“I am not in want,” I said, trying to smile.
“But — but why are you not among the guests at Province House?” he asked, quickly. “The son of Captain Cardigan needs no friend at court, I fancy.”
He linked his gilded sleeve in my arm and drew me past the guard-house, and ere I could protest, I found myself inside the cloak-room among a company of old beaux and young fops, all in the hands of footmen and body-servants who were busily dusting the hair-powder from silken shoulders, smoothing out laces, hanging hats and cloaks to dry, and polishing sword-hilts for their languid, insolent-eyed masters.
“Can we not find a quiet corner hereabouts?” I asked. “I came to demand a pass for Lexington. Will you use your privilege with the Governor, Bevan?”
“A pass!” he exclaimed, stopping short in his tracks.
“To Lexington,” I repeated.
“To-night?”
“Yes.”
He raised his honest, perplexed eyes to me.
“I must have a pass; it concerns the welfare of Miss Warren,” I began, then hesitated, remembering that I was also to take Jack Mount in my company, whose business in Lexington was very different from mine.
“Cardigan,” he said, with troubled eyes on me, “I cannot lend myself to such a service, even for Miss Warren’s sake, unless you first give me your word of honour that your journey concerns only Miss Warren’s welfare.”
My heart sank; I could not betray the comrade who counted on me. Jack Mount must get free o’ Boston as well as I. But how could I lie to Bevan or requite his courtesy with treachery? Yet honour forbade me to leave Jack Mount, even for Silver Heels’s sake.
“Pass or no pass, I go this night,” I said, sullenly.
“Hush!” he said; “don’t talk here.”
He led me through the card-rooms, where a score of old bucks and purple-necked officers sat, all playing picquet in owlish silence, then through a partition, where a fountain sprayed beds of tall ferns, out into a lamp-illumined circular alcove, hung with China silks, and bowered deep in flowers and tiny, blossoming trees no higher than one’s knee-buckle.
“The Chinese alcove,” he observed. “Nobody will disturb us here, I fancy. You have heard of the Chinese alcove, Cardigan? There is the door to the famous golden gallery.”
I glanced at the gilded door in the corner, half-hidden by Chinese drapery. I had heard that the Governor’s sweetheart dwelt here.
Bevan reached up and pulled a velvet cord. Presently a servant brought us a silver bowl of steaming punch made with tea and fruit in the Regent’s fashion.
“I drink no tea,” I said, shortly.
“I suppose not,” observed Bevan, laughing, and commanded the servant to fetch me a bowl without tea.
“Your courtesy to a rebel is extraordinary,” I said, after an interval.
“Oh, I’m half rebel myself,” he laughed. “I’d be in my shirt-sleeves out Middlesex way, drilling yokels — Minute Men, I believe — were it not that — that — oh, well, I’ll wear the red jacket as long as I live and let the future weed out the goats from the sheep.”
“It’s different with you,” I said. “You are English bred.”
“Ay, and the red o’ the uniform has dyed my flesh to the bone,” he replied.
“You mean that you will fight — us?” I asked.
“Tooth and nail, my dear fellow,” he said, gayly; “foot, horse, and dragoons! But what can I do to serve you — first?”
I tasted a glass of punch, then set it down impatiently. “I tell you I must ride to Lexington,” I said, firmly, “and I mean to take friends if I choose—”
“Tell me no more, Cardigan,” he broke in, “else I must refuse you what little service I may render. You know as well as I why the gates on the Neck are closed to-night. If you do not know, listen to me. The rebels have been storing war materials. Last October we gave their spokesmen full warning that we could no longer tolerate the collecting of arms and ammunition. We sent expeditions into the country to destroy what stores they had gathered.”
He hesitated; a perplexed smile passed over his face. “You know perfectly well,” he said, “that we have good reasons for closing the city gates to-night. I cannot give you a pass. Yet, for Miss Warren’s sake” — he lifted his hat as he spoke— “I have done what I could in honour. Now I must leave you.”
“What have you done?” I asked, angrily.
“I have conducted you to the Chinese alcove, my friend.”
“The ante-chamber of the Governor’s mistress,” I retorted. “Am I to find my pass here among these flowers and blossoms?”
He looked down at the glasses on the table beside us, stirred the contents of his own, and nodded.
“What do you mean?” I demanded, hotly.
“I mean, Cardigan, that, except the Governor, there is only 447 one person to-night in Boston who can secure you a pass for Lexington. If she chooses to do so, it is not my affair.”
“If who chooses to do so?”
“She.”
“Who?”
“Wait and — ask her,” he said, gravely.
He was gone, wading waist-deep in flowers, ere I could compose my mind to think or protest, leaving me speechless; standing by the table.
A minute passed; through the thickets of sweet-smelling blossoms the candles flamed like those slender witch-lights that dance over nature’s gardens, where bergamot and cardinal robe our dim woods in crimson glory under the October stars.
“What does he mean by leaving me here?” I muttered, pacing to and fro through the fragrant, flowering lane. Then, as I stood still, listening, far away I heard a glass door close with a crystalline clash; there came the rustle of brocade sweeping like a breeze along the passage; the door of the golden gallery swung outward; a figure all silk and lace stood poised on the step above me, screened to the knees behind the flowers.
“Where is the forest-runner who desires a pass to Lexington?” she began; then, perceiving my lank, dark form against the candle-light, she laughed a sweet, contented little laugh and bade me approach.
I saw that exquisite, indolent head bending towards me, the smiling eyes seeking my features, the jewels ablaze at her throat.
“Marie Hamilton!” I stammered.
All her neck and face flamed, then whitened to the hue of death as she stepped swiftly towards me, her brocade sweeping through the flowers with a sound like the wind tearing silken petals. Suddenly she stood still, clearing her startled eyes with one jewelled hand; her knees fell a-trembling; she swayed and caught at the stiff, golden curtains, half tearing them from the wall.
Into a carved chair, all glittering with dragon’s wings, she fell, a crumpled heap of lace and jewels, and buried her face in her hands, pressing her fingers into the plump skin.
I watched her miserably; she twisted her white hands before her face; her quivering mouth, her delicate body bent and writhing, all these told me what no words could tell, and her agonized silence shouted her shame to the midnight skies of heaven.
In the hush that followed, the door of the golden gallery swung idly back and forth with a deadened, muffled beat like the noise of great wings flapping.
“Michael,” she said, at last.
“Yes,” I whispered, in hopeless grief.
Presently she sat up, wearily, one hand on her pale, smooth brow. I could not meet her eyes; I bent my head.
“Oh, God, what punishment is mine!” she sobbed.
She dropped her hands, clasped them, and looked wildly at me through her tears.
“If I am what I am, it was because I had lost you,” she said. “I had eaten my heart out — you never came — I never thought you cared — I never thought you cared!” she wailed, twisting her interlocked fingers in helpless agony. “I had loved you so long; I tried to make you understand it, but you would not. I was mortally hurt — I said bitter things — but my heart was yours, Michael, yours for the asking, and so was I; you had only to take me; I would have gon
e with you from the first word you spoke to me in Johnson Hall — I would have followed you — from the first glance you gave me. Wrong? What is wrong? Love? It is never wrong! I would have died for a touch of your lips; I did almost die when you kissed me there, using me so shamelessly with your boyish cruelty! You went away in the night; I searched Johnstown, and I listened and questioned until I believed you had gone to Pittsburg. And I followed you, madly jealous of Felicity, crazed at the thought that she, too, was going to Pitt to be near you. But you were not at Fort Pitt; I waited, and I was calm because I believed that Felicity meant to wed with Dunmore. Then Harrod sent in his list of killed — my husband was among the dead. I went back to Albany. I meant to come to Boston to sell my house: I needed money. You found me there on the road that night; I could have died from happiness, but you would not understand me, Michael!” she ended, piteously.
I kept my eyes on the floor.
“And now, since you have been in Boston, all these long months,” she cried, “I have not seen you; I could not find you, nor could I find anybody who had ever seen you. God knows I did not think to see you here since I, destitute, utterly desperate, caring nothing for life, took — this — shameful — step—”
She covered her hot face with her hands.
“Can you believe I love you still?” she sobbed.
I could endure no more; already I had stumbled through the flowery hedge towards the door, blindly forcing a path amid the blossoms which threw out a hundred tendrils to bar my way.
Once I looked back. She lay in the glittering chair, eyes following me. The next step, and a great bunch of roses blotted her face from my sight.
Through the card-room I hurried, aware of people around me, yet seeing nothing; down the stairway, jostled by people who were descending or mounting, and at last into the cloak-room and out through the court-yard, which was now bright with moonlight shining in the puddles of rain.
Shemuel came from the mews to meet me, leading Warlock. Mr. Foxcroft stalked behind him.
“Where is the pass?” he demanded. “Did you procure the pass, sir? What! Empty-handed! Now, by Heaven!” he cried, in a towering fury, “this Tory Governor presumes too far!”
“Be silent!” I said, sharply; “do you wish to have us all arrested? I shall go to Lexington to-night, I tell you, pass or no pass; and, before I go, you shall tell me where I may find Miss Warren.”
“A mile out of Lexington on the Bedford Road,” he replied. “How can you pass the Neck guard, without the Governor’s leave, sir?”
“I will show you,” said I, “if you choose to accompany me.”
“You mean to ride for it?” he asked, excitedly.
I was silent.
“And risk a chain-shot from their twenty-four-pounders?” he persisted.
“Mr. Foxcroft,” I said, “you may do as you please, but there is nothing under the moon, yonder, which can keep me from going to Lexington. Have you a horse stabled here? No? Can you hire one? Then hire him, in Heaven’s name, and get into your saddle if you mean to go with me. Shemuel, find a good horse for Mr. Foxcroft, and another for Jack Mount. You must pay for them; I have no money. It is half-past ten o’clock; I will wait ten minutes.”
Shemuel scurried back into the mews; Foxcroft followed, and in a moment his portly figure was lost to sight in the dusky alley.
I looked up at the lighted windows of Province House, wondering how on earth I was to go to Lexington. Music was sounding from the ballroom; I looked out across the dark city; the moon hung over the bay; the rigging of a war-ship rose black against the silvery disk. Instinctively I turned my eyes towards the steeple of the Old North Meeting-House. The steeple was dark; the troops had not yet started.
Musing there in the moonlight, hands clasped on the pommel of my saddle, the dull thunder of hoofs from the stable aroused me, and presently Mr. Foxcroft came clattering out of the mews, followed by Shemuel, also mounted, a grotesque lump of a shape, crouched on the saddle, his flat, three-cornered hat crammed over his great ears, his nose buried in his neck-cloth. He led a third horse behind him.
“Now, sir,” panted Foxcroft, “I am prepared to ride to the devil with you and put this Tory Governor’s nose out o’ joint!”
“Do you also ride with us, Shemuel?” I asked.
He replied faintly in the affirmative. The little creature was frightened. His devotion touched me very deeply.
Walking our horses along Common Street, we were almost immediately accosted by dragoons, who, on learning that our destination was the “Wild Goose Tavern,” cursed us roundly, promising to clean out that nest of rebels at no distant date. Their officer also began to harangue us, but I pushed my horse past him and cantered on into the Mall and out through Green Lane, wheeling into the alley behind the “Wild Goose.”
Of the half-score gentlemen whom I had left there, sitting their rain-drenched horses, none remained. However, Mount was in the tavern, and he came at my whistle, explaining that the balance of the company had chosen to risk crossing the bay under the guns of the Somerset, rather than attempt to force the Neck.
“God go with them!” said I; “here’s Shemuel with a horse for you. We’ll ride to the shore and see what can be done.”
Mount, who had been busily embracing Shemuel, gave the little Jew a mighty slap of affection, vaulted into his saddle, passed my rifle to me, and fell back beside the peddler, while Mr. Foxcroft and I rode through the Mall once more, down towards the shore, where, in the darkness, faint flashes through the trees came and went as the waves of the bay caught the moonlight.
“Is it too far to swim?” I asked Mr. Foxcroft.
“Too far,” he replied, with a shiver. “All is marsh beyond; the mud would smother us ere we landed. That shoal yonder is dry at low-water.”
“Mr. Foxcroft,” said I, “we must swim for it somewhere. Could we not make the Charles River at a pinch?”
“No, nor Stony Brook,” he said. “A good swimmer might circle the floating battery and make his way outside the Neck, but he could not last, Mr. Cardigan.”
We had been slowly approaching the shore while we spoke. For some time I had fancied I heard sounds in the darkness like the stirring and movement of a body of men assembling. At first I fancied the swelling murmur of the tide deceived me, yet at moments it seemed as though I could distinguish a trampling sound which could not have been the beat of the ocean’s steady squadrons on the beach.
Then, as we came out through the fringe of trees from which the land fell away to the water’s edge, a stirring sight lay spread before us: below, in the dazzling moonlight, the shore swarmed with soldiers, teamsters, and boatmen, moving hither and thither along the water’s edge. Companies of grenadiers were marching towards the wooden wharf at the end of Hollis Street; companies of light infantry and marines were embarking in the boats which lay rocking along the shore; horses snorted, gathered in groups, while boatmen 452 poled flat-boats towards a cove from which already a scow, freighted with horses, was being pushed out into the bay.
Although there was no talking, save the half-whispered commands of the officers, the movement of so many boats, the tread of a thousand men, the stamping and noises of horses, all swelled into a heavy, ceaseless sound, which mingled with and intensified the murmur of the mounting tide, stirred to its flood by the silver magic of the rising moon.
Hundreds of soldiers had already embarked; we could distinguish the dark line of their boats, all strung out as though fastened together, stem and stern, rising and falling on the glittering surface of the bay, ever lengthening, as new boats, loaded deep with soldiers, put out to fall into line and sail bobbing away into the darkness, only to reappear again under the flood of moonlight.
“Suppose,” whispered Mount, “we lead our horses aboard that scow yonder!”
In another moment, scarcely aware of what I was actually about, I had dismounted, and was leading Warlock straight down to the shore towards a cove, where half a dozen boatmen were standing i
n a scow, resting on their long sea-poles.
“If they ask questions, knock them into the water!” said Mount, calmly.
He repeated the instructions to Foxcroft and Shemuel as we filed along the dim shore past a throng of boatmen, grooms, officers’ servants, and teamsters, and made straight towards the scow that lay a few yards off shore in the little, shadowy cove.
It was a desperate attempt; had I given myself one minute’s reflection, I should rather have risked a dash across the Neck and a chain-shot on the causeway. Yet its very audacity was in our favour; the boatmen, when they saw us leading our horses down to their cove, hastily lowered a plank bridge from their heavy scow, and Mount coolly waded out into the water, guiding his horse aboard as calmly as though it were his own stable, and these Tory boatmen his paid grooms.
I followed with Warlock, who snorted and pawed when the salt water rose to his fetlocks, but he danced up the plank 453 incline and entered the boat without coaxing. Shemuel’s horse, a sleek, weasel-bellied animal, with a wicked eye and a bunch o’ hackle for a tail, swung round in the water, slinging the little Jew on his face in the mud, and then, with a vicious squeal, flung up his heels and cantered off, scattering a company of marines drawn up a hundred yards down the shore.
Draggled and dripping, Shemuel, standing knee-deep in salt water, watched the flight of his horse, but I bade him come aboard at once, and he did so, casting sidelong glances at the boatmen, who regarded him with astonishment.
Mr. Foxcroft, meanwhile, had dragged his horse aboard, and Mount ordered the boatmen to push off at once.
As the men took up their heavy sea-poles, I heard them whispering to each other that Mount and I must be scouts sent ahead to spy for the soldiers, and I caught them eying our buckskins curiously as they lay on their poles, pushing out towards the broad belt of moonlight which glistened beyond.
The wind whipped our cheeks as we swung clear of the land; the boatmen presently took to their oars, which I noticed were muffled midway between blade and handle. The row-locks, also, had been padded with bunches of wheat-straw and rags.
Now that we were safely afloat, misgivings seized me. I had never before been on salt water; the black waves which came slapping on our craft disturbed me; the shadowy hulk of the war-ship which lay athwart our course loomed up like doom, seeming to watch us with its wicked little green and red eyes, marking us for destruction.
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 129