For Love of Country: A Story of Land and Sea in the Days of the Revolution
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CHAPTER X
_A Soldier's Epitaph_
Left to himself in the deserted hall, the old sailor walked over to thebody of the old soldier. Many a quaint dispute these two old men hadheld in their brief acquaintance, and upon no one thing had they beenable to agree, except in hatred of the English and love of their commoncountry. Still their disputes had been friendly, and, if they had notloved, they had at least respected each other.
"I wish I had not been so hard on the man. I really liked him,"soliloquized the sailor. "Poor Blodgett, almost forgotten, as Mr.Talbot says. He died the right way, though, doing his duty, fightingfor his country and for those he loved. Well, he was a brave man--fora soldier," he murmured thoughtfully.
Out on the river the little sloop was speeding rapidly along. Ride asthou wilt, Philip, she cannot be overtaken. Most of the exhausted menlay about the decks in drunken slumber. Johnson stood moodily by theman at the helm; his triumph had been tempered by Desborough'sinterference. Two or three of the more decent of his followers werediscussing the events of the night.
"Poor Joe!" said one.
"Yes, and Evans and Whitely too," was the reply.
"Ay, three dead, and nobody hurt for it," answered the other.
"You forget the old fellow at the landing, though."
"Yes, he fought like the devil, and came near balking the whole game.That was a lucky shot you got in, Davis, after Evans missed and washit. That fellow was a brave man--for a rebel," said the raider.
In the cabin of the sloop Colonel Wilton was sitting on one of thelockers, his arm around Katharine, who was leaning against him,weeping, her hands before her face. Desborough was standingrespectfully in front of them.
"And you say he made a good fight?" asked the colonel, sadly.
"Splendid, sir. We stole up to the boat-house with muffled oars,wishing to give no warning, and before he knew it half of us were onthe wharf. He challenged, we made a rush; he shot the first man in thebreast and brained the next with his clubbed musket, shouting words ofwarning the while. The men fell back and handled their pistols. Iheard two or three shots, and then he fell, never making another sound.But for Johnson's forethought in sending a second boat load to theupper landing to get to the back of the house, you might have escapedwith the warning and the delay he caused. He was a brave man, and diedlike a soldier," continued the young man, softly.
"He saved my life at Cartagena, and when I caught the fever there, henursed me at the risk of his own. He was faithfulness itself. He diedas he would have liked to die, with his face to the enemy. I loved himin a way you can hardly understand. Yes, he was a brave man,--my poorold friend."
On the rustic bench beside the driveway overlooking the river sat alittle woman, older by ten years in the two hours which had elapsedsince she looked after the disappearing figure of her son.
She heard the sound of wheels upon the gravel road, and recognizedColonel Wilton's carriage and horses coming up the hill; there were herown two horses following after, but neither of the riders was her son.What could have happened? She rose in alarm. The carriage stoppednear her.
"What, mother, are you still here?" said Hilary, opening the door andstepping out, his voice cold and stern.
"Yes, my son; what has happened?"
"Dunmore's men have raided the Wilton place. Katharine and her fatherhave been carried away by that brute Johnson, who commanded the party.Seymour has been wounded in defending Katharine. I have brought himhere. This is the way," he went on fiercely, "his majesty the kingwages war on his beloved subjects of Virginia."
"'They that take the sword, shall perish with the sword,'" she quotedwith equal resolution.
"And Blodgett is killed too," he added.
"What else have those who rebel against their rightful monarch a rightto expect?" she replied. "Is Mr. Seymour seriously wounded?"
"No, madam," answered that young man, from the carriage; "but I fear memy cause makes me an unwelcome visitor."
"Nay, not so, sir. No wounded helpless man craving assistance can everbe unwelcome at my--at the home of the Talbots, whatever his creed.How died Blodgett, did you say, Hilary?"
"Fighting for his master, at the foot of the path, shot by thoseruffians."
"So may it be to all enemies of the king," she replied; "but after allhe was a brave man. 'T is a pity he fell in so poor a cause."
And that was thy epitaph, old soldier; that thy requiem, honestBlodgett,--from friend and foe alike,--"He was a brave man."