University of Virginia Library

37. CHAPTER XXXVII.

On the third morning following Lindsay's and Tyrrel's departure,
the season being now about the commencement of September,
Henry was seen, after an unusually early breakfast, to come forth
upon the grass-plot, in front of the house, bearing in his hand a
short rifle,—his customary accompaniment of the bugle being
slung across his shoulders. For some moments he was occupied in
examining his weapon; then leaning it against a tree that stood
upon the lawn, he put the bugle to his mouth and sounded a long
and clear signal-note. The first effects of this spell were to bring
up Bell, Blanch, and Hylas, the three flap-eared hounds, who came
frisking over the grass with many antics that might be said to
resemble the bows and curtsies of the human species, and which
were accompanied by the houndish salutation of deep-mouthed
howls that the horn never fails to wake up in these animals.

Soon after these, came striding up the hill the long gaunt form
of Stephen Foster, who, mounting the stone wall on the lower side,
with one bound sprang over the thickset-hedge that begirt the
terrace. He was now arrayed in a yellow hunting shirt that
reached to the middle of his thigh, and which was decorated with
an abundance of red fringe that bound the cape, elbows, wrists, and
extremity of the skirt, and a wool hat encircled with a broad red
band, in one side of which was set the national ornament of the buck-tail.
Around his waist was buckled a broad buckskin belt; he was
armed besides with a rifle a little short of six feet in length.

Stephen Foster was one of that idle craft, who, having no particular
occupation, was from this circumstance, by a contradiction
in terms, usually called a man of all work. He belonged to that
class of beings who are only to be found in a society where the
ordinary menial employments are discharged by slaves; and was

the tenant of a few acres of land, appertaining to the domain of
the Dove Cote, where he professed to make his living by husbandry.
But by far the greater proportion of his revenues was derived from
divers miscellaneous services,—such as driving a team of four lean
horses, of which he was proprietor; hauling wood for fuel; assisting
in the harvest fields; somtimes working in the garden; and,
when required, riding errands—which he preferred to all other
business. But labor was not Stephen's forte: it was constitutionally
a part of his system to postpone matters of work for pleasure;
and, if there was anything for which he was particularly famous, it was
in avoiding all appearances of punctuality to irksome engagements.
If he can be said to have had a calling at all, it was that of a hunter,
a species of employment that possessed a wonderful charm for his
fancy, and which was excellently adapted both to his physical and
moral qualities. He, therefore, gave much of his time to the concerns
of vert and venison; and his skill with the rifle was such that
he could make sure of putting a ball through the brain of a wild
pigeon as far as he was able to draw a sight. He was skilled in
the habits of all the forest animals common to this part of Virginia,
and accurately drew the line of distinction between vermin and
game. He hunted wolves, bears, panthers (painters, in his own
pronunciation), racoons, foxes, opossums, and squirrels; and
trapped otter, beaver, and muskrats; moreover, he was an expert
jigger and bobber of eels, and well knew the trouting streams.
For these pursuits he was endowed with a patient nature that
could endure a whole day and night in the woods without eating or
sleeping; my authority says nothing of his forbearance in the third
primary want of humanity. He was a man of fine thews and sinews,
stout and brave; and withal of a generous, frank, and invariable
good nature. The war had furnished occasion for such talents as
he possessed; and Stephen was now meditating a bold severance
from his wife and children, who had heretofore exerted such a
dominion over his affections, that he had not the heart to leave
them. But the present difficulties of the nation had made such a
cogent appeal to his patriotism, that he had resolved to take one
campaign in the field, and thus give scope to his natural love of
adventure. It was now his peculiar glory, and one that wrought with
a potent influence upon his self-love, that he held the post of lieutenant
to the company of Amherst Rangers, a volunteer corps that had
lately been organized with a view to the state of affairs in the south.

This worthy, when he had no expedition in hand, was generally
to be found lounging about the mansion of the Dove Cote, in
expectation of some call from Henry, between whom and himself
there existed a mutual and somewhat exorbitant affection.

On his present appearance there was a broad, complacent grin
on Stephen's features as he accosted the young bugleman with the
interrogatory—

“What's in the wind now, Mister Henry? Arter another buck,
I reckon? And an elegant morning it is for a drive! May be,
the wind's just a little too fresh, 'cepting you was able to steal on
the lower side of the game, and then the scent would come down
like a rose. Thar's a great advantage in being down the wind,
because the animal can't hear you breaking through the bushes,
for the wind makes naturally such a twittering of the leaves that
it deceives him, you see.”

“I fancy I know a good hunting day, Lieutenant Foster,” said
Henry, putting his arms akimbo, “as well as you. Who told you
I was going after a buck? Why, man, if that had been my drift
I should have started you two hours ago. But we have other
business in hand, Stephen. There is such dreadful news in the
country! We shall march soon, take my word for it. I am
resolved to go, Stephen, as soon as ever the Rangers set out, let my
father say what he will. It is time men should take their sides—
that's my opinion.”

“Mister Henry, I wouldn't advise you,” said Stephen, with a
wise shake of the head. “Your father would grieve himself to
death if you were to leave him.”

“Don't believe the half of that, lieutenant. There would be a
flurry for a little while, and, after that, father would see that the
thing couldn't be helped, and so he would have to be satisfied. I'll
steal away—that's flat.”

“Well, take notice, Mister Henry,” said Stephen, chuckling, “I
give you my warning against it. But if you do go along with me
I'll take as much care of you as if you were my own son.”

“I know sister Mildred thinks,” replied Henry, “it wouldn't be
very wrong in me to go; and so I'll leave her to make my peace

at home. Besides, I am going on her account, just to try and hear
something of Major Butler.”

“If that's her opinion,” returned Stephen, “thar isn't much
wrong about it. She is the head contriver and main privy-councillor,”
added Stephen, laughing, as he used these slang words,
with which he was in the habit of garnishing his conversation,
“of all matters that are done here in this house.”

“These are your new regimentals, Stephen,” said Henry, looking
at Foster's dress; “you shine like a flecker on a sunny day. It will
please sister to the life to see you so spruce; she's a prodigious
disciplinarian, and doesn't like to see us rebels (here he put his
hand to his mouth and pronounced this word with a mock
circumspection), worse dressed than the rascally red-coats. When
do the Rangers march, Stephen?”

“We are waiting for orders every day. We parade, you know,
Mister Henry, this morning.”

“You must plead off to-day,” said Henry; “I called you up to
tell you that sister and I were going to ride, and I wanted you to
go with us. At any rate, if you must go to the troop, you can
leave us on the road. You don't meet till twelve, and both sister
and I want to talk to you. She commanded me to tell you this.
I believe she wishes you to take a letter for her. Poor Mildred
doesn't know that I am going with you; so, as to that, you needn't
let on. Go, Stephen, have our horses ready as soon as you can get
them. Quick, good Stephen; sister and I will wait for you on the
lawn.”

The lieutenant of the Rangers, having received his orders,
hurried away to attend to their execution.

Mildred was already apparelled for her ride, and came at this
moment from the house along the gravel walk. Her cheek, lately
pale, had now begun to show the ruddy hue of health. Her full,
dark-blue eye, although habitually expressive of a thoughtful
temperament, frequently sparkled with the sudden flashes of a
playful spirit, and oftener with the fire of an ardent resolution.
Her features, marked by a well-defined outline, bore a strong
resemblance to her brother's, and, when animated by the quick-speeding
emotions of her mind, presented a countenance unusually
gifted with the graces of external beauty. The impression which

her physiognomy conveyed, was that of an impassioned and enthusiastic
nature, and of a feminine courage that was sufficient for any
emergency. A clear skin gave brilliancy to her complexion; and,
although habits of exposure to the air had slightly impaired its
lustre, the few traces which this exposure left, rather communicated
the agreeable idea of a wholesome and vigorous constitution. The
tones of her voice were soft and gentle, and full of harmony; and,
when stimulated by her feelings, rich, deep, and commanding.
Her figure, of what might be deemed a medium height in females,
was neat and agile, well proportioned, and combining the flexible
ease proper to her sex, with a degree of steadiness and strength
that might be denominated masculine. Her movement was graceful,
distinguished by a ready hand and free step; and it was impossible
to look upon her most familiar bearing, without being
struck by the indication which it gave of a self-possessed, fearless,
and careering temper, allied to a mind raised above the multitude
by a consciousness of intellectual force.

As Mildred advanced along the shaded walk, she was followed
by a fantastical little attendant, whom, in the toyish freak of a
solitary and luxurious life, she had trained to fill the station of a
lady's page. This was a diminutive negro boy, not above ten
years of age, of a delicate figure, and now gaudily bedecked in a
vest of scarlet cloth, a pair of loose white linen trowsers drawn at
the ancle, and red slippers. A ruffle fell over his neck, and full
white sleeves were fastened with silken cords at his wrists. A
scarlet velvet cap gave a finish to the apparel of this gorgeous
little elf; and the dress, grotesque as it was, was not badly set off
by the saucy, familiar port of the conceited menial. Whether he
had been destined from his birth to this pampered station,—or,
accidentally, like many of the eastern monarchs, raised to the purple,—he
bore the romantic name of Endymion, and was fully as
much at the call of his patroness, and as fond of sleep, as him of
Mount Latmos. His business seemed to be at the present moment
to acquit himself of the responsible duty of holding an ivory-mounted
riding-whip in readiness for the service of his mistress.

When Mildred had crossed the lawn and arrived at the spot
where Henry now stood, she was saluted by her brother, with—

“Stand, my gentle sister, you and your monkey! Ah, Mildred,
you are not what you used to be; you have grown much too grave
of late. Bear up, dear sister: for, after all, what is it! Why we
have been beaten, and we must fight it over again, that's all. And
as to the major, your partiality magnifies his dangers. Hasn't he
an arm?—yes; and hasn't he a leg?—which, in war, I hold to be
just as useful sometimes.”

“There is a dreadful uncertainty, brother,” replied Mildred. “I
dream of the worst.”

“A fig for your dreams, sister Mildred! They have been all
sorts of ways, and that you know. Now, I have a waking dream,
and that is, that before you are twenty-four hours older you will
hear of Major Butler.”

“Would to heaven your dream may prove true!” replied Mildred.
“But, Henry, you love me, and affection is an arrant cheat
in its prophecies.”

“Tush then, sister! don't talk of it. For when we know nothing,
it does no good to get to fancying. These are the times to act;
and perhaps I'll surprise you yet.”

“With what, good brother?”

“Order arms,” replied Henry, evading his sister's inquiry, and at
the same time assuming a military erectness, and bringing his rifle
briskly to the ground—“with the beauty of my drill, sister. It
even surprises myself. You shall see me march.” And here he
sportively shouldered his rifle and stepped with a measured pace
across the green, and then back again; whilst the saucy Endymion,
presuming on his privilege, with mimic gestures, followed immediately
in Henry's rear, taking large strides to keep his ground.
When Henry perceived the apish minion thus upon his track he
burst out into a laugh.

“You huge giant-killer, do you mock me?” he exclaimed.
“Sister, I will smother your body-guard in the crown of my cap,
if he isn't taught better manners.”

“Henry, I cannot share your light heart with you,” said Mildred
sorrowfully, “mine is heavy.”

“And mine is yours, sister, light or heavy; in sunshine or in
storm, summer and winter, dear Mildred, it is always yours. It

was a trick of mine to amuse you. And if I do not seem to feel,
sister, as you do, it is because I mean to act. We men have no
time for low spirits.”

“Stephen Foster is here at the door with our horses, brother.
Boy, give me the whip—now, away. The gay feathers of this
bird,” said Mildred, as the little black retired, “do not become a
follower of mine.”

The new aspect of affairs, since the defeat of Camden, had
pressed grievously upon Mildred's spirits. The country was full
of disheartening rumors, and every day added particulars that
were of a nature to increase the distress. The bloody fate of the
brave De Kalb, and the soldiers that fell by his side; the triumph
with which Cornwallis had begun his preparations for further
conquests; the destitution and disarray of the American army,
now flying before its enemy; the tales of unsparing sequestration
with which, in Carolina, the lands of those who still bore arms in
the cause of independence, were visited; the military executions of
prisoners charged with the violation of a constructive allegiance,
in the conquered districts; the harsh measures which were adopted
to break the heart of the rebellion, that still lingered behind the
march of the victorious army; and, above all, the boastful confidence
with which Cornwallis, by his proclamations, sought to open
the way for his invasion of North Carolina and Virginia, by attempting
to rally the liege subjects of the king under his standard:
all these events came on the wings of rumor, and had lighted up
a flame through the whole country. To Mildred, they all imported
an ill omen as regarded the fate of Arthur Butler. Now and
then, a straggling soldier of Gates's broken force arrived at the
Dove Cote, where he was received with an eager hospitality, and
closely questioned as to the events in which he had participated.
But of Butler, not even the remotest tidings were obtained. For
the present, the uncertainty of his fortune filled Mildred's thoughts
with the most anxious and unhappy misgivings; and this frame of
mind over-mastered all other feelings. The late visit of Tyrrel to
the Dove Cote, and the abrupt departure of her father with this
individual, on an unavowed expedition, were not calculated to allay
her fears; and she felt herself pressed on all sides with the presages
of coming misfortune. In these difficulties she did not lose

her fortitude; but, like a mariner benighted in a dangerous strait,
she counted over the anxious moments of her voyage, expecting,
at each succeeding instant, to hear the dreadful stranding of
her bark upon the unseen rock, though bravely prepared for the
worst.