CHAPTER XLIV.

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.