AN INTRIGUE.
I must now introduce my reader to the library described in the last
chapter, where, beside a small table covered with papers, and lighted by
two tall candles, sate Philip Lindsay, with a perplexed and thoughtful
brow. Opposite to him, in an easy chair, reclined his guest, Mr. Tyrrel;
a man whose appearance might entitle him to claim something like
thirty-five years; and whose shrewd and intellectual expression of
countenance, to which an air of decision was given by what might be
called an intense eye, denoted a person conversant with the business of
life; whilst an easy and flexible address no less distinctly announced
him one habituated to the most polished society. The time of this
meeting corresponded with that of the interview of Arthur and Mildred,
beneath the Fawn's Tower.
It is necessary only to premise that these two had frequently conferred
together, within the last two or three days, upon the subject with which
they were now engaged.
"Sir Henry Clinton does me too much honor by this confidence," said
Lindsay. "He overrates my influence amongst the gentlemen of the
province. Truly, Mr. Tyrrel, I am well persuaded that neither my precept
nor my example would weigh a feather in the scale against the heady
course of this rebellion."
"We are seldom competent to judge of the weight of our own influence,"
said Tyrrel. "I might scarce expect you to speak otherwise than you do.
But I, who have the opportunity to know, take upon myself to say that
many gentlemen of note in this province, who are at present constrained
by the fear of the new government, look with anxiety to you. They repose
faith in your discretion, and would follow your lead. If an excuse be
necessary, you might afford them some pretext of pastime to visit the
Dove Cote. Here you might concert your plan to co-operate with our
friends in the south."
"Tis a rash thought," replied Lindsay. "This little nook of woodland
quiet has never yet been disturbed with the debates of men who meditated
the spilling of blood. God forbid that these peaceful walls should
hereafter echo back the words that speak of such a purpose."
"It is to spare the shedding of blood, Mr. Lindsay, and to bring speedy
peace to a distracted country that we invoke you and other friends to
counsel. A single battle may decide the question of mastery over the
province. We are well assured that the moment Lord Cornwallis reaches
the Roanoke"--
"Cornwallis has yet to win the ground he stands upon," interrupted
Lindsay: "there may be many a deadly blow struck before he slakes his
thirst in the waters of that river: many a proud head may be low before
that day."
"Think you, sir," said Tyrrel, rising as he spoke, "that this patched
and ragged levy--this ague-stricken army that is now creeping through
the pines of North Carolina, under the command of that pompous
pretender, Gates, are the men to dispute with his majesty's forces their
right to any inch of soil they choose to occupy? It will be a merry day
when we meet them, Mr. Lindsay. We have hitherto delayed our campaign
until the harvest was gathered: that is now done, and we shall speedily
bring this hero of Saratoga to his reckoning. Then, following at the
heels of the runagates, his Lordship, you may be prepared to hear,
within two months from this day, will be within friendly hail of the
Dove Cote."
"You speak like a boastful soldier, Mr. Tyrrel. It is not unlikely that
his lordship may foil Gates and turn him back; such I learn to be the
apprehension of the more sagacious amongst the continental officers
themselves; but whether that mischance is to favor your incursion into
this province may be worth a soberer study than, I doubt, you have given
the question. The path of invasion is ever a difficult road when it
leads against a united people. You mistake both the disposition and the
means of these republicans. They have bold partisans in the field, and
eloquent leaders in their senates. The nature of the strife sorts well
with their quick and earnest tempers; and by this man's-play of war we
breed up soldiers who delight in the game. Rebellion has long since
marched beyond the middle ground, and has no thought of retreat. What
was at first the mere overflow of popular passion has been hardened into
principle, like a fiery stream of lava which first rolls in a flood, and
then turns into stone. The delusion of republicanism, like all
delusions, is embraced with more enthusiasm than men ever embrace truth.
We deem too lightly of these men and their cause, and we have already,
more than once, suffered for the error. When they expelled Dunmore they
committed treason against the British crown; and they are wise enough to
know that that cup, once tasted, must be drained to the bottom: they
have, therefore, imbrued their hands the deeper in rebellion. They have
raised their idol of democracy high, and have fenced it about with the
penalties of confiscation and death to those who refuse to bow before
it: and now they stand pledged to the prosecution of their unnatural
war, by such a bond of fate as unites mariners who have rashly ventured
forth upon a raging sea, in a bark of doubtful strength; their minds
braced up, by the thought of instant perdition, to the daring effort
necessary to reach their haven."
"That haven shall they never reach," cried Tyrrel impatiently. "Let them
invoke the aid of their patron devils! We have a spell shall conjure
them back again to their own hell, else there is no virtue in the forged
steel which these rebels have felt before."
"The battle is not always to the strong," said Lindsay, "nor is the
craft of soldiership without its chances."
"If we had listened, my friend," said Tyrrel, "to musty proverbs,
Charleston would have this day been in the secure and peaceful
possession of the enemy. All that you say against our present scheme was
heretofore urged, though not with such authority, perhaps, against the
invasion of Carolina. And yet how prettily have we gainsaid the
prophets! Look at their principal town surrendered--all the country
strongholds delivered up--the people flocking to our standard for
protection--and the whole province lifting up a voice of gratitude for
the deliverance we have wrought them. They are even now arming
themselves in our behalf, whilst the shattered fragments of the rebel
force are flying to the swamps and their mountain fastnesses. Why should
not the same game be as well played in Virginia? Trust me, Mr. Lindsay,
your caution somewhat over-leaps that wholesome moderation, which I do
not deny is necessary to check a too sanguine reckoning. Come, good sir,
lend us a more auspicious counsel. Sir Henry relies much upon your
wisdom, and will not, with good heart, forego your service."
"Sir Henry has sadly disturbed my repose," returned Lindsay. "To tell
the truth, I have no stomach for this business. Here, I am native to the
province: I have found old friends separated from me; early associations
torn up by the roots; and the elements which fed my strongest personal
attachments poisoned, by this accursed spirit of revolution. I would
hide my head from the storm and die in these shades in peace."
"It is not for Mr. Philip Lindsay, nor such as he," replied Tyrrel, "to
desert his sovereign in his hour of need."
"God forgive me for the thought, Mr. Tyrrel, but it remains yet to be
proved who most faithfully serve their sovereign; they who counsel
peace, or they who push war to its fatal extremes. There lives not a man
within the realm of England, to whom I would yield in devotion to the
glory of our country. Once make it clear to my judgment that we may hope
to regain the lost allegiance of this province by the sacrifice of life
and fortune, and, dearly as I cherish the welfare of those around me, I
will obey the first summons to the field, and peril this worthless
existence of mine in bloody fight. Yea, if need be, I will, with my own
hand, apply the torch to this peaceful abode, and give it over a smoking
ruin to the cause."
"I know you too well," replied Tyrrel, "to doubt the sincerity of your
words. But is it not obvious that the war must inevitably tend to this
field? Having gained the Carolinas, should we turn our backs as soon as
we have reached the confines of Virginia? On the contrary, does not
every obligation of honor impel us to maintain and protect our friends
here? The conquest of Virginia is an easier enterprise than you deem it.
If the continentals can muster ten thousand men, we, assuredly, may
double that number, counting our provincials levied in the south. We
have money and all the means of war, whilst this crippled Congress has
drained from the people their last groat; their wretched troops will
disband from mere want of supplies. They may expect no aid from the
north; for there Sir Henry will furnish them sufficient motive to stay
at home! We come animated by victories, full of mettle and vigor, they
meet us broken by defeats, dejected and torn to pieces by mutiny. Never
did treason or rebellion array itself with more certainty of punishment
than this!"
"I have read," said Lindsay, "how John Hampden resisted the exaction of
twenty shillings of ship money, and for that pittance dared the
displeasure of Charles and his Star Chamber: how he voted the
impeachment of the judges who were supple enough to warrant the
imposition: how, in this cause, he drew the sword and threw away the
scabbard: how he brought Strafford to the block for levying war against
the commons of England: and through all that disastrous time, have I
read that Charles promised the cavaliers splendid victories, and derided
the feeble means of those who were in arms against him; yet Hampden
shrunk not from the struggle. To me it seems there is a strange
resemblance between the congress now sitting at Philadelphia and the
parliament of 1640; and this George Washington might claim kindred with
John Hampden. I will not seek for further likenesses."
"If I read that history right," replied Tyrrel, "Hampden met his reward
at Chalgrove, and Cromwell turned his crop-eared parliament out of
doors. We may, perhaps, find a Chalgrove on this continent;--and Sir
Henry Clinton will most probably save the wiseacres at Philadelphia from
the intrusion of an upstart Cromwell."
"It would be too bold in us to count on that, Mr. Tyrrel. I am the enemy
of these men and their purpose, but I cannot deem otherwise of them than
as misguided subjects of the king, frenzied by the imagination of
grievances. They are men of good intellects and honest hearts, misled by
passion. I would that we could give their tempers time to cool. I would,
even now, preach moderation and compromise to his majesty's ministers."
"The die is long since cast," said Tyrrel, "and all that remains now is
to take the hazard of the throw. At this moment, whilst we debate,
friend and foe are whetting their swords for a deadly encounter on the
fields of Carolina. It is too late to talk of other arbitrement.
Assuredly, my good friend, our destiny directs us to this province: and
the time has come when you must decide what course you will take. It has
been our earnest wish--Sir Henry's letters, there upon the table,
anxiously unfold it--to have you up and active in the cause. Why will
you disappoint so fair a hope?"
"Alas! Mr. Tyrrel,--it is a thorny path you would have me tread. Think
you I am the man to win my way through these intricacies? I that live in
the shelter of these woods by sufferance merely--an unmolested outlaw,
to speak soberly, whom these fanatics of liberty have forborne for the
sake of past acquaintance and present peaceful habits? Am I not girded
round about with the hot champions of independence? Look amongst these
hills--there is not a cabin, not a woodman's hut, no, nor stately
dwelling, whose roof defends one friend to the royal cause, but my own.
My lips are sealed; my very thoughts are guarded, lest I give room to
think I mean to fly from my neutrality. These papers that lie upon that
table might cost me my life: your presence here, were your purpose
known, might consign me to captivity or exile:--one random word spoken
might give me over to the censures of the power that holds its usurped
domination in the province. What aid may be expected from one so
guarded, fettered, watched and powerless?"
"And can you patiently," exclaimed Tyrrel, "bow to this oppression? You,
a native born freeman of the province--a Briton, nursed in the sunny
light of liberty! Shall your freedom of speech be circumscribed, your
footsteps be followed by spies and traitors, your very inmost thoughts
be read and brought up to the censure of the judgment seat? Shall these
things be, and the blood still continue to run coolly and temperately
through your veins! There are ills, Mr. Lindsay, which even your calm
philosophy may not master. But, perhaps, I have mistaken your temper:
these evidences, at least, shall not put you in peril," he said, as he
took up the letters from the table and held them over the candle, and
then threw the flaming mass upon the hearth. "That fear, I hope, is
removed; and as for my presence here, one word briefly spoken, and it
shall not longer jeopard your safety."
Lindsay looked fixedly at his companion as he destroyed the papers, and
then said with a stern emphasis--
"Your duty, sir, is in the field. You have been bred to a profession
that teaches you blind obedience to orders. It is not your part to weigh
the right of the cause, nor to falter in the execution of any foul
purpose of blood, so that it come under the name of honorable warfare.
Therefore I excuse this unbecoming warmth: but do not presume upon the
hazardous nature of your calling, and fancy that it implies more
fidelity to the king than the allegiance of his more peaceful subjects.
It is a thought unworthy of you that fear of disaster to myself--be it
ten-fold more imminent than it has yet been--should arrest my step in
that path where my country's honor, or my sovereign's command, bids me
advance."
"Worthy and excellent friend," said Tyrrel, taking Lindsay's hand, "I
have done you wrong. I am rash and headlong in my temper, and my tongue
often speaks what my heart disavows. I am little better than a boy, Mr.
Lindsay, and a foolish one; I humbly crave your pardon."
"Speak on," said Lindsay.
"Then briefly this. Your situation is all that you have described it.
Sir Henry is aware of the trial he imposes upon you. He would have you
act with the caution which your wisdom dictates; and if it should become
necessary to speak that word which is to bring the wrath of the rebels
upon your head, remember there is sanctuary and defence under the broad
banner of England. Who so welcome there as Philip Lindsay? Even at this
moment our councils should be tempered by your presence, and it becomes
almost a patriotic duty to pluck you from the seclusion of the Dove
Cote, and give you a share in the stirring events of the day. Sir, the
country has a claim upon your services, scarce compatible with the idle
contemplation of this momentous trial of strength."
Lindsay had advanced to the window, where he remained looking over the
moon-lit scene. His companion stood close beside him, and after a short
interval took his arm, when they stepped forth upon the porch, and
sauntered backward and forward, as Tyrrel continued,
"The government would not be unmindful of the benefits you might confer.
There are offices of trust and dignity to be filled in this province
when it shall be restored to its allegiance. The highest post would not
be unfitly bestowed, if it should be assigned to you. Sir Henry Clinton
bids me speak of that, as of a subject that has already occupied his
thoughts. It would give grace and dignity to our resumed authority, to
have it illustrated by the accomplished scholar and discreet statesman,
who has, before this, discharged important and difficult trusts with a
fidelity that has won all men's esteem. And then, my dear sir," he added
after a pause, "who may say that it shall not be Sir Philip Lindsay, or
even something yet higher?--a coronet would not be an honor unsuited
even to the wilds of Virginia. His majesty is not slow to discern worth,
nor backward to raise it to its proper station. These are toys and
baubles to you, Mr. Lindsay, but they are still worth the seeking. You
have a son to follow you."
"Ah! there, Mr. Tyrrel, you touch me more nearly than you imagine. You
remind me by this language that I have also a daughter. As to Henry, he
has a temper and a capacity to make his own way through the world. I
fear not for him--nor would I seek for honors to add to his name. But my
Mildred! You know not what emotions the thought of her, in these
troubles, costs me. Who shall guard and defend her, whilst I pursue this
waylaid road of ambition? What sanctuary would she find under a
war-encircled banner, should misfortune assail me, and adversity
separate us? Alas, alas!--that is the spell that, like a net cast over
my limbs, makes me feeble and submissive."
"I have not been without my solicitude, Mr. Lindsay, on that subject,"
said Tyrrel. "You yesterday did me the honor to say that my proposal in
regard to Miss Lindsay was not distasteful to you. Could my ardent wish
but be accomplished, she should be placed in safety, assured of ample
and kind protection. If, haply, her thoughts should incline to a
favorable reception of my offer, which I would fain persuade myself her
reverence for you may render not altogether improbable, when she knows
that you deem well of my suit, we might remove her to Charleston, where,
secure amidst assiduous friends, she would pass the brief interval of
alarm, and leave you free to act on this theatre as your honor and duty
may impel you."
"Mildred will not leave me," said Lindsay; "my dear daughter would
suffer a thousand deaths in the anxiety of such a separation."
"Then why not accompany her to Charleston?" asked Tyrrel. "Your presence
there would be equally efficient as at head-quarters--perhaps more so."
"There are other obstacles, Mr. Tyrrel. You talk of Mildred as if her
heart were to be disposed of at my bidding. You do not know her. I have
long struggled to subdue an attachment that has bound her to our worst
enemy, I fear with little success. I have trusted to time to wear out
what I deemed a mere girlish liking; but it seems to me the traces fade
but slowly from her heart."
"I know of whom you speak," said Tyrrel--"that harebrained enthusiast
Butler. It is a freakish and transient passion, and cannot but fall into
forgetfulness. Miss Lindsay has from circumstances been but little
conversant with the world, and, like an inexperienced girl, has fostered
in solitude a romantic affection. That alone should be a motive to
remove her into a busier scene. Besides, this Butler will be himself
forced to give over his hopeless aim--if he has not done so before this:
measures are already taken, and I do not scruple to tell you, at my
instance--to confiscate his lands in Carolina to his majesty's use. The
close of this war will find him penniless, and not unlikely, my dear
sir, I myself may be the possessor of his inheritance--I have some
pledge of the preemption of these lands at a small fee."
"It will win you no favor with Mildred," said Lindsay, "to tell her that
you succeed by such a title to this man's wealth. She is a wayward girl,
and is not used to crosses. Her devotion to her purpose, as it sometimes
excites my admiration, gives me, in the present case, cause of profound
alarm."
"You have spoken to her on this subject?"
"I have not," replied Lindsay, "and almost fear to broach it. I can,
therefore, give you no encouragement. Some little time hence--perhaps
to-morrow--I may sound her feelings. But remember, as her father, I
claim no right beyond that of advice. I shall think myself fortunate if,
by giving a new direction to the current of her affections, I can divert
her mind from the thoughts of an alliance to me the most hateful--to her
full of future misery. A maiden's fancies are scarcely intelligible even
to a father."
"These subjects require meditation," said Tyrrel. "I will not press them
further upon your thoughts to-night."
"Heaven guide us in the way of safety and happiness!" said Lindsay,
almost in a whisper. "Good night, my friend."
When Tyrrel was left alone he strolled forward to the terrace, and
passing round to that end which overhung the cliff, near the door that
opened from the library, he leaned his breast upon the parapet and
looked down upon the wild and beautiful scenery of the valley. The
night was calm and full of splendor. The tops of the trees that grew in
the ravine, almost perpendicularly beneath his eye, here and there
caught the bright moon-beam where it glowed like silver, and the shades,
rendered deeper by the contrast, seemed to brood over a black and
impenetrable abyss. Occasional glimpses were seen of the river below, as
it sparkled along such portions of its channel as were not hidden in
darkness. The coolness of the hour and the solitude of the spot were not
ungrateful to the mood of Tyrrel's mind, whilst the monotonous music of
the river fell pleasantly upon his ear. He was not unheedful of these
charms in the scene, though his thoughts were busily employed with a
subject foreign to their contemplation.
"Have I advanced," was the tenor of his present self-communion, "the
purpose I have so much at heart, by this night's conference? Could I but
engage Lindsay in the issues of this war, so commit him in its purposes
and its plots as to render his further residence at the Dove Cote
insecure, then would I already have half-compassed my point. Where could
he remove but to Charleston? And there, amidst the blandishments of
friends and the allurements of gay society, I might make sure of
Mildred. There, cut off from all means of hearing of this Butler, and
swayed, as she must necessarily be, by the current of loyal feelings,
she would learn to detest his foul rebellion, and soon lose her favor
for the rebel. Then, too, the confiscation of his lands--but I am not so
sure of that!--she is rich and would make a merit of sharing her fortune
with a man whose brave resistance of oppression--for so, doubtless,
Butler persuades her it is--has cost him his wealth: the confiscation
should not seem, at least, to be my doing. Well, well, let her be
brought to Charleston. Any change were better than to remain here, where
anxiety and suspense and solitude nurse and soften her woman's
affections, and teach her to fancy her lover whatsoever her imagination
delights to think on. Then may not the chances of war assist me? This
Butler, all men say, is brave and adventurous. He should be short-lived.
Whatever ill may befall him cannot but work good to me. Yet Lindsay has
such a sickly caution--such scruple against involving himself in the
scheme--I could almost find it in my heart to have it told amongst his
neighbors that he is in correspondence with the enemy. Ha, that would be
a bright device!--inform against myself! No, no, I will not abuse his
generous nature. Let him come fairly into the fold, and I will guard
his gentle lambkin like a very shepherd. Then if we make him governor of
the province--that will work well. Mildred will thank me for my zeal in
that good purpose, at least, and I will marry her and possess her
estate, if it be only to enable her to be grateful to me. 'Twill be a
brave reward, and bravely shall it be won."
As Tyrrel ruminated over these topics, in the strain indicated by this
sketch, the noise of footsteps ascending the rugged stairway of the
cliff, and the opening of the iron wicket, but a short distance from
where he leaned over the parapet, roused his attention, and put an end
to this insidious and selfish communion with his own heart.
The cause of this interruption was soon apparent. Henry and Mildred
entered through the gate, and hurried along the path to that part of the
terrace where Tyrrel stood. The shade of the house concealed him from
their view until they were within a few paces. "Ha, Miss Lindsay! You
are a late rambler," he said, in a tone of gallantry. "The dampness of
the valley, at this hour, is not altogether safe; the ague is a sore
enemy to romance; beware of it."
"I am not afraid of the night," replied Mildred, as she increased the
rapidity of her gait; then, turning immediately upon the porch, she
almost ran, leaving Henry and Tyrrel in pursuit, until she reached the
farthest window which was heard descending the moment she passed through
it into the parlor. When Tyrrel and Henry entered the same apartment,
she had disappeared.
"My sister is not well this evening," said Henry. "We strolled too late
upon the river bank."
"It was still an over-hasty retreat," muttered Tyrrel to himself. "It
bodes not well for me. I will wager, Henry," he said, raising his voice,
"that I can guess what you and your sister have been talking about."
"Let me hear," said Henry.
"First," replied Tyrrel, "she repeated some verses from Shakspeare about
the moonlight sleeping on the bank--this is just the night for
poetry--and then you both fell to talking sentiment, and then, I'll be
bound, you had a ghost story, and by that time, you found you had got
too far from the house and were a little frightened, and so came back as
fast as you could."
"You are wrong," said Henry. "I have been telling sister Mildred how to
bob for eels. Did you know that an eel will never pass a streak of
moonlight for fear of being found out by the watchers?"
"Indeed I did not."
"Well, sister Mildred is wiser than you are; and as I have taught you
that, I will go to bed."
Tyrrel was again left to resume his meditations, and to hatch his plots
for invading the peace of the Dove Cote, on his pillow. To that
sleepless pillow he now betook himself.