University of Virginia Library

41. CHAPTER XLI.

The faithful Horse Shoe being thus left to himself, replenished
his pipe, and, taking his rifle in his hand, paced to and fro upon
the border of the road, holding communion with his own thoughts,
carefully weighing the probabilities connected with his present singular
expedition, and revolving, after his own fashion, the fortunes
of Arthur Butler and Mildred Lindsay.

It was within an hour of midnight, when the sergeant's meditations
were interrupted by the tramp of a horse approaching the
hut at a gallop. But a few moments elapsed before a traveller,
who, in the star-light, Horse Shoe could discern to be armed, drew
up his rein immediately at the door of the dwelling, against which
he struck several blows with his weapon, calling out loudly at the
same time—

“Mistress Wingate—for God's sake, open your door quickly!
I have news to tell you, good woman.”

“In the name of mercy! who are you?” exclaimed the voice
of the dame within, whilst a note of alarm was also heard from her
fellow-lodger.

“What do you mean by this racket and clatter?” demanded
Horse Shoe, in the midst of the uproar, at the same time laying
his hand upon the stranger's bridle rein. “What brings you here,
sir?—stand back; the women in that house are under my charge,
and I won't have them disturbed.”

“If you are a friend to Mistress Wingate,” said the horseman,
sternly, “speak the word; if an enemy, I will shiver your skull
with the butt of my musket.”

“Don't be rash, good fellow,” replied Horse Shoe; “I take it
you and me are on the same side. What's afoot that you stir in
such a hurry?”

“The Tories are afoot—the devil's afoot! Open, Mistress Wingate—open
to Dick Peyton!”

“The Lord preserve us!” ejaculated the mistress of the hovel,
as she opened the door; “Bloody Spur, is it you? What ill luck
brings you here to-night?”

“A gang of Tories, Mistress Wingate, from the Black River,
under that cut-throat Fanning, crossed Pedee this morning at
Lowder's Lake. They have been thieving and burning as far as
Waggamaw, and are now on the road home by the upper ferry.
They will be along here in less than half an hour. Your husband,
Bob Wingate, and myself, were sent out by General Marion this
morning, to reconnoitre the roads. We fell in with the ruffians,
after sun-set, below Lumberton, and have tracked them up here.
Bob has got a pistol-shot through his arm. He was lucky enough,
however, to escape their clutches; but believing they had a spite
against him, and would ride past his house to-night, he told me to
call and give you warning, and to help you to drive the cattle back
into the swamp.”

“How many mought there be, friend?” asked Horse Shoe,
calmly.

“Between two and three hundred, at least,” said the trooper;
“we counted fifty in the vanguard—those that followed made a
long column of march. They have stolen a good many horses and
cattle, all of which are with them, and several prisoners.”

“What, ho!—Issac, Henry Lindsay; fall to, and saddle, boys,”
shouted Horse Shoe. “Miss Mildred, it will not do to stand. I
am sorry to break in upon your rest, but you must be ready to
move in a few minutes.”

Everything about the hut was now in confusion. Henry and
the sergeant were equipping the horses, whilst Isaac was gathering
up the baggage. Bloody Spur—to adopt the rider's nom de guerre—
had dismounted, and was busy in removing the few articles of value

from the hut; the mother and children, meanwhile, were pouring
forth loud lamentations.

Mildred, in the midst of this scene of uproar, hurriedly made
her preparations for departure; and whilst she was yet engaged in
this care, a confused murmur was heard, at some distance up the
road—and the rattle of sabres, as well as the hoarse voice and
abrupt laughter of men, announced that the freebooters were at
no great distance from the dwelling.

“Merciful heaven!” exclaimed Mildred, giving way for the
first time to her fears; “they are fast approaching, and we shall be
captured.”

“Sister,” said Henry, with scarcely less alarm, “I will die by
your side, before they shall hurt a hair of your head.”

Horse Shoe, who at this moment was tightening the girths
of Mildred's saddle, paused for an instant to listen, and then said:

“The wind is north-east, young lady, and the voice sounds far
to night. One could hardly expect you to be cool when one of
these night-frays is coming on, but there's no occasion to be frightened.
Now, ma'am, if you please, I'll heave you into your seat.
There,” continued the sergeant, setting Mildred upon her horse,
“you have got four good legs under you, and by a fair use of them
will be as safe as a crowned king. Mister Henry, mount, and ride
with your sister slowly down the road, till I overtake you.”

Henry obeyed the order.

“Is the portmanteau and the rest of the baggage all safe, Isaac?
Don't be flurried, you old sinner, but look about you, before you
start off.”

“All safe,” replied the negro.

“Up and follow your master, then. Hark you, Mr. Bloody
Spur,” said Horse Shoe, as Isaac rode off, to the trooper, who was
still actively employed in turning the cattle loose from the inclosure,
“what is the best road hereabouts for my squad to keep out
of the way of these bullies?”

“About a mile from here, take a road that strikes into the
woods, upon your right hand,” answered the trooper hastily, “it
will lead you up the river to the falls of Pedee. If you should
meet any of Marion's men, tell them what you have seen; and say
Dick Peyton will be along close after you.”

“Where is Marion?” asked the sergeant, mounting his horse.

“What man that knows Frank Marion could ever answer that
question?” said the trooper. “He is everywhere, friend. But you
have no time to lose: be off.”

As Bloody Spur said this, he disappeared, driving the cattle before
him; whilst the mother, laden with an infant and as many
pieces of furniture as she could carry, and followed by her terrified
children, fled towards the neighboring thicket.

Horse Shoe in a few moments overtook his companions, and,
urging them forward at a rapid flight, soon reached the diverging
road, along which they journeyed with unabated speed for upwards
of a mile.

“How do you bear it, sister?” asked Henry, with concern.

“Ah, brother, with a sore heart to be made so painfully acquainted
with these frightful scenes. I lose all thought of my own
annoyance, in seeing the calamities that are heaped upon the unoffending
family of a man who dares to draw his sword for his
country.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Horse Shoe, gravely, “these incarnivorous
devils have broken the rest of many a good woman in the Carolinas,
before they routed you out to-night, ma'am. But it is one of God's
marcies to see how you keep up under it.”

“Mine's a trifling grievance, good sergeant: I lose but a little
repose: that poor mother flies to save her children, uncertain, perhaps,
of to-morrow's subsistence; and her husband's life is in daily
peril. It is a sad lot. Yet truly,” added Mildred with a sigh,
“mine is scarcely better. Gracious heaven!” she exclaimed, looking
behind her, “they have set fire to the dwelling!”

In the quarter to which she directed her eyes, the horizon was
already illuminated with the blaze of Wingate's hut. The light
grew brighter for a short interval, and brought into bold relief
upon the sky, the tall, dark forms of the stately pines of which the
forest was composed.

“They are fools as well as villains,” said Horse Shoe, with an
angry vehemence; “they have had liquor to-night, or they would
hardly kindle up a blaze which should rouse every Whig on Pedee
to track them like hounds. It would be sport worth riding to look
at, if Marion should get a glimpse of that fire. But these wolves

have grown obstropolous ever since Horatio Gates made his fox-paw
at Camden.”

“Oh, it is a most savage war,” said Mildred, “that roots up the
humble hearth, and fires the lowly roof, where none but defencless
women and children abide. I shudder to think of such wanton
barbarity.”

“There's the thing, Miss Lindsay, that turns all our blood bitter.
Man to man is fair game, all the world over: but this ere stealing
of cattle, and burning of houses, and even cutting up by the roots
the plants of the 'arth, and turning of women and children naked
into the swamps, in the dead of night! it's a sorry business to
tell of a Christian people, and a cowardly business for a nation that's
a boasting of its bravery.”

The light of the conflagration had soon died away, and our
wanderers pursued their solitary road in darkness, ignorant of the
country through which they passed, and uncertain of the point to
which they tended. A full hour had gone by in this state of suspense,
and Robinson had once more resolved to make a halt, and
encamp his party in the woods. Before, however, he could put this
design into execution, he was unexpectedly challenged, from the
road-side, with the military demand of—“Who goes there?”

“Travellers,” was the reply.

“Where do you come from, and where are you going?”

“The first question I can answer,” said Horse Shoe, “and that is,
from Old Virginny, a fortnight ago, but, to-night, from a tolerable
snug lodging, where some onmannerly fellows troubled our sleep.
But as to where we're going, it's more likely you can tell that for
us.”

“You are saucy, sir.”

“It's more than I meant to be,” replied the sergeant. “Mayhap
you mought have hearn of a man they call Bloody Spur?”

“He has pricked your pillows for you—has he? Dick Peyton
is good at that,” said a second questioner.

“Aha, comrades, I understand you now,” said Horse Shoe, with
alacrity. “Dick Peyton and Bob Wingate both belong to your
party. Am I right? We are friends to Marion.”

“And therefore friends to us,” said the patrole. “Your name,
sir, and the number you have in company?”

“Take us to the general, and we will answer that,” replied
Horse Shoe. “The Tories have set upon Wingate's house and burnt
it to the ground. It's like we may be able to tell something worth
hearing at head-quarters. Your man Bloody Spur gave us in
charge to report him, and to say that he would soon follow upon
our track. I wonder that he isn't here before now.”

“I will remain,” said one of the soldiers to his companion; “you
shall take charge of the travellers.”

The trooper accordingly turned his horse's head and commanded
Horse Shoe and his party to follow.

The scout conducted our adventurers along a by-road that
led round the head of a marsh, and through several thickets
which, in the darkness of the night, were penetrated with great
difficulty; during this ride he interrogated Horse Shoe as to the
events of the late inroad of the Tories. He and his comrade had
been stationed upon the path where the sergeant encountered
them, to direct the out-riding parties of his corps to the spot of
Marion's encampment, the policy of this wary officer being to shift
his station so frequently as almost equally to defy the search of
friend and foe. Peyton and Wingate were both expected; and the
trooper who remained behind only waited to conduct them to the
commanding officer, who had, since the disappearance of daylight,
formed a bivouac in this neighborhood. Marion's custom was to
order his reconnoitring parties to return to him by designated
roads, where videttes were directed to repair in order to inform them
of his position,—a fact which, as his movements were accomplished
with wonderful celerity and secresy, they were generally unable to
ascertain in any other way.

At length, emerging from the thicket, and crossing what seemed,
by the plash of the horse's feet, a morass, the party, under the
guidance of the scout, came upon a piece of thinly-timbered woodland,
which, rising by a gentle slope, furnished what might be
called an island of dry ground, that seemed to be only accessible
by crossing the circumjacent swamp. Upon this spot were encamped,
in the rudest form of the bivouac, a party of cavalry, which
might have amounted to two hundred men. Several fires, whose
ruddy glare had been discerned for the last half mile of the journey,
were blazing forth from different quarters of the wood, and threw

a bold and sharp light upon the figures of men and horses, imparting
a feature of lively, picturesque beauty to the scene. The
greater portion of the soldiers were stretched beneath the trees,
with no other covering than the leafy bowers above them. The
horses were picketed in the neighborhood of their riders; and the
confused array of saddles, sabres, muskets, rifles, and other warlike instruments,
that were hung upon projecting boughs, or leant against
the trunks, as they caught the flashes of the frequent fires, seemed
to be magnified in number equal to the furniture of thrice the force.
Sentinels were seen pacing their limits on the outskirts of this
company, and small bodies of patroles on horseback moved across
the encampment with the regularity of military discipline. Here
and there, as if regardless of rest, or awaiting some soon-expected
tour of duty, small knots of men sat together amusing themselves,
by torch-light, at cards; and, more appropriately, others had
extended their torpid frames in sleep upon their grassy pallets and
knapsack pillows.

“We have seen war in its horrors,” exclaimed Mildred, with an
involuntary vivacity; “and here it is in all its romance!”

“Sister, I wish you were at home,” said Henry, eagerly, “and
Steve and I had the Rangers on this field to-night. I would undertake
to command a picket with any man here!”

To Horse Shoe these were familiar scenes, and he could not comprehend
the source of that sudden interest which had so vividly
aroused the admiration of his companions; but asking the guide
to conduct them immediately to General Marion, he followed the
soldier across the whole extent of the bivouac, until they halted
beneath a large tree, near which a few officers were assembled.
One of this group was seated on the ground; and close by him,
planted in the soil, a blazing pine-faggot flung a broad light upon
a saddle, the flap of which the officer had converted, for the occasion,
into a writing-desk.

“Make way for a squad of travellers picked up on the road to-night,”
said the scout in a loud voice. “They wish to see General
Marion.”

In a moment our party was surrounded by the officers; and
Horse Shoe, unceremoniously dismounting, addressed the person
nearest to him:—

“A lady, sir, from Virginia, that I started with from her father's
house, to fetch to Carolina; but who has been most audaciously
unhoused and unbedded in the very middle of the night by a hellish
pack of Tories.”

“My name is Lindsay, sir,” said Henry, riding to the front;
“my sister and myself were travelling south, and have been obliged
to fly, to-night, before a detachment of horse-stealers.”

“From Bob Wingate's,” said Horse Shoe, “as I should judge,
some six miles back. I want to report to General Marion: the
lady, likewise, is tired, as she has good right to be.”

The officer to whom this was addressed, directed a soldier to
seek General Marion, and then approaching Mildred, said:

“Madam, we can promise but little accommodation suitable to a
lady: the greenwood tree is but an uncouth resting-place: but
what we can supply shall be heartily at your service.”

“I feel sufficiently thankful,” replied Mildred, “to know that I
am in the hands of friends.”

“Sister, alight,” said Henry, who now stood beside her stirrup,
and offered his hand: and in a moment Mildred was on her feet.

The officer then conducted her to a bank, upon which a few
blankets were thrown by some of the soldiers in attendance. “If
this strange place does not alarm you,” he said, “you may perhaps
find needful repose upon a couch even as rough as this.”

“You are very kind,” replied Mildred, seating herself. “Brother,
do not quit my side,” she added, in a low voice: “I feel foolishly
afraid.”

But a few moments elapsed before the light of the torches,
gleaming upon his figure, disclosed to Mildred the approach of a person
of short stature and delicate frame, in whose step there was a
singular alertness and rapidity. He wore the blue and buff uniform
of the staff, with a pair of epaulets, a buckskin belt, and broadsword.
A three-cornered cocked-hat, ornamented with a buck-tail,
gave a peculiar sharpness to his naturally sharp and decided features;
and a pair of small, dark eyes twinkled in the firelight, from
a countenance originally sallow, but now swarthy from sun and
wind. There was a conspicuous alacrity and courtesy in the gay
and chivalrous tone in which he accosted Mildred:

“General Marion, madam, is too happy to have his poor camp

honored by the visit of a lady. They tell me that the Tories
were so uncivil as to break in upon your slumbers to-night. It
adds greatly to my grudge against them.”

“I have ventured,” said Mildred, “into the field of war, and it
does not become me to complain that I have met its vicissitudes.”

“Gallantly spoken, madam! May I be allowed to know to whom
I am indebted for the honor of this visit?”

“My name is Lindsay, my father resides at the Dove Cote in
Virginia: under the protection of my brother and a friend, I left
home to travel into Carolina.”

“A long journey, madam,” interrupted Marion; “and you have
been sadly vexed to-night, I learn. We have a rude and unquiet
country.”

“My sister and myself,” said Henry, “counted the chances before
we set out.”

“I would call you but an inexperienced guide, sir,” said the
General, addressing Henry, and smiling.

“Oh, as to that,” replied the youth, “we have an old soldier
with us—Horse Shoe Robinson—hem—Stephen Foster, I meant
to say.”

“Horse Shoe Robinson!” exclaimed Marion, “where is he?”

“Mr. Henry Lindsay, General, and me,” said the sergeant,
bluntly, “have been practising a lie to tell the Tories, in case they
should take us unawares; but it sticks, you see, in both of our
throats. It's the true fact that I'm Horse Shoe himself. This
calling me Stephen Foster is only a hanging out of false colors for
the benefit of the red-coats and Tories, upon occasion.”

“Horse Shoe, good fellow, your hand,” said Marion, with vivacity,
“I have heard of you before. Miss Lindsay, excuse me, if
you please; I have business to-night which is apt impertinently
to thrust itself between us and our duty to the ladies. Richards,”
he continued, addressing a young officer who stood near him, “see
if you can find some refreshment that would be acceptable to the
lady and her brother. Horse Shoe, this way: I would speak with
you.”

Marion now retired towards the place where the writing materials
were first noticed, and entered into an examination of the

sergeant, as to the particulars of the recent attack upon Wingate's
cabin.

Before Robinson had finished his narrative of the events of the
night, a horseman dashed up almost at full speed to the spot
where Marion stood, and, flinging himself from his saddle, whilst
his horse stood panting beside him, asked for the General.

“How now, Bloody Spur! What's the news?” demanded
Marion.

“The Black River hawks are flying,” said the soldier.

“I have heard that already,” interrupted the chieftain. “Tell
me what else.”

“I stayed long enough to secure Wingate's cattle, and then set
out for the river to cut loose the boats at the Ferry. I did it in
good time. Four files followed close upon my heels, who had
been sent ahead to make sure of the means of crossing. The fellows
found me after my work was done, and chased me good three
miles. They will hardly venture, General, to swim the river to-night,
with all the thievery they have in their hands; and I rather take
it they will halt at the ferry till daylight.”

“Then that's a lucky cast, Dick Peyton,” exclaimed Marion.
“Ho, there! Peters, wake up that snoring trumpeter. Tell him
to sound `to saddle.' Come lads, up, up. Gentlemen, to your
duties!”

Forthwith the trumpet sounded, and with its notes everything
asleep started erect. Troopers were seen hurrying across the
ground in rapid motion: some hastily buckling on broadswords
and slinging their muskets; others equipping the horses; and
everywhere torches were seen passing to and fro in all the agitation
of a sudden muster. As soon as Marion had set this mass in
action, he repaired to Mildred, and in a manner that betokened no
excitement from the general stir around him, he said—

“I owe you an apology, Miss Lindsay, for this desertion, which
I am sure you will excuse when you know that it is caused by my
desire to punish the varlets who were so ill-mannered as to intrude
upon your slumbers. I hope, however, you will not be a loser
by the withdrawal of our people, as I will take measures to put
you under the protection of a good friend of mine, the widow of a

worthy soldier, Mistress Rachel Markham, who lives but two miles
from this, and whose hospitable mansion will afford you a shelter
more congenial to your wishes than this broad canopy of ours.
A guide shall be ready to conduct you.”

“Your kindness, general,” said Mildred, “puts me under many
obligations.”

“Horse Shoe shall take a line of explanation to my friend,”
added Marion. “And now, madam, farewell,” he said, offering
his hand. “And you, Master or Mister Henry, I don't know
which—you seem entitled to both—good night, my brave lad: I
hope, before long, to hear of your figuring as a gallant soldier of
independence.”

“I hope as much myself,” replied Henry.

Marion withdrew, and by the time that he had prepared the
letter and put it into Horse Shoe's hands, his troops were in
line, waiting their order to march. The general mounted a spirited
charger, and galloping to the front of his men, wheeled them
into column, and, by a rapid movement, soon left Horse Shoe and
his little party, attended by one trooper who had been left as a
guide, the only tenants of this lately so busy scene. The change
seemed almost like enchantment. The fires and many torches
were yet burning, but all was still, except the distant murmur of
the receding troops, which grew less and less, until, at last, there
reigned the silence of the native forest.

Our travellers waited, almost without exchanging a word,
absorbed in the contemplation of an incident so novel to Mildred
and her brother, until the distant tramp of the cavalry could be
no longer heard: then, under the direction of the guide, they set
out for the residence of Mrs. Markham.