Chapter XII: A Message Out of the North

"I love thee, and I feel
That in the fountain of my heart a seal
Is set, to keep its waters pure and bright
For thee."
--SHELLEY.

"It's all very well for our husbands and sons to be away fighting for their country--I'd horsewhip one of mine who sneaked at home; but for all that, this manless state of the town is a terrible test to the tidiness and the tempers of the womenfolk," said Mistress Strudwick, as she sat on her porch with some chosen cronies, and watched the young girls of the town promenading in the aftermath of the July sunset with never a cavalier among them. "Look at Lucinda Hardy, she's as cross as a patch; and yonder is Janet Cameron, who has not curled her hair for a week--just mops it up any way, since there are no men to see it."

"And there's 'Liza Jones without her stays," said Mistress Clevering.

"Yes, and looking for all the world like a comfortable pillow that has just been shaken up; but if there was a man under threescore in seeing distance, she'd be as trim as you please," replied Mistress Strudwick. "Heigh-ho, what a slipshod world this would be if there were nobody but women in it!"

"And what a topsy-turvy place 'twould be with only men. Nobody'd ever know where anything was," said quiet Mistress Cheshire, with poignant recollections of striving to keep up with the belongings of two husbands. "Depend upon it, Martha Strudwick, the world would be a deal worse off without women than without men, for men never can find anything."

"I am quite of your mind, Mary. In sooth, I always had a sneaking notion that Columbus brought his wife along when he came to discover America, and that 'twas she who first saw the land," said Sally Ruffin.

"I don't seem to remember that there was a Mistress Columbus," said Ann Clevering, biting off her thread with a snap.

"Well, goodness knows there had ought to have been, for Columbus had a son," replied Martha Strudwick, greatly scandalized, although her own knowledge in the matter was somewhat hazy.

"How 'pon earth did we ever get to talking such wise things as history?" asked Mistress Cheshire, whose _forte_ was housewifely recipes.

"We were saying as how men never could find things."

"Oh, yes."

"Well," said Martha Strudwick, thoughtfully, "that depends on what kind of things you mean. Now there's my husband--and he's a good man, good as common--he can find a fish-hook in the dark if it's good biting season; but he can't see the long-handled hoe in the broad daylight if it's weeding time in the garden and the sun is hot. Finding things depends more on a man's mind than his eyes."

"Then there's a heap of them who lose their minds mighty handy," retorted Ann Clevering.

Mistress Cheshire pushed back her chair: "I shall run home and caution Dilsy about putting the bread to rise; she's that unseeing that I think Providence must have first meant her to be a man." Which was as near a joke as anything Mistress Cheshire ever said. As she trotted away the others looked after her affectionately.

"Mary is such a mild-mannered woman," said Ann Clevering; "many's the time I've heard her first husband--dead and gone these twenty-three years--say it was an accident little short of a miracle how Providence could make a woman with so little tongue."

"Joscelyn, with her goings-on, must be a dreadful trial to her," sighed Amanda Bryce.

"And not only to her mother, but to the whole town," snapped another woman.

"Hoity-toity!" bristled Mistress Strudwick, "what's the matter with Joscelyn? She is the very life of the place, now that the men are gone. If 'twere not for discussing her, and abusing her,"--with a withering glance at the last speaker,--"we should go tongue-tied for lack of somewhat to talk about. She's a tonic for us all, and without her we'd be going to sleep."

"Sleep is a good thing," sniffed Amanda Bryce.

"Ay," retorted Mistress Strudwick, "when you are tucked in bed and the lights are out, it is; but not when you are standing up flat-footed with baking and brewing and weaving and such things to look after. Joscelyn's all right, Tory though she be. Look at her now, with all those red roses stuck around her belt; she's the finest sight on the street."

"Fine enough to look at, I'm not gainsaying you; what I object to is hearing her when she talks about our war."

"Well, Amanda, if our swords were all as sharp as her tongue can be, the war would soon be over."

"You always were partial to the lass, Martha."

"Ay, I often told Richard Clevering I'd be his rival were I a man, old or young; and truly I believe Joscelyn would look with more favour upon me of the two," laughed the corpulent dame, remembering the soft little touches with which the girl sometimes tidied up her gray hair and unruly neckerchief, and the caress upon her cheek that always closed the job.

"I wonder you can take up so for her, Martha, when all your menfolk are in the Continental army, and she a rank Tory."

"Oh, I can forgive a woman her politics, because, like a man's religion, it's apt to be picked up second-hand and liable to change at any time."

"Don't you believe men have any true religion?"

"Well, ye-e-s; if the rain comes in season, and the crops are good, and the cattle don't break into the corn, and their victuals are well cooked, they are apt to be middling religious."

"Remember you have a husband of your own."

"Yes, praise God, 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 passed 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 assumed 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 passing 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 grass, 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--God bless him for a generous lad!"

"No," sobbed the lad, "he is so noble, 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 ashore 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 God 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 pass 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 God, 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?"

The reproof had the desired effect; for the girl stood silent and abashed, and her angry assailants drew back. Taking advantage of the lull, Mistress Strudwick seized Joscelyn by the arm and almost forcibly drew her away.

"Begone to your home, and bide there till you learn some sense," she cried sharply. "What's the use in butting your brains out against a wall, when there's room enough to go around it? There is no fool like a self-made fool! Go." But when the girl had gone a few steps she made her return. "Promise me truly," she whispered, "that you'll go straight home and stay until the fire you kindled here burns down a bit--promise you will not stir from the house, or I shall not sleep to-night."

"I promise, dear Mistress Strudwick," Joscelyn said, kissing the big hand that patted her cheek. "You heard me say I was sorry our townsfolk were taken, and so I am."

"Yes, yes. Harkee, tell your mother I say to be sure and send Amanda Bryce a loaf of hot bread for supper--Billy will be hungry with running so far from Monmouth," she said, with a meaning wink. In truth, she intended the hot bread as a peace-offering to Mistress Bryce, for it was by such small acts of quiet diplomacy that she kept down the enmity against the Cheshires, or rather against Joscelyn, since she it was who aroused the resentment.

Slowly the girl went down the street thinking of the scene just passed. Mistress Strudwick was right; it was a disgrace for women to brawl thus upon the public thoroughfares; never again would she let her temper get the better of her in this way--only they should not touch her. And already half-forgetful of her resolution, she mounted her steps with flashing eyes and flaming cheeks.

Presently lights began to glimmer through the dusk, and when the dark really came every house in the town showed a candle in its window in token of the advantage won at Monmouth, for since Washington held the field they deemed him victorious. Even in those houses where grief had entered, the light shone; for true patriotism is never selfish. Only the Cheshire windows were dark, so that the house made a blot in the street. Mistress Cheshire had gone to the Cleverings to condole with them over Richard; but Joscelyn, because of her promise to Mistress Strudwick, had bided at home, though she would much have loved to comfort Betty. From porch to porch the women called to each other, and some of the girls sang snatches of song here and there, like mocking-birds hid in the shadows. But Joscelyn sat at her upper window, silent and musing, thinking what a beautiful thing Richard Clevering had done to let the little lad go free while he himself went back to captivity. Suddenly a voice below her whispered:--

"Hist! Joscelyn, Joscelyn!"

She leaned over the window-sill. "Who is it?"

"It is I--Billy Bryce. I have only a minute, for mother must not know I came, but I have a message for you."

"From whom comes it, Billy?"

"From Richard. Come quickly."

She ran lightly down to the veranda and leaned over the railing to the boy in the shadow. He took her hands eagerly in his.

"He loves you, Joscelyn!"

She did not answer. He was too earnest for a jest, so she only pressed his hand and waited.

"He is so noble, so generous, Joscelyn; even among us younger boys he never did a mean thing, and there's not a man in the company who is not his friend."

"Yes, I always knew Richard had a kind heart, and his letting you go in his stead was unselfish--beautiful; and I honour him for it."

"And do you not love him for it also?" the lad begged wistfully. "Say that you love him just a little."

"Nay, Billy; he is brave and kind, and he is my friend and Betty's brother, therefore do I wish him naught but good fortune and happiness; but, laddie, I do not love him."

"You are cruel--heartless!" he cried, flinging her hands away. "Richard's little finger hath more feeling in it and is worth more than your whole body."

"Your championship does you credit, Billy, and I shall not quarrel with you for appraising my value so low. Mayhap Richard thinks differently."

"Ay, that he does--more's the pity!" Then taking her hands again, he said vehemently: "An you come not to love him, I pray God to curse you with an ugliness so great that no other man may ever kiss or love you! For listen; as we lay in the dark that night waiting for the moment to escape, this is what he said: 'If you get away and I do not, say to Joscelyn Cheshire that even behind prison bars I am her lover; and that if death comes, her face, or the blessed memory of it, will outshine those of the angels of Paradise.' That was his message. I have faced many dangers to bring it to you. Now that you have it, I shall go back to my regiment, and if a ball finds me, well and good; Richard will know somehow and somewhere that I did not fail him."

The girl dropped her head low in the starlight.

"Good-by, Billy; you have filled your mission bravely. Heaven keep you safe and send you back once more to your mother and us."

He put up his hand and stroked her cheek softly.

"I do not wonder that he loves you, Joscelyn, you are so beautiful, and you can be so sweet--so sweet," he exclaimed, and then ran away into the dark, leaving her alone with the words of the love-message ringing in her ears.

So still she stood that a big moth flying wearily by rested a moment on her shoulder; across the way her mother was bidding Aunt Clevering good night with admonitions to sleep well, and from down the street came the voices of the singers chanting of victory and the home-coming of loved ones. But above everything the girl on the dark balcony heard a deep, strong voice saying, "Even behind prison bars I am her lover."

Prison bars!

And suddenly she threw up her arms in the flower-sweet dusk and whispered vehemently:--

"Set him free, dear God! set him free!"