_First Blood._
“Cockburn is coming!” This was the news that was borne from lip to lip,
and Lettice was made to repeat her experience over and over. It must
be said that she did rather needlessly enlarge upon the terrors of
the occasion when Lutie was the listener, and the eyes of that sable
maiden grew bigger and bigger as Lettice described Admiral Cockburn’s
appearance: a great big man, as tall as a locust tree, with fiery red
hair and blazing eyes and a long beard that blew out like the tail of a
comet; so he appeared to Lutie’s vision, her imagination adding hoofs
and horns; and he became the theme of Jubal’s perorations, taking the
place of “Poly Bonypart” as a bugaboo to scare the children and the
more timid girls. And not without reason; for a terrifying account of
a raid upon Havre-de-Grâce and other towns in the upper Chesapeake was
cause enough for alarm.
It was Birket Dean who came galloping over with news: “Cockburn,
with a big force of men, has been playing havoc up in Kent and Cecil
counties, and even beyond. Havre-de-Grâce has suffered; every one has
been plundered, and the ravagers weren’t satisfied with that, but went
up the Sassafras and destroyed Fredericktown and Georgetown. They say
that the women pleaded and begged that he would spare their homes, but
he refused, and the houses were burned to the ground; and he says he’ll
not be satisfied till he has burned every building in Baltimore.”
“Oh, does he mean to go there next?” Lettice asked in excitement.
“They say he doubtless did intend to, but he has heard through his
friends among the Peace men that the lookout boats are stationed all
the way down the _Patapsco_, and that there are videttes along the
shores of the bay and the river, and besides, the City Brigade will
be ready for them. They fired alarm guns in Baltimore and had all the
troops out, but the redcoats passed by Annapolis and Baltimore and went
to the upper bay. A great many people moved out of the city, I am told.”
“Do you suppose there can really be any danger of their coming here?”
Betty asked, holding her baby very closely.
The men looked at each other and were silent, then William, caressing
the top of his little son’s silky head, said, “If they do, we’ll defend
our homes to the last drop of blood.”
“And you’ll not leave us, William?” said Betty, scanning his face
eagerly.
“My place is near home, I have determined,” he replied, smiling down at
her.
The next few days brought tales of further marauding; tales of such
horror that Betty and Lettice clung to each other in terror. And,
indeed, the atrocities committed were such that in some places the word
“Hampton” was used instead of “Attention” to call the men to order, and
the accounts of the terrible ravages lessened greatly the number of
those who opposed the war.
But as days went by and no Cockburn appeared, the fears even of those
most easily frightened were quelled, and affairs went on as usual.
“It’s desperately tiresome, this staying at home,” Lettice said to her
brother James. “I don’t mean to do it any longer. Would there be any
harm, do you think, in our going out for a wee bit of a way on the
water? We know full well that the British are away down the bay, and I
haven’t had a sail this many a day. Do take me out, Jamie, or I’ll go
alone.” It was a lovely morning in July, somewhat warm, and promising
greater heat. Lettice sat discontentedly on the lower step of the
porch, looking off toward the creek.
“You’ll not go alone,” said James, swinging his long legs over the
railing of the porch, and sitting down beside her.
“Then you’ll take me.”
“Yes; there’s not a sail in sight, and I reckon we’ll have it all to
ourselves, besides--”
“Besides what?”
“I think I’d like to be at Queenstown when the boat comes in.”
Lettice turned and looked at him. “Why? You have a reason. I see it in
your eyes.”
“So I have.” He took a letter from his pocket and held it off at a
little distance. Lettice made a grab for it, but he caught her hand,
and laughing, held her firmly. “It isn’t for you,” he said.
“Whose is it, then?”
“Mine.”
“Let me see the handwriting. Please do, Jamie.”
He held the letter at a careful distance, and she read the address in
Rhoda’s neat hand: Mr. James Hopkins. “From Rhoda! Oh, is she coming
down on the packet?”
“Yes, so the letter says, and will I meet her and Aunt Martha. It seems
that Aunt Martha has been ill, and the city is hot, so she thinks she
may venture down to this neighborhood; unwisely, I think, with the
enemy so near and ready to pounce on us at any moment.”
“Now, James, quit talking so to scare me. And where is Rhoda’s devoted
cavalier, that she must call on you for an escort?”
“I do not know where he is; her father has gone to Philadelphia, and
probably the young man is there too; they seem to travel in company.”
“I wonder if they went on the new steamboat. I should think they would
go that way; such a novelty as it is.”
“Perhaps they did; Rhoda does not say.”
“Well come, then; if we are to meet the packet, we ought to be off.
I hope there will be news from father. It seems a long time between
letters, and so very long since we have seen him. I think I will take
Lutie along with me, and we can stay all night at Sylvia’s Ramble. I’ll
run in while you get the boat ready and tell Sister Betty that we are
going.”
“Don’t go, Letty,” Betty advised. “Suppose you should encounter the
British.”
“We’ll not, I am sure; they are away off down the bay, and we’ll not go
far.”
“Well, I wish you wouldn’t go at all. James ought to have more sense
than to take you.”
“He had to, because I told him I’d go alone if he didn’t.”
“Sauce-box! you’d do no such thing.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“Lettice, you wouldn’t. Don’t you ever dare to do such a thing.
Remember Hampton.”
Lettice looked suddenly grave. “I reckon I’d better not go alone,” she
said, as she turned away.
“It is such a lovely afternoon for a sail,” she remarked, as she
settled herself in the boat. “You don’t expect to shoot any game, do
you, Jamie? What’s the gun for?”
“For defence, if need be, and this pistol, too.” He laid it down by the
side of the gun.
Lutie put both hands to her ears. “Law, Mars Jeems, yuh ain’t gwine in
de way o’ dem Britishers, is yuh?” she asked in terror.
“I’m not going to get in their way if I can help it, but they may get
in ours. I think, after all, Lettice, you and Lutie had best go back.”
“Not I!” Lettice returned. “I’m here, and here I’ll stay, Britisher or
no Britisher. I don’t mean to have you go alone; besides, Aunt Martha
is not well, and I ought to go over as soon as I can, she might need
me.”
“Rhoda said they might need me, not you.”
“How self-satisfied some one is all of a sudden! I say they may need
me. Now, push off; there’s no use parleying. I’ll jump in and swim
there if you don’t hurry.”
“I believe you are capable of it,” Jamie returned.
“Of course I am. I am sure the packet would not be running if there
were any danger, and you told me, yourself, that none of the enemy had
been seen around here.”
“I know I did; I would bear you back to the house by force if I thought
there would be any danger for you. At all events, we’ll trust to luck,
and get over to the landing as quickly as possible.”
“We’ve plenty of time, haven’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Then do let us stop at Betty’s cove. Mrs. Cooke promised me a plant,
and I’ve long wanted a chance to get it.”
James consented, and before long they were turning into a little creek
which lay back of Mr. Cooke’s property. The boat, however, hardly
touched her moorings before a shout was heard, and two men started up
from behind some bushes, crying: “Halt there! We’ve got you, have we,
you foul deserter!”
James, who had scarce set foot on shore, turned and dealt the man about
to grab him a heavy blow; but before he could regain his footing upon
the boat, the second man gave a shout, and a couple of others came
running from a small boathouse near by. The first seized James and
dragged him off, despite his manful resistance.
For a moment Lettice was nearly paralyzed with fright, then she
recovered her wits, and, grabbing the gun, she pointed it at James’s
assailant. The gun was heavy, and her hands trembled with the weight
of it. Suppose she should shoot wildly and kill her brother. With a
swift, silent prayer that James might be spared, she took aim, fired,
and dropped the gun. “Hand me the pistol,” she cried to Lutie. “Run,
Jamie, now’s your chance!” she shouted, for one of the men holding
James, being wounded in the shoulder by the shot Lettice had fired, had
dropped his prisoner’s arm; and James, with a wrench, tore himself from
the remaining hold upon him.
[Illustration: _“Come on,” she yelled._]
He had too often shared in the athletic sports common upon holidays
not to be a good runner, and he was but an instant in reaching the
edge of the water; dashing in, he swam around to the other side of the
vessel, which was slowly drifting farther and farther out, Lettice
meanwhile standing resolutely pointing her pistol at his pursuers.
“Lutie,” she cried, without turning her head, “pick up that axe, and if
any one dares to touch this boat, brain him. You hear me?”
Lutie, though quaking with fear, gained courage from the attitude of
her young mistress and picked up the axe. “Come on,” she yelled. “Come
on, yuh po’ white trash, yuh! Jes’ lemme ketch one o’ yuh techin’ mah
young mistis, an’ I’ll lay dis axe ’bout yo neck lak yuh was a chicken
fo’ brilin’. Yuh ole good-fo’-nothin’ tu’key buzza’ds, yuh!” She stood
with axe raised, and the two defenders of the little vessel did present
such a formidable aspect that the men fell back. Only one or two were
prepared to fire. They had been disturbed in the taking of an afternoon
nap, and had previously divested themselves of all superfluous
accoutrements. Therefore, though one or two bullets whizzed across the
bows of the vessel as she retreated, not one touched the occupants.
Slowly, farther and farther out the little craft floated, and finally
James, who had scrambled aboard, was setting sail for the opposite
shore, and told Lettice they were beyond danger. “I feel like a
cowardly wretch,” he said, “to run from the foe at the very moment you
needed me for defence. What would have happened to us all, but for my
brave little sister?”
And then Lettice sank down and began to cry hysterically, thus
demanding Lutie’s administrations; and for some time the maid found
herself fully occupied in soothing her young mistis. “Law, Miss Letty,
yuh is safe,” she repeated. “Huccome yuh cry when ’taint nobody daid?”
“I want to go home, I want to go home! Jamie, take me home!” Lettice
wailed.
“I will, sis. We are getting there as fast as we can. Don’t you see we
have turned about and are going back?”
“And you won’t go to meet the packet? Say you won’t.”
“Never mind about that now. If I do go, it will be on horseback, and I
will go around by the road; so you needn’t worry about that.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Lettice persisted. “I don’t want you out of
my sight.”
James laughed. “You’re funny, sis. I can’t help laughing at you. A
minute ago you were so fierce and valiant, and now you’re weeping and
going on like a baby.”
“But you’re all wet,” sobbed Lettice.
“Suppose I am? That’s nothing; and on a hot afternoon, too. I have
often been as wet as this when I’ve been out ducking, and when it was a
good bit colder. Come, sit up here and help me. We shall have to tack
across, for the wind has died down.”
“You are sure you are not hurt at all?” said Lettice, drying her eyes.
“No, not a bit. I look rather the worse for wear, that is all.”
“It was so awful to see them dragging you off,” and Lettice burst into
tears again.
“They didn’t drag me very far, did they? Thanks to my little soldier
girl of a sister. There, honey, don’t cry any more; we’re nearly home.”
And he hugged and petted her till, by the time they reached their own
landing, she had somewhat calmed down. But as James led her up the
steps to her sister Betty, she lapsed again into a woful state, and it
required the combined efforts of Mammy, Dorcas, Lutie, and Betty to
quiet her; for one minute she would burst into wild laughter as she
looked at Lutie, and would say, “She looked so funny standing there
threatening to chop off their heads like chickens,” and then she would
fall to weeping because it was so awful to see them dragging off her
brother. At last, under the combined effects of red lavender, salts,
and finally a mint-julep, she fell asleep. “I don’t trust you off
this place again without me,” said Betty, bending over the exhausted
little figure and kissing the white forehead around which damp curls
clustered. And with Mammy to fan her on one side, and Lutie on the
other, she was left in the quiet of her own room.
James hurried off his wet clothes, donned another suit, and springing
upon his horse, galloped across country to the landing, arriving just
in time to see the packet come in, and to welcome his aunt and Rhoda. A
flush mounted to his face when he saw in attendance Mr. Robert Clinton.
“I don’t see what they needed me for,” he muttered.
“Mr. Clinton surprised us by arriving from Philadelphia last night,”
Rhoda told him. “My father was not willing that I should come down
here, he sent word.”
“But you came. Why?”
“Because it is my duty to remain with my aunt, and I cannot let my
personal convenience stand in the way of duty,” replied Rhoda, a little
primly.
“And Mr. Clinton came because it was his duty, or because you did,
which?” said James, in a vexed tone.
“My father would have it so. When he learned that I intended to remain
with Aunt Martha, he said that he should prefer that we have the
protection of either Mr. Clinton or himself, and since his affairs did
not permit of his presence here just now, he sent Mr. Clinton.”
“I see.” James looked at her fixedly, and she looked down, blushing
faintly.
“Where is Lettice?” she asked, to turn the subject. James told her of
their late experience.
Rhoda shivered. “Is it as bad as that?” she asked.
“Yes, and may be worse. I wish you had not come down.”
Rhoda bit her lip. “Aunt Martha insisted,” she murmured.
“Unwisely, I think. I should advise that you return at once.”
Rhoda shook her head. “I will stay as long as Aunt Martha does. She
will need me.”
“But you will persuade her that there is danger?”
“I will try.”
But Aunt Martha, once she took a decision, was not to be moved, and
she refused utterly to return to the city, saying that her husband’s
interests demanded her presence on the plantation, and she felt it her
duty to remain at all hazards. “The place will go to rack and ruin
while he is away, if I don’t look out for it,” she declared, “and I
cannot neglect my husband’s affairs when he is away. I am willing to
take the risks, for I think my presence may be a saving means for us
all, in case of a visit from those bands of foragers.”
And therefore Lettice heard with mixed feelings that her uncle’s home
was likely to hold for some time, not only her aunt and Rhoda, but
Robert Clinton.