University of Virginia Library

57. CHAPTER LVII.

Every corps was now in motion, and the two flanking divisions
were soon lost to view in the intervening forest. An incident of
some interest to our story makes it necessary that we should, for
a moment, follow the track of Cleveland in his march upon the
left side of the mountain.

The principal road of travel northwards extended along the valley
on this side; and upon this road Cleveland and Williams conducted
their men, until they arrived at a point sufficiently remote
to enable them, by ascending the height, to place themselves in
Ferguson's rear. They had just reached this point when they
encountered a picquet of the enemy, which, after a few shots, retired
hastily up the mountain.

The little outpost had scarcely begun to give ground, before
the leading companies of the Whigs had their attention drawn to
the movements of a small party of horsemen who at that moment
appeared in sight upon the road, some distance in advance. They
were approaching the American column; and, as if taken by surprise
at the appearance of this force, set spurs to their horses and
made an effort to ride beyond the reach of Cleveland's fire, whilst
they took a direction up the mountain towards Ferguson's stronghold.
From the equipment of these individuals, it might have
been inferred that they were two gentlemen of some distinction

connected with the royal army, attended by their servants, and
now about arriving, after a long journey, at the British camp.
The first was habited in the uniform of an officer, was well mounted,
and displayed a light and active figure, which appeared to advantage
in the dexterous management of his horse. The second was
a gentleman in a plain riding costume, of slender and well-knit
proportions, and manifestly older than his companion. He rode a
powerful and spirited horse, with a confidence and command not
inferior to those of his associates. The others in attendance, from
their position in the rear, and from the heavy portmanteaus that
encumbered their saddles, we might have no difficulty in conjecturing
to be menials in the service of the two first.

The course taken by this party brought them obliquely across
the range of the fire of the Whigs.

“It is a general officer and his aide,” exclaimed one of the subalterns
in the advance. “Ho there! Stand. You are my
prisoners!”

“Spur, spur, and away! For God's sake, fly!” shouted the
younger of the two horsemen to his companion, as he dashed the
rowels into his steed and fled up the mountain. “Push for the
top—one moment more and we are out of reach!”

“Stop them, at all hazards!” vociferated Cleveland, the instant
his eye fell upon them. “Quick, lads—level your pieces—they
are messengers from Cornwallis. Rein up, or I fire!” he called
aloud after the flying cavalcade.

The appeal and the threat were unheeded. A score of men left
the ranks and ran some distance up the mountain side, and their
shots whistled through the forest after the fugitives. One of the attendants
was seen to fall, and his horse to wheel round and run back,
with a frightened pace, to the valley. The scarlet uniform of the
younger horseman, conspicuous through the foliage some distance
up the mountain, showed that he had escaped. His elder comrade,
when the smoke cleared away, was seen also beyond the
reach of Cleveland's fire; but his altered pace and his relaxed seat
in his saddle, made it apparent that he had received some hurt.
This was confirmed when, still nearer to the summit, the stranger
was seen to fall upon his horse's neck, and thence to be lifted
to the ground by three or four soldiers who had hastened to his relief.

These incidents scarcely occupied more time in their performance
than I have taken in the narrative; and a'l reflection
upon them, for the present, was lost in the uproar and commotion
of the bloody scene that succeeded.

Meanwhile, Campbell and Shelby, each at the head of his men
in the centre division of the army, steadily commenced the ascent
of the mountain. A long interval ensued, in which nothing was
heard but the tramp of the soldiers and a few words of almost
whispered command, as they scaled the height; and it was not
until they had nearly reached the summit that the first peal of
battle broke upon the sleeping echoes of the mountain.

Campbell here deployed into line, and his men strode briskly
upwards until they had come within musket-shot of the British
regulars, whose sharp and prolonged volleys, at this instant,
suddenly burst forth from the crest of the hill. Peal after peal
rattled along the mountain side, and volumes of smoke, silvered
by the light of the sun, rolled over and enveloped the combatants.

When the breeze had partially swept away this cloud, and opened
glimpses of the battle behind it, the troops of Campbell were seen
recoiling before an impetuous charge of the bayonet, in which
Ferguson himself led the way. A sudden halt by the retreating
Whigs, and a stern front steadfastly opposed to the foe, checked
the ardor of his pursuit at an early moment, and, in turn, he was
discovered retiring towards his original ground, hotly followed by
the mountaineers. Again, the same vigorous onset from the
royalists was repeated, and again the shaken bands of Campbell
rallied and turned back the rush of battle towards the summit.
At last, panting and spent with the severe encounter, both parties
stood for a space eyeing each other with deadly rage, and waiting
only to gather breath for the renewal of the strife.

At this juncture, the distant firing heard from either flank
furnished evidence that Sevier and Cleveland had both come in
contact with the enemy. The uprising of smoke above the trees
showed the seat of the combat to be below the summit on the
mountain sides, and that the enemy had there half-way met his
foe; whilst the shouts of the soldiers, alternating between the
parties of either army, no less distinctly proclaimed the fact that,

at these remote points, the field was disputed with bloody resolution
and various success.

It would overtask my poor faculty of description, to give my
reader even a faint picture of this rugged battle-field. During the
pause of the combatants of the centre, Campbell and Shelby were
seen riding along the line, and by speech and gesture encouraging
their soldiers to still more determined efforts. Little need was
there for exhortation; rage seemed to have refreshed the strength
of the men, who, with loud and fierce huzzas, rushed again to the
encounter. They were met with a defiance not less eager than
their own; and, for a time, the battle was again obscured under
the thick haze engendered by the incessant discharges of fire-arms.
From this gloom, a yell of triumph was sometimes heard, as
momentary success inspired those who struggled within; and the
frequent twinkle of polished steel glimmering through the murky
atmosphere, and the occasional apparation of a speeding horseman,
seen for an instant as he came into the clear light, told of the
dreadful earnestness and zeal with which the unseen hosts had
now joined in conflict. The impression of this contact was various.
Parts of each force broke before their antagonists; and in those
spots where the array of the fight might be discerned through
the shade of the forest or the smoke of battle, both royalists and
Whigs were found, at the same instant, to have driven back
detached fragments of their opponents. Foemen were mingled
hand to hand, through and among their adverse ranks; and for a
time no conjecture might be indulged as to the side to which
victory would turn.

The flanking detachments seemed to have fallen into the same
confusion, and might have been seen retreating and advancing
upon the rough slopes of the mountain, in partisan bodies,
separated from their lines; thus giving to the scene an air of
bloody riot, more resembling the sudden insurrection of mutineers
from the same ranks, than the orderly war of trained soldiers.

Through the din and disorder of this fight, it is fit that I should
take time to mark the wanderings of Galbraith Robinson, whose
exploits this day would not ill deserve the pen of Froissart. The
doughty sergeant had, for a time, retained his post in the ranks
of the Amherst Rangers, and with them had travelled towards the

mountain top, close in the rear of Campbell's line. But when the
troops had recoiled before the frequent charges of the royalists,
finding his station, at best, but that of an inactive spectator, he
made no scruple of deserting his companions and trying his fortune
on the field in such form of adventure as best suited his temper.
With no other weapon than his customary rifle, he stood his
ground when others retreated; and saw the ebb and flow of “flight
and chase” swell round him, according to the varying destiny of
the day. In these difficulties, it was his good fortune to escape
unhurt; a piece of luck that may, perhaps, be attributed to the
coolness with which he either galloped over an adversary or around
him, as the emergency rendered most advisable.

In the midst of this busy occupation, at a moment when one of
the refluxes of battle brought him almost to the summit, he descried
a small party of British dragoons, stationed some distance in the
rear of Ferguson's line, whose detached position seemed to infer some
duty unconnected with the general fight. In the midst of these, he
thought he recognised the figure and dress of one familiar to his
eye. The person thus singled out by the sergeant's glance stood
bare-headed upon a projecting mass of rock, apparently looking
with an eager gaze towards the distant combat. No sooner did
the conjecture that this might be Arthur Butler flash across his
thought, than he turned his steed back upon the path by which he
had ascended, and rode with haste towards the Rangers.

“Stephen Foster,” he said, as he galloped up to the lieutenant,
and drew his attention by a tap of the hand upon his shoulder, “I
have business for you, man—you are but wasting your time here—
pick me out a half-dozen of your best fellows and bring them with
you after me. Quick—Stephen—quick!”

The lieutenant of the Rangers collected the desired party and
rode after the sergeant, who now conducted this handful of men
with as much rapidity as the broken character of the ground
allowed, by a circuit for a considerable distance along the right side
of the mountain, until they reached the top. The point at which
they gained the summit brought them between Ferguson's line and
the dragoons, who, it was soon perceived, were the party charged
with the custody of Butler, and who had been thus detached in the
rear for the more safe guardianship of the prisoner. Horse Shoe's

manœuvre had completely cut them off from their friends in front,
and they had no resource but to defend themselves against the
threatened assault, or fly towards the parties who were at this
moment engaged with the flanking divisions of the Whigs. They
were taken by surprise—and Horse Shoe, perceiving the importance
of an immediate attack, dashed onwards along the ridge of
the mountain with precipitate speed, calling out to his companions
to follow. In a moment the dragoons were engaged in a desperate
pell-mell with the Rangers.

“Upon them, Stephen! Upon them bravely, my lads! Huzza
for Major Butler! Fling the major across your saddle—the first
that reaches him,” shouted the sergeant with a voice that was heard
above all the uproar of battle. “What ho—James Curry!” he
cried out, as soon as he detected the presence of his old acquaintance
in this throng; “stand your ground, if you are a man!”

The person to whom this challenge was directed had made an
effort to escape towards a party of his friends, whom he was about
summoning to his aid; and in the attempt had already ridden some
distance into the wood, whither the sergeant had eagerly followed
him.

“Ah ha, old Truepenny, are you there?” exclaimed Curry,
turning short upon his pursuer, and affecting to laugh as if in
scorn. “Horse Shoe Robinson, well met!” he added sternly,
“I have not seen a better sight to-day than that fool's head of
yours upon this hill. No, not even when just now Patrick Ferguson
sent your yelping curs back to hide themselves behind the
trees.”

“Come on, James!” cried Horse Shoe, “I have no time to talk,
We have an old reckoning to settle, which, perhaps, you mought
remember. I am a man of my word; and, besides, I have set my
eye upon Major Butler,” he added, with a tone and look that
were both impressed with the fierce passion of the scene around
him.

“The devil blast you, and Major Butler to boot!” exclaimed
Curry, roused by Horse Shoe's air of defiance. “To it, bully! It shall
be short work between us, and bloody,” he shouted, as he discharged
a pistol-shot at the sergeant's breast; which failing to take
effect, he flung the weapon upon the ground, brandished his sword,

and spurred immediately against his challenger. The sweep of the
broadsword fell upon the barrel of Horse Shoe's uplifted rifle, and
in the next instant the broad hand of our lusty yeoman had seized
the trooper by the collar and dragged him from his horse. The
two soldiers came to the ground, locked in a mutual embrace; and,
for a brief moment, a desperate trial of strength was exhibited in
the effort to gain their feet.

“I have you there,” said Robinson, as at length, with a flushed
cheek, quick breath, and blood-shot eye, he rose from the earth
and shook the dragoon from him, who fell backwards on his knee.
“Curse you, James Curry, for a fool and villain! You almost
drive me, against my will, to the taking of your life. I don't want
your blood. You are beaten, man, and must say so. I grant you
quarter upon condition—”

“Look to yourself! I ask no terms from you,” interrupted
Curry, as suddenly springing to his feet, he now made a second
pass, which was swung with such unexpected vigor at the head of
his adversary, that Horse Shoe had barely time to catch the blow,
as before, upon his rifle. The broadsword was broken by the
stroke, and one of the fragments of the blade struck the sergeant
upon the forehead, inflicting a wound that covered his face with
blood. Horse Shoe reeled a step or two from his ground, and
clubbing the rifle, as it is called, by grasping the barrel towards
the muzzle, he paused but an instant to dash the blood from his
brow with his hand, and then, with one lusty sweep, to which his
sudden anger gave both precision and energy, he brought the piece
full upon the head of his foe, with such fatal effect as to bury the
lock in the trooper's brain, whilst the stock was shattered into
splinters. Curry, almost without a groan, fell dead across a ledge
of rock at his feet.

“The grudge is done, and the fool has met his desarvings,” was
Horse Shoe's brief comment upon the event, as he gazed sullenly,
for an instant, upon the dead corpse. He had no time to tarry.
The rest of his party were still engaged with the troopers of the
guard, who now struggled to preserve the custody of their prisoner.
The bridle-rein of Captain Peter had been caught by one of the
Rangers, and the good steed was now quickly delivered up to his
master, who, flinging himself again into his saddle, rushed into the

throng of combatants. The few dragoons, dispirited by the loss of
their leader, and stricken with panic at this strenuous onset, turned
to flight, leaving Butler in the midst of his friends.

“God bless you, major!” shouted Robinson, as he rode up to his
old comrade, who, unarmed, had looked upon the struggle with an
interest corresponding to the stake he had in the event. “Up,
man—here, spring across the pommel. Now, boys, down the
mountain, for your lives! Huzza, huzza! we have won him back!”
he exclaimed, as seizing Butler's arm, he lifted him upon the neck
of Captain Peter, and bounded away at full speed towards the base
of the mountain, followed by Foster and his party.

The reader may imagine the poignancy of Mildred's emotions
as she sat beside Allen Musgrove and his daughter on the knoll,
and watched the busy and stirring scene before her. The centre
division of the assailing army was immediately in her view, on
the opposite face of the mountain, and no incident of the battle
in this quarter escaped her notice. She could distinctly perceive
the motions of the Amherst Rangers, to whom she turned her eyes
with a frequent and eager glance, as the corps with which her
brother Henry was associated; and when the various fortune of
the fight disclosed to her the occasional retreat of her friends
before the vigorous sallies of the enemy, or brought to her ear the
renewed and angry volleys of musketry, she clenched Mary Musgrove's
arm with a nervous grasp, and uttered short and anxious
ejaculations that showed the terror of her mind.

“I see Mister Henry, yet,” said Mary, as Campbell's troops
rallied from the last shock, and again moved towards the summit.
“I see him plainly, ma'am—for I know his green dress, and caught
the glitter of his brass bugle in the sun. And there now—all is
smoke again. Mercy, how stubborn are these men! And there
is Mister Henry once more—near the top. He is safe, ma'am.”

“How earnestly,” said Mildred, unconsciously speaking aloud as
she surveyed the scene, “Oh, how earnestly do I wish this battle
was done! I would rather, Mr. Musgrove, be in the midst of yonder
crowd of angry men, could I but have their recklessness, than
here in safety, to be tortured with my present feelings.”

“In God is our trust, madam,” replied the miller. “His arm is
abroad over the dangerous paths, for a shield and buckler to them

that put their trust in him. Ha! there is Ferguson's white horse,
rushing, with a dangling rein and empty saddle, down the mountain,
through Campbell's ranks: the rider has fallen; and there,
madam—there, look on it!—is a white flag waving in the hands
of a British officer. The fight is done. Hark, our friends are
cheering with a loud voice!”

“Thank Heaven—thank Heaven!” exclaimed Mildred as she
sprang upon her feet; “It is even so!”

The loud huzzas of the troops rose upon the air; the firing
ceased; the flag of truce fluttered in the breeze, and the confederated
bands of the mountaineers, from every quarter of the late
battle, were seen hurrying towards the crest of the mountain, and
mingling amongst the ranks of the conquered foe. Again and
again, the clamorous cheering of the victors broke forth from the
mountain-top, and echoed along the neighboring valleys.

During this wild clamor and busy movement, a party of horsemen
were seen, through the occasional intervals of the low wood
that skirted the valley on the right, hastening from the field with
an eager swiftness towards the spot where Mildred and her companions
were stationed.

As they swept along the base of the mountain, and approached
the knoll, they were lost to view behind the projecting angles of
the low hills that formed the ravine, through which, my reader is
aware, the road held its course. When they re-appeared it was in
ascending the abrupt acclivity of the knoll, and within fifty paces
of the party on the top of it.

It was now apparent that the approaching party consisted of
Stephen Foster and three or four of the Rangers led by Horse Shoe
Robinson, with Butler still seated before him, as when the sergeant
first caught him up in the fight. These were at the same moment
overtaken by Henry Lindsay, who had turned back from the
mountain at the first announcement of victory, to bring the tidings
to his sister.

Mildred's cheek grew deadly pale, and her frame shook, as the
cavalcade rushed into her presence.

“There—take him!” cried Horse Shoe, with an effort to laugh,
but which seemed to be half converted into a quaver by the agitation
of his feelings, as, springing to the ground, he swung Butler from

the horse, with scarce more effort than he would have used in
handling a child; “take him, ma'am. I promised myself to-day,
that I'd give him to you. And, now, you've got him. That's
a good reward for all your troubles. God bless us—but I'm happy
to-day!”

“My husband!—my dear husband!” were the only articulate
words that escaped Mildred's lips, as she fell senseless into the arms
of Arthur Butler.