"We are in a hurry, sir--we are in a hurry," before his better half
would let him appear.
I left Hawthorne and him to settle matters while I with my men proceeded
to other houses. We had given strict orders that no violence whatever
was to be used towards any of the inhabitants, and I fully believe that
the lieutenants and midshipmen under us did their best to repress
anything of the sort. Still it was necessary to keep a watch on all
parties. Of course I was obeying the orders I had received in what I
did, and had no choice; but, at the same time, I must own that I felt
excessive repugnance in thus having to disturb and frighten out of their
senses the inhabitants of a quiet town, who had in no way done anything
to offend us. I resolved, however, to make amends to them by every
means in my power, by treating them with the utmost delicacy and
kindness. We had already seized on a dozen or more of the principal
people, and marched them off to the square in the centre of the town,
where they were kept under a strong guard as hostages for the good
behaviour of the rest, and as a guarantee for our safety while we
remained in the place. Not slight was the alarm and agitation when they
were told that the instant any attempt was made, either by any of their
fellow-townsmen or by any of the enemy's troops outside, to re-take the
place, their lives would be forfeited, while a pistol was kept presented
at the head of each of them to carry this threat into execution.
Having, in my rounds, visited the square, and comforted our prisoners as
much as I could venture to do, I again went on with my domiciliary
visits. At the next house at which I stopped the door was instantly
opened by the black servant.
"Oh, massa officer! oh, massa officer! you frighten de poor young ladies
till all die!" he exclaimed as we entered the hall. "Oh, ki! oh, ki!
dey kick and squeal on de sofa like little pigs going to have dey throat
cut. Oh, ki! oh, ki! what shall we do?"
"Where are the ladies?" I asked. "I will try what I can do to banish
their alarm."
"Dis way, den, sare--dis way," said the negro, ushering me in a great
hurry into a large and handsomely-furnished room, lighted by several
candles. There were several sofas. On two of them lay two ladies,
apparently in hysterics, while several other ladies and female
attendants, black and brown, were bending over them and applying
restoratives.
"There, sir! that is what you and your people have done!" exclaimed an
elderly and rather portly lady, turning round and advancing towards me
while she pointed at the younger females, whom I took to be her
daughters, on the sofa.
Some of my men were following me. When the ladies saw them they
shrieked louder than ever, so I ordered them all to go outside the house
with the exception of Tom Rockets, and then addressed myself to the lady
who had thus spoken to me--
"I regret excessively the cruel necessity thus imposed on me, madam,"
said I, "but accept the honour of an officer and a gentleman that no
harm shall be done to any member of your family. Let me entreat the
young ladies to calm their fears. My people are under perfect command,
as you may have seen by the way they obeyed my orders, so that you need
be under no apprehension either from them."
"I'll trust you, sir; I'll trust you," said the lady, frankly putting
out her hand. "There is something in your countenance and manner which
assures me that you speak the truth."
I could only bow to this pretty compliment--I hope it was deserved.
These words had great effect in calming the agitation of the young
ladies, and in a few minutes they were able to dismiss the negro girls
and the scent bottles and the plates of burnt feathers, and to sit up
and enter into conversation. The room was still too dark to enable me
to see much of their countenances, but I thought their voices sounded
very pleasant and sweet, and I pictured them to myself as very charming
young ladies.
"The hour is somewhat unusual for tea," observed the lady of the house,
"but I doubt not after your long march you will find it refreshing."
I thanked the lady very much, and assured her that I should particularly
enjoy a cup of tea. She accordingly gave the order to an attendant
slave, and in a short time a whole troop of black girls came in with urn
and teacups and candles, and in a twinkling a table was spread, and all
the party drew round it.
As I was approaching the tea-table, I started and stood like one
transfixed, for there appeared before me, with the light of a candle
falling full on her countenance, a young lady the very image of Madeline
Carlyon. "It must be her," I thought; and yet my heart told me that it
could not be, for she did not appear to recognise me. The young lady,
however, saw my confusion, and looked up with an inquiring glance at my
countenance. Women have, I suspect, very sharp eyes in discovering
where anything connected with the heart of the opposite sex is
concerned, and are generally equally clever in concealing what is
passing in their own. She kept looking at me, and I looked at her for a
minute or more without speaking. More than once I made a move towards
her as if the lady I saw before me must be Madeline, and then the
expression of her countenance showed me I was mistaken.
At last I was aware that I was making myself somewhat remarkable or, as
some of my friends would have said, very ridiculous; so, trying to
overcome my agitation, I drew my chair to the table and sat down. I
watched the young lady, and observed that she still cast an inquiring
glance at me, as much as to say, "For whom do you take me?" On the
strength of this I thought I would venture to inquire if she was in any
way related to Madeline. Just as I was going to speak, a cup of tea was
handed to me. I first emptied half the contents of the sugar-bason into
it, then said I took very little sugar, and asked for a spoonful. Then
I threw off the tea as if it were a doctor's dose, and passed my cup for
some more. At last I mustered courage to look across the table and to
say, "I beg pardon--I fear that I must have appeared very rude, but your
resemblance to a young lady whom I know is so very striking that I
should suppose you to be her sister if I was not aware that she has
none."
"Then you must be Mr Hurry!" she said quickly. "I am considered very
like my cousin, Madeline Carlyon. She has spoken to me about you--of
your kindness and generosity--oh, how very fortunate!"
The countenances of all the party were turned towards me, and they
looked at me with an expression of interest and pleasure. The elder
lady got up and, taking my hand, exclaimed--
"We welcome you indeed most cordially, Mr Hurry. Our kinswomen have
spoken most warmly of you, and we consider ourselves most happy in
having met you, though you come in the guise of an enemy."
I had not said all this time who I was, it must be understood. It made
my heart bump away very hard when I found the manner in which Madeline
had spoken of me to her relatives. I made as suitable a reply as I
could to all the complimentary things which were said to me; and then,
as soon as I could, I inquired in a trembling voice where Madeline
Carlyon then was, and how she was. I felt very sure that my secret was
out, and that there was no use in disguising my sentiments.
"She is now residing with her father not very far away from here. They
were, however, to stay with some friends in the neighbourhood, and we
are not quite certain where they may be at this present moment,"
answered the elder lady. "We will, depend on it, take care to let her
know that we have seen you, and she will rejoice to hear of the
courteous way in which you treated us, even when you were unaware who we
were."
I expressed my thanks, and then remarked that even then I did not know
their names.
"Langton is my name," said the lady. "These are my daughters, and that
young lady is my niece, and the other is her sister. They are Carlyons.
Grace is indeed very like her cousin, and some curious mistakes have
occurred in consequence."
I need not repeat more of our conversation. In a few minutes I felt
perfectly at home, and I must own had almost forgotten the errand on
which I had come to the place. Tea was over, and I was about to ask for
paper and a pen to write to Madeline when the sound of a bugle recalled
me to the stern reality of my duties. I started up. I longed to send a
message to Madeline--yet what could I say? I felt that all reserve must
be thrown to the winds. I took Mrs Langton's hand: "Tell her--tell her
that I am true," I exclaimed. "Oh, that this dreadful war were brought
to an end!"
Again the bugle sounded; Tom Rockets put his head in at the door. He
had been carried off to be tended on by the slaves below.
"We must be off, sir," said he; "the red-coats are forming outside, and
from what I can make out there is likely to be a scrimmage."
I shook the ladies warmly by the hand. In vain I endeavoured to get
them to tell me where they believed Madeline Carlyon then was. One
spoke, then another; mentioning the names of different places, which of
course I did not know, nor could I conceive by their descriptions in
what direction they were to be found. Several shots were heard; again
the bugle sounded. I dared not remain another moment. I tore myself
away, still ignorant of a point I would have given much to ascertain,
and rushed out. My own men had formed outside the house; the other
different parties who had been carrying on the examination of the town
were hurrying into the square from all quarters. Some of them brought
us the information that our advanced guard was attacked.
"Then the hostages must answer for it," said Captain Hawthorne.
The no-little-alarmed old gentlemen we had in our power entreated that
they might be allowed to try and stop the attack. We, of course, were
glad enough of this, and we let them go to the front in charge of a
strong body of our men. In a short time they returned, well contented
to find that the attack had been made merely by a hundred volunteers or
so, who on finding our strength had retreated. We knew, however, that
they would not go far-off, and felt the unpleasant assurance that we
should, in all probability, be continually harassed during the whole of
our march back, and perhaps even have to fight our way through a crowd
of active enemies.
Under these circumstances Hawthorne and I agreed that we should, without
a moment's delay, commence our march. It was now about two o'clock in
the morning. We had performed the service we had come on, and gained
all the information we required. We had ascertained that the
surrounding country would supply us amply with provisions; that the
vessels which had taken refuge in the creek could not be cut out without
a strong force, and that the people were, if not actually in arms
against us, far from favourable to the royal cause, as Arnold had led us
to suppose they would be. We had also distributed large numbers of his
address. Discharging some of the more elderly of our prisoners, we
began our march, carrying with us the younger men and those whom we had
picked up on the way. We soon found that our retreat was to be anything
but pleasant. Scarcely had we got clear of the town when the crack of
rifles showed us that an enemy was in our rear. Our road led us through
numerous woods more or less dense. We had got to about the centre of
the first, when on either flank bright jets of flame were seen darting
out like the flashes of fire-flies from among the trees. I could almost
have fancied that they were fire-flies had not the flashes been
accompanied by sharp reports, and had we not felt the bullets whizzing
about our ears. By proceeding, however, in the careful way in which we
made our advance, we kept the enemy at bay, and they saw that we were
not a force to be trifled with. It would have been useless barbarity to
have punished our prisoners for what they could not help, but we told
them that we should hold them responsible if any serious attack was made
on us. Still it was somewhat provoking to have our men hit without
being able to go in pursuit of our nimble adversaries, for, of course,
they were off and away the instant we made a movement towards them.
Thus we proceeded as rapidly as the nature of the ground would allow.
Whenever we reached the habitation of one of our prisoners, we thanked
him for the assistance he had afforded us, and allowed him to remain, on
his undertaking not only not to act against us that day, but to do his
best to prevent his countrymen from attacking us. This was very
judicious; for although, I believe, fresh skirmishers came on, the old
ones gradually withdrew, and thus we never had, at a time, any very
large force with which to contend. Several of our men had been wounded,
but none had been killed that we were aware of. However, when, at seven
o'clock in the morning, we reached the place of debarkation, we found
that, exclusive of the wounded, one seaman and six soldiers were
missing. What had become of them we could not tell, but as they were
not seen to fall, it is more than probable that they deserted to the
enemy. When I returned on board the Charon, Captain Symonds was pleased
to say that the general was highly satisfied with the way the expedition
had been conducted. Whatever may be thought of General Arnold, I may
here remark that he was a first-rate soldier and a clever man, as was
proved by all the expeditions he planned and the exploits he performed.
Thus ended the year 1780. Who could then tell the important events the
following one was to bring forth?