[Illustration: “_You’d do well to come out here, Aunt Martha._”]
A Heroine of 1812
_A Maryland Romance_
BY
AMY E. BLANCHARD
_Illustrated by Ida Waugh_
[Illustration]
W. A. WILDE COMPANY
BOSTON CHICAGO
_Copyright, 1901_,
BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
A HEROINE OF 1812.
To My Brother
THE GRANDSON OF AN “OLD DEFENDER”
I LOVINGLY DEDICATE THIS STORY OF
HIS MARYLAND AND MINE
A. E. B.
Contents.
CHAPTER I PAGE
WHEN THE SHIP CAME IN 11
CHAPTER II
THE WORK OF A MOB 25
CHAPTER III
ON THE BAY 41
CHAPTER IV
THE BARN FROLIC 56
CHAPTER V
SOME COQUETRIES 71
CHAPTER VI
A BALL 86
CHAPTER VII
CAPTURED 100
CHAPTER VIII
FIRST BLOOD 115
CHAPTER IX
LOVE AND POLITICS 129
CHAPTER X
SUSPICIONS 144
CHAPTER XI
AN INTERRUPTED DUEL 161
CHAPTER XII
ESCAPE 178
CHAPTER XIII
CONFIDENCES 193
CHAPTER XIV
“SORROW AN’ TROUBLE” 209
CHAPTER XV
JUBAL 226
CHAPTER XVI
A TIME OF REST 244
CHAPTER XVII
A DAY OF DISASTER 262
CHAPTER XVIII
A TIME OF DREADFUL NIGHT 280
CHAPTER XIX
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER 300
CHAPTER XX
HER VALENTINE 318
Illustrations.
PAGE
“‘You’d do well to come out here, Aunt Martha’”
_Frontispiece_ 1
“‘It is plain to see why you like to come to market’” 30
“‘Come on,’ she yelled” 123
“‘What yuh doin’ hyar dis time o’ night?’” 185
“‘How he has grown!’” 248
A HEROINE OF 1812.
CHAPTER I.
_When the Ship Came In._
A warm evening in early June of the year 1812 showed the streets of
Baltimore city gay with groups of people crowding the steps of the
houses, or sauntering up and down from corner to corner. Slender girls
with arms around each other, circles of children merrily piping out
some ring-around-a-rosy, young men stopping before this or that door
for a few minutes’ chat,--all served to make a lively scene.
Lettice Hopkins, in short-waisted gown of sprigged muslin, stood with
one slippered foot tapping impatiently the marble step before her
uncle’s door. “Is yuh see him, Miss Letty?” asked a little colored boy
who stopped his occupation of sliding down the cellar door to make his
inquiry.
“No, I don’t,” Lettice returned petulantly, “and poor old Mrs. Flynn
is moaning and going on because her Patrick is aboard the vessel, and
she thinks he’s drowned. Run to the corner, Danny, and see if there is
a sign of your master.” She sat down on the step and looked anxiously
in the direction of the street corner toward which Danny was making his
way, taking time in doing so, and stopping frequently to switch a chip
from the running water in the gutter, or to send a pebble hopping over
the cobblestones.
“It certainly is warm for so early in June,” Lettice remarked, as
she vigorously fanned herself. “You’d do well to come out here, Aunt
Martha,” she continued, addressing some one in the hall behind her.
“There is a breath outside, but little indoors. Don’t you think uncle
must be here soon? He surely cannot be at the wharf all this time.”
“Perhaps he is,” her aunt answered. “It is a week since the vessel
was due, and in good weather that is too long. It is nothing of a run
from here to Boston and back, and your uncle has reason to be somewhat
anxious, especially in these days.”
“These days,” Lettice repeated; “that is what father is always saying,
as if these were not good enough days.”
Mrs. Hopkins did not answer, but instead, asked, “Where is your
father?”
“Down at the Fountain Inn, I suppose; it is where he always goes of an
evening. They have a deal to talk about, it seems, down there.”
“They have, indeed, but isn’t that your uncle coming now?” Mrs. Hopkins
had come out upon the step and was peering out into the dimly lighted
street.
“To be sure it is,” Lettice replied. “I will go to meet him, for Mr.
Gilmore will stop him if I don’t get him over on this side of the
street.” She started off with rapid step, her light scarf floating from
her shoulders as she walked.
“She’s in!” shouted Danny, who came running on ahead of his master.
At this news Lettice slackened her pace and walked soberly forward to
meet her uncle. “Good news, I hear, Uncle Tom,” she said as she came up
to him.
“Ye-es,” he returned, “so far as I am concerned, but--”
“What?” Lettice interrupted. “Hurry and tell me, Uncle Tom. What’s
wrong? Did anything happen to the vessel?”
“Not to the vessel, except that she was stopped by a British cruiser,
and three of our men were carried off as British subjects.”
“Oh! And who were they? Not Patrick Flynn, I hope. His mother declares
that something has happened to him, for she has had a certain dream
three nights in succession,--a dream which she insists forebodes ill.”
“Poor Patrick, indeed; one of the best hands aboard, and born on
American soil, though his brogue is rich enough for any son of the
Emerald Isle.”
“Alas, poor Patrick! Who will tell his mother?”
“I will, of course,” her uncle quietly replied. And Lettice hesitating
to enter the house, he passed in before her, spoke a few words to his
wife, and then walked back to where a long garden showed borders abloom
with the roses of June glimmering faintly from out the dusky green.
Presently arose sounds of wailing and lamenting, and Lettice, unable
to restrain her sympathies, rushed back to see poor old Mrs. Flynn
rocking back and forth, wringing her hands, and making her moan over
the capture of her son.
“There, Winnie, there,” Lettice heard her uncle say. “After all, it
is not as bad as it would seem. Pat will find his way back, or I’m
mistaken, and there are plenty of persons who will tell you he should
be proud to serve in the British navy.”
“Ah, but they’ll be battherin’ the life out av ’im, sorr, an’ be
markin’ up his poor back wid the cat, an’ indade, sorr, I’m thinkin’
he’d betther be dead than alive.”
“Pshaw! not a bit of it. Pat’s too good a hand for that, and Mr. Joe
gave him a word to make no cause for offence, but to do his duty by the
ship he is on, just the same as if she were the _Delight_.”
“’Tis a hard day, sorr, when our min must be dragged from their proper
places an’ be put to wurruk for thim as has no right to be dhrivin’
thim. Not that I’m so down on the ould counthry, sorr, but I’m not
upholdin’ thim British min stealers, Misther Tom, sorr, an’ it goes
agin me grain for a son o’ mine to be slavin’ for the inimy av the
counthry where he was born.”
Lettice sat down on the step beside the old woman and began softly to
stroke the wrinkled hand which was nervously fingering the hem of Mrs.
Flynn’s gingham apron. “Never mind, Mrs. Flynn,” the girl said; “it
will be no time before Patrick will be back again. Why, if he had gone
on a long cruise from this port, you’d not see him for years, maybe,
and this is no worse. Cheer up, now. Ah, there is Cousin Joe. I’ll bid
him come out here. I think my father is with him.”
The two men approached, gesticulating excitedly. “It is an outrage,”
Lettice’s father was saying, “and one that Americans will not stand
much longer. Odious servitude for our citizens! impressed into a
service they despise! our commerce impeded! insults, injuries of all
kinds heaped upon us! We will not stand it. There will be a war,
sir, for, as the wise Benjamin Franklin so aptly said, ‘Our War of
Independence has yet to be fought.’”
“Nonsense, William, what was our war of the Revolution?” put in Mr.
Hopkins.
“It was the Revolution. We are not yet free, if indignity can be
offered us which we must accept silently.”
“Ah, Masther Joe, dear,” whined Winnie, “ye let thim steal me bhy.”
Joseph Hopkins, a tall young fellow, sunburnt and stalwart, looked down
at her with kindly eyes. “Indeed, Winnie, I did my best to save him and
two others, but it was no use.”
“Tell us about it, Cousin Joe,” said Lettice.
“I have told the tale more than once, cousin, but since you and Winnie
will likely give me no peace till I tell it again, I’ll spin you my
yarn. We were just turning into the bay, after having had to go out of
our way to escape from the clutches of more than one British cruiser,
when we saw a sail which gave us chase, and though the _Delight_ was
in her own waters, our pursuers were within gunshot in a short time.
Then they demanded to search us for deserters. At first I refused, as
I knew father would have me do; but we were scarcely prepared to fight
a ship of the size of the enemy, and discretion being the better part
of valor, and to save a whole skin for the majority of my crew, at last
it seemed best to submit to the demand. So poor Patrick, Johnny Carter,
as good an Eastern-shoreman as ever lived, and Dick Bump, who never saw
the plank of a British ship before, were carried off. Every mother’s
son of them was born on American soil, and they were claimed as British
subjects. It is an outrage! But trust to Pat, Mrs. Flynn, he’ll be with
us again before long, or my name’s not Joe Hopkins. I saw Uncle Edward
in Boston, mother,” he went on to say, “and he promised to come on with
the next ship.”
Leaving Mrs. Flynn somewhat comforted, the others took their way
again to the front steps, where the men plunged into a discussion
of the questions of the day, and Lettice, who cared little for
letters-of-marque and general reprisals, sat watching the passers-by,
once in a while putting a question when the talk became particularly
exciting.
She had come up from the Eastern shore of Maryland but a few months
before, and had hardly yet become accustomed to life in a big city,
having always lived upon the plantation now managed by her eldest
brother. The marriage of this big brother had eventually brought
about the change which made of Lettice a city girl, for her father
concluded to join his brother in Baltimore, and Lettice must perforce
accompany him. It was not altogether a happy arrangement for the girl;
her uncle’s wife was a New England woman, and did not understand her
husband’s light-hearted little niece, over whom she was disposed to
exert an authority which Lettice, if she had been less sweet-tempered,
would have resented. Then, too, Aunt Martha did not like negro
servants, and Lettice knew no others. Nevertheless, she made friends
with old Mrs. Flynn, who reigned over the kitchen, and the other maids
did not count, she told her father.
She sat on the step, her thoughts travelling to her old home. How
pleasant it must be there this hot night, she reflected, with the
bay in sight, and the moon shining down upon it. She would like to be
dashing down the long level road upon her pretty bay mare, and after
a while to come in and find Mammy waiting for her with some cooling
drink, and Lutie ready to undress her. She wished Aunt Martha would let
her have Lutie, or she wished her father would let her keep house for
him and have the old servants about her. Perhaps he would in another
year, for she would be seventeen then.
She was aroused from her revery by her father saying: “War? yes, war
say I. Joe, I told you, didn’t I, of our meeting at Fountain Inn, and
of our resolutions upon the subject? ‘No alternative between war and
degradation’ we decided.”
“Oh, father,” put in Lettice, “is there really to be war? I thought it
was only talk.”
“Pray God not. There’s been too much talk; now is the time for action.”
“And shall you go and fight? And Cousin Joe and Uncle Tom, will they go
too?”
“If we are needed, yes. I can answer for all of us.”
Lettice slipped her arm across the back of her father’s chair. “Oh,
father, dear, you’ll not go and leave me all alone?”
“Not all alone, with your Aunt Martha and the servants,” spoke up her
Uncle Tom.
Lettice looked down a little confused, but her Cousin Joe changed the
subject by saying, “They are not for war in Boston, Uncle William.”
“So I am told; and that Massachusetts, so valiant in the Revolution,
should be willing tamely to submit to England’s insults, is beyond my
belief. I cannot understand her indifference.”
“A war with England would touch her pocket-book too nearly,” Joe
replied, laughing.
“Yes, it would interfere with her trade, and she has not the other
resources that we have,” said Mr. Tom Hopkins, reflectively. “I suspect
that you had more than one controversy with Edward, Joe.”
“That I did; and he’ll soon be on his way here to resume the argument.”
“Does he bring Rhoda with him?” asked Mrs. Hopkins.
“Yes, so he said.”
“She’ll be a companion for you, Lettice,” said Mrs. Hopkins. “She is
but a year older. We must try to keep her here for a good long visit.
I’ve not seen Rhoda for five years, but she was a very good child then,
and I have no doubt will be a useful influence for you.”
Lettice touched her cousin’s arm. “Come, walk to the corner with me,”
she said. “I’m tired of sitting still, and you all talk nothing but
politics.”
“You’d rather the subject would be dress, I fancy,” Mrs. Hopkins
remarked, with a little severity.
“To be sure I would,” Lettice laughed, as she walked off. “Sometimes
I feel as if I must be saucy to Aunt Martha,” she said to her cousin.
“Tell me about Rhoda, Cousin Joe. Is she pretty? What does she look
like?”
“She is fair, with light hair and blue eyes. She is rather slight,
and is quiet in her manner. She does not talk very much unless she is
deeply interested, and then she is very earnest.”
“Then there will be a chance for my chatter,” returned Lettice, the
dimples showing around her rosy mouth. “Does she wear her hair in
curls, as I do, Cousin Joe?”
“No, she wears it quite plainly.”
“And is she tall?”
“Yes, rather so.”
“Taller than I?”
“Yes; you are not above what I should call medium height.”
“I may grow.”
“True; there is time for that.”
“Should you like me better then?” Lettice gave a side glance, and then
dropped her curly black lashes over her big blue eyes.
Her cousin laughed. “You would coquet even with me, I verily believe;
with me, who am as good as married.”
The violet eyes opened wide. “I am not trying to at all. Would I coquet
with my blood cousin, who, moreover, is a double cousin?”
“Perhaps not, if you could help it; but you do coquet even with Pat
Flynn.”
“Now, Cousin Joe, you are trying to tease me.”
“And with Mrs. Flynn,” Joe continued, “and your father and your
brothers.”
“My brothers--That reminds me, Cousin Joe, that if there is going to be
a war, I suppose they will want to fight too. Alas! I’ve a mind to turn
Yankee and cry down war.”
“And let Patrick go unavenged, after all the sweet looks you have cast
on him and the honeyed words to his mother?”
“Quit your nonsense, sir. You know I would never give soft glances to a
common sailor.”
“Thank you, and what am I?”
“No common sailor, but an uncommonly pert young gentleman. You may
walk to Julia Gittings’s with me, and there leave me; I’ll warrant her
brother will see me home.”
“I warrant he will if I give him a chance, but I’ve no notion of
deserting you, Cousin Lettice. You asked me to walk with you, and I’ll
complete my part of the contract.”
Lettice gave him a soft little dab with her white fingers, and another
moment brought them to a standstill before one of the comfortable
houses fronting the square below their own home. They found Miss Julia
surrounded by a bevy of young gentlemen in short-waisted coats, and by
as many young ladies in as short-waisted gowns.
“Law, Lettice, is it you?” cried Julia. “Have you heard the news? They
say we’ll surely have war. Won’t it be exciting! Howdy, Mr. Joe. Come
sit here and tell me of your exploits. Mr. Emery has just been trying
to fool us by relating a story of your being overhauled by the British.”
“It is true. Isn’t it, Joe?” spoke up one of the young men.
“True enough, as three of my boys have sad reason to know,” Joe
replied. And then again must an account of his experiences be given,
amid soft ejaculations from the girls and more emphatic ones from the
young men. It was not a specially new theme, but one that had not come
home to them before, and not a youth that did not walk away toward his
home that night with a determination to avenge the outrage at the first
opportunity. The next day came the news that war was declared.