University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

David Ramsay's house was situated on a by-road, between five
and six miles from Musgrove's mill, and at about the distance of
one mile from the principal route of travel between Ninety-six and
Blackstock's. In passing from the military post that had been
established at the former place, towards the latter, Ramsay's lay off
to the left, with a piece of dense wood intervening. The by-way,
leading through the farm, diverged from the main road, and traversed
this wood until it reached the cultivated grounds immediately
around Ramsay's dwelling. In the journey from Musgrove's
mill to this point of divergence, the traveller was obliged to ride
some two or three miles upon the great road leading from the
British garrison, a road that, at the time of my story, was much
frequented by military parties, scouts, and patroles, that were concerned
in keeping up the communication between the several posts
which were established by the British authorities along that frontier.
Amongst the whig parties, also, there were various occasions
which brought them under the necessity of frequent passage
through this same district, and which, therefore, furnished opportunities
for collision and skirmish with the opposite forces.

It is a matter of historical notoriety, that immediately after the
fall of Charleston, and the rapid subjugation of South Carolina
that followed this event, there were three bold and skilful soldiers
who undertook to carry on the war of resistance to the established
authorities, upon a settled and digested plan of annoyance, under
the most discouraging state of destitution, as regarded all the
means of offence, that, perhaps, history records. It will not detract
from the fame of other patriots of similar enthusiasm and of

equal bravery, to mention the names of Marion, Sumpter, and
Pickens, in connexion with this plan of keeping up an apparently
hopeless partisan warfare, which had the promise neither of men,
money, nor arms,—and yet which was so nobly sustained, amidst
accumulated discomfitures, as to lead eventually to the subversion
of the “Tory ascendency” and the expulsion of the British power.
According to the plan of operations concerted amongst these chieftains,
Marion took the lower country under his supervision;
Pickens the south-western districts, bordering upon the Savannah;
and to Sumpter was allotted all that tract of country lying between
the Broad and the Catawba rivers, from the angle of their
junction, below Camden, up to the mountain districts of North
Carolina. How faithfully these men made good their promise to
the country, is not only written in authentic history, but it is also
told in many a legend amongst the older inhabitants of the region
that was made the theatre of action. It only concerns my story
to refer to the fact, that the events which have occupied my last
five or six chapters, occurred in that range more peculiarly appropriated
to Sumpter, and that the high road from Blackstock's
towards Ninety-six was almost as necessary for communication between
Sumpter and Pickens, as between the several British garrisons.

On the morning that succeeded the night in which Horse Shoe
Robinson arrived at Musgrove's, the stout and honest sergeant
might have been seen, about eight o'clock, leaving the main road
from Ninety-six, at the point where that leading to David Ramsay's
separated from it, and cautiously urging his way into the
deep forest, by the more private path into which he had entered.
The knowledge that Innis was encamped along the Ennoree, within
a short distance of the mill, had compelled him to make an extensive
circuit to reach Ramsay's dwelling, whither he was now bent;
and he had experienced considerable delay in his morning journey,
by finding himself frequently in the neighborhood of small foraging
parties of Tories, whose motions he was obliged to watch for
fear of an encounter. He had once already been compelled to use
his horse's heels in what he called “fair flight;” and once to ensconce
himself, a full half hour, under cover of the thicket afforded
him by a swamp. He now, therefore, according to his own

phrase, “dived into the little road that scrambled down through
the woods towards Ramsay's, with all his eyes about him, looking
out as sharply as a fox on a foggy morning:” and with this circumspection,
he was not long in arriving within view of Ramsay's
house. Like a practised soldier, whom frequent frays has taught
wisdom, he resolved to reconnoitre before he advanced upon a post
that might be in possession of an enemy. He therefore dismounted,
fastened his horse in a fence corner, where a field of corn concealed
him from notice, and then stealthily crept forward until he
came immediately behind one of the out-houses.

The barking of a house-dog brought out a negro boy, to whom
Robinson instantly addressed the query—

“Is your master at home?”—

“No, sir. He's got his horse, and gone off more than an hour
ago.”

“Where is your mistress?”

“Shelling beans, Sir.”

“I didn't ask you,” said the sergeant, “what she is doing, but
where she is.”

“In course, she is in the house, Sir,”—replied the negro with a
grin.

“Any strangers there?”

“There was plenty on 'em a little while ago, but they've been
gone a good bit.”

Robinson having thus satisfied himself as to the safety of his
visit, directed the boy to take his horse and lead him up to the
door. He then entered the dwelling.

“Mistress Ramsay,” said he, walking up to the dame, who was
occupied at a table, with a large trencher before her, in which she
was plying that household thrift which the negro described; “luck
to you, ma'am, and all your house! I hope you haven't none of
these clinking and clattering bullies about you, that are as thick
over this country as the frogs in the kneading troughs, that they
tell of.”

“Good lack, Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson,” exclaimed the matron,
offering the sergeant her hand. “What has brought you here?
What news? Who are with you? For patience sake, tell me!”

“I am alone,” said Robinson, “and a little wettish, mistress;”

he added, as he took off his hat and shook the water from it:
“it has just sot up a rain, and looks as if it was going to give us
enough on't. You don't mind doing a little dinner-work of a
Sunday, I see—shelling of beans, I s'pose, is tantamount to dragging
a sheep out of a pond, as the preachers allow on the Sabbath
—ha, ha!—Where's Davy?”

“He's gone over to the meeting-house on Ennoree, hoping to
hear something of the army at Camden: perhaps you can tell us
the news from that quarter?”

“Faith, that's a mistake, Mistress Ramsay. Though I don't
doubt that they are hard upon the scratches, by this time. But,
at this present speaking, I command the flying artillery. We have
but one man in the corps—and that's myself; and all the guns
we have got is this piece of ordnance, that hangs in this old belt
by my side (pointing to his sword)—and that I captured from the
enemy at Blackstock's. I was hoping I mought find John Ramsay
at home—I have need of him as a recruit.”

“Ah, Mr. Robinson, John has a heavy life of it over there with
Sumpter. The boy is often without his natural rest, or a meal's
victuals; and the general thinks so much of him, that he can't
spare him to come home. I hav'n't the heart to complain, as long
as John's service is of any use, but it does seem, Mr. Robinson, like
needless tempting of the mercies of providence. We thought that
he might have been here to-day; yet I am glad he didn't come—
for he would have been certain to get into trouble. Who should
come in, this morning, just after my husband had cleverly got away
on his horse, but a young cock-a-whoop ensign, that belongs to
Ninety-Six, and four great Scotchmen with him, all in red coats;
they had been out thieving, I warrant, and were now going home
again. And who but they! Here they were, swaggering all
about my house—and calling for this—and calling for that—as if
they owned the fee-simple of everything on the plantation. And
it made my blood rise, Mr. Horse Shoe, to see them run out in the
yard, and catch up my chickens and ducks, and kill as many as
they could string about them—and I not daring to say a word:
though I did give them a piece of my mind, too.”

“Who is at home with you?” inquired the sergeant eagerly.

“Nobody but my youngest boy, Andrew,” answered the dame.

“And then, the filthy, toping rioters—” she continued, exalting her
voice.

“What arms have you in the house?” asked Robinson, without
heeding the dame's rising anger.

“We have a rifle, and a horseman's pistol that belongs to John.—
They must call for drink, too, and turn my house, of a Sunday
morning, into a tavern.”

“They took the route towards Ninety-Six, you said, Mistress
Ramsay?”

“Yes,—they went straight forward upon the road. But, look
you, Mr. Horse Shoe, you're not thinking of going after them?”

“Isn't there an old field, about a mile from this, on that road?”
inquired the sergeant, still intent upon his own thoughts.

“There is,” replied the dame; “with the old school-house upon
it.”

“A lop-sided, rickety log-cabin in the middle of the field. Am
I right, good woman?”

“Yes.”

“And nobody lives in it? It has no door to it?”

“There ha'n't been anybody in it these seven years.”

“I know the place very well,” said the sergeant, thoughtfully;
“there is woods just on this side of it.”

“That's true,” replied the dame: “but what is it you are thinking
about, Mr. Robinson?”

“How long before this rain began was it that they quitted this
house?”

“Not above fifteen minutes.”

“Mistress Ramsay, bring me the rifle and pistol both—and the
powder-horn and bullets.”

“As you say, Mr. Horse Shoe,” answered the dame, as she turned
round to leave the room; “but I am sure I can't suspicion what
you mean to do.”

In a few moments the woman returned with the weapons, and
gave them to the sergeant.

“Where is Andy?” asked Horse Shoe.

The hostess went to the door and called her son, and, almost immediately
afterwards, a sturdy boy of about twelve or fourteen
years of age entered the apartment, his clothes dripping with rain.

He modestly and shyly seated himself on a chair near the door,
with his soaked hat flapping down over a face full of freckles, and
not less rife with the expression of an open, dauntless hardihood of
character.

“How would you like a scrummage, Andy, with them Scotchmen
that stole your mother's chickens this morning?” asked Horse
Shoe.

“I'm agreed,” replied the boy, “if you will tell me what to do.”

“You are not going to take the boy out on any of your desperate
projects, Mr. Horse Shoe?” said the mother, with the tears
starting instantly into her eyes. “You wouldn't take such a child
as that into danger?”

“Bless your soul, Mrs. Ramsay, there ar'n't no danger about it!
Don't take on so. It's a thing that is either done at a blow, or not
done,—and there's an end of it. I want the lad only to bring
home the prisoners for me, after I have took them.”

“Ah, Mr. Robinson, I have one son already in these wars—God
protect him!—and you men don't know how a mother's heart
yearns for her children in these times. I cannot give another,” she
added, as she threw her arms over the shoulders of the youth and
drew him to her bosom.

“Oh! it aint nothing,” said Andrew, in a sprightly tone. “It's
only snapping of a pistol, mother,—pooh! If I'm not afraid, you
oughtn't to be.”

“I give you my honor, Mistress Ramsay,” said Robinson, “that
I will bring or send your son safe back in one hour; and that he
sha'n't be put in any sort of danger whatsomedever: come, that's a
good woman!”

“You are not deceiving me, Mr. Robinson?” asked the matron,
wiping away a tear. “You wouldn't mock the sufferings of a
weak woman in such a thing as this?”

“On the honesty of a sodger, ma'am,” replied Horse Shoe, “the
lad shall be in no danger, as I said before—whatsomedever.”

“Then I will say no more,” answered the mother. “But Andy,
my child, be sure to let Mr. Robinson keep before you.”

Horse Shoe now loaded the fire-arms, and having slung the
pouch across his body, he put the pistol into the hands of the boy;
then shouldering his rifle, he and his young ally left the room.

Even on this occasion, serious as it might be deemed, the sergeant
did not depart without giving some manifestation of that light-heartedness
which no difficulties ever seemed to have the power
to conquer. He thrust his head back into the room, after he had
crossed the threshold, and said with an encouraging laugh, “Andy
and me will teach them, Mistress Ramsay, Pat's point of war—we
will surround the ragamuffins.”

“Now, Andy, my lad,” said Horse Shoe, after he had mounted
Captain Peter, “you must get up behind me. Turn the lock of
your pistol down,” he continued, as the boy sprang upon the horse's
rump, “and cover it with the flap of your jacket, to keep the rain
off. It won't do to hang fire at such a time as this.”

The lad did as he was directed, and Horse Shoe, having secured
his rifle in the same way, put his horse up to a gallop, and took the
road in the direction that had been pursued by the soldiers.

As soon as our adventurers had gained a wood, at the distance
of about half a mile, the sergeant relaxed his speed, and advanced
at a pace a little above a walk.

“Andy,” he said, “we have got rather a ticklish sort of a job
before us, so I must give you your lesson, which you will understand
better by knowing something of my plan. As soon as your
mother told me that these thieving villains had left her house
about fifteen minutes before the rain came on, and that they had
gone along upon this road, I remembered the old field up here, and
the little log hut in the middle of it; and it was natural to suppose
that they had just got about near that hut, when this rain
came up; and then, it was the most supposable case in the world,
that they would naturally go into it, as the driest place they could
find. So now, you see, it's my calculation that the whole batch is
there at this very point of time. We will go slowly along, until we
get to the other end of this wood, in sight of the old field, and
then, if there is no one on the look-out, we will open our first
trench; you know what that means, Andy?”

“It means, I s'pose, that we'll go right smack at them,” replied
Andrew.

“Pretty exactly,” said the sergeant. “But listen to me. Just
at the edge of the woods you will have to get down, and put yourself
behind a tree. I'll ride forward, as if I had a whole troop at

my heels, and if I catch them, as I expect, they will have a little
fire kindled, and, as likely as not, they'll be cooking some of your
mother's fowls.”

“Yes, I understand,” said the boy eagerly—

“No, you don't,” replied Horse Shoe, “but you will when you
hear what I am going to say. If I get at them onawares, they'll
be mighty apt to think they are surrounded, and will bellow, like
fine fellows, for quarter. And, thereupon, Andy, I'll cry out
`stand fast,' as if I was speaking to my own men, and when you
hear that, you must come up full tilt, because it will be a signal to
you that the enemy has surrendered. Then it will be your business
to run into the house and bring out the muskets, as quick as a rat
runs through a kitchen: and when you have done that, why, all's
done. But if you should hear any popping of fire-arms—that is,
more than one shot, which I may chance to let off—do you take
that for a bad sign, and get away as fast as you can heel it. You
comprehend.”

“Oh! yes,” replied the lad, “and I'll do what you want, and more
too, may be, Mr. Robinson.”

“Captain Robinson,—remember, Andy, you must call me captain,
in the hearing of these Scotsmen.”

“I'll not forget that neither,” answered Andrew.

By the time that these instructions were fully impressed upon
the boy, our adventurous forlorn hope, as it may fitly be called,
had arrived at the place which Horse Shoe Robinson had designated
for the commencement of active operations. They had a
clear view of the old field, and it afforded them a strong assurance
that the enemy was exactly where they wished him to be, when
they discovered smoke arising from the chimney of the hovel.
Andrew was soon posted behind a tree, and Robinson only tarried
a moment to make the boy repeat the signals agreed on, in order
to ascertain that he had them correctly in his memory. Being
satisfied from this experiment that the intelligence of his young
companion might be depended upon, he galloped across the intervening
space, and, in a few seconds, abruptly reined up his steed,
in the very doorway of the hut. The party within was gathered
around a fire at the further end, and, in the corner near the door,
were four muskets thrown together against the wall. To spring

from his saddle and thrust himself one pace inside of the door, was
a movement which the sergeant executed in an instant, shouting at
the same time—

“Halt! File off right and left to both sides of the house, and
wait orders. I demand the surrender of all here,” he said, as he
planted himself between the party and their weapons. “I will
shoot down the first man who budges a foot.”

“Leap to your arms,” cried the young officer who commanded
the little party inside of the house. “Why do you stand?”

“I don't want to do you or your men any harm, young man,”
said Robinson, as he brought his rifle to a level, “but, by my
father's son, I will not leave one of you to be put upon a muster-roll
if you raise a hand at this moment.”

Both parties now stood, for a brief space, eyeing each other in
a fearful suspense, during which there was an expression of doubt
and irresolution visible on the countenances of the soldiers, as
they surveyed the broad proportions, and met the stern glance of
the sergeant, whilst the delay, also, began to raise an apprehension
in the mind of Robinson that his stratagem would be discovered.

“Shall I let loose upon them, captain?” said Andrew Ramsay,
now appearing, most unexpectedly to Robinson, at the door of the
hut. “Come on, boys!” he shouted, as he turned his face towards
the field.

“Keep them outside of the door—stand fast,” cried the doughty
sergeant, with admirable promptitude, in the new and sudden posture
of his affairs caused by this opportune appearance of the
boy. “Sir, you see that it's not worth while fighting five to one;
and I should be sorry to be the death of any of your brave fellows;
so, take my advice, and surrender to the Continental Congress
and this scrap of its army which I command.”

During this appeal the sergeant was ably seconded by the lad
outside, who was calling out first on one name, and then on another,
as if in the presence of a troop. The device succeeded, and
the officer within, believing the forbearance of Robinson to be
real, at length said:—

“Lower your rifle, sir. In the presence of a superior force, taken
by surprise, and without arms, it is my duty to save bloodshed.

With the promise of fair usage, and the rights of prisoners of war,
I surrender this little foraging party under my command.”

“I'll make the terms agreeable,” replied the sergeant. “Never
doubt me, sir. Right hand file, advance, and receive the arms of
the prisoners!”

“I'm here, captain,” said Andrew, in a conceited tone, as if it
were a mere occasion of merriment; and the lad quickly entered the
house and secured the weapons, retreating with them some paces
from the door.

“Now, sir,” said Horse Shoe to the Ensign, “your sword, and
whatever else you mought have about you of the ammunitions of
war!”

The officer delivered up his sword and a pair of pocket pistols.

As Horse Shoe received these tokens of victory, he asked, with a
lambent smile, and what he intended to be an elegant and condescending
composure, “Your name, sir, if I mought take the freedom?”

“Ensign St. Jermyn, of his Majesty's seventy-first regiment of
light infantry.”

“Ensign, your sarvent,” added Horse Shoe, still preserving this
unusual exhibition of politeness. “You have defended your post
like an old sodger, although you ha'n't much beard on your chin;
but, seeing you have given up, you shall be treated like a man
who has done his duty. You will walk out, now, and form yourselves
in line at the door. I'll engage my men shall do you no
harm; they are of a marciful breed.”

When the little squad of prisoners submitted to this command,
and came to the door, they were stricken with equal astonishment
and mortification to find, in place of the detachment of cavalry
which they expected to see, nothing but a man, a boy, and a horse.
Their first emotions were expressed in curses, which were even succeeded
by laughter from one or two of the number. There seemed
to be a disposition on the part of some to resist the authority that
now controlled them; and sundry glances were exchanged, which
indicated a purpose to turn upon their captors. The sergeant no
sooner perceived this, than he halted, raised his rifle to his breast,
and, at the same instant, gave Andrew Ramsay an order to retire
a few paces, and to fire one of the captured pieces at the first man
who opened his lips.

“By my hand,” he said, “if I find any trouble in taking you,
all five, safe away from this here house, I will thin your numbers
with your own muskets! And that's as good as if I had sworn
to it.”

“You have my word, sir,” said the Ensign. “Lead on.”

“By your leave, my pretty gentleman, you will lead, and I'll
follow,” replied Horse Shoe. “It may be a new piece of drill to
you; but the custom is to give the prisoners the post of honor.”

“As you please, sir,” answered the Ensign. “Where do you take
us to?”

“You will march back by the road you came,” said the sergeant.

Finding the conqueror determined to execute summary martial
law upon the first who should mutiny, the prisoners submitted, and
marched in double file from the hut back towards Ramsay's—
Horse Shoe, with Captain Peter's bridle dangling over his arm,
and his gallant young auxiliary Andrew, laden with double the
burden of Robinson Crusoe (having all the fire-arms packed upon
his shoulders), bringing up the rear. In this order victors and
vanquished returned to David Ramsay's.

“Well, I have brought you your ducks and chickens back, mistress,”
said the sergeant, as he halted the prisoners at the door;
“and, what's more, I have brought home a young sodger that's
worth his weight in gold.”

“Heaven bless my child! my brave boy!” cried the mother,
seizing the lad in her arms, and unheeding anything else in the
present perturbation of her feelings. “I feared ill would come of
it; but Heaven has preserved him. Did he behave handsomely,
Mr. Robinson? But I am sure he did.”

“A little more venturesome, ma'am, than I wanted him to be,”
replied Horse Shoe; “but he did excellent service. These are his
prisoners, Mistress Ramsay; I should never have got them if it
hadn't been for Andy. In these drumming and fifing times the
babies suck in quarrel with their mother's milk. Show me another
boy in America that's made more prisoners than there was men to
fight them with, that's all!”