University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

Horse Shoe's successful escape from the hands of the Tories, it
will be conjectured, had been aided by Clopper. The sergeant
had sufficiently assured himself of the present safety of Butler, from
the spirit with which a strong party of Habershaw's followers had
resisted the bloody purpose of their leader before breakfast; and
he had also, by the timely reward secretly conveyed to Clopper,
received a pledge from that individual that the same protection
should still be accorded to the major, in the event of his own
extrication from the gang by the perilous exploit which he then
meditated. It is no doubt apparent to the reader, that the favor
which saved the lives of the prisoners was won from the captors
by the address of Robinson, and that whatever good will was
kindled up amongst them, was appropriated principally to the sergeant,
Butler having elicited but little consideration from the
band, beyond that interest which the roughest men are apt to
take in the fortunes of a young and enterprising soldier. Neither
the major's manners nor temper were adapted to conciliate any
special regard from such natures.

The escape of the sergeant, therefore, although it added nothing
to the perils of Butler's situation, still operated in some degree to
his present inconvenience. It caused him to be more rigorously
guarded than before, and consequently to be more restricted in
his personal comfort. He was hurried forward at a rough and
uneasy pace; and both from Habershaw and Curry, and those
more immediately of their party, he experienced a surly indifference
to the pain that this occasioned him. They seemed to have no
regard either to his wants or feelings, and in the passing remarks
that fell from them he could gather harsh surmises as to the
manner in which he was now likely to be disposed of.

“It is their own fault,” said one of them to his companion, as
Butler overheard the conversation; “if every prisoner is strung

up and shot nowadays. He makes no more of hanging our
people than so many wolves; and there was Captain Huck—will
any man say that Sumpter hadn't him murdered in cold blood?”

“Yes,” added the other, “let a Tory be caught over yonder
amongst the Iredell Whigs, on t'other side of the line, or in Tryon,
or down here at the Waxhaws, why, a grey fox in a barn yard
with forty dogs would have as good a chance for his life. So, for
my share, I am glad to see our folks break up that blasted breed,
root and branch.”

“Innis has got as keen a nose for a Whig as a blood-hound,”
said the first speaker, “and won't stop long to consider what's
right to be done, if he gets this chap in his clutches; so it is of no
great account that we didn't make short work of it this morning.”

Such remarks produced a gloomy effect upon Butler's mind.
He had witnessed enough, in the scenes of the morning, to convince
him that Habershaw had been employed to waylay him and
take his life, and that the latter purpose had only failed by the
lucky conjuncture of circumstances which led to the mutiny. He
was aware, too, that Curry was the prime conductor of the
scheme, and drove matters, by a secret influence, as far as he
could towards its accomplishment, whilst with a professional hardihood
and most hypocritical bearing he affected to be indifferent to
the issue. This fellow's malice was the more venomous from his
address, and the gay, swaggering, remorseless levity with which he
could mask the most atrocious designs: nothing could baffle his
equanimity; and he seemed to be provided, at all times, with a present
expedient to meet the emergency of his condition.

The most perplexing feature in this man's present position was
his recent connexion with Tyrrel; a fact that recurred to
Butler with many alarming doubts. All the other circumstances
accompanying Butler's condition, at this moment, were subjects of
distressful uncertainty. Ignorant of the place to which he was to
be taken, into whose hands he was to be delivered, how he was to
be disposed of, he could only anticipate the worst. It was obvious
that his journey was an expected one, and that the gang who held
him were employed by persons in authority, set on, no doubt, by
the agency of Tyrrel: but where was he—and who was he?—
and what influence could he bring to bear against his, Butler's

life, now that he had failed in his bloody purpose of lying in wait;
and that it was resolved by these ruffians, who had in part only
obeyed his behests, to deliver their prisoner up to the regular
authorities of the British army? The mention of the name of
Innis by one of the troopers was not calculated to allay his inquietude.
This person he knew to have been an active confederate
and eager adviser of the new court, lately established at Charleston,
to promote the confiscation of the estates of the inhabitants of
Carolina disaffected to the royal cause. He was, besides, a zealous
Tory partisan, and, having lately joined the army, was now in command
of a detachment of loyalists on the Ennoree.

Then, again, there was abundant cause of anxiety to the unfortunate
officer in the question whether Robinson could be kept
acquainted with his condition, or even of the place to which he
might be removed—and if acquainted with these particulars, whether,
in the disturbed state of the country, he could render any
service. These thoughts all contributed to sink his spirits.

Notwithstanding the usual assumed levity of Curry, he had now
become resentful towards Butler, and did not give himself the
trouble to conceal it. His manner was quick and unaccommodating,
showing his vexation at his own want of sagacity, inferred
by the successful flight of Robinson. Expressions occasionally
escaped him that indicated a self-reproof on this subject, though
they were partially disguised by an affected undervaluing of the
importance of having such a prisoner, so long as he retained the
custody of the principal object of the enterprise. But the consciousness
of being again baffled by a man who had once before
obtained the mastery over him, roused his pride into the exhibition
of a peevish and vindictive demeanor. In this temper he
seconded the brutal disposition of Habershaw, and abandoned the
captive officer to the coarse insults of those who exercised control
over him. There was some mitigation to this annoyance, in the
reserved and partial spirit in which the insurgent party of the
squad manifested some slight signs of good will towards him. An
instance of this spirit was afforded in a passing hint conveyed by
Clopper, on one occasion when the troop had halted to water their
horses. “Whatever is to come of it, after we give you up to
other hands,” he said, apart to Butler, “we will stick to the

ground we have taken, that no harm shall be done to you in our
keeping.”

The day was intensely hot, and the road, over which the party
travelled, rugged and fatiguing; it was, therefore, near one
o'clock when they came in sight of the Tiger, a rough, bold, impetuous
stream that rushed over an almost unbroken bed of rocks.
On the opposite bank was Blackstocks, a rude hamlet of some two
or three houses, scattered over a rugged hill-side—a place subsequently
rendered famous by the gallant repulse of Tarleton by
Sumpter. The troop struck into a narrow ford, and, with some
scrambling amongst the rocks, succeeded in crossing the stream;
they then galloped rapidly up the hill, towards a farm-house
which seemed to be the principal place of resort for the people of the
neighborhood. The approach of the party of cavalry drew to the
door a bevy of women, children, and negroes, who stood idly gaping
at the spectacle; and, in addition to these, a detachment of
militia, consisting of between twenty and thirty men, were seen to
turn out and form a line in front of the house. Habershaw, with
an air of magnified importance, halted opposite this detachment,
gave a few prompt orders to Curry in regard to the disposition of
the troop, and in an authoritative tone of command, ordered the
officer of the militia to detail a guard for the safe keeping of a
prisoner of state. The personage addressed—a tall, ungainly, and
awkward subaltern—signified his acquiescence with a bow, and
immediately took possession of Butler by seizing the rein of his
horse and leading him to one side, where two men, armed with
rifles, placed themselves at either stirrup. Habershaw now
directed his men to alight, accompanying the order with a caution
that the prisoner was not to be allowed to enter the house. “The
d—d rascal,” he added, “shall not play the trick of his rebel associate:
no more privilege of going into bar-rooms, and lounging
about doors! See the man stowed away in the barn; and tell the
sentinels never to take their eyes off of him—do you hear, lieutenant?”

“You may depend upon my look-out,” replied the lieutenant,
with a flourish of a hacked and rusty sword. “Men, march your
prisoner straight to the barn. Have a relief, Corporal, every two
hours, and towards night, set four on the watch at a time.”

“Look to it, Lieutenant!” shouted Habershaw. “No words,
sir: do your duty!”

And having thus given vent to his own high opinion of himself,
the bulky captain withdrew into the house.

Butler was now marched into a large log barn, in one corner of
which an armful of fodder, or dried blades of Indian corn, were
shaken out for his bed; and this, he was told, was to be his prison
until other orders awaited him. The guard, consisting of two sentinels,
were stationed on the inner side of the door, having the
prisoner immediately under their eye; and, this disposition being
completed, the officer commanding the detachment retired to mingle
with the troopers in the farm-house.

Half an hour had scarcely elapsed after the arrival of the troopers
at Blackstocks, before James Curry had refreshed himself with a
hasty meal, and had his horse brought to the door. He seemed
bound upon some urgent mission.

“Captain St. Jermyn, you say, left this at sunrise this morning?”
said the dragoon, addressing the lieutenant of the militia.

“He did. He was here all day yesterday, and thought he should
hear from you last night.”

“What route did he take?”

“To Turnbull, at Ninety-Six.”

“Is Turnbull there now, think you?”

“He is,” replied the lieutenant. “They say orders have gone
up from Cornwallis to the post for four light companies, and it is
expected that Captain Campbell is now on his way with them
towards Camden; neither Turnbull nor Cruger would leave the post.”

“I have heard that this corps was marching to head-quarters.
Are you sure St. Jermyn is not with Campbell?”

“He said nothing about it yesterday, but I think he wishes to
join Colonel Innis with the loyalist cavalry.”

“Where is Innis?” inquired Curry.

“Over on Ennoree, about two miles from Musgrove's mill.”

“Humph!” said Curry, thoughtfully, “I must ride to the garrison
at Ninety-Six. The devil take this cantering about the country!
I have had more than enough of it.”

And saying this, the dragoon mounted his horse, and clapping
spurs to the restive animal, was soon out of sight.

It was late in the day before the wants of Butler were attended
to. He had thrown aside his coat, from the oppressive heat of the
weather, and, placing it under his head for a pillow, had fallen
into a sleep, from which he was awakened by a summons from one
of the sentinels to partake of food. There was more kindness
apparent in the demeanor of the soldier than Butler had been
accustomed to meet from the persons who held him captive, and this
circumstance won upon his heart and induced him to accept with
courtesy the proffered attentions.

“You live in a divided country, and witness much to make a
good man wish this unhappy war was at an end,” said Butler,
after he had eaten of the provisions placed before him.

“Indeed we do, sir,” replied the soldier, “and it is enough to
make a man's heart bleed to see brothers fighting against each
other, and kindred that ought to hold together seeking each other's
lives. Men will have, and ought to have their opinions, sir; but
it is hardly good reason for treating one another like savage Indians,
because all cannot think alike.”

“Do you live in this neighborhood?” inquired Butler.

“Not far away,” answered the man.

“You are married?”

“Yes, and have six children.”

“They should be young,” said Butler, “judging by your own age.”

“Thank God, sir!” exclaimed the soldier, with fervor, “they
are young! And I would pray that they may never live to be
old if these wars are to last. No father can count upon his own
child's living in harmony with him. My boys, if they were grown
enough, might be the first I should meet in battle.”

“Your name, friend?” said Butler.

“Bruce,” replied the other.

“A good and a brave name; a name once friendly to the liberty
of his country.”

“Stop, sir!” said the sentinel. “This is not the place to talk
upon questions that might make us angry with each other. It is
a name still friendly to the liberty of his country; that liberty that
supports the king and laws, and punishes treason.”

“I cannot debate with you,” replied Butler; “I am your
prisoner.”

“I am a man,” said the soldier, firmly, “and would not take
advantage of him that cannot take his own part; but these questions,
sir, are best dropped—they have made all the provinces
mad. However, I do not blame you, sir; I will not deny that
there are good men on your side.”

“And on yours, doubtless,” returned Butler.

“We have many bad ones, sir,” returned the soldier; “and as
you have spoken like a well-tempered gentleman to me, I will give
you a friendly hint.” Here the sentinel spoke in a lowered tone.
“Have your eyes about you; these men are none of the best, and
would think but little of taking from you anything of value. As
you slept, just now, I saw a golden trinket hanging by a ribbon in
your bosom. You are a young man, sir, and a soldier, I hear;
this may be some present from your lady, as I guess you have one.
If others had seen it, as I saw it, you might have been the loser.
That's all.”

“Thank you, honest friend! from my heart, I thank you!” replied
Butler eagerly. “Oh, God! that bauble is a consolation to
me that in this hour I would not part with—no, no! Thank you,
friend, a thousand times!”

“Have done,” said the soldier, “and in future be more careful.
The relief is coming this way.”

And the sentinel, taking up his rifle, repaired to his post. In a
few moments the guard was changed, and those lately on duty
were marched to the dwelling-house.

When night came on the immediate guard around Butler's person
was doubled. Some few comforts were added to his forlorn
prison by the kindness of the soldier Bruce, and he was left to
pass the weary hours of darkness in communion with his own
thoughts, or in the enjoyment of such repose as his unhappy state
of thraldom allowed. If the agitation of his spirit had permitted
sleep, there were but few moments of the night when it might
have been indulged. The outbursts of revelry, the loud and boisterous
laugh, and still louder oaths of the party who occupied the
dwelling-house near at hand, showed that they had plunged into
their usual debauch, and now caroused over their frequently filled
cups; and the clamor that broke upon the night might have
baffled the slumbers of a mind less anxious and wakeful than his own.

The party of troopers and militia sat at the door to take advantage
of the coolness of the night, and as they plied the busy
flagon, and with heavy draught grew more noisy, scarce a word
fell from their lips that was not distinctly heard by Butler. It
was with intense interest, therefore, that he listened to the conversation
when it led to a topic that greatly concerned himself; and
that he might not alarm the suspicion of the speakers he affected
sleep.

“Sumpter has been hovering about Ninety-Six,” said the lieutenant;
“and if one could believe all the stories that are told
about him, he must be a full cousin at least to a certain person
that it wouldn't be right to mention in respectable company; for,
by the accounts, he is one day on the Wateree, and the next,
whoop and away!—and there he is, almost over at Augusta. It
seems almost past the power of human legs for a mortal man to
make such strides as they tell of him.”

“Who says Sumpter is near Ninety-Six?” inquired one of the
party; “I can only say, if that's true, he is a ghost—that's
all. Here's Harry Turner will swear that he saw him, day
before yesterday, in North Carolina, on his march towards
Burk.”

“Indeed did I,” responded Harry, one of the militia-men.

“There is no mistake about it,” interposed the lieutenant. “A
vidette of Brown's came scampering through here this morning,
who reported the news; and the man had good right to know, for
he saw Cruger yesterday, who told him all about it, and then sent
him off to Wahab's plantation, near the Catawba fords, for
Hanger's rangers. It was on his way back this morning that he
stopped here five minutes, only to give us warning?”

“This is only some story that your drunken head has been
dreaming about, Gabriel,” said Habershaw. “There is not a
word of truth in it; the rangers went down to Camden three days
ago. Who saw the vidette besides yourself?”

“The whole detachment,” replied the lieutenant. “We talked
to the man and had the story from him—and a queer fellow
he was—a good stout chap that liked to have been caught by a
pair of reconnoitring Whigs, a few miles back between this and
Pacolet; they pushed him up to the saddleflaps. But you must

have seen him yourself, Captain Habershaw; for he told us you
were on the road.”

“From towards Pacolet!” exclaimed the captain with surprise.
“We saw nobody on that road. When did the man arrive?”

“About an hour before you. He came at full speed, with his
horse—a great, black, snorting beast seventeen hands high at
least—all in a foam. He was first for passing by without stopping,
but we challenged him and brought him short upon his haunches,
and then he told us he was in a hurry, and mustn't be delayed.”

“What kind of a looking man was he?” inquired Habershaw.

“A jolly fellow,” replied the lieutenant: “almost as big as his
horse. A good civil fellow, too, that swigs well at a canteen. He
made a joke of the matter about your coming up, and called you
old Cat-o'-nine tails—said that you were the cat, and your nine
tag-rags were the tails—ha, ha ha!”

“Blast the bastard!” exclaimed Habershaw; “who could he
be?”

“Why we asked that, but he roared out with a great haw-haw
—took another drink, and said he was never christened.”

“You should, as a good soldier,” said Habershaw, “have made
him give his name.”

“I tried him again, and he would only let us have a nickname;
he told us then that he was called Jack-o'-Lantern, and had a
special good stomach, and that if we wanted more of him we must
give him a snatch of something to eat. Well, we did so. After that,
he said he must have our landlord's sword, for his own had been
torn from him by the Whig troopers that pushed him so hard, and
that the bill for it must be sent to Cruger. So he got the old
cheese-knife that used to hang over the fire-place and strung it
across his shoulder. He laughed so hard, and seemed so good-natured,
that there was no doing anything with him. At last he
mounted his horse again, just stooped down and whispered in my
ear at parting, that he was an old friend of yours, and that you
could tell us all the news, and away he went, like a mad bully,
clinking it over the hill at twenty miles to the hour.”

“A black horse did you say?” inquired Habershaw. “Had he
a white star in the forehead, and the two hind legs white below
the knee?”

“Exactly,” said the lieutenant and several others of the
party.

“It was Horse Shoe Robinson!” exclaimed Habershaw, “by all
the black devils!”

“Horse Shoe, Horse Shoe, to be sure!” responded half a dozen
voices.

“He was a famous good rider, Horse Shoe or anybody else,”
said the lieutenant.

“That beats all!” said one of the troopers; “the cunning old
fox! He told the truth when he said you would tell the news,
captain: but to think of his lies getting him past the guard, with
a sword and a bellyfull into the bargain!”

“Why didn't you report instantly upon our arrival?” asked
Habershaw.

“Bless you,” replied the lieutenant, “I never suspicioned him,
more than I did you. The fellow laughed so naturally that I
would never have thought him a runaway.”

“There it is,” said Habershaw; “that's the want of discipline.
The service will never thrive till these loggerheads are taught the
rules of war.”

Butler had heard enough to satisfy him on one material point,
namely, that Robinson had secured his escape, and was in condition
to take whatever advantage of circumstances the times might
afford him. It was a consolation to him also to know that the
sergeant had taken this route, as it brought him nearer to the scene
in which the major himself was likely to mingle. With this dawn
of comfort brightening up his doubts, he addressed himself more
composedly to sleep, and before daylight, the sounds of riot having
sunk into a lower and more drowsy tone, he succeeded in winning
a temporary oblivion from his cares.