A MELANCHOLY INCIDENT.
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.--_Scott._
Brief time was taken by the fugitives for refreshment at David Ramsay's
dwelling. Here Butler put on the disguise which Christopher Shaw had
provided for him. Then arming himself with a pair of pistols which John
had appropriated to his use, the trooper himself using a similar
precaution, our two adventurers resumed their journey. Their first
object was to gain a point, some seven or eight miles distant, in the
direction of the Fair Forest, where John Ramsay had concealed a few
troopers that had been furnished him by Williams, to give their aid, if
necessary, in securing Butler's escape.
From this point they were to proceed, with all possible despatch, to
Williams's camp. However hazardous the experiment of attempting to
traverse the country in open daylight, it was deemed still more
dangerous to tarry any length of time so near the scene of their late
adventure. Butler and his comrade, therefore, pushed forward with as
much expedition as possible, resolved to outrun the fresh pursuit which
they had reason to apprehend upon the discovery which the morning must
produce at the miller's habitation.
Soon after sunrise the rain ceased to fall, the clouds dispersed, and a
fresh and brilliant morning broke forth upon the heavens. The success of
their late exploit had raised the spirits of the wanderers. A sense of
intense delight animated Butler's feelings: a consciousness of liberty
once more enjoyed, after hopes deferred and almost despairing captivity,
seemed to regenerate him and make him acquainted with emotions he had
never felt before. His heart was full of gratitude to his new friend
Ramsay, and the expression of it was warm and sincere. Nature had never
appeared so lovely to him as now: the whispers of the forest and the
murmur of the clear brook fell on his enfranchised ear like the sweetest
music: there was melody for him even in the screams of the jay and the
harsh notes of the crow: and once when his companion had halted in sight
of a buck that bounded through the wood before him, Butler, apprehensive
that John was about to discharge a bullet after the forest-rover, found
himself involuntarily pleading the cause of the noble animal: "Do not
draw your pistol on him, Ramsay, I pray you. Let him run; it is
liberty--liberty, good comrade--and that is sacred."
Before eight o'clock they had reached the rendezvous. Here they found
three troopers who, although armed, were habited in the plain dress of
the country, which enabled them to claim the denomination either of Whig
or Tory militia, as their occasions might demand. These men had lain
perdue, for some days, in the depth of the forest, impatiently awaiting
for intelligence from Ramsay.
"Well, Harry Winter," said John, laughing, "what say you now? I have
brought you the miller's boy at last. Have I not made my word good?"
"Truth, John," replied the trooper, "there is more stuff in you than we
counted on. Macdonald must be a silly crow to let the fox steal his
cheese from him so easily."
"You would have come nearer the mark, Harry, if you had called him a
sleepy lout, for whilst he was nodding I took his cake off the griddle.
It was fair filching by night, as the Major will tell you. But come,
lads, here is no time for dallying, we mustn't have the grass growing to
our horses' heels, when we have a whole pack of King George's hounds on
our trail. So move, boys!" and saying these words, John led the party
forward at a rapid gallop.
They had not gone far before they found themselves upon a road which led
through a piece of thin wood that covered a small tract of marshy
ground, the nature of which brought the party into a more compact body
as they approached the narrowest point of the defile. At a short
distance beyond this impediment the track became broader, where it
ascended a hill thickly covered with an undergrowth of bushes.
Our friends had scarcely arrived in the narrow pass before they
perceived on the hill in front of them, a company of some ten or fifteen
horse, rapidly advancing towards them. In a moment all conversation was
checked, and Harry Winter turning to his companions, had barely time to
remark,
"I answer all questions: be silent, and if asked, swear to the truth of
every word I say--steady: these fellows are Tories."
As he ceased speaking, the foremost of the strangers had already come up
to them.
"Where from, and whither do you go?" asked Harry Winter, with a stern
accent.
"From below Ninety-Six, and on our road to Fort Granby," replied a
clownish voice.
"Peace, you knave!" interrupted one who appeared to be the leader of the
party, and whose carriage and demeanor announced him to be an officer;
"by what authority do you undertake to answer a challenge on the
highway? Back, to your place, sir."
The rebuked rustic hung his head, as he reined his horse back into the
crowd that now thronged the road.
"As we are of the larger party," said the same person, addressing
himself to Winter, "we have the right to the word. Who are you and
whence come you?"
"We belong to Floyd's new draft," replied Winter with great coolness,
"and left Winnsborough yesterday morning."
"And where bound?"
"To Augusta, on business with Brown."
"Ah ha!" exclaimed the officer, "Brown is pinched by the rebels. It is
well you have thought of him. What have you to say to him? Do you bear
despatches?"
"Your pardon, sir--that's a secret."
"You need not be afraid, good fellow, we are friends."
"I can hardly tell you the exact business," replied Winter. "You will
meet Floyd himself with a hundred men, before you ride five miles. I
believe we are going to reinforce the garrison."
"You will be very welcome," said the Tory officer, "Brown will give you
a hearty reception, but devilish slim fare; he is surrounded with
hornets."
"So much the better," replied Winter, "we have a knack at taking the
sting out of the hornets, now-a-days. Good morning, sir. Report us, if
you please, to Colonel Floyd, when you come across him, and tell him the
hour of the day when you met us."
During this short parley the two parties had become united into a common
throng, completely filling up the road; and the proximity into which
they were severally brought, gave rise to various inquiries after news
amongst the subordinates on either side. In this press, Butler was
startled to observe the eyes of an individual scanning him with a
somewhat pointed scrutiny, and it was with an emotion that had well nigh
betrayed him, that he recognised in this person one of Macdonald's
soldiers. It was the man whom the lieutenant had despatched, a few days
previous, with an errand to the post at Ninety-Six, and who was now
returning with this detachment of militia. The soldier was evidently at
fault, for in a moment afterwards Butler could perceive, from his
expression of face, that whatever might have been his first suspicion,
it was quieted by another glance. The disguise was so far effectual. But
another cause of alarm arose, that for an instant brought Butler into
greater jeopardy. The horse on which the messenger was mounted, was the
yoke-fellow of the lean Wall-Eye, and the two beasts had been long
accustomed to work side by side in the same wagon. Their mutual
recognition, at this critical moment, became distressingly conspicuous.
Their noses were brought in contact, and they began to whinny and paw
the ground in that intelligible manner which constitutes one of the
forms of expression by which this portion of the brute creation
acknowledge their attachments. The presence of mind of John Ramsay saved
the explosion which must soon have followed. He spurred his horse
between the two noisy and restless animals, and immediately addressed a
conversation to the soldier, which for the moment turned his thoughts
into another channel.
By this time the conference had terminated, and the two leaders
respectively directing their men to move forward, the defile was passed
and each party extricated from the other. But no sooner was the
separation completed than Butler's brutish steed, Wall-Eye, began to
neigh with the most clamorous vociferation, whilst a response was heard
in the same tones as pertinaciously reiterated from the retreating
companion on the other side of the defile.
"We were in great danger from yonder Tories," said Ramsay, addressing
Butler, "did you see that one of these fellows rode the mate of the
beast you are on? Who could he be?"
"It was one of Macdonald's men," replied Butler, "I knew the fellow the
moment we met; but, thank Heaven, this humble dress concealed me."
"Faster, Major!" cried John, "these cursed horses are calling after each
other now. Pray, push forward until we get out of hearing. How unlucky
that Christopher Shaw should have given you one of the wagon cattle!"
"Look back, lads!" exclaimed Winter with great earnestness, "there is
something wrong, these fellows are returning. Whip and spur, or we are
overtaken!"
Macdonald's soldier, it seems, having his attention drawn to the
singular motions of his horse, had become suddenly confirmed in the
suspicion which at the late meeting for a moment rested upon his mind,
as to the identity of Butler; and having communicated his thought to the
commanding officer, the whole party of the Tory militia had wheeled
about to demand a further investigation: they were now some hundred
paces in the rear of the fugitives, and were pressing forward at high
speed, the officer in the front calling out at the same time,
"Hold!--Rein up and return! We have questions to ask. Halt, or we shall
fire!"
"To it, boys!" cried Harry Winter. "Your safety is in your legs!"
And the party pricked onward as fast as they could urge their cavalry
along the road. The chase continued for some half hour or more; the
little escort of Butler leaving the road and plunging into the recesses
of the forest. An occasional pistol-shot was fired during this retreat,
but without effect on either side. The tangled character of the ground
over which they passed, greatly retarded the pursuit, and before the
half hour was spent none but a few of the boldest horsemen of the
assailants were found persevering in the chase. Seeing their number
diminished, and finding also that the horses of his own comrades were
beginning to flag, John Ramsay assumed the command, and directed his
party to turn about and offer battle to the pursuers. The immediate
effect of this movement was to bring the assailants to a halt, which
was no sooner witnessed by John, than he shouted, "Charge, lads, charge
and the day is ours! Hack and hew, good fellows: down with the
bloodhounds!"
This animated exhortation was followed up by a prompt onset, in which
the brave trooper led the way; and such was the impetuosity of the
assault that the enemy, although consisting of twice the number of those
who attacked them, were forced to give ground. A sharp skirmish ensued,
during which several pistol-shots were discharged on both sides, and
some encounters, hand to hand, were sustained with a sturdy resolution;
but, at last, our friends succeeded in turning their opponents to
flight. The combat had been maintained in that pell-mell form of attack
and defence, which defied compact or organized resistance; and the
individuals of each party had been scattered over the wood for a
considerable distance, so that when the late pursuers were compelled to
retreat, each man urged his horse in such a direction as was most
favorable to his escape. By degrees, Butler's few companions began to
reassemble at that part of the wood where they had made their first
stand.
"There is nothing like striking the first blow at the right time," said
Harry Winter, as, with his hat in his hand to allow the air to cool his
brow, he rode up to Butler, and halted to gain breath. "Give me a hot
charge on a slow enemy, and I don't care much about two to one of odds.
Thank God that business is cleanly done, and here we are all safe I
hope. Where is John Ramsay?" he inquired, looking around him, and
observing that their comrade was not amongst the number assembled.
"I saw him close at the heels of the runaways," said one of the men.
"John has a trick of seeing a scrimmage to the end; and it is an even
bet that he is now upon the trail like a fresh hound. The last I noticed
of him was at the crupper of a couple of the rascals that, I'll engage,
before now he has set his mark upon."
"Then we must to his assistance!" exclaimed Butler, eagerly; and without
waiting for further consultation he set off at full speed, in the
supposed direction of John Ramsay's pursuit. The rest followed. They had
ridden some distance without being able to perceive any traces of their
missing companion. Butler called aloud upon Ramsay, but there was no
answer; and, for some moments, there was an anxious suspense as the
party halted to listen for the sound of the footsteps of the trooper's
approach. At length, a horse was seen far off in the wood, bounding over
the turf at a wild and frightened pace; the saddle was empty, and the
bridle-rein hung about his feet. On seeing his companions, the excited
steed set up a frequent neigh, and, with head and tail erect, coursed
immediately up to the group of horsemen. Here he came to a sudden halt,
snorting with the terror of his late alarm. There were drops of blood
upon the saddle.
"Gracious Heaven!" cried Butler, "some evil has befallen Ramsay. Scatter
and search the wood."
It was with confused and melancholy earnestness that they all now
continued the quest. After a painful suspense, one of the men was heard
to shout to the rest that their lost comrade was found. The summons soon
brought the party together. Ramsay, pale and faint, was stretched upon
the grass of the forest, his bosom streaming forth a current of blood.
In an instant Butler was seen stooping over him.
"Oh, this is a heavy ransom, for my deliverance!" he said with the
deepest anguish, as he raised the trooper's head and laid it on his lap,
whilst the blood flowed from the wound. "Speak, dear friend, speak!
Great God, I fear this blow is mortal! Some water, if it can be
found--look for it, Winter; he has fainted from loss of blood."
Whilst Harry Winter went in search of the necessary refreshment, Butler
tore his cravat from his neck and applied it to staunch the wound. The
administration of a slight draught of water, after a short interval,
sufficiently revived the disabled soldier to enable him to speak. He
turned his sickly and almost quenched eye to Butler, as he said:
"I was foolish to follow so far. I have it here--here," he added in a
feeble voice, as he put his hand upon his breast, "and it has done my
work. I fought for you, major, because I was proud to fight for a
friend; and because"--here his voice failed him, as for a moment he
closed his eyes and faintly uttered--"it is all over--I am dying."
"Nay, good John," said Butler, whilst the tears ran down his cheeks; "it
is not so bad as that--you are weak from bleeding--you will be better
presently. Oh God! oh God!" he muttered to himself, "I would not have
had this to save my own life, much less as the price of my liberty!"
"I fought for you," said the wounded man, again reviving, "because Mary
wished it. This will kill Mary," he added after a pause. "She warned me
not to be rash, but I could not help it. Be kind to her, Major Butler,
and take care of her. Tell her I did not fear to die; but for her sake,
and for the sake of my poor mother. Go to my parents; let them know I
thought of them in my last thoughts."
"John! John!" exclaimed Butler, unable to give further utterance to his
feelings.
The dying trooper lay for some moments silent, and his comrades stood
around him in mute grief, and hung their heads to conceal their emotions
from each other.
"In my pocket," said Ramsay, "is a Testament. Mary gave it to me for a
keepsake. Take it out."
Butler drew forth the small volume.
"What shall I do with it?" he asked, in a mournful whisper.
"Give it to Mary, back from me. And this plait of her hair upon my
wrist, major, take it and wear it on your own; it will remind you of my
Mary--you will guard her from harm."
"Before God, John Ramsay," said Butler with solemn fervor, "I promise
you, that, while I live, she shall not want. Your parents, too, shall be
my special care."
"Then I shall die with easier heart. Thanks, thanks--friends, farewell!"
feebly ejaculated the stricken soldier, whose eye, already glazed with
the pangs of death, now glanced upon the attending group, and after a
brief but painful interval closed in darkness.
John Ramsay spake no more, and his short breathing showed that life was
fast ebbing in its channel. The audible sobs of Butler, for some
moments, were alone heard in the circle, as he sat supporting the head
and grasping the hand of his brave comrade. The struggle was at last
over, and the gallant spirit of the generous soldier had fled. Butler
took from the wrist the bracelet of Mary's hair, which was now stained
with the blood of its late owner, and with an earnest vow to redeem his
promise, drew it over his own hand.
The scene that followed this melancholy adventure was one of solemn
interest. The proximity of the enemy, although defeated, rendered a
delay at this spot, in the present circumstances of Butler, exceedingly
hazardous; yet he could not entertain the thought of continuing his
journey until he had communicated to David Ramsay the distressing
tidings of his son's death. The last request of John seemed also to
impose this task upon him as a sacred obligation, due to the friendship
which had terminated in so disastrous an end. Butler's resolution,
therefore, was soon taken. He determined immediately, at all hazards, to
make his way back to Ramsay's cottage, and to endeavor to console the
afflicted parents under their severe bereavement. Disdaining, in his
present state of feeling, the disguise that seemed to make him almost a
stranger to himself, he threw aside the miller's dress and again
appeared in his true character, resolved manfully to meet what he now
believed to be the almost certain result--a recapture with all its
probable consequences. Some of his party, who were acquainted with the
localities of their present position, suggested to him that a Whig
family of the name of Drummond resided at no great distance from the
scene of the late encounter, and that, by bearing the body to this
place, they might secure for it a decent burial. The remains of the
trooper were accordingly laid upon a rude litter, and his mourning
comrades slowly and sorrowfully wended their way through the forest to
the designated habitation. Here they arrived about noon, having
traversed a space of more than two miles to gain this asylum.
Drummond was a woodman, and occupied a rude cabin, with a small clearing
around it, in the depths of the wilderness, so remote from the highway
as to promise as much security from the quest of the enemy, as might be
expected from any portion of the region in which he lived. He received
his guests with kindness; and as he was himself acquainted with the
family of the deceased, he exhibited a lively sympathy with the mourners
around the body.
When Butler now made known his purpose to set out immediately for the
habitation of David Ramsay, Winter asked permission to accompany him,
but the woodman interposed, and recommended that he alone should be
permitted to perform that errand, leaving the others to remain with the
corpse until his return.
"It is, before all others, my duty," said Butler; "and come what may, I
will perform it."
"Then we will go together," added the proprietor of the cabin. "It will
be wise to wait until the day is a little more spent, and return in the
darkness of the night. David Ramsay will come back with us. He would
like to see his son before we put him in the ground."
"That shall be as you please, friend," said Butler. "I will be under
your guidance."
An hour or two before sundown, Butler and his new companion left the
cabin, and took their route across the woods towards Ramsay's dwelling,
leaving the dead body in charge of the woodman's family and the three
soldiers. The distance they had to travel did not exceed eight miles.
The repulse of the Tory party in the skirmish of the morning seemed to
have induced a belief, on the part of the enemy, that the fugitives had
made a successful retreat which was now beyond pursuit, and there were,
in consequence, no parties on the road to molest the travellers. Under
these circumstances, it was still daylight when they came in view of
David Ramsay's homestead.