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HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON.
A Tale of the Tory Ascendency.
by
JOHN P. KENNEDY
Author of "Swallow Barn," "Rob of the Bowl," Etc.
"I say the tale as 't was said to me."--Lay of the Last Minstrel
Revised Edition.
New York
G. P. Putnam's Sons
182 Fifth Avenue
1876
Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1852, by
George P. Putnam,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District
of New York.
To WASHINGTON IRVING, Esq.
DEAR IRVING:--
With some little misgiving upon the score of having wasted time and
paper both, which might have been better employed, I feel a real
consolation in turning to you, as having, by your success, furnished our
idle craft an argument to justify our vocation.
You have convinced our wise ones at home that a man may sometimes write
a volume without losing his character--and have shown to the incredulous
abroad, that an American book may be richly worth the reading.
In grateful acknowledgment of these services, as well as to indulge the
expression of a sincere private regard, I have ventured to inscribe your
name upon the front of the imperfect work which is now submitted to the
public.
Very truly, yours, &c.,
JOHN P. KENNEDY.
BALTIMORE, _May 1, 1885_.
INTRODUCTION
In the winter of eighteen hundred and eighteen-nineteen, I had occasion
to visit the western section of South Carolina. The public conveyances
had taken me to Augusta, in Georgia. There I purchased a horse, a most
trusty companion, with whom I had many pleasant experiences: a sorrel,
yet retained by me in admiring memory. A valise strapped behind my
saddle, with a great coat spread upon that, furnished all that I
required of personal accommodation. My blood beat temperately with the
pulse of youth and health. I breathed the most delicious air in the
world. My travel tended to the region of the most beautiful scenery. The
weather of early January was as balmy as October; a light warm haze
mellowed the atmosphere, and cast the softest and richest hues over the
landscape. I retraced my steps from Augusta to Edgefield, which I had
passed in the stage coach. From Edgefield I went to Abbeville, and
thence to Pendleton. I was now in the old district of Ninety Six, just
at the foot of the mountains. My course was still westward. I journeyed
alone, or rather, I ought to say, in good company, for my horse and I
had established a confidential friendship, and we amused ourselves with
a great deal of pleasant conversation--in our way. Besides, my fancy was
busy, and made the wayside quite populous--with people of its own: there
were but few of any other kind.
In the course of my journey I met an incident, which I have preserved in
my journal. The reader of the tale which occupies this volume has some
interest in it.
"Upon a day," as the old ballads have it, one of the best days of this
exquisite climate, my road threaded the defiles of some of the grandest
mountains of the country. Huge ramparts of rock toppled over my path,
and little streams leaped, in beautiful cascades, from ledge to ledge,
and brawled along the channels, which often supplied the only footway
for my horse, and, gliding through tangled screens of rhododendron,
laurel, arbor vitae, and other evergreens, plunged into rivers, whose
waters exceed anything I had ever conceived of limpid purity. It may be
poetical to talk of liquid crystal, but no crystal has the absolute
perfection of the transparency of these streams. The more distant
mountain sides, where the opening valley offered them to my view, were
fortified with stupendous walls, or banks of solid and unbroken rock,
rising in successive benches one above another, with masses of dark pine
between; the highest forming a crest to the mountain, cutting the sky in
sharp profile, with images of castellated towers, battlements, and
buttresses, around whose summits the inhabiting buzzard, with broad
extended wings, floated and rocked in air and swept in majestic circles.
The few inhabitants of this region were principally the tenants of the
bounty lands, which the State of South Carolina had conferred upon the
soldiers of the Revolution; and their settlements, made upon the rich
bottoms of the river valleys, were separated from each other by large
tracts of forest.
I had much perplexity in some portions of this day's journey in finding
my way through the almost pathless forest which lay between two of these
settlements. That of which I was in quest was situated upon the Seneca,
a tributary of the Savanna river, here called Tooloolee. It was near
sundown, when I emerged from the wilderness upon a wagon road, very
uncertain of my whereabout, and entertaining some rather anxious
misgivings as to my portion for the night.
I had seen no one for the last five or six hours, and upon falling into
the road I did not know whether I was to take the right or the left
hand--a very material problem for my solution just then.
During this suspense, a lad, apparently not above ten years of age,
mounted bare back on a fine horse, suddenly emerged from the wood about
fifty paces ahead of me, and galloped along the road in the same
direction that I had myself resolved to take. I quickened my speed to
overtake him, but from the rapidity of his movement, I found myself, at
the end of a mile, not as near him as I was at the beginning. Some open
country in front, however, showed me that I was approaching a
settlement. Almost at the moment of making this discovery, I observed
that the lad was lying on the ground by the road-side. I hastened to
him, dismounted, and found him sadly in want of assistance. His horse
had run off with him, thrown him, and dislocated, as it afterwards
appeared, his shoulder-joint.
Whilst I was busy in rendering such aid as I could afford, I was joined
by a gentleman of venerable aspect, the father of the youth, who came
from a dwelling-house near at hand, which, in the engrossment of my
occupation, I had not observed. We lifted the boy in our arms and bore
him into the house.
I was now in comfortable quarters for the night. The gentleman was
Colonel T----, as I was made aware by his introduction, and the kindly
welcome he offered me, and I very soon found myself established upon the
footing of a favored guest. The boy was laid upon a bed in the room
where we sat, suffering great pain, and in want of immediate attention.
I entered into the family consultation on the case. Never have I
regretted the want of an acquisition, as I then regretted that I had no
skill in surgery. I was utterly incompetent to make a suggestion worth
considering. The mother of the family happened to be absent that night;
and, next to the physician, the mother is the best adviser. There was an
elder son, about my own age, who was playing a fiddle when we came in;
and there was a sister younger than he, and brothers and sisters still
younger. But we were all alike incapable. The poor boy's case might be
critical, and the nearest physician, Dr. Anderson, resided at Pendleton,
thirty miles off. This is one of the conditions of frontier settlement
which is not always thought of.
In the difficulty of the juncture, a thought occurred to Colonel T.,
which was immediately made available. "I think I will send for
Horse-Shoe Robinson," he said, with a manifest lighting up of the
countenance, as if he had hit upon a happy expedient. "Get a horse, my
son," he continued, addressing one of the boys, "and ride over to the
old man, and tell him what has happened to your brother; and say, he
will oblige me if he will come here directly." At the same time, a
servant was ordered to ride to Pendleton, and to bring over Dr.
Anderson.
In the absence of the first messenger the lad grew easier, and it became
apparent that his hurt was not likely to turn out seriously. Colonel T.,
assured by this, drew his chair up to the fire beside me, and with many
expressions of friendly interest inquired into the course of my journey,
and into the numberless matters that may be supposed to interest a
frontier settler in his intercourse with one just from the world of busy
life. It happened that I knew an old friend of his, General -----, a
gentleman highly distinguished in professional and political service, to
whose youth Colonel T. had been a most timely patron. This circumstance
created a new pledge in my favor, and, I believe, influenced the old
gentleman in a final resolve to send that night for his wife, who was
some seven or eight miles off, and whom he had been disinclined to put
to the discomfort of such a journey in the dark, ever since it was
ascertained that the boy's case was not dangerous. I am pretty sure this
influenced him, as I heard him privately instructing a servant to go for
the lady, and to tell her that the boy's injury was not very severe,
and "that there was a gentleman there who was well acquainted with
General ----." I observed, hanging in a little black frame over the
fire-place, a miniature engraved portrait of the general, which was the
only specimen of the fine arts in the house--perhaps in the settlement.
It was my recognition of this likeness that led, I fear, to the weary
night ride of the good lady.
In less than an hour the broad light of the hearth--for the apartment
was only lit up by blazing pine faggots, which, from time to time, were
thrown upon the fire--fell upon a goodly figure. There was first a sound
of hoofs coming through the dark--a halt at the door--a full, round,
clear voice heard on the porch--and then the entrance into the apartment
of a woodland hero. That fine rich voice again, in salutation, so gentle
and so manly! This was our expected counsellor, Horse-Shoe Robinson.
What a man I saw! With near seventy years upon his poll, time seemed to
have broken its billows over his front only as the ocean breaks over a
rock. There he stood--tall, broad, brawny, and erect. The sharp light
gilded his massive frame and weather-beaten face with a pictorial effect
that would have rejoiced an artist. His homely dress, his free stride,
as he advanced to the fire; his face radiant with kindness; the natural
gracefulness of his motion; all afforded a ready index to his character.
Horse Shoe, it was evident, was a man to confide in.
"I hear your boy's got flung from his horse, Colonel," he said, as he
advanced to the bed-side. "Do you think he is much hurt?" "Not so badly
as we thought at first, Mr. Robinson," was the reply. "I am much obliged
to you for coming over to-night. It is a great comfort to have your
advice in such times."
"These little shavers are so venturesome--with horses in particular,"
said the visitor; "it's Providence, Colonel, takes care of 'em. Let me
look at you, my son," he continued, as he removed the bed-clothes, and
began to handle the shoulder of the boy. "He's got it out of joint," he
added, after a moment. "Get me a basin of hot water and a cloth,
Colonel. I think I can soon set matters right."
It was not long before the water was placed beside him, and Robinson
went to work with the earnestness of a practised surgeon. After applying
wet cloths for some time to the injured part, he took the shoulder in
his broad hand, and with a sudden movement, which was followed by a
shriek from the boy, he brought the dislocated bone into its proper
position. "It doesn't hurt," he said, laughingly; "you are only
pretending. How do you feel now?"
The patient smiled, as he replied, "Well enough now; but I reckon you
was joking if you said that it didn't hurt."
Horse Shoe came to the fire-side, and took a chair, saying, "I larnt
that, Colonel, in the campaigns. A man picks up some good everywhere, if
he's a mind to; that's my observation."
This case being disposed of, Horse Shoe determined to remain all night
with the family. We had supper, and, after that, formed a little party
around the hearth. Colonel T. took occasion to tell me something about
Horse Shoe; and the Colonel's eldest son gave me my cue, by which he
intimated I might draw out the old soldier to relate some stories of the
war.
"Ask him," said the young man, "how he got away from Charleston after
the surrender; and then get him to tell you how he took the five
Scotchmen prisoners."
We were all in good humor. The boy was quite easy, and everything was
going on well, and we had determined to sit up until Mrs. T. should
arrive, which could not be before midnight. Horse Shoe was very
obliging, and as I expressed a great interest in his adventures, he
yielded himself to my leading, and I got out of him a rich stock of
adventure, of which his life was full. The two famous passages to which
I had been asked to question him--the escape from Charleston, and the
capture of the Scotch soldiers--the reader will find preserved in the
narrative upon which he is about to enter, almost in the very words of
my anthology. I have--perhaps with too much scruple--retained Horse
Shoe's peculiar vocabulary and rustic, doric form of speech--holding
these as somewhat necessary exponents of his character. A more truthful
man than he, I am convinced, did not survive the war to tell its story.
Truth was the predominant expression of his face and gesture--the truth
that belongs to natural and unconscious bravery, united with a frank and
modest spirit. He seemed to set no especial value upon his own exploits,
but to relate them as items of personal history, with as little comment
or emphasis as if they concerned any one more than himself.
It was long after midnight before our party broke up; and when I got to
my bed it was to dream of Horse Shoe and his adventures. I made a record
of what he told me, whilst the memory of it was still fresh, and often
afterwards reverted to it, when accident or intentional research brought
into my view events connected with the times and scenes to which his
story had reference.
The reader will thus see how I came into possession of the leading
incidents upon which this "Tale of the Tory Ascendency" in South
Carolina is founded.
It was first published in 1835. Horse-Shoe Robinson was then a very old
man. He had removed into Alabama, and lived, I am told, upon the banks
of the Tuskaloosa. I commissioned a friend to send him a copy of the
book. The report brought me was, that the old man had listened very
attentively to the reading of it, and took great interest in it.
"What do you say to all this?" was the question addressed to him, after
the reading was finished. His reply is a voucher which I desire to
preserve: "It is all true and right--in its right place--excepting about
them women, which I disremember. That mought be true, too; but my memory
is treacherous--I disremember."
_April 12, 1852._
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
The events narrated in the following pages, came to my knowledge in the
progress of my researches into the personal history of some of the
characters who figure in the story. I thought them worth being embodied
into a regular narrative, for two reasons:--
First, because they intrinsically possess an interest that may amuse the
lovers of adventure, and,
Second, because they serve to illustrate the temper and character of the
War of our Revolution.
As yet, only the political and documentary history of that war has been
written. Its romantic or picturesque features have been left for that
industrious tribe of chroniclers, of which I hold myself to be an
unworthy member, and who have of late, as the public is aware, set about
the business in good earnest. It shall go hard with us if we do not soon
bring to light every remnant of tradition that the war has left!
An opinion has heretofore prevailed that the Revolution was too recent
an affair for our story-telling craft to lay hands upon it. But this
objection, ever since the fiftieth anniversary, has been nullified by
common consent,--that being deemed the fair poetical limit which
converts tradition into truth, and takes away all right of
contradiction from a surviving actor in the scene. The pension roll is
manifestly growing thinner, and the widows--married young after the
peace--make a decided majority on the list. These are the second-hand
retailers of the marvels of the war; and it is observed that, like wine
which has descended to the heir, the events have lost none of their
flavor or value by the transmission. This is all so much clear gain to
our fraternity; and it is obvious, therefore, that we must thrive.
My reader will perceive that I have been scrupulous to preserve the
utmost historical accuracy in my narrative: and I hope, when he has
finished the perusal, that he may find reason to award me the
commendation of having afforded him some pleasure, by the sketch I have
attempted of the condition of things in the south during the very
interesting period of the "Tory Ascendency."
THE AUTHOR.
_May 1, 1835._
HORSE SHOE ROBINSON.
CHAPTER I.
A TOPOGRAPHICAL DISCOURSE.
The belt of mountains which traverses the state of Virginia diagonally,
from north-east to south-west, it will be seen by an inspection of the
map, is composed of a series of parallel ranges, presenting a
conformation somewhat similar to that which may be observed in miniature
on the sea-beach, amongst the minute lines of sand hillocks left by the
retreating tide. This belt may be said to commence with the Blue Ridge,
or more accurately speaking, with that inferior chain of highlands that
runs parallel to this mountain almost immediately along its eastern
base. From this region westward the highlands increase in elevation, the
valleys become narrower, steeper and cooler, and the landscape
progressively assumes the wilder features which belong to what is
distinctly meant by "the mountain country."
The loftiest heights in this series are found in the Alleghany, nearly
one hundred and fifty miles westward from the first thread of the belt;
and as the principal rivers which flow towards the Chesapeake find their
sources in this overtopping line of mountain, it may be imagined that
many scenes of surpassing beauty exist in those abrupt solitudes where
the rivers have had to contend with the sturdy hills that nature had
thrown across their passage to the sea.
The multiplication of the facilities of travel which the spirit of
improvement has, of late years, afforded to this region; the
healthfulness, or,--to use a term more germain to its excellence,--the
voluptuousness of the climate, and the extraordinary abundance of waters
of the rarest virtue, both for bathing and drinking, have all
contributed, very recently, to render the mountains of Virginia
notorious and popular amongst that daintily observant crowd of
well-conditioned people who yearly migrate in quest of health, or of a
refuge from the heats of summer, or who, perchance, wander in pursuit of
those associations of hill and dale which are supposed to repair a jaded
imagination, and to render it romantic and fruitful.
The traveller of either of these descriptions, who holds his journey
westward, will find himself impelled to halt at Charlottesville, as a
pleasant resting-place in the lap of the first mountains, where he may
stop to reinforce his strength for the prosecution of the rugged task
that awaits him. His delay here will not be unprofitable. This neat
little village is not less recommended to notice by its position in the
midst of a cultivated and plentiful country, than by its contiguity to
the seats of three Presidents of the Union; and, especially, by its
immediate proximity to Monticello, whose burnished dome twinkles through
the crown of forest that adorns the very apex of its mountain pyramid,
and which, as it has now grown to be the Mecca of many a pilgrim, will
of itself furnish a sufficient inducement for our traveller's tarrying.
An equal attraction will be found in the University of Virginia, which,
at the distance of one mile, in the opposite direction from that leading
to Monticello, rears its gorgeous and fantastic piles of massive and
motley architecture--a lively and faithful symbol (I speak it
reverently) of the ambitious, parti-colored and gallican taste of its
illustrious founder.
From Charlottesville, proceeding southwardly, in the direction of Nelson
and Amherst, the road lies generally over an undulating country, formed
by the succession of hills constituting the subordinate chain of
mountains which I have described as first in the belt. These hills
derive a beautiful feature from the manner in which they are
commanded,--to use a military phrase,--by the Blue Ridge, which, for the
whole distance, rests against the western horizon, and heaves up its
frequent pinnacles amongst the clouds, clothed in all the variegated
tints that belong to the scale of vision, from the sombre green and
purple of the nearer masses, to the light and almost indistinguishable
azure of its remotest summits.
The constant interruption of some gushing rivulet, which hurries from
the neighboring mountain into the close vales that intercept the road,
communicates a trait of peculiar interest to this journey, affording
that pleasant surprise of new and unexpected scenery, which, more than
any other concomitant of travel, wards off the sense of fatigue. These
streams have worn deep channels through the hills, and constantly seem
to solicit the road into narrow passes and romantic dells, where fearful
crags are seen toppling over the head of the traveller, and sparkling
waters tinkle at his feet; and where the richest and rarest trees of the
forest seem to have chosen their several stations, on mossy bank or
cloven rock, in obedience to some master mind intent upon the most
tasteful and striking combination of these natural elements.
A part of the country embraced in this description, has obtained the
local designation of the South Garden, perhaps from its succession of
fertile fields and fragrant meadows, which are shut in by the walls of
mountain on either hand; whilst a still more remote but adjacent
district of more rugged features, bears the appellation of the Cove, the
name being suggested by the narrow and encompassing character of the
sharp and precipitous hills that hem in and over-shadow a rough and
brattling mountain torrent, which is marked on the map as the Cove
creek.
At the period to which my story refers, the population of this central
district of Virginia, exhibited but few of the characteristics which are
found to distinguish the present race of inhabitants. A rich soil, a
pure atmosphere, and great abundance of wood and water, to say nothing
of the sylvan beauties of the mountain, possessed a great attraction for
the wealthy proprietors of the low country; and the land was, therefore,
generally parcelled out in large estates held by opulent owners, whose
husbandry did not fail, at least, to accumulate in profusion the
comforts of life, and afford full scope to that prodigal hospitality,
which, at that period even more than at present, was the boast of the
state. The laws of primogeniture exercised their due influence on the
national habits; and the odious division of property amongst undeserving
younger brothers, whom our modern philosophy would fain persuade us have
as much merit, and as little capacity to thrive in the world as their
elders, had not yet formed part of the household thoughts of these
many-acred squires. From Charlottesville, therefore, both north and
south, from the Potomac to the James river, there extended a chain of
posts, occupied by lordly and open-hearted gentlemen,--a kind of civil
cordon of bluff free-livers who were but little versed in the mystery of
"bringing the two ends of the year together."
Since that period, well-a-day! the hand of the reaper has put in his
sickle upon divided fields; crowded progenies have grown up under these
paternal roof-trees; daughters have married and brought in strange
names; the subsistence of one has been spread into the garner of ten;
the villages have grown populous; the University has lifted up its
didactic head; and everywhere over this abode of ancient wealth, the hum
of industry is heard in the carol of the ploughman, the echo of the
wagoner's whip, the rude song of the boatman, and in the clatter of the
mill. Such are the mischievous interpolations of the republican system!
My reader, after this topographical sketch and the political reflections
with which I have accompanied it, is doubtless well-prepared for the
introduction of the worthy personages with whom I am about to make him
acquainted.