OCCURRENCES AT MUSGROVE'S MILL.
She passed by stealth the narrow door,
The postern way also,
And thought each bush her robe that tore,
The grasp of a warding foe.--JOANNA BAILLIE.
The month of September was more than half gone. The night had just set
in, and the waxing moon shone forth from a clear heaven, flinging her
rays upon the rippling surface of the Ennoree and upon the glossy leaves
that flickered in the wind by the banks of the stream, when Mary
Musgrove, with wary and stealthy pace, glided along the path, intricate
with shrubbery, that led upwards immediately upon the margin of the
river. For a full half hour had she toiled along this narrow way since
she had stolen past the sentinel near her father's gate. The distance
was not a mile; but the anxious maiden, pursued by her own fears, had
more than once, in the fancy that she was followed, stopped in her
career and concealed herself in the thick copse-wood, and listened with
painful intensity for the footsteps of those whom her imagination had
set upon her track. There was, however, no pursuit: it was the prowling
fox or the raccoon whose leap had disturbed the dry and rotten branches
that lay upon the ground; and Mary smiled with faint-heartedness at the
illusions of her own mind. She arrived at last beneath the brow of a
crag that jutted over the stream, and in the shade of one of the angles
of the rock, she discerned the figure of a man seated upon the grass.
She paused with a distrustful caution, as she challenged the silent and
half-concealed person.
"Hist, John! is it you? For mercy, speak! Why would you frighten
me?--Me, Mary. Don't you know me?" said the maiden, as she took heart of
grace and advanced near enough to put her hand upon John Ramsay's
shoulder. "Powers above! the man's asleep," she added with a laugh.
"Who would have thought I should have caught you napping, John, at such
a time as this!"
"Why, in truth, Mary," said John Ramsay, waking up under the touch of
his mistress, and rising to his feet, "I deserve to be shot for sleeping
on my watch; but I have been so driven from post to pillar for this last
fortnight, that it is as much as I can do to keep my eyes open when
night comes on. So Mary, you will forgive me, and more particularly when
I tell you I was dreaming of you; and thought this war was at an end,
and that you and I were happy in a house of our own. I have been waiting
for you for upwards of an hour."
"Ah, John, I don't think I could sleep if it had been my turn to watch
for you."
"There's the difference," replied John, "betwixt you women and us men;
you are so full of frights and fidgetings and fancyings, that I do
verily believe all the sleeping doses in the world could never make you
shut your eyes when anything is going on that requires watching, whether
it be for a sick friend or for a piece of scheming. Now, with us, we
take a nap on a hard-trotting horse, and fall to snoring up to the very
minute that the trumpet wakes us to make a charge. What news from
Butler?"
"It is all fixed," answered Mary, "to our hearts' content. Lieutenant
Macdonald, ever since Cornwallis's letter, allows Major Butler greater
privileges; and the sentinels are not half so strict as they used to be;
so that I think we may give them the slip. By the gable window that
looks out from the garret room, the Major will be able to get upon the
roof, and that, he thinks, is near enough to the tree for him to risk a
leap into its branches; though I am almost afraid he is mistaken, for it
looks awfully wide for a spring. He says if you will be ready with the
horses an hour before daylight to-morrow, he will try the leap, and join
you at the willows above the mill. Christopher will saddle one of the
wagon-horses and lead him to the place."
"And the sentinel who keeps guard on that side?"
"Ah, John, that puzzles us," said Mary; "I'm so much afraid that you
will be rash. It is in your nature to forget yourself."
"Tut, girl; don't talk of that. I'll find a way to manage the sentinel.
I will steal up to him and take him unawares; and then seizing him by
the throat, give him his choice of a knife in between his ribs, or a
handful of guineas in his pocket."
"Hadn't we better tell him what a good man the Major is?" said Mary,
alarmed at the idea of a struggle in which her lover's life might be
endangered, "and try to coax him to take our side?"
"Ha, ha!" ejaculated the trooper involuntarily, "that's a very good
woman's thought, but it won't hold out in a campaign. The fellow might
happen to have some honesty, and then away goes our whole scheme. No,
no; blows are the coin that these rascals buy their bread with, and,
faith, we'll trade with them in the same article."
"But then, John, you will be in danger."
"What of that, girl? When have I been out of danger? And don't you see,
Mary, what good luck I have with it? Never fear me; I will stifle the
fellow in the genteelest fashion known in the wars."
"And if it must be so, John, I will say my prayers for you with more
earnestness than I ever said them in my life. As my father says, the God
of Israel will stand by our cause: and when He is for us, what care we
who is against us?"
"You are a good girl, Mary," replied John Ramsay, smiling. "Get back to
the house; let Major Butler know that you have seen me, and that I will
be ready."
"He is to be at the window," said Mary, "and I am to signify to him that
you are prepared, by setting up a plank against the garden fence in a
place where he can see it. He is to keep a look-out from the window all
night, and when the time comes you are to flash a little powder on the
edge of the woods upon the hill: if he is ready then he will show his
candle near the window-sill; that, he says, must be a sign for you to
come on; and when he sees you he will take the leap."
"I understand it," said Ramsay. "Tell Christopher to be sure of the
horse."
"I have a great deal of courage, John, when danger is far off--but when
it comes near, I tremble like a poor coward," said Mary. "Does not my
hand feel cold?"
"Your lips are warm, Mary," replied John, kissing her, "and your heart
is warm. Now, never flag when it comes to the trial. Everything depends
upon you. We shall be very happy, by-and-by, to talk this thing all
over. How many soldiers are on Macdonald's guard? Have none left you
since I saw you yesterday?"
"None," said Mary: "one man left the mill two days since. I think I
heard them say he was going to Ninety-six, on business for the
lieutenant."
"Well, well, it makes but little odds how many are there, so they but
sleep soundly. Our business is more to run than to fight. Mary, my girl,
step across to my father's to-morrow, and he will tell you what has
become of me. We must get the Major out of this country of wolf-traps as
fast as we can."
"I forgot to ask you," said the maiden, "if you had some coarse clothes
ready for the Major. He must not seem to be what he is."
"Trust me for that," replied the trooper. "Christopher has given me a
bundle with as fine a dusty suit in it as any miller's boy ever wore;
and besides that, I have a meal bag to throw across the Major's saddle:
and as for myself, Mary, there's ploughman in my very looks. We shall
cheat all the Tories betwixt this and Catawba."
"Now, John, before I leave you, I have one favor to ask."
"And what is that?" inquired the generous-hearted soldier, "you know, if
I can, I will grant it before it is named."
"I would ask as a favor to me," said Mary, with earnestness, "that you
will not be too venturesome: the Major is a wiser man than you, so be
governed by him. Remember, John, if any ill were to happen to you, it
would break my heart."
"I am not so foolhardy, my girl," replied Ramsay, "but, that when
there's occasion for it, I can show as clean a pair of heels as any man:
and so, for your sake, you kitten," he said, as he put his hands upon
her cheeks, and again snatched a kiss, "I will run to-morrow like a
whole troop of devils. And now, Mary, good night, and God bless you
girl! it is time you were at home. Yet upon second thoughts, I will walk
part of the way with you. So, take my arm and let us begin the retreat."
"John, I do so fear you may be hurt," said the maiden, as they pursued
their way along the path, her whole thoughts being absorbed with the
danger of the enterprise. "Be careful when you come near the sentinel to
wait until his back is turned. This moon shines bright, and you may
easily be seen."
"But look, girl, the moon has scarcely two hours yet to travel, and,
from that circle round it, I shouldn't wonder if we had rain before
daylight; so by the hour we have fixed for the Major's escape, it will
be dark enough: therefore you may be easy on that score."
The humble and ardent lovers pursued their way towards the miller's
dwelling with slow steps, intently engaged in conversing over the
chances of their perilous project, until they arrived at a point beyond
which it was not safe for John Ramsay to venture. Here, after many
affectionate caresses and fond adieus, they separated--the maiden to
steal to her place of rest, the soldier to hasten back to his horse,
that awaited him near the scene of the late meeting.
Mary soon arrived at the mill; then sauntering carelessly towards the
dwelling-house, began, the better to conceal her purpose, to sing a
simple air, during which she had wandered up to the garden fence, where
she delayed long enough to set up the plank. The small window in the
angle of the roof of the cottage looked down upon the spot where she
stood; and as she cast her eyes towards this part of the building, she
received a recognition from the prisoner, in a slight waving of the
hand, which was sufficiently observable by the light of the taper
within.
Matters having gone so far to the maiden's satisfaction, she now
retreated into the house.
The reader will perceive from this narrative that Butler's fortunes had
greatly improved since we last took leave of him. The messenger
despatched to Cornwallis by Williams had brought back to the Fair
Forest, where it will be remembered the vanquishers of Innis had
retreated, a more favorable answer than even the republican leader had
hoped. The British commander was not ignorant of the capture of Butler,
but the circumstances of the trial had not before been communicated to
him. Upon the representation of Williams, he had no hesitation to order
a respite to be given to the prisoner for such reasonable time as might
be necessary for further investigation. This obvious act of justice was
more than, in the circumstances of the times, might have been expected
from Cornwallis. The cruel and bloody policy which he adopted towards
the inhabitants of the Carolinas, immediately after the battle of
Camden, showed a tone of personal exacerbation that was scarcely
consistent with the lenity displayed towards Butler. It is not unlikely,
therefore, that the fear of retaliation upon the young St. Jermyn, of
whose fate he might have been informed from officers of his own camp,
might have induced him to temporize in the present case, and to grant a
suspension of proceedings against the rebel prisoner. The reply to
Williams's letter accordingly intimated that, for the present, Major
Butler should be held in close custody as a prisoner of war, leaving the
determination of the manner in which he was finally to be disposed of, a
subject for future consideration.
John Ramsay, after the departure of Horse Shoe Robinson for Virginia,
instead of rejoining his regiment, returned to the Fair Forest camp,
where he remained with Williams, until the answer from Cornwallis was
received. The tidings of this answer he undertook to convey to Butler,
and he again set out for his father's house. John felt himself now
regularly enlisted in the service of the prisoner, and having found
means to communicate his present employment to General Sumpter, he
obtained permission to remain in it as long as his assistance was of
value. The service itself was a grateful one to the young trooper: it
accorded with the generosity of his character, and gratified his
personal pride by the trust-worthiness which it implied: but more than
this, it brought him into opportunities of frequent meeting with Mary
Musgrove, who, passionately beloved by the soldier, was not less ardent
than he in her efforts to promote the interest of Butler.
The state of the country did not allow John to be seen in day-time, and
he and Mary had consequently appointed a place of meeting, where in the
shades of night they might commune together on the important subjects of
their secret conspiracy. Night after night they accordingly met at this
spot, and here all their schemes were contrived. Mary sometimes came to
David Ramsay's dwelling, and the old man's counsel was added to that of
the lovers. Christopher Shaw and Allen Musgrove were not ignorant of
what was in contemplation, but it was a piece of necessary policy that
they should appear to be as little connected with the prisoner as
possible. Christopher, therefore, pursued his duties as
assistant-quarter-master or purveyor to the little garrison under
Macdonald's command, with unabated assiduity.
The plan of Butler's escape was John Ramsay's. He had been anxiously
awaiting an opportunity to attempt this enterprise for the last
fortnight, but the difficulty of concerting operations with the prisoner
had retarded his movement. This difficulty was at last overcome, and,
for a few days past, the plan had been arranged. All that was left to be
done was to appoint the hour. Christopher Shaw and Mary, alone of the
miller's family, were made acquainted with the details. Christopher was
to provide a horse and a suitable disguise for Butler, and these were to
be ready at a tuft of willows that grew upon the edge of the river some
quarter of a mile above the mill, whenever Mary should announce that
John was ready to act. Ramsay's horse was to be brought to the same
spot. The preparatory signals, already mentioned, were all agreed upon
and understood by the parties. Butler was to escape to the roof, and
thence by the boughs of a large oak that grew hard by the miller's
dwelling. A sentinel was usually posted some fifty paces from this tree,
and it was a matter of great perplexity to determine how his vigilance
was to be defeated. This difficulty, John resolved, should be overcome
by a stern measure: the man was to be silenced, if necessary, by a blow.
John Ramsay was to steal upon him in the dark, and if signs of alarm
were given, he was to master the sentinel in such a manner as the
occasion might require, being furnished by Butler with a purse of gold,
if such a form of influence might be necessary.
Such is the outline of the plan by which Butler's disenthralment was to
be attempted.
Mary Musgrove, before she retired to her chamber, sought Christopher
Shaw and made him acquainted with the appointment of the hour, and then
left him to manage his own share of the enterprise. It was now near ten
at night, and Christopher, who had charge of Allen Musgrove's stable, in
order to avoid the suspicion of being seen stirring at a later hour,
immediately set off to saddle the horse. One of the wagon team, well
known in the family by the name of Wall Eye, was selected for this
service, and being speedily accoutred, was conducted to the willows,
where he was tied fast to a tree, to remain until the hour of need. The
young miller soon returned, and it was not long afterwards that the
household and its military companions were wrapt in the silence of
unsuspecting repose.
Butler, at the hour of the customary visit of the watch, had gone to
bed; and, feigning sickness, had been allowed to burn a light in his
room during the night. His chamber door, also, by special favor, was
closed; and the night advanced without suspicion or distrust from any
quarter. At two o'clock the last sentinels were relieved, and the form
had been gone through of inspecting the prisoner's chamber. To all
outward show, Butler was asleep: the door was again shut, and all was
still. The time for action now arrived. Butler rose silently from his
bed, dressed himself, and, putting his shoes into his pockets, stole in
his stockinged feet to the little gable window at the further end of his
apartment. Here he remained, gazing out upon the night with fixed
attention. The moon had set, and the sky was overcast with clouds,
adding a fortunate obscurity to the natural darkness of the hour. By
still greater good luck, after a few moments the wind began to rise and
rain to descend. Everything seemed to favor the enterprise. The shadowy
form of the sentinel, who was stationed on this side of the house, was
dimly discerned by Butler through the gloom; and it was with joyful
satisfaction that he could perceive the soldier, as the rain fell in
larger drops, retreat some distance from his post and take shelter
beneath the shrubbery that grew in the garden. At the same moment a
flash upon the hill, which might have been mistaken for summer
lightning, announced to him that his faithful comrade was at hand.
Desirous to take advantage of the present neglect of the sentinel, and
to avoid the possibility of bringing him into conflict with Ramsay,
Butler hastily showed his candle at the window, then extinguished it,
and throwing himself out upon the roof, scrambled towards the nearest
point of the impending branches of the oak. Here, without a moment's
pause, he made a fearless leap that flung him amongst the boughs. The
darkness prevented him from choosing the most favorable lodgment in the
tree, and he fell across a heavy limb with such force as to take away
his breath--receiving at the same time, a severe contusion in the head.
For a brief space he hung almost senseless, and there was reason to
apprehend that he would fall in a swoon to the ground; but the occasion
braced his sinking strength, and before many minutes he revived
sufficiently to make his way to the trunk, by which he descended safely
to the earth. He now threw himself on his hands and feet, and crept to
the garden fence. The rain still increased, and fell in a heavy shower.
In another instant he surmounted the barrier, and betook himself with
his utmost speed towards the mill, behind which he sought concealment
and temporary rest.
"Stand," said John Ramsay, who had just reached this point on his way to
the house, and now, taken by surprise, presented a pistol to Butler's
breast. "One word above your breath and you die. Be silent, and here is
gold for you."
"Ramsay," said Butler, in a low tone, "is it you?"
"Your name?" demanded the trooper, still presenting the pistol.
"Butler," was the reply.
"Thanks--thanks, good Major, for that word! You have been before me. I
thought you would not miss this rain. Is all well?"
"Better, much better, than we could have hoped," answered Butler.
"Seeing the sentinel was off his guard, I took time by the forelock, and
have saved you trouble."
"For God's sake, Major, let us not delay here. Our horses are waiting
for us above."
"I am ready," said Butler, having now put on his shoes. "My brave
fellow, I owe you more than I can find words to utter: lead the way."
The liberated captive and his gallant comrade instantly hastened towards
the horses, and mounting with a joyful alacrity, soon set forward at a
gallop in the direction leading to David Ramsay's cottage. Here they
arrived just as the day began to dawn.