The Tory Lover 32

The Tory Lover 32

Dickson was standing with his back against the mast, with a

close-shouldered audience about him, officious to give exact details of

the expedition. Aloft, they stopped who were shaking out the sails, and

tried to hear what he was saying. At this moment old Cooper lowered

himself hand over hand, coming down on the run into the middle of the

company before he could be stopped, and struck Dickson a mighty blow in

the breast that knocked him breathless. Some of Dickson’s followers set

upon Cooper in return; but he twisted out of their clutch, being a man

of great strength and size, and took himself off to a little distance,

where he stood and looked up imploringly at the captain, and then

dropped his big head into his hands and began to sob. The captain came

to the edge of the quarter-deck and looked down at him without speaking.

Just then Dickson was able to recover speech; he had nearly every man

aboard for his audience.

 

"You had ten minutes to the good afore Mr. Wallingford follered ye!"

bellowed Hanscom, one of the Berwick men who had been in the same boat.

 

"I saw nothing of the judge’s noble son; he took good care of that!"

answered Dickson boldly; and there was a cry of approval among those who

had suspected Wallingford. They were now in the right; they at last had

proof that Wallingford deserved the name of traitor, or any evil name

they might be disposed to call him. Every man in the lieutenant’s boat

was eager to be heard and to tell his own story. Mr. Hall had

disappeared; as for Wallingford, he was not there to plead for himself,

and his accusers had it all their own way.

 

"I tell ye I ain’t afraid but he’s all right! A man’s character ought

to count for something!" cried Hanscom. But there was a roar of

contempt from those who had said from the first that a Tory was a Tory,

and that Wallingford had no business to be playing at officer aboard the

Ranger, and making shift to stand among proper seamen. He had gone

ashore alone and stayed ashore, and there had been a sudden alarm in the

town: the black truth stared everybody in the face.

 

 

The captain’s first rage had already quieted in these few minutes since

they had come aboard, and his face had settled into a look of stolid

disappointment and weariness. He had given Whitehaven a great

fright,—that was something; the news of it would quickly travel along

the coast. He went to his cabin now, and summoned Dickson and Hall to

make their statements. Lieutenant Hall had no wish to be the speaker,

but the fluent Dickson, battered and water-soaked, minutely described

the experience of the boat’s company. It certainly seemed true enough

that Wallingford had deserted. Lieutenant Hall could contradict nothing

that was said, though the captain directly appealed to him more than

once.

 

"After all, we have only your own word for what happened on shore," said

the captain brutally, as if Dickson were but a witness in court before

the opposing attorney.

 

"You have only my word," said Dickson. "I suppose you think that you

can doubt it. At least you can see that I have suffered. I feel the

effects of the blows, and my clothes are dripping here on your cabin

floor in a way that will cause you discomfort. I have already told you

all I can."

 

"I know not what to believe," answered Paul Jones, after a moment’s

reflection, but taking no notice of the man’s really suffering

condition. The captain stood mute, looking squarely into Dickson’s

face, as if he were still speaking. It was very uncomfortable.

"Lieutenant Wallingford is a man of character. Some misfortune may have

overtaken him; at the last moment"—

 

"He made the most of the moments he had," sneered Dickson then. "The

watch was upon us; I had hard work to escape. I tried to do my best."

 

"_Tried!_" roared the captain. "What’s _trying_? ’Tis the excuse of a

whiner to say he _tried_; a man either does the thing he ought, or he

does it not. I gave your orders with care, sir; the treachery began

here on hoard. There should have been fires set in those spots I

commanded. ’T was the business of my officers to see that this was

done, and to have their proper lights at hand. Curse such incompetence!

Curse your self-seeking and your jealousy of me and one another!" he

railed. "This is what you count for when my work is at the pinch! If

only my good fellows of the Alfred had been with me, I might have laid

three hundred ships in ashes, with half Whitehaven town."

 

Dickson’s face wore a fresh look of triumph; the captain’s hopes were

confessedly dashed to ground, and the listener was the better pleased.

Hall, a decent man, looked sorry enough; but Dickson’s __EXPRESSION__ of

countenance lent fuel to the flames of wrath, and the captain saw his

look.

 

"I could sooner believe that last night’s villain were yourself, sir!"

he blazed out suddenly, and Dickson’s smug face grew a horrid color.

The attack was so furious that he was not without fear; a better man

would have suffered shame.

 

"I take that from nobody. You forget yourself, Captain Jones," he

managed to say, with choking throat; and then the viper’s instinct in

his breast made him take revenge. "You should be more civil to your

officers, sir; you have insulted too many of us. Remember that we are

American citizens, and you have given even Mr. Wallingford good reason

to hate you. He is of a slow sort, but he may have bided his time!"

 

The bravery of the hypocrite counted for much. Paul Jones stared at him

for a moment, wounded to the quick, and speechless. Then, "You sneaking

thief!" he hissed between his teeth. "Am I to be baited by a coward

like you? We ’ll see who’s the better man!" But at this lamentable

juncture Lieutenant Hall stepped between, and by dint of hard pushing

urged the offending Dickson to the deck again. Such low quarrels were

getting to be too common on the Ranger, but this time he was not

unwilling to take the captain’s part. Dickson was chilled to the bone,

and his teeth were chattering; the bruises on his face were swelling

fast. He looked like a man that had been foully dealt with,—first well

pounded and then ducked, as Hall had once seen an offender treated by

angry fishwives in the port of Leith.

 

There was much heaviness among those Berwick men who stood bravely for

Roger Wallingford; one of them, at least, refused to be comforted, and

turned his face to the wall in sorrow when the lieutenant’s fate was

discussed. At first he had boldly insisted that they would soon find

out the truth; but there were those who were ready to confute every

argument, even that of experience, and now even poor Cooper went sad and

silent about his work, and fought the young squire’s enemies no more.

 

 

 

 

*XXVI*

 

*THEY HAVE MADE PREY OF HIM*

 

 

"Implacable hate, patient cunning, and a sleepless refinement of device

to inflict the extremest anguish on an enemy, these things are evil."

 

 

While Wallingford insisted that he must carry out the captain’s plain

instructions to the letter, the moment their boat touched the landing

steps Dickson leaped over the side and ran up the pier. He had said,

carelessly, that it was no use to risk several lives where one might

serve; it was possible that they had been seen approaching, and he would

go and play the scout, and select their buildings for firing. Both the

lieutenants, Wallingford and Hall, took this breach of discipline

angrily; there seemed to be an aggravating desire in Dickson’s heart to

put himself first now when it would count to his own gain. Their orders

had been to leave the boat in his charge while the landing party was

away; and in the next few moments, when he had disappeared into the

narrow street that led up from the small pier, Wallingford grew uneasy,

and went ashore himself. He climbed to the top of the pier, and then

heard Dickson’s voice calling at no great distance as if for help. As

he started to run that way, he shouted to the men below to follow him.

 

His voice was lost in the noise of waves lapping and splashing about

them against the pier; they heard his cry, but could not tell what it

meant, or whether they should stay or go. The captain’s orders had been

strict that all three of the elder officers should not leave the boat at

once. Young Hill, the midshipman, a fine brave fellow, now landed; but

in the dim light he could see nobody, and returned. The discovery was

then made that they had all their kindlings and tar in readiness, but

there were no candles left in the two lanterns, and the bag of spare

candles and tinder box which the midshipman had in charge was no longer

to be found in the boat. It had been laid next the thwart, and in

crossing some rough water might have fallen overboard, though nobody

could understand the accident.

 

They could only wait now, in mortification and distress, for

Wallingford’s return, and some minutes passed in a grievous uncertainty.

 

The lieutenant had much resented Dickson’s show of authority, and feared

the ill success of his errand; although he had no liking for the man, it

was no time to consider personalities; they were all on duty, and must

report to their commander. It was certainly dangerous for a man to

venture ashore alone, and the first distant outcry set him running at

the top of his speed, expecting the landing party to follow.

 

Wallingford was light-footed, and as he ran he plainly heard Dickson’s

voice once more, and then all was silent. He hurried along, keeping

close to the walls of warehouses, and came next into a street of common,

poor dwellings of the seafaring folk. Then he stopped and listened, and

whistled a call familiar enough to Dickson or any man of the Somersworth

and Berwick neighborhoods, as if they had strayed from each other

hunting in the old York woods. There was no answer, and he turned to go

back; he must rejoin his men and attend to duty, and Dickson must take

care of himself. There were dark alleys that led from this narrow

thoroughfare to the water side; he heard footfalls, and again stood

listening in the shelter of a deep doorway, when a group of half-dressed

men burst out of a side lane, armed, and with a soldier or two among

them. They ran down the street toward the shore, and took a short way

round a corner. Wallingford heard a word or two which made him sure

they had been given warning; it flashed through his brain that this was

Dickson’s business and plan for revenge. If their own men were still in

the boat or near it,—which seemed likely, since they had not followed

him,—they would be safe enough, but danger threatened them all. There

was a sound of gathering voices and frightened outcries and slamming

doors beyond in the town, as if the whole place were astir, and the

morning light was growing fast in the sky, and making a new day in the

dark little street. There was nothing for Wallingford to do but to

hurry back to the boat as best he might. In some of the neighboring

houses they had heard the guard go by, and sleepy heads were appearing

to learn the news. The lieutenant made haste. Just as he passed the

side passage whence the men had come, Dickson himself appeared through

an archway just beyond, and stopped to call, "Watch! Watch! The

Yankees are in the town to set it burning! _Watch! Watch!_" he was

crying at the top of his lungs, instead of that faint "_Help! Help!_"

which had seemed to cry for mercy in Wallingford’s ears, and had enticed him into peril of his life.