42. CHAPTER XLII.
The day had just begun to dawn as our party, under the guidance
of Marion's soldier, were ferried across the Pedee, on the opposite
bank of which river lay the estate and mansion of Mrs. Markham.
The alarms and excitements of the past night had ceased to
stimulate the frame of Mildred, and she now found herself sinking
under the most painful weariness. Henry had actually fallen
asleep as he sat upon the gunwale of the ferry-boat, and rested his
head against the sergeant's shoulder: the whole party were overcome
with the lassitude that is so distressing, at this hour of
dawning, to all persons who have spent the night in watching;
and even the sergeant himself, to the influences of fatigue and
privation the most inaccessible of mortals, and, by fate or fortune,
the most unmalleable—occasionally nodded his head, as if answering
the calls of man's most welcome visitor. It was, therefore, with
more than ordinary contentment that our travellers, when again
mounted, were enabled to descry, in the first light of the morning,
a group of buildings seated upon an eminence about a mile
distant, on the further side of the cultivated lowland that stretched
along the southern margin of the river. The guide announced
that this was the point of their destination, and the intelligence
encouraged the party to accelerate the speed with which they
journeyed over the plain. When they arrived at the foot of the
hill, the character of the spot they were approaching was more
distinctly developed to their view. The mansion, encompassed by
a tuft of trees that flung their broad and ancient limbs above its
roof, was of the best class of private dwellings, old and stately in
its aspect, and exhibiting all the appendages that characterized
the seat of a wealthy proprietor. It was constructed entirely of
wood, in accordance with a notion that prevailed at that period,
no less than at the present, that a frame structure was best adapted
to the character of the climate. It occupied the crest of a
hill which commanded a view of the river with its extensive
plains; whilst, in turn, it was overlooked by the adjacent tract of
country bearing the name of the Cheraw Highlands.
As the party ascended this eminence, Henry, in the eager and
thoughtless satisfaction of the moment, put his bugle to his mouth
and continued to blow with all his might, deaf to the remonstrances
of his sister, who was endeavoring to explain that there was some
want of courtesy in so abrupt a challenge of the hospitality of the
family. The blast was interrupted by Horse Shoe's laying his
hand upon the instrument, as he gave the indiscreet bugler a short
military lecture:
“You might fetch trouble upon us, Mister Henry: this here
screeching of horns or trumpets is sometimes a sort of bullying of
a garrison; and if an enemy should happen to be on post here—
as, God knows, is likely enough in such scampering wars as these,
why you have set the thing past cure: for it is cutting off all
chance of escape, just as much as if the people had been ordered
`to horse.' It leaves nothing for us but to brazen it out.”
An old negro was first startled by the summons, and appeared
for a moment at the door of one of the out-buildings, evincing, as
he looked down the road upon the approaching cavalcade, manifest
signs of consternation. After a brief glance, he was seen to
retreat across the yard to the door of the mansion-house, where he
fell to beating at it with as much earnestness as if giving an alarm
of fire, shouting at the same time, “Lord bless us, mistress! here
is a whole rigiment of sodgers coming to turn everything topsy-turvy.
Get up, get up—open the door!”
“Stop your bawling, you stunted black-jack!” said Robinson,
who had galloped up to the spot, “and none of your lies. Is the
lady of the house at home?”
A window was thrown up, at the same moment, in an upper
story, and a female head, decorated with a nightcap, was thrust
out, whilst a voice, tremulous with affright, inquired what was the
cause of this disturbance; but before an answer could be given
the head was withdrawn, and the door opening discovered a youth
scarcely in appearance over sixteen, with a loose robe thrown
around his person and a pistol in his hand.
“Who comes here, and with what purpose?” was the question
firmly put by the young man.
“Friends,” said Horse Shoe—“sent to the good lady by General
Marion. Sorry, sir, to be the occasion of such a rumpus. But
this here young lady has travelled all night and is 'most dead with
hardships.”
Mildred, who with the rest of the company had now arrived
near the door, was about to speak, when the questioner retired,
calling the negro after him into the house. In a moment the
servant returned with Mrs. Markham's compliments to the party,
and a request that they would alight.
“Then all's well,” said Horse Shoe, dismounting, and immediately
afterwards lifting Mildred from her saddle, “a friend in
need, madam, is the greatest of God's blessings. I make no
doubt you will find this as snug a nest as you ever flew into in
your life.”
“And, good sergeant, most specially welcome,” replied Mildred,
smiling in the midst of all her pain, “for in truth I never was so
weary.”
The guide, having now performed his duty, announced that he
must return to his corps; and, after a few cheering words of
kind remembrance from Mildred, coupled with a message of
thanks to Marion, he wheeled about and galloped back towards
the river. Mildred and Henry entered the house: and the
sergeant, taking command of Isaac, followed the horses towards
the stable.
The brother and sister were ushered into an ample parlor, comfortably
furnished according to the fashion of the wealthier classes
of that day; and, Mildred as she threw herself upon a capacious
sofa, could not fail to recognise in the formal portraits that were
suspended to the pannelled walls, that she was in the dwelling of a
family of some pride of name and lineage.
After a short interval, the proprietress of the mansion entered
the parlor. She was a lady of a kind and gentle aspect, apparently
advanced beyond the middle period of life; and her features,
somewhat emaciated, gave a sign of feeble health. She was attired
in dishabille, hastily thrown on; and there was some expression of
alarm in the unreserved and familiar manner with which she
approached Mildred, and inquired into the nature of this early
journey.
“I hope no unhappy accident, my dear, has driven you at this
unusual hour to my poor house? You are heartily welcome. I
fear to ask what has brought you.”
“My brother and myself, madam,” said Mildred, “have had a
most adventurous night. This letter will explain. General Marion
was so kind as to commit us to your hospitality.”
The lady took the letter and read it.
“Miss Lindsay, my child, I am truly happy to serve you. You
have had an awful night, but these times make us acquainted with
strange afflictions. This young gentleman, your brother, is he your
only attendant?”
Mildred began to communicate the details of her journey, when
she was interrupted by her hostess.
“I will not trouble you with questions, now, my dear. You
must have sleep; I dread lest your health may suffer by this harsh
exposure. After you have had rest, we will talk more, and become
better acquainted. Judith,” continued the matron, addressing a
servant maid, who had just entered the room, “attend this lady to
a chamber. Mr. Henry Lindsay, I believe—so General Marion calls
you—my son Alfred shall take you in charge.”
With these words the good lady left the room, and in an instant
after returned with the youth who had first appeared at the door.
Upon being introduced by his mother to the guests, he lost no time
in obeying her orders in regard to Henry, whom he had conducted
out of the room at the same moment that Mildred followed the
servant towards a chamber.
The entire day was spent by our party in recruiting their strength,
towards which needful care the hospitable hostess contributed by
the tenderest attentions. On the following morning Mildred,
although refreshed by the slumbers of the long interval, still exhibited
the traces of her recent fatigue; and upon the earnest
recommendation of Mrs. Markham, seconded by the almost oracular
authority of Horse Shoe,—for the sergeant had greatly won upon
the respect of his companions by his prudence and discretion—
she determined to remain another day in her present resting-place.
Mrs. Markham was the widow of a Carolina gentleman, who had
borne the rank of a colonel in the Whig militia, and had been
actively employed, in the earlier stages of the war, in the southern
provinces. He had fallen in an unfortunate skirmish with some of
Prevost's light troops, on the Savannah river, some sixteen months
before; and his widow, with three daughters and no other male
protector than an only son, was now, in this season of extreme
peril, residing upon a large estate, which the evil fortune of the
times had made the theatre of an eventful and active desultory war.
She had been exposed to the most cruel exactions from the Tories,
to whom her possessions were generally yielded up with a passive
and helpless submission; and the firmness with which, in all her
difficulties, she had adhered to the cause for which her husband
fell, had gained for her the generous sympathy of the whig leaders,
and more than once stimulated them to enterprises, in her behalf,
that were followed by severe chastisement upon her enemies. These
circumstances had given extensive notoriety to her name, and
drawn largely upon her the observation of both friend and foe. To
Marion, who hovered upon this border more like a goblin than a
champion whose footsteps might be tracked, her protection had
become a subject of peculiar interest; and the indefatigable soldier
frequently started up in her neighborhood when danger was at hand,
with a mysterious form of opposition that equally defied the calculations
of Whigs and Tories.
The lady was still in her weeds, and grief and care had thrown
a pallor upon her cheek; but the watchfulness imposed upon her
by the emergencies of the day, her familiarity with alarms, and the
necessity for constant foresight and decisive action, had infused a
certain hardihood into her character, that is seldom believed to
be,—but yet in the hour of trial unerringly exhibits itself—an
attribute of the female bosom. Her manners were considerate,
kind, and fraught with dignity. She was the personation of a class
of matrons that—for the honor of our country and of the human
race—was not small in its numbers, nor upon trial unworthy of its
fame, in the sad history of the sufferings of Carolina.
The evening of the day on which Mildred arrived at the mansion
brought rumors of a brilliant exploit achieved by Marion; and
more circumstantial accounts on the following morning confirmed
the good tidings. The alert partisan had fallen upon the track of
the freebooters who had been marauding on the confines of North
Carolina, and whose incursion had expelled our travellers from
Wingate's cabin. Marion had overtaken them before sunrise, on
the bank of the Pedee, where they had been detained by reason of
Peyton's successful removal of the boats. A short but most decisive
combat was the consequence, and victory, as she was wont, had
seated herself upon Marion's banner. The chieftain and his followers
had, as usual, disappeared, and the whole country was in a
state of agitation and dread; the one side fearing a repetition of
the blow in some unlooked-for quarter, the other alarmed by the
expectation of quick and bloody reprisal.
These events still more contributed to fortify Mildred's resolution
to remain another day under the shelter of Mrs. Markham's friendly
roof, before she would venture forth in the further prosecution of
her journey.
Here, for the present, we must leave her.
