THE REBEL APPEARS.
WE continued to talk with aimless propriety, until the Captain fetched
suddenly so huge a sigh out of the recesses of his waistcoat that it
called for an heroic repression of myself to wear a proper gravity of
countenance.
“Sir, you are not unwell, I hope,” says I, with perturbation.
He saw at once the chance provided for him, and laying his hand
profoundly on his heart, was on the point, I do not doubt, of making
one more declaration of his undying passion, when the entrance of my
aunt curtailed the scene abruptly, and robbed me of the entertainment I
had planned.
My aunt conducted the Captain to the Earl, and an hour later that
officer went forth to his commander with the permission of my father
to lodge the soldiers at Cleeby for a night. It was in the evening
at seven o’clock that the prisoner was brought. I did not witness
his arrival, as I happened to be dressing at that time, yet none the
less I felt an interest in it, for, to say the least, a real live
rebel savours of adventures, and those are what the tame life of
woman seldom can provide. The Captain having installed his men in the
servants’ part, was good enough to come and sup with us, and was able
in a measure to enliven the tedium of that meal. The gentlemen talked
politics, of course, and I was able to gather from their words that the
Pretender Charles was already in full retreat, and that his army was
like to be presently scattered on the earth.
“He’ll be flying for his precious life, sir, over hill and moor with
our redcoats on his heels,” the Captain says, with an enthusiasm that
made his face sparkle in the candle light. And I thought this ardour so
well adorned him that he appeared to a prettier advantage as a soldier
than as a man of fashion.
Somehow I could not dismiss a certain interest that their military
conversation had aroused. Besides, the present circumstances had a
novelty, as to-night we were actually involved in the stress of war.
“A rebel must be a very dangerous person, I should fear,” I said; “even
the sound of rebel hath a spice of daring and the devil in it.”
“Highly dangerous,” says the Captain.
“Captain, do you know,” I said, seized with a desire, “that as I have
never seen a rebel I should dearly like to have a peep at one of these
desperate creatures. ’Twould be an experience, you know; besides, when
a fresh species of wild animal is caught, all the town is attracted to
its cage.”
“Madam, I would not deny you anything,” the Captain bowed, “but you
have only to look into the mirror to behold a rebel of the deepest dye.”
“But not a dangerous one,” I smiled.
“Ah, dear lady,” says the Captain, with one hand straying to his heart,
“’tis only for us men to say how dangerous you are.”
“Grantley,” says the Earl, my papa--and I wish this generation could
have seen how elegant he was, even in his age--“if every rebel was as
dangerous a one as madam is, there would be a change of dynasty mighty
soon.”
Afterwards we had piquet together, but wearying of the game, I reminded
the Captain of my wish. Without more ado he put me in a hood and cloak,
the night being dark and keen, and threatening to snow, and took me to
the prisoner on his arm. We bore a lantern with us, otherwise nothing
had been visible, for the moon had not appeared yet. The poor rebel
we found reposing on straw in one of the stables, but with even less
of comfort than is allowed to horses. One of the troopers had mounted
guard outside the door, his bayonet fixed, and himself leaning on the
panel. He saluted us, and looked as cordial as his rank allowed; but
his strict figure, with grim night and naked steel about it, sent a
shiver through my wraps. You read of war in histories, and think it
adventurous and fine, but when cold bayonet looks upon you from the
dark, and you know that it is there to hold some defenceless person to
his doom, the reality is nothing like so happy as the dream.
The Captain set back the wooden shutter, and held the light up high
enough for me to peer within. There the rebel was, with gyves upon his
wrists; whilst a rope was passed through the manger-ring, and also
through his manacles. Thus he was secured strictly in his prison, but
his fetters had length enough to permit him to stretch his miserable
body on the straw that was mercifully provided. He had availed himself
of this, and now lay in a huddle in it, fast asleep. At the first
glance I took him to be precisely what he was, a young and handsome
lad, moulded slightly with an almost girlish tenderness of figure, his
countenance of a most smooth and fair complexion, without a hair upon
it, while to read the kind expression of his mien, he was, I’m sure, as
gentle as a cherubim.
When the Captain laid the keen light fully on him, he was smiling
gently in his sleep, and, I doubt not, he was dreaming of his mother or
his lady.
“Why, Captain!” I exclaimed, with an indignant heat that made my
companion laugh, “call you this a dangerous rebel? Why, this is but
a child, and a pretty child withal. ’Tis monstrous, Captain, to thus
maltreat a boy. And surely, sir, you may release the poor lad of these
horrid manacles?”
My voice thus incautiously employed aroused the sleeper so immediately
that I believe he almost caught the import of my speech. At least, he
suddenly shook his chains and turned his head to face the thread of
lantern-light. Our eyes encountered, and such a power of honest beauty
prevailed in his that my brain thrilled with joy and pity for their
loveliness, and here, for the first time in my all-conquering career,
my own gaze quailed and drooped before another’s. Its owner was but a
dirty, chained, and tattered rebel, whose throat rose bare above his
ragged shirt, and whose mop of hair seemed never to have known a law
for the best part of its years; a vagabond, in fact, of no refinement
or propriety, yet when his bright, brave eyes leapt into mine like
flame, the sympathetic tears gushed from me, and I was fain to turn
away. The Captain divined my agitation, perhaps because my shoulders
shook, or perchance he saw my cheeks a-glistening, for he let the
lantern down and led me to the house in a most respectful silence. Yet
every step we traversed in the darkness, the star-like look of that
unhappy lad was making havoc of my heart.
When we were returned to the brightness of the candles, and I had
thrown aside my cloak and hood and had recommenced the game, I turned
towards the Captain to enquire:
“Captain, I suppose there will be many years of prison for that poor
lad?”
“Dear me, no!” the Captain said; “he is to be interrogated at the
Tower, which will merely take a day or two, and then it’s Tyburn Tree.”
“What, they mean to hang him?” says I, in horror.
“Yes, to hang him,” says the Captain.
“But he’s so young,” I said, “and he looks so harmless and so innocent.
They will never hang him, Captain, surely.”
“I think they will,” the Captain said; “and wherefore should they not?
He is a very arrant rebel; he has conducted the business of the Prince
in a most intrepid manner, and he further holds a deal of knowledge
that the Government have determined to wring from him if they can.”
“Ah me!” I sighed, “it is a very cruel thing.”
For here his lovely glance returned upon me, and it made me sad to
think of it and his bitter doom. And, at least, this lad, even in
ignominious tatters and captivity, contrived to appear both handsome
and impressive, which is a point beyond all the fops of London, despite
their silks and laces and their eternal artifice.
“Anyway,” I said, “this rebel interests me, Captain. Come, tell me all
about him now. Has he a birth, sir?”
“Not he,” the Captain said; “merely the son of a Glasgow baker, or some
person of that character.”
The Captain, who had, of course, been born, said this with a half
triumphant air, as though this was a _coup-de-grâce_, and had,
therefore, killed the matter. And I will confess that here was a shock
to the web of romance I was weaving about this charming, melancholy
lad. Even I, that had a more romantic temper than the silliest miss at
an academy, felt bound to draw the line at the sons of bakers.
“But at least, Captain,” I persisted with, I suppose, the tenacity
of my sex, “you can recall some purple thread in his disposition or
behaviour that shall consort with the poetic colour in which my mind
hath painted him? He must be brave, I’m sure? Or virtuous? Or wise?
But bravery for choice, Captain, for a deed of courage or a noble
enterprise speaks to the spirit of us women like a song. Come, Captain,
tell me, he is brave?”
“He is a baker’s son, my Lady Barbara.”
“I heard once of a chimney sweeper who embraced death in preference to
dishonour,” was my rejoinder. “Must I command you, Captain?”
“The whim of madam is the law of every man that breathes,” says the
soldier, with a not discreditable agility. “And as for the courage of
your rebel, the worst I can say of it is this: he hath been told to
choose between death and the betrayal of his friends. He hath chosen
death.”
“Bravo!” was the applause I gave the boy; “and now that you have proved
this pretty lad to be worthy of a thought, I should like his name.”
“He is called Anthony Dare,” the Captain said.
“A good name, a brave name, and far too good to perish at Tyburn in the
cart,” says I, whilst I am sure my eyes were warmly sparkling.
The Captain and his lordship laughed at this fervour in my face, and
were good enough to toast the dazzling light that was come into it.
Now in the matter of this rebel certain odd passages befell, and I am
about to retail the inception of them to you. One thing is certain in
reviewing these very strange affairs from the distance years have given
them. It is that in 1746, in the full meridian of my beauty and renown,
my lively spirit was in such excess that ’twas out of all proportion
to my wisdom. A creature whose life is a succession of huzzahs hath
never a reverend head nor one capable of appreciating consequences.
Therefore you are not to betray surprise when you are told that I had
no sooner bade my aunt and the gentlemen good evening, towards eleven
of the clock, than I gave the rein to mischief, and set about to have a
little sport. Every step I ascended to my chamber my mind was on that
condemned rebel in the stable with the gyves upon his wrists. I felt
myself utterly unable to dismiss the look he had given me, and yet
was inclined to be piqued about it too. For you must understand that
his eyes had infringed a right possessed by those of Barbara Gossiter
alone. But the more I thought about this lad the less I could endure
the idea of what his doom must be. Might not an effort be put forth
on his behalf? To make one might be to extend the life of a fellow
creature, and also to colour the dull hues of mine own with a brisk
adventure, for, lord, what a weary existence is a woman’s! In the act
of turning the lamp up in my bedroom I came to a decision, and half a
minute afterwards, when my maid, Mrs. Polly Emblem, appeared to unrobe
me and to dress my hair, she found me dancing round the chamber in pure
cheerfulness of heart, and rippling with laughter also, to consider how
I proposed to cheat and to befool half a score right worthy persons,
amongst whom were Captain Grantley and the Earl, my father.
“Let me kiss you, my Emblem of lightness and dispatch,” I cried to the
mistress of the robes; “for to-night I am as joyous as a blackbird in
a cherry tree that hath no business to be there. I am going to be in
mischief, Emblem,” and to relieve my merry feelings I went dancing
round the room again.
Happily or unhappily, sure I know not which, this maid of mine was not
one of those staid and well-trained owls whose years are great allies
to their virtue, whom so many of my friends affect. One of these would
perhaps have managed to restrain me from so hazardous a deed. Still,
I’m not too positive of that, for I have an idea that when my Lady
Barbarity was giddy with her triumphs and good blood few considerations
could have held her from an act which she at all desired to perform.
Certainly Mrs. Polly Emblem was not the person to impose restraints
upon her mistress in the most devious employ, being herself the
liveliest soubrette you would discover this side of the Channel, with a
laugh that was made of levity, and who was as ripe for an adventure as
the best.
The first thing I did was to post Emblem on the landing, that she might
bring me word as soon as the candles were out below, and the gentlemen
retired. Meanwhile I made some preparation. I stirred the waning fire
up, and then went in stealth to an adjoining room and procured from a
cupboard there a kettleful of water, some coffee, and a pot wherein to
brew it. The water had just begun to hiss upon the blaze when Emblem
reappeared with the information that the lights were out at last, and
that the gentlemen had ascended to their chambers. I bade her brew a
good decoction, while I rummaged several of the drawers in my wardrobe
to discover a few articles highly imperative to my scheme. To begin
with I took forth a potion in a packet, a powerful sedative that was
warranted to send anything to sleep; the others consisted of a vizard,
a hooded cloak, and last, if you please, a pistol, balls, and powder.
These latter articles I know do not usually repose in a lady’s chamber,
but then my tastes always were of the quaintest character, and often
formerly, when my life had been so tame that its weariness grew almost
unendurable, I have taken a ridiculous delight in cleaning and priming
this dread weapon with my own hands, and speculating on its power with
a foolish but a fearful joy. Verily idleness is full of strange devices.
“Now, Emblem,” says I, when the coffee was prepared, “let me see you
put this powder in the pot, and as you always were an absent-minded
sort of wench, ’twere best that you forgot that you had done so.”
“Very good, my lady,” Emblem says, with a wonderfully sagacious look.
And immediately she had poured the contents of the packet in the
coffee. I took up the pot and said, with an air of notable severity:
“Of course, this coffee is as pure as possible, and could not be
doctored any way? I think that is so, Emblem?”
“Oh! lord yes, ma’am; it is indeed,” cries Emblem the immaculate.
“Well,” says I, “so soon as we can be positive that the gentlemen are
abed, and at their ease in slumber’s lap, the fun shall get afoot.”
We sat down by the hearth for the thereabouts of half an hour, that
they might have ample time to attain this Elysian state. Later I
wrapped the admirable Emblem up the very model of a plotter, and
despatched her to the sentry on guard at the stable door, with the
compliments of her mistress and a pot of coffee, to keep the cold out.
“For I’m sure, poor man,” I piously observed, “it must be perishing out
there in a frosty, wintry night of this sort.”
“It must, indeed, my lady,” Emblem says, with the gravity of a church;
“and had I not better wait while he drinks it, ma’am, and bring the
empty pot back? And had I not better put my carpet slippers on, and
steal out carefully and without committing the faintest sound when I
unbolt the kitchen door?”
“Emblem,” cries I, dealing her a light box on the ears, “to-night I
will discard this darling of a gown I’m wearing. To-morrow it is yours.”
Faith, my Emblem ever was a treasure, if only because she was not
subject ever to any bother in her soul. But when she had gone upon her
errand to the soldier at the stable door, and I was left alone with
my designs, for the first time meditation came, and a most unwelcome
feeling of uneasiness crept on me. There was a certain danger in the
thing I was determined to attempt; but then, I argued, the pleasure
that any sport affords must primarily spring from the risks involved
in its pursuit. That is unless one is a Puritan. Her greatest enemy
has never accused my Lady Barbarity of that, however. Yet my mind
still ran upon that grim guardian of the tight-kept rebel, and again I
saw the night about him, and his fixed bayonet glaring at me through
the gloom. Then for the second time that evening did I convince
myself that adventure in the fairy-books and Mr. Daniel Defoe is one
thing, but that at twelve o’clock of a winter’s night their cold and
black reality is quite another. But here the imps of mirth woke up
and tickled me, till again I fell a-rippling with glee. They proudly
showed me half-a-score right worthy men nonplussed and mocked by the
wit of woman. ’Twould make a pretty story for the town; and my faith!
that was a true presentiment. But the long chapter that was in the end
excited to my dear friends of St. James’s I would a’ paid a thousand
pounds to have remained untold. But just now the mirth of the affair
was too irresistible, and I laughed all cowardice to scorn. Besides,
I remembered the wondrous gaze of poor Mr. Anthony Dare, that sweetly
handsome youth, that desperate rebel, that chained and tattered
captive, whose fate was to be a dreadful death upon the Tree. I
remembered him, and although pity is the name that I resolutely refuse
to have writ down as the motive for this merry plot, as all the world
knows that I never had a heart in which to kindle it; but remembering
that lad, I say, straight had I done with indecision, for I sprang up
smartly, with a rude word for the King. And I make bold to declare that
she who pulled the blinds aside an instant later to gaze into the night
was the most determined rebel that ever grinned through hemp.