University of Virginia Library

36. CHAPTER XXXVI.

The discourse betwen Lindsay and Tyrrel was one of deep moment.
Tyrrel had taken advantage of the pervading fervor which the late
successes of the British arms had diffused amongst the adherents
of the royal cause, in behalf of what was deemed their certain triumph,
to urge forward his own views. This was the occasion of
his present unexpected visit at the Dove Cote. His immediate aim
was to plunge Lindsay into the contest, by forcing him to take
some step that should so commit him, in the opinion of the republican
government, as to leave him no chance of retreat, nor the
means longer to enjoy the privileges of his late neutrality. He,
unhappily, found Lindsay in a mood to favor this intrigue. The
increasing anxieties of that gentleman's mind, his domestic griefs,
his peculiar temperament, and the warmth of his political animosities,
all stimulated him to the thought of some active participation
in the struggle. Tyrrel had sufficient penetration to perceive that
such was likely to be the current of Lindsay's feelings, and he had
by frequent letters administered to this result.

There were several opulent families in the lower sections of the
state, who still clung to the cause of the King, and who had been
patiently awaiting the course of events, for the time when they
might more boldly avow themselves. With the heads of these
families Tyrrel had been in active correspondence, and it was now
his design which under the sanction of the British leaders, he had
already nearly matured, to bring these individuals together into a
secret council, that they might act in concert, and strengthen themselves
by mutual alliance. Immediately after the battle of Camden, it
is known that Cornwallis had laid his plans for the invasion of North
Carolina, by intrigues of the same kind: it was only extending the
system a little in advance to apply it to Virginia. Arrangements

had been made for this meeting of malcontents to be held at the
house of a Mr. Stanhope, on one of the lower sections of the
James river—a gentleman of good repute, with whom Lindsay had
long been in the relations of close friendship.

“The moments are precious, and you are waited for,” said
Tyrrel, in the course of his conference with Lindsay; “we must
strike whilst the iron is hot. Separated as our good friends are
from each other, you are now in the power, and at the merey—
which is a significant phrase—of the unruly government of Congress.
Your motions, therefore, should be prompt. There are
seasons, in the history of every trouble, when the virtue of deliberation
mainly lies in its rapidity and the boldness of its resolve. I
beseech you, sir, to regard this as such a season, and to take the
course which the honor of our sovereign demands, without further
pause to think of consequences.”

“When you were here a month ago,” replied Lindsay, “I had
my scruples. But things have strangely altered in that short
interval. Your standard floats more bravely over the path of
invasion than I had deemed it possible. You charged me then
with being a laggard, and, you may remember, even impeached
my loyalty.”

“I did you a grievous wrong, my dear friend; and did I not
know your generous nature pardoned, as soon as it was uttered,
my rash and intemperate speech, it would have cost me many a
pang of remorse. Even in this, good sir,” said Tyrrel, smiling
and laying his hand upon Lindsay's shoulder; “even in this, you
see how necessary is it that we should have a wise and considerate
councillor to moderate the ungoverned zeal of us younger men.”

“My mind is made up,” replied Lindsay. “I will attend the
meeting.”

“And Mildred will be removed forthwith to Charleston?”
eagerly interrupted Tyrrel.

“Ah, sir, not one word of that. If I attend this meeting, it must
be in secret. Nor do I yet commit myself to its resolves. I shall be
a listener only. I would learn what my compatriots think, reserving
to myself the right to act. Even yet, I would purchase peace
with many a sacrifice. I abjure all violent measures of offence.”

“I am content,” answered Tyrrel, “that you should hold yourself

unpledged to any measures which your gravest and severest
judgment does not approve. Though I little doubt that, from all
quarters, you will hear such tidings as shall convince you that the
road, both of safety and honor, leads onward in this glorious enterprise.
'Tis from this nettle danger, that we pluck the flower
`safety.' Conscious of this, I would have Mildred and her brother
cared for.”

“Mildred can never be yours,” said Lindsay musing. “There
is the thought that makes me pause. I believed, and so do you,
that the favor this Butler had found with her was the capricious
and changeful fancy of a girl. It is the devoted passion of a
woman: it has grown to be her faith, her honor, her religion.”

“Butler is a fool—a doomed madman,” replied Tyrrel with
earnestness. “He came here with the hellish purpose to betray
you; and he was silly enough to think he could do so, and still
win your daughter. She should be told of this.”

“She has been told of it, and she believes it not.”

“Was my avouch given to her for the truth of the fact.”

“It was. And, to speak plainly to you, it has only made your
name hateful to her ear.”

“Then shall she have proof of it, which she cannot doubt. She
shall have it in the recorded judgment of a court-martial, which
has condemned him as a traitor and a spy; she shall have it in
the doom of his death, and the sequestration of his estate,”
exclaimed Tyrrel with a bitter malignity, “proud girl!”

“Remember yourself, sir!” interrupted Lindsay, sternly. “This
is not the language nor the tone fit for a father's ear, when the
subject of it is his own daughter.”

Tyrrel was instantly recalled to his self-possession; and with
that humility which he could always assume when his own interest
required it, spoke in a voice of sudden contrition.

“Why, what a fool am I to let my temper thus sway me!
Humbly, most humbly, dear sir, do I entreat your forgiveness. I
love your daughter, and revere the earnest enthusiasm of her
nature; and, therefore, have been galled beyond my proper show
of duty, to learn that she could discredit my word.”

“I enjoin it upon you,” said Lindsay, “that in your intercourse
with my family here, you drop no word calculated to alarm my

daughter for the safety of this Butler. It is a topic which distracts
her, and must be avoided.”

“For the present,” replied Tyrrel, “as I have before told you, I
think he is safe. The forfeiture of his estate is not a secret. But
to business, my friend. When shall we set out?”

“To-morrow,” answered Lindsay. “We must travel cautiously,
and amongst our friends.”

“This disguise has served me so far,” said Tyrrel. “I may the
better trust to it when in your company.”

Mildred and Henry remained in the parlor, and were there
when Lindsay and his guest, having terminated their secret conference,
returned to the house.

“Your cheek denies your customary boast of good health, Miss
Lindsay,” said Tyrrel, respectfully approaching the lady, and with
an air that seemed to indicate his expectation of a cold reception.
“It grieves me to learn that, at a time when all good men are
rejoicing in the prospect of peace, you should not be in a condition
to share the common pleasure.”

“I think there is small occasion for rejoicing in any quarter,”
replied Mildred, calmly.

“Miss Lindsay would, perhaps, be interested to hear,” said
Tyrrel, not discomfited by the evident aversion of the lady, “that
I have, within a few days past, left the head-quarters of the British
army, where I was enabled to glean some particulars of a friend
of hers, Major Butler, of the Continental service.”

Mildred colored, as she said in a faint voice, “He is my friend.”

“He has been unfortunate,” continued Tyrrel, “having fallen
into the hands of some of our skirmishers. But I believe I may
assure Miss Lindsay that he is both safe and well. He enjoys
the reputation of being a brave gentleman. I may be permitted
to say, that had his destiny brought him under other colors, I
should have been proud to be better known to him.”

“Major Butler chooses his own colors,” said Henry, interposing.
“I don't think destiny had much to do with it. He took his side
because they wanted men to help out a brave war.”

Lindsay frowned, and strode once or twice across the apartment,
during which an embarrassing silence prevailed.

“You are the same cockerel you always were, Henry,” said

Tyrrel, with undaunted playfulness; “always warm for the fight.
But it is a Christian duty, you know, to be peace-makers in such
times as these. We may trust, Miss Lindsay, that some conciliatory
spirit shall arise to quell the quarrelsome humors of the
people, and bring all things back to tranquillity. For myself, I
devoutly wish it.'

“The day for such a spirit does not seem to be at hand,” said
Mildred, quietly rising to withdraw.

“You are not well, my daughter,” interposed Lindsay. “Mildred
is but recently from a sick bed,” he continued, addressing
Tyrrel, in the way of apology for her marked coldness of demeanor.

“I am not well, father,” replied Mildred, “I must be permitted
to leave you;” and she now retired.

When Henry soon afterwards joined her, he found her agitated
and excited.

“Better known to Arthur Butler!” she exclaimed, dwelling on
the speech of Tyrrel. “He is better known already than he dreams
of. Think, brother, of the cool hypocrisy of this bold schemer—
this secret disturber of the quiet of our house—that he should
dare boast to me of Arthur's bravery.”

“And to talk about his colors too!” said Henry. “Did you
mark, sister, how I set him down—in spite of my father's presence?
And did you see how his brow blanched when I spoke my mind
to him? He will find me too hot a cockerel, as he calls me, to
venture upon our colors again. I hold no terms with him, sister,
more than yourself.”

“You will excuse me to my father, Henry, I will not go in to
dinner to-day.”

“I wondered,” replied Henry, “that you met him at all, sister;
but he took us unawares. And, truly, I don't think it would be
safe to bring you near him again. So I advise you, keep your
room. As for me—tut! I am not afraid to meet him. I warrant
he gets his own upon occasion!”

“I entreat you, Henry,” said Mildred, “to guard your temper.
It would give our father pain to hear a rash speech from you.
It would answer no good end.”

“I will be as circumspect, Mildred, as the state of the war requires,”
answered Henry. “Fight when it is, necessary, and be
silent when we can't strike.”

Henry now left his sister and went to his usual occupations.

Mildred, in accordance with the purpose expressed to her brother,
did not appear at the dinner table; and the day was passed, by
Lindsay and Tyrrel, in close communion over the topics connected
with the object of the enterprise in which they were about to embark.
Tyrrel had seen enough to convince him that he might, at
least for the present, abandon all effort to win Mildred's good
opinion; and his whole thoughts were now bent to bring Lindsay
into such an attitude of hostility to the republican authorities as
would inevitably lead to his removal from the state, and perhaps
compel him to retire to England. Either of these events would
operate to the advantage of the aspiring and selfish policy by which
Tyrrel hoped to accomplish his object.

In the course of the evening Lindsay held a short interview with
his children, in which he made known to them that affairs of importance
were about to call him away, for a fortnight perhaps, from
the Dove Cote. It was in vain that Mildred endeavored to turn
him from his purpose, which, though undivulged to her, she conjectured
to be, from its association with Tyrrel, some sinister political
move, of which her father was to be the dupe.

In accordance with Lindsay's intimation, he and Tyrrel set out,
at an early hour of the following day, on their journey towards the
low country.