with the native forest, or winding
through narrow valleys, amongst tangled thickets of briers and
copsewood, by a path scarce wide enough to permit the passage
of a single horse. They had now emerged from the wilderness
upon a public highway, which extended across the strip of lowland
that skirted the river. The proximity of the river itself was
indicated by the nature of the ground, that here retained vestiges
of occasional inundations, as also by the rank character of the
vegetation. The road led through a swamp, which was rendered
passable by a causey of timber, and was shaded on either side by
a mass of shrubbery, composed of laurel, magnolia, and such other
plants as delight in a moist soil, over whose forms a tissue of
creeping plants was woven in such profusion as to form a fastness
or impregnable retreat for all kinds of noxious animals. Above
this wilderness, here and there, might be seen in the depths of the
morass, the robust cypress or the lurid pine, high enough for the
mast of the largest ship, the ash, and gum, and, towering above
all, the majestic poplar, with its branchless trunk bound up in the
embraces of a huge serpent-like grapevine.

As soon as Butler found himself extricated from the difficult
path that had so much embarrassed his journey, and once more
introduced upon a road that allowed him to ride abreast with his
companion, he could not help congratulating himself upon the
change.

“Well, here at last, Galbraith,” he said, “is an end to this
bridle path, as you call it. Thank heaven for it! The settlement

of the account between this and the plain road would not leave
much in our favor: on one side, I should have to set down my
being twice unhorsed in riding up perpendicular hills; one plunge
up to the belly in the mud of a swamp; a dozen times in danger
of strangling from grapevines; and how often torn by briers, I
leave you to reckon up by looking at my clothes. And all this
is to be cast up against the chance of meeting a few rascally Tories.
Faith! upon the whole, it would have been as cheap to fight.”

“Whist, Major, you are a young man, and don't study things
as I do. You never catch me without reason on my side. As to
standing upon the trifle of a man or two odds in the way of a
fight, when there was need of scratching, I wouldn't be so
onaccommodating as to ax you to do that. But I had some
generalship in view, which I can make appear. This road, which
we have just got into, comes up through Winnsborough, which is
one of the randyvoos of the Tories: now I thought if we outflanked
them by coming through the hills, we mought keep our
heads out of a hornets' nest. The best way, Major Butler, to
get along through this world is not to be quarrelsome; that's my
principle.”

“Truly, it comes well from you, sergeant, who within two days
past have been in danger of getting your crown cracked at least
six times! Were you not yesterday going to beat a man only for
asking a harmless question? A rough fellow to-boot, Horse Shoe,
who might, from appearance, have turned out a troublesome
customer.”

“Ho, ho, ho, Major! Do you know who that character was?
That was mad Archy Gibbs, from the Broken Bridge, one of
the craziest devils after a fracaw on the Catawba; a tearing Tory
likewise.”

“And was that an argument for wishing to fight him?”

“Why, you see, Major, I've got a principle on that subject.
It's an observation I have made, that whenever you come across
one of these rampagious fellows, that's always for breeding disturbances,
the best way is to be as fractious as themselves. You
have hearn of the way of putting out a house on fire by blowing
it up with gunpowder?”

“A pretty effectual method, Sergeant.”

“Dog won't eat dog,” continued Horse Shoe. “Ho, ho! I
know these characters; so I always bullies them. When we
stopped yesterday at the surveyor's, on Blair's Range, to get a
little something to eat, and that bevy of Tories came riding up,
with mad Archy at their head, a thought struck me that the
fellows mought be dogging us, and that sot me to thinking what
answer I should make consarning you, if they were to question
me. So, ecod, I made a parson of you, ha, ha, ha! Sure enough,
they began as soon as they sot down in the porch, to axing me
about my business, and then about yourn. I told them, correspondent
and accordingly, that you was a Presbyterian minister,
and that I had undertook to show you the way to Chester, where
you was going to hold forth. And, thereupon, mad Archy out
with one of his tremengious oaths, and swore he would have a
sarmint from you, for the good of his blackguards, before they
broke up.”

“Mad Archy and his blackguards would have profited, no
doubt, by my spiritual lessons.”

“Rather than let him have anything to say to you,” proceeded
Robinson, “for you wa'n't prepared, seeing that you didn't hear
what was going on, though I spoke loud enough, on purpose,
Major, for you to hear us through the window; I up and told
Archy, says I, I am a peaceable man, but I'll be d—d if any
minister of the gospel shall be insulted whilst I have the care of
him; and, furthermore, says I, I didn't come here to interrupt no
man; but if you, Archy Gibbs, or any one of your crew, says
one ondecent word to the parson, they'll run the risk of being
flung sprawling on this here floor, and that's as good as if I had
sworn to it; and as for you, Archy, I'll hold you accountable for
the good conduct of your whole squad. But, Major, you are
about the hardest man to take a wink I ever knowed. There was
I a motioning of you, and signifying to get your horse and be off,
at least ten minutes before you took the hint.”

“I was near spoiling all, Galbraith, for from your familiarity
with these fellews I at first thought them friends.”

“They were mighty dubious, you may depend. And it was as
much as I could do to keep them from breaking in on you.
They said it was strange, and so it was, to see a parson riding

with pistols; but I told them you was obliged to travel so much
after night that it was as much as you could do to keep clear
of panthers and wolves; and in fact, major, I had to tell them a
monstrous sight of lies, just to keep them in talk whilst you was
getting away: it was like a rare guard scrummaging by platoons
on a retreat to get the advance off. I was monstrous afeard, major,
you wouldn't saddle my horse.”

“I understood you at last, Galbraith, and made everything
ready for a masterly retreat, and then moved away with a very
sober air, leaving you to bring up the rear like a good soldier.
And you know, sergeant, I didn't go so far but that I was at hand
to give you support, if you had stood in need of it. I wonder
now that they let you off so easily.”

“They didn't want to have no uproar with me, Major Butler.
They knowed me, that although I wa'n't a quarrelsome man,
they would'a got some of their necks twisted if I had seen occasion:
in particular, I would have taken some of mad Archy's
crazy fits out of him—by my hand I would, major! But I'll tell
you,—I made one observation, that this here sort of carrying
false colors goes against a man's conscience: it doesn't seem
natural for a man, that's accustomed and willing to stand by
his words, to be heaping one lie upon top of another as fast as he
can speak them. It really, Major Butler, does go against my
grain.”

“That point of conscience,” said Butler laughing, “has been duly
considered, and, I believe, we are safe in setting it down as entirely
lawful to use any deceit of speech to escape from an enemy in
time of war. We have a dangerous trade, sergeant, and the moralists
indulge us more than they do others: and as I am a minister,
you know, you need not be afraid to trust your conscience to
my keeping.”

“They allow that all's fair in war, I believe. But it don't signify,
a man is a good while before he gets used to this flat lying, for
I can't call it by any other name.”

“If we should be challenged on this road, before we reach Wat
Adair's,” said Butler, “it is your opinion that we should say we are
graziers going to the mountains to buy cattle.”

“That's about the best answer I can think of. Though you

must be a little careful about that. If you see me put my hand
up to my mouth and give a sort of a hem, major, then leave the
answer to me. A gang of raw lads might be easily imposed upon,
but it wouldn't do if there's an old sodger amongst them; he
mought ax some hard questions.”

“I know but little of this grazier craft to bear an examination.
I fear I should fare badly if one of these bullies should take it into
his head to cross-question me.”

“If a man takes on too much with you,” replied Robinson, “it
is well to be a little saucy to him. If he thinks you are for a
quarrel, the chances are he won't pester you. But if any of these
Tories should only take it into their heads, without our telling them
right down in so many words, for I would rather a lie, if it is to
come out, should take a roundabout way, that we are sent up here
by Cornwallis, or Rawdon, or Leslie, or any of their people to do
an arrand, they will be as civil, sir, as your grandmother's cat, for,
major, they are a blasted set of cringin' whelps, the best of them,
and will take anything that has G. R. marked on it with thanks,
even if it was a cat-o'nine tails, which they desarve every day at
rollcall, the sorry devils!”

“I am completely at my wits' end, Galbraith. I have not done
much justice to your appointment of me as a parson, and when I
come to play the grazier it will be still worse; even in this disguise
of a plain countryman I make a poor performer; I fear I shall disgrace
the boards.”

“If the worst comes to the worst, major, the rule is run or fight.
We can manage that, at any rate, for we have had a good deal of
both in the last three or four years.”

“God knows we have had practice enough, sergeant, to make us
perfect in that trick. Let us make our way through this treacherous
ground as quickly and as quietly as we can. Get me to Clarke
by the shortest route, and keep as much among friends as you know
how.”

“As to that, Major Butler, it is all a matter of chance, for, to
tell you the plain truth, I don't know who to depend upon. A
quick eye, a nimble foot, and a ready hand, will be our surest friends.
Then with the pistols at your saddle, besides a pair in your pocket,
and a dirk for close quarters, and my rifle here for a long shot,

major, I am not much doubtful but what we shall hold our
own.”

“How far are we from Adair's?” asked Butler.

“Not more than a mile,” replied Horse Shoe. “You may see
the ferry just ahead. Wat lives upon the top of the first hill on
the other side.”

“Is that fellow to be trusted, sergeant?”

“Better with the help of gold, major, than without it. Wat
was never over honest. But it is worth our while to make a friend
of him if we can.”

Our travellers had now reached the river, which was here a
smooth and deep stream, though by no means so broad as to entitle it to
the distinction by which, in its lower portion, it has earned its name.
It here flowed sluggishly along in deep and melancholy shade.

Butler and his companion were destined to encounter a difficulty
at this spot which less hardy travellers would have deemed a
serious embarrassment. The boat was not to be seen on either
side of the river, having been carried off a few hours before, according
to the information given by the inmates of a negro cabin,
constituting the family of the ferryman, by a party of soldiers.

Robinson regarded this obstacle with the resignation of a practised
philosopher. He nodded his head significantly to his companion
upon receiving the intelligence, as he said,

“There is some mischief in the wind. These Tories are always
dodging about in gangs; and when they collect the boats on the
river, it is either to help them forward on some house-burning and
thieving business, or to secure their retreat when they expect to
have honest men at their heels. It would be good news to hear
that Sumpter was near their cruppers, which, by the by, is not
onlikely neither. You would be told of some pretty sport then,
major.”

“Sumpter's means, sergeant,” replied Butler, “I fear, are not
equal to his will. There are heavy odds against him, and it isn't
often that he can venture from his hiding-place. But what are
we to do now, Galbraith?”

“Ha, ha! do as we have often done before this, launch our four-legged
ships, and take a wet jacket coolly and dispassionately, as
that quare devil Lieutenant Hopkins used to tell us when he was

going to make a charge of the bagnet. We hav'n't no time to
lose, major, and if we had, I don't think the river would run dry.
So, here goes.”

With these words Robinson plunged into the stream, and, with
his rifle resting across his shoulder, he plied his voyage towards
the opposite bank with the same unconcern as if he had journeyed
on dry land. As soon as he was fairly afloat he looked back to
give a few cautions to Butler.

“Head slantwise up stream, major, lean a little forward, so as to
sink your horse's nose nearer to the water, he swims all the better
for it. Slacken your reins and give him play. You have it now.
It isn't oncomfortable in a day's ride to get a cool seat once in a
while. Here we are safe and sound,” he continued, as they reached
the further margin, “and nothing the worse for the ferrying,
excepting it be a trifle of dampness about the breeches.”

The two companions now galloped towards the higher grounds
of the adjacent country.

By the time that they had gained the summit of a long hill that
rose immediately from the plain of the river, Robinson apprised
Butler that they were now in the vicinity of Adair's dwelling.
The sun had sunk below the horizon, and the varied lustre of
early twilight tinged the surrounding scenery with its own beautiful
colors. The road, as it wound upwards gradually emerged from
the forest upon a tract of open country, given signs of one of those
original settlements which, at that day, were sparsely sprinkled
through the great wilderness. The space that had been snatched
from the ruggedness of nature, for the purpose of husbandry, comprehended
some three or four fields of thinly cultivated land.
These were yet spotted over with stumps of trees, that seemed to
leave but little freedom to the course of the ploughshare, and
bespoke a thriftless and slovenly tillage. A piece of half cleared
ground, occupying the side of one of the adjacent hills, presented
to the eye of our travellers a yet more uncouth spectacle. This
spot was still clothed with the native trees of the forest, all of
which had been death-stricken by the axe, and now heaved up
their withered and sapless branches towards the heavens, without
leaf or spray. In the phrase of the woodman, they had been
girdled some years before, and were destined to await the slow

decay of time in their upright attitude. It was a grove of huge
skeletons that had already been bleached into an ashy hue by the
sun, and whose stiff and dry members rattled in the breeze with a
preternatural harshness. Amongst the most hoary of these victims
of the axe, the gales of winter had done their work and thrown
them to the earth, where the shattered boles and boughs lay as they
had fallen, and were slowly reverting into their original dust.
Others, whose appointed time had not yet been fulfilled, gave
evidence of their struggle with the frequent storm, by their declination
from the perpendicular line. Some had been caught in
falling by the boughs of a sturdier neighbor, and still leaned their
huge bulks upon these supports, awakening the mind of the spectator
to the fancy, that they had sunk in some deadly paroxysm
into charitable and friendly arms, and, thus locked together, abided
their tardy but irrevocable doom. It was a field of the dead; and
the more striking in its imagery from the contrast which it furnished
to the rich, verdurous, and lively forest that, with all the joyousness
of health, encompassed this blighted spot. Its aspect was one of
unpleasant desolation; and the traveller of the present day who
visits our western wilds, where this slovenly practice is still in use,
will never pass through such a precinct without a sense of disgust
at the disfiguration of the landscape.

The field thus marred might have contained some fifty acres, and
it was now occupied, in the intervals between the lifeless trunks,
with a feeble crop of Indian corn, whose husky and parched blades,
as they fluttered in the evening wind, added new and appropriate
features to the inexpressible raggedness of the scene. The same
effect was further aided and preserved by the cumbrous and unseemly
worm fence that shot forth its stiff angles around the tract.

On the very apex of the hill up which our travellers were now
clambering, was an inclosure of some three or four acres of land,
in the middle of which, under the shade of a tuft of trees, stood a
group of log cabins so situated as to command a view of nearly
every part of the farm. The principal structure was supplied with
a rude porch that covered three of its sides; whilst the smoke that
curled upwards from a wide-mouthed chimney, and the accompaniment
of a bevy of little negroes that were seen scattered
amongst the out-houses, gave an air of habitation and life to the

place that contrasted well with the stillness of the neighboring
wood. A well-beaten path led into a narrow ravine where might
be discerned, peeping forth from the weeds, the roof of a spring
house; and, in the same neighborhood, a rough garden was observable,
in which a bed of broad-leaved cabbages seemed to have
their ground disputed by a plentiful crop of burdock, thistles, and
other intruders upon a manured soil. In this inclosure, also, the
hollyhock and sunflower, rival coxcombs of the vegetable community,
gave their broad and garish tribute to the beautifying of
the spot.

The road approached within some fifty paces of the front of the
cabins, where access was allowed, not by the help of a gate, but
only by a kind of ladder or stile formed of rails, which were so
arranged as to furnish steps across the barrier of the worm fence
at four or five feet from the ground.

“Are you sure of entertainment here, Galbraith?” inquired Butler,
as they halted at the stile. “This Wat Adair is not likely to
be churlish, I hope?”

“I don't think I am in much humor to be turned away,” replied
Robinson. “It's my opinion that a man who has rode a whole
day has a sort of right to quarters wherever the night finds him—
providing he pays for what he gets. But I have no doubt of Wat,
Major. Holloa! who's at home! Wat Adair! Wat Adair!
Travellers, man! Show yourself.”

“Who are you that keep such a racket at the fence there?” demanded
a female voice. “What do you mean by such doings
before a peaceable house?”

“Keep your dogs silent, ma'am,” returned Horse Shoe, in a blunt
and loud key, “and you will hear us. If you are Wat Adair's
wife you are as good as master of this house. We want a night's
lodging and must have it—and besides, we have excellent stomachs,
and mean to pay for all we get. Ain't that reason enough to
satisfy a sensible woman, Mrs. Adair?”

“If you come to make disturbance,” said a man of a short and
sturdy figure, who at this moment stepped out from the house and
took a position in front of it, with a rifle in his hand—“if you
come here to insult a quiet family you had best turn your horses'
heads up the road and jog further.”

“We might do that, sir, and fare worse,” said Butler, in a conciliatory
tone. “You have no need of your gun; we are harmless
travellers who have come a long way to get under your roof.”

“Where from?” asked the other.

“From below,” said Horse Shoe promptly.

“What side do you take?”

“Your side for to-night,” returned Robinson again. “Don't be
obstropolous, friend,” he continued, at the same time dismounting,
“we have come on purpose to pay Wat a visit, and if you ha'n't
got no brawlers in the house, you needn't be afraid of us.”

By this time the sergeant had crossed the stile and approached
the questioner, to whom he offered his hand. The man gazed for
a moment upon his visitor, and then asked—

“Isn't this Galbraith Robinson?”

“They call me so,” replied Horse Shoe; “and if I ain't mistaken,
this is Michael Lynch. You wan't going to shoot at us,
Michael?”

“A man must have sharp eyes when he looks in the face of a
neighbor now-a-days,” said the other. “Come in; Wat's wife
will be glad to see you. Wat himself will be home presently.
Who have you here, Galbraith?”

“This is Mr. Butler,” answered Horse Shoe, as the Major joined
them. “He and me are taking a ride across into Georgia, and we
thought we would give Wat a call just to hear the news.”

“You are apt to fetch more news than you will take away,” replied
the other; “but there is a good deal doing now in all quarters.
Howsever, go into the house, we must give you something
to eat and a bed besides.”

After putting their horses in charge of a negro who now approached
in the character of an ostler, our adventurers followed
Michael Lynch into the house.