Kitabı oku: «From Kingdom to Colony», sayfa 17

CHAPTER XXX

Had Dorothy been less absorbed by anxiety and grief when she was making her way to General Washington's apartments, she would have heard the door of the taproom open softly as she reached the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor.

Farmer Gilbert's head was thrust from the opening, and his fierce eyes watched the slight figure ascend to the landing above and turn in the direction of the rooms occupied by the Commander-in-Chief.

As soon as she was out of sight, he glanced up and down the hall, to make certain no one was near, and slipped cautiously out. Then quickly removing his heavy shoes, he stole, cat-like, up the stairway.

His progress was stayed by the voices of the girl and Doak; and raising his head until his eyes were on a level with the floor, he saw them enter the room together.

"Whatever be she up to?" he muttered. Then hearing footsteps in the hall below, he sped noiselessly up the few remaining steps, and made haste to hide himself in Mistress Trask's linen-press, standing only a short distance away, and which afforded him ample opportunity for watching, as he held the door ajar.

"Aha, my lady spy," he whispered to himself, "I'll keep my eye on ye – an' my ears, too. Ye can't fool Jason Gilbert, 'though ye may fool some as thinks they know more as I."

He saw Doak fetch the British prisoner, and noted the length of time the young man remained in the room whither the girl had gone.

"Aye – him outside, last night, an' she on the inside," his maudlin thoughts ran on. "They thought to hev it all their own way, – to tell the Britishers the names o' the officers that were here, an' all that was goin' on. An' now here be General Washington himself, I'll be bound, lettin' her coax him to save t' other spy from hangin', when they both ought to be strung up together. I wish now I'd not set up a hello that brought the men out o' the inn, but had jest given him a crack o'er the head myself, to settle the matter, an' so hev none o' this triflin', with her tryin' to pull the wool over the General's eyes. But I guess he'll know 'em for the pair o' d – d British spies they be."

His lips moved in unworded mutterings, his eyes intent upon Doak – now sitting by the closed door – or else glancing about the hall to see if any one were approaching his place of concealment.

When Doak was again summoned within the room, Gilbert thought to improve the chance for making his escape; but seeing that the door was open a few inches, he concluded to wait. Then he saw the fisherman come out with the prisoner, and he uttered a low curse when the young man turned to meet the girl's eyes before the door closed behind him.

Before the sound of their footsteps died away down the hall, Farmer Gilbert left his hiding-place and hastened below, sitting down on the steps to replace his shoes, as one of the women servants came along.

"Got a pebble, or summat, in my shoe," he explained, raising his head; for the girl had stopped, and was staring at him curiously.

"Did ye have to take off both shoes to find it?" she asked pertly.

He did not answer, and she passed on to the tap-room, whither he followed her.

Less than an hour after this, as Mary and Dorothy were in their little parlor, talking over the recent happenings, the landlady came to announce that General Washington desired to see them at once.

They observed, as they passed along the hall, that some fresh excitement seemed to prevail, for they could see that the taproom was filled with men, many of whom were talking animatedly.

The door of Washington's room stood open, and they saw him in earnest conversation with two other officers, who withdrew as the girls entered.

He welcomed them kindly, although seeming preoccupied, – as if pressed by some new matter which disturbed him.

"A messenger has brought information that a body of the enemy is coming in this direction," he said, speaking quite hurriedly. "It is therefore prudent that we go our ways with all proper speed, and I wish to urge your own immediate departure. I regret that our routes lie in different directions; but I will send the man Doak to escort you, as it appears he is well known to your family."

Seeing the consternation in the girls' faces, he added reassuringly: "There is no cause for alarm, for you have ample time to put a safe distance between yourselves and the approaching British. I think it probable they will halt for a time here, at the tavern, for this seems to be their objective point."

"Do you think there is like to be a battle?" Mary inquired nervously.

Washington smiled at her fears.

"No," he answered. "It is but a moderate-sized force – probably reconnoitring. We shall, I trust, have the enemy well out of Boston erelong, without the risk or slaughter of a battle."

Then he added: "But we are losing valuable time, and I have something more pleasant than battles to speak about. I take it, Mistress Devereux," – and he turned to Mary, – "that your little sister here has made you aware of what passed between us but an hour ago?"

"Yes, sir." And Mary stole a side glance at Dorothy, wondering that the girl should appear so self-possessed.

"Captain Southorn will go with me to Cambridge," he continued, "where his ultimate disposition will be decided upon."

Dorothy started; but looking at Washington, she saw a smile in the kindly glance bent upon her troubled face.

"He will also meet Lieutenant Devereux there, and this I deem a desirable thing for all concerned. So take heart, Mistress Dorothy, and trust that all will end happily."

He looked at his watch, and then held out a hand to each of them.

"Get you under way for Dorchester at once," he said, "and you shall hear something from me within the week."

With this he led them to the door and bade them God speed, warning them once more to make haste in leaving the inn.

When they had put on their riding-hats, and gathered up their few belongings, the two girls left their room in company with Mistress Trask, who, between the excitement of seeing her distinguished guests depart, and the unusual exercise attending the concealment of her choicest viands from the approaching enemy, was well-nigh speechless.

Emerging from the narrow passage leading to the main hall of the inn, they encountered a small knot of men looking curiously at Captain Southorn and the two soldiers guarding him, who were standing at the foot of the staircase, apart from the others, and were apparently waiting for orders, while outside the open door several other men were gathered, in charge of a dozen or more horses.

As Mary's glance fell upon the young Englishman, she flushed a little, and holding her chin a bit higher than before, turned her eyes in another direction – but not until he saw the angry flash in them.

A faint smile touched his lips as he lifted his hat, and then an eager look came to his eyes as he saw the small figure following close behind her, whose steps seemed to falter as she neared him.

Just then there was a call from above stairs; and as one of the guards ascended hastily to answer it, Captain Southorn said something in a low tone to the other one – quite a young man – standing beside him.

He listened, and then shook his head, but hesitatingly, as he glanced toward Dorothy, who was looking wistfully at his prisoner.

Good Mistress Trask had chanced to overhear what the Britisher said; and speaking to the young soldier, she exclaimed testily: "Fiddlesticks, Tommy Macklin! Why not let him speak a word to the young lady, when he asks ye so polite-like? What harm can come of it? They be old acquaintances."

Tommy seemed to waver; but being a good-hearted young fellow, as well as standing somewhat in awe of the landlady, who was a distant relative, he made no farther objection, and nodded his consent.

Southorn gave Mistress Trask a grateful smile, and stepping quickly to where Dorothy was standing, took her hand and led her a few steps away from the others, as he asked in a low voice, "Do you know what is to be done with me, sweetheart?"

"Only that you are to go to Cambridge," was the hurried reply.

"I knew that much myself," he said smilingly. "But what is the meaning of all this sudden stir?"

"They say the – British are marching toward the inn," she whispered, her mind troubled by the fear that she had no right to give him this information.

He drew a quick breath; and she readily divined the thoughts that caused him to frown, and bite his lips.

"General Washington said you would meet my brother at Cambridge, and that it was best to – best for – that it was important for you to see him," she added stammeringly, while her color deepened.

The scowl left his face, and he smiled at her in a way to make her eyes seek the floor.

"Aha! did he, indeed? Well then, no doubt it is best that I am going to Cambridge, and as soon as may be. But," with some anxiety, "what think you this brother of yours will say to me, or will a bullet be all he will have for my hearing?"

"No, indeed no!" Dorothy exclaimed. "Jack would never show you unkindness, for he knows – he well knows, because I told him – "

"Do you mean to say," he asked quickly, cutting short her words, "that your brother has known all this time the blessed truth that I learned only this very morning?"

"He only knew of it just before he left home in the summer," she whispered. "I had to tell him."

"Why?"

"I was afraid you and he might meet, and I was fearful that – " The voice died away, and Dorothy's head drooped.

"Sweetheart," he said softly, "I understand. You must have been sadly torn betwixt your love and what you thought to be your duty. It makes me realize more keenly what a brute I have made of myself. But trust me – only trust and believe in my honor and true love, and I will try all my life to make amends for the suffering I have caused you."

Washington and his suite were now descending the stairs, and Tommy Macklin hastened to place himself closer to his prisoner as the other soldier joined him.

Then Southorn turned to Dorothy and said: "It is evident that we are about to leave. Tell me quickly as to your own movements, – you surely are not going to stop here?"

"Oh no; Mary and I are to set out right away for Dorchester, and Fisherman Doak is to see us safely housed with Mistress Knollys."

"You will go at once," he insisted, "and not delay a second?"

She nodded smilingly, and their eyes spoke the farewell their lips were forbidden to utter.

Mary had been standing all this time alongside Mistress Trask, her face studiously averted from the two at whom nearly all the others were staring wonderingly.

She now came forward, and without looking at Captain Southorn, joined Dorothy; and in company with the landlady they passed through the door into the midday sunlight flooding the world outside.

Washington and those with him were the first to leave, – their departure being witnessed by every one at the inn.

The two girls were now standing side by side in the doorway; and Captain Southorn, on horseback, with a mounted guard on either side of him, smiled again as his glance fell on Mary's spirited face, and at the thought it awakened of that morning at the Sachem's Cave.

"They be goin' to take the spy to Cambridge, to hang him," muttered Farmer Gilbert to Mistress Trask, his restless eyes roving from the sweet young face in the doorway to that of the young man sitting upon the horse.

"No such thing," said the landlady, with an indignant sniff. "He is a prisoner, but there's no further talk o' hangin'."

"Who says so?" and the farmer's scowling brows grew blacker.

"The young ladies say so, an' they both know him – knew him long ago."

"Aye, that I'll be bound, as to one of 'em, at any rate," he growled, eying Dorothy savagely. The girl's face was telling her secret, while she stood watching her husband turn for a parting smile as he rode off with the others.

"Where do she live?" Gilbert asked suddenly, jerking his thumb toward the doorway, in front of which Doak was now standing with the horses.

"Down at Marblehead, when they be at home; both of 'em live there," the landlady answered. "But they be stoppin' at Dorchester now, with friends, an' there's where they're bound for." With this she turned away, her manner showing that she desired no further parley with him.

The man stood for a few moments, as if reflecting upon what he had heard. Then, with one more glance at the two girls, he turned slowly about, and took his way to the stables of the inn.

CHAPTER XXXI

Doak and his charges had gone but a short distance when the sound of hoofs behind them caused all three to turn, wondering who might be approaching.

It was a man, evidently an American by his appearance; and as they looked back at him, he seemed to check the hitherto brisk gait of his horse.

Dorothy was the first to recognize him.

"Oh, Mary, 't is that dreadful man who frightened us!"

"Frightened ye?" echoed Doak, interrogatively. "How was that, mistress?"

When Mary explained what had taken place the night before, he glanced back again, and saw that the distance between them was rapidly increasing, for the man in the rear was letting his horse walk, while he sat swinging loosely in the saddle.

"There be naught to fear now," he said, in a way to reassure the two girls. "He's not like to think o' tryin' any frightenin' game with me. An' he rides like he had too much store o' liquor aboard to be thinkin' of aught but keepin' firm hold on his craft." Then, when he had looked again, "He be fallin' way behind, so there's no call for bein' fright'ed, either one o' ye."

They soon lost sight of the stranger, and without further happening arrived safely at their destination, to receive a motherly welcome from Mistress Knollys, who had been most anxious concerning them, knowing how the roads were infested with stragglers from both armies.

She insisted upon Doak alighting to take some refreshment; and he, nothing loath, did so, while she wrote a letter to her son for the fisherman to carry back to Cambridge.

Dorothy and Mary also improved the opportunity to write to Jack, Dot even venturing to enclose a little missive for Captain Southorn, which she begged her brother to deliver.

It was her first love letter, although so demure and prim in its wording as scarcely to deserve that name. But a loyal affection breathed through it, praying him to hope, and to trust in Washington's friendship for them.

Mistress Knollys listened with widening eyes to Mary's account of their interview with the great man, – for she invested him with all the power of His Gracious Majesty, and regarded him with more awe than ever she had King George himself.

She laughed outright over the description of their having been caught in his apartments, and asked to see the paper he had given Dorothy, touching it as something most sacred.

Dorothy had gone above stairs, leaving Mary and the good woman together in the living-room, where the afternoon sunshine poured across the floor in broad slants from the two windows opening upon the garden at the rear of the house.

Presently Mistress Knollys said, "It would seem, my dear, to be the very best outcome for Dorothy's matter, the way things have befallen."

"Yes," Mary assented with a sigh, "so it does."

"And yet," added the old lady, "I fear it will be hard for the little maid, with a brother and husband fighting against one another."

"Ah, but you forget, dear Mistress Knollys, that he told her he thought of setting sail for his home in England."

"And then I suppose she would go with him."

"Aye;" and Mary sighed again. "I think she will surely wish to do this."

"Well, well, my dear," said Mistress Knollys, speaking more briskly, "that is not like to be right away, as he must await his exchange as a prisoner, and there's no telling when that will come to pass. Let us borrow no trouble until we know the end, which, after all, may be a happy one."

It was the fourth day after this that Mary was gladdened by the sight of her husband riding up in front of Mistress Knollys' door; and with him were Hugh and a dozen other stout fellows on horseback. He explained that they had but a short time to tarry, and were come at Washington's command, to carry Dorothy back with them to Cambridge.

"Hey, you little mischief, see the stir you are guilty of making, – getting half the camp by the ears with your goings on," he said laughingly, and in a way to set at rest all her misgivings, as he took her in his arms.

"But what am I to go to Cambridge for?" she asked rather nervously, still with her arms around his neck, and holding back her head to get a better look at his face, in which a serious expression seemed to be underlying its usual brightness.

"Did I not tell you, – because General Washington sent us to fetch you? But come," he added more gravely, "we must get away at once. Hasten and get yourself ready and I will tell you all as we ride along."

"Had I not better go with her?" asked Mary, when Dot had left them.

Her husband shook his head. "No, it was only Dot we were to bring."

"But for her to go alone, with a lot of men – " Mary began.

He put an arm around her shoulder as he interrupted her remonstrances.

"She goes with her brother, sweetheart, and to meet her husband."

"But she is coming back?" And Mary spoke very anxiously.

"Aye, she'll return sometime to-morrow; but for how long is for herself and the other to decide."

Then he explained: "The British have a man of ours, one Captain Pickett, a valiant soldier, with a stout arm and true heart. They have had him these three months, a prisoner in Boston, and we have been most anxious to bring about his exchange. General Washington has now arranged this through Southorn, who is to return to-morrow to Boston, and Captain Pickett is to be sent to us. After that, as I have said, we have no right to dictate Dorothy's movements. Captain Southorn has told me that he should return to England as soon as may be."

"Then," said Mary in a tone of conviction, and the tears springing to her eyes, "Dot will go with him."

"Aye, belike," he sighed, "for they love one another truly."

"And you, Jack, do you – can you look at and speak to this man with any tolerance?" demanded his wife, the asperity of her voice seeming to dry away the tears.

"I try to do so, for Dot's sake, and for what he is to her. I've found him to be a gentleman, and a right manly fellow, despite the prank of which he was guilty."

"Well, I shall hate him the longest day I live!"

Mary could say nothing more, for Mistress Knollys and Hugh now came in from another room, where they had been together.

Dorothy had passed this room on her way up the stairs, and seeing Hugh, stopped, while he came forward quickly to meet her.

"Oh, Hugh, but I am truly glad to see you once more!" she exclaimed. "How long, how very long it seems since you went away!" And there were tears shining in the eyes she raised to his face.

He clasped both her extended hands, and reminding himself of all he had heard, strove to hide his true feelings, while his mother, from the room back of them, watched the two in silence, still seeming to hear the cry he had uttered only a moment before, —

"Oh, mother, mother, I feel that my heart will break!"

Dorothy could not but observe the paleness of his face, and the traces as of recent tears showing about the blue eyes; but she attributed these to other than the real cause, – perhaps to matters arising between his mother and himself after their long separation.

"I am glad you have missed me sufficiently to make the time seem long to you, Dot," he replied, well aware, in the bitterness of his own heart, of how little this had to do with her show of emotion.

"Aye, I have missed you very much," she declared earnestly. "And so many sad things have happened since!"

"Yes – and so many that are not sad," he added significantly, desiring, since he might be expected to speak of her marriage, to have it over with.

A burning blush deepened the color in her cheeks. She drew away the hands he had been holding all this time, her eyes fell, and she seemed scarcely to know how to reply.

"I pray God you will be very happy, Dorothy." And his speaking her full name accentuated the gravity of his voice and manner.

"Thank you, Hugh," she replied, trying to smile: then, with a nervous laugh, "And when you return to Marblehead and see Polly Chine, I hope I may say the same to you."

The young man forced a laugh that well-nigh choked him. It had been hard enough to endure before he saw her. But even when he knew from her brother of her being forced into a marriage with this Britisher, his heart refused to relinquish all hope, despite what his friend had told him of Dorothy's own feeling toward her husband.

But he had still cherished the idea that somehow, in some way, they might never come together again; that the Britisher, believing Dorothy to have no love for him, might sail away to England without her, should the fortune of war spare him to do this.

He also reckoned – hoped, rather – that the girl was so young as to recover from any sentiment this stranger might have awakened within her heart.

But now, in the light of what had come about and was soon to be, all hope was dead for him. The sight of the face and form he had never loved so well as now, – when she seemed so sweet and so lovable in her newly acquired womanliness – all this was unnerving him.

With these thoughts whirling through his brain, he stood looking at her, while he forced such an unnatural laugh as made her glance at him nervously and draw herself away.

"I'm not like to see the old town for many a long day, I fear," he managed to say, his voice growing less strained as he saw the wondering look in her dark eyes; "and as for Polly Chine, you must find one more suited to my taste before you 've cause to wish me what I now wish you with all my heart."

With this he turned hastily away, and his mother asked, "You are going to get ready to start for Cambridge, child?"

"Yes," replied Dorothy, "I must leave at once."

"And can I do aught to help?" the good woman inquired.

Upon being assured that she could not, she cheerily bade the girl make haste, and to remember that she was expected to return the next day.

"I shall miss the child sorely," she said, as the click of Dorothy's little heels died away on the floor above.

Hugh said nothing, but sighed heavily, as he stood looking out of the window with eyes that saw nothing.

His mother went to him and laid a gentle hand upon his broad shoulder.

"Oh, my son, my dear son," she said in a trembling voice, "my old heart is sore for you. I have hoped for years that – "

He whirled suddenly about.

"Don't mother – don't say any more – not now. Let me fight it out alone, and try to keep such a bearing as will prevent her from knowing the truth."

Then the passion in his voice died out, and he caressed her gray hair with a loving touch.

She drew his face down and kissed him.

"Come," she said, with an effort at cheerfulness, – "come into the other room and have speech with Mary before you go, else she'll think we've lost all proper sense of our manners. This is the first time you and she have met since her marriage."