The Tory Lover 44

The Tory Lover 44

"I must go to my library, where I keep my business matters; ’tis but a

plain book room, a place for my less public affairs. We may have some

private talk there, if you are willing," he said, in a low voice; and

Mary rose at once and followed him. The ladies did not even glance

their way, though the merchant carefully explained that he should show

his guest a very great ledger which had been brought up from his

counting-room since business had fallen so low. She might see her

brother’s name on many of the pages.

 

"Let us speak frankly now," he urged, as they seated themselves by as

bright a fire of blazing coals as the one they had left. "You can trust

me with all your troubles," said the fatherly old man. "I am distressed

to find that Madam Wallingford’s case is so desperate."

 

Mary looked up, startled from the peace of mind into which she had

fallen.

 

"Do you know anything, sir?" she begged him earnestly. "Is it likely"—

But there she stopped, and could go no further.

 

"I had not the heart to tell her," he answered, "but we have already

some knowledge of that officer of the Ranger who was left ashore at

Whitehaven: he has been reported as gravely wounded, and they would not

keep him in any jail of that northern region, but sent him southward in

a dying state, saying that he should by rights go to his own kind in the

Mill Prison. You must be aware that such an unprovoked attack upon a

British seaport has made a great stir among us," added the merchant,

with bitterness.

 

Mary remembered the burning of Falmouth in her own province, and was

silent.

 

"If he had been a deserter, and treacherous at heart, as I find there

was suspicion," he continued; "yes, even if his own proper feelings

toward the King had mastered your lieutenant, I do not know that his

situation would have been any better for the moment. They must lack

spirit in Whitehaven; on our Bristol wharves the mob would have torn

such a prisoner limb from limb. You must remember that I am an

Englishman born and bred, and have no patience with your rebels. I see

now ’t was a calmer judgment ruled their course when they sent him

south; but if he is yet in the Mill Prison, and alive, he could not be

in a worse place. This war is costing the King a fortune every week

that it goes on, and he cannot house such pirates and spies in his

castle at Windsor."

 

Mary’s eyes flashed; she was keeping a firm hold upon her patience. "I

think, from what we are told of the Mill Prison, that the King has gone

too far to the other extreme," she could not forbear saying, but with

perfect quietness.

 

"Well, we are not here to talk politics," said the alderman uneasily.

"I have a deep desire to serve so old and respected a friend as this

young man’s mother. I saw the boy once when he came to England; a

promising lad, I must own, and respectful to his elders. I am ready to

serve him, if I can, for his father’s sake, and to put all talk of

principles by, or any question of his deserts. We have been driven to

the necessity of keeping watchers all along the sea-coast by night and

day, to send alarm by beacons into our towns. They say Paul Jones is a

born divil, and will stick at nothing. How came Colonel Wallingford’s

son to cast in his lot with such a gallows rogue?"

 

"If you had lived on our river instead of here in Bristol, you would

soon know," Mary answered him. "Our honest industries have long been

hindered and forbidden; we are English folk, and are robbed of our

rights."

 

"Well, well, my dear, you seem very clear for a woman; but I am an old

man, and hard to convince. Your brother should be clear-headed enough;

he is a man of judgment; but how such men as he have come to be so

mistaken and blind"—

 

"It is Parliament that has been blind all the time," insisted Mary. "If

you had been with us on that side of the sea, you would be among the

first to know things as they are. Let us say no more, sir; I cannot

lend myself to argument. You are so kind and I am so very grateful for

it, in my heart."

 

"Well, well," exclaimed the old man again, "let us speak, then, of this

instant business that you have in hand! I take it you have a heart in

the matter, too; I see that you cherish Madam Wallingford like her own

child. We must find out if the lad is still alive, and whether it is

possible to free him. I heard lately that they have had the worst sort

of small-pox among them, and a jail fever that is worse than the plague

itself. ’T is not the fault of the jail, I wager you, but some dirty

sailor brought it from his foul ship," he added hastily. "They are all

crowded in together; would they had kept at home where they belong!"

 

"You speak hard words," said the girl impatiently, and with plain

reproach, but looking so beautiful in her quick anger that the old man

was filled with wonder and delight before his conscience reminded him

that he should be ashamed. He was not used to being so boldly fronted

by his own women folk; though his wife always had her say, she feared

and obeyed him afterward without question.

 

"I wish that this foolish tea had never been heard of; it has been a

most detestable weed for England," grumbled the old merchant. "They say

that even your Indians drink it now, or would have it if they could."

 

"Mr. Davis, you have seen something of our young country," said the

girl, speaking in a quiet tone. "You have known how busy our men are at

home, how steadily they go about their business. If you had seen, as I

did, how they stood straight, and dropped whatever they had in hand, and

were hot with rage when the news came from Boston and we knew that we

were attacked at Lexington and Concord, you would have learned how we

felt the bitter wrong. ’T was not the loss of our tea or any trumpery

tax; we have never been wanting in generosity, or hung back when we

should play our part. We remembered all the old wrongs: our own timber

rotting in our woods that we might not cut; our own waterfalls running

to waste by your English law, lest we cripple the home manufacturers.

We were hurt to the heart, and were provoked to fight; we have turned

now against such tyranny. All we New England women sat at home and

grieved. The cannon sounded loud through our peaceful country. They

shut our ports, and we could not stand another insult without boldly

resenting it. We had patience at first, because our hearts were English

hearts; then we turned and fought with all our might, because we were

still Englishmen, and there is plenty of fight left in us yet."

 

"You are beset by the pride of being independent, and all for

yourselves," Mr. Davis accused her.

 

"Our hearts are wounded to the quick, because we are the same New

England folk who fought together with the King’s troops at Louisburg,

and you have oppressed us," said Mary quickly. "I heard that Mr. John

Adams said lately—and he has been one of our leaders from the first—that

there had not been a moment since the beginning of hostilities when he

would not have given everything he possessed for a restoration to the

state of things before the contest began, if we could only have security

for its continuance. We did not wish to separate from England, and if

the separation has come, it is only from our sad necessity. Cannot you

see that, being English people, we must insist upon our rights? We are

not another race because we are in another country."

 

"Tut, tut, my dear," said the old man uneasily. "What does a pretty girl

like you know about rights? So that’s the talk you ’ve listened to? We

may need to hear more of it; you sound to me as if Fox had all along

been in the right, and knew the way to bring back our trade." He began

to fidget in his elbow chair and to mend the fire. "I can’t go into all

this; I have had a wearying day,"—he began to make faint excuse.

"There’s much you should hear on England’s side; you only know your own;

and this war is costing Parliament a terrible drain of money."

 

 

"Do you know anything of Lord Newburgh, and where he may be found?"

asked Mary, with sudden directness.

 

"My Lord Newburgh?" repeated Mr. Davis wonderingly. "And what should you

want with him? I know him but by name. He would be the son of that

Radcliffe who was a Scotch rebel in ’45, and lost his head by it, too;

he was brother to the famous Lord Darwentwater. ’T was a wild family,

an unfortunate house. What seek you at their hands?"

 

Mary sat looking into the fire, and did not answer.

 

"Perhaps you can send some one with me toward Plymouth to-morrow?" she

asked presently, and trembled a little as she spoke. She had grown

pale, though the bright firelight shone full in her face. "The captain

learned when we first came ashore that Lord Mount Edgecumbe is likely to

be commander of that prison where our men are; the Mill Prison they said

it was, above Plymouth town. I did not say anything to Madam

Wallingford, lest our hopes should fail; but if you could spare a proper

person to go with me, I should like to go to Plymouth."

 

The old man gazed at her with wonder.

 

"You do not know what a wild goose chase means, then, my little lady!"

he exclaimed, with considerable scorn. "Lord Mount Edgecumbe! You

might as well go to Windsor expecting a morning talk and stroll in the

park along with the King. ’T is evident enough one person is the same

as another in your colonies! But if you wish to try, I happened to hear

yesterday that the great earl is near by, in Bath, where he takes the

waters for his gout. You can go first to Mr. George Fairfax, of

Virginia, with whom Madam Wallingford is acquainted; she has told me

that already. He is of a noble house, himself, Mr. Fairfax, and may

know how to get speech with these gentlemen: why, yes, ’t is a chance,

indeed, and we might achieve something." Mr. Davis gave a satisfied

look at the beautiful face before him, and nodded his sage head.

 

"I shall go with you, myself, if it is a fair day tomorrow," he assured

her. "I am on good terms with Mr. Fairfax. I was long agent here for

their tobacco ships, the old Lord Fairfaxes of Virginia; but all that

rich trade is good as done," and he gave a heavy sigh. "We think of your

sailors in the Mill Prison as if they were all divils. You won’t find

it easy to get one of them set free," he added boldly.

 

Mary gave a startled look, and drew back a little. "I hear the King is

glad to ship them on his men-of-war," she said, "and that the Mill

Prison is so vile a place the poor fellows are thankful to escape from

it, even if they must turn traitor to their own cause."