Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, March 20, 1906, Image 1
' ISSUED SEMI-WEEHL^
l. m. grists sons, Pubiuhers. J ? Jjamilg Jeiregager: #or |3roinotion of the guiifical, Social, Sjjritnlltiral and tfominfrrial Jhittrests of (he people. j tkr?s^k.wi^*kak^n aiivanik.
ESTABLISHED 1855. YORKVILLE, S. C., TUESDAY, MARCH '20, 1900. , NO. 23.
HORSE SI
J
^A?Taleof the Revo
Upper <
By JOHN P
CHAPTER XXIX.
Williams Takes a Fancy to Fot-est Life
?Horse Shoe and John Ramsay Continue
Active In the Service of Butler
?Mary Musgrove Becomes a Valuable
Auxiliary.
Williams had commenced his retreat
before the dawn, as much with a view
to accomplish a large portion of his
journey before the heat of the day, as
to protect himself against the probable
pursuit of the rallied forces of the enemy.
His destination was towards the
mountains on the north-western frontier.
The overthrow of Gates had left
a large force of Tory militia at the
disposal of Cornwallis. who, it was
conjectured, would use them to break
up every remnant of opposition in this
region. It was therefore a matter of
great importance to Williams, to con
duct his little rorce inio some piuce u?
security against the attacks of the
royalists.
Colonel Elijah Clarke had, ever since
the fall of Charleston, been employed
In keeping together the few scattered
Whig families in that part of Carolina
lying contiguous to the Savannah, with
a view to an organized plan of resistance
against the British authorities;
and he had so far accomplished his
purpose as to have procured some
three of four hundred men, who had
agreed to hold themselves In readiness
to strike a blow whenever the occasion
offered. These men were to be
mustered at any moment by a preconcerted
signal; and. In the meantime,
they were instructed by confining
themselves to their dwellings, or pursuing
their ordinary occupations, to
keep as much as possible out of the
way. of the dominant authorities.
Clarke resided In Georgia whence
floH oo annn a a thp InVflJiflt lead
er, Brown, had taken possesion of Augusta;
and we have already seen that
a letter from Colonel Plnckney, at
Charleston, which Horse Shoe Robinson
had been Intrusted to deliver, had
summoned Arthur Butler to this frontier
to aid In Clarke's enterprise.
Colopel Isaac Shelby, a resident of
Washington county In Virginia, until
the settlement of the southern line of
the state had left him In the district
at present known as Sullivan county In
Tennessee, had been an efficient auxiliary
In Clarke's scheme, and was now
ready jo summon a respectable number
of followers for the support of the
war on the mountain border. He and
Clarke had accidentally arrived at
Williams' camp a day or two before
the attack upon Innts. with a view to
a consultation as to the general Interests
of the meditated campaign; and
they hud only tarried to take part In
the engagement from a natural concern
for the fate of their Intended comrade,
Butler. Having no further motive
for remaining with Williams, they
were both Intent upon returning to
their respective duties, and accordingly,
during the retreat of the following
day, they took their leave.
The vigilance with which these partisans
were watched by their enemies,
almost forbade the present hope of successful
combination. From a consciousness
of the hazard of attempting
to concentrate their forces at this junc
ture they had determined still 10 pursue
their separate scheme of annoyance,
until a more favorable moment
for joint action should arise; and In the
Interval, to hide themselves as much as
possible In the forest. It was consequently
in the hope of preserving his
Independence at least. If not of aiding
Clarke, that Williams now moved
with so much despatch to the mountains.
His course lay towards the head
waters of the Fair Forest river, In the
present region of Spartanburg. This
district was inhabited only by a few
hunters, and some scattered Indians ol
an Inoffensive character; It abounded
in game, and promised to afford an
easy subsistence to men whose habits
were simple, and who were accustomed
to rely upon the chase for support.
The second day brought our hardy soldiers
into the sojourn they sought. It
was a wilderness broken by mountains,
and intersected by streams of surpass
ing transparency; wnusi us eievaieu
position and southern latitude conferred
upon It a climate that was then as
well as now. remarked for Its delicious
temperature In summer, and Its exemption
from the rigors of winter.
The spot at which Williams rested
was a sequestered valley deep bidder
in the original woods, and watered b>
the Fair Forest, whose stream, so neat
Its fountain, scarcely exceeded the dimensions
of a little brook. Here ht
determined to form a camp to whlct
in times of emergency he might safel}
retreat. With a view to render li
easy o$ access as a rendezvous, h*
caused landmarks to be made, by cutting
notches on the trees?or blazing
them, in the woodman's phrase?ir
several directions, leading towards th?
principal highways that penetrated th<
country. The retreat thus establishes
is familiar to the history of the war
under the name of the Fair Foresi
camp.
These arrangements being completet
In the course of the first day after hi;
arrival, Williams now applied himseli
to the adoption of measures for th?
sarety or Arinur nuwn. ? ? ?<?
spoils that had fallen into his hands
after the victory over Inn is. was th<
document containing the proceeding!
of the courtmartial. The perusal o
this paper, together with the comment)
afforded by Robinson, convinced hln
of the malignity of the persecutioi
which had aimed at the life of th(
prisoner. It occurred to him. therefor
to submit the whole proceeding to Lor*
Corpwallis. to whom he was persuaded
It either had been misrepresented, or
most probably, was entirely unknown
He did not doubt that an appeal to thi
feelings of that officer, with a full dis
closure of the facts, would Instantl;
80S
KOBHISBI
lutionary Struggle In
Carolina.
I
. KENNEDY.
be followed by an order that should
put Butler under the protection of the
1 rules of war, and Insure him all the
rights that belong to a mere prisoner
taken in arms in a lawful quarrel. A
spirited remonstrance was accordingly
prepared to this effect. It detailed the
circumstances of Butler's case, which
; was accompanied with a copy of the
proceedings of the court, and It con'
eluded with a demand that such meas1
ures should be adopted by the head of
the army, as comported with the rights
of humanity and the laws of war; "a
! course," the writer suggested, "that
he did not hesitate to believe his lordship
would feel belonged both to the
1 honor and duty of his station." This
1 paper was consigned to the care of an
officer, who was directed to proceed
with it, under a flag of truce, to the
headquarters of the British commander.
Soon after this. Robinson apprised
1 Williams that Ramsay and himself had
determined to venture back towards
the Ennoree, to learn something of the
state of afTalrs in that quarter, and to
apply themselves more immediately to
the service of Butler. In aid of this
design, the sergeant obtained a letter
from Williams, the purport of which
was to Inform the commandant of any
post of the loyalists whom it might
concern, that an application had been
made on Butler's behalf to Cornwal11s.
and that the severest retaliation
would be exercised upon the prisoners
in Williams' custody, for any violence
that might be offered the American officer.
Putting this letter in his pocket,
our man of "mickle might," attended
by his good and faithful ally John
Ramsay, took his leave of "The Fair
Forest" towards noon of the fourth
mill.
The second morning after their departure,
the two companions had
reached the Ennoree, not far from the
habitation of David Ramsay. It was
fair summer weather, and nature was
as gay as In that piping time before
the blast of war had blown across her
fields. All things, In the course of a
few days, seemed to have undergone
a sudden change. The country presented
no signs of strife; no bands of
armed men molested the highways.
An occasional husbandman was seen
at his plough; the deer sprang up from
the brushwood and fled Into the forest,
as If Inviting again the pastime of
the chase; and even when the two soldiers
encountered a chance wayfarer
upon the road, each party passed the
day after the battle near Musgrove's
other unquestioned?there was all the
seeming quiet of a pacified country.
The truth was, the war had rolled
northwards?and all behind it had submitted
since the disastrous fight at
Camden. The lusty and hot-brained
portions of the population were away
with the nrmv and the non-combat
ants o.ily, or those wearied with arms,
were all that were to be seen In this
region.
Horse Shoe, after riding a long time
In silence, a? these Images of tranquility
occupl'?d his thoughts, made a
simple remark that spoke a volume of
truth in a few homely words.
"This Is an onnatural sort of stillness
John. Men may call this peace,
but I call It fear. If there Is a poor
wretch of a Whig in this district. It's
as good as his life is worth to own
hlmself. How far off mought we be
from your father's?"
Th> young trooper heaved a deep
sigh, "I knew you were thinking of rny
poor father when you spoke your
thoughts. Horse Shoe. This is a heavy
I day for him. But he could bear It;
he's a man who thinks little of hardships.
There are the helpless women
Galbraith Robinson." he continued, as
' he shook his head with an expression
1 of sorrow that almost broke Into tears.
"Getting near home one thinks of them
first. My good and kind mother?God
I knows how she would bear any heavy
i accident. I am always afraid to ask
1 questions In these times about the family,
for fear of hearing something bad.
And there's little Mary Musgrove over
at the mill?"
"You have good reason to be proud
of that girl, John Ramsay," Interrupted
Robinson. "So speak out. man and
1 none of your stammering. Hoot!?she
told me she was your sweetheart! You
i hav'n't half the tongue of that wench.
1 Why. sir. if I was a lovable man, haw.
haw!?which I'm not?I'll be cursed if
I wouldn't spark that little fusee myI
self."
"This fence," said Ramsay, unheeding
the sergeant's banter "belongs to our
farm, and perhaps we had better let
down the rai!s and approach the house
across the field; if the Tories should
be there we might find the road dangerous.
This gives us a chance of retreat."
"That's both scrupulous and wise,
John." replied the sergeant. "So down
with the panel; we will steal upon
the good folks, if they are at home, and
take them by surprise. Rut mind you.
j my lad. see that your pistols are primI
ed; we mought onawares got into a
, wasp's nest."
t The fence was lowered, and the
horsemen cautiously entered the field.
1 After passing a narrow dell and rising
* to the crest of the opposite hill, they
f obtained a position but a short distance
f in the rear of the homestead. From
? this point a melancholy prospect broke
. upon their sight. The dwelling house
p had disappeared and in its place was a
* heap only of smouldering ashes. A
f few of the upright frameposts, scorch*
ed black, and a stone chimney with its
i ample fireplace, were all that remained
i of whiU, but a few days before, was
p the happy abode of the family of a
p brave and worthy man.
1 "My God! my thoughts were runnings
I, upon this. I feared their spite would
break at last upon my father's head."
i. cried John Ramsay as he put spurs to
p his horse and galloped up to the ruins,
- "the savages have done their worst.
i But my father and mother where are
they?" he exclaimed, as the tears rolled
down his cheeks.
"Take heart, my brave boy!" said
Robinson, in the kindliest tones.
"There's a reckoning to come for all
these vlllanies?and it will go hard
with many a Tory yet before this account
is settled."
"I will carry a hot hand Into the
nnirora a TnrV hAfld."
replied the young trooper, passionately,
"this burning shall be paid with
ten like it."
"All In good time, John," said Robinson
coolly. "As for the burning, It Is
no great matter; a few good neighbors
would soon set that to rights, by building
your father a better house than the i
one he has lost. Besides, congress will
not forget a true friend when the war
Is well fought out. But It does gro
against my grain, John Ramsay, to
see a parcel of cowardly runaways i
spitting their malice against women i
and children. The barn likewise, I see i
Is gone." continued the sergeant, look- i
Ing towards another pile of the ruins
a short distance off. "The vidians! j
when there's foul work to be done, they i
don't go at It like apprentices. No I
matter?I have made one observation; i
the darkest hour Is Just before the 1
day, and that's a comfortable old say- <
ing." j
By degrees John Ramsay fell Into a i
calmer temper, and now began to cast >
about as to the course fit to be pursued ]
in their present emergency. About a i
quarter of a mile distant, two or three i
negro cabins were visible, and he could
descry a few children near the doors, i
With an eager haste, therefore he and <
the sergeant shaped their course across
the fle'd to this spot. When they arrived
tvithln fifty paces of the nearest
hovel, the door was set ajar, and a
rifle, thrust through the aperture, was
alnvd at the visitors.
"Stand for your lives!" shouted the
well known voice of David Ramsay.
In the next instant the door was
thrown wide open, the weapon cast
aside, and the father rushed forward
as he exclaimed "Gracious God, my
boy and Horse Shoe Robinson! Welcome.
lads; a hundred times more
welcome than when I had better shelter
to give you! But the good friends
of King George, you see, have been so
Kind as to give me a call. It is easy
to tell when they take it in their head
to visit a Whig."
"My mother!" exclaimed John Ramsay.
"In and see her, boy?she wants
comfort from you. But, thank God!
she bears this blow better than I
thought she could."
Before this speech was uttered John
had disappeared.
"And how came this mishap to fall
upon you David?" inquired Horse Shoe.
"I suppose some of your prisoners,"
replied Ramsay, "must have Informed
upon Andy and me for in the retreat
of Innis' runaways, a party came
through my farm. They stayed only
long enough to ransack the house, and
to steal whatever was worth taking;
and then to set fire to the dwelling and
all the outbuilding. Both Andy and
myself, by good luck, perhaps, were
absent, or they would have made us
prisoners; so they turned my wife and
ohllrlrt>n out nf floors to shift for them
selves, and scampered off as fast as
If Williams was still at their heels.
All that was left for us was to crowd
in this cabin, where, considering all
things, we are not so badly off. But
things are tuking an ill turn for the
country. Horse Shoe. We are beaten
on all sides.
"Not so bad, David, as to be past
righting yet," replied the sergeant.
"What have they done with Major Butler?"
"He was carried, as I learned, up to
Blackstock's the evening of the fight;
and yesterday it was reported that a
party had taken him back to Musgrove's.
I believe he is now kept close
prisoner in Allen's house. Christopher
Shaw was here two days since, and
told us that orders had come to occupy
the miller's dwelling house for that
purpose."
Horse Shoe had now entered the
cabin with David Ramsay and In the
course of the hour that followed, during
which the family had prepared refreshment
for the travelers, the sergeant
had fully canvassed all the particulars
necessary to be known for his
future guidance. It was determined
that he and John should remain In I
their present concealment until night,
and then endeavor to reach the mill I
under cover of the darkness, and open i
some means of communication with the i
family of the miller. i
The rest of the day was spent In I
anxious thought. The situation of the i
adventurers was one of great personal
peril, as they were now immediately i
within the circle of operations of the
enemy and likely to be observed and
challenged trie nrst morneni iney ventured
upon the road.
The hour of dusk had scarcely arrived
before they were again mounted
on horseback. They proceeded cautiously
upon the road that led through
the wood, until it intersected the highway.
and. having attained this point,
John Ramsay, who was well acquainted
with every avenqe through the
country, now led the way, by a private
and scarcely discernible path. Into the
adjacent forest, and thence, by a tedious
and prolonged route, directed his
companion to the banks of the Ennoree.
This course of travel took them
Immediately to the plain 011 which Innis
had been encamped?the late field
of battle. All here was still and desolate.
The sheds and other vestiges of
the neent bivouac were yet visible,
but not even the farmhouse that had
constituted Innis' headquarters was reoccupied
by its original inhabitants.
The bat whirred over the plain, and the
owl hooted from the neighboring trees.
The air still bore the scent of dead
bodies which had either been left exposed,
or so meagrely covered with
earth as to taint the breeze with
noisome exhalations.
"There is a great difference, John,"
said Horse Shoe, who seldom let an
occasion to moralize after his own
fashion slip by. "there's a great difference
between a hot field and a stale
one. Your hot field makes a soldier,
for there's a sort of a stir in it that
sets the blood to running merrily
through a man. and that's what I call
pleasure. But when everything is
festering like the inside of a hospital?
or what's next door to it, a graveyard?
it is mighty apt to turn a dragoon's
stomach and make a preacher of him.
This here dew falls tonight like frost,
and chills me to the heart, which it
wouldn't do If It didn't freshen up the
smell of dead men. And there's the
hog's, busy as so many sextons among
Innls' Tories; you may hear them
grunt over their suppers. Well, there
Is one man among them that I'll make
bold to say these swine hav'n't got the
stomach to touch?that's Hugh Habershaw;
he sleeps In the mud In yonder i
fence corner."
"If you had done nothing else In the
fight. Horse Shoe, but cleave that fellow's
skull," said Ramsay, "the ride i
we took would have been well paid ror
?It was worth the trouble."
"And the rapscalllonly fellow to i
think," added Horse Shoe, "that I was
a going to save him from the devil's i
clutches, when I had a broadsword In
my hand, and his bald, greasy pate In <
reach. His brain had nothing In It 1
but deceit and lies, and all sorts of i
cruel thoughts, enough to poison the
air when I let them out. I have made 1
an observation John, all my life on I
them foul-mouthed, swilling braggers !
?that when there's so much cunning
and blood-thirstiness, there's no room 1
for a thimbleful of courage; their I
heart's In their belly, which Is as nnich as
to signify that the man's a most i
beastly coward. But now, It Is my 1
opinion that we had best choose a spot i
along upon the river here, and leave i
our horses. I think we can manoeuvre
better on foot; the miller's i
house Is short of two miles, and we 1
mought be noticed If we were to go <
nearer on horseback."
This proposal was adopted, and the '
two friends, when they had ridden a :
short distance below the battle grround, <
halted In a thicket, where they fastened 3
their horses, and proceeded towards the 3
mill on foot. After following the i
course of the stream for near half an <
hour, they perceived, at a distance, a 3
light glimmering through the window
of Allen Musgrove's dwelling. This 1
nduced a second pause In their march. 1
when Ramsay suggested the propriety
of his advancing alone to reconnoitre 1
n?/1 nttomrvtlnor tA oroln UATTIP 1
Jii* nuunr, anu aivciui/11115 w ^um w...? ^
speech with the Inmates. He accordingly
left the sergeant to amuse him- 1
self with his own thoughts. <
Horse Shoe took his seat beneath a i
sycamore where he waited a long time
in anxious expectation of the return of s
ills comrade. Growing uneasy, at last, 1
it John's delay, he arose, and stole f
cautiously forward until he reached 1
the mill, where he posted himself In a 1
position from which he was able to see 1
ind hear what was going on at the
miller's house. The porch was occupied
by three or four persons, whose
conversation, as it came to the ser- *
?eant's ear, proved to be strangers to ,
the family: and a ray of light from a
taper within, after a while, made this '
more manifest, by revealing the scarlet
uniform of the enemy. Horse Shoe
tvas thus confirmed in the truth of
the report that Butler had been brought
to this place under a military escort. t
With this conviction he returned to the (
sycamore, where he again sat down to j
valt for the coming of his companion. ,
It was after ten o'clock, and the ser- j
jeant was casting over in his thoughts (
he long absence of John, when his at- j
ention was aroused by the sound of ,
'ootsteps, and the next instant John t
Ramsay and Mary Musgrove stood be- j
side him. (
"What kept you till this time of {
light?" was the sergeant's accost. 1
"Softly man. I have news for you"
eplled Ramsay. "Here Is Mary herlelf."
"And so she is, Indeed?" exclaimed
;he sergeant, at the same time shaking
ler hand, "this is my petticoat-sodger;
iow goes It with you, girl?"
"I have only a moment to spare." refilled
the maiden cheerfully, "and It
is the greatest of good luck that I
thought of coming out; for John gave
me a signal, which I was stupid enough
not to understand at first. But, after
i while I thought it could be no one
nut John Ramsay; and that, partly, because
I expected he would be earning
Into the neighborhood ever since I
lieard of his being at his father's, after
the ensign was made a prisoner."
"I went," said John Ramsay, "to the
further side of the house, where I set
to whistling an old-fashioned tune
that Mary was acquainted with?
walking away all the time in an opposite
direction?as If there was nothing
meant?"
"And I knew the tune, Mr. Horse
Shoe" interrupted Mary, eagerly, "it
was Maggie' Lauder. John practised
that trick once before to show me how
to find my way to him. Upon that, I
made an excuse to leave the room, and
slipped out through the garden?and
then I followed the whistling, as folks
say they follow a jack-o'-lantern."
"And so. by a countermarch," continued
the young dragoon, "we came
round the meadow and through the
woods, here."
"Now that you've got here at last,"
said Horse Shoe, "tell me the news."
"Major Butler is in the house," said
Mary and John, both speaking at once.
"He was brought there yesterday from
Blackstock's," continued the maiden.
"Orders came from somebody that he
was to be kept at our house, until they
had tixed upon what was to be done
with him. Colonel Innis was too ill to
think of such matters, and has been
carried out of the neighborhood?and
it is thought he will die."
"How many men are there to guard
the prisoner?" asked the sergeant.
"There are more than twenty, with
a lieutenant from Ninety-Six, who has
the charge of them."
"He seems to be heavy at heart." replied
the maiden. "But that may be because
he is away from his friends.
Though my father, who is a good judge
of such things, says he suffers tribulation
like a Christian. He asked me '
privately, If I had heard .anything of
you. Mr. Robinson; and when I told i
him wnai rotas saiu aoout your oems ;
with the people that beat Colonel In- i
nis, he smiled, and said if any man <
could get him free, it was Horse Shoe I
Robinson." I
"Do they allow you to see him often?"
inquired the sergeant.
"I have seen him only two or three i
times since he came to the house,"
answered the maiden. "But the officer
that has charge of him is not contrary
or ill-natured, and makes no objection
to my carrying him his meals?though
I am obliged to pretend to know less
about Major Butler than I do, for fear
they might be jealous of my talking to
him."
"You can give him a letter?"
"I think I can contrive It," replied
the maiden.
"Then give him this, my good girl,"
said Robinson, taking Williams' letter
from his pocket and putting It In
Mary's hand. "It Is a piece of writing
he can use whenever he Is much
pressed. It tnay save him from harm.
Now. I want you to do something more.
You must find a chance just to whisper
In his ear that Horse Shoe Robinson
and John Ramsay are in the neighborU
rv/\/I T nil Kim lllrAndaA fKn t OrtlAnpl
wvn/u. * cii am, iiivcwinc, mat wiw?iv?
Williams has sent a message to Lord
CornwalUs to lay his case before that
officer, and to get some order for his
better treatment. That the doings of
that rascally court-martial have been
Bent by the messenger, hoping that
Lord CornwalUs, if he is a brave and
a Christian man?as they say he is?
will stop this onmerclful persecution
of the major?which has no cause for
It under heaven. Will you remember
all thlsr
"I'll try, sir,1' responded Mary; "and
besides I will tell it to my father, who
lias more chance of speaking to Major
Butler than I have."
"Now," said Horse Shoe, "we will be
here again tomorrow night, a little earlier
than this: you must meet us here.
And say to the major, if he has any
message for us, he may send it by you.
But be cautious, Mary, how you are
seen talking with the prisoner. If they
suspect you It will spoil all."
"Trust to me," said the girl; "I warrant
I have learned by this time how
lo behave myself amongst these redcoats."
"There John," continued Horse Shoe,
'I have said all I want to say, and as
you. I have no doubt, have got a good
leal to teli the girl, it is but fair that
>'OU should have your chance. So, do
^ou walk back with her as far as the
mill, and fll wait here for you. But
lon't forget yourself by overstaying
,-our furlough."
"I must.get home as fast as possible,"
said Mary; "they will be looking
'or me."
"Away, jonn namsay?away, auutru
Horse Shoe; "and have your eyes about
rou man.'?
With this command John Ramsay
md the miller's daughter hastily wlthlrew,
and were soon out of the sergeant's
hearing.
After an Interval, which doubtless
?eemed short to the gallant dragoon, he
eturned to his comrade, and the two
jet out rapidly In quest of their horses;
ind once more having got Into their
laddies, they retraced their "hteps at a
irlsk speed to Ramsay's cabin.
CHAPTER XXX.
U1 distant and faint were the sounds
of the battle;
fVith the breezes they rise, with the
breezes they fall
rill the shout and the groan and the
conflict's dread rattle,
\nd the chase's wild clamor come loading
the gale.
?The Maid of Toro.
In the confusion that ensued upon
;he defeat of Innls, James Curry suc:eeded
In conducting Butler from the
leld. His orders were to retreat with
he prisoner to Blackstock's; and he
lad accordingly set out with about a
iozen troopers, by a private path that
ed towards a quarter secure from the
nole8tatlon of the enemy, when the atack
commenced. Butler was mounted
>ehind one of the men, and In this un>asy
condition was borne along the circuitous
by-way that had been chosen,
vlthout a moment's respite from the
levere motion of the horse, nearly at
llgh speed, until, having accomplished
hree miles of the retreat, the party arrived
at the main road that extended
jetween Innls' camp and Blackstock's.
Here Curry, conceiving himself to be
>ut of danger of pursuit, halted his
nen, with a purpose to remain until he
could learn something of the combat.
Butler was in a state of the most exiting
bewilderment as to the cause of
l-l? In hlc affnlpa Mr>
explanation was given to him by his
conductors; and although, from the
Irst, he was aware that an extraorlinary
emergency had arisen from
tome assault upon Innls' position, no
>ne dropped a word in his hearing to
five him the slightest clue to the naure
of the attack. The troopers about
lint preserved a morose and ill-natured
(Pence, and even manifested towards
llm a harsh and resentful demeanor.
He heard the firing, but what troops
vere engaged, by whom led, or with
vhat chances of success were subjects
>f the most painfully Interesting
ioubts. He could only conjecture that
his was a surprise accomplished by
he Whigs, and that the assailants must
lave come in sufficient force to Justify
:he boldness of the enterprise. That
Horse Shoe was connected with tills
rruption he felt fully assured, and
prom the circumstances he gathered the
consolatory and cheerful prognostic of
i better Issue out of his afflictions thai,
in his late condition seemed even reaotely
possible. This hope grew
arighter as the din of battle brought
:he tidings of the day to his ear. The
first few scattered shots that told of
he confusion In which the combat was
aegun, were, after an Interval, succeeded
by regular volleys of musketry that
indicated an orderly and marshalled
resistance. Platoon after platoon fired
in succession?signifying, to the practised
hearing of the soldier, that infan
try was receiving the attacks of cavtlry,
and that as yet the first had not
faltered. Then the firing grew more
slack, and random shots were discharged
from various quarters?but
amidst these were heard no embodied
volleys. It was the casual and nearly
3V( r-powered resistance of flying men.
At this juncture there was a dark
Trown on the brow of Curry, as he
looked at his comrades, and said, In a
low and muttered tone, "That helterskelter
shot grates cursedly on the ear.
There's ill-luck in the sound of it."
Presently a few stragglers appeared
at a turn of the road, some quarter of
a mile in the direction of the battle,
urging their horses forwurd at the top
i>f their speed. These were followed
by groups both of Infantry and cavalry
pressing onwards In the utmost disorder
?those on horseback thrusting their
way through the throng of foot-soldiers,
seemingly regardless of life or
limb; the wounded with their wounds
bleeding afresh, or hastily bandaged
-.1*1- if/ven O t h'l ml
Willi hiiI'll uppuuuuca tva ?ci v cv*.
All hurried along amidst the oaths, remonstrances,
and unheeded orders of
the officers, who were endeavoring to
resume their commands. It was the
flight of men beset by a panic, and
fearful of pursuit; and the clouds of
dust raised by the press and hurry of
this career almost obscured the setting
sun.
During the first moments of uncer
talnty, Curry, no less anxiously than p
Butler, remained stationary by the a
roadside, reading the distant signs of t<
the progress of the fight; but now. tl
when the disastrous issue was no Ion- si
ger doubtful, he commanded his cav- n
alcade to move forward, and from that a
moment prosecuted his journey with tl
unabated speed until he arrived at h
Blackstock's. tl
Butler was unceremoniously marched d
to his former place of confinement in v
the barn, where a rigorous guard was w
set over his person. In the confusion p
and Insubordination that prevailed 01
amongst the crowd, that, during the p
night was continually Increasing In tl
the little hamlet, the common rites of p
humanity towards the prisoner were
forgotten, and he was left to pass the lc
weary hours till morning, on a shock si
of hay, without food or other refresh- fi
ment than a simple draught of water, tt
From the unreserved murmurs of those ei
who frequented the place, and the e<
querulous upbraldlngs of the soldiery tl
against each other, Butler was enabled u:
to glean the principal incidents of the e'
day. The supposed death of Innls pi
reached him through this channel, and ol
what was scarcely a subject of less M
personal Interest to him, the certain ol
end of Hugh Habershaw. It was with d
a silent satisfaction at the moral or e<
poetical justice?as It has been called tl
?of the event, that he heard the comrades
of the late self-conceited captain d<
describe his death In terms of coarse al
and unpitying ribaldry?a retribution ui
due to the memory of a cruel and s<
cowardly braggart. tl
When the morning was fully abroad, pi
the disarranged and broken remnants rl
of the Tory camp began gradually to n
be reduced to a state of discipline, w
The day was spent In this occupation, ai
Orders were every moment arriving II
from the higher officer of the late camp,
or from the nearest British posts. VI
dettes bor^ the tidings of the different
military operations from the neighborhood
of the enemy. The fragments of
companies, were marshalled Into squads P
and subdivisions; and, successively,
one party" after another was seen to
leave the hamlet, and take a direction ^
of march that led towards the main ^
British army, or to the garrisons of the ?
lower dlstHcts.
Towards the close of the day one de- w
tachment only was left; and Butler b
was given to understand that this was a
Intrusted . with his especial keeping. p
It was composed of a few regular sol- d
dlers of the garrison of Ninety-Six, d
and a small number of the country mil- a
Itla?making in all, about twenty men, ^
commanded by Lieutenant Macdonald, Cl
of the regular army. a
Butler remained in his present state Vi
of seclusion four or five days, during e<
which he experienced much mitigation w
of the rigors of his captivity. Mac- a
donald was a careful and considerate a
soldier, and demeaned himself towards n
his prisoner with such kindness as the ?
nature of his trust allowed. He re- ^
moved him Into a comfortable apartment
In the dwelling house, and sup- d
plied him with the conveniences, his n
situation required; he even made him A
occasional visits, which were attended ?
with more^ than the mere observances p
" ? * ? ' AnnnA# - . , 1 ,1V1 ...iuUml h
UI cuurira* unu i c?irevi, anu caj,.
a sympathy In his sufferings.
These $>c xpected tones of comfort, h
from a quarter In which Butler had h
hitherto h^ard nothing but fierce ha- t:
tred and fcarsh rebuke, fell gratefully 11
upon his Ar. and gave a brighter col- "
or to his hopes for the future. But he w
could not help observing, that no hint h
was dropped by Macdonald which might ('
furnish him the slightest ground of p
surmise as to the vicissitudes that yet v
awaited httn. The reported fall of In- Vi
nis seemed to afTord a natural foun- a
datlon for the belief, that the malice of
his enemies might hereafter be less
active?as he attributed much of the
persecution he had suft-ved to the se- ^
cret machinations of that individual. w
He no longer saw around his person sl
those agents who first pursued him Xi
with such bitter hostility. He seemed p
to have fallen Into entirely new com- ^
blnatio-s, and had reason to augur, a
from all he saw, that their purposes ^
against him were less wicked. And n
first, above all other topics of consols- w
tion and comfort, was the conviction
that a brave and efficient party of ^
frlc nds weke In the field Intent upon "
his liberation. Still, his situation was a
one in whteh it required all his man- al
hood to subtain himself. A young a
soldier of an ardent temper, and zeal- g
ously bent upon active and perilous f<
service, can ill brook the tedious, dull a
days of captivity, even In Its mildest c
form: but Af this thraldom befall In a d
period of universal agitation, when p
great events are on the gale," of which w
the captive is only a witness to the
pervading Interest they excite, without tl
bel ig permitted to know their Import; n
If moreover, as in the case of Butler, s
an Impenetrable veil of mystery hang n
over the |>*rpose of his captivity, behind
which the few short glimpses af- a
forded him, open upon his view noth- h
Ing but death in its most frightful h
forms; and If to these are added, by h
far the bitterest of Its qualities, the c
anxieties, cans, and pdlns of a devoted, e
plighted lover, separated from the heart a
that loves him, we may well conjecture s,
that the most gallant spirit may find t(
in it, even amidst occasional gleams of t|
sunshine, that sinking of hope which
the philosophic king of Israel has described
as making "the heart sick"? t,
that chafing of the soul that, like the
encaged eagle, wearies and tears its n
wing against the bars of Its prison, e
Even so fared it with Arthur Butler,
who now found himself growing more
and more I lto the shadow of a melan- ..
choly temper. b
It was soon ascertained that Williams a
had abandoned the field that he had *
won, and had retreated beyond the
reach of immediate pursuit. And as p
the post at Musgrove's mill afforded d
many advantages, In reference to the ^
means of communicating with the gar
risons of the middle section of the pro. d
vlnce, and was more secure against the a
hazard of molestation from such par- r
ties of Whigs as might still be outly- t
ing. an order was sent to Macdonald
to remove with his prisoner to the "
habitation of the miller, and there to r
dt tain him until some final step should o
be taken in his case. 11
In pursuance of this requisition. But- ^
!er was conducted, after the interval p
of the few days we have mentioned, C
to Allen Musgrove's. The old man re- ^
celved his guest with that submission c
to the domination of the military s
masters of the province, which he had
prescribed to himself throughout the *
contest?secretly rejoicing that the s
selection made of his house for this ?
urpoae might put It In his power to
deviate the sufferings of a soldier,
>wards whose cause he felt a decided
lough unavowed attachment. This
election furnished evidence to the
idler that nothing had transpired to q
rouse the distrust of the British au
lorltles in the loyalty or any part or
Is family?and to Butler, It Inferred w
le consolatory fact, that the zealous 5,
evotlon of Mary Musgrove to his ser- |a
Ice had as yet passed without notice; n,
hllst to the maiden herself, It was 5,
roof that her agency In the delivery fl
f the letter, which she had so adroitly u
ut within the reach of the officers of qj
le court, had not even excited a sus- g
Iclon against her. ti
The best room In the house was al- jf
>tted to the prisoner; and the most a
?dulous attention on the part of the bl
imlly, so far as It could be admlnls>red
without Inducing mistrust, was 8|
tnployed In supplying him with what- ij
rer was needful to his condition. On C)
le part of the commanding officer, the
sual precautions known to military ai
tperlence for the safe-keeping of a 01
rlsoner were adopted. The privates w
f the guard occupied the barn, whilst ft
tacdona!d and one or two subordinate tl
[fleers took up their quarters In the 8t
welling house: sentinels were posti
at the several avenues leading to tc
le habitation, and a sergeant had the w
special care of the prisoner, who un- m
er this supervision, was occasionally at
llowed the range of the garden. The bi
sual forms of a camp police were ob- aj
?rved with scrupulous exactness; and si
le morning and the nightly drum, the ti
arade, the changing of sentries, the fr
->glng of ramrods in the empty bar- rr
Is of the muskets, and the glitter of ti
eapons were strangely and curiously P]
<soclated with the rural and unwar- ti
ke features of the scenery around.
TO BR CONTINUED. U1
w
FREAKS OF RICH CRANKS.
8J
astime of a Polish Count?Odd Grab es
of aft English Gentleman. m
In Vienna there is living today a)
ount K . a wealthy nobleman of cj
olish origin, who occupies a sumptu- g
usly furnished fiat in the most fashrnable
part of the city. When he h)
ants his servants he summons them
y bugle calls, much to the annoy- C{
nee of his neighbors. His favorite
astime Is to hire an omnibus and,
ressed like an ordinary driver, to j
rive his cumbrous vehicle wherever ^
rlstocratlc equipages are thickest. ^
ie spends a fortune every year on the
ostliest of clothes, yet never wears ^
ny but the suits discarded by his Q1
alet; appears In the ball room deckd
from head to heel in virgin white, j
ith the exception of a black shirt
nd tie, and when he dines?always
t one of the most expensive restau- ^
ants?he begins his meal with a cup
f black coffee, and working his way J
ackward, winds up with the soup.
It is but a short time since there ^
1\
led at Como a rich old man who was '
oted for a very -strange eccentricity,
lthough for years he had never been
utslde of his grounds, he would
roudly inform his visitors that he
ad that very day walked to certain
illages In the neighborhood. What Vl
e actually did was this. Whenever w
e made up his mind to visit a dis>
>
int village or town he made an esmate
of the distance and covered 61
on foot on a carefully measured el
alking track of his grounds. When 01
e wished to call on his friends in the
(strict he would not only do It by k
roxy, but would conduct the conersatlon
for hours by sending a ser- H
ant to and fro with questions and P1
nswers.
A well known Italian count who 8<
led recently at an advanced age had "
>r many years defied the weather by s?
rinking a solution of camphor, f<
hlch he considered an efficient sub- ai
tltute for clothes. Summer and win- lc
?r alike he would sleep without a y<
article of covering and with the winows
of his room thrown wide open, S
nd would walk for hours In his garen
on a. bitterly cold day In the gar- ?
lent most people devote to night
ear.
Not long ago, too, there lived near
lasting.-; a gentleman whose eccentric- s'
les very naturally excited consider- S
ble attention. Punctually at the P
troke of noon each day he would w
ppear in his front garden with a 01
ayly colored turban on his head, his h
set shod with richly embroidered c<
nd Jewelled sandals and with a coolie h
loth round his waist; and, quite In- c<
liferent to the amusement he was 01
rovidlng for a crowd of spectators, ff
rould first pray aloud to the sun, s(
the father of light and good," and a
lien prostrate himself before a quaint
llniature temple in which was en- w
hrined a grotesque Idol with dla- ,(
iond eyes.
There is at Cape Breton a worthy
ml much married gentleman who "
as just taken hfca eighth wife to
Is heart and home. And a gruesome
onie it must be to greet a home
otning wife, for seven of its rooms,
ach painted In black and white w
nd liberally garnished with 01
kulls and crosubones, are dedicated
j wives numbers one to seven. As a
lie birthdav of each of these depart
d spouses come around, the by no
neans disconsolate husband, enteralns
his friends al dinner in the room
peeially devoted to her memory and
nproves the occasion by telling an- w
cdotes to illustrate her many vir- tl
lies.?Tit-Bits. h
* ^ * cl
QlTKEB Dauas AND THKJR Unas.? |r
The venom of the rattlesnake has
een known to cure locomotor ataxia c'
nd scarlet fever," said a chemist,
lomeopathic physicians often precribe
it. u
"You know the curara, the deadly
oison that the South American Inlans
smear on their arrow tips? g
Veil, curara Is very helpful In hy- (l
rophobia.
"There is a seaweed called 'bladerwrack.'
They make of this an .
ntifat, a marvelous antifat. By the u
se of this antifat I know a man who t
educed his weight forty pounds In )t
hree months.
"There is the deadly fungus, the <
y agaric, which unfortunately peo- h
ile sometimes eat In. mistake for j
nushrooms. They make a medicine t<
f the fly agaric, a medicine called w
rtuscarlne nitrate, which, injected
inder the skin causes a copious flow '
t tears. French actresses In weep- ^
ng scenes, sucn as ui uuuie uua
,'amellias,' have sometimes used this
Irug. J'
"Cocaine causes wakefulness. I
mce worked forty-eight hours at a .
tretch, thanks to cocaine. Ji
"Cocoa stimulates, exhilarates and e
emoves all desire for food or drink,
in Alpine guide will chew fifty or e
Ixty grains of It before commencing h
i difficult ascent." tl
JRiscfUanmts ihading.
A CONVICT'8 ROMANCE.
dd Way In Which a Life Prisoner
Won His Freedom.
Vouched for by the late Henry Smith,
ho suld he learned the fact through
elng speaker of the assembly, there
i an interesting bit of history conected
with the old statehouse at Alany,
where it has stood for years, the
nest example of Dure Doric architect
re in this country, on the easterly aide
f Eagle street, between Pine and
teuben streets, its walls and partions
all of solid stone, very much as
' its halls, rooms and stairs had been
irved out within a huge block of marie.
It was completed in 1842, costing the
:ate about $350,000. It is built entire'
of Sing Sing marble, quarried and
nt within the prison walls.
The old capltol being inadequate to
^commodate the increasing business
f the state, this additional building
as planned and built and is still used
>r the offices of the state comptroller,
le state engineer and surveyor and the
ate banking department.
In a spirit of economy it was decided
> have as much as possible of the
ork done by the prisoners from the
laterial found within the prison walls
t Sing Sing, fairly good material, too,
lit not the best, as it is a soft marble
i evidenced by the wear which now
iows so plainly in the steps and by
te crumbling of some of the stones
om exposure to the weather. All the
laterial was cut to completion within
le walls of the prison under such
larps that when shipped to Albany
lere would be no further work necesiry
except practically to lay one stone
pon another, and so on until the
hole was assembled in the completed
jllding.
To accomplish this detailed plan a
rstem of marking the siones was necisary.
The plans were carefully
iade and a system of marking elabortely
laid out by the architect in
large, who found in the prison at
Ing Sing a life prisoner whose record
lowed him to be an engineer of the
Ighest ability and who seemed as comilonl
o a artv man In thn nnnntru tA
irry out the work to be done in the
rlson, and naturally he was not untiling
to follow his chosen profession
i preference to doing the manual lair
of cutting or quarrying stone. So
rilowlng the spirit of economy refer>d
to above, the plans in detail and
le system of marking were turned
rer to him and the whole work at
lat end given over to his full superitendence
and absolute control.
In due time the stones in their varijs
shapes and sizes and in quantity
>r the whole building were delivered
i Albany and the work of construeon
commenced In accordance with the
lans and system of marking original'
furnished. With the very first stone
lere was trouble. It not only did not
t the place, but none of the stones
larked to adjoin it fitted it. and, furler,
it did not seem ever intended for
le place the number indicated. Instigation
brought out that the stones
ere not of the sizes or shapes specied
and shown on the plans, and, as to
te system of marking, it was quite
rldent that the stones brought togeth-"*
r by it had no relation whatever to
ich other.
The bewildered architect hardly
new whether he was a candidate for
te asylum or possibly for Sing Sing,
'owever, a careful verification of his
lans and his marking system proved
telr correctness, and the blame fell
juarely upon the civil engineer,, the
fe prisoner. He was questioned, taken
verely to task and roundly berated
>r his Incompetence and threatened
nd abused. He met It all calmly. "It
?oks to me like a mighty good Joke on
ou fellows. Anyway it Is the best
>ke I have heard since I came to Sing
ing."
As to their continued threats he
lid:
"What can you do to a life prison
'V
Finally, In answer to the abuse and
urs as to his capabilities as an enIneer,
he said he had changed the
lans both in dimension and shape
here they had diverged from purity
f style, and the system of marking
e had changed altogether, but if they
mild find some one who understood
is system the building would go up
omplete and perfect, excelling (he
riginal plan. "But." he added, with a
rin "you can probably get out new
Lone a good deal quicker than you
an work out my system.
Then the state officials said, "We
III take you to Albany and force you
> put up the building."
He said. "No."
They pointed out the advantage of
fe in Albany for a time In preference
> Sing Sing.
He said, "No."
They tried to bargain with him.
He said, "Secure my pardon and I
'ill stand by you until the building is
omplete."
They offered to have him pardoned
fter he had proved what he said by
nishlng the building.
He said, "No." .
Then they said they would compel
Im to do it anyway. "
He said he could be compelled to
ork in prison, but not in Albany, and
rnt even in prison they could compel
im to do only manual labor unless be
? ~..a tk?t Iho nrlna rfcf his evniUS
;iuaf anu uiai iuv ?w v. .... 0 ?
> grasping the opportunity that had
ome his way was a full pardon.
What else was there to do?
He was pardoned and the old stateouse
stands today In testimony of
te fact that he kept his word and a
lorious memory to an unknown genis.?New
York Herald.
tif True wit Is always incidental?and
sually accidental.
til A quiet wedding Is something fol>wed
by a noisy serenade.
19 Those who make a specialty of
unting trouble bag plenty of game.
OT Children who ask questions are of?n
Just as Ignorant as grown people
rho can't answer them,
t# A free thinker Is one who Is unable
> dispose of his thought for a pecuiary
consideration.
or After a woman succeeds in capuring
a husband she doesn't consider
tie one object In life.
t^'A single sentence from a police
iidge Is far more effective than a dosn
sentences from a political orator.
W It sometimes happens that a man's
nemies with bad designs do him less
arm than his friends with good intenlon8.
?