7. CHAPTER VII.
CONSPIRACY.
We have glanced at the scenes of the day on which, amid
the glare of sunlight, and the noisy plaudits of the crowd,
the Countess of Dunmore entered grandly the old capital.
We shall now pass to the night world; to a few scenes
which concealed themselves beneath the silence and gloom.
The lights in the city of Williamsburg had one by one
disappeared, as lord and lady, noble and commoner sought
their pillows; all the noises of evening and night had long
since died away, and a gloomy silence, only interrupted from
time to time by the low muttering of distant thunder,
reigned over the ancient town.
There was one exception, however, to this total darkness.
From the lofty window of a tall mansion which rose like an
attenuated ghost above the surrounding roofs, a faint glimmer,
like a star, just dispelled the gloom, and even this much
light seemed to escape by accident through the chinks of
the carefully closed oaken shutters.
Let us ascend the precipitous and winding stair-way of
the half-deserted mansion, and opening the door of the turret-like
chamber, endeavor to discover what business is thus
being transacted under the jealous vail of silence and darkness.
The apartment is destitute of all ornament, the furniture
consisting only of a long table, a few rough chairs, and some
shelves filled with old volumes and papers. It has two occupants.
The first is a rough-looking man, covered with
dust like a courier after a long journey, who is slumbering
heavily upon a bear skin thrown down in one corner. The
other inmate of the room sits at the table writing rapidly—
two loaded pistols lying within reach of his hand.
He is a man of middle age, clad in a suit of dark cloth,
affording no indication of his character or station. In the
face and form of this person, however, there is more to attract
attention.
The countenance of the stranger is one of those which,
once seen, haunts the memory. He has not passed middle
age, apparently, but the thin brown locks around his broad
forehead are sprinkled with gray; labor or care has furrowed
deep lines from temple to temple, and a slight stoop in the
neck communicates to the general carriage that air of intense
meditation which characterizes profound thinkers, or those
upon whom is thrown responsibility of the most critical
character. Covered with the pallor of care or exhausting
toil, with clear-cut and resolute features, eyes burning with
a gloomy flame beneath bushy brows, and lips set sternly
with an expression of iron will, every thing in the face of
the stranger indicated an organization of the largest strength,
and an intellectual vigor which no obstacle could daunt.
His thin muscular fingers traversed the paper for an hour
without pausing scarcely, and then, as he reached the end,
the stranger laid down his pen, and leaned back in his
leather chair.
“Why, I grow old!” he murmured. “This writing for
a day and a night only, begins to fatigue me. 'T is no
matter.”
And without further words he set about folding the written
sheets. They were then enveloped in stout brown paper,
corded, and securely waxed. Upon this envelope was
written simply—
“To Mr. Samuel Adams,
“At Boston, in the Province of
“Massachusetts.”
A word awoke the sleeper, who rose quickly and stood
at the stranger's side. Few words were exchanged; the
two men seemed to understand each other, and the stranger
gave his directions in a brief low tone, to which the courier
replied by a slight movement of the head only.
“This to the town of Baltimore,” said the stranger, taking
a dispatch similar to the one he had just finished—“you
know the house. This, to Philadelphia—guard it carefully.
This, to the port of New York—as quickly as possible.
Have you enough money?”
The courier laid his leather purse on the table, and the
stranger examined its contents.
“ 'Tis enough, unless your horse fails, but that must not
happen. Here is more gold, for which you will sign a receipt.”
The receipt was written, signed by the courier, and deposited
in a drawer with a number of others.
“Go at once now, and proceed cautiously as you leave
the town. The patrol is abroad.”
“Yes, your honor; never fear me. My service to you,
and good times to the cause.”
The stranger returned the salute, and the courier disappeared.
In a few moments his horse's hoofs were heard as
he cautiously proceeded along Gloucester street, and the
stranger who watched the retreating shadow from his window,
drew a long breath of satisfaction.
“Now for the rest,” he said, and leaning against one of
the panels of the oaken wainscot, he touched the spring of
a secret closet, which flew open. From this aperture he
took a bundle of letters, which he placed in his bosom. He
then rapidly returned to the table, secured the two pistols
in his belt, and throwing a cloak over his shoulders, put out
the light, and descended to the street.
The moon was just rising through a bank of threatening
clouds, which at one moment obscured the red orb, then
swept onward and permitted the full light to shine. No
wayfarer was visible upon the silent and deserted street,
and an expression of satisfaction came again to the features
of the stranger.
He wrapped his cloak more closely around him, and passing
along in the shadow of the houses, stopped, at the end
of ten minutes, before a low building, into the basement or
rather cellar of which he descended by a flight of precipitous
steps. All was dark, but the stranger proceeded without
stopping along the damp passage way, and struck quickly
thrice, then, after a pause, once again, upon an iron-bound
door. A boy opened the door, and he entered.
Two men were engaged at a printing table striking off,
by means of a “deer's foot” and mallet, copies of a species
of circular. Upon one end of the table lay a pile of these
printed sheets, still damp, which every moment received a
new addition from the cautious labors of the printers.
A masonic movement of the head was the sole recognition
which passed. To the stranger's brief question of the number
of copies printed, the reply was, “two hundred.”
“That is enough for the present moment,” he said; “fold
them securely.”
This was done rapidly, and with great skill, and in five
minutes the stranger stood again in the street. He proceeded,
as cautiously as before, on his return to the building
from which he had issued, stopping for a moment in the
shadow of one of the houses to let two of the Governor's
guardsmen in uniform go by.
They passed within three feet of the silent figure, jesting
roughly, their sabers rattling against their huge horseman's
boots. The figures finally disappeared at the corner of Palace
street, and the solitary man hastened onward, keeping, as
before, in the shadow.
He soon reached the tall house from which he had dispatched
the courier to the northern provinces, and, opening
a narrow gate, disappeared. Behind the building, in the
deep shadow, a horse awaited him, and, mounting, he issued
forth and proceeded cautiously in a westerly direction, keeping
as much as possible in the darkness.
He reached in safety the last house of the town, the muttering
over head nearly drowning the noise of his horse's
hoofs, and was about to issue into the country, when, as he
came opposite the door of this house, a party of the Governor's
patrol, who had been drinking in the ordinary, challenged
him and commanded him to halt. The stranger's
reply was the spur in his horse's side, which made the animal
bound ten feet.
A second and louder challenge was instantly followed by
the quick report of a carbine, and a ball passed through the
horseman's cloak between his side and his bridle hand.
With an unconscious movement as rapid as lightning he
drew one of his pistols, cocked it, and leveled it, with
flashing eyes, at his assailants.
He did not discharge it, however; quickly replacing it in
his belt, he muttered, “Useless!” and put spur to his horse.
Before a second carbine could be brought to the shoulder,
the figures of the stranger and his flying animal had disappeared
like shadows under the gloomy foliage of the great
woods. Without checking his horse, and with the air of a
man who knows the road as well by night as by day, the
stranger went on rapidly, penetrating deeper and deeper
into the forest, whose heavy boughs moaned in the wind.
At the end of half an hour's rapid riding, he came to a
sort of glade in the woods, and as he emerged from the
dense shadow the moon burst forth from a black cloud, and
poured a flood of yellow light upon the open space. Beneath
a huge oak, a confused mass of men and horses revealed
itself, and the stranger was challenged a second time.
“Good!” he said with satisfaction; “you are watchful,
friend. Wake your comrades; 't is time for them to be in
the saddle.”
In five minutes as many men were mounted and awaiting
silently their directions. The stranger drew from his breast
the package which he had taken from the wainscotting.
“West Augusta,” he said, briefly.
One of the horsemen silently rode up and took the dispatch
held out to him.
“Frederick,” continued the stranger.
A second horseman came and took this letter as the other
had done. In the same manner dispatches addressed “Fairfax,”
“Orange,” “Culpepper,” “Westmoreland,” “Botetourt,”
“Essex,” “Lancaster,” “Accomac,” and to other coun
ties, were delivered in turn, one courier having charge of all
lying upon his route. The entire province of Virginia, north
of the James, was thus apportioned out to these five men, who
seemed to understand perfectly what was expected of them.
“Friends,” said the stranger, wrapping his cloak around
him as he delivered the last dispatch, “I need not tell you
to be cautious in the carriage and delivery of these missives.
You know their importance, and every day the times grow
more dangerous, the encroachments of the government upon
private rights more daring. I do not conceal that the
dispatches you have received contain treason. Carry them
to his Excellency Lord Dunmore, and I will hang on Tower
Hill, if I'm taken. You will be rewarded richly, friends.
Enough! let us now go to our work!”
And making a salute with his hand, the stranger was saluted
in turn by the party of men, who, only replying by an
indistinct murmur, diverged upon their various routes.[1]
The solitary horseman retraced rapidly the road by which
he had come, for the space of a mile; then taking a bridle-path
to the left, he proceeded more slowly. In a quarter
of an hour he found himself in front of a small cottage, lost
like a leaf in the depths of the woods. On its roof the moon
poured a silver flood—the storm had muttered itself away
into the distance.
He dismounted, opened the door by means of a master-key,
and taking a light which was burning upon the table,
ascended the stair-case to his chamber.
Upon a chair lay a valise, ready prepared for a journey,
and as the eye of the stranger fell upon it, his brow relaxed,
and an expression of softness which his features seemed incapable
of, communicated to the resolute countenance a singular
attraction.
Then his head turned unconsciously as it were toward a
door leading from the chamber into another, apparently.
This door he cautiously opened, and passed through into
an adjoining room.
It was the chamber of a girl, full of little feminine ornaments,
and filled, if we may so speak, with an atmosphere
of purity and innocence. The indefinable grace of childhood
seemed to pervade the balmy air, half illumined by
the soaring moon which poured through the open casement
its mellow light, and in the midst of this flood of radiance,
a child was sleeping in a little white bed.
It was a girl of about ten, with delicate features, long
silken lashes, and cheeks tinted with faint roses. The lips
smiled in sleep, and possessed great sweetness in curve and
expression; the hair of the child was light brown, and fell
in curls upon her white night-dress, and the bare arm which
supported her cheek. The fringed counterpane rose and
fell gently with the breathing of the little sleeper, and her
forehead was bathed in the faint and almost imperceptible
dews of slumber.
As he gazed at the young creature, the brilliant and fiery
eyes of the stranger softened more and more, his stern
features relaxed, he murmured softly, “my little Blossom!”
and bending over the child, he pressed upon her forehead a
kiss of indescribable tenderness. The small frame seemed
to thrill even in slumber, and the lips murmured something,
but the girl did not awake. The stranger knelt at the bedside—remained
in this devout attitude for a long time—then
rising, pressed a second kiss upon the child's lips, and left the
apartment.
He made a few preparations, and was soon in the saddle,
riding rapidly in a southern direction through the moonlit
forest. As he went on, his stern features resumed their
expression of austere resolution—the fire of his eyes returned
—he was iron again. Again his dominant idea possessed
him, and he muttered broken words.
“Yes!” he said aloud finally, “at last I think the struggle
comes! The light of a glorious dawn begins to touch
the gloomy east! The iron heel is almost down upon the
forehead, and henceforth there 'll be no appeal to the miserable
justice of the king. The true King of kings, the God
of Battles will decide! O Lord of Lords, fight for us!—
make us free!”
The head raised devoutly, sank again, and the stranger
rode on silently, the stillness of the forest only broken by
the noise of his horse's hoofs, or the mournful sobbing of
the wind.
