THE BREAKING OF THE STORM
Peace was at an end. The smell of war was in the air. May had dawned,
hot, sweet, and full of the jangle of many tongues. Strange, wild things
were happening, and so swiftly that hardly could men sleep, so fierce
were they for news.
Lord Dunmore, Virginia's governor, was looked upon as an enemy, false
and dangerous. Besides trying to take from the people all their
gunpowder, it was found that he had tried to stir up the Indians to make
one of their cruel attacks upon the people. Soon after this he left
Williamsburg not to return.
News travelled but slowly in those days, and so the May sun had been
shining some weeks when a man on horseback brought the tidings that at
about the same time that the gunpowder had been seized, there had
actually been fighting near Boston.
"Think of it!" exclaimed Parson Kendall, at the table at noon; "the
messenger who rode into town this morning saith that seven of our
minutemen were killed, and four others wounded, at Lexington, not far
from Boston. And at Concord also, close by, there soon followed more
fighting.
"Thinketh any one that we will lay down our arms after that? Not so! not
so!" cried the parson. "The British rushed forward and destroyed our
stores, making sad havoc for a time, but at what a cost! They very soon
were to know with what manner of rebels they had to deal.
"The whole body of Continental soldiers sprang to their guns, the news
spread from mouth to mouth, and from town to town. Out poured the people
from farm, hamlet, and shop. Boys who had ever handled a gun rushed to
the scene, and from behind trees, rocks, and buildings came a steady
fire into the British ranks, and had not help come to them from Boston,
none of those British soldiers would have escaped alive. Three hundred
of them were beaten down as it was.
"Glory to God! Such men as ours cannot be beaten. But the town is on
fire. Young Reginald Bromfeld, who hath of kith and kin in Boston, is
about to start with a company of youths for Boston, and declareth that
he can scarcely wait to perform the journey, so anxious is he to
shoulder a musket, aye, and use it too. I can but wish the lad Godspeed!
"Sir Percival Grandison, whom I cannot but hold as a good man, hath
forbidden his son--most unwisely, I fear--to take part with the
colonists either here or elsewhere. And Sir Percival is a man of iron
will. Beshrew me! but I have it in my heart to believe that he would
keep the lad from Boston by force, could he do it in no other way.
"And it hath also been told that the proud maid, Rosamond Earlscourt,
hath said all in her power to make him feel that he is acting both
unjustly and unkindly in taking a different side from that of parents
and sweetheart--for such she seemeth to hold herself to be. No Southern
gentleman would like such words.
"And report hath it that Sir Percival meaneth to go to England for a
time, as soon as business matters can be settled here and permit. Ah,
but he must act swiftly!"
Sally had listened with ears that tingled.
But all this time there was in her heart a puzzling question, and it had
to do with the soldier's card. By the light of a candle, the night she
received it, she had seen a name that made her start. For she saw at
once that it was the same that she had seen on the cape and in the
letter in Mistress Brace's little trunk.
"What could it mean?" Sally dreaded to know, because the name was
plainly a French one. She had no love or liking for British soldiers,
still less for a French soldier who would take up arms against her own
dear land.
"For it _shall be_ my own dear land," she said, the determined cleft
settling in her chin.
But small time there was to spend over mysteries or hidden things. War
had begun, and her Prince at Ingleside must fight his nearest friends if
to battle he would go.
"I would that I could help thee, Fairy Prince!" she cried in her heart.
Did some kind Spirit hear her prayer?
Three days later, toward the close of afternoon Sally went toward the
woodsy place and the pine-trees she had long loved.
She went to the other side of the great oak and sat down on the moss,
her back against the tree. She could not easily be seen from the narrow
path as she thus sat cosily curled.
"They say"--she caught her breath--"that on the morrow morn, there goeth
forth with Reginald Bromfeld, my Fairy Prince, Leon Sutcliff, Edward
Byrd, Hugh Spottswood, and others to join the forces at Boston, so sure
are all the people that great strife is at hand in that quarter. And
very swiftly are they to press forward, hoping to be in time for it.
"I must get a look at my Fairy Prince in the morning. He will not hear
me bid him 'Godspeed,' but Godspeed I shall bid him with all my heart."
She stood up, intending to walk on, but at a little turn in the thicket
road farther on, she saw three horsemen slowly advancing. They wore
light riding-coats, which had concealed the scarlet coats of the king's
men, but these outer garments were now thrown open, showing clearly the
colors beneath them. Sally at once sat down again, huddling herself
close at the back of the oak, hoping not to be seen as they rode by in
single file.
On coming near, the first man turned in his saddle to answer a remark of
one of his fellows.
"I will hold," he exclaimed, softly, "that I liked it not his keeping so
still. It would have served me better had he kicked or shown temper as I
expected."
"What good would that have done?" asked the other, stopping his horse a
moment, that seemed well spent.
"No good," answered the first man; "but it was a dirty piece of work at
best. I would that Sir Percival could have found another way of keeping
back his young son. Strange it were to spirit away the lad in that
style. He really thought he was showing us the way, not seeing the
colors we wore until too late."
"My Fairy Prince!" gasped Maid Sally, "my Fairy Prince!"
"Make no more talk," said the third man, stoutly. "No harm hath been
done, no harm whatever! And well paid are we to be. The lad will simply
be detained until too late to join his comrades, a matter of two days or
so."
"I half fear me the sharp wits of the lad will find him a way of
escape," said the first speaker, "and he is but six hours' ride from
Pamunkey turnpike, where the others will ride at noon to-morrow."
"Aha!" said the third man, "but Farmer Hinds will watch him well. His
reward will sharpen his eyes, no doubt."
"He would be all right could he but get a horse," said the first man.
"And no horse will he get within miles of Darius Hinds's old farm place
for days to come," said the second man. "Plenty of oxen, but never a
horse or a mule. But come on! Tired out I am. Our work is done. And no
one knoweth aught, except that the pert young plotter Bromfeld was told
that, at the last moment, Sir Percival Grandison's upstart warrior had
changed his mind and started on a little journey."