THE REPULSE
“Hear me, for I will speak;
Must I give way?” —Shakespeare.
“By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt,
While sets that sun, and dews of ev’ning melt.” —Byron.
The story-teller is like the weaver of an elaborate pattern in tapestry.
To a spectator he seems continually to be dropping threads without
necessity, and as often taking up new ones which are uncalled for; but
it must be remembered that he has the completed picture before him, and
that he knows best what is necessary to do.
Aylesford, whom we last saw parting with Kate, reached the lower part of
the river in safety, about noon; and proceeded immediately to procure
the assistants, necessary to carry out his plot against Kate. He was not
able, indeed, to gain the British camp, and had therefore, to hire a
boat’s crew at random. But there were men of idle habits and royalist
sympathies to be found, all through the war of independence, in every
district of New Jersey, but particularly in those bordering on the
sea-coast, where many circumstances contributed to render patriotism at
a discount and open the field for venal services to either side.
Aylesford, by his course of life, had become cognizant of one of these
persons, to whom he now applied. This man was acquainted with others;
and so, after only a few hours’ delay, he was enabled to set out to
meet Arrison.
But the best laid plans of villains, as Burns says of mice and men,
“aft gang agee.” We have seen how Arrison’s scheme to deliver
Kate, by collusion, into the hands of Aylesford, had miscarried: and
this failure necessarily involved the disappointment of the plans of
Aylesford also. The boat of the latter was actually in sight of the
refugees, when Arrison turned and fled up the river, though no one of
the outlaws, nor even Kate, saw it, all having their attention
concentrated on the patriots on shore, and subsequently on the pursuing
craft. But Aylesford, seeing his prey ravished from him almost in the
moment of seizing it, became nearly beside himself with rage. He had, in
fact, arrived at the bend of the river below the settlement, quite half
an hour previous, when, observing to his surprise that the inhabitants
were keeping watch, he had laid by, under the bank, intending to wait
for Arrison. He did this, because the latter would have to pass the
armed party on shore but once, whereas if he should keep on his way, the
risk would be run in both going and returning. He never doubted,
meantime, that Arrison would push on at any cost.
When, therefore, he saw the refugees face about, he lost, as we have
said, all control of himself. Starting up, he exclaimed—
“Cast off, board, give way. I’ll double your reward if we catch
them.”
The men obeyed, though not without some signs of reluctance, until they
had gained a position nearly opposite to the settlement. This was a
little later in point of time than when the patriots had put off in
pursuit of the refugees. During the whole of this period, Aylesford, who
officiated as coxswain, had not ceased to stimulate his men to row
faster, alternating promises of reward and urgent appeals, with
passionate ejaculations against the poltroonery and treachery of
Arrison.
“Pull, pull with a will,” he cried. “We’ll catch them yet,
huzza! The double-dyed traitor. Yes!” he added, between his teeth,
“he has intended it all along. I see it now, dupe that I am. Curses on
my mad folly in trusting him! Why do you stop?”
This last sentence was spoken aloud and angrily, for the men suddenly
ceased rowing.
But the reason was apparent as soon as he looked ashore. The sentinel at
the settlement had presented his musket, and now followed it up by
crying,
“Boat ahoy!”
The men looked at each other and then at Aylesford.
“Never mind him. Pull away,” cried the latter.
The report of the musket was heard, and the ball whistled close past;
while at the same time some of the patriots ran to the field-piece.
Instantly, as if by one impulse, Aylesford’s crew pulled their boat
around and began to urge her down the stream.
At this, Aylesford, his whole countenance distorted with rage, reached
forward and laid his hand on the stroke oar.
“How dare you?” he cried, his face white with rage.
The man, who pulled the oar, was far more powerful than his employer,
and he wrenched the blade from Aylesford almost immediately, saying
sternly,
“None of that, if you don’t want to be pitched overboard. We’re
not going to get a skin full of shot in us, or be sent to the devil by
grape, just to please you.”
Even through his passion, Aylesford had the sense to see that he could
do nothing against the majority by compulsion, but that his only hope
was in appealing to the selfish interests of the men.
“I’ll give each of you twenty guineas, twenty guineas in gold,” he
said, eagerly, “if you’ll keep on and overtake the boat.”
But, by this time, the field-piece on shore was ready to fire. The match
was being whirled around to keep it burning, while a patriot sighted the
gun for the last time; and the men saw this with a terror against which
even the large bribe could not prevail.
“We’ve come too far already,” said the spokesman. “Steer the
boat while we pull, or I’ll blow your brains out. What good would your
guineas be to men who wouldn’t live to get them?”
At these words, the four oarsmen gave way lustily, as men only row when
the race is for life or death.
“God! there it comes,” suddenly cried the stroke-oarsman, ducking
his head involuntarily.
At the moment, a jet of flame shot out from the cannon, followed by a
puff of dense, whitish smoke. Instantaneously a hurtling noise was heard
through the air, the water was ploughed up astern of the boat, and
Aylesford, with a sharp groan, suddenly dropped the tiller, and tumbled
headlong forward into the stern sheets.
“He’s hit,” cried the oarsman, and without looking around, he
continued, “is anybody else hurt?” For the others had ceased rowing.
No one answered. All the rest had fortunately escaped.
“Then pull like devils,” cried the spokesman, when he saw this.
“If they get another chance they’ll sink us. We must put the bend of
the river between us and them, before we even stop to see how much he is
hurt. Once in the next reach and we’ll be safe.” And, suiting the
action to the word, he pulled till his strong blade bent like a
whip-stalk.
The remainder of the crew made corresponding exertions, so that in a few
minutes the boat shot around the turn, interposing a wooded point
between it and the settlement. The men now rested on their oars, when
two of them, the spokesman being one, proceeded to examine into the
condition of their fallen employer.
He was not dead, as they had begun to believe from his silence and his
not even stirring, but badly wounded in the side by a slug, the gun
having been apparently loaded with that description of missiles. On
being moved, he opened his eyes with a groan, stared vacantly around,
and then closed them in a swoon.
“He’s booked for Davy Jones’ locker,” said the spokesman,
“unless we can get a doctor for him soon; booked for it whether or no.
Lay him down easy, Bill; put his head here—that’s all we can do for
him.”
With these words they resumed their oars, and pulling steadily down the
river with a long, regular, man-of-war’s stroke, soon left the
vicinity of the settlement behind them. The men, thus unexpectedly
burdened with a wounded employer, were as yet uncertain where to find a
physician soonest in the disturbed state of the region, and were
debating it among themselves, when suddenly the noise of firing, as of
volleys of musketry, was heard in the distance ahead.
“The King’s men hare attacked the Neck,” cried the man who had
been the principal speaker all day. “Hark! there it is again.”
There was no mistaking the sounds of battle, which now grew momentarily
stormier, filling the air and booming along the water. As the boat
struggled onward against the tide, the noise of the strife continued to
stimulate the rowers, who, though comparatively near, yet made such slow
headway as to be uncertain, for what seemed an age, which way the
victory would incline. At last the curve in the river disclosed to sight
the group of tall chestnuts, and immediately afterwards the British flag
floating over the works.
Aylesford had now recovered from his swoon, and was sensible of what was
going on, though as yet he had not spoken.
“We’d better land him there,” said the spokesman. “There’s
always plenty of doctors with his Majesty’s troops. Besides, they’ll
make us come to, any how.”
“Yes! land me at once,” said Aylesford, feebly. “I’ll see that
you’re protected.”
Accordingly the man directed the boat to the landing, where they
disembarked just as the evening was closing in.