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TRUE
AND
OTHER STORIES
BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP
AUTHOR OF "AN ECHO OF PASSION," "NEWPORT," ETC.
FUNK & WAGNALLS
1884
NEW YORK
10 AND 12 DEY STREET
LONDON
44 FLEET STREET
_All Rights Reserved_
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, by
FUNK & WAGNALLS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C.
CONTENTS.
TRUE.
CHAPTER I. HER EYES WERE GRAY
CHAPTER II. THE DE VINES
CHAPTER III. TWILIGHT
CHAPTER IV. A VISION
CHAPTER V. BIRTHDAY TOKENS
CHAPTER VI. A NEW LESSON IN BOTANY
CHAPTER VII. THE RACES, AND THE MOTTO
CHAPTER VIII. ADELA'S LEGEND
CHAPTER IX. LANCE AND SYLVESTER
CHAPTER X. THE LIKENESS
CHAPTER XI. LANCE RETURNS
CHAPTER XII. SYLV'S TROUBLE
CHAPTER XIII. LANCE AND ADELA
CHAPTER XIV. DENNIE'S TROUBLE
CHAPTER XV. ELBOW-CROOK SWAMP
CHAPTER XVI. "I LIVE, HOW LONG I TROW NOT"
MAJOR BARRINGTON'S MARRIAGE
"BAD PEPPERS"
THREE BRIDGES.
I. THE IMPORTANCE OF A HAT
II. FATHER, DAUGHTER, AND--WHO ELSE?
III. LISTENING
IV. THE THIRD BRIDGE
IN EACH OTHER'S SHOES
TRUE.
CHAPTER I.
HER EYES WERE GRAY.
It might have been yesterday, but in simple fact it was three hundred
years ago, that something happened which has an important bearing on
this story of the present.
Antiquity is a great discourager of the sympathies: the centuries are
apt to weigh like lead on an individual human sentiment. Yet we find it
pleasant sometimes to throw off their weight, and thereby to discover
that it is a mere feather in the scale as against the beating of a
heart.
I know that when I speak of Guy Wharton as having been alive and in love
in the year 1587, you will feel a certain patronizing pity for
him--because he is not alive now. So do I. But then it is possible that
you will be interested, notwithstanding--because he was a lover. Would
you like to hear what experience he had? I promise not to go through the
history of those three hundred years. The story of Guy is merely the
starting-point of my narrative.
He was in love with a sweet English girl, Gertrude Wylde, who lived in
Surrey; and she, for her part, was the daughter of a small tenant-farmer
there, well connected as to family, but not well furnished with worldly
goods, Guy's father was a country gentleman; but that circumstance
failed to affect the young man's eyesight and emotions injuriously; he
beheld Gertrude, and he loved her. I can see it all, now, as if it were
something that had happened to myself--how they strolled together in
those wondrous lanes hedged with hawthorn and brier and hazel, which
stray so sweetly over the rolling lands about Dorking; how they met
beneath the old yew tree where, half way up Box Hill, it hung out its
foliage black as night, spotted with strange waxen blossoms of scarlet,
like drops of blood upon a funeral-pall; how they wandered in the
untamed forest of great box trees at the top; what joys they had, what
anxieties beset them.
"And will thy father indeed take his leave of old England so soon?" he
asked her, when they had reached the brow of the hill.
"Yes, in truth," she answered, sadly enough, looking out over the white
chalk highlands, and the arborous glades and open downs, to where the
waters of the English Channel showed soft against the hazy sky at the
horizon, like a blue vein on a circling arm. "And that means that I must
take leave of _thee_, Guy."
"Never, my darling!" cried Guy, drawing her to him. "If thou goest, I go
as well."
"What! Forsake all here--estate and fortune and family? Nay, dearest,
that can never be." But, as she spoke these words, Gertrude pressed her
face upon his shoulder and gave way to tears. Then presently, raising
her head and gazing up into his face: "How should it be possible?" she
asked.
"Easily enough, if thou wilt," he replied. "I would go as thy affianced
husband."
Thus it was settled that he also should join the colonizing expedition
with which Gertrude's father had resolved to embark, under the patronage
of Sir Walter Raleigh. Its goal was Roanoke Island, Virginia.
As the lovers walked homeward in company, and parted to go their
separate ways, they felt as if their feet already trod the shores of the
New World. "But when we are there," said Wharton before he left her at
the turnstile that ushered the way to her father's farm--"there we shall
have no more partings."
Alas, he was but a poor prophet!
Difficulties came up. Wharton's father violently opposed the plan that
Guy had made. That, however, might not have prevented its execution, had
not a fatal thing happened just at the critical time. On the eve of the
sailing of the expedition, Guy's father died. That which his bitterest
activity while alive failed to effect was accomplished by his white and
silent presence as he lay dead in the old manor-house. At such a moment
Guy could not go away; the unspoken edict of death restrained him
absolutely. Besides, the elder Wharton's affairs were left in a
confusion which it would take long to clear up.
So the ship sailed without Guy; but you may be sure he was at the wharf
when she weighed anchor, and that he bade a tender farewell to Gertrude,
promising that he would follow with the first convoy that should be sent
to re-enforce and victual the new colony. At the instant when he had to
leave her, she said, as if answering his words, uttered many weeks
before at the turnstile: "Yes, dearest, we shall meet soon in that other
world, and there shall be no more parting."
Guy did not think of the exact expression, just then; but as he
travelled back to the manor-house, now his own, he kept saying to
himself involuntarily: "That other world? God grant it may not mean the
world beyond!" When he stepped within the door, his eye rested on the
inscription over the great fireplace of the hall:
"I live, how long I trow not;
I die, but where I know not;
I journey, but whither I cannot see:
'Tis strange that I can merry be."
Many a festival had been held beneath the unnoticed shadow of those
solemn lines; the laughter and the cheer, the sobs and murmurs of many a
voice forever hushed, had echoed from the wall where the verses were
graven; but it seemed to him that the motto had never gained its full
meaning until now.
"I journey, but whither I cannot see."
Gertrude had gone out into the great void of the unknown spaces; and he
was to follow her--whither?
It would indeed have been strange if he could have been merry; and, to
say truth, he was not greatly so; but he kept up his hope indomitably.
At last everything was arranged: he was ready to go. But he had to wait
for the relief expedition to sail. In those days it was a great
undertaking to prepare for a journey across the Atlantic. Raleigh was
busy, perplexed, anxious: three years went by before Admiral John White
started from Plymouth with three little ships (one for each year) and
two shallops. But when he did start, Guy was on board.
It had been agreed with the colonists that, if anything went wrong and
they should find it best to look for a new site, they should remove to a
spot fifty miles inland among the friendly Indians, and should carve
upon a tree the name of the place to which they were going. In case
misfortune befell them, a cross was also to be carved above the name of
their destination.
When, after a five weeks' voyage, Admiral White's vessels approached the
shore of Hatteras, they anchored some miles out, for safety, and sent a
boat in to the shallow Sound. Guy was in the bow of the boat which
steered for Roanoke Island. The crew, when they had come near enough,
blew trumpet-blasts as a signal of their approach, and sang songs of
home--old English glees and madrigals--that had often echoed in the
fields, the groves, the farmhouses of Surrey and Kent. Attracted by the
sound the colonists, they hoped, would make their appearance the sooner.
But how strangely these familiar strains fell upon the ear in the
primeval solitude of those lonely waters, on that lovely April day! So
strangely, indeed, that one might almost fancy the colonists did not
recognize them anymore, and hence failed to respond. Yet the trumpets
continued to ring out on the air, and the gay songs were trolled
cheerily, as the boat drew near the landing-place.
It may be imagined what an eager lookout Guy kept up at the bow. Ho
believed every moment that, at the next, he should see Gertrude emerging
from the woods and waving her hand to him. Still, not a sign of life had
been given when he stepped ashore.
The little party began to be oppressed by forebodings. They set out
through the forest, eagerly searching for some token of their
countrymen's presence; but no voice answered their calls, except those
of unaccustomed birds and astonished squirrels; and no trail was found
upon the light brown soil, other than the marks of an Indian moccasin or
the curious dottings made by the feet of furtive animals.
At last, however, the seekers came to a tree which confronted them with
three rudely carved letters cut upon its side.
C. R. O.
That was all. There was no indication of the cross, the symbol of
distress. The men burst into exclamations of delight; yet Guy, though
his heart bounded high with reviving hope, suffered a terrible suspense.
The sturdy tree had, as it were, found a voice and spoken; but it had
uttered only one vague, baffling syllable. Of what use was that feeble
clew? Still he pressed on, having no idea which way to turn, but guided
by some inspiration; and presently, shouting to his companions, he
pointed to another conspicuous tree which bore upon its blazed trunk the
full name of the colony's new abiding-place. The letters missing from
the first inscription had doubtless been worn away by storms. The word
engraved upon the fibre of the second tree was "Croatan."
The friends of the colonists did not know precisely where Croatan lay;
and though Guy urged an immediate exploration, the rest thought it
impracticable. The distance from the ships threatened danger of being
separated from the expedition by some accident, and left alone without
supplies. So, having read the brief message of the departed colonists,
the boat party returned to the little squadron and reported.
A storm arose; anchors were lost; the supply of fresh water had run low;
and a council called by the Admiral decided that prudence required
taking a southerly course to find some safer harbor; advising also that
an attempt should be made to capture some Spanish vessels and return
with the booty and provisions to find the lost colony. In vain Guy
pleaded, with anguish in every word, that at least one of the ships
should cruise near the coast off which they now lay and await the first
favorable moment for prosecuting the search. The Admiral and his
captains were inexorable; and the southern course was taken.
None of the vessels ever went back to the aid of the English at Croatan.
The captain of that one on which Guy Wharton was a passenger turned her
prow toward England after a little time. Once more at home, Guy made
every endeavor to have a new fleet equipped; but all his attempts
failed. He was on the point of selling everything he owned, in order to
fit out at least one ship and carry substantial aid to the exiles, when
certain commercial ventures, in which a great deal of the property left
to him was involved, went amiss and left him helpless. Restless,
unhappy, almost broken-hearted, he entered on the struggle to
re-establish himself; no opportunity occurred for him to sail to
Virginia again; and so much time passed by, that such an undertaking
came to look hopeless. Even could he have gone, what would he have
found? Perhaps Gertrude by this time had died. Or, perhaps, thinking
herself forsaken or forgotten, as the whole community of emigrants
seemingly had been, she might have married one of the colonists.
The old hope went out of Guy Wharton's life; but though, after some
years, he took a wife, he never lost the pain which this tragedy of his
youth had planted in his breast.
And they, meanwhile, the vanished exiles--what was their life; what were
their thoughts? How long their hope survived, no one can even guess.
Without resources beyond those which the friendly Croatans themselves
had; living a rude and simple life among the natives in that wild and
lonely land; did they watch day after day for some sign of sail or
fluttering pennon coming up the river, or listen for some sudden
bugle-note or gun-shot, announcing the approach of relief? Did Gertrude
keep up her faith through the weary years, hourly awaiting her
lover?--fancying she heard his voice close by?--then waking again to the
reality of the lonely stream, the fluttering forest-leaves, the uncouth
habitations, the garments of deerskin and the swarthy savage children at
play?
God only knows; for of all those hundred and fifteen wanderers, men and
women, not one was ever seen among the civilized again. They passed from
the region of the known and the recorded into the vagueness of
unlettered tradition. From the midst of history they were transplanted
into myth. They faded out amid those dusky tribes in the forest, as the
last streak of light in the west fades into darkness at nightfall.
A hundred years afterward the Indians of the Hatteras shore were
described as declaring with pride that some of their ancestors were
white and could "talk in a book," like the later Englishmen who were
then established in Virginia. It was taken as confirmation of this
story, that some of the Indians who told it had gray eyes.
_Her_ eyes were gray.