HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON.
A Tale of the Tory Ascendency.
by
JOHN P. KENNEDY
Author of "Swallow Barn," "Rob of the Bowl," Etc.
"I say the tale as 't was said to me."--Lay of the Last Minstrel
Revised Edition.
New YorkG. P. Putnam's Sons182 Fifth Avenue1876
Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1852, byGeorge P. Putnam,in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern Districtof New York.
To WASHINGTON IRVING, Esq.
DEAR IRVING:--
With some little misgiving upon the score of having wasted time andpaper both, which might have been better employed, I feel a realconsolation in turning to you, as having, by your success, furnished ouridle craft an argument to justify our vocation.
You have convinced our wise ones at home that a man may sometimes writea volume without losing his character--and have shown to the incredulousabroad, that an American book may be richly worth the reading.
In grateful acknowledgment of these services, as well as to indulge theexpression of a sincere private regard, I have ventured to inscribe yourname upon the front of the imperfect work which is now submitted to thepublic.
Very truly, yours, &c.,JOHN P. KENNEDY.BALTIMORE, _May 1, 1885_.
INTRODUCTION
In the winter of eighteen hundred and eighteen-nineteen, I had occasionto visit the western section of South Carolina. The public conveyanceshad taken me to Augusta, in Georgia. There I purchased a horse, a mosttrusty companion, with whom I had many pleasant experiences: a sorrel,yet retained by me in admiring memory. A valise strapped behind mysaddle, with a great coat spread upon that, furnished all that Irequired of personal accommodation. My blood beat temperately with thepulse of youth and health. I breathed the most delicious air in theworld. My travel tended to the region of the most beautiful scenery. Theweather of early January was as balmy as October; a light warm hazemellowed the atmosphere, and cast the softest and richest hues over thelandscape. I retraced my steps from Augusta to Edgefield, which I hadpassed in the stage coach. From Edgefield I went to Abbeville, andthence to Pendleton. I was now in the old district of Ninety Six, justat the foot of the mountains. My course was still westward. I journeyedalone, or rather, I ought to say, in good company, for my horse and Ihad established a confidential friendship, and we amused ourselves witha great deal of pleasant conversation--in our way. Besides, my fancy wasbusy, and made the wayside quite populous--with people of its own: therewere but few of any other kind.
In the course of my journey I met an incident, which I have preserved inmy journal. The reader of the tale which occupies this volume has someinterest in it.
"Upon a day," as the old ballads have it, one of the best days of thisexquisite climate, my road threaded the defiles of some of the grandestmountains of the country. Huge ramparts of rock toppled over my path,and little streams leaped, in beautiful cascades, from ledge to ledge,and brawled along the channels, which often supplied the only footwayfor my horse, and, gliding through tangled screens of rhododendron,laurel, arbor vitae, and other evergreens, plunged into rivers, whosewaters exceed anything I had ever conceived of limpid purity. It may bepoetical to talk of liquid crystal, but no crystal has the absoluteperfection of the transparency of these streams. The more distantmountain sides, where the opening valley offered them to my view, werefortified with stupendous walls, or banks of solid and unbroken rock,rising in successive benches one above another, with masses of dark pinebetween; the highest forming a crest to the mountain, cutting the sky insharp profile, with images of castellated towers, battlements, andbuttresses, around whose summits the inhabiting buzzard, with broadextended wings, floated and rocked in air and swept in majestic circles.
The few inhabitants of this region were principally the tenants of thebounty lands, which the State of South Carolina had conferred upon thesoldiers of the Revolution; and their settlements, made upon the richbottoms of the river valleys, were separated from each other by largetracts of forest.
I had much perplexity in some portions of this day's journey in findingmy way through the almost pathless forest which lay between two of thesesettlements. That of which I was in quest was situated upon the Seneca,a tributary of the Savanna river, here called Tooloolee. It was nearsundown, when I emerged from the wilderness upon a wagon road, veryuncertain of my whereabout, and entertaining some rather anxiousmisgivings as to my portion for the night.
I had seen no one for the last five or six hours, and upon falling intothe road I did not know whether I was to take the right or the lefthand--a very material problem for my solution just then.
During this suspense, a lad, apparently not above ten years of age,mounted bare back on a fine horse, suddenly emerged from the wood aboutfifty paces ahead of me, and galloped along the road in the samedirection that I had myself resolved to take. I quickened my speed toovertake him, but from the rapidity of his movement, I found myself, atthe end of a mile, not as near him as I was at the beginning. Some opencountry in front, however, showed me that I was approaching asettlement. Almost at the moment of making this discovery, I observedthat the lad was lying on the ground by the road-side. I hastened tohim, dismounted, and found him sadly in want of assistance. His horsehad run off with him, thrown him, and dislocated, as it afterwardsappeared, his shoulder-joint.
Whilst I was busy in rendering such aid as I could afford, I was joinedby a gentleman of venerable aspect, the father of the youth, who camefrom a dwelling-house near at hand, which, in the engrossment of myoccupation, I had not observed. We lifted the boy in our arms and borehim into the house.
I was now in comfortable quarters for the night. The gentleman wasColonel T----, as I was made aware by his introduction, and the kindlywelcome he offered me, and I very soon found myself established upon thefooting of a favored guest. The boy was laid upon a bed in the roomwhere we sat, suffering great pain, and in want of immediate attention.I entered into the family consultation on the case. Never have Iregretted the want of an acquisition, as I then regretted that I had noskill in surgery. I was utterly incompetent to make a suggestion worthconsidering. The mother of the family happened to be absent that night;and, next to the physician, the mother is the best adviser. There was anelder son, about my own age, who was playing a fiddle when we came in;and there was a sister younger than he, and brothers and sisters stillyounger. But we were all alike incapable. The poor boy's case might becritical, and the nearest physician, Dr. Anderson, resided at Pendleton,thirty miles off. This is one of the conditions of frontier settlementwhich is not always thought of.
In the difficulty of the juncture, a thought occurred to Colonel T.,which was immediately made available. "I think I will send forHorse-Shoe Robinson," he said, with a manifest lighting up of thecountenance, as if he had hit upon a happy expedient. "Get a horse, myson," he continued, addressing one of the boys, "and ride over to theold man, and tell him what has happened to your brother; and say, hewill oblige me if he will come here directly." At the same time, aservant was ordered to ride to Pendleton, and to bring over Dr.Anderson.
In the absence of the first messenger the lad grew easier, and it becameapparent that his hurt was not likely to turn out seriously. Colonel T.,assured by this, drew his chair up to the fire beside me, and with manyexpressions of friendly interest inquired into the course of my journey,and into the numberless matters that may be supposed to interest afrontier settler in his intercourse with one just from the world of busylife. It happened that I knew an old friend of his, General -----, agentleman highly distinguished in professional and politic
al service, towhose youth Colonel T. had been a most timely patron. This circumstancecreated a new pledge in my favor, and, I believe, influenced the oldgentleman in a final resolve to send that night for his wife, who wassome seven or eight miles off, and whom he had been disinclined to putto the discomfort of such a journey in the dark, ever since it wasascertained that the boy's case was not dangerous. I am pretty sure thisinfluenced him, as I heard him privately instructing a servant to go forthe lady, and to tell her that the boy's injury was not very severe,and "that there was a gentleman there who was well acquainted withGeneral ----." I observed, hanging in a little black frame over thefire-place, a miniature engraved portrait of the general, which was theonly specimen of the fine arts in the house--perhaps in the settlement.It was my recognition of this likeness that led, I fear, to the wearynight ride of the good lady.
In less than an hour the broad light of the hearth--for the apartmentwas only lit up by blazing pine faggots, which, from time to time, werethrown upon the fire--fell upon a goodly figure. There was first a soundof hoofs coming through the dark--a halt at the door--a full, round,clear voice heard on the porch--and then the entrance into the apartmentof a woodland hero. That fine rich voice again, in salutation, so gentleand so manly! This was our expected counsellor, Horse-Shoe Robinson.What a man I saw! With near seventy years upon his poll, time seemed tohave broken its billows over his front only as the ocean breaks over arock. There he stood--tall, broad, brawny, and erect. The sharp lightgilded his massive frame and weather-beaten face with a pictorial effectthat would have rejoiced an artist. His homely dress, his free stride,as he advanced to the fire; his face radiant with kindness; the naturalgracefulness of his motion; all afforded a ready index to his character.Horse Shoe, it was evident, was a man to confide in.
"I hear your boy's got flung from his horse, Colonel," he said, as headvanced to the bed-side. "Do you think he is much hurt?" "Not so badlyas we thought at first, Mr. Robinson," was the reply. "I am much obligedto you for coming over to-night. It is a great comfort to have youradvice in such times."
"These little shavers are so venturesome--with horses in particular,"said the visitor; "it's Providence, Colonel, takes care of 'em. Let melook at you, my son," he continued, as he removed the bed-clothes, andbegan to handle the shoulder of the boy. "He's got it out of joint," headded, after a moment. "Get me a basin of hot water and a cloth,Colonel. I think I can soon set matters right."
It was not long before the water was placed beside him, and Robinsonwent to work with the earnestness of a practised surgeon. After applyingwet cloths for some time to the injured part, he took the shoulder inhis broad hand, and with a sudden movement, which was followed by ashriek from the boy, he brought the dislocated bone into its properposition. "It doesn't hurt," he said, laughingly; "you are onlypretending. How do you feel now?"
The patient smiled, as he replied, "Well enough now; but I reckon youwas joking if you said that it didn't hurt."
Horse Shoe came to the fire-side, and took a chair, saying, "I larntthat, Colonel, in the campaigns. A man picks up some good everywhere, ifhe's a mind to; that's my observation."
This case being disposed of, Horse Shoe determined to remain all nightwith the family. We had supper, and, after that, formed a little partyaround the hearth. Colonel T. took occasion to tell me something aboutHorse Shoe; and the Colonel's eldest son gave me my cue, by which heintimated I might draw out the old soldier to relate some stories of thewar.
"Ask him," said the young man, "how he got away from Charleston afterthe surrender; and then get him to tell you how he took the fiveScotchmen prisoners."
We were all in good humor. The boy was quite easy, and everything wasgoing on well, and we had determined to sit up until Mrs. T. shouldarrive, which could not be before midnight. Horse Shoe was veryobliging, and as I expressed a great interest in his adventures, heyielded himself to my leading, and I got out of him a rich stock ofadventure, of which his life was full. The two famous passages to whichI had been asked to question him--the escape from Charleston, and thecapture of the Scotch soldiers--the reader will find preserved in thenarrative upon which he is about to enter, almost in the very words ofmy anthology. I have--perhaps with too much scruple--retained HorseShoe's peculiar vocabulary and rustic, doric form of speech--holdingthese as somewhat necessary exponents of his character. A more truthfulman than he, I am convinced, did not survive the war to tell its story.Truth was the predominant expression of his face and gesture--the truththat belongs to natural and unconscious bravery, united with a frank andmodest spirit. He seemed to set no especial value upon his own exploits,but to relate them as items of personal history, with as little commentor emphasis as if they concerned any one more than himself.
It was long after midnight before our party broke up; and when I got tomy bed it was to dream of Horse Shoe and his adventures. I made a recordof what he told me, whilst the memory of it was still fresh, and oftenafterwards reverted to it, when accident or intentional research broughtinto my view events connected with the times and scenes to which hisstory had reference.
The reader will thus see how I came into possession of the leadingincidents upon which this "Tale of the Tory Ascendency" in SouthCarolina is founded.
It was first published in 1835. Horse-Shoe Robinson was then a very oldman. He had removed into Alabama, and lived, I am told, upon the banksof the Tuskaloosa. I commissioned a friend to send him a copy of thebook. The report brought me was, that the old man had listened veryattentively to the reading of it, and took great interest in it.
"What do you say to all this?" was the question addressed to him, afterthe reading was finished. His reply is a voucher which I desire topreserve: "It is all true and right--in its right place--excepting aboutthem women, which I disremember. That mought be true, too; but my memoryis treacherous--I disremember."
_April 12, 1852._
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