_A Time of Dreadful Night._
The night grew darker and darker. Not one of the three in the house
thought of sleep, for from time to time the crackle and blaze of
some new fire, the roar of the devouring element, announced that one
or another building had been sacrificed to the revengeful lust of
the enemy. Up and down the streets swarmed the redcoated soldiers,
ransacking, shooting wildly, without reason or conscience, at any who
dared venture forth not uniformed as were themselves.
With the advancing hours the gathering of a storm became more and more
apparent. Sharp lightning vied with the rollicking flames. Deep growls
of thunder drowned the sound of carousals, and the wind, rising to a
fury, lashed and whipped the trees, tore away roofs, and shrieked as
if in defiance. Soon down came the rain in torrents, in floods, and
the flames, so eagerly mounting higher and higher, became less and
less aggressive. In the battle between the two elements fire was
vanquished. Save for the raging of the storm, there was now little
noise in the streets, and the occupants of more than one closely shut
house ventured to open the windows to let in the cool air which was
sweeping away the intense heat of the day.
“It is a merciful interposition of Providence,” declared William
Hopkins. “I think we can take some rest and feel no alarm while the
storm continues. Go to bed, Lettice.” And Lettice, feeling suddenly
heavy-eyed and weary, now that the strain was relieved, obeyed and soon
sank into a deep slumber.
She awoke early, for the sun was shining in at the window which she had
left open. She sat up in bed, for a moment bewildered. “Patsey,” she
called; then suddenly she remembered, and she sprang up, venturing to
peep out into the street. As she looked she saw an officer on a white
mare galloping up the avenue; a little colt trotted behind; it seemed
an incongruous sight in that scene of desolation. The streets were full
of bits of paper, some charred and soaked with rain; there were further
evidences of the work of plunder, of tempest, and of destruction,
but Lettice did not dare to look long, for groups of soldiers were
becoming more and more numerous, and she did not know what moment a
chance shot might come her way.
She closed the shutters softly, dressed herself, and ran downstairs.
“I must try to get up some sort of breakfast,” she said to herself, as
she rummaged through closets and pantry. She was fortunate in finding
coffee, bacon, corn meal, and some sour milk. With deft fingers she
kindled a fire, and then discovered that the water buckets were all
empty. “Water I must have,” she said, “and I will have to go and fetch
it from the pump. It will be better for me to go than one of the men,
for I’m what Brother Tom calls a non-combatant. Poor Tom, I wonder is
he safe?”
She sighed, and picking up a bucket, sallied forth into the street.
More than one person had ventured out. There were no soldiers near
enough to inspire fear, and she felt quite safe as she ran along toward
the old wooden pump which stood before the house occupied by her
friends, the Ingles. A little girl was sitting on the doorstep. “It’s
plain to see you’re not afraid, Mary,” said Lettice, as she vigorously
worked the pump-handle up and down.
“No, I’m not,” returned Mary. “I came out to see the soldiers.”
Lettice, having filled her bucket, lifted it and set it on the
sidewalk. At that moment a British officer, attended by an orderly,
came riding up the street. He paused before the pump, and drawing out a
silver goblet, summoned his orderly. “Here, bring me a drink of water
in this goblet of old Jimmy Madison’s,” he said.
Then up spoke Mary Ingle. “No, sir, that isn’t President Madison’s
goblet, because my father and a whole lot of gentlemen have got all his
silver and papers and things and have gone--” From the doorway some one
reached forth a silencing hand, which was placed over Mary’s mouth,
and the little maid was drawn within doors. Fortunately the officer
had been drinking freely and did not notice the candid statement. He
quaffed his draught of water and rode off.
Lettice did not tarry either, but lifting her bucket, which weighed
down her slender arm, she made ready to carry it home. She noticed that
fires were again starting up in every direction, and she felt a quiver
of fear for the safety of herself and her friends. What if the whole
city should be swept by flames?
Setting down her heavy bucket, she stopped a moment for rest. From
across the street stepped a young officer, gay in his red uniform. “Let
me carry that for you, my pretty maid,” he said. “It’s good water; I
have tasted it, and I’ll carry your bucket home for you for a kiss.”
“Oh, no.” Lettice shrank back.
“Oh, yes, I say.” He drew nearer, and, picking up the bucket, held it,
laughing. “No kiss, no water.”
“Then no water.” And Lettice turned and fled, leaving the soldier
laughing at his own defeat.
The girl hurried on and entered the gate, which she securely fastened,
but behind which she stood for a moment, peeping through the chinks,
determining that water she must have as soon as there seemed a chance
of getting it. But at that instant she noticed that the sky had again
begun to darken, and almost before she could reach the safety of the
kitchen, a hurricane swept the city. It suddenly became as dark as
night; the wind, which had been high enough the night before, now arose
to the violence of a cyclone. Roofs were torn off, trees uprooted, and
the air was full of flying particles. Even things ordinarily supposed
to be secure were wrenched from their fastenings and went hurtling
through the air as if the law of gravitation had suddenly become
naught. The rattle of thunder, the sharp lightning, the tremendous
downpour of rain--all these were terrifying, and Lettice dared not go
on with her preparations for a meal.
Before many minutes down came her brother and Mr. Baldwin. “Up
already?” they said.
“Already? Do you think it is still night? It is long past
breakfast-time, and I did hope to have it ready for you, but I was so
scared I could not go on with it, and besides, I have no water.” Then
she related her encounter with the redcoat.
“You perverse child, will you never learn prudence?” said her brother,
shaking his head.
“I am afraid not,” returned she, so earnestly that her brother smiled.
“Anyhow,” she said triumphantly, “I saw Admiral Cockburn on his white
mare, riding up the avenue this morning. It was when I first got up,
and it was so funny to see the little colt trotting on behind.”
“How do you know it was he?” her brother asked.
“Mary Ingle told me when I was talking to her this morning. Dear me, I
wish I had Lutie here.”
“I am glad you haven’t,” returned her brother. “Lutie is a perfect
baby, and afraid of her own shadow; she’d be worse than no one at all
in all this.”
“Gracious!” exclaimed Lettice, “what a report that was! The lightning
has struck somewhere very near, but it shook the whole house.”
“That was no lightning stroke,” Mr. Baldwin declared; “it was an
explosion of some kind.”
“Oh, I hope nothing has happened to our friends at the Arsenal.”
“It seemed to come from that direction.”
There was no cessation of the terrible storm, and Lettice finally
declared that water they must have. “If I only could have brought my
bucket safely home,” she said wistfully.
“There is water enough,” Mr. Baldwin said quietly, “when it is coming
down in sheets like this. Just set something outside to catch it. Here,
I will do it.” And he picked up a water bucket and placed it where it
would soon fill.
“What a goose I am!” said Lettice. “Why didn’t I think of that? Did
you get very wet?”
“Nothing to speak of. May I help you get breakfast? What can I do?”
“You may set the table, if you will. Brother William is bringing
candles; I am glad of that, for I could scarcely tell meal from sugar
in this light.”
The three busied themselves in preparing the simple meal and ate it
with a heartiness which long fasting supplied. “There are more fires
lighted; I believe every building of any importance has been set fire
to,” said Lettice, dolefully. “And to think of being in the midst of
all this dreadful time! I am so thankful for this rain; maybe it will
put out the fires. It does seem as if a special providence had sent
it. Isn’t it a terrible storm! Why, I even saw feather beds go flying
through the air.”
Mr. Baldwin laughed. “Those feathers probably flew higher than they
ever did before,” he remarked.
They were feeling quite cheerful since their meal and were now sitting
at one of the back windows watching the steadily descending rain.
William had left the room, saying he meant to go in to see the Ingles
and hear if they had any news to give. “We have shared more than one
danger,” said Lettice, after a while. “I feel now as if when this war
comes to an end, there must be a few of my friends who will be linked
to me by stronger bonds than those of an ordinary friendship.”
“I am glad then that I have been of the privileged few, though I would
rather have spared you these sad experiences. I wish I could have borne
them for you,” her companion said.
“Have you not borne enough?” Lettice gave a glance at the bandaged arm.
“A trifle, compared to that which some suffered, yet sufficient to dash
some bright hopes.”
“I don’t see why,” Lettice looked down.
“A man who has nothing but his chosen profession, and who has lost
his chances of promotion in that, must stand aside and let others win
what neither fortune nor honor will permit him to ask for,” he replied
steadily.
“But everything is not to be won by fortune and honors.”
“Would a man be justified in seeking the love of a woman to whom he can
offer nothing but a very uncertain future?”
“If a woman loves a man, does she care to give any one else the right
to win her?”
Just then, with a shriek and a wail, a gust of wind arose, and hurled
against the window a branch wrenched from a tree. It came with such
terrifying force as to shiver the glass, and almost simultaneously came
a vivid flash of lightning and a terrific crash of thunder. Lettice,
stunned and frightened, staggered against the wall and slid helplessly
to the floor, affected by the lightning which had struck a tree near
by. In an instant Mr. Baldwin was by her side. He lifted her head to
his shoulder, murmuring, “My love, my darling, are you hurt?”
She raised her head, half dazed, and looked at him without speaking;
then her head dropped heavily on his shoulder again, and he held her
thus, till in a few moments this sudden dash of the storm had abated.
Then both rose to their feet.
“I wonder where William is?” Lettice said faintly, and suddenly feeling
shy. “He--” She did not finish her sentence, for her brother entered
the room.
“I’ve been out,” he said, shaking the drops from his hat. “I went first
to the Ingles and heard some news there, and then I thought I would
look around a little for myself.”
“In all this fearful gale?” Lettice said.
“Yes, I knew there would be little danger from the redcoats while this
storm lasted. Fires are smoldering in every direction. That explosion
we heard was caused by the throwing of a lighted torch into an old well
where part of our powder was secreted. Twenty-five Britishers were
hurled into eternity by the explosion, and many were badly wounded. I
think this experience, on the whole, has been too much for Cockburn,
for I was told that he is getting ready to leave.”
“Oh, I am glad!” said Lettice. “Did none of those flying boards hit
you?”
“No, I managed to dodge them, and I didn’t go very far. I see you have
had an accident here. We must stop up that window; the rain is pouring
in.”
“Yes.” Lettice looked down, and the color which had left her cheeks
came slowly back again.
“Miss Lettice narrowly escaped being struck by lightning,” Mr. Baldwin
said unsteadily. “She was sitting near the window when that tree there
was struck, and she was stunned. A heavy branch torn from the tree did
the damage to the window.”
“And you were not hurt, Lettice? You are sure?” Her brother looked
alarmed.
“No, I think not. I felt dazed, and my head still feels queer, but I
was only a little stunned, I think. I am beginning to feel all right
again.”
“The wind is dying down, though it is still raining hard. I think the
worst of the storm is over.”
The rain continued for the rest of the day, but evening brought the
tramp, tramp, of retreating feet. Orders had been given that no
inhabitants should appear in the streets after eight o’clock; this
that the enemy might escape unnoticed. The city, devastated as it was,
received final destructive touches from the outgoing enemy, who set
fire to every important building still unharmed, as the retreat was
being made. The departure of the foe seemed also to be the signal for
the cessation of the tempest, for the setting sun shone forth, and the
mutterings of thunder died away with the echoing tread of marching feet.
“Free, at last!” cried Lettice, when it became known that the redcoats
had really gone.
“Yes, but not safe. We’re not out of the woods yet,” her brother told
her. “Every man of us must fight those fires, or the little that’s left
will go. Run in and stay with the Ingles, Lettice. Mr. Baldwin and I
must go.”
“Oh, but--but he is not well enough.”
“I can carry a bucket of water,” said the young man, smiling down at
her.
“And ask no reward?” she said in a whisper.
He turned around and looked at her searchingly, so that a soft pink
overspread her face. “Would you give it?” he whispered back. Then he
bit his lip and turned away before she could answer, leaving her half
abashed at her own words, and half sorry that she had let him go.
She ran out of the gate to her good neighbors and found them rejoicing
at the departure of the enemy, but still in alarm lest the surrounding
fires should break forth and destroy the dwellings still standing.
However, many willing hands were ready to stifle the rising flames, and
forlorn, miserable, wretched-looking as the poor little city appeared,
its season of trial was over.
The despoiled capital was a poor abiding-place, but as soon as Patsey
and her sister returned, they urged Lettice to stay, rather than to go
back to Baltimore, whither her brother was bent on hurrying; for it was
said that General Ross had his eyes turned upon that place. “And they
will not come here again, for they have taken all there was to take.
Bad as it is, there is one consolation--if there is one place above
another that is absolutely safe, it is Washington,” said Patsey. “You
would better stay with us, Lettice; I should think you had seen about
enough of this war.”
But Lettice shook her head. “It is dreadful to think of anything
happening to Betty and the baby, and my brother will be there. I must
stick by my family through thick and thin.” And she set forth, to
arrive in Baltimore, there to find every one apprehensive of an attack
from the British.
Betty hugged and kissed her, and declared it was dreadful to think
of the scenes she had witnessed; and then she ran to her husband and
cuddled in his arms, putting her hand over his lips when he attempted
to tell her of the defeat. “I won’t hear it,” she cried. “I don’t care
if they all did run. I’d a thousand times rather that, than to have
you brought home to me dead or wounded. I am tremendously thankful you
didn’t give them a chance to shoot you. I am so thankful that I cannot
consider anything else.”
“I believe I agree with you,” Lettice joined in. “What do you think of
it, Aunt Martha?”
“I think he could do no less, under the circumstances. It was not his
fault that there was a retreat, and he would have been foolish to
stand up alone and defy the entire British army.” At which they all
laughed and settled down composedly to hear Lettice’s story. Danny
curled himself up in one corner, all alert for thrilling adventures,
and Mrs. Flynn stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip and the other
thoughtfully manipulating her chin as she listened.
“An’ now tell ’em your bit o’ news, ma’am,” she said, turning to Mrs.
Tom Hopkins, when Lettice had finished her tale.
“We’ve heard from Joe,” Aunt Martha told them.
“Oh!” Lettice sprang to her feet. “Where is he?”
“In Dartmoor Prison, poor fellow; and that is almost worse than to hear
of his death, for it is doubtful if he will ever get out alive.”
“How did you hear?”
“Through a fellow-prisoner, who made his escape, and who promised,
should he succeed in getting away, that he would get word to us of
Tom’s whereabouts. We are all working, and my brother is using his
influence to get an exchange.”
“Would you tell Patsey?”
“I think I would not, just yet--not till we are a little surer that our
plans can be carried out.”
“Have you anything to tell me?” asked Betty, as she came into Lettice’s
room that night at bedtime. “William has told me that you saw much of
Mr. Baldwin, and that you left him but yesterday.”
“So we did--but, oh, Betty, he cannot go back into the service, because
he has lost his left hand with a part of his arm, and he has no money;
and, besides, he wouldn’t ask me if he had, for he doesn’t think a man
maimed and without a profession of some kind would have a right to do
it.”
“Neither would he. But never mind, my love, I wouldn’t make myself
unhappy over it; love finds a way. And would you take your Yankee lad
single-handed?”
“Now, Betty, you will joke. Yes,”--she hid her face on Betty’s
shoulder,--“I would, I really would.”
“I said you would be a New Englander yet. I shall have to hand you over
to Aunt Martha to-morrow and let her teach you how to bake beans.”
“But there’s no need. You see, he’ll not ask for me.”
“Nonsense; wait till the war is over. What about Robert Clinton,
Lettice?”
“What about him?”
“Yes; you don’t care one wee little bit for him?”
“No, no, no!”
“Does your--what is his name?--Ellicott know that?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t be likely to take him by the lapel of his
coat and say, ‘Mr. Baldwin, I want you should know I don’t care for
Robert Clinton.’” Lettice imitated Rhoda’s tones so exactly that Betty
laughed.
“No, you couldn’t do that,” she agreed. “Now I have something to tell
you. He, like an honorable gentleman, has told William that in a moment
of excitement, when he thought you were in danger, he declared his love
for you, and--”
“And--oh, Betty, what? He has never referred to it since; and tell me,
what did William say?”
“He requested him not to see you or communicate with you till your
father’s permission could be obtained.”
Lettice heaved a deep sigh. “And what did he say?”
“He promised, but asked that you might know; so, as William had
no liking to tell you himself, he asked me to do it. So there--my
disagreeable task is over. Do you forgive me for my part in it?”
“I thank you for your gentle way of telling me, and I would rather have
heard it from you than from William.”
“Thank you, dear. Now, never mind, my honey, just bide your time. For
myself, I like Mr. Ellicott Baldwin mightily. Don’t you miss poor
Lutie, when it comes to a matter of toilet?” she asked, to change the
subject.
“Yes, poor Lutie, I do miss her. Ah, Betty dear, you are truly like my
own sister. You understand so well, and I like better to be with you
than any one. Alas, where will be our home?”
“I wouldn’t bother over that. Let the future take care of itself.
‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’ you know. You have seen
evil enough, poor Letty. Good night and sweet dreams;” and she left
Lettice to think over all this new situation.
Volunteers were tramping into the city; preparations were going forward
for a brave defence, and when Lettice laid her head upon her pillow, it
was to dream of future alarms and start up more than once with a little
cry. Once Betty heard her and came in to bend gently over her. “She is
only dreaming, poor little soul,” she murmured. “What a peck of trouble
she has had, to be sure.”
The morning seemed to realize Lettice’s dreams, for Danny came in, his
eyes rolling around in excitement. “M-m-miss Letty, dey done comed, dey
done comed!” he stammered.
“Who?” cried Lettice, looking up from the flowers she was arranging.
“De redcoats. Dey ships in de ribber; dey is, fo’ sho’. I ain’ tellin’
no sto’y, Miss Letty.”
Lettice knew danger was near, for her brother, who had gone out the
night before, had not returned, and she saw that vigorous measures were
being adopted for the defence of the city. She thought of Washington
and sighed.
“Is yuh skeered, Miss Letty?” asked Danny, who was watching to get his
cue from her.
“Not scared, but very anxious. Where is Miss Betty?”
“She puttin’ de baby ter sleep. Miss Marthy, she fussin’ roun’ lak a
ole hen.”
“Sh! You mustn’t talk that way,” Lettice chided, in a severe tone.
“Aunt Martha,” she said, stepping to the window which looked out upon
the porch where she was, “do you suppose it is really true that the
British are here?”
“Don’t ask me, child. I am distracted. Ought we to stay or go? I do
want to do my duty.”
Lettice smiled. “I don’t see that anything will be gained by going; at
least, not yet. I think we are about as safe here as anywhere. Oh, Aunt
Martha,” she clasped her hands closely, “we’ll conquer or we’ll die. I
am sure this time we must drive them back. We have good defences; Mr.
Key told me so last night, and he said, ‘We are in earnest this time;
they’ll not find it so easy to get into Baltimore as into Washington.’”
Aunt Martha stood considering the situation.
“Where would you go, if you did leave?” Lettice asked.
“Somewhere out of town; but as you say, no doubt we are as safe here
as anywhere we might hit upon. It doesn’t seem a very fitting time to
be arranging flowers, Lettice. You’d better be scraping lint; there
probably will be need of it.”
“But the flowers don’t stop blooming, battles or no battles,” Lettice
returned. Yet she bore her bowl of China asters indoors, and, taking a
roll of linen from her aunt’s hand, she sat down to scrape lint.