CHAPTER VI. I FIRST SUFFER FOR THE CAUSE
In the eighteenth century the march of public events was much moreeagerly followed than now by men and women of all stations, and evenchildren. Each citizen was ready, nay, forward, in taking an active partin all political movements, and the children mimicked their elders. OldWilliam Farris read his news of a morning before he began the mending ofhis watches, and by evening had so well digested them that he was primedfor discussion with Pryse, of the opposite persuasion, at the Rose andCrown. Sol Mogg, the sexton of St. Anne's, had his beloved Gazette inhis pocket as he tolled the church bell of a Thursday, and would holdforth on the rights and liberties of man with the carpenter who mendedthe steeple. Mrs. Willard could talk of Grenville and Townshend asknowingly as her husband, the rich factor, and Francie Willard made manya speech to us younger Sons of Liberty on the steps of King William'sSchool. We younger sons, indeed, declared bitter war against themother-country long before our conservative old province ever dreamed ofsecession. For Maryland was well pleased with his Lordship's government.
I fear that I got at King William's School learning of a far differentsort than pleased my grandfather. In those days the school stood uponthe Stadt House hill near School Street, not having moved to its presentlarger quarters. Mr. Isaac Daaken was then Master, and had under himsome eighty scholars. After all these years, Mr. Daaken stands before mea prominent figure of the past in an ill-fitting suit of snuff colour.How well I recall that schoolroom of a bright morning, the sun's raysshot hither and thither, and split violet, green, and red by the bulgingglass panes of the windows. And by a strange irony it so chanced thatwhere the dominie sat--and he moved not the whole morning long save toreach for his birches--the crimson ray would often rest on the end ofhis long nose, and the word "rum" be passed tittering along the benches.For some men are born to the mill, and others to the mitre, and stillothers to the sceptre; but Mr. Daaken was born to the birch. His long,lanky legs were made for striding after culprits, and his arms forcaning them. He taught, among other things, the classics, of course,the English language grammatically, arithmetic in all its branches,book-keeping in the Italian manner, and the elements of algebra,geometry, and trigonometry with their applications to surveying andnavigation. He also wrote various sorts of hands, fearful and marvellousto the uninitiated, with which he was wont to decorate my monthlyreports to my grandfather. I can shut my eyes and see now that wonderfulhyperbola in the C in Carvel, which, after travelling around the paper,ended in intricate curves and a flourish which surely must have brokenthe quill.
The last day of every month would I fetch that scrolled note to Mr.Carvel, and he laid it beside his plate until dinner was over. And then,as sure as the sun rose that morning, my flogging would come before itset. This done with, and another promised next month provided Mr.Daaken wrote no better of me, my grandfather and I renewed our customaryfooting of love and companionship.
But Mr. Daaken, unwittingly or designedly, taught other things thanthose I have mentioned above. And though I never once heard a word ofpolitics fall from his lips, his school shortly became known to all goodTories as a nursery of conspiracy and sedition. There are other ways ofteaching besides preaching, and of that which the dominie taught best hespoke not a word. He was credited, you may well believe, with calumniesagainst King George, and once my Uncle Grafton and Mr. Dulany were forclapping him in jail, avowing that he taught treason to the young. I canaccount for the tone of King William's School in no other way than tosay that patriotism was in the very atmosphere, and seemed to exudein some mysterious way from Mr. Daaken's person. And most of us becameinfected with it.
The dominie lived outside the town, in a lonely little hamlet on theborders of the Spa. At two of the clock every afternoon he would divethrough School Street to the Coffee House, where the hostler would havehis bony mare saddled and waiting. Mr. Daaken by no chance ever enteredthe tavern. I recall one bright day in April when I played truant andhad the temerity to go afishing on Spa Creek with Will Fotheringay, thebass being plentiful there. We had royal sport of it that morning, andtwo o'clock came and went with never a thought, you may be sure. Andpresently I get a pull which bends my English rod near to double, andin my excitement plunge waist deep into the water, Will crying outdirections from the shore, when suddenly the head of Mr. Daaken's mareis thrust through the bushes, followed by Mr. Daaken himself. Will stoodstock still from fright, and I was for dropping my rod and cutting, whenI was arrested by the dominie calling out:
"Have a care, Master Carvel; have a care, sir. You will lose him. Playhim, sir; let him run a bit."
And down he leaps from his horse and into the water after me,and together we landed a three-pound bass, thereby drenching hissnuff-coloured suit. When the big fish lay shining in the basket, thedominie smiled grimly at William and me as we stood sheepishly by, andwithout a word he drew his clasp knife and cut a stout switch fromthe willow near, and then and there he gave us such a thrashing as weremembered for many a day after. And we both had another when we reachedhome.
"Mr. Carvel," said Mr. Dulany to my grandfather, "I would stronglycounsel you to take Richard from that school. Pernicious doctrines, sir,are in the air, and like diseases are early caught by the young. 'Twasbut yesterday I saw Richard at the head of a rabble of the sons ofriff-raff, in Green Street, and their treatment of Mr. Fairbrother hathset the whole town by the ears."
What Mr. Dulany had said was true. The lads of Mr. Fairbrother's schoolbeing mostly of the unpopular party, we of King William's had organizedour cohorts and led them on to a signal victory. We fell upon the enemyeven as they were emerging from their stronghold, the schoolhouse, andsmote them hip and thigh, with the sheriff of Anne Arundel County alaughing spectator. Some of the Tories (for such we were pleased to callthem) took refuge behind Mr. Fairbrother's skirts, who shook his caneangrily enough, but without avail. Others of the Tory brood foughtstoutly, calling out: "God save the King!" and "Down with the traitors!"On our side Francie Willard fell, and Archie Dennison raised a lump onmy head the size of a goose egg. But we fairly beat them, and afterwardsmust needs attack the Tory dominie himself. He cried out lustily to thesheriff and spectators, of whom there were many by this time, for help,but got little but laughter for his effort. Young Lloyd and I, beinglarge lads for our age, fairly pinioned the screeching master, whocried out that he was being murdered, and keeping his cane for a trophy,thrust him bodily into his house of learning, turned the great keyupon him, and so left him. He made his escape by a window and soughtmy grandfather in the Duke of Marlboro' Street as fast as ever hisindignant legs would carry him.
Of his interview with Mr. Carvel I know nothing save that Scipio wasrequested presently to show him the door, and conclude therefrom thathis language was but ill-chosen. Scipio's patrician blood was wont torise in the presence of those whom he deemed outside the pale of goodsociety, and I fear he ushered Mr. Fairbrother to the street withlittle of that superior manner he used to the first families. As for Mr.Daaken, I feel sure he was not ill-pleased at the discomfiture of hisrival, though it cost him five of his scholars.
Our schoolboy battle, though lightly undertaken, was fraught withno inconsiderable consequences for me. I was duly chided and soundlywhipped by my grandfather for the part I had played; but he was inclinedto pass the matter after that, and set it down to the desire forfighting common to most boyish natures. And he would have gone nofarther than this had it not been that Mr. Green, of the MarylandGazette, could not refrain from printing the story in his paper. Thatgentleman, being a stout Whig, took great delight in pointing out thata grandson of Mr. Carvel was a ringleader in the affair. The story wasindeed laughable enough, and many a barrister's wig nodded over it atthe Coffee House that day. When I came home from school I found Scipiobeside my grandfather's empty seat in the dining-room, and I learnedthat Mr. Carvel was in the garden with my Uncle Grafton and the ReverendBennett Allen, rector of St. Anne's. I well knew that something out ofthe common was in the wind to d
isturb my grandfather's dinner. Intothe garden I went, and under the black walnut tree I beheld Mr. Carvelpacing up and down in great unrest, his Gazette in his hand, while onthe bench sat my uncle and the rector of St. Anne's. So occupied waseach in his own thought that my coming was unperceived; and I paused inmy steps, seized suddenly by an instinctive dread, I know not of what.The fear of Mr. Carvel's displeasure passed from my mind so that I carednot how soundly he thrashed me, and my heart filled with a yearning,born of the instant, for that simple and brave old gentleman. For thelad is nearer to nature than the man, and the animal oft scents a dangerthe master cannot see. I read plainly in Mr. Allen's handsome face,flushed red with wine as it ever was, and in my Uncle Grafton's looksa snare to which I knew my grandfather was blind. I never rightlyunderstood how it was that Mr. Carvel was deceived in Mr. Allen;perchance the secret lay in his bold manner and in the appearance ofdignity and piety he wore as a cloak when on his guard. I caught mybreath sharply and took my way toward them, resolved to make as brave afront as I might. It was my uncle, whose ear was ever open, that firstheard my footstep and turned upon me.
"Here is Richard, now, father," he said.
I gave him so square a look that he bent his head to the ground. Mygrandfather stopped in his pacing and his eye rested upon me, in sorrowrather than in anger, I thought.
"Richard," he began, and paused. For the first time in my life I saw himirresolute. He looked appealingly at the rector, who rose. Mr. Allenwas a man of good height and broad shoulders, with piercing black eyes,reminding one more of the smallsword than aught else I can think of. Andhe spoke solemnly, in a deep voice, as though from the pulpit.
"I fear it is my duty, Richard, to say what Mr. Carvel cannot. Itgrieves me to tell you, sir, that young as you are you have been guiltyof treason against the King, and of grave offence against his Lordship'sgovernment. I cannot mitigate my words, sir. By your rashness, Richard,and I pray it is such, you have brought grief to your grandfather in hisage, and ridicule and reproach upon a family whose loyalty has hithertobeen unstained."
I scarce waited for him to finish. His pompous words stung me like thelash of a whip, and I gave no heed to his cloth as I answered:
"If I have grieved my grandfather, sir, I am heartily sorry, and willanswer to him for what I have done. And I would have you know, Mr.Allen, that I am as able as any to care for the Carvel honour."
I spoke with a vehemence, for the thought carried me beyond myself,that this upstart parson his Lordship had but a year since sent among usshould question our family reputation.
"Remember that Mr. Allen is of the Church, Richard," said mygrandfather, severely.
"I fear he has little respect for Church or State, sir," Grafton put in."You are now reaping the fruits of your indulgence."
I turned to my grandfather.
"You are my protector, sir," I cried. "And if it please you to tellme what I now stand accused of, I submit most dutifully to yourchastisement."
"Very fair words, indeed, nephew Richard," said my uncle, "and Idraw from them that you have yet to hear of your beating an honestschoolmaster without other provocation than that he was a loyal servantto the King, and wantonly injuring the children of his school." He drewfrom his pocket a copy of that Gazette Mr. Carvel held in his hand, andadded ironically: "Here, then, are news which will doubtless surpriseyou, sir. And knowing you for a peaceful lad, never having entertainedsuch heresies as those with which it pleases Mr. Green to credit you, Idare swear he has drawn on his imagination."
I took the paper in amaze, not knowing why my grandfather, who had everbeen so jealous of others taking me to task, should permit the rectorand my uncle to chide me in his presence. The account was in the maintrue enough, and made sad sport of Mr. Fairbrother.
"Have I not been caned for this, sir?" said I to my grandfather.
These words seemed to touch Mr. Carvel, and I saw a tear glisten in hiseye as he answered:
"You have, Richard, and stoutly. But your uncle and Mr. Allen seem tothink that your offence warrants more than a caning, and to deem thatyou have been actuated by bad principles rather than by boyish spirits."He paused to steady his voice, and I realized then for the first timehow sacred he held allegiance to the King. "Tell me, my lad," said he,"tell me, as you love God and the truth, whether they are right."
For the moment I shrank from speaking, perceiving what a sad blow toMr. Carvel my words must be. And then I spoke up boldly, catchingthe exulting sneer on my Uncle Grafton's face and the note of triumphreflected in Mr. Allen's.
"I have never deceived you, sir," I said, "and will not now hide fromyou that I believe the colonies to have a just cause against his Majestyand Parliament." The words came ready to my lips: "We are none the lessEnglishmen because we claim the rights of Englishmen, and, saving yourpresence, sir, are as loyal as those who do not. And if these principlesbe bad," I added to my uncle, "then should we think with shame upon theMagna Charta."
My grandfather stood astonished at such a speech from me, whom he hadthought a lad yet without a formed knowledge of public affairs. But Iwas, in fact, supersaturated with that of which I spoke, and couldhave given my hearers many able Whig arguments to surprise them had theseason befitted. There was silence for a space after I had finished, andthen Mr. Carvel sank right heavily upon the bench.
"A Carvel against the King!" was all he said.
Had I been alone with him I should have cast myself at his feet, for ithurt me sorely to see him so. As it was, I held my head high.
"The Carvels ever did what they believed right, sir," I answered. "Youwould not have me to go against my conscience?"
To this he replied nothing.
"The evil has been done, as I feared, father," said Grafton, presently;"we must now seek for the remedy."
"Let me question the lad," Mr. Allen softly interposed. "Tell me,Richard, who has influenced you to this way of thinking?"
I saw his ruse, and was not to be duped by it.
"Men who have not feared to act bravely against oppression, sir," Isaid.
"Thank God," exclaimed my uncle, with fervour, "that I have been morecareful of Philip's associations, and that he has not caught in thestreets and taverns this noxious creed!"
"There is no danger from Philip; he remembers his family name," said therector.
"No," quoth Mr. Carvel, bitterly, "there is no danger from Philip. Likehis father, he will ever believe that which best serves him."
Grafton, needless to say, did not pursue such an argument, but rising,remarked that this deplorable affair had kept him long past his dinnerhour, and that his services were as ever at his father's disposal. Herefused to stay, though my grandfather pressed him of course, and with alow bow of filial respect and duty and a single glance at the rector,my uncle was gone. And then we walked slowly to the house and into thedining room, Mr. Carvel leading the procession, and I an unwillingrear, knowing that my fate would be decided between them. I thought Mr.Allen's grace would never end, and the meal likewise; I ate but little,while the two gentlemen discussed parish matters. And when at lastScipio had retired, and the rector of St. Anne's sat sipping the oldMadeira, his countenance all gravity, but with a relish he could nothide, my grandfather spoke up. And though he addressed himself to theguest, I knew full well what he said was meant for me.
"As you see, sir," said he, "I am sore perplexed and troubled. WeCarvels, Mr. Allen, have ever been stanch to Church and King. Mygreat-grandsire fought at Naseby and Marston Moor for Charles, andsuffered exile in his name. 'Twas love for King James that sent myfather hither, though he swore allegiance to Anne and the First George.I can say with pride that he was no indifferent servant to either,refusing honours from the Pretender in '15, when he chanced to be athome. An oath is an oath, sir, and we have yet to be false to ours. Andthe King, say I, should, next to God, be loved and loyally served by hissubjects. And so I have served this George, and his grandfather beforehim, according to the talents which were given me."
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sp; "And ably, sir, permit me to say," echoed the rector, heartily. Tooheartily, methought. And he carefully filled his pipe with choice leafout of Mr. Carvel's inlaid box.
"Be that as it may, I have done my best, as we must all do. Pardonme, sir, for speaking of myself. But I have brought up this lad from achild, Mr. Allen," said Mr. Carvel, his words coming slowly, as if eachgave him pain, "and have striven to be an example to him in all things.He has few of those faults which I most fear; God be thanked that heloves the truth, for there is yet a chance of his correction. A chance,said I?" he cried, his speech coming more rapid, "nay, he shall becured! I little thought, fool that I was, that he would get this pox.His father fought and died for the King; and should trouble come, whichGod forbid, to know that Richard stood against his Majesty would killme."
"And well it might, Mr. Carvel," said the divine. He was for themoment sobered, as weak men must be in the presence of those of strongconvictions. My grandfather had half risen in his chair, and the linesof his smooth-shaven face deepened visibly with the pain of the feelingsto which he gave utterance. As for me, I was well-nigh swept away by abigness within me, and torn between love and duty, between pity and thereason left me, and sadly tried to know whether my dear parent's lifeand happiness should be weighed against what I felt to be right. Istrove to speak, but could say nothing.
"He must be removed from the influences," the rector ventured, after ahalt.
"That he must indeed," said my grandfather. "Why did I not send him toEton last fall? But it is hard, Mr. Allen, to part with the child of ourold age. I would take passage and go myself with him to-morrow were itnot for my duties in the Council."
"Eton! I would have sooner, I believe, wrought by the side of anyrascally redemptioner in the iron mines of the Patapsco than have goneto Eton.
"But for the present, sir, I would counsel you to put the lad's studiesin the charge of some able and learned man, that his mind may be turnedfrom the disease which has fed upon it. Some one whose loyalty is beyondquestion."
"And who so fit as yourself, Mr. Allen?" returned my grandfather, reliefplain in his voice. "You have his Lordship's friendship and confidence,and never has rector of St. Anne's or of any other parish broughtletters to his Excellency to compare with yours. And so I crave yourhelp in this time of need."
Mr. Allen showed becoming hesitation.
"I fear you do me greater honour than I deserve, Mr. Carvel," heanswered, a strain of the pomp coming back, "though my gracious patronis disposed to think well of me, and I shall strive to hold his goodopinion. But I have duties of parish and glebe to attend, and MasterPhilip Carvel likewise in my charge."
I held my breath for my grandfather's reply. The rector, however, hadread him, and well knew that a show of reluctance would but inflame himthe more.
"How now, sir?" he exclaimed. "Surely, as you love the King, you willnot refuse me in this strait."
Mr. Allen rose and grasped him by the hand.
"Nay, sir," said he, "and you put it thus, I cannot refuse you."
The thought of it was too much. I ran to my grandfather crying: "NotMr. Allen, sir, not Mr. Allen. Any one else you please,--Mr. Fairbrothereven."
The rector drew back haughtily. "It is clear, Mr. Carvel," he said,"that Richard has other preferences."
"And be damned to them!" shouted my grandfather. "Am I to be ruled bythis headstrong boy? He has beat Mr. Fairbrother, and shall have noskimmed-milk supervision if I can help it."
And so it was settled that I should be tutored by the rector of St.Anne's, and I took my seat beside my cousin Philip in his study the verynext day.
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