A few days after Doctor Jim's going, came the news that Washington had
entered Boston, the troops of the king having given up the defence and
sailed away to Halifax. Soon afterward there was bustle in Second
Westings, and camp talk, and military swagger; for a portion of the
army was moving down to New York, and many men had leave to visit their
homes in passing; and some, who had enlisted for a short service, had
come home to get in the crops before reënlisting; and some, grudging
souls, had come home to stay, saying that it was now the time for
others to sweat and bleed for their country.
Amid all this excitement, which had some effect even upon Mistress
Mehitable, antagonistic though she was to it, the palely brilliant
Connecticut spring rushed over the land with promise. Never before, it
seemed, did the vanguards of the song-sparrows and thrushes so crowd
the blowing thickets with melody; never before the bright hordes of the
dandelions so suddenly and so goldenly over-flood the meadows. But to
Barbara the iridescent glory was somehow more sad than gloom. The fact
that her cause was everywhere prospering, that success had fallen to
the Continental arms beyond anything that she had dared to hope,
brought her no elation. She felt the sorrow that had come into Doctor
John's life in spite of the big, whimsical gaiety with which he kept it
covered up. She felt the fierce tugging at Mistress Mehitable's
heart-strings, though that thoroughbred little lady never revealed,
save by the dark eye-shadows of sleepless nights, the pangs it cost her
to be deprived in a day of the lover whom she had been half a lifetime
in finding out. Barbara felt, too, the absence of Doctor Jim, who
seemed to her so big and boyish and reckless and unfit to take care of
himself that he could not fail to get into trouble if not kept at home
and mothered by small women like herself and Aunt Hitty. And most of
all she felt the crushing uncertainty as to Robert.
When summer was approaching high tide, Second Westings grew quiet
again, the soldiers being all called back to their colours to make
ready the defences of New York. Then, by hard-riding express
messengers, the tidings flew over the country that Congress at
Philadelphia, on the fourth day of July, had declared independence, and
set up a republic to be known as the "United States of America."
Second Westings went wild with enthusiasm, and that night there was a
terrific consumption of old tar barrels and dry brush. And there was a
select little dinner at Squire Gillig's, to which Barbara and Doctor
John felt in duty bound to go,--and from which Mistress Mehitable, with
an equal devotion to duty, stayed away. She had taken the news
gracefully enough, however, merely suggesting to Barbara and Doctor
John that possibly all the rejoicing might turn out to be a little
premature.
Thereafter it seemed to Barbara that events moved furiously, one piece
of vital news following close upon the heels of its predecessor. Early
in August came word that a great English army for the capture of New
York was landing at Staten Island. Then, the first tidings of
Robert,--reaching Barbara in a letter from her uncle, whose regiment
was holding Brooklyn. Glenowen wrote that from certain neutrals,
country-folk of Long Island, who had no party but their cabbage-patch,
he had learned of both Robert Gault and Doctor Jim. Doctor Jim, as
representing one of the oldest and most distinguished families of
Connecticut, and himself widely known, had been attached to the staff
of the English general, Sir William Howe, while Robert Gault, with the
rank of captain, was in command of a troop of irregular Loyalist Horse.
With the unspeakable relief that these tidings brought her, Barbara
regained for a few days her old vivacity, imperiousness, and daring.
She tore about the country wildly as of old, on horseback,--no longer,
as a rule, on Black Prince, who had grown too sedate to fully fall in
with her caprices, but on a fiery young sorrel which she had bought for
herself, choosing it partly for its own qualities, and partly for its
resemblance to Robert's old Narragansett pacer. She resumed her
canoeing on the lake. She sang again her old plantation songs, to
Doctor John's accompaniment and Mistress Mehitable's diversion. She
put a new and gayer ribbon on the neck of the furry "Mr. Grim." She
even remembered that the bergamot was in flower, and set herself with
interest to the distilling of her half-forgotten "Water of Maryland
Memories," laughing indulgently the while at the girlishly sentimental
name of it. Meantime she was conscious of a curiously divided interest
in the war,--conscious that her interest was divided in a fashion that
would, a year ago, have seemed to her wicked and impossible. Just as
passionately as ever was her heart set upon the triumph of her cause.
But she felt an irrational desire that Robert and Doctor Jim should win
each a splendid victory on his own account. She was full of pity that
they should be on what she held the surely losing side, and she wanted
some measure of glory to be theirs.
But the next news that came dashed her spirits. It told of the battle
of Long Island, and the defeat of the Continentals by the ordered
British lines. It told of the panic flight of patriot regiments. It
told of General Washington's retreat from Long Island and entrenching
of the army at New York. A few days later came a letter to Barbara
from Glenowen,--whose regiment had stood firm and suffered heavily,--in
which he said that he did not think it would be possible to hold New
York with the troops at Washington's command, and that there would
doubtless soon be a further retreat to some position beyond the Harlem.
The letter made no mention of Doctor Jim,--which caused Barbara to
remind Mistress Mehitable that no news was good news,--but it spoke
with somewhat bitter praise of Robert Gault. It said that Robert's
little squadron of mad Tories had gone through the Continental ranks
like flame, irresistible and deadly, and had done more than anything
else to cause the breaking of Putnam's lines. Robert had had his horse
shot under him, and his hat shot off, but had himself, as report said,
escaped without a scratch, though with a much diminished troop. As she
was reading this out to Mistress Mehitable, all at once and to her deep
mortification her scrupulously matter-of-fact voice thrilled and broke.
Mistress Mehitable shot her a glance of swift understanding and
sympathy, and then pretended that she had noticed nothing unusual.
Barbara coughed, and went on. But her voice had become unmanageable.
With an impatient gesture and a toss of her head she handed over the
letter.
"You'll have to read it yourself, honey! It upsets me to hear of our
poor fellows beaten like this!" she cried, hypocritically.
"Of course, dear, I quite understand!" replied Mistress Mehitable,
keeping her eyes strictly upon the letter, that she might the more
easily seem deceived.
A few days later, Glenowen's prediction was fulfilled, and the news
that came to Second Westings was of Washington's hasty retreat from New
York to the Harlem Heights, leaving his artillery and heavy baggage
behind. Then for a month there was expectancy, and to Barbara in her
quiet green land it seemed marvellous that the two armies could lie
facing each other in this way, day after day, and not be stirred to
decisive action. She wondered how their nerves could bear the strain
of such waiting.
The bright September dragged by in drowsy fashion, and October ran on
in its blue and golden-brown; and then the word that came was of yet
another retreat. The British had enlarged their narrow borders, and
Washington had drawn back to the line of the Bronx, where he fortified
himself strongly so as to hold the roads leading inland. Would he
never stop retreating, questioned Barbara, anxiously, echoing the cry
that went up all over the infant Union. "I think not, dear!" responded
Mistress Mehitable, cheerfully. But Doctor John, who understood the
conditions, declared that this Fabian policy was the only sound one,
while the Continental troops were getting seasoned and learning the
arts of war. Even while this teaching was being digested, came word of
the fierce battle of White Plains, where the two armies, in numbers
closely matched, long held each other by the throat without decisive
advantage. When, two days later, the Continentals again withdrew, this
time to hasty entrenchments at New Castle, Doctor John had hard work to
convince Barbara that this long-drawn-out and bloody struggle was not
an American defeat. For days thereafter word kept coming in, telling
of the losses on both sides, and supplying vivid details; and the
blinds of mourning were drawn down in more than one modest Second
Westings home. A brief message came from Glenowen, saying that he was
safe and well. But of Doctor Jim no word; of Robert not a word. And
Barbara and Mistress Mehitable durst not meet each other's eyes lest
either should read therein, and cry aloud, the fear in the other's
heart.