The Tory Lover 45

The Tory Lover 45

"Oh, sailors are sailors!" grumbled the old man. "I find Madam

Wallingford most loyal to the King, however, so that there is a chance

for her. And she is no beggar or would-be pensioner; far from it! If

her foolish son had been on any other errand than this of the Ranger’s,

she might easier gain her ends, poor lady. ’What stands in the way?’

you may ask. Why, only last week our own coast was in a panic of fear!"

John Davis frowned at the fire, so that his great eyebrows looked as if

they were an assaulting battery. He shrugged his shoulders angrily, and

puffed hard at his pipe, but it had gone out altogether; then he smiled,

and spoke in a gentler tone:—

 

"Yes, missy, we ’ll ride to Bath to-morrow, an the weather should be

fair; the fresh air will hearten you after the sea, and we can talk with

Mr. Fairfax, and see what may be done. I’m not afraid to venture,

though they may know you for a little rebel, and set me up to wear a

wooden ruff all day in the pillory for being seen with you!"

 

"I must speak ye some hard words," the old man added unexpectedly,

leaning forward and whispering under his breath, as if the solid oak

panels might let his forebodings reach a mother’s ears in the room

beyond. "The young man may be dead and gone long before this, if he was

put into the Mill Prison while yet weak from his wounds. If he is

there, and alive, I think the King himself would say he could not let

him out. There ’s not much love lost in England now for Paul Jones or

any of his crew."

 

 

 

 

*XXXV*

 

*A STRANGER AT HOME*

 

"Would that she had told us of the trials of that time, and why it was

that her heart rose against the new world and the new manners to which

she had come!"

 

 

The next morning Miss Hamilton came down dressed in her riding gear, to

find her host already in the saddle and armed with a stout hunting crop,

which he flourished emphatically as he gave some directions to his

groom. The day was fine and clear after a rainy night, with a hearty

fragrance of the showery summer fields blowing through the Bristol

streets.

 

They were quick outside the town on the road to Bath. Mary found

herself well mounted, though a little too safely for her liking. Her

horse was heavy of build, being used to the burden of a somewhat

ponderous master; but the lighter weight and easy prompting hand of a

young girl soon made him like a brave colt again. The old merchant

looked on with approval at such pretty skill and acquaintance with

horsemanship as his companion showed at the outset of their journey; and

presently, when both the good horses had finished their discreet frolic

and settled to sober travel, he fell into easy discourse, and showed the

fair rider all the varied interests of the way. It was a busy

thoroughfare, and this honored citizen was smiled at and handsomely

saluted by many acquaintances, noble and humble. Mr. Davis was stingy

of holidays, even in these dull times, but all the gallantry he had ever

possessed was glowing in his heart as he rode soberly along in such

pleasant company.

 

The dreary suspense and anxiety of six long weeks at sea were like a

half-forgotten dream in the girl’s own mind; at last she could set forth

about her business. The sorrows of seafaring were now at an end; she was

in England at last, and the very heart of the mother country seemed to

welcome her; yet a young heart like Mary Hamilton’s must needs feel a

twinge of pain at the height of her morning’s happiness. The fields and

hedges, the bright foxglove and green ivy, the larks and blackbirds and

quiet robins, the soft air against her cheeks,—each called up some

far-inherited memory, some instinct of old relationship. All her elders

in Berwick still called England home, and her thrilled heart had come to

know the reason.

 

Roger Wallingford had lived in England. She suddenly understood against

her will why he could find it so hard to go to sea in the Ranger to

attack these shores, and why he had always protested against taking part

in the war. England was no longer an angry, contemptuous enemy,

tyrannous and exacting, and determined to withhold the right of liberty

from her own growing colonies. All those sad, familiar prejudices faded

away, and Mary could only see white clouds in a soft sky above the hazy

distance, and hear the English birds singing, and meet the honest

English faces, like old friends, as she rode along the road. There was

some witchery that bewildered her; it was like some angry quarrel sprung

up between mother and child while they were at a distance from each

other, that must be quick forgotten when they came face to face. There

was indeed some magic touch upon her: the girl’s heart was beating fast;

she was half afraid that she had misunderstood everything in blaming old

England so much, and even stole a quick glance at her companion to see

if he could have guessed her strange thoughts.

 

"’T is a pretty morning," said Mr. Davis kindly, seeing that she looked

his way. "We shall reach Bath in proper season," and he let his horse

come to a slow walk.

 

Whether it was the fresh air of the summer day, very strengthening to

one who had been long at sea, or whether it was the justice of their

errand itself, the weakness of this happy moment quickly passed, and

Miss Hamilton’s hand eagerly sought for a packet in the bosom of her

gown, to see if it were safe. The reason for being on this side the sea

was the hope that an anxious errand could be well done. She thought now

of Master Sullivan on his bleak New England hillside; of the far blue

mountains of the north country, and the outlook that was clearer and

wider than this hazy landscape along the Avon; she looked down at the

tame English river, and only remembered the wide stream at home that ran

from the mountains straight to sea,—how it roared and droned over the

great rocky fall near the master’s own house, and sounded like the

calling sea itself in his ears.

 

"You may see Bath now, there in the valley," said Mr. Davis, pointing

with his big hand and the hunting crop. "’T is as fine a ride from

Bristol to Bath as any you may have in England." They stopped their

horses, a little short of breath, and looked down the rich wooded

country to the bright town below.

 

"’T is a fine ride indeed," said Mary, patting her horse’s neck, and

thinking, with uncontrollable wistfulness, of the slenderer and less

discreet young Duke at home, and of the old coachman and his black

helpers as they always stood by the stable, eager to watch her, with

loud cautions, as she rode away. It was a sharp touch of homesickness,

and she turned her head so that she could hide her face from sight.

 

"I ’ll change with you, my dear, as we ride toward home; I see you are

so competent a rider," offered Mr. Davis heartily. "Lightfoot is a

steady beast, though I must own you found him otherwise this morning;

this chestnut is younger and freer-gaited." He had a strange sense, as

he spoke, that Mary was no longer in good spirits. Perhaps the heavy

horse had tired her strength, though Lightfoot was as good a creature as

any in Bristol, and much admired for his noble appearance.

 

Mary eagerly protested, and patted the old horse with still greater

friendliness and approval as they went riding on toward the town. The

alderman sighed at the very sight of her youth and freshness; it would

be pleasant to have such a daughter for his own. A man likes young

company as he grows older; though the alderman might be growing clumsy

on his own legs, the good horse under him made him feel like a lad of

twenty. This was a fine day to ride out from Bristol, and the weather

of the best. Mr. Davis began to mind him of an errand of business to

Westbury on Trym, beyond the Clifton Downs, where, on the morrow, he

could show Miss Hamilton still finer prospects than these.

 

They stopped at last before a handsome lodging in the middle of the town

of Bath. Mr. George Fairfax was a Virginian, of old Lord Bryan

Fairfax’s near kindred, a man of great wealth, and a hearty Loyalist;

his mother, a Cary of Hampton, had been well known to Madam Wallingford

in their early years. He was at home this day, and came out at once to

receive his guests with fine hospitality, being on excellent terms of

friendship with the old merchant. They greeted each other with great

respect before Miss Hamilton’s presence was explained; and then Mr.

Fairfax’s smiling face was at once clouded. He had been the hope and

stay of so many distressed persons, in these anxious days of war, that

he could only sigh as he listened. It was evident enough that, however

charming this new sufferer and applicant might be, their host could but

regret her errand. Yet one might well take pleasure in her lovely face,

even if she must be disappointed, as most ladies were, in the hope of

receiving an instant and ample pension from the Ministers of His Majesty

George the Third.

 

Mr. Fairfax, with great courtesy, began to say something of his regrets

and fears.

 

"But we do not ask for these kind favors," Mary interrupted him, with

gentle dignity. "You mistake our present errand, sir. Madam

Wallingford is in no need of such assistance. We are provided with what

money we are like to need, as our good friend here must already know.

The people at home"—and she faltered for one moment before she could go

on. "It was indeed thought best that Madam Wallingford should be absent

for a time; but she was glad to come hither for her son’s sake, who is

in prison. We have come but to find him and to set him free, and we ask

for your advice and help. Here is her letter," and Miss Hamilton

hesitated and blushed with what seemed to both the gentlemen a most

pretty confusion. "I ought to tell you, Mr. Fairfax—I think you should

know, sir, that I am of the Patriots. My brother was with General

Washington, with his own regiment, when I left home."

 

Mr. George Fairfax bowed ceremoniously, but his eyes twinkled a little,

and he took instant refuge in reading the letter. This was evidently an

interesting case, but not without its difficulties.

 

"The young gentleman in question also appears to be a Patriot," he said

seriously, as he looked up at Mr. Davis. "In Miss Hamilton’s presence I

must drop our usual term of ’rebel.’ Madam Wallingford professes

herself unshaken in her hereditary allegiance to the Crown; but as for

this young officer, her son, I am astonished to find that he has been on

board the Ranger with that Paul Jones who is the terror of all our ports

now, and the chief pest and scourge of our commerce here in England. ’T

is a distressed parent, indeed.

 

"You have the right of it," said the old British merchant, with great

eagerness and reproach. Mr. Davis was not a man who found it easy to

take the humorous point of view. "It seems that he was left ashore,

that night of the attack upon Whitehaven, in the north, which you will

well remember. He was caught by the town guard. You know that we

captured one of the Ranger’s men? ’Twas this same young officer, and,

though badly wounded, he was ordered to the Mill Prison, and is said to

have arrived in a dying state. For his mother’s sake (and her face

would distress any man’s heart), I try to believe that he is yet alive

and lies there in the jail; but ’t is a sorry house of correction that

he has come to through his own foolishness. They say he is like to have been hanged already."