Here Comes a Candle

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  “Mr. Madison’s just coming, sir,” said the youth, who could hardly, Kate thought, have been more than seventeen.

  “Madison! That’s all I need!” He had forgotten about Kate already as he turned away to look across the valley. Despite the heat, the day was extraordinarily clear. “Look!” he said suddenly. “Here they come.”

  Straining her eyes, Kate followed the direction of his pointing hand, and saw, two miles or so beyond Bladensburg, the thin red column appear around a plantation of trees. Englishmen! Trained soldiers; marching, she could see even from here, in impeccable Quickstep. A horrible muddle of feelings convulsed her, so that for a moment the bright light turned black around her. These were professionals, cold-blooded soldiers marching over the hill, men like Fred Croston and his friends. And here, waiting for them, was a rabble of amateurs, a citizens’ army, men who took time to worry about a lonely girl on a horse. Passionately, incredibly, she wanted them to win, and knew all the time how hopeless it was.

  “The Moore Quickstep,” said General Stansbury. “I’ve always wanted to see that. As for you, ma’am, you’d best be getting back to town. There’ll be a battle here before the hour is out. If you’re lucky, you should meet Penrose on the way. He reckoned to join Commodore Barney and his sailors if he could.”

  “Thank you, sir. And—God bless you.” Tears blinded her eyes as she wheeled Sampson away toward the Washington road. They might have been for disappointment at this failure to find Jonathan, but were not. They were for the man in the black jacket, the man in the dancing pumps, these men, these individuals, standing here in the hot sunshine, waiting for juggernaut.

  Tears heavy in her eyes, she hardly noticed the dusty, gray-faced little man with the huge pair of dueling pistols belted around him who rode past her in the opposite direction. President Madison had come to cheer on his army.

  Most of Winder’s force must have arrived from Washington at last, Kate thought, finding the road almost deserted now. She stopped a straggler, who carried an immense blunderbuss.

  “Commodore Barney!” He surprised her by bursting into a delighted guffaw of laughter. “I should just about think I do know where he is. He’s right on the road behind me. Law, I laughed so much, I thought I’d die. I just wish you could have heered him.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  He laughed some more before he could manage to tell her. “Old Winder forgot all about him. Well, you can understand that, with the panic was on, and Jemmy Madison there at the Navy Yard, and Armstrong, and I don’t know who else, all together there talking fit to bust. Council of war, they calls it! In the end they all decides to come here to Bladensburg, seeing as how even a child could a’ told ‘em this was where the battle would have to be, and why we weren’t ready here last night the dear only knows. So Winder starts off at last, and our Jemmy says he’ll follow—spunky little cuss is Jemmy, mind you, when all’s said and done. I was looking after his horse, see, or I’d a’ been here sooner. Battle’s not started, has it, ma’am? I wouldn’t want to miss my first battle.”

  “No, no,” she reassured him. “The redcoats have only just come in sight. They must be a couple of miles from the village still.” Calling her countrymen redcoats? What in the world had happened to her?

  “That’s all right then.” He had time to enjoy his story. “Out comes Jemmy to his horse, and up comes old Josh Barney, red as my aunt’s petticoat and swearing like my uncle, and asks what the hell he’s to do: old Winder’s forgotten all about him. And a proper turnout that was: I wish you could a’ heard his language. To the President of these United States! I tell you, ma’am, it’s a pleasure I’ll remember to my dying day. ‘Stay and guard the Navy Yard, will I?’ says Barney. ‘I’ll be ...’ excuse me, ma’am. ‘I’ll be jiggered,’ he said, ‘if I do.’ So in the end Jemmy gives in and makes Secretary of the Navy Jones say Barney can come here and fight, and they’re on their way right now, back along the road a piece, with the guns they saved from their gunboats. And won’t that jist be a surprise for the redcoats? What’s that? Gunfire, ma’am! They’ve started! You’ll excuse me. I can’t miss my first battle.” And he left her at a sweating trot, the blunderbuss clutched lovingly to his chest.

  She was over the brow of the hill now and into the woods. And no time to turn back and see what was happening. Anyway, she was afraid she knew. What chance had these amateurs against men trained under Wellington? No, she must ride on, find Jonathan, get him back to Washington with her. What business had he here, a Federalist, a man of peace, Jonathan...

  At all costs she must find him before the battle. Before? What hope of that? Over the hill, the deadly thunder continued, bringing with it a horrible picture of the two American guns she had seen covering the main street of Bladensburg from the hill. The English would not get to the bridge that the Americans had so strangely left standing, let alone across it, without suffering appalling losses. Terrible to think of, worse still to be grateful for the time it gave her.

  But there—thank God—were Commodore Barney’s men in their smoke-grimed naval uniform, unmistakable both for this and for their look of order and discipline. Busy manhandling their big guns along the rough road, they took no notice of her as she rode slowly down their line, looking with a kind of desperate hope for Jonathan.

  She saw him at last, and swallowed hard as tears—of joy?—of pity?—started to her eyes. He was walking with a party of sailors who had apparently just ended their turn of duty on the rearmost gun. His gray face, aged surely by years since she had last seen him, and his automaton’s pace contrasted heartrendingly with the swinging march and bronzed health of his companions.

  She pulled up her horse beside them, and called, as loud as she could make herself. “Mr. Penrose! Jonathan!” He did not hear her, but the man nearest her did, looked at her with amazement, and passed the word along. Jonathan looked up; their eyes met; his whole face changed. Now he was working his way across the line to join her. She had just time to see how ghastly he looked, as if he had neither slept nor eaten for several days, before he was beside her. “Kate!” His hand, warm on hers where they held the reins. “You’re alive!”

  “Of course. You always did believe the worst too easily, dear Jonathan.” Surely, in this moment, she could allow herself that “dear”?

  “Dear Kate!” His hand gripped hers harder still. “But,” a glance over his shoulder, “there’s no time. Only to say, ‘Thank God,’ and, Kate, where’s Sarah?”

  “Jon! I don’t know. They knocked me out: took her away: wrote you a lying letter. Mr. Hillingford told me. But they’re in Washington somewhere. I’m sure of that. I hunted all day yesterday—for you, for her. In the end—thank God—I found Mr. Hillingford.”

  “In Washington?” He was watching the column draw away from them. “Oh God, there’s no time.” He turned her horse’s head, so that the two of them could follow behind the guns. “No time for anything—maybe it’s as well. Kate! When I thought you were dead!”

  She smiled down at him lovingly. “Well, I very nearly was.” No time for that either. “Jonathan, Mr. Hillingford’s housekeeper is searching the hotels for them. Only—when we find them, we’ll need you. Who else can claim Sarah?” She made as if to turn Sampson’s head back toward Washington.

  “No.” His hand was heavy on hers. “I can’t, Kate. You must see that. Not even for Sarah. Not even for you. Don’t you see, if they’re not stopped, they’ll be in Washington tonight. And Winder—our army—you never saw anything like it. Barney needs every man he can get. He’s my old friend—not that that makes any difference. I couldn’t leave him now, were he ten times my enemy. But you’ll manage, Kate, you and Hillingford. You’ll find her. You’ll save her for me. And as for me—don’t look like that! I’ll fight to live, now I know there’s something to live for. And if—if I should be killed, forgive me, Kate, for everything. But I won’t, not now. I’ll see you in Washington tonight.” And then: “My God, what’s that?”

  S
he had never heard anything like the horrible, high-pitched scream that rose above the clamor of the guns. “I don’t know. Some new weapon? Jon, you can’t, it’s horrible—”

  “It’s no place for you. Get back to Washington, Kate, and find Sarah for me. I know you will. I trust you. I love you. Let me say it, this once. And—I’ll come to Hillingford’s as soon as I can.”

  “But, Jonathan—” tears fought with speech.

  “No.” His eyes held hers for a timeless moment before he pressed her hand once, hard, then turned away to take his place in the line.

  She sat for a few moments quite still, watching the little band of sailors pull away, Jonathan’s figure gradually becoming indistinguishable from the rest as they moved steadily, relentlessly toward the battle on the other side of the hill. Tears streamed down her face. See him tonight? She would never see him again. But that did not absolve her from doing what he had asked. She turned Sampson once more and set out toward Washington.

  The old horse was tiring now, and she had not the heart to press him. It was still intolerably hot, and a grisly picture flashed through her mind of the Baltimore militia sweating it out in their winter uniforms. A little party of horsemen caught up and passed her at an uneasy trot, and this time she recognized the man in the black suit. Jemmy Madison had left the field of battle.

  She tried to tell herself that this need not be so sinister as it seemed. Very likely he had merely been there to encourage the men before the fighting started. After all, he was known for a man of peace.

  Yes—a man of peace, like Jonathan. War did strange things to people, she thought, and came to the top of a hill to see the Capitol standing before her and realize that she had missed the turn-off that would have taken her across country to Hillingford’s house. Nothing for it now but to take the road through town, and, perhaps, pick up some news on the way.

  Outside the Capitol, sweating clerks were loading papers into wagons. She saw Madison’s party stop to speak to them and paused after them to ask, “What’s the news?”

  “Terrible. The battle’s lost, he says. They’re in full flight on the Georgetown road. And look! this way too.”

  Turning in the saddle, she saw the first wave of fugitives coming in sight along the road and heard at the same moment the sound of gunfire from a new direction. Barney must have set up his guns at last, but surely too late for anything but a doomed rearguard action?

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” The clerk was looking at her curiously.

  “That you’d best get going, ma’am, before they blow up the bridges. The redcoats will be here any time now, from what he says.” He did not dignify the President of the United States with any fuller description.

  Full panic in Pennsylvania Avenue now, and when she got to the President’s house it was to see wagons drawn up there, too, and a hostiler looking crowd surrounding them. No time to hope that the President’s wife, Dolly, was safely out of town. She must get quickly to Hillingford’s house and warn him of approaching disaster.

  But when she got there she found that he had already heard the news from a party of stragglers who had paused to ask for water in their flight. “A shambles,” he said, “a disgrace. The English had some newfangled weapon, it seems, a rocket or something—a red glare and a great deal of noise, and no damage whatsoever, from what they say, but it panicked our men just the same. And now the Capitol’s wide open. We’ll never live this down. Never.”

  “Not quite wide open.” Breathlessly, she told him about Commodore Barney and Jonathan. “But they can’t hold them long; a handful of men like that. I tried to get him to come away, Mr. Hillingford, but it was useless.”

  “Of course. He and Barney are old friends, from his sea captain days. Comfort yourself that Jon was right, my dear. He couldn’t have come away.”

  “I know.” It was cold comfort. She slid down from Sampson’s hot back. “Mr. Hillingford, what about Sarah?”

  “No news I’m afraid. Mrs. Ellicott came back half an hour ago. Not a trace of them. Of course, in the general confusion—and, suppose they’ve used other names. An elementary precaution.”

  “Yes.” She had thought of that too. So—what hope was there? But she had promised Jonathan. Very likely her last promise. A sudden vision of him, shirt sleeves rolled up, marching alongside Barney’s sailors, filled her eyes with tears. “Mr. Hillingford, we must find Sarah tonight. Don’t you see, if the English take the city—and there’s nothing but Commodore Barney to stop them—Manningham will be able to join them without the slightest difficulty. It’s tonight or never.”

  “Yes,” said Hillingford, “and—the guns have stopped.” He regretted it when he saw her blanched face. “Don’t worry too much, my dear. Barney’s a man of sense as well as courage. He won’t throw his men’s lives away. Wait; hope; Jonathan may be here any time. In the meanwhile, you must have something to eat. When he gets here will be time enough to think about Sarah.” He would not tell her now, while she looked so near to collapse, how little hope he really had of their finding the child. Instead, he made her sit down, eat some cold meat, and drink a glass of wine.

  They tasted of dust and despair but did her good. “You think he’ll be able to get here?”

  “Of course. The army’s retreating to Georgetown—even beyond, some of the stragglers say, but Jonathan won’t go. Well, there’s no need. He’s a civilian, a Federalist. Naturally, he’ll come here.”

  “But Mr. Hillingford.” Here was the secret core of her terror. “If he’s taken prisoner, may they not shoot him as a spy?”

  “Nonsense!” He was roundly comforting. “You’ve seen our soldiers! If they shoot everyone without uniform—why they’ll be busy with firing parties all week. Don’t worry so much, my dear. He’ll come back, I promise you. He was always lucky, Jonathan. Did he ever tell you about the time he fought the Barbary pirate? No? I thought not: he’s a great one for not talking about himself. Let me pour you another glass of wine, and I’ll tell you ...”

  “No! No, thank you. We ought to be doing something.”

  “What?” he asked reasonably. “Think a little, Mrs. Croston. The confusion is at its very worst now. Soldiers everywhere, civilian refugees still making their escape—I hear Dolly Madison left it pretty late, among others. It would be courting trouble to go out now—and, besides, we’d miss Jonathan. Just wait an hour or so: all the rats will have left; the streets will be empty—or at least emptier. Then, I promise you, if Jonathan has not arrived, I’ll come with you in one last round of the hotels. After all, there is one thing on our side. No need for Manningham to flee—or to hide, once he knows the English are here. He’ll be convinced everything is going his way.”

  “And so it will be.” What comfort was there in this?

  “Yes, but don’t you see, the last thing Manningham must actually want is to be saddled with Sarah. Trust me; he’s been bluffing it so far; there will be another message from him. That’s what I’ve been counting on.”

  “I see. Yes. You might be right at that. But, Mr. Hillingford, you ought not to stay here. Suppose the English sack the town.”

  “I’ll suppose nothing of the kind. They’re not barbarians, after all. Oh—we may have trouble, just as we might from our own stragglers, but that’s a chance I’m prepared to take, and so is Mrs. Ellicott. We talked it over this morning. We’re too old, both of us, to be wandering round the country in an open wagon. And we’ve taken our precautions.”

  “Precautions?”

  He laughed his dusty lawyer’s laugh. “I’m afraid you will think them very mundane, Mrs. Croston. But you must have noticed that all the fugitives who had knocked at the back door while we have been talking have gone away quite soon and quite cheerfully.”

  “Yes, it’s true, I had thought it surprising.”

  “Not surprising, Mrs. Croston; strategy. I always believe in expecting the worst: it’s part of a lawyer’s training. As soon as I heard the English had landed at Benedict I began makin
g my preparations—or, to be precise, Mrs. Ellicott did. She has enough beer and meat pasties out back to feed a small army. And that’s what she’s doing. She gives them a drink—not too little, not too much—presses a pasty into their hand, and urges them to lose no time in getting to safety. They’re panicked already: it works like a charm. When the English come, it will be the same thing (I do hope she will not have run out of pasties) only, of course, she will marvel at their daring to stray so far from their camp—wherever it is. She’s a fine woman, my Mrs. Ellicott. I’m not sure I won’t marry her, when this is all over.”

  “Mr. Hillingford,” she heard her own words with a kind of horrified surprise. “If Mrs. Penrose really goes to England with Charles Manningham, will ... will Jonathan be able to divorce her?”

  “No, my dear.” The dry voice was extraordinarily kind. “I would not be your friend if I let you indulge in hopes of that sort. And Jonathan—well, you know him; I don’t have to spell it out for you.”

  “Thank you. No, you don’t. I—would you excuse me for a moment?”

  “Cry here.” His voice was gentle now. “Just let yourself cry here, Mrs. Croston. I won’t interrupt.”

  EIGHTEEN

  This was no time for tears. Kate took the silk pocket handkerchief Hillingford handed her and dabbed angrily at her eyes. She had known perfectly well, all along, that there was no hope for her and Jonathan, that Arabella’s flight with Manningham changed nothing. It was better to have faced and admitted it. Besides, it was monstrous—superstitiously, it even seemed dangerous—to be thinking of marriage, even as an impossibility, when already Jonathan might be lying out there cold on the green hillside.

  That was the way back down into despair, and, whatever she might feel for herself, she had a first duty to Jonathan, to Sarah. “Mr. Hillingford,” she stood up. “You said we’d wait an hour.”

  “Or so,” he amended. “We’ll give him ten minutes more. In the meanwhile, I must have a word with Mrs. Ellicott. I can’t say I altogether like to leave her alone in the house.”