Joscelyn Cheshire Part 12

"Yes, praise G.o.d, I have, and a good man he is, too; but when the dam in the levee breaks, or the cows get the hollow-horn, he's that rearing, tearing put out that he couldn't say offhand whether preordination or general salvation was the true doctrine; but the time never comes when he's too mad or too worried to know he's a Whig, every hair of him. That is what makes me say religion is a picked-up habit with men and politics is their nature. With a woman it's the other way; so I laugh at Joscelyn's politics, and kiss her bonny face and love her all the time."

"That is more than I can do. If it were not for her mother, I should forbid my daughter to have aught to do with her," said Amanda Bryce, sniffily, as Joscelyn pa.s.sed the gate with Betty Clevering and Janet Cameron, and called up a pleasant "good afternoon" to the elder women.

"Well, your girl and not Joscelyn would be the loser thereby," retorted Martha Strudwick, regardless of the fact that she was in her own house; and there would doubtless have been sharp words had not Mistress Clevering interposed with some gentle remonstrance.

A little later the whole party of young people began to move toward the tavern; for it was the day the post was due, if by good fortune it had escaped the marauders and highwaymen who, in the a.s.sumed name of war, infested the roads. Always there was a crowd about the tavern on Thursday afternoons, in hopes that news of the fighting and of friends would be forthcoming. This particular day they were not disappointed; for the women on the porch, looking up the street, presently saw that something unusual was to pay, and forgetful of bonnets or caps, they hastened to learn what it was. The postbag, with its slender store, lay neglected on the table, for the crowd had gathered eagerly about some one on the steps, and exclamations and questions filled the air.

"What is it?" demanded Mistress Strudwick, breathless from her haste, and the crowd divided and showed a lad, pale and worn, sitting on the steps.

"Billy, my Billy!" shrieked Amanda Bryce, and pa.s.sing the other women, she caught him in her arms and hugged him frantically. For a few moments no one spoke or interfered, but after the dame had kissed every square inch of his face, and had felt his head, shoulders, and arms for fractures, Martha Strudwick interposed.

"Come, Billy, tell us where you come from and what news you bring from the front. Has there been a fight, boy?"

"Ay, and a victory for us."

"A victory? Hurrah! When? Where? Talk quick!" cried a dozen voices shrill with their eagerness.

"At Monmouth town in Jersey. 'Twas there we overtook Clinton as he made for New York."

"We have already had rumours of it. And you did fight him and put him to rout? Who fell, and who was wounded? Can't you talk faster?"

"Truly we did fight when we got the chance, though Lee--the foul fiends take him!--tried hard not to let us. It was the hottest day I ever felt.

The sand and dust--"

"Never mind about the sand and dust; tell us of the battle."

And so by piecemeal, with many a question and interruption, he told them the story of that remarkable battle and his own capture.

"And who was taken with you?"

"Master Peter Ruffin, Amos Andrews, and Richard Clevering from our company, and some threescore more whom I knew not."

But only a few heard the last clause of his sentence, for among the women were relatives and friends of each of the men mentioned, and there were sobs and moans for the fate of their loved ones. So great was the abhorrence in which British prisons were held, that death seemed almost preferable. Then presently Betty Clevering cried shrilly:--

"And if you were captured, how comes it you are here?"

"I escaped."

"And how many escaped with you?"

"None--none; not even Richard."

Mistress Ruffin took him sharply by the arm. "Do you mean to say that a strip of a lad like you had sense enough to get away, and grown men were held? That's a pretty tale!"

And then with stifled sobs he told of Richard's sacrifice and his own getting away.

"For an hour I waited there in the gra.s.s, hoping for him to come; and when I dared stay no longer I crept to the hillside and hid in a little cave, from which I watched the army in the distance take up its march next day. I started once to go back and die with Richard in prison, but--"

"Talk not so, my son; 'twould have killed me and done Richard no good,"

cried his mother, caressing his curly head against her shoulder.

"Richard did not want you back--G.o.d bless him for a generous lad!"

"No," sobbed the lad, "he is so n.o.ble, so good; and I let him go back, let him sacrifice himself for me, for had I but slept on he would have gotten away."

All this while Mistress Clevering had not spoken; now she lifted her head, and no mother of Sparta ever looked more proud or more resigned.

"Yes, you were right to come away; he gave you your freedom at the cost of his own, and it would have grieved him had you returned and made the sacrifice useless. 'Tis a beautiful thing to be the mother of a son like that. I am content." And Martha Strudwick leaned over and kissed her softly.

"And how fared it with you when the British had marched away?" asked his mother of Billy.

"I reached the coast and followed it for two days, when I came to a village whence a trading vessel was leaving to smuggle its cargo to the south. The captain took me on, and after ten days I was put ash.o.r.e near New Berne town, from which place I have made my way home, travelling with the post these two days."

"You have not then been back to the army?"

"No, but I shall start to-morrow, now that I have seen you, mother, and when I have given Richard's messages to Mistress Clevering and--"

He stopped; but his glance had travelled to Joscelyn standing at the edge of the crowd, and Janet Cameron laughed.

"What said my boy? Out with it!" cried Mistress Clevering, eagerly.

"He did send you his dear love, even as he was to bring mine to mother had I been the one left behind. I would I could tell you how reverent and tender his voice was when he spoke your name."

The Spartan in the woman broke down, and the mother prevailed. "My son, my dear son, did G.o.d give you in answer to my prayers only to take you away like this? What may he not be suffering at this very moment, and I who have watched him from his cradle powerless to help him! Oh, but war is a cruel thing! My son, my son!"

Betty and Mistress Cheshire led her away weeping, and for a few minutes, silence held the women as they looked away to the north and thought of the strife enacting, and the pain being endured there for liberty. And besides those carried away into captivity, how many others--perhaps their own nearest and dearest--had been left on the battle-field?

"See," cried Amanda Bryce, turning fiercely on Joscelyn, whose eyes, full of a misty tenderness, were following Aunt Clevering down the street--"see what you miserable Tories are doing to us, your neighbours!

Shame upon you, I say; shame upon you!"

"Ay, shame upon you!" cried several voices; and faces scowled and a few fists were clenched. The girl cowered back, amazed, affrighted.

"Pull those red roses out of her belt; we want no Tory colours here!"

cried Amanda Bryce; and two or three hands reached toward the knot of scarlet blossoms. But Joscelyn, her eyes beginning to kindle, stepped back and raised her own hand warningly.

"Do not touch me! Yes, I am a Tory, as you are pleased to call us, and I am not ashamed that the king's army hath been preserved from destruction; but I am sorry, very sorry your friends and kindred are to suffer--though perhaps some punishment is necessary to rebels."

Mistress Strudwick started to the girl's side, but little Billy Bryce was before her.

"Who touches Joscelyn must first pa.s.s me!" he cried to the angry women.

"Mother, be silent! What share could a girl like this have in our capture; and what matters a few men taken when the victory was ours?"

"Yes, praise G.o.d, we thrashed the miserable cowards of Redcoats as they deserved."

"A great thrashing 'twas, when they lost not a wagon of their train, and took more prisoners than Washington," Joscelyn answered tartly.

A dozen voices answered her angrily, and she opened her lips to reply, but Mistress Strudwick clapped her broad palm over the girl's mouth.

"Hold your saucy tongue, Joscelyn; and you girls, there, be silent this minute. What, is the war to ruin the manners of our women that they can descend so low as to brawl in the public streets? Shame upon you, every one! What hath come of your senses that you thus demean yourselves and belittle the raising your elders gave you?"