round hat pretty much of the fashion of the present
day--though then but little used except amongst military men--with a
white cockade to show his party; nor do I wish to be considered as
derogating from that peaceful character when I add that his saddle-bow
was fortified by a brace of horseman's pistols, stowed away in large
holsters, covered with bear skin;--for, in those days, when hostile
banners were unfurled, and men challenged each other upon the highways,
these pistols were a part of the countenance (to use an excellent old
phrase) of a gentleman.

Galbraith Robinson was a man of altogether rougher mould. Nature had
carved out, in his person, an athlete whom the sculptors might have
studied to improve the Hercules. Every lineament of his body indicated
strength. His stature was rather above six feet; his chest broad; his
limbs sinewy, and remarkable for their symmetry. There seemed to be no
useless flesh upon his frame to soften the prominent surface of his
muscles; and his ample thigh, as he sat upon horseback, showed the
working of its texture at each step, as if part of the animal on which
he rode. His was one of those iron forms that might be imagined almost
bullet proof. With all these advantages of person, there was a radiant,
broad, good nature upon his face; and the glance of a large, clear, blue
eye told of arch thoughts, and of shrewd, homely wisdom. A ruddy
complexion accorded well with his sprightly, but massive features, of
which the prevailing expression was such as silently invited friendship
and trust. If to these traits be added an abundant shock of yellow,
curly hair, terminating in a luxuriant queue, confined by a narrow
strand of leather cord, my reader will have a tolerably correct idea of
the person I wish to describe.

Robinson had been a blacksmith at the breaking out of the revolution,
and, in truth, could hardly be said to have yet abandoned the craft;
although of late, he had been engaged in a course of life which had but
little to do with the anvil, except in that metaphorical sense of
hammering out and shaping the rough, iron independence of his country.
He was the owner of a little farm in the Waxhaw settlement, on the
Catawba, and having pitched his habitation upon a promontory, around
whose base the Waxhaw creek swept with a regular but narrow circuit,
this locality, taken in connexion with his calling, gave rise to a
common prefix to his name throughout the neighborhood, and he