 | CHAPTER XIV. The forsaken |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
I have the general's hand to pass through the world at pleasure.
Blurt, Master Constable.
Jurian, after mounting his horse and leaving the inn,
was at a loss which way to direct his course. His
mind, for hours, had been engrossed with one object,
and at the moment he believed its accomplishment was
at hand, he was fated to bitter disappointment. Still
he hoped that Gordon would not desert him, and discouraging
as the result had been, an explanation would
yet take place. The moon was just rising in a cloudless
sky, and myriads of stars contributed to render the
night more brilliant than day. He sat upon his horse
some time, undetermined what course to adopt, and
already regretted that he had not accompanied the captain
and honest Mauns. All hope of Paul's return having
vanished, he finally resolved to follow them, when
the faint note of a distant bugle reached his ear,
which had scarcely died away, before it was succeeded
by a second strain. It was the same that he had heard
the morning after the massacre. He did not wait for
another signal, but clapped spurs to his horse, and
started at full speed in the direction whence the sound
proceeded.
He was guided by the sound of the bugle which was
heard at short intervals. Every succeeding strain became
more distinct, but when he imagined that the pursuit
He had rode for near half an hour, and some time
had elapsed since the last strain of the bugle. He
was now at an intersection of roads, and was at a loss
which to select. He paused to await the signal, during
which he heard the sound of a horse approaching along
the by-road. Expectation was now at the highest, and
in a few moments a horseman appeared jogging leisurely
along. At one glance, Jurian perceived that
there was nothing of the bold dashing air of Paul about
him. He bestrode his horse with as little animation
as a meal-sack, and had broken the animal to the regular
up-and-down jog that distinguishes the countryman
from your true lover of horse-flesh. Disappointment
succeeded hope, as the horseman drew nigh, and was
about to pass with the commonplace remark of “A fine
evening, stranger,” but taking a second look at Jurian,
he checked his horse, and exclaimed in a tone of astonishment,
“what! Mr. Hartfield, can it be you? I
should as soon have thought of seeing a ghost as you
here at this time of night.”
“Good evening, Jones,” replied Jurian, recognising
the countryman. “Did you not hear the sound of a
bugle a few minutes ago?”
“I did, sir. Some idle trumpeter, I suppose, serenading
the moon, having little else to do since the army
has entered winter-quarters.”
“Have you met no one?”
“Not a soul, sir, since I left the lower ferry, where
I stopped on an errand on my way up.”
“Were any strangers there?”
“A single horseman, sir, who wore a broad-brimmed
hat and a drab surtout, was about to cross the river.”
Jurian's interest was excited.
“Did you know the man?”
“Never saw him before, sir. The boatman called
him Mr. Fairfax, or Fairfield, or something of the
kind.”
“Which course did he go? Could I possibly overtake
him?”
“That, sir, is out of the question, for as he entered
the boat, I heard him remark that he would be in the
city in a few minutes. Did you wish to overtake him?”
“I did. Most earnestly did I wish it.”
“I am sorry things have fallen out so unluckily;
but as I am going to the town, should I meet with him,
I will mention what you have said.”
“Do so. You are going to the city, say you?”
“Yes, sir. The 'squire and all his family are there
at present. The change has made quite a new creature
of the old gentleman. There is nothing but revelry
from morning till night; ay, and from night till morning,
and he joins in it all, in spite of his gout and crabbedness.”
“And how does Miss Agatha like the change?”
“O, sir, she plays her part bravely, and makes no
small figure, I warrant you. It would do your heart
good to see how swimmingly she carries it.”
“Women have a natural tact at fitting themselves to
any sphere in which they may be thrown,” replied Jurian,
in a careless manner, which, however, did not
conceal his deep chagrin. He continued: “does Miss
Morton, say you, join in the general rejoicing that prevails
in the garrison of the invader?”
“I will not speak positively, sir,” replied Jones,
“but since you are now so near at hand, had you not
better satisfy yourself?”
“How satisfy myself?”
“By entering the city, sir. That's the best way.”
“Impossible!”
“I have the watchword, sir,” continued Jones,
“and even without it could readily get you past the
sentries. If you desire it, I will accompany you, and
whenever called upon, place you here in safety. Besides,
you may chance to meet with Mr. Fairfield.”
“True; that is an inducement, indeed, to run all
hazards.”
“I will use my best exertions,” replied Jones, “to
bring you together.”
Jurian embraced the proposition without weighing
the consequences of detection, and off they started towards
the Schuylkill ferry. The night was beautifully
serene; the moon shone brightly, and as her beams
played upon the dancing waters, they appeared to convert
every ripple into polished silver. The stars glimmered
forth with uncommon brilliancy, and not a cloud
was seen above the horizon. As they approached the
river, the ferryman, seated on the side of his boat, was
singing a rude chorus, and made up in vociferation what
he lacked in harmony.
They rode into the boat, and were rapidly borne
across the river. The distant sound of the drum and
fife, playing the tattoo, were distinctly heard through
the calmness of the night; and, on the nearer approach
of our horsemen to the city, the regular tread of the
picket-guard, at his post, reminded Jurian that he was
about to enter dangerous territory. The moon shone
so brilliantly that all around appeared to be an “entire
globe of chrysolite,” and the sentinels in different quarters
could be distinctly seen long before within hailing
distance. The horsemen rode briskly, but before they
had crossed the line of encampment they were saluted
with—
“Stand, ho! the word!”—Jones checked his horse,
and his companion followed his example.
“Ho! the word!” cried the sentinel presenting his
musket.
“Brandywine!” replied Jones.
“You are wrong. Back!” cried the sentinel.
“That was the word when I left the town,” said
Jones.”
“It has been changed.”
Jones hesitated for a moment; and then turning to
read by this light?”
“Yes; if it be not a d—nably cramped hand.”
“It is fair and legible,” replied Jones, at the same
time handing him a scrip of paper, which the sentinel,
after reading, returned, and bade him pass. It was a
pass, with the signature of Cornwallis, authorising
those on duty to permit the bearer, and those who accompanied
him, to enter the city without being molested.
Jurian and his guide now proceeded, without encountering
any obstacle, until they arrived in the centre
of the city.
Immediately on the British taking possession of Philadelphia,
Mr. Morton removed his family to the city.
It has been stated that family pride was his predominant
weakness, and he dreaded nothing more than
that his blood might at some time be alloyed by a
stream that flowed through veins composed of an inferior
quality of clay to his own. For his son, he felt no
apprehension; but Agatha had already betrayed too
much interest for one of plebeian birth, not to feel some
uneasiness on her account. He determined to try
what effect a change of scene would produce, and, in
order to render it more fascinating, he gave free scope
to indulgence. He kept open house, where all officers
of rank were sure to find a welcome, and this, it may
be observed, is a certain mode to procure good company
throughout the globe; but when your means fail—
the deduction is a natural one, and I will trust to the
sagacity of the reader to make it.
Agatha, removed from seclusion in the country
to the bustle of a garrison, had her spirits buoyed up,
and those feelings which she had cherished for years
in some measure lost their influence. The world appeared
to her in a new light; and the fashionable lady
of the metropolis, was a very distinct personage from
the unsophisticated country girl. Still there were moments,
even in this round of pleasure, when the ghosts
of departed days would arise and whisper that this
vanished on the appearance of the first beams of the
morning, which called her forth to participate in some
new scene of amusement.
Colonel Lindsay had become very assiduous in his
attentions. He was engaging both in his person and
address, and had succeeded in some measure in removing
the unfavourable opinion that Agatha in the first
instance had entertained towards him. Mr. Morton
was early aware of his partiality for his daughter, and
rejoiced at it, for the colonel was esteemed a brave
officer, and, what was of a vast deal more importance
to the 'squire, he was capable of tracing back his pedigree
to some shirtless scoundrel, of whom nothing
more had been recorded than that he wore a long claymore
and had a strong arm. A pedigree has always
been considered a very pretty thing, no matter how
many rusty links we find in the chain.
To return to Jurian. His feelings were not the most
enviable on finding himself in the midst of the British
garrison, for in case of detection he should be viewed
in the light of a spy, and on the other hand, should the
knowledge of his adventure reach the American army,
his motives would be equally liable to a false construction.
“Why are you cast down, Mr. Hartfield?” exclaimed
Jones. “Come, cheer up; I am a true pilot, and
will carry you safe to a harbour, I warrant you.”
“You ask why I am depressed; could I be in this
place at such a time and be otherwise? I am here by
stealth—in the scene of my childhood, amidst the enemies
of my country—where the invader is revelling in
luxury—while the defenders of our rights are exposed
to the inclemency of the elements, without food or raiment.
The contrast is ill calculated to please.”
“Speak lower,” replied Jones, “for here come a
set of red-coats, who may chance to differ in opinion
from you.”
Four or five officers approached, their spirits elevated
with wine.
“Stand and unfold yourself,” cried one, belching
with the fumes of his liquor. “We cannot be too vigilant
in these times, and I will have an answer, by my
hilts.”
“Move on, M`Druid, it grows late, and we have no
time to waste in folly.”
“Call you this folly, colonel Lindsay? by my hilts
the real business of life appears to be a mighty foolish
thing to a man as deep in love as you are. So again I
say, stand and unfold yourself.”
“Colonel Lindsay will answer for me,” replied
Jones.
“That I will,” replied the Scot, “he is the servant
of Mr. Morton, and an honest fellow, so come along,
major.”
“An honest fellow, that I will swear to, if he passes
the threshold of old 'squire Morton. The 'squire's an
honest fellow, for he loves to drink until his nose is as
red as my jacket. His wine is honest too,—as honest
as ever touched the lip of true believer. Miss Agatha
is honest, the old spinster is honest, for who the devil
would make her otherwise; and, by my hilts, they are
all honest together. But who is this you have with you,
master Jones?”
“Why he is honest, too,” replied Jones. Jurian
wore an overcoat that concealed his military equipments.
“Then let him pass, and, colonel Lindsay, we are
at your service. But, master Jones, a word in your
ear. As you may chance to see us again before a century,
could you not manage to have a bottle of the anno
domini '65, on the sideboard, ready to receive us?”
“Come along, M`Druid,” cried the colonel, impatiently.
“You now have your skinful of wine, and yet
must be entering into a stipulation for a future occasion.”
“Faith, my darling, you have but a narrow conception
of the gauge of my stomach, if you think my skin
full already. I am a match for father O`Flanagan a
the bottle.
And merrily sang the old vicar,
Until his fat gills and his snout,
Became the hue of the liquor.
Sing goostrum doodle sing pip.
“Remember, Jones, that '65 is the brand.”
“I know it well, sir, and rare old stuff it is.”
“I have had but a slight introduction,” replied the
major, “and wish to cultivate a better acquaintance—
For Bacchus to him was a fable—
And when he fell flat from his chair,
They roll'd him under the table.
Sing goostrum doodle sing pip.”
“Finish your song some other time, major, and let
us be moving.”
His face was a fiery ball;
He preach'd about Eve and her apple,
And Adam who made the first fall.
Sing goostrum doodle sing pip.
“He learnedly labour'd to show—
And fancy became rather frisky—
No man would the cholic e'er know,
Had Eve made her fruit into whiskey.
Sing goostrum doodle sing pip.”
“We have heard enough of your goostrum doodle,
major, so come along.”
“I will not detain you any longer, gentlemen,” replied
the major. “Jones, you will not forget anno
domini '65. Forward—
Had Eve made her fruit into whiskey.”
The officers moved down the street, which re-echoed
his guide until they arrived at a place where their horses
might be secured for the night. They dismounted, and
Jones, desiring his companion to remain where he was
until he should return, led the horses away.
| CHAPTER XIV. The forsaken | |