CHAPTER XLV.
Great agitation prevailed at Macdonald's post, when the morningdisclosed the escape of Butler. The lieutenant was conscious that thismischance had exposed him to the risk of heavy censure, and as wasnatural to a man who could not entirely acquit himself of some neglectin the performance of his duty, his first measures were taken in aspirit of peevish and angry severity. Small parties were sent out toexplore the neighborhood, with a view to gain intelligence of thedirection taken by the fugitive, with orders to bring him in dead oralive. The sentinels who were on duty during the night were arrested,and subjected to a rigid examination on the events of their watch; theseveral members of Musgrove's family were also interrogated as tomatters touching their own connexion with the prisoner. Nothing,however, was gathered from these investigations that was calculated tocast a suspicion of connivance in Butler's liberation, upon anyindividual either of the garrison or of the family. It was only apparentthat the prisoner had availed himself of the remissness of the guard andthe darkness of the night, to make a bold descent from the window; andhad succeeded by one of those lucky accidents which sometimes baffle themost cautious foresight. The nature of the attempt did not necessarilysuppose the aid of an accomplice, and a faint hope was, therefore,entertained that Butler would be found still lurking in the vicinity ofthe post.
In the course of a few hours, the first parties that had been dispatchedin the morning, returned. They could give no account of the prisoner;nor was there any light thrown upon the escape until about the dinnerhour, when a portion of the detachment which had intercepted Butler andhis comrades in the morning, arrived at the mill, under the conduct ofthe soldier whose suspicions had led to the pursuit and skirmish whichwe have already described. The report of these men left Macdonald noroom to doubt the identity of Butler with the person described. Afurther examination, at the suggestion of the soldier, showed thatWall-Eye, the wagon-horse, was missing; and it now became certain thatButler had been aided by a party of the enemy with whom he must havebeen in correspondence. The conclusion was, that with his means offlight there could be little doubt of his being, long before the presentperiod of the day, out of the reach of successful pursuit. The schemewas laid to the account of Horse Shoe Robinson, whose name andadventures were already famous in this district; and it was conjecturedthat Sumpter was secretly posted in some neighboring fastness to givehis assistance to the enterprise.
With these reflections, Macdonald felt himself obliged to submit to theexigencies of the case; a point of philosophy which he did not practisewithout a very visible chagrin and mortification. His men were calledtogether, and after a short, fretful lecture on their neglect, and aninjunction to a more soldier-like vigilance in future, which savored ofthe caution of locking the stable after the steed was stolen, they weredismissed.
About an hour before sundown, Allen Musgrove and Mary, availingthemselves of the confusion and relaxed discipline of the post,occasioned by the events of the morning, set out on horseback for DavidRamsay's dwelling, whither they were led by a natural anxiety to learnsomething of the movements of the fugitives.
"It's a pleasure and a happiness, Allen Musgrove," said Mistress Ramsay,as the miller and his daughter sat down in the cabin, "to see you andMary over here with us at any time, but it is specially so now when wehave good news to tell. John and his friend are safe out of reach ofMacdonald's men, and--God be praised!--I hope out of the way of allother harms. We have had soldiers dodging in and out through the day,but not one of them has made any guess what's gone with the major; andas for John, they don't seem to suspect him to be on the country-side.It's all Horse Shoe Robinson with them. They say that none but he couldhave helped to get the major away, and that General Sumpter was theinstigator. Well, I'm sure they were welcome to that opinion, for it setthem all to looking over towards Broad river, which is as good adirection as we could wish them to travel."
"The less you seem to know about it, with any of these inquiringparties, the better, Mistress Ramsay," said Allen Musgrove, "and I wouldadvise you, even here amongst ourselves, to speak lower, David, what doyou hear this evening?"
"Nothing concerning our runaways since they left us at daylight thismorning," replied Ramsay. "I should guess them to be somewhere near uponFair Forest by this time. You know Williams is out-lying upon the upperbranches of the river? It is more like hunted deer, Allen, thanChristian men, that our poor fellows take to the woods now. God knowswhat will come of it!"
"He knows and has appointed it," said Musgrove, gravely, "and will inHis own good time and with such instruments as shall faithfully work Hispurpose, give the victory to them that have the right. Man, woman, andchild may perish, and house and home may be burnt over our heads, andthe blood of brave men may make the dust of the road red; yes, and thepastures rich as if new laid with manure; but the will of God shall bedone and His providence be accomplished. The cause of the just shallprevail against the unjust."
"There were no soldiers," inquired Mary, addressing David Ramsay, "thatyou have heard of, who followed towards Fair Forest? I should be sorryif John was to be troubled with persons going after him; because,"--themaiden hesitated an instant,--"because it's unpleasant and disagreeableto be obliged to be riding off the road, through bushes and briers, tokeep out of the way."
"If they were not greatly an overmatch, girl," interrupted Ramsay, "Johnwouldn't give himself much trouble upon that account."
"Oh, Mr. Ramsay," said Mary earnestly, "I was thinking of that. It'shard to say what John would call an overmatch: men are so headstrong andventuresome."
"That's God's own truth, Mary," interposed Mrs. Ramsay; "and what I havealways been telling David and John both. But they never heed me, no morethan if I was talking to the child in that cradle."
"I've told John as much myself," said Mary, blushing.
"And he would not heed you either," interrupted her father, "A soldierwould have a holiday life of it, if he followed the advice of hismother or his sweetheart. Daughter, amongst friends here, you needn'tblush; we know more of the secrets betwixt you and the trooper lad thanyou count upon. John's a clever boy, Mistress Ramsay, and I think youhave reason to brag of him somewhat; and as there's particular good-willbetween him and my Mary, I'll not stand in the way when the war is over,if God spares us all, and Mary and the lad keep in the same mind; I'llnot stand in the way of a new settlement in the neighborhood. Mary is agood daughter, well nurtured, and--I don't care to say it to herface--will make a thriving wife."
The mother smiled as she replied, "I don't pretend to know the youngpeople's secrets, but I know this, you don't think better of Mary thanJohn does--nor than me neither, perhaps."
The conversation was interrupted by a knocking at the door, and, in amoment afterwards, Arthur Butler and the woodman entered the apartment.
"Major Butler, as I am a living woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Ramsay.
"Our good friend himself!" ejaculated Musgrove, with surprise. "What hasturned you back? And Gabriel Drummond here too! What has happened?"
"Where is my son John?" demanded Ramsay. "Are you followed?"
Butler walked up to Mrs. Ramsay, and, as a tear started to his eye, tookher by the hand, and stood for a moment unable to speak.
"Oh, heaven have mercy on me!" screamed Mary Musgrove, as she threwherself upon a bed, "something dreadful has happened."
"For God's sake, speak what you have to tell!" said David Ramsay,instantly turning pale.
"John Ramsay is hurt," faintly articulated the mother, and Mary, risingfrom the bed, stood beside Butler with a countenance on which was seatedthe most agonizing attention. Andy, the hero of the exploit we haveheretofore related, also pressed into the presence of the same group,and a death-like silence pervaded the whole party.
Butler, with an ineffectual effort to recover himself, turned toDrummond, making a sign to him to tell the object of their melancholyerrand, and then flung himself into a chair.
"John Ramsay is dead," said the woodman, in a mournfu
l tone. "Your son,mistress Ramsay, was shot in a fray with the bloody, villanous Tories.The heartiest curses upon them!"
"Killed, dear madam," said Butler, scarce able to articulate, "killed inmy defence. Would to God the blow had fallen upon my own head!"
"Oh, no, no, no!" exclaimed the matron, as a flood of tears rolled downher cheeks, and she endeavored to wipe them away with her apron. "Itisn't true. It can't be true. My poor, dear, brave boy!"
At the same instant Mary Musgrove fell insensible into the arms of herfather, where it was some moments before she gave signs of animation. Atlength, being laid upon the bed, a deep groan escaped her, which wasfollowed by the most piteous wailing.
The scene wrought upon the younger members of the family, who, as wellas the domestics, were heard pouring forth deep and loud lamentations,accompanied with reiterated announcements of the death of the soldier.
When this first burst of the general grief was over, David Ramsay arosefrom his seat and walked across the room to a window, where he stoodendeavoring to compose and master his feelings. At length, facingButler, he said in a low and tranquil tone,
"John Ramsay, my son, killed, killed in a skirmish? God is my witness, Iexpected it! It was his failing to follow his enemy with too hot a hand;and I am to blame, perhaps, that I never checked him in that temper. Buthe died like a man and a soldier, Major Butler," he added, firmly.
"He died in my arms," replied Butler, "as bravely as ever soldier closedhis life, his last thoughts were fixed upon his parents, and--"
"Dead!" interrupted Ramsay, as if communing with himself, and regardlessof Butler's words--"Dead! He fell doing his duty to his country, that'sa consolation. A man cannot die better. If it please God, I hope my endmay be like his. Andrew, my boy, come here. You are now my oldest livingson," he said, taking the lad's hand and looking him full in the face,as he spoke with a bitter compression of his lips; "I am willing, muchas I love you, that the country should have you."
"No, David, David," interrupted the mother, rousing herself from hersilent grief, "we have given enough; no other child of mine shallventure in the war. John! John! John! my dear boy, my brave son! Howgood and kind he was to us all! And how glad he was to get home to seeus; and how much we made of him!"
"Silence, wife," said David Ramsay, "this is no time to hold back fromour duty. Andrew, listen to me: remember your brother has met his deathfighting against these monsters, who hate the very earth that nursesliberty. You are young, boy, but you can handle a musket; we will notforget your brother's death."
"Nor the burning of a good house over your head, and a full barn,father; nor the frights they have given my poor mother."
"Nor the thousands of brave men," added the father, "who have poured outtheir blood to give us a land and laws of our own. My boy, we willremember these, for vengeance."
"Not for vengeance," said Allen Musgrove, "for justice, David. Yourenemy should be remembered only to prevent him from doing mischief. TheLord will give him sword and buckler, spear and shield, who stands upfor the true cause: and when it pleases Him to require the sacrifice oflife from the faithful servant who fights the battle, he grants patienceand courage to meet the trial. Your son was not the man, David, to turnhis face away from the work that was before him; may God receive him andcomfort his distressed family! He was an honest and brave son, DavidRamsay."
"A braver soldier never buckled on broadsword, Allen Musgrove," repliedthe father. "Yes, I looked for this; ever since my dwelling was levelledto the ground by these firebrands, I looked for it. John's passion wasup then, and I knew the thoughts that ran through his mind. Ever sincethat day his feelings have been most bitter; and he has flung himselfamongst the Tories, making as little account of them as the mower whenhe puts his scythe into the grass of the meadows."
"God forgive him, David!" said Musgrove, "and strengthen you and theboy's good mother in this sharp hour of trial. They who draw the swordin passion may stand in fear of the judgment of the sword: it is afearful thing for sinful man to shed blood for any end but that oflawful war, and at the bidding of his country. God alone is theavenger."
Mary had again raised herself from the bed, and at this moment gave ventto her feelings in a loud and bitter lamentation "John Ramsay is dead,is dead!" she exclaimed. "I cannot believe it. He that was so true andso warm-hearted, and that everybody loved! They could not kill him! Oh,I begged him to keep his foot from danger, and he promised me, for mysake, to be careful. I loved him, father; I never told you so muchbefore, but I am not ashamed to tell it now before everybody; I lovedhim better than all the world. And we had promised each other. It is sohard to lose them that we love!" she continued, sobbing violently. "Hewas so brave and so good, and he was so handsome, Mrs. Ramsay, and sodutiful to you and his father, coming home to see you whenever the warwould let him. And he walked, and rode, and ran, and fought for hisfriends, and them that he cared for. He was so thoughtful for yourcomfort too," she added, as she threw herself on her knees and restedher head in the lap of the mother, and there paused through a longinterval, during which nothing was heard but her own moans mingled withthe sighs of the party, "we were to be married after this war was at anend, and thought we should live so happily: but they have murdered him!Oh they have murdered him," and with her hair thrown in disorder overher face, she again gave vent to a flood of tears.
"Mary, daughter! Shame on you, girl!" said her father. "Do you forget,in the hour of your affliction, that you have a friend who is able tocomfort? There is one who can heal up your sorrows and speak peace toyour troubled spirit, if you be not too proud to ask it. I have taughtyou, daughter, in all time of tribulation to look to Him for patienceand for strength to bear adversity. Why do you neglect this refuge now?"
"Our Father," said the maiden, fervently clasping her hands and liftingup her eyes, now dim with weeping, as she appealed to God in prayer,"who art in heaven--teach us all to say thy will be done. Take--take--mydear John--Oh my heart will burst and I shall die!" she uttered, almostoverwhelmed with her emotions, as she again buried her face in MistressRamsay's lap--"I cannot speak!"
A silence of inexpressible agony prevailed for some moments. This was atlength interrupted by the uprising of the full, clear, and firm voice ofAllen Musgrove, who now broke forth from the opposite side of a roomwhere he had kneeled before a chair, in an earnest and impressivesupplication to the Deity, urged with all that eloquence which naturallyflows from deeply-excited feeling. From the solemnity of the occasion,as well as from the habitually religious temper of the family assembledin the little cabin, the words of the prayer fell upon the hearts ofthose present with a singularly welcome effect, and, for the moment,brought tranquillity to their feelings.
When the prayer was ended, the grief of the mourners rolled back in itsformer flood, and burst from Mary Musgrove in the most heart-rendingbitterness. Paroxysm followed paroxysm with fearful violence, and theseoutbreaks were responded to by the mother with scarcely less intensity.All attempts at consolation, on the part of the men, were unavailing;and it was apparent that nothing remained but to let the tide of anguishtake its own course.
It was now some time after night-fall, when Butler and Drummond beckonedAllen Musgrove to leave the room. They retired into the open air infront of the house, where they were immediately joined by David Ramsay.Here Butler communicated to them the necessity of making immediatearrangements for their return to the woodman's cottage, and for theburial of the deceased trooper. His advice was adopted, and it wasresolved that Musgrove and Ramsay should accompany the other two to thespot. Before the consultation was closed, Andy had come into the group,and he was now directed, with all haste, to throw a saddle upon hisfather's horse.
"You, Andrew, my son," said David Ramsay, "will stay at home and comfortyour poor mother, and Mary. Speak to them, boy, and persuade them togive up their useless lamentations. It is the will of God, and we oughtnot to murmur at it."
"The burning, father," replied the boy, with a sorrowful earnestness
,"and the fighting, and the frights we have had, was all nothing to this.I never felt before how terrible the war was."
Andy had now gone to equip the horse, and the men returned to the insideof the cabin, where they sat in profound silence. Butler, at length,rose from the door-sill where he had taken his seat, and crossing theroom, took a position by the bed on which Mary Musgrove had thrownherself, and where she now lay uttering faint and half-smothered moans.
"I have a remembrance for you," he said, stooping down and speakingscarce above a whisper in the maiden's ear; "I promised to deliver itinto your hand. God knows with what pain I perform my office! Johnenjoined upon me to give you this," he continued, as he presented to herthe little copy of the Testament, "and to say to you that his lastthoughts were given to you and his mother. He loved you, Mary, betterthan he loved any living creature in this world."
"He did, he did," sobbed forth the girl; "and I loved him far abovefamily, friends, kinsfolk and all--I wish I were dead by his side."
"Take the book," said Butler, hardly able to articulate. "God for everbless you," he added, after a pause of weeping, "and bring you comfort!I have promised John Ramsay, that neither you, nor any of his family,shall ever want the service of a friend, while I have life or means torender it. Before Heaven, that pledge shall be redeemed! Farewell,farewell! God bless you!"
As Butler uttered these words he grasped the maiden's hand and pressedit fervently to his lips; then turning to the mother, he addressed somephrase of comfort to her, and hastily left the room. Scarcely a soundwas heard from any one, except the low sobbing of the exhausted weepers,and the almost convulsive kisses which Mary imprinted upon the littlebook that Butler had put into her hand.
Musgrove, Ramsay, and the woodman, retired from the apartment at thesame moment; and the horses being ready at the door, the retreating beatof the hoofs upon the turf gave notice to the in-dwellers that the fourmen had set forward on their journey.
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