The Tory Lover 35

The Tory Lover 35

"Our side have beat the British, but there’s a mort o’ men killed and

taken. John Ricker ’s dead, and John Marr and Billy Lord’s among the

missing, and young Hodgdon ’s dead, the widow’s son; and there’s word

come to Dover that the Ranger has made awful havoc along the British

coast, and sent a fortin’ o’ prizes back to France. There’s trouble

’mongst her crew, and young Mr. Wallingford ’s deserted after he done

his best to betray the ship."

 

The heralds recited their tale as they had told it over and over at

every stopping-place for miles back, prompting each other at every

sentence. From unseen sources a surprising crowd of men and women had

suddenly gathered about them. Some of these wept aloud now, and others

shouted their eager questions louder and louder. It was like a tiny

babel that had been brought together by a whirlwind out of the quiet

air.

 

"They say Wallingford ’s tried to give the Ranger into the enemy’s

hands, and got captured for his pains. Some thinks they ’ve hung him for

a spy. He ’s been watching his chance all along to play the traitor,"

said one news-bringer triumphantly, as if he had kept the best news till

the last.

 

"’T is false!" cried a clear young voice behind them.

 

They turned to front the unexpected presence of Miss Hamilton.

 

"Who dared to say this?" She stood a little beyond the crowd, and

looked with blazing eyes straight at the two flushed faces of the rustic

heralds.

 

"Go tell your sad news, if you must," she said sternly, "but do not

repeat that Roger Wallingford is a traitor to his oath. We must all

know him better who have known him at all. He may have met misfortune

at the hand of God, but the crime of treachery has not been his, and you

should know it,—you who speak, and every man here who listens!"

 

There fell a silence upon the company; but when the young mistress

turned away, there rose a half-unwilling murmur of applause. Old Peggy

hastened to her side; but Miss Hamilton waved her back, and, with

drooping head and a white face, went on slowly and passed alone into the

great house.

 

 

The messengers were impatient to go their ways among the Old Fields

farms, and went hurrying down toward the brook and round the head of the

cove, and up the hill again through the oak pasture toward the houses at

Pound Hill. They were followed along the footpath by men and boys, and

women too, who were eager to see how the people there, old Widow Ricker

especially, would take the news of a son’s captivity or death. The very

torch of war seemed, to flame along the footpath, on that spring

afternoon.

 

The makers of the linen sheets might have been the sewers of a shroud,

as they came ruefully back to their places by the spinning-room door,

and let the salt tears down fall upon their unwilling seams. Poor Billy

Lord and Humphrey Hodgdon were old friends, and Corporal Ricker was a

handsome man, and the gallant leader of many a corn-husking. The clack

of Peggy’s shuttle sounded like the ticking clock of Fate.

 

"My God! my God!" said the old woman who had driven the weeping maids so

heartlessly to their work again. The slow tears of age were blinding

her own eyes; she could not see to weave, and must fain yield herself to

idleness. Those poor boys gone, and Madam’s son a prisoner, or worse,

in England! She looked at the house on the other side of the river,

dark and sombre against the bright sky. "I ’ll go and send Miss Mary

over; she should be there now. I ’ll go myself over to Susan."

 

"Fold up your stents; for me, I can weave no more," she said

sorrowfully. "’T is like the day of a funeral." And the maids, still

weeping, put their linen by, and stood the two flax wheels in their

places, back against the wall.

 

 

 

 

*XXIX*

 

*PEGGY TAKES THE AIR*

 

"And now that an over-faint quietnes

Should seem to strew the house,—"

 

 

That evening, in Hamilton House, Mary felt like a creature caged against

its will; she was full of fears for others and reproaches for herself,

and went restlessly from window to window and from room to room. There

was no doubt that a great crisis had come. The May sun set among heavy

clouds, and the large rooms grew dim and chilly. The house was silent,

but on the river shores there were groups of men and boys gathering, and

now and then strange figures appeared, as if the news had brought them

hastily from a distance. Peggy had gone early across the river, and now

returned late from her friendly errand, dressed in a prim bonnet and

cloak that were made for Sunday wear, and gave her the look of a

dignitary in humble disguise, so used to command was she, and so

equipped by nature for the rule of others.

 

[Illustration: HAMILTON HOUSE]

 

Peggy found her young mistress white and wan in the northwest parlor,

and knew that she had been anxiously watching Madam Wallingford’s house.

She turned as the old housekeeper came in, and listened with patience

as, with rare tact, this good creature avoided the immediate subject of

their thoughts, and at first proceeded to blame the maids for running

out and leaving the doors flying, when she had bidden them mind the

house.

 

"The twilight lasts very late to-night; you have been long away," said

Mary, when she had finished.

 

"’T is a new-moon night, and all the sky is lit," exclaimed Peggy

seriously. "It will soon be dark enough." Then she came close to Mary,

and began to whisper what she really had to say.

 

"’T is the only thing to do, as you told me before I went. Cæsar abased

himself to row me over, and took time enough about it, I vowed him. I

thought once he’d fetched himself to the door of an apoplexy, he puffed

an’ blowed so hard; but I quick found out what was in his piecemeal

mind, before I heared folks talking on t’ other bank. The great

fightin’ folks that stayed at home from the war is all ablaze against

Mr. Roger; they say they won’t have no such a Tory hive in the

neighborhood no longer! ’Poor Madam! poor Madam!’ says I in my mind,

and I wrung my hands a-hearin’ of it. Cæsar felt bad when he was

tellin’ of me, the tears was a-runnin’ down his foolish ol’ black face.

He ’s got proper feelings, if he is so consequential. Likes to strut

better ’n to work, I tell ’em, but he’s got his proper feelin’s; I

shan’t never doubt that no more," asserted Peggy, with emphatic

approval.

 

"Yes," assented Mary impatiently, "Cæsar is a good man, but he is only

one. What shall we do now?" Her voice was full of quivering appeal;

she had been long alone with her distressful thoughts.

 

Peggy’s cheeks looked pink as a girl’s in her deep bonnet, and her old

eyes glittered with excitement.

 

"You must go straight away and fetch Madam here," she said. "I’d

brought her back with me if it had been seemly; but when I so advised,

Susan ’d hear none o’ me, ’count o’ fearin’ to alarm her lady. ’Keep her

safe an’ mistaken for one hour, will ye, so’s to scare her life out

later on!’ says I; but Susan was never one to see things their proper

size at first. If they know Madam ’s fled, ’t will be all the better.

I want to feel she’s safe here, myself; they won’t damage the colonel’s

house, for his sake or your’n neither; they’d know better than to come

botherin’ round my doors. I’d put on my big caldron and get some water

het, and treat ’em same fashion’s they did in old Indian times!" cried

Peggy, in a fury. "I did hear some men say they believed she’d gone to

Porchmouth a’ready; and when they axed me if ’t was true, I nodded my

head and let ’em think so."

 

Mary listened silently; this excited talk made her know the truth of

some fast-gathering danger. She herself had a part to play now.

 

"I shall go at once," she insisted. "Will you bespeak the boat?"

 

"Everything’s all ready, darlin’," said the good soul affectionately, as

if she wished to further some girlish pleasure. "Yes, I ’ve done all I

could out o’ door. The best boat’s out an’ layin’ aside the gre’t

warehouse. Cæsar ’s stopped down there to mind it, though he begun to

fuss about his supper; and there’s our own watermen ready to row ye

over. I told ’em you was promised to the Miss Lords at the Upper

Landing for a card party; I ’ve let on to no uneasiness. You ’ll

consider well your part; for me there ’s enough to do,—the best chamber

warmed aright for Madam, for one thing; an’ Phebe’s up there now,

gettin’ over a good smart scoldin’ I give her. I ’ll make a nice gruel

with raisins an’ a taste o’ brandy, or a can o’ mulled port, an’ have

’em ready; ’t will keep poor Madam from a chill. You’ll both need

comfort ere you sleep," she muttered to herself.

 

"I wonder if she will consent to come? She is a very brave woman," said

Mary doubtfully.

 

"Darlin’, listen to me; she must come," replied Peggy, "an’ you must

tell her so. You do your part, an’ I’ll be waitin’ here till you get

back."

 

 

The large boat which was Hamilton’s river coach and four in peaceful

times lay waiting in the shadow of the warehouse to do its errand. The

pairs of rowers were in their places: Peggy may have had a sage desire

to keep them out of mischief. They were not a vigorous crew, by reason

of age; else they would have been, like other good men, with the army.

With her usual sense of propriety and effect, Peggy had ordered out the

best red cushions and tasseled draperies for the seats. In summer, the

best boat spread a fine red and green canopy when it carried the master

and mistress down to Portsmouth on the ebb tide. The old boatmen had

mounted their liveries, such was Peggy’s insistence and unaccountable

desire for display, but a plainer craft, rowed by a single pair of oars,

was enough for any errand at nightfall, and the old fellows grumbled and

shivered ostentatiously in the spring dampness.

 

Old Cæsar handed Miss Hamilton to her seat with all the more deference.

She was wrapped in a cloak of crimson damask, with a hood to it, which

her brother loved to see her wear in their gayer days. She took her

place silently in the stern, and sat erect there; the men stole a glance

at her now and then, and tugged willingly enough at their oars. There

were many persons watching them as they went up the stream."’T will be a hard pinch to land ye proper at the upper wharves," said the head boatman. "The tide’s far out, miss."