JOSCELYN'S PERIL.
"First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And, ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world greetings, quick with its 'O list!'
When the angels speak."
--MRS. BROWNING.
Thus the months had come and gone, and come again, until three years had
passed since Richard's company marched away that winter day to join
their comrades at Valley Forge. Three years of warfare, and victory yet
faltered to remain with either standard, but wavered like a fickle woman
from side to side. And Joscelyn held to her allegiance, wearing her
scarlet bodice in open rejoicing at news of an English victory, and
decking herself in sombre mourning when tidings of the American triumph
at King's Mountain thrilled the country with an awakened hope. And in
these habiliments she walked the streets, or sat upon her balcony, that
none might be in doubt as to her feelings.
"Joscelyn Cheshire be as good as a war barometer," said Mistress
Strudwick; "one has but to look at her to know whether to rejoice or to
sorrow."
Vainly her mother argued with the girl, showing the danger she ran of
drawing upon them both the enmity of the community.
"We are but two lone women, and what could we do against a mob? You go
too far in this matter, my daughter. An you alter not your behaviour, we
shall be driven from the town, or else have our house burned over our
heads. Only yesterday Sally Ruffin was telling your Aunt Clevering of
some threats she had heard concerning you."
But Joscelyn shrugged her shoulders. "They will not harm you, mother;
you are too much of their party creed. And as for me, I fear them
not; they will do naught more serious than to tear down my royal
picture-gallery from the porch, and break a few more window-panes."
And truly martial events were crowding so fast upon each other that the
community had no time to resent the caprices of a girl. All interest was
now centred in the south. Greene had superseded Gates; Cowpens had been
fought and Tarleton sent in rout to Cornwallis, who started in hot haste
to chastise the victors and recover his captured troopers. But Morgan
threw his battalion over the Catawba; Greene took entire command, and
then begun that marvellous retreat, every step of which was as an
American victory. The pursuit was close behind. The whole country held
its breath at the spectacle of two great armies vying against each other
on almost parallel roads for the far-off fords of the Dan. Twenty-five,
even thirty miles a day they tramped it over roads deep in mire that
held them back as with a fiendish purpose. It was a spectacle to stir
one's blood, no matter on which side the sympathies,--this Titanic
struggle, this heroic race. The rear-guard of the pursued, and the van
of the pursuer, often bivouacked in sight of each other's watch-fires.
Petty strife was at an end; the great principles of war alone held sway,
and it were hard to say in which camp there was more of resolute
endeavour.
The flooding rains detained Cornwallis at the Catawba, and yet again at
the Yadkin, giving the Americans somewhat of advantage, so that Joscelyn
Cheshire said in her mocking way, that the "weather was supplying the
deficiencies of nature and making a great general out of Nathaniel
Greene."
"Rather is God aiding a righteous cause," Aunt Clevering retorted.
Hillsboro' was in a fever of excitement during those days, knowing that
somewhere beyond the mountains that skirted her on the west, these
armies, like mighty leviathans, were writhing on their courses. The town
lay almost in the path of both, and each day was full of rumours and
contradictions. The country people, both Whigs and Tories, crowded in
to learn more speedily the news. The streets were thronged each day
with anxious men and women, asking each other questions and exchanging
surmises. And every day Joscelyn rode her horse from the bridge that
spanned the Eno on the western edge of the town to the clump of boulders
called the "Hen and Chickens," which cropped out of a common that lay
high to the eastward. And always she wore in her hat, with jaunty grace,
a cockade of scarlet ribbon; and Tories bowed low as she passed, and
Whigs scowled and shrugged their shoulders, marvelling at her daring.
But at last the news came that the race was done; Greene had crossed
the Dan to the safety of Virginia, and a union with the reenforcements
hastily spared him from the northern division, and Cornwallis was
baffled. Disappointed, he turned southward once more, and one February
day the vanguard rode haughtily into Hillsboro', and ere night the
sloping commons, flanking the town to the east and northeast, were
white with a tent city swarming with the soldiers of the king.
In the general excitement Betty ran across the street and, twisting
Joscelyn's apron-string the while, asked, "Do you think Eus--that is,
that you will have any friends on Cornwallis's staff?"
"I am quite sure you will have one," answered Joscelyn, with a laughing
accent on the second pronoun. "Mary is already in the parlour wanting me
to go with her and hunt him; what message shall I carry that my welcome
may be sure?"
"Oh, none!" hastily answered Betty. Then added, with a shy laugh, "Of
course I shall have to see him and thank him for his efforts in
Richard's behalf."
"Methinks you will have to go through that disagreeable ordeal. When I
see him I shall casually mention that I have asked you to be here at
five this afternoon."
But Eustace did not wait so long to hear Betty's thanks. He laid no
stress on his services save as a pretext to see her, and when his duties
at headquarters were over he boldly presented himself at Mistress
Clevering's door; and Betty, blushing and palpitating, came down to meet
him; and seeing her thus, his heart surrendered itself anew. But her
mother, following close in her wake, gave him no chance to say the
things he longed.
"We deeply appreciate your efforts for my son, Master Singleton," she
said, sitting stiffly on the extreme edge of her chair, as if ready to
rise on the instant.
"I have called this morning, madam, not to receive your thanks, for I do
not deserve them; but to say how sorry I was not to do more for him and
for you, and also to express my sincere regrets over his death."
"Your regrets are misplaced; my son still lives."
He stood up, amazed; and the lady also rose as though to bid him adieu.
"Still alive? You astound me, madam; I saw his death record."
"He escaped instead of dying."
"It sounds like a miracle; but I am glad of it." He turned to Betty, but
her mother had not resumed her seat, and so he, too, stood in an
awkward hesitation. But the girl put out her hands with an impulsive
gesture, and he gathered them both close in his.
"It was good of you--so good to go to that horrible ship!"
"I would have gone to the ends of the world to serve you. Your simplest
wish would be my law, and I would count myself well paid with a smile or
one gentle word." He had forgotten her mother standing there like a
sphinx; and Betty's face went suddenly pale, and then as suddenly
reddened and dimpled, for he bent down and kissed each of her hands
lingeringly.
"Master Singleton!" The harsh tones recalled him to himself. He turned
to the older woman. "My daughter joins with me in expressing our
gratitude. Since your time must be short, we will no longer detain you."
Of course he went, and Betty fled to Joscelyn for comfort, for her
mother had said sternly:--
"We have done our duty, let the matter end here; and let me say
furthermore, that to be grateful one need not blush and dimple while an
arch-enemy of the country kisses one's hand."
And Betty had almost choked with confusion, and while crossing the
street had looked at her hands with a sense of tenderness that was new.
"Oh, Joscelyn, I am so miserable and yet so happy!" And Joscelyn told
her all the sweet things Eustace had said about her at the camp, and
sent her home as red and tremulous as a rose in the sun.
There was joy among the Loyalists over the coming of the Redcoats, and
consternation among those whose relatives were with Greene. Cornwallis
established his headquarters at the inn on King Street, using the
one-roomed building opposite as his office. Here he set up the royal
standard, and issued a proclamation to the Tories of the vicinity to
come to his aid. He looked for a general up-rising in his favour, but he
looked in vain. The country folk rode into town to learn the latest
news, or brought their wives and daughters to the commander's levees;
but most of them rode home again, unconvinced of the permanency of his
lordship's dominion.
Joscelyn watched them wrathfully as they took their departures, and
strove by the courtesy of her own manner to atone for their lack of
loyalty. Her house became at once the social rendezvous of the
newcomers, and few hours of the day went by without a summons upon her
knocker. Often she was in the cavalcade that drew rein before the
general's office after a ride of inspection through the camp; for with
the army were several Loyalist ladies who had fled from their homes to
their husbands when Greene began his retreat, and with the Tory women of
the neighbourhood they made a goodly company. Mistress Clevering was
filled with rage when, from behind her closed shutters, she saw the
scarlet-coated officers alight at Joscelyn's door. Mary Singleton was
somewhat chary of her favours, fearing the public resentment when the
British should have withdrawn. But Joscelyn took heed of no such
consideration, and was withal so charming and so cordial that Lord
Cornwallis, recalling his friendship for her father, unbent from his
customary reserve, and exhibited in her parlour a courtesy of bearing
which was of a piece with the humanity he showed upon his campaigns.
Among the younger officers the "Royalist Rose," as they styled her,
became a favourite ere the second sun went down upon their coming; so
there was ever an escort waiting at her door when the staff rode forth
to the outlying camp.
And oftener than any one else this escort was Captain Barry, of the
second legion. It was he who stood at the door of the general's
headquarters when, on that first day, Mary and Joscelyn arrived to make
inquiry for Eustace, and snatching off his hat he came out to receive
them, for they made a very charming picture as they advanced modestly
toward the entrance, piloted by an orderly. The first smile from
Joscelyn's blue eyes did the whole thing for him. He surrendered at
once, without one effort at self-defence; and when he and Eustace
reached her veranda, having escorted the girls home, there was not so
much as one poor little pennant left fluttering over the ramparts of his
heart. From that hour his comrades, when he was wanted, knew in whose
parlour to seek him, and he never failed to let Joscelyn know when there
was a pleasure ride or a tour of inspection planned for the day.
It was for an excursion of this sort that Joscelyn dressed herself with
exceeding care one afternoon and, with an officer at either bridle-rein,
went out to see the army parade for the commander's inspection. The
conversation as they paced along was all of the movements of a suspected
spy from Greene's host beyond the Dan.
"We cannot locate the fellow; but certain it is, the doings of our army
are reported accurately to the insurrectionists. Yesterday a letter was
discovered in a hollow stump on the mountain side, left there, of
course, by preconcerted arrangement to be called for. The stump is being
secretly watched, but as yet no results have been obtained. This is all
well known and talked about, Mistress Joscelyn, and you, being one of
us--" Barry's smile said the rest.
"Is it a townsman who has written these reports, think you?" asked the
girl, going over in her mind the people who might be implicated, with a
quick inward throb for some of her friends.
"I judge not, for there are references to the writer's journey back from
the Dan. Evidently it is a follower of Greene who knows this country
well. He is exceedingly artful, but his capture is necessarily certain,
with all the precautions we have taken."
"And what would be his fate, if caught?"
"A spy is shot--or mayhap his lordship will hang him on the hill yonder,
where they tell me Governor Tryon swung up the traitorous Regulators in
years gone by. 'Twould be but another chapter in the red history of this
your Tyburn Hill."
The young soldier laughed at his own allusion, but Joscelyn shuddered;
for the first time she seemed to fully realize the grim actualities of
war. Her companions chatted on gayly, and finally she forced herself to
join in the conversation; but somehow they could not get away from the
subject of those surreptitious reports and their author.
The wide upland common had been turned into a parade ground, and was
full of soldiers marching and counter-marching. The general and his
staff were already afield and saluted the newcomers as they passed on to
the "Hen and Chickens," about which a party of spectators, chiefly
ladies, were already congregated. Here the officers left Joscelyn with
some friends, and rode away to their different commands. It was some
time before the parade began, and in the interim there was much laughing
and talking around the rough boulders. And here again Joscelyn heard of
the wary scout.
"Who are those men there to the left?" she asked, by way of changing the
conversation, and pointed to five or six men in citizen's dress who
were grouped apart by themselves. Some were mounted; some on foot.
"Oh, those are the Tory recruits who came in this morning. They have not
yet been assigned to their respective commands, and so are viewing the
scene merely as spectators; to-morrow they will be put in the ranks. The
tall one on the right was with Pyle when Lee surprised and routed him. I
understand he says information of Pyle's movements was sent to Lee by
some one within the town here--probably a Continental spy."
There was more to tell; but the parade was beginning and the
conversation ended, much to Joscelyn's relief. It somehow unstrung her
nerves to think of another hanging up on Regulators' Hill. From her
saddle she watched the scarlet companies advance, wheel, pass directly
in front of the general's staff, and finally take position in the long
line which was thus formed across the field. It was a stirring sight,
and her fingers relaxed their hold on the rein as she leaned forward to
watch every movement. Suddenly a band stationed near the group struck up
a lively air. The unexpected blare of the trumpets startled Joscelyn's
horse; an upward toss of his head shook the rein from her inert hand,
and then with the panic of fear upon him he wheeled about and dashed off
at a mad pace. The women in the group behind screamed; for the rein was
swinging about the animal's feet, and the girl in the saddle was
utterly at his mercy. From the first plunge Joscelyn realized the peril
of her position; for a few seconds she clung terror stricken to the horn
of her saddle; then she shook her foot free from the stirrup and eased
her knee from the pommel, for an awful memory had come to her. A hundred
yards ahead, directly in the path of the frantic horse, was a deep
ditch, ragged with rocks; there the race must end in death to the
horse--and mayhap to the rider. Her one chance was to leap from the
saddle. It took but a second for this to flash through her mind; but
even as she turned slightly in her saddle, a voice rang out sternly
above the braying horns and the thundering hoof beats:--
"Do not jump, on your life!"
Her fingers closed over the saddle horn in spasmodic obedience; and then
she saw that the horse was running directly toward the group of men in
civilian dress on the little knoll, and that one of them had sprung
forward and waited with uplifted arm the coming of the runaway. Even
through her terror there came a dim realization of the death he was
courting; but in another instant the collision came. The man was knocked
aside by the flying horse, but his hand had caught the rein, and half
dragged, half running, he kept his place at the animal's head. Then his
other hand, fumbling uncertainly, found the bit, and he was master of
the brute. Almost upon the brink of the yawning ditch the horse ceased
its plunges and stood still, quivering through its whole body. The other
men who had followed now crowded about with exclamations and inquiries.
"Will you dismount?" asked her rescuer.
And then as she stretched out her shaking hands for his assistance, she
saw his face for the first time. He was deathly pale, and his hat, which
some one had picked up, was drawn low over his brow; but the voice and
the eyes were Richard Clevering's. She would have spoken his name but
for a quick glance of warning from under his hat brim. Then a new sense
of terror swept over her; for, by some swift and subtle instinct, it
came to her that Richard was the hunted spy of whom she had that day
heard so much.