THE RED COCKADE
The stirring notes of the bugle made us spring up in the morning, to
find, when we were again downstairs, that every one was talking of the
disappearance of Charles Gordon of the Braes.
Master Richard marvelled much at the disappearance of the Tory, and,
though I knew it was of the Tory maid he was thinking, I said not a
word, but went on with my duties; and manifold they were for many days
to come. The drilling of the raw recruits, who, though they were full
of fire and _élan_, were not used to the strict obedience of orders,
was at first very difficult. But soon there came the spirit and the
pride that were to make them the best drilled troops, the dandies and
macaronies of the army. And so, with the drilling of recruits and
assisting Captain Ramsay in the formation of the regiment, a week
passed by before a day came when Dick and I found a few spare hours on
our hands. And having certain plans and purposes in view, and not
wishing them to be known to Dick, I sat and watched for an opportunity
to slip away.
Master Richard, it was evident, had also some plans on foot, for after
moving from the chair to the top of a box and then back again, he
stretched his arms above his head, and, yawning, said: "I believe I
will take a little canter down the south road; come along?"
"No," I replied; "I am going to ride a short distance down the east
road."
"All right," said he, and springing from his chair, he went to order
his horse. I soon followed, and, having seen Dick well on his way,
rode for a short distance on the east road, then turned, rode back,
and entered the road which runs along the bank of the Elk, by which we
had entered the town on our journey from Kent. As I rode, I hummed a
jovial hunting-song and touched Toby with the spur, for I was quite
jubilant at having got rid of Dick and so well on the road to my
adventure.
My time was short and it was good twelve miles to the Braes, but
Toby's sire was a son of old Ranter, and I knew he could do it in an
hour and a half. So Toby felt the spur, and I barely noticed the miles
as we flew along, until we came to the road that leads south to the
Braes. Down this road we turned, and as we were so near the end of our
journey I began to think of the reasons and excuses I should give for
my visit. Reason! Pshaw! What better reason does a Marylander want
than a pair of blue eyes? And if Mistress Jean should so much as
demand it by the merest glance of those eyes, I would tell her so.
Aye, but she is a Tory and wears the red cockade. True, but the fairer
the enemy the more difficult the prize, the greater the glory and
effort to win.
And so, having justified my invasion of the stronghold of the Tory, I
pricked Toby with the spur and rode on more rapidly, when, on turning
a bend in the road where it is intersected by one from the east, whom
should I come face to face with but Master Richard? For a moment he
stared at me with open mouth, and I at him; then his brow grew dark.
"I thought," he cried; but suddenly the humour of our meeting came
over him. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he broke out into a
hearty burst of laughter, and I could do nothing but follow.
"And so, Master Frisby, you rode down the east road."
"And you, methinks, rode down the south." Again our laughter rang
through the woods.
"Come," he cried, "which is it to be? So fair a maid deserves two
cavaliers, but we would be at sword points within a week, and I do not
wish to lose the friendship of Mr. James Frisby of Fairlee."
"A chance has brought us here, so let chance decide."
"Agreed," said Dick, pulling out a sovereign, and with a twitch of the
thumb, he sent it high in the air. "Heads, you win. Tails, I win."
Then catching it as it fell: "By Jove, you have it. Present my
compliments to Mistress Jean," he cried, with a grandiloquent bow,
"and tell her how near she came to being Mrs. Dick Ringgold of Hunting
Field."
"That I will, Sir Richard." But Dick was gone, and I was left to ride
on to the Braes.
A long, rambling house it was, standing white amid the trees, a wide
lawn around it stretching down to the creek at its foot; while beyond
could be seen the sunlight gleaming on the bay. A quaint,
old-fashioned place, the low roof already growing dark with age; the
quiet air of ease and comfort brooding over all, making a fitting
setting for the quaint, slender little lady that ruled its destinies.
A negro took my horse; another showed me across the broad hall, with
its hunting whips and trophies on the wall, to the parlour, and there
I awaited the coming of the Tory maid. And as I sat there, gently
stroking the toe of my boot with my whip, and thinking of that night
at the inn, of that soft "Thank you" on the old south road, I heard
the soft swish of her skirts, and, looking up, saw Mistress Jean
standing in the doorway. A beautiful picture it was, like some old
portrait of Lely's, the maid standing there framed in the old oak. And
I, though I had been to the balls at the Governor's house the winter
before, and was therefore a man of the world, sat staring for a
moment. But she advanced, and I was on my feet with a low and sweeping
bow.
"Father is away," said she, "but in his name I wish to thank you for
defending us at the inn that night."
So she knew.
"It was to save the honour of Maryland gentlemen," I replied modestly.
"Heretofore they have not fought in mobs. But will you not thank me
for yourself?"
"When you turn loyalist, yes," said she.
"Almost thou persuadest me to become a traitor."
"You are that already," she said with spirit.
"Yes, that is the way they have written 'Patriot' since Tyranny first
stalked across the world. But patriot or traitor, Mistress Jean, I
have already won one 'Thank you,' and I hope some day to win another."
"Won one 'Thank you'--when and where?" and she looked at me with wide
open eyes.
Now every Marylander will admit that there are no more gallant fellows
in the world than we are, and if any one chooses to dispute it, well
and good, we are willing to cross swords with him any day, and so
reprove him for his recklessness. Indeed, we have been called with
truth the Gascons of the South, and, like those gallant gentlemen of
old France, we have never hidden our light under a bushel, to use a
homely phrase; and so when I saw Mistress Jean's air of surprise, the
spirit of my race came over me.
"Yes," I replied, "it was the sweetest 'Thank you' I ever heard."
Again the mystified look.
"But where?" said she again.
"It was rather dark," I replied, "and the clouds were drifting across
the sky, and you, I am afraid, did not know who it was who received
that soft 'Thank you.'"
"Were you the Lieutenant?"
I bowed.
"Oh," she said, and she stamped her tiny foot, "if you were only not a
rebel!"
"But even rebels have their uses."
Thus it was we became good friends in spite of the traitor stamped
upon my brow. Ere I knew it, the time approached when I had to mount
and ride. But before I left, her soft hand rested for a moment in
mine.
"We march in a few days," said I, "to the North, to the Leaguer of
Boston. There will be fighting there and bloody work. Can I not carry
a single token?"
Her nimble fingers flew to her hair, and took from thence a blood-red
rose, and pinned it to my coat.
"There," said she, "my red cockade;" and turning quickly, she ran into
the house.