University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
SAUL AND THE HUZZAR OFFICER.

THE licutenant governor had succeeded in escaping from the fury
of the enraged mob by flying from his house through his gardens,
the moment he beheld their leader enter his hall. He then
saw that his faith in the people's reverence for a king's governor's
house and his person was wholly fallacious. He repented when it
was too late; and overwhelmed with dismay at the crisis that assailed
his ears, and with bodily fear he hurried after his daughter, who,
when Fleming left her in the gardens to return to speak with Thomas
Crafts, had, with noble filial devotion, flown back to suffer with
her father whatsoever might befall him.

“My child!” cried the governor as he beheld her; “fly and escape.
The house will be in flames, and these fierce men will not
even spare you. Take my arm and let us seek safety at Mr. Oliver's.”

“Alas, sir!” cried Lucy; “do you not hear the name of Mr. Oliver
mingled with your own in their shouts. Come with me, my
dear father, and I will find for you a more humble and safer assylum”

“Let us hasten then. If I am seen I am lost. They would not
hesitate to hang me up on the first tree. Let us escape on board
the ship,” he cried, become nearly a child with fear, as he heard behind
him the wild shouts, accompanied by the glare of the ascending
flames, by the light of which they threaded the avenues of the garden.
Lucy was firm and calm. She possessed one of those spirits
that always rise to the level of every emergency. She sustained
her father, rather than he her. She encouraged him by her coolness
and self-possession, and bade him yet hope for the best. She uttered
no word of reproach; betrayed no feeling, that all was the fruit of
his own proud and imperious temper.

Fleming, in the meanwhile, having returned into the hall, endeavored
to stay the storm of violence which he saw bursting forth. He
ran here and there, made eloquent appeals to ears that were stopped
to words of forbearance. He dashed the torches from the hands that

were applying flames to the portico, and exposed his person to the
angry violence of his friends. But all was in vain. He saw that
the tempest would rage till it exhausted itself; and turning from the
painful scene, he hastened to the protection of the maiden whom he
had directed to await him in the gardens. Ere he reached her,
the roof of the mansion was in flames, and the glare of noon-day
lighted up half the town.

“All is lost, sir!” he cried to the governor. “Nothing less than the
total destruction of the house and its contents will sate them.”

“My papers, my money, my valuable books!” he exclaimed, clasping
his hands in grief. “Can nothing be saved?”

“Nothing, sir! Even your own life would be sacrificed, I fear,
should you be taken. I passed men searching for you as I came into
the garden, and turned them on another course. You have no time
to linger or bewail your misfortunes, sir. One word from you would
have averted all this great evil.” Fleming spoke sternly; for he
felt that this act of the people would bring upon the colonies the vengeance
of the crown, and wholly defeat the object all good men had
in view—the repeal of the obnoxious act.

“You are very kind, young sir, to take such an interest in the safety
of myself and daughter. Do you know where we can find shelter
until I can escape to the island?”

“Yes, your excellency. My own house, though humble, is at your
disposal. There your person will be as safe as my own.”

As Fleming spoke, he opened the gate and preceded them, Lucy
leaning upon her father's arm. He was, however, so overcome on
turning back and beholding the flaming ruins of his magnificent
abode, that he had nearly fainted; but at the request of Lucy, Fleming
supported him on one side, while she lent him her aid on the
other. In this way, their road made as plain as if lighted by the
sun, so brilliantly flashed upward the fiery tongues of flame, they at
length reached the abode of the young artisan, and were ushered by
him into the little sitting-room.

“My dear mother and sister,” said Fleming, “I bring you as guests,
Governor Hutchinson and his daughter. They have been driven
from their home by violence and fire, and this house is to be sacred
to their security and repose, so long as they see fit to honor it.”

Mrs. Field, with that gentle kindness of hospitality which wins the
heart, took the governor's chapeau and offered him her large arm-chair;
while Mary, folding Lucy in her arms, kissed her with tears
of sympathy.

“Where is Landreth?” asked Fleming, not seeing the young secretary.

“He saw the flames shining into the windows, and fearing that it
was the governor's house, where he has left many valuable things, he
hastened at my urgent desire, to see and save what he could.”

“Then I fear he will be in danger. If men see him in their present
madness, they will sieze upon his person. I must go at once after
him.”

“But all men love him, Fleming,” cried Mary between hope and
fear. “They will net lay hands upon him.”

“I will not trust them,” answered her brother. “Yet I know not
how to leave you. My presence is needed at home if any should
seek the governor here.”

“Here is George returned!” cried Mary as the young secretary
entered the room.

“God be thanked!” he cried, as he looked round upon the group,
and beheld the governor, Miss Hutchinson, and Fleming. I feared
the worst since I have witnessed what I have but now!” he cried.
“What a fearful pass things have got to be in the town. It appears
like a place carried by storm and given up to pillage and flames. The
wild shouts of the infuriated mob even reach us here. But now that
you are all safe, Fleming will remain here while I go and try to save
some thing from my room.”

“It will be rash to go near the terrific scene,” cried Fleming. “Your
position as the secretary of his excellency will expose you to insult.”

“I do not fear it. I will be cautious. If I find I am in danger I
will at once return, leaving my little property to its fate.”

Fleming, finding that he was determined, made no further objection,
and Landreth departed, receiving at the door from Mary, an
earnest injunction not to place himself in the way of danger. When he
reached the gate of the garden he found it open, and bands of persons
roving it in all directions, destroying the fruit tress and statues,
and carrying devastation every where. Pulling his cap down over
his eyes and concealing his features by the collar of his cloak, he passed
up the garden towards a part of the house where his room was
situated, and which he saw was yet free from flames.

Suddenly two men darted from behind a tree and laid hands upon
him, rudely casting aside his cloak from his face.

“Ah, pardon, Mr. Landreth,” said one of the men. “We didn't
know but it was Hutchinson, whom we are after. But, if you would
save trouble to yourself, get away from this as soon as you can.

There are men here that would not mind doing you an injury. I
speak as your friend.”

“Will it not be safe, Thomas Crafts, for me to go to my room. I
have a watch and money and private papers in my desk that I would
not willingly have consumed.”

“Which is your room?”

“That with the blind half open.”

“Describe the desk?”

“Cherry wood, inlaid with brass.”

“You shall not lose it if it is not now already too late to save it.
Go out of the garden and keep in some place of safety, at least for
twenty-four hours. If I can save the desk you will find it at my
house. Take my advice and leave this at once, for I am a friend to
you, though you are that man's secretary.”

With these words, Crafts parted from him and hastened to the
burning mansion; while Landreth, following his kind advice, retired
without delay from the garden. He was hastening back to Fleming's
house, when he suddenly recollected Cleverling and Saul.

Not having seen the latter since he sent him after the former, he
believed that he must have got possession of his person. It was but
ten minutes walk to the old mill, and he therefore determined to go
to it and see if Saul had fulfilled his instructions. The street in which
he was terminated in an open field at a stile, from which a path led
round the base of the Beacon hill to the point on the west side. Upon
this point was an old mill for several years disused. A narrow footpath
led to it, and seldom trodden save by boys, who used to visit the
mill to rob the numerous swallows' nests that were built beneath the
eves.

The foot-way to it was now as light as if the full moon gave her
light; and the red reflection of the distant conflagration gave it a
wilder and still more desolate appearance.

At length he came before it and listened to hear any sounds within.
All was still. The door, broken from its hinges, gave him access
to the interior, and he entered, for he thought he discerned the glimmer
of a light from the second floor. He was not deceived. It
shone full down the stairway upon him as he advanced.

“Saul!” he called aloud.

“Ah, is it you, Master Georgy?” answered the natural in a gratified
voice. “I am glad you got here, Georgy, for I want to go to the
fire. There never was a fire in Boston town that Saul wasn't there

to see the sport. Ah, Master Georgy, its rare fun to see the flames
dart and wriggle and spit and crackle and shoot up into the sky, and
to hear the fire-folks holler, and the engines rattle-rattle, and see the
spouts of water shoot to the top o' the roof. Come, Georgy, take him,
and let Saul go to the fire.”

“Have you then got Cleverling, Saul?” asked Landreth, as he placed
his foot upon the upper step of the flight which he had been ascending
while Saul was speaking.

“Yes, and I've done my part, and you may hang him or set him
a-fire, Georgy. I never learned the trade of a barber, but my work
is well done,—look Georgy.”

Landreth did not require to be directed to the corner of the mill,
where, visible by the light of a blazing knot stuck in a crevice of a
shattered mill-stone, sat an extraordinary looking object. At first he
did not know what to make of it, whether to call it a man or a beast.
But groans, mingled with deep curses, and the most bitter lamentations
assailing his ears, he knew the object was human, and he recognized
the voice as Cleverling's. His head had been closely shaven,
and then covered with a coat of pitch, in which was stuck a mass
of dried grass and twigs. His features were blackened and then crossed
with red ochre, in stripes, like an Indian warrior's visage. A sheep
skin was tied about his neck and shoulders, and the lower part of his
body was encased in a long meal sack. A rope was noosed around
his neck and fastened to a beam above his head. Landreth gazed
upon him with pity, amazement, and a strong desire to laugh.

“So, then, fiend!” cried Cleverling in a terrible voice, “you are
the instigator of this! This is your work! This is your revenge!
You may as well let this devil incarnate finish his work by hanging
me up!”

“I assure you that I authorized nothing of this kind,” answered
Landreth, in tones of real commiseration at the pitiful situation in
which he saw his enemy. “I wished to have you brought here that
we might alone and without publicity, have our quarrel adjusted with
our swords. I came here to meet you in mortal combat, for the maiden
whom you would have dishonored is my betrothed bride. But
this treatment you have received, I am no party to. Saul, you have
done wrong.”

“I have done just what he deserved. When I was shaving his
head I kept sayin' Mary, and so I had no pity. I tied his head between
them two beams, for he was hard to shave. I told him if he

moved I'd kill him. So he was quiet, but he cried like a baby,
Georgy. But I thought of Sissy Menny, and I wouldn't pity him.”

“You have had punishment enough, Mr. Cleverling. You are in
no situation now for me to take vengeance upon you. I am satisfied
with what you have received. Severe as it is, it is no more than
you deserve. It will keep you out of society two or three months,
until your fine locks grow again, and I trust that the interval of retirement
will be passed by you in wholesome resolutions of amendment.
Saul, remove the rope, the skin and sack. If it was in my
power I would restore your hair, sir, for I do not glory over a fallen
foe. I would much rather have taken the matter in my own sword-hand,
if Saul had not forestalled me. Shall I send a carriage for
you?” asked the generous young man, kindly, as Saul took off these
outward appendages. The pitch and grass were not easily removed,
and he still presented a frightful spectacle about the face and head.
At the command of Landreth, Saul, who was now as passive and
docile as a child, went after a carriage, which he brought to the
stile, where Cleverling, accompanied by the kind Landreth, met it.

“Where will you go?” asked Landreth.

“To Mr. Oliver's,” answered Cleverling, bitterly.

“That house is in danger from the town's-people. You had best
go to some inn. If you wish it, I will ride with you and speak for
a room for you. My cloak you shall have to completely envelope
your head and face!”

“You are kind! I should like to have you go with me,” answered
the wretched young man, deeply impressed with the kindness of the
person he had so greatly wronged. He was completely humbled
and spirit-broken. He felt not even resentment against Saul, who
had caught him up as he was crossing the street near Mr. Oliver's,
borne him off upon his back, and committed upon his person such
hideous outrages. He felt humiliated, subdued and despicable in his
own eyes.

Landreth fulfilled his charitable duty by leaving Cleverling in a
chamber of the inn under the care of a servant. For two months
Cleverling kept his room. The act of Saul had been referred to the
excesses of the populace, and in England the report went that a
British officer had been tarred and feathered by the colonists from
their hostility to the crown. Cleverling never unfolded the truth of
the matter for his own reputation's sake; and as he got credit by his
supposed sufferings in the cause of his country, there seemed no necessity

for divulging the secret. He, however, was taught a good
lesson by the treatment he had undergone, and in his conscience
fully justified it; and ere he left the colony, three months afterwards,
he voluntarily called on Mary Field, now become the happy bride
of George Landreth, and making a full apology for the gross insult
offered to her, asked both her forgiveness and that of her husband.

In the vessel in which Captain Cleverling, for he had received
promotion since his “misfortune,” sailed for London, went passengers,
Mr. Hutchinson, ex-governor of the colony, his daughter, and Fleming
Field. The latter went out as one of a committee of three gentlemen,
for the purpose of urging the repeal of the act, and laying
before the crown other affairs touching the weal and prosperity of
the colonies.

The stamp paper which was landed from the English ship, after
having been paraded through the streets under a pall, with tolling of
the bells as for a funeral, was taken to the Common and consumed
amid the shouts of triumph of the multitude. There were, however,
a few other bales still on ship-board, which the governor, the next
day, gave up to the people; and at the same time he pledged himself
not to take any steps to enforce the stamp duty until an answer
could be received from the petitions about to be addressed to the
crown.

Such, briefly, is the history of the Stamp Act in its effects upon
the people of Boston. Their example was followed by the other
colonies, which united in one spirit of resistance. At length England
opened her eyes, and saw before her either repeal, or the alternative
of losing her colonies. The bill to repeal the obnoxious act was
introduced into Parliament, and the venerable Pitt once more lifted
up his influential voice in its behalf. The bill passed by a large
majority, and the Stamp Act, which at one time threatened to involve
the colonies in a sanguinary civil war, was repealed!

The effects of this effort to bind the colonies, however, did not
pass away with the annihilation of the act. A serious blow had
been struck at the harmony which for a century had existed between
the colonies and the mother country, and in ten years afterwards
broke out the war of independence, hastened by further acts of
despotic power on the part of the crown. Within the bales of the
stamped paper was contained the germ of that tree of liberty whose
branches overshadow twenty-eight independent States.

The mission to the Court of St. James, undertaken by Fleming.

Field and his coadjutors, was successful. Through their statements,
and mainly through the eloquent representations of Fleming to the
leading men of the House of Lords, and even before the king, with
whom he had audience, the bill was introduced into Parliament and
finally carried.

After our hero had seen this great result achieved, he turned his
heart and thoughts towards the noble maiden, whom in the bustle of
political scenes he had little time to think upon. Lucy was at her
father's seat in Sussex, and thither, by invitation from Mr. Hutchinson,
he hastened, the second day after the repeal of the act. Here
he was kindly received by the ex-governor, who had never ceased
to be grateful to him for his attention and kindness at the conflagration
of his mansion; and when, as the time drew near to embark for
Boston, Fleming asked his daughter's hand in marriage, he did not
withhold his consent, for he had been already advised of their mutual
attachment through her.

“Take her, young man,” said he, kindly. “You, who have twice
saved her life, with mine, are certainly entitled to her!”

Fleming was married a few days afterwards, and directly sailed,
with his fair bride, to Boston, where his descendants now hold distinguished
positions in society, and wield great influence in the councils
of the republic. Landreth, after two years residence in Boston,
went suddenly to England to inherit the title and estate of the Earl
of Ludlow, from which he had been from early childhood defrauded
through the knavery of an uncle, who had declared no such heir to
exist. Thus the gentle and lovely Mary Field became the Countess
of Ludlow, and her graces of character shone as brightly in her elevated
sphere as they had done in her lowly estate.