University of Virginia Library

25. CHAP. XXV.
SUFFERING LOYALTY.

Mrs. Abthorpe was a woman of delicate constitution.
This sad reverse of fortune was more than
she could well support; a slow nervous fever preyed upon
her frame; nor could the united efforts of her husband,
Sophia and Rebecca, arouse her from the state of
torpor and inaction into which she had fallen, cooped up
in one single room (for, though prisoners, they had the
liberty of walking about the place to which they been
conveyed) obliged to perform the most menial offices for
themselves, with scarcely the necessaries, and none of
the comforts of life, except what was supplied from some
few benevolent families who were friends to government.
It may be easily supposed Col. Abthorpe and his family
acutely felt their painful situation, yet he endeavoured
to supp ort himself with a becoming fortitude.
Rebecca and her young Lady, in the course of a few

months, learned to manage their wheels, which they
plied with diligence and dexterity, sometimes spinning
cotton, sometimes wool or flax, rising with the
lark, and continuing their labours with unremitting industry,
till the shades of evening prevented their pursuing
it. They would then, as the progress of the spring
invited them, wander out to a neighbouring wood, the
borders of which were washed by a narrow arm of the
sea; they would sit on its banks, watching the unstable
element as it ebbed or flowed, and admiring the rich
beauties of the surrounding prospect. Their hearts
were innocent. Youth, health and exercise, gave them
a flow of spirits, and often as they sat would they warble
some innocent cheerful air, or in an evening hymn
of thanksgiving, lift up their souls to their Creator.

But when the summer was past, and winter in its
dread array drew near, when the pinching blasts of December
pierced bleakly through the crevices of their miserable
habitation, and there was neither fire or necessary
food to alleviate the horrors inspired by the gloominess
of the season, then it was their spirits began to
flag. Sophia would gaze ardently at her mother, on
whose pale countenance sickness and sorrow sat triumphant,
and while, with a faint smile of tender affection,
she endeavoured to cheer her, the starting tear would
discover the despondency of her own heart.

It was a cold evening, the snow fell fast, a very smal
portion of fire glowed on the hearth, and the little light
in their apartment proceeded from a small lamp that
was placed on a deal table; beside which sat Colonel
Abthorpe, his head rested on his hand, his eyes fixed in
mournful contemplation on the altered face of his beloved
wife, who, seated opposite to him was diligently
employed in knitting, while Rebecca and Sophia were
in hopes, by the produce of their labours to
small, very small share of comforts they

“I have felt it colder,” replied his Lady, endeavouring
at a smile; “besides the room is small, and a little
fire warms it.”

“To be sure,” cried Sophia, “and then, while I
am at work, I never think of the cold; but I am afraid
of Rebecca; she is more delicate than I am.”

“Your fears are needless, my love,” replied our heroine.
“I should not mind the inclemency of the season
was your dear mother only comfortable.”

“We think our situation hard,' said Mrs. Abthorpe,
“what then is the situation of the poor soldiers engaged
in the war?”

“Poor fellows,” said the Colonel, passing his hand
across his forehead, to conceal the rheum that distilled
from his eyes.

At that moment the door of their apartment opened,
and a stranger entered without ceremony.

The Colonel across. Mrs. Abthorpe bowed her head
in token of salutation, and the young ladies suspended
their work.

The stranger drew a chair. “You do not seem to
be comfortably situated, Colonel,” said he, as he seated
himself, and cast his eyes round the room.

“No,” replied the Colonel, with a deep drawn sigh,
“comfort and I have long been strangers to each other.”

“Mrs. Abthorpe looks ill,” said the stranger; “has
she had any advice?”

“The humanity of some friends, Sir, have procured
her every medical assistance; but, alas! in vain—the
malady is seated in her mind.”

“I was enquiring about you the other day,” said
the stranger, “and was sorry to hear you were so badly
supplied with the necessaries of life. A plan has since
struck me by which you may be relieved from these distresses,
and restored to the ease and affluence
heretofore been accustomed to enjoy.”

This was at once calling forth
ditors. Mrs. Abthorpe raised
face, Sophia and Rebecca
Colonel listened in silence,

“Our army is at present in want of experienced officers:
You do not hold any commission under the King
of England?”

“But I have eat his bread, Sir,” said the colonel,
hastily.

Mrs. Abthorpe sighed, and relapsed into her accustomed
pensive state.

“If you would accept a commission in our army,”
said the stranger, “your property would be again restored,
and ample compensation made for the losses you
have sustained.”

The Colonel shook his head, and made a rejecting
motion with his hand.

“You will be raised to a rank superior to any you
have held in the British army, and your name will be
immortalized as one of the glorious supporters of American
liberty.”

The colonel frowned contemptuously, and was going
to speak, but the stranger interrupted him:

“You will have the felicity of seeing your amiable
wife and lovely daughter enjoying again the comforts
and elegancies of life. Pleasure will once more inhabit
their bosoms, and enliven their features.”

The Colonel gazed tenderly on his wife and daughter,
paused, and seemed irresolute. Mrs. Abthorpe read his
heart.

“And what,” said she, addressing the stranger, “are
the elegancies of life, when the mind no longer retains
its own approbation. It is true, Sir, the present change
in our circumstances has awakened some painful sensations;
but it has not made us unhappy. I do not repine,
for, though unfortunate, we are not despicable; our
integrity has ever been unshaken, and, I trust, will ever
remain so.”

“True my love,” said the colonel, recollecting himself,
“we will bear the present evils patiently, and hope
for better days in future.”

“But I would have you weigh this matter maturely,
Colonel,” said the stranger, “before you pretend to decide.”

“I have weighed it, Sir. You will pardon my abruptness,
and am determined to reject every offer that
would tend to draw me from the loyalty I owe the best
of sovereigns; and allow me to say, I consider such offers
as insults to my honour.”

“It is well, Sir,” said the stranger, rising, “if your
resolution is taken, I will say no more on the subject;
but you will please to prepare your family for leaving
this place to-morrow. You are to be conveyed twenty
miles farther into the country.”

“Farther into the country, Sir!” said the Colonel,
starting. “My wife is unable to bear the journey.”

Sophia turned deathly pale, and left the room with
Rebecca.

“Do not be uneasy, my dear Abthorpe,” said the
amiable wife; I make no doubt but he, who for his own
wife purposes, suffers us thus to be afflicted, will endue
me with strength of mind and body to bear it as becomes
a Christian.”

The stranger walked across the room. He was a
man of feeling, and had very unwillingly undertaken his
commission. He was possessed of every virtue that could
alleviate the human heart. He had been taught to
think the cause, in which he was engaged, was a right
cause. He was young; his bosom glowed with enthusiastic
ardour. Can we blame him? for, though attached
to the cause of his country, he was still more so to
that of humanity.”

“I am sorry,” said he; but a disagreeable oppression
upon the lungs prevented his proceeding farther.

The Colonel involuntarily took him by the hand:
“And had you, my dear Sir been tempted to desert
your country's cause? What says your heart? Would
private interest have triumphed over the spirit patriotism
that now animates your bosom?”

“I have no wife and child,” said he. The feelings
of sensibility could no longer be restrained, but rushed
impetuous from his eyes and though he was a man of
undoubted valour, he did not blush to indulge them.

“Let those blush,” said he, mentally, who, “cannot
sympathize with an afflicted fellow creature.”

“But suppose,” said Mrs. Abthorpe, laying her hand
on his arm, for he had mechanically stopped beside her,
—“Suppose, Sir, you had a wife, who would
feel more for your deviation from rectitude, than she
would to endure the hardest pangs of poverty and sickness,
and who would rather die than see you an apostate
to the cause you had vowed for ever to espouse.”

He turned abruptly from her; something that spoke
within forbade him to answer.—

“And what have I done,” said the Colonel, “that I
must leave a place where I have experienced such friendship,
such disinterested affection, from many of the inhabitants?”

“You are too near the sea coast,” said the stranger,
and may hold correspondence with the enemy.”

He averted his eye from the Colonel's face, and pretended
to consult his watch. “It is later than I
thought,” said he, endeavouring at indifference in his
voice and manner.

“At eight o'clock to-morrow I expect you will be
removed. God bless you, my dear madam,” respectfully
taking Mrs. Abthorpe's hand.

She saw the feelings of his soul depicted in his face,
and forbore to encrease them by unnecessary complaint.

“The change of air may do me good, Sir,” said she
with a smile of complacency; “for it often happens
that what we dread as an evil, in the end contributes to
our advantage.”

He gazed on her with a look of reverence and wonder,
bowed profoundly, and, unable to articulate another sentence,
hastily left the room.