University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
THE DEFEAT.

THE young artisan, to avoid the crowd which thronged the
streets in the vicinity of the governor's residence, took a devious
route, passing in the rear of the mansion, and past the gate
of the garden by which Lucy Hutchinson had let him out. As he
came near the gate, a loud shout rose upon the air from the people
in front of the mansion. It was occasioned by the disappearance of
the officers within, the closing of the door, and the appearance of a
soldier with a musket to stand sentry upon the steps.

The shout caused Fleming to linger and listen, for his fears were
instantly aroused for the safety of the high-born maiden, whom he
loved with all the ardor of his being. Since their parting at that
very gate, four weeks before, he had met her frequently, and their
meetings had served to bind together, in pure and elevated love, two
noble hearts, which heaven had formed to be mated, though fortune
had cast their lots widely apart. But love knows no aristocracy.
Lucy Hutchinson's gratitude had first been awakened towards the
preserver of her life, and gratitude is the parent of a tenderer emotion.
She had not ceased to feel a deep interest in the young
stranger, to whom she owed so much, and when she learned that he
was a young artisan, her interest, if possible, was increased, and
perhaps was stronger than it would have been had the handsome
and courageous young man been of her own rank in society. His
bold and fearless bearing in the presence of her father, his generous
patriotism, added a sentiment of admiration to her deep gratitude; and
the union of these two emotions produced a feeling towards him that
paved the way for that surrender of the heart which subsequently
followed. The passion which Fleming entertained for her was
modest, as became his condition, but it was open and elevated, like
his own frank character. He loved her, he knew that he loved her
as he could love no other, yet the sense of his own lowly state did
not lead him to shrink from indulging the high hopes which at times

swelled his bosom. He was not presumptuous, but her gentle kindness,
her manifest interest in him, caused him to cherish hopes that
otherwise, he felt, would have been madness. They were like each
other in character, and it was natural that they should assimilate.
He felt grateful for her regard for him, and returned it with a passion
pure and adoring. His romantic love won the noble-hearted maiden's
heart, and she frankly surrendered it. Thus they were secretly
lovers, and mutually happy in their interchange of hearts. To
Fleming it seemed a transporting dream. He could hardly realise
that his aspiring love for the noble maiden was met with a return.
He wondered that when he dared to unfold to her ear the secret of
his passion, she had not haughtily forbade him her presence.

Sometimes they met by moonlight in the garden, and walking the
shadowy avenues discoursed together, now of the state of the
colonies, now of England and her glory, but mostly of love. He
had recounted to her all his heart's history, and she had given him
her own. Thus mutual knowledge of each other bound them closer
together, and made them both friends and lovers, for the holy dignity
of friendship does not always walk side by side with human love.

He loved to speak to her of his sister, and at her request he
brought Mary one evening with him to the gardens, and made them
known to each other. The maidens at once became interested in
each other, and so Mary, loving and beloved by both, became, as it
were, a new link to bind the lovers together.

Though Miss Hutchinson was highly educated, yet in no instance
did the artisan or his lovely sister betray that they were of humbler
condition than herself. Nature had given them beauty of feature
and nobleness of person; and natural intelligence had availed itself
of all the resources of education then furnished in the colonies to all
classes, and such resources were far from being inconsiderable. In
all that goes to elevate the intellect, inform the judgment, and instruct
and purify the heart, the brother and sister were the equals of
the governor's daughter. The graces of painting and of embroidery,
the accomplishment of the guitar and harp, Mary Field had not; yet
Lucy thought her no less lovely in mind and person, and missed
them not in the sweet purity of her character, the beautiful expression
of her soul-full eyes, the music of her loving voice, and the artless
mirthfulness of her disposition. The two maidens became
friends. If Lucy had not loved Mary for her own sake, she would
have loved her for Fleming's.

Once or twice Lucy had paid a visit to the house with Mary, and

was charmed with the neat simplicity of all that she beheld. Pure
taste and native refinement of mind had placed their delicate seal
upon every article in the little parlor. The influence which Lucy
exercised over Fleming, though unconscious to herself, was very
great. He seemed to take a new and higher tone of feeling and
sentiment from the reflection of her love. He seemed to wish to
make himself in all his acts worthy of the rich treasure of her love.
Whenever he mingled among his town's-people, men marked a certain
dignity in his air, and grace of bearing, that involuntarily drew
their attention and commanded their respect. When he spoke, as
he as well as other young men did, to the assembled citizens in the
numerous caucuses held for discussing the question of resistance or
submission to the stamp-act, he seemed to be endowed with a
power of eloquence unknown among them. He swayed and moved
them at his will, and yet unconsciously to himself, as it seemed. He
was listened to by the wise and the venerable, and his sentiments
were afterwards repeated as well in the hall of the rich colonist as
in the stall of the cobbler. All men commended him, and his name
was spoken with praise and high hopes by every tongue. He bore
with modesty all this popularity among his fellow-citizens, rejoicing
in his influence only so far as it bore upon the public good. Lucy
Hutchinson could not but hear of his praises, and she felt that when
she gave her heart to the young artisan, she had not misled her judgment—that
he was worthy of a richer gift far than that she had
bestowed.

He was now about to enter the gate, before which he stood under
the impulse of apprehension lest the governor's daughter should be
alarmed by the shouts of the crowd, anxious also to know the cause
of it, when he heard a footstep within the garden rapidly approaching
the gate. It was a man's step, and the rattling of the chains of
a scabbard told him that he was a British officer. He drew back
behind an oak that grew a few feet from the gate to observe who
should pass out, as he did not desire to be seen by any one, lest his
presence there might be construed into some hostile purpose against
the governor; for he had already got the name among the English
officers as a leader of the insurgents.

The gate opened, and Cleverling came out. He cautiously looked
around, as if not wishing to be observed, and then crossed the street,
and passed forward, muttering,

“The way is clear. All the town is on the other side of the
house, and I am likely to have the field to myself! That monster

too is there with his infernal bat and ball! So to love and beauty I
steal my way!”

These words had not been quite distinct to Fleming's ear. He
heard, however, enough to show him that the man was bent on some
evil design. His sister Mary instantly occurred to his thoughts, and
he resolved to follow him. Since the time he had been thrown from
the house by Saul, Cleverling had been at the castle, save within a
day or two past, when he was staying in town on leave. During
this period he had once been seen by Mary passing the court and
looking up it with attention. She turned pale when she saw him,
but did not mention the fact to her brother. Fleming had supposed
that he had ceased to think of her. But as he now took the way in
the direction of his house, he resolved to see that no mischief came
of it.

Cleverling did not look around, but rapidly walked on. At the
corner of the first street he was met and passed by the governor's
secretary, who was coming from the opposite direction. Cleverling
haughtily bowed, and after going by him, turned and said,

“Landreth, if you hear the governor or my colonel inquire for
me, say I shall be back by sun-down. I am going to Cambridge.”

With these words he passed on. The next moment Fleming met
the secretary. They grasped hands like two brothers.

“What did Cleverling say to you?” asked Fleming.

“To say that he goes to Cambridge, and will be back by sun-down,”
answered the young secretary, George Landreth, a pale, but intellectual
looking young man, with a remarkably fine eye and mouth,
and an appearance strikingly elegant.

“Have you just seen Mary?”

“Yes. She was at the governor's with Miss Hutchinson when
the ship was coming in, and I have just escorted her home,” replied
Landreth, slightly blushing.

“Is she alone?”

“Yes. Your mother has not come in.”

“I wish you to return at once and see where Cleverling goes.
Hear those cries and shouts! I hope the citizens will not forget
themselves! I have my suspicions of the man. I do not wish to
wound your feelings, George, but Cleverling has conceived a free
liking for Mary, and has once been hurled from the house by Saul
for following her home from church. Now that she is your betrothed
bride, you are equally her protector with myself. Follow him, and
see that he does not go to alarm her with his presence. I was following

him, but you will protect her quite as efficiently as I could
do. I wish to go back and speak with Miss Hutchinson, and if
possible obtain speech with her father, for a crisis is approaching.
Do you hear those shouts? I must be there and do what I can to
arrest violence, if it is likely to break forth. To you I entrust the
sacred trust to protect Mary!”

With these words Fleming pressed his friend's hand, and hastened
back towards the governor's mansion, from the front of which every
few moments loud and menacing shouts arose.

George Landreth's eyes flashed fire at the intelligence which
Fleming had conveyed to him touching Cleverling. He had never
suspected this, though he well knew the libertinism of his character,
and had little fellowship with him; for a pure man instinctively
shrinks from the companionship of the licentious, while they repay
his aversion by hatred and contempt. It is thus the evil and the
good are separated one from the other in this world, and it is thus
they will be in the next. Character is “the great gulf fixed” that
divides hell from heaven!

When Fleming left him, Landreth hastened with rapid steps after
the officer. He soon came in sight of him, and kept him in view
until he saw him turn up the court, when he became satisfied of the
evil of his intentions. The streets in that part of the town were
quite deserted, the lover and the libertine being the only two in them.
When Landreth reached the entrance to the court, Cleverling was
not to be seen. Satisfied that he had boldly entered the house, he
hastened up the court, and, leaping the fence, opened the door. As
he did so a wild shriek reached his ears from a distant part of the
house. He passed into the front room. A military glove lay upon
the floor. A chair was overturned. The door on the opposite side,
leading to a small breakfast-room, was thrown open. He rushed
into this apartment and across it through another wide open door
leading through the kitchen into the yard. The outer door was
closed, but opening it, he found himself in a small court-yard, which
was bounded on one side by a narrow lane. As he came in sight of
the lane, a carriage was driving along it at full speed, in the direction
of the west part of the town. He pursued it with the fleetness
of a deer, for he knew that it contained Mary and Cleverling. An
obstruction in the way for a moment detained the carriage. Cleverling,
looking out to see what it was, beheld Landreth in pursuit.
Before the coach could proceed, George was at its side. He sprung
at the door and wrested it open. Cleverling, taken by surprise, was

hurled by the collar to the ground. Mary was on the forward seat,
with a deep woollen
cap drawn over her face and mouth. Landreth
called her by name, and removing it, clasped her to his heart.

“Release that young woman, sirrah!” cried Cleverling, in a fury
of madness at this interruption of his well-planned flight with the
lovely colonist.

“Villain!” cried the indignant lover, springing out, armed with
Cleverling's own sword, which had been left upon the carriage-seat,
“defend yourself! I am the protector and avenger of this maiden!”

“She is my mistress, fellow! release her!”

“Foul liar!” cried Landreth, striking him across the mouth with
the flat of the sword. “Were it not for her presence, I would punish
you with death upon the spot. Go, sir, and thank me for your
life.”

“You shall answer for this with your own,” responded Cleverling,
black with rage. “Give me up my sword.”

“One so base is unworthy to wear one,” responded Landreth, as
he broke it in two with his foot, and cast to him the fragments.

Cleverling would have sprung upon him if he had dared; but his
eye quailed before the steady determination of that of the young
secretary. He took up the pieces of his sword and was about to
walk away, when he seemed to recollect the carriage, which was one
of those one horse chariots, then in vogue, and usually driven by a negro.
A black lad was now upon the seat trembling with affright.

“The carriage shall convey Miss Field back to her house,” answered
Landreth. “Then it is at your service.”

Cleverling bit his lip with rage and vexation. He looked as if he
half resolved to make an attempt to rescue his lost prize, but discretion
got the better of his wishes. He remained standing where Landreth
left him until he saw the carriage stop in the rear of the house
from which he had forcibly borne the lovely colonist, and Landreth
take her from it and convey her almost fainting with the alarm she
had undergone, into the dwelling. The chariot then returned to
where he stood, when getting into it he drove rapidly away.

“God must have sent you to my rescue, dear Landreth,” said Mary,
after she was sufficiently recovered to be able to converse and
express her gratitude.

“I was going home when I met this unprincipled Cleverling, and
soon afterwards your brother Fleming. He told me he suspected
him to be coming here, and desired me to watch him, as his presence

he felt, was needed at the governor's. He amazed me by telling me
that Cleverling ever knew you at all.”

“I never saw him, save when he followed me from church, and
once or twice since, when he has been here with the soldiers, or passed
by at the foot of the lane. I have always feared him.”

“How is it that he was able to get you into the carriage so soon
from the house?”

“I was in the garden looking at a chariot which I heard entering
the lane, little suspecting its purpose, when I heard a step in the
house. The next moment Mr. Cleverling appeared, and running towards
me, caught me up in his arms. I shriked, when he stopped
my mouth with his hand, and bore me swiftly to the carriage. He
placed me in, drawing, at the same time, a cap over my face, and
getting in after me, bade the driver to proceed nor spare his horse. I
used every exertion to escape from the carriage, when he threatened
me with instant death unless I was still. This menace caused me
to make stronger exertions, hoping he would indeed kill me. At this
instant, you came up, and I am saved.”

“Cleverling shall answer for this with his life,” said Landreth,
sternly, as he rose and walked the room. “Be composed, dearest
Mary. He shall be rewarded to the top bent of his iniquity.”

“Do not take any vengeance upon him, George,” cried the maiden
with alarm. “You will only endanger your own life, and also make
public what you had best suffer to pass in silence.”

“There is wisdom in your words. The busy tongue of slander
may make more of it than it is if it gets abroad. I will let it pass,
unless he crosses my path. But here is Saul. I would he had been
here a quarter of an hour earlier, and you would have been safe.”

“Mr. Cleverling told me in the carriage when I called on their
names, that he knew my brothers were both absent, and said that I
was beyond reach of all succor. But for your providential presence, I
should have been.”

“Well, Saul, I am glad to see you,” said Landreth. “Come with
me to the door, I have a word to say to you.”

“I ha' been up to the goveny's, Georgy. I never see so many people
afore in my life. How they did holler! I didn't get to see the
stamp though. I guess they keeps him in a cage. If I see him I'd
grapple him, wouldn't I. I'd kill him as quick as I would a kitten.”

“Never mind the stamp, Saul,” said Landreth, taking him by the
hand and leading him to the gate. “I have something for you to
do.”

“Well, I'll do it for you, Georgy,” answered Saul, laying his huge
hand kindly on the young man's shoulder.

“You know Lieutenant Cleverling!”

“The red coat and gold on it. I know him and he knows Saul,”
replied the giant, with a fierce look, at the same time grasping his
bat-stick.

“He has been here a second time, and tried to carry off your sister,
who is to be my bride. Listen, Saul, and don't be too hasty.
You must act like a wise as well as a brave man. He did not succeed,
though he got her into a carriage; but I rescued her, and she
is, you see, in the room.”

“I'll kill him. I told him I'd kill him,” cried Saul, fiercely.

“No, you must not kill him, Saul. Do what I wish and you will
punish him better than killing him. Besides, if you kill him you will
be hanged.”

“I don't care, I'll kill him.”

“Saul, you must listen to me,” said Landreth, firmly. “If you
would do your sister a service, follow my directions. I have not
told Fleming of it, as I wish to give you an opportunity that I know
will please you.”

“Well, let me hear, Georgy.”

“Cleverling is staying at the house of Mr. Oliver, He will probably
be there to-night, as it is too late for him to get over to the castle,
it being now within a few minutes of sun-down. You must watch
for him as soon as it is night, and get possession of his person. You
know you can carry him where you list, as if he were a child.”

“I know it, Georgy. He knows it too,” answered Saul, almost
savagely, and with a look of triumph, as if proud of his enormous
strength and huge stature.

“When you get possession of him, take him to the old wind-mill
on the point at the back of the Beacon hill, and there detain him until
I come. See that you do not harm him though.”

“I'll do it, Georgy. But, Georgy, if he an't at Mr. Olivey's, shall
I take a boat and paddle down to the castle after him?”

“No, we must wait till he comes again to the city. But I do not
think he will leave town, as he has a week's leave, and has been up
but two days. You must be wary and not let him see you and suspect
you, for he already fears you.”

“Yes, I gave him cause to, Georgy, I did. I will not let him know
I want him. The dog! to try to hurt litty Menny. Here's brothy
Flemmy. Don't you tell him, Georgy, or he won't let me go.”

“I won't, perhaps, mention it to him,” answered Landreth, as
Fleming came up.

“Where are you going, Saul?” asked Fleming, as his brother moved
rapidly away as if he did not wish to be questioned by him.
Saul pretended not to hear.

“I have sent him on an errand of my own,” answered Landreth.
“But you looked flushed. What has occurred?”

“How is it about Cleverling?” asked Fleming, quickly. “Was he
here?”

“He came and”—

“And what? Why do you hesitate, George?”

“Then I will tell you all, if you promise me that you will leave him
to me.”

“Has he been insulting Mary, then?” cried Fleming with a flashing
eye.

“Promise to leave him in my hands, and you shall hear what has
occurred,” answered Landreth, who at last thought it best to tell
him.

“I promise then.”

“Come in and you shall hear,” said Landreth; and they entered
together the little parlor where Mary sat in tears, which she strove to
brush away and to smile as she saw her brother.