From Kingdom to Colony 19 – Devereux · Verses Across
Literature · Historical Fiction
From Kingdom to Colony 19Chapter 18
18
Literature · Historical Fiction
From Kingdom to Colony 19
Chapter 18
DevereuxEnglish
It was nearly midnight when the two young men took their way back through the fields to their boat and its faithful guardian.
They were soon afloat, and none but Leet would have ventured to row so steadily and rapidly down Great Bay in the fog that now shut in about them like a wall of white wool, muffling all objects from sight.
The stillness was intense, save for the lapping of the water on the near-by shore,--this seeming to quicken the old darkey's acute knowledge of the course he was rowing.
The young men sat in either end of the boat, with Leet between them; and not a word was spoken until the keel grated on the sand of Riverhead Beach.
The old negro required no light to secure the craft in its accustomed place; and as the others stood waiting for him to do this, a faint sound of galloping horses came to their cars, apparently from down Devereux Lane, which led from the Salem road directly to the beach, and so on to the Neck.
They listened intently, while the sound came unmistakably nearer.
"Hist, Jack!" said Hugh, in a low voice; "that must be the redcoats coming from Jameson's dinner."
"'T is sure to be, judging from the reckless fashion of their riding. Leet, come with us,--'t is as well to step behind the boathouse until they pass, for we want no challenging at this hour of the night." And as John Devereux said this, he and his companions passed quickly behind the small building.
A dull yellow gleam showed smearingly through the fog as the horsemen clattered by, with here and there a lantern fastened to their saddles; and their loud laughter and boisterous talk seemed to bespeak a free indulgence in good wines and liquors.
As they struck the beach they fell into a more sober pace, and the last two, riding side by side, were talking in tones that came distinctly to the ears of those concealed behind the boathouse.
"'T is like that Southorn hopes to obtain more certain information by accepting the old fellow's hospitality," said one of them; "for it cannot be that the wine is the only attraction, to judge from the way he passed it by to-night."
"Aye," was the reply. "He seemed not to care whether it were good Christian fare we were having once more, or the dogs' food of the camp."
"Maybe he is sickened, like the rest of us, with this heathen land and its folk, and rues the day he ever left the only country fit for a man to live in, to be sent to this strip o' land, with never a petticoat or bright eye to make the stupid time a little more bearable."
The other man laughed. "Perchance if we could but get speech with Jameson's fair friend of whom he prated so much, we might be singing another tune. What was it he called her--such a heathenish name it was never my lot to hear before?"
"He called her 'Mistress Penine;' but she is no blushing maid, for he said--"
Here the words, which had been growing less distinct, died away altogether, and the glow of the lanterns was shut off by the fog, as the clattering of hoofs became lost in the roar of the surf beating in from the seaward side.
John Devereux had refrained from acquainting Hugh with his father's discovery of Aunt Penine's treachery; but now, as they walked toward the house, he told him the facts.
"Think you, Jack, that she has been holding any further communication with Jameson?" Hugh asked.
"That would seem most unlikely, for she has been confined to her room since last Monday night, and both my father and Dot have been watchful of the servants, although I do not believe there is a traitor amongst them. As to Pashar, he is too young to rightfully sense what he was doing, even if he had the wit. Fear of Aunt Penine on the one hand, and a liking for Jameson's loose silver on the other, were his only incentives; but dread of my father's displeasure has now put an end to all that."
He had persuaded Hugh to return with him for the night, instead of going to the house of a married cousin living in the town, as he proposed doing, for the reason that it would put him so much farther on the way to his own place, whither he intended to ride the next morning, notwithstanding it would be the Sabbath.
They found the household long since retired, save only its head; and when they were seated in the dining-room the young men gave him a detailed account of the evening's doings.
When this had been done, Joseph Devereux imparted to them his determination to lodge with the committee the name of his sister-in-law, to be listed with those of the other unfaithful townspeople. He had also resolved that on the following Monday she should be carried in his coach to her brother's house, in Lynn, for a future residence.
This had come from the fact that soon after the two young men had departed for the town, a messenger from Jameson brought her a communication.
The fellow had refused to leave without a reply, until forced thereto by the servants whom Joseph Devereux summoned for that purpose; and he went away threatening vengeance upon the entire household when he should have reported to his master the indignity to which he had been subjected.
"Do you know, father," asked Jack, "what it was to which he expected an answer from Aunt Penine--I mean, anything as to the contents of the letter?"
"Nay, my boy. She refused to see me at first; and when I insisted upon it, she became defiant, and would not converse with me o' the matter, saying that it was her own concern, and naught to do with my business. And so I told her that, such being the case, she should hold herself in readiness to be driven to her brother's house on Monday, when she and her concerns would give no further trouble to me or my household."
"Jameson will not be safe a moment," said Hugh Knollys, "after the redcoats are withdrawn. Indeed," he added, "'t would be no great wonder if some of the fisherfolk should even now burn the roof over his head."
"'T is to be hoped they'll do no such thing," said the elder man, shaking his head; "for 'twould surely be used as a pretence for injuring the innocent,--perchance the townsfolk at large."
He now turned to his son and said in a tone of deep anxiety: "By the way, Jack, we must see to it that all be over-careful how such matters be talked on before Dot. I know not what has come to the child. She has been moody and unlike herself all the evening, starting at every sound, as if fearful o' danger. And when she came to tell me good-night awhile ago, she broke down in great weeping. I had much ado to soothe her; and to all my questioning she had but the one answer, that she did not know what ailed her, only that she felt as though her heart would break."
Jack looked very serious, and Hugh Knollys moved uneasily in his chair. Then the former said: "Perhaps it is only that she is in a way unstrung from the excitement of last night. I thought this afternoon that she acted not quite like herself,--that she seemed to have something on her mind. Did you not note it, Hugh?"
Hugh started, and looked still more uncomfortable. His thoughts had been dwelling upon Dorothy's unusual behavior during the afternoon. He was thinking of her reticence and impatience,--of the acerbity of her manner toward himself; and he recalled the quick flushing of her face as the young officer lifted his hat.
All this had made a distinct impression upon him; but the affair was her own,--one which he felt reluctant to mention even to her father or brother. And so, in answer to Jack's direct question, he uttered one of the few falsehoods of his life.
"Nay, Jack; I noted nothing unusual in her manner. I think as you, that she has been a bit overwrought by last night's happenings. Ah," he exclaimed, with animation, and glad to speak the truth once more, "but it was a brave thing she did! And yet she likes to make naught of it."
"Dorothy is brave by nature," her father said, his eye's kindling with pride. "And she is too young to comprehend the full weight o' what she did, prompted as it was by impulse, and by love for her brother." Then turning to Jack, he asked with a change of manner, "Did you see or hear aught o' the British frigate on your way home?"
"Nothing, father,--only, as I told you, that she dropped anchor in Little Harbor, just as the darkness fell."
"She'd not be likely to go from her anchorage in this fog." The old man spoke musingly, while he slowly filled his pipe for a final smoke before retiring for the night.
"But I take it they will move from there as soon as may be, on account of fearing the trouble they have a right to expect because of the men they've stolen," Hugh said indignantly.
"Yes," added Jack, "even if only to get into Great Bay, and closer to their fellows on the Neck."
"'T is a thousand pities they should have taken Mugford," the old gentleman remarked, as he carefully lit his pipe.
"Yes," his son assented; "it is in every way a pity, for if they wish to invite trouble they could not have made a better opening for ill feeling among the people of the town."
"Indeed they could not," Hugh exclaimed hotly. "Every one is sure to take Mugford's abduction to heart, and find a way to make the redcoats answer for it."
"We shall find a way, please God, to make them all answer for their overbearing and insolence to us as a country as well as individuals," Joseph Devereux said gravely. "And that reminds me, I had surely thought Broughton and the rest o' the committee would have returned from Boston this night."
"He was very doubtful, as I think, of getting back before to-morrow, or perhaps until Monday." And a dreamy look softened Jack's face, as if he might be thinking of what was to be told when Nicholson Broughton returned.
"Jack, what a lucky beggar you are!" exclaimed Hugh, with a touch of envy in his tone, as the two young men tarried a moment in the former's room before saying good-night.
Jack opened his eyes still wider, exactly after the fashion of Dorothy when she was surprised.
"You see," Hugh added nervously, "you love Mary Broughton, and she loves you, and you have the approval and blessing of both fathers. Now I--" Here he stammered, and then became silent.
"What is it, Hugh--do you wish me to understand that you love Mary yourself?"
John Devereux spoke seriously, almost jealously, for an old suspicion was beginning to awaken once more within him.
But Hugh laughed in a way to forever remove any such feeling from his friend's mind.
"I--I love Mary!" he exclaimed. "I never dreamed of such a thing, Jack, although I admit that she is very beautiful, and possesses everything to call forth any man's best and deepest love. But, my dear Jack, if you were not blinded, you might see that the world holds other girls than Mary." And he looked wistfully at his friend, as if wishing him to know something he hesitated to put into words.
"Do you mean that you are in love with some one, Hugh?" asked Jack, laying his hand on the other's broad shoulder.
Hugh's blue eyes lowered as bashfully as those of a girl, and Jack, now smiling at him, said, "Who is it--Polly Chine, over at the Fountain Inn?"
"Polly Chine!" Hugh answered disgustedly. "A great strapping red-cheeked clatter-tongue, who can do naught but laugh?"
"Well, if 't is not Polly, then I am all at sea, for I never knew you to do more than speak to another girl, unless--" And he paused, as something in Hugh's pleading eyes caught his attention and awoke his senses with a rush.
"Oh, Hugh--it surely is not--" But Knollys interrupted him.
"Yes, Jack," he said with slow earnestness, "it is--Dorothy."
Silence followed this avowal, and Jack's hand fell from his friend's shoulder. Then with an incredulous laugh he said: "Dorothy--why she is little more than a baby, with no thought beyond her horse and other pets. 'T was not long since I came upon her playing at dolls with little 'Bitha."
"She will be seventeen her next birthday," Hugh retorted with some impatience; "and that is but a year less than Mary Broughton's age."
"Yes," Jack admitted. "But it is several months yet to Dot's birthday; and those months, nor yet another year, can scarce give to my little sister the womanly depth for sentiment and suffering that Mary now possesses."
"Think ye so, Jack?" said Hugh, as though inclined to argue the matter. "You know 't is odd, sometimes, how little we guess aright the nature of those akin to us, however dear we may love them."
The young man sighed as he thought of the look he caught in Dorothy's eyes when the olive-faced horseman uncovered his handsome head, and also recalled the flushing of her cheeks at his mother's banter.
Jack's hand was now once more upon Hugh's shoulder, and he said in his warm, impulsive way: "See here, old fellow, I'd sooner have you for a brother than any other man I know; and my father is well-nigh certain to approve. Only I feel sure he would say what I now ask of you, and that is, not to speak of such matters to little Dot--not yet awhile; for it would only risk making her think of what otherwise might never come into that wilful head of hers. And while there seem to be such grave matters gathering for our attention, it were best not to give her heart aught to trouble over."
"Then you admit she might be woman enough to take to heart whatever ill would come to me?" Hugh asked eagerly.
Jack's answer was guarded, although not lacking in kindly feeling.
"The child has a warm heart, Hugh, and has known you long enough to feel deep sorrow should any evil come to you--which God forbid. But take my advice, and do not stir deeper thought in her, to make her sorrow like a woman, but let her keep her child's heart awhile longer."
After the young men had bidden each other more than a usually cordial good-night, Hugh Knollys remained seated for a long time in his own room, his hands deep in his pockets, and his legs stretched to their uttermost length. He was lost in thoughts that were neither entirely pleasurable nor yet altogether lacking in that quality.
He had loved Dorothy since she was a child, and he admired her character far more than that of any girl he had ever known. The reckless daring of her nature--the trait Aunt Penine had censured so severely, and which the others of the family regarded somewhat askance--met with a quick sympathy from his own impulsive temperament; and this last outburst of her intrepid spirit had acted like a torch to set aflame all his dreams and desires. And now the suspicion that some sort of an understanding existed between the girl and this young Britisher gave him a fierce desire to speak out, and claim for his own that which he feared the other man might seek to take from him.
And so he chafed at his friend's injunction, hoping as he did, that, could he but obtain the first hearing, the redcoat's chances might be weakened, if not destroyed altogether.
As he sat here alone, there came to him like a flash the memory of one late afternoon in a long-ago autumn, when, upon his return from a fishing-trip, he found Dorothy--then a dimpled mite of seven or eight--visiting his mother, as she often did in those days.
The child had been left to amuse herself alone; and this she did by taking down a powder-horn hanging upon the wall, filled with some cherished bullets which Hugh was hoarding as priceless treasures.
He seemed to see again the great dark room, lit only by the leaping flames from the logs piled in the open fireplace, and the little scarlet-clad child looking up with big startled eyes at his indignant face as he stood in the doorway, while the precious bullets poured in a rattling shower over the wooden' floor. He saw once more her look turn to fiery anger, as he strode over and boxed her ears; and he could hear the girlish treble crying, "Wait, Hugh Knollys, until I am as big as you, and I'll hurt you sorely for that!"
Aye, and she had already hurt him sorely, for all his breadth of shoulder and length of limb; she had hurt him in a way to make all his life a bitter sorrow should she now reject his love!
