"I hear your boy's got flung from his horse, Colonel," he said, as he advanced to the bed-side. "Do you think he is much hurt?" "Not so badly as we thought at first, Mr. Robinson," was the reply. "I am much obliged to you for coming over to-night. It is a great comfort to have your advice 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 me look at you, my son," he continued, as he removed the bed-clothes, and began to handle the shoulder of the boy. "He's got it out of joint," he added, 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 Robinson went to work with the earnestness of a practised surgeon. After applying wet cloths for some time to the injured part, he took the shoulder in his broad hand, and with a sudden movement, which was followed by a shriek from the boy, he brought the dislocated bone into its proper position. "It doesn't hurt," he said, laughingly; "you are only pretending. How do you feel now?"
The patient smiled, as he replied, "Well enough now; but I reckon you was joking if you said that it didn't hurt."
Horse Shoe came to the fire-side, and took a chair, saying, "I larnt that, Colonel, in the campaigns. A man picks up some good everywhere, if he's a mind to; that's my observation."
This case being disposed of, Horse Shoe determined to remain all night with the family. We had supper, and, after that, formed a little party around the hearth. Colonel T. took occasion to tell me something about Horse Shoe; and the Colonel's eldest son gave me my cue, by which he intimated I might draw out the old soldier to relate some stories of the war.
"Ask him," said the young man, "how he got away from Charleston after the surrender; and then get him to tell you how he took the five Scotchmen prisoners."
We were all in good humor. The boy was quite easy, and everything was going on well, and we had determined to sit up until Mrs. T. should arrive, which could not be before midnight. Horse Shoe was very obliging, and as I expressed a great interest in his adventures, he yielded himself to my leading, and I got out of him a rich stock of adventure, of which his life was full. The two famous passages to which I had been asked to question him--the escape from Charleston, and the capture of the Scotch soldiers--the reader will find preserved in the narrative upon which he is about to enter, almost in the very words of my anthology. I have--perhaps with too much scruple--retained Horse Shoe's peculiar vocabulary and rustic, doric form of speech--holding these as somewhat necessary exponents of his character. A more truthful man 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 truth that belongs to natural and unconscious bravery, united with a frank and modest spirit. He seemed to set no especial value upon his own exploits, but to relate them as items of personal history, with as little comment or emphasis as if they concerned any one more than himself.