University of Virginia Library

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.

When Arthur Butler was conducted back to his place of confinement,
after his trial, orders were given that no one should be allowed
to approach him, except the officer to whom was intrusted his safe
custody. The intercourse of this person with him was short; and
concerned only with the scant accommodation which his condition
required. He was, therefore, deprived of all chance of becoming
acquainted with the extraordinary events that had led to his present
respite from death. In the interrogations that had, during the
first moments of excitement, been put to him, in regard to the letter,
he was not told its import; from what quarter it had come;
nor how it affected his fate. He only knew, by the result, that it
had suspended the purpose of his immediate execution; and he
saw that it had produced great agitation at head-quarters. He
found, moreover, that this, or some other cause, had engendered a
degree of exasperation against him, that showed itself in the retrenchment
of his comforts, and in the augmented rigor of his
confinement.

Agitated with a thousand doubts, his mind was too busy to permit
him to close his eyes during the night that followed; and in
this wakeful suspense he could sometimes hear, amongst the occasional
ramblers who passed under his window, an allusion, in their
conversation, to a victory gained over the royal troops. Coupling
this with the name of Sumpter, which was now and then uttered
with some adjective of disparagement, he conjectured that Horse
Shoe had probably fallen in with that partisan, and was, peradventure,
leading him to this vicinity. But this conclusion was combated

by the fact that there seemed to be no alarm in the camp,
nor any preparations on foot either for instant battle or retreat.
Then the letter—that was a mystery altogether impenetrable.
There was only one point upon which his mind could rest with satisfaction:
of that he was sure—Horse Shoe was certainly at the
bottom of the scheme, and was active in his behalf.

The whole of the next day passed over in the same state of uncertainty.
It was observed by Butler, with some stress upon the
circumstance, that Captain St. Jermyn, who had heretofore evinced
a disposition to make himself busy in his behalf, had absented himself
ever since the trial; and he thus felt himself cut off from the
slightest exhibition of sympathy on the part of a single individual
in the multitude of fellow beings near him. Indeed, there were
various indications of a general personal ill-will against him. The
house, in which he was confined, was so constructed that he could
frequently hear such expressions, in the conferences of those who
inhabited the rooms below stairs, as were uttered above the lower
key of conversation, and these boded him no good. Once, during
the day, Colonel Innis visited him. This officer's countenance was
severe, and indicated anger. His purpose was to extort something
from the prisoner in reference to his supposed knowledge of the
course of operations of Sumpter, from whose camp Innis did not
doubt this letter regarding St. Jermyn had come. He spoke in a
short, quick, and peremptory tone:

“It may be well for you,” he said, “that your friends do not too
rashly brave my authority. Let me advise you to warn them that
others may fall into our hands; and that if the ensign be not
delivered up, there may be a dreadful retaliation.”

“I know not, sir, of what or whom you speak,” replied Butler;
“and it is due to my honor to say, that I will not be induced, for
the sake of saving my life, to interfere with any operations which
the soldiers of Congress may have undertaken in the cause of the
country. In this sentiment I admonish Colonel Innis that I desire
to be put in possession of no facts from him that may be communicated
under such an expectation. And having made this determination
known to you, I will add to it that, from the same motives,
I will answer no questions you can propose to me. You may
spare yourself, therefore, the useless labor of this visit. My life is

in your hands, and I have already experienced with what justice
and clemency you will use your power when you dare.”

“A more humble tone,” said Innis, with a bitter smile, “I think
would better suit your circumstances.” And with this remark the
commandant haughtily walked out of the apartment.

The next morning, whilst Butler was taking his breakfast, which
had been brought to him by one of the soldiers of the guard, he
heard a loud cheering from the troops that at that hour were on
parade in the plain. This was followed by the discharge of a
feu de joie from the whole line, and a flourish of drums and
trumpets.

“What is that?” he inquired eagerly of the soldier, who, forgetful,
in the excitement of the moment, of the order to restrain his
intercourse with the prisoner, answered—

“They have just got the news from Camden: two days ago
Cornwallis defeated Gates, and cut his army to pieces. The troops
are rejoicing for the victory, and have just had the despatches read.”

Butler heaved a deep sigh, as he said, “Then all is lost, and
liberty is but a name! I feared it; God knows, I feared it.”

The soldier was recalled to his duty by the sentinel at the door,
and Butler was again left alone.

This was a day of crowding events. The tidings of the battle
of Camden, gained on the sixteenth, and which had early this
morning reached Innis, threw a spirit of the highest exultation
into the camp. The event was considered decisive of the fate of
the rebel power; and the most extravagant anticipations were
indulged by the loyalists, in regard to the complete subjugation
of the Whigs of the southern provinces. The work of confiscation
was to be carried out to the most bitter extreme, and the
adherents of the royal government were to grow rich upon the
spoils of victory. The soldiers of Innis were permitted to give
way to uncontrolled revelry; and, from the first promulgation of
the news, this became a day devoted to rejoicings. Innis himself
looked upon the victory at Camden with more satisfaction, as it
gave him reason to believe that the sentence pronounced against
Butler might be executed, without fear of vengeance threatened
against the Ensign St. Jermyn. He was, however, exceedingly
anxious to see this young officer released from the hands of the

enemy; and had determined to respect the threat as long as
there was any doubt that it might be performed. The personal
consideration of Captain St. Jermyn, his station as an officer of
importance, and, above all, the great influence of his family, in
the esteem of the royal leaders, made it an object of deep concern
to Innis to save the ensign, by the most serupulous regard to his
present difficulties. His power to do so seemed to be much
increased by the late victory.

In the afternoon of the same day, further rumors were brought
to Innis's camp, importing that Sumpter had been attacked on
that morning upon the Catawba, by Tarleton, and completely
routed. The prisoners and baggage, taken on the fifteenth, had
been regained, and Sumpter was flying with the scattered remnant
of his troops towards North Carolina. At the same time an order
was brought to Innis to break up his camp and move northwards.
This only added to the shouts and rejoicings of the troops, and
drove them into deeper excesses. The war, they thought, was
coming rapidly to an end, and they already anticipated this conclusion,
by throwing off the irksomeness of military restraint.
The officers were gathered into gossiping and convivial circles;
and laughed, in unrestrained feelings of triumph, at the posture
of affairs. The private soldiers, on their part, imitated their
leaders, and formed themselves into knots and groups, where
they caroused over their cups, danced, and sang. All was frolic
and merriment.

In the midst of this festivity, a portion of Connelly's troopers,
who had now been absent forty-eight hours, arrived, and made an
immediate report to Innis. The purport of this was, that they
had found Ensign St. Jermyn in the possession of a detachment of
Whig cavalry near the Saluda: as soon as they descried him,
which they did, some three hundred paces distant, knowing him
by his scarlet uniform, they prepared to attack this party of
Whigs; but the ensign perceiving his friends at hand, had already,
by a brave effort, disentangled himself from his keepers, and taken
off into the open field. The scouts, therefore, instead of attacking
the Whigs, directed all their attention to secure the ensign's retreat,
by holding themselves ready to check the pursuit: their manœuvre
had been successful, and the prisoner was free.

“And is now with you in the camp, my brave fellows?” said
Innis, with great exultation.

“Not yet,” replied the sergeant of the squad. “He is upon
the road, and will, no doubt, soon be here. We have not seen
him since his escape. Whilst we hung back, with a view to favor
his retreat, we fell in with a party that we took to be the escort
that had made him prisoner; and as they outnumbered us, we
thought it prudent to decline a skirmish with them. So we filed
off and made our way back to head-quarters. The ensign must
have been a good mile ahead of us, and as the road is hard to
find, he may have lost his way. But this is certain, we saw him
clear of the Whigs, with his horse's head turned towards this
camp.”

“Thank you, good friends,” said Innis; “you have performed
your duty handsomely. Go to your comrades; they have news
for you, and an extra allowance to-day. Faith, Ker, this is a day
for settling old accounts,” he continued, as he turned and addressed
an officer by his side. “Gates beaten, Sumpter beaten, and
Ensign St. Jermyn delivered from captivity! That looks well!
And now I have another account, which shall be settled on the
nail. Stirring times, Captain St. Jermyn. I congratulate you,
my friend, on your brother's safety, and mean to signalize the
event as it deserves. Major Frazer, bring out your prisoner, and
let him die the death punctually at sun-down—at sun-down, to
the minute, major. We must get that job off our hands. To-morrow,
my friends, we shall move towards Catawba, and thence
to Hanging Rock. Meantime, we must sweep up our rubbish.
So, major, look to your duty! It might as well have been done
at first,” he added, speaking to himself, as he walked away from
the group of officers to look after other affairs.

The execution of Butler was now regarded as a mere matter of
business, and to be despatched as one item of duty amongst the
thousand others that were to be looked after in the hurry of
breaking up the post. The interest of the trial had faded away
by the lapse of time, and in the more predominating excitements
which the absorbing character of the late events had afforded.
The preparations for this ceremony were, therefore, attended with
no display, and scarcely seemed to arouse inquiry amongst the

soldiers of the camp. It was treated in all respects as a subordinate
point of police. Ten files were detailed; one drum and fife
put in requisition; and this party, attended by Frazer, and two or
three officers who happened to be near at the moment, marched
with a careless step to head-quarters.

The first announcement of this sudden resolve was made to the
prisoner by a subaltern; who, without prelude or apology, or the
least effort to mitigate the harshness of the order he bore, walked
abruptly into the chamber and delivered the message of his
superior.

“It is a sudden proceeding,” said Butler, calmly; “but your
pleasure must be obeyed.”

“You have had two days to think of it,” replied the officer;
“it is not often so much time is allowed. Ensign St. Jermyn, sir,
is safe, and that is all we waited for. We march to-morrow, and
therefore have no time to lose. You are waited for below.”

Butler stood a moment with his hand pressed upon his brow,
and then muttered,

“It is even so; our unhappy country is lost, and the reign of
blood is but begun. I would ask the poor favor of a moment's
delay, and the privilege of pen, ink, and paper, whilst I write but
a line to a friend.”

“Impossible, sir,” said the man. “Time is precious, and our
orders are positive.”

“This is like the rest,” answered Butler; “I submit.” Then
buttoning his coat across his breast, he left the room with a firm
and composed step.

When he reached the door the first person who met his eye was
Captain St. Jermyn. There was an expression of formal gravity
in the manner of this officer, as he accosted the prisoner, and
lamented the rigor of the fate that awaited him. And it was
somewhat with a cold and polite civility that he communicated his
readiness to attend to any request which Butler, in his last
moments, might wish to have performed.

Butler thanked him for his solicitude, and then said, “I asked
permission to write to a friend; that has been denied. I feel
reluetant to expose myself to another refusal. You have taken a
slight interest in my sufferings, and I will, therefore, confide to you

a simple wish, which it will not cost my persecutors much to
gratify. It is that I may be taken to my grave, dressed as you
see me now. I would not have my person stripped or plundered.”

“If you have valuables about you, sir, trust them to my keeping;
I promise you they shall be faithfully delivered according to
your wish.”

“What money there is about my person,” replied Butler, “may
be given to the soldiers who are compelled to execute this harsh
and unjust sentence on my person; but I have a trinket,” he said,
drawing from his bosom a miniature, which was suspended by a ribbon,
“it is the gift of one,”—here, for the first time, a tear started
into Butler's eye, and his power of utterance failed him.

“I understand, sir,” said St. Jermyn, eagerly reaching out his hand
to take the picture, “I will seek the lady, at whatever hazard”—

“No,” answered the unfortunate officer, “it must be buried with
me. It has dwelt here,” he added with emotion, as he placed his
hand upon his heart, “and here it must sleep in death.”

“On the honor of a soldier,” said St. Jermyn, “I promise you
its rest shall not be violated.”

“You will attend me?”

“I will.”

“Lead on,” said the prisoner, stepping to the place assigned him
in the ranks. “I seek no further delay.”

“March down the river, half a mile below the camp,” said Innis,
who now came up, as the escort had begun its progress towards
the place of execution. And the soldiers moved slowly, with the
customary funeral observances, in a direction that led across the
whole extent of the plain.

When this little detachment had disappeared on the further side
of the field, a sudden commotion arose at head-quarters by the
hasty arrival of a mounted patrol—

“We are followed!” cried the leading horseman, in great perturbation.
“They will be here in an instant! We have been
pressed by them for the last two miles.”

“Of whom do you speak?” inquired Innis, eagerly.

“The enemy! the enemy!” vociferated several voices.

At the same moment a cloud of dust was seen rising above the
trees, in the direction of the road leading up the Ennoree.

“To arms—to arms!” ejaculated the commander. “Gentlemen,
spring to your horses, and sound the alarm through the
camp—we are set upon by Sumpter—it can be no other. Curry,
take a few dragoons—follow the prisoner—mount him behind one
of your men, and retreat with him instantly to Blackstock's!”

Having given these hasty orders, Innis, with the several officers
who happened to be at hand, ran to their horses, mounted, and
pushed forward to the camp. They had scarcely left their quarters
before two dragoons, in advance of a party of twenty or thirty
men, rushed up to the door.

“Sarch the house!” shouted the leading soldier. “Three or
four of you dismount and sarch the house! Make sure of Major
Butler, if he is there! The rest of you forward with me!”

The delay before head-quarters scarcely occupied a moment, and
in the meantime the number of the assailants was increased by the
squadrons that poured in from the rear. These were led by a
young officer of great activity and courage, who, seeing the disordered
condition of the royalists, waved his sword in the air as he
beckoned his men to follow him in a charge upon the camp.

The advanced party, with the two dragoons, were already on the
field charging the first body that they found assembled; and, close
behind them, followed Colonel Williams—the officer of whom I
have spoken—with a large division of cavalry. At the same
moment that Williams entered upon the plain from this quarter,
a second and third corps, led respectively by Shelby and Clarke,
were seen galloping upon the two flanks of the encampment.

The plain was now occupied by about two hundred Whig cavalry.
The royalists, taken by surprise, over their cups it may be said, and
in the midst of a riotous festival, were everywhere thrown into the
wildest confusion. Such of them as succeeded in gaining their
arms, took post behind the trees, and kept up an irregular fire
upon the assailants. Colonel Innis had succeeded in getting
together about a hundred men at a remote corner of his camp,
and had now formed them into a solid column to resist the attack
of the cavalry, whilst from this body he poured forth a few desultory
volleys of musketry, hoping to gain time to collect the scattered
forces that were in various points endeavoring to find their
proper station. Horse Shoe Robinson and John Ramsay—the two

foremost in the advance—were to be discovered pushing through
the sundered groups of the enemy with a restless and desperate
valor that nothing could withstand.

“Cut them down,” cried Horse Shoe, “without marcy! remember
the Waxhaws!” And he accompanied his exhortation with
the most vehement and decisive action, striking down, with a huge
sabre, all who opposed his way.

Meantime, Colonel Williams and his comrades charged the
column formed by Innis, and, in a few moments, succeeded in
riding through the array and compelling them to a total rout.
Robinson and Ramsay, side by side, mingled in this charge, and
were seen in the thickest of the fight. Innis, finding all efforts to
maintain his ground ineffectual, turned his horse towards Musgrove's
mill, and fled as fast as spur and sword could urge the
animal forward. The sergeant, however, had marked him for his
prize, and following as fleetly as the trusty Captain Peter was able
to carry him, soon came up with the fugitive officer, and, with one
broad sweep of his sword, dislodged him from his saddle and left
him bleeding on the ground. Turning again towards the field, his
quick eye discerned the unwieldy bulk of Hugh Habershaw. The
gross captain had, in the hurry of the assault, been unable to reach
his horse; and, in the first moments of danger, had taken refuge
in one of the little sheds which had been constructed for the accommodation
of the soldiers. As the battle waxed hot in the neighborhood
of his retreat, he had crept forth from his den and was
making the best of his way to an adjoining cornfield. He was
bare-headed, and his bald crown, as the slanting rays of the evening
sun fell upon it, glistened like a gilded globe. The well known
figure no sooner occurred to the sergeant's view than he rode off in
pursuit. The cornfield was bounded by a fence, and the burly
braggart had just succeeded in reaching it when his enemy overtook
him.

“Have mercy, good Mr. Horse Shoe, have mercy on a defenceless
man!” screamed the runaway, in a voice discordant with
terror, as he stopped at the fence, which he was unable to mount,
and looked back upon his pursuer. “Remember the good-will I
showed you when you was a prisoner! Quarter, quarter—for
God's sake, quarter!”

“You get no quarter from me, you cursed blood-lapper!”
exclaimed Horse Shoe, excited to a rage that seldom visited his
breast; “think of Grindall's Ford!” and at the same instant he
struck a heavy downward blow, with such sheer descent, that it
clove the skull of the perfidious freebooter clean through to the
spine. “I have sworn your death,” said the sergeant, “even if I
cotch you asleep in your bed, and right fairly have you earned it.”

The body fell into a bed of mire, which had been the resort of
the neighboring swine; and, leaving it in this foul plight, Horse
Shoe hastened back to rejoin his comrades.

The battle now ended in the complete route of the enemy.
Williams's first care, after the day was won, was to collect his men
and to secure his prisoners. Many of the Tories had escaped;
many were killed and wounded; but of Butler no tidings could be
gained; he had disappeared from the field before the fight began,
and all the information that the prisoners could give was that
orders had been sent to remove him from the neighborhood.
Colonel Innis was badly wounded, and in no condition to speak
with his conquerors; he was sent, with several other disabled
officers, to head-quarters. Captain St. Jermyn had fled, with most
of those who had mounted their horses before the arrival of
Williams.

The day was already at its close, and order was taken to spend
the night upon the field. Guards were posted, and every precaution
adopted to avoid a surprise in turn from the enemy, who, it
was feared, might soon rally a strong party and assail the
conquerors.

The disturbed condition of the country, and the almost unanimous
sentiment of the people against the Whigs, now strengthened
by the late victories, prevented Williams from improving his present
advantage, or even from bearing off his prisoners. Robinson and
Ramsay volunteered to head a party to scour the country in quest
of Butler, but the commanding officer could give no encouragement
to the enterprise; it was, in his judgment, a hopeless endeavor,
when the forces of the enemy were everywhere so strong. His
determination, therefore, was to retreat, as soon as his men were in
condition, back to his fastnesses. His few killed were buried; the
wounded, of which there were not more than fifteen or twenty

were taken care of, and the jaded troops were dismissed to seek
refreshment amongst the abundant stores captured from the enemy.
Ensign St. Jermyn was still a prisoner; and, for the sake of adding
to Butler's security, Williams selected two or three other officers
that had fallen into his hands to accompany him in his retreat.
These arrangements all being made, the colonel and his officers
retired to repose. The next morning at daylight there were no
traces of the Whigs to be seen upon the plain. It was abandoned
to the loyalist prisoners and their wounded comrades.