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Title: The Tory Maid
Author: Herbert Baird Stimpson
Release Date: February 26, 2007 [EBook #20678]
Language: English
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[Illustration]
The
Tory Maid
By
HERBERT BAIRD
STIMPSON
New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
[Illustration: (decorative borders)]
Copyright, 1898, by H. B. STIMPSON.
_To
Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Hall Harrison
this volume
is affectionately inscribed by
the Author_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. WE START FOR THE WAR 1
II. WE MEET THE MAID 10
III. A FLASH OF STEEL 24
IV. THE RED COCKADE 34
V. SIR SQUIRE OF TORY DAMES 44
VI. A TALE IS TOLD 55
VII. THE DEFIANCE OF THE TORY 68
VIII. THE BLACK COCKADE 77
IX. THE RED TIDE OF BLOOD 89
X. THE HARRYING OF THE TORY 107
XI. THE COUNCIL OF SAFETY 118
XII. THE VETO OF A MAID 132
XIII. THE GREETING OF FAIR LIPS 146
XIV. THE RETURN OF THE TORY 156
XV. THE FLAG OF TRUCE 166
XVI. THE BALL OF MY LORD HOWE 176
XVII. AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES 187
XVIII. THE CROSSING OF SWORDS 196
XIX. THE SANDS OF MONMOUTH 206
XX. IN THE LINES OF THE ENEMY 222
XXI. THE PASSING OF YEARS 230
XXII. THE COMING OF THE MAID 238
The Tory Maid
CHAPTER I
WE START FOR THE WAR
I, James Frisby of Fairlee, in the county of Kent, on the eastern
shore of what was known in my youth as the fair Province of Maryland,
but now the proud State of that name, growing old in years, but hearty
and hale withal, though the blood courses not through my veins as in
the days of my youth, sit on the great porch of Fairlee watching the
sails on the distant bay, where its gleaming waters meet the mouth of
the creek that runs at the foot of Fairlee. A julep there is on the
table beside me, flavoured with mint gathered by the hands of John
Cotton early in the morning, while the dew was still upon it, from the
finest bank in all Kent County.
So with these old friends around me, with the julep on my right hand
and the paper before me, I sit on the great porch of Fairlee to write
of the wild days of my youth, when I first drew my sword in the Great
Cause. To write, before my hand becomes feeble and my eyes grow dim,
of the strange things that I saw and the adventures that befell me, of
the old Tory of the Braes, of the fair maid his daughter, and of the
part they played in my life during the War of the Deliverance. To
write so that those who come after me, as well as those who are
growing up around my knees, may know the part their grandfather played
in the stirring times that proclaimed the birth of a mighty nation.
The first year of the great struggle, ah, me! I was young then, and
the wild blood was in my veins. I was broad of shoulder and long of
limb, with a hand that gripped like steel and a seat in the saddle
that was the envy of all that hard-riding country. I was hardy and
skilled in all the outdoor sports and pastimes of my race and people,
and being light in the saddle I often led the hardest riders and won
from them the brush, while every creek for fifty miles up and down the
broad Chesapeake, and even the farther shore as far as Baltimore, knew
my canoe, and the High Sheriff himself was no finer shot than I.
You, who bask in the sunshine of long and dreary years of peace, who
never hear the note of the bugle nor see the flash of the foeman's
steel from one year's end to another, know not what it was to live in
those stirring times and all the joy of the strife. You should have
seen us then, when the whole land was aflame.
The fiery signal had come like a rush of the wind from the north, with
the cry of the dying on the roadsides and fields of Lexington.
All along the western shore the men of Anne Arundel, of Frederick, and
Prince George were mustering fast and strong. Then the Kentish men and
those of Queen Anne and all the lower shore were mounting fast and
mustering, while from the Howard hills came riding down bold and hardy
yeomen.
Then, and as it has always been in the old province of Maryland, the
gentlemen led the people, and everywhere the spirit of fire ran like
molten steel through the veins of the gathering hosts, and the people
took up the gauntlet of war with a laugh and a cheer and shook their
clenched hands at the King who was over the sea; so it was the length
and breadth of the province, and so it was with me.
And so one day the signal came, and I mounted my black colt Toby and
rode away to the Head of Elk in the county of Cecil, where the
mustering was, to take my place, as it was my duty and right to do,
side by side with the bravest gentlemen of the province in the coming
struggle for the Great Cause.
I was eighteen in the month of March of that year and considered
myself a man, and, having reached man's estate, I bade good-bye to my
mother and rode from out the sheltering walls and groves of Fairlee.
But just before I rode within the shadow of the great woods I turned
in my saddle and waved my hand to the small, quaint figure that stood
on the broad porch watching me disappear; and she bravely--for the
women were brave in those days--waved her hand in return, and then I
rode on, for the moment saddened at the parting, for the die that day
would be cast, and, though there would be mustering and drilling for
many weeks before we took up our march to the northward, the hand of
the cause would claim me as its own.
I was riding thus through the forest when I heard hoof-beats behind me
and a cheery halloo, and who should ride up but Dick Ringgold of
Hunting Field, a lad of my own age and my true friend?
"Why such a long face?" he laughed. "You look as if you were going to
a funeral and not to a hunt that will beat all the runs to the hounds
in the world. We are going to hunt redcoats and fair ladies' smiles
and not foxes now; so cheer up, man."
"Plague on it, Dick, you are ten miles from home and I am only one," I
retorted. "You ought to have seen how bravely her ladyship tried to
smile, too."
"We will increase the number of miles then," said he, and reaching
over he struck Toby across the flank. Well, Toby needs the curb at
best, and it was a full half-mile before I brought him up and had a
chance to give Dick a rating.
But Dick only laughed.
And so we rode on, across the low-lying plains of Kent, northward
toward the borders of Cecil.
For miles we would ride under the shadow of the dense forest, and then
we would come to the wide-reaching fields of some great manor or
plantation, the manor house itself generally crowning some gently
rising knoll amid a grove of trees, with a view of the distant bay,
or creek, or river, as the case might be; the cluster of houses, the
quarters for the slaves, the stables and the barns, making little
villages and hamlets amid the wide expanse of farm lands and the
distant circle of the dark green forests.
Then, again, a creek or river would bar our course, and we would have
to ride for miles until we turned its head, or found a ferry or a
ford, and so overcome its opposition. So on we rode until, as the day
waxed near the noon hour, we came to the little hamlet of Georgetown,
nestling amid the hills on the banks of the Sassafras. Crossing the
river at the ferry, we began the last stage of our journey.
The trail now skirted the broad lands of Bohemia Manor, and crossed
the beautiful river of that name, embedded between the hills and
wide-stretching farm lands.
As we approached the banks of the Elk the country grew more rolling
and wilder--in our front the Iron Hills rose up before us, crowned
with forests, in sharp contrast to the low-lying country through which
we had been passing.
And now, as our appetites became pressing, we urged our horses on, for
we had still many miles to travel.
CHAPTER II
WE MEET THE MAID
We had just come in sight of the blue waters of the Elk, as it rolled
between the forest-clad hills on either side, basking here for a
moment in the sunshine, then lost in the deeper shadows of the
overhanging forest.
"There rolls the Elk," cried Dick. "Only ten miles more, and a stroke
upon a piece of paper, and then, my boy, you are done for. A pain that
eats its way ever inward, a thirst that never slackens, and over all
the black night lowering down. Aye, so it is, Sir Monk of the Long
Face; but we will have some fun before we are put under the sod or our
bones are left to whiten on the sands."
"That we will, Sir Richard. And now we are in for it, for here comes
our first adventure. Is she ugly or is she fair? Which, Sir Richard?"
For, as we reached the point where our road joins the river road, we
saw, approaching along the lower road, a gentleman riding on a
powerful horse, while behind him on a pillion sat a slight girlish
figure, hidden in part by the broad shoulders of the rider.
"By Jove, it is Gordon of the Braes," said Dick.
"What, the suspected Tory?"
"Yes; and that must be his daughter. They say she is the fairest lass
in all the county of Cecil."
"Tory or no Tory," said I, "with a fair face at stake, I will speak to
him."
They were as yet some distance off, but as the rider drew nearer to us
we saw that he was a splendid specimen of manhood, such as I had but
seldom seen before.
While strong of frame and above the medium height, he carried himself
and rode with a courtliness and ease that bespoke the accomplished
horseman and gentleman. His splendid head and face showed the marks of
an adventurous career, and all bespoke the blood of the family from
which he had sprung, the Gordons of Avochie.
But striking as was the figure of the rider, the glimpse we caught of
the fair burden behind made us for the moment forget him.
A slender figure it was that sat upon the pillion, with wonderful eyes
of the darkest blue and hair of the deepest brown that waved and
clustered around the temples--a mouth that was winsome and sweet, a
small and aristocratic nose, a chin that was slightly determined,
giving her altogether a queenly air, as she sat so straight and prim
behind her father.
"Sir," said I, making Toby advance and bowing to his mane, "as we are
travelling the same way, will you permit us to accompany you? My
friend is Richard Ringgold of Hunting Field and I am James Frisby of
Fairlee."
"It will give me pleasure," he replied, saluting courteously, "to have
your company to the Head of Elk. I know your families and your houses
well, and you, no doubt, have heard of me, Charles Gordon of the
Braes."
"That we have," said Dick Ringgold. "It was only a week ago that my
mother spoke of your first coming to old Kent."
"It was kind of her to remember me," he replied. "She was a great
belle and a beauty in her youth."
Dick smiled with pleasure, and I, taking advantage of a narrow place
in the road, fell behind, and rode so I could talk to Mistress Jean,
much to Master Richard's secret indignation. But she received me with
a show of displeasure, and though I courteously asked her of her
journey, it was some minutes before I knew the cause thereof.
"Are you not," said she, and her aristocratic little head was in the
air, "afraid to be seen riding with suspected Tories, you who wear the
black cockade?"
And then I remembered that I wore the emblem of our party.
"Afraid!" I replied. "Afraid! We who have bearded the Ministers of the
Crown in the broad light of day? Do you think I am afraid of our own
men? Why, if Mistress North herself were half as fair as your ladyship
of the Braes, I would ride with her through all the armies of the
patriots, and no man would dare say me nay."
A merry twinkle came into her eyes. "Would you wear the red cockade if
she should ask you?"
"Ah, Mistress Jean, would you seduce me from my allegiance to the
cause of the patriots?"
"To the cause of the patriots? What of your allegiance to the King?"
"But the King himself has broken that, and forced us in self-defence
to take up arms in revolt. Would you have me true to my people, or to
the King, who is over the sea?"
"To the King," she answered promptly, "for the King's Ministers may be
bad men to-day and good to-morrow, but if you once strike a blow at
the mother country and win, then the ties of love, of friendship, and
of interest are severed for ever."
"Yes; but she should have thought of that before she forced us to it."
"What spoiled children you are," she cried. "Because the taffy is not
as good as usual you want to pull the house down about our ears."
Thus receiving and parrying thrusts, we rode along the banks of the
Elk, and as we neared the ferry we met numbers of men travelling the
same way with us, all bound for the great mustering, and though they
returned our salutations, seeing the black cockade in our hats, they
scowled on Gordon of the Braes.
"There goes that dog of a Tory," I would hear them growl to one
another as we passed.
But Gordon rode on with a cool, indifferent, almost contemptuous
manner, which made the frowns grow blacker, and the mutterings deeper
and louder. But no man as yet sought to beard him, for his courage and
his daring were well known throughout the shore, and it would have
taken a bold man indeed to cross Gordon of the Braes.
At last we came to the ferry and saw on the hillside, among the forest
trees, the white tents, already taking on the appearance of a
well-regulated camp. The little town amid the trees, busy with the
life of the moving crowd, and bright with the uniforms of the Maryland
Line, which we were soon to don, formed a curious spectacle as we
entered.
Every part of the province was represented. Here was a tall
backwoodsman in his coonskin cap, buckskin shirt and leggings, with
his long and deadly rifle, totally unadorned by the glint of silver or
chasing on the barrel to betray him to his redskin neighbour--and you
knew that one of Cresap's riflemen was before you.
By his side, for the moment, was a young tobacco planter from Prince
George. The youngster to whom he was talking, clad in the scarlet and
buff of the Maryland Line, was a young dandy from Annapolis.
And so it was all through the crowd, the frontiersman, the hard-riding
country squire, and the city swell, all mingled together, and all
animated with one all-pervading and all-engrossing thought--how best
to secure the freedom of the country and resist the tyranny of the
King.
As we made our way through the crowd the faces grew dark as they saw
the Tory, but as Dick and I rode on either hand, with our black
cockades, the crowd murmuringly gave way before us, and though all the
people were hostile to him, and he could not help but see it, he
coolly looked them over and rode as if he had no enemy within a
hundred miles.
But the colour in Mistress Jean's cheek flamed high, and I saw her
little hands clenched together, as if she would like to tell these
rebels what she thought of their treatment of her father. And I,
seeing the war signal so clearly on her cheek, and daring not the
batteries of her eyes and wit, was discreet and said not a word.
We took our way to the inn, kept by one John McLean, a genial host and
Scotchman, who was well known in three provinces, and kept the finest
inn for many miles around.
He received us in a jovial way, for though he was a stanch patriot, he
and Gordon had been friends for many years.
"So, Mistress Jean, you have deigned to honour my roof with your
presence. Welcome, welcome, all of you."
And though I had swung myself off Toby to assist Mistress Jean to
dismount, he was before me and swung her lightly to the ground.
"I declare," he said, "you grow bonnier every day, lassie," which
brought a blush to her cheek. Then, turning, he called his wife and
placed Mistress Jean in her charge.
"I am sorry to say, gentlemen, that the inn is very crowded, as you
see, but I think I can find a place for you." Then drawing the Tory
aside for a little way, we heard him remonstrating with him for coming
to the town at such a time, when the feeling ran so strong and high
against the Loyalist.
"You risk your life," he said, "for the slightest spark or
indiscretion will bring a mob, boiling and seething around you. The
officers will not be able to hold the men in, as they are only
volunteers, and have not yet felt the hand of discipline."
But Charles Gordon shrugged his shoulders, and his reply came
distinct and clear: "I thought you knew me better, McLean. I would
not hide my head for a hundred or a thousand of them;" and he turned
and went into the inn.
The innkeeper made a gesture of despair. "That is always the way,"
said he, "both in this country and the old; tell a Gordon of a danger
and he will rush right into it, and then expect to come out safe and
sound."
We laughed, for the expression on the old Scotchman's face was so
droll.
"But now for your room, gentlemen;" and he led the way to a small room
under the gable roof. "It is the only room I have left," he said, "but
you are welcome to it."
It was now somewhat late in the afternoon, but having made ourselves
presentable and partaken of a lunch, we went to report ourselves to
Captain Ramsay of the 1st Regiment of the Maryland Line.
He received us at his tent door with a warm grasp of the hand. "You
are the very lads I have been waiting for," he said. "I have two
Lieutenancies to fill, and you are the men to fill them."
"But, Captain," said Dick Ringgold, "we have not been tried yet. Let
us go into the ranks and fight our way up, as so many better men than
we are doing."
I could not help admiring Dick for his modesty, and though I, too,
said the same thing, I confess I hoped the Captain would not hear of
it, and so it proved.
"No, no," he said, and patted Dick on the shoulder. "I must have you;
I know the blood that runs in your veins, lads, and that I will have
no better fighting stock in the army." And thus it was settled, and
we became officers in that Maryland Line, and--I say it with all due
modesty--the most famous of all the fighting regiments in the struggle
for the Great Cause.
CHAPTER III
A FLASH OF STEEL
That night we sat at the long table in the dining-room of the inn. All
up and down its great length sat the officers of the Line--country
gentlemen from Cecil, Kent, and as far south as Queen Anne, who had
ridden thus far to see the mustering and to give it their countenance
and their favour. Grave and sedate gentlemen many of them, men of
affairs, the leaders of their counties, and delegates to the
Convention and to Congress--men of the oldest and bluest blood in the
province, of wide estates and famous names, whose families wielded a
mighty influence in the cause of the patriots and gave it stability
and great strength.
Then there was the parson, a merry old gentleman, stout of form, with
a round face and twinkling eyes, who in his youth was a mighty
fox-hunter in spite of his cloth; even then, stout as he had grown,
when he heard the music of the hounds, it was with difficulty he
restrained the inclination to follow, which now, alas! was made
impossible by his great weight. We who loved hard riding, hard
fighting, and a strong will, admired him, and no man was more popular
throughout the three counties than the fox-hunting parson. He knew the
people and their ways, and was one of them.
"I hear you are fire-eaters here," he said to a vestryman upon being
installed.
"Then we are well matched," came the reply, "for they say you are a
pepperbox."
So no gathering throughout the county was a success without the
parson, and by the unanimous voice of the Line he was called to be
their chaplain.
We sat there in the long dining-room amid the hum of many voices, the
glare of many lights, and the click of the glasses, as the wine was
going around, when a young man who sat across the table from me rose
with his glass poised between his fingers.
He was a handsome man, of twenty-one or twenty-two, of dark and
swarthy features, thick lips and nose, and hair as black as night,
telling of the Indian blood in his veins.
His name was Rodolph, and he was the son of a man more noted for his
wealth than for his principles, but who was then at the city of
Annapolis, a delegate from the county of Cecil.
"I propose a toast," he cried, "that all true patriots should drink. A
toast to the delegates of this county, who at the convention of the
province in the city of Annapolis are standing as the bulwarks of
liberty against the tyranny of the Crown."
We were all on our feet in an instant to drink the toast, with a right
goodwill, all except Charles Gordon, who sat at my right hand. He kept
his seat and watched us with a cool, sarcastic smile upon his lips.
"Is not the toast good enough for you?" cried Rodolph, with an ugly
sneer upon his face.
All eyes now turned to where Charles Gordon sat, and he slowly rose.
"Drink to your delegates?" said he. "Not I. They are the scum of the
county of Cecil, and you know it. I would as soon be governed by my
slaves at the Braes as by such men as they are. I wish you joy of
them." And bowing, he turned and left the room by a door that was near
at hand.
For an instant there was silence, then an uproar broke forth, and
Rodolph sprang around the table to follow him, with several of the
young men at his heels. But I, seeing the danger, with possibly a
thought of a fair maid's eyes, threw myself before the door with drawn
sword.
"No man passes through this door," I cried, "unless he passes over
me."
The crowd drew back in surprise.
"Since when," I shouted, for they hesitated, "have Maryland gentlemen
learned to fight in mobs? If any one has an insult to resent, let him
fight as becomes a gentleman, man to man."
"Stand aside," shouted Rodolph, who was now before me, "and let me get
at the traitor."
"Put up your swords, gentlemen." I found I had a new ally in a tall,
dignified gentleman, who took his place beside me, a Mr. Wilmer of the
White House in Kent.
"The lad is right," he said; "and you, Rodolph, I should think, would
have had enough of Charles Gordon of the Braes."
At this there was a laugh, which at the time I did not understand; but
the company good-naturedly put back their swords and resumed their
places at the table, all except Rodolph, who slipped away from the
room.
That night, as I lay upon my bed, dreaming, boylike, of the fair eyes
of the Tory maid, and hoping that the part I had played in the matter
of the toast might come to her ears and cause her to give me a smile
at our next meeting, I heard the sound of footsteps coming down the
passageway.
"There is great danger," said a voice, which I recognised as the
landlord's, as they were passing by my door. "Rodolph is stirring up
the crowd, and though you might brave the mob, Mistress Jean--" and
then the voices died away.
"The mob" and "Mistress Jean." Clearly something must be afoot.
Springing from my bed, I swore to myself, that, if anything happened
to the Tory maid, I would make Phil Rodolph feel the edge of my sword.
Hastily throwing on my clothes, I went to the window and looked out.
The night was dark, the sky being full of drifting clouds, through
which the moon faintly struggled; everything lay quiet and still in
the village and the camp. Steps were heard upon the porch below, and
then a horse was brought around from the stables. A moment later a
horseman mounted, and I saw a slender figure on the pillion behind
him.
"Keep to the south road," said a voice, "they have only one sentry
there."
I did not wait to hear more, but slipped downstairs and out of a side
door, and the next moment I was running softly through the camp to the
outpost on the south road, for one of my own men was stationed there,
and I knew that without orders or the countersign no man would pass
that way that night. It was well I did, for as I drew near I heard the
challenge "Who goes there?" and the answer "A friend."
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."
"Maryland." But the Tory had missed it, and the next moment the
sentry's rifle was at his shoulder, and I knew the cry for the officer
of the guard would follow; so I stepped out from the shadow, and the
sentry, seeing me, brought his rifle to a salute.
"Lieutenant," he said, "he wants to pass, and has given the wrong
countersign."
"Yes," said I, drawing my hat over my eyes, for I did not wish to be
recognised by Mistress Jean. "I heard. But I know them; let them
pass."
"Certainly, Lieutenant."
"Thank you," said the rider, and a still softer "Thank you" came from
his companion. I bowed, but said nothing, and stood there watching
them disappear down the dark road until the sound of the horse's hoofs
was lost in the distance.
"Queer time of the night to ride, sir," said the sentinel.
"Yes; but they have far to go."
"Kent or Queen Anne's, sir?"
"Down by Bohemia Manor."
"That is where that old Tory Gordon lives; they say they are going to
rout him out in the morning for insulting the committee last night. He
is up at the inn, there, and Phil Rodolph says he is going to make it
hot for him."
"Mere talk, I expect. Good-night."
"Good-night, sir."
I took my way back to the inn, and when I crawled to my room once more
and into bed, Dick Ringgold raised himself on his arm and said in a
sleepy voice: "What's up, Frisby?"
"Oh, nothing," I replied; "go to sleep." And I soon followed my own
advice.
CHAPTER IV
THE RED COCKADE
The stirring notes of the bugle made us spring up in the morning, to
find, when we were again downstairs, that every one was talking of the
disappearance of Charles Gordon of the Braes.
Master Richard marvelled much at the disappearance of the Tory, and,
though I knew it was of the Tory maid he was thinking, I said not a
word, but went on with my duties; and manifold they were for many days
to come. The drilling of the raw recruits, who, though they were full
of fire and _élan_, were not used to the strict obedience of orders,
was at first very difficult. But soon there came the spirit and the
pride that were to make them the best drilled troops, the dandies and
macaronies of the army. And so, with the drilling of recruits and
assisting Captain Ramsay in the formation of the regiment, a week
passed by before a day came when Dick and I found a few spare hours on
our hands. And having certain plans and purposes in view, and not
wishing them to be known to Dick, I sat and watched for an opportunity
to slip away.
Master Richard, it was evident, had also some plans on foot, for after
moving from the chair to the top of a box and then back again, he
stretched his arms above his head, and, yawning, said: "I believe I
will take a little canter down the south road; come along?"
"No," I replied; "I am going to ride a short distance down the east
road."
"All right," said he, and springing from his chair, he went to order
his horse. I soon followed, and, having seen Dick well on his way,
rode for a short distance on the east road, then turned, rode back,
and entered the road which runs along the bank of the Elk, by which we
had entered the town on our journey from Kent. As I rode, I hummed a
jovial hunting-song and touched Toby with the spur, for I was quite
jubilant at having got rid of Dick and so well on the road to my
adventure.
My time was short and it was good twelve miles to the Braes, but
Toby's sire was a son of old Ranter, and I knew he could do it in an
hour and a half. So Toby felt the spur, and I barely noticed the miles
as we flew along, until we came to the road that leads south to the
Braes. Down this road we turned, and as we were so near the end of our
journey I began to think of the reasons and excuses I should give for
my visit. Reason! Pshaw! What better reason does a Marylander want
than a pair of blue eyes? And if Mistress Jean should so much as
demand it by the merest glance of those eyes, I would tell her so.
Aye, but she is a Tory and wears the red cockade. True, but the fairer
the enemy the more difficult the prize, the greater the glory and
effort to win.
And so, having justified my invasion of the stronghold of the Tory, I
pricked Toby with the spur and rode on more rapidly, when, on turning
a bend in the road where it is intersected by one from the east, whom
should I come face to face with but Master Richard? For a moment he
stared at me with open mouth, and I at him; then his brow grew dark.
"I thought," he cried; but suddenly the humour of our meeting came
over him. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he broke out into a
hearty burst of laughter, and I could do nothing but follow.
"And so, Master Frisby, you rode down the east road."
"And you, methinks, rode down the south." Again our laughter rang
through the woods.
"Come," he cried, "which is it to be? So fair a maid deserves two
cavaliers, but we would be at sword points within a week, and I do not
wish to lose the friendship of Mr. James Frisby of Fairlee."
"A chance has brought us here, so let chance decide."
"Agreed," said Dick, pulling out a sovereign, and with a twitch of the
thumb, he sent it high in the air. "Heads, you win. Tails, I win."
Then catching it as it fell: "By Jove, you have it. Present my
compliments to Mistress Jean," he cried, with a grandiloquent bow,
"and tell her how near she came to being Mrs. Dick Ringgold of Hunting
Field."
"That I will, Sir Richard." But Dick was gone, and I was left to ride
on to the Braes.
A long, rambling house it was, standing white amid the trees, a wide
lawn around it stretching down to the creek at its foot; while beyond
could be seen the sunlight gleaming on the bay. A quaint,
old-fashioned place, the low roof already growing dark with age; the
quiet air of ease and comfort brooding over all, making a fitting
setting for the quaint, slender little lady that ruled its destinies.
A negro took my horse; another showed me across the broad hall, with
its hunting whips and trophies on the wall, to the parlour, and there
I awaited the coming of the Tory maid. And as I sat there, gently
stroking the toe of my boot with my whip, and thinking of that night
at the inn, of that soft "Thank you" on the old south road, I heard
the soft swish of her skirts, and, looking up, saw Mistress Jean
standing in the doorway. A beautiful picture it was, like some old
portrait of Lely's, the maid standing there framed in the old oak. And
I, though I had been to the balls at the Governor's house the winter
before, and was therefore a man of the world, sat staring for a
moment. But she advanced, and I was on my feet with a low and sweeping
bow.
"Father is away," said she, "but in his name I wish to thank you for
defending us at the inn that night."
So she knew.
"It was to save the honour of Maryland gentlemen," I replied modestly.
"Heretofore they have not fought in mobs. But will you not thank me
for yourself?"
"When you turn loyalist, yes," said she.
"Almost thou persuadest me to become a traitor."
"You are that already," she said with spirit.
"Yes, that is the way they have written 'Patriot' since Tyranny first
stalked across the world. But patriot or traitor, Mistress Jean, I
have already won one 'Thank you,' and I hope some day to win another."
"Won one 'Thank you'--when and where?" and she looked at me with wide
open eyes.
Now every Marylander will admit that there are no more gallant fellows
in the world than we are, and if any one chooses to dispute it, well
and good, we are willing to cross swords with him any day, and so
reprove him for his recklessness. Indeed, we have been called with
truth the Gascons of the South, and, like those gallant gentlemen of
old France, we have never hidden our light under a bushel, to use a
homely phrase; and so when I saw Mistress Jean's air of surprise, the
spirit of my race came over me.
"Yes," I replied, "it was the sweetest 'Thank you' I ever heard."
Again the mystified look.
"But where?" said she again.
"It was rather dark," I replied, "and the clouds were drifting across
the sky, and you, I am afraid, did not know who it was who received
that soft 'Thank you.'"
"Were you the Lieutenant?"
I bowed.
"Oh," she said, and she stamped her tiny foot, "if you were only not a
rebel!"
"But even rebels have their uses."
Thus it was we became good friends in spite of the traitor stamped
upon my brow. Ere I knew it, the time approached when I had to mount
and ride. But before I left, her soft hand rested for a moment in
mine.
"We march in a few days," said I, "to the North, to the Leaguer of
Boston. There will be fighting there and bloody work. Can I not carry
a single token?"
Her nimble fingers flew to her hair, and took from thence a blood-red
rose, and pinned it to my coat.
"There," said she, "my red cockade;" and turning quickly, she ran into
the house.
CHAPTER V
SIR SQUIRE OF TORY DAMES
"Well, Sir Squire of Tory Dames, did she smile on you?" The voice was
harsh and rasping; looking across the table, I saw the sneer upon his
lips. I had but entered a moment before the dining-room of the inn,
after my long ride, and was about to take my seat, when Rodolph's
sneering question made me pause.
"That is more than you could ever win, my Mighty Lord from Nowhere," I
retorted. At this there was a laugh from those about. An angry flush
showed through even his dark and swarthy skin; for, being a burly
bully of the border, he liked not being bearded thus by a youth.
"You damned impudent puppy!" he cried, rising.
But there stood a glass at my right hand, full to the brim, and ere he
could say another word the red wine flew across the table straight
into his face.
"Take that!" I cried, "with the compliments of James Frisby of
Fairlee!"
A dozen men were now around us, and Rodolph, spluttering through the
wine and swearing many oaths, demanded to be released from the hands
upon his shoulders, shouting that he would shoot me like a dog.
"It will give me pleasure to let you have an opportunity," I replied
coolly. "It will be a rare chance for you to become a gentleman."
And so, still muttering and swearing, his friends took him from the
room, while I took my seat at the table. But I was not allowed to eat
my meal in peace; for many gentlemen came to offer their services and
to thank me. Rodolph's overbearing manners had long been unpopular
among them, and the wonder was that he had not been forced to fight
before. But I was determined that Dick should be my second, and so,
thanking them all for their kind offers, I placed my hand on Dick's
shoulder, and we went out together amid a volley of advice and
friendly warning.
Half an hour later, as I was examining my sword and Dick his pistols,
there came a rap on my door, and two gentlemen entered; one was
Captain Brooke, the other Lieutenant Barry of the Line.
"Lieutenant Frisby," said Captain Brooke, as he advanced and bowed,
"it is my painful duty to deliver you this challenge."
"It is a pleasure to receive it from your hands," I replied,
returning his courtesy. "Lieutenant Ringgold and Harry Gresham of Kent
will act as my seconds, permit me to refer you to them."
Dick now went out with them to Harry Gresham's room near by, where
they would be safe from interruption, Gresham having volunteered with
Dick to be one of my seconds, and I went on polishing my sword,
waiting for the issue. At last Dick came back.
"Well," he cried, "it is all settled. You are to fight to-morrow
morning at sunrise down in the little meadow below the creek."
"Swords, I suppose?"
"No; pistols. I insisted on swords at first, it being our privilege;
but Captain Brooke said that Rodolph had broken his arm the year
before, and that it was still too weak to fight with. So I waived the
swords and agreed to the pistols."
"It is not quite as gentlemanly a weapon, but just as deadly. I have
put a bullet through the head of a wild duck flying, and I think I can
hit Phil Rodolph."
"That you can," said Dick.
It was a bright, clear morning as we slipped out of the inn on our way
to the little meadow. The eastern sky was already tinged with crimson,
and the blood-red lances across the heavens told of the coming dawn.
The air was fresh and cool as it blew up the river from the bay, and
our lungs drew in great draughts of it as we felt the breeze in our
faces.
"A splendid morning to die on," said Harry Gresham.
"And to live on, too," I replied.
"Stop your croaking, Gresham," put in Dick Ringgold. We walked on
silently to the meadow, where we found that we were the first to
arrive.
Though I have stood on many a field of honour since that day, though I
have felt the bullet tearing and burning its way through the flesh,
and the sudden, sharp pain of the sword thrust, I shall never forget
that encounter on the meadow beside the Elk, when I first faced the
muzzle of a hostile pistol, and knew that the will behind it sought my
life.
It was not fear that I felt as I stood there, waiting for the coming
of my adversary, for fear has always been foreign to my family, but a
sort of secret elation. For that day, if I survived, though the down
upon my lip was as yet imperceptible, I could take my place as a man
among men. No longer would my boyish face keep me out of the councils
of my elders, but I would have the right to take my stand and ruffle
it with the best of them all. I was there to win my spurs as a man
and a duellist, and to show to all the world that I had the courage of
my race. For then, as it has ever been in the fair province of
Maryland, we love above all else courage in a man; and so it was I
waited with impatience Rodolph's approach, for it meant the casting
off of the boy and the making of the man.
We did not have long to wait, for Rodolph and his seconds soon
followed us down the path, and each party saluted. Then Captain Brooke
and Dick Ringgold measured off the paces, and threw for the choice of
positions. Dick won, and I found myself standing near a small sapling,
with my back to the rising sun, which as yet had not climbed over the
tree tops, and so did not interfere with Rodolph's position. Facing
me, twelve paces away, stood Rodolph, his dark, swarthy face darker,
more Indian-like, and forbidding than ever; behind him stretched away
the small glade, and the smooth green waters of the river, as they
wound their way between the tall forests on either side. I remember
watching a wild duck as he went swiftly flying down the Elk, when Dick
Ringgold's "Are you ready?" suddenly recalled me to my position.
"Yes," I nodded. Then came the even counting, "One, two;" but ere
"two" had been uttered, I saw the flash of Rodolph's pistol, and felt
the sharp pain of the bullet tearing its way into my side. While I,
taken by surprise at such rank treachery, fired not so accurately as
usual, and my bullet clipped his ear. Dick's sword was out in an
instant, and I verily believe he would have run Rodolph through on the
spot, as it was his duty and right to do, so base was the crime of
firing before the time--a thing that had never been known among
Maryland gentlemen before. But seeing me reel, he came to my
assistance, and threw his arm around me.
"Tie me to the sapling, Dick," said I, "and give me one more shot."
"But no gentleman should fight with such a scoundrel!" cried Dick
hotly.
"I waive that, just one more shot."
So, with Harry Gresham's assistance, they took Dick's sash and tied me
to the sapling, and in this way enabled me to keep an upright
position. Captain Brooke had come forward to inquire as to my injury,
but Dick met him and demanded another exchange of shots. "My
principal," he said, "waives the treachery that places your principal
beyond the pale of men of honour. But," continued Dick, "if he should
dare to fire again before the time, I will shoot him down where he
stands."
Captain Brooke flushed, and though we saw that it was painful to him
as a man of honour to be the second of such a principal, he could do
nothing but accept. "I will shoot him down myself," said he, "if he
dares again to do it."
He then returned to his party, and we saw by his angry gestures that
he was warning Rodolph of the penalty if he should a second time
transgress the rules of honour.
Again we faced, and I could feel the strength ebbing fast from me, but
I could see that Rodolph's face was pale, even through his swarthy
skin. "One, two, three, Fire," came again the fateful words; but I had
nerved myself for the final effort, and glancing down the polished
barrel, I fired, at the same moment that Rodolph's pistol rang out.
For a moment I saw him standing there, and then he lurched forward,
with his arms in the air, and fell face downward as the mortally
wounded do. With that there came a mist before my eyes, my hand fell
to my side, and I remembered nothing more. They told me afterward that
they carried me to the inn in the village, Captain Brooke assisting,
after they had seen that Rodolph was dead. "Leave him there for
awhile," said the Captain, as he came to assist Dick in my removal.
"The dog had a better death than he deserved."
CHAPTER VI
A TALE IS TOLD
I lay there at the inn, I do not know how long, but they told me
afterward it was for many days, hanging on the brink between life and
death, until one day I heard in my dreams the music of the fife and
the rattle of the drums, and awoke to life and hope again. The
sunlight was streaming through the south window across the counterpane
of the bed, and outside could be heard the steady tread of marching
men.
"What troops are those?" I asked somewhat hazily, for I was still on
the borderland of dreams.
"They are the Maryland Line marching away to the North to join General
Washington."
"Marching to the North? Then I must join them." And I tried to rise in
my bed, for it came back to me with a rush that I was a Lieutenant in
the Line. But strong hands pushed me gently back upon my pillow, and I
recognised now the voice of my nurse, Mrs. McLean.
"No, no, Mr. Frisby; be still. You are a regular little bantam, but
your spurs are clipped for some time yet."
"Why, what is the matter, Mrs. McLean? How did I come here?"
"Law bless the boy!" said the good old soul. "He has clean forgot."
But the dull pain in my side soon brought back to me that clear, fresh
morning on the bank of the Elk, and for a moment I lay still.
"Did I kill Rodolph?" I asked.
"That you did, lad; and no man deserved it more."
Then I heard a heavy step in the passageway outside, and then a
lighter one. The next moment the door opened and I saw my mother, more
pale and fairy-like than ever, and behind her came Captain Ramsay,
bluff and hearty, but looking very solemn at that moment. But they saw
the news on Mrs. McLean's good-natured face, and when I spoke to my
lady, the old-time happy look came back again, as she came to my
bedside and kissed me, while the great voice of the Captain came
hearty and strong.
"Aye, lad, I told them that you would pull through; make a gallant
fight, my boy, and you will have a shot at the redcoats yet."
"But, Captain, you are marching away without me."
"You will be in time for the fighting, never worry; lie still and get
well. Half the young men in the Line are envying you, you rogue, for
becoming a hero before them all." And the Captain took my hand, and
bade me good-bye, for he must hurry away to join his regiment.
A few minutes later there came the clank of a sword and a hurried
step, and then the door burst open and in marched Master Dick in all
the glory of his full regimentals. And so brave was the show that he
made in his cocked hat, scarlet coat, with its facings of buff, and
the long clanking sword, that I longed to spring up and don my own
then and there. But my mother's finger on her lip caused him to stop
the cheery greeting, and he came forward on his tiptoes, holding his
sword carefully to keep it from clanking, for by this time I was
growing weak again. Master Dick shook my hand gently and murmured,
"Cheer up, old fellow, you will soon be with us again," but I could
only give him a slight smile, for I was again on the borderland of
dreams. Dick stood for awhile looking down on me; then he, too, had to
depart. Gradually the steady tramp of marching feet died away, and
everything became quiet and still again.
The days passed by, week followed week, and though at first I gained
strength but slowly, the process seeming a long and dreary one, the
vigour of a youthful frame soon asserted itself, and I could feel the
returning tide of health and strength. But as yet I lay there upon the
great four-post bed, with my mother sitting near by, her dear face
bending over the embroidery frame, as her deft fingers weaved
beautiful designs with the silk. As I lay there, I would wander back
again to that day before the duel, to the swift challenging glance of
a pair of blue eyes as a blood-red rose was pinned to my coat. But
that was so long ago, years it seemed to me, away back in the past, a
memory as it were of a fairy tale heard from the lips of a grandmother
before the big open fire in the great hall on a winter night; a fairy
tale, aye, and she the Princess, with her blue eyes and hair of waving
brown, with her step as light as the dew-drop, and her voice as low
and soft as the breath of the Southern breeze in the spring; and then
I would be her Prince Charming, with my coal-black horse. But, pshaw!
I am becoming a child again; whereas I am a man, who has fought his
duel as becomes a man, with a right to the sword by his side. And yet
those blue eyes, what fate was in store for them? And would their
challenging glance ever meet mine again? But here my mother stopped
the trend of my thoughts for a moment.
"James," she said, "John Cotton tells me that an old darky comes to
inquire for you every night. Strange, is it not? We know so few
people here."
"Yes," I replied. "Does John Cotton know who he is?"
"No; he refuses to tell, and all John Cotton can find out is that he
leaves town by the river road. He appears to be a stranger to all the
other darkies, and nobody seems to know him."
By the river road! Could it possibly be, then, that it was the Tory
maid who sent those many miles to see if I were in the land of the
living or the dead? Ah, it was too pleasant a thing to dream of; too
pleasant to have it shattered by the rough hand of fact. And so I said
dreamily, "It is only one of John Cotton's stories, I suppose."
Yet I would not have believed it otherwise for all of John Cotton's
weight in gold. Thus it was I was thinking one day of the Tory maid,
when the door opened, and a tall, dignified gentleman came in--the man
who had stood by my side that day when with drawn sword I held the
door against Rodolph and his followers--Mr. Lambert Wilmer of the
White House in Kent.
He came forward and greeted me with many kind phrases. While he sat
talking to me of the duel and its cause, I thought of that great burst
of laughter when he told Rodolph to put up his sword, as by this time
he should have had enough of Gordon of the Braes, and I asked the
reason for it all.
"It is a long story, lad," said he, "but I will tell it to you."
Then he told me how, many years before, Mistress Margaret Nicholson
had been the loveliest girl in Kent, and the belle of the whole shore,
and how there was not a bachelor within three counties who did not
seek her as his bride, or who would not have sold his soul for a
glance of her eyes or the soft pressure of her hand; and how when
James Rodolph of Charlestown Hundred came riding down from Cecil and
boasted of his wealth, his horses, and his slaves, swearing that he
would win her or no one would, the suitors stood aside to see how he
would fare with this the proudest of Kent beauties. To their dismay,
he seemed to prosper well, until one day there disembarked from a
vessel that came sailing up the broad Chester a young gentleman of
distinguished appearance, who asked his way to Radcliffe, the home of
the Nicholsons.
"Now, the Nicholsons, as you know," said Mr. Wilmer, "are Scotch, and
this young gentleman was Scotch, for his accent betrayed him, and we,
thinking he might be a cousin and have brought news from over the
water, welcomed him, and showed him the way to Radcliffe. He, though
he was very reserved, told us that he had indeed come from over the
sea, and bore a letter to the Nicholsons, who were old friends of his
family, but of himself he would say no more. And so, when he strode
off, we turned to Captain Hezekiah Brown of the Maid of Perth, who was
a man who delighted to talk. From him we learned that his name was
Gordon, and that there was a mystery about him, as people suspected
him of being one of the young chiefs who had led that famous clan in
the recent rebellion against the King. But this we held not to his
injury, for there were still many lovers of the White Rose in the fair
province of Maryland, and we afterward welcomed him the more heartily
for it. From the advent of the stranger the good fortune of James
Rodolph began to wane; for the rich planter of the border, with his
wild and boisterous manners, was no match for the Scottish cavalier.
It is true that he was penniless, but he was very handsome, of
distinguished manners and address, and when it became known that he
was out in 'forty-five' the mantle of romance that fell around Prince
Charles was shared as well by him, and he became the hero of many a
pair of fair eyes.
"James Rodolph soon saw this, and his hatred grew from day to day, as
his rival became more successful. One day there was a quarrel, and
next morning, upon the smooth, sandy shore of the river, they met and
fought it out. Rodolph was fiery, quick, and fierce; Gordon cool and
steady; until Rodolph, growing weary and desperate, tried a foul and
dangerous stroke, to find his rapier flying through the air, to fall
with a splash into the river.
"'I would not stain my blade by killing you,' said Gordon; and turning
with the other gentlemen who had seen the foul stroke, he walked away,
leaving him there.
"And so it was that Rodolph came back to Cecil with a blot upon his
name, and Gordon married the maid, and became in time the owner of the
Braes, for she was an heiress as well as a great beauty. From that
time has grown the feud which we may some day see the end of. And that
is why the people laughed and Rodolph slunk away. For the old story is
known throughout the shore, and Rodolph proved, in his fight with you,
the bad blood in his veins. It never does to cross the white blood
with the red, for the treachery of the Indian will taint the race for
generations."
Thus it was, by the light of this old tale of thirty years before, I
saw and read the cause and reason of it all--of his fatal course, of
our quarrel, and of the meeting by the banks of the river Elk.
CHAPTER VII
THE DEFIANCE OF THE TORY
A few weeks later I was up and out, fast gaining strength and courage
for the long ride to the northward to join the gallant fellows of the
Maryland Line, who had taken up their line of march soon after the
accident befell me. And though I was eager to be off, the surgeon
would not let me go, and so, until I could gather strength for the
long journey, I served as best I could my country and the commands of
the Committee of Public Safety sitting at the Head of Elk. Thus it was
I rode one day by the side of Edward Veasey, High Sheriff of the
county of Cecil, carrying the writ and command of the Committee of
Public Safety to Charles Gordon of the Braes, now a suspected Tory
and a malcontent. And as I rode by the side of the High Sheriff on
this most unpleasant task, I longed to turn back and let the Sheriff
ride on alone; but duty held me as a point of honour. For as it was, I
was carrying I knew not what ruin and destruction to the roof of the
very house that once had received me as a guest and that sheltered the
fairest eyes that had ever gazed in mine. And now I was to appear
before that house as the bearer of ill-tidings. Ah, duty often wears a
gruesome countenance; yet it is a sign of courage to face this duty
down, and I sat more firmly in my saddle and rode nearer to the High
Sheriff. He was a stern and determined man; he was short of stature,
stout of frame, and sat his powerful horse like the fox-hunter that he
was. But, though it was the height of summer, and the hills and the
forests were green, the air laden with the odour of flowers, and the
streams full and rushing, there was anything but a smile on the High
Sheriff's face. For though he was no friend to Gordon of the Braes, he
liked not the errand on which he rode, and would gladly have turned
his horse's head with me.
"If they want to fight," said he to me, "why don't they join the
Maryland Line and leave men alone who are disposed to be quiet? They
will have enough to do in repulsing the redcoats, and should not stir
up opposition in the rear of our armies, which this persecution of
private individuals will certainly do. I wish some other carried this
writ, and I was with the lads fighting in the North."
"Aye, so do I, but it is the order of the committee," said I grimly.
"True, and as such must be obeyed."
We had come to where the ferry crosses the Elk, and hailing it we
were soon on the south bank and taking up again the road that leads to
the Braes. Over the hills and dales of Cecil, the forest, streams, and
rivers, the soft warm sunlight played, and nature blessed with lavish
hand the harvest of the year. Seldom had she been more pleasing, the
earth bursting with flowers and the very trees welcoming with
outstretched arms the soft breezes wafted from the bay. And then,
after some hours' travelling, we came to the Braes and I saw again the
long rambling house amid the trees. I took a firmer grip upon my sense
of duty and rode on. The clatter of our horses' hoofs as we rode up to
the door announced us. A moment later Charles Gordon came through the
open doorway on to the porch. Though I had seen him before, it seemed
to me, as I saw him standing there, with the memory of the old tale
in my mind, that I saw not the Tory, but one of those figures of
romance that stepped out from the mystery and the haze of the North,
when Prince Charles raised his standard in the Highlands, one of those
heroic men who drew swords with Wallace and with Bruce, rallied with
Montrose, and went to death with a cheer behind Bonnie Dundee at
Killiecrankie, of such gallant bearing and bold and open countenance
was he.
"What brings you here, Mr. Sheriff, riding so fast?"
"I come, Charles Gordon of the Braes," replied the Sheriff, "to serve
on you the writ and summons of the Committee of Public Safety." And
here he unfolded the summons and read aloud, sitting on his horse as
he was:
"_Whereas_, Great complaints have this day been made against
Charles Gordon of the Braes, for that he has infamously
reflected on the membership of this Committee and the
deputies of this county who lately attended the Provincial
Convention,
"These are therefore requiring the said Charles Gordon of
the Braes that he appear before this Committee, at the house
of Thomas Savin at the Head of Elk, to-morrow at two o'clock
P.M., to answer unto said complaints.
"Hereto fail not on your peril.
"JAMES RODOLPH, Chairman.
"To CHARLES GORDON of the Braes."
Then spoke Charles Gordon:
"Go tell those who sent you, Mr. Sheriff, that if they wish to see
Charles Gordon they will have to come to the Braes to do so; that I
will give them a right warm welcome, as my plantation is large enough
to hold them all; but that if any of their rascally crew dare to
approach the house, there will be lives lost; for I say to you, Mr.
Sheriff, as I have said before and will say again, that James Rodolph
and his committee are a set of infamous scoundrels, who have usurped
such power and authority in troublous times as the King himself would
not dare to claim. Tell them that I am at their defiance, that I do
not recognise their authority, and that I have as much contempt for
them as I have for their dogs."
The old gentleman, for he must have been nearly sixty, looked splendid
in his wrath, as he denounced the Committee of Public Safety. The ring
in his voice told that the ire of the Scot was rising.
For an instant the High Sheriff hesitated, as if he would turn and go,
but then he said:
"Charles Gordon, I spoke to you a moment ago as an officer of the law.
I speak to you now as one who does not wish you an injury. Obey the
order of the committee, and I will see that you have fair speech
before it. Refuse and you will be declared a traitor and an outlaw,
and the edict will go forth through all the province that no man shall
buy of you, that no man shall sell to you, and he that shows you
kindness will become an outlaw like yourself."
Charles Gordon laughed.
"Do you think I care a snap of a finger for their edict? There has not
been a generation of my family that has not been at the Horn at
Edinburgh for high treason. Do you think that I care when my neck has
been on the block for the part I took at Preston Pans and Culloden? Go
frighten the children with their edicts, but not an old Scot who has
seen the claymores flash and led the charge for the King who is over
the sea."
"If you fought against the father, why not against the son?"
"A fair question deserves a fair answer. When my head was on the
block my life was saved by the intercession of the Duchess of Gordon,
but upon conditions, and those conditions are these: That I should
nevermore bear arms against the King, that I should leave the realm of
Scotland, sail across the sea to the province of Maryland, there
remain and never return. So, though I love not the King nor his race,
I will not draw sword against him, for never yet has a Gordon broken
faith with friend or foe. Yet for all that I will not take up arms for
the King's cause unless I am forced to do so by such rascals as
compose your Committee of Public Safety."
"So be it, then, but I wish it were otherwise," said the Sheriff; and,
turning, we rode away, leaving him standing there. As I entered the
woods I looked back again, my eyes searching every window in the old
house, but never a sign of the Tory maid did I see.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BLACK COCKADE
It was two o'clock next day when we rode up to the house where the
Committee of Public Safety held its meetings, dismounted, and entered
the room. Six gentlemen sat at the long table, and the room was
crowded with hangers-on. They were men who stayed behind while the
others went to the war; they fought the fight with their tongues, with
writs of forfeiture for high treason, became great statesmen, and in
time aspired to become members of the committee. How the worthy High
Sheriff regarded them could be seen by the manner in which he brushed
past them to stand before the committee.
"What right have you to talk of liberty and of freedom, if you will
not fight for it? Why are you not with Howard, Gist, Smallwood, and
the other heroes who are making the name of the Maryland Line ring
through the army?" he would ask, and they would turn away.
The burly form and dark, swarthy face of the Chairman dominated the
committee. As we entered and stood before him his dark eyes flashed.
"Do you bring the body of Charles Gordon with you?" he demanded.
"No; I do not. I bring his defiance, instead;" and the High Sheriff
delivered the message of Charles Gordon to the committee.
The committee glanced from one to another, and there was a big stir in
the room. Then the Chairman was on his feet.
"By a thousand devils," he swore, "Charles Gordon shall suffer for
this. I will not stop until the Braes is razed to the ground, and I
have driven him from the province. He is a Tory and a traitor, and a
danger to the peace of the county. He will be up in arms next. Mr.
Sheriff, summon a posse and ride to the Braes and bring us the body of
Charles Gordon, dead or alive."
"You will not accept the invitation to go to the Braes yourself,
then?" asked the High Sheriff gravely, though there was the suggestion
of a smile around the corners of his mouth.
The Chairman hesitated. "No," he said; "it is absolutely necessary for
the welfare of the county of Cecil that we should remain where we are
and not engage in any brawls or tumults, for if we are killed who will
take our places?"
"That is true," said the High Sheriff ironically, "but have you
considered, gentlemen, that Charles Gordon's wife was of the
Nicholsons of Kent, who, as you know, are the leaders of the patriots
in that county? How will they like it when they hear of your burnings
and your razings?"
The Chairman frowned. "You are right," he said; "we must proceed about
it in a legal way, which is slow but sure. Mr. Clerk, institute
proceedings against Charles Gordon for the forfeiture of his lands for
high treason, and meanwhile we will publish him throughout the
province as a Tory and a traitor. We will teach this Charles Gordon
and all Tories what it means to contemn the authority and dignity of
this province and its committee."
And then applause broke out from the crowd; but the High Sheriff, who
left the room with me, shrugged his shoulders and said: "If they had
half of the courage of that Scot they would not be loafing around
here, applauding James Rodolph. I am tired of it; I am going to resign
and go to the front." He was as good as his word, for that very day he
resigned the office of High Sheriff of the county of Cecil, packed his
saddle-bags, gathered some volunteers about him, and rode away to the
North, becoming in time a noted officer. But it was not until the
month of August of that year that I was ready to follow him and felt
equal to the length of the journey. On the night of the day before I
took my departure I called John Cotton and ordered him to saddle Toby.
John Cotton received the order with wide-open eyes, as it was growing
somewhat late.
"Fo' de Lord's sake, Mars Jim, what do you want Toby fo'? It's after
ten o'clock."
"Ask no questions, you black rascal, and bring Toby around in a
hurry."
Then his eyes fell on a cluster of red roses on my table, and a broad
grin crept from ear to ear.
"Sartin, Mars Jim, sartin;" and he was out of the door before my
flying boot could repay the impertinence of that grin. A few minutes
later I slipped out of the house to the stables, and, mounting Toby,
was soon riding out of the silent town, having hit that rascal John
Cotton across the shoulders with my whip for the snickering laugh he
could not restrain as I was riding off.
Have you ever ridden by the silent river after the night has fallen,
and when it is far advanced? The great trees, rising far above you
like the vaulted arch of a cathedral, overhanging the path down which
you ride; the smooth flowing waters of the river, the towering dark
mass on the farther shore, and over all the glorious moon shining
down flooding everything with its silvery light, weird and fantastic,
glinting now like polished steel upon the waters, now deepening the
shadows of the forest, or flooding again with its glorious radiance
some wide and sweeping stretch of water. And then, the unearthly
silence of it all, the mournful howl of the wolf in the hills, and the
piercing shrill cry of the wildcat, like that of a child tortured by
the demons of hell; then the horror of its beauty, its stillness and
its loneliness, comes over you; nervous chills become distinctly
apparent, and you put spurs to your horse and ride on more rapidly,
and the night is broken first by your whistle and then by your song.
So it was, as I rode by the banks of the Elk, that night in early
August, and my voice rang across the waters, as I sang the old
Highland ballad:
The Gordons cam', and the Gordons ran,
And they were stark and steady,
And aye the word among them a'
Was, Gordons, keep you ready.
A ballad that I heard a young girl sing one day not long before. Thus
the length of my ride passed quickly away until Toby felt the soft
grass under his feet as I rode silently across the lawn. Her window
was high, it is true, but it was open to admit the fresh, cool breeze
from the bay, and then I had not thrown quoits in my youth not to be
able to surmount so small a difficulty. So I fastened a black cockade
amid the blood-red of the roses, and, rising in my stirrups, threw
them firmly and gently, and saw them rise in the air, top the
window-sill, and fall with a slight thud upon the floor. I did not
wait for more, but turned and rode away; but it seemed to me that as I
gained the shadow of the forest and looked back I saw the faint
suggestion of a girlish form standing at the open window. I looked
once again and rode on.
When morning came, I bade good-bye to my mother, mounted my black colt
Toby, and rode away to join the Maryland Line, which was marching now
from Boston, to meet the British before New York. As that day I
crossed the line into the province of Delaware, I saw nailed to a
great oak the proclamation of the Committee of Public Safety,
denouncing Charles Gordon as a Tory and a traitor, and calling upon
all persons to have no dealings with him, either in public or private,
at their peril. And thus it was at every cross-roads in the county of
Cecil, and in all the counties to the south and west, the edict had
gone forth.
Now in Maryland, as I have said before, we love, above all else,
courage in a man, and so I rode under the oak, and tore down the
proclamation, for I knew the courage of Charles Gordon, Tory though he
was. I knew also that the proceedings of forfeiture had been
instituted against him in the High Court of the Province, and that ere
I set foot on the soil of Maryland again, he would be driven from the
province, and it was for this that I paid this courtesy to the courage
of an enemy, as I left my native plains behind me.
It was a long road for a lad, but the people received me with open
arms and urged me on when I told them whither I was riding. After
several days of travelling along the shore of the Delaware and across
the low-lying plains of New Jersey, I came to the banks of the Hudson,
and saw across the water the great city of New York, its clustering
houses and steeples. And then it was not long before I was on the
ferry that conveyed me across the river, and heard the sharp ring of
the pavement under my horse's feet as I rode toward the great common
where lay the encampment of the troops. It was near twelve o'clock
when I came to the camp of the patriots and asked my way of an officer
to the quarters of the Maryland Line.
"You must be a stranger," he said, "or you would know that the
Maryland Line always has the place of honour in the camp;" and he
showed me where their quarters lay.
I felt aglow with pride when I heard this tribute to my countrymen. I
thanked him and rode on. A few minutes later I was among them. The
great voice of the Captain was giving me greeting; Dick Ringgold's
hand was on my shoulder, as he took charge of me; and many of my kith
and kin, old friends and neighbours who belonged to that famous
corps, came forward to greet and welcome me to the camp. Thus, after
many days of sickness and of travel, I took my place among the men who
were about to face the great storm. True, at the time quiet reigned
all along our front, which lay over beyond the heights of Brooklyn;
but hot work was soon expected, as the British fleet had been seen in
the offing, and it was only a question of time when the army would be
landed and the attack begun.
CHAPTER IX
THE RED TIDE OF BLOOD
Spruce Macaronies, and pretty to see,
Tidy and dapper and gallant were we;
Blooded, fine gentlemen, proper and tall,
Bold in a fox-hunt and gay at a ball;
Tralara! Tralara! now praise we the Lord,
For the clang of His call and the flash of His sword.
Tralara! Tralara! now forward to die;
For the banner, hurrah! and for sweethearts, good-bye!
JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER.
It was on the 22d day of August that the rumour flew through the camp
that the enemy had landed and was preparing to attack. But the hours
flew by, and still no orders came, until the Line became restless, and
the fear grew that the fight would begin before we could reach the
field of battle. The sun began to sink over the Heights of Harlem
when an aide rode into our lines. It was Tench Tilghman, who swung his
hat and shouted as he went by: "You will have warm work in a day or
two, boys!"
We gave him a yell in reply, and started with renewed interest the
preparations for the coming fight. A few minutes later came the orders
that we were to march at dawn. The men received the news joyfully, and
it was wonderful to see the change in their bearing; for while the
doubt hung over them, they were restless and murmuring was heard all
through the camp; but now all was laughter and gaiety. They prepared
for the fight as one would prepare for the next county ball or a
fox-hunt on the morrow.
The stirring notes of the bugle ringing over the camp brought me to my
feet with a bound, and I looked out of the tent to see a heavy mist
over everything, and hear the sound of men's voices coming through it
all around me. It does not take a soldier long to don his uniform, and
I was soon out attending to my duties. At seven o'clock we were on our
march to the ferry, crossing the East River at the foot of the main
street of the small town of Brooklyn; then we took a road leading over
a creek called Gowanus, and knew that we were marching to guard the
right of the American line. Low-lying hills, heavily wooded, lay
before us; it was in these woods that our line was called to a halt,
and we took up our position for the battle. We lay there several days,
with constant rumours flying through the camp of the enemy's advance,
but yet they would not come.
It was on the morning of the 27th of August that the great battle of
Long Island, so disastrous for the patriot forces, broke upon us. The
scattering shots of the skirmishers first made us spring to arms; then
the sharp rattle of the musketry of Atlee's men and the boom of
Carpenter's cannon on our immediate right told that the enemy was
pushing them hard. Then through the forest trees came the line of the
British advance. The fire extended along our whole front, while far
over, to our left came the distant roar of cannon and musketry.
"They are having a hot time over there," said Dick, "but why don't
these fellows charge us?"
"They will charge us soon enough," I replied. But it seemed as if they
never would, for what promised to be an attack along our whole line
dwindled down to a mere exchange of shots. Hour after hour went by,
and yet they never advanced beyond a certain point except when a
company or so would dash forward and a sharp skirmish would break
forth for a moment or two, and then die away again. But far over to
our left the sound of the battle came rolling nearer and nearer,
telling the tale of Sullivan's men being driven in.
"I do not like that," said Dick. "They are doing all the fighting,
while we are merely exchanging courtesies with our friends six hundred
yards away. Hello! There comes news."
I looked behind us to a small hill, where Lord Stirling stood with his
staff, and saw Tench Tilghman riding up at full speed. There was a
hurried movement among the staff, and Stirling's glasses swept the
country to our left and rear. A moment later an order was given and
the aides came dashing down our lines, and then, to our disgust, came
the order to retire.
"Retreat!" cried one of the men. "Why, we haven't begun to fight
yet!"
"Steady, men," cried Captain Ramsay; "you form the rear guard and must
hold the enemy in check," for they were beginning to advance as the
regiments on each side of us withdrew. Then we began slowly to
withdraw, but there came an aide riding swiftly to Major Gist.
Pennsylvania and Delaware regiments took our place in the rear, and we
were marched rapidly to the front. The heavy woods had heretofore
prevented our seeing what was taking place, but now that we had come
out to the opening a wild scene of terror and dismay lay before us.
Gowanus Creek, deep and unfordable, with its sullen tide rising fast,
lay like a great ugly serpent across our path, while over the meadow
and far in our front the broken streams of fugitives were swarming,
flying toward the bridge at the mill, the only hope of crossing
Gowanus Creek. And as I looked, to my horror, the mill and the bridge
burst into flames, catching the routed army as it were between the
rising tide and the advancing legions of the victorious English. Then,
as we watched it, a rumour grew and spread through the ranks, as such
things will in battle, that a New England Colonel had fired the bridge
to save himself and his regiment. How we cursed New England then, and
swore that if we ever escaped we would have our reckoning with her and
her people.
"There they come!" cried Dick at my side, pointing to where a large
stone house crowned a hill immediately in the rear and commanded the
whole field of the terror-stricken fugitives.
I saw the brilliant scarlet of their coats as they took possession of
the hill and prepared to open fire.
"They will have to be driven from there or we are lost," I answered.
Then, as the prospect looked the darkest and the long line of the
British formed to make their last advance, Lord Stirling rode up to
our line.
"Men of Maryland!" he shouted, "charge that hill, hold Cornwallis in
check and save the army!"
We answered with a yell, as he sprang from his horse to lead us.
Ah, I shall never forget the pride with which we stepped out of the
mass of flying fugitives, four hundred Marylanders, the greatest
dandies and bluest blood in all the army, for this, the proudest
service of the day. We formed for the charge as if on the drill
ground; our evolutions and lines were perfect, and would have done
credit to the grenadiers of the later empire. Stirling's sword was in
the air, the drums were beating the charge, when there broke from the
throats of our Marylanders the wild, thrilling yell of the southern
provinces, and we leaped to the charge up the long hill, straight into
the face of Cornwallis's army, a handful against thousands. Up, up the
hill we dashed. A fire as of hell broke upon us and rattled and roared
about our ears, thinning our ranks and strewing our pathway with the
dead. Men fell to the right and to the left of me, and I strode across
the bodies of the slain in my path; but still, over the roar of the
cannon and the rattle of musketry, high and shrill rose the yell of
the charging line. We swept up the hill, the crest was gained, and the
British fell back before us, when we were met by a sheet of flame, a
storm of lead and smoke and fire. We were raised as it were in the air
and held there gasping for breath, and then we were swept back down
the hill, struggling desperately to gain a foothold to make a stand.
Again we saw Stirling glance over the meadow and the marsh behind us
as we re-formed our line. His voice came ringing down our ranks.
"Once again, men of Maryland."
Once again! Aye, we knew how to answer that call, for the bodies of
our comrades lay dotting the long hillside.
"Once again, and charge home!" cried Ramsay.
We sprang to the charge, and wilder, shriller, fiercer, more terrible,
rose the yell--the yell of vengeance that seemed to pick the line up
bodily and hurl it up the hill through the scorching, blistering storm
and hail of lead, fire, and smoke. I remembered naught till the crest
was gained, and Edward Veasey crying, "Charge home! Charge home!" and
we dashed in upon the scarlet line. Ah me, for a moment, then it was
glorious, as steel met steel, and we drove them, ten times our
number, back, and rolled them up against the house and forced them off
the plain. And then our hands were on the ugly muzzles of the guns,
and Edward Veasey, springing on the carriage, cheered on his men. But
ere it had died on his lips, so desperate was the struggle, the
English Captain of the guns fired, and Veasey fell. I was but a dozen
steps away, and, seeing Veasey fall, I dashed through the press of
bayonets to where the English Captain fought.
"Another one!" he cried, as we met face to face.
"Yes, and the last;" and our swords met.
"No time for that!" cried a voice at my side; then there was a flash,
and the Englishman fell back into the arms of his men, and the guns
were won for an instant. But only for an instant. Our men melted away
under the storm of lead from the Cortelyou house, and the weight of
the advancing regiments forced us back to the crest of the hill. Then
slowly, step by step, down the hill they forced us, until we rested
once more at its foot.
But still the meadow, the marsh, and the creek were black with the
mass of flying men seeking eagerly, desperately to escape, while
between them and the victorious British stretched the ranks of the
Maryland Line, now sadly thinned, for one-third of our men were dyeing
the long dank grass with their blood. But that line, thin as it was,
closed up the wide gaps in the ranks with as jaunty a step and as
gallant a carriage as when they first stepped out for the charge.
Their faces looked grim, it is true, for with the smoke and the fire,
and the blood and the dust, the genius of battle had sketched
thereon.
For a few minutes we rested at the foot of the hill, for we knew that
our work was not half done, and until the last fugitive was over
Gowanus Creek we must check the British advance. A glance from Lord
Stirling told us to charge, as he pointed up the long hill with his
sword.
Again there came the answering yell, the requiem for many a gallant
soul, and the line once more swung forward to breast the hill. Up the
long hill we toiled again, straight into the teeth of the fire.
Again we gained the crest and fought them, man to man; again by weight
of numbers they forced us off the crest, and sent us staggering,
reeling down the hill, desperate now.
Yet again Lord Stirling called on us to follow, and yet again we
charged them home.
Men lay wounded, men lay dying, all across the long hillside, and
more than half our number were dead or sorely stricken.
Yet it was for a fifth time that Stirling's voice rang clear, over the
roar of the battle, and for the fifth time we picked up the gauge of
their challenge, and swept forward in the charge.
Thus for the last time we reached the crest, and for one heroic moment
held our own, and then came reeling back from the shock. And, as I was
carried down the hill with the retreating line, I saw the tall figure
of Lord Stirling standing upright and alone amid the storm of bullets,
courting death and disdaining to retreat.
"To the rescue of Lord Stirling," I cried to the few soldiers who were
around me. Dick, who was near, echoed my shout, and we dashed forward,
determined to bring him off by force if no other way could be found.
But we had not advanced a dozen yards before every man that was with
us had fallen and only Dick and I reached Lord Stirling, who was
calmly awaiting the end.
"The day is lost, my lord," I cried, "but we have yet time to save
you."
"Save yourselves, lads," he replied; "you have done everything that
men can do, but it remains for me either to die or surrender."
"My lord," I cried; but at this moment Dick reeled. "Struck, by
George!" he exclaimed, and I caught him as he fell.
"See to your comrade," said Lord Stirling; "you have yet time to
escape."
So, throwing Dick's arms around my neck, for there was no time to
parley under that rain of lead, I bore him quickly down the hill.
But our work had not been in vain, for as a soldier came to my
assistance I saw that the last of the fugitives had reached the other
side, and the army for the moment was saved.
And so, when we reached the banks of Gowanus Creek, we formed in line
once more and gave a parting yell of defiance; then, turning, we
plunged into the creek and swam to the other side, while the shot and
grape from the English on the hill tore across the whole surface of
the water.
Dick was badly wounded, but, with the soldier's assistance, I swam
with him across the creek and bore him safely out of the range of the
fire.
Ah, it was but a shadow of our former line when we formed once more,
but the great General himself came to thank us, and that shadow of a
line was worth a thousand men.
Thereafter we claimed as our own the post of honour in advance or in
retreat; during the famous march on the night after the battle, and
in the retreat to White Plains, we formed the rear guard, and the army
felt secure.
There came a breathing time one day during the retreat, and the
General rode up to our lines. We greeted him with the yell he loved to
hear, for it brought back to him the Southland and the hunting fields
of Old Virginia.
Then he told our officers that he wanted us to pick out the youngest
of our line to carry a special despatch to the Committee of Public
Safety, sitting at Annapolis, announcing the battle and the famous
part we had taken therein. The choice fell on me, as poor Dick was
groaning in the hospital, but luckily out of danger from his wound.
"Well, my boy, how old are you?" said the General, smiling down upon
me, as I saluted.
"Eighteen, General."
"Do you think you can carry this safely?"
"I was in the charge at Gowanus Ford, General," said I modestly.
"I see," laughed the General, "you are a true Marylander. I wish I had
more of you in the army."
CHAPTER X
THE HARRYING OF THE TORY
I was soon riding southward, the bearer of the message from General
Washington to the Council of Safety, sitting at Annapolis; and as I
rode, the people hailed me for my news, and gave me food and drink, so
I could hurry on.
At last I reached the borders of Maryland, and again rode under the
old oak from which I had torn the proclamation. It was only a few
weeks before, and I wondered what had been the fate of Charles Gordon.
So, as I rode through the Head of Elk late that afternoon and came to
the ferry there, I asked the boatman what they had done with him.
"Forfeiture has been decreed," he answered, "and the new High Sheriff
and James Rodolph have gone to-day with a posse and many men to root
the traitor out."
"How long ago did they start?"
"About an hour."
"What road did they take?"
"The river road. They expect to reach there about nine o'clock.
Jupiter! I'd like to be there and see the flames reddening the sky. It
will be a grand sight." He looked longingly through the forest toward
the Braes.
"Something else will be dyed crimson, if I know that Tory right."
"That there will be, sir; it will be a lovely scrimmage;" and he
sighed at the lost opportunity.
The boat grounded on the south bank, and I mounted Toby.
"A pleasant ride, sir."
"Thanks; good-night."
"Toby," said I, as I patted his neck, "you have travelled many a mile
to-day, old fellow; but you will have to cover the ground to-night as
you never covered it before. They have an hour's start, and we have a
longer distance to go; so double your legs under you, my boy, and go."
Toby rising to the occasion, and the spirit of old Ranter proving
true, he broke into the long even gallop that makes the miles pass
swiftly. It was a race against time, against James Rodolph and his
crew. I knew if once they gained the Braes, black death would stalk
among the ruins, for Charles Gordon would never surrender.
The night fell rapidly as we raced along and the miles flew by.
As Toby and I drew near Bohemia Manor, where the road joined the one
on which the posse was marching, I reined him in and rode more
cautiously. It was well that I did so, for as I approached I heard
the low murmur of men's voices and saw their figures in the dim light
as they were marching by.
I brought Toby to a halt. The road was cut off that way, so I wheeled
him around to ride back a short distance to where the road skirted the
open fields of Bohemia Manor. As Toby plunged forward in answer to my
spur, I heard a cry and then a shot came whistling by. But I left them
behind, and coming to the open fields, I put Toby at the fence and
raced across the open country, through the lower fields to the Braes,
Toby taking the fences in his stride.
Then I dashed once more across the green lawn of the Braes and drew my
sword hilt across the shutter.
There was a stir in the room above me; the shutter was cautiously
opened and I was covered by the muzzle of a pistol.
"Who are you?" demanded a voice which I knew to be Charles Gordon's.
"James Frisby of Fairlee," I replied. "I have ridden to warn you, Mr.
Gordon. You have only a few minutes to escape in; James Rodolph, with
a hundred men behind him, will be here in ten minutes."
"Thank you, lad, for the information. I will give them a warm
reception."
"But you cannot hold the Braes against a hundred men; they will burn
you out, and then Mistress Jean."
"Hum; that is so, lad. Ride round to the rear of the house."
I did so, and a moment later, they came out on the little porch. The
old gentleman had buckled on his sword, and there were pistols in his
belt. And she, ah! she never looked more bewitching. Her beautiful
hair flowed wild about her shoulders, over the light dark mantle in
which she was wrapped. By the flicker of the candle, I saw that a
bright flush mantled her cheek, as she spoke rapidly.
"Father, there is an English vessel a few miles down the bay. Call the
slaves and escape to it."
"But I cannot take you there."
"I will carry her through the lines," I cried, "and see her safe in
the hands of her aunt in Kent."
They hesitated, but the noise in front of the house told of the
approaching mob, and there was no time for parley. So, true to my
race, I acted quickly, and stooping from my saddle I caught her up
gently and placed her on Toby before me.
"It is the only chance, lad. See that you carry her safely."
"I will carry her through or die," I replied with deep conviction. At
the touch of the spur Toby sprang forward under his double burden.
"The creek," she cried.
"Yes; but we can swim it."
Indeed it was our only way, as the mob blocked the other roads of
escape, so we rode boldly in and swam for the other side. The creek
was several hundred yards wide, but Toby bore us bravely until we
reached the southern shore, then he plunged forward, threw himself up
the bank, and we were out of immediate danger.
There we halted for a moment under the shadow of a great tree and
looked back across the water.
We heard the sound of many voices, the howling of the mob, and through
the trunks of the trees flickered the glare of the torches. Suddenly
shots rang out, a cry of dismay and rage followed, and then the flash
of guns and a rattling volley crashed around the house.
"By Jove, he is fighting it out!" But the slender figure on my arm
trembled, and I saw that her face was white through the darkness.
"He will escape, Mistress Jean," I said reassuringly; "trust an old
Highlander for that." And I saw that her eyes were bright and tense,
watching the scene across the water.
"There he goes," she exclaimed joyfully; and there, gliding swiftly
through the waters, where the shadow of the trees made the darkness
more intense, was a long low boat rowed by stalwart slaves. The sound
of the oars was drowned by the clamour of the mob.
"If he passes the neck," I exclaimed, "he will be safe;" for the creek
narrowed at its mouth until it was but a hundred yards wide.
"Ride quick to the point," she said.
So Toby plunged forward again at the pressure of my knees, and though
he still went gallantly on, I could tell that the strain and the toil
of the long march from the north, and his dash from the Head of Elk,
were beginning to tell on him.
At last we reached the mouth of the creek, and I brought Toby to a
halt under the shadow of a clump of trees, where we could see and yet
not be seen. I glanced for a moment out over the waters of the bay,
and I saw, several miles to the southward, the gleam of a light as it
fell on the waves; I knew it was the English man-of-war.
But Mistress Jean's eyes were eagerly searching the waters of the
creek, and she was straining her ears to catch the sound of the oars.
Then we were rewarded. For at that moment we heard the long sweep of
the oars in the water, and out from the mouth of the creek came the
boat, the brawny negroes bending to their task.
The commanding figure of the old Tory stood in the stern, looking back
up the creek whence they came. Unconsciously my glance followed his,
and I saw that the sky was crimson, and high above the tree-tops the
flames licked the skies.
"The Braes!" I exclaimed, and Mistress Jean was about to call out,
when there came the sound of galloping hoofs on the other side. A
horseman dashed into view, and rode into the water up to the
saddle-girths. There was a flash, and the crack of a pistol broke the
stillness of the night; then with a gesture of rage, the horseman rose
in his stirrups and hurled the pistol far over the water; we heard the
splash as it fell.
Then the figure in the boat raised his clenched hand and shook it at
the horseman and the flames.
"You fired too quick, Mr. Rodolph," said the ferryman.
"Yes, damn him, he has escaped." He turned his horse and rode into the
darkness, while a soft voice whispered in my ear,--
"Thank God."
CHAPTER XI
THE COUNCIL OF SAFETY
The sun had risen when we came once more in view of the groves of
Fairlee. Toby's pace had degenerated into a walk, as if not to disturb
the fair burden he bore, for she, overcome with fatigue and
excitement, was quietly sleeping with her head on my shoulder. Toby
picked his way like a dancing-master, and though the road was rough,
never once did he stumble; he still bore himself gallantly for the old
House of Fairlee. Ah! Toby, that road was miles too short for your
master. Willingly would he have ridden thus, aye, until his hair had
turned as white as snow on his brows, until the hand that guided the
reins became too feeble to grasp them; aye, even unto the end of time.
But before us lay Fairlee, and beyond that lay duty and the army.
"Look once more, my cavalier," said I to myself; "look once more, for
the moments are short, and in the days to come, in the dreary bivouacs
and on the long marches, when the world seems bare and cold, the
memory of that sweet face will brighten up with sunshine your
existence and make it all glorious again. Oh, hang it, here is
Fairlee!"
"Mistress Jean," I whispered. I was loath to wake her, but it had to
be done. "Mistress Jean!" I said, this time louder, and she awoke with
a start. "This is Fairlee, and you can rest here with my mother, while
I push on."
"Fairlee? Why, where am I? Oh, I remember now. Did I go to sleep, Mr.
Frisby?"
"You did, Mistress Jean."
A quick, blush came.
"Oh," she said, "how can I thank you? I don't deserve----"
"Ah, Mistress Jean, it is I who do not deserve that pleasure. I would
go through a hundred fights to be able to do it again; but you are
tired, and I will rouse the house."
So, hammering on the door, I soon brought John Cotton to it. His
woolly hair almost went straight on seeing me, and he started back,
for he thought he saw my ghost.
"Good Lord, Mars Jim," he stammered, "does that be you?"
"Yes, you black scamp." And I soon convinced him of my real
personality.
"But, Mars Jim, who is dat you got wid you? It ain't one of dem
Yankee ladies, is it?" For, I am sorry to say, John Cotton did not
approve of the ladies in question, and was afraid I would "disgrace de
family" if I married one of them. Before I could answer I heard a glad
little cry, and there was my mother, coming down the stairway of the
great hall.
"How is my little lady?" said I, as I picked her up and kissed her,
and then I introduced Mistress Jean to her and told her of our
adventure at the Braes.
Then my mother went up to her, in her stately little way, and took her
hands in hers, and kissed and welcomed her to the House of Fairlee.
So they made friends with each other then and there, as women do, and
my mother led her away, up the broad stairs, and I stood looking after
them. Then I turned to my own room, and, throwing myself on the bed,
I slept the sleep of exhaustion for many hours.
When the hour of my awakening came I sprang up, for there lay the
despatch which I was to bear to the Council of Safety.
Drawing on my riding-boots and buckling on my sword, I called John
Cotton to bring my horse to the door, for several miles lay between
Fairlee and Rock Hall, where the boat lay to take me to Annapolis.
I walked across to the hall and on to the old porch, where I saw
Mistress Jean standing, gazing wistfully out on the broad bay.
"He is safe now, Mistress Jean."
"Yes," she said with a sad smile, "but when shall I ever see him
again?"
"Just as soon as we whip them," I replied.
"Then it will never be," came her retort.
"Oh, ho! What will your uncle, Captain Nicholson, say when he finds he
has such a fiery little Tory in his house? He will have to give up
chasing the redcoats to suppress the Goddess of Sedition in his own
camp."
But at this Mistress Jean gave her head a toss and walked away to the
end of the porch.
Then John Cotton brought the horse to the steps.
"Are you going so soon, Mr. Frisby?"
"I must," I answered; "I am a bearer of despatches to the Council of
Safety. I would gladly desert my trust to be your escort to
Chestertown, but--"
"The honour of the House of Fairlee stands in the way," said she
mockingly.
"Not that, my lady," I replied, bowing courteously, "but the fact that
I would fall even lower in your good graces."
"Well said, cavalier," she retorted, with a sweeping courtesy. "'Tis a
pity that so fine a gentleman should be a rebel."
"Or so fair a maid a Tory."
"Is this a minuet?" came the laughing voice of my mother from the
door.
"Nay, mother, I am only bidding Mistress Jean good-bye with all due
ceremony."
A few moments later I was in the saddle, trotting slowly off, while
behind me fluttered their handkerchiefs, waving good-bye.
Rock Hall lies on a bluff, looking out across the bay. To the
southward lies the Isle of Kent, with its fertile fields of waving
grain, and off there on the horizon the greenish ribbon near the sky
line tells where the hills of Anne Arundel lay.
Down below, under the bluff, lay a long, slender boat, shaped like a
canoe, but much larger, stouter, stronger, and far swifter, when the
wind filled its sails and carried it like a bird skimming over the
waters.
"An English man-of-war is lying off the Isle of Kent now," said the
old waterman in answer to my question, "but we can walk all around her
in this boat."
"Then we will start immediately," I replied, and placing my things on
board we were soon under way.
The wind caught our sails; we stood out into the bay gloriously, and
she fairly flew through the water. As we rounded the Isle of Kent we
saw, lying almost in our track, the English man-of-war, lazily rolling
with the tide.
Then there was a great bustle on board, and the sailors flew to the
rigging, the sails filled with the wind, and through the port hole was
run the ugly muzzle of a Long Tom. The waterman with me laughed
merrily.
"They think they can stop us," said he, but he never altered his
course.
So we bore down on her until there came a flash; a cannon ball came
ricochetting across the water, but fell short by a hundred yards.
The waterman chuckled. "That is about the right distance," said he;
and the boat answering the helm, fairly danced around his Majesty's
representative, always, by a saving grace, just beyond cannon shot.
And when his Majesty's ship actually gave chase and sent a broadside
after our impertinent piece of baggage the waterman fairly danced with
delight and led her a merry chase down the bay until we were opposite
Annapolis. Then with a flirt of her sail we bade them good-bye and ran
for the mouth of the Severn. Gaining that, we soon passed the charred
hulk of the Peggy Stewart and ran up beside the wharf, and I found
myself walking the streets of that gay little capital.
It was growing somewhat late, but I made my way at once to the State
House, where the Convention of the Freemen of the Province sat, hoping
still to find them at their deliberations. I paused for the moment
when I came to the foot of the knoll on which the State House stands,
for it had only recently been completed, and was the noblest building
in America. Its massive proportions towered high above me, overawing
the town at its feet, and commanding the country for miles around. But
it was not a time for halting. Hurrying up the long flights of steps,
I found myself in the great lobby, with its lofty ceilings and its air
of vastness.
The Convention had adjourned but a short time before, and the lobby
was still filled with men. As I threaded my way through them my dusty
uniform and muddy boots marked me out as a bearer of despatches.
"News from the army--victory or defeat?" cried eager voices around me.
Answer them I would not, but hurried on to the room where sat the
Council of Safety, who held the fate and the fortunes of the province
in its hand and was the heart and soul of the great revolt.
An usher stood at the door, but, seeing my uniform, threw it wide
open, and, as I entered, softly swung it to behind me. It was a lofty
room in which I found myself, with immense windows looking out over
the town and the sweep of the waters of the bay to the distant line
of the eastern shore. A long, broad table extended down the centre of
the room. Around it were seated some sixteen or eighteen gentlemen.
Staid men and grave they were, past the middle age of life, for the
younger men had gone to fight the battles of the republic; men who
were fitted by experience to guide the province through the stormy
scenes of the civil war.
At their head sat a venerable gentleman whom I knew to be Matthew
Tilghman, the patriarch of the Colony. At his right hand sat a man of
sturdy build, ruddy countenance, and dark hair and eyes, more like a
prosperous planter with many acres and numerous slaves than the man
who was soon to become the Great War Governor of Maryland. All down
the table on either side sat men with strong, determined faces, whose
names bespoke the chieftainship of many a powerful family. A movement
of interest ran down the table as I entered and delivered to the
venerable Chairman the despatch. He broke the seal with nervous
fingers, and then rising, read General Washington's despatch aloud
amid intense interest.
"Battle," "defeat," "rout," "Cortelyou House," "the Maryland Line."
"Good, I see the boys did their duty," were among the many
exclamations I heard around the table and when the despatch ended.
"The bearer will describe the battle."
They all turned to me, and Thomas Johnson said: "Come, young
gentleman, tell us everything you saw and heard."
So I took my place by the Chairman and told them of what I had seen
and done, amid many interruptions and eager questions from the
Council.
Thus for a time, as I stood there, I became a man of importance,
telling the tale of the battle, of the defeat and the rout, of the
fiery charges, the death, the pain and the anguish of it all, until
long after the night had fallen. But an end comes to all things, and
Thomas Johnson, laying his hand on my shoulder, said:
"Young gentleman, you must stay with me to-night."
I accepted gladly, for the inns were crowded, and it was somewhat late
in the evening to find a friend to take me in. We strolled across the
State House grounds under the soft September skies, through the wide,
dusty streets, until we came to the future Governor's house. Though it
was late, we talked for yet another hour, and then, with a cheery
good-night, I was shown to my room.
CHAPTER XII
THE VETO OF A MAID
Ah, I am afraid the clean white sheets, the soft springy bed, and the
balmy September air proved traitor to me, after the hardships of a
soldier's life in the field, the rough bivouac, and the hard ride from
the North, for when I awoke with a start, I found the sun high in the
heavens and the music of birds coming through the open window from the
trees outside. Hurriedly dressing, I opened my door and went down the
broad stairway into the old hall. Everything was quiet, not a soul was
around. I wandered across the hall and parlour, and there I stood for
a few minutes, looking out into the street, when a merry burst of
laughter across the hall attracted my attention. The door of the room
opposite was slightly ajar, and I saw that it was the library of the
house; so crossing the hall, I gently rapped on the panel. A cheery
"Come in!" was my answer. I obeyed the summons, threw the door open,
and entered.
"Why, it is our feather-bed soldier," came a merry voice from the
broad window-sill, where sat two young ladies. A peal of ringing
laughter followed; for, indeed, I was somewhat non-plussed to thus
come upon two such laughing, merry girls.
One was dark, the other fair;
Both were sweet and debonair.
Indeed they were very pretty, sitting there amid the quaint old
surroundings, the heavy old book-presses, with solid oak doors, the
wainscoting extending to the ceiling, the broad window-seats, the
green trees, and quiet garden beyond. I knew at once that they must be
daughters of my host, Mistress Polly and Mistress Betsy Johnson, at
that time the reigning belles of the western shore.
"Now I know what awaited me I shall never forgive that feather-bed," I
replied, recovering from my confusion and making my best bow. "I would
never have proved such a traitor to my cloth."
"That is better," said Mistress Polly, the black-haired, dark-eyed
one. "Come and report to us, sir. Do you not know that no officer
returns from the army who does not immediately report to us?"
"I understand their alacrity in doing so. I shall be among the first
to obey the order hereafter."
"Then, sir, come tell us of the battle, and what brought you hither so
fast that the mud is still upon your boots?"
Now, telling the account of the battle to two charming young ladies,
whose bright eyes and eager faces told of the interest they took in my
narrative, was a far different thing from telling the same tale before
the powerful Council of Safety, and I am free to confess that I
enjoyed the last far more than the first.
Their exclamations and excited questions spurred me on, and I drew the
picture of the battle with a stronger hand and painted myself a hero,
which I am afraid I was far from being.
But Mistress Betsy suddenly sat up straight, exclaiming:
"Bless me, Polly, Mr. Frisby has not had his breakfast, and here it is
near ten o'clock"--an outrageous late hour in those days.
At this both Mistress Polly and Mistress Betsy sprang to their feet,
and I was duly conducted to the dining-room, where a delightful
breakfast awaited me, which I endeavoured to eat amid their sallies
and their questioning.
We were having a very gay time of it, when there came a heavy step
through the hall into the room, and a cheery voice asked: "How is the
soldier to-day? In good hands, I see." It was Thomas Johnson.
"That he is, sir," I replied, rising, "and he thoroughly enjoys it
too."
"Spoken like a soldier," replied our future Governor, "and like a
soldier you must leave at once, for the Council desire you to carry
these despatches posthaste to General Washington."
"No; he shall not," cried Mistress Polly, with a stamp of her foot.
"He has promised to drive our four-in-hand to the races this
afternoon, and I am not going to let that Council of old fogies rob us
of the only soldier in town who has seen service for at least one
day."
"So that is the way the wind blows," said her father, pinching her
cheek and laughing. "I will tell the great Council of Public Safety
that they have been overruled by a maid."
"It will not be the first time," she retorted. "Their wives overrule
them every day."
"I will ride all night to make it up," I suggested.
"Never mind, my boy," he replied, "you deserve a little holiday; you
need not leave Annapolis until nightfall, and Kent the following
night, which will give you a chance to see your mother again. There, I
hope this little minx will give me some peace now."
The treaty was quickly sealed by a kiss, and Mistress Polly ran off to
give the order for the coach-and-four, for the races began at one
o'clock and the course was a short distance out of the city.
There soon came a clatter of hoofs, a rattle, a slam and a bang, a
whoaing, a yelling, and a confusion of noises.
"They have put the colts in," cried Mistress Betsy with glee, and
Mistress Polly was at the door crying, "Come on."
"Great Jove!" said I to myself, as I seized my hat and followed after,
for though I had driven many a wild team I had never done so through a
town before. And four devils they were for a certainty, a little under
size, but making up for that by the fire and vim of their proceedings.
The heels of the wheelers were playing like castanets on the
dashboard, while the leaders were in the air half the time as they
swayed above the crowd of darkies, who, hanging on everywhere, were
trying to hold them down, while the great coach swayed and rocked
behind.
There was a flash of skirts, a gleam of the smallest feet in the
world, and Mistress Polly and Mistress Betsy were in their places, and
I had sprung to my seat and gathered the reins in my hands.
"All ready, Captain?"
"Ready. Let go." They scattered like chaff. There was a flash of hoofs
and they were off like a shot, their bodies stretched low to the
ground, the great coach rolling and rocking behind.
Luckily the street ended in a country road, for the street and the
houses were gone in an instant, and we were rushing along between
green fields. A column of dust rose up and whirled behind us, and the
road stretched like a ribbon before, while the young ladies at my side
laughed and clapped their hands in glee. After several miles the pace
began to tell, I slowly brought them under control, and by the time I
had come to the race-course I had them well in hand. We had gone
several miles out of our way, but by taking a short cut we arrived at
the races on time. I brought the four colts into the field with a dash
and a flourish as they were preparing for the first race.
The course was a great level field of greensward, oval in shape, with
the track in beautiful condition. Far down the track on either hand,
almost encircling the field, stretched the lines of the coaches,
chariots, gigs, and wagons. Gentlemen on horseback and on foot, an
eager, bustling crowd, gay with colours and bright faces, already
tingling with the excitement of the coming race, made a stirring
scene; for the Trinity of the Marylanders in the early days of my
youth were the horse, the hounds, and a fight.
But though the faces were fair, merry, and pleasant to look upon,
though the chariots and four-in-hands were gorgeous and bedecked,
there was a woful lack of cavaliers to make those damask cheeks
mantle with a blush, for they were away fighting in the North. Thus it
was, as I drove down the line in my uniform of scarlet and buff, to
find a stand, that Mistress Polly and Mistress Betsy had their
triumph, and many a fair face turned our way as we drove by, until I
brought the coach to a halt in a good place next to the parson, where
he sat his cob, watching the preliminaries.
"Find the parson," said Mistress Polly judiciously, "and you will have
found the best place in the field."
"Oh, Mistress Polly, you are a minx," said that reverend gentleman.
"How in the world could I make the youngsters come to church if they
did not know I was a good judge of horseflesh as well as a minister?"
"They are off," cried Mistress Betsy. The race had begun; but why
describe the race? Those who have never seen a race are mere
worthless creatures deserving no consideration, and those who have
seen a race do not need a description. At the mere name they see the
grand thoroughbreds at the line, their coats shining like satin in the
sun, eager and ready to be off. Then the flag falls, and, amid the
rustling of skirts and craning of necks, they are off. Ah, and then
comes the glorious excitement of it all as you watch with eager eyes
that ribbon of a track, and see now this one, now that one, slowly
draw away from the bunch at the start, and the closing of the space
again, until they become mere moving spots on the far side of the
field. And then, that home stretch, with its thunder of hoofs, its
roar of voices, and cheers and yells, as the grand beasts, with
straining nerves and neck to neck, make the last great effort; and
afterward the triumph, the waving of handkerchiefs, the great cheer
that greets the victor, and the smiles of merry lips and laughing
eyes. Those were the prizes we raced for, when racing was the pastime
of gentlemen, and not an excuse for blackguardism and gambling, as
to-day it is fast becoming. So my kind hosts and I made our little
bets, and enjoyed ourselves right thoroughly, until the last race,
which was won by a grandson of the great Selim, was over and done.
Then I swung my four colts into the road again, and at a rattling pace
returned to town.
It was late now, and the sun was preparing to take its last dip behind
the western hills; so I was forced to bid my charming hostesses adieu,
and amid many good wishes and a waving of handkerchiefs, departed to
seek my waterman, to begin my trip across the bay.
The town became a blur, a dark mass behind us, broken by the twinkling
of the lights through the gloom, as we swiftly glided down the Severn
before the wind. Out upon the bay it was still light, and we steered
for the north point of the Isle of Kent. The wind was fresh. With all
sail set we skimmed the water before it, and ere many hours had passed
we saw the light through the gloom of Rock Hall straight ahead. But
the old waterman suddenly brought his helm around hard, and pointed
her nose for the wide mouth of the Chester close at hand.
"What is wrong?" I asked, and for an answer he pointed with his arm to
where against the sky were outlined the tapering masts of a large
vessel lying between us and Rock Hall.
"That is a man-of-war," he said, "we will have to run up the river to
Chestertown."
"Agreed," said I, right readily, for I thought I might see Mistress
Jean once more before I went back to the front.
The mouth of the Chester was soon gained, and for hours, through the
stillness of the night, we glided over its smooth waters, between low,
heavily wooded banks, or the broad sweeping fields of some plantation,
whose boundaries were lapped by the waters of the river. In the early
morning, in the dusky gray hours, we ran along beside the wharf of the
old county seat of Kent.
CHAPTER XIII
THE GREETING OF FAIR LIPS
After wandering through the streets of this old town during the early
hours of the morning, seeing it gradually wake into life and take on
the quiet bustle of the day, I at last found myself before the inn,
which had just been opened.
The host was an old friend, and we were soon fighting over the battles
again, when a shadow fell across us and I sprang to my feet.
It was Capt. James Nicholson, one of the three brothers who fought
their ships in sunshine and in storm, while there was a plank left for
them to stand upon, carrying dismay through the English fleets by
their desperate courage and daring. He was a man about forty years
old, over medium height, but slender and of fair complexion, with
light blue eyes and reddish hair, a typical descendant of that old
Viking, Nicholson, who fought some famous fights under King Haco, and
harried the coasts of Scotland until he gained a foothold there and
founded the Scottish family of the name. The same open, bold
countenance of the Admiral, the same frank and manly bearing, showed
him to be a sailor and a fighter.
"Hello, Frisby," said he, shaking my hand cordially. "With the dove so
near I knew that the hawk would not be far away."
I stammered out, as the landlord smiled, that I was forced to come to
Chestertown to avoid the man-of-war lying off Rock Hall.
"She is off Rock Hall, is she? Well, I shall have to chase her away
with the Defence next week. But is that your only excuse for coming
so far out of your way?"
And when I protested that it was, he laughed genially, and, turning to
the landlord, said: "He does not look like a knight-errant who flies
to the rescue of maids, and Tory maids at that, does he? But see here,
youngster, since you have brought this little traitress into my
household, you will have to do your share in converting her to the
true principles of liberty and democracy."
"Keep that for the men, Captain," cried the landlord. "Keep that for
the men; the women give us no peace, as it is, and if they once get
those notions there will be no living with them."
"Ah, you old reprobate, you had better not let your wife hear you."
With this we left the inn, and going through some quiet streets, we at
last came to Water Street, with its square brick houses, gardens and
flowers, and green lawns leading to the river. Very substantial were
the buildings, quaint and old-fashioned. A number of white steps led
from the street to the porch of the Captain's house. When, at his
motion, I opened the door and stepped into the hall, which was
somewhat dark after the glare of the street, there came a flurry of
lace, and soft arms were around my neck. And--well, what could a man
do but return that kiss with interest? But the best things are but
fleeting, for, when she glanced at my face, and saw who I was, she
gave a little cry, broke from my arms, and vanished in confusion up
the stairway, followed by the merry laughter of the real uncle, not
the proxy.
"You surely cannot object to that welcome, Frisby; but I must tell
Mistress Jean to be more careful, or the army will lose a promising
officer. They will not be able to keep you away from the town if this
keeps on."
So saying, he led the way to the rear porch where it overlooked the
lawn and the river.
Here we sat and talked until the breakfast-bell rang, and we went into
the dining-room. I was as hungry as a trooper by this time, after my
all-night experience on the Chester.
The dining-room was a long room, with open windows looking out across
the river and the fields.
We had not as yet taken our seats, when through another door came
Mistress Jean and Mistress Nancy Nicholson, her bosom friend and
confidante, with their arms around each other's waists--a charming
picture.
The colour mantled high on Mistress Jean's cheek, and I am sure that
mine played the traitor also, but Mistress Nancy came to the rescue by
demanding news and particulars of her cavalier, for such she declared
Mr. Richard Ringgold of Hunting Field to be.
Answering, I told her that I had left him covered with blood and with
glory, but on the fair road to recovery. And so, though Mistress Jean
still showed a heightened colour, in telling of Master Richard's
fortunes and escapes we broke the embarrassment of the meeting, and
were soon fast friends again. It was a merry breakfast. Afterward the
two young ladies and I walked in the garden by the river's edge and
talked of many things,--of war and campaigning, for I claimed to be an
authority by now, and quite a veteran,--of love; but that was too
dangerous, for Mistress Nancy would look at me slyly and laugh as she
asked if I was as great an authority upon the one as I was upon the
other.
I retorted that I had heard many a lecture on the subject from Master
Richard, but otherwise knew nothing of the art, and then I begged her
to take me as a pupil, so that in time I might become as great a
scholar as Dick himself. But she roguishly recommended me to her
Assistant Professor Mistress Jean Gordon, who, she told me, knew more
of the art than she did herself. And then, having come to some boxwood
alleys, she slipped away and left Mistress Jean and me alone.
"They tell me, Mistress Jean, that love is war; may I ask what the
fate of the prisoners is?"
"As in real war," she replied, "those who surrender at discretion
receive but scant courtesy, but those who make a gallant resistance
are often victorious in their defeat."
"I see that you love the old Highland fashion, where the bridegroom
came with force and arms and bore the bride away."
"Better swords and daggers, and hearts that are true, than silks and
satins, Lowland fops and perfidy."
"English swords have crossed ere this with Highland steel, and English
hearts are as tried and as true as those that beat beneath the plaid,"
said I, coming to the defence of my English ancestry.
"So ho! Sir Rebel!" she cried in glee, "what means this defence of the
hated redcoat? Do you not fear the shadow of the great committee that
you preach treason so openly?" And she looked so bewitching in her
little triumph that I had to thrust my hands into my pockets and turn
away, so great was the temptation.
"I will turn Highlander," said I, "if you do not stop."
"Stop?" she said with the most innocent air in the world.
"Aye," said I, "for if your Highlanders have ever been sturdy knaves,
the Frisbys have ever been quick where bright eyes and ruby lips are
concerned, and there is no telling what might happen." And I looked so
determined and fierce that she broke into merry laughter in my face.
"Your fate be upon you," said I solemnly; and--well, at that moment, I
heard Captain Nicholson calling that my horse was at the door, waiting
for me.
"That means that I must go, Mistress Jean," and the laughter died on
her lips, "go to join my comrades in the North in their struggle for
the Great Cause. When you hear of battles and sieges and sudden
deaths, will you sometimes think of the young rebel who rode with you
from the Braes to Fairlee? For wherever he may be, whether in the
glory of the rush and the sweep of the charge, or the gloomy and
dismal retreat; whether in the camp on the bleak hillside, with the
cold north wind blowing, or bivouacked in the Southern savannahs
warmed by the rays of the sun; in the fatigue and the toil of the
marches, amid the groans and cries of the dying, or the joy and
triumph of the hour when the fight has been fought and won, your smile
shall always be with him, the light of your eye in his heart. Will you
think of him, or forget, Mistress Jean?"
"I will think of him." Her voice was very low and sweet. Then I
stooped and kissed her hand, the fairest hand that man ever looked
upon.
CHAPTER XIV
THE RETURN OF THE TORY
As I turned to ride away, after bidding good-bye to the Captain, I
heard a voice calling me, and looking up, I saw Mistress Nancy at a
window, and riding under it she commanded me to convey to Master
Richard a tiny case wrapped in many papers.
"And now, sir," said she, "here is something for you;" and she threw
me a little case, which, on opening quickly, I saw contained a
miniature of a fair young girl, with a wealth of dark brown hair, the
loveliest eyes and the sweetest face.
"Mistress Nancy," I cried, "you are my guardian angel." Placing the
miniature over my heart, I threw her a kiss, and rode on my way
rejoicing.
I rode from Chestertown to Fairlee, where I bade my mother good-bye,
and from there I took up the trail to the North, riding into camp one
evening just as the sun was setting.
I reported immediately to the great General, who thanked me for the
speed with which I had carried the despatches and returned. And then I
was once more among my old comrades of the Line.
They crowded around me, one and all, for I had messages for many of
them, and they were eager for the news of old Kent and the shore, and
my welcome was right royal.
And now, for a month or so, disasters came crowding upon our arms;
defeat and death stalked through our ranks, and cast a gloom over the
cause.
We fought the fight at White Plains, and when Fort Washington fell
many of our Maryland boys went to the hulks of old Jersey to find a
last resting-place under the cold gray waters of Wallabout Bay. Amid
constant marching, skirmishes, and defeats the months slipped away,
and the cold gloomy winter was upon us. Ah, how cold and bleak and
barren the hillsides looked after the smiling fields of Maryland,
touched and warmed by the Southern sun! And then the cold, the bitter
cold of it all, the white winding sheet of the snow and the ice made
us shiver and hug the fire of dry fence-rails and button our
threadbare coats more tightly around us, while we looked in despair at
the toes peeping through the ends of our boots. But the great General
knew how to warm the blood in our veins and drive the despair from our
hearts, when on that bitterly cold Christmas night he led us across
the Delaware and hurled us against the Hessians.
It is true that we left a trail of blood as we marched, dyeing the
snow with its crimson. Yet the fight itself was glorious, and when we
came back in our triumph the cold and the snow were as nothing. We
made sport of our rags and tatters and laughed the English to scorn.
Then again when we struck them at Princeton seven days later, threw
the dust in Cornwallis's eyes, and played with him as we willed, we
were ready to follow our leader wherever he pointed the way.
And so, after humbling the English, we returned to our camp for the
winter, and there made ready for the spring, when we saw my Lord
Cornwallis back on the Hudson again.
Then we lay in Jersey, watching them over in New York, until far into
the summer, ready to take up the march when the news should come of
the destination of the English fleet that lay off Sandy Hook.
At last one day there came a horseman spurring fast from the
southward, bearing the news of a vast fleet that covered the waves of
the Chesapeake and lay at that moment off the harbor of Baltimore,
threatening it with fire and sword.
Then there was a mighty bustle in the camp, and we whose homes were
now in danger took up the march to the southward, eager to meet the
foe.
When we reached Philadelphia we found that the enemy had entered the
Elk, and was now marching on the city, while the hastily called
Maryland and Delaware volunteers threw themselves in the way, cutting
off straggling parties and obstructing the advance.
So we hurried on to assist them, and found ourselves on the evening of
the 10th of September at the Brandywine, with the English advance but
a few miles away.
It was here that I met with one of the volunteers, who on hearing the
English were in the Chesapeake had taken his rifle from the rack and
joined in the defence. He came from lower Kent, but told me of the
devastation all through the county of Cecil, wherever the enemy had
laid its blighting hand.
"They tell me," he said, "that the old Tory, Charles Gordon, whom they
ran out of Cecil, is with Lord Howe, and high in his counsels. When
they arrived in the Elk, Gordon, with a body of troops, marched all
night and attacked the house of James Rodolph at dawn. Rodolph was
away from home, and that is the only thing that saved him, for they
say that Gordon swore that he would hang him if he once caught him. As
it was, he gave Rodolph's house to the flames, and burned everything
on the place. 'An eye for an eye,' said he, 'is a Highland saying as
well as a Jewish one. I regret that I cannot destroy the land as
well.' Rodolph, when he heard of it, stormed and swore, but he has not
dared to venture within the confines of Cecil since."
"Did Gordon do anything else?" I asked.
"No. After he burnt Rodolph out he tried to stop Lord Howe from
pillaging, but his lordship answered, 'You have had your turn, and now
you must let the others have theirs,' and so the pillaging went on."
But the planters and the yeomen who had risen at the first alarm hung
on the flanks of Lord Howe's army, cutting off stragglers and
scouting-parties, and confining the belt of desolation within narrow
lines.
At last came the 11th of September, the day when we met Lord Howe at
the Brandywine, and were sent reeling back in disorderly retreat, when
by a skilful march they outflanked our right wing and rolled it up.
And then disaster followed disaster. Paoli came, that grim and bloody
surprise at the dead of night. We had marched with Wayne and gained
the rear of the British column, and lay for the night in a dense wood,
waiting for the recruits under Smallwood, who was marching to join us,
before we began our attack on the British rear.
It was in the early hours of the morning, the blackest of the night,
the hour before the dawn, when there came sudden shots from our
pickets, and before we could spring to arms the Highland war-cry rang
through the forest and the Black Watch swept over us. The wild forms
of the Highlanders, the intense darkness, the surprise, the din and
noise of the strife as those who could grasp their muskets made a
desperate stand, struck terror through the camp, and ere the men could
rally we were swept into the woods beyond. It seemed to me, as I was
borne along in the press, I heard, high over the charging cry of the
Scots, the voice of the old Tory cheering his men on. Certain it is
that I saw him for a moment by the light of a camp-fire, sword in
hand, urging on his wild Scots, who seemed to grow wilder under his
leadership, as our line melted away before their advance.
Ah! but it was grim and terrible. Our men, overcome by the surprise
and the rout, carried terror into the camp of Smallwood's recruits,
which was near at hand, and they, too, gave way.
But the dawn came: with it we gathered our shattered forces together
and marched back to join Washington.
Philadelphia fell, but the tide soon turned; for at Germantown we once
more met them and avenged the surprise at Paoli.
But the thing that thrilled us through and through and set our banners
high was the courage of our brothers of the Line, who, thrown into
Fort Mifflin, held it in the teeth of the enemy's fire until every gun
was dismounted and the fort itself levelled to the earth, leaving
nothing to defend. It was a brave and gallant action, and we envied
them for their good fortune.
We had avenged Paoli at Germantown, yet this added another wreath to
our banner. It was a thing to stir the blood and to set the pulses
bounding to hear how those heroes fought under the crumbling walls of
Mifflin, and prayed for the friendly cover of night to fall to hide
them from that storm of fire and shell, and yet fought on.
CHAPTER XV
THE FLAG OF TRUCE
The long hard winter soon came on, and we retired to Valley Forge to
suffer and to bear what was far more deadly than the English
bullets--the terrible cold and desolation of that dreary place. Cold,
bitterly cold it was, as the wind came down from the mountains, swept
over the broad fields, pierced through our torn and tattered garments,
and racked our frames with pain. And yet, terrible as the exposure
was, there stands out one bright day in all that dreary winter, one
day, one hour in which I forgot all the cold and the hardships and
would not have been elsewhere for anything in the wide world.
It was near the setting of the sun on one of the bleakest and coldest
days of the year. The sun itself was sinking behind the distant hills,
and the sky was brilliant with its fiery javelins, which threw a lurid
light across the cold gray heavens, the last protest of departing day
against the approach of the chill dismal night. The snow lay heavy
upon the ground, and spread like a great white pall over the sins and
sorrows of the world. Before us stretched the road, unbroken and
trackless; not a man had passed that way, for we stood guard at the
outpost, and the flicker of the foeman's fire could be seen six
hundred yards away, through the gloom.
"Lucifer, but it is cold!" said one of the guard, as he threw another
rail on the fire and held his hands out over the flames to warm them.
"Aye; Old Nick himself would not be a bad acquaintance now--his smell
of brimstone and sulphur might warm us up a bit," said another.
We were making the best we could of it, under the lee of a high bank
by the side of the road, where we had cleared a space and stacked a
good supply of dry fence-rails to feed the fire during the night. The
wind from the northwest swept over our heads, sheltered as we were by
the bank, and we would have defied the cold that crept ever upward but
for the rags and tatters that covered our frames. The men themselves
were cheerful, as they sat hugging the fire, and laughed and joked at
their hardships.
"I wonder if those Highland devils will bother us to-night?" asked
one, for the Black Watch held the outpost down the road.
"They will be too busy warming their knees," came the reply from
across the fire, and a laugh followed.
"Hello, what is that?" for the thud of hoofs was heard on the road
coming from the camp.
"A flag of truce, by George!" said the sergeant. "Who on earth wants
to go through the lines on a night like this?"
The party, consisting of several troopers, an officer, and what
appeared to be a woman on horseback, was soon within hailing distance,
and I heard Ringgold's voice call out:
"I say, Frisby, are you in charge here?"
"Yes," I replied. "What's up?"
"We have a prisoner here who wishes to go through the lines, but I
don't know whether you will permit her or not."
"Is she fair?" I asked. "For in that case she shall not pass unless
she gives us a smile by way of tribute as she rides by."
"Not even if George Washington so orders, sir," said a voice that I
knew.
"By the saints, my lady!" I cried, and I was by her side in an
instant. "What brings you here, and why are you going within the
English lines?"
"Should not a daughter be with her father?" she asked.
"But those bloody English, with all their fine trappings and their
feathers! Nay, my lady, you have been disrespectful to the Continental
Congress, as I can vouch for. You are our prisoner, and I will not let
you escape thus, to smile on the wearers of his Majesty's uniform."
But she laughed quite merrily, and answered my threat with "Lieutenant
Ringgold, pray ride on with the flag of truce."
"Dick Ringgold," I cried in my turn, "if you take less than ten
minutes I shall be your deadly enemy for life."
"All right, old fellow." Dick rode on toward the enemy's campfire with
the bugler until he had gone about half the way, and then we heard the
parley sounded and saw a stir in the opposite camp.
"Mistress Jean," said I, returning to the charge, "you are perfectly
heartless, and though I know the redcoats cannot help but fall in love
with you, I warn you that if you smile on any one of them I shall go
through the lines and seek him out, even into the heart of the city
itself, though I have to swing for it."
"You will never try anything so rash;" and now the laughter had gone
from her voice.
"That I will, my lady," I replied, "for I would rather dance on
nothing than know that you belonged to another."
"But you must not," said she. "You must not think of such a thing. You
must promise me never to attempt it."
"Nay, Mistress Jean, that I cannot promise. It would drive me mad to
stand here on guard all the winter night and see the lights of
Philadelphia off there in the east; to know amid all the gayety and
the balls you reign supreme; to know I could not see you because of
the miserable redcoats that guard the city. If they were ten times
their number I would find my way through them to be once more at your
side, Mistress Jean."
Before she could reply the Highland officer broke in, for he had
ridden up with Ringgold.
"Mistress Jean, it gives me pleasure to be the first to welcome you to
our lines. Your father told us of your coming, and there has been a
rivalry between us as to who should be the one to escort you to the
city."
"That was kind of all of you; but how did you leave my father?"
"Well, and eager for your coming."
He was a splendid-looking young fellow, tall, broad-shouldered, and
somewhat bony, with a voice that rang frank and true. He was a
Highlander, every inch of him, and carried himself with a free and
graceful carriage, and when I heard him tell Mistress Jean that he was
a Farquharson and an old ally of her house, I knew I had at last met a
dangerous rival. For, out of romances, it is not the villain, but the
brave and frank gentleman who is most dangerous to the peace of mind
of lovers, for they see in him what they themselves most admire, and
by which they hope to win their ladies' love.
"Lieutenant Ringgold, now," said Farquharson, "I am ready to receive
Mistress Gordon from your hands, and to conduct her within our lines."
"Far more ready than we are to let her go," answered Dick gallantly;
"but it is the fortune of war." And then the two officers saluted and
the exchange was made.
So Mistress Jean bade us all good-bye right prettily, and I, being on
the off side of her horse from the others, seized her hand as it hung
by her side and kissed it several times. She at first did not withdraw
it, and then, bending over, whispered, "Do not try to enter the city,
for they will hang thee, and I would not lose so true a friend." Here
her voice was very soft and low. I kissed her hand once again and she
was gone.
We watched their dark shadows down the road to the Highland outpost,
as they moved like great blots across the snow. I stood, I do not know
how long, gazing after them, when Dick's hand was on my shoulder.
"Never mind, Frisby," said he, "we shall win the city in the spring,
and then you may win her also."
CHAPTER XVI
THE BALL OF MY LORD HOWE
Many a night after that last parting I stood guard on that dreary
outpost, gazing out across the snow at the dim lights of the city far
to the eastward. Aye, for the city was gay that winter, gay with
parties and dances, balls and dinners, and the bells rang as merrily
as if we were not starving and dying out on the bleak, hillsides. Aye,
those old burghers were warm and comfortable as they sat by their
fires, with a glass of their wine or toddy at their side.
True, my Lord Howe ruled the city with an iron hand, but he was a
gallant gentleman, and his officers made good partners for their fair
daughters at the balls. They were handsome in their scarlet uniforms,
with their epaulets and their sabres, making, indeed, a very gallant
show, while those ragged patriots out upon the snow had not shoes to
their feet, and were altogether too disreputable to be admitted even
to the kitchens of their houses. Then, again, runs not the Quaker law,
"Thou shalt not fight"? And so the good old burghers threw another log
on the fire and sat down to enjoy the cheerful blaze.
The news came to us, sifted through the lines; we heard of their
dances and their balls, and everywhere we heard that Mistress Jean
Gordon was the belle of them all. The old Tory held high rank in the
counsels of Lord Howe, and the daughter, by her grace and beauty,
reigned it over the hearts of every gallant gentleman of his army.
We heard of her refusing my Lord Paulet and several other gentlemen,
noted among us for their hard fighting, whenever by chance we were
opposed to them. And I, standing guard on the outpost, chafed in vain
when I heard these tales, until one day chance decided me to risk all,
to see her once more with my own eyes, and perhaps speak to her.
There had been a skirmish on the outposts that day, and our men had
captured an English officer, a Captain of the line. He was a talkative
man, and while he was waiting to be sent to the rear as a prisoner we
entertained him at our mess table, and he in turn told us the news of
the town.
"That must be a wonderful country, what do you call it, that eastern
shore of yours?" said he, "if it contains any more beauties like
Mistress Jean Gordon."
"Ah, the Tory's daughter?"
"Yes. She is the reigning belle of the whole town, and all our fellows
are wild about her. I never saw so many fellows in love with one girl
before, but Farquharson seems to have the best of it, while Lord
Paulet stamps and swears."
Now, we were loyal Marylanders--loyal, at least, to her wit and
beauty, so then and there we proposed and drank the health of the Tory
maid, while Dick chimed in with the amendment, "May she never marry a
Britisher, but a patriot tried and true," at which our English Captain
good-naturedly protested; and while they drank the toast I made a vow
that ere a week was past I would be within that city.
Fortune came my way, for as I left the mess-room that night I ran
against Tom Jones of Cresap's old company of riflemen from the
mountains of the West, the most daring and desperate spy in all our
army. He was a man of powerful strength, as lithe and active as a
panther, while his face was as immovable as that of an Indian, with
never a sign thereon of the thoughts and passions of the man within.
He was clad for the moment in the dress of the riflemen, a full suit
of buckskin, leggings, hunting-shirt, and all, while carelessly thrown
across one arm was his rifle, and in his belt was sheathed the long
hunting-knife.
"Lieutenant," said he, "I expect to return through your lines
to-morrow night, so do not fire before you challenge."
"Come this way, Jones," said I, leading him aside from the others. "I
do not know which way you are going, but I want you to help me through
the lines into the city. Can you do so?"
"But, Lieutenant, they will be wanting to hang you if you are caught."
"I will take that risk. I must be in the city within a week."
Jones, like most great frontiersmen, was a man of quick decision and
few words.
"Meet me in an hour," said he, "at the Yellow Tavern."
An hour later found me at the tavern in full uniform, for it was the
only suit I possessed in which it would be possible to present myself
before a lady, so dilapidated, torn, and ragged was my wardrobe. But I
had a great storm-coat which hid the uniform and was an admirable
disguise.
The tavern was crowded. As I stood by the fire I did not at once
notice a quiet, unassuming traveller who had just entered, until he
brushed past my arm and whispered, "Follow me." I did so a few minutes
later, for it was Tom Jones, who looked for all the world as if he was
a quiet city merchant, born and bred within its limits. Yet you had
but to notice his walk, and you saw at once that he was a
mountaineer, for he threaded his way through the crowd as noiselessly
as he did among his native forests, where the crack of a dead twig
might mean his death by a hostile bullet.
I followed him out into the night, and a dark and dismal night it was;
the snow was falling heavily and you could not see three rods away.
"We will follow the pike," said he, "until we see their camp-fire.
They will not keep strict watch to-night, and we will have to keep in
touch with the landmarks."
We trudged along through the snow past the outpost where I had
commanded so many nights, keeping the vigils by the weary hours; then
we became more careful, as the Highland outpost was but a few yards
away.
"They will have their backs to the storm," said the spy, "and though
it is dangerous to go to the windward of a foe, yet he is not so apt
to hear us as he would be to see us if we tried the leeward side.
Those Highlanders have keen eyes."
So we flanked the outpost to the windward and passed them safely, and
then Jones led me by many little bypaths and lanes until we came to
the outskirts of the town. And though the guard at one time could have
touched us as they passed, so dense was the storm that never for a
moment was our safety jeoparded.
At last the houses became closer and we found ourselves in the town,
while every now and then a belated traveller met us, glanced our way
and passed on, for by now it was far into the night. But when we
reached the heart of the town, even at that hour, the streets became
filled with carriages, and we met many officers and gentlemen,
returning from a ball. My Lord Howe entertained that night, and it
was a sign of loyalty and good faith for every one to attend.
Though I became interested in seeing the muffled figures pass us, and
the carriages hurrying through the street, I grew uneasy as I saw that
Jones was making his way to the centre of the town, to the very door
of Lord Howe's mansion. At last I remonstrated with him, but Jones
growled in answer: "How can you throw the dogs off your track, if the
snow does not fill it, but by mixing it with other tracks?"
This was unanswerable. I followed him along the street until we were
among the crowd before Lord Howe's door.
It was a gay and brilliant scene, that ball of my Lord Howe, and
though it was near the end, the music of the dance still floated
through the wide entrance, while the figures of the dancers flitted
across the windows, which were ablaze with lights. The guests were
fast leaving; fair ladies and officers bravely uniformed were coming
down the steps. There was a calling of carriages and of names, the
slamming of doors and the muffled roll of the wheels as they drove
off. I was about to move on with Jones, when I heard the major-domo, a
sergeant of the guard, call out the carriage of Colonel Charles
Gordon, and then I would have drawn back, as I had been forced into
the front rank; for, though I knew that she must be at the ball, I had
not thought to be brought so suddenly face to face with her. But ere I
could do so, she came down the carpeted stairs leaning on her father's
arm, graceful and beautiful, while by her side walked Farquharson in
full Highland costume, eager and attentive. A smile was upon her lips
as she listened, and then her eyes met mine. Her face went pale, and
she was near fainting. Her father caught her as she slightly reeled,
and Farquharson looked fiercely around to see what the cause was. But
I was muffled up, and before he could demand the cause Mistress Jean
was eagerly declaring that it was a mere nothing; and, as if to prove
what she said was true, she hurried on to the carriage.
Farquharson leaned for a moment into the carriage to bid them
good-night, and then it rolled off into the darkness.
CHAPTER XVII
AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES
"A narrow escape that for you, Lieutenant," said Jones. "But she was a
plucky lass, and now it is time for us to be looking for cover."
He turned down a narrow, quiet street until we came to a house set
somewhat back in the yard.
Jones now rapped very gently on the door; it swung open as if he was
expected, and a moment later we found ourselves heartily welcomed by
an old Quaker lady in a little room with a bright fire burning.
"I thought thee would come, Brother Jones," said she, "and who is this
braw lad thou hast brought with thee?" And she smiled on me.
"He is one of our Lieutenants, who has a sweetheart in town, and is
willing to risk his neck to see her," said Jones gruffly, but there
was a twinkle in his eye.
This completed my conquest, and the motherly old soul proceeded to
take charge of me.
"Who is thy lady love thou hast come to see?" And when I told her that
she was a Tory she was much distressed, but eager to help me.
"The Good Book says thou must not fight, but it also says thou must
help thy friends and neighbours, so I will help thee."
But at last, after chattering awhile she took a candle and showed us
to our rooms. I was soon lost in the almost blissful comfort of clean
white sheets and a feather-bed.
When I awoke next morning Jones had already departed on his mission,
leaving me a note telling me where to meet him the next night on our
return to camp.
All that day I kept close to the house, for I did not dare to venture
forth in the broad day, as I was known to many, and it would not have
gone well with me if I had met with those I knew.
But at last the night began to fall, and, bidding my kind hostess
good-bye, I made my way through the streets to the Tory's house.
I soon found it--a square brick structure in a quiet street. I
noticed, as I approached it, several dark alleys just at the right
places for a rapid retreat if the worse should come to the worst.
Then my hand was on the knocker, and its fall startled me as the
clatter echoed far down the street and seemed to wake the very dead.
A slave opened the door, who, though he glanced at me suspiciously,
told me that his mistress was at home.
Then in a moment my storm-coat was off, and I stood in the door of the
drawing-room.
It was a beautiful picture, the great strong Highlander on his knees
at the feet of Mistress Jean begging for her hand, which she seemed to
be denying him, for he was growing more and more passionate.
For a moment, as I stood there, I could feel my hair grow gray, but
the tumult and the conflict within me were short and I turned to go,
for it seemed to me that she could not but care for so gallant a
gentleman.
But her eyes met mine, and then for a moment there was terror in them,
and a cry broke forth from her lips.
Farquharson, startled by her gaze, turned also, and, seeing me, was
quickly on his feet, his face aflame with passion.
"Sir," said he, advancing toward me, "do you not know the fate of
eavesdroppers"--and then for the first time noticing my uniform,
added, "and spies?"
"I know the fate of those who call a gentleman by such names," I
retorted coolly.
"A gentleman?" and he laughed. "I will have you hanged for a dog of a
spy before sunrise."
"Pardon me, sir, but you are my prisoner until it shall suit me to let
you go free."
At this he laughed merrily.
"Well said, Sir Rebel," he cried; "but permit me to pass before I spit
you on my sword." And he drew and advanced upon me.
"Permit me, sir, to use another argument;" and I drew my pistol and
covered him. "Advance another step and I will blow your brains out."
He glanced at me for a moment, but did not advance. "And further, let
me suggest that we are in the presence of a lady, and it is not seemly
for her to see the flash of weapons."
At this he put up his sword.
"To whom do I owe a lesson in gallantry?" he asked with a low and
sweeping bow.
"James Frisby, of Fairlee, a Lieutenant in the Maryland Line," I
replied with equal courtesy.
Mistress Jean had stood as though she were turned to stone during our
exchange of courtesies, but now she seemed to recover.
"Captain Farquharson," she cried, and she came and stood between us,
"this is an old friend of mine. He saved my life at the Braes when we
were raided by the rebels. You must promise me to let him go free out
of the city."
"Your wishes, Mistress Jean, are law," said he, "and shall be obeyed.
I shall give him till morning to escape in."
"Which I promptly accept," said I, "with the hope that I may be able
to repay your courtesy if fortune should bring you within our lines
some day."
And so he bade Mistress Jean farewell, but as he passed me, I
whispered to him:
"Sir, some words have been said that need an explanation."
"It will give me pleasure to offer you one at any place you may
appoint."
"Then meet me," I said, "two days hence at sunrise on the pike,
half-way between the lines."
"With swords or pistols?"
"Swords."
"I will be there;" and he passed on out.
When he had gone, I turned to Mistress Jean, who urged me to leave at
once.
"You must go," said she, "for at any moment you may be tracked and
discovered, and then----"
"And then--what?" I answered, smiling. "Do you think, Mistress Jean,
that I, who travelled for miles through the snow and the storm last
night to catch one glimpse of your face, that I, who at last stand in
your presence, would give a thought to the noose around my neck?"
But she would not let me say her nay, and then her terror grew, until
at last she told me that Lord Howe sometimes came home with her father
at nine o'clock to talk over the plans of the spring campaign, and
that every moment she expected to hear their voices in the hall.
"The sight of your face, Mistress Jean, has repaid me for my journey;
but if you bid me go, why, then, it is fate, and go I must." Then a
thought came to me. "Mistress Jean, tell me this before I leave in the
enemy's camp all that is dearest on earth to me: tell me if you love
that Highlander, if you care for him." And she, who a moment before
was urging me to leave, stood silent, with her face turned away from
me, with never a word to say.
And I, seeing how matters stood, took my courage in my hands, and,
with a low bow, wished her good-bye.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CROSSING OF SWORDS
Sunrise, two days later, found Mr. Richard Ringgold and myself
stamping our feet in the snow on the pike, half-way between the
hostile lines.
"I suppose they will let us fight here without interruption," said
Dick.
"No danger from that," I replied. "We will fight in that little
hollow, where the outposts cannot see us."
"Here they come," said Dick. We saw two officers approaching across
the snow from the Highland outpost.
They soon came up, and we saluted, while Dick and Captain Forbes,
Farquharson's second, soon agreed upon the preliminaries.
"Will you lead the way, gentlemen?" said Forbes.
Dick and I led them to the little hollow between the hills, where a
slight meadow formed a platform, as it were, for us to act our drama
upon.
Since my first duel with Rodolph on the banks of the Elk I had seen
something of war and of battles, and considered myself an old hand in
such encounters.
And so I found myself looking Farquharson over and estimating his
strength and his skill, for I knew him to be one of the best swordsmen
among the Highlanders, while I could claim, with all due modesty, to
be the best in the Maryland Line.
He was a notable swordsman, you could see that at a glance; the
powerful figure, yet as light and active as a cat, the muscles of his
sword arm telling of long and patient handling of the weapon, while
his cold gray eye spoke for his coolness and determination.
He glanced at me, as we threw off our coats, in almost an indifferent
manner, as if he had a duty to perform, which was to be done as
quickly as possible, the mere suppression of a country bumpkin by a
gentleman of fashion. I knew that would change as soon as our swords
crossed, and smiled to myself. Then, being stripped to our shirts, we
took our places and saluted.
Click, and our swords rang true. Though he fenced somewhat carelessly
at first, there came a surprised look and a sudden change in his
manner, as I parried a skilful thrust and touched him lightly on the
shoulder. He seemed to realise that he had no ordinary swordsman
opposed to him, and quickly brought into play all his skill and
fierceness in attack, throwing me on the defensive and forcing me
gradually back.
It could not last; no strength could stand it. When he found that the
steel guard met every attack, that every thrust was parried, he
relaxed the fierceness of his attack and began to fence with more
skill and caution.
Thus it was we fenced for several minutes, the clash of the steel
ringing out in the cold, crisp air across the snow, and it came to my
opponent that he had at last met a swordsman who was his equal in
skill. From this on every moment he developed some new feint, some new
attack, and, though I met them every one, it took my utmost skill to
do so.
But at last there came the end. He had assumed the offensive again and
was pressing hard upon me, when he placed his foot upon a loose stone
in the snow, which rolled. The sword flew from out his hand and he
was down upon his knee.
My sword was at his throat, and then my hand was stayed, for there
came before me the vision of the Tory maid, standing with face averted
in the square brick house in the city. That she might care, that she
might be in terror then as to the fate that might befall him, flashed
through my brain. I brought my sword to a salute, and returned it to
its scabbard.
"Sir," said I, as Farquharson rose, "it is a pleasure to have fought
with so gallant a gentleman."
"And I, sir," he returned, "am happy to have met so skilful a
swordsman." And then, like gallant men who have fought and know each
other's worth, we shook hands on the spot where a moment before our
blades were thirsting for each other's blood.
"It gives me pleasure," he continued, "to withdraw my remarks at
Colonel Gordon's, as they arose from a misapprehension."
"I will consider them as if they had never been said," I replied, "and
I beg of you, on your return, to present my compliments to Mistress
Gordon, and tell her that I send you to her as my wedding gift."
"Why, is she to be married?" he asked in a startled way.
"I believe so," I answered, "but she will tell you all about it."
And so we returned to the pike, where we all saluted again, and
retraced our steps to the lines.
The spring was late that year. April had come before there came a soft
warm breeze from the Southland, waking nature into life, and covering
the hard frozen face of mother earth with wreaths and clouds of mist
and moisture. From every hillside, from every frost-bound plain, the
smoke of spring arose, and through the air there breathed the spirit
of the reincarnated life of the world.
How we of the Southland hailed it with joy, and drank in with our
lungs this promise of a new life! We who loved the sunshine and the
balmy breezes, the great joy of living amid fragrant fields and
green-clad forests, we who hated the storms, the wind and cold of the
North,--ah, how the blood in our veins welcomed this soft caress of
the South! We threw off the terror of the winter, looked forward with
glee to the opening of the spring campaign, and counted in
anticipation the honours we were to win, the glory that would be ours.
New life sprang up all through the camp; the troops left the busy duty
of hugging the fires, the ranks filled up, and order and discipline
once more became the order of the day.
Rumours soon came creeping through the lines of a change in the
leadership of the enemy's forces, but as yet they lay quietly within
the city and showed not the teeth of offence. Thus we lay on the green
hillsides of Valley Forge, busily preparing for the struggle which was
certain to come, until far into the spring, without a sign of a
movement on the part of the enemy.
But with May came their new Commander-in-Chief, Sir Henry Clinton, and
the departure of Lord Howe, and we knew that the time had at last come
when some bold stroke would be played in the game of war.
The gaps in our ranks had been somewhat filled, and we were ready and
eager for active service as soon as the great General would give the
command.
At last came rumours of a retreat, that the English were preparing to
desert the city and march across the plains of Jersey to where New
York lay, sheltered by the waters of the sea and the rivers. We
marched toward the Delaware to be ready to strike them when they
moved.
So, one day, as I stood on the outpost, guarding the nearest road to
the city, I saw Jones approaching at full speed on an old horse, which
he had evidently borrowed. I was ready for his news.
"The British are crossing the Delaware; we will catch them in Jersey
now or never," he cried, and then he had dashed past on his way to
headquarters.
My little guard received the news with a yell, and we looked forward
eagerly for the order to join our regiment on the march.
It was not long in coming, and on that night, the 18th of June, we
crossed the Delaware, and started on the race across Jersey that was
to end at Monmouth.
CHAPTER XIX
THE SANDS OF MONMOUTH
For a week we hung on the flank of the enemy, waiting for an
opportunity to strike, as we saw the immense train form on the right
bank of the Delaware and take up its cumbersome march across the
Jersey plains.
With it marched the whole force of the British army of seventeen
thousand men, who did their duty so well that we longed for an opening
in vain.
All through those blazing hot days of June we marched through the
sands of Jersey, ankle deep as we trudged along, and it seemed as if
the time for a trial of strength would never come. All to the east and
south of us the great train of their wagons crawled along through the
heat and the dust, and the sun glinted and gleamed on the points of
the bayonets as the mass of their troops marched on.
Slowly they crawled through the dusty roads of Jersey, and slowly they
were crawling beyond the reach of our arms into the haven of safety.
At last, on the 27th of the month, they reached the heights of
Monmouth, within a day's march of their journey's end, while we lay
five miles away at Englishtown, swearing low and earnestly at our
luck.
That night there came news to the camp that put new life in the men,
and made them forget the heat and the toil of the march; the news that
the great General had decided to risk a throw in the morning, and that
our regiment was to be with the advance.
And so, when Lee rode up to take command, we gave him a cheer, for
though we disliked and distrusted the man, yet his coming meant a
fight in the morning.
Then there was a great stir in the camp; the men saw to their muskets,
and the signs everywhere told of their eager preparations for the
deadly struggle in the morning, while the cheery laugh and the
snatches of song spoke well for the spirits of the men after the long,
toilsome march of the day.
The sun comes up out of the ocean early in Jersey, but even before its
rays had cleared the pine tops our camp was stirring with life, the
men preparing for the advance.
But there seemed to be a fatality about it all; a hand, as it were,
covered us and held us back, paralyzing the spirit of the men. Delay
followed delay, and when at last the regiments took up the line of
march, ours was held back until almost the last. The New Jersey
volunteers had the post of honour, as they longed to revenge their
ruined homesteads and devastated farms, and then our turn came.
We marched out of Englishtown into the dreary country beyond. On every
side sand dunes, former barriers of the ocean, raised their crests,
covered with a straggling forest of stunted pines and scrub trees,
which, in the passes in the hills, came down to the road, disputing
the passageway, while in the shallow valleys lay the open fields and
marshes. A dreary country withal, but where a small body of troops
could hold the passes in the hills against many hundreds and make good
their defence.
We passed through the defile in the first range of hills, crossed the
low valley, and then, after passing through the second defile, we had
only to cross the one before us to be on the heights overlooking the
enemy's position at Freehold.
As we approached this last pass in the hills we were surprised to see
a steady stream of our troops coming back in disorder through the gap.
The men were retreating doggedly in broken ranks, and turning, as they
trudged along, to look back, as if with half a mind to return.
As they came streaming past our advance I called to a sergeant, an old
backwoodsman whose courage I knew, and asked him of the battle and why
he was not fighting.
"Fight?" he cried indignantly, "why, damn it, Lieutenant, they will
not let us fight. They ordered us to retreat before a musket was
fired."
At that moment Captain Mercer, an aide of the staff of General Lee,
rode up to Colonel Ramsay, who was near me.
He delivered an order rapidly, and then I heard Ramsay's voice ring
out angrily. "Retreat?" he cried. "By whose order?"
"By the order of General Lee."
"But," he protested hotly, "we have not seen the enemy yet."
Mercer shrugged his shoulders. "I only carry the order," he said.
The stream of fugitives grew rapidly, becoming more disorderly,
showing at every step the spread of the panic and the rout, as Colonel
Ramsay stopped the advance and gave the order to retreat.
Slowly and reluctantly we obeyed, and as we retired through the second
pass in the hills we saw the British gain the opposite ridge and
advance with cheers on the disorderly flying mass in the sandy valley
behind.
Every moment the press of the fugitives grew greater, and though we
still maintained our formation and marched as on parade the retreat
had turned into a rout. On every side and in our rear the broken
ranks of the army poured past, demoralised and in despair, and ever
nearer came the musketry and the cheers of the advancing English.
"They will catch us before we get through the gap," said Dick, looking
at the pass in front of us.
"Then we will fight anyhow," I replied, "and General Lee can go to the
devil."
Whereupon our spirits began to pick up, and the men retreated more
slowly than ever, glancing over their shoulders to see how near the
head of the British column was.
At last we came to the foot of the first pass, with its hills heavily
covered with scrub pines. Behind us stretched the fields of broken
troops, and we could see the red line of the British as they debouched
upon the plain and drove the patriots before them.
It was a wild scene of confusion and disorder, of demoralised retreat
and rout; and then something happened.
There was a stir in the pass in our front, a clatter of hoofs, and
there appeared before us the General with his staff. He towered there
with his great figure, a veritable god of war and of wrath.
For a moment his eye swept the field, and his face flushed crimson
with indignation and anger, as he saw the best troops of his army
flying like sheep before the enemy. There was a storm in the air, and
then, as Lee rode up, it broke.
We heard his excited "Sir, sir!" and the General's angry tones, and
then dismissing him contemptuously, he called to Hamilton to ask if
there was a regiment which could stop the advance.
Ramsay sprang forward.
"My regiment is ready, General."
"If you stop them ten minutes until I form, you will save the army."
"I will stop them or fall," cried Ramsay, and, turning to us, he gave
the order to "About face," and then crying that the General relied on
us to save the army, he led us in the charge.
Not a moment too soon, for, as the press of the fugitives was brushed
aside by our advance, mingling in the midst of the disorderly mass,
came the red line of the British, cheering and victorious.
But suddenly the flying mass disappeared, and in their place came the
yell of the Maryland Line, the long array of their bayonets bent to
the charge, with all the fury and weight of their onset.
For a moment the red line hesitated; then an officer, who looked
strangely familiar, sprang forward, shouting:
"They are nothing but dogs of rebels; charge and break them."
The red line answered with a cheer, for their fighting blood was up,
and they dashed forward to meet us.
Then came such a clash of steel as is seldom heard, as the King's
Grenadiers and the Maryland Line met in the shock of the charge. For a
moment so close was the press that we could not wield our arms, and
men fell, spitted on each other's bayonets.
Then came a deadly struggle, as men fought desperately, hand to hand,
and the lines swayed backward and forward as the weight of the numbers
told. The ground was lost and gained, struggled for and won over and
over, while the dead lay in heaps under our feet.
It was in the midst of this deadly struggle, when I was fighting sword
in hand amid the press of bayonets for my very life, that I saw
Ramsay, who was near, cheering on his men, come face to face with the
officer who led the charge of the Grenadiers. Then, in that storm
centre, around which the roar of battle raged, there was a flash of
steel and the swords crossed. But in the fury of the battle duels are
short and fierce, and I saw Ramsay, who was already covered with
wounds, falter for a moment, as the other lunged, and then he was down
among the slain.
Our line hesitated as Ramsay fell, and the English pressed on with a
cheer. But I sprang forward, shouting to the men to save their
Colonel, and they, answering my call, forced the English back, until I
stood by Ramsay's body. But only for a moment; before we could raise
Ramsay gently up and bear him off the field, there came another charge
of the Grenadiers that forced us off our feet and hurled us backward,
fighting desperately, leaving the body of our Colonel in the hands of
the enemy. But in the _mêlée_ I found my sword crossing that of the
officer who had fought with Ramsay, and instantly I attacked him
fiercely, for I was burning to avenge Ramsay's fall. But he, with ease
and coolness, parried all my thrusts and played with me as if I were
but a child. Then, as I was growing desperate, he called to me, "Nay,
lad, go try your sword on some one else and leave an old Scot alone. I
would not hurt you for the world."
I started and let the point of my sword fall, for it was the voice of
the old Tory, whom I had not before recognised in the confusion of the
fight. This slight hesitation almost led to my capture, for I had been
fighting in advance of our line, and now I found myself in the midst
of the English troops. So, saluting the old Tory hastily, I regained
our lines.
Then, fighting foot by foot and inch, by inch, we contested their
advance, as the weight of numbers bore us backward up the hill into
the pines. But every minute gained meant the salvation of the army.
Ah, it was hot work there, ankle deep in the sand, with the broiling
sun above us, while the smoke and the dust of the conflict filled our
throats and eyes; but we staggered on and fought blindly, desperately,
amid the din and the carnage.
Ten minutes, twenty minutes--ah, there it is at last, and the roar of
the opening battle broke out to the right and left of us, as the
re-formed regiments went into the fight.
Then to our left came the high piercing yell of our brothers of the
Line, and we knew that the British were falling back before them. The
Grenadiers struggled on for a moment longer, but the force of their
charge was spent, and the fire of the new regiments forced them back
in turn.
But it was only for awhile, for they re-formed, and, under the
leadership of the gallant Monkton, hurled themselves upon us once
again.
Monkton fell, and their lines shrivelled up under our fire. Then, as
it was near the setting of the sun, Washington, glancing over the
field, saw that the time had come and ordered the advance.
Our whole line sprang forward, and, though we had borne the brunt, the
toil, and heat of the day, not a man faltered. As the long line swept
forward the British slowly retreated before us. We drove them across
the plain and through the second pass, where night overtook us and
stopped our pursuit.
But then, when the fever of the battle left us, a great fatigue
seized hold of our limbs, the men sank to the earth as they stood,
and slept from very exhaustion.
But we were soon to be aroused.
Through the darkness came the sound of a horse's hoofs, and a voice,
asking for Ramsay's regiment. I sprang up, answering, and saw
approaching a body of horsemen. The foremost rider seemed an immense
figure, as he advanced in the darkness; but I, who had seen him often
before, knew him to be the great General.
I immediately gave the alarm, and the men sprang to their feet and
presented arms.
And then, there under the pines, by the light of the stars, the
General rode down our line, and, coming to the centre, we felt his
glance fall over our ranks.
"Men of Maryland," spoke Washington, and his voice rang clear through
the pines, "once before at Long Island you saved the army, and to-day,
for a second time, you have done so by your courage and tenacity. I
thank you in the name of the army and the nation; I thank you for
myself."
A wild yell that broke from the Line was his answer. We forgot our
fatigue and our wounds in the pride of the moment.
CHAPTER XX
IN THE LINES OF THE ENEMY
It was near the end of the first watch when an order came to me to
pick out several men, go forward, feel the enemy's outposts, and see
if the enemy was still retreating.
Making my choice, I passed our pickets with three men, and made my way
cautiously to the last pass in the hills which was in the enemy's
possession at nightfall. But not a sign of their pickets or troops
could I find; so I boldly advanced in the pass, and, crossing the
ridge, found myself on the heights overlooking Freehold. It was a
small town of scattered houses, and beyond it I could see the lights
of the British camp-fires.
But as the heights were not near enough for our purpose, we descended
into the plain, and carefully made our way toward the town, where I
knew certain patriots were, who, if I could once get speech with them,
would tell me the whole plans of the enemy.
We could hear the tramp of feet at the further side of the village,
and all the sounds of an army in retreat. Being now so close to them,
and in great danger, we moved with the utmost caution. Near at hand,
on the outskirts of the town, stood a large, square stone house,
separated from the rest of the houses by an immense garden. Having
found a break in the hedge, we entered.
It was an old garden, filled with boxwood walks and flowers run wild.
Very prim at one time it must have been; but, now that the war had
helped the return to nature, it was a wild and tangled mass.
Making our way through the garden, a light was suddenly thrown upon
our path, and, glancing up, I saw that it came from a window which,
though it was on the first floor of the house, was yet some distance
from the ground.
Then the figure of a woman crossed the window, stopping for a moment
to look out, while we stood in the shadow of the hedge, holding our
breath. But she passed on, and I, determining to see into the room to
discover whether it contained friend or foe, quickly gained the
shelter of the wall of the house. The wall was of rough hewn stone,
and with the help of my comrades' shoulders, I raised myself high
enough to glance over the window-sill, and what I saw there made me
drop to the ground quickly.
Then, whispering to my comrades to stay where they were, I made my way
to the rear entrance of the house, and, finding the door unfastened,
softly entered the hall; and then I was standing in the door of the
room from which the light came.
A lamp stood on a table near a long horse-hair sofa with spindle legs,
on which lay the figure of a man. The coat had been cut from his
shoulder, which was swathed in many bandages, while the blood-stained
rags on the table and the floor told of the seriousness of the wound.
A slender figure was bending over him, gently arranging a pillow under
his head.
"Do you feel easier now, father?"
"Yes, lassie." Then, a moment later, "Why does not Clinton send me a
carriage? He surely does not intend to desert me here."
"Captain Farquharson is searching for one," she answered. And then
turning to the table, she saw me standing in the doorway. The colour
left her face; she gave a little cry, for she thought there were many
men behind me, and that all was lost. So, quickly putting my finger to
my lips, I stepped back into the darkness of the hall, and as I did
so, I heard the old Tory ask, "What's that?"
"It was nothing," she answered. "I thought I saw a ghost."
I stood there in the broad window waiting, for I knew she would come.
Below me was the garden, heavy-scented with the odour of flowers, and
the hum of the night insects was everywhere in the air. Close to the
wall I saw the figures of my scouts. The noise of the tramp of feet,
the creak of waggons, and the voice of command came to me from the
village street.
At last she came and stood before me. In her eyes were great pain and
fear and suffering.
"Tell me," she asked anxiously, "is there any danger for him?"
"More danger for me than for him," I replied. "The whole American
advance guard consists of three men and myself; the rest will follow
in the morning."
"Ah," she cried, and there was hope once more in her voice; "then we
can escape."
"If you can move your father by sunrise, yes," I replied.
"But you," she said, and there was new anxiety in her voice; "you are
in great danger here. When the soldiers come to remove father they
will take you prisoner."
"I care not, Mistress Jean," I answered, "for your eyes have held me
prisoner for many a long day, and all the prison bars in the world are
nothing to me so long as I can look into them."
"Nay," she said, "you must not say such things to me."
And I, taking this as a confirmation of all my fears and that at last
Farquharson had succeeded in his suit, would have bade her good-bye
and gone my way. But before I went I told her of my wishes for her
happiness, and that I had met Farquharson and knew of his skill and
courage.
"Farquharson?" and her eyes were wide open in surprise. "I really
believe you think I am going to marry him;" and she laughed so softly,
bewitchingly, that--
"Jean, Jean," I cried, now that hope and life had come back with a
rush, "Jean, do you know that I love you; that I love the very ground
on which you walk, the sunbeams in your hair, the very air you
breathe? Ah! Jean--" But at that moment came the voice of the Tory
calling her and the tramp of feet on the porch.
"Let me go," she cried, for I held her hands in mine; "and fly,--that
is the guard."
"Nay," said I, "not till you give me a kiss. I will stay here and be
captured first."
There was a moment's hesitation, and then a flash of white arms, and
the softest caress--ah, such a caress that the memory of it will go
with me to the grave. And then she was gone.
And I, not wishing to be captured now, slipped through the rear door
to my men, and a short time later, having satisfied ourselves of the
retreat of the enemy's forces, we made our way back over the hills to
report to the General.
We followed the enemy closely the next day, and did not draw off until
we saw them beyond our reach at Sandy Hook.
Then we took our way to the Jersey hills, and lay there for a time
watching the enemy in New York.
CHAPTER XXI
THE PASSING OF YEARS
Then came a long period when it seemed almost as if peace had settled
over the land, so seldom did the rattle of musket fire or the angry
flash of guns break the quiet repose of the Jersey plains and farms.
Far across the marshes lay New York, and behind its walls and the
broad sweep of the waters the British army rested safe, while the army
of the patriots, scattered among the forests, woods, and hills of
Jersey and New York, lived, like Robin Hood's followers of old, and
waited while the wheel of fortune turned.
A year went by, when at the taking of Paulus Hook I first heard news
of the welfare of the Tory and the maid, since the night of the
Monmouth retreat.
It was after an all-night march through the marshes of Jersey, often
breast-high in the water, that we made a silent, deadly charge with
the bayonet on the enemy's fort, and carried it before the sun had
risen.
We were retiring rapidly, after securing our prisoners, when one of my
men called to me: "Captain, here's one of those Highland chiefs
knocked on the head."
I went to him and found that it was Farquharson, who had received an
ugly blow on the head from a clubbed musket.
A little whiskey between his teeth and water on his face revived him,
and I was able, with the help of several men, to carry him along with
our party.
We made good our retreat, and when several days later I was in the
main camp of the army, I went to the quarters where the prisoners were
detained, and there I again met Farquharson.
"Captain," said he, smiling, for he had almost recovered from his
wound, "there is no entering a contest against you; fortune is always
on your side."
"My turn will come," I answered; "but is there anything I can do for
you?"
"I am afraid not, unless you bribe the guards to let me escape."
"That would be clear against the articles of war," I replied. We fell
to talking, and then it was I heard of the Tory and his daughter.
"It was about Christmas time," said Farquharson, "that the King sent a
message over the sea, granting him a pardon for the part he had taken
in '45, for you know he was out then. The Sea Raven was about to
clear in a week for Glasgow, and a sudden longing seemed to seize him
to see once more the dash of the waters through the Braes of Mar and
the heather-crowned hills of old Aberdeen; and so, within a week, they
had sailed away; and as he left he said to me: 'A revolt drove me from
old Scotland; another sends me back again. I wonder where fortune will
end my days.' It is a strange fortune that has followed him through
life."
"It is, indeed," I replied.
So they sailed away over the seas, gone back to their own land and
people; and between that land and mine burned high the flame of war.
But through the flame and across the broad stretch of the waters, I
saw the form of the maid beckoning me on, and though my hope was
well-nigh gone, I buckled tight my sword-belt and doggedly went
on,--went on, through the long march to the southward, the toil, the
hunger, and the defeat of the Camden campaign.
The great triumph of Eutaw Springs and Cowpens, as we drove back
Cornwallis from the hill country to the shore, rolled back the tide of
invasion and drowned it in the sea.
A year went by, bringing me adventures not a few, and with the
adventures came wounds and honours; and when there came the news of
the leaguer of Yorktown, it found me a full Colonel in the army of the
South.
It was not my fortune to be present at that last great feat of our
arms, when the great General struck the blow that freed us for ever
from the tyranny of the King.
But when the news came down to us in the savannahs of the South we
hailed it with joy, for we saw once more before us the quiet, smiling
fields of Maryland, with the ease and comfort and plenty of it all
that awaited but our coming to repay us for the years of strife and
blood.
And then at last came the order for us to take up the homeward march.
The men took up the trail with as jaunty a step as when they first
marched to the northward, long years before. The gay uniforms were
faded and gone; rags and tatters had taken their places, while of the
brave banner that was flung to the breeze at the Head of Elk nothing
remained but the staff and a few ribbons that flaunted therefrom.
But every tatter told the tale of a fight where the shot and shell had
torn it as it waved above the charging line, the deadly struggle of
the hand to hand, or marked the slow and sullen retreat.
The men themselves were hardy and bronzed; from their ragged caps to
their soleless shoes they bore the stamp of veterans. They showed the
signs of their training in the angry school of war; wide indeed was
the difference between the gay volunteers of '76 and the hardy
veterans of '82. We swung along in our homeward march with a right
goodwill, and at last came to the broad Potomac and saw the hills of
Maryland beyond.
Now the river itself to the low water-line of the southern bank is
within the boundaries of Maryland. Wishing to be the first across the
line, I rode my horse in to the saddle-girths, and let him drink
thereof.
A day later brought us to Annapolis, where we received the thanks of
the State authorities, and with all due form and ceremony obtained our
discharge and then dispersed to our homes.
That very day I took a canoe, and, crossing the bay, found myself
again on the steps of Fairlee.
Once more my mother leaned on my arm, and, looking up at her tall,
broad-shouldered son, with his epaulets of a Colonel, bronzed face,
and hardy bearing, seemed proud and happy.
CHAPTER XXII
THE COMING OF THE MAID
Many months had passed away, spring had come again, and the fair city
of Annapolis lay in a mass of flowers. The vivid green of the old
trees cast a delightful shade over all, tempting one to stroll through
the quiet streets and byways, past the moss-grown walls, the
old-fashioned gardens, buried in roses, and the stately, proud
mansions of many of Maryland's best and bravest.
I was standing on a step and above me stood Mistresses Polly and Betsy
Johnson, who were railing at me now that I no longer wore a uniform
and was simply a plain member of the Legislature.
"He looked so fine in his brass buttons," said Mistress Polly.
"A brave, bold, quite proper-looking young fellow," added Mistress
Betsy.
"And now just look at him," continued Mistress Polly pathetically; and
they surveyed me sorrowfully, while malicious mischief played around
the corners of their eyes.
I laughed outright. I could not help it, so droll was the expression
on their faces.
"True, your ladyship," I said; "the toga does not fit a young man so
well as the buckled sabre and glittering epaulets. But now that dull
peace has come, the hall of the Legislature is the only place where
you can throw the weight of your sword in the conflict and wield some
influence in the great struggles of the country; would you have me
idle?"
"Nay, I would not have that," said Mistress Polly judiciously. "But
your round head and big hands are just the things for a fight, and
though your voice is--well--can be heard a considerable distance, I am
afraid----" She paused, as if doubtful about its being put to any good
use in the hall of the Assembly.
Decidedly I was getting the worst of it.
At this moment Dick Ringgold, who represented Kent with me, came
swinging up the street, and, seeing me standing on the steps, hailed
me with--
"Hello, Frisby, have you heard the news?"
"What news?"
"Your old Tory friend Gordon is on the Sally Ann, from London, which
has just come up the harbour."
"Any one with him?" I asked anxiously.
"Well," said Dick, maliciously drawling it out, "I heard some one say
there was a young lady with him."
I did not stop to protest against the laughter that followed me as I
dashed down the street, or to Dick's shout as he called something
after me. A few minutes later I was on the wharf.
Out in the stream, swaying with the current of the tide, lay the Sally
Ann, her tall spars tapering high in air, her decks full of bustle and
activity, showing the journey's end and that the final preparations
for disembarkation were under full headway.
As I arrived a boat was pulling off from her side containing two
passengers. As I saw them my heart gave a great bound; my hand went to
my hat and swung it around my head. In answer to my signal came the
fluttering of a handkerchief.
"Sir," said I, as the old Tory stepped ashore, "let me be the first
to welcome you back to old Maryland."
"Would that all my enemies were like you!" he replied. "I hesitated
long about returning, but Jean would have it so."
And Mistress Jean said not a word as I took her hand in mine, but her
face was mantled in scarlet and her eyes were downcast.
The prim old garden of the Nicholsons never looked more charming, the
flowers more sweet and beautiful, or the green boxwood hedges more
suggestive of rest and repose; the lazy waters of the Chester rolled
along at its foot, gently lapping the grass. Ah! the sun was shining
on a glorious world that day, for Mistress Jean walked beside me.
"Mistress Jean," said I, as we stood where the waters met the grass
and looked out over the broad and silent river, flowing on and on as
if to eternity, "our lives have been more like mountain torrents than
the broad smooth river here. We have lived through the battles and
sieges, seen blood and death and all the horrors of a great war, but
now that peace has come, and our course lies through pleasant fields
and verdant meadows, would it not be best for them to join and flow on
as this great river does, Jean? Ah, Jean, you know how much I love
you."
And then she placed her hand in mine; her eyes spoke that which I most
wished to know, and the very earth seemed glorious.
I know not how long we stood there, when there came Mistress Nancy
Nicholson's voice through the garden, calling, "Jean, Jean, where are
you?"
"Here," she answered; and with that Mistress Nancy came running round
the hedge.
"Oh, Jean," she cried, "Dick has proposed."
And then, seeing me, she stamped her little foot, and cried, "Oh,
bother!" blushing meanwhile as red as one of her roses.
"And so have I, Mistress Nancy," I replied.
* * * * *
And now, my children, I end this tale, sitting here on the old porch
at Fairlee. The pen drops from my hand, but my eyes are not too dim to
see the flash of the sunlight on the waters of the great bay through
the break in the trees.
Nor are they too dim, Miss Jean, in spite of the impertinent toss of
your head, to see in you the likeness of the maid that led me such a
wild dance in the days of my youth. And I promise you, if you do not
smile on young Dick Ringgold and stop your outrageous treatment of
him, I will not leave you a cent in my will.
There, there; I retract every word that I said. Was there ever so
audacious a monkey in the world?
There, I have finished. Oh, yes, I forgot--
"John Cotton, bring me some more mint."
THE END.
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