31. CHAPTER XXXI.
BUTLER FINDS A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE IN HIS DISTRESS.
Allen Musgrove had heard enough of Butler's history from his
daughter and from Galbraith Robinson, to feel a warm interest in
that officer's safety; and now his personal acquaintance with the
prisoner still further corroborated his first prepossessions. The old
man took the earliest opportunity to indicate to Butler the concern
he felt in his welfare. From the moderate and kindly tone of his
own character, he was enabled to do this without drawing upon
himself the distrust of the officer of the guard. His expressions of
sympathy were regarded, by Macdonald, as the natural sentiments
of a religious mind imbued with an habitual compassion for the
sufferings of a fellow creature, and of one who strove to discharge
the duties of a peace-maker. His visits were looked upon as those
of a spiritual counsellor, whose peculiar right it was to administer
consolation to the afflicted, in whatever condition; he was therefore
permitted freely to commune with the prisoner, and, as it
sometimes happened, alone with him in his chamber.
This privilege was now particularly useful; for Mary having, on
the morning after her midnight interview with John Ramsay and
Robinson, communicated to her father the incidents of that meeting,
and put in his possession the letter which the sergeant had
given her, and having also repeated her message to him accurately
as she had received it, Musgrove took occasion, during the
following day, to deliver the letter to Butler, and to make known
to him all that he had heard from his daughter. This disclosure
produced the most cheering effect upon Butler's spirits. It, for
the first time since the commencement of his sufferings, opened to
his mind a distinct view of his chance of eventual liberation. The
expectation of having his case represented to Cornwallis inspired
him with a strong confidence that justice would be done to him,
and the covert malice of his enemies be disarmed. In this hope,
it occurred to him to take some instant measures to satisfy the
British commander-in-chief of the groundless character of the
principal accusation brought against him by the court-martial,
—that which related to the pretended design to deliver up Philip
Lindsay to the wrath of the Republican government. For this
purpose he resolved to make an appeal to Lindsay himself, by
letter, and frankly to call upon him to put at rest this most unjust
and wicked accusation. He knew that however strong Lindsay's
antipathy to him might be, the high sense of honor which distinguished
the father of Mildred might be confidently and successfully
invoked to furnish such a statement as should entirely satisfy
his accusers of the gross injustice of the charge. “I will write to
him,” he said, “and throw myself upon his protection. I will
require of him to detail the whole history of my intercourse with his
family, and to say how improbable even he must deem it, that I
could be so base as to plot against his peace. And I will appeal to
Mildred to fortify her father's statement, to show that this wicked
accusation rests upon a story which it is impossible could be true.”
Whilst Butler's thoughts were still occupied with this resolve,
Mary Musgrove entered his apartment, bearing in her hands a
napkin and plate which she had come to spread for his dinner,
and as the maiden employed herself in arranging a small table in
the middle of the room, she east a few distrustful glances towards
the sentinel who paced to and fro opposite the door, and then,
seizing on a moment when the soldier had disappeared from view,
she whispered to Butler—
“You have seen my father, sir?”
Butler nodded his head.
“He has told you all?”
Butler again signified a silent assent.
The tramp of the sentinel showed that he was again approaching
the door; and when Mary turned her eyes in that direction,
she beheld the watchful soldier halting in such a position as to
enable him both to see and hear what was passing in the room.
Without showing the least perturbation, or even appearing to notice
the guard, she said in a gay and careless voice,—“My father
and Lieutenant Macdonald,—who is a good gentleman—think it
belongs to Christian people to do all the good we can for them that
providence has put under us; and so, sir, I have been to gather
you some blackberries, which I thought, may be, you would like,
sir.”
The sentinel walked away, and Mary smiled as she saw her little
stratagem succeed.
“Bring me some paper,” said Butler cautiously. “You are a
considerate girl,” he continued, in a louder voice, “and I thank you
for this good will.” Then finding that the sentinel did not immediately
return, he whispered—“I wish to write to Robinson—you
shall take the letter and read it to him.”
“I will do my best,” replied the maiden; and again the sentinel
interrupted the conference.
Mary, having arranged the table, left the room. In a few moments
she returned, bringing with her the family Bible.
“If you would like to read, sir,” she said, “here is a book
that a body may look at a long time without getting tired of it.
We have only got this, and the Pilgrim's Progress, and the hymn-book,
in the house; but my father says this is worth all the others
that ever were printed, put together; and especially, sir, when one's
in distress, and away from their friends.”
An expression of pleasure played across Butler's features as he
took the heavy volume from the girl.
“A thousand thanks to you, my pretty maiden,” he replied. “I
doubt not I shall grow both wiser and better under your tutoring.
This kindness almost reconciles me to my fate.”
“John is doing all he can for you, and he is a good helper to
Mr. Robinson,” said Mary, in the same cautious whisper that she had
first spoken in, as she retreated from the room. Butler opened the
book, and found a sheet of paper folded away amongst the leaves;
then closing it, he threw it upon his bed.
In due course of time, Mary Musgrove returned with a few
dishes of food which she set out upon the table, and, in one of the
successive visits which were employed in furnishing the repast, she
took from beneath her apron a small ink-horn and pen, which she
placed, unobserved by the sentinel, in Butler's hand. Having done
this, she retired, leaving the prisoner to despatch his meal alone.
After dinner, Butler threw himself upon his bed, where he lay
with the Bible opened out before him, with his back turned towards
the door; and, whilst Mary Musgrove was engaged in removing
the furniture of the table, he found means to write a few lines to
Philip Lindsay. He took the same opportunity to pen a short letter
to Mildred; and then to set down some directions for Horse
Shoe Robinson, the purport of which was that the sergeant should
take the two letters and depart, with all despatch, for the Dove
Cote, and to put both into the hands of Mildred, with a request that
she would procure him the necessary reply from her father. Horse
Shoe was also directed to explain to Mildred such particulars of
Butler's history as were necessary to be made known for the accomplishment
of the object of the mission.
When these papers were finished they were folded up into a
small compass, and in the course of the evening put into Mary's
hands, with a request that she would herself read the instructions
intended for the sergeant, and apprise him of their contents when
she delivered the papers to him.
So far all had succeeded well, and Butler found additional reason
to dispel the gloom that hung upon his spirits, in the prospect
that was now opened to him of enlisting strong and authoritative
friends in the scheme of his liberation.
