"What ho! What ho!--thy door undo:
Art watching or asleep?"--_Burger's Leonora._
On the banks of the Ennoree, in a little nook of meadow, formed by the
bend of the stream which, fringed with willows, swept round it almost in
a semicircle, the inland border of the meadow being defined by a gently
rising wall of hills covered with wood, was seated within a few paces of
the water, a neat little cottage with a group of out-buildings,
presenting all the conveniences of a comfortable farm. The
dwelling-house itself was shaded by a cluster of trees which had been
spared from the native forest, and within view were several fields of
cultivated ground neatly inclosed with fences. A little lower down the
stream and within a short distance of the house, partially concealed by
the bank, stood a small low-browed mill, built of wood. It was near
sundown, and the golden light of evening sparkled upon the shower which
fell from the leaky race that conducted the water to the head gate, and
no less glittered on the spray that was dashed from the large and slowly
revolving wheel. The steady gush of the stream, and the monotonous clack
of the machinery, aided by the occasional discordant scream of a flock
of geese that frequented the border of the race, and by the gambols of a
few children, who played about the confines of the mill, excited
pleasant thoughts of rural business and domestic content. A rudely
constructed wagon, to which were harnessed two lean horses, stood at the
door of the mill, and two men, one of them advanced in years, and the
other apparently just beyond the verge of boyhood, were occupied in
heaping upon it a heavy load of bags of meal. The whitened habiliments
of these men showed them to be the proper attendants of the place, and
now engaged in their avocation. A military guard stood by the wagon, and
as soon as it was filled, they were seen to put the horses in motion,
and to retire by a road that crossed the stream and take the descending
direction of the current close along the opposite bank.
When this party had disappeared, the old man directed the mill to be
stopped. The gates were let down, the machinery ungeared, and, in a few
moments, all was still. The millers now retired to the little habitation
hard by.
"There is so much work lost," said the elder to his companion, as they
approached the gate that opened into the curtilage of the dwelling. "We
shall never be paid for that load. Colonel Innis doesn't care much out
of whose pocket he feeds his men; and as to his orders upon Rawdon's
quarter-master, why it is almost the price of blood to venture so far
from home to ask for payment--to say nothing of the risk of finding the
army purse as low as a poor miller's at home. I begrudge the grain,
Christopher, and the work that grinds it; but there is no disputing with
these whiskered foot-pads with bayonets in their hands--they must have
it and will have it, and there's an end of it."
"Aye," replied the man addressed by the name of Christopher, "as you
say, they will have it; and if they are told that a poor man's sweat has
been mixed with their bread, they talk to us about the cause--the
cause--the cause. I am tired of this everlasting preaching about king
and country. I don't know but if I had my own way I'd take the country
against the king any day. What does George the Third care for us, with a
great world of water between?"
"Whisht, Christopher Shaw--whisht, boy! We have no opinions of our own;
trees and walls have ears at this time. It isn't for us to be bringing
blood and burning under our roof, by setting up for men who have
opinions. No, no. Wait patiently; and perhaps, Christopher, it will not
be long before this gay bird Cornwallis will be plucked of his feathers.
The man is on his way now that, by the help of the Lord, may bring down
as proud a hawk as ever flew across the water. If it should be
otherwise, trust to the power above the might of armies, and wiser than
the cunning of men, that, by a righteous and peaceful life, we shall
make our lot an easier one than it may ever be in mingling in the strife
of the evil-minded."
"It is hard, for all that--wise as it is--to be still," said
Christopher, "with one's arms dangling by one's side, when one's
neighbors and kinsmen are up and girding themselves for battle. It will
come to that at last; fight we must. And, I don't care who knows it, I
am for independence, uncle Allen."
"Your passion, boy, and warmth of temper, I doubt, outrun your
discretion," said the old man. "But you speak bravely and I cannot chide
you for it. For the present, at least, be temperate, and, if you can,
silent. It is but unprofitable talk for persons in our condition."
The uncle and nephew now entered the house, and Allen Musgrove--for this
was the person to whom I have introduced my reader--was soon seated at
his family board, invoking a blessing upon his evening meal, and
dispensing the cares of a quiet and peaceful household.
"I wonder Mary stays so long with her aunt," he said, as the early hour
of repose drew nigh. "It is an ill place for her, wife, and not apt to
please the girl with anything she may find there. Wat Adair is an
irregular man, and savage as the beasts he hunts. His associates are not
of the best, and but little suited to Mary's quiet temper."
The wife, a staid, motherly-looking woman of plain and placid exterior,
who was busily engaged amongst a thousand scraps of coarse,
homespun-cloth, which she was fashioning into a garment for some of the
younger members of her family, paused from her work, upon this appeal to
her, and, directing her glances above her spectacles to her husband,
replied:
"Mary has been taught to perform her duties to her kinsfolk, and it
isn't often that she counts whether it is pleasant to her or not.
Besides, Watty, rough as he is, loves our girl; and love goes a great
way to make us bear and forbear both, husband. I'll warrant our daughter
comes home when she thinks it right. But it is a weary way to ride over
a wild country, and more so now when Whig and Tory have distracted the
land. I wish Christopher could be spared to go for her."
"He shall go to-morrow, wife," returned Allen Musgrove. "Wat Adair, love
her or not, is not the man to go out of his way for a wandering girl,
and would think nothing to see the child set out by herself. But come,
it is Saturday night and near bed-time. Put aside your work, wife; a
lesson from the Book of Truth, and prayers, and then to rest," he said,
as he took down a family Bible from a shelf and spread it before him.
The old man put on a pair of glasses, which, by a spring, sustained
themselves upon his nose, and with an audible and solemn voice he read a
portion of scripture; then, placing himself on his knees, whilst the
whole family followed his example, he poured forth a fervent and
heart-inspired prayer. It was a simple and homely effusion, delivered
from the suggestions of the moment, in accordance with a devout habit of
thanksgiving and supplication to which he had long been accustomed. He
was a Presbyterian, and had witnessed, with many a pang, the profligate
contempt and even savage persecution with which his sect had been
visited by many of the Tory leaders--especially by the loyalist
partisan, Captain Huck, who had been recently killed in an incursion of
Sumpter's at Williams's plantation, not far distant from Musgrove's
present residence. It was this unsparing hostility towards his religion,
and impious derision of it, that, more than any other circumstance, had
begotten that secret dislike of the Tory cause which, it was known to a
few, the miller entertained, although his age, situation, and, perhaps,
some ancient prejudice of descent (for he was the son of an early Scotch
emigrant), would rather have inclined him to take the royal side; that
side which, in common belief and in appearance, he still favored.
"Thou hast bent thy bow," he said, in the warmest effusion of his
prayer, "and shot thine arrows, O Lord, amongst this people; thou hast
permitted the ministers of vengeance, and the seekers of blood to ride
amongst us, and thy wrath hath not yet bowed the stubborn spirit of
sin--but the hard hearts are given strong arms, and with curses they
have smitten the people. Yet even the firebrand that it did please thee
not to stay because of our sins--yea, even the firebrand that did cause
conflagration along our border, until by the light the erring children
of men might read in the dark night, from one end of our boundary even
unto the other, the enormity of their own backslidings, and their
forgetfulness of thee; that firebrand hath been thrown into the blaze
which it had itself kindled, and, like a weapon of war which hath grown
dull in the work of destruction, hath been cast into the place of
unprofitable lumber, and hath been utterly consumed. The persecutor of
the righteous and the scoffer of the word hath paid the price of blood,
and hath fallen into the snares wherewith he lay in wait to ensnare the
feet of the unthinking. But stay now, O Lord of Hosts, the hand of the
destroyer, and let the angel of peace again spread his wing over our
racked and wearied land. Take from the wicked heart his sword and
shield, and make the righteous man safe beside his family hearth.
Shelter the head of the wanderer, and guide in safety the hunted
fugitive who flees before the man of wrath; comfort the captive in his
captivity, and make all hearts in this rent and sundered province to
know and bless thy mercies for ever more. In especial, we beseech thee
to give the victory to him that hath right, and to 'stablish the
foundations of the government in justice and truth, giving liberty of
conscience and liberty of law to those who know how to use it." At this
point the worship of the evening was arrested by a slight knocking at
the door.
"Who goes there?" exclaimed the old man, starting from his kneeling
position. "Who raps at my door?"
"A stranger, good man," replied a voice without. "A poor fellow that has
been hot pressed and hard run."
"Friend or foe?" asked Allen Musgrove.
"A very worthless friend to any man at this present speaking," replied
the person on the outside of the door; "and not fit to be counted a foe
until he has had something to eat. If you be Allen Musgrove, open your
door."
"Are you alone, or do you come with followers at your heels? My house is
small and can give scant comfort to many?"
"Faith, it is more than I know," responded the other; "but if I have
followers it is not with my will that they shall cross your door-sill.
If you be Allen Musgrove, or if you be not, open, friend. I am as
harmless as a barndoor fowl."
"I do not fear you, sir," said Musgrove, opening the door; "you are
welcome to all I can give you, whatever colors you serve."
"Then give us your hand," said Horse Shoe Robinson, striding into the
apartment. "You are a stranger to me, but if you are Allen Musgrove, the
miller, that I have hearn men speak of, you are not the person to turn
your back on a fellow creature in distress. Your sarvent, mistress," he
added, bowing to the dame. "Far riding and fast riding gives a sort of
claim these times; so excuse me for sitting down."
"You are welcome, again; your name, sir?" said Musgrove.
"Have I guessed yours?" inquired Horse Shoe.
"You have."
"Then you must guess mine; for it isn't convenient to tell it."
"Some poor Whig soldier," said Christopher Shaw privately to Musgrove.
"It isn't right to make him betray himself. You are hungry, friend,"
added Christopher; "and we will first get you something to eat, and then
you may talk all the better for it."
"That's a good word," said Horse Shoe, "and a brave word, as things go;
for it isn't every man has the courage to feed an enemy in these days,
though I made the devils do it for me this morning, ha, ha, ha! Some
water, Mr. Musgrove, and it will not come badly to my hand if you can
tangle it somewhat."
The refreshment asked for was produced by Christopher Shaw; and Horse
Shoe, taking the brimming cup in his hand, stood up, and with a rather
awkward courtesy, pledged the draught with "Your health, good mistress,
and luck to the little ones! for we grown-up babies are out of the days
of luck, except the luck of escaping twisted hemp, or drum-head law,
which for to-night, I believe, is mine;" and he swallowed the mixture at
a draught; then, with a long sigh, placed the cup upon the table and
resumed his seat. "That there spirit, Mr. Musgrove," he added, "is a
special good friend in need, preach against it who will!"
"You say you have ridden far to-day," remarked the miller: "you must be
tired."
"I am not apt to get tired," replied the sergeant, turning his
sword-belt over his head, and flinging the weapon upon a bench; "but I
am often hungry."
"My wife," said Musgrove, smiling, "has taken that hint before you spoke
it; she has already ordered something for you to eat."
"That's an excellent woman!" exclaimed Horse Shoe. "You see, Allen
Musgrove, I don't stand much upon making myself free of your house. I
have hearn of you often before I saw you, man; and I know all about you.
You are obliged to keep fair weather with these Tories--who have no
consideration for decent, orderly people--but your heart is with the
boys that go for liberty. You see I know you, and am not afeard to trust
you. Perchance, you mought have hearn tell of one Horse Shoe Robinson,
who lived over here at the Waxhaws?"
"I have heard many stories about that man," replied the miller.
"Well, I won't tell you that he is in your house to-night, for fear the
Tories might take you to account for harboring such a never-do-well. But
you have got a poor fellow under your roof that has had a hard run to
get here."
"In my house!" exclaimed Musgrove; "Horse Shoe Robinson!" and then,
after a pause, he continued, "well, well, there is no rule of war that
justifies a Christian in refusing aid and comfort to a houseless and
hunted stranger, who comes with no thought of harm to a peaceful family
hearth. I take no part in the war on either side; and, in your ear,
friend Robinson, I take none _against_ you or the brave men that stand
by you."
"Your hand again," said Horse Shoe, reaching towards the miller. "Allen,
I have come to you under a sore press of heels. An officer of the
Continental army and me have been travelling through these here parts,
and we have been most onaccountably ambushed by a half wild-cat, half
bull-dog, known by the name of Captain Hugh Habershaw, who cotched us in
the night at Grindall's ford."
"Heaven have mercy on the man who has anything to do with Hugh
Habershaw!" exclaimed the miller's wife.
"Amen, mistress," responded the sergeant; "for a surlier, misbegotten
piece of flesh, there's not in these wild woods, giving you the choice
of bear, panther, catamount, rattlesnake, or what not. We were sot
upon," continued the sergeant, "by this bully and a bevy of his
braggadocios, and made prisoners; but I took a chance to slip the noose
this morning, and after riding plump into a hornet's nest at
Blackstock's, where I put on a new face and tricked the guard out of a
dinner and this here old sword, I took a course for this mill, axing
people along the road where I should find Allen Musgrove; and so, after
making some roundabouts and dodging into the woods until night came on,
to keep clear of the Tories, here I am."
"And the officer?" said Musgrove.
"He is in the hands of the Philistines yet--most likely now at
Blackstock's."
"What might be his name?"
"Major Butler--a bold, warm gentleman--that's been used to tender life
and good fortune. He has lands on the sea-coast--unless that new-fangled
court at Charlestown, that they call the Court of Seekerstations, has
made them null and void--as they have been making the estates of better
gentleman than they could ever pretend to be; taking all the best lands,
you see, Allen, to themselves, the cursed iniquiters!"
"Where did you come from with this gentleman?"
"A long way off, Mr. Musgrove--from old Virginny--but lastly from Wat
Adair's."
"Wat's wife is a relation of my family."
"Then he is a filthy disgrace to all who claim kin with him, Allen
Musgrove. Wat was the man who put us into the wild-cat's claws--at
least, so we had good reason to think. There was a tidy, spruce, and
smart little wench there--tut, man--I am talking of your own kith and
kindred, for her name was Mary Musgrove."
"Our girl!" said the dame with an animated emphasis; "our own Mary; what
of _her_, Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson?"
"That she is as good a child, Mistress Musgrove, as any honest parent
mought wish for. She got some sort of inkling of what was contrived; and
so she appeared to Major Butler in a dream--or her ghost."
"Mercy on us! the child has not been hurt?" cried the mother.
"Ondoubtedly not, ma'am," said Robinson; "but it is as true as you are
there, she gave us, somehow or other, a warning that there was harm in
the wind; and we took her advice, but it didn't do."
"I wish the child were home," said Musgrove. "Christopher, at daylight,
boy, saddle a horse and be off to Adair's for Mary."
The nephew promised to do the errand.
"Come, Mr. Robinson, draw near the table and eat something."
"With right good heart," replied Horse Shoe; "but it's a kind of camp
rule with me, before I taste food--no matter where--just to look after
Captain Peter Clinch; that's my horse, friend Musgrove. So, by your
leave, I'll just go take a peep to see that the Captain is sarved. A
good beast is a sort of right arm in scrapish times; and as God ha'n't
given them the gift of speech, we must speak for them."
"Christopher shall save you the trouble," replied Musgrove.
"A good horse never loses anything by the eye of his master," said Horse
Shoe; "so, Christopher, I'll go with you."
In a short time the sergeant returned into the house, and took his seat
at the table, where he fell to, at what was set before him, with a
laudable dispatch.
"How far off," he inquired, "is the nearest Tory post, Mr. Musgrove?"
"Colonel Innis has some light corps stationed within two miles. If you
had been a little earlier you would have found some of them at my mill."
"Innis!" repeated Horse Shoe, "I thought Floyd had these parts under
command?"
"So he has," replied the miller, "but he has lately joined the garrison
at Rocky Mount."
"Ha! ha! ha!" ejaculated Robinson, "that's a pot into which Sumpter will
be dipping his ladle before long. All the land between Wateree and Broad
belongs to Tom Sumpter, let mad-cap Tarleton do his best! We Whigs, Mr.
Musgrove, have a little touch of the hobgoblin in us. We travel pretty
much where we please. Now, I will tell you, friend, very plainly what I
am after. I don't mean to leave these parts till I see what is to become
of Major Butler. Innis and Floyd put together sha'n't hinder me from
looking after a man that's under my charge. I'm an old sodger, and they
can't make much out of me if they get me."
"The country is swarming with troops of one kind or another," said the
miller; "and a man must have his wits about him who would get through
it. You are now, Mr. Robinson, in a very dangerous quarter. The fort at
Ninety-Six on one side of you, and Rocky Mount and Hanging Rock on the
other--the road between the three is full of loyalists. Colonel Innis is
here to keep the passage open, and, almost hourly, his men are passing.
You should be careful in showing yourself in daylight. And as for your
poor friend, Major Butler, there is not likely to be much good will
shown towards him. I greatly fear his case is worse than it seems to
you."
"There is somewhere," said Robinson, "in that book that lies open on the
table--which I take to be the Bible--the story of the campaigns of King
David; and as I have hearn it read by the preacher, it tells how David
was pushed on all sides by flying corps of the enemy, and that, seeing
he had no sword, he came across a man who gave him victuals and the
sword of Goliath--as I got my dinner and a sword this morning from the
tavern-keeper at Blackstock's; and then he set off on his flight to some
strange place, where he feigned himself crazy and scrabbled at the gate,
and let the spit run down on his beard--as I have done before now with
Tarleton, Mr. Musgrove; and then King David took into a cave--which I
shouldn't stand much upon doing if there was occasion; and there the
King waited, until he got friends about him and was able to drub the
Philistians for robbing the threshing-floors--as I make no doubt these
Tories have robbed yours, Allen Musgrove. But you know all about it,
seeing that you are able to read, which I am not. Now, I don't pretend
to say that I nor Major Butler are as good men as David--not at all; but
the cause of liberty is as good a cause as ever King David fought for,
and the Lord that took his side in the cave, will take the side of the
Whigs, sooner or later, and help them to beat these grinding, thieving,
burning, and throat-cutting Tories. And, moreover, a brave man ought
never to be cast down by such vermin; that's my religion, Mr. Musgrove,
though you mought hardly expect to find much thought of such things left
in a rough fellow like me, that's been hammered in these here wars like
an old piece of iron that's been one while a plough coulter, and after
that a gun-barrel, and finally that's been run up with others into a
piece of ordnance--not to say that it moughtn't have been a horse shoe
in some part of its life, ha! ha! ha! There's not likely to be much
conscience or religion left after all that hammering."
"'He shall keep the simple folk by their right,'" said Musgrove, quoting
a passage from the Psalms, "'defend the children of the poor and punish
the wrong-doer.' You have finished your supper, Mr. Robinson," he
continued, "and before we retire to rest you will join us in the
conclusion of our family worship, which was interrupted by your coming
into the house. We will sing a Psalm which has been given to us by that
man whose deliverance has taught you where you are to look for yours."
"If I cannot help to make music, Allen," said Horse Shoe, "I can listen
with good will."
The miller now produced a little book in black-letter, containing a
familiar and ancient version of the Psalms, and the following quaint and
simple lines were read by him in successive couplets, the whole family
singing each distich as soon as it was given out--not excepting Horse
Shoe, who, after the first couplet, having acquired some slight
perception of the tune, chimed in with a voice that might have alarmed
the sentinels of Innis's camp:
"A king that trusteth in his host
Shall not prevail at length;
The man that of his might doth boast
Shall fall, for all his strength.
"The troops of horsemen eke shall fail,
Their sturdy steeds shall starve:
The strength of horse shall not prevail
The rider to preserve.
"But so the eyes of God intend,
And watch to aid the just;
With such as fear him to offend,
And on his goodness trust.
"That he of death and great distress
May set their souls from dread;
And if that dearth their land oppress,
In hunger them to feed.
"Wherefore our soul doth whole depend
On God, our strength and stay;
He is our shield us to defend
And drive all darts away."
When this act of devotion was concluded the old man invoked a blessing
upon his household, and gave his orders that the family should betake
themselves to rest. Horse Shoe had already taken up his sword and was
about retiring to a chamber, under the guidance of Christopher Shaw,
when the door was suddenly thrown wide open, and in rushed Mary
Musgrove. She ran up, threw herself into her father's arms, and cried
out--
"Oh, how glad I am that I have reached home to-night!" then kissing both
of her parents, she flung herself into a chair, saying "I am tired--very
tired. I have ridden the livelong day, alone, and frightened out of my
wits."
"Not alone, my daughter!--on that weary road, and the country so
troubled with ill-governed men! Why did you venture, girl? Did you not
think I would send your cousin Christopher for you?"
"Oh, father," replied Mary, "there have been such doings! Ah! and here
is Mr. Horse Shoe Robinson; Major Butler, where is he, sir?" she
exclaimed, turning to the sergeant, who had now approached the back of
her chair to offer his hand.
"Blessings on you for a wise and a brave girl!" said Robinson. "But it
wouldn't do; we were ambushed, and the Major is still a prisoner."
"I feared it," said Mary, "and therefore I stole away. They are
bloody-minded and wicked, father; and uncle Adair's house has been the
place where mischief and murder has been talked of. Oh, I am very sick!
I have had such a ride!"
"Poor wench!" said the father, taking her to his bosom. "You have not
the temper nor the strength to struggle where ruthless men take up their
weapons of war. What has befallen? Tell us all!"
"No, no!" interposed the mother; "no, Allen, not now. The girl must have
food and sleep, and must not be wearied with questions to-night. Wait,
my dear Mary, until to-morrow. She will tell us everything to-morrow."
"I must hear of Major Butler," said Mary; "I cannot sleep until I have
heard all that has happened. Good Mr. Robinson, tell me everything."
In few words the sergeant unfolded to the damsel the eventful history of
the last two days, during the narrative of which her cheek waxed pale,
her strength failed her, and she sank almost lifeless across her
father's knee.
"Give me some water," she said. "My long ride has worn me out. I ran off
at daylight this morning, and have not stopped once upon the road."
A glass of milk with a slice of bread restored the maiden to her
strength, and she took the first opportunity to inform the circle who
surrounded her of all the incidents that had fallen under her
observation at Adair's.
Her father listened with deep emotion to the tale, and during its
relation clenched his teeth with anger, as he walked, to and fro,
through the apartment. There was an earnest struggle in his feelings to
withhold the expression of the strong execration, which the narrative
brought almost to his lips, against the perfidy of his wife's kinsman.
But the habitual control of his temper, which his religious habits
inculcated, kept him silent; and considerations of prudence again swayed
him from surrendering to the impulse, which would have led him to
declare himself openly against the cause of the royal government and its
supporters in the district where he lived. He cross-questioned his
daughter as to many minute points of her story, but her answers were
uniform and consistent, and were stamped with the most unequivocal
proofs of her strict veracity. Indeed, the collateral evidences
furnished by Robinson, left no doubt on the miller's mind that the whole
of Mary's disclosures were the testimony of a witness whose senses could
not have been disturbed by illusions, nor distempered by fear.
"It is a dreadful tale," he said, "and we must think over it more
maturely. Be of good heart, my daughter, you have acted well and wisely;
God will protect us from harm."
"And so it was no ghost, nor spirit," said Horse Shoe, "that the major
saw in the night? But I wonder you didn't think of waking me. A word to
me in the night--seeing I have sarved a good deal on outposts, and have
got used to being called up--would have had me stirring in a wink. But
that's part of Wat's luck for I should most ondoubtedly have strangled
the snake in his bed."
"I called you," said Mary, "as loudly as I durst, and more than once,
but you slept so hard!"
"That's like me too," replied Horse Shoe. "I'm both sleepy and watchful,
according as I think there is need of my sarvices."
"Now to bed, my child," said Musgrove. "Your bed is the fittest place
for your wearied body. God bless you, daughter!"
Once more the family broke up, and as Robinson left the room Mary
followed him to the foot of the little stair that wound up into an attic
chamber; here she detained him one moment, while she communicated to him
in a half whisper,
"I have a friend, Mr. Robinson, that might help you to do something for
Major Butler. His name is John Ramsay: he belongs to General Sumpter's
brigade. If you would go to his father's, only six miles from here, on
the upper road to Ninety-Six, you might hear where John was. But, may
be, you are afraid to go so near to the fort?"
"May be so," said Robinson, with a look of comic incredulity. "I know
the place, and I know the family, and, likely, John himself. It's a good
thought, Mary, for I want help now, more than I ever did in my life.
I'll start before daylight--for it won't do to let the sun shine upon
me, with Innis's Tories so nigh. So, if I am missed to-morrow morning,
let your father know how I come to be away."
"Tell John," said Mary, "I sent you to him. Mary Musgrove, remember."
"If I can't find John," replied Horse Shoe, "you're such a staunch
little petticoat sodger, that I'll, perhaps, come back and enlist you.
'Tisn't everywhere that we can find such valiant wenches. I wish some of
our men had a little of your courage; so, good night!"
The maiden now returned to the parlor, and Horse Shoe, under the
guidance of Christopher Shaw, found a comfortable place of deposit for
his hard-worked, though--as he would have Christopher believe--his
unfatigued frame. The sergeant, however, was a man not born to cares,
notwithstanding that his troubles were "as thick as the sparks that fly
upward," and it is a trivial fact in his history, that, on the present
occasion, he was not many seconds in bed before he was as sound asleep
as the trapped partridges, in the fairy tale, which, the eastern
chronicle records, fell into a deep sleep when roasting upon the spit,
and did not wake for a hundred years.