THE UNFORGOTTEN HERO.
More than one day's work was required to ascertain the full value of
the _Windsor_ as a bearer of supplies to the forts and ships of the
United States, instead of to those of Great Britain.
"All the things the _Noank_ was short of," Captain Avery said, "are
goin' into her now. There isn't any secret to be kept concernin' her
sailin' orders, either. She's bound for the West Indies to see what
she can do."
Perhaps it was at his own table that his plans and the reasons for them
were most thoroughly discussed, but all his crew and their many
advisers were satisfied, and a number of prime seamen who were not to
go on this trip roundly declared their great envy of those who could.
"Tobacco," they said, "sugar, if it's a home-bound trader. If it's one
from England, then Lyme'll get loads o' 'sorted stuff, such as they
ship for the West Injy trade."
There were other vessels preparing and some were already at sea. The
year, therefore, promised to be a busy one for New London. So it did
in a number of other American ports, and it behooved Great Britain to
increase, if she could, the number and efficiency of her cruisers.
One continual black shadow rested over the port and town, and that was
the great probability of a British attack, at no distant day.
"They've their hands pretty full, just now," people said. "The winter
isn't their best time, either, but some day or other we shall see a
fleet out yonder, and redcoats and Hessians and Tories boating ashore."
It was an entirely reasonable prediction, but its fulfilment was to be
almost unaccountably postponed. When its hour arrived, at last, nearly
two years later, New London was in ashes and Fort Griswold was a
slaughter-pen.
"Mother," said Guert, on his return to the house from one of his visits
to the _Noank_. "I wish you could go with us to the West Indies, the
Antilles. Think of it! Summer all the while!"
"But no oranges, or lemons, or pineapples just now," she said
laughingly. "I mean to go, some day. Perhaps you will take me in your
own ship."
"Any ship of mine will be your ship," he said. "I wish I had some
money to leave with you, now. It's awful to think of your being poor."
"Our New York farm will be of no use to us," she said, "until the
king's troops leave the island. I shall be very comfortable here,
though, except that I shall all the while be waiting for you to come
home again."
Very brave was she, under her somewhat difficult circumstances. All
the New London people were kind, especially the Averys, but she
expected to be poor in purse for some time to come. As to that,
however, she had a surprise in store. That very evening, after dark,
Up-na-tan lingered in the kitchen.
"Chief see ole woman," he said. "See nobody but Guert mother."
No sooner were they alone than he pulled from under his captured
military cloak a small purse, and handed it to her.
"No Kidd money," he said. "Lobster money. Pay ole woman for King
George take farm."
She hesitated a moment, and then she exclaimed:--
"God sent it, I do believe! I'll take it. You won't need it at sea."
"Up-na-tan no want money," he replied contemptuously. "Ole chief go
fight. Come back. Go to ole woman house. Own house. Money belong to
ole woman."
"Thank you!" she said.
"No," grumbled the Indian; "no thank at all. Up-na-tan good!"
So the conference ended, for he stalked out of the house, and she
examined the purse.
"Nearly twenty pounds, of all sorts," she said. "Now I needn't borrow
of Rachel for ever so long. I want to let Guert know. He will feel
better."
The Indian had but obeyed the simple rules of his training. Any kind
of game, however captured, was for the squaw of his wigwam to
administer. Her business would be to provide for the hunter as best
she could. In former days he had always been free of the Ten Eyck
house and farm. It was his. The game he had recently taken was in the
form of gold and silver, but there could be no question as to what he
was bound to do with it.
Neither he or his Ashantee comrade were inclined to spend much time on
shore. Hardly anything could induce them to come away from the keen
pleasure they were having in the handling and stowage of much powder
and shot. The varied weapons which they examined and put in order were
as so many jewels, to be fondly admired and even patted.
If Mrs. Ten Eyck had anything else to depress her spirits she tried not
to let Guert know it. All her table talk, when he was there, was
brimming with warlike patriotism. Nevertheless, he was her only son
and she was a widow. She could not but wish, at times, that he were a
soldier instead of a sailor, to belong to the quiet garrison of Fort
Griswold, for instance, and to come over to the Avery house now and
then.
He was sent for, somewhat peremptorily, one day, not by her but by
Rachel Tarns, and when he arrived she herself opened the door for him.
"I am glad thee came so early," she said to him. "I have somewhat to
say to thee. Come in, hither."
Very dignified was she, at any time, and he was accustomed to obey her
without asking needless questions. He followed her, therefore, as she
led on into the parlor, opposite the dining room, the main thought in
his mind being:--
"I wish she'd hurry up with it. I want to get back to the _Noank_, as
soon as I've seen mother."
"What is it?" he began, after the door of the parlor closed behind
them, but she cut him short.
"I will not quite tell thee," she said. "Some things thee does not
need to know. Thy old friend, Maud Wolcott, will be here presently.
One cometh with her to whom I forbid thee to speak. After they arrive,
thou art to do as I shall then direct thee."
"All right," said Guert. "I don't care who it is. I'll be glad to see
Maud, though. She's about the best girl I know. Pretty, too."
Hardly were the words out of his mouth before there came a jingle of
sleighbells in the road, and it ceased before the house.
"Remain thee here," said Rachel, as she arose and hurried out.
Guert obeyed, but he went to a window and he saw a trim-looking,
two-seated sleigh. A man he did not know was hitching the horse to the
post near the gate. The sleigh had brought a full load of passengers,
all women.
"That's Maud Wolcott," exclaimed Guert. "The girl that's with her is
taller than she is, and she's all muffled up. I can't see her face.
How Maud did jump out o' that cutter! The two others are old women.
Rachel knows 'em."
The first girl out of the sleigh was in the house quickly. She came
like a flash into the parlor and, as her hood flew back, a mass of
brown curls went tumbling down over her shoulders.
"Guert!" she said, breathlessly. "I'm so glad you're here! We were
told you were going."
"We're going!" said Guert. "We're bound for the West Indies. We've
taken one British ship, already. I'm a privateer, Maud! Oh! but ain't
I glad to see you again. It's like old times!"
"You're growing," she said. "I wish I could go to sea, or fight the
British. We haven't any chance to talk, now."
He might be very glad, but, after all, he seemed a little afraid, and a
kind of bashfulness grew upon him as he shook hands with her. She must
have been a year younger than he was,--but then, she was so very
pretty, and he was only a boy.
Half a dozen questions and answers went back and forth between them, as
between old acquaintances, near neighbors. Then the parlor door opened
to let in Rachel Tarns and the "all muffled up" girl who had been in
the sleigh with Maud. She did not speak to anybody, but went and sat
down, silently, at the other window of the parlor.
"Guert," said Rachel, "sit thee down here, by me and Maud. Thee will
talk only of what I bid thee, and thee will ask no foolish questions."
"All right," said Guert. "What is it you want me to say? Maud hasn't
told me, yet, half o' what I want to know."
"If thee were older," she said, "thee would have more good sense. I
have a reason that I will not tell thee. I wish thee to give me a full
account of all thy dealings with that brave man, Nathan Hale. Thee saw
him die, and there is no other that knoweth many things that are well
known to thee."
"I hate to tell everything," he said.
"Thee must!" exclaimed Rachel. "Thee will not leave out a word that he
spake or a deed that he did."
Something flashed brightly into the quick mind of Guert just then. He
could not exactly shape it, but it came when he caught the sound of a
low sob from under the veil of the girl at the other window. "I'll
begin where I first saw him," he said.
He did not at all know after that how his boyish enthusiasm helped him
to draw his word pictures of Captain Hale's daring scout work, of boat
and land adventures by night and day, in company with him and Up-na-tan
and Coco. He told it more rapidly and vividly as a kind of excitement
spurred him. He did not know that beyond the half-open door of the
next room his mother and several other persons were listening. Two of
them had come in the cutter with Maud, and yet another sleigh had
brought visitors to the Avery house. There were to be very loving and
tenacious memories to treasure all that he was telling.
Guert came at last, sorrowfully, more slowly, to the tragic end of all
in the old orchard near the East River. He told of the troops, and the
crowd, and the tree, and he repeated the last words of the hero who
perished there.
"That I can give but one life for Liberty!" he said, and there his own
voice choked him, while a whisper from beyond the door said softly:
"Glory! Glory! Glory!"
Throughout Guert's narrative, there had been something almost painful
in the forward-leaning eagerness of the veiled girl at the window. She
was standing now, and a sigh that was more a sob broke from her as she
held out to him a hand with something that she was grasping tightly.
Rachel stepped forward and took it, opening it as she did so. Only a
small, leather case it was, containing a miniature.
"My boy," said Rachel, "is that like thy friend? Look well at it.
Tell me."
"It's a real good picture," said Guert, wiping his eyes as he looked
more closely. "It's like him, but there isn't the light and the smile
that was on his face when he stood with the rope around his neck under
that old apple tree."
"That is enough," said Rachel, turning away with the miniature. "I
think not many eyes will ever see this thing again."
"Not any," came faintly from under the veil. "I mean to have it buried
with me. Nobody else has any right to it. I must go now."
The girl at the window had risen as she spoke. She came forward and
took Guert's hand for a moment. Then, in a voice that was tremulous
with feeling, she said:--
"Let me thank you for all you have said. Thank you for your friendship
for him. God bless you!"
In spite of its sadness, her voice had in it a half-triumphant tone.
Rachel gave her back the miniature, and she turned to go. No one spoke
to her. Guert could not have said a word if he had tried, but Maud
sprang to her side.
"Good-by, Guert," she said. "I'll see you again, some day. I'm going
with her, now."
"Good-by, Maud," said Guert. "I did so want a talk with you, but I
s'pose I can't this time. We are to sail right away. The _Noank's_
all ready."
Both of the sleighs at the gate were quickly crowded. They were driven
away, and hardly had the jingling of their bells died out up the road,
before Rachel Tarns came and put an arm around Guert. She, too, was
wiping her eyes.
"Thee was a brave, good boy," she said, "and I love thee very much.
Thee is too young, now, and thy picture hath never been painted. Some
day thee may need one to give away, as Nathan did. If it shall please
God to let thee die for thy country, somebody may will to keep it in
memory of thee."
"Mother would," said Guert. "I'll get one, as soon as I can. But
Nathan Hale'll be remembered well enough without any picture. All the
men in America 'll remember him. He was a hero!"
The voice of Vine Avery was at the front door, shouting loudly for
Guert, and out he darted, not even stopping to inquire who of all the
friends or family of his hero had been listening in the dining room.
"What is it?" he eagerly asked, as he joined Vine at the doorstep.
"Powder and shot all stowed," said Vine. "Everything's ready now. As
soon as the rest of the _Windsor's_ cargo's out, they're going to tow
her up the river, out o' harm's way. Father says we're to be all on
board, now. Come on!"
"Oh, Guert!" said his mother, for she had followed him, and her arms
were around his neck. "I can't say a word to keep you back! Be as
brave as Nathan Hale was! God keep you from all harm! Do your duty!
Good-by!"
It was an awful struggle for poor Guert, but he would not let himself
cry before Vine Avery and the sailors who were with him. All he could
do, therefore, was to hug his mother and kiss her. His last good-by
went into her ear and down into her heart in a low, hoarse whisper.
Away marched the last squad of the crew of the _Noank_, and Mrs. Avery
stood at the gate and watched them until they were hidden from her eyes
beyond the turn of the road.