A TALE IS TOLD
I lay there at the inn, I do not know how long, but they told me
afterward it was for many days, hanging on the brink between life and
death, until one day I heard in my dreams the music of the fife and
the rattle of the drums, and awoke to life and hope again. The
sunlight was streaming through the south window across the counterpane
of the bed, and outside could be heard the steady tread of marching
men.
"What troops are those?" I asked somewhat hazily, for I was still on
the borderland of dreams.
"They are the Maryland Line marching away to the North to join General
Washington."
"Marching to the North? Then I must join them." And I tried to rise in
my bed, for it came back to me with a rush that I was a Lieutenant in
the Line. But strong hands pushed me gently back upon my pillow, and I
recognised now the voice of my nurse, Mrs. McLean.
"No, no, Mr. Frisby; be still. You are a regular little bantam, but
your spurs are clipped for some time yet."
"Why, what is the matter, Mrs. McLean? How did I come here?"
"Law bless the boy!" said the good old soul. "He has clean forgot."
But the dull pain in my side soon brought back to me that clear, fresh
morning on the bank of the Elk, and for a moment I lay still.
"Did I kill Rodolph?" I asked.
"That you did, lad; and no man deserved it more."
Then I heard a heavy step in the passageway outside, and then a
lighter one. The next moment the door opened and I saw my mother, more
pale and fairy-like than ever, and behind her came Captain Ramsay,
bluff and hearty, but looking very solemn at that moment. But they saw
the news on Mrs. McLean's good-natured face, and when I spoke to my
lady, the old-time happy look came back again, as she came to my
bedside and kissed me, while the great voice of the Captain came
hearty and strong.
"Aye, lad, I told them that you would pull through; make a gallant
fight, my boy, and you will have a shot at the redcoats yet."
"But, Captain, you are marching away without me."
"You will be in time for the fighting, never worry; lie still and get
well. Half the young men in the Line are envying you, you rogue, for
becoming a hero before them all." And the Captain took my hand, and
bade me good-bye, for he must hurry away to join his regiment.
A few minutes later there came the clank of a sword and a hurried
step, and then the door burst open and in marched Master Dick in all
the glory of his full regimentals. And so brave was the show that he
made in his cocked hat, scarlet coat, with its facings of buff, and
the long clanking sword, that I longed to spring up and don my own
then and there. But my mother's finger on her lip caused him to stop
the cheery greeting, and he came forward on his tiptoes, holding his
sword carefully to keep it from clanking, for by this time I was
growing weak again. Master Dick shook my hand gently and murmured,
"Cheer up, old fellow, you will soon be with us again," but I could
only give him a slight smile, for I was again on the borderland of
dreams. Dick stood for awhile looking down on me; then he, too, had to
depart. Gradually the steady tramp of marching feet died away, and
everything became quiet and still again.
The days passed by, week followed week, and though at first I gained
strength but slowly, the process seeming a long and dreary one, the
vigour of a youthful frame soon asserted itself, and I could feel the
returning tide of health and strength. But as yet I lay there upon the
great four-post bed, with my mother sitting near by, her dear face
bending over the embroidery frame, as her deft fingers weaved
beautiful designs with the silk. As I lay there, I would wander back
again to that day before the duel, to the swift challenging glance of
a pair of blue eyes as a blood-red rose was pinned to my coat. But
that was so long ago, years it seemed to me, away back in the past, a
memory as it were of a fairy tale heard from the lips of a grandmother
before the big open fire in the great hall on a winter night; a fairy
tale, aye, and she the Princess, with her blue eyes and hair of waving
brown, with her step as light as the dew-drop, and her voice as low
and soft as the breath of the Southern breeze in the spring; and then
I would be her Prince Charming, with my coal-black horse. But, pshaw!
I am becoming a child again; whereas I am a man, who has fought his
duel as becomes a man, with a right to the sword by his side. And yet
those blue eyes, what fate was in store for them? And would their
challenging glance ever meet mine again? But here my mother stopped
the trend of my thoughts for a moment.
"James," she said, "John Cotton tells me that an old darky comes to
inquire for you every night. Strange, is it not? We know so few
people here."
"Yes," I replied. "Does John Cotton know who he is?"
"No; he refuses to tell, and all John Cotton can find out is that he
leaves town by the river road. He appears to be a stranger to all the
other darkies, and nobody seems to know him."
By the river road! Could it possibly be, then, that it was the Tory
maid who sent those many miles to see if I were in the land of the
living or the dead? Ah, it was too pleasant a thing to dream of; too
pleasant to have it shattered by the rough hand of fact. And so I said
dreamily, "It is only one of John Cotton's stories, I suppose."
Yet I would not have believed it otherwise for all of John Cotton's
weight in gold. Thus it was I was thinking one day of the Tory maid,
when the door opened, and a tall, dignified gentleman came in--the man
who had stood by my side that day when with drawn sword I held the
door against Rodolph and his followers--Mr. Lambert Wilmer of the
White House in Kent.
He came forward and greeted me with many kind phrases. While he sat
talking to me of the duel and its cause, I thought of that great burst
of laughter when he told Rodolph to put up his sword, as by this time
he should have had enough of Gordon of the Braes, and I asked the
reason for it all.
"It is a long story, lad," said he, "but I will tell it to you."
Then he told me how, many years before, Mistress Margaret Nicholson
had been the loveliest girl in Kent, and the belle of the whole shore,
and how there was not a bachelor within three counties who did not
seek her as his bride, or who would not have sold his soul for a
glance of her eyes or the soft pressure of her hand; and how when
James Rodolph of Charlestown Hundred came riding down from Cecil and
boasted of his wealth, his horses, and his slaves, swearing that he
would win her or no one would, the suitors stood aside to see how he
would fare with this the proudest of Kent beauties. To their dismay,
he seemed to prosper well, until one day there disembarked from a
vessel that came sailing up the broad Chester a young gentleman of
distinguished appearance, who asked his way to Radcliffe, the home of
the Nicholsons.
"Now, the Nicholsons, as you know," said Mr. Wilmer, "are Scotch, and
this young gentleman was Scotch, for his accent betrayed him, and we,
thinking he might be a cousin and have brought news from over the
water, welcomed him, and showed him the way to Radcliffe. He, though
he was very reserved, told us that he had indeed come from over the
sea, and bore a letter to the Nicholsons, who were old friends of his
family, but of himself he would say no more. And so, when he strode
off, we turned to Captain Hezekiah Brown of the Maid of Perth, who was
a man who delighted to talk. From him we learned that his name was
Gordon, and that there was a mystery about him, as people suspected
him of being one of the young chiefs who had led that famous clan in
the recent rebellion against the King. But this we held not to his
injury, for there were still many lovers of the White Rose in the fair
province of Maryland, and we afterward welcomed him the more heartily
for it. From the advent of the stranger the good fortune of James
Rodolph began to wane; for the rich planter of the border, with his
wild and boisterous manners, was no match for the Scottish cavalier.
It is true that he was penniless, but he was very handsome, of
distinguished manners and address, and when it became known that he
was out in 'forty-five' the mantle of romance that fell around Prince
Charles was shared as well by him, and he became the hero of many a
pair of fair eyes.
"James Rodolph soon saw this, and his hatred grew from day to day, as
his rival became more successful. One day there was a quarrel, and
next morning, upon the smooth, sandy shore of the river, they met and
fought it out. Rodolph was fiery, quick, and fierce; Gordon cool and
steady; until Rodolph, growing weary and desperate, tried a foul and
dangerous stroke, to find his rapier flying through the air, to fall
with a splash into the river.
"'I would not stain my blade by killing you,' said Gordon; and turning
with the other gentlemen who had seen the foul stroke, he walked away,
leaving him there.
"And so it was that Rodolph came back to Cecil with a blot upon his
name, and Gordon married the maid, and became in time the owner of the
Braes, for she was an heiress as well as a great beauty. From that
time has grown the feud which we may some day see the end of. And that
is why the people laughed and Rodolph slunk away. For the old story is
known throughout the shore, and Rodolph proved, in his fight with you,
the bad blood in his veins. It never does to cross the white blood
with the red, for the treachery of the Indian will taint the race for
generations."
Thus it was, by the light of this old tale of thirty years before, I
saw and read the cause and reason of it all--of his fatal course, of
our quarrel, and of the meeting by the banks of the river Elk.